Florence, Early Summer 1501
The sun had not yet risen, but Elias was already at the writing desk, candles burning low. His ink had dried four times before he finished the sentence.
> "When two selves must walk one city, they must live two different lives. One with a name. The other, with silence."
He set the quill down and looked over the day's plan.
Today, Elias was scheduled to sit in on a meeting with a Genoese envoy regarding currency exchange rates.
But Niccolò had been requested to retrieve ledgers from the workshop of Master Salvini—publicly, and by name.
It was bound to happen eventually:
Both identities needed to appear on the same day. In the same place. With eyes watching.
---
He Rehearsed the Exit First
Niccolò would be seen leaving the Salvini workshop just before Elias appeared at the central square on his way to the Medici offices.
He dressed simply—brown tunic, worn boots, dust on the sleeves, and a small stitched cap over shortened hair. A faint smudge of soot marked one cheek. His voice, when practised, took on a lisp and Sienese vowels.
He limped, only slightly, on the left foot. It made people look down when they passed him.
He arrived at the workshop just after the sixth bell, greeted the clerk with a humble bow, and took the scrolls.
"Will you return these to Master Giovanni?" the clerk asked.
Niccolò nodded. "Sì. He trusts me."
Then he left, down a side alley, just as a pair of junior bankers passed the square—men who would soon meet Elias.
---
The Transformation Took Place in the Confessional Cloister
He kept a key to the back entrance of the Dominican chapel—earned through quiet donations and errands for the friars.
There, behind stone walls and tapestries, Elias stripped, washed quickly, and dressed anew.
Hair slicked back. Soot removed. Silk collar straightened. Clean boots.
He looked in the mirror.
The limp was gone. The voice returned. The eyes—steady.
---
The Shift Worked—Until It Didn't
At the Medici offices, Elias sat beside Master Giovanni and observed the envoy speak about Venetian silver flooding the Florentine exchange.
But out of the corner of his eye, he caught a face in the hall window—a merchant boy from the Salvini workshop.
He paused.
Had the boy seen both of them? Had he already noticed the resemblance?
No word came. The boy walked on.
But Elias felt the sweat behind his ear. The risk was real.
---
That Night, He Wrote the Rulebook
> "Rule I: When both faces must walk, one must leave no voice.
Rule II: Do not repeat this within the same fortnight.
Rule III: If seen together, one must vanish forever."
It wasn't sustainable—yet.
He would need:
A stand-in for quick "sightings" of Niccolò.
A loyal servant with similar size and form.
A rotation of city appearances, and perhaps a villa or safehouse outside Florence.
He could no longer operate from a single point. The city was a stage—but soon, he would need a network of theaters.
---
But That Night, Alone theatresirror
He stood again in front of his glass.
One hand over his heart.
He stared into the face of Elias. Then slipped slowly into Niccolò's likeness.
One mind. Two lives.
And someday—more.
He whispered, "This city is too small for both of me."