It was still night when Anso arrived in Florence. The streets were oddly empty. He had not been in the city for some years, but it had never been so silent. Gone were the street performers breathing fire for spare change and the constant sound of music he remembered so fondly from his first trip as a child.

Florence had changed much. Twice in the last hour he had been questioned by watchmen. They had both given him odd looks, and shuffled him off on his way when he asked about locating Ficino, or anyone associated with the Academy. Well, he would just have to find them himself.

The university was not far, Anso thought to himself. He could not quite make out the towers from where he was near the city’s entrance, but he was sure his feet could guide him to the medieval Studium.

Pacing the streets, Anso took no notice of the few panhandlers stooped at the foot of an arcade. nor did he notice the carved stone faces peering out from shadowed niches.

He did notice the black bag being placed over his head.