natural light bathed the place through windows placed high in the walls , and ezio 's eyes scanned the usual trestle tables , cluttered and crowded with all manner of stuff , the drawings pinned to the walls , the easels , the animal skeletons , the dusty books , the maps-rare and precious , like all maps-the assassins ' own collection at monteriggioni had been invaluable , but the borgia in their ignorance had destroyed the map-room there with cannonades , and so had no use of them themselves-the pencils , pens , brushes , paints , piles of papers ... in short , the typical and familiar , and somehow comforting , clutter of leonardo 's studios wherever ezio had encountered them .