Constantinople, 1488.
"…And what do you think of him?"
"Alahim (god),Marwad, you talk about him as though he were new here."
"He is! A recruit of but one summer cannot be counted as a full Assassin. And furthermore," The man's voice lowered, "I do not believe Ishak was right in choosing him."
"Perfect, now we are questioning Ishak's judgment."
The one known as Marwad simply leaned back against the cushions and took another sip of smoke. His bedraggled appearance had not done much to convince his companions that his opinion was a worthy one. The other two merely ignored him and continued to relax, enjoying their few hours of down time.
"I have faith in him," An older Assassin, female, continued, "He has shown much promise recently."
"Promise," Marwad mocked with a snort, placing the incense pipe on the carpet. "The only promise that boy has shown is that when he leaves, you won't have any akciin your pockets!"
But before his friend could put forth her argument, their spice box exploded with a rather large and messy bang. For a moment, the three recruits sat, shocked, as a thin smoke dusted their heads.
Then the room filled with a long and happy cackle.
"Your faces!" A young man insisted, mirth bordering on hysteria, "You should have seen your faces!"
The Assassins only watched as their youngest member sprinted past, giggling insanely.
There was brief silence, then:
"You were right, Marwad. Ishak must be growing old."
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"Yusuf, my boy, come in. I have an important concept to teach you today."
These were his only words of welcome as the twenty-one year-old Turk entered the Grand Master's office, grinning. The after-effect of his last prank evidently prevented him from noticing he was about to take a beating.
Yusuf took a seat at Ishak's desk and folded his hands innocently in his lap. The old man sat back and stared at him. After a while, he sighed and rubbed his eyes, leaning forward on the desk.
"Yusuf," The Master Assassin began, "How many street rats do I see daily?"
The young man frowned, "Efendim (master)?"
"Answer the question."
Yusuf thought. And while he thought, he began to became aware of something; A small gnawing sensation at the base of his stomach. The Turk groaned inwardly- he was no stranger to this feeling. If he remembered correctly, his body liked to do this when the Assassin in question might be experiencing 'guilt'.
"Four?" He guessed.
Ishak shook his head.
"Seven?" Yusuf guessed again.
"Yesterday I counted fifteen, oglum (my boy)."
Yusuf supposed he did not know what to think about that. As it was, his father of a mentor didn't seem to have a point that he could make out.
"Yusuf," Ishak sighed again, "It was only one year ago that youwere one of those street rats."
"I beg to differ, beyefendi (sir)-!"
But the Grand Assassin raised his hand, and Yusuf had enough respect to silence himself (but oh, how it hurt his pride to be called a 'street rat'. He was an infamous street rat! A street panther, at least!).
"I have received so many complaints about you these past few months," Ishak proceeded, glaring at Yusuf with the disappointment only a teacher could muster, "That I am beginning to doubt myself. How many of those fifteen would gladly jump up, were I to offer them your place as a disciple of the Creed?"
The gnawing feeling had progressed by this point. It was now popping holes in his organs, causing them to churn and sink.
"You have talent, Yusuf. Pure talent. You are a leader, though you don't know it." The old man smiled, "In fact, I could well imagine you taking my place one day."
Yusuf looked up (had he really been staring at his hands?).
"Truly?"
"Evet (yes)," Ishak replied, "You have what it takes, certainly. But not if I find your throat slit by a fellow student because you have slipped scorpions into his dinner again!"
Yusuf's lopsided grin returned. He reminded himself to go for Marwad's boots next time.
Ishak leaned back in his chair and gave the young man a good, hard look.
"Ah, what's the use," he muttered finally, "You're too much like your father. Words go in one ear and out the opposite."
Sensing they were finished, Yusuf made to stand, bowing his head in respect as he did so.
"Tesekkurederiz (thank you)-"
"Do not think there will be no consequences, Tazim!" Ishak interrupted him, waving his finger at the boy in a warning fashion, "One more complaint and you will be out!"
Yusuf tried to contain his snorts of laughter until after he'd left the mentor's office.
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The den was quieter once news of Yusuf's scolding became public. Most of the recruits had their own cliques, established many years previously by Ishak himself, for contextual reasons. Each squad normally consisted of a hidden blade, two knives, two crossbows, and an axe, but Yusuf could not find himself fitting into any of those categories, which suited the others fine.
However, the young man's reputation as an infamous thief had made friends a…difficult challenge. Suffice it to say that Yusuf had become the victim of an ugly rumor.
Which he supposed he deserved, after the scorpion incident.
But none of the Assassins could disprove Yusuf's skill with the hookblade. That was undisputable. In fact, if they were a tad nicer to him, Yusuf might have been inclined to teach them a trick or two.
Once again, he noted as he wandered the den, his fellows had set to ignoring him. Yusuf received a round of stone-cold stares as he approached a group sitting around a hookah pipe.
"Greetings, arkadaslar (friends)," He smiled and spread his hands harmlessly, "No bombs with me today. May I sit?"
They only watched him. Though no words of rejection were spoken, no one shifted to make room.
Yusuf waited a few more moments before backing away. With Ishak's words swimming in his head, and this new exclusion from his brothers, the young Assassin decided it was time to hit the roof.
As he briskly walked towards the door, he picked up the words 'upstart' and 'bastard' from the den's walls.
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"…And now no one likes me." Yusuf concluded heavily, bowing his head to his chest.
Constantinople had no reply.
Talking to the skyline had been a hobby of his since first arriving in Konstantinyye, nearly thirteen years ago. Yusuf hardly even remember Bursa…
When he had stepped off the boat, grasping his mother's hand, his eyes had widened in amazement. The city just seemed so alive- everything moving, breathing, speaking. As a young child, the Tazim had come to believe that everything in Constantinople carried some spark of life- even the skyline. Perhaps especially the skyline.
Today was no different. Yusuf sighed as he prepared to recollect his heart and stuff it back into the easily pourable jug it came from.
"I like you," A dry voice from behind him said, "But I've always been a 'no one'."
"How true," Yusuf chuckled and patted the sun-warmed tiles besides him. The cloaked stranger sat without another word.
"So," He began after a spot of silence, "I hear things are not well with the great Assassin, Yusuf Tazim."
"This is also true," The older boy answered, not taking his eyes off the city lights.
"I told you not to go," The voice chided, "That place is not right for you. You belong down on the roads, with us."
Yusuf snorted, "My father was one of them, Zavi. How could I not belong."
The black-robed thief known as Zavi left that comment to hang in the air, snaking around the two friends insidiously. It was the one factor that had divided them a few years back, and eventually led to their separation.
"You don't know that for sure," The cloaked youth began cautiously, "Your mother told you that, no?"
"Evet," Yusuf agreed, "But…She seemed so certain. And what else could have happened to him? Sometimes-" He stopped.
"What?" Zavi turned his swaddled head, blue eyes wide with curiosity. "What is it?"
Yusuf turned slowly, expression clouded.
"One of the Assassins, Marwad," He explained, "He told me he saw my father die. Stabbed by a Templar, he claims."
"He can't know that." Zavi insisted.
"But then," Yusuf shook his head, "He said to me; 'and I wouldn't be surprised to see you in the same sticky situation one day'."
"What sacmalik (bullshit)!" Zavi exclaimed, throwing up a bandaged hand. "Yusuf, do not believe that bastard. I do not know where your father is, but if he's related to you, he came up with a clever escape."
The Turk watched his friend carefully, unsure of what to think. He felt anger towards Marwad- his brother-and yet he felt sadness, because on some deep level he knew the man was right. His father would never come home.
But was it the Assassins that had taken him away, with their long, tiresome speeches about humanity and free will? Or the bite of Templar steel?
"Zavi," Yusuf sighed his friend's name and buried his forehead in his kneecaps, "I…I think I am confused."
"Yusuf Tazim? Confused? Now that's a start."
But the robed child moved closer and placed a hand on Yusuf's shoulder.
"If you'd like one more opinion to poke and prod," Zavi suggested quietly, "It might be ok for you to stay with them."
"Stay?" Yusuf repeated, lifting his clear eyes to meet Zavi's blue.
"They will take care of you," The orphan admitted, "And… If it really was your father's work, you should embrace it- not throw it away."
"But to murder?" Yusuf whispered, "To kill and maim? That is my destiny?"
"Yusuf," Zavi began, "If I had even the basest scrap of information as to who my father was, I would write a book of it."
Silence.
"When you have such little family, you don't have the luxury of tossing something out because you don't believe in it."
Again, Yusuf said nothing.
"Alright, alright! So I'm not great with words!" Zavi spluttered loudly, folding his arms and skulking.
But Yusuf only smiled.
"How about this for a 'thank you'?" The Turk opened his arms wide and tilted his head coyly. The heavily robed boy fell into his embrace and the two sat quietly.
"I will miss you, Yusuf Tazim." Zavi said.
"This is not goodbye, yakin dostron (my dear friend). This is not goodbye."