Malik's hand flicked over his newly painted map, his ears lifting as he heard the dull twang of an archer's bow in the near distance. Not many trespassed on the roofs, not many knew of the bureau. Soon came the sounds of civilian screams, and heavy footsteps on the rooftops above him. Malik left his counter and lifted himself up to calmly look out. Civilians were screaming at the fallen archer, and the man in the white hood had every guard in Jerusalem surrounding him. Malik shook his head and pulled the shutter across the bureau entrance and dropped down.
He looked up at the clear sky and traced an eagle's path through the metal bars, finding some peace amongst the clashing of swords paining his left ear. He sighed as he heard more guards drop to the ground, and more civilian's cries.
He went back to his counter and continued his work. His mind was elsewhere though. He had been out, out in the city and heard grave news, he new his work, and Altaïr's was in trouble. Ever since Altaïr had defeated Al Mualim in Masyaf, the other cities have been wary. Initially, Malik and Altaïr fled to Damascus where the rafiq there kept them in his bureau and well hidden. Altaïr's work against Al Mualim, and the other 9 Templar villains had freed all the civilians, and opened their eyes to the evil and the command placed apon them. They had taken apon Masyaf, flames had engulfed the city. Most of the villagers had managed to flee, and those who didn't were only there to lend themselves to the firey revenge. Most of the brotherhood was disbanded, a large amount of the other assassin's killed, by Altaïr on his way to Al Mualim, or killed by the civilians. Others had broken away from the brotherhood, and gone into hiding into the surrounding cities. This was what Malik had wanted to do, but he knew Altaïr had other plans. The two used to be good together, and there were still many with corruption flowing in their blood. They rode to Damascus on horseback with the others that went into hiding, but in the early hours of the morning, they slipped into the Bureau, and were guided on who was still remaining. They dressed as civillians and acted like them for a few days whilst the rafiq got them information. They left the city and went to Jerusalem, where the guards were still tough, but nobody knew why.
Malik got up, he couldn't focus on his maps. He had been making an intricate one of Jerusalem for no reason, it was more out of habit, out of focus, just in case they might miss something, if anything were to happen. Malik shook his head to get rid of the thought. Everything would be fine, he could trust Altaïr, at least the new Altaïr.
The civillians had stopped crying and the swords had stopped clashing. Malik half climbed up to pull back the hatch to the bureau once more. Swift footsteps danced their way over the beams like a true assassins. Malik went back to the counter once more, and heard the squeak of the bars as Altaïr dropped down. He didn't even wait for Altaïr to enter this time, he already started talking.
"You should be more careful!" Malik cried
"As should you, what if it wasn't me who stepped into the Bureau."
"Yes, what if it was one of the dozens of guards who seem to know what you are doing!"
"They know nothing of me, I am a civillian with a blade, the assassin's cloak is long gone. It is my job to pick them off."
"Well do so, without dropping the bodies onto the market stalls!"
"If I didn't, when would you know to open the hatch?"
"Please, Altaïr, refrain from being clever with me. We are in danger, they know we aren't in Damascus"
"They don't know we're here."
"Altaïr, please, just don't do anything stupid."
"Malik, you're too worried, I advise you to do the same. Stay calm and all will be okay."
"Okay." Malik said no more. "You bring me news?"
"Yes, I have a letter from one of the guards I killed, a letter to someone based in Masyaf."
"Stay out of it, Altaïr, we aren't going back to Masyaf."
"No, but it tells us someone is still part of the Templars, someone is still reining power, we are closer to finding out the reasons for the guards actions."
"Rest now, Altaïr, I am going to go out into the streets, and see if I can find any information."
"Fine."
Malik pulled back the hatch and opened it, scrambling up using his feet and right arm. He was okay, but not as good as Altaïr since he lost his arm. He didn't like to climb anyway, unless he was sketching a map from high up, he was out of practice, the archers would strike him easily. He skipped over the roof and down the ladder and onto the ground, entering the busy marketplace. he pulled is hood up, and turned sideways to blend amongst the crowd. His face was solemn in the crowd of busy people, merchants, tourists, begars, whatever, but this time there wasn't a fight like normal. Malik would usually be fighting as an orphan ran into him after stealing a chicken, or a woman carrying a vase would be coming in the other direction, and it would break causing a scene, no, not this time, there was no fight against the tide. Where were all these people going? He chose to follow them, there was obviously something important happening today. He rounded the corner and there was a huge crowd, and a speaker, yet no guards protecting him. Malik worked his way through the crowd, until he was close enough to see the speaker properly. Thin. Old. Poor. Dust from the streets lined his clothes and his voice was dry from dehydration. Why would people want to come and hear him speak?
"Silence, please. I have news, I bring news." Said he. The whole crowd fell silent. "I come from the poor district, but I stand here before you to declare news. Great news. Word has spread about the assassin, and the true meaning of our previous leaders" The crowd jested in a collective understanding. "God praise the assassin and his helpers, but word has spread he has left Damascus, perhaps he is here among us. Tell me, please, where is this assassin, why are our the guards number's diminishing, what is left of the reign here in Jerusalem, over the holy land? I tell you this, we shouldn't have a reign over a land so holy. Don't listen to the laws of the guards, listen to the laws of God, for God is not a Templar. I'd advise the assassin and his men to do the same, or at least not the will of God..."
Malik had had enough by this point. What is God to these people? Malik kicked the dust back to the bureau, as he got to the fringes of the crowd. The sun glinted off of something, and Malik turned his head. A blade. He felt a note of panic rise in him. He told himself to stay calm, Altaïr was right. He looked at the man, and saw him making eye contact with another, and then another. The speaker was surrounded by guards, dotted throughout the crowd, Malik turned but caught the eye of the guard, he ran as fast as he could but the guard tripped him and pulled back his hood. The guard dragged him away from the crowd and threw him into the side of a market stall, which collapsed. The guard knelt down and laughed at him. He pulled out his blade and cut Malik's arm, right along where he would have lost it on the other side. Then he kicked dirt in his face and spat in it, and went back to join the crowd.
Malik stood up and brushed the dust of his clothes, and his face, and put his hood back up. These civillian clothes he and Altaïr had taken to wearing had had a good effect until now, had he ruined everything, the guard didn't know him, the guard was just having some fun, right? Malik walked the deserted mid-morning streets until he reached a fountain, where he washed his face and arm. He would have to go back to the bureau to get a bandage for it and rest. He walked a long route round, it was eerie like this, he should have stayed listening to the speaker, what more did the speaker know. He had to know. He climbed up on the roof and listened, but the speaker was too far away, he couldn't make out a single thing. He would go later and listen to the tradesmen's conversations, for now, he would go back to the bureau.
