Altaïr frowned in great disapproval at the tiny thing crying and screaming in a pool of blood. What was he supposed to do? He couldn't leave the baby there but what was he supposed to do with it? He had just assassinated a slaver, one who was selling children and either selling the mothers or killing them, he assumed the baby belonged to the dead woman whose blood was soaking into the light blue of the baby's clothing. Unable to watch the red spread further onto the child, Altaïr snatched it up and winced at the shrill crying reverberating through his ears – this had to stop. Holding the baby at arms length, he watched tiny legs kick and arms wave wildly – how can it get louder? If only he'd been a few seconds earlier, the mother would be alive and he could have left!
He supposed he could leave it on church steps, or a mosque or maybe a synagogue…though it was late and it could take an entire night until the baby was found. Even if he left it on a doorstep he could not be certain the home owners would take care of the baby.
Another high pitched squeal stabbed his ears and his frown deepened. He went through his memory trying to remember what he'd seen people do with crying babies; he nearly rolled his eyes at the simplicity and pulled the crying mess to his chest. Still the noise persisted and he tried verbally to quiet the child, apparently it was still too young to understand being told to 'shut up', he placed his palm on the back of the blue clothing and gently rubbed in slow circles – a slight pause, a hiccup and a decline in the noise to little whining and burbling sounds made Altaïr sigh in relief. Now what to do with it or more accurately, him? Ah, yes – dumping it on someone else!
He found it a little difficult having to manoeuvre out of the basement and onto the roofs with his precious cargo but he manages somehow, the baby thankfully quiet the entire way to a nearby mosque in the richer area of Jerusalem – well, they could afford to take better care of him. He had stolen a blanket from a washing line and bundled the baby up in it before placing him down on the steps, "now would be the ideal time to make that horrible noise."
The baby stared up at him with wide, grey eyes, little hands reaching for his robes as the Assassin began to stand, Altaïr stared at the boy in mild irritation, surely babies could cry on demand! The round little face was dabbed with drying flakes of blood scattered around light freckles, it even stained the short soft hair of his head and his eyes were beginning to water sadly as Altaïr made to leave. He had taken two steps before he heard a loud whine, he ignored it after a pause and continued until a high pitched wail sounded – how was something so tiny making him feel so guilty! He was helping the best he could! About to make a run for it he heard a different kind a scream, one that was pained, whipping his body around he found the baby boy on his belly on one of the steps…this baby could crawl. Now what was he supposed to do?
00
Malik was bored beyond belief. He had expected Altaïr back over two hours ago, while waiting he had written the reports, tidied the main room – he'd even colour coded the pillows! He had settled in to work on his maps but found himself unable to concentrate. Altaïr had been gone for three years while exploring the world with Maria – who had decided upon arriving in the Acre that she wanted to do some wandering without Altaïr, which left the assassin in a foul mood upon returning a month ago. Malik had decided that he'd send the stupid novice out on missions while they planned how best to lead the Brotherhood.
A noise on the lattice roof from the main room startled him out of his reverie and he heard Altaïr's voice grumbling irritably as he set something down before coming to the study to look at Malik. Malik stared back waiting to hear whatever it was the younger had to say, a little confused at the vexed expression under the hood, "Well? Is he dead?"
"Yes…but."
Malik wanted to hit his head on the desk –why, oh why! Was there always a 'but' with this man? Before he had a chance to open his mouth and yell, a little wail came from the main room, "no…is that a…Altaïr!" the Dai practically jumped over his desk and pushed the other out of the way to stare aghast at the baby in the middle of his bureau floor, "…Altaïr…" he said quietly.
"Safety and peace, Malik…"
The Dai shook his head in disbelief, he wanted to throttle the Assassin or beat him to death or punch his teeth out – hell, he'd do all three! "Your presence, Altaïr…" he reached up and cuffed the assassin who had actually been waiting for the strike, "Deprives me of both!"
"I know. But listen to me, I was but a few seconds too late to save this boy's mother…he was sat in a pool of her blood screaming – a horrible sound – and would not stop until I picked him up…I could not leave him there!"
"Then leave him on a step somewhere! Do not bring him to my bureau!"
"I tried! He cried as I left! Tried to crawl after me and fell down one of the steps!" Malik groaned at the explanation but walked over to the baby and knelt down to examine the little one, "he only bumped his chin." Looking carefully at the bruised and grazed skin, Malik decided it wasn't so bad.
Altaïr watched Malik stand and disappear into his own room behind the study and then return a moment later with a bag in hand, "in my room there is a large basin, fill it with water and warm it – not hot. I will treat this graze." The younger Assassin did as he was asked, while he was waiting for the fire in the study to heat the basin he huffed at himself, how was he beaten by a set of huge eyes and pouty little lips? There was another pained squeal and he nearly knocked the basin over in his hurry to the main room. Malik was hushing the boy and stroking his hair soothingly, a soft apology leaving his lips as he quickly sealed the pot of healing salve and continued to fuss about how it had to be done. Relieved that it was nothing Altaïr retrieved the basin and set it down near the Dai, who quickly tested the temperature and deemed it usable. "Well, as you brought him here, you can clean and feed him…tomorrow you will find him a home."
He frowned for what felt like the millionth time that night and set about removing the ruined clothing from the squirming baby who was once again giving him a wide eyed stare, he stopped suddenly as he removed the baby's bottoms and blinked, "this baby does not have a penis."
"That would make him a her…I thought you had learnt the difference long ago." He came over with a few pieces of fruit in a small bowl which he had mashed up into a soft puree, he hoped this baby had been weaned and was able to eat normal food. He watched Altaïr's obvious confusion with great amusement, "do not tell me, if it wears blue, it is a boy…pink for girls?"
"obviously." He griped under his breath and finished his task of unclothing the baby girl. She was quickly becoming a thorn in his side! With a little guidance from Malik, Altaïr began washing her in the basin, getting soaked in the process, "Why are you not doing this if you know so much!"
Malik grinned at the Assassin as he tried not to laugh at the difficulty he was having, "I only have one arm."
"So you can still fight, cook, clean, wash, work and climb up buildings but you are suddenly a cripple when it comes to helping me!"
"Yes."
Water splashed onto his face from the tiny girl splashing about like a sparrow in a bird bath, he let out a deeply pained sigh and let his head drop back in exasperation before muttering, "I hate you, Malik, so much." Another wave of warm water soaked into his sleeves, "and I thoroughly dislike you, little sparrow."
000
Look! A non 'M' fiction! Not the AC2 that I promised but I just wanted to write this story so badly! I write short chapters but usually update daily…Hope you enjoy!
