AC Revelations Novelization

by Mirror and Image

Desmond, locked away in his own mind and plugged into the Animus, continues to relive the memories of Ezio in order to piece his broken psyche back together. Rated as always for Desmond's language, Ezio's amorous adventures, and all the blood inherent with being an assassin.

4. The Polo Trading Post

Part Four: The Polo Trading Post

The next week brought another attack on a den, and Ezio and Yusuf were forced to assume that there was a traitor in their midst, or that an assassin had survived the Little Judgment and never bothered to return. Neither were great prospects, but Ezio left Yusuf to sort through his own house to see if someone had ulterior motives and instead took his most recent escort, the eager Kasim, and began scouting the city for potential talent. Hayri and Cenk had forwarded people, two women and a man respectively, that would be better fits as assassins. One was an arrogant brawler from the fights who had taken one look at Ezio and grinned and said he was looking forward to the chance. Hayri had sent two women: one a cocky pickpocket of high skill, and the other a curious wisp of a girl who planted coins in pockets. Upon questioning, she simply said she liked the challenge.

In the city, the aging grandmaster continued to familiarize himself to all the foreign sights and sounds and smells.

Prayer was five times a day: dawn, noon, midafternoon, dusk, and then full night; it required cleaning oneself before turning south – toward the Qiblah, Azize had once explained, where the Ka'abah in the city of Mecca was. Praying collectively increased spiritual reward, and while mosques were preferred, Islam understood that life had to happen between those five prayers, and so people often grouped together wherever they happened to be. There was no clergy as Ezio understood it; Islam did not have priests or bishops or archbishops or cardinals. They had imam – prayer leaders – that were picked from groups when time came for prayer for being particularly pious. There were Ustadhs that taught Muslim traditions to children like Azize did, and there were Sheikhs, people deeply versed in the Qur'an. It was nothing like he knew or understood; Azize had become his default tutor, a devout Muslim herself, and tried to explain all the nuances. Ezio, a son of Firenze who had at best a casual relationship with God, appreciated the dedication while simultaneously loathing the idea of being so shackled to such heavy traditions. That had earned him a very severe scolding, saying that prayer was a form of meditation, meditation was a form of thought, and the Great Mentor of the Assassins surely enjoyed thinking. But while Ezio could understand some traditions, others remained a mystery to him.

He could not understand why women were covered from head to toe, for example, and he still found himself trying to reconcile all the different ethnicities he could see. Kasim, as escort, was eager to point out anything and everything in order to be helpful, starstruck in the presence of the great mentore. Unlike the strong but silent Dogan, Kasim chittered endlessly, and over time Ezio learned to tune him out.

It was on such an outing, following the north wall past a mosque and to a graveyard, that Ezio's eagle alerted him to the scent of blood. He stiffened, Kasim confused but tensing as well, and moved through the graveyard with more care. He saw the blood first, and followed it to a man struggling to crawl through the markers. Ezio darted forward to see what he could do.

The man looked up when Ezio turned him over, and his eyes flooded with desperation. "Please... Please, help. In the name of Allah, find the man who did this to me."

"No," Ezio corrected, hands pressing to examine the litany of injuries. Three ribs were broken, and ugly bruising littered his entire body. "I should get you to a doctor."

"No," the beaten man grunted, "there is no time. The man who did this, he is looking for my wife and my daughter. If he finds them Allah knows what he will do! If you value justice, arkadashim, please... in the name of Allah... do not let that monster harm my family."

"Evet, arkadashim, you have my word."

The man's relief was so overpowering he fainted. Standing, Ezio turned to Kasim. "Get him back to the hideout," he said, "See that the doctor Mazhar tends to him, and tell him that there may be two women added to his list."

"To the hideout, Usta?" Kasim asked, even as he began lifting the injured man. "Is that wise?"

"I will take responsibility," Ezio said, unwilling to explain himself with so little time. "Don't just stand there, go!"

Ezio did not give the overeager Kasim time to ask another question, instead backtracked the trail of blood, following it to the original site and then asking his eagle to help. A herald was there, and Ezio pushed through the people and up to the platform, heedless of the mutterings of the crowd. "Effendi," he said quickly, "I need your help." Pressing coin into the man's hand, he asked for and got a detailed description of the brutally lopsided fight that had happened in the square an hour earlier. Four men in armor, led by a fifth, had brutalized the man in order to get the location of his family, the leader explaining in lurid and graphic detail what he was going to do to the women. Everyone had watched in disgust, and of course no one had lifted a hand in aid. Furious, Ezio turned to the crowd and demanded if anyone recognized the injured man and where he lived. Several looked down or away, but one little boy raised his hand, saying the man was named Tahir, that he was always covered in rock dust, and that he lived by lots of stairs and thin arches. The mother tried to cut him off but Ezio ignored her and instead pointedly thanked the boy for his strong moral character and adherence to the faith and darted to the stairs the boy had pointed to.

Powering down them, eagle open, Ezio came upon the five circling around two women. The leader had one of the women, presumably the mother, pinned to the ground, legs bare as her silks had been shoved up and hijab ripped away. The daughter was shrieking at the top of her lungs from behind a fist that was covering her mouth. The old grandmaster has seen this scene played out too often in his life – once to his own sister – to not react instantaneously.

With an expert flick of a wrist he threw a knife at the back of the leader. It of course hit its mark; the startled cry confused everyone, giving Ezio enough time to throw one of Yusuf's special bombs, a thick cloud of smoke erupting out from where it landed. His eagle was already awake, however, and in less than two minutes he had used his hidden blade to kill all five men, sweep the crying girl into his arms (even though she punched and hit him repeatedly), and help the nearly catatonic mother to her feet. They were gone long before the smoke had dispersed.

It took over an hour to get the women to the hideout along the north wall. The mother slowly came to her senses, but the daughter was inconsolable, constantly struggling and refusing to believe Ezio when he said he was taking them to her father. It was not until they were at the abandoned mosque and down in the underground cistern that she finally began to realize something different was happening.

Mazhar was in his tiny room, bent over the beaten man, Tahir. The mother and daughter both burst into tears and ran to him, and their voices roused him to consciousness, and he, too, wept to see them safe. Kasim watched in open curiosity as Ezio slowly made his presence known in the private moment. "It is done," he said softly. "They are all dead. How are you feeling?"

"My wounds will heal, the doctor said," Tahir said, "and my heart is lifted knowing that my family is safe, Allah reward your goodness. How can I repay you?"

"Join us when you are feeling well, brother. We could use men with a sense of honor."

"Evet, I will. Most certainly."

"Bene. I will see that your family is relocated somewhere safe, and when you are fit to move you may rejoin them. After that, come to the Galata Tower at dawn. Someone will be waiting for you."

"Evet, usta, whatever you say. Allah reward your goodness."

---

Ezio's birthday was spent with a bottle of wine at the top of the Galata Tower. Yusuf had offered to throw a party in his honor, but he just couldn't bring himself to feel like celebrating a life filled with regrets. The Turkish master assassin nodded, understanding, and let Ezio have his space – though not before offering a hookah if he wanted even "deeper" meditation. Ezio poked at the instrument for all of a minute before deciding he didn't have the energy to try and figure out how to use it and instead just looked out over the city, drinking and composing a letter to his sister.

Claudia,

Constantinopoli – called Istanbul by the Turks – has welcomed me as one of its own. The Assassins here, led by an affable fighter named Yusuf, take great pride in their city, a place as diverse and colorful as one could imagine. He has spent much time showing me the sights of the city, and it is a place like no other. I cannot keep track of the different men and women from both the east and the west who congregate here. Turkish and Greek seem to be the most common languages, but I have heard Italian, Arabic, and many others as well. Color is everywhere, as is texture and pattern, and every alley and corner seems to open up to some new auspice of the city.

But it is a troubled city too. A rebellious faction of Byzantine Templars still fights to retain influence, and their recent attacks have delayed my search for the Masyaf Keys. If you recall, two years ago the city suffered a devastating earthquake, and Yusuf and his Assassins have yet to fully recover from it. The Templars have taken advantage of this opportunity, and various dens and hostels of the Order have been attacked. There may even be a traitor in our midst, and Yusuf is using all of his skills to rout out the truth.

I have been taking the time to instruct him on how to better manage his men and women, and he has taken it all with a smile – a testament to his affable character. He is stubborn, but not so set in his ways that he will deny sound advice when he hears it, unlike Niccolò Machiavelli. It is aiding our brothers that has delayed my letters to you, and for that I am sorry.

But this will not last. As soon as I am able, I will begin looking for Niccolò Polo's former trading post, in search of clues that will bring me nearer to the Masyaf keys. Yusuf has several contacts at the city's university, and I hope in a week's time I will go there and look at their old maps and city plans. I worry that much knowledge was lost in the fall of Constantinopoli, but I will stay here as long as it takes until I can find those keys, and with them, the wisdom of Altaïr.

Perhaps then, at last, I can find the answers I seek.

He continued on to comment on her own missives, and described what he had been doing in the city and trying to put to paper the brilliant view he was currently looking out over. His letters to his sister helped, it narrowed his focus and made it easier to articulate the complicated mess of emotions he felt of late, and though he often mourned the poor quality of his letters, he hoped something of what he wanted came across to her. Signing off with his regards, he gave one last look at the glorious sunset.

The next day he was with the eager Kasim on a tour of the southern half of the city.

Ezio wanted to see each of the dens for himself; he was not technically involved with figuring out why the Byzantines knew two den locations, but he couldn't let something as serious as a possible traitor go, either.

The southern den was under a massive watchtower, posing as a spice merchant. Kasim was quick to announce who Ezio was, and the entire den soon swarmed him. He leveled a flat glare to Kasim, oblivious, and greeted the eager novices and apprentices and journeyman. All too quickly he was asked to recount various exploits in lurid detail, and he was not in the mood to relive the fall of Monteriggioni, or the disturbing death of Cesare Borgia. He politely declined one after another, and soon they left to their own tasks, but not before one journeyman looked at him and said, simply.

"I wish to thank you personally, Usta, for your work in Spain."

He blinked, mildly surprised, and asked what she meant.

"My grandparents were born here, Usta, but my parents were from Spain. When I was a baby they were captured for being Moors, Muslims, because of the Inquisition. There were many others in that prison, and many of them were tortured, trying to learn something my parents didn't understand. But they were rescued by men in white hoods. A year later, Isabella cast us out, and the Ottomans took us in. A woman in a white hood sailed with us, and said we had Ezio Auditore to thank for it. They didn't understand, I didn't understand, not until I was recruited. I have always wondered if I would meet you, but now I have, and I want you to know that I'm alive because of you."

Ezio blinked, surprised still, and at a loss for words.

Finally, he asked, "What is your name?"

"Meryem," she said, smiling through her dark curls. "I have been with the order for ten years now, am a senior journeyman, and hope to make suikastchi in the next year."

By the end of the week Kasim's irritating chitter had been replaced by Meryem. The overeager escort was greatly disappointed, but Meryem proved to be much better. Ezio learned that her secondary trade was weaving, that both her parents had died in the Little Judgment, and that she took some small amount of pride in her skills at stealth. She also, over time, expressed a concern about the goings on around her den.

"Merhaba, Usta," she greeted one morning. "We are to wander the city again, yes? In all your wanderings, have you heard the name Lysistrata?"

Ezio frowned, reaching back to his boyhood days when he studied the classics. "The drama by Aristophanes?" he asked.

Meryem smiled, running a hand through her dark curls. "Not quite. She is a local actress named for the character in that play."

"Then, I have not."

She frowned. "Will you walk with me? We have a small problem."

She took the lead for once, and instead of randomly walking about the city to soak in the surroundings, she took him on a more deliberate route, mostly on the streets showing a keen knowledge of back alleys, cut-throughs, and narrow steps that finally led to a massive square with an elaborate fountain in the middle. Her dark curls cascading over her shoulders, she explained. "We have been hearing rumors for some time now that paint Lysistrata in a very dangerous light. We fear she is responsible for the disappearance of several eminent men throughout the empire. A black widow, if you will."

"But you have no proof?" Ezio asked.

"Not yet," Meryem said, shaking her head. "Her supporters say it is only coincidence, and some of the men who have disappeared only barely knew her, but if it is coincidence, the probability of it is staggering. But today, we may have proof. She should be here soon, a meeting with a fan of hers. That fan has many political enemies, and I want to follow her, if you are of a mind to do so."

"Agreed," Ezio said.

For an hour they loitered about the square, eyes open. In one sweep her lustrous hair was covered in silk and the bracer of her hidden blade hidden under a silken sleeve. Meryem seemed to be moderately known in the area, several women nodded to her through their hijab and asked how she was doing. Many asked if Ezio was a new husband, but she waved it off, saying that the man looking after her was becoming quite protective of her, and Ezio was her escort. More than a few asked when her marriage would be arranged, and she played it off, even in spite of protests that her marriageable age would wane soon. Ezio, the silent "bodyguard," marveled at her skill to turn conversations around, and the art of the story she had constructed around herself. He had to remind himself she was still just a journeyman, and he wondered what was left for her to learn before her finger was burned. He was about to ask when she straightened.

"There she is," she said softly.

Ezio turned to see a woman in Greek clothes, beautiful and also with dark hair, walking hand in hand with a man in a plain turban and dress.

"He's disguised himself," Meryem muttered, "But he's affiliated with the Sublime Porte. I will tail her from the street. You take the rooftops. Take note of anything suspicious. I want to see what happens, Allah willing."

"Bene."

Slowly, Ezio moved up to the roofs while Meryem followed from below. With a bird's eye view, he could see that her pride in her stealth should be more that small. She changed from a Muslim woman to Greek in the span of five steps, rearranging her silks and changing her gate. Ten minutes later she changed back to a Moor, and then astonishingly managed to pull of passing as a man by taking her hijab and twisting it into a turban, straightening her hips and hunching her shoulders slightly. The girl was positively gifted, and Ezio made a mental note to speak to Yusuf about her skill when he was done routing the traitor. She needed to be promoted and soon, she had a wealth of skill to pass on and she could easily infiltrate tightly guarded locations with ease.

The tailing job itself was moderately straightforward. They slowly made their way around an impressive hippodrome, an ancient Roman structure; it had at first surprised Ezio to see such familiar Roman ruins, and he suddenly had a very real example of how far the ancient Roman empire had extended. The woman Lysistrata continued to hold her beau's hand, and Meryem kept a healthy distance while Ezio hopped from roof to roof. Lysistrata walked the old horse track, now thick and overgrown, and slowly moved to the curve. Ezio moved up to the seats, watching from several levels up, and at a glance he saw that Meryem had done something similar from the opposite side. He worked his way through bushes and overgrowth. The curve's center held a many-story arch that opened up to yet another vista of the city, but Ezio's eyes only glanced that way before looking down to see the woman in Greek clothes stab her fan, watching with cold eyes as he fell with a gurgle.

"Not today!" Meryem shouted, leaping down from a three story height and adjusting her angle to air assassinate the black widow.

Lysistrata threw a smoke bomb, however, when she heard the oath and disappeared in its smoke.

The smoke cleared with Meryem by herself over the corpse, her dark hair swishing back and forth as she tried to find her target. Ezio fell down from above, already opening his eagle. "We can find her if we hurry," he said. "Follow me."

"But how...?"

Ezio was already pressing ahead, however, the eagle in his mind seeing scuff marks of sandals, or the drip of blood from a blade, and catching a whiff of perfume to follow. Meryem was close behind, eyes slightly wild and her hands worrying in anxiety. The pair angled around the upper levels of the hippodrome, alert for anything, and finding a hidden alcove. Ezio surmised this was where she could change clothes and disappear, but rather instead, they found a collection of corpses, the cadavers strewn about in a brutal show of savagery. The scent of perfume hung in the air under the smell of blood and death, and it was obvious who had done this.

Meryem was beside herself. "These are members of his staff," she said, kneeling down and checking the bodies. "All his supporters... This is all my fault... Allah forgive me..." She looked up, dark eyes wide and distressed, nearly panicked. She dashed away from the bloodshed, and Ezio heard the sounds of sickness as the failure swept over her. The old mentor had felt such failures before: the Doge of Venezia, his near demise at the ruins outside San Gimignano, his inability to get his beloved Cristina to a doctor. The loss once more stung at his heart, and he rubbed his hand over his face, tugging at his beard and sighing deep into his depression before he pulled himself together and went to console the devastated journeyman.

"Forgive me, Usta," she said through her upset. "I attacked too soon, with too much distance between us. I did not calculate correctly and... I should not have shouted out and... I should have stopped that witch... I..."

Ezio placed a hand on her small shoulder. "To live is to learn," he said slowly. "My greatest lessons were born of my greatest failures. Take this lesson to heart, and clear your mind. You will have another chance."

Gently, he pulled her to her feet, and he walked her back to the den.

---

The first week of May had Ezio visiting the University to begin his search for Niccolò Polo's old trading post. Yusuf's contact took him through stacks and stacks of books and ancient tomes with great pride. When Ezio mentioned wondering if the famous Polo brothers had ever owned property in the city, there was a distinct gleam of curiosity and challenge in the scholar's eyes and he announced that Ezio would know by the end of the month. Ezio smiled at the eagerness and knew that he would certainly find out soon. One who valued knowledge always loved such a challenge. While the scholar was a contact of Yusuf's, Ezio arranged that he would drop by weekly to learn if anything had been discovered. With Yusuf's hold on Constantinopoli still tenuous, it was better to not expose the scholar to such risks.

With that project in the works and properly delegated, Ezio had the time to start doing some more one-on-one training. Meryem he took to slate and chalk to learn all the calculations that Mario had taught him on speed, distance, and how to angle falls. That had been her primary mistake. She was so careful to keep a distance to not be seen that she wasn't close enough to act when it was needed. While she was with chalk and slate, Dogan was sitting with books, learning more about management and financing, having shown an interest in how Ezio did hidden accounts. Azize, who was secretary of the Assassins and dedicated to all the small details that any organization needed, was pulled from her ink and paper and given regular instructions on how to fight so that she wouldn't get rusty.

It was with this one-on-one instruction that Ezio started to excel as he had with his brotherhood in Roma. He had shining stars of various kinds that he was starting to polish. Meryem would be a full Assassin in a few months' time, sooner than she was expecting, and he was hoping to put her in charge of a den so that she could use her plentiful skill at blending into the environment to better usage. Dogan he also put in charge of a den, specifically the one in Galata so that he was still close enough to be Yusuf's second but was able to start practicing and learning leadership on his own.

In between his lessons, he still walked the streets with an Assassin to keep learning the city and to see what he could learn about who the possible traitor was. It was on such a walk that Ezio paused along the docks of the Halich, looking to a cage holding criminals waiting for transport across the river to the next location of the justice system. Likely another cage before being transported out of the city to the sentencing.

Something had caught his attention and he wasn't sure what it was. Beside him was Sila, a recently promoted Assassin, whose speed had yet to be bested by any in the order. Like Dogan, she was soft-spoken, but where Dogan stayed quiet with curiosity, Sila was quiet in almost timidity. She always demurred, refused to take credit, and almost stubbornly said she still wasn't good enough and that there were others better than her. Her lack of faith in herself was absolute until one challenged her to any sort of race. Then, she knew how good she was and had no problem leaving one in the dust. However, she was very adept at the languages of Constantinopoli, and was one of the best at pointing out interesting conversations that Ezio didn't quite follow in Greek or some Egyptian dialect he didn't understand.

Ezio did what he could to give her more confidence. She reminded him of Elda, the former nun who had joined the Order and was often klutzy. But where Elda stumbled, Sila had steady competency, she just didn't see it. Ezio wondered what in her childhood had predisposed her to always overlook her own value, but knew it wasn't in his place to pry.

She was confused on why Ezio had randomly stopped and was looking at a cage of prisoners, but she didn't have the confidence to ask. Ezio stared, wondering what had caught his attention, leaning against a wall and looking tired for any who passed by. Sila stayed politely by his side, her face completely covered in the Muslim manner that Ezio found so strange. He kept his attention on that cage. There were some Ottoman guards patrolling the area, a few standing guard over the cages, but nothing that should have caught his attention. His eyes still roved around, trying to see what was so special about the prisoners in that cage, when his ears finally picked up what he needed.

The accent was incredibly thick, and Greek, which is why Ezio could only pick out every other word with any certainty. But he did understand enough to understand that one of the prisoners was not a truly bad person.

"Lütfen, efendim," the Greek man begged in his thick accent. "I stole fruit, I do not deny it. But only because my hunger was stronger than my honesty. I will return to that vendor twice what I have taken, just please, let me try!"

"Quiet, dog," the guard barked back.

Ezio turned to Sila. "We need to find that key."

"Your pardon, Usta?" she replied, blinking in confusion.

Clearly she had not heard what Ezio had, so he softly explained that he was planning to free the prisoner.

"Are your certain?" she asked.

"Completely. That man will be an asset to our cause."

Sila still looked unconvinced, but disappeared into the crowds to find the captain and lift the key. Ezio stayed where he was for the moment, then casually strode forward toward the cages.

"What do you want?" the Ottoman growled, eying Ezio's sword.

"To speak with one of the prisoners," Ezio replied, thickening his own accent. "I think one might have stolen from me."

The guard was still suspicious, and glancing between Ezio and the prisoners, but Ezio kept a serious frown and glared at the cage.

Finally, the Ottoman nodded and held out a hand. "There will be no weapons near the prisoners," he said clearly. "We wouldn't want one of them to steal it and stab you."

Ezio nodded approvingly, and handed over his sword. He kept his hidden blade, hookblade, a stiletto hidden in his boot, and many hidden throwing knives tucked away in his belt. Still, he watched where the Ottoman put his sword and made sure the Ottoman knew that Ezio knew where his sword was, so that it wouldn't get "accidentally" lost. While the guard seemed more honest than the Byzantines, anyone who worked with steel would see the quality of the sword of Altaïr, so Ezio made it clear that the sword was his and his alone.

Ezio stepped to the cages, specifically to the curly hair of the Greek man who had begged the chance to make up the wrong he had done.

"Do you speak truthfully about repaying your lapse in honesty?" he asked the man, "or are you trying to simply free yourself?"

The Greek clearly was not expecting anyone to come along. He nodded soberly. "Evet, efendim," he replied, speaking slowly with his accent. "My employer disappeared three weeks ago and everything has fallen apart since. None will hire me or any of his other workers, none have found his wife or daughter, it is said he made enemies and that they made him disappear." The man sighed, shaking his head. "For three weeks I've had nothing and been trying to get another mason to hire me. But my employer hangs over me like a curse, none will have one who worked for the missing Tahir."

Ezio blinked. "Tahir?"

"Vai," the man replied. "Please, efendim, do you know him?"

"Did you work in the Galata district?"

"Vai," the man nodded, hope starting to well into his eyes. "Is he dispatched, as I have heard? Are we cursed?"

Ezio gave a soft smile and shook his head. "Tahir is healing. He and his family are hiding. We need men of honor, and he has agreed to join us."

The man didn't question who "us" was. "Then I will join as well, arkadashim."

"Once you have cleared your conscience," Ezio replied. "To be an honest man, one needs honest work."

"I would be honored," the Greek bowed. "Sagolun. I am Kadmus."

They continued to talk quietly, Ezio learning that Kadmus and Tahir were both masons and that they had done smaller jobs and projects, but with honesty and fairness that was starting to get them known when competitors started circling. It was why Tahir had been attacked, which as a massive breech of guild law. Ezio could only shake his head. He also made a mental note to see how Tahir was doing under Mazhar's care and to offer a job to him on rebuilding the damage that the cisterns had taken from the Little Judgment. But that was a discussion for later.

It was an hour later when Sila arrived, sliding easily up to Ezio and handing him the key before the Ezio theatrically started to pull her aside, saying clearly that such ruffians would not be so God-fearing as to lower their gaze to such a gentle soul. The Ottoman nodded approvingly as Ezio politely asked him to watch over his charge and prevent such ugliness of lusting over her lovely being. Sila gave the barest of nods and started to speak softly, getting the Ottoman's attention. She was her usual quiet competent self as Ezio unlocked the cage and let out Kadmus. The others started to push forward when they realized that Kadmus had been released, but Ezio shut the door firmly and silently, re-locking it. He could only help one. He couldn't help all. Another twist of a key and Kadmus was free of his chains.

"Can you swim?" Ezio asked quietly, glancing back to Sila who was still in quiet conversation with the Ottoman.

"I'm Greek," Kadmus replied with a broad smile. "We were sailing before you Romans even knew fire."

Ezio chuckled and helped the mason silently enter the water. "There is a dock further down where we'll pick you up."

"I'll watch for your hood," Kadmus replied.

Ezio returned to the Ottoman and Sila automatically went silent, stepping back to let him take charge. Ezio reclaimed his sword and offered a small bag of money.

"You have been more than patient, efendim," he said. "The man was not my thief, but I think he has learned his lesson well."

The Ottoman merely nodded, and kept his eyes sweeping the busy thoroughfare of the docks.

Ezio regretted that such a diligent guard would likely get in trouble for this, but there was nothing he could do about it in that moment; so he and Sila took off into the city, taking a longer path through side streets until they came further down the docks and Ezio started to wander the stands. He kept himself visible, and easily spotted, but not standing out as he perused various fish stands, comparing freshness, size, types, etc. The prices were all comparable, something Ezio still had to get used to compare to the competition of Italia, but he was paying more attention to the people around him than actually thinking of what fish to buy.

At last, in the corner of his mind, his inner eagle screeched, and Ezio and Sila moved away from the stands to a dock where a small rowboat was just being tied up. There, bare-chested and looking as tan as a dockworker, was Kadmus.

Ezio and Sila stepped into the rowboat. "Let's be on our way."

Kadmus was thrilled to meet Tahir back at the hideout, and when Ezio explained how good masons were needed in the tunnels of the cisterns that could be trusted, they were eager to help. Tahir was quickly barking orders to Kadmus in Greek that Ezio couldn't understand, but within the week, Kadmus was bringing workers down into the cisterns and Tahir was stiffly walking along to shout out orders on how to start setting the stones, where to get the stones, and how to get it all square.

"We are setting the very foundation of the city! It must be perfect!"

Yusuf also set about seeing Kadmus and Tahir's training when they weren't working with stone. Kadmus was getting the basics of fighting and Tahir, with his injuries still healing, was learning about the mixing of poisons and bombs. It turned out Tahir was quite adept in the bomb making, as his work with stone often could use explosive powder to clear away or more precisely cut stones.

July dawned with another Islamic holiday: Eid al-Adha; for four days Muslim families celebrated Abraham's faith and willingness to sacrifice his son Ishmael – Ibrahim and Ismail respectively by the Qu'ran's spelling – and the ram that Allah bestowed on them in return. Beef and goat meat was the staple over those four days, and leftovers were given to the beggars under the shadow of Galata's massive tower.

July was settling in to be warm and muggy, and Ezio was very glad that most of the headquarters was underground and with ready access to cool water. It wasn't all that different from summer in Roma. He made sure to keep a waterskin with him as he moved about the city, and kept lighter armor to avoid overheating. The scholar at the university still hadn't found out anything about the Polo brothers in the city, but he had no problem delineating all sorts of historical finds that no one had known about before. Ezio smiled and nodded, and asked him to keep looking for the Polo brothers. "After all, an Italian like myself would like to know of a fellow countryman in the city, even centuries ago."

The scholar's eyes glittered with excitement and went back to his books.

One afternoon, as a heavy thunderstorm was passing over the city, Yusuf and Ezio were discussing how some of the novices were doing when word came that Dogan wished to see them.

Yusuf frowned. "I'm off to meet with Cenk this afternoon. We've already rescheduled for security reasons twice. I don't wish to put him off again."

"I will go," Ezio offered.

The apprentice took him through the soaked streets and under the sheets of rain, apologizing that the esteemed Italya'nin usta had to get so drenched. Ezio shrugged it off. He'd had to go swimming in Venezia once, this was a picnic in comparison.

Thunder still rumbled overhead when they arrived at an unsuspecting carpet dealer. The Assassin at the counter was the one who offered this type of front, and Ezio nodded to him.

"Ah," the Assassin said in full merchant mode. "You, efendim, will be looking to my finest wares. Come to my back room, I'll show you and only you the best I have to offer."

In the back room, a hidden trap door was lifted, and Ezio was down into the storage room, where Assassin banners hung and Dogan was pouring over a map at a desk.

"Usta," he greeted.

"Dogan."

The apprentice that had guided Ezio was sent back up to the shops and Ezio pulled off his hood to wring out all the water and shake the worst of the rain out of his hair.

"We have a problem," Dogan quietly explained, pointing to his map where many marks were made. "A great many Suikastchi for our den have started to disappear and I believe I know why."

"Disappeared?" Ezio frowned heavily. "Do you mean they have been killed?"

"I fear so," Dogan nodded. Ezio looked to the map, noted seven red marks. "How many Suikastchi do you have left in this den?"

"Eight, including myself and Egemen upstairs."

Ezio muttered several swears in several languages.

"One of my journeymen sent word he has found something. He is to meet me in a square west of here an hour after sundown."

Having sparred with Dogan, Ezio knew that he was a better fighter than Yusuf's lieutenant. "I'll be coming with you."

"I was hoping you or Usta Yusuf would."

"I'll be on the roofs," Ezio said. "Do you have a hidden way up to them?"

Dogan blinked. "Will you be safe up there in this weather?"

"Finding this murderer is more important."

Dogan shook his head and refocused. "Evet, Usta," he said. "Let's be on our way."

They stayed a moment longer for Ezio to get a description of the journeyman they were looking for and getting a small bite to eat before what could be a long night ahead of them.

Ezio stayed to the roofs, moving on silent feet, and careful with the slickness of the earlier rain. Thankfully the storms had passed, leaving only mud and puddles in its wake, and the moon was shining brightly.

The square was along the western edges of Galata, close to the old Constantinian wall. A fountain was in the center of a mosaic pattern in the square. A few trees decorated the square, overlooking the Halich. Ezio had arrived ahead of Dogan and was lying flat on the roofs to look around to the torchlight below. Unfortunately, torch light was not as good as moonlight and the areas hidden in the moon's shadow were difficult to see clearly, even with Ezio's sharp eyes.

Stiffening, Ezio watched a pair of Byzantines walk through the moonlight, unhindered. Merda, that wasn't good. Where was the journeyman? Ezio's eyes raked the square again, but could see no sign of anyone else. Even his Eagle sense could not see the bright aura of an ally – not until Dogan strode powerfully through an alley and used his hidden blades to kill the pair of Byzantines from before and then darting to a haycart.

Something wasn't right. Something was wrong. And then Ezio's eagle screeched in his mind and he looked to the roofs. Three Byzantines had appeared, plain as day in the moonlight, each with a rifle and with eyes roaming the square as Ezio had.

Well this just wouldn't do.

With a growl, Ezio started to creep along the rooflines. The first was easy to fell with his hidden blade and then drag behind a shadowed section of the roof. The second was on a higher roof and Ezio had to go slowly around to the back side of the building that wasn't overlooking the square to climb up and then run up from behind in order to not be seen as the Templar scanned the square.

The third was the hardest to approach, hidden on some scaffolding, but not at the top. Ezio dropped one of the corpses of the previous Byzantines, and the last swiftly went to investigate. A throwing knife quickly dispatched him, and Ezio cautiously stalked along the perimeter of the square, trying to find any other Byzantines, his eagle awake and active.

Ezio gave a whistle and climbed down. Dogan left his haycart, meeting Ezio by the fountain and see what was wrong.

"Sharpen your senses," Ezio whispered, his eyes constantly moving about the square. "There is a danger here I do not fully understand."

"I saw the Byzantines from the hay," Dogan nodded. "I worry for my journeyman. He is skilled at observation and stealth, but I've been working with him on fighting. He is not-"

Ezio cut him off as he walked into the deeper shadows he couldn't see through before. On the ground, with a better angle, he saw a shadowed figure sitting oddly on a bench, both arms splayed to the right and leaning over so much as to almost be bent in half.

"Sikme," Dogan swore viciously. "My journeyman," he said, lifting the skewed turban. "He was working in one of the Sultan's bureaucracies and he said he had found something interesting."

Dogan's words were filed away in Ezio's mind as he looked at the placement and positioning. It was far too familiar. "I don't like the look of this," he said softly, remembering when he'd learned how to kill from a bench.

Dogan nodded beside him. "We have lost another Assassin here. My journeyman thought that the murderer wouldn't dare kill in the same place twice."

"And now he has."

Ezio's eagle screeched loudly in the echoes of his mind and Ezio whirled around, eyes automatically looking up to the roofs where a man in a white hood was dropping on an Ottoman guard who was investigating the dead Byzantine Ezio had hidden on the roofs.

The Ottoman didn't even have the chance to scream before the hooded man was diving off the roofs into the haycart Dogan had used earlier and taking off down the streets.

"Follow that man!" Ezio shouted, taking of like an arrow.

Dogan was already heading to the roofs and Ezio went under a building and up stairs after the killer "Only a guilty man runs with such speed!" he bellowed, making the few heads out after nighttime prayers turn to look at the chase.

Good. Someone would get the Ottomans.

"And only a fool stops to fight!" the killer shouted back. But the taunt was a mistake. It allowed Dogan to catch up on the roofs and leap down in a perfect arc to kill the killer.

Unfortunately, the killer was too swift. He dodged gracefully to the side and darted ahead, giving an odd warbling whistle. From the alleys came four Byzantines, all with pikes.

"Bok!" Dogan swore vehemently, then coughed as the killer turned, smiled at them in the moonlight, and dropped a smoke bomb, giving him time to escape.

The fight was difficult. The pikes gave the Byzantines a much longer reach and Dogan had clearly never faced someone with such weapons before. The massive, quiet Assassin did a credible job of defending himself, never letting any of the pikes getting too close, and staying out of range, but he couldn't go on the offensive. Ezio, who had crisscrossed all of Italia after the French had invaded to get to Napoli, knew how to fight pikemen. He fought barehanded, a seemingly suicidal move, and used his braces to great effect in keeping him safe. Finally he got a moment's breathing room and picked up a handful of mud from the afternoon's storm which went straight to the face of the advancing Byzantine. With the Templar stopped, Ezio easily grabbed the pike and used it to slice the muddy Templar's neck before pivoting to divert the pike of another Byzantine. With the proper weapon, Ezio made swift work of the remaining three, but all that work was meaningless. The killer had escaped.

Ezio let out a heavy sigh.

"Are you injured?" he asked Dogan, dropping the pike and attempting to brush the mud from his hands.

"My pride has been wounded," Dogan said softly, "and now my heart is heavy. That man, his name is Vali. He was a suikastchi once. We thought him dead in the earthquake."

"He survived."

Dogan looked up to the sky and gave a small nod. "He was a friend. We were trained together. He was always a rank higher than me. He was friendly, which surprised me for a noble."

They started to walk back to the den. "A noble?"

"Evet, of Wallachia. He wasn't happy with the Ottomans for conquering his home, but he rarely said anything about it."

They walked in silence for a moment, letting Dogan's grief settle.

"He has obvious skill," Ezio observed. That made sense if he was always a rank above Dogan and had now been spending his time in constant battle killing the Assassins of Galata. "And a score to settle."

"Evet," Dogan replied sadly. "He is most likely how the Byzantines know where all our dens are and can attack them so regularly."

"Then we'll need to move them. These murders in Galata have been random, yes? Likely because he can't find the den and get everyone at once." Ezio kept his observations clinical, in respect of Dogan's tumultuous feelings.

"Guzel. It will be a lot of work and a lot of money, but it needs to be done."

"At least now we can report to Yusuf some solid facts."

Dogan let out a heavy sigh. "At such a cost."

Ezio reached out and put a hand on the large Assassin's shoulder. That was all he could do. Such betrayal needed time.

Finally, as they approached the den, Dogan straightened. "Until that man is caught or killed, I fear none of us will be safe in this city."

Ezio recognized that spark. The desire for revenge that could so easily lead to foolishness as it had for him in his youth. "And until you are properly trained, I will not let you go head-to-head with a killer as deadly as this man," he said firmly, his eyes locked onto Dogan and the weight of his title of Mentor settling heavily around them. "Let us focus on further honing your skills first."

Dogan bowed low. "Elbette."

Yusuf and the other Assassins did not take news of Vali's betrayal well. He had been a respected and rising star of the Brotherhood and they were shocked to learn that he was now working with Templars to hunt them all down.

"But... why?" Yusuf asked, slack-jawed. "I don't understand, why?"

Ezio sadly shook his head. "We may never know."

After the initial shock, all Assassins across the city entered into a flurry of activity, abandoning old dens and setting up new ones. The accounts that Ezio had been so carefully cultivating were swiftly drained in the purchases of new buildings and Tahir and Kadmus soon had other projects along with repairing the cisterns. They were also customizing all the buildings for Assassin purposes.

Word also reached them of a rebellion going on in the middle of the battle for succession. Ezio, who wasn't aware of much of the background, ended up asking a lot of questions to try and clarify what was going on. It seemed when the battle of succession had started, a brother of both Selim and Ahmet, Korkut, was traveling to live closer to the capital when the bandit Shakulu raided his caravan and robbed the royal treasury. Korkut was, thankfully, unharmed, and remaining clearly neutral in the argument between his two brothers over succession. But the effrontery of someone robbing a royal treasury was unheard of.

Emboldened by his success, Shakulu started to attack towns and kill government officers. The Ottomans didn't care for that at all, and sent an army after him. But, to everyone's shock, Shakulu beat the beylerbey and executed him. People started to flock to Shakulu, but the Ottomans didn't care for this in the slightest and sent a second army after him, this one commanded by Shehzade Ahmet, the prince himself, and Hadim Ali Pasha, a grand vizier.

The army cornered Shakulu, finally, but instead of fighting, Shehzade Ahmet instead spent his time trying to convince the Janissaries to support him in his eventual bid for the throne. When he couldn't convince them he simply left the battlefield. With his troops. Naturally Shakulu escaped, leaving Ali Pasha and his much smaller force to chase him. There was a harsh and brutal battle right at the beginning of July. Word had arrived that it was a draw, with both Ali Pasha and Shakulu being killed.

"One less thing to worry about," Yusuf said, sipping his goat's milk that night. "Though I wonder why Ahmet spent his time with the Janissaries. That was a perfect chance for him to show prowess in battle."

Ezio nodded, sitting back with his glass of wine. His mind pondered the battle of two brothers over the right to succeed their father and the politics behind it. Then he shook his head. This wasn't his place to go poking around.

The following day word was sent that the university scholar had found something. So Ezio had left with Azize, in an attempt to get her away from her maps for a day. She definitely appreciated visiting the university and was quickly looking through ancient maps and smiling like a child as she studied what the old city had looked like hundreds of years ago. The scholar soon arrived, wearing a similar smile of triumph as he gently pulled out books with silk-gloved hands and pointed to the relevant entries he'd come across.

"It's fascinating! There are records showing when they first came through here and it indicates that while they were here for a year setting up a trading post, they didn't pay much attention to anything other than trade. But, on their return! It's amazing! Two brothers filled with wanderlust chose to settle down here and spent the next few years being active members of the community. Their trading post has records of Greek, Turkish, Jewish, Albanian and Italian employees. No merchant in all of Istanbul trusts that diverse a workforce for anything other than menial labor! And their trading post thrived! They were able to fund trips to the Mongol empire! Two of them! One lasting almost a decade before returning to Venedik and their family."

"Venedik?" Ezio asked, unfamiliar with the Turkish word.

"A city in your Italya, one that floats on water."

Venezia then. "But where is such a historical place?" Ezio asked, looking at the ancient maps.

"That's the genius!" the scholar all but shouted. "It's right where the old bazaar was before the Kapalicharshi was built."

"It still exists?"

"Evet, Usta," Azize said, her eyes aglow as she looked at the maps. "And I know just where it is."

The scholar beamed at them.

After Ezio's polite thanks, he and Azize took to the streets to find the ancient trading post.

"I wonder what is on the site now?" Azize murmured. "What can a trading post be turned into over the centuries? And an old Assassin base. An armory? An office building? That will be harder to infiltrate, especially if it's the Sultan's."

"I doubt the Sultan would want his officials to be outside Topkapi," Ezio replied.

Azize let out a long sigh. "You are correct, Usta, but I can't help but wonder."

"We'll find out soon enough."

"True."

It took two hours to cross the city to even get to the Kapalicharshi, then around it as Azize took the lead to find where the trading post was. With all of her grandiose imaginings, when they finally found the building, all Azize could mutter was, "Perfect..."

The small square was southeast of the Kapalıcharshı and west of Ayasofya by only a block, tucked neatly between buildings midway up a hill with small rows of flowers along walls. Carpets were everywhere on the ground, ready for prayers, and small tins of incense burned. The shop itself was two stories tall, the living quarters likely above, with a single tree climbing the side. Two massive carts of books were bowing under their weight, with many customers stopping to browse titles.

Glancing at each other, they both entered the shop.

The interior was filled to bursting with books, shelves dipping with the weight. The shop was very small, and it felt even smaller with all the books piled high everywhere one looked. A wide window looked out to the square, but was partially obscured by the shelves of books outside for perusal. A comfortable sitting area was arranged by the fire for any who wished to spend more time with the books, a small drink set off to the side. Thick rugs lined the floor, softening the steps on the wood. A glance up showed that there was a balcony above with more shelves overflowing with books and nooks for reading.

From behind the shelves a tall redhead emerged, her green dress nicely complimenting both her hair and green eyes. After seeing so many women of the city covered head to toe in silks per some Muslim tradition Ezio didn't quite understand, seeing a woman who showed her curves and hinted at her cleavage with the cut of the dress with leaving plenty still to the imagination, Ezio couldn't help but smile. He recognized her and he couldn't help but wonder if that young Ottoman scholar had ever made any progress as he made a move ahead of Ezio to grab her attention. He let out the smallest of chuckles.

Probably not. He was just barely over half her age. Ezio, by contrast, was probably old enough to be her father. But she was a beauty to behold. And it reminded him of his younger, carefree days.

The redhead smiled widely, her eyes flicking between the more Italian cut of Ezio's clothes and Azize's more Turkish look. "Buon Giorno! Merhaba! Please, come in," she settled on Italian. "I have many books to view, fiction and non-fiction, what would you—Ah!" as she turned to gesture to her overloaded shelves, she bumped a very precariously balanced pile of books that tumbled to the floor. "Excuse the clutter," she said, hastily crouching down to start stacking the fallen books. "I have had no time to tidy up since my trip. I'm still sorting my new stock so that I can put them in the right section and I just-"

Ezio had stepped down the stairs and was leaning over to help pick up the books. "You sailed from Rhodes, no?"

The woman glanced up in surprise, suddenly still. "Sì," she said slowly. "How did you know?"

Ezio offered one of his best grins. "We were on the same ship." He gave a proper bow that hid a signal that sent Azize into the stacks to give them some privacy. "I am Ezio Auditore," he introduced himself then went back to helping her with her books.

"Sofia Sartor," she replied, eyeing him more closely, clearly trying to place him. "Have we met?"

Ezio gave another of his smiles and smoothly said, "We have now."

Sofia gave a small giggle, clearly amused, and stood with her books. "Grazie for the help. Now, what sort of books are you looking for?"

"The rarest," he replied easily. Ah, to speak in Italian again! This was truly refreshing.

"And your...?" she gestured to where Azize was currently pulling out a scroll of old maps and unrolling it.

"Student," he supplied.

Sofia's eyes gleamed, but she turned, setting her books more solidly on a desk that was almost hidden under all the books that surrounded it in boxes and stacks. Then she took Ezio's and stacked them on top of the pile she'd just made and ignored the distinct wobble.

"And what does she want?"

"As you can see, she has an interest in maps."

"I see. And you, Messere, what sort of rare books do you want?" she asked, arching an eyebrow.

Was she... flirting with him? Ezio had to be old enough to be her father! Yet he recognized that grin, that raised eyebrow. She was interested.

It was... flattering. Ezio was still a notorious flirt, but he was always the one starting the banter. No woman had started flirting with him in almost ten years. Ezio offered a warm grin. "I'll know them when I see them."

"I see," she said, her eyebrows both raised and the corner of her mouth just barely quirked. "Most of my best tomes are in the back."

And indeed, as she took him to the back room which was even more overflowing with books, she did have a wide variety and many were clearly very old, yet still in incredible condition. She eagerly prattled on, listing the titles she had, their age and condition, how she obtained them, but Ezio let the Italian wash over him as he and his eagle looked around more carefully. Nothing was catching his eye, no hint of gold of what he was looking for, but there was a door to another room. Hmmm...

"It is nice to meet another Italian in this district," Sofia said with a satisfied little sound that immediately drew Ezio's attention. "Most keep to the Venetian quarter and Galata."

Ezio smiled sincerely, "Likewise. I had assumed the Ottoman war with Venezia would have driven most of you away."

Sofia shrugged. "I lived here with my parents when I was a girl. The war pushed us out, but I always knew I would return."

A very determined young woman. That was truly admirable. And she clearly ran this bookshop on her own. To find a woman in charge of anything was truly astounding and Ezio had a moment where he simply savored being in the presence of such an amazing and beautiful woman.

He picked up an old book of what looked like Turkish fairy tales, and started to collect a small stack of books. He wouldn't mind making a purchase and supporting such an inspiration. "Do you have anywhere private to look through these?"

She arched another brow at him, with that quirk of her lips, and glanced at the titles he'd selected. "That's quite the assortment," she commented. When Ezio didn't reply to the obvious question, her eyes sparkled with curiosity. "This way, Messere, I have a reading room for more dedicated scholars. Today is perfect for it."

She took him out the door he had noticed before to a small courtyard with lattice work and vines that reminded him of the vineyards of Italia lacing through them as a ceiling. One could hear birds chirping nearby and Ezio spied a bird feeder above them on the roof where the birds were gathering. Like in the Assassin hideout, fabrics hung from the ceiling and swayed in the breeze. Lanterns were already lit for the afternoon light that was fading. There was a fountain in a corner dropping fresh clean water into a small basin. There was a bench along a wall and more shelves weighed down with books that were in crates yet to be organized. The back wall was built into the hill, small windows along the top where one could see the feet and hooves of the street traffic above.

"This will be perfect."

Sofia's quirked grin grew to a full smile. "I'll check on your student then. Does she also speak Italian?"

"Unfortunately, no."

Sofia shrugged and walked back into the bookstore.

Ezio watched her leave and smiled. What a breath of fresh air she was.

But he was alone, which gave him the chance he needed to look around. His eagle was already eliminating possibilities until he saw the faintest traces of gold that always signaled what he was looking for. Crouching down beside a wall, Ezio pushed aside elaborate pillows and rugs until he noticed the tiniest of holes at the base of the wall. Under the hole in the floor was a hole down to a cistern, covered with a grate, and Ezio could hear the splashing of water. It was a decorative panel and that hole at the base looked very interesting.

In fact, it was a hole that looked to be the right size for a hidden blade.

With a smile, Ezio crouched a little lower and extended the hidden blade that had been by his side since he'd found it in his father's secret study.

There was a click, and Ezio stood back as the heavy sound of stone moving echoed in the courtyard. From behind him he could hear Azize rushing out, clearly worried about the sound. "Usta!" she hissed, but then gasped.

Sofia arrived a moment later, her voice calling out as she opened the door, "Have you found anything interesting?"

Ezio turned, standing next to the ancient doorway that was now open.

"Mio Dio! Who put that there?" Sofia gasped.

"Usta, is that...?" Azize glanced at Sofia and let the sentence hang.

Ezio smiled. "Why don't we find out?"

Azize looked sharply at him and then to Sofia, but he gave a small hand signal. Sofia would not be coming, but he would let her see the opening.

"Rare indeed," Sofia said in awe, crouching to look into the dark depths of the tunnel. "But I'm in my best dress, I won't be exploring that."

Ezio nodded and looked to Azize, who nodded as well.

Sofia stood straight, and looked to Ezio with a puzzled quirk of the lips. "Who are you, Messere? To find such a hidden alcove?"

"Only the most interesting man in your life," he replied, and though his tone was light, he was dead serious. Ezio knew he lead an interesting and dangerous life, and he never took it lightly. Not after decades of seeking revenge and seeing friends and family fall.

But because his tone was light, Sofia gave a light giggle, "Ah, go bury your head!" But her eyes still sparkled.

"A presto, Sofia. I will return," he turned to Azize and switched back to Turkish. "Enjoy your maps, and later your prayers. I'll be along when I can." He glanced to Sofia out of the corner of his eye, and Azize nodded. She would keep an eye on Sofia as well as ensuring Ezio wasn't interrupted.

Turning, Ezio entered the tunnels.

Ezio walked into the tunnel, his boots splashing in water and squelching in something he couldn't see. There was a steady dripping noise from the condensation and above he could hear the clatter of hooves and stomping of feet from the street above him. The noise faded gradually as the hill ascended to Ayasofya and he kept going straight, even slightly down. The light behind him wasn't enough to see by, even with his eagle helping he could not see in complete darkness, so Ezio reached into his pack and pulled out a candle. He had remembered the various Assassin tombs he'd found throughout Italia, and the strange underground relics of ancient civilizations, and when looking for the keys of Masyaf, Ezio had packed candles just in case.

Pausing as he lit the candle, Ezio thought of Desmond, the strange spirit attached to him in some way and the messages meant for him; from Juno under the very seat of the Catholic Church to those strange Arabic numbers he and Leonardo had discovered near Trinita dei Monti. It felt vaguely like his very existence was simply for the spirit of Desmond, like his life was some grand game for Desmond to play in order to get the clues for the next puzzle. Ezio let out a bitter sigh. He had no right to judge this strange spirit attached to him. For all Ezio knew, Desmond could be trapped, forced to follow Ezio's life and all the messages Ezio received were ways to free him. There was just so little Ezio knew of the spirit and of the spirit world where Desmond resided. Making any kind of guess with just a name and a bunch of messages would be forever flawed.

Continuing down the tunnel, noise reduced to only the drips of water and his own footsteps. The light of the candle helped and his Eagle stretched his sight farther until he came to a set of steps rising, yet the ceiling stayed the same height. Going up the steps and crouching, Ezio crawled through a hole and looked out to a massive cistern unlike the one's he'd been through before.

The architecture was eerily familiar since, as an Italian and Catholic, he'd been inside many similar architectures. Ezio blew out his candle, a grate to the street far above providing enough light for Ezio to simply sit down and admire the engineering it would have taken to make a cistern out of a buried basilica.

Ezio's eyes darted around, already seeing the touch of Assassins in the design and architecture. The beams near the ceilings connecting the columns in support were just the length needed for basic Assassin jumps in climbing and running. Certain pillars had wooden supports that were ideal for climbing, and the occasional lantern made for excellent swinging. It was ingenious. They Polos must have had an active part in converting the basilica to a cistern.

Despite the clear centuries that had passed since this den had been built, the wood looked solid. And with an almost childish smile, Ezio leapt forward to one of the beams. The room had been a cistern for centuries and exposed to water, but the beam still held. It was softer than Ezio would have preferred and would need to be replaced, but it still did its job. With a smile, Ezio started leaping from beam to beam, enjoying the climbing and running as he rarely had. This wasn't teaching, or using the skills to hide or hunt. This wasn't even the sudden freedom the hookblade had given him. This was running and climbing just for the joy of it, for the fun and challenge, like when he had been a mere boy and Federico showed him how to climb with cryptic hints of their father.

As he crossed the beams, noting which weren't sturdy and mentally picturing what this must have been like back when the Polos ran the Assassins, Ezio paused at the far end and looked at a small hole in the wall, innocuous, with water running down over the edge. His eyes narrowed as he automatically gauged distances and took the leap, crawling inside and lighting his candle again.

Brilliant! Another set of stairs widened the hole to a full tunnel, just as the way he'd come in had. Ezio couldn't help but wonder where the Polos had learned such designs to stay hidden, but he already knew, having read the journal cover to cover already. The Mentor. It had to be. Ezio didn't know if that Mentor had been Altaïr or not, he had no way of knowing as the journal only ever mentioned the Mentor and never a name. But Ezio couldn't help but wonder.

He was also starting to get a sense of how the den was set up.

The tunnel curved, engulfing Ezio in darkness again until it opened to another vast room of the basilica from above. This room was in more disrepair than the prior, the water having taken its toll over the centuries. But the basic structure was still sound, with clear stairs and supporting columns. In here, however, Ezio's wonder and awe were quickly dropped in favor of suspicion and caution.

Down below were a group of masons, easily a half dozen, all sitting in the light from an above grate, eating.

"What misery!" one growled, unaware of Ezio's intense focus and interest. "Do you know how long we've been searching this filthy cistern?"

One of the other masons, clearly a young apprentice, shrugged. "I've been here a few weeks."

The first mason glared. "Thirteen months!" he growled in response. "Ever since this 'Grandmaster' person found something underneath the palace. We were hired to rebuild after this earthquake, but no, now we're excavating."

"Wait, what?" the young apprentice asked. "I thought we've been clearing rubble from the Little Judgment?"

The rest of the masons shook their heads. "No, we're excavating. The only repair work we do is to make sure that the areas we excavate are secure."

"But we were hired to repair the damage of the earthquake!"

A Byzantine came in, his red armor distinctive in the dark light and Ezio wondered why none of the masons recognized the armor that was completely different from the Ottomans. But then Ezio shook his head. The Byzantines had been ousted sixty years prior. Any who actually saw the armor of the Byzantines would be in their seventies or eighties. The children who grew up on the stories would be in their fifties and sixties. Not the younger masons who were still in their prime. Ezio also doubted any had read books or seen pictures.

The Byzantines looked at the masons sitting around and barked in Greek-accented Turkish, "Get back to work, bums!"

The masons jerked, surprised, then scrambled to return to hammering away at the stone that supported the city.

Ezio frowned deep into his beard. Grandmaster? Templars. Templars knew the keys were spread about the city and were likely underground. Ezio had known the Templars had a key from under Topkapi, but that conversation raised some questions. These were masons, who thought they were rebuilding city supports and were confused over why they were excavating instead. But the only officials who could order such repairs were from the Sultan. Or so Ezio believed. He'd have to check with Yusuf. However the Templars in the area were Byzantine, not Ottoman, which left a question of how the Templars could order Ottomans around. The easiest and simplest answer was disturbing. There was a Templar in Topkapi. And that was very unsettling.

Looking around, Ezio saw a path he needed to traverse to another hidden hole near the ceiling. The masons were innocent. Ezio would do nothing to them. But the Byzantine leaders would get no such guarantee.

The Byzantine left through a lower arch, likely to another room in the basilica. With another glance at the true path to the Masyaf key, Ezio easily hopped from beam to beam before dropping down in front of the arch, his landing hidden in the echoes of the Masons hammering on stone. The next room was similar to the first, with towering columns damaged by the earthquake and a path along the ceiling that Ezio could already follow as he glanced around. The sitting water of the cistern was clearly visible, but there were wooden platforms almost everywhere, clearly more constructed and probably where the Templars had started their excavation of this area.

Ezio swiftly climbed to the upper rafters and took stock of the room. Like the prior room, masons were everywhere, hammering away at the walls that held up the city, and each looked as confused and unhappy as the masons in the other room. Most interesting, however, was the door to ascending stairs to the light of the outside. Another entrance to the cistern? Ezio couldn't help but grin at the ingenuity of the Polo brothers.

Yet most interesting was the Byzantine and a small guard he had around him as he poured over maps and grunted back and forth with his men in Greek. Ezio couldn't understand a word of it, but it sounded frustrated. Well, he'd just have to frustrate them even further.

Staying on the beams, Ezio took aim to the guard that was built like a mountain and carried a heavy ax. With careful aim developed from years of fighting, Ezio fired a poisoned dart into the soft tissues of the neck. It didn't take long for hallucinations to set in, and he had his ax out and attacking his fellow guard. The masons turned at the commotion and wisely stepped back, away from the fight.

The poisoned guard's first swing of the ax took out the Byzantine captain neatly, and with a feral growl, the guard started attacking his companions. Another fell, almost cleaved in two, before the remaining three pulled out weapons and started shouting in Greek. The fight was unpleasant, and as the axman suffered the poison more and more, his moves got sloppy. One of the three guards was down and dying from a massive gash across his abdomen, and another had lost his arm entirely. But the last guard, untouched by the ax, snuck up behind the axman and stabbed his sword through him.

Well, Ezio couldn't let a Templar live and get more assistance. He threw a knife and the Byzantine went down. Another knife provided mercy to the Byzantine.

And, because of the darkness, none even noticed.

"What do we do now?" one of the masons asked.

"I don't know, I-"

Ezio appeared before them, timing it perfectly and looking as though he'd just come from the stairs that lead outside. He'd pulled out a parchment and was looking between it and the cistern, looking nothing like he'd just been up in the rafters raining death down on the Byzantines.

"Efendim," a mason stepped forward. "What are you-"

"Merhaba," Ezio greeted, working to remove all traces of Italian from his words. After months of speaking nothing but Turkish, he hoped his accent was greatly diminished, and speaking with care and precision would remove the last of it. "What are you doing in this cistern?"

The masons all blinked. "But, we were hired to-"

Ezio cut them off, looking to his parchment again. "You were supposed to be rebuilding the columns. They are what support our city. Yet when I look around it appears that you haven't lifted a finger to do so."

"But he said-"

"Who?" Ezio interrupted again.

The masons gestured to the bodies and Ezio looked to the corner. "Bok!" he swore, stepping back in apparent surprise. "Byzantines!"

"What?!" the masons all shouted.

Ezio continued to swear in Turkish, appearing to be shocked and caught off guard. Finally he turned to the masons. "Who is leading you?"

The head mason was soon fetched and Ezio started to talk, with precise care to pronounce all the Turkish as perfectly as possible. He explained that this was Byzantine armor, that Byzantines were telling them the wrong thing to do, and that they should be careful whenever dealing with the dogs of Byzantium. He would, of course, report this to the Sultan's officials and that the masons should go to all the other sites and ensure that Byzantines weren't instructing them wrongly.

The mason nodded and Ezio kindly asked for the masons to remove the bodies from the cistern, so that the water stayed pure. With the masons dispatched, Ezio returned once more to the rafters and returned to the path he was following.

The room that he was led to was small and dry. From his candle, he could find old torches that he lit and looked around in awe once again. Much like Masyaf, the room was not massive or grand, but small and humble. There were no tall columns with carved bases, but the heavy stone arches of the Masyaf castle without adornment. The torchlight gave a warm glow to all the dust and cobwebs, and the architecture was simple. In the middle, on a slightly raised platform was a statue of a hooded man in long robes, akin to the statue of Altaïr under Monteriggioni or the drawings Altaïr had done in his codex. The arms had the bracers that would have hid the hidden blades, and his hands were together at his waist holding...

Ezio blinked and stepped up cautiously. There was a disk that was unlike anything made by man. It was, however, like something Ezio had seen before. Like the Apple. Even after centuries, it was smooth, with grooves that had been carved in a pattern that was akin to the grooves of the Apple. The disk didn't even have any dust of the centuries coating it. And as Ezio reached out to pick it up, it started to glow golden just as the Apple did.

As with the Apple, there was a heavy sense of presence in the disk. He could almost hear a whisper, but where the Apple held what could best be described as a strong voice, the disc was only barely heard. Indeed, Ezio couldn't even grasp the whisper to listen better. It simply was there, quiet and settled.

He didn't understand. The Piece of Eden was always so direct and forceful, but this disc was almost the complete opposite. How did one even use it and what was it used for?

Ezio shook his head. Now, in the dark, was not the time to ask these questions.

So he held the disc tight and tucked it into his belt. Stepping back down, Ezio noticed something he hadn't once he'd seen the disc.

An ancient roll of paper, preserved in the dry environment and away from the sun. Gently, Ezio picked it up and unrolled it, looking in the torchlight to see what it was.

A map.

And, if Ezio was correct, a map to the other keys, hidden in a forgotten room of the long abandoned Assassin den of the Polo brothers.

Holding the map close, and securing the disc in his belt, Ezio put out the torches and started to make his way back to Sofia's bookshop.

---

Author's Notes: (Or, Why Sofia Sartor Drove us NUTS): Okay, being authors pretentious enough to not only novelize the AC games but also change certain major story points, we took one long look at ACR, specifically at Sofia, and spent a great deal of our time planning the fic instead lamenting and gnashing our teeth at one Sofia Sartor. We've mentioned in an AC:Unity rant on our livejournal that the women of the AC franchise tend to get stuffed in fridges or damsel'ed. Sofia is perhaps the most pretentious example of this.

Before we start ragging, we need to express that we love the IDEA of Sofia. We love that Ezio, after fifty years of fighting and serving, finally manages to find a small bit of happiness in his life and manages to get a family of his own. We like the idea that Sofia is not an assassin at all and knows nothing about the cloak and dagger world that surrounds Ezio. We like that she's meant to be a nerd. And while we both roll our eyes at the huge age difference between them we accept that such a gap was common to the point of normalcy back in the day. Look at Bartolomeo and Pantasilea - they have a similar age gap and it still works.

But good GAWD Sofia suffers terribly in this game. She suffers from kitchen sinks, game mechanics, bad writing (which we normally are incapable of attributing to Ubisoft), bad stereotyping, bad everything. She is less a character and more an archtype - and a poorly written one at that.

The first thing she suffers from is the kitchen sink. There is so much going on in Revelations, from the Ottomans to the Janissaries to the Byzantines to the keys to ALTAIR to Yusuf etc; and while most of the plots can all interconnect Sofia - who by definition of being ignorant of this Assassin/Templar war - is wholely isolated from the overarching plot. She becomes a subplot in a game where she was supposed to be a feature. While Yusuf suffers this as well, he at least gets a couple walk-and-talks and memories where he's out and about giving him a sense of belonging to the world; Sofia by contrast is ONLY ever interacted with in cutscenes, removing any players sense of connection to her. The next thing to hit her is the obvious attempts to modernize her. Does it make sense in the sixteenth century Ottoman empire that a woman will be an independent business owner? Does it makes sense that she's in what's supposed to be a tactful period dress when her cleavage is on display for the world to see - again in sixteenth century Ottoman empire?

But by FAR the thing that hurts her the most is the combination of the writing and the gameplay mechanics. Because Ezio is the protagonist, he's the one who gets all the objectives to accomplish. Any gamer recognizes that towns people and quest givers are utterly incapable of doing their own jobs until you the player swoop in to save the day. For Sofia this is compounded by the limitation that she's supposed to be "normal" (blatant modernizations excluded, of course). What does Ezio actually DO with the Sofia missions? 1. He meets her and introduces her to the map (and how does he know that she's an experienced cryptographer? Whatever, it's not the worst sin that's committed) 2. He saves her from Duccio (male empowerment) and then saves her from waiting for a delivery (dafuq?). 3. He learns her shop is robbed once or twice a year (da-DOUBLE-fuq? WHAT?) and rescues her painting 4. Picks flower for her in what is the ONLY EXISTING well-written scene with her.

We hated, and I mean hated Sofia until A Little Errand. The best thing about that memory is that why Ezio is doing this mission is contextualized to the actual relationship rather than saving the damsel in distress.

And that tiny amount of goodwill is utterly destroyed as Sofia is kidnapped off screen and needs to be rescued from hanging. And what does she do after seeing her life flash before her eyes? Does she demand to know what's going on? Does she feel conflicted when Ezio admits he's the one who put her in danger? Does she have a normal reaction to a near death experience? NOOOOOOOOOO, why try to make her a character now? Instead, not three seconds from struggling for breath she abdicates Ezio of any responsibility, saying, "You are not responsible for the actions of other men." HOW IS THAT THE FIRST THING SHE SAYS? And if that isn't insult to injury, the writers try to modernize her again by dragging her along with the over the top action set piece so that she can be damsel'ed AGAIN and make witty commentary about women driving. You know, for comedy, because there's so much of it in Revelations! And then she calmly lets Ezio walk alone into Altair's crypt for the end because of course she isn't meant to be there because she's just the love interest.

Sigh. Sofia is relegated to typecasting. The developers and even Ezio as much as say that he's going to Istanbul for inspiration, and so not only is she a damsel in distress, she is the "muse", a stereotype that women are often forced to be for men regardless of their own lives. Sofia, as all muses, is expected to drop whatever it is she is doing and help Ezio through his depression and fall in love with him, and it's not even done WELL.

And so, consider yourselves warned, OUR Sofia is going to be a little bit different.

Muslim Lesson: Holidays continued: After Ramadan and Eid ul Fitri, there is Eid ul Adha (not, not THAT Adha :P), a celebration of a story that actually originates from the Jewish Tora: when Ibrahim proves his devotion to Allah by sacrificing his son Ismail. Allah recognizes the devotion and rewards Ibrahim with a qibas instead. As expected, cow/goat/sheep meat are sacrificed, cooked, and given to the poor. Usually the meat is given to the poor in the community where the meat was sacrificed; this is a community obligation rather than an individual one – meaning if one person in the neighborhood does the slaughtering it counts for the whole neighborhood, and if no one did it the whole neighborhood has sinned.

The next major holiday is Maal Hijra. This is the Islamic New Year and celebrates the journey of Muhammed (peace be upon him) from Mecca to Medina, i.e. year 0. Where western calendars mark time as b.c. and a.c., before and after Christianity, Islamic calendar marks BH and AH, before and after Hijra. Islam is about 600 years younger than Christianity. While we're in the 21st century, Muslims think we're in the 1400s.

Next chapter: Son of Umar.