Constantinople, 1496
A shrewd thought weaseled through Yusuf's mind when he sat across from his master just as he had so many times before: how long would it be until this office was his own?
The Turk punished himself mentally as Ishak coughed out a greeting, but Yusuf found he couldn't banish the observation from his head; especially not when the entire Brotherhood was whispering of the Mentor's condition. It seemed the old man worsened with each passing week, and the physicians could give them nothing but drugs to dull the pain.
"So, what's the news today?" Ishak asked, settling back into his seat.
Yusuf considered, "Rather good, ogretmen. I've dispatched two cells of five to Jerusalem, and they are working to turn the city in our favor. Another cell is working nearby in Damascus, and when they finish, they will meet with a third cell in Cyprus before returning."
Ishak's fingers stroked his beard, assessing Yusuf's moves. The twenty-nine year old was already transforming into a master general, and a fine leader. He held the confidence of the Assassins, and his charisma made up for the lack of royalty in his bloodline. Yes, the boy who was once an impetuous street rat would make an admirable replacement.
The teacher raised his brows as he remarked, "You are spread thin, Tazim. Have you any men with you in the city?"
The Bursan grimaced, "No. But I do not feel it will be a problem, Mentor."
Ishak frowned, but allowed his student's claim to go unchallenged. For a few moments, the pair of Assassins sat in silence. Then, Ishak procured an envelope from his desk and announced quietly:
"I…received this letter earlier, Yusuf. I believe you should open it."
Yusuf bowed his head briefly and picked up the parchment, unfolding it. His gaze halted at the top, and he hesitantly commented:
"Master, this letter is addressed to the head of the Assassin Brotherhood…" Yusuf trailed off at the look of resignation on Ishak's face.
"You are already acting as Mentor, my pupil," The old man coughed, then smiled, "It's time you took on a few more of my responsibilities while I'm still alive to give them to you."
Finding himself speechless, the Turk returned to reading. After a few seconds, he said, "It's from a wealthy aristocrat, Marco…Tr-Triah-Triahn-"
"Marco Triano," Ishak corrected.
"Evet, evet," Yusuf murmured quickly and returned his eyes to the paper.
"What does he want?"
Yusuf read further, "…Protection. He says he will meet with me and fund the Assassin Brotherhood's international travel if I protect him from the Byzantines."
"Why do the Byzantines wish him harm?"
The young man squinted hard at the swirling letters on the parchment, "He says…because he did not share his wealth with them."
When he was finished, Yusuf dropped the letter back onto the desk and folded his hands in his lap, "Rubbish, I think."
Ishak coughed into his elbow, then cleared his throat and asked, "Why do you think that?"
"He sounds too desperate," Yusuf shrugged, "And the Byzantines are not after every rich man in the country. Besides, how do I know 'Marco' isn't a Templar captain with a sword up his got?" (ass)
Ishak nodded and gave his student a few minutes for contemplation. "So what will you do?"
Yusuf sighed, "Normally, I'd send an apprentice to scope it out. But, since I am shorthanded… I will do it myself."
"And if it's a trap?"
"I will have to fight my way out."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The Grand Bazaar was no busier that evening than usual. Crowds still sifted through its halls like flour through a sieve, merchants still tossed their best pitches into the stream of people, and hired guards still gave everyone dirty looks. All in all, it was Yusuf's kind of place.
Which was why the elderly man didn't notice the Turk until he was practically beside him; when Yusuf enjoyed himself in a certain area, he was often difficult to find.
However, the Bursan did not approach him directly. Marco hadn't given him a very detailed description, but Yusuf was managing. The elderly man on the street corner was foreign- whether he was Italian or Greek was still undecided. Aside from his nationality, the man was nervous, fidgeting. His thin fingers were clasped around a purse, which hung limply from his shoulders by a strap that could be cut so easily it almost pained Yusuf that he had no reason to steal it.
After a while of indecision, Yusuf finally elected to greet the old gentleman.
"Beni bagislayin," (excuse me) The Turk murmured softly, "I am searching for a…" He paused, biting his lip, "Marco Triyanyo?"
The old man frowned at him, at first confused, then fearful.
"And if I could show you where he is?"
"I heard he was looking for the Assassins," Yusuf explained, quickly leaving the wounded Italian name to die in the air, "And I may be able to help him find them."
Without warning, the foreigner's hand latched onto Yusuf's arm and he leaned in close. Though Yusuf was taller than the man by nearly a head, their faces were uncomfortably close.
"Did they send you?" He whispered feverishly.
"…Evet," Yusuf replied with caution, "I am a student of their Mentor's."
The aristocrat relaxed, and Yusuf jerked his arm from his clamp-like hand.
"I am Marco Triano," the Italian put heavy emphasis on his last name while giving the Turk an irritated glance, "And I have business with your leader."
"Business of what sort?" Yusuf wondered, raising an eyebrow.
"That is for his ears only," Marco retorted, then looked about warily, "And I'm not saying a word more until we are out of this market. I feel exposed here."
Only thirty seconds met, and already ordering me about like a servant, Yusuf thought.
"Kesinlikle," (certainly) The Bursan answered after a few moments hesitation, "Follow me, efendim."
Marco was quick on his heels as the Assassin exited the shouk. As they walked, Yusuf tried to pry more information out of the old Italian, but the man wouldn't budge. Every question was met with 'I will speak only with your master'. After a few minutes it became terribly boring. Not even the local fire-jugglers and sword-swallowers could keep Yusuf's attention as he led his charge through the streets, hoping to draw the Byzantines out (if they were even there to begin with, the Assassin snorted).
A short distance from the port, Marco spoke up.
"Signore, we are being followed."
Yusuf halted and turned, surveying the small crowd behind them. No padded burgundy jackets stood out; no tall halberds pierced the human waves.
"…By who, aman efendim?" (my lord) Yusuf remarked drily, sparing his companion a sideways glance.
"The Byzantines, who else?" Marco hissed, "Three men- they've been hounding me this whole way!"
"Can you point them out?"
Marco nodded, "Let us walk a bit further. They will stop when we stop."
They proceeded as such, and six steps later Marco grabbed at Yusuf's arm (where a nice brown bruise was beginning to form).
"There," The elderly man whispered, indicating a small group of five that had stopped to chat with an herb merchant. "I'm certain it's them."
Yusuf took a moment to look them over. The group was of Turkish nature, the men wearing headscarves and sleeveless tunics. Yusuf did note that a few of them carried daggers, but other than that there was nothing unusual.
"You'd better be right, dedem," (grandpa) The Turk muttered as he loosed the opening to his bomb pouch. He procured an oval-shaped object, light in weight. Yusuf instructed the Italian to cover his eyes, then tossed the explosive over to the crowd.
A loud crack sounded, and then there was a brilliant flash. Yusuf studied the men carefully as they reacted to the explosion. Two fled the scene, yelling for help- three stayed behind, daggers now unsheathed. They whirled around, bewildered.
"Stay here," Yusuf ordered Marco before jogging over to the confused Turkmen. They appeared to be whispering amongst themselves and glaring at Marco.
"Hey!" The Assassin called, gathering their attention, "What's happened here, efendimler?"
"He's the one that threw it!" One of the men announced, jabbing a finger in Yusuf's direction.
"He's an Assassin bodyguard," Another explained, and the third attacked.
Yusuf barely had time to draw his sword before the other two were on him. He used the iron weapon to parry their blows, but the third man was circling him.
The Assassin dropped his sword and popped out his hookblade. When the next swing came at him, Yusuf latched onto it with the blade's curved end and flipped the weapon clean out of its wielder's hands. He then kicked his opponent in the stomach and, once he was doubled up, incapacitated him with a knee to the forehead.
The other two were similarly vanquished. Their sight still half blinded by the flash bomb, their strikes were uncoordinated, sluggish, and easily used against them. Soon, all three stalkers lay moaning at Yusuf's feet.
Yusuf was aware that this was probably only a single group. There was a good chance there were more behind them. And, he thought grimly, they weren't just any Byzantine agents- they were good. Yusuf had been walking along for nearly half an hour, and he hadn't noticed them. Perhaps Marco wasn't all tall-tales and wide eyes…
"Did you kill them?" The Italian wondered when Yusuf returned, peering in awe at the groaning bodies in the distance.
"No," Yusuf replied, grabbing the man's elbow and dragging him swiftly through the street, "But let's say I believe you now."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
They made it to the nearest Assassin Den without incident. Although Marco and, admittedly, Yusuf were quite paranoid throughout the whole trip, they were not intercepted. Heading into the Den was merely a ruse, a bluff to scare the remaining Templars off. Yusuf knew the hideout was empty.
He waited until Marco had caught his breath before remarking:
"You're rather perceptive for a blind man."
Marco started, staring incredulously at the young Assassin.
"I'm over this way," Yusuf added, lids lowered. Marco sighed, exasperated.
"Fine, fine," He admitted, "so I can't see. I had you fooled for a while, did I not?"
Yusuf licked his lips and nodded, "I suppose. Your eyes have not lightened in color, as I was taught sightless people's do."
"Ah, well," Marco digressed, "the problem lies not with my eyeballs. It was a blow to the back of the head that did it: I was strolling in my garden when something hit me, and everything went dark…" The old man paused, looking down sadly. "…And it stayed that way for the next fifteen years."
Yusuf shrugged, no stranger himself to sad stories.
"But I am not the only one who's concealed the truth," Marco folded his arms and glared accusingly at the spot he believed Yusuf's voice came from, "You are no apprentice."
"Oh? What gives you that idea?"
Marco answered immediately, "You are too comfortable, too smug. You walk the streets of this citta like you own it."
Yusuf said nothing.
"So, are you the Mentor? Or merely a highly trained skirmisher?"
The Bursan sighed and rested his eyes a moment. If the old man really did have business with the Assassins, it wouldn't hurt to hear him through. And Ishak had made it clear on multiple occasions that Yusuf should not feel shy around his new duties as official Master of the Brotherhood.
"Yes, I am the Mentor. And I should like to hear what business you come to offer me, signore." The Italian word left Yusuf's mouth sharply.
"Molto bene," Marco began, "I am here because I need your help. A few weeks ago, a handsome gentleman approached me and started to take an interest in my money. He claimed it was for a 'higher cause' or some such nonsense," The Italian paused, "either way, I didn't give him one cent. After a while, he grew tired of waiting.
The man began to leave me threatening messages- first for me, then my wife, my children. After they tried to have me killed once, I ran. I came to Constantinopoli because I heard it was a good place to disappear."
"And where do I come into this?" Yusuf asked, and his brow furrowed, "In your letter you mentioned funding. That you would help us plan our international voyages."
"And if I hadn't said what was in it for you, would you still have come?" Marco snapped back, something angry in his voice.
Yusuf had to admit he wouldn't have.
"I am an old man, signore." The anger faded, and a broken, defeated man was brought to center. "I just want to die in peace."
"You lied, then." Yusuf announced casually, "What's stopping me from turning you in to your Templar hunters?"
"You won't," Marco countered, "it's against your Creed."
The Assassin stared at the man in disbelief.
"Do not harm an innocent-"
"But helping you would compromise the Brotherhood, would it not?" Yusuf challenged. "If you know our Creed so well-"
"How have you been compromised?" Marco interrupted sharply.
Yusuf's words died on his tongue. Instead there was a moment of silence, which ended when Marco said quietly:
"My brother was an Assassin once," The man's voice was lifeless. "He was killed almost forty-five years ago."
Somehow Yusuf couldn't bring himself to wish Marco his condolences.
"I can pay," Marco added after a few moments, "I will reward you, Assassin. But please, amico, just help me vanish. I don't want to die yet."
As they left the Den, Yusuf had to hand it to the man. He was a coward, but he was a smart one.
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
The port was crawling with irritated Byzantines and too-curious Ottoman guards, but it was nothing Yusuf's bomb pouch couldn't handle. With a clever mix of cherry, decoy, and datura bombs to entertain the watch, there was no one to see the two outlaws climb into a gondola and row away.
With the Imperial district behind them, Galata before them, and several hundred gallons of water between them, the two felt there was enough noise to drown out conversation. Besides, Yusuf wasn't sure how to feel about the man- on one side, he wanted to protect his family and himself, and he hadn't given the Templars any money out of fear. But, he'd tricked the Brotherhood into defending him, and now he'd persuaded Yusuf to agree to things that didn't sit well with the young Bursan. Marco was wise, but shrewd and manipulative- both characteristics Yusuf had trouble settling with.
When they finally arrived in Galata, Yusuf helped the old man from the lightly rocking boat and onto the pier. Once they had regained their bearings, Yusuf told him:
"You may disappear in Galata- the area is Assassin controlled. We have a large Den to the north, where you may rest for a while."
"Grazie mile, amico caro," Marco bowed deeply, but then returned to his skeptical self. "And if the Templars should find me? Should send more spies after me?"
The look Yusuf gave him was cold, "Then I did not see them."
-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-
Ishak did not appear much healthier during Yusuf's next session with the grand master. The two met at least once a week, discussing tactics and methods more than they used to. Ishak once jokingly referred to their time as 'sucking all the juice from the fruit before tossing it away'. Though Yusuf had thought it crude, he realized his Master was right. The old man only had a few months left in him, and he had acquired so much wisdom… It was all he could do to pass it on.
During their last meeting, however, Yusuf found himself distracted. Ishak finally asked:
"What's on your mind, ogrenci?" (student)
Yusuf sighed, looking up to meet his Mentor's sunken gaze, "Can one protect an innocent if it endangers the Brotherhood?"
Ishak folded his hands on his desk and furrowed his brow, "That is a difficult question, Yusuf."
Yusuf hummed in agreement and sat back, still pondering the topic deeply.
"Nothing is more precious in this world than innocent life," Ishak began, "And those who join the Brotherhood know that they are putting themselves at risk every day."
"We fight to protect the people as well," Yusuf added, "Sacrificing an innocent's life to save that of a Brother…Would be hypocritical."
"Maybe," Ishak shrugged, "Or maybe not. If that Brother went on to save the lives of hundreds more, does that place you in the right or the wrong for sacrificing him?"
"What is the value of a single human life? What is one innocent to thousand?"
The discussion followed for a long time. Both men were so engrossed in their learning; they did not notice the sun slipping past the window. Just when Yusuf thought he had reached a standing point, a viable solution, Ishak was there with some reason why it couldn't be so. Soon, dusk came, and the old man needed his rest.
But as Yusuf helped his Master through the halls of the Galata hideout, Ishak told him quietly:
"Your first responsibility as Mentor is to uphold the Creed, Yusuf. Let it be your guide, your foundation. Do not waver, because the entire Brotherhood follows in your example. When you fall, they fall farther. But when you climb to your feet, they take to the sky."
