A/N: revieeeeeeeew, and I will consider not killing everyone else. maybe. if you're lucky.
oooooooo
There's a sense of unease that ripples through the mountain air when she wakes the following morning, her eyes heavy and her hand aching. It's like the feeling that settles deep into your gut when you stand on the edge of a cliff and look down into the free-flowing waters of the river that surrounds Masyaf and imagine jumping, or falling. She wonders what has happened during the night to put the brotherhood on such an edge.
There are several novices gathered in the gloomy hallway outside, waiting around for it to be time for the morning meal but all too aware that if they step foot anywhere near the mess hall too early, they will be serving the master assassins or washing dishes all morning. All of them turn when she leaves her quarters, and they're all wearing similar masks of shock and pity, which she does not understand.
"What?" she challenges them, not so enthused about being stared at first thing in the morning.
Most of them turn away. "Didn't you hear?" one boy pipes up. He is young, and looks almost excited about the unusual morning even though it seems like whatever has happened is not good news.
"No," Marwa replies, and walks towards the little boy's group. "What has happened?"
"They found someone dead in the castle!" the boy tells her, and rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet.
"Hush, Ahmed." Another boy, one she knows is called Jawhar, puts his hand on the little one's shoulder to silence him. Ahmed's face flushes red with embarrassment and he withdraws, muttering a quick apology as he gets out of the older boy's way. "You are novice to Malik Al-Sayf, aren't you?"
"Yes," Marwa says suspiciously. "Why?"
The boy shifts uncomfortably. "It was one of his novices that was found," he says slowly, and does not meet her eye. "I'm sorry. We should not have been who told you."
Her head spins. Duma or Na'im, dead? No, it couldn't be, not here at Masyaf, where they are safe in the arms of the brotherhood. It had to be a trick, a whisper a novice had come up with when they couldn't find the real reason for the unease. She knew better than to believe the word of a few novices.
But then again…neither boy was here.
"Who was it?" she demands.
Jawhar shakes his head. "We know nothing more. We thought it might have been you, until you came out that door."
"Wonderful," she mutters and turns away, intent on finding someone who can tell her what is really going on; preferably someone with a few more ranks than the novices in the hallway.
"Safety and peace be upon you, Marwa," Jawhar says to her retreating back, and something about the way he says it sends a chill down her spine.
In the nearby halls, no one bothers her; they just hurry past looking strained and important, like the whole castle has something to do except the novices. She heads for the mess hall, taking a longer route than usual which takes her past a window that looks down into the main courtyard, just in case she can spot the boys or their mentor outside. The courtyard is all but deserted though, just a few scattered white hoods and the usual guards. No one sparring in the cool air of the morning, no novices studying, no masters talking or overseeing training or whatever else it is the masters do when all the novices have been sent away. Malik will be with the Mentor then, she guesses; he is one of his best advisors, and he hadn't told her or the boys to meet with him until later today.
She continues to the mess hall, two halls away. It has just opened for the morning meal, and she collects a bowl of sloppy gruel (an English concoction she is not overly fond of), and sans the room for someone who will answer her questions.
"Marwa!" a blessedly familiar voice says behind her, slightly out of breath, and the knot in her stomach loosens somewhat. Duma appears at her side, forehead creased in worry and eyes frantic. "I have been looking everywhere for you."
"And I you," she replies, and leads him to the nearest table so that she can set down her unappetising breakfast. "What's going on this morning? Jawhar said they found someone dead, but-"
She stops short because something in Duma's face changes, and suddenly he looks deeply pained. "He didn't tell you who?" he asks.
"He thought it was one of us," she tells him. "But if you're here…"
"Na'im is dead, Marwa," Duma says abruptly, and she is stunned into silence. "He was found just before the sun rose, in one of the eastern halls when one of the masters went to send a bird to Acre."
She sinks slowly down onto the seat next to her. Duma grips her arm to make sure she does not fall – apparently, he has had plenty more time to process this news. "Where is the Dai?" she asks without thinking.
Duma shrugs. "Trying to find out what has happened," he says. "He was killed with an assassin's knife, inside the castle, and they must find the killer before he decides he might take another." He sits down next to her and watches her, like he's afraid she might swoon and faint like the English ladies are said to be wont to do. She is stronger than that though (and besides, she has seen more boys faint than women, especially at the sight of blood).
"It makes no sense," she says, half to herself. "Why would anyone kill Na'im, of all the novices? Of all the Assassins?"
"Perhaps they didn't mean to kill anyone in particular," Duma replies. "Maybe he was just the first person to walk by."
"Why was he in the eastern side of the castle anyway? He has no business over there, especially in the middle of the night."
Duma shakes his head. He has no more answers than she does; than anyone has. "I will find out what happened," Marwa says and stands abruptly, her chair grating loudly against the flagstone of the floor.
"How?" Duma asks, but does not get up to join her. His fingers are clenched around his spoon, stirring the gruel around his bowl aimlessly. She wonders if he's eaten any of it at all, or just stirred it from the moment he got here.
"I don't know," she admits, bolder than she should. "I will look around maybe, find whoever saw him first. There must be clues somewhere."
"And if you find the wrong side of the man who killed him?" he asks, like she is a child, a naïve young novice with no rank or blade to fight with (a child she still is, but by now she is not so young and soft-skinned – and she has real, cold steel pressed to her wrist, to go with the iron in her eyes).
"Then I will let him feel what it is to die." Her words are fierce, and she finds she isn't so shocked anymore, not so forlorn. She is just angry, vengeful fury leaking slowly into her veins. Allah help anyone who crosses her now; even Duma shows the signs of defeat, waving her onward reluctantly.
"Be safe, Marwa," he says as she takes her leave, and she has never heard him so sincere. The things he will not say dance across his face – fear (for her?), and anguish, and grief. She understands.
"I'm looking for answers, not trouble," she promises. "No harm will come to me."
"The two go hand in hand, Marwa," he replies, but she doesn't hear him because she is already gone, weaving her way through the tables with purpose and a deadly kind of grace. Behind her, he sighs, and stares down into his bowl of grey slop, wondering if maybe he has just made a mistake.
She almost runs into the Dai the moment she steps outside the kitchen door, so quickly is she moving. She stops herself right at the last moment and rocks back on her heels in surprise, looking up at him.
"Marwa," he says in mild surprise (if only she could surprise him any other time; but no, this is a rare circumstance). "Where are you going?"
"To the eastern tower," she admits, without even trying to hide her motives.
"You have heard the news then," the Dai sighs and runs his hand down his face. "Na'im is-"
"I know," she interrupts, before he can say anything more. "Duma has told me everything."
"News travels fast, I see," he says wearily, and looks towards the doors of the mess hall. "Is Duma here?"
Marwa nods. "Inside," she confirms.
"You won't come and sit with us for a while?"
He is being unusually kind, in the wake of Na'im's death. It doesn't sit well with her, like the whispers that pass along the castle walls and the storm that is gathering in the distant skies outside. He should be questioning her reasons for wanting to visit the tower, or sending her off to some kind of training, berating her for having slept so late into the morning when there is work to be done.
"There is nothing more to be said about it," she says, and sidesteps around him. "And I am not very hungry."
She hasn't really told the Dai what she is doing, but as always, he seems to already know – even on a strange day like this, he doesn't miss a beat. "Don't go poking at any danger you might find," he warns her, but he doesn't try to stop her from going. "You cannot bring him back to life, and vengeance is not worth sacrificing your own life for."
"I don't want revenge," she replies. "I just want to know why."
The Dai eyes her thoughtfully. "And you think you will find the answer in the tower?" he asks. "That you will go up there and find something the masters have missed, when they looked not so long ago?"
Marwa frowns. "Where else would I find it? In the ground with Na'im?"
He shakes his head at her. "Have I taught you nothing?" he says, half to himself. "The scholar's quarters are all around the tower, you know this. I should think, therefore, that any answers would now lie in the library." He pauses, and then adds, "Do you not have a brother who sleeps near the eastern wing?"
Her eyes widen in understanding, and the Dai smiles at her, just a little bit. "You come and tell me, whatever you find, understand?" he says to her.
"I will, Dai," she promises; her mind is already far away, plotting her course through the library, the ways she could gather information both from Zehad and the other scholars who are currently at their work. Surely one of them must have seen or heard something during the night.
"Safety and peace, Marwa," the Dai farewells her, and it sounds eerily like the way that Jawhar had said it earlier. The traditional farewell echoes in her mind as she departs. It bothers her as she watches the Dai enter the kitchens, and niggles at her as she walks away, impossible to push from her thoughts.
She goes down to the library, to search for her brother. He is easy to find, ghosting between the shelves with a deep frown etched into his face. He brightens exponentially when he sees her, relief clear in his eyes.
"Marwa!" he exclaims, and almost drops the books he is holding. "I'm glad to see you, today of all days."
"If only Na'im was here to share the day with us," she replies gloomily.
Zehad considers her, and then sets down his books on a nearby shelf. "I'm sorry about your friend," he says softly, and draws her into a tight embrace. "It is not fair, for him to die so young, and in his own home."
"He was telling me, just last night," she mumbles into the coarse fabric of his scholar's robes. "That it was like everything was about to change. How could he know?"
"Oh, Marwa," her brother says, and smooths a hand over her hair. "He would not have known, not really. You must know that."
"It is just strange," she replies. "That he was here, convinced something was not right, and now he is gone. And it is even worse that the killer was here, in the castle." She takes a deep breath, and then pulls away from him and dashes at her eyes with her sleeve, trying to erase the existance of the tears that have sprung to life there before they can fall.
"I wanted to ask," she continues, when she has composed herself. "If you have heard anything; if there are rumours, about last night. If the scholars heard or saw anything strange happening."
"I hear a lot of things in the library," Zehad says, voice dropping even lower. "But tell me, why do you want to know?"
"I just want to know why he was killed," she explains grudgingly. "Nothing more."
"You aren't planning on looking for revenge?"
"No," she says firmly, and wonders why no one will trust her today. "It is only for my own peace of mind. And the Dai told me to ask; he sent me here to investigate, when I told him I was going to try anyway."
Zehad eyes her like he doesn't quite believe her, but he doesn't question her any further. "I have heard a thing or two," he says quietly, glancing around to be sure no one else is listening in. "There are a few of the older men, who say they were woken in the night by noises that could have been a scuffle, but they were sure at the time that it was just the wind. And Nasir, the keeper of the scrolls, has not risen from his bed this morning. He claims to have fallen ill. The boy was found on the ground right outside his door, but so far he refuses to say if he had heard or seen anything."
"Do you think if I asked, he might tell me?" Marwa asks, a plan already coming together in her mind.
Zehad shrugs. "You could try. He is old and harmless. Comes from a synagogue in Damascus, where men do nothing but read and pray all their lives."
"Thankyou, Zehad," she says, and turns for the door.
"Don't do anything reckless," he warns her as she tries to leave. "Question him, and nothing more. The masters will take care of the rest."
"I am not a child, Zehad," Marwa throws over her shoulder, slightly annoyed at him. "I know how to investigate, and how to report to my elders."
"Be sure that you do," he presses anyway, and then turns to pick up his books again. She shakes her head, and then escapes before he can give her anymore unwanted advice.
She's not bothered on her way up to the eastern tower, even though she passes several of her superiors on her way there. The air of tension in the castle today is strange – she's not used to such fear and uncertainty being able to infect a place like Masyaf. All her life her home has been safe, a place where their enemies have no hope of finding them. And now, all in one night, that illusion has been ripped away from her and broken into pieces on the ground. Nothing feels safe now, not even in the light of day, amidst all the other assassins.
The keeper of the scrolls sleeps at the end of the hall, closest to the open tower room, where light floods through the window from the morning sun. The hall is deserted, and the floors are sparkling clean – there is no sign of murder here, not even a splatter of blood left on the stones under her feet to mark the place where Na'im was killed. Even so, just the knowledge of his death makes her feel strange, and she hesitates outside the door to wonder if she is standing where he lay, if she has stepped across it. It seems like a cursed spot now, a place she would rather avoid, as silly and superstitious as it is.
She raises her hand to knock, still distracted, and then pauses, her knuckles an inch from the wood. There are voices coming from inside the room, angry voices that are hissing at each other like they don't want to be heard. Neither of them sounds ill. She lowers her hand slowly and, checking that no one is around, presses her ear against the door instead.
"…stupid boy!" she hears immediately, the words just managing to filter through the heavy wood. "They have been looking high and low all morning, do you not know that? You cannot commit such a crime in the middle of Masyaf and think no one will notice. And you do it here, outside my door! So now I am suspect too! Do you know any sense?"
That is clearly the voice of Nasir, she thinks; the gravelly tones and harsh demeanour suit what she knows of him. She has run afoul of his temper once or twice in the library, and has had to listen to the same kind of beratement.
"What else was I to do?!" another voice answers, and she reels back in surprise, for that is a voice she knows without a doubt. That is Matek, who thinks he should be handed praise and ranks without earning them, who taunts and teases her and tries to think himself better than all the others, like that will be enough to make him an assassin.
Matek, who sometimes doesn't say the creed when they are all asked to recite it, she realises with a jolt.
Marwa presses her ear against the door again. "-heard us talking," Matek is saying. "You want me to just let him go free?"
"He is a novice!" Nasir replies. "A stupid child, just like you! Bribe him, or scare him, make sure he won't talk. Take him out in the wind and rain and throw him off the cliffs if you like! But do not kill him right outside my door!"
"He novices under the Dai!" Matek argues. "He will run straight to hi master and tell him the truth."
"Even worse!" Nasir exclaims. "We do not need dead bodies of any kind, boy, especially not novices that are sure to be missed. And not left about the castle for assassins to find either!" There is a noise that sounds like a hard slap, and Matek yelps in pain.
"Out of here, now," Nasir continues. "You must go to Ramzi, and tell him what you have done. Tell him the new plans, the new day to move. I implore you to be more polite than you have been to me, if you want-" Marwa pulls away from the door, and looks around frantically. Matek is going to come out here, and there is nowhere in this hallway to hide. Her eyes alight on the tower room to her left, accessible through a large, open arch. In particular, she spots the grand rafters of its wooden ceiling, and the shadowy spaces between them. Yes – that will do, if she can get there quick enough.
She backs away from Nasir's door, and then sprints, light-footed, across the hall and into the tower room. There is a small bookcase shoved up against the wall opposite the window – as the door behind her opens, she scales it and leaps up to grab onto the rafters, pulling herself up with just the strength of her shoulders.
She hardly dares breathe as she creeps into the corner above the doorway, but Matek hasn't seen her. He shuts the door slowly, with just the softest creak as it falls into place, and then he makes off down the hall. Except his shuffling steps don't carry him away from Marwa but rather towards her, towards the tower. She sucks in a surprised breath and then holds it, clinging to the rafters like a startled cat. What business could he have in a scholar's quiet reading corner? There is nothing here but a chair and the bookcase, not even a lantern or a pot of ink.
He doesn't look up as he enters, thankfully, just left and right furtively, like he might find someone lurking in the room's cobwebbed corners. When he is satisfied that he is alone, he leans out the window – judging the height? – and then climbs out feet-first, disappearing below the windowsill.
Marwa lets out the breath she's been holding, and drops down from the rafters. Where could he be going? There is nothing out that side of the castle except a long drop onto the cliffs, and then into the ravine that feeds the lake. There is barely even a guard to watch this side of the castle, because there is nowhere for their enemy to come from out there except the mountains – and to get across the ravine, there is only the narrow bridge to and from the Cradle, a great ask to move an army across. It's not good climbing out there either; this part of Masyaf suffers the worst of the wind and sun and rain, and as such the stone has been battered smooth and crumbly, terrible to find hand- and foot-holds on. It is a suicide climb for all but the most daring – or desperate – of climbers.
Cautiously, she peeks out the window, just to see if he is dead – but no, there he is, picking his way down and across to the head of the path into the Cradle, where the bridge stretches out across the long drop to the river. He is going into the mountains, she realises in surprise. And then, finally, she puts it all together. Matek has killed Na'im. Nasir is in league with him. And the rumours of Templars in the mountains are true – Matek is going now to meet them, to report whatever it is he needs to report, important information about their plans against Masyaf, whatever they are.
She'd promised not to jump into trouble, or to go out into the mountains, but the memory of this is only a distant thought in the back of her mind as she climbs out the window after him. She has to find out what he's going to tell his masters, or stop him from getting there. There will not be another chance like this to find the Templars in the mountains.
Malik had told her to investigate the murder, after all. This was still that…right?