Disclaimer: I do not own Assassin's Creed. I do not make claims to owning it. I'm just borrowing the characters, please do not sue!
Chapter XXIX: Burning Heat, Damascus
Sandy tried not to think about Antonio's expression when she had told him that she was leaving with Altair again. The hurt look had been a flash, an unguarded split second, but that was all she needed. She didn't apologize, because she had done nothing wrong, but she still felt pretty rotten. It was noon before they had departed, and the sun's heat seemed even more damning than usual. They rode in silence and with some urgency, having already lost half a day. Sandy wasn't about to question Altair's decisions to rush the trip, a little bit of rushing on the rides wouldn't harm her; it might make this extended mission pass quickly. It was evening before she emerged from her thoughts; the terrain had opened up to a small valley with rocky hills on either side, one of a number that dotted this part of upper Galilee.
They had spotted a retinue of Richard's men either patrolling or marching somewhere. The men, ten in all, were unusually far from Akka, nevertheless Altair had hidden the horses among the rocks and the two of them amused themselves in watching the group from the rocks. Sandy tried not to feel bothered by the fact that they couldn't light a fire with the pests around, the last thing they needed was to fight ten crusaders that decided to come investigate a plume of smoke.
Without the protection of a fire that night someone had to remain awake to watch for wild animals. Sandy got to sleep while Altair fulfilled that role. Sandy had offered to share duty with him but even before she had finished the offer he had grinned and said that he could go one night without sleep. She unrolled the sleeping mat close to him and curled up to sleep with her back turned to the assassin.
Seemingly an instant later Altair was shaking her awake. Sandy rolled unto her back and groaned, lying there with her eyes closed. The light in front of her eyelids was still very faint, dawn had probably just broken. Sandy found herself wishing that she had another hour of sleep.
"Are you going to get up?" Altair's voice floated over to her from some distance away. The sound of horseshoes ringing on rock told her that he was tending to Talimar. Sandy opened her eyes and her guess was accurate.
"I'd tell you no, but you'd probably make a point of leaving me behind," Sandy replied.
Altair turned away without replying, checking saddle straps on Talimar. Sandy would've thought he was ignoring her, had he not checked the straps twice in the last half a minute. Her gut was telling her that he did not want her to see the grin on his face right at that moment.
The journey to Damascus resumed after a brief breakfast, but progress was slow because of the increased presence of crusaders. Altair steered them among the rocks through a narrow pass unto a small, winding road that was further east from the one they normally took. The rocky terrain meant that the horses were picking their way along, Nyx more uncomfortably than Talimar; the stallion seemed to be more familiar with all-terrain travel. Finally around the later afternoon the terrain opened up as they turned northeast. They sped up a little, but the horses were already tired from the long day of rock hopping and it wasn't long before they broke for the night. The rest of the trip was remarkable uneventful, there were no crusaders this close to Damascus, and they arrived by the late afternoon on the third day of travel.
The camp outside the city's gates was bustling with activity, many of those there were merchants, most with their pack mules or donkeys, and one with three camels that watched everything with their keen eyes as they chewed something or other. Altair and Sandy led their horses the final distance, but when they got close to the gate they noticed that there were more guards at the gates.
"It seems like the recent events have not been entirely unnoticed," Sandy commented.
"They still do not know who they are looking for," Altair replied.
"If I didn't know that, I'd be actually worried."
There may have been more guards at the gates, but they weren't the smartest men on the planet. The two of them practically didn't have to sneak in as they walked behind the group of white-wearing desert traders. The men were discussing politics and the war as they walked and the business they had lost when Akka had been besieged. Sandy caught snippets of their conversation, it seemed like the people in charge of the port of the coastal city were not too keen on free trade; the tariffs had been increased twice since the city's capture. One of the men was saying that if Richard's march on Jaffa would succeed, they would lose the last viable port in Palestine, and then his business would be in jeopardy. He would have to actually run the route from Damascus and down to Egypt, perhaps as far as Alexandria in order to sell his spices to merchants bound for Spain. The man was cursing the very name of Richard and his 'band of overzealous bastards'.
Beyond the gates the city was busy as ever, but it wasn't hard to notice that there were more patrols and that the guards were more easily annoyed. Sandy thought that if Damascus was on alert, how bad would the hornet's nest be? In her nightmarish vision she saw crusader guards on every street corner of Akka, each like an angry hornet, spoiling for a fight. She hoped that her mind was just conjuring up the usual doom and gloom and not having a prophetic revelation. William of Montferrat still weighed on her mind, how was Altair supposed to kill him alone? If he was in any way wise, he would have a retinue of guards surrounding him. As they found a way to the rooftops, she shook her head and reminded herself that there was still time. For all they knew, once they were in Akka an opportunity to strike would present itself on a golden platter. She had to keep positive and hope for the best.
As usual Sandy was the second to jump down into the yard of the bureau, Altair was already in the bureau and she followed him inside, pulling off the hood of her cloak as she entered the house. She seemingly caught the Rafiq mid-sentence and for a long second he seemed to stare at her as if seeing things, then his expression changed into a big smile.
"Ah Lady Informant! I am glad you are indeed well!" he chorused.
Sandy smiled, "Thank you."
"The whole business with Jamal was very unsightly. I am glad he was thoroughly punished!" he continued.
Sandy shifted her weight from foot to foot and tried not to look too sheepish, "I can't say I am glad a man is dead because of me, but I suppose… given what happened- I guess it was inevitable."
"Ever humble, well-" he paused to wipe his hands on a wet rag. Sandy could see that Altair had caught him in the midst of shaping another piece of pottery. "There is little left to say on the matter. It had been quite some time. The two of you are probably tired from the road and hungry. My servant is preparing the dinner as we speak, truthfully I had expected you to arrive a little later- the guards in the city have been on alert in the last couple of days, but it seems like nothing can keep you two from coming and going as you wish."
He left the room through the corridor leading deeper into the house and Sandy glanced at Altair with a big smile. "As friendly a welcome as ever, I'd say."
"Dinner does sound good," Altair remarked.
Sandy exited the bureau and shed her cloak long enough to set aside her bag and jacket before she was back inside. "I was thinking, if the guards here are on high alert… Akka will be worse."
"Didn't you hear? Richard has ordered the march on Jaffa, most of his men will be going south, and only a skeleton guard will be left in Akka. I will use that to my advantage." Altair replied.
"I know, where there's a will, there's a way, right? But you know me, when I sink my teeth into a conundrum I don't let go until I solve it. I guess- I just want to help you."
"You are helping, in your own way," Altair replied.
Sandy shook her head and passed her hand through her hair, "Yes, but I guess I still feel as a straggler, a hanger-on, a groupie, a cheerleader…" Sandy stopped as her terms became more and more twenty-first century and hence alien to him. She knew that she had to just come out and say that she wanted a more active role in helping him, but how did one breach that sort of area with an assassin? It had occurred to her that she would never feel comfortable sitting in the bureau when he was doing his job, but she didn't want to be right there fighting with him. One assassin was hard to spot, having two would possibly compromise his odds, and she wasn't too stupid to see that she'd be more of a hindrance. Still, she wanted to do something. There had to be something that she could do without exposing herself to any unnecessary danger.
"Altair, in Jerusalem, what we did in that warehouse may not have yielded concrete evidence, but I am convinced that we need to start actively investigating. The targets you kill are all connected to the Templars somehow."
"What do you suggest?" Altair still sounder dubious of the whole prospect, sometimes his doubting attitude irritated Sandy to no end. Other times she wished more people doubted her, he forced her to plan and think her actions through even more thoroughly.
"I'm an informant, Altair. By my understanding, my job is to gather information. Where I come from, you do that in one of two ways. You either beat up someone for it, which does not work all that well for us, since we can't exactly beat up the people who know what we want to know." She looked him in the eye and smiled, "I know, I want to tie Robert de Sable to a chair and go Dirty Harry on his miserable hide myself."
"Dirty Harry?"
"Movie character back home, a classic… how shall I put it, your methods and his- very similar." She laughed softly at her own joke, ignoring Altair's confused expression. "Anyways… In lieu of our inability to do that, there's the other way… my way. We investigate using the process from my home, and that's a little bit different, in fact some of the methods are probably ways you never thought of."
Altair stared at her for a very long moment, Sandy stared back, wondering what was cooking on his mind. Still, she knew what the expression his face meant. She turned away and paced for a long moment, scratching at the back of her head. "With our current target, there is a potential to hit the information mother lode, but also danger. I'm thinking a mix of espionage and forensics. I need an opportunity and a source of information. I would prefer getting into someone's documents rather than dealing with people. A witness can lie, and given enough reason they will lie even with a blade to their neck, but papers and letters never lie."
"It might prove impossible to get you near his documents," Altair replied.
"Well if an opportunity presents itself I plan to take it, but if it does not, it does not, I only wager when I know the odds are in my favor." Sandy placed her hand on his arm and smiled, "I'm not that reckless."
They heard the footsteps of the fafiq coming back and moved apart. He stopped in the doorway and watched them for a second, "Well I expected to interrupt a conversation."
"We never have actual conversations," Sandy replied. "Mostly I do the talking. He just gives monosyllabic responses in a specific code."
"I stand corrected," the rafiq replied, amused.
Sandy glanced at Altair, catching his grin. She couldn't believe that she got away with such a joke at his expense. Was she beginning to get away with teasing him in a more open manner? Sandy decided that after the pillow gag in Akka, and this, the idea of her getting away with teasing him was worth investigating and experimenting with. She turned back to the rafiq, following him back inside the bureau. She watched as he sat in front of his pot again. After inspecting the pottery his expression changed to one of mild annoyance as he reached into a bucket at his side for the wet rag, wringing it out lightly before he wrapped the pot in it.
"This heat is unbearable." He commented cryptically. Somehow Sandy figured that the fact that his pottery was drying on the wheel was the reason why he was annoyed at that moment.
Sandy glanced at Altair again and gently jerked her head towards the door, silently telling him to follow her as she stepped out into the yard. As soon as they were out of sight from the Rafiq, Sandy felt Altair's arms on her shoulders, a split second later his large hands slid down her arms, then around her waist, and she found her back pressed to his chest. Surprisingly enough, Sandy didn't feel her face heating up; it was as if there was nothing in his embrace to be embarrassed about. It felt oddly right and she relaxed, leaning her head back into his left shoulder as her forehead touched his jaw. "If we are spotted like this-" she began.
"The danger is half the fun, no?" he finished. His voice was lower; a whisper that was meant only for her, but his tone was honeyed, almost sultry. That got Sandy uncomfortable and she straightened, pulling out of his arms. Sultry was not an adjective she used often -or indeed at all- to describe something, but the way he had spoken couldn't be described as anything else. That scared her a little, yes she was attracted to him, and if she was blunt with herself she would say that she was more than attracted. One could be attracted to a movie or music star one knew nothing about. Altair was different, he was her best friend, she knew him well enough that the word 'attracted' did not seem to work, it was too pale, too understated. So what else was there? What defined her feelings? She still didn't have a word for that.
Ultimately it didn't matter either, she liked his odd embraces, and she liked the chills his touch evoked. Not the creepy chills, but the euphoric kind, like those one got after riding the most intense rollercoaster in existence. Still, it was something that she couldn't afford, so she stepped out of Altair's arms and moved to her bag where she kept her bits of parchment. If she pretended to be at working, maybe she could calm her erratically beating heart before dinner.
Sandy tried to ignore his lingering stare as she sat down and pulled out the bundled parchments from her bag to go over, but as soon as she got into it in earnest, ignoring him became easier. She went over her documents, creating new scraps for the next three targets as she added whatever pieces of information she already had, which was way too little. She added the new names to her flow chart and stared at it without blinking; wondering what connected so many men on opposite sides of the conflict at hand. She had never bought into the conspiracy nuts who had said that the Knights Templar had historically been a shadowy bunch, conspiring, keeping things hidden, doing magic and voodoo in their spare time. It all worked for Dan Brown, but she liked facts, not fiction.
She knew they would be disbanded by papal order at the beginning of the 14th century on charges of heresy, trumped up or otherwise. She wanted to think that they had just done something, or simply weakened. No group, order, or arrangement of individuals was immortal. However, all the facts she knew did not align. Staring her in the face was proof that the conspiracy nuts were on to something, that some element of their theories might be rooted in fact. The Templars were up to something, something big by the looks of things, something so big that they were willing to work with those who they should regard as enemies. What could it be? Sandy wanted to know, she had to know. Her instincts knew that once she had that piece of the puzzle, the motive for them working together, then everything would align. She had to align things, even if she had to chase down leads personally. However, right now, there was little she could do. There was no use becoming obsessive when patience was called for. Setting the documents aside she sighed deeply.
"Something wrong?" Altair asked.
Sandy looked over at him and grinned; Altair had shed his arsenal and was lounging with his back resting on some piled pillows, one leg stretched out, the other bent, a forearm resting on the knee. At that moment he looked like some sort of sultan relaxing in his harem. Just short a few dozen women, servant-slaves, and the dwarf entertainers. Then she realized that he had asked a question and she shook her head. "Nothing is wrong. I'm just obsessing over this conspiracy, its like- something tells me that I need to get to the bottom of this Templar affair, it's important that I do. Whenever I get a gut feeling this strong I learned to follow it. My intuition has never failed me before, I doubt it will now." She wasn't going to mention the strange dreams that she had in this time. Twice she had a strange, somewhat ominous dream that she didn't decipher in time. The last one before meeting Robert de Sable in Akka was worst of all. She was sure that the black eagle she had seen had been some sort of symbol, the bird and the man had the same sort of cold look in their eyes.
An hour passed between them with relative comfortable silence. Then dinner was announced and the mood rose with the thought of good food. As they sat down around the table, Sandy glanced across and tried to contain her smile, the table was set with some foods that she did not see in Masyaf. She speculated that such foods and spices were simply too expensive to be served in large quantities regularly. But in the Bureau, where there were never that many people eating at once, the keepers probably found it easier to fund more expensive foods. She helped herself to some rice, vegetables, and meat. As she poured her companions their first cups of tea, simply because she was courteous like that, the rafiq cleared his throat.
"So what brings you two to my door? Whose life will end soon?"
"Abu'l Nuquod. Can you tell me about him?
The look that flashed across the rafiq's face was one of surprise. Sandy took the first bite of her rice and just listened.
"He is known as the merchant king, the richest man in the city. Quite exciting, quite dangerous! I envy you, Altair. You lead a very exciting life; add to that you are lucky to have a lovely companion at your side." The rafiq paused to glance at Sandy, and then he turned to Altair again. "You should know what the others are saying about you."
"I do not care what the others think or say, if they choose to ignore the truth that is their shortcoming. I am here on a job. I ask again- what can you tell me about the merchant king?"
Altair's clipped, chilled tone seemed to snap the rafiq out of his jovial mood, his expression turned serious. Sandy took a bite of the meat as she watched and listened. She was sort of glad that Altair seemed keen on keeping the conversation from drifting in that direction, even if neither of them could do anything more than that. She knew that rumors about the nature of their relationship had been circulating even before Jamal threw fuel on them. Rightfully she couldn't go on a campaign to show them all that they were wrong. More-so because, A, it would be one giant waste of time and effort, and it would probably only make them more sure about it, and B, they were right, and lying to cover it up did not sit well with her, it never worked either.
"Only that he must be a very bad man if Al Mualim has sent you to see him. He keeps to his own kind, wrapped in the finery of the city's Noble District. He's a busy man- always up to something. I'm sure if you spent some time amongst his type, you'd learn all you need to know about him."
"Any particular location where we should sniff around?" Sandy wondered before sticking another mouthful of rice into her mouth.
"I'd start with the Omayyad Mosque and Sarouja Souk- both of which are west of here. Further to the northwest is Salah al-Din's Citadel. It's a popular meeting spot and has proved a reliable source of loose tongues in the past. Yes, these three places should serve your needs."
Sandy knew it would've ended up like this, this Abu'l man seemed to be pretty high up, an oligarch of the city, someone who would be well guarded and probably wary. "Another day, another job, another death." She muttered to herself around her cup of tea. It was as if her words had finished the conversation, the men began to eat as well. Sandy remained quiet throughout even as the dessert was served. As simple as it was, a bowl of succulent fruits, including some pomegranates, a fruit that she had never tried before. Sandy took one and proceeded to dissect it and pick out the juicy seeds from inside, ignoring everything around her.
The next morning the two of them were on the streets, Altair leading as they decided to explore the areas that the rafiq had suggested. As far as Sandy was concerned the citadel was their best bet, but being as it was the furthest location from the bureau Altair had decided to check the souk and the mosque first, she wasn't going to argue with him over something so trifling. She just hung back, and let him lead. As they turned another street corner, the mosque materialized before them. It was a large complex that dominated its surroundings. They walked at a quiet pace and as they drew near, Altair paused and looked at her.
"What?" Sandy asked.
He reached up, grabbing the edge of the hood and pulled it over her head with a jerk, dragging her chin down in the process. "Keep your face down, do not speak, and keep the cloak closed, it is best no one knows you are a woman." He explained. Sandy did not reply, following Altair into the courtyard.
As much as he had told her to keep her eyes down on the ground, Sandy raised her head just enough to see her surroundings. The building was huge and some element of her was curious as a tourist would be. Built of white stone, with a large courtyard surrounded by a colonnade, the Umayyad Mosque was a sight to behold. The two of them did not stop as they crossed the colonnade into the courtyard. Sandy tried not to look up and gawp like an awed tourist, but she was tempted, oh so sorely tempted. The mosque was beautiful and she wanted nothing more than to admire every detail, but she knew she had to focus on her job. She turned her attention to the people before her. The courtyard was full of men of various ages, but judging by their clothing she could tell that the vast majority of them were somewhat wealthy, evident from their brighter clothing. Greens, vivid rusted browns, and some blues. The wealthiest of them all had some decorations in the form of embroidery; one or two even had gold thread. The clothing was quite different from what the average citizens wore.
"The noon prayer call will come soon," Altair noted.
Sandy glanced at him and then she realized that he had already set up a legend for himself. They continued to walk the courtyard, as some of the other men were doing. She wasn't going to point that he couldn't pass for a faithful even if he tried, not with such an extensive arsenal. Instead of making snide comments and breaching Altair's rule about no talking, which made sense, she scanned her surroundings. Her eyes were the only things she could rely on at the moment, as the hood she wore made sound highly directional, making hearing anything very difficult. The sheer size of the courtyard complicated things even more. Suddenly she felt Altair's touch on her sleeve, his hand passed along the material as if it was incidental, but she had already learned that nothing with the assassin was ever incidental. She looked over and followed Altair's line of sight.
There, standing in the shadow of the colonnade in the corner of the yard were two men, both were finely dressed and utterly relaxed as they talked. The stones bounced sound enough to know that they were talking, but not enough to hear anything, and she couldn't read lips. Then the conversation between the two of them ended as one clapped the other on the shoulder and the two separated.
"Why them?" Sandy whispered, turning to Altair, wondering why he would single them out on the spot like this.
"You didn't hear them?" Altair replied.
"No."
Altair made a noise that sounded vaguely like a sigh. "They're the merchant's men," he explained. "Our man is planning a party in the next couple days."
"It's an opportunity," Sandy stated, the realization beginning to dawn on her.
"Precisely."
"All those people… still-" she stopped before she pointed out the obvious. If he crashed the doors of that gathering, his arsenal is bound to raise a few eyebrows. She also wasn't going to ask if they were done here. Altair had gone silent and resumed his walk, Sandy had no other choice but follow him and she figured that he was listening for anything else useful that might be scooped around. Sandy watched the other men around her, noticing that a couple of them had noticed their presence, one of the men had pointed them out to his companions, words were exchanged, followed by soundless chuckles.
"We're starting to draw the wrong sort of attention," she said.
"Come," Altair commanded.
Sandy was only too quick to follow him, eager to get out of there, regardless of how much her curiosity begged for more time to admire the architecture. The men who had laughed were openly watching them; she looked down and followed behind Altair. Maybe they just thought that she was a servant boy or something, she could live with that. She didn't want to even imagine what else they might think she was. Altair seemed to be a in a hurry and she had to practically jog behind him to catch up.
"Souk now?" she asked.
"You had to ask?" he replied.
"Just making sure," Sandy replied. "Well honestly now that we know there's a party happening, the market seems to be a good place to look for clues. Such events require supplies, the bigger the party, the more supplies. You're the shakedown expert, we find a victim, you do your magic, and we know the time and date."
"Magic?" he asked.
"Sorry, bad choice of word. I realize people are touchy these days about that one." Sandy slipped her hands into the opposite sleeves of her cloak as she walked. "Still, you have to admit, my theory is sound."
"It's also an obvious conclusion."
Sandy made a face and remained silent for the rest of the way to the souk. Her eyes remained on the people of the city, noting the guards patrolling and the average citizens. The souk they came to eventually was a big one, a covered narrow street that snaked and bended, branching twice. Sandy was quick to note that this was this century's version of the rich people's mall, the 'shops' flanking the street all offered various quite exquisite goods of all kinds, textiles, carpets, decorations, spices, and exotic foods. There were guards everywhere to stop shoplifters, and the people walking the street were better dressed than some of the people she had seen outside.
It was hard to miss the scene created by one merchant who boasted having fine silk straight from the Far East. He was arguing a price with a client who had a dark-skinned man-mountain guard that stood some feet apart from him, scowling at everyone he made eye contact with, yet should anyone come close to his master, his grip on the hilt of his curved sword tightened. Aside from the sword he also had a wicked dagger on the other hip, likewise curved, and a knife hidden in his right armguard. He formed a sort of bubble around the merchant and his client that people apparently did not want to step into. This told Sandy that the people around them knew the pair well enough, and that meant that they were someone.
Altair walked past the two, but as soon as the crowd had swallowed them up he stopped on the intersection of the market's streets. "Did you notice the agent with the guard?" He asked.
"Hard not to, they create a traffic jam," Sandy replied. "You're thinking they're persons of interest?"
"Not many people own slaves of his kind in Damascus."
Sandy nodded, no sure what to say on the topic of African slaves, instead she decided to regale Altair with the observation she made. "He's armed to the teeth, sword, dagger, knife in his armguard. Seen the look on his face? He may be a slave, but he has the same hauteur as his master."
"That was not his master. It was an agent for the merchant king; while you were ogling the slave I caught an element of his conversation with the merchant."
"I was not ogling the slave," Sandy protested. Thought it had been somewhat difficult not to, the man technically wore nothing that constituted as a shirt, just dark red pants, shoes, and a vest that looked a size or two too small, and he was clearly well defined from hours of long work. "Careful Altair, you sound jealous." The look the assassin flashed her was one of surprise, one that told Sandy that she had won that round. He probably had not meant to insinuate that she had been admiring the slave, but the way he had said it clearly did. Sandy grinned in triumph over him and decided to be merciful, "you're still my favorite."
"Any other man would punish you for such audacity," he replied with a slight glower.
Sandy wrapped both her arms his right and leaned in closer, "and I would make him pay dearly." She replied in all seriousness.
Altair watched her for a long second before the gears in his head shifted almost audibly. "We follow them," he stated.
"Right behind you-" Sandy let go of his arm and stepped away, "master." She added playfully as a final crack. She expected him to show some annoyance, but he surprised her with a grin and a look in his eyes that told her that the topic was far from dead. She followed him closely, glad for the fact that he was so tall and clad in white. Her mind shifted tracks, focusing on the task at hand instead of on the fact that they had just been flirting shamelessly in the middle of a public street. There was little that could be done about the sexual tension there, she loved to tease and harass him, and apparently there was some element of reciprocation on his part.
Following the two men wasn't difficult; the slave maintained the void around his master even as they moved. What changed was the hateful looks that some people sent at the man's back as soon as they passed, something that Sandy did not miss. So the merchant king's agent was hated, was the merchant himself hated likewise? If true, then there had to be a reason for the hate. In her mind it made sense, the man was working with the Knights Templar; he probably did something to anger his people even if the people didn't know where his allegiances lay. There was merit in pursuing this clue, so she caught up to Altair and tugged on hiss sleeve.
"The agent is hardly popular, some of the looks people sent at his back…"
"I noticed," Altair replied curtly.
"Reckon his master is hated just as well?" Sandy wondered. "Well given we know with whom he probably works, it makes sense that he wouldn't be mister popularity."
Ahead of them, the agent and the guard turned a corner. Altair and Sandy both sped up their walk to make the corner before they lost track of the men. The street they turned unto was wider, so the bubble around the guard was not as noticeable, never the less the citizens of the city seemed to skirt around the two men. Ahead of them a big house was visible, surrounded by a tall a garden and a tall fence.
"Let me guess, target's home?" she asked.
"Yes," Altair replied.
Sandy remained quiet, there was no need to point out that once the agent and the guard entered yard, which was the end of the chase. As if reading her mind Altair stopped and set his hand on her shoulder.
"Well that was a dead end," Sandy remarked.
"Not quite," Altair replied. "We turn to the merchants."
"You have money to bribe them?" Sandy asked.
Altair ignored her as he walked onward. Sandy frowned but followed along quietly. Before long they were in the market again. The merchant with whom they saw the agent last was bargaining with someone else now, showing the man an exquisite roll of red silk. The material was so beautiful that Sandy had to agree that she would half loved to own a robe made from it. Altair gave a pull on her sleeve, and Sandy almost jumped, realizing that she had been fixated on the silk. She followed him down the street and stuck her hands into the opposite sleeves again.
This time they took the intersection within the market and turned into a side street. Here it was a little darker, narrower, and quieter than on the main market street. There were fewer guards here, but the stalls were mostly food, which though attractive to shoplifters, probably wasn't as expensive.
"My world for a coin or two," Sandy muttered, eyeing all the various fruits, vegetables, and nuts that the merchants were selling. There were some fruits that she had never tried, and right now trying them was remotely appealing.
"Later," Altair stated moving onward.
Sandy pouted as she followed him, crossing her arms over her chest. Before she could begin forming any sort of protest to his sudden decisions to almost utterly ignore her, she noticed who he was stalking now. Three stalls ahead of them was another big man that looked like the guard from earlier, though not dark skinned, he was equally large and well built. Her eyes flashed to Altair and noticed that he was tense, like a cheetah stalking it's pray in one of the nature films.
"I'll buy you anything you pretend to be a woman shopping for dinner," Altair stated.
Sandy calculated her odds as she eyed the fruit stalls, then she wrapped her arms along Altair's and tugged him along, picking up a bubbly act that was different from the way she normally acted. She felt the assassin's arm stiffen in her grip. She tugged him close to the two men, but not too close for them to stop talking. She stopped in front of a fruit vendor and let go of the assassin's arm, leaning down to admire the fruits. Spread in front of her was an array of palm fruits; figs, bananas, and dates. There were also other fruits, more pomegranates, and one whole quarter of his stall was taken up by two large baskets full of raisins and sundried apricots. Her eyes drifted back to the bananas, they looked quite different from what she was used to on the shelf of the supermarket, but they looked no less appetizing. It had been a while since she had one of those, and right now she decided that it was a good midday snack.
As she picked a bunch of bananas to admire them and pretend to check for quality, the men some distance away returned to their conversation, having decided that the two shoppers were no threat. Sandy couldn't hear all the details, but enough to piece together a conversation.
"The last of it's been delivered." A merchant was telling the other man.
"Good. Make sure he also knows it wasn't easy arranging a shipment like this."
"It's only wine. Surely you didn't have too much trouble procuring it from those foreigners." The tall man argued.
Sandy blinked; the merchant king had ordered a large delivery of wine? Something told her that the fact that the two men were talking in a lowered tone meant that they did not wish to be overheard.
"May I help you?" the keeper of the fruit stall asked, shocking Sandy back to reality.
"Oh-" Sandy raised her head and smiled to the keeper, even as she kept her ear open to the conversation happening some feet away. "I was thinking what sort of dessert I could make for my husband tonight. I am thinking something sweet with some of these," she motioned to the bananas.
"Good choice! Yes, these are sweet and will make a good dessert. How many would you need?"
"We will take the whole bunch," Altair stepped in.
The merchant looked up at the assassin and stepped back a little, "of course, of course."
Altair produced a handful of coins and Sandy found herself carrying the bananas as they turned and left, spy mission complete. They left the market in silence, and that was as long as Sandy could take it.
"Wine?" she asked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I thought that Islam forbade alcohol."
"It does," Altair replied.
Sandy whistled, "Someone's a little fickle in his faith, no?" she asked.
"Plenty are fickle in their faith, but this just proves that he's planning a party, nothing else," Altair stated, his voice taking on a note of frustration.
Sandy laid her hand on his arm, "I may have a solution, but-" she paused.
"What are you planning now?" Altair asked.
Sandy matched at him for a long moment, wondering if it was such an unusual technique. "Find the most expensive bathhouse and spend an hour there, listen to the other men without rousing attention," she stated bluntly. In the silence that followed Sandy expected some sort of reply from the assassin, but it did not come. "Ideally, I'd love to get close to the merchant king's wife, strike a conversation, I'd get the info you need straight from the source."
"I would let you- if the man was married."
"He's not?" Sandy asked.
"That much everyone knows. He keeps no harem either."
"Weird," Sandy murmured. "Then maybe I should do some snooping around the back door. He has to have servants. I just need one that is chatty."
"I do not want you anywhere near his servant quarters. You have already seen two of the man's guards, if you are caught-" Altair stopped dead.
Sandy hid her smile behind the edge of her hood. He was utterly right of course, if all of merchant's men were as large and well built as the two she had seen, getting caught would be dangerous. The merchant king may not need a woman by his side, but what about his men? She couldn't pass for another of the servants, her hair and eyes would give her away.
"Well then, Altair, perhaps this is a good time to use another resource we have at hand. Maybe the rafiq's men could help us find the date and time, and maybe the guest list too."
"The guest list?" Altair asked.
Sandy broke off one of the bananas from the bunch she carried and peeled it slowly. "The man's party is invitation only; knowing whom he associates with may come in handy in the future. For all we know, some of the names there might be future targets," she explained, biting a quarter of the fruit off and chewing slowly.
"You really do love your paperwork."
"There's a saying in my time; the pen is mightier than the sword. Its products have been known to seal fates and alter lives."
"Fine, we will play things your way- just this once."
Sandy smiled again, hiding the expression behind her cloak. "I shall not disappoint."
The Tidbits Corner:
Dirty Harry: Sandy is referring to a character played by Clint Eastwood in the 1971 film by the same name and its sequels. "Dirty" Harry Callahan is a blunt, cynical, unorthodox detective who is always in trouble with his bosses, is known for his high calibre gun and willingness to break rules to do his job. He is also saddled with jobs no one else wants to do.
Director's Notes:
This arc gave me hell preplanning it. I had an idea of what I wanted to happen, but it just would not unfold in my mind. I like to think that I have it figured out now. I am also kind of curious if anyone would be able to figure out the motif of the chapters titles behind this one, and the two that will follow.
