Happy Holidays!

The few days after the news had arrived were a whirlwind for Malik. Suddenly he wasn't just going to Jerusalem for the Meeting of the Dais. Now he was going for the funeral of the Sultan.

Zaki had been the one to bring the news. He'd been as white as his beard as he'd come up to Malik's desk and handed him the unrolled scroll. Zonira had written it and the penmanship had been perfect, elegant, and feminine. Funny that Malik would remember an insignificant thing like the penmanship of the calligraphy and not the actual message itself. He'd read it but he couldn't recall the actual words. When he brought the scroll up in his mind's eye it was blank but had born the news of the Sultan's death.

Altair had, predictably, hated the idea of Malik going to Jerusalem early. Not to mention that he wouldn't be allowed to come. They'd had a shouting match about it the morning after the message had come down at the desk. Malik couldn't really remember what he'd said. He just knew that Altair had stormed off, furious, and Kamal had stayed only long enough to give Malik another message from Zaki. It was about fitting for clothes he'd wear in Jerusalem. His Grand Dai robes were fancy enough for day to day things but the funeral of a Sultan? Not to mention the events around it.

Turned out their argument hadn't made difference in their relationship like their fight about Dhiya had. Altair had still kissed him goodnight and fallen asleep with his chin on the meat of Malik's left shoulder.

The three days following he'd met with Munahid more than he'd seen the man in nearly three years to make sure there was a plan for everything. He'd spoken with Zaki and Abyan about what he should do. He'd spoken with Rauf about handling things with Altair since he knew he could handle Altair's tantrums or stubbornness better than Zaki and Abyan. Mainly because Rauf was young but also because Rauf might have been the only one in the fortress besides Malik that Altair genuinely respected and not just because it was his job to respect them. He'd also seen the tailor who'd apparently already had fancy formal clothes for him that just needed to be fitted to his size and his guards had also been seen to as well. He'd managed to squeak in a meeting with Haytham hours before he left just to hear what was going on and leave final instructions to him. It hadn't lasted long before Kamal had shown up and whispered in his ear that it was time to go and people were looking for him.

Then, before Malik even knew it, he was on the road to Jerusalem on his well-mannered horse who was easy enough to control with one hand. Masyaf was behind him and he had six guards. Altair had wanted more and Malik had wanted less. They'd argued about that too. So much arguing they'd done. They'd compromised on six. Enough to be a force but to not appear too paranoid of being a target, or to few to be too cocky. A cart followed behind them with their fine clothing and supplies.

Only once they were down the mountain did Malik feel like he could actually breathe. It felt like the first breath he'd taken in days. Next to him Jari looked at him. "Jari," he said as they rode.

"Yes, Grand Dai?"

"Am I dreaming?"

"Uh… why would you think that?"

"Because the Sultan is fucking dead and the Order of Assassins is sending a god damn cripple to his funeral." Jari said nothing. "You can laugh, I was being sarcastic," he said at large to his guard. Two or three chuckled.

"What's this mean for the war?" Jari asked him.

"No idea."

"You think they'll back off for a while now that they have Jaffa? At least long enough for us to bury the Sultan?" Hudad asked.

"We can only pray," Jamal nodded. "They might be heretics, but they are not heathens. Right?" he tossed to Malik.

"Richard Lionheart is a reasonable sort. He wouldn't attack without reason now that he's been given land and that those Europeans can pilgrimage to Jerusalem in safety," Malik said. "And some of them… they are like heathens." A few scoffed, a few more spit to show their distaste. "That's the hope at least. For now, nothing is certain. We will just have to see what happens and act accordingly."

They rode in silence for a little while before Hudad spoke again. "Master, is it true?"

"Is what true?"

"That the new Dai of Jerusalem is a woman?"

Malik felt all of them looking at him. He didn't flinch. "Yes. She is. And if any of you shame me in front of her by being disrespectful I won't even wait to send you home to the Grandmaster to gut you. That is the punishment the Grandmaster has decided to those who don't agree and do so too loudly, or too physically. Am I clear?"

"Y-yes sir," Lut stammered.

"Good. She is your Dai. You will treat her with the same respect you do the other Dai. I'm sure if I'm not quick enough to correct your behavior towards her her brother will be. Do any of you know Haris bin Abisali?"

"I do, sir," Altaf- a real irony of a name for an Assassin- said. "He really doesn't like you bad talking his family."

"No, he doesn't," Malik agreed. "Heed your brother's warning. All of you." There were some 'yes sirs' around and Malik left it at that.

The few days it took to get to Jerusalem from Masyaf allowed Malik to get his head on straight and think about what was going to happen. The actual funeral would be some days after he arrived at Jerusalem to both complete the embalming process and allow nobles and other people of standing to get themselves in order and to get to Jerusalem for the funeral. There was urgency to it but not a rush. Saladin would not be put to final rest for a time yet.

The fast-paced conversations he'd had with Zaki and Abyan before he'd left came better to his mind each night they camped or made it to an inn on their way to the city. Malik had never concerned himself with the politics of the world outside his walls of influence but that had been a grave mistake. Zaki had packed a book in his luggage that contained all important names and roughly drawn representations of them. Malik hadn't liked the 'homework' assignment Zaki had given him which was to memorize the entire thin volume but by the fire Malik found it a strangely relaxing task.

There were other things too, of course. About how Malik needed to talk and who he should and shouldn't speak to and if and when he should eat and how many of his guards he should bring to events. Most importantly was how he should hold himself. He'd felt like a novice again when Abyan had been giving him instruction and smacking him with his cane when he slouched or tried to shy away with his left side. Three days wasn't enough to fully engrain the lessons but a trained man like Malik took to teachings well. The lessons had been brief but Malik stood straighter now. It was stupid for an Assassin to walk around all broad shouldered and upright. You wanted to lean and slouch and hold to the side so people wouldn't notice you as much. It went against every way he should act in public. Even back at Masyaf Malik stood in Altair's shadow, doing his best to go unnoticed so everyone just basked in Altair's radiance.

Malik went to sleep every night with a headache from trying to keep everything straight.

When they arrived at the rise that overlooked Jerusalem all Malik felt was dread. He swallowed before clicking his tongue to his horse to rejoin the flow of traffic down into the city. As they'd gotten closer to the walled city the people going towards it had swelled from a few to dozens and his men had formed a column. Two behind the wagon, two beside Malik, one riding ahead, and one between Malik and the wagon. They were professional about it and covered in weapons they wore in full view of their fellow travelers all amassing towards the city. They were going to the funeral in one way or another. For work, for pleasure, to watch, or to take advantage of things. Of course thieves had been taking advantage of the state of Jerusalem for nearly three years now.

Malik saw several men in white hoods or wearing various shades of red sashes around their waists or across their shoulders in the crowds on the way to Jerusalem. His eyes narrowed in distaste. He'd have to do something about that. Perhaps that would be the first task he gave Zonira. Clean up these fools who thought they could play Assassin right under their noses. It'd be a good test for her to see what she could accomplish and not impossible. With enough examples the point would be made, don't wear a white hood with a red sash or you will die. None of these men approached the wagon and the guards kept everyone else away.

As they neared the gate his men covered some of their gear in their overlapping robes. Malik motioned for them to all lower their hoods and they did so despite the hesitation they showed. As it was they were barely dressed as Assassins. They wore white yes but they were more finely made than others and their belt sashes were black with similar patterns of Malik's flowering thorn bush on the back of his Grand Dai robe stitched in gold on it. Their vests were also altered to be of a finer quality and the Master rank symbols on the hems were gold on black silk. The tails of whites had also been taken in to be more 'in fashion' so they wouldn't stand out so much and the white itself was off white, creamy and sturdy but softer and better made than what they would usually wear. With their hoods down they looked like the guards of some wealthy noble and not Assassins.

Which was, of course, the entire point. They couldn't just parade into Jerusalem as themselves. They'd be tracked immediately and the guards would find Zonira's house and it'd mysteriously catch fire in days. No one would know the Assassins were here until Malik wanted them to know and his hands started to sweat thinking about this game he now had to play.

The guards at the gate gave them a brief once over and asked their business- Malik just told the truth and said they were here for the funeral- before letting them enter the city.

Of them Malik knew his way the best in Jerusalem. He'd lived here alone and had to either transverse the streets himself to get to markets or shops, and parts he didn't visit he'd studied maps he'd drawn himself until he'd memorized them so thoroughly he could have navigated them with his eyes closed. He directed everyone where to go and they entered the richer district in the Muslim quarter of the city. The old bureau had been located here and the wisdom was usually don't have bureaus in the same district each time they were found but it had been determined that it would be best to make Zonira a lady of money and wealth. That way no one would ask why people came and went from her house at all hours or why she might rarely leave. And when you were rich no one asked where your money came from, they just cared that you had it.

The house the Order had bought for Zonira and her family was not huge but it was larger than other bureau's the Order had ever bought for their Dais, and way more upscale. Zonira was supposed to be the daughter of a wealthy merchant, running affairs here in Jerusalem while her father was in Iran. Recently widowed she'd returned to her family to continue to run the business and unlike her brother had a real sense for money and the business. Her brother just liked to hit things. That was the cover they'd given her and it had been very expensive. Thankfully the contract with the Armenian Bishop had helped cover a good portion of the costs.

Assassins who worked the city were dressed up like common hired guards at the front of the small gated courtyard in front of the house. Malik hoped this wasn't a permanent issue, it was beneath men who they had work in cities to be used a simple guards. Their city workers were between contract takers and guards of Masyaf in skill or were journeymen trying to earn their whites and using them as grunts like this probably infuriated and humiliated them. They recognized Malik immediately but didn't say anything to him. They just opened the gate and allowed them to ride through.

With a big house came servants. Zonira's Daiship included the hiring of three staff members to help run the house. All former slaves, because the Order abhorred slaves and refused to own any, who'd in their last lives had been muted by old owners and were illiterate so they could not speak of what they might see in Zonira's home. They lived on the property and were paid a pitiful amount but they were free and for most that alone would be enough to buy any loyalty.

One of them came out of the house as they approached and indicated he would take everyone's horses. Malik dismounted. "Just show them where they can stow the horses," he told the servant. "They will take care of it," he looked at his men and they nodded. The servant nodded and grabbed the reins of Malik's horse and led Malik's men across the courtyard to the stables.

Malik went to the front door and pushed it open without knocking. There was a maid just inside who jumped when she saw him. "Where's your lady?" he asked her, "Take me to her." The maid nodded, put aside the basket she was carrying and beckoned Malik to follow her.

The maid led Malik to an office located in the very center of the house with no windows and a door backed with metal and metal straps across the front that was a bit ajar. She knocked on the door. "Enter," Zonira called and the maid pushed the door opened the rest of the way to show Zonira's office. When Zonira saw it was Malik she stood. She was wearing a dark gray thobe in respect for the death of the sultan and her hair was uncovered so it hung in super tight curls at her shoulders. "Grand Dai," she said in greeting.

"Zonira," he looked over at the servant who understood the look immediately and left, closing the door exactly the same amount it had been closed before. Malik looked around the office briefly. There were shelves of books and files. A cabinet on the side had some trinkets on it and the markings of her cover as a 'trader' like maps and even some baubles from an orient trader. Behind her was a map that depicted the Holy Land and surrounding countries of import like Egypt, Arabian, Iraq, Iran, and Persia with marks and lines on it like trade routes. It was a well made map, the compass rose was perfectly symmetrical and the grid work was so subtle it was practically invisible at a distance so you could appreciate the shapes of the countries and better see the trade routes. "Nice map," he said approvingly.

"I would hope you thought so," Zonira said. "You made it." She turned and looked at it. "I found it when we went to clear out the old bureau. Jawad had it hanging on the wall of his shop. Maybe to keep up whatever useless appearance he was making as a cartographer," she shrugged. "I thought it looked nice."

Malik had not expected that. He didn't let his surprise show either. Malik hadn't interacted much with Zonira while she'd been training. He thought it was a stupid idea to train a woman as a Dai. He had to assume Zonira knew Malik didn't approve of her. She had to prove everyone wrong, including Malik. So far she was doing well. "I do good work," Malik said with a smile and took a seat in front of her desk. She smiled back in absolute relief and sat as well. "How have you done here in the city so far?"

"Well enough," she nodded. "Making all my neighbors believe I'm really the daughter of a merchant wasn't that hard," her face went a bit tight, "I did spend all the money you gave me, though," she swallowed.

"All of it?" Malik asked. They hadn't given her an insignificant amount when she'd left and it was supposed to last the month. "On what?"

"It isn't cheap to be a woman of standing, Malik," she said, dark eyes filled with fear Malik would be furious with her. She knew what his temper was like. "Or to pretend to be. If I wanted them to believe I was the daughter of a rich merchant I had to act like it. It included trips to private baths, appearances at a few parties which needed new clothes. When I'd settled in I had to throw my own party and invite my new friends and neighbors or I'd be looked at with disdain. I even made a play at meeting with merchants to discuss 'business deals'. Just our men dressed up to look the part but that also required some additions to their wardrobes. I had to buy three slaves. And not shitty slaves either. Good slaves. They were… expensive."

Malik took a deep breath so he didn't yell at her. He wasn't here to be her enemy. He was here to promote her and make sure the other Dai's accepted her. To Malik the things she'd spent the money on sounded frivolous. Parties? Clothes? Useless to him. But he also understood. If you made a good impression in the beginning and no one questioned you later because you'd already endeared yourself to them. He relaxed his grip on the arm of the chair. "Alright. Did you overspend?" Zonira didn't answer, she hesitated. "If you're afraid I'm angry; I am," Malik allowed a little anger to leech in. She stiffened and her neck tightened so he could see the tendons in them a bit. "But I'm not your enemy, Dai Zonira. If there are things that need to be fixed or helped I need to be told so I can fix them. Did you overspend?"

"Yes," she said softly.

"A lot? Do you have receipts?"

She reached over to a cabinet and pulled out a thin folder and put it on the desk in front of him. He opened it to check it. "I did my best," she said. The file had money lender information in it including the amount taken out and the interest accrued. Zonira hadn't been here more than two weeks or so so the interest was small and she'd either haggled it down or found someone who would loan money out to a woman on low interest.

"Where are your missive slips?" he asked her.

"Huh?"

"Give me one, and a pen and ink," he said, finally looking up at her.

She handed him the little slip she'd tie to pigeons to send home to Masyaf. Like the one she'd sent a few days ago saying Saladin was dead. She provided a pen and ink and Malik wrote in a neat hand for Munahid to include so many dinars to be dispatched to Jerusalem immediately. "Sir-

"You cannot be in debt when the old men arrive," Malik said as he finished. "No other Dai is in debt, and you cannot be either. It will be seen as a weakness. This little girl doesn't know how to manage money and immediately put herself in debt, squandering what the Grandmaster saw in you. They will come and demand to see your books, because that is how they judge one another, by their book keeping. Where is your accounts ledger?" She handed him a red book and he opened it. It had originally been made up by a clerk back at Masyaf with the charts she was to fill in as she got money from clients, percentages to be taken out for upkeep of the bureau and her expenses. For a while most of the information was in black before she switched to red ink.

"This book is garbage now," he told her.

"What?"

"Find an accountant, have him draw you up a new ledger book as big as this one," he nodded at the red book he held. "You're to recopy everything in here with a new total at the top for your first allowance. You may pick the number but make it so that you are in the black."

"But sir, that's not what happened-

"Now it is," Malik said. "They won't know. You will be keeping both books from now on, the fake book, and the real book," he motioned with the book. "The fake book is for any of our brothers or Dai, or even the Grandmaster. They will see you have always been perfectly in the black and have never disgraced us with debt. No matter what you are always to keep the fake book in the black and as realistic as possible. The real book will be only for you and I. You will bring it with you to Dai meetings henceforth for my review."

She swallowed and then said, as cocky and sure as any of his men, despite the slight tremor, "This will be the only time you see red in the real book, sir," she said.

"I hope so. But you will have to prove that to me. The first thing you've done since being made Dai is made me spend more money. I hate spending money," he growled. "Especially when I know it goes to cover things that don't further the Order. I don't trust that you won't do it again since this debt is no trivial thing, Zonira." She looked down shamefully. "I have spent three years keeping the Order out of debt and you do so in two weeks."

"I'm sorry-

"I don't want apologies. They mean nothing. Don't do it again."

"Yes, sir," she said softly.

Malik took another deep breath to calm himself. "Put this away," he put the ledger book back down on the desk. "Have the new book commissioned before the day's end. You're to have the fake one filled before the other Dai here." She nodded, not looking at him, she was looking at her desk. She put away the red ledger book. "Now. Please tell me something good that has happened. How have our men in the city taken to you?"

"They did not like it, sir," she said, still looking at the table.

"Look at me when you talk to me, Zonira. You are a Dai, and I am your superior, you will look at me."

Her black eyes traveled up to him and they were so weak. She looked about to break right then. Like she just wanted to break down and cry from what Malik had said to her. He felt sort of bad about it but he also couldn't care. Altair favored her, she knew that. She knew Altair liked her a great deal and would tolerate her weakness even if he wanted her to be strong. Malik had no patience for it and had no patience for her either. In the coming weeks as the Dai meeting was held she'd live or die by how strong she was. She'd either come out of the meeting tolerated, or those old men would eat her alive. So he had no time for her weakness.

"They do not like that I'm Dai, sir," she said.

"And what have you done about it? Anything?"

"It was my brother's idea," she admitted.

"No shame in asking your brother how to handle men like himself."

"The guards out front? They were very vocal about how they felt of a lady Dai. After Haris beat them up he stationed them as guards for our house."

Malik gave a single cough of a laugh. "Brilliant," he said, meaning it. "I had wondered if you knew making those men play at guards was humiliating to them."

"That was the idea," Zonira said. "I have five guards now in the total. They take turns. When I feel like it, they accompany me to the market with my sister-in-law and carry what we buy."

Malik fought a smile and lost. "I'm glad that even if you have trouble standing up to me you do just fine against your men."

"To be fair, sir, you're much harder to impress, and more important to impress than them."

"Heh. I guess so," Malik agreed. "And those who aren't your guards?"

"They've fallen in line for the most part. They talk back but I expect nothing less. When they do so too much I speak to them like I do my son. It humiliates them enough to shut down. Haris is often with me when I give out assignments and he doesn't allow them to back talk to me. My usual city men and spies know at this point my brother isn't afraid to punch them if they get out of line and they know they're in the wrong so they don't fight back."

"You don't allow it to go too far, I hope."

"No no, of course not, sir," she assured him. "Just enough to make them see the wisdom in listening to me."

"Good." Malik sat back in the chair. "Any other information to report?"

"Since the Sultan has died there have been more appearances of men in white. Crime is through the roof. My spies bring me information daily about people asking guards to look into thefts or other crimes and when they find out men in white are involved will do nothing about it. Since I've been here I've gotten four reports like that a day."

"And what are the crimes?"

"Theft mostly. But there have been some rapes, stabbings, and at least a few instances of public indecency."

"Was Jawad doing anything about it?"

"According to some of his notes he was having his men quietly take care of some of the more visible ones. Jawad wasn't worried about Jerusalem, his notes were pitiful and what was available was not encouraging. He was planning something else. Don't know what, but his plans didn't include Jerusalem."

"No, they didn't," Malik agreed. "What they were don't matter any longer. What do you intend to do with these pretenders?"

Zonira looked lost and hopeless. "I can't be everywhere at once. And with more people coming into the city every day for the funeral-

"I don't want to hear your excuse for why it's difficult, Zonira," Malik said cooly. "I want to hear what you plan to do about it."

Zonira bit her lip. "I… I don't know," she said. She was scared again. Scared of not knowing, of failing Malik.

"I'm glad you can admit you don't know," he said and she relaxed a little. "You are not of an Assassin's mind and this position is new to you. You do not know a lot, and that's okay."

"What should I do?"

"There is one thing Assassins enjoy above all things, Zonira," he said. "It is being put to work. We are trained our lives for this blood work. Many of us enjoy it. Are there men in the city who like you?"

"A few," she said. "They think it's funny I'm a Dai. One laughed when he first met me and I told him I was Dai. He then said he wondered when the Grandmasters would get wise to the fact women made better leaders than men. Others there is some respect. At the very least they respect not wanting to be made into my guards with their bad attitudes."

"The ones who like you," Malik said. "Reward them."

"How?"

"Tell them to go make examples of our copy cats." Malik and Altair had discussed this at length after Zonira had gone. What to do about Jerusalem. Altair hated it was a crime riddled city and criminals were using fear of him to get away with whatever they wanted. Usually Malik didn't agree with Altair's more gruesome ideas but this time he did. "First have them find the most prolific ones and you decide who will be the targets. Then tell them that they can make an example of them so that everyone knows that these thieves and thugs in white are not untouchable. Enough examples and they will be too afraid to wear their fake white hoods and red sashes."

"That is… bloody," she said.

"We're Assassins, Zonira. Our lives are bloody."

"I'll have them start looking into these fakes then. Find out where they crawled out from."

"Good," Malik nodded. "This won't go away overnight. Thieves and such all think that they are different from the others. That they will be the exception to the rule. Meaning it will take many examples. And when the fakes have dwindled to nothing there will still be some that try it out anyway because the guards will still be too scared. When those fakes pop up months from now destroy them too. The guards will stay afraid of the white hoods, but now the things they can deal with won't be wearing them so they can follow up on those thefts, break ins, muggings, rapes, and petty murders. Understand?"

"Yes, sir," she nodded.

"And don't use your brother," Malik added. "We sent him with you for a reason. He's to remain with you."

"I wouldn't have anyway," she lied to him.

"Of course," Malik said to not indicate he knew she was lying.

There was a knock on the door. "Who calls?" Zonira asked.

"Grand Dai, Dai," Jari opened the door a little so he could look inside, "excuse my interruption."

"It's fine," Malik said. "We were just finishing up. What is it?"

"Your room is ready," Jari said, eyes going from Zonira to Malik and back again.

"Ah, wonderful," Malik said. His men had found it funny when Malik had said earlier that he'd just wanted to nap in a real bed as soon as possible once they were at the bureau. Only Jari had taken it to heart. "I'll be along shortly," Malik said and waved Jari away. Jari retreated but Malik knew he was standing just out of earshot in the hallway. He turned back to Zonira. "Have a bird sent with my message immediately," he told her and she nodded. "And go about what we discussed. We'll talk more over dinner."

"Of course," she said.

Malik got up with a slight groan. He was so ready for that bed. Maybe a quick wash before. "Safety and peace, Zonira," he said and he watched all her fear and insecurities slide right off her shoulders. She'd known it was a phrase used only between equals but she was sure Haris had told her the nuances of it by now.

"Safety and peace, Grand Dai," she said. Malik waved a little and walked out of the office.

As predicted Jari was standing, leaning against the wall, waiting for him. "It go well?"

"Yes," Malik said as Jari peeled himself off the wall to show Malik where he was to stay. "Don't tell Altair I said this but he and Zaki picked a good woman for the job." Jari snorted. "If nothing else I know Faruq will like her."

"He likes everyone, Malik."

"Yes, I know. But that's better than none. You think Diyari will like her?"

"Diyari doesn't think much of women," Jari said. "Uh… that didn't come out the way I meant it," Jari's face had turned an interesting shade of red at this point.

"Of course not," Malik said nicely.

"I meant- that just- I don't know how he'll like her," he stammered out.

"Ah well, if he doesn't I can expect you to change his mind then?"

Jari wilted under Malik's question as they came to the door. "I don't promise anything," he said. "When Diyari gets it into his head about something it's difficult to change his mind."

"Like how he keeps asking you to ask to be reassigned to Aleppo?" Malik asked and Jari nodded hesitantly. "Well, we all have to work on things. If Diyari is one of those who's difficult about accepting Zonira into our fold then you'll just have to work on that, hmm?"

"I'll try," Jari said.

"All I can ask of you. Now, before I go in there, is there a house bath?"

"Yes. It's in the back. Just uh- go down the hall it's the last door on the left."

"Excellent. Thank you, Jari."

"Of course, sir," Jari nodded. Malik went into the room to prepare for a bath and then a well-deserved nap in that very comfortable looking bed.

If you like the story consider leaving a comment. I really appreciate it.

Fyi, this entire arc isn't very historically accurate as far as who dies where and when and wtf happens. But the story is better for it so jusssssst go with it.