Part Six: Stay Your Blade
That night Altair slipped out of the Bureau in nothing but moonlight. Jabal didn't even see him off, instead heading through a trapdoor behind the counter to deal with something. Altair didn't appreciate the snubbing, but the old rafiq clearly had many worries and concerns that he had to handle. Without leaving the Bureau. How did anything get done in Acre?
But that was none of Altair's concern. He was an assassin not a rafiq or dai.
He wandered the city again and was disturbed to see absolutely no one out in the streets. Not even a furtive messenger flitting about shadows. Everyone was staying in whatever homes or hovels they had - including open buildings that seemed likely to crumble at the slightest movement.
Altair paused in the shadows of a Christian slanted roof. The only people he saw about were archers who kept their eyes trained to any shadow that so much as flickered.
If there was no one out to investigate, then he needed to stop and rest while he could. A sky garden provided all the privacy he needed. He settled for the night, as comfortable as he could be without removing his harness and equipment. He did not sleep. He never could when on assignment, but he rested and felt his surroundings. Archers occasionally walked past, the harsh English vowels sounding out complaints; about the watch and how they had families that were sick and that there was never enough guards at the hospital as a result. There just weren't enough to cover each other - particularly the guard Allen for the northeast part of the hospital, who visited a dying brother often, leaving his post unattended. Others, too, were quick to leave their posts to see to sick or dying relatives, and no one said anything to the master; they didn't want more trouble on top of the pile they already had.
It was good practice for Altair to listen to all the foreign tongues. Really, Christians had no cohesion.
After dawn he slipped out of the sky garden and dropped to an empty alleyway, ignoring the body without legs as he walked out to the thoroughfare that was filling with people.
Altair let the flow of the people carry him until he climbed the steps to what was once a beautiful European garden with a repurposed Muslim fountain and redone European stonework. The trees meant to line the garden all looked sickly, those that were alive at any rate. Several of the larger trees lacked any leaves at all and some of the pines were broken from all the fighting and catapults of the siege, no doubt. In a shadowed corner, he recognized the gray tagelmust of a journeyman, the one Jabal had mentioned was in the area.
"Ah, if it isn't Altair," the journeyman said expansively. "Remember me? No?"
Altair shrugged. He knew the face and voice. That was enough.
The journeyman seemed angered at this, however. "I learned my craft at the same time as you, still no memories of me."
Altair scoffed. "Being forgettable is a great talent when seeking not to be noticed."
"Doesn't matter," the journeyman grunted. "Al Mualim has charged me, indeed all of the Brotherhood, with a mission that I am honored to perform. I must test you. What a pleasure."
There was no hiding the smile behind the scarf covering his face. Altair grit his teeth, but said nothing. He was, after all, a demoted assassin.
The journeyman continued. "I have hidden flags in this area. Find them and return to me. Be quick." Under his breath, he muttered, "It is such a shame that the old man insisted that I must help you if you succeed."
Altair hid a smile that Jabal was ensuring that he had aid.
A quick glance around the "area" and Altair turned to the journeyman. "These flags are not hidden. They are in clear sight of the streets."
The informant merely crossed his arms. "That is so."
Altair narrowed his eyes. "I will be seen by the citizens."
"That is not my problem."
"It could compromise the Brotherhood."
"And what do you care, Altair? As long as you get your information how does the Brotherhood matter to you?"
Altair's glare made the journeyman flinch ever so slightly, but it was enough of a reaction for Altair to count it is a victory.
"If this truly does bring trouble to Jabal, it will be your fault. The rafiq recommended that I seek you out. You chose to have me parade myself around."
The informant looked away briefly. "I am counting my heartbeats, Altair. You'd best move quickly."
He took off swiftly, easily leaping from beam to beam, from platform to rooftop, grabbing each flag. He ignored the people down below, befuddled by his hasty race above them.
"Can someone tell me why he's doing that?"
"He's going to hurt himself and when he does I won't help him."
"Here now, what's he doing?"
"How odd."
Many of the flags were hidden on rooftops, but many still remained out in the open and Altair did not like being so exposed. Carrying them all quickly became annoying, the shafts of wood that the flags were attached to were not as strong as they should have been, they bent this way and that, the wobbling affecting his balance and making it difficult for them to stay under his arm. The canvas, too, kept catching on things that Altair thought he had cleared. How had any apprentice ever enjoyed this, how had he enjoyed this when he was a young teenager? Still, he collected the twenty flags and returned to the angry journeyman. In less than a hundred heartbeats, no less.
"I'm impressed," the journeyman said begrudgingly. "Not enough to change my mind about you, but since the rafiq commands, here is what I know about your next target."
Altair smirked in victory.
"Garnier hides in the Hospitalier fortress. Getting in to the fortress will require... cunning." There was no question that the informant doubted Altair had any. "That's all I have for you," he sneered before walking briskly off.
Altair let him go. He had what he needed, what did he care of other's opinions?
He scouted the area of the gardens for another hour, to see if he could learn anything else, before heading to the abandoned souk Jabal had mentioned. He had seen it the previous day as he'd remapped the city and had noted the guards who stood at each entrance.
Really, the Christians were just shouting that something interesting was there.
And since the Christians made such a tempting offering of the guarded and abandoned souk, who was Altair to turn away? He climbed some of the belltowers that he had the day before, this time studying the souk and the area around it for anything interesting.
There. He saw a hole in the roof of the market, no doubt another scar left over by the siege. Still, the roof was patrolled by archers. What do the Crusaders hide in there? Altair could not help but wonder. He dropped to the roofs and approached cautiously. Jabal had warned him to stay his blade and while he normally did not care, Altair would listen here in Acre. The old rafiq had made it quite plain what would happen if some citizen died. As such, Altair did not even wish to risk it with the archers lining the roofs. Besides, for guards to mysteriously be stabbed might draw attention to his presence. Garnier was already hidden within the fortress. It would not do to have him warned of Altair's coming.
So he stayed low and as an archer walked by, Altair swiftly slid over the curved roof and dropped through to a platform below, once more hidden in the shadows.
The first thing Altair noticed was the silence. A souk, even in the dawn or evenings, was often bustling with both patrons and merchants as stalls did early or late sales while setting up or packing for the day. Damascus's own souk Al-Silaah was always filled to bursting with merchants, even outside the souk itself with people shouting out their wares and trying to catch the attention of any passer-by.
The merchant hall of Acre didn't even have the candles lit. The only light came from broken skylights and even that was not enough to pierce some of the dark shadows. The merchant stands that Altair could see were boarded up and long since left to rot, much like the rest of the city, with cobwebs layering the stands and rats scurrying through the darkness.
It was a pitiable existence for a place that was meant for lively activity and transactions.
But the most interesting thing Altair saw was directly below him, in the circle of light left by the roof's hole. Two Christians were laughing together, both balding and both dressed in the rags he'd seen the citizens wearing throughout the district.
"So what you got there?" said one, Altair identifying the language as English.
"Rubbish," said the other, "the man had no coin to speak of, just some damn tube."
Thieves then. Understandable given the state of the city.
"All's I found," the thief continued, "was a bit o' paper with these nonsense scratchings."
Altair let out a silent sigh. He never understood how the Europeans could keep so many of their own uneducated.
"Them's not nonsense but words and letters!" The man rubbed his bald head with a chuckle.
The thief scoffed. "Why's a man puttin' words and letters in a tube?" The thief let out a chuckle. "Waste of a tube if y'ask me."
The other didn't laugh at the innuendo, but his eyes sparkled nonetheless. "Must be important," he reasoned, "give it here! An' I'll have a look!"
"Like you helped last time?" the thief got defensive, stepping back toward the shadows. "I ain't lettin' you steal this."
"Well ain't you clever?" the other mocked. "Have fun with it then." He turned and stalked away, clearly frustrated that he couldn't make money from whatever paper the thief had taken.
Of course, an illiterate thief wouldn't know what to do with it either. Altair was the only one present that could judge the value of the letter, so he just needed to appropriate it.
He swiftly and silently jumped off the platform to a beam, then an old stand, then the ground. The shadows of the abandoned souk were his ally as he ghosted after the thief. There were guards sporadically in the hall, but with very little light, Altair breezed by them. The thief was a complete amateur, and had likely surprised whatever messenger he'd stolen the letter from and bludgeoned him to get the tube. As such, the amateur didn't know how to protect the goods that he'd stolen. Altair easily lifted the letter and was heading back the way he came with none the wiser.
Climbing back up to the platform he'd been on before, Altair looked at the letter under the light.
Master,
Progress is slow. We should endeavor to reclaim what's been taken from us or I fear we'll be discovered before we have a chance to act. My work on substitutes shows some promise as certain local flora can be used to induce a similar state. Be warned, however: the effects are only temporary and subjects tend to develop a resistance, requiring increased dosage.
Unfortunately, they can only take so much before exhaustion claims them. I've lost far too many in this manner and it breaks my heart.
Your man in Jerusalem should be commended for his diligence. My supplies remain sufficient and I am no longer forced to use locals, helping to defray suspicion. I do worry about our loss in Damascus, though I have sufficient arms and armor to continue for a while longer. He will need to be replaced within the month, however, or our soldiers will be forced to wield table knives. Which brings me to my next concern...
What do you intend to do about our enemy? I fear that the losses we suffered are but the start. I feel secure enough within the hospital's walls, but it would be best if we dealt with this trouble before it had a chance to bloom. My men are yours for the task if it's required. Merely make your desires known to me.
Your brother in peace.
-G.
It took Altair the better part of two hours to translate it, and he spent most of the hours cursing Christians and their many languages. Garnier, from his name, was French, the thieves spoke English and the letter was in Latin. It was a painful process to translate, since Altair had not had to translate Latin in some time. If he ever came across something that needed translating, that's what novices and apprentices were for. They needed the practice.
... This was a harsh reminder that some of his skills had dulled.
Altair pushed that aside and analyzed the contents of the letter. Garnier was an associate of Tamir, that much was clear from references to a loss in Damascus (Altair smiled) and having sufficient arms for now. However, that was unsettling. Tamir was clearly Saracen, through and through and Garnier had been with the Knights Hospitalier for over ten years, being Christian down to his core.
What could make a Christian Crusader and Muslim Saracen work together? And who was this third man in Jerusalem? What supplies did this man in Jerusalem provide and how did providing them defray suspicion? Garnier talked of local flora and increased dosages. Was the man in Jerusalem providing herbs? Just what was Garnier doing in that hospital fortress? This provided more questions than answers.
Another troubling thing... what had been taken that local flora needed to replace? Altair's mind automatically went to the treasure of Solomon's Temple, but he had taken that from Robert de Sable and the Templars, and that was a treasure. An item of historical value, no doubt, but it could not affect individuals. Why de Sable had wanted it was a mystery but that wasn't the problem. There was no connection between the Templars and Tamir and Garnier. Not that Altair was aware of.
He sighed. He didn't have enough information. "Your greatest failure was born from knowing too much." So Altair lived in ignorance.
He did not like it.
Looking at the letter again, he paused. Garnier implied that the arms Tamir had provided were going to an army. Which army? Tamir had helped the Saracens and was known to get support of the merchant's guild by being a good Muslim. The unknown client, surely wouldn't be Christian? And if Garnier's army wasn't the Hospitaliers (as the one's he'd seen didn't bear the armor or weapons that Tamir would have provided), then who was? A letter he had intercepted meant for Tamir said that there was an order for a thousand troops. The Knights Hospitalier left in Acre would barely count to four hundred, the rest back with Richard preparing his march southward.
And most troubling of all, who was this "Master"?
Altair put that aside and smiled. Garnier felt safe in his fortress's walls. Altair would have to correct that assumption.
Rolling up the letter, he put it in his pouch. The sun was higher and higher, and its light was starting to fall onto the platform he had been resting on. He'd have to leave quickly or the guards on the abandoned souk's roof would spy his white robes as they walked by. Altair was disappointed that he had found no reason why the Crusaders guarded the old merchant stalls.
He was glancing up through the hole in the roof to see if the guards were sufficiently distracted when a sound filtered up to his ears, a door creaking open and shutting.
Interesting.
Altair stayed to the ceiling beams as he used the approaching noon sun coming through the small skylights to light his way. His sharp eyes caught nothing until he was almost at the other end of the souk. There he crouched on a beam and watched.
A boarded up stall was pulled away to where the merchants would normally keep their extra wares. From within came a Hospitalier Knight, glancing around in the darkness, before coming out fully with sword drawn.
There was a harsh whisper in French and a cough before slaves were ushered forth from the small room. Altair narrowed his eyes. Why were Hospitaliers transporting slaves?
A short whistle sounded and another knight approached from the darkened halls, with a bag of rags that was quickly distributed amongst the slaves, making them look more like the destitute citizens outside.
Well this was interesting.
Staying to the beams in the ceiling, Altair followed the small crowd to the nearest entrance. Just before they could reach the daylight, they halted. There were just the two knights and close to two dozen disguised slaves. With a nod to the guards at the entrance, one of the Crusaders walked with six of the slaves without even a glance around. The citizens outside paid no heed to guards business. A few moments later, after the flow of the crowd had completely changed to different faces, one of the guards for the entrance took another set of slaves. Again, once the crowd flowed to different people and one of the entrance guards took another set of slaves.
Finally, Altair watched the last of the slaves leave with the last knight and the entrance of the souk was unguarded.
Altair dropped down and slid out of the abandoned merchant hall and was once again a part of the crowds. It didn't take long to find a ladder and reach the roofs and even less to find the odd patrolling of one Crusader moving six people along by pointed sword.
It was a clever ruse. The rags made the slaves look closer to prisoners, and the blood splatters and vague limping that some exhibited also implied injury. Most of the common citizens kept their distance, wanting no part of whatever the knights were guarding and moving. One beggar showed uncommon bravery as she ran right up to one of the knights. "Please sir, do you have any money? I beg of you, sir, I beg of you! I'm poor and sick and hungry!"
The knight had nothing to say, just pushing her roughly away. She stood in his path once more, but the knight growled something in French that Altair was unfamiliar with but could guess was foul language of some kind.
As they approached the northern wall of the city, Altair descended to the streets again as the roofs became more easily seen and exposed.
He melded with the crowds, keeping the guard and his prisoners in easy sight, occasionally sitting on a bench and letting things flow around him. The thoroughfare opened up to the steps that lead up to fortress and Altair leaned easily against a wall, watching the guard poke the slaves up and into the hospital.
So this was where Garnier was hiding.
Altair had a moment of temptation. The man he was after was right there in the fortress. If Altair were to act, he'd have the element of surprise, the guards wouldn't stand a chance, they'd all be dead before they knew what hit them.
But Altair did not bear the feather, and no matter how he'd done things his own way, he always had the feather and blessings of a rafiq before he went about the kill. What he was doing now was tedious and meant for underlings, but it was his task and he would not get the feather until he'd done everything he could.
He was here to show Al Mualim that he had not lost his skills, that he had been a master at investigations before he had focused his talents on the actual kill.
So with a heavy sigh, Altair turned away from where his target hid.
A part of him wondered why slaves were hiding in the souk and then brought to the fortress, but that didn't bear anything on the where and when Garnier would be killed, so he pushed such thoughts aside. He had more work to do.
Altair stayed in the streets this time, occasionally using alleys to cut through and stepping over corpses if needed. He spent his time just listening to the people. The languages were many, English, French, German, a smattering of Hungarian, and the Latin of the priests and scholars. It took intense focus to listen from one conversation to another, unlike in Damascus where all spoke Arabic or Turkish and all he needed to do was listen for keywords.
He spared a sip from his waterskin, remembering Jabal's word about the fountains that still worked. Given the spread of disease, Altair would not even trust the food. He would get something to eat when he returned to the Bureau. Surely Jabal would have food there.
The afternoon of listening to the people proved interesting. They were not happy with Garnier. Rumors were rampant that he had been exiled from France for his twisted experiments, that all his "patients" were just bodies for whatever his deranged mind came up with. Those who walked by the fortress claimed that they could hear screams within that would give them nightmares and that those suffering from the prolific diseases after over a year of siege and poisoned water, were always turned away. How could a healer turn away the sick? Why were there so many guards around a hospital?
Garnier also seemed to take any of the actual workers in the city to take care of his own fortress. Candelabras were to be replaced because the people weren't important; it was the knights who sacrificed, so they must come first. Builders were reinforcing the hospital and unable to help with the construction desperately needed throughout the city. The people were upset and tired of being on the bottom of everyone's priority list. What did Garnier need local tradesman for? His fortress still stood unscathed, why build it up further?
The questions went on and on. The people didn't seem that fond of Garnier, but did not have the strength to stand up to him after having already been disheartened and demoralized from the siege. Altair let out a soft sigh as he drifted amongst the people. Common folk, the average person in any city across the world, no matter the culture or rules, very often lacked the courage to stand up for what they believed in, always believing it to be someone else's problem. It was why the Assassins were so important. They did what the people could not.
But those were the worries and concerns for Al Mualim. Altair merely did as he was asked. Thinking about the welfare of the people would not aide him in killing Garnier. He had learned what he needed. It was time to head back to the bureau.
"You say that Garnier does not hear your suffering!"
Altair's ears twitched.
"This is unfair! Untrue!"
A supporter of Garnier? Altair stalked closer.
"He is but one man, gifted as he is, and can only help so many!" A town crier, preaching on the steps of a small church. Altair stayed in the stretching shadows of late afternoon and continued to listen.
"Soon, my friends, soon the good doctor will attend to your needs! Be patient! Hold hope close!" the crier thrust a hand to his heart. "There are many in need of aide and only one of him! He works tirelessly to serve and save! But these things take time!"
The crier continued and Altair listened with great interest to the propaganda. It seemed doubtful that Garnier would have such a vocal supporter, but if this man was paid or an honest follower, it did not matter. He had information and Altair would get it.
The sun continued to set and as late afternoon turned to early evening, the crier's voice was starting to give out. He was turning to the side to clear his throat and occasionally cough. As the people started heading home for their dinners, the crier had fewer people to hear him and finally came down off the steps, heading down a thoroughfare that lead downhill. Another beggar came forward to the crier, but he brushed her aside. She never even noticed Altair as he easily kept to the shadows.
The crier eventually paused at a well, clearly debating on whether or not to partake of the diseased water of town. Altair took his moment to pounce. A swift kick to the back of the knees sent the man sprawling on the ground and Altair wrapped his elbow around the man's neck in a choke hold before throwing a precise punch to the kidneys, knocking the wind out of him and ensure a better grasp around the neck.
"Mercy!" the crier cried out. "Mercy! Don't kill me! I'll do anything you want!"
Good. This would not take long. "You serve Garnier?" he intoned in his best English.
"He-he makes me say these things," the man cowered, his hand brushing back the curly blond hair, "to keep the people from revolting. To give them hope and make them eager for his touch."
Interesting. This town crier seemed quite petrified of Garnier.
"Tell me everything you can about the man," Altair demanded coldly.
"Y-yes! O-of course! I-I know what happens within... what he really does!"
"Go on."
"Not sick, not wounded when they enter, but once he's got his hands on them, then the pain begins!" The blond shuddered, curling almost into himself in a horror only he could see.
"He is no healer, then, just a sick, cruel man." One who deserved Altair's blade.
"I-I don't know what it is he does to make them cry so loud, but it must be stopped before more are made to suffer. Will you stop him?" the crier begged, reaching forward to grab Altair's robes in desperation.
"It's why you still live," he replied softly.
"He is cautious. You must pick the proper time," the crier replied, apparently eager to provide the needed information. "Go to him when he attends to the patients, he forgets the world around him, becomes lost in his work. Yes, strike then."
"I thank you for the information," Altair said with sincerity. This would be useful once he was inside.
"Then you'll let me go?"
"Would that I could." He grabbed the shoulder of the crier, his blade already extending through his missing finger when he paused. "Some do ill out of ignorance or fear. These men can be saved." Al Mualim's words came back to him, as did Jabal's warning not to kill civilians. This man was clearly petrified of Garnier and only acted out of that fear. He had readily provided information, not even offering the slightest trace of resistance, and even now as he slumped in recognition of the fate Altair implied.
It made Altair hesitate.
Did this man truly deserve to die? He could not be left alone, Garnier would have the Hospitalier knights looking for him when he did not return to the hospital or wherever he was meant to stay. It would mean that Garnier would discover the Brotherhood was after him, since this man was too scared to not be honest. And if he tried to lie, Garnier might notice it. But to kill a man who was so ready to help seemed... a waste.
Besides, it might spark the war Jabal suspected was a breath away within the city that would hold Richard and his forces.
And that would truly be inconvenient.
So Altair retracted his hidden blade and instead punched the man swiftly in the eye and then again in the other.
Once the man was down and holding his face, Altair dragged him to a shadowed alley. "Your name?"
The man just groaned.
Altair grunted in annoyance and ripped part of the man's sleeve off to wrap around the puffing eyes. "Your name!" Altair growled, all authority.
"T-Thomas."
Doubting Thomas. How fitting.
"Can you see?"
"Of course not! You've blinded me!" the man cried back.
"Good." Altair checked the eyes carefully, grateful to see the bruising that was swiftly rising was not any sort of permanent damage. One eye was already swollen almost shut. The other was not as damaged, but Thomas would not know that. "I can take you somewhere safe, but you can not guide others back. We will get you safely out of the city."
There was a heavy pause. "Truly?" the man whispered. "You can help me escape? I can go back home?"
"Escape the city, that I believe can be promised," Altair replied, carefully wrapping Thomas's eyes. "Going back to your home? That I don't know."
"Either way," the man replied, "I'll be free. Oh thank you, sir. Thank you! You are an angel of mercy upon me!"
"I am no angel."
"It matters not! Oh thank you, Master!"
"Give me any of your coins. If the knights ask, you have been mugged and I am guiding you home. The bandage should conceal your face well enough. I am but a humble scholar."
"Yes, sir! Thank you, sir!"
Altair helped the man up, putting one of Thomas's hands on Altair's shoulders. "I am playing the part of one who doesn't know English. Occasionally say sakan," he pronounced the Arabic word carefully, "so it appears that you are guiding me."
"Sakan," Thomas repeated, his pronunciation of "dwelling" sounding very English and not Arabic, but it would have to do.
Altair glanced up at the sun. "I will not be able to get you to safety before nightfall. But I will be by your side until we reach it tomorrow, so you have no need to worry."
"Whatever it takes, sir, I am at your mercy."
Altair nodded, though Thomas could not see. "Do you have any food or water on you?"
The man shook his head. "I have run out of my wine rations that that man gave me and I was not given any food for today's oration."
Altair looked at his waterskin and the shook it to judge how much water remained.
Jabal had clearly stated that the fountains at the Bureau were no good and that water would not be back for almost a week, depending on whatever apprentice or novice had been sent out. Altair hoped to be gone by then, as there were still so many names on that list to redeem himself.
With a quiet sigh, he put his waterskin away. He had survived on no food or water before, but he needed any edge he could get for the mission with Garnier. From what he learned, even with archers and guards disappearing to see to sick families, the fortress remained heavily guarded and giving up what water he had left before he could infiltrate and kill Garnier seemed a stupid move.
"We should start moving. Keep your hand on my shoulder."
"Of course, sir, whatever you say," Thomas replied. Hesitantly, he added "Sakan?" and Altair could not quite contain a quiet chuckle.
The demoted assassin made certain he took a circuitous route, but staying well away from the fortress. He circled the area and would occasionally pause, letting Thomas sit and rest after such a tiring day. The former-crier would occasionally ask questions when they were alone, in an attempt to pass the time, but Altair was not so talkative. He was focused on surroundings. He paused once in a while, turning to Thomas and asking in clear and slow Arabic which direction to go. Thomas picked up on what was happening quickly and would point in a random direction that Altair would then go. None of the citizens of the city paid any mind and they were only stopped once by a knight. Thomas tried to explain, but the Crusader only spoke German. They were harassed for a few moments, but the knight finally gave up, and waved them by.
The streets were almost empty and the sun almost set when Altair quietly warned Thomas of steps he would need to make over rubble. He even turned to hold Thomas's arms as he pulled him into an abandoned building, the roof missing, save for a tiny corner of it.
"We will rest here," Altair said softly. He helped Thomas down into a corner and stayed in front of him, instant protection should any try to get into their shadowed area. Altair rather doubted they'd be accosted since no one ever seemed to be out during the night here in Acre.
This was all a bother. It was more work that wouldn't be necessary if he had just killed Thomas as he had meant to. But... Thomas had been so desperate, and something in that plea had reached Altair. This was a person who did not wish to serve Garnier but believed himself to have no choice. Normally, Altair scoffed, since anyone could stand up and resist whatever circumstances they bore. But unlike others who broke down in intimidation, Thomas had been eager to help, providing as much as he could.
The moon rose high in the night and the former-town-crier was fast asleep. Altair sighed at the trouble and took another sip from his waterskin. He settled himself down for a long night.
In the morning, once the sun was high in the sky and the streets were buzzing, Altair woke Thomas.
"Yessir," the man said sleepily, getting up and stretching before the injuries Altair bestowed made themselves known. "Oww..."
Altair offered no comfort. He had done what was needed. "We will make it there before noon."
"Yes, sir," Thomas replied, more awake now. "I thank you again, sir."
Altair was uncomfortable with such gratitude being showered on him. "Be grateful once you have escaped Acre." He stood at the rubble-strewn doorway, glancing at the streets. "Can you move now?"
"A moment, sir," Thomas replied, standing and working through the kinks left from sleeping on the ground after the beating Altair had given him. After a few grunts he nodded. "Are you still here, sir?" Thomas asked, suddenly quiet.
"Of course," Altair grunted, irritated that his own silence worked against him at times. "We will be on our way now."
He helped Thomas out of the rubble and started a spiraled path towards the Bureau. The sun steadily rose higher when they reached the wide square with the fountain that stood before the bureau.
"Say nothing," Altair said quietly.
Thomas remained silent as the assassin led him to the shadowed doorway that had the ladder to the roof.
"Wait here," he said, letting the man sit in a corner. "I need to speak with someone."
"Of course, sir," Thomas whispered.
"You are hidden from the street. Stay silent and none shall find you."
Thomas nodded and Altair ascended the ladder swiftly, quickly dropping down into the closed in garden and stepping into the Bureau. Jabal was at the counter, bent over another tome, and looked up when he saw the demoted assassin. "You need to search the city for clues Altair. The people hold the answers you seek, not I, not this Bureau."
"I know, rafiq," Altair said, choosing his words carefully. "It is the because of the people that I... need your guidance."
The old man stared at him, his gaze suddenly narrow. "Just what do you mean by that?" he asked, suddenly weary.
"You bade that I not kill civilians. A man that I interrogated wishes to escape the city; he seems to have information on the man I'm to kill. It would be a fair trade, but until we've gleaned everything we can I've nowhere to put him."
Jabal bent back over his book, examining one last sentence before closing it. "I still have a few locations left that have not been compromised by the siege. Where is he?"
"At the ladder."
"Are you an idiot?" Jabal shouted, standing up. "What part of this building being watched did you not understand? We cannot afford to have a Hospitalier man disappear here! The Master was right, you are a novice!"
The words stung but Altair held his ground. "I have blinded him and taken the better part of two days to get here to keep him from knowing where he is. He does not understand Arabic in the slightest and I am certain we have not been followed. His disappearance, if it is noticed would be tracked to where he was orating, and I certainly wasn't noticed when I chose to interrogate him. Be at peace, I would not bring harm to a brother."
"Says the man who brought the Templars to Masyaf," Jabal hissed.
The two stared at each other for a long time, neither backing down, before a pigeon flew into the Bureau and landed in a cage. Jabal took the distraction and grabbed the bird, picking its message. The note only made his mood sour more, and he rubbed a wrinkled hand over his face and down his beard. "I am getting too old for this," he murmured. Rubbing the back of his neck, he turned back to Altair. "Fortune seems to favor you, Altair," he said. "It would seem that one of my journeymen has already created a distraction for your little kidnapping, but now he is in trouble. He hides along the west wall. Go and help him, and I will handle the most recent problem you have added to my extended list."
"I understand," Altair said, turning around and leaving. Had he truly brought ill to the respected Jabal when he was following the rules placed upon him? It did not matter; he would do as he was told, anything to redeem himself in Al Mualim's eyes.
He took yet another roundabout route away from the Bureau. He was becoming quite familiar with this district of the city, and in spite of his route it did not take him long to reach the west wall. He followed the narrow street, peeking in derelict buildings or shadowed alleys to find the journeyman who needed help. The street suddenly expanded to a moderate square, a few benches and trees and many more beggars, but Altair kept to the wall, now lower, overlooking the cliffs and the ocean, and a large steeple that he had ascended two days ago when he had first arrived at the city. He walked into the shadow of the large building and saw a white shadow, and Altair knew he had found him.
Walking forward, he patted the man's shoulder to see the journeyman jump.
"Altair?" he said surprised to see the famous demoted assassin. The shock quickly devolved to panic, however, as he started to spurt out shaky, garbled sentences. "He is after me! He saw me; he will kill me! And my wife and children!"
"Be calm, brother," Altair said softly, disgusted that a fellow assassin could so easily be spun into a panic over someone threatening to kill him.
The journeymen shook his head, his hands holding his temples. "What a mess..." he moaned, sitting down on the ground. He looked up to Altair, his eyes despondent. "Have you come to end my misery?"
Altair blinked. "What?" he demanded.
His shock seemed to spread to the journeyman. "No?" he asked, disbelieving. He heaved a sigh of relief. "Al Mualim has more compassion than I thought. Could you help me, then? A knight of the Hospitalier is after me. If you could eliminate him, you would do a fellow..." he paused, hesitant to finish saying brother, "a real honor. I've been here in Acre since the Crusaders were laying siege, I can give you important information in return." He quickly described the knight, the depiction very detailed, and it was not long before Altair was off on the hunt.
He did not like that the informant thought Al Mualim lacked compassion. The Master was hard and unyielding, and strict in the worst measure of the word, but he did not lack compassion. If he did, Altair would be dead, and not given a second chance to prove himself. It did not sit well with him, that the informant thought so little of the Master. Moreover he did not like that the informant thought Altair had come to end his life. Just what sort of rumors were being spread about him? The annoyance of it grated at him.
Altair made his way north back along the wall, looking for a black smock with the white cross signifying a Hospitalier Knight. If the man were looking for the informant, he would likely be checking the destroyed buildings and other hide spots. Only four blocks up Altair spotted the man, hand on the hilt of his sword, as he shoved people aside and looked at every broken down structure in sight. There were fewer people here, only a beggar dared to speak much in this part of the city.
"Please, sir, I'm poor I'm sick and I'm hungry!" she all but shouted, accosting anyone and everyone. Her eyes locked onto Altair and she moved in. The assassin cursed his luck, he could not shove her aside without drawing attention to himself, he could not kill her and end her misery, and without those two options he was left only silence. That only gave the beggar fuel, and if anything she became even louder. "Please, sir, just a few coins is all I ask, just a few coins!"
Altair steadfastly stepped around her, turned his back to her, sidestepped, and slipped around another civilian, all while keeping an eye on the Hospitalier Knight as he checked the broken buildings. A small group of people started coming down the street, and Altair ducked into it, the beggar still shouting but unable to breach the wall of four or five people he kept between him and her, and soon she lost interest, finding someone else to beg off of, and Altair sighed in relief.
The knight stepped into another run down building. He was almost to the square; Altair had no time to waste. Once the knight was in the shadows of the building, Altair snuck up from behind and grabbed the man's neck, holding him just long enough to thrust his hidden blade up under the ribcage, piercing a lung and giving an almost bloodless death. The man gave an unhealthy gurgle as blood filled his lungs and he slumped to the ground. Altair cleaned his blade on his sash and retracted it, exiting casually and entering the square.
The informant was where Altair had left him, pacing slightly in the shadows, waiting for word.
"He's dead?" he asked, eyes hopeful.
Altair nodded.
"Oh," he sighed, his body sagging with relief. "I am extremely grateful."
"I am glad," Altair said softly. "Can you tell me what you know, now, about Garnier?"
"Yes," the informant said, pulling himself together quickly. "So, here is what I know about Garnier de Naplouse, Grandmaster of the Hospitalier: Garnier lets his patients roam the halls of his fortress. No one, save scholars, may enter his personal workspace, and the rooftops are guarded by archers. I'm sure this information will help deliver Garnier to the gates of Hell."
It was nothing Altair didn't already know, but the confirmation was nice, and he wondered if he could work the scholars into the plan he was formulating.
"I can disappear now," the journeyman said. "My safe house is not far from here, and I can get word to my family. Thank you, Altair, thank you."
The demoted assassin nodded, watching the journeyman go, and noted with appreciation that he disappeared into the crowds quite well. Altair had a feeling of... accomplishment, as he made his way back to the Bureau.
It was late afternoon when he arrived; Thomas was no longer at the base of the ladder. Still, he waited until dusk before climbing the ladder and entering the Bureau. The town crier was inside, blindfold removed and he sat by a chessboard, huddled in a ball. "Hello?" he asked in his English drawl. His eyes were still swollen, he likely could see very little, especially with no candles lit in the twilight darkness.
"You are still here," Altair said in English. "Good. Where is the other?"
"Oh, Master it's you," Thomas said, relief welling in him. "I don't know, sir, he left some hours ago. He does not speak English, I'm not sure if he knew why I'm here. Am I to leave the city, now?"
"Not as yet," Altair said. "You said you would help me, and now is as good a time as any for you to deliver on your promise."
"Yes, yes of course. Anything for you, Master, what do you need of me?"
Altair went behind the counter and pulled out a roll of parchment, fishing out his charcoal. He lit a candle and spread the parchment out over the chessboard. He questioned the beaten Thomas thoroughly about the layout of the Hospitalier fortress. The demoted assassin learned very quickly that civilians of any kind were denied entrance to the actual fortress, and the military personnel in that section of the building were thick as the flies on the many corpses outside. The only place that could be accessed was the hospital itself, where the rooms were filled to bursting with patients screaming and crying and moaning. Garnier was diligent in his duties, messengers often needed to call his name two or three times as he attended the sick before he would hear them.
While Altair was drawing out his map a thought occurred to him, a connection of the various things he had heard and seen over his investigation.
"Thomas," he asked, "Your duty was to ask patience of the crowds. Why is that?"
"It is because he denies patients, Master," Thomas said, his bruised eyes ugly in the candlelight. "There are too many sick here, but it is not them that he treats. I do not know where they come from, but his patients are not from here."
The abandoned souk, heavily guarded. The people coming up and being escorted like prisoners to the hospital. The letter talking of supplies from Jerusalem. It all fell together in his head and Altair marveled. He pressed a hand to his eyes, containing his sudden shock as he realized exactly how Tamir, Garnier, and the man in Jerusalem were connected.
But what was it all for?
He sighed, unable to come up with an answer, not having enough information. Was this what Al Mualim meant? On previous assignments, did his knowing everything affect the mission somehow? Being told what to expect, was that a detriment somehow, did if affect him?
It was an hour after full dark that Jabal appeared in the Bureau, not from the roof, but from the trapdoor behind the counter. The wizened man spoke very deliberately in Arabic.
"I have secured a route out of the city," he said, looking to Altair and ignoring the person he was speaking about. "He will join a troupe of scholars as they make a pilgrimage."
"I understand," Altair replied. His thought of using scholars to gain entry was quickly crossed out of his plan, to use a resource too much would be detrimental, and Jabal had been more than clear about the position of the Bureau. Better to do everything himself and not put more strain on the respected old man. "I have taken what I need of him, he is yours."
"A burden quickly gotten rid of," Jabal replied.
"Master?" Thomas asked. "My freedom is at your mercy, but has the time come yet?"
"Tell him it will be tomorrow," Jabal said. "And that he should come with me. I don't want him here overnight."
Thomas was once again bowing in gratitude and appreciation, now calling Jabal master as well as he was helped down the trap door. Altair did not follow, instead looking over his map and making a few more notes and plans. It was nearly midnight when the rafiq returned.
"Altair," he said, sitting tiredly on a stool. "How fair's your search for Garnier?"
"I know when and how to strike."
The old man barely looked up. "Then share your knowledge with me."
"He lives and works within the Order's hospital, northeast of here. Rumors speak of atrocities committed within its walls. It seems the good doctor enjoys experimenting on good citizens, most of them kidnapped and brought here from Jerusalem." That little facet of the operation would likely be dealt with soon.
"Clever," the rafiq said, nodding. "By stealing his subjects from another city, he avoids arousing too much suspicion here. But back to the matter at hand: what is your plan?"
Altair pulled out his charcoal map. "Garnier keeps mainly to his quarters inside the hospital, though he leaves occasionally to inspect his patients. It's when he makes his rounds that I will strike. He is so dedicated to his work that he will be oblivious to the world around him, and there will be enough scholars inside that I will be almost invisible. The ensuing panic of the patients will make it difficult for the guards to give chase, and escape will be easy."
"It's clear you've given this some thought. I give you leave to go." The rafiq reached down to pull out a specific book, opening it and pulling out a feather, placing it on the counter. Altair took it, contemplating it before putting it in his leather belt. Jabal's eyes turned hard as he said: "Remove this stain from Acre, Altair. Perhaps it will help cleanse your own. Rest here until you are ready to begin your mission."
"The garden, I assume?" he asked.
"So I can deny knowing you were ever here, if it came to it," the rafiq said. "Go now."
"Yes."
Altair slept fitfully, his lack of knowledge starting to bother him. He dreamt of Kadar, and how knowing everything had somehow affected his death. Knowledge was a precious commodity, and though he did not doubt Al Mualim and the lesson hidden in this test, Altair could not see how ignorance could ever, ever be an answer.
Author's Notes: Something we forgot to mention in the last chapter but is worthy of note, the leader of the Saracen army will have two spellings in this fic. In Acre and with European people, including some modern assassins, will spell and pronounce the name as Saladin; while Saracens use the more technically correct Salah ad-Din (which is how it's spelled in the game). I can only assume that, because h's are sometimes silent in European languages, the h-sound was dropped and the name corrupted to Saladin. If anyone out there is more knowledgeable about this than our educated guess let us know.
And so the investigations begin - one of the things we had the most fun with was expanding the very rudimentary (and sometimes repeatative) investigations in the game. The informant missions, as you'll eventually discover over the course of this fic, we had the most fun with. In this chapter the one that had the most expansion was obviously one of the pickpocketing missions.
That leads us to a note for terminology, we do use some Arabic words - as expected since they're used in the game. A souk is a marketplace - we hear this the most in Damascus, as it's the market capital of the Holy Land at the time. In the game, souk are identified as the buildings with pointed-arched roofs. How many of you looked at the abandoned one at Acre and wondered what it was for? Or why it was guarded at all end? We did. :) A madrasah is a university, or place of higher learning. More on that much later in the fic. A mosque is a place of Muslim worship.
Next Chapter: Death of a Doctor
As always, let me know what you think.