Part Fourteen: Law Versus Justice
Approaching Jerusalem was difficult. Not in terms of riding or avoiding soldiers, but because Jerusalem held far too much for Altair and he doubted that would ever change. The Holy City still held the memories of Adha, and of Kadar, and of Baasir. Those were permanent. It would always make the city heavy. But Altair wished to somehow regain his friendship with Malik. He was just uncertain how. Previously, after killing the slaver Talal, they had argued over which of them Al Mualim would side with. Malik had always born a sharp tongue and Ibtisam had honed it into the finest of blades.
Altair did not like how long he spent thinking of how to approach his old and estranged friend, instead of how to go after his latest target, Majd Addin. He also did not like how his mind wandered to the scholar and his sons, the merchants who had attacked the guards in the souk to help him get the slaver. The scholar's home was right inside the Lion's Gate and Altair wondered if he'd be welcomed there. Whether the faith was Muslim or Christian or Jewish, none liked a killer. The scholar's sons had known, or at least guessed accurately, that he had killed Talal. As a scholar who worked at Dome of the Rock, would Altair be welcomed in any way or would he contradict the teachings of his faith?
Altair pushed all thoughts aside when he crested a mountain and finally saw the Holy City spread out before him. Majd Addin was somewhere below and Altair would find and kill him. Perhaps he would discover more of what the Templars were after.
As he came down the road, Altair kept having to pull his horse to the side of the road as a thick stream of people continued to go up to the mountains. Carts loaded with supplies, people carrying huge packs of belongings, horses laden down with packages, all swept by, going away from Jerusalem. Altair ended up dismounting to lead his horse more gently through the crowds. He had known that the Holy City's population was steadily decreasing, but he had thought most of that had to do with Talal's kidnappings and slavery ring than people leaving. He had never seen such a crowd leaving in mass exodus of the city.
Altair could not help but wonder if his target was behind this somehow. Or was it just that Jerusalem was the magnum opus of two armies wandering the Holy Land? People did not wish to stay in a place that seemed to trigger Crusades and wars, and so they left?
The demoted assassin stabled his horse and spent time brushing it down, taking care of the saddle and tack and ensuring the horse was well fed. Night was beginning to fall when he entered the city, easily slipping past sleepy guards by leaping from beam to beam above their heads. He landed almost silently in the Lion's Gate Square, barely a soul around to see him.
Barely.
"Young man?"
The throaty call came from the scholar he had been contemplating and Altair could not believe the chances of him seeing the same scholar he'd seen the last time he'd entered the city.
He stood and started to walk, pretending to have not heard the old scholar.
"It is you, young man! Come! I must insist you visit and spend the night. You've been gone far too long and we must catch up!" The scholar grabbed Altair's arm firmly and guided him to his small home on the square. "Dearest! Look who I found entering the city!"
"Oh!" the wife came forward, properly covered for Muslim edicts, but clearly having just been cooking. "Oh! Our hero! Come, come, I've just set out our dinner! I've enough for one more!"
Altair's stomach betrayed him after such a long ride from Masyaf with only trail food and he resolved that he would not enter the Holy City through the Lion's Gate ever again. He was not supposed to be recognized.
The wife had them both seated and was soon putting plates of food and doing everything shy of stuffing them demurely down Altair's throat. ("You're far too thin for a hero.")
The scholar just laughed. "My wife only ever appreciates meat on bones where there isn't supposed to be," he chuckled, patting his plump, though not fat, stomach.
Altair brushed it all aside and politely asked, "How are your sons?"
The smiles cracked a little, but then shined again at full force. "My youngest, unfortunately, is no longer in Jerusalem. He now works in Bethelem, south of here. He likely won't be back here, but then, he was in a spot of trouble."
Altair didn't react.
The wife shook her head. "It was not his fault. He was helping you, young man. You saved my husband's life and our son simply returned the favor. He should not be blamed for not knowing the situation fully. Besides, any of us would have done the same thing, even if we did know the situation fully."
The scholar took her hand and squeezed it. "Yes," he said sadly. "It seems that slaver was the one who plucked my brother from the mines and sent him off to heaven only knows where. All we know is that he died on route and is buried at the roadside like some common dog. Even the cursed infidels don't treat their dead like that."
Altair said nothing for a long time. He had believed that he had been the one to kill this scholar's brother. Had believed it for months now. It was a regret he bore with Adha and Kadar. Only to now realize that the helpless man he'd killed down in the mines was not the man's brother. Yet the heavy guilt did not disappear, because that man was still someone's family. The only difference now was that Altair had no face to attach to the bereaved. If anything, that almost made it worse.
But Altair showed none of what he was feeling. Instead he quietly said, "I am no hero."
"Nonsense!" the scholar clapped Altair's back. "You may have done so for your own reasons, but you removed the man who killed my brother."
"Beloved, don't let the other scholars hear you say that."
"Don't worry dearest, as we are not the ones who did the deed, we have no worry. And as long as we tell no one, this young man who has done so much for us is safe."
"Your other sons?" Altair tried to shift the subject.
"Fines for stupidity, the patrol say," the scholar replied. "Nothing they can't afford. Thankfully this was before this Majd Addin became regent. I don't know what the wise Salah ad-Din was thinking making him regent. He keeps the city petrified of even walking wrong."
"Beloved! You never know if the guard are listening!"
The scholar scoffed. "Let them try to put me on trial! I am a learned man! I'll talk circles around them!"
"I'd advise against purposefully angering him," Altair replied quietly. "He sounds a madman, and they can never be truly reasoned with."
"Yes, beloved! Listen to our young hero."
Altair had had enough.
"I thank you for your hospitality, but I really must be going." He stood quickly and replaced his blades. "I wish you and your family well." He paused at the door. "Safety and peace."
Husband and wife smiled warmly. "An odd offering, but a good one. Safety and peace upon you as well, young man."
Altair stuck to the shadowed alleys and unlit rooftops until he finally reached the Bureau, glad to finally put memories of the man in the mine away.
Or so he hoped.
Given the late hour, most of the residents of the Bureau were asleep, save a few journeymen intent on a game of chess. Malik was at the counter, a compass in hand as he was measuring distances on a map of Jerusalem that lay before him. Looking around the Bureau with a glance, Altair could see that what was once a weaver's shop was now a cartographer's.
Fitting, with Malik's skill with a brush.
With a silent, deep breath, Altair stepped forward. "Safety and peace, Malik," he said with quiet respect.
"Were that the city was possessed of either," Malik replied tiredly. "Why do you trouble me tonight?"
Altair walked up to the counter, ignoring the journeymen's prying ears at the game board. "Al Mualim has marked Majd Addin for death. What can you tell me about him?"
Malik kept studying his map. "Salah ad-Din's absence has left the city without a proper leader and Majd Addin has appointed himself to play the part." Malik glanced up with an ironic glare, referencing the arrogance of such an act and comparing it with Altair's own arrogance in one quirked lip and raised eyebrow. "Fear and intimidation get him what he wants. He has no true claim to the position." Another quirk of the lip and Altair ignored the comparison.
"That ends today," he replied calmly. He'd earned Malik's ire and as much as Altair did not like it, the comparison was accurate.
Malik straightened, irony and insult replaced with dislike. "You speak too readily," he said harshly. "This is not some slaver we're discussing here. He rules Jerusalem and is well protected because of it. I suggest you plan your attack carefully. Get to know your prey." Like you didn't last time, hung loudly in the air.
Altair refused to bristle. Malik had a point. This would require much planning and preparation; much as he had done with William and attempted to do with Nuquod. He was not the brash, impatient novice he'd been before and he would take Malik's words to heart and do so. Perhaps that could be the Christian olive branch that he could extend. Something to repair the damaged friendship.
So he replied, "With your help, I will. Where would you have me begin my search?"
Malik's face slackened and his eyebrows rose for the briefest of instances. "What's this? You're actually... asking for my assistance instead of demanding it. I'm impressed."
Despite Altair's attempts to control patience, "Be out with it," still managed to slip out.
"As you wish," Malik replied with a scowl. "Here's where I would look: first, to the southwest near a mosque. After that, head south of here. There are two locations that might interest you. The southern most church is one, the other is in the streets, near a synagogue."
Altair bowed his head. "Thank you for your help, dai."
"Don't foul this, Altair," Malik warned and picked up his compass again.
Nodding, Altair went to the courtyard, intent on sleeping under the stars when Malik called out.
"Altair."
The demoted assassin turned. Malik stared at him for a moment, then shook his head, glancing at the journeymen at the chessboard. "Never mind."
"As you wish."
Between the long ride, meeting the scholar, the revelation that Altair hadn't really killed his brother, trying to be polite and deferential to Malik's position as a way to regain friendship, well, Altair did not sleep well. Thoughts swirled in his mind like a thick soup. Something was troubling him, but he could not see what. So, with a sigh, he rose before the sun and left. Wandering around the district would hopefully clear his head or make clear what it was he needed to see.
He stayed to the rooftops, observing as people started to rise for the day. He avoided any guards without even thinking about it, particularly since the patrols were exhausted from a long night of watch. As the sun continued to rise, more and more people started to fill the streets, even as the heat started to bear down heavily on them.
The Jewish district did not have any truly tall buildings. There was only one minaret and Altair climbed it to study the streets below him, watching the flow of people. It was strange. Altair knew Jerusalem. Every nook and cranny, every sky garden, haystack, bench, well, and courtyard. It had been his playground for his time under Baasir. But as he knew the layout and buildings, he also knew the people. Being the Holy City for the three major religions tended to attract a sort of people. The citizens and the merchants and the nobles, they all understood their city and respected it. There was pride, even here in the Jewish, and as such, poorest district of the city. People were still people, but the city itself had a personality. With three religions all having their own district, the city had more tolerance than others like Damascus or Acre. One could easily see a rabbi, priest, and shiekh sitting together in friendly, if stiff, debate.
Looking at Jerusalem now, Altair wondered where all of that had gone.
The people hurried from one location to another with fear in their steps. Tension lay with even more weight than the heat on every pair of shoulders. Guards were given a wide berth and observed nervously as people went about their business.
Curious and concerned, Altair climbed back down to the streets and let the flow of the crowds carry him around the district. Bits of conversation, hushed whispers, all started to give Altair an idea of what had happened to Jerusalem and it was not a pretty picture.
The people were petrified. Warnings to do absolutely nothing wrong were harshly said between family and friends. Talal had made people fear disappearances, but it seemed Majd Addin ensured the people knew why citizens disappeared. Yet no one would dare speak of what was going on plainly. Not with so many guards patrolling the area.
So Altair started looking for heralds and town criers, to see if any of them would know what was going on. Perhaps find one who might be close to Majd so that Altair could properly interrogate him.
Many heralds were making announcements of trials, sentencing and where to find the execution. Altair was appalled at the sheer number he overheard as he wandered through the late morning sun. Jerusalem had never had such crimes. Every city had thefts and murders, common whoring and unpleasantness, but every listing Altair heard bore different names, different crimes, and all bore the sentence of execution. Just how strict was Majd being with Jerusalem? This was unheard of! Oppressive! The people could do nothing right if the numbers were correct.
Truly, it was no wonder people were leaving Jerusalem. It sounded like the only way to stay alive.
One town crier caught Altair's attention as he went through another square.
"We all hold darkness in our hearts. Each day is a struggle to remain strong in our faith, but we are only human. We might falter; we might fail. Majd Addin is here to see that even when this happens, we are returned to a proper course. Confess to him, and he will show mercy. But, should you try to run, to hide, you will be found and made to pay!"
Altair's lips thinned. Just what sort of rhetoric was this?
"There is nothing more insidious than one who turns his back on the law, for the law was given to us by God, glorious and exalted is He. To defy it is to disrespect Him, and there is no greater evil than this! Majd Addin understands! He works to cast out the wicked among us, that we may live righteous lives!"
Altair could not be one to talk of the law, given that he pickpocketed and murdered people. But the laws were there for sound reasons and the citizens did need to obey. But such words did not show that there were levels of crimes. Petty and major. And that for many, there were reasons behind their misdeeds, be it poverty, drunkenness, or pure cruelty.
"Watch carefully those around you. Those you think you know so well, for none of us is above temptation. Should they act contrary to the law, no matter how minor it seems, they must be reported. A small crime today leads to larger ones tomorrow. Majd Addin will help, only come forward so that he might know their names. There is no harm in naming them, those among you who defy the law. We are nothing without our faith, without its rules and its direction. To defy it is to defy the one who leads us. Such behavior cannot be allowed."
And now people were to turn traitor to their own for even the smallest of sins? For such extreme and harsh punishment as constant execution? There was no question why Al Mualim wished this man dead. Altair could only wonder what this man's role with the Templars was.
He stayed in the square, wandering from merchant to merchant until the herald stepped down, likely for his midday meal. Altair was the herald's white shadow, closing in through the crowds. Evidently, the man would not eat in the square he was calling to, which was fine for Altair. Fewer witnesses who would recognize the town crier.
A small, but long archway to another square was in shadows and devoid of any other people. Already upon the herald, Altair kicked the back of the knees, sending the man down. From there Altair grabbed his hair and yanked him to the left, further off balance, and drove his face into the wall before sending his foot up into the herald's ribs.
"Enough! I still breath," the man coughed. "So you must desire more than just my life. What is it?"
"You know Majd Addin well?" Altair demanded.
"Better than most."
Good.
"He seems a bit too righteous. Is the law really so important to him?" Because Altair truly doubted that.
"What do you think?" the herald retorted.
"I think he hides something, and I think you'll tell me what it is," he growled with peril in store if the man did not answer.
"It's a veil, all of it," he hastened. "Men like me, we are meant to scare, fill the people with fear. The ones he kills, not criminals, but, dangerous all the same."
That made no sense.
"Dangerous to who?"
"His plans. Their plans."
Altair glared. The man cowered.
"Yes, he speaks of others, those he works with, works for perhaps, I am uncertain. They need the city, though controlling it is important to them."
The Templars. It could be no one else.
"Why?"
"You'll have to ask him yourself," the herald spat. "Attend one of his executions, it's when he's most talkative," a grim smile, "addressing the crowd - hands covered with blood."
"Then we are done."
The hidden blade buried itself deep into the man's heart, providing an instant death.
Altair exited to the square the herald was heading for and hugged the walls until he was down a few alleys and side streets and made his way further south. A small stand was selling summer fruits and Altair bought some to have as his midday meal. He sat in a shadowed corner, listening to the crowds and pondering what he had learned.
Majd Addin was a bloodthirsty man and did not hide the fact that he was a Templar, or rather, that he worked with others who were above him. He had men preach adherence to the law to an extent Altair had never seen. Many understood a hungry child stealing bread to eat, even if the child was still punished. This severity was unprecedented, in all the history that Altair had studied. Neither the Bible, the Torah, or the Quoran spoke of such practices for even the most minor of offenses. The regent seemed to be drunk on power and was abusing it. Drawing attention to himself. Surely the Templars, who seemed to ever work in secrecy, would not allow this? Yet they let such a man come to power and had done nothing.
Templars truly were a horrible group.
Once Altair finished his fruit, he walked around the streets once more, just trying to adjust to a feel of such a frightened Jerusalem.
Besides, if Majd Addin was most talkative at an execution, Altair had better find one.
The problem, it seemed, wasn't in finding an execution, but seeing which one the regent was at. Wandering just through the Muslim and Jewish districts showed over twenty different executions going on over just that afternoon.
This was madness!
But Altair still pounded the streets; looking for any clues for what execution the sick Majd Addin would be attending.
It wasn't until he was in the Jewish district again that he heard something interesting.
"Did you see the order?" a carpenter was hissing to another. "He wants us to prepare the stage for another execution. Today!"
The other carpenter groaned. "Where?"
"It's on the western edge of Solomon's Temple; I was on my way just now."
"So much death..." The other carpenter rubbed his beard. "It seems he can't hold his executions at the Dome of the Rock so he'll do it in its shadow instead."
"Were it that our true leader might return and bring a measure of justice to this city," the first carpenter sighed.
The other nodded. "Yes, and not this mockery Majd Addin parades before us."
"How? How does something like this happen?"
"Everyone appointed in Salah ad-Din's stead has met with an untimely end, and now the position falls to him. He, who was once nothing more than the Emir's scribe..." The other carpenter shook his head.
"How convenient," the first agreed. "It would not surprise me to learn he was behind these... accidents."
"Shh, if the guards hear us, we'll be taken for treason and executed on the very platform we have to repair!"
"That sounds like a good charge," a guard replied, appearing from behind the crates. Another pair of guards walked forward from around the corner and a guard that had been by the wall under Altair's perch closed in as well.
"Please!" the first carpenter begged. "We mean no harm! We merely go to build a stage!"
Altair needed no further incentive. These men, unknowingly, had provided him information, and he would repay them.
He leapt down into the circle of guards, two knives flashing from his hand and burying into the eye of one guard and the neck of another. From under his hood, Altair gave a feral smile and took off down the streets through the gap the two dead guards created.
"You cannot run forever!"
"I will catch you!"
And other Arabic curses chased after him with the remaining guards. The distraction was enough for both carpenters to run as the guards tried to clamber up the ladder Altair was climbing.
Once on the roof, Altair looked down and smiled again, the sun hiding his face in shadows. Just as the guards were all on the ladder and reaching the top, Altair pushed the ladder with his foot, leaving it off balance and falling back down to the ground as he dashed away on rooftops and dropping into a deserted alley.
A few more quick turns and Altair settled himself easily onto a bench, turning to someone else sitting there and starting up quiet conversation as he helped her with an impatient child.
The child was on his lap, poking curiously at his face while the mother was smiling and giggling behind her traditional hijab, telling stories of her children when the guards went rushing by, not seeing anything out of place.
Altair stayed with the mother and child for another hour, escorting her back to her house with light conversation before he decided to head back for the Bureau.
He had much to think on.
Malik was waiting for him when he entered the Bureau, his face carefully neutral. He and Altair looked at each other for a long time. The demoted assassin was weary, Malik was not one to wait when he had biting rhetoric, but his current reticence made Altair nervous, he did not know what to expect. When a journeyman entered the courtyard, the moment was lost, and Malik snubbed the assassin and reentered the Bureau's back room. Altair and the journeyman followed. There were many inside, relaxing from a long hot day, and most were gathered around the chessboard.
As Altair entered a large cry came from the crowd, one of the apprentices cursing as he got up from the board and making his way out, apparently having lost. Money was changing hands, there appeared to be bets going on during the game.
"Ah, Altair!" a voice said. The demoted assassin turned, seeing Farasat, the pickpocket teacher, at the board. "I've not played against you for a long time! Come, come, join me in a game and we'll see if Baasir managed to do anything to help you."
Everyone unanimously agreed, all but dragging him to the board. He could see Malik scowling and looking to his maps, compass flicking about the parchment as he measured distances. Frowning, Altair shook his head slightly and turned away, unable to talk to the dai now.
"Tell me," Farasat asked, "Were you ever able to beat the old man?"
"No," Altair answered as the two set up the board. Altair was white, and he began with the king's pawn, pushing it forward two spaces.
Farasat answered with his queen's pawn, and after a half dozen moves the game slowed as the two debated their strategies. Everyone around them were placing bets and naming odds and trading money. Altair was distracted by the noise; his games with Baasir had been in the quiet of night with nothing to distract him. The memories they dragged up made him frown as his knight took a pawn. Farasat answering with his bishop blocking a future move. Altair took his rook and placed it in preparation for a strike.
"I don't think there was anyone who could beat Baasir," Farasat said, contemplating his next move. "Except perhaps the Master himself. There are few people indeed who could see so many moves ahead as he. It made him an excellent teacher."
"A pity he's dead, then," Malik muttered from across the room. Altair heard it even if no one else did, and he almost grabbed the wrong piece before correcting himself.
His queen moved out, now covered by his rook. "Check," he said softly, and the crowd cooed at the unexpected move.
"I see you are as bold and aggressive as ever," Farasat said, nodding. "But have you learned to look ahead, as Bassir always taught us? Check," he said, putting a knight in front of the queen, blocking it and also putting Altair in danger. He could not take it without sacrificing his queen. Altair studied the board.
He glanced at Malik. "We must all look forward," he said. "It is a key skill for any assassin. Aggression is necessary to survive, and boldness surprises opponents, making the strike easier." He moved a pawn, taunting Farasat's knight as he eyed the other pieces on the board. If the pickpocket teacher moved the way he wanted to in the next move...
"Your words are true," the older journeyman said, "But imagine combining your boldness with the wisdom of looking forward. This creates an unbeatable opponent, called cunning." He moved his pawn, exactly as Altair wanted, and the next four moves went swiftly.
"Checkmate," Altair said, placing his rook.
"Bold, indeed," Farasat said, smiling in approval. "I wonder how it would fair against the dai."
That was all the prompting the apprentices needed, wide-eyed teenagers immediately turning to Malik and begging and cajoling him to play the game. The one armed man glared them all away, but his gaze locked onto Altair, and the two stared at each other. The demoted assassin held the gaze, saying nothing, doing nothing. He could goad Malik into it if he wanted to, but he wanted this to be his former friend's decision. Malik seemed to sense this and frowned before getting up. The half dozen men surrounding the board quickly doubled in size as word spread that the dai and Altair were having a match, bets and odds and whispers filling the room with noise.
Altair was still white. This time he opened with the queen's knight, pushing it forward over the pawns.
Malik studied the board before pulling out his king's pawn, moving it two spaces in a classic opener.
"I did not know you played," the Bureau chief said slowly, eyeing Altair as much as the board.
"Baasir made a point of everyone learning the game," Altair answered, studying Malik's moves. He was a cautious player, slow to move and careful to keep all his pieces covered. "He said it was an exercise of the mind. None could beat him."
"So I've heard," Malik offered, pushing a rook's pawn onto the board. "His name is held in high esteem here."
"As it should be," Altair said, "His patience was like no other. Even the most inept of students never saw his ire." He moved one of his bishops.
"Referring to yourself so quickly?" Malik sniped. He countered with a knight, placing it in a very strategic square, blocking several of Altair's ideas.
"No," the demoted assassin said, studying the board. "Even as he nurtured the inept, he found ways to challenge the gifted. There were none he could not teach, could not improve. He was an asset to all."
"And to think you are responsible for his death," Malik said casually. "I wonder how that makes the others feel."
Everyone froze at the words, collectively taking a breath as heavy tension settled around the entire board. Eyes either locked onto Altair and Malik or quickly sought purchase on something else - anything else. It was still Altair's move. He glared at Malik, at the board. "Thoughts of others do not concern me," he said, his voice quiet and low and dangerous. He would not taint Baasir's memory with a fight. Not over chess. He would not. He grabbed his queen and shoved it across the board, boldly taking a rook and splitting many of Malik's defenses. "Check."
Malik glared at Altair just as heavily as he did. "Tell me then," he asked, "Why is it that everyone here still favors you, after everything you've done? How can they still admire a man who, by his own admission, cares nothing for them?" A knight, the knight that had been so strategically placed before now moved across the board; taking Altair's queen and robbing him of his best piece.
"Perhaps it is through actions that one forms an opinion of another," Altair said, taking a rook and aggressively capturing the knight that had just stolen his queen. "Check," he said again.
"Truly?" Malik asked, his tone almost light. "The tell me, what actions should I use to judge my opinion of you?" A bishop slid diagonally across the board, taking Altair's rook. "The death of my brother? Your cowardly retreat to Masyaf? The death of Baasir? Or perhaps your own unfettered arrogance. Tell me, Altair, how should I judge you?"
Pressure was building in Altair's head, the eyes of the crowd heavy on his body and his muscles taught with tension. The room seemed closed in, stuffy, the air thick and hard to breath. Bloodlust, all too familiar to Altair, filled his mouth and he licked his lips, fighting back the urge. "This is Baasir's game," Altair said, his voice a low, tight growl. "This is his legacy as much as any who have studied under him are. I will not sully this game by trading barbed words and veiled hatred." He grabbed his king and handed it to Malik, resigning from the game. "That is what you want, is it not?" he demanded, getting up from the board. "Take it and feel your precious satisfaction."
He stiffly walked out of the thick atmosphere, climbing the fountain in the courtyard and hoisting himself up to the roof. He paced about, trying to collect himself, and settled for running across the rooftops, following every old track Baasir had ever set up. Then he ran them again. And again. And again. It was well past midnight when, finally exhausted, he fell back into the courtyard. Everything was quiet, still, and Altair did not even bother to go inside, instead grabbing the pillows of the courtyard and laying back, waiting for the sweat to dry and the breathing to slow down and the heart to stop hurting. He knew he was watched, and so he rolled over, putting his back to the inner room, determined to reveal nothing.
Altair was unaware that in doing so he revealed everything.
The next morning he was up well before dawn and stomping about the streets of the Jewish quarter. The air was already warm, and Altair glared at the rising sun for its oppressive heat. His thoughts were more scattered than he wanted, and he rubbed his forehead of its heat and struggled to gain control of himself. It was midmorning before he felt anything resembling better, and could afford to open his ears for his investigation.
Many seemed to believe that Majd Addin was appointed by Salah ad-Din. Some suspected treachery, like the carpenters he'd overheard yesterday, but they were far and few between - or at least few that would dare voice these thoughts out loud. He did learn that most of the executions were in the Jewish quarter, by luck or design he had yet to determine, and it gave him a most likely location for Majd Addin's arrival. If he would play the crowd, as the crier had said, it would likely be in this district.
"You again, grand master?"
Altair turned as he entered a square. It was the apprentice he had helped before, the attempting artist... Halim, he remembered.
"Safety and peace, I'm so glad to see you."
"You did not know I was here?" he asked.
"No, I've spent the last three nights by the Dome of the Rock, practicing my sketches."
He had not witnessed the fight then. That relieved Altair, he did not wish to have someone press him into talking about it. Breathing a silent sigh of relief, he asked, "How has the work been coming?"
Halim beamed, his smile evident under the cloth draped over his face. "The dai says my eye for perspective and proportions have improved greatly. More tasks have been placed upon me, and..." his voice trailed off, his bright countenance shrinking. "In these trouble times they ask me to prove myself..." he said, looking down, "but I feel so inadequate when I compare myself to you."
"Stop that right now," Altair said, his voice hoarse with vehemence. Young Halim blinked, surprised.
"Stop what?"
"Do not compare yourself with me. There is no comparison. How old are you?"
"Sixteen, but-"
"I have almost a decade of experience on you," Altair said in clipped tones. "How can you compare yourself to me when you are an apprentice and I a mas-a senior journeyman?" He grit the rank out with bitter teeth. "Whatever you hold my expertise to be you cannot hope to compare yourself to me simply because of the well of experience that you do not have. Continually doing so will only serve to fuel feelings of inadequacy - as you've just admitted - and reduce the feats you think yourself capable. That can only hurt an assassin. Do you understand?"
"Y-yes," the apprentice said, wide eyed and more than a little startled with Altair's outburst. The demoted assassin ground his teeth, hating how Jerusalem always seemed to bring the worst out of him these days. He took a deep, silent breath, a hot exhale leaving his lips as he rearranged his thoughts to the matter at hand.
"How are you being asked to prove yourself?"
"...I must kill two of Majd Addin's men without a fight. Could you show me the way? I would be forever grateful," he caught himself, sensing Altair's frustration, and quickly added, "and share a very interesting story with you."
Altair appraised the boy. Sixteen? This was likely his test for promotion to a journeyman. The dai would not know of sneaking into the barbican, or if he did had chosen something else as was his prerogative. The thought of Malik pressed a frown on his face. "Have you killed before today?"
"Not silently," Halim said. "I've killed in a fight before."
The assassin nodded. "How are your pickpocket skills?"
The question surprised Halim, the apprentice blinking before answering. "Master Farasat says I'm very skilled, and he does not give out praise easily."
"Can you plant information on a man?"
"... Yes."
"Easily?"
"Yes," Halim said, at last with confidence.
"Good, come with me," Altair said. Walking down an alley, he reached into his pack and pulled out a bit of parchment and charcoal, quickly marking it up with a few symbols, both Latin and Arabic, and gave it to the apprentice. He scanned the crowd, looking for a target that might be difficult for the boy. "Him," he said finally, pointing out a thug rubbing his hands together as he walked down the street. "Place this on him without his notice."
Halim nodded, still confused as to how pickpocketing related to assassination, but he did as he was told and merged into the street. Altair followed, gauging the boy's ability. Farasat had been wise in his praise, the boy was nearly invisible in the crowd, nobody touched him, and he did not need to gently push anyone out of the way. He walked by the thug as smoothly as water lapped the harbors of Acre, and none took notice of him. Altair nodded in approval, sneaking up to the thug himself and filching the parchment that had been planted on him, as well as a few throwing knives for good measure. The two regrouped in front of a synagogue.
"To assassinate a target silently is no different from planting a document on a target," Altair explained, giving the boy the knives. "Instead of delivering parchment or coin, one delivers a knife. Do you know where to strike?"
Halim nodded, if uncertainly. "I often have trouble with the angle, Master," he said. "I am tall for my age and have trouble angling a hidden blade."
"Which is why you will use these," Altair said, pointing to the knives. Quickly he spun Halim around, taking the pommel of one of his own throwing knives and pressing it into the apprentice's back. "There," he said, "between these two ribs is the best place to strike. If you cannot angle it, instead twist the blade like this." He demonstrated with the pommel of his knife. "It will do more damage and ensure the death."
"I would never have thought of that," the apprentice said, turning around. "Should I grab the target around the neck as you have?"
"Not always," Altair explained. "It is necessary with a hidden blade, but not for knives, because you can leave them in their backs. If you are unlucky with the armor, it will become necessary."
Halim nodded, his eyes bright with anticipation. "Is there more?"
"Yes, but not now," Altair said. He doubted much more could stay in the boy's head as it filled with excitement. "Do your task. I will trail behind you and create a diversion if there is trouble."
"Yes, Master."
The two set off, Altair weary of the city patrols, ever vigilant and quick to arrest any who would break some kind of law. Halim tried to imitate it, but he was too focused on looking for his targets. He touched the assassin's arm twenty minutes later before drifting off, seemingly aimless, after one guard who was patrolling a square. Altair closed his eyes and called on his eagle, opening up his mind to its presence and watching everything in hyper detail this is cool how does he do it, looking for any sign of trouble as Halim silently walked up behind his target and neatly stabbed the man in the back, twisting the knife and leaving without even breaking stride. For an amateur it was an excellent strike, likely more luck than skill.
For the next hour the two walked silently, searching for the boy's next target. Altair kept his eagle-like vision open, observing everything and everyone; his ears open to all. He learned nothing he had not discovered already.
The second target walked around a corner and almost into the pair. Altair's quick reflexes pulled Halim out from bumping into the man - one did not need an excuse to be arrested, and the guard glared at them before walking on.
"He has seen you," Altair whispered. "Be wary, be careful."
"Yes," the boy said. He detached from the assassin and silently navigated the crowds with the skill Farasat had seen. Altair watched clinically, trailing after them. Halim approached silently, and was quick to stab the man. His knife seemed caught in armor, however, and Altair could see the boy struggling to twist the knife. The demoted assassin quickened his pace, "accidentally" bumping into the apprentice and giving him the momentum necessary to finish the strike. Apologizing for show, Altair helped Halim up from his stumble and asked if he was alright, striking up conversation as they rounded a corner and into a main thoroughfare. The boy was tense.
"Relax," he said, "Draw no attention to yourself."
"I will," the apprentice said, fighting with himself. "I will."
It was almost noon now, and the two rested in the shade of the southern city wall, drinking from their waterskins.
"You are the best the clan has ever seen." Halim said, awe in his voice. "I was so worried about the assignment..."
"Worry does one little good when an assignment is at hand," Altair said, quoting Baasir. "Worry makes a brother careful in his planning, but one must have utter confidence when the time for the task arrives."
"Wise words indeed," Halim said before straightening. "Here is my story, Master: I was cleaning the Temple steps. I overheard two scholars praising how easy it was for them to pass the soldiers guarding the entrance of the execution plaza. If you time your entry properly, they could provide a nice distraction for the guards, but I am sure that with your wisdom, you knew that already."
Altair nodded, absorbing the information slowly. He could use that in his assault, perhaps. He knew the west wall plaza; he wondered how the guards would be placed. That would be his next goal.
"I must return to the Dome of the Rock," Halim said, taking one last sip from his waterskin. "They will miss me if I am gone for too long, an artist's apprentice that I am."
Altair nodded. "Finish your sketches. Let me know which scholars are the ones who like watching the executions. Befriend them, if you can; I may need that later."
"Yes, Master."
The demoted assassin watched as Halim merged into the crowds with his skill. He would be a gifted silent assassin, he decided, watching the boy move through the crowds; making journeyman at sixteen in itself was testament to his skill, and his lack of knowledge of how skillful he was kept him humble - to his benefit. Altair and his constant praise from Baasir and others had left him confident - as had his repeated successes as he received more dangerous missions. Frowning, he realized that he had never known true, catastrophic failure, not until Solomon's Temple. Did he have to fall so far to learn his lesson?
He remembered how he acted.
Yes, yes he had.
Pushing himself off the southern wall, he moved in the same direction of Halim, hoping to get to the west wall plaza and see if an execution was being held. He needed to see guard placement, sketch the grounds, get a sense of the rooflines and the platform itself. There were always nooks and alcoves one forgot when being away from a city for extended periods of time, and Altair wanted to relearn it all.
A shriek caught his ear.
He turned, ducking behind a pile of crates, and watched as a woman dashed down the street, three guards following her. The men were faster than her; one grabbed her shoulder so violently she spun around, landing on her back. Struggling to get up, it became obvious that the shoulder of her smock had been ripped, exposing skin. Her hijab had long disappeared, and her hair was askew. "You are under arrest, whore!" the guard said in Turkish, struggling to lift the woman to her feet. The other two circled around, weary of catching her if she broke free.
"I'm not!" she cried out.
"You looked me in the eye," the guard said, "I know solicitation when I see it!"
"Liar! Let me go!"
"Where is your hijab, if not with your latest lover?"
"It's on the ground where you threw it! Rape! Rape! Somebody help me!"
Altair stepped forward. "Is there a problem here?" he asked softly, his hands clasped in front of him and posing as a scholar.
"This woman is a whore and a lawbreaker," the guard said, not even looking at the assassin. The other two still stood ready.
"I am a sheikh," Altair said quietly, identifying himself as one who had memorized the entire Quoran, "Perhaps I can be of assistance?"
A second guard stepped in front of the struggling woman and her captive. "You are trying to interfere with us as we uphold the law?" he demanded. "You shall be under arrest, too!"
Altair blinked innocently at the man, trying to maintain his character. "An offer of help is to be spat upon? This is shameful."
"More shameful that you keep us from our work, sheikh," the guard spat. "Come with us. We'll see if Majd Addin has words for you."
Sighing, unable to resolve this without drawing attention to himself, Altair stabbed the man in the gut with his hidden blade, the weapon piercing deep enough to scrape along the man's spinal column before he yanked it out. The dying man stumbled, grunting, and Altair walked around to the reticent third guard, still eyeing the first with the woman as her struggles disrobed her even further. He grabbed the man by the neck, spinning him around and plunging his blade into the man's chest, between two ribs and through a lung and other soft tissue. He coughed up blood, the red liquid dribbling out his mouth and down his neck. Altair shoved him aside to die in the dirt.
Drawing his sword, he grabbed the wrist of the first guard, yanking it off the woman. The demoted assassin gave one piercing gaze to the woman. "Run," he said, and she did not need to be told twice, sprinting away.
"Infidel! Lawbreaker!" the Turkish guard spat. "You will die!"
Altair let the man twist out of his grip, swinging his sword to keep the city guard on his toes. "Salah ad-Din is many things," he said softly, marching towards the guard and giving another precise thrust, preventing the man from drawing his weapon, "But one of his edicts is tolerance: to all men, races, religion, creeds, and beliefs. I wonder if he would tolerate you."
"This is by his orders," the guard spat. "Majd Addin speaks for Salah ad-Din. You are an idiot for not knowing this, 'sheikh.' " At last he drew his sword, and Altair easily parried the clumsy attack, pushing the guard back even further, until the man's back was to a wall. "Even if you kill me, the work will still be done."
"My work has not even started," Altair whispered, stepping around a strike and impaling the man on his sword. Screams filled the streets, the fight had drawn quite a crowd and witnessing the murder had snapped them out of their reverie, sending them running and shrieking for guards and help and begging that Altair leave them alone.
"There he is!"
Altair saw the guard patrol and cursed, bolting down a street and hopping onto a pile of baskets, up a lantern beam, and onto a closed balcony, hoisting himself up. Some guards threw rocks at him while others tried to follow in pursuit. Altair ignored it, favoring the climb up to the roofline. One rock struck the back of his head just as he feet cleared the building, and he stumbled forward, pain intense and his vision momentarily blinded. He allowed himself to fall and roll - it wasted precious time but he needed the initial wave of pain to pass before he could run. When he could see, he ran flat out across the roofs, hearing pursuit hot on his tails, before leaping up two levels and then jumping over a narrow alley. Altair darted across one thin wooden beam, the structure bobbing under his weight, before he spotted a collection of birds roosting on the corner of a building. They startled, flying away as he approached, but he happily leapt off the corner, falling three stories and down into a cart of hay. He buried himself deep into the sweet smelling straw, confident he had lost his pursuers.
Author's Notes: ... Revelations! We've been playing it obsessively, we openly admit it, and we just love it. The Sophia memories, the hidden tombs, Altair, we are a very happy set of twins. Will Malik show up? We hope so, though we haven't seen all the key sequences yet.
Anyway, for this chapter, there's no one thing to comment on, just that we like it overall. We love any and all interaction with Malik, and poor Altair has no idea what the dai wants to ask him in private. Halim also made an appearance, and there's something about him that we like, he's so earnest and sincere and humble. He'd make a good character for an anime, maybe that's why we favor him. :D Farasat also made a good show - we weren't forshadowing the next chapter with his reference to cunning, nope, not at all. :D
Anyway, we had a great Thanksgiving and we hope any American readers out there did too.
Next chapter, er, is a bloodbath. You have been warned.