CH 3

For the next week and a half, Almira's job turned out to be helping a group of servants rebuild a section of the city wall that threatened to collapse from age. Both men and women worked on it, though they kept their distances. She towered over most of the women in both height and build, but realized that she was terribly inefficient at mortaring anything together. The others noticed as well, and for the rest of the week she was demoted to carrying crates and buckets of bricks and stones back and forth for them.

Today was especially hard. The wall was almost finished so the servants decided to skip breakfast to get it done with. Almira panted as she hooked the large bucket of stones onto the rope. They had built a scaffold as they went up higher, and now she had to use a lever system to haul the stones up. The rope felt slippery in her sweaty palms as she breathed through her nose and pulled down on it. Some of the servants on top of the scaffold helped her, while others fixed the mortar. They had to hurry; it wouldn't be long before the day grew too hot to work.

Two hours later, the wall was finished. There was no rest to be had, however, as they now had to take down the scaffold. A few brave men went forth and broke several support beams, causing the structure to collapse in a dusty heap. Almira frowned slightly, thinking of a much neater way to take down the scaffold without all the broken wood. She kept her mouth shut however, and went to help the others clean up the mess.

Lunch went like before: get in line, get food, and sit down. She chatted with Ikram, who had been pulled from tailor duty to work on the wall. Ikram had come to them five days ago with a shocked expression.

"I can't believe it! I'm not meant for this." She had said to Almira angrily during lunch.

"What do you mean?" Almira had asked impassively, too tired to care about Ikram's woes.

"Raja! She came to me and said, 'Needlework is not meant for everyone, perhaps you are meant to do something less delicate'. Can you believe that Raja would pull me out of sewing duty when she desperately needs new uniforms?"

Ikram was mumbling something about being glad that the wall was finished. Almira scanned the loud room, and saw Altaïr at once. He was not hard to find, being taller than most of the men there. Lately she had formed a routine, where she would search the room for him at mealtimes. He was always there with someone, and he never took notice of her.

Why would he? She was a servant after all, and a slave before that.

She wondered why she was doing such a thing. It's not really stalking, since she wasn't actively seeking him out, just a glance every now and then during meals. He was a gorgeous man, she can't deny that, but she wasn't attracted to him in any romantic or sexual ways. Perhaps it's because he had saved her? She wanted to talk to him sometime, but wouldn't know what to say to him.

She sighed, chewing on some peas. With the wall done, they can eat more leisurely. Raja will have to give them new work details for the afternoon.

"Ikram," she said, "Do you think Raja will reassign you to the tailor room?"

Ikram frowned lightly, "I do hope not, sewing is boring and I stab my fingers."

Almira gave a "huh" and bit a chunk off a piece of flat bread.

"Hey, do you know what the best duty is?" Ikram said.

Almira noted the tone and decided to go along. "No, what?"

"Tending to sick brothers." She smiled mischievously.

"Really." Almira cocked a brow, "Tending to sick people? That sounds annoying, not to mention getting yourself sick."

"Not sick people, sick brothers," Ikram corrected, "And besides, if I get sick, that means I won't have to see Raja' s face."

Almira didn't reply, but glanced at Altaïr; another assassin had sat down next to him. Ikram didn't notice her lack of contribution to the conversation.

"You know, they look so tough now, but when they get sick, they become a wreck. I've been assigned to tend to them twice before. It's a good job. The brothers are all so friendly since they're all cooped up, and-…"

"Does Altaïr ever get sick?" Almira suddenly asked.

"Altaïr? The best assassin in the Brotherhood?" Ikram followed her eyes across the room. A look of pure adoration crossed her face.

"Unfortunately, no," She pouted, "Or he certainly was not when I was on duty. If he was…"

Ikram rested her head on her hands, her eyes distant as she sighed happily.

"Ikram, how old are you?"

"I've seen thirteen summers, but I'll be fourteen soon."

Almira studied her; Ikram looked a lot older.

"You?"

"Eighteen," she replied.

Ikram stared at her.

"What?"

"You are eighteen?" The young girl asked incredulously.

"Yes. Something wrong?"

"And you are not married?"

Almira raised an eyebrow, and then suddenly realized that Ikram probably didn't know her background.

"That...connects to a period of my life I'd rather not talk about..." She mumbled.

"Oh, I'm sorry to bring it up" Ikram said softly.

Almira merely shrugged, concentrating on her food.

"My parents wish for me to marry soon, as I am getting quite old for a maiden. They say they have a man in mind. I hope he is handsome like the brothers here."

"Handsome?" Almira questioned, "Not pleasant, or forgiving?"

Tariq was quite the handsome man.

"Well, that would be nice," Ikram chuckled, "But I daren't dream of it."

Altaïr's head throbbed painfully as he chewed the food in his mouth. Kadar was sitting across from him, trying futilely to start a conversation. He was close to giving up when a familiar figure sat down next to his companion.

"Altaïr, it's good to see that you are back."

"Fahra!" Kadar exclaimed.

The girl smiled at him, before seeing his still bandaged left hand. Her smile slowly disappeared.

"Kadar, did you-?"

"Yes," Kadar replied proudly, "I'm a novice now."

"Congratulations, brother." She said, beaming at him.

Altaïr merely grunted. Kadar was a newly initiated novice, but he was a full-fledged assassin!

"What is wrong with him?" Fahra said impassively, picking at her food.

"Don't know, he won't say." Kadar shrugged, "How goes the mission?"

Fahra thought about it while she chewed. She ran a hand through her short brown hair.

"The guards killed my horse, so I took another one from the Templars, and Malik got an arrow in the side."

Kadar gagged and sputtered into his drink, "How can you say those things in the same sentence!"

"But, but," she quickly added, "He'll be fine, it was nothing. Really. Both me and him have had much worse."

"So where is he?" Kadar asked.

"Probably at the tailor's. His clothes are utterly ruined."

A silence lingered over them. Kadar stole glances at Altaïr, whose face was still plastered with a frown.

"Altaïr, brother, what's wrong?" Fahra finally asked in a serious voice.

His scowl immediately melted when he looked into her inquisitive brown eyes. Did he really think he can withstand that gaze? He turned away, using his hood to hide a blush.

"It's nothing, really." He stammered. He can't say the real reason, it'll just make him look weak and childish.

"I don't believe you!" Kadar cried out, "You sulked the entire morning over nothing?"

At this moment a lone assassin walked through the large double doors. Kadar's eyes lit up as he saw him, but Altaïr's features grew dark and menacing. The one that just walked in stared at him for a while, before reeling around and dashing back out the doors.

"YOU!" Altaïr bellowed, leaping up from the table. Several assassins next to him jumped in surprise. He swiped a weighty loaf of bread before sprinting through the entrance, his white robes billowing behind him. Fahra and Kadar looked at each other, before getting up gracefully and following Altaïr. They rounded a corridor just in time to see Altaïr fling the bread at his victim, hitting him expertly in the head. The one in front suddenly tripped, falling to the ground and rolling to lessen the impact. Altaïr didn't waste a second, pushing his knee into his prey's chest, pinning him down.

"Tell me why I should not beat you to oblivion right now!" He demanded.

"Altaïr, surely you will not beat those who cannot properly fight back?" the figure on the ground struggled futilely.

"You threw a rock at my head!"

"You should have ducked!"

"Altaïr stop! Malik is injured!" Fahra shouted as Kadar tried to pull Altaïr off of his brother. Malik took this opportunity to wriggle out from under him.

"AH! My side!" He exclaimed, clutching at his side awkwardly.

"Nothing serious, is it?" Altaïr asked, hoping his outburst didn't add more onto the man's injuries.

"No, no, I will live, but this won't heal for a while, thanks to you." Malik groaned.

"Consider that payback then." The other assassin said with a hint of a smirk. Kadar let out a sigh of relief.

"So what happened on the mission? How did you get an arrow in the side?" He inquired.

"He was trying to show the guards just exactly how agile he is." Fahra said.

Malik pressed a hand to his midsection. "Was not."

"Really. Why in the world then did you not follow me and instead pick a route that ran in front of three archers?" Fahra retorted, crossing her arms.

"What?" Altaïr said incredulously.

"What?" Kadar mirrored him.

Malik shot all three of them an angry glare.

"I'd rather not talk about it. But let's go back to the dining hall, before all the food's gone," he said sourly.