Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  ‘But is there no heir to the Ottoman throne?’ Ezio asked, surprised.

  ‘That’s the trouble – there are two of them. Two angry sons. It’s a familiar pattern with these royals. When the Sultan coughs, the princes draw their swords.’

  Ezio pondered this, remembering what the young man on the ship had told him. ‘Between the Templars and the Ottomans, you must be kept busy,’ he said.

  ‘Ezio, efendim, I tell you in truth that I barely have time to polish my blade!’

  Just then, a shot rang out, and a bullet embedded itself in the wall inches to the left of Yusuf’s head.

  18

  Yusuf dived behind a row of spice barrels with Ezio close behind him.

  ‘Talk of the devil and there he is!’ Yusuf said, tight-lipped, as he raised his head just enough to see the gunman reloading across the square.

  ‘Looks like our Byzantine friends over there didn’t take kindly to being stared at.’

  ‘I’ll take care of the man with the musket,’ said Yusuf, measuring the distance between himself and his target as he reached back and plucked one of his throwing knives from the scabbard at his back. In a clean movement he threw it and it hurtled across the square, rotating three times before it found its mark, burying itself deep in the man’s throat, just as he raised his gun to fire again. Meanwhile his friends were already sprinting towards them, swords drawn.

  ‘Nowhere to run,’ said Ezio, drawing his own scimitar.

  ‘Baptism of fire for you,’ said Yusuf. ‘And you’ve only just arrived. Çok üzüldüm.’

  ‘Don’t think about it,’ replied Ezio, amused. He’d picked up just enough Turkish to know that his companion-in-arms was saying sorry.

  Yusuf drew his own sword, and together they leapt from their hiding place to confront the oncoming foe. They were more lightly clad than their three opponents, which left them worse protected but more mobile. Ezio quickly realized, as he joined with the first Byzantine, that he was up against a highly trained fighter.

  Yusuf kept up his banter as they fought. But then he was used to this enemy, and a good fifteen years Ezio’s junior. ‘The whole city stirs to welcome you – first the regents, like me – and now the rats!’

  Ezio concentrated on the swordplay. It went against him badly at first, but he had quickly attuned himself to the light, flexible sword he was using, and found its curved blade improved swing incredibly. Once or twice, Yusuf, keeping an eye on his Mentor, shouted helpful instructions but ended up casting him an admiring sidelong glance.

  ‘Inanilmaz! A master at work!’

  But he’d allowed his attention to be distracted for a second too long, and one of the Byzantines was able to slice through the material of his left sleeve and gash his forearm. As he fell back involuntarily and his assailant pressed his advantage, Ezio shoved his own opponent violently aside and went to his friend’s aid, getting between Yusuf and the Byzantine and warding off what would have been a fatal follow-up blow with his left arm bracer. This move wrong-footed the Byzantine just long enough for Yusuf to regain his balance and, in turn, fend off another mercenary who was closing in on Ezio’s back, dealing him a mortal blow at the same time as Ezio finished off the second man. The last remaining Byzantine, a big man with a jaw like a rock face, looked doubtful for the first time.

  ‘Tesekkür ederim,’ said Yusuf, breathing heavily.

  ‘Bir sey degil.’

  ‘Is there no end to your talents?’

  ‘Well, at least I learned “thank you” and “you’re welcome” on board that baghlah.’

  ‘Look out!’

  The huge Byzantine was bearing down on them, roaring, a big sword in one hand and a mace in the other.

  ‘By Allah, I thought he’d run away,’ said Yusuf, sidestepping and tripping him up, so that, carried by the weight of his own momentum, he careered forward and crashed heavily into one of the spice barrels, falling headlong into a fragrant heap of yellow powder where he lay immobile.

  Ezio, after looking around, wiped his sword clean and sheathed it. Yusuf followed suit.

  ‘You have a curious technique, Mentor. All feint and no fight. It seems. But when you strike …’

  ‘I think like a mongoose – my enemy is the cobra.’

  ‘Striking expression.’

  ‘I try.’

  Yusuf glanced around again. ‘We’d better go. I think that’s enough fun for one day.’

  The words were scarcely out of his mouth when another squad of Byzantine mercenaries, attracted by the sound of the fight, came boiling into the square.

  Ezio was instantly on the alert, whipping his sword out again.

  But then the other side of the square filled with more troops, wearing a different uniform – blue tunics and dark conical felt hats.

  ‘Hang on – wait!’ Yusuf cried as the new arrivals turned to attack the mercenaries, quickly causing them to retreat and pursuing them out of sight, out of the square.

  ‘They were regular Ottoman troops,’ Yusuf said in response to Ezio’s questioning look. ‘Not Janissaries – they are the elite regiment; you’ll know them when you see them. But all Ottoman soldiers have a special loathing for these Byzantine thugs, and that is to the advantage of the Assassins.’

  ‘How big an advantage?’

  Yusuf spread his hands. ‘Oh, just a little one. They’ll still kill you if you look at them in a way they don’t like, same as the Byzantines. The difference is the Ottomans will feel bad about it afterwards.’

  ‘How touching.’

  Yusuf grinned. ‘It’s not so bad, really. For the first time in many decades, we Assassins have a strong presence here. It wasn’t always that way. Under the Byzantine emperors, we were hunted down and killed on the spot.’

  ‘You’d better tell me about that,’ said Ezio as they set off once again towards the Brotherhood’s headquarters.

  Yusuf scratched his chin. ‘Well, the old emperor, Constantine – the eleventh with that name – only had a three-year reign. Our Sultan Mehmed saw to that. But by all accounts Constantine wasn’t too bad. He was the very last Roman emperor, in a line that went back a millennium.’

  ‘Spare me the history lesson,’ Ezio interrupted. ‘I want to know what we’re up against now.’

  ‘Thing is, by the time Mehmed took this city there was almost nothing left of it – or of the old Byzantine empire. They even say Constantine was so broke he had to replace the jewels in his robes with glass copies.’

  ‘My heart bleeds for him.’

  ‘He was a brave man. He refused the offer of his life in exchange for surrendering the city, and he went down fighting. But his spirit wasn’t shared by two of his nephews. One of them has been dead a few years now, but the other …’ Yusuf trailed off, thoughtfully.

  ‘He’s against us?’

  ‘Oh, you can bet on that. And he’s against the Ottomans. Well, the rulers, anyway.’

  ‘Where is he now?’

  Yusuf looked vague. ‘Who knows? In exile somewhere? But if he’s still alive, he’ll be plotting something.’ He paused. ‘They say he was in pretty thick with Rodrigo Borgia at one time.’

  Ezio stiffened at the name. ‘The Spaniard?’

  ‘The very same. The one you finally snuffed out.’

  ‘It was his own son who did the deed.’

  ‘Well, they never were exactly the Holy Family, were they?’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Rodrigo was also close to a Seljuk called Cem. It was all very hush-hush, and even we Assassins didn’t know about it until much later.’

  Ezio nodded. He had heard the stories. ‘If I remember rightly, Cem was a bit of an adventurer.’

  ‘He was one of the present Sultan’s brothers, but he had his eye on the throne for himself, so Bayezid threw him out. He ended up kind of under house arrest in Italy, and he and Rodrigo became friends.’

  ‘I remember,’ Ezio said, taking up the story. ‘Rodrigo thought he could use Cem’s ambitions to take Constantino
ple for himself. But the Brotherhood managed to assassinate Cem in Capua about fifteen years ago. And that put an end to that little plan.’

  ‘Not that we got much thanks for it.’

  ‘Our task is not wrought in order to receive thanks.’

  Yusuf bowed his head. ‘I am schooled, Mentor. But it was a pretty neat coup, you must admit.’

  Ezio was silent, so after a moment Yusuf continued, ‘The two nephews I mentioned were the sons of another of Bayezid’s brothers, Tomas. They’d been exiled too with their father.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Would you believe it – Tomas was after the Ottoman throne as well. Sound familiar?’

  ‘The name of this family wouldn’t be Borgia, would it?’

  Yusuf laughed. ‘It’s Palaiologus. But you’re right – it almost amounts to the same thing. After Cem died, the nephews both went to ground in Europe. One stayed there, trying to raise an army to take Constantinople himself – he failed, of course, and died as I said seven or eight years ago without an heir and penniless. But the other – well, he came back, renounced any imperial ambition, was forgiven, and actually joined the navy for a time. Then he seemed to settle down to a life of luxury and womanizing.’

  ‘But now he’s disappeared?’

  ‘He’s certainly out of sight.’

  ‘And we don’t know his name?’

  ‘He goes by many names – but we have been unable to pin him down.’

  ‘But he is plotting something.’

  ‘Yes. And he has Templar connections.’

  ‘A man to be watched.’

  ‘If he surfaces, we’ll know about it.’

  ‘How old is he?’

  ‘It’s said he was born in the year of Mehmed’s conquest, which would make him just a handful of years older than you.’

  ‘Still enough kick in him then.’

  Yusuf looked at him. ‘If you are anything to go by, plenty.’ He looked around him. Their walk had taken them deep into the heart of the city. ‘We’re almost there,’ he said. ‘This way.’

  They made another turning – into a narrow street, dim, cool and shadowy despite the sunshine which tried, and failed, to penetrate the narrow space between the buildings on either side. Yusuf paused at a small unimpressive-looking green-painted door and raised the brass knocker on it. He tapped out a code so softly that Ezio wondered that anyone within would hear. But within seconds the door was swung open by a broad-shouldered narrow-hipped girl who bore the Assassins’ emblem on the buckle of her tunic belt.

  Ezio found himself in a spacious courtyard, green vines clinging to the yellow walls. Assembled was a small group of young men and women. They gazed at Ezio in awe as Yusuf, with a theatrical gesture, turned to him and said, ‘Mentor – say hello to your extended family.’

  Ezio stepped forward. ‘Salute a voi, Assassini. It is an honour to find such fast friends so far from home.’ To his horror, he found that he was moved to tears. Maybe the tensions of the past few hours were catching up with him; and he was still tired after his journey.

  Yusuf turned to his fellow members of the Constantinople Chapter of the Assassin Brotherhood. ‘You see, friends? Our Mentor is not afraid to weep openly in front of his pupils.’

  Ezio wiped his cheeks with a gloved hand and smiled. ‘Do not worry – I will not make a habit of it.’

  ‘The Mentor has not been in our city more than a matter of hours and already there is news,’ Yusuf went on, his face serious. ‘We were attacked on the way here. It seems the mercenaries are on the move once more. So’ – he indicated three men and two women – ‘You – Dogan, Kasim, Heyreddin; and you – Evraniki and Irini – I want you to make a sweep of the area now!’

  The five silently rose, bowing to Ezio as they took their leave.

  ‘The rest of you – back to work,’ Yusuf commanded, and the remaining Assassins dispersed.

  Left alone, Yusuf turned to Ezio, a look of concern on his face. ‘My Mentor. Your weapons and your armour look in need of renewal – and your clothes – forgive me – are in a pitiful state. We will help you. But we have very little money.’

  Ezio smiled. ‘Have no fear. I need none. And I prefer to look after myself. It is time to explore the city alone, to get the feeling of it into my blood.’

  ‘Will you not rest first? Take some refreshment?’

  ‘The time for rest is when the task is done.’ Ezio paused. He unslung his bags and withdrew the broken hidden blade. ‘Is there a blacksmith or an armourer skilled and trustworthy enough to repair this?’

  Yusuf examined the damage, then slowly, regretfully, shook his head. ‘This, I know, is one of the original blades crafted from Altaïr’s instructions in the Codex your father collected; and what you ask may be impossible to achieve. But if we cannot get it done, we will make sure you do not go out under-armed. Leave your weapons with me – those you do not need to take with you now – and I will have them cleaned and honed. And there will be fresh clothes ready for you on your return.’

  ‘I am grateful.’ Ezio made for the door. As he approached it, the young blonde doorkeeper lowered her eyes modestly.

  ‘Azize will be your guide, if you wish her to go with you, Mentor,’ Yusuf suggested.

  Ezio turned. ‘No. I go alone.’

  19

  In truth, Ezio sought to be alone. He needed to collect his thoughts. He went to a taverna in the Genoese quarter, where wine was available, and refreshed himself with a bottle of Pigato and a simple maccaroin in brodo. He spent the rest of the afternoon thoroughly acquainting himself with the Galata District and avoided trouble, melting into the crowd whenever he encountered either Ottoman patrols or bands of Byzantine mercenaries. He looked just like many another travel-stained pilgrim wandering the colourful, messy, chaotic, exciting streets of the city.

  Once he was satisfied, he returned to headquarters, just as the first lamps were being lit in the dark interiors of the shops, and they were laying tables in the lokantas. Yusuf and some of his people were waiting for him.

  The Turk immediately came up to him, looking pleased with himself. ‘Praise the heavens, Mentor. I am glad to see you again – and safe. We feared we had lost you to the vices of the big city!’

  ‘You are melodramatic,’ said Ezio, smiling. ‘And as for vices, I am content with my own, grazie.’

  ‘I hope you will approve of the arrangements we have made in your absence.’

  Yusuf led Ezio to an inner chamber, where a complete new outfit had been laid out for him. Next to it, neatly arranged on an oak table, lay his weapons, sharpened, oiled and polished, gleaming as new. A crossbow had been added to the set.

  ‘We have put the broken blade in a place of safety,’ said Yusuf. ‘But we noticed that you have no hookblade, so we have organized one for you.’

  ‘Hookblade?’

  ‘Yes. Look.’ Yusuf drew back his sleeve to reveal what Ezio had first taken to be a hidden blade. But when Yusuf activated it and it sprang forth, he saw that it was a more complex variant. The telescopic blade of the new weapon ended in a curved hook of well-tempered steel.

  ‘Fascinating,’ said Ezio.

  ‘You’ve never seen one before? I grew up using these.’

  ‘Show me.’

  Yusuf took a new hookblade from one of the Assassins in attendance, who held it in readiness, and tossed it over to Ezio. Transferring his hidden blade from his right wrist to his left, under the bracer, Ezio strapped the hookblade to his right. He felt its unfamiliar weight, and practised releasing and retracting it. He wished Leonardo had been there to see it.

  ‘You’d better give me a demonstration.’

  ‘Immediately, if you are ready.’

  ‘As I’ll ever be.’

  ‘Then follow me, and watch closely what I do.’

  They went outside and down the street in the light of late afternoon to a deserted space between a group of tall brick buildings. Yusuf selected one, whose high walls were decorated with projecting horizont
al runs of tiled brick at intervals of some ten feet. He set off towards the building at a run, leaping onto a couple of water barrels placed close to it. Springing upwards, he released his hookblade and used it to grip the first projecting run of tiles, pulling himself up with the hookblade and using his momentum to hook onto the run above until he was standing on the roof of the building. The whole operation took less than a few seconds.

  Taking a deep breath, Ezio followed suit. He managed the first two operations without difficulty, and even found the experience exhilarating, but he almost missed his hold on the third tier and swung dangerously outwards for a moment, until he corrected himself without losing momentum and found himself soon afterwards on the roof next to Yusuf.

  ‘Don’t stop to think,’ Yusuf told him. ‘Use your instincts and let the hook do the work. I can see that after another couple of climbs like that you’ll have mastered it. You’re a quick learner, Mentor.’

  ‘I have had to be.’

  Yusuf smiled. He extended his own blade again and showed Ezio the detail. ‘The standard Ottoman hookblade has two parts, you see – the hook and the blade – so that you can use one or the other independently. An elegant design, no?’

  ‘A pity I didn’t have one of these in the past.’

  ‘Perhaps then you had no need of one. Come!’

  He bounded over the rooftops, Ezio following, remembering the distant days when he had chased after his brother Federico across the rooftops of Florence. Yusuf led him to places where he could practise some more, out of sight of prying eyes. Once Ezio had accomplished, with increasing confidence, another three climbs, Yusuf turned to him and said, a glint in his eye, ‘There’s still enough light left in the day. How about a bigger challenge?’

  ‘Va bene.’ Ezio grinned. ‘Let’s go.’

  Yusuf took off, running again, through the emptying streets, until they reached the foot of the Galata Tower. ‘They don’t post guards in peacetime until the torches are lit on the parapets. We won’t be disturbed. Let’s go.’