Revelations ac-4

by Oliver Bowden

  He clambered up onto a podium and addressed the crowd, which Ezio joined, edging through the throng, ever closer to his quarry as Manuel spoke.

  “Citizens!” Manuel said in a high voice. “Soldiers! Compose yourselves. Do not give in to fear! We are the true shepherds of Constantinopolis. We are the lords of this land. We are Byzantines!” He paused for effect, but if he’d hoped for applause, there was none. So he plowed on. “ Kourayo! Have courage! Stand fast! Do not let anyone break your-”

  He broke off, as he noticed Ezio approaching. Some sixth sense must have triggered an alarm within him, for he swore sharply to himself and jumped nimbly from the podium, hurrying away toward an exit at the back of the hall, yelling to his bodyguards as he did so, “Stop that man! The tall one in the peaked hood! Cut him down!”

  Ezio thrust his way through the confused mob and started off in pursuit of Manuel, dodging and knocking down Templar guards as he did so. At last he was free of them and risked a glance behind him. They were as confused as the townsfolk, looking in every direction but the one in which he’d gone, shouting challenges, barking orders, and running off determinedly before checking themselves. Manuel himself had scuttled off too fast for any of his men to have had time to follow him. Only Ezio’s sharp eyes had not let him out of his sight.

  For such a portly person, Manuel could certainly move. Ezio rushed down a long, dimly lit corridor-street, pausing only to glance down side turnings to assure himself that his quarry had not turned off; then he caught a glimpse, far up ahead, of a shimmering silk robe catching the torchlight as Manuel scrambled up a narrow stone stairway cut into the rock, ascending to the First Level. The man who would be king was seeking the quickest way out, his munitions gone and his army in complete disarray.

  Ezio stormed after him.

  He cornered him at last in an empty house, carved out of the living rock on the First Level. Manuel turned to face him with a curious smile playing on his lascivious lips.

  “Are you here for the Masyaf key?” he asked. “Is that it? Have you come to rob us of two years of effort-to recover what the Assassins threw away?”

  Ezio did not reply but eyed him warily. There was no telling what tricks this man might still have up his sleeve.

  “You wage a losing battle, Assassin!” Manuel continued, though something of desperation was creeping into his voice. “Our numbers are growing, and our influence is expanding. We are hidden in plain sight!”

  Ezio made a step closer.

  “Stop and think for a moment,” Manuel said, holding up a beringed hand. “Think about the lives you have disrupted today-the anarchy you have sown here! You! You take advantage of a poor and displaced people, using us to further your own vain quest! But we fight for dignity, Assassin! We fight to restore peace to this troubled land.”

  “Templars are always quick to talk of peace,” Ezio replied. “But very slow to concede power.”

  Manuel made a dismissive gesture. “That is because power begets peace. Idiot! It cannot happen in reverse. These people would drown without a firm hand to lift them up and keep them in line!”

  Ezio smiled. “And to think you are the monster I came here to kill.”

  Manuel looked him in the eye, and Ezio had the disquieting impression that the man was resigned to his fate. There was a curious dignity about the plump, dandified figure, with his flashing jewels and his beautifully tended mustache. Ezio unleashed his blade and stabbed Manuel deep in the chest, finding himself helping the man down as he sank to his knees. But Manuel didn’t fall. He supported himself on the back of a stone bench and looked at Ezio calmly. When he spoke, his voice sounded exhausted.

  “I should have been Constantine’s successor. I had so many plans. Do you know how long I waited?”

  “Your dream dies with you, Manuel. Your empire has gone.”

  Though clearly in pain, Manuel managed to sound amused. “Ah, but I am not the only one with this vision, Assassin. The dream of our Order is universal. Ottoman, Byzantine… these are only labels, costumes and fa-cades. Beneath these trappings, all Templars are part of the same family.”

  Ezio found himself losing patience, and he was aware of time passing. He was not out of there himself, yet. “Enough prattling. I am here for the Masyaf key.”

  He stooped and took the satchel Manuel still had slung round his shoulder. Manuel suddenly looked much older than his fifty-eight years. “Then take it,” he said in pained amusement. “Take it and seek your fortune. See if you get within a hundred leagues of the Masyaf Archive before one of us finishes you off.”

  Then his whole body stiffened, and he stretched his arms as if waking from sleep, before pitching forward into a blackness without dimension and without sound.

  Ezio looked at the body for a moment, thinking his own thoughts, then rifled swiftly through Manuel’s satchel. He took nothing but the key, which he transferred to his own side pouch, throwing the satchel down by Manuel’s side.

  Then he turned to go.

  SIXTY-FOUR

  The upper levels of the underground city had been sealed off by Templar and Byzantine troops, loyal to their officers and unsure of what might happen next. It would not be long before Manuel’s body was discovered, and Ezio decided that his best-and perhaps his only-means of escape would be by way of the underground river system that occupied the Eleventh Level of the complex.

  The lower levels of the Derinkuyu were like a hell on earth. Smoke and fumes filled the underground streets, and fires had broken out in pockets on levels both below and above the warehouses where Ezio had destroyed Manuel’s armory and munitions dump. Fallen ceilings and walls had blocked many routes, and Ezio had to make frequent detours. Several times, as he passed piles of rubble, he could see protruding from the debris the limbs of those crushed by collapsing stonework. He tried, and failed, to close his mind to the consequences of what he had done. Soldiers and citizens alike wandered about in a kind of daze, scarves and handkerchiefs pressed to their faces, eyes streaming. Ezio, himself fighting to breathe at times, doggedly pressed on downward by a series of ramps, corridors, and stairways cut into the rock, until he reached the lowest level of all.

  It was clearer here, and the dank smell of water in a confined space had begun to reach him even as he arrived at the Ninth Level.

  Because of the tumult and confusion caused by the explosions, Ezio had been able to pass through the city unmolested, and he stood alone on a jetty by an artificial underground lake. Far away to what he imagined must be the south, for it was difficult to keep one’s bearings down there, he saw a glimmer of light where the river feeding the lake led away from it again toward the open air. It had to be a long way away and far downhill from the site of Derinkuyu, but Ezio had no time to ponder this, because, setting off from another jetty perhaps twenty yards distant, he saw a raft, manned by a half dozen Byzantine sailors. But it was the passenger who really caught Ezio’s attention. An elegant, bearded man standing on the after deck.

  Prince Ahmet Osman.

  Ahmet had seen Ezio, too, and directed his oarsmen to make their way toward him. When he came within speaking range, he called mockingly to the Assassin.

  “Poor Manuel. The last of the Palaiologi.”

  Ezio was too surprised to speak for a moment. Then he said: “News travels fast.”

  “The Assassins aren’t the only ones with spies.” He shrugged. “But I should not have left Manuel in charge of our Masyaf expedition. He was an arrogant man. Impossible to keep in line.”

  “You disappoint me, Ahmet. Why the Templars?”

  “Well, Ezio-or should I keep up the pretense and continue to call you ‘Marcello’?-it is like this: I am tired of all the pointless blood feuds that have pitted father against son and brother against brother. To achieve true peace, mankind must think and move as one body, with one master mind.” He paused. “The secrets in the Grand Temple will give us just that. And Altair will lead us to it.”

  “You delude yourself! Altair�
�s secrets are not for you! And you will never find the Grand Temple!”

  “We’ll see.”

  Ezio noticed that Ahmet was looking past him, and, turning, he saw a number of Byzantine troops edging toward where he stood on the jetty.

  “In any case, I am not interested in arguing morals and ethics with you, Assassin. I am here for the Masyaf keys.”

  Ezio smiled mockingly and produced the key he had just taken from Manuel, holding it up. “Do you mean to say there are more than just this one?”

  “So I have heard,” replied Ahmet, urbanely. “But perhaps I should ask someone who may be even better informed than you. Sofia Sartor. Have I got the name right?”

  Ezio was immediately troubled though he tried not to let it show. “She knows nothing! Leave her be!”

  Ahmet smiled. “We shall see.”

  He motioned to his men, who started to steer the raft away.

  “I will kill you if you touch her.”

  “I know you’ll try, my dear Ezio. But I doubt if you’ll succeed.” He raised his voice, addressing the men onshore. “Kill him now and get the key. Then bring it to me immediately.”

  “Won’t you stay and watch the show?” said Ezio, coldly.

  “I have far too much respect for my own safety,” replied Ahmet. “I know your reputation, and I’ve seen an example of your work here today. Cornered, as you are, I imagine you’re doubly dangerous. Besides, I detest violence.”

  The raft sailed off, leaving Ezio to face the Byzantine troops ranged against him. He considered his options.

  But there were no options.

  He was at the end of the jetty, with no means of retreat, and there was no way he could make an escape by swimming. There must have been twenty or thirty of them. Some carried muskets that had escaped his destruction of the warehouses. The captain of the detachment came close.

  “Give us the key, kyrie,” he said sarcastically. “I do not believe you have a choice.”

  Musketeers flanking him raised their weapons.

  Ezio looked at them. This time he knew he was beaten. He had his pistol, capable of two shots at most, his hidden-blade, and his scimitar. But at the very moment even he could make his quickest move, the muskets would send their balls straight through him. Perhaps they’d fire anyway. It would be the simplest way to get the key. Maybe he’d have time to hurl it into the lake before he fell.

  Ezio could only pray that Yusuf would never let the other four keys fall into Templar hands and that Sofia would be spared needless torture, for he had kept her ignorant of their whereabouts for safety’s sake.

  But he had clearly not been careful enough.

  Well, everyone’s road had to end somewhere.

  The captain raised his hand, and the musketeers’ fingers curled around their triggers.

  SIXTY-FIVE

  The muskets fired. Ezio threw himself flat on the jetty.

  Arrows from behind and above them fell on the Byzantine soldiers like rain. In seconds, all Prince Ahmet’s soldiers lay dead or wounded by the lake’s edge.

  One ball had seared Ezio’s hood, but otherwise he was unscathed, and he thanked God that age hadn’t slowed his reactions. When he got to his feet, it was to see Dilara standing at the other end of the jetty. From vantage points at the top of the stairway that led down to it, her men were descending, and those who’d already reached ground level were moving among the Byzantines, checking the dead and tending the wounded.

  “Can’t leave you alone for a minute,” said Dilara.

  “So it would seem,” said Ezio. “Thank you.”

  “Get what you came for?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we’d better get you out of here. You’ve raised hell, you know.”

  “Looks like it.”

  She shook her head. “It’ll take them years to recover from this. If they recover at all. But there’s enough kick left in them to send you flying if they find you. Come on!”

  She started back up the stairs.

  “Wait! Should I take a boat out of here?”

  “Are you mad? They’ll be waiting for you where the river comes out into the open. It’s a narrow gorge. You’d be dead meat in a moment, and I don’t want to see my work here wasted.”

  Ezio followed her obediently.

  They climbed back up through several levels, then took a street winding away to the south. The smoke there had cleared somewhat, and the people who were about were too preoccupied with putting out fires to pay them much attention. Dilara set a very brisk pace, and, before long, they’d arrived at a gateway similar to the one Ezio had opened on the west side of the city. Dilara produced a key and opened the ironclad wooden door.

  “I’m impressed,” said Ezio.

  “So you should be. Tell them in Kostantiniyye that they can rest easy that their people here are doing a good job.”

  Ezio squinted against the sunlight that poured in through the door, which seemed blinding after the dimness of the underground city. But he saw a road winding away to the south, with the dismal little village of Nadarim hunched in its path.

  “Your horse is saddled and freshly fed and watered in the stables there. Food and drink in the saddlebags. You can pick her up without danger. The village has been liberated, and they’ve already started whitewashing the buildings-Allah knows it needed cheering up, and now it’s broken free of its oppressors,” said Dilara, her nostrils flaring in triumph. “But get out of here now. It won’t be long before news reaches Ahmet of what’s happened. He won’t dare come back himself, of course, but you can be sure he’ll send someone after you.”

  “Has he got anyone left?”

  Dilara smiled-a little tightly, but she did smile. “Go on, go. You should be able to make Nigde by the end of the week. You’ll be back in Mersin by the full moon if nobody cuts you down on the way.”

  “Ahead of schedule.”

  “Congratulations.”

  “What about you?”

  “Our work here isn’t finished. In any case, we don’t move without a direct order from Kostantiniyye. Give my regards to Tarik.”

  Ezio looked at her in grim silence for a moment, then said, “I’ll tell them at the Sublime Porte how much they owe to you.”

  “You do that. And now I’ve got to get back to my men and reorganize. Your little fireworks display wrecked our headquarters, among other things.”

  Ezio wanted to say something more, but she had already gone.

  SIXTY-SIX

  The journey back to the coast was fast and mercifully uneventful.

  “You’re early,” said Piri Reis, when Ezio appeared at the foot of the gangplank of the red dhow.

  “And it’s good that I am. We must return to Kostantiniyye as soon as possible.”

  “Do you have the fifth key?”

  Ezio smiled and patted the pouch at his side.

  “It is well,” said Piri, returning his smile. “And Manuel?”

  “Manuel will trouble us no more.”

  “Better and better. They will make you a sovalye at this rate.”

  “But the battle is far from won. We must make haste.”

  “The ship has to be victualed, and we must wait for a favorable tide. But we can deal with one while we attend the other.” Piri turned and issued terse orders to the ship’s master, who had joined them. “The crew will have to be rounded up as well. We did not expect you to finish your business at Derinkuyu quite so fast.”

  “I was fortunate in having extraordinarily good assistance.”

  “I have heard of the chief of spies put in place there by the Sublime Porte. Her reputation goes always before her,” said Piri.

  “Then I have reason to thank the Ottoman government.”

  “Under Bayezid, the Sublime Porte has become a model of practical administration. It is fortunate that it continues to operate unhindered by the squabbles of the Royal Family.”

  “Speaking of them, I think we must keep a careful eye on Ahmet,” Ezio said qu
ietly. “I have discovered that he has some very undesirable friends.”

  “The Assassins should not meddle in Ottoman affairs.”

  “These friends of Ahmet’s make those affairs ours, too.”

  Piri raised an eyebrow but said no more on the subject. “Your cabin is ready for you,” he said. “No doubt you will wish to rest until we are ready to sail.”

  Once alone, Ezio divested himself of his equipment and cleaned and honed his arms. Then, when all was in readiness, he secured the cabin door, took out the fifth key, and placed it on the foldaway table, seating himself before it. He was curious to see whether it would behave in the same way as the others. He needed to know what more of Altair it might impart, especially as he had no means of telling whether it had performed any kind of mystical revelation to the Templars who had first discovered it. What knowledge might it already have imparted to them? Or had it some power to know, as it were, when to speak and when to be silent?

  His mind was troubled, too, by thoughts of Sofia, and he was impatient to be back in Constantinople. To protect her and to ensure the safety of the other four keys. But for the moment he had to force himself to be patient, for he was at the mercy of the sea and the wind.

  This key was similar to the others-the exact diameter and proportion of its fellows, decorated, as they were, with strange, indecipherable symbols and rutted with precise but mysterious grooves. He braced himself and reached out to touch it. It did not disappoint him. Soon, the soft light of the cabin seemed to sink into further gloom, and, by contrast, the glow that began to emanate from the obsidian disc grew greater and greater…

  SIXTY-SEVEN

  As he was drawn into the scene-at one with it, and yet not part of it at all, Ezio knew that ten more years had passed since last he was at Masyaf. He watched and, as he watched, was lost in the events that unfolded…