“I had been there on previous nights, of course, timing just as I was on this occasion, and what I’d learned was that the guards coordinated their movements to prevent anyone’s having the opportunity to scale the walls. Under their robes they carried crossbows and throwing knives; they kept a safe distance from one another so as to prevent a quick double kill, so taking out one of them would alert the others. I had no reason to suspect that they were anything but supremely competent. That is why I had the key, Ethan.”
“The key was to the warehouse?”
“As I’ve already said, the key was to the warehouse. I had greased the keyhole myself that very morning, and now I counted, I timed, and I made my move when the moment was right. I streaked across the apron behind the warehouse and to the rear door, where I thrust the key into the lock. The sound was muffled, a well-oiled click that, even though it sounded to my ears like a gunshot, was in reality just another indistinguishable night noise, and I was inside. I locked the warehouse door behind me but took the key. This was to be my escape route also.
“Or so I thought at the time. But of course I was wrong about that.”
The boy’s head dropped once more to his lap and he wrung his hands, tortured by the pain of the wretched memory.
“The warehouse was empty. All I saw on the stone floor was a long, slatted table and some chairs. Possibly it was to have been used by the Templars for some reason. In either case the idea of its needing an exterior guard was laughable. Of course, they hadn’t bothered to post a guard inside, but even so I stayed silent as I made my way up steps and then ladders and to the roof of the building. Once outside, I stayed in the shadows and took my neckerchief from around my neck. You ask about my Assassin’s robes, but in fact I never wore them. I was wearing then what I’m wearing now. If by some chance I’d been discovered by the warehouse guards, they would have taken me for a street boy of no consequence, given me a slap and sent me on my way. Had they investigated more thoroughly they would have known that I differed from a street urchin in only one respect—that I had in my pocket a coin.”
Ethan was nodding sagely. He knew the weapon. The coin is wrapped in the neckerchief, the neckerchief used as a lumal, a kind of garrotte. The coin chokes the victim’s windpipe, crushing his larynx, hastening death and preventing him crying out. It is one of the most basic but effective of the Assassin’s tools. Ethan began to understand why Arbaaz had selected it. He even began to understand why Arbaaz had chosen Jayadeep for the job. “Continue,” he said.
“I made the jump easily. And then, staying in the shadows of the lodging-house roof and wary of the guards who still patrolled below, I crept toward the hatch I knew to be in the ceiling of Dani’s room. I had brought grease with me, a dab of it behind my ear, and I used it on the hatch, which I opened as carefully as possible, before letting myself down into the dark space below.
“My breath was held and my heart hammered. But as you had always taught me, the presence of a little fear is to be welcomed. Fear makes us careful. Fear keeps us alive. There was nothing so far about my mission to give me cause for worry. Everything was going to plan.
“Now I was in Dani’s room. I could see the traps he had placed at his door and at the window. A pulley system attached to a ceiling bell that hung not far from the hatch I had just used to make my grand entrance.
“And there in bed was my target. Dani, a man about whom I had learned a great deal in the weeks leading up to the assignment. My breathing became heavy. My temple seemed to throb as though the vein there was beating in time to my increased heart rate. This was my nerves worsening.”
Ethan stopped him. “While you were learning about Dani he was also becoming a human being in your eyes, wasn’t he? You had begun to think of him as a person rather than as a target, hadn’t you?”
“In retrospect, you’re right, I had.”
“Who could have seen that coming?” said Ethan, regretting his inappropriate sarcasm immediately.
“Perhaps it would have been too late, even if I had. Too late for second thoughts, I mean. There was no going back. I was an Assassin in the room of a slumbering man. My target. I had to act. I had no choice but to go through with the job. The issue of whether or not I was ready had ceased to be relevant. It was not a question of being ready, it was a question of action. Of kill or fail.”
“And looking around, I think we all know what happened there.” Again, Ethan regretted his flippancy, remembering that when this conversation was over he would pull himself to his feet, brush the straw from his backside, call for the custodian and leave the boy alone in this dark and damp place. No, this was no time for smart remarks. Instead, he tried to imagine the scene in the room: the darkened lodging house, a man asleep—did a man ever look so innocent as when he was asleep?—and Jayadeep, his breath held, wringing his neckerchief in his hand as he gathered his nerves ready to strike, the coin rolled into the neckerchief, and . . .
The coin falling from the neckerchief. Striking the floorboards.
“Your garrotte,” he said to Jayadeep. “Did the coin fall from it?”
“How did you know? I didn’t tell anybody that.”
“Visualization, my dear boy, haven’t I always taught you about it?”
Across the boy’s face came the first hint of a smile since Ethan had entered the room. “You did. Of course you did. It’s a technique I use constantly.”
“But not on this occasion?”
A cloud of sadness stole the smile’s slight beginnings. “No, not on this occasion. On this occasion all I heard was the blood rushing in my head. All I could hear was my father’s voice urging me on to do what had to be done. When the coin dropped, the noise surprised me and it woke Dani and he was quicker to react than I was.”
“You should have struck the moment you were in the room,” said Ethan, and an anger that didn’t really belong with the boy was directed at him anyway. “You should have struck the second you had the chance. Your hesitation was your undoing. What did I always tell you? What did your father always advise? You hesitate, you die—it’s as simple as that. An assassination is not a cerebral act. It requires great thought, but all of that thought goes into the planning and preparation, the contemplation and visualization prior to the act itself—that is the time for second, third, fourth thoughts, as many thoughts as you need until you are sure—absolutely certain—that you are ready to do what needs to be done. Because when you are in the moment, when you stand before your target, there is no time for hesitation.”
Jayadeep’s eyes swam with tears as he looked up at his old friend. “I know that now.”
Ethan laid a comforting hand on his. “I know. I’m sorry. Tell me what happened next.”
“He was quick, I’ll give him that, and I should credit him with a lot more besides, because he was quick and he was strong, and he sprang from the bed with a speed that surprised me in a man of his age and size and he caught me, by now practically unarmed, and thrust me backward to the window.
“We went straight through it, Dani and I. We went straight through the shutters and plummeted to the cobbles below, a fall that was thankfully broken by the canopy beneath. Looking back, perhaps I hoped that my training might return to me, a kind of instinct, if you like. But it failed me. Even as I rolled away from Dani, hurt and stunned and desperately trying to get ahold of my senses, I saw faces appear at the windows on the other side of the street and heard the sound of the running feet as the guards hastened toward us.
“I rolled away from Dani, feeling a blinding pain in my head and another in my hip. The next moment he was upon me, his teeth bared, his eyes bright and wide with hatred, his hands fixed around my neck.
“He never heard the horse. Neither did I. Earlier we had used strips of blanket to muffle the hooves, Father and I, and he came riding over the stone toward us, silent as a wraith, and the first I saw of him was a robed figure on h
orseback looming behind Dani, one hand on the reins of the horse, the other held out, crooked at the elbow and flexing, his hidden blade ejecting, moonlight running along the steel. Father wrapped the reins in his hand and wrenched back, forcing his horse to rear up on its hind legs, and for a second I saw him as the fearsome Assassin-warrior of legend. I saw the death-dealing glint in his eye, his intent to kill as strong and true as the weapon he wielded. I saw a man I could never hope to be. Perhaps I knew then that I was lost.
“And perhaps, also, Dani, my intended victim knew that death had come from behind. But it was too late, and my father’s blade punched through the top of his skull and into his brain, killing him instantly—an instant in which his eyes widened then rolled back and his mouth dropped open in surprise and a half second of excruciating agony before his life was extinguished—an instant during which I saw the blood-streaked steel inside his mouth.
“Father withdrew his blade and droplets of blood flew from it as he swept it back, this time to slice the throat of the first oncoming guard, who fell in a mist of arterial spray, his sword not even drawn. Father’s arm swept back the other way, this time across his chest and there was a ring of steel, as sharp and loud in the night as Dani’s warning bell as his blade met the sword of the second guard. His parry sent the attacker staggering back, and in a blink Father was off his horse to claim his advantage, drawing his sword with his other hand and attacking at the same time.
“It was over in a heartbeat. In a blur of robes and steel, Father attacked with both weapons. Instinctively the guard had straightened his forearm to defend against the sword attack but it left him exposed to a strike from the other side and that’s exactly what Father did, slamming his hidden blade into the guard’s armpit.
“The man fell. His tunic already crimson, the cobbles gleaming with it. He would bleed out in moments. Either that or choke on his own blood if . . .”
“If the blade punctured his lungs. Yes, I taught you that myself.”
“Whether more guards were simply slow in arriving or had witnessed my father in action and decided that discretion was the better part of valor, I don’t know. Without a word he regained his horse, reached for me and swept me up to ride behind him, and we were gone, leaving the street in pandemonium behind us.”
There was a long pause. Ethan said nothing, feeling the boy’s trauma almost as if it were his own. So that was it, he thought. Jayadeep’s action had broken the tenets of the Creed: he had been forced to surrender hiding in plain sight; worse, he had been forced to compromise the Brotherhood.
“I know what you’re thinking,” said Jayadeep at last. “You’re thinking I’m a coward.”
“Well, then you don’t know what I’m thinking because that’s not what I’m thinking. There’s a world of difference between thought and action and one thing I know of you, Jayadeep, is that you’re not a coward.”
“Then why was I unable to deliver the killing blow?”
Ethan rolled his eyes. Had nobody listened to a bloody word he’d said? “Because you’re not a killer.”
Again came silence. Sorrow bloomed from the boy and Ethan thought, What a world we live in, when we mourn an inability to kill.
“What did your father say to you, on the journey home?”
“Nothing, Master. He said nothing, not a word. But of course his silence spoke volumes, and has continued to do so. He has not been to see me. Nor Mother.”
Ethan fumed. The bloody tyrant, leaving his own son in this hole. “The Assassins will have forbidden your mother from coming to see you.”
“Yes.”
And Ethan could well imagine how Arbaaz had been feeling. He could picture it as he and his son rode home, dropping off Jayadeep, packed off to his quarters in silent disgrace, then riding off to see the mentor, Hamid. The boy went on to tell him that he had been asleep in bed when he was awoken by a black hood over his head, bundled away to end up in The Darkness. Ethan wondered whether Arbaaz was one of the men who had taken Jayadeep into custody. Had his own father led the arrest party?
He stood. “I will be doing my best to get you out of here, Jayadeep, of that you may be certain.”
But as he called for Ajay, in English and in Hindi, what stayed with Ethan was the look in the boy’s eyes as he shook his head in sad denial of hope.
* * *
Ethan and Ajay made the short journey along the passage and up the stone steps to the meeting room above. There stood a second guard, a striking-looking woman who stood with her feet planted slightly apart and her hands on the hilt of a large sword, its point on the flagstone at her feet. She regarded Ethan implacably from beneath her cowl.
“This is Kulpreet,” said Ajay by way of introduction. He tilted a stubbled jaw in her direction. “She is the best swordsman in the Brotherhood.”
And yet the sword she minded was longer, had a flatter blade . . .
“When?” Ethan asked her.
“Tomorrow morning,” she replied.
And Ethan could see from her eyes that he was talking to Jayadeep’s executioner.
FIFTEEN
“I thank you for seeing me.”
Ethan had every reason to fear that Arbaaz might simply refuse his request for an audience. What had happened wasn’t Ethan’s fault—far from it—but in Arbaaz’s eyes he must have been held at least partly responsible. Then, of course, there was the small matter of the exchange of letters.
Not that he would have taken no for an answer. He was here to save the life of Jayadeep Mir, and he wasn’t leaving until the job was done.
Sure enough, his old friend regarded him warily, with eyes that were tired from worry and sleeplessness, face pinched and drawn. What must he have been going through? What agonies of torn loyalty, parental love and duty to the Brotherhood?
His worries had evidently relieved him of his obligations as a host. There was no offer of bread or olives or wine for Ethan, and certainly no warm greeting. The Assassin had been led through the cool marble corridors of the Mir household, disappointed not to catch sight of Pyara—he might have had an ally there—and then deposited in one of the back offices, a room he himself had once used for tutoring Jayadeep. Back then he’d chosen the room because of its spartan furniture and decoration. No distractions. Today, there wasn’t even hot tea. Just a simple woven wall covering, two straight-backed chairs where they sat, an unpolished table between them, and an unmistakable atmosphere.
“Don’t mistake my reasons for agreeing to see you, Ethan. I have something I need to ask you.”
Wary, hoping he might have had a chance to state his case, Ethan spread his hands. “Go on.”
“I want to know, Ethan, how you intend to do it?”
“How do I intend to do what?”
“Free Jayadeep, of course. Do you plan to break him out of The Darkness or perhaps rescue him from the execution itself? How many Assassin’s lives did you plan to take in the process?”
The gaze of Arbaaz was flat and terrible.
“I had rather hoped to talk to you about it first, Arbaaz, as one of my oldest and dearest friends.”
Arbaaz shook his head. “No. There is to be no discussion. What’s more, I must tell you that you will be under surveillance for the duration of what I hope is a short stay in Amritsar. The reason you are under surveillance is to ensure you don’t try to free Jayadeep.”
“Why might I want to free Jayadeep, Arbaaz?” asked Ethan softly, a reasonable tone in his voice.
The other man picked at a knot in the wood with his fingernail, regarding it as though he expected it to do something. “Because your life in the West has made you soft, Ethan. It’s why the Brotherhood in London is practically wiped out, and why you and George are mere insurgents compared to the Templar stranglehold.
“You’re weak, Ethan, you have allowed your Brotherhood over the water to deteriorate to the point of irre
levancy and now you want to bring your progressive policies over here and you think I’ll let you.”
Ethan leaned forward. “Arbaaz, this is not about Templar versus Assassin. This is about Jayadeep.”
His eyes slid away, clouding for just a moment. “Even more reason that he should pay the ultimate price for his . . .”
“What?”
“Misconduct.” Arbaaz’s voice rose. “His misconduct, his incompetence, his negligence.”
“He needn’t be executed.”
“You see? You have come to plead for his life.”
Ethan shrugged. “I make no bones about it. I do come to plead for his life, but you misjudge me if you think me weak, or that I disapprove of the hard line you take. Quite the opposite, I admire your inner strength and resolve. This is, after all, your son we’re talking about. I know of no Assassin forced into such a difficult position as the one you find yourself in now, forced to put duty before family.”
Arbaaz gave him a sharp, sideways look, as though unsure what to read into Ethan’s words. Seeing his old friend was genuine, his face folded. “I lose a son and wife, too,” he said in a voice that drowned in misery. “Pyara will never look at me again. She has made that perfectly clear.”
“You need not make that sacrifice.”
“How so?”
“Banish him—banish him into my custody, where I have an important job for him, one that, if it is successful, may help to restore the Brotherhood in London. An operation, Arbaaz, a covert operation for which Jayadeep, with his particular talents, is ideally suited. He need not die. Do you see? He can return to England with me and your honor will be satisfied. Suitable judgment will have been passed upon him, but he will live, Arbaaz. Not in the comfort to which he is accustomed, I grant you. What I have in mind involves extraordinarily reduced circumstances. But perhaps you will consider that part of his punishment. And after all, you needn’t tell that to Pyara. Simply that he is with me. I will be his handler.”
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