Assassin's Creed: Revelations (13 page)

“I am grateful.” Ezio made for the door. As he approached it, the young blond 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.”

NINETEEN

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 broddo
. 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 pilgrims wandering the colorful, 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’d held it in readiness, and tossed it over to Ezio. Transferring his good 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 practiced 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 what I do closely.”

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 horizontal runs of tiled brick at intervals of some ten feet. Yusuf set off toward the building at a run, leaping, when he reached it, onto a couple of water barrels placed close to it, then, springing upward from them, 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, and so on 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 outward for a moment, until he corrected himself without losing momentum and found himself soon afterward 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 already 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 practice some more, out of sight of prying eyes, and 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.”

Ezio looked up the great height of the tower and swallowed hard.

“You’ll be fine. Follow my lead, take a run at it, and let yourself go. Just throw yourself into it. And—again—let the hook do all the hard work. There are plenty of nooks and crannies in the stonework—you’ll be spoiled for choice about where to hook in.”

With a carefree laugh of encouragement, Yusuf set off. His skillful use of the blade made it look as if he were walking—running, even—straight up the wall of the tower. Moments later, Ezio, panting but triumphant, joined him on the roof, looking around him. As the young man on the ship had said, the views across the city were stunning. And Ezio hadn’t had to wait for permission from some bureaucrat to see them. He identified all the landmarks the young man had introduced him to from the deck of the baghlah, using the opportunity to familiarize himself further with the city’s layout. But another part of his mind just drank in its beauty in the red-gold light of the setting sun, the light reminding him of the color of the hair of that beautiful woman who’d been his fellow passenger and who’d looked right through him.

“Welcome to Istanbul, Mentor,” said Yusuf, watching his face. “The Crossroads of the World.”

“I can see now why they call it that.”

“Many generations of men have ruled this city, but they have never subdued her. Whatever yoke is placed on her neck, whatever neglect or pillage is visited on her, she always bounces back.”

“It seems a fine place to call home.”

“It is.”

Yusuf stepped to the edge of the tower after another minute or two, looked down, then turned to Ezio again. “Race you to the bottom?” he asked, and, without waiting for a reply, threw himself from the parapet in an astounding Leap of Faith.

Ezio watched him plummet, like a hawk stooping, and land safely in a hay wain he’d already singled out, 175 feet below. He sighed, pausing a moment longer to stare at the city spread out beneath him, in wonder. The Great City. The First City. The heiress of Ancient Rome. Constantinople was a thousand years old and had been home to hundreds of thousands of citizens at a time, in the not-too-distant past, when Rome and Florence were mere villages by comparison. She had been plundered and ravaged, and he knew the legendary beauty of the past was gone forever; but she had always awed her attackers and those who sought to reduce her; and, as Yusuf had said, she had never truly been subdued.

Ezio looked around one last time, scanning the whole horizon with his keen eyes. He fought down the deep sadness that filled his heart.

Then, in turn, he made his own Leap of Faith.

TWENTY

The following morning, Ezio and Yusuf sat in the courtyard of the Assassin headquarters, poring over plans spread on a table, charting their next move. There was no doubt in their minds that couriers from the Templars at Masyaf would very soon arrive in the city, if they had not done so already, and that a concerted Templar attack must be anticipated.

“It’s like a hydra, the Templar organization.” Ezio brooded. “Cut one head off, and two grow back.”

“Not in Rome, Mentor. You’ve seen to that.”

Ezio was silent. With his thumb, he tried the edge of the hookblade he was oiling. “I am certainly impressed by this weapon, Yusuf. My brothers in Rome would profit from having them as part of their equipment.”

“It’s not a hard design to copy,” Yusuf replied. “Just give credit where it’s due.”

“I need more practice,” Ezio said, little realizing that he’d get it, soon enough, for at the moment, the street door burst open before Azize had time to reach it, and Kasim, one of Yusuf’s lieutenants, rushed in, his eyes wild.

“Yusuf
bey
—come quickly!”

Yusuf was on his feet in an instant. “What’s going on?”

“An attack on two fronts! Our Dens in Galata and at the Grand Bazaar.”

“It never stops,” Yusuf said, angrily. “Every day, the same bad news.” He turned to Ezio. “Could this be the big attack you fear?”

“I have no way of knowing, but it must be dealt with.”

“Of course. How is your appetite for swordplay?”

“I think you know the answer to that. I do what I must.”

“Good man! It’s time to put your hookblade to some real use! Let’s go!”

TWENTY-ONE

In no time at all, they were sprinting across the rooftops in the direction of the Galata Den. As they grew close, they descended to the street in order to be less conspicuous to Byzantine crossbowmen. But they found their way blocked by a unit of heavily armed mercenaries, who ordered them, menacingly, to turn back. They pretended to retreat a few paces, conferring together.

“Use your hookblade, Mentor,” said Yusuf. “There’s a sure way to get past these thugs with the maximum of speed and the minimum of fuss.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Watch. We call it a hook-and-roll.”

Without more ado, Yusuf turned back to the line of men spread out across the street, facing them. He selected one and ran toward him at such great speed that, before the man or any of his companions could react, he leapt into the air immediately in front of his target, projecting his body forward with his hookblade unleashed and his right arm plunging down, ready to stick the hook in the back of the man’s belt. Following through, Yusuf did a somersault over the man, releasing his blade as he did so, and carried on at speed away from the dumfounded mercenaries. Before they had time fully to regroup, Ezio followed Yusuf’s lead, managing as he somersaulted over his man to grab him by the neck and wrestle him to the ground, landed some feet behind him, and ran on to join his companion.

But there were more guards ahead to deal with, and in doing so, Ezio picked up another technique from his Seljuk friend. This time, Yusuf swung the hook low, stooping as he approached his target, and wrapped his weapon round one of his opponent’s ankles, felling him as he swept past. Once again, Ezio copied the moves, and had soon caught up with the leader of the Istanbul Assassins.

“And that’s what we call a hook-and-run.” Yusuf grinned. “But I can see you’re a natural. Excellent work.”

“I almost stumbled back there. Need to improve.”

“You’ll get plenty of practice.”

“Look out, here come more of them!”

They were at the intersection of four streets, empty now that the fighting had caused the ordinary citizens to flee inside the buildings and shut the doors behind them. But they were cornered—large units of Byzantines were thundering toward them from each quarter.

“What now?” said Ezio, drawing his sword and releasing his left-hand hidden-blade.

“Put those away, Mentor. When he tires of running, an Assassin around here takes to the air.”

Ezio quickly followed Yusuf as he scaled the nearest wall, using his hook to aid him, with increasing skill. Once on the rooftops again, Ezio noticed that, in this area, many were topped with stout vertical wooden posts, from which tarred ropes, stretched taut, led upward and downward to other posts on other rooftops, connected by a series of pulleys and blocks and tackle. Such a post stood on their roof, next to where they were standing.

“We introduced this system to transport goods about, from warehouse to warehouse, from warehouse to shop,” explained Yusuf. “You can find it in various districts all over the city. It’s a lot quicker than using the streets, which are too narrow and usually crowded. And it’s a lot quicker for us, too.”

Ezio looked down below, to where the Byzantines were trying to break into the building which they were standing on. Too heavily armored to climb, they’d decided to come at them from the interior.

“We’d better hurry.”

“You use your hookblade for this, too,” said Yusuf. “Just hook it to a rope, hang on tight, and let go—of course, it only works downhill!”

“I’m beginning to see why you developed this weapon—it’s perfect for Constantinople.”

“You can say that again.” Yusuf cast a glance down to the street below in his turn. “But you’re right—we must make haste.” Briefly, he scanned the surrounding rooftops. About three hundred feet away, on the roof of a building downhill from where they were, he spotted a Byzantine scout, his back to them, keeping a lookout over the city, which spread itself below him.

“See that guy?” Yusuf said.

“Yes.”

“And there’s another, just over there, to the left—on a connecting roof.”

“Got him.”

“We’re going to take them out.” Yusuf extended his hookblade and notched it over the rope. He raised a warning hand as Ezio was about to do the same. “Do not follow me immediately. Allow me to show you.”

“I am glad to learn the customs of the country.”

“We call this a zipline. Watch!”

Yusuf waited until the second scout was looking in another direction, then let the rope take his weight. It strained slightly, but held. Then he swung his body clear, and in a moment he was sailing silently down the rope toward the unsuspecting first scout. At the last moment, he unhooked his blade and dropped the last few feet onto his target, swinging the blade round to slice into the man’s side. He caught the scout’s falling body and lowered it gently to the ground before stepping quickly behind the cover of a small outbuilding on the roof. From there, he let out a strangled cry.