CH 13

Almira stared down at her fingers. They were pale, moist, the skin puckered from washing too many dishes. She pinched a section of her forefinger, peeling off a layer of bloated tissue. It looked like drowned skin, punishment for losing valuable hospital property. She quickly tossed it aside, flicking her fingers in disgust. The other maids stared at her, they've been doing it ever since Ikram's wedding announcement. She pressed a finger to her temple, trying to massage away the starting headache.

When she closed her eyes, Halim's serene features contorted with unprecedented anger.

"LEAVE! Leave now! And unless you are grievously wounded, never set foot in here again."

The memory pained her. Halim had been nothing but kind to her, to all his workers, and she repaid him by destroying a most precious cargo.

"Greetings, you are Almira, yes?"

The din of the dining hall came back in full force. Almira looked up from her table at a young girl. Almira nodded, upon which the maid smiled widely.

"I am Nadia; it is a pleasure to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine," Almira responded. It wasn't true. She wasn't in a meet-new-people mood at the moment, but the formalities must be observed.

"Would you mind me sitting here?" Nadia asked, smiling sweetly. Something didn't seem right, but Almira shrugged, gesturing to the seat to indicate that it was open.

"I know it's been a while since you came here." Nadia laughed nervously, something Almira thought was very strange. "I, rather, we," the girl gestured to another table, where its occupants looked eagerly her way, "we're wondering if you would like to take lunch with us."

"Oh…"

"I know you are busy, aren't we all? It will be a great honor if you come."

"Hello, Nadia, have you not enough friends?"

"…Ikram," Nadia's eyes flashed with something Almira couldn't place. She stood up, "what are you doing here?"

"Visiting a friend of mine."

"I see. I hear you no longer work here."

"No. I am engaged, to Jamal."

"That's right! You're the lucky girl. But remember, engagement isn't marriage!" Nadia said playfully as she sauntered off to her table, where the servants glanced their way with unmasked animosity. Ikram sat down with a frown, shooting them a glare of daggers.

"I sense some nasty undercurrent, Ikram."

"Don't talk to her, she's a whore."

"Strong words."

"Suitable words. Ever since my wedding announcement she's been spreading rumors, I know she is. Jamal is too kind to say anything to me, but I know his brothers are bothering him."

Almira sighed inwardly. Ikram was obviously upset, but she didn't want to be the comforting friend, not today. A tendril of annoyance found its way into her voice.

"Why be so vexed? You yourself said Jamal's heart is true and that he won't be swayed by such talk."

"It's just that…I am so close, Almira, and yet so far away. One word from Jamal and this is all over. The other women know this; they spread poisonous words about me. I hate that I cannot be there to refute every nonsense Jamal hears."

"Why confide this to me? Am I not a woman?"

Ikram turned to her, aghast. "You…you won't! You are my friend!"

"I won't, no need to worry, I don't know why I said that."

"You...you really don't understand how precious this marriage is to me, do you?"

Almira cringed, that's another person she's hurt today. She bit her lips.

"I'm sorry."

Ikram sighed, raking her eyes over the crowd of servants sitting all around them. Many of the maids twisted their heads to look elsewhere.

"I didn't think I'd have to fight a hidden war. I must guard my every move, it's terrible."

"Jamal is a desirable man."

"Too desirable, and now more so simply because he is marrying me. Women who never looked his way are now trying to tempt him."

Almira nodded in agreement, though she thought her friend was being overly paranoid.

"Ugh, I don't want to talk about this anymore." Ikram placed a hand to her head, as if having a headache. Almira shrugged, she hasn't exactly been contributing to the conversation.

"Right, so do you remember? The date?"

"Yes I do Ikram. You do not need to remind me every chance you get."

Ikram pouted, but remained quiet.

"So you no longer work anymore?" Almira decided to break the silence.

"It is against Jamal's wishes, and my father's. And in any case I must concentrate on decorating the house."

"So I won't see you around then."

"No, I suppose not. But worry not! I shall visit you every so often."

"You don't know where I'll be," Almira sighed softly.

"Yes I do. You'll be down by the stables at least four days in a row."

That made Almira smile.

"You've been here a long while, know of any way I can appease Raja?" She whispered, even though there was no need. The noise of the hall easily cloaked their voices.

"Ha, I think you are asking the wrong person. If she didn't take a liking to you at first sight, then there is no point in trying. Raja's heart is colder than an assassin's blade."

A shadow fell across their table, followed by a cold, sneering voice. "Hmph, didn't take long for the lamb to become a serpent."

"Raja."

"Do not use that tone with me, Ikram. The imam has yet to bless you."

Ikram quieted, but glared at Raja defiantly.

"Almira."

"Yes?" Almira thought her voice sounded like a man's. She coughed to clear her airway.

"I heard from Halim. Such a shame," Raja shook her head, sighing. "It was I who recommended you for the duty, I really did think you were excellent for it."

Then, quickly, her dark eyes filled with scorn. "I cannot believe he allowed you to go free, he needs to hand out sufficient punishment."

Oh God, what now. Raja's train of thought was terrifying to follow.

"Hold out your hands."

Almira obeyed reluctantly.

"Flip them over, stretch out your fingers."

She did so, watching a venomous smirk spread across her superior's thin lips.

"Ah, I believe kitchen duty for say, two months, should help you remember the lesson."

"Two…two months?" Almira gasped. She retracted her hands, balling them up.

Raja's eyes flashed dangerously. "I was thinking three, but I thought I would be kind, since you are a friend of Jamal's betrothed."

Almira gaped at her, thinking of nothing to say. Ikram may not need to work anymore, but she still does. Raja took one last look at them and walked away, satisfied.

"Oh why why why?" She slammed her palm into her forehead, which naturally did nothing to comfort her.

Ikram looked her sympathetically. "Now you understand how precious this marriage is to me."

The full moon dangled in the dark azure sky. Altaïr lingered around an old gnarled tree. His white robes, quite counter-intuitively, hid him from prying eyes. Beneath the hood his gaze focused on a distant form. The figure wore the dirty garments of a servant, and yet there was an air that was un-servantlike. It presented in the way she walked, and most certainly in the way she held her back straight, whereas most servant maids hunched over from working long hours.

He moved from his place beneath the tree and followed quietly. The few civilians parted for him; they could tell he was from the castle and, living in Masyaf, knew the hierarchy.

Altaïr was beginning to doubt himself. It's been weeks since he first started stalking her. He'd watched from the shadows as she made her rounds through the day, heard from a distance the harsh words Raja seemed to reserve specifically for her. The bristling hostility she displayed with her tense body surprised him, since most girls simply hung their heads in defeat. Malik had been sent away, so his questions were kept to himself.

The form skirted along the edge of the plaza; she was headed down to the stables, or to her home. The square was still full of people, guided by simple lamps that hung from the surrounding walls. He lagged many paces behind, gently pushing aside the few who blocked him. The building in which she lived loomed in the darkness. She walked right past it.

The stables it is.

That was the only place he didn't chance to go in; there were too many animals around to keep silent, and he didn't exactly hold the reputation of "eager equestrian". He watched from the shadows, and once she disappeared he sneaked his way to the back of the property, careful to keep out of sight and sound of any stable hands; they were always nervous about horse thieves, and would not hesitate to call out. His wound had healed enough to enable him to climb a tree, and from the branches he watched her bring out a dark horse. Again he frowned in disapproval.

How inappropriate. Where did she learn this? Certainly not from my own people, and not the Templars either.

Furthermore, she looked well versed in the art.

Where? Who is this woman?

He stayed in the tree until the lesson was over, after which he followed her home. The old building in which she lived was by no means extravagant, but it was well above what the average servant dwelled in. The civilians were gone now, leaving him to stand alone in the dark. Dim light shone through an apartment window and extinguished after a while. He paced slowly around the aged walls, frustrated at being unable to piece together this puzzle.

Altaïr's eyes flew open, immediately aware of an ache in his back. Fragments of the black-blue sky shone through gaps in the curtains. He looked around and remembered that he had climbed into a roof garden to sleep for the night.

He sat up, stretched and then stood. A patch of vegetables lay squashed on the dirt, something he shrugged off. If the owners didn't want intruders on their plants, they shouldn't have placed it where they can't guard it. He swung his arms around, trying to crack ligaments back into place. After a final stretch he flipped his hood over and leapt out of the small shelter.

Outside, the air was cool and refreshing. Merchants were setting up their stalls, bringing their wares out in boxes and crates. He smiled in satisfaction; his timing was just right. The assassin crouched on the roof, waiting and observing the world below. Finally, the woman he was waiting for appeared. He pulled back from the edge, lowering himself with some difficulty into a small alley. Today was the beginning of the new week, which meant she would head for the stables. Altaïr kept himself invisible, slinking through the early morning crowd. Again he hesitated as she walked into the barn.

No, I've waited long enough, he prodded himself. Besides, now that it was day he could go under the pretense of riding for pleasure.

The sweet scent of hay hit him as he strode into the building. It was still too early and no one was in sight, save the skinny barn cat that leapt onto a roof beam as soon as it saw him. He wandered further in, taking several turns. His boots made the tiniest of noises on the newly swept ground. The wooden walls opened up into a row of stalls, each housing an Arabian stallion.

The stallions pricked their ears, not used to his scent or his clothing; assassins were never given stallions to ride on a mission. They were regarded unsuitable as war mounts.

Altaïr ignored them, continuing his expedition. The stables felt like a labyrinth, and the sheer strangeness of the place put his senses on high alert. Abruptly, and quite unexpectedly, the barn ended. By now the sky had brightened to a light blue, though the sun had yet to come up. Altaïr stood in the open, in front of him was a small corrals housing several wild-eyed young colts.

Damn, he cursed, where is she?

He must've moved too quickly, because the colts suddenly bolted. They galloped around the small enclosure in complete chaos, crying out when they slammed into each other. Altaïr, not seeing anywhere to hide, darted back into the stallion barn.

After what seemed like an eternity he finally wandered back where he'd started, now quite short of temper. A small boy approached the barn carrying two buckets.

"Hey! You!"

The boy jumped, causing some water to slosh out. "Y-yes master?"

"Where is Almira?"

"Almira?"

"Where is she?"

"Master, I…I do not know her…I've only just started..."

Altaïr glowered, suddenly wanting to beat the boy.

"S-sir," the boy backed away, "I'll, uh, I'll go get someone who might know."

"Might know what, young child?"

Altaïr tore his glare away to see Ahmed limping into the room. The old man's kind face immediately soured when he saw the assassin.

"You! You ruined my mare! How dare you come here with no business!"

Altaïr was taken aback, not expecting Ahmed to use such a voice with him. The elder's eyes raked over him and Altaïr felt a pit of resentment rising as their gazes met. The young boy took this opportunity to scurry away.

"I mean no trouble here. I only wish to speak with Almira."

"Almira is working, Altaïr. Have you nothing better to do?"

Altaïr ignored the question. "Surely she can spare a moment. It won't take long."

"No, she cannot. My horses are many and the day is short."

"This is a matter of urgency to the Brotherhood." Altaïr's brows furrowed, getting impatient.

"If it is urgent, why has the Master not send word?"

"Al Mualim has even greater matters to deal with. I am in charge of this particular issue. I need to speak with her."

"My workers are pressed for time, Altaïr, one delay will have lasting consequences. If it truely is so important, let Al Mualim send written word, then I will be happy to oblige."

Before he could retort, the horseman held up a hand. "Now, I must attend to Reem. You remember her, yes?"

"Reem is a good horse," Altaïr responded swiftly.

"She saved your life! And you repaid her by lameing her! She can never be ridden again."

"It wasn't my fault!"

"Of course it was! Why must you hurry back? You could have waited a few more days until things quieted down!" The old man's voice lowered to a hiss. "I gave you one of my most prized mares, and you treat her like some common beast."

"Ahmed," the assassin fumed, "there was nothing I could do."

"Huph, so you say. Now leave, Altaïr, you are wasting my time." The horseman limped away, leaving Altaïr alone in the spacious opening of the barn. By now the stable's workers were showing up in earnest. They gave a wide berth to the white-clad assassin, having heard the two argue from afar. With an incensed huff he marched away, his posture the very embodiment of fury. An omnious feeling of failure pressed in on his chest.

No, he snarled, I do not fail, ever.

He didn't have long to linger on his thoughts, however, because at that moment a familiar assassin rode through the imposing gates of Masyaf.

"Oy, Altaïr!" The rider shouted. He had another with him, slumped over the front of the saddle. The white robed man expertly dismounted, bringing his hostage to the ground. Altaïr marched over, staring at the mass quivering by his friend's feet.

"Malik. What is this?"

"This," Malik tugged at the pale man, whose eyes darted between the two assassins, "is for Rauf."

The man tried to run. Malik jerked him back.

"P-please," he pleaded, "please don't do this."

"Shut it!" Altaïr punched him across the jaw. He raised another hand when Malik caught his wrist and threw it to the side.

"This man took me a good half day to track, don't you dare break him! I'd like to see what I've taught Rauf. Do not follow me if you cannot keep your fists to yourself."

Altaïr grumbled with ire, but nodded. The man rubbed the side of his face where he was struck and shivered violently, despite the fairly warm temperature. Malik heeded him not, literally dragging his prisoner into the fortress. Altaïr followed a few paces behind, managing to kick the man a few times when he started resisting. He felt much better; a punching bag was all he needed. The man would recuperate for a few days, and then Rauf shall be given a chance to formally join the Assassins.

As Malik went to present his captive to Al Mualim, Altaïr watched the sprawling stables from a castle tower. A miniscule smirk crossed his features. He would let the matter rest for a few hours, until the sun goes down and the alleys darken. Ahmed can only protect you for so long, al-Dimashqi.