Malik returned to the back room of his home, the secret meeting place of those assassins who came to him for information—the heart of the Jerusalem Assassin’s Bureau. The town warning alarms had been going off for nearly four hours now, a surefire sign that not only had something momentous occurred, but that the danger had not yet dissipated. He’d spent his time since staying in the main room of the house, placating the guards who’d come to check his home and ensure that no one would be scrupulous enough to find the hidden door that led to his secret meeting place.
The alarms had finally gone silent, but the threat was still about them. They’d either given up the chase or the culprit had been apprehended. If it was the latter, Malik had reason to worry that this was somehow connected to an Assassin—three separate missions had taken place that day, and none yet had reported in. The very secret of this location, as well as the lives of the men were at risk, even now.
It was for this very reason that Malik’s suspicions were high when he entered the Bureau. Someone had been in there while he was busy, which should have been impossible. Until the alarms stopped ringing, he kept the retractable lattice roof of the Bureau’s courtyard firmly secured. None would be able to get in or out that way. It ensured the secrecy of the Bureau, both from curious guards and assassins careless enough to make this a haven during the most hazardous of times. It was obvious, though, that someone had entered unbidden by a clump of crushed and demolished foliage on the ledger counter. He barely looked at it before rushing out to the courtyard. Sure enough, the roof was retracted, though after close investigation, he noticed it wasn’t forced. He grumbled in frustration and his own stupidity, still cautious about the occurrence.
After a cursory search and stabbing into the more suspicious lumps in various pieces of furniture, he deemed the Bureau safe and went back inside to investigate the leavings, still undisturbed from its spot. The plant turned out to be a torn branch of hibiscus, a rather proud flowering bush that members of the aristocracy occasionally grew in their gardens. If Malik had to admit it, the flowers were beautiful, one of his favorite plants, though he never grew them himself. The items, though, were roughed up, the flowers torn or missing petals, the branch seemingly ripped from the rest of the bush.
Was this a threat? Had someone been watching him enough to know he favored these plants, and if so, what did it mean that they’d been tor--
“Flowers.”
The simple and quiet word caught Malik in surprise, and quick as a flash, he rounded about, knife still in hand- only to be caught mid-swing by a man in the garb of an assassin. After the shock died down, Malik calmed enough to let his anger rise with the realization that it was Altair.
“You idiot novice!” he admonished, though the countenance of the former master assassin never changed. “You of all people know that it is wise to announce your presence before bothering one such as we are!”
“It is done,” Altair replied simply, pushing past Malik to place a single bloodied eagle’s feather on the table next to the flowers. “The flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?”
Malik scoffed. “Beautiful? That’s what you have to say about the message from an enemy? We’re in danger, Altair. I need you to go to Masyaf immediately and inform the Master that our presence here has been compromised. The Templars may attack soon.”
“What makes you think it was a Templar?” Altair asked as he turned to face Malik, though his hood hid his expression. He cursed under his breath. That hood hid his expressions just as well as his voice. It was part of the reason why Malik had come to be so frustrated by him. He always carried such mystery with himself, never letting anyone in. It was as if the hood was his own shroud, protecting his sensibilities from the rest of the world.
“Who else could it be? Why would someone wish to leave flowers of all things here?” Altair merely shrugged and pushed his way past the Rafiq of Jerusalem. He paused in the courtyard, plotting a way out of the confines of the Bureau.
“That is something you need to figure out, Malik. If you think the Bureau’s being threatened, send a message, yourself. A bird flies faster than I ride. I am going for a bath if you need something.” Malik chased after Altair as far as the courtyard walls, but chose not to pursue him when he left. Something had fallen from his sash as he fled, red and fluttering to the ground. Malik bent over and picked it from the waters of the courtyard’s fountain and frowned.
In which Malik is Oblivious- the First Instance
Malik returned to the back room of his home, the secret meeting place of those assassins who came to him for information—the heart of the Jerusalem Assassin’s Bureau. The town warning alarms had been going off for nearly four hours now, a surefire sign that not only had something momentous occurred, but that the danger had not yet dissipated. He’d spent his time since staying in the main room of the house, placating the guards who’d come to check his home and ensure that no one would be scrupulous enough to find the hidden door that led to his secret meeting place.
The alarms had finally gone silent, but the threat was still about them. They’d either given up the chase or the culprit had been apprehended. If it was the latter, Malik had reason to worry that this was somehow connected to an Assassin—three separate missions had taken place that day, and none yet had reported in. The very secret of this location, as well as the lives of the men were at risk, even now.
It was for this very reason that Malik’s suspicions were high when he entered the Bureau. Someone had been in there while he was busy, which should have been impossible. Until the alarms stopped ringing, he kept the retractable lattice roof of the Bureau’s courtyard firmly secured. None would be able to get in or out that way. It ensured the secrecy of the Bureau, both from curious guards and assassins careless enough to make this a haven during the most hazardous of times. It was obvious, though, that someone had entered unbidden by a clump of crushed and demolished foliage on the ledger counter. He barely looked at it before rushing out to the courtyard. Sure enough, the roof was retracted, though after close investigation, he noticed it wasn’t forced. He grumbled in frustration and his own stupidity, still cautious about the occurrence.
After a cursory search and stabbing into the more suspicious lumps in various pieces of furniture, he deemed the Bureau safe and went back inside to investigate the leavings, still undisturbed from its spot. The plant turned out to be a torn branch of hibiscus, a rather proud flowering bush that members of the aristocracy occasionally grew in their gardens. If Malik had to admit it, the flowers were beautiful, one of his favorite plants, though he never grew them himself. The items, though, were roughed up, the flowers torn or missing petals, the branch seemingly ripped from the rest of the bush.
Was this a threat? Had someone been watching him enough to know he favored these plants, and if so, what did it mean that they’d been tor--
“Flowers.”
The simple and quiet word caught Malik in surprise, and quick as a flash, he rounded about, knife still in hand- only to be caught mid-swing by a man in the garb of an assassin. After the shock died down, Malik calmed enough to let his anger rise with the realization that it was Altair.
“You idiot novice!” he admonished, though the countenance of the former master assassin never changed. “You of all people know that it is wise to announce your presence before bothering one such as we are!”
“It is done,” Altair replied simply, pushing past Malik to place a single bloodied eagle’s feather on the table next to the flowers. “The flowers are beautiful, aren’t they?”
Malik scoffed. “Beautiful? That’s what you have to say about the message from an enemy? We’re in danger, Altair. I need you to go to Masyaf immediately and inform the Master that our presence here has been compromised. The Templars may attack soon.”
“What makes you think it was a Templar?” Altair asked as he turned to face Malik, though his hood hid his expression. He cursed under his breath. That hood hid his expressions just as well as his voice. It was part of the reason why Malik had come to be so frustrated by him. He always carried such mystery with himself, never letting anyone in. It was as if the hood was his own shroud, protecting his sensibilities from the rest of the world.
“Who else could it be? Why would someone wish to leave flowers of all things here?” Altair merely shrugged and pushed his way past the Rafiq of Jerusalem. He paused in the courtyard, plotting a way out of the confines of the Bureau.
“That is something you need to figure out, Malik. If you think the Bureau’s being threatened, send a message, yourself. A bird flies faster than I ride. I am going for a bath if you need something.” Malik chased after Altair as far as the courtyard walls, but chose not to pursue him when he left. Something had fallen from his sash as he fled, red and fluttering to the ground.
Malik bent over and picked it from the waters of the courtyard’s fountain and frowned.
It was a flower petal.