The Acre rafiq, Zaki, hummed thoughtfully as he prepared the tea. “The Crusaders been particularly watchful,” he commented. “It would appear that the young Altair’s work has not gone unnoticed.”
Malik stiffened at the mention of his name but, if the others noticed it (which they will have) they said nothing. “And what work might that be?” Malik tried to sound non-committal, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.
“Al Mualim has Altair running tasks for him personally,” Jalees said. “So far he has had two marks, one in Damas and the other in Acre. The targets were rather prominent figures.”
“A master’s work then,” Malik said, a tad bitterly. Jalees chuckled.
“Not quite. He has to do all the legwork himself, gather the information himself, then satisfy us before we grant permission. No more automatic feathers for this one. I daresay a pigeon will be waiting for you in Jerusalem with instructions to withhold certain details.”
“He is to come to Jerusalem next?” Malik couldn’t keep the discomfort (not fear, never fear) from his voice. Zaki nodded.
“I think it is the next logical step. Tea, Master Malik?” Zaki said, pouring the boiling water from a fair height so the tea foamed in its cups. Malik noted that each of the tumblers was hand-painted pottery, and wondered where they came from.
“I am no Master,” Malik corrected quickly, hurt lancing through him as he corrected his colleague. “Al Mualim -,”
“Bah!” Zaki said, setting down the teapot and waving his hand dismissively. “Al Mualim may be our Master, but sometimes he is a daft camel.”
“Zaki!” Jalees said, scandalised. “Do not say such things!”
“Hmph,” Zaki said. “Fine, if only to stop your whining. That doesn’t mean I don’t disagree with the Grandmaster on this point,” Zaki added, handing Malik and Jalees their respective cups. “One arm or two, Master A-Sayf is still a Master, and never more deserving of it after he succeeded in clearing up after thatahbal. Not to mention the fact that if soldiers were to find this hideout at this moment, only one of us would be able to fight out alive and it wouldn’t be you or I!”
Jalees looked suitably abashed following Zaki’s outburst, and Malik was stunned. Emotions crashed inside of him: pride, that someone as wise as the rafiq of Acre still considered him a Master, and smug satisfaction that the same wise man called Altair an idiot.
“You honour me, brother,” he said sincerely. Zaki reached over the small table and gripped Malik’s wrist.
Re: Brotherhood within a Brotherhood [1b/?]
Malik stiffened at the mention of his name but, if the others noticed it (which they will have) they said nothing. “And what work might that be?” Malik tried to sound non-committal, but the tightness in his voice betrayed him.
“Al Mualim has Altair running tasks for him personally,” Jalees said. “So far he has had two marks, one in Damas and the other in Acre. The targets were rather prominent figures.”
“A master’s work then,” Malik said, a tad bitterly. Jalees chuckled.
“Not quite. He has to do all the legwork himself, gather the information himself, then satisfy us before we grant permission. No more automatic feathers for this one. I daresay a pigeon will be waiting for you in Jerusalem with instructions to withhold certain details.”
“He is to come to Jerusalem next?” Malik couldn’t keep the discomfort (not fear, never fear) from his voice. Zaki nodded.
“I think it is the next logical step. Tea, Master Malik?” Zaki said, pouring the boiling water from a fair height so the tea foamed in its cups. Malik noted that each of the tumblers was hand-painted pottery, and wondered where they came from.
“I am no Master,” Malik corrected quickly, hurt lancing through him as he corrected his colleague. “Al Mualim -,”
“Bah!” Zaki said, setting down the teapot and waving his hand dismissively. “Al Mualim may be our Master, but sometimes he is a daft camel.”
“Zaki!” Jalees said, scandalised. “Do not say such things!”
“Hmph,” Zaki said. “Fine, if only to stop your whining. That doesn’t mean I don’t disagree with the Grandmaster on this point,” Zaki added, handing Malik and Jalees their respective cups. “One arm or two, Master A-Sayf is still a Master, and never more deserving of it after he succeeded in clearing up after thatahbal. Not to mention the fact that if soldiers were to find this hideout at this moment, only one of us would be able to fight out alive and it wouldn’t be you or I!”
Jalees looked suitably abashed following Zaki’s outburst, and Malik was stunned. Emotions crashed inside of him: pride, that someone as wise as the rafiq of Acre still considered him a Master, and smug satisfaction that the same wise man called Altair an idiot.
“You honour me, brother,” he said sincerely. Zaki reached over the small table and gripped Malik’s wrist.
“No, Malik,” he said. “You honour us.”
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