They were under way.
Out at sea, they once saw the sail of a Barbary pirate, which made both Ezio and Piri think of their old friend Al-Scarab, but the pirate ship stood off and did not attack them. For most of the fifteen-day voyage they were alone on the wine-dark, mackerel-crowded water, and Ezio spent his time vainly attempting to decipher the symbols on the key, wishing Sofia were there to help him, worrying about her safety, and becoming increasingly impatient to reach their goal.
But at last, the day dawned when the domes, the cloud-capped towers, the walls, bell towers, and minarets of Constantinople appeared low on the horizon.
“We’ll be there by midafternoon,” said Piri Reis.
“The sooner the better.”
The port was as crowded as ever, though it was a humid and oppressive day, and siesta time. There was a particularly dense mob around a herald, who stood on a podium at the shore end of the main quay. He was attended by a squad of Janissaries in their flowing white robes. While the red dhow was unloading, Ezio walked over to listen to what the man had to say.
“Citizens of the Empire, and travelers from foreign lands, take heed! By order of the Janissaries, new restrictions now apply to all who travel to and from the city. I hereby give notice that a reward of ten thousand akçe will be given without question to anyone who brings in information that leads to the immediate arrest of the Assassin Auditore, Ezio.”
Ezio looked back to Piri Reis and exchanged a glance with him. Piri came over discreetly.
“Make your best way out of here,” he said. “Have you your key with you?”
“Yes.”
“Then take your weapons and go. I’ll take care of the rest of your gear.”
Nodding his thanks, Ezio slipped discreetly through the crowd and into the town.
He made his way by an indirect route to Sofia’s shop, checking every so often that he had not been followed or recognized. When he was close, he started to feel both relief and pleasurable anticipation. But when he turned the corner of her street, he was brought up short. The shop door stood wide open, a small crowd was gathered nearby, and a group of Yusuf’s Assassins, including Dogan and Kasim, stood on guard.
Ezio crossed to them quickly, his throat dry. “What is going on?” he asked Kasim.
“Inside,” said Kasim, tersely. Ezio saw that there were tears in his eyes.
He entered the shop. Inside, it looked much as it had been when he last left it, but on reaching the inner courtyard, his heart all but stopped at the sight which confronted him.
Lying across a bench, facedown, lay Yusuf. The hilt of a dagger protruded between his shoulder blades.
“There was a note pinned to his back by the dagger,” said Dogan, who had followed him in. It’s addressed to you. Here it is.” He handed Ezio a bloodstained sheet of parchment.
“Have you read it?”
Dogan nodded.
“When did this happen?”
“Today. Can’t have been long ago because the flies haven’t really gathered yet.”
Ezio, caught between tears and rage, drew the dagger from Yusuf’s back. There was no fresh blood to flow.
“You have earned your rest, brother,” he said, softly. “Requiescat in Pace.” Then he unfolded the sheet. Its message, from Ahmet, was short, but its contents made Ezio seethe with rage.
More Assassins had entered the courtyard now, and Ezio looked from one to the other.
“Where is Sofia?” he said, through his teeth.
“We don’t know where he has taken her.”
“Anyone else missing?”
“We cannot find Azize.”
“Brothers! Sisters! It seems as if Ahmet wishes the whole city to rise against us while Yusuf’s murderer watches and waits in the Arsenal, laughing. Fight with me, and let us show him what it means to cross the Assassins!”
SIXTY-NINE
They made their way en masse to the Arsenal and there, in no mood to trifle, made short and brutal work of the Janissary guard loyal to Ahmet, who stood watch. Ahmet could not have been expecting such a sudden surprise attack, or he had underestimated both the fury and the strength of the Assassins, whose power had grown steadily under Yusuf’s command.
Either that, or Ahmet believed he still held the trump cards, for when Ezio cornered him, he showed little sign of alarm.
Ezio, swept along by his rage, only managed to stop himself from killing the Ottoman prince at the very last moment, throwing him to the floor and gripping him by the throat, but then driving his hidden-blade furiously into the tiles, inches from Ahmet’s head. With Ahmet dead, he’d have no means of rescuing Sofia. That much had been clear from the note. But for an instant, blood had clouded Ezio’s judgment.
His face was close to the prince’s. Ezio smelled the scent of violets on his breath. Ahmet returned his livid gaze calmly.
“Where is she?” Ezio demanded sternly.
Ahmet gave a light laugh. “Such wrath!” he said.
“Where—is—she?”
“My dear Ezio, if you think you are in a position to dictate terms, you may as well kill me now and be done with it.”
Ezio did not release his grip for a moment, nor did he retract the hidden-blade; but seconds later, reason got the better of him, and he stood up, flexing his wrist so that the blade shot back into its harness.
Ahmet sat up, rubbing his neck, but otherwise remained where he was, still with a laugh in his voice. It was almost as if the prince were playing an enjoyable game, Ezio thought with a mixture of frustration and contempt.
“I am sorry it had to come to this,” said Ahmet. “Two men who should be friends, quarreling over—what? The keys to some dusty old archive.”
He got to his feet, dusting himself off, and continued: “We both strive toward the same end, Messer Auditore. Only our methods differ. Do you not see that?” He paused. Ezio could guess what was coming next. He’d heard the Templars’ rationale of their dictatorial ambitions too often before. “Peace. Stability. A world where men live without fear. People desire the truth, yes, but even when they have it, they refuse to look. How do you fight this kind of ignorance?”
The prince’s voice had grown vehement. Ezio wondered if he actually believed what he was spouting. He countered: “Liberty can be messy, Principe; but it is priceless.” To himself, he thought: Tyranny is always better organized than freedom.
“Of course,” Ahmet replied, drily. “And when things fall apart, and the lights of civilization dim, Ezio Auditore can stand above the darkness, and say proudly: ‘I stayed true to my Creed.’ ” Ahmet turned away, bringing himself under control. “I will open Altaïr’s archive, I will penetrate his library, and I will find the Grand Temple. And, with the power that is hidden there, I will destroy the superstitions that keep men divided.”