An Assembly of Bones: Chapter Four.

[communi_kate]

Title: An Assembly of Bones (4?)
Fandom: Assassin's Creed.
Spoilers: Post-game.
Rating: PG-15
Warnings: Oblique threats
Summary: Altair recieves assistance from an unexpected source...  

An Assembly of Bones

An Assassin's Creed fan fiction by xahra99

 Chapter Four.

 Masyaf.

 The cellars of Masyaf had never been used for anything other than storage. The Assassins were not in the business of taking prisoners, and they did not drink wine.

The new Grand Master sat on a carpet in the deepest cellar and inhaled the dust of centuries. The air was clean and very dry. It smelt of cold stone. There was a broken storage cask in one corner. Altaïr had not bothered with theatrics. He was counting on the fact that the Jewish weapons merchant would be intimidated enough by the mere fact of being in the valley of the Assassins. The caves; clean and virtually soundproof, would ensure complete privacy.

Altaïr did not want any of the other Assassins to know what ben Salman had to say.

He sat as patiently as any hunter and waited for the sound of footsteps.

They came, eventually. The door creaked open on its worn leather hinges and two Assassin guards deposited the quaking form of Sahl ben Salman ar-Radaniyya on the carpet in front of Altaïr.

"Greetings, ben Salman," he said. "Please, sit."

Al-Afdal glanced nervously around. His face was pale in the light of the pine-pitch torches the guards carried. His kohl-lined eyes glittered with fear. His gaze slid from Altaïr's face like oil and raced over every detail of the small room like a mouse searching for an escape hole. He paid particular attention to the dark water stains on the cellar floor.

Altaïr waited patiently until ben Salman had composed himself sufficiently to return his gesture of welcome and then dismissed the guards. The merchant stood stock-still on the opposite side of the room, his back pressed firmly against the door as far away as he could get from Altaïr.

"Please sit down," he said once the guards' footsteps had died away.

Sahl ben Salman gave a little shake of his head, composed himself, and stepped forwards. He bent his knees with difficulty and sat down opposite Altaïr. "Greetings," he replied at last. His voice was quiet and steady, but his hands shook. "What–what-" He paused and cleared his throat. "What can I do for you?"

"You are an arms merchant in Jerusalem," said Altaïr. "Am I correct?"

The merchant nodded. "Yes." He frowned, glanced down at his trembling hands and tucked them firmly into his embroidered sleeves. "Did you-did you wish to buy?"

Altaïr shook his head. "We have enough knives in Masyaf," he said, giving the merchant a moment to think about this before he continued. "You have sold weapons recently."

 "Of course," Sahl ben Salman said.

Altaïr waited. Fear loosened the old man's tongue, and he did not have to wait long before the merchant continued. "I'm the best weapons merchant in Jerusalem. Yes, I sell weapons. Scores of them, every day."

"This sale was different," Altaïr said. "It would have been a large order, more than you could supply. You would have dealt with it personally."

The merchant nodded reluctantly. He sweated despite the cool air. Kohl ran down his sallow cheeks."There have been a few orders fitting that description. We're a big supplier."

"How many within the last few weeks?" Altaïr demanded.

"One," ben Salman admitted.

"Who bought them?"

 Mohammad al-Afdal shook his head slowly. A bead of sweat dripped from his nose. "I have a policy never to reveal information on any of my customers. Details of orders and such. Looks bad, you see. Local wars, etcetera. Gives one side an unfair advantage. That's why people buy from me. They know I can be trusted. I wouldn't remain a merchant for long if I gave away secrets like that."

"You won't remain a merchant for long if you don't," said Altaïr.

Sahl ben Salman's shoulders trembled beneath his fine-spun linen robes. His Adam's apple bobbed as he swallowed nervously. The chains that hung around his neck chinked together. "Of course, sayyid. I-I understand. But-"

"You don't."

Altaïr's voice cut the air like a knife. Ben Salman jerked back as if he had been stabbed. He opened his mouth, thought better of speaking, and then closed it.

"It is you that does not understand," Altaïr continued. "You are in my castle. I must know who bought the weapons, and you are one of the few men who can help me. If you don't-" He shrugged. "Nobody will hear you. Nobody will even know that you are here until it is far too late. And even if they did, it would not do any good."

Sahl ben Salman sat rigidly, as if he had been nailed to the carpet. Altaïr watched ben Salman consider the threat and wondered if he would carry it out. He had done far worse to men for much less reason. Torture was not against the Creed.

Nothing is true, he thought wryly. Everything is permitted.

"Of course," he said after a while, "nobody expects you to give your information away. There must be payment."

Ben Salman looked up at his with the suddenly hopeful eyes of a prisoner destined for execution who had suddenly received a last-minute pardon. "I-payment, sayyid?"

"Of course," said Altaïr.

"But-"

Altaïr's eyes narrowed beneath his hood. He had not expected more questions."What now?"

"You will forgive me," the old man said carefully," but money's no good if I don't live to spend it." He wiped kohl from his eyes with the back of his hand.

"Rest assured that you will live," Altair said, more gently. "And more, you'll gain gold. And the gratitude of the Assassins, which is worth more than rubies."

"And I'll leave this place?"

Altaïr nodded. "You'll walk out of here a free man. More importantly, you will walk out of here. And that is what we both want, after all. "

Sahl ben Salman swallowed. "Then I owe you the utmost gratitude. And my apologies, which I assure you, are most sincerely offered."

Altaïr nodded gravely. "Your apologies are accepted in the same spirit. You have no reason to doubt me. If nothing else, the Assassins always keep our vows." He gave the merchant a moment to recover. "Now. Did your buyers give a name?"

The merchant nodded. "They did," he said hoarsely. "But it won't help you."

"Why not?"

Ben Salman swallowed. He ducked his head as if he expected Altaïr to strike him and said, "He called himself Shahryar."

"The king from the Thousand and One Nights." Altaïr said flatly. "A fabrication."

The merchant nodded. "I knew it at once, but I do not insist that each buyer must give their true name. Only that they give one."

"It is a policy that you might do well to alter."

"I had the same thought myself," Sahl ben Salman said wryly. His knuckles gleamed palely as he knotted his hands in his lap. Several large rings adorned his knobby fingers. "But I have more. Your buyers were not Persian, despite the name they gave."

"Franj, then?" 

"No." The weapons merchant shook his head. "Their skin was dark as mine. I think they were from Ifriqiya."

Altaïr frowned." Africa's a large place. Which country?"

"I can't be sure, but I think they were from the Mahgreb. The sunset lands."

Altaïr's frown deepened. Morocco, he thought. "Any more?"

"They spoke of an orchard," Sahl ben Salman said.

Altaïr tensed. "You are sure?"

"Sure as I'm sitting here." The arms merchant had stopped shaking by now. "They mentioned it several times."

The Garden of the Hesperides, Altaïr thought. It has to be.

He wondered what Templars from the Mahgreb wanted with weapons purchased in Jerusalem, and then decided that he did not particularly want to know the answer.

Nothing good, I'll wager, he thought.

"Who were they?" Sahl al-Salman asked cautiously.

Altaïr had no intention of making the Jerusalem merchant privy to any Assassin secrets. "Enemies," he said shortly, but ben Salman caught the rebuke for what it was, and bowed in apology. The old man had recovered some measure of grace now that he did not fear for his life.

"I am sorry, sayyid," he said. "You are gracious indeed-please forgive me."

"It is of no concern," Altaïr said. "Now tell me, what did you sell?"

 Sahl ben Salman told him.

Altaïr had to try very hard indeed to keep all emotion from his face. It was no wonder that the merchant had attempted to keep his client's custom. Sahl ben Salman, he calculated, had made enough money from the transaction to purchase a small village. No surprise he was reluctant.

"Did you supply it all?"

"We had no time. He took what I had, and-"

"He's still here?"

"Unfortunately not," confessed ben Salman, transformed from reluctant prisoner to willing accomplice. "Shahryar told me that he had business elsewhere." He brushed cellar dust from his fine robe. "We were to have the weapons ready for him in a month."

Altaïr wondered what the Templar was up to. One month was certainly not enough time to make the round trip to the Mahgreb and back. "Delay," he told the old man.

Sahl ben Salman looked surprised, and Altaïr thought angrily that he had no right to be. "De-delay, sayyid?" 

"Yes," Altaïr said.

"But how?"

"I do not care. Come up with an excuse. The wrong kind of fuel, a labourers' strike. It will go badly for you if you deliver those weapons, despite our agreement."

Ben Salman shook his head. "It will go badly for me if I don't."

"It will go worse if you do," Alta r assured him.

"But the money-"

"You will be rewarded," Altaïr told him. He was grateful that the merchant still lacked enough confidence that he did not enquire about the amount of the reward. Altaïr, after all, had not investigated the Assassins' treasury. His gratitude lasted a fleeting instant before the merchant regarded him with kohl-smudged eyes and said "You're expecting a siege."

Altaïr neither confirmed nor denied the rumour. He said nothing, which seemed to be the safest option.

Sahl ben Salman continued. "It's obvious. But who? The Ayyubids are in disarray, and I thought the Franj were dead and gone." His eyes narrowed. "Are they back?"

 "There are other lands than these," Altaïr said obliquely.

"Then those lands are cursed. The Franj are evil men." Sahl ben Salman, content that Altaïr did not for the moment mean him harm, spat on the floor. "They persecute my people. Their king the Lion-heart murdered many of us at Acre."

Altaïr could not dispute that fact. "I'd have thought you welcomed war," he said casually. "It must be good for business."

The merchant shook his head. "No-one welcomes war like that. And, thank the Prophet, there are always mercenaries. "

"There are," Altaïr agreed. "I hope this meeting has not inconvenienced you in anyway way?"

Ben Salman was far too prudent to argue. "Of course not, sayyid."

"As I said, you will be rewarded."

The weapons merchant inclined his head. This gesture of stately dignity was only slightly undermined by his dishevelled appearance."Of course, sayyid."

Altaïr nodded. "And, as I said, you must never speak of this to any man. Or you must fear the knife in the night. And you must never again have dealings with this man Shahryar. Do this, and we shall be allies. Cross me, and this whole country will suffer. You most of all. Trust me on this."

Sahl ben Salman bowed. A single bead of sweat rolled down from his temple and soaked into his fine linen collar. "Certainly, sayyid. If it pleases you."

"Thank you for your information," Altaïr said. "It has been most illuminating."

Ben Salman nodded. "One last thing, sayyid. Before I leave."

"Of course-"

The merchant raised his head and looked Altaïr in the eyes for the first time since the conversation had started. "The people remember the Franj," he said.

Altaïr blinked. He had expected many things, but not this. "Continue."

 "Jerusalem remembers, sayyid. I have heard it in the streets. You fought a great war for us against the Franj. Against evil men of all races. The city remembers. Many of us helped you in small ways before. We would do so again. Only say the word."

"I hope it will not come to that," Altaïr said.

"Nevertheless," said ben Salman. "Our aid is freely given."

"And gratefully accepted."

"Unlike mine, sayyid." The merchant even sounded regretful.

"Certainly. I will see you are rewarded as I said."

"My most sincere thanks," Sahl ben Salman said gratefully.

"And mine for your aid. Go, ben Salman. Ma'as salaam. May your business prosper, your sins be forgiven, and may your merchandise not remain unsold. The guards are waiting at the other end of the cellars. They will return you to your home and family."

Ben Salman bowed. "And may your castle always remain standing," he said as he got up. "Ma'as salaam."

Despite his eloquent speech and newfound confidence the merchant did not linger, but dismissed himself quickly and left, shuffling as fast as his old feet would carry him towards the door and to daylight. He carried one of the pitch pine torches with him, leaving Altaïr alone in the dim light.

The merchant guessed a siege, he thought. Not so hard. We are in a castle, after all, and the quantities of weaponry involves leaves little room for doubt. For all his guesses, ben Salman has no idea who planned this.

And I-I have answers to my questions, but also new questions. Such a pity that it is always thus.

He thought about discussing what he had just learned with the rafiqs, but decided against it. He would wait until he had learned more. Many of the rafiqs lived far from Masyaf. Calling them together would take time.

I must wait until I have more evidence. But I must talk to somebody...

 Altaïr sat for a long while in the quiet cellars afterwards, thinking. After a while, chilled to the bone by more than the cool air, he went to find Abbas. The surly lieutenant was on guard duty, but he called another Assassin in his place and followed Altaïr readily enough.

"What news?"

Altaïr shook his head, and Abbas snorted. "Bad, then. I told you the Persians would not like it."

"It's not the Persians we have to worry about." Altaïr said. "It's the Templars." He took a secret pleasure at Abbas' expression as the words sank slowly in.

"What? But- the Templars-we-you-killed them. That's done and gone. I thought-"

"So did I," Altaïr said. "But there are Templars buying weapons in Jerusalem." He outlined what he had learned from the merchant.

Abbas sucked air between his teeth "A siege. That was a bloody short peace."

Altaïr nodded.

"It scarcely seems possible. We defeated them not two years ago. You'd think they'd know when to keep their heads down. But why now? And," his expression turning suddenly calculating, "why me?" 

"I have in mind to raise you to rafiq." Altaïr told him.

"I won't grovel," Abbas warned him. "I'm nothing like those Persian toadies."

"That's why I need you. I need men who will tell me what they think without pause. You can decline, of course, but I'd think carefully. There may be dark times ahead."

Abbas grimaced. "Of course there are. I'd never land a rafiq's job in times of peace. But the Templars? So soon? Are you certain?"

Altaïr nodded. "As long as the Templars exist, they shall try to bend us to their will," he said. "Of that I am certain. And we have not enough supplies to defend Masyaf for long."

"Well," Abbas said, "let's hope we don't have to."

 

To be continued...

 

Comments

[rainjewel.livejournal.com]

Hands down, you are one of the best writers in this fandom. Each fic you write is exquisite in both story and execution. The plot, dialogue, and attention to detail are divine. Thank you so much for posting!

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

Thanks for the compliment!I'll probably take a break to work on some original fic after this one, so enjoy it while it lasts.Thanks for reading! In the immortal words of Escape Pod, if you enjoyed the fic, tell a friend, or blog about it.

[the-everbright.livejournal.com]

"It is you that does not understand," Altaïr continued.

!!!!!

Jesus jumping, I heard that line in Altair's voice from the video game.

[xahra99.livejournal.com]

Thanks a lot! This made my day!