He was also impatient for news of his ship-the one that would take him to Mersin, from whence he’d journey north into Cappadocia. And that journey, he knew, would require all the strength he could summon up.
The Spice Market was already crowded by the time Ezio reached it, though he had contented himself with a mere two hours’ rest. Ezio shouldered his way through the people milling around the stalls until, a few yards ahead of him, he saw a thief in the act of grabbing a large, stiff bag of spices, giving the elderly trader who tried to stop him a vicious shove as he made his getaway.
By luck, the thief ran in Ezio’s direction, snaking his way through the mob with extraordinary agility. But as he came abreast of Ezio, the Assassin tripped him up neatly with his hookblade. The thief dropped the sack as he fell and glared up at Ezio, but one look from his attacker made him drop any thought of retaliation, and, picking himself up, he vanished into the crowd as fast as a rat into its hole.
“Thank you, efendim,” said the grateful trader, as Ezio handed his bag back to him. “Saffron. You have spared me a great loss. Perhaps you will accept…?”
But Ezio had spotted Yusuf in the crowd, and, after shaking his head and smiling briefly at the trader, he made his way over to his lieutenant.
“What news?” he said as he reached him.
“We have had word-very discreetly-that your ship is ready to sail,” said Yusuf. “I did not know that you planned to leave us.”
“Is nothing I do a secret?” Ezio answered, laughing lightly but glad to hear that Suleiman had kept his word.
“The young prince’s spies are almost as good as our own,” replied Yusuf. “I expect he sent word to me because he knew you were… otherwise engaged.”
Ezio thought back to the two hours he had spent with Sofia and was glad that he had managed to have them since now he did not know when he would see her again- if he would see her again. And still he had not dared tell her of the feelings that were growing within him and would no longer be denied. Could it really be that his long wait for love was finally coming to an end? If it was, it would have certainly been worth it.
But he had other, more immediate things on his mind.
“We had hoped to have had your broken hidden-blade repaired by now,” Yusuf went on. “But the only armorer skilled enough to do the work is in Salonica and will not return until next month.”
“Keep the blade, and when it is repaired, add it to your own armory,” said Ezio. “In exchange for my hook-blade. It is more than a fair trade.”
“I am glad you appreciate its qualities. I just watched you deal with that thief, and I think you have more than mastered its use.”
“I could not have done without it.”
The two men grinned at each other, but then Ezio’s expression became serious. “I hope, though, that my intended voyage is not common knowledge.”
Yusuf gave a little laugh. “Not to worry, brother. The captain of your ship is a friend, and already known to you.”
“Who, then?”
“Piri Reis. You are honored.” Yusuf paused, troubled now. “But neither of you is going anywhere just yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“The Janissaries have raised the chain across the mouth of the Golden Horn and ordered a full blockade until you are caught.” Yusuf paused. “Until that chain is down, nothing sails in or out.”
Ezio felt rather proud. “You mean they raised the chain for me?”
Yusuf was amused. “We will celebrate later. Here-I have something for you.”
Drawing Ezio into a discreet alcove, he produced a bomb and carefully handed it over. “Treat this with respect. It has fifty times the kick of our usual bombs.”
“Thank you. And you had better gather your people. This will attract some attention.”
“Here are two smoke bombs. You may find them useful, too.”
“ Bene. I know what to do.”
“I’m sure. The suspense is palpable,” joked Yusuf.
“I’ll take the tower on the south bank. It’s closer.”
“I’ll join you at the quay and point your ship out to you. Sinav icin iyi sanslar! ”
Ezio grinned. “Good luck to you, too, my friend.”
Yusuf was about to go when Ezio stopped him.
“Yusuf, wait. Un favore. ”
“Yes?”
“There is a woman running a bookshop at the old Polo trading post
… Sofia. Look out for her. She is a remarkable lady.”
Yusuf gave him a keen look, then said, seriously. “You have my word.”
“Thank you. And now-we have work to do.”
“The sooner the better!”
Placing the bomb carefully in his side pouch, and hooking the smoke bombs onto his belt, Ezio swapped his left-hand hidden-blade for his pistol and immediately hastened north toward the tower opposite Galata, on the south side of the Horn. The great chain was suspended between the two banks.
There, Yusuf joined him. “My archers are in place. They’ll cover your escape,” he said. “Now-look-there, in the outer harbor. The red dhow with the furled white sail and the silver pennant? That is Piri’s ship. It is crewed and ready. He is waiting for you.”
There was an open area around the tower, surrounded by ramparts and two smaller watchtowers from the tops of which taut haulage ropes led down to jetties and the western and eastern extremities of the area. At the outer point of one of them, Ezio noticed a weapon emplacement. A massive squitatoria, a flamethrower for Greek fire, stood primed, heated, and ready for action, manned by a crew of three.
Around the tower itself stood a number of Ottoman guards. Ezio would have to put all of them out of commission before he’d be able to place the bomb, and he thanked Yusuf silently for the smoke bombs. There was nowhere to take cover, so he moved in boldly and quickly for a frontal attack.
As soon as the guards saw him, a hue and cry was raised, and they massed to fall on him. He stood his ground, letting them approach but drawing his scarf closely over his nose and mouth and pulling his hood low over his eyes.
As soon as they were within range, he pulled the pins on both bombs and threw them to the right and left among the guards. They detonated instantly, and dense grey smoke billowed out, encompassing the guards in a moment. Diving into the confusion, Ezio, eyes narrowed against the acrid fumes, drew his scimitar and with it cut down all the defenseless soldiers as they staggered about, disoriented by the unexpected fog that suddenly surrounded them. He had to act quickly, for the light wind blowing in from the Bosphorus would soon disperse the smoke, but he succeeded, and placed the bomb on a ledge at the base of the tower, just beneath the first huge links of the chain, which rose above his head to the winch room inside. Then he took a good few steps back toward the water’s edge and from there unleashed his pistol and fired at the bomb, igniting it, then instantly diving for cover behind a large iron bollard on the quay.
The explosion was immense. Grime and stones were thrown everywhere as the colossal chains snapped free of the tower and whiplashed over Ezio’s head into the water, snapping ships’ masts as they flew past. As Ezio watched, the tower itself shifted on its base. It shifted again, seeming to settle; but then it imploded, collapsing in a mass of broken brick and dust.
Moments later, a platoon of Janissaries rushed into the square, heading straight for Ezio, who by then had broken cover. He dodged past them and used his hookblade to scale the eastern watchtower, knocking out the guard at its top when he reached it and hooking himself to the rope leading from it down to the jetty on which the squitatoria was placed. As he prepared to effect a zipline, he saw the Janissaries fitting arrows to their bows, but before they had time to take aim and fire, they themselves were cut down by a hail of arrows that rained down on them from Assassin bows. More Assassins rushed into the area around the ruined tower, skipping lightly over the debris to engage with the Janissaries who’d survived the first onslaught.
Among them was Yusuf. Loo
king up, he yelled to Ezio, “Remember-the red dhow! And the ships between you and it are armed-they’ll stop you from sailing if they can.”
“I’ll take care of them,” Ezio called back, grimly.
“And we’ll clear the docks!”
Ezio let the rope take his weight on the hookblade and kicked off from the watchtower, zooming down to the flamethrower emplacement and leaping off just before he reached it, throwing himself at the nearest of the crew, who were preparing to turn their weapon on the Assassins fighting by the tower. The first he knocked into the water, where the man was crushed between the shifting hulls of two moored barges. The others he swiftly dispatched with his hookblade.
He scanned the flamethrower, quickly acquainting himself with its mechanism. It was on a swivel base, operated by a crank at the left-hand side. The cannon itself was made of brass, its mouth in the shape of a lion’s head, from which the end of the bronze tube within projected slightly. On its edge it was a flint that could be sparked by the trigger mechanism, which also released the pressurized oil vapor that would be shot from the heated vat in the base of the weapon.
He heard a voice coming to him from the melee near the broken tower. It was Yusuf. “That’s it! Get the ships with Greek fire,” he was yelling. “I like the way you think, Ezio!”
Across the Horn, on the north bank, the Ottoman Guard were bringing up two cannon, which they trained on the Assassins fighting near Ezio. Soon afterward, as Ezio was cranking round and training the flamethrower on the nearest ships, he saw the puffs of smoke from the cannon mouths, then heard the crump of their detonations. The first cannonball fell into the water, short of where he was, but the second smashed into the jetty, making it lurch dangerously.
But it did not collapse.
Ezio steadied himself and pressed the trigger. With a loud roar, a long tongue of flame instantly shot forth, and he played it across the yards and decks of the three ships riding between him and Piri’s dhow. The fire he’d set sprang up in a moment. Ezio kept pressing the trigger until all the oil in the tank was used up, then, abandoning the weapon, he leapt down onto one of the barges riding beneath the jetty, sprinting its length and vaulting from it to catch hold of the outer gunwale of the first burning ship, hauling himself up onto the deck with his hookblade and there managing to fight off two desperate sailors who came toward him with belaying pins. He scaled the foremast from the burning deck and was just in time to zipline down a yard and hurl himself from it onto the second ship in line before the mast behind him snapped in the fire and collapsed in a chaos of flame onto the deck of the ship he’d just left.
The second ship, too, was burning fiercely, and beginning to sink at the after end. He ran toward the prow, pushing aside a handful of panicking mariners, and ran along its bowsprit to leap from there to the third ship, less damaged than the first two, where the crew was preparing to turn their cannon onto the red dhow, now only twenty yards distant. To Ezio’s alarm, he saw Piri shouting orders to make sail, and his sailors were letting out the sheets frantically, in order to catch the wind and get out of firing range.
Ezio raised his voice and called for aid from the Brotherhood, but when he looked around, he saw that a number of his fellow Assassins had already followed his perilous route and were right behind him, ready to pounce.
Between them, they set on the gun crews, and a fierce and bloody skirmish followed, leaving several Assassins and all the mariners on the blockade ship dead. On the red dhow, Piri had raised an arm to halt operations and was bellowing to Ezio to make haste though his voice was lost in the tumult over the cannon.
But at last, Ezio stood at the gunwale of the blockade ship. He used his crossbow to fire a line over to the dhow, which Piri’s crew secured, then he ziplined across the choppy water.
Behind him, the surviving Assassins waved their farewell before taking to the doomed ship’s boats and making for the shore.
Ezio saluted back, catching his breath and wheezing a little. He flexed his joints, which were just a little stiff. Then he was surrounded by a handful of Piri’s men, who checked him over for wounds and conducted him to the wheelhouse, where Piri stood before the now-fully-unfurled foresail.
“You took your time,” said Piri Reis with a broad grin that was not unmixed with concern.
“Yes. Sorry for the delay.”
The men at the prow were already hauling up the anchors, and, moments later, the dhow picked up the wind and made its way, gingerly but unimpeded, past rows of burning blockade ships-the wind that carried them forward had also seen to it that the fire started by Ezio had spread, and the ships had been anchored too close together for safety.
“Lucky I was upwind of that lot,” Piri said. “But I expect you noticed that from the beginning.”
“Naturally,” Ezio said.
“Well,” said Piri, as the red dhow eased out of the Horn and into the Bosphorus, steering a southbound course. “This should be an interesting trip.”
PART II
The sounds I heard brought back into my mind the same impression that we often get when organs play, accompanying a voice.
Now, yes, we hear the words; now, no we don’t.
- DANTE, PURGATORIO
FIFTY-EIGHT
At Mersin, Ezio took his leave of the Turkish admiral. The sun sparkled on the sea.
“May Allah protect you, my friend,” said the seafarer.
“My thanks, Piri Reis.”
“I will await your return here. But I cannot stay forever.”
“I know.”
“Will you not take some of my men with you?”
“No-it is best that I travel alone.”
“Then at least allow me to arrange a horse for you. You will travel faster, and more safely.”
“I will be grateful for that.”
“You are a brave man, Ezio Auditore, and a worthy follower of the great Mentor, Altair.”
“You do me too much honor.” Ezio looked inland, his face set. “If I have not returned within two courses of the moon…”
Piri Reis nodded, gravely. “Go with whichever God guides you,” he said, as they shook hands in farewell.
The two-week voyage was followed by a further two-week trek north, first across the Taurus Mountains, then, after breaking his journey at Nigde, between the Taurus and the Melendiz ranges, on north again through the low brown hills to Derinkuyu, where Ezio knew Manuel Palaiologos’s rebel army was massing.
He broke his journey again in the grim little village of Nadarim, within sight of the city that was his goal. The foulness of the place contrasted with the beautiful countryside in which it was situated. Few people were about, as it was just before dawn, and the few who were eyed Ezio warily as he rode into the central square, which was flanked on one side by a church.
There was no sign of any military activity, and Ezio, after having stabled his horse, decided to scale the church’s bell tower, to get a better view of Derinkuyu itself.
He peered through the lightening sky with eagle eyes, scanning the low buildings that comprised the not-far-distant city, a few spires piercing its profile. But there was no obvious sign of any garrison there either.
But, as he knew, there could be a reason for that.
He descended again. The square was deserted, and Ezio was immediately on his guard. His intention had been to ride on, but now he wondered if it would be safe to retrieve his horse. His suspicions mounted as he spied a figure lurking in the shadows of the neglected church walls. He decided to approach.
As he did so, the figure spun round to face him, brandishing a dagger. It was a young woman. Tough, wiry, tanned. Almost feral.
“Not so close, adi herif!” she growled.
Ezio raised his hands. “Who are you calling a pig?” he asked, calmly. He saw doubt flicker in her eyes.
“Who are you? One of Manuel’s scum?”
“Easy, now. Tarik sent me.”
The girl hesitated, then lowered her blade. “Who are you
?”
“Auditore, Ezio.”
She relaxed some more. “We had word from the young prince,” she said. “As we had news of Tarik’s end. A bad business, and just when he was so close. I am Dilara,” she added. “Tarik’s principal agent here. Why have they only sent you? Why not more? Did they not get my reports in Kostantiniyye?”
“I am enough.” Ezio looked around. “Where are your people?”
Dilara spat. “Captured by Byzantines over a week ago. I was dressed to look like a slave and managed to escape. But the others.. .” She trailed off, shaking her head. Then darted him a glance. “Are you a capable fighter?”
“I like to think so.”
“When you’ve made up your mind, come and find me. In the town, over there. I’ll be waiting by the west gate to the underground city.”
She flashed her teeth at him and whisked away, fast as a lizard.
FIFTY-NINE
Ezio equipped himself with his pistol on his left wrist, his hidden-blade on his right, and a brace of smoke bombs clipped to his belt. He kept the hookblade in his pack.
He found Dilara waiting at the appointed place two hours later. The gate she had mentioned was large, iron-bound, and shut.
She greeted him curtly and began without further preamble: “The Byzantines took my men into this cave system some days ago. From what I can tell, this gate is the least protected of the lot. Every so often, the soldiers bring refuse through here, but it is deserted most of the time.”
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