Revelations ac-4

by Oliver Bowden

  Ezio made his way to the Istanbul Assassins’ headquarters at all possible speed. Once there, he took the four keys he’d already retrieved in the city and added the one he’d taken from Manuel in Derinkuyu to their number. Packing them safely in a shoulder satchel, he slung it round him. He strapped his hookblade to his right wrist and his pistol to his left, and, in case a quick escape from the top of the Tower should prove necessary, placed Leonardo’s parachute in a backpack.

  But before he went to the Tower, there was a quick duty he had to perform. He hastened to the Galata cemetery, where Yusuf’s body had already been taken for burial. It was Dogan who had taken over as acting captain of the Istanbul Assassins, and he stepped forward to greet Ezio.

  “Mentor.”

  “Mentor,” said Irini, coming up in her turn to salute him.

  Ezio addressed them briefly, standing by the coffin. “Now should be a time for remembrance and mourning, I know. But our enemies do not permit us that luxury.” He turned to Dogan. “I know that Yusuf thought highly of you, and I find no reason to question his judgment. Do you have it in your heart to lead these men and women, and to maintain the dignity of our Brotherhood, as Yusuf did with such passion?”

  “It would be an honor,” Dogan replied.

  “As it will continue to be an honor to work for our cause, and to support the Creed,” said Evraniki, who stood beside him.

  “Bene,” said Ezio. “I am glad.” He stepped back and looked over the buildings that surrounded the cemetery, to where the Galata Tower stood. “Our enemy is close,” he continued. “When the obsequies are done, take up your positions around the Tower and there await my command.”

  He hurried away. The sooner Sofia was safe, the better.

  He came upon Ahmet, flanked by a single guard, on a rampart near the Tower’s foot.

  “Where is she?” he demanded.

  Ahmet smiled that irritating smile of his, and replied. “I admire you, Ezio; but your bloodlust makes it hard for me to call you a friend.”

  “Bloodlust? That is a strange insult, coming from the man who ordered an attack on his own nephew.”

  Ahmet lost some of his sangfroid. “He was to be kidnapped, Assassin; not killed.”

  “I see. Kidnapped by the Byzantines, so that his uncle could rescue him, and be heralded a hero. Was that the plan?”

  Ahmet shrugged. “More or less.”

  Then he nodded. At once half a dozen Templar soldiers appeared from nowhere and surrounded Ezio.

  “Now, Messer Auditore-the keys, if you please.”

  Ahmet extended his hand.

  But Ezio made a signal of his own. Behind the semicircle of Templars, a larger number of Assassins materialized, scimitars in their hands. “The girl first,” said Ezio in a cold voice.

  Ahmet chuckled. “She’s all yours.”

  He made a gesture skyward. Ezio followed the direction of his arm and saw, atop the tower, a woman standing next to a guard, who was clearly poised to throw her over the edge. The woman was wearing a green dress, but her head was covered in a burlap sack. She was bound hand and foot.

  “Sofia!” Ezio gasped involuntarily.

  “Tell your men to back off!” snapped Ahmet.

  Fuming, Ezio signaled the Assassins to do so. Then he threw Ahmet the satchel containing the keys. He caught it adroitly and checked its contents. Then he grinned. “As I said, she’s all yours!”

  With that, he disappeared from the rampart, his men following. He boarded a waiting carriage, which sped off through the city, heading toward the North Gate.

  Ezio had no time to watch him go. He took a running jump at the Tower and began his ascent.

  Anxiety and anger speeded him, and in a matter of minutes he was on the topmost battlement, at the side of the woman. The guard backed away, toward the stairway which led downward.

  Ezio leapt forward, wrenched the woman back from the edge of the Tower, and pulled the bag from her head.

  It was Azize!

  She’d been gagged to stop her crying out any warning, and now Ezio tore the scarf away from her mouth.

  “Tesekkur, Mentor. Cok tesekkur ederim!” she gasped.

  The guard cackled and rushed away down the stairs. He would meet a grim reception at the bottom.

  Ezio was in the process of freeing Azize from her bonds when he was interrupted by a woman’s scream. Turning to look, he saw, on another battlement, not far distant, that a temporary gallows had been erected. On the scaffold, a rope already round her neck, stood Sofia, poised on a stool. As he watched, a Byzantine soldier reached up and tightened the noose with rough hands.

  Ezio gauged the distance between the top of the Galata Tower and the battlement he had to reach. Leaving Azize to free herself from the rest of her bonds, he unslung his backpack and swiftly assembled the parachute. A matter of seconds later he was flying through the air, guiding the chute with his weight toward the scaffold, where the Byzantines had kicked the stool from beneath Sofia’s feet and tied off the rope. Still airborne, he unleashed his hookblade and used it to slice through the taut rope inches above Sofia’s head. He landed an instant later and caught her falling body in his arms.

  Uttering curses, the Byzantine guards made off. Assassins were racing through the streets between the Galata Tower and this battlement, but Ezio could see Byzantines coming toward them to block their approach. He would have to act alone.

  But first he turned to Sofia, pulling the rope from her neck with frantic hands, feeling her breast rise and fall against his own.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked, urgently.

  She coughed and choked, getting her breath back. “No, not hurt. But very confused.”

  “I didn’t mean to drag you into this. I am sorry.”

  “You aren’t responsible for other men’s actions,” she said, hoarsely.

  He gave her a moment to recover and looked at her. That she could be so rational at such a moment…! “All this will be… behind us, soon. But first I must recover what they have taken. It is of primal importance!”

  “I don’t understand what’s happening, Ezio. Who are these men?”

  She was interrupted by a cannon’s blast. Moments later, the battlement they were on shook with the impact of a twenty-pound ball. Sofia was knocked to the ground as shattered stonework flew.

  Ezio pulled her to her feet and scanned the area beneath them. His eye lit on an empty carriage guarded by two regular Ottoman troops, who had taken cover immediately when the gunfire started.

  He gauged the distance again. Would the parachute take both her weight and his? He’d have to risk it.

  “Come!” he said, taking her in his arms tightly and leaping from the battlement.

  For a terrible moment, it looked as if the parachute would snag on the crenellations, but it just cleared them, and they dropped-very fast, but still slowly enough to make a safe landing near the carriage. Ezio folded the chute and stuffed it into his pack, not bothering to unclip it, and the two of them made a dash for the carriage. Ezio hurled Sofia onto the driver’s seat, smacked one of the horse’s flanks, and leapt on after her. He seized the reins and drove away at breakneck speed, the Ottoman guards shouting vainly for him to stop as they pursued on foot.

  Ezio drove hard, heading through the Galata District north, and out of the city.

  SEVENTY-ONE

  They were not far into the countryside when, as he’d hoped, Ezio saw Ahmet’s carriage careering along the road ahead of them.

  “Is that who you’re after?” said Sofia, breathlessly.

  Ezio crouched forward over the reins. “That’s him. We’re gaining on them! Hang on!”

  Ahmet had seen them, too, and leaned out of his window, shouting. “Well, well! You have come to see me off, have you?”

  The two men posted on the back outer seat of his carriage had turned round, trying to steady themselves as they aimed crossbows at Ezio and Sofia.

  “Take them down!” ordered Ahmet. “NOW!”


  But Ezio urged his horses forward and soon drew abreast of Ahmet’s carriage. In response, Ahmet’s coachman swerved so that he crashed into his pursuer. Neither vehicle capsized, but Ezio and Sofia were flung brutally sideways. Sofia managed to hang on to the side of the seat, but Ezio was thrown clear, having only just time to seize a baggage rope that was attached to the top of the carriage. He felt himself crash onto the roadway, then he was being dragged along behind his own coach, now out of control, though Sofia had caught the reins and strove to pull the horses back from their frantic gallop.

  This is becoming a habit, thought Ezio grimly to himself, and he tried to haul himself up the rope. But the carriage took a turn, and he was thrown violently off the track, narrowly missing a gnarled tree by the wayside. He retained his grip, however, but realized he could get no farther up the rope at that speed.

  Gritting his teeth and holding on with one hand, he reached back with the other to his pack and pulled out the parachute. The force of the air driving past them blew it open, and the clip that held it to his pack held.

  Ezio felt himself being lifted aloft, sailing behind the carriage, which had fallen again to the rear of Ahmet’s, now accelerating away from them. But Ezio found it easier to maneuver himself down the rope even though it was a struggle against the power of the flying wind. At last, when he was close enough, he unleashed his hookblade and, reaching up behind him, cut the parachute free, landing with a crash in the seat next to Sofia.

  “Jesus really must smile on you,” she said.

  “You’ve brought the horses under control-few people would have been able to do that,” Ezio replied, catching his breath. “Perhaps he smiles on you, too.” He noticed blood on her dress. “Are you hurt?”

  “A scratch. When I hit the side of the seat.”

  “Stay strong!”

  “I’m doing my best!”

  “Do you want me to take the reins?”

  “I daren’t let go of them!”

  They were gaining on Ahmet again.

  “Your determination would be charming-if it were not also so infuriating!” he yelled at them. Evidently, he had lost none of his urbanity through the perils of the chase.

  They were hammering toward a village where, as they could see, a platoon of Ottoman troops was stationed, guarding the road to the city. They had a barrier in place across the thoroughfare, but its arm was raised.

  “Stop them!” Ahmet roared as his carriage passed the bewildered soldiers “They are trying to assassinate your prince!”

  The soldiers hurried to lower the barrier’s arm as Sofia charged toward them, smashing through the barrier and scattering soldiers like chickens in her wake.

  “Sorry!” she cried, then proceeded to knock down a whole row of market stalls lining the main street.

  “Oh!” she called. “Forgive me!”

  “Sofia, you must be careful,” Ezio said.

  “I don’t want one single crack out of you about women drivers,” she snapped back, her teeth bared as their carriage clipped one of two poles supporting a banner across the street, bringing it down on the heads of the infuriated villagers storming in their wake.

  “What are you doing?” said Ezio, his face white.

  “What do you think I’m doing? Keeping us on track!”

  Meanwhile, Ahmet’s coachman had gained ground, and the front coach was flying out of the village as Ahmet urged his men on. Looking back, Ezio saw that a cavalry patrol had set off in pursuit of them. The crossbowmen at the back of Ahmet’s carriage were bracing themselves to try to fire again, and this time they succeeded in getting a couple of shots off. One bolt grazed Sofia’s shoulder.

  “Aie!” she cried. “Ezio!”

  “Hang on!” He ran his fingers over the slight wound, touching the soft skin. Despite all that was going on, he felt a tingle in his fingertips. A tingle he’d only felt once before, during an experiment Leonardo had shown him, when his friend was tinkering about with something he’d called “electricity.”

  “It’s a graze, nothing serious.”

  “It’s one graze too many! I could have been killed! What have you got me into?”

  “I can’t explain now!”

  “Typical! Any excuse!”

  Ezio turned in his seat and scanned the cavalrymen riding behind. “Get rid of them!” Sofia implored him.

  He unleashed his pistol, checked it, and took careful aim at the front rider, bracing himself against the jolting and bucking carriage. Now or never! He took a deep breath, and fired.

  The man flung up his arms as his horse swerved out of control across the path of his followers, and there was a mighty snarl-up as several horses crashed into one another, stumbling and falling, and bringing their riders down, even as those coming on from behind were unable to veer, and cannoned into the turmoil themselves. In the complete chaos of yelling men, whinnying horses, and dust, the pursuit came to an abrupt halt.

  “Glad you’ve made yourself useful at last!” said Sofia, as they sped away from the confusion behind them. But looking ahead, Ezio could see that the road led through a very narrow gorge between two high cliffs that reared on either side.

  Ahmet’s carriage just passed between them. But their own vehicle was wider. “Too narrow!” breathed Ezio.

  “Brace yourself!” said Sofia, snapping the reins.

  They flew into the gorge at top speed. The bare rock flashed past inches from Ezio’s shoulder.

  Then they were out the other side.

  “Eeah!” Ezio gasped.

  Sofia flashed him a triumphant grin.

  They had just come close enough to hear Ahmet cursing his crossbowmen, who had managed to reload and fire again but whose bolts flew well wide.

  “Incompetent children!” he was hollering. “What’s the matter with you? Where did you learn to fight?”

  After emerging from the gorge, the road wound to the west, and soon the glittering waters of the Black Sea were in view to the north, on their right.

  “Shape up or throw yourselves into the ocean!” Ahmet was bellowing.

  “Oh no,” said Ezio, looking ahead.

  “What?” asked Sofia. Then she saw what he’d seen, and in her turn, she said, “Oh, no.”

  Another village. And, beyond it, another Ottoman guard post. Another pole across the road.

  “I must say you’ve got those horses under pretty good control,” said Ezio, reloading his pistol with difficulty as the carriage bucked and jumped. “Most people would have lost them by now, and they’d have bolted. Not bad at all-for a Venetian.”

  “You should see me handle a gondola,” said Sofia.

  “Well, now’s the time to put them through their paces again,” said Ezio.

  “Just watch me.”

  It was market day there, too, but as the two carriages shot toward them the crowd parted like the Red Sea did for Moses.

  “Sorry!” cried Sofia as a fish stall collapsed in her wake. Then it was the turn of a pottery stand. Shards flew everywhere, and the air turned blue with the trader’s oaths and imprecations.

  Next thing, a live chicken landed squawking in Ezio’s lap.

  “Did we just buy this?” he asked.

  “It’s a drive-through.”

  “What?”

  “Never mind.”

  The chicken struggled out of Ezio’s grasp, pecking him for good measure, and half flew, half scrambled back to the relative safety of the ground.

  “Look out! Up ahead!” Ezio shouted.

  The guards had let Ahmet through, but they’d got their roadblock down behind him this time, and stood ready, pikes held out toward Sofia’s horses. Unpleasant looks of anticipated triumph lit up their mean, swarthy faces.

  “It’s ridiculous,” said Sofia.

  “What is?”

  “Well, look-they’ve got their roadblock in the middle of the road all right, but there’s nothing but bare ground either side of it. Do they take us for fools?”

  “Perhaps they are
the fools,” said Ezio, amused.

  Then he had to grab hold of the seat fast as Sofia pulled hard on the left reins and dragged the horses in a tight turn, to gallop round the roadblock, leaving it to their right. Then she hauled hard right and regained the road thirty yards past the soldiers, some of whom hurled their pikes impotently after them.

  “See any cavalry?” asked Sofia.

  “Not this time.”

  “Good.” She snapped the reins, and once again they began to close the gap between themselves and Ahmet.

  But there was yet another village, a small one, up ahead.

  “Not again!” said Sofia.

  “I see it,” said Ezio. “Try to close with him now!”

  Sofia whipped up the horses, but, as they reached the hamlet, Ahmet’s coachman craftily slowed. The soldiers on the backseat had replaced their crossbows with short-poled, vicious-looking halberds, whose axeheads gleamed in the sun. Despite her efforts to slow down, too, Sofia couldn’t help drawing level, and Ahmet’s coachman managed to veer and clip them again. This time, he succeeded in throwing their carriage off balance, and it began to topple. But the crash had had the same effect on Ahmet’s vehicle.

  At the moment of collision, Ezio threw himself off his seat, into the air, and landed on the roof of Ahmet’s coach. He whipped out the hookblade and swung it violently at the two soldiers to his left, slicing into each of them and bringing them down before they could bring their halberds into play. The coachman had spurred his horses on again in an effort to right his carriage, while Sofia’s had already capsized and crashed a short way behind them, in a cloud of dust. They were at the side of a sharp drop, and Ahmet’s wheels went over it, taking his carriage down in turn.

  Ezio, thrown clear, staggered to his feet and looked around, but the entire scene was obscured by choking dust. Confused cries came from somewhere-probably the local inhabitants, for as the dust began to clear, Ezio could see the coachman’s body lying prone among some rocks.

  There was no sign of Ahmet.

  Or Sofia.

  Vainly, Ezio called her name.

  SEVENTY-TWO