“Gladly-but who is the Mentor here, Ezio? I’m beginning to wonder.”
“That’s enough of your cheek, Assassin!” Ezio grinned, clapping Yusuf on the shoulder.
A narrow street they’d been passing along gave way to another square, and there, again, in that Templar-infested district, was another large group of Byzantine mercenaries. They’d heard the commotion from the adjoining karesi and were looking restive. Yusuf drew a handful of small bombs from his pouch and handed them to Ezio. “Your turn,” he said. “Make me proud. The wind’s behind us, so we should be all right.”
The Byzantines were already making for the two Assassins and drawing their swords. Ezio pulled the pins of the three bombs in his hands and threw them toward the oncoming mercenaries. They exploded on impact with the ground with little, harmless-sounding pops, and for a moment it looked as if nothing else had happened. But then the Templar troops hesitated and looked at each other, gagging and dabbing at their uniforms, which were covered with a stinking, viscous liquid. Quickly, they beat a retreat.
“There they go,” said Yusuf. “It’ll be days before their women will take them back into their beds.”
“Another of your surprises?”
“Those were skunk-oil bombs. Very effective if you judge your moment and keep out of the prevailing wind!”
“Thanks for the warning.”
“What warning?”
“Exactly.”
“Hurry. We’re nearly there.”
They’d crossed the karesi into another street, broader this time but lined with what looked liked boarded-up shops. Yusuf paused at one of them and pushed cautiously at its door, which swung open. Beyond it was a small, plain courtyard, a few barrels and packing cases stacked up along the far wall. In the middle was an open trapdoor, with stone steps leading down from it. A tower rose from the rear left-hand corner of the courtyard.
“As I thought,” said Yusuf. He turned to Ezio and spoke urgently. “This is one of our underground Dens. It looks deserted, I know, but below, the Templars will have it well guarded. Among their rabble there’s a Templar captain. May I ask you to find him and kill him?”
“I’ll get your hideout back for you.”
“Good. When you’ve done so, climb that tower and set off the signal flare you’ll find there. It’s another one of our bombs, and it’s a copy of the flares the Templars use to signal a retreat.”
“And you?”
“It won’t take those Templars in the square long to realize what’s happened, so I’ll go back and find a way of stopping them from following us here and trying to reinforce their friends. I’ve got a couple of phosphorus bombs clipped to my tunic belt. They should do the trick.”
“So you do still use old-fashioned smoke screens?”
Yusuf nodded. “Yes, but these are pretty nasty, so-” He drew a scarf over his nose and mouth. “And before I go, there’s one more little trick up my sleeve, which should bring the rabbits out of their hole-I wouldn’t want you to go down to the Den and fight those thugs in semidarkness. Once they’ve surfaced, you should be able to pick them off without too much trouble.” From his pouch, he produced a final bomb, and hefted it for a moment. “I’ll set this off now, then be on my way. We’ve got to neutralize both groups of Templars simultaneously, or we’ll be lost. Just cover your ears-this is a cherry bomb, and it’s packed with sulfur, so it’ll make a noise like a thunderclap. It’ll bring them up all right, but I don’t want you to burst your eardrums.”
Ezio did as he was bidden, moving back to a strategic position on the shady side of the courtyard, with a good view of the trapdoor. He exchanged his left-hand hidden-blade for his adapted pistol harness, preferring to retain the hookblade for close combat. Yusuf, near the street, threw his cherry bomb to the far side of the courtyard, and disappeared.
There was a noise as loud as the Devil’s Fart, and Ezio, though he’d covered his ears beneath his hood firmly, still had the aftershock in his head. He shook it to clear it, and as he did so, ten Templars, led by a ruddy-nosed captain, burst from the trapdoor into the sunlight, looking around them in panic. Ezio moved in swiftly and had cut three down before they’d had time to react. Using his hookblade, he was able to kill another three in the next minute of combat. Three more ran off, as they heard the sound of two more explosions, followed shortly afterward by the faint smell of smoke in the breeze.
“Perfect timing, Yusuf,” murmured Ezio to himself.
The captain of the cohort stood and confronted Ezio. A brawny, walleyed man with well-used black shoulder armor over his dark red tunic, he held a heavy Damascus in his right hand and a wicked-looking curved dagger, with a barbed point, in his left.
“Rip and slit,” said the captain in a hoarse voice. “I hook you in with the dagger and slit your throat with the sword. You’re as good as dead, Assassin.”
“It’s really high time you Templars joined the sixteenth century,” replied Ezio, raising his left arm and springing his pistol into his hand. He fired, thinking that at that range he really couldn’t miss, even left-handed, and, sure enough, the ball sank into the bone straight between the captain’s eyes.
The captain was still sinking to his knees as Ezio sprang across the courtyard, leapt onto one of the barrels for purchase, and used the hookblade to surge to the top of the tower.
The flare Yusuf had told him of had not been discovered or disturbed. There was a little mortar, and Ezio loaded the flare into it. A moment later, it streaked high into the sky, trailing a vivid streak of flame and violet smoke.
By the time he reached the foot of the tower again, Yusuf was waiting for him.
“No wonder you are our Mentor,” said the Seljuk Assassin. “You could not have timed that better.” He beamed in triumph. “The Templars are withdrawing on all fronts.”
TWENTY-FOUR
The Bazaar Den was remarkably neat and tidy, given its recent occupation by the Templars.
“Any damage?” Ezio asked Yusuf, as his Turkish comrade stared at the ceiling.
“Not that I can see. Byzantine Templars may be bad hosts, but they are decent tenants. Once they capture a location, they like to keep it intact.”
“Because they intend to stay?”
“Exactly!” Yusuf rubbed his hands. “We must take advantage of our little victories to prepare you further for the fight against our Greek friends,” he said. “I’ve shown you how to use some of our bombs. But it’ll be even better if you know how to make them.”
“Is there someone here who can teach me?”
“Of course! The master himself! Piri Reis.”
“Piri Reis is… one of us?”
“In a manner of speaking. He likes to keep himself aloof. But he’s certainly on our side.”
“I thought he was more of a mapmaker,” said Ezio, remembering the map of Cyprus he’d been given by Ma’Mun.
“Mapmaker, seafarer, pirate-though these days he’s rising swiftly through the ranks of the Ottoman Navy-he’s a pretty good all-arounder. And he knows Istanbul-Kostantiniyye-like the back of his hand.”
“Good-because there’s something I’d like to ask him about the city that he may know. Apart from how to make bombs. When can I meet him?”
“No time like the present. And we don’t have any to lose. Are you all right after that little skirmish? Need some rest?”
“No.”
“Good! I’ll take you to him now. His workroom isn’t far from here.”
Piri Reis-Admiral Piri-had a small set of second-story, open-plan rooms on the north side of the Grand Bazaar, whose tall windows threw a cold, clear light on the handful of map tables neatly arranged on the teak floors of a cramped studio. Equally neatly spread out on the tables were maps of a greater number and variety than Ezio had ever seen before, and, seated by them, a handful of assistants were diligently working in silence. The western and southern walls of the workroom were festooned with more maps, all neatly pinned up and squared-off to one another. Five large globes, one in each corner and one in the center of the room, completed the picture. The globes were also works in progress, and freshly inked-in areas showed the latest discoveries added.