Suleiman said, “For now, we’ll keep an eye on Tarik and his Janissaries. They spend much of their free time in and around the Bazaar. Can you handle that-you and your… associates?” He phrased the last words delicately.
At the back of Ezio’s mind was the memory of Yusuf’s admonition not to get involved in Ottoman politics, but somehow his own quest and this power struggle looked connected. He made his decision.
“From now on, Prince Suleiman, none of them will purchase so much as a handkerchief without our knowledge.”
THIRTY-TWO
Having ensured that Yusuf and the Assassins of Constantinople were fully briefed in shadowing all movements of off-duty Janissaries in the Grand Bazaar, Ezio, accompanied by Azize, made his way down to the southern docks of the city to collect bomb-making materials from a list compiled for him by Piri Reis.
He had completed his purchases and dispatched them, with Azize, to the Assassins’ headquarters in the city, when he noticed Sofia in the crowd thronging the quays. She was talking to a man who looked as if he might be an Italian, a man of about his own age. As he drew closer, he not only saw that she was looking more than a little discomfited but recognized who she was talking to. Ezio was amused, but also not a little discomfited himself. The man’s unexpected appearance evoked a number of memories and a number of conflicting emotions.
Without revealing his presence, Ezio drew closer.
It was Duccio Dovizi. Decades earlier, Ezio had come close to breaking his right arm since Duccio had been two-timing Claudia, to whom he was engaged. The arm, Ezio noticed, still had a kink in it. Duccio himself had aged badly and looked haggard. But that clearly hadn’t cramped his style. He was evidently smitten by Sofia and was pestering her for attention.
“ Mia cara,” he was saying to her, “the strings of Fate have drawn us together. Two Italians, lost and alone in the Orient. Do you not feel the magnetismo?”
Sofia, bored and annoyed, replied: “I feel many things, Messere -nausea, above all.”
With a sense of deja vu, Ezio thought it was time to make his move. “Is this man bothering you, Sofia?” he asked, approaching.
Duccio, fuming at this interruption, turned to face the newcomer. “Excuse me, Messere, but the lady and I are-”
He trailed off as he recognized Ezio. “Ah! Il diavolo in person!” His left hand went involuntarily to his right arm. “Stay back!”
“Duccio, what a pleasure to see you again.”
Duccio didn’t reply but stumbled away, tripping over the cobblestones as he did so, and crying, “Run, buona donna! Run for your life!”
They watched him disappear along the jetty. There was an awkward pause.
“Who was that?”
“A dog,” Ezio told her. “He was engaged to my sister, many years ago.”
“And what happened?”
“His cazzo was engaged to six others.”
“You express yourself very candidly.” Sofia sounded mildly surprised by Ezio’s use of the word “dick” but not offended.
“Forgive me.” He paused for a moment, then asked: “What brings you to these docks?”
“I took a break from the shop to collect a package, but the customs people here claim that the ship’s papers are not in order. So, I wait.”
Ezio glanced around the well-guarded harbor, getting a sense of its layout.
“It’s such a bother,” Sofia continued. “I could be here all day.”
“Let me see what I can do,” he said. “I know a few ways of bending the rules.”
“Do you now? Well, I must say I admire your bravado.”
“Leave it to me. I’ll meet you back at your shop.”
“Well then”-she rummaged in her bag-“here is the paperwork. The parcel is quite valuable. Please take care of it-if you manage to get it away from them.”
“I will.”
“Then-thank you.” She smiled at him and made her way back toward the city.
Ezio watched her go for a moment, then made his way to the large wooden building that held the customs offices. Inside, there was a long counter and, behind it, shelves containing a large number of packages and parcels. Near the front of one of the lower shelves closest to the counter he could see a wooden map tube with a label attached to it: SOFIA SARTOR.
“Perfetto,” he said to himself.
“May I help you,” said a portly official, coming up to him.
“Yes, if you please. I’ve come to collect that package over there.” He pointed.
The clerk looked across. “Well, I’m afraid that’s out of the question! All those parcels and packages have been impounded pending paperwork clearance.”
“And how long will that take?”
“I wouldn’t like to say.”
“Hours?”
The clerk pursed his lips.
“Days?”
“That all depends. Of course, for a consideration… something might be arranged…”
“To hell with that!”
The clerk became less friendly. “Are you trying to impede me in my duties?” he barked. “Get out of the way, old man! And don’t come back if you know what’s good for you!”
Ezio swept him aside and bounded over the counter. He seized the wooden map tube and turned to leave. But the clerk was frantically blowing a whistle, and several of his colleagues, some of them members of the heavily armed dockyard guard, responded instantly.
“That man!” yelped the clerk. “He tried to bribe me, and when that failed, he resorted to violence!”
Ezio took a stand on the counter as the customs men surged forward to grab him. Swinging the weighty wooden map tube round, he cracked a few skulls with it and leapt over the heads of the rest of them, running toward the exit and leaving confusion in his wake.
“That’s the only way to deal with petty officialdom,” he said to himself, contentedly. He had disappeared into the twisting labyrinth of streets north of the docks before his pursuers had had time to collect themselves. Without Sofia’s papers, which he still had safely stowed in his tunic, they’d never be able to trace her.
THIRTY-THREE
Toward noon, he entered the bookshop west of Haghia Sofia.
She looked up as he came in. The shelves were far more orderly now than they had been when he’d first visited. In the back room, he could see her worktable, with his map from the cisterns neatly laid out alongside a number of thick books of reference.
“ Salute, Ezio,” she said. “That was a lot quicker than I expected. Any luck?”
Ezio held up the wooden map tube and read from the labeclass="underline" “ Madamigella Sofia Sartor, libraia, Costantinopoli. Is that you?”
He handed her the tube with a smile. She took it gladly, then examined it closely, her face turning sour. “Oh, no! Look at the damage! Did they use this to fight off pirates, do you suppose?”
Ezio shrugged, a little sheepishly. Sofia opened the tube and withdrew the map within. She inspected it. “Well, so far, so good.”
Taking it over to a table, she spread it out carefully. It was a copy of a map of the world.
“Isn’t it beautiful?” she said.
“Indeed.” Ezio stood next to her, and they both pored over it.
“It’s a print of a map by Martin Waldseemuller. It’s still quite new-he only published four years ago. And look-here on the left! The new lands Navigatore Vespucci discovered and wrote about only four or five years before the map was drawn.”
“They work fast, these Germans,” said Ezio. “I see he’s named the new lands after Vespucci’s Christian name-Amerigo.”
“America!”
“Yes… Poor Cristoforo Colombo. History has a strange way of unfolding.”
“What do you make of this body of water-here?” She pointed to the oceans on the far side of North and South America. Ezio leaned forward to look.
“A new ocean, perhaps? Most of the scholars I know claim the size of the globe has been underestimated.”
Sofia sounded wistful. “It’s incredible. The more we learn about the world, the less we seem to know.”