the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Jabal considered. ‘This will make things dangerous. I wonder how he
learned of your mission.’
‘The men I’ve killed – they are all connected. Al Mualim warned me
that word of my deeds has spread among them.’
‘Be on your guard, Altaïr,’ said Jabal, handing him the feather.
‘Of course, rafiq. But I think it will be to my advantage. Fear will
weaken him.’
He turned to leave, and as he did so, Jabal called him back. ‘Altaïr …’
‘Yes?’
‘I owe you an apology.’
‘For what?’
‘For doubting your dedication to our cause.’
Altaïr thought. ‘No. It was I who erred. I believed myself above the
Creed. You owe me nothing.’
‘As you wish, my friend. Go in safety.’
Altaïr went to the docks, slipping through Sibrand’s cordon as easily
as breathing. Behind him rose the walls of Acre, in various states of
disrepair; ahead of him, the harbour was filled with ships and platforms,
hulks and wooden carcasses. Some were working vessels, others left
behind from the siege. They had transformed the gleaming blue sea into
an ocean of brown flotsam.
The grey stone sun-bleached dock was its own city. Those who
worked and lived there were dock people – they had the look of dock
people. They had an easy manner and weathered faces accustomed to
smiling.
Though not today. Not under the command of Sibrand, the Grand
Master of the Knights Teutonic. Not only had he ordered the area to be