the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

she was his slave. This situation, of course, angered her and she wasn’t
slow to make it known, grumbling as they passed through the docks,
which were quieter than expected. Altaïr was privately amused by her
discomfort.
‘What if I started screaming?’ she said, through gritted teeth.
Altaïr chuckled. ‘People would cover their ears and carry on. They’ve
seen an unhappy slave before.’
But what people? The docks were strangely empty, and as they came
up into the back-streets, they found the highways deserted too. Suddenly
a man stepped out of an alley in front of them, wearing scruffy robes and
a turban. Disused barrels and the skeletons of empty crates lay about,
and from somewhere they could hear water dripping. They were alone,
Altaïr realized, just as two more men stepped out of other alleys around
them.
‘The port is off-limits,’ said the first man. ‘Show your face.’
‘Nothing under this hood but an ugly old Assassin,’ growled Altaïr,
and he raised his head to regard the man.
The thug smirked, a threat no longer, grinning. ‘Altaïr.’
‘Alexander,’ said Altaïr, ‘you got my message.’
‘I assumed it was a Templar trap. Who is the woman?’ He looked
Maria up and down, a twinkle in his eye.
‘Templar bait,’ explained Altaïr. ‘She was de Sable’s. Unfortunately
she’s a burden.’
Maria fixed him with a gaze: if looks could kill, it would have
tortured him viciously first.
‘We can hold her for you, Altaïr,’ said Alexander. ‘We have a secure
safe-house.’