the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

39
They travelled as a monk and his companion, able to find space in the
hold. Occasionally crew members would descend from the main deck
and curl up to sleep there, too, farting and snuffling, paying little
attention to the two strangers. As Maria slept, Altaïr found a crate and
opened his journal, bringing the Apple out from a pack he wore in his
robe.
Free of its swaddling it glowed and he watched it for a moment, then
began to write: ‘I struggle to make sense of the Apple, the Piece of Eden,
its function and purpose, but I can say with certainty that its origins are
not divine. No … it is a tool … a machine of exquisite precision. What
sort of men were they who brought this marvel into the world?’
There was a noise behind him. In an instant he had swept up the
Apple and covered it once more, hiding it within his robe. It was Maria,
stirring from sleep. He closed his journal, stepping over the sleeping
bodies of two crew members and crossing the hold to where she sat with
her back against a stack of wooden boxes, shivering and yawning. She
clasped her knees to her chest, watching as Altaïr sat on the deck beside
her. Her eyes were unreadable. For a moment they listened to the creak
of the ship, the suck and slap of the sea on the hull. Neither was sure if it
was day or night, or how long they had been sailing.
‘How did you find yourself here?’ he asked her.