the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

44
Altaïr decided to follow Shalim. Now they were both hunting Maria, and
Altaïr wanted to make sure he was around if Shalim found her first.
Not that Shalim was looking especially hard at the moment. Markos
had told Altaïr that all Shalim had in common with his father was the
fact that he served the Templars and had a fierce temper. In place of
religious fervour he had a taste for wine and enjoyed the company of
prostitutes. Following him, Altaïr saw him indulge in both. He kept a
safe distance as Shalim and two of his bodyguards stalked the streets of
Kyrenia like a trio of little despots, angrily upbraiding citizens and
merchants, abusing them, taking goods and money in preparation for a
visit somewhere.
To a brothel, it seemed. Altaïr watched as Shalim and his men
approached a door where a drunk was pawing one of the local whores.
Either the man was too stupid or too inebriated to recognize that
Shalim’s mood was dark, because he lifted his leather flask in greeting to
the tyrant, calling, ‘Raise a mug, Shalim.’
Shalim did not break stride. He rammed the flat of his hand into the
drunk’s face so that his head rebounded off the wall behind him with a
hollow clunk. The leather flask dropped and the man slid down the wall
to a sitting position, his head lolling, hair matting with blood. In the
same movement Shalim grabbed the prostitute by the arm.