the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

Epilogue
From above him on deck the Assassin heard the sounds of a commotion,
the familiar drumming of feet that accompanies the approach to land,
crew members rushing from their posts to the prow, shimmying up the
rigging or hanging off ropes, shielding their eyes to stare long and hard
at the shimmering harbours towards which they were sailing,
anticipating adventures ahead.
The Assassin, too, had adventures ahead of him. Of course, his would
likely be markedly different from the escapades fondly imagined by the
crew, which no doubt consisted primarily of visiting taverns and
consorting with whores. The Assassin almost envied them the simplicity
of their endeavours. His tasks would be more complicated.
He closed Niccolò’s journals and pushed the book away from him on
the desk, his fingers running across the ageing cover, mulling over what
he had just learned, the full significance of which, he knew, would take
time to make itself known. And then, with a deep breath, he stood,
pulled on his robe, secured the mechanism of the blade to his wrist and
pulled up his cowl. Next, he opened the hatch of his quarters to appear
on deck where he, too, shielded his eyes to cast his gaze upon the
harbour as the ship sliced through the sparkling water towards it, people
gathered there already to welcome them.
Ezio had arrived in the great city. He was in Constantinople.