the-secret-crusade-oliver-bowden

smile. Either that or use his blade to lengthen it …
‘I’m sorry,’ said the leader, reddening, ‘sometimes I forget myself.
What business brings you to Damascus?’ He straightened a little,
remembering his place at last.
‘A man named Tamir,’ said Altaïr. ‘Al Mualim takes issue with the
work he does and I am meant to end it. Tell me where to find him.’
‘You will have to track him.’
Altaïr bridled. ‘But that sort of work is best left for …’ He stopped
himself, remembering Al Mualim’s orders. He was to be a novice again.
Conduct his own investigations. Find the target. Perform the kill. He
nodded, accepting his task.
The leader continued: ‘Search the city. Determine what Tamir’s
planning and where he works. Preparation makes the victor.’
‘All right, but what can you tell me of him?’ asked Altaïr.
‘He makes his living as a black-market merchant, so the souk district
should be your destination.’
‘I assume you want me to return to you when this is done.’
‘Come back to me. I’ll give you Al Mualim’s marker. And you’ll give
us Tamir’s life.’
‘As you wish.’
Glad to be away from the stultifying Bureau, Altaïr made his way to
the rooftops. Once again, he inhaled the city as he stopped to gaze into a
narrow street below. A light breeze rippled canopies. Women milled
around a stall selling polished oil lamps, chattering wildly, and not far
away two men stood arguing. Over what, Altaïr couldn’t hear.
He turned his attention to the building opposite, then away over the
rooftops. From there he could see the Pasha Mosque and the site of the