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Lex propped himself up on his elbows as he awoke, running a hand through his hair and coming away with downy feathers stuck between his fingers.

"What in the world...?" he mumbled, blinking at them. Owl feathers? He looked at Jameel. "You sure you don't grow wings in your sleep?"

"Chandra must've nested in your hair again." Jameel sat up and stretched a little, feeling slightly cramped. His ribs felt stronger than the previous days, almost a week having gone by since the failure of Abbas' coup, and his arm was getting easier to manipulate as well. It was good to have a bit of quiet again, even if this one was still marred with the vestiges of the Grandmaster's death and Altair's rocky ascension to fill the power vaccuum that had followed. He wasn't doing it alone either. Malik had returned from Jerusalem to assist their friend, which meant Jameel could focus on getting well again.

He was glad to be back in his own quarters and out of the infirmary. It had been a chore to get down there the first day and the servants complained of its being so out of the way, practically one of their rooms, almost an alcove in the corner of the building's hall, a ways down from the infirmary.

So what if it was small? Jameel had thought. It had everything he needed: space enough for a small desk, window, and pallet to sleep on, and tall enough for him to stand upright in comfortably. So what if he had to duck to get through the door? At least it meant the servants would bash their heads on the lentel if they forgot to do the same. Lex was just about the only person who could come and go without having to worry about head injuries.

He reached over and plucked a stray feather out of the boy's hair. The Novice had taken to his room easily enough. He'd practically set up shop as if it had always been partly his. The chess set he'd perloined from God only knew where was off to one side of the desk, books scattered between it and the bed. Jameel turned the feather between his fingers. Even his owl had taken a shine to the boy; Chandra had insisted two nights earlier on biting at his fingers until he took the still warm rat from her, and only when he'd pretended to eat had she flown off again into the night.

Jameel gave his arm another experimental stretch before donning his robes. Lex looked at him.

"Walk time?"

"Mm." The Master Assassin nodded as he walked toward the main door of the keep. Lex pulled on his shirt as he followed him out, tying his tunic sleeves around his waist. "I've been neglecting your training again."

"Your arm's still broken and we've just survived the attempted rise of--"

"I can still give directions nonetheless," interjected the Red Owl. He nudged the boy's side with his own. "I can always give you back to Malik, now that he's here."

"I call your bluff and raise you having to train Desmond in my stead." The two looked up as the bartender raised an arm in greeting, walking over to them.

"Somebody sounds like he's ready to kill some Templars again." The Eagle tapped Lex on the shoulder and jerked his head toward the tower. The Novices set off toward it as Malik moved up beside him.

"What were you saying about me?"

"Nothing that would interest you very greatly." Jameel watched as the two time travelers climbed up with a few other Novices going to perform the Leap of Faith.

"I have something that will interest you greatly." Malik looked over at him. "No sighting has been made of the giant Templar. Neither has there been one of these bird men." Jameel nodded, then looked up as one of the Novices commented rather loudly, "Why are you two up here? Haven't you done yours already?"

"For fun." Lex shrugged.

"Stretching our legs," Desmond answered as they stepped off the tower and landed in the hay below. He called back up, "You'll have to find another stack to land in!" With that, he buried himself in the straw. Lex snorted and shook his head.

The Owl shook his head at the barkeep's words. Their skill with the Leap of Faith had improved. Lex hadn't broken anything this time either. I'll be grounded for a while, but once I heal, I'll be able to fly with them. He smirked as he watched the two boys from the future, then left off watching for training as Malik went to help herd the rabble down from the tower.

He chose a spot and stood there, flinging daggers leisurely at the dummies.

The Sparrow wandered over and watched the daggers fly into their marks. A thoughtful look came onto his face as he let his mind drift. I lost one of my daggers that way in Acre, lodging it between that man's eyes. And then I took another in the ribs and snapped the blade off. He laughed to himself as he went over to one of the servants and asked about a drink. A few minutes later, she returned and handed it over. Nodding his thanks, he stared into the cup. God, what am I now that all I can do is hope he died quickly? What the hell does that make me? Am I a bad person now, that I can kill someone like that?

The person that gazed back at him wasn't the same boy that had fallen into the Animus, the boy who'd run away from home. The sun had darkened his skin almost to the tone of the other Assassins of Masyaf. His hair was a shade lighter and did damn well look like a nest, touselled and shaggier than before. No wonder Chandra liked it. It would have been knotted and tangled but for Jameel's fingers coaxing out these obstructions when he saw fit to mess with it, which was often. Not that he complained. If showers were a luxurious experience, combs were downright out of his league. His face was leaner than he remembered as well, and the general act of survival had begun the work of toughening up his entire frame. He downed the water in a few gulps.

Jameel tossed throwing knife after throwing knife, each one hitting the dummy in the head, too immersed to notice Lex watching him. The action repeated: throw knife, hit mark, retrieve, throw again. He even shut his eyes at one point. The knives found their targets with ease, embedded between the eyes.

Lex moved over to the dummies and pulled the knives out. He held them out to the Owl.

"Don't think I'm ever gonna be that smooth at throwing. You could hit in your sleep." Jameel nodded and accepted the knives offered by Lex.

"At one point, I did." He continued, tossed--"A few guards found my hiding place while I was sleeping and as a reaction the knives were already in their throats."--and retrieved. "Strangest reaction I've ever had." His mind turned over another problem as he moved back into position. Perhaps I should continue training them how to fight in the dark. It will give them an edge on their enemies. On my enemies... Jameel hurled another knife, this time pegging the dummy in the eye.

Lex slid his hands into his pockets as he followed the knives with his eyes, back pressed against the cool wall out of the sun's direct path. He closed his eyes, swallowing around his heart drumming at the base of his throat. Thoughts wouldn't leave him be this day. It was odd. Almost as odd as the things coming to his mind.

If it hadn't been for me running from those guys, I wouldn't be here. The Novice pushed the thought away. I won't be like that again. He shivered, suddenly chilled, as he thought of what might happen if he died here and stopped breathing for a moment. Another thought, more terrifying, surfaced. The thought of what might happen if they found a way home had prodded into his mind. Mom and Dad... I just left them, but... Jameel... He squeezed his eyes shut, gritted his teeth, and willed the thought away as he had with the first.

Yes, what about Jameel? his mind wanted to know. He smiled to himself a bit, only to have his face burn brightly as turning over the man in his mind brought an image bubbling up with it. Worse yet, his eyes were fixed on the man as his brain conjured up the picture. Lex buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"I need to stop thinking. s**t."

Jameel stopped throwing the knives and pulled them from their marks, putting them in their respective places on his belt. He walked up to Lex.

"Thinking too much?" he asked after taking a look around. Everybody was doing something. That included the Eagle's nosey descendant, who liked sleeping in haybales for some reason. He should've been called horse if he likes hay so much. Hopefully Altair won't pick up the same habit. For now, they could converse without being bothered.

Lex removed his hands from his face and looked up at him slowly, popping his neck as he did. Oh, yeah, that felt good. He met his eyes.

"Yeah, can't shut my brain off."

"If you want to know if all of this is a dream, you just need to poke me." Jameel leaned against the wall with the Sparrow, looking at him. "I'm very real. Blade and all." His ice blue stare remained softened, not the death stare he'd become prone to giving Lex when he did something dumb. "If that doesn't work, think about the now."

Lex nodded, focusing on the moment. He leaned his head into Jameel's side as he slipped under his good arm. His eyes slipped shut as he allowed himself to relax.

"Hey, Jameel?"

"Yes?" Jameel glanced down at Lex again. Feeling the other male relax against him, he settled back himself. Lex opened his mouth and shut it again. He glanced up at the Assassin, then away. His heart was in his throat, throttling him, face heated under his tan.

"I--I love you."

Jameel stared at him, shock, then understanding, registering in his gaze. Yes, he had said that. He thought of the reasons why Lex would say that, then thought of what the Sparrow had said before when he kissed him. Jameel briefly reasoned with himself. The Red Owl had saved the Sparrow's a** plenty of times, and vice versa. Was that why? Was it because of how he acted in all the situations they'd gotten into? Apart from the extreme circumstances in Acre, he'd been able to make some good, rational choices. No, that couldn't be just it. He thought again for a minute, looking at the boy, his mind turning over what Lex had said. Not just what Lex said, but Lex himself.

It was the little waif who stayed with him when he was recovering from his injures, who'd taken care of him at one point. It was the Sparrow who followed him, talked with him, the one he had found himself expecting to see earlier and earlier in the day. Lex loves me. He smiled.

"It's mutual."

Lex smiled widely, warmth spreading through his chest.

"I'm glad." The Sparrow squeezed his hand tightly. "I'm glad." Jameel grinned and leaned his head back against the wall. It faded as his brain suddenly decided to create ideas on how to get the two men home. Maybe those Pieces of Eden could get them home. Perhaps something else? What else could get them back other than the Pieces of Eden? This is bothersome. Great, now I'm thinking think too much!

"Psh. Get down here." Jameel glanced at Lex. "Now your brain's the one overworking. Get down here." The Owl knelt. The Sparrow's tongue darted past his lips as he kissed him. He shut his eyes, arms folding around the taller man's neck as he leaned into him. Jameel returned the kiss, plans forgotten. Right now...well, all that he could think about, all that mattered, was right now. Lex had successfully distracted him. Sneaky boy. You're learning.

The Novice ran his fingers along his cheek, his other hand wrapped in his hair as he pulled back to breathe. "Better?" He grinned, moving back from him.

Jameel nodded and was about to say something else when he heard, "Good, you're still here, Novice." The Master Assassin stood and turned to Malik. He wasn't certain what the man had seen, but if it a new rumor spread, he would know which person to interrogate first. "Mind if I borrow him a moment?" The one-armed man raised a brow. "Unless you would refuse a request from Altair. He is your pupil."

Lex followed after Malik once Jameel nodded. He felt the Red Owl's eyes on his back until they passed down the slope from the barbican.

"You're wanted in Acre."

"How much are they putting as a reward?"

"It is not that kind of want, Novice!"

"Patience is a virtue." Malik pressed his fingers against his forehead. How much perseverance was Jameel blessed with that he could stand this boy's cocksure attitude for days on end?

"Scout in Acre. We've a man in the city named Aali. The Templar forces have weakened there since the battle at Arsuf, but they've not left yet. Go and tell us what you find." He stopped and looked at Lex. "Jabal told us you and Desmond led the masked men to the Bureau."

"Why isn't Dessy being sent out with me then?"

"I would send him as well, but I can't find him. He seems to have found a good hiding place." The Dai gave him another long look. "And Lex. Do not screw this up."



The Novice slowed and crouched, looking down at the knights that manned the port's gates. Jabal, after much asking, had said that he would find this man of theirs in the port district. He didn't say specifically where, but the docks were as good a start as any. Taking a step forward, he dropped into the hay cart below and hopped out, slipping into the crowds and heading into the shipyard.

He almost made it to the docks unmolested. Except...

"Please, sir, do you have any money?" God, why have you forsaken me? "Please, just a few coins!" The woman wrung her hands as she spoke. "My family is sick and dying." He sighed and made to tell her that he was for all intents and purposes the Assassin version of a penniless sitar player, but she grabbed him by the hood and shook him. "Don't you understand? I'm poor and sick and hungry!"

"Get off of me!" He wrenched himself backward and almost toppled. Catching ahold of something, he stopped himself. Unfortunately, that something was a Teutonic uniform.

"Was ist los mit dir du scheissdummer Junge?" snapped the man.

"Um...ah...ahaha..." Lex laughed, feeling some of his tan drain as the blood left his face. He rubbed the back of his head. "Th-That is..."

"A stuttering problem, yes?" the man growled in thickly accented Arabic.

"Yes!" Lex nodded, smiling widely. Smile and nod. Smile and nod. He'll let me go. Just agree with everything he says. Looking up, he blinked before switching to slow German. "Es--es tut mir leid, Herr. Ich--Ich bin dumm, ne?"

Gilbert grinned as he, too, recognized whom he was speaking with. He passed the woman a coin and sent her on her way.

"All right, boy. When you've found your balance, I would advise to get off the harbor as quick as your feet will bear you," he said in the boy's tongue. He tugged his uniform to bring it back into order. How old was this boy anyway, sixteen or seventeen? He couldn't have so much freedom as to wander about the docks willy nilly. He scratched at his blonde beard, green eyes flicking over the little sage.

"Sorry for snapping at you, boy. Tense atmosphere and grumpy new commanders." He made a face, not quite a sneer, more one of exasperation. "Anyway, where did you learn to speak my tongue?"

"There are many traders." He smiled. Language lessons paid off. "Your men, they..." He bobbed his head from side to side. "You know. And the scholars have many stories to tell, to bring back to Europe." He bowed quickly. "Dankeschoen noch mal, Herr, fuer..." He straightened, shrugged. "Vielleicht, fuer mein Leben, und fuer das meines Lehrers. Ich wuensche Euch Sicherheit und Frieden, Herr...?" He paused in turning toward the gates, waiting for the man's name. Again, the man couldn't help grin. There was just something about the boy's formality that was like a child trying to convince the parent to let him get away with his stolen sweets with his hand still attached.

"The name's Gilbert, boy. No need to call me Herr or whatever else those haughty bastards like to hear." He turned his head toward the harbor's entrance. "So eine verdammte..." The rest of his curses turned to an unintelligable snarl. The roving patrols were early today. His eyes went to the boy. "Duck and stay quiet if you love life." He gave the boy a fierce jostle when he didn't respond quickly enough, which sent him down onto the planks. Shedding the mantle from his shoulders, he tossed it over Lex so nothing of him could be seen. For once, he was glad they were made to wear the ridiculous things day and night. They were said to make the guards appear more frightening. Gilbert was just glad the rug had come to some use. Hopefully the boy remains still, or else he'll face punishment as well.

After what seemed an everlasting span of time, the danger moved out of sight, but from the glare the elder patrolman had given him, Gilbert knew in the evening he would at least receive a scolding from his superior for having changed his attire on his own volition.

When he took up his mantle again, the boy stood with a swiftness Gilbert wouldn't have held him capable of achieving. He was red faced and breathing heavily. "Damned uncomfortable, these rugs, eh? Didn't mean to suffocate you. Und nun mach, das du wegkommst." Lex nodded and made himself scarce.

The Sparrow waited out the rest of the day in the Bureau, the brunt of Jabal's snide remarks. None of his pigeons had been harmed, thankfully, so words were all the old man gave him, which Lex countered at every opportunity with, "You shall not pass!" The star spangled nightscape that was Acre after sunset made his jaunt across the rooftops almost enjoyable. The water lapping at the docks was a soothing white noise as he crouched atop the last roof before the harbor and listened. And listened. He sighed. It was just gambling talk, one speaking to the other of how many women he'd plundered.

"Hoo hoo."

"Was war das?"

"Hoo hoo," Lex hooted again.

"Eine Eule?" The one guard moved off as the remaining man looked around.

"Nein, es ist ein Spatz," Lex responded, throwing his voice to make it sound as if it came from the nearby docks.

"Spatze machen nicht: hoo!"

"Hier, ja."

Gilbert looked up at the sound of a strange bird's call as he walked along the harbor toward the gates. He'd received a good reprimanding, he decided to cool his anger in a tankard at the little tavern the knights had set up just outside of the harbor. Otherwise, he would have taken up his other plan of brawling with some of the bragging imbeciles out and about as he'd done two weeks before. It had earned him two days of incarceration.

Wait, that wasn't a bird. He listened again after hearing the second hoot. Strangely, it sounded much like the boy he'd met again that afternoon. Gilbert bit down on his bottom lip to pin his laughter in his mouth as he heard the conversation the guard was having. This was more than just funny. This was... Was there a word for what this was? He knew he wasn't blessed with the most ingenious of brains, but these dumb posts standing watch were more than just plain stupid.

He nodded to the men scouring their location for the source of the noise and greeted, "Ja, ja, es gibt schon komische Voegel in Acre." With that, he headed toward the city, glad that the darkness hid his broad grin. If his suspicions proved correct, he'd invite that little scholar for a beer for making his evening a little cheerful.

Spotting the tall man moving toward the innards of the town, Lex grinned and dropped down from his perch, walking up beside him. He laughed, "Hey, Gilly. Es ist ein schoenes Nacht, ne?" So, I wasn't mistaken. The man turned to the boy.

"Ich gruesse dich, Spaetzlein." He switched back to Arabic. "Yeah, a good night it is. Thank you for giving me a good laugh. I can well imagine those stupid assholes bragging of having heard the mysterious, blood thirsty, hooting night-sparrows in the morning." The tall German gave a deep, warm laugh, his blonde hair bound up in a long braid swinging back and forth behind him. "But don't get yourself caught, Spaetzlein. They would do worse with you than just snapping that little neck of yours." He settled a hand on the boy's shoulder. "Can't always be there to give you cover, can I? In any case, mind having a beer with me? You seem much more pleasant company than those brethren of mine. Most of them, anyway."

Lex followed after him as they began walking again, his eyes on the man's back, the long rope of hair swinging between his shoulders. Did he suspect what he was? Had he given himself away as an Assassin? If so, either he would be killed for compromising the Brotherhood, or this man would do so because he was the enemy, or, worse, he might have to end the man's life before he could tell or be made to tell anyone. But if he knew he was an Assassin, why wouldn't he have told someone already?

His thoughts whirling, he nodded, "Alcohol sounds like a good cure for bad company." He folded his arms as they went. "And who says you'd need to be there to give me cover?"

Gilbert looked down at the boy at his side. He cleared his throat and spoke seriously, voice devoid of the cheerfulness it had taken on minutes before, "Boy, you may be pretty swift and know your ways around here, but the sooner you stop prancing around a place full of easily irritated, bored, armed men, the safer you will be. If you don't, the question is not if you will be killed but in what manner and how messy that manner will be." He shook his head. "Hell, they gutted an old man not so long ago for nothing else than being clad in a white tunic." He gave a snarl, giving vent to the built up sleen of the last few weeks. "And then they are wondering why us Templars are so unwelcome here. We are knights, not hired henchmen. What is all this slaying of innocent men for?"

His eyes fell on his companion again. "Can you imagine it, that the Grandmaster saw himself threatened by an order of mysterious, hooded men?" Gilbert scratched his head, sighing. How had the old lunatic called them? "Anyway, I won't believe in these ghosts until I meet one personally, and if I do so I will thank him for giving old Sibrand a knife between the ribs. I would have asked him to give the blowhard a good punch on my behalf, too." His eyes darted from side to side as he said this, checking for any man who might have been eavesdropping and would report to the commander. He added in a hushed tone as they entered the tavern, "Things were bad enough when that crazy fool was in charge, but they've only become worse, if you'd want my humble opinion on the matter."

The two newcomers took their seats at one of the tables. Gilbert waved to the barkeep and held up two fingers. "Well, I never did ask you your name, boy. Can't keep calling you Spaetzlein forever, can I?"

Lex smiled as the man ranted away to him, jumping briefly when a tankard of beer was slid his way. He was about to say that he couldn't drink as he was underaged, but remembered himself in time and answered the man's unasked question: "Lex. And you can if you want. I don't mind a nickname." He lifted the mug in both hands and took a healthy swig. Most of which came spraying back out as he coughed. "Agh...that burns!" It did burn, going down and coming halfway back up. He coughed again. "These ghosts must be good, if they can do all they say they've done. You must hear..." He cleared his throat. "You must hear how the people talk of their deeds at your post."

"Not as good as the brew we make at home, but it is better than nothing." The German Templar grinned as he watched the boy handling his drink. He emptied his own halfway in one draught. "If you knew how much nonsense I've had to listen to since I was assigned as guard in the harbor! Some of the others are better at gossiping than a room full of old women." He rolled his eyes and prodded the lad's chest. "And I bet you tomorrow there will be a lot of talk about hooting sparrows thanks to you."

Putting his right arm on the table, Gilbert leaned on his arm and eyed the boy. Lex glanced at the mug held firmly in his left hand. Huh. Wow. Someone who's left-handed. An honest to God lefty. I haven't seen one of you in forever. He'd become used to the odd sort of movements of the Assassins--the right-handed sword thrusts and the left-handed jabs with the Hidden Blade at the moment you went to block the strike by th bigger blade. He'd actually begun to wonder if everyone in this time period was ambidextrous. "But what is an evening off without a good story to hear? I've only had a few chances to talk with the locals here. So, tell me about these ghost people of yours."

Lex took his time digesting the fact that Gilbert had taken him, was still taking him, for a native of the Holy Land. It almost made him laugh. I'm not that tan, am I? Is my accent still there? Hell, can I even speak English anymore? Dessy and I don't even speak English together anymore! He turned the mug between his fingers, took another sip, and grinned around the rim. There was nothing wrong with adding a little ham to the spicy mythos surrounding their lives already, was there?

"Your book tells of King Solomon as well, doesn't it? How he spoke to the birds of the air?" Okay, maybe ham was an understatement. The first thing out of his mouth was literally of Biblical proportions. "There was another who could do this as well, the Old Man of the Mountain. Charmed them straight from the brush and sky he did, and asked them to become his elite warriors. In return, he promised them the things envied among the common man: a potent herb that wreaths a man in the green smoke of God, wine poured by the very houris themselves."

Lex realized that he wasn't just being Biblical now that he'd brought the Qur'an into things, but the words continued. He blamed the alcohol. "This is why they move as ghosts, for their feet are built to hop along the rooftops and crush prey between their talons and they remember the feeling of the air beneath their arms, as they were once wings. And you will never know these men in a crowd, for when they wish"--he made a waving motion with his hand, closed his fist, then opened it again--"poof! at once they may change back into their natural forms, from bird to man and back again as suits their purpose. You'll be chasing one along, having him square between your eyes and then..." He met Gilbert's eyes. "Gone."

"Well, well," the man chuckled. "Eine gute Geschichte, Spaetzlein. So old Sibrand was afraid of freaking birds able to shapeshift into men." The knight laughed, slamming his fist on the table. "Ha! Sounds more likely to me that old King Redbeard is going to awaken from his slumber under the mountain and join the fighting again." He smiled. "But thank you for sharing your people's legends with me, so I will know what I see when I meet one of your ghosts." The two started as a protesting shriek was heard behind Gilbert. One of the maids was pushed into a corner by another Templar guard, his hand buried up to the wrist down her dress front.

Gilbert let out an angry, growled word and stood to his full height. Swift as any of the Assassins, he was behind the hapless man and had him around the neck, pulling him toward him. "Lass Sie in Ruhe du bloeder Hurensohn, wenn du deine Zaehne behalten willst," he hissed. The other man said something which Lex didn't catch, but he released the woman, spat at the tall man's feet, and left the bar as quickly as he could.

After bowing to the woman and apologising for his comrade's behavior, he sat himself down by the Sparrow again. "And they wonder why we're so little liked here." Lex nodded, swirling the remaining beer in his tankard, although the comment seemed more for the Templar himself than him. He leaned back and stared at the ceiling. Right.

"Hey, thanks again for the beer." He set the mug down and headed for the door, waving. "Safety and peace." Hearing the man say something and feeling his footfalls behind him, he stepped up his pace enough to get through the door as a crowd of soldiers came in with the changing shifts.

When Gilbert pressed through the huddle, the boy was nowhere in sight. He frowned as, when he looked about for him down the streets and up toward the rooftops, something caught his eye. Something that made him shiver and cross himself. A feather lay in the light cast by the tavern's open doorway. He picked it up and examined it carefully. It was one of the long, gray-brown tailfeathers of a sparrow.

His mind argued that it couldn't be, but surely he knew the little bird that was common enough in his homeland as well as here. Gilbert shook his head.

"You have to stop drinking," he told himself, "or your mind will snap, too, that is for sure." He scanned the immediate area again, but the boy seemed to have dissolved into thin air. Maybe the story he told did contain a grain of truth. He shrugged and turned in the direction of his quarters. If I stand here any longer, I will really start seeing ghosts.



"You've gotta be kidding me," Lex groaned as he finally met the infamous Aali. Jabal responded by telling him to get out of the Bureau and on with the mission. Which was to aid Aali in eliminating his target. The man made it no easier by his ranting about ranks.

"I outrank you," he said to the Novice once they'd made their way across the rooftops toward the section of the city in which the targets had last been seen. "So you'll do as I say, Novice." He'd bounded off, leaving Lex to trail in his wake and mutter that he was going the wrong direction.

The night had been calm thus far. Not a single disturbance, no cry from any night bird. Gilbert's thoughts wandered as he patrolled. The night shifts were far more enjoyable to him than the guard duty of the day. The cool air did him good. It was far better than the relentless, burning sun. The sun had done its work of dying his skin to the shade of leather, if not yet the feel, and lightening his hair to an even paler shade of blonde, even if he'd looked similar to a cooked crab a half a year ago after his first two weeks of patrol.

He glanced skyward and sighed, playing with the feather he'd found outside the tavern. Time to start the second shift of the night. He strode along the streets, feet thudding a constant, quick tattoo, relying on his ears more than his eyes. It was the noises that caught his attention, the mumbled voices that spoke in the people's tongue. Or was his mind playing tricks on him? His hand tensed, ready to get hold of the hilt of his sword as he slowed to a halt, gazing into the darkness ahead.

Aali frowned as he stared back at the guard that was looking their way. The Novice had given them away! He'd make sure to report to the boy's master when this was over. Unsheathing his Hidden Blade, he moved through the shadows toward the hulking figure.

Behind him, Lex's eyes widened. In an instant, the Novice was in motion, launching himself into the air in two strides and tackling the Assassin down. He punched him hard in the lower back and then between his shoulders, legs gripping his waist as he clamped one hand over his mouth, arm barring his throat.

"I will snap your neck if you think about moving again," he hissed into Aali's ear.

Gilbert stood still, listening. The noises came from somewhere behind him, but what was being said he couldn't tell. For a moment, his common sense raged a hard battle against his conscience, but the latter remained victorious. He sighed and did something ill advised if one wanted to lead a long and safe life as a guard.

"Wer da?" he yelled and turned toward the direction of the voices, hoping this wasn't going to be another nerve-wrecking meeting with a drunk merchant. They always got so pesky when they learned where he was from, even when he only intended to help them on their way out of his vicinity. God only knew why.

Aali jerked and twisted in Lex's grip, muttering against his hand and biting at it. Lex squeezed harder against his throat, gritting his teeth.

"I'll kill you here and now, Creed be damned. Stop it! That hurts, idiot!"

"Who is making all that noise?" A rough, slurring voice with a Norman accent called. Slight bickering followed the question, and following that came two captains. "Well, if it isn't our little trouble maker," the man said, addressing the German. Gilbert considered laying him flat for a moment. After all, the man only came up to his chest. "Crying for your mother, are you? Or have you been seeing ghosts?" His comrade laughed loudly.

The guard kept his mouth shut and reminded himself that giving these two braying jackasses a good bashing wasn't worth the punishment it would incur. Two months alone in a small cell would be the least of his worries if he did.

"Just doing my duty, sir," he said stiffly.

"Then try doing it somewhere else, dumbass," barked the drunk man, giggling as he looked to his friend, both stumbling toward where the noises had been coming from before the silent night had been shattered with their braying. The man smiled to himself. Take care with whatever awaits you in the darkness. I hope it has a lot of fun with you two. He resumed his patrol.

Lex felt the sweat rolling like drops of ice water down his neck as the two drunk captains stumbled by where he lay atop Aali. Ducking his head down, he held the man close as he could and kept quiet. A boot missed his arm. Then the two were stumbling on.

"That's them, fool! Let me up," muttered Aali.

"Uh-uh." Lex punched him across the head and tossed him into the nearest hay cart, following the targets. He drew one of the throwing knives from his belt and loosed. The little blade tumbled through the air and sliced across the snickering man's shoulder, staining his tunic red. The men turned.

"Assassin!" they screamed as one, swords ringing free of their sheaths as Lex moved forward, pulling his dagger free from his belt. Blood sprayed in an arc as the boy brought the curved blade across the injured captain's throat.

From across the docks where he turned to make his way back to the barracks, Gilbert heard one of the drunk's scream. He rolled his eyes.

"Pff. Darauf fall ich nicht rein, verarschen koennt ihr euch selber." If they wanted to play sheperd and wolf, let them, but without him. On impulse, he listened again, eyes closed. No noises came to his ears, no screams, no sounds of battle. Nobody could take out two well-equipped Templar knights, drunken asses or no, so silently. This only ghosts would be capable of. He toyed with the feather again, eyes moving to the rooftops to his left.

A small, white-hooded figure shot across the dark skyline and out of sight. The knight startled, almost dropping his lantern. "Gilbert," he muttered into his beard, "du solltest aufhoeren staendig an solche Maerchen zu denken." This night was no good for his mind, and if there was one thing the Templar Order didn't need, it was another knight going nuts because of men in white.



It was his last night in Acre. Hopefully this one wouldn't involve carrying a stunned Journeyman on his back and disposing of two bodies.

Lex planned to finish off the night as he had the day and the earlier part of his activities: in peace, relative quiet, and solitude. Maybe doing a little posing and tossing out a few of his favorite Batman catch phrases from the rooftops. His robes were long and wide enough to do a Dark Knight impression, weren't they? He circled back toward the docks, hoping to say a goodbye to the friendly Templar before heading for Jabal and telling the old man he was finally out of his hair and on his way home.

Home, he thought suddenly. Home to Dessy and Malik, Alty and Jameel. Home to Masyaf. The Sparrow's thoughts were shattered as he jerked his head up, a shrill noise piercing through his ears. Then he was shoved aside, a woman running passed him. He staggered back, a group of Templars moving after her.

"God!" he shouted, taking off after them. He pulled ahead and got between the first man and the woman, dagger drawn. The woman took it into her head then to turn and hurry back through the crowd of men, shoving everyone that was in her way out of it. Lex gasped as he was unceremoniously knocked sideways and into the waters of the harbor. He righted himself, only to gasp and flail as someone tightened around his leg and pulled him down.

The boy scrabbled toward the surface, panic his first reaction. The second was to clamp his hands over his mouth and nose and look down. An old anchor rock, fitted with a new rope, had become tangled around his leg, part of the detritus left by dock workers from unloading their cargo. Someone had been kind enough to shove it off into the water.

Feeling for his dagger, he found nothing. A fresh wave of panic caught him before he snatched up one of his throwing knives and began hacking at the rope, twisting himself downward and sawing as hard and fast as he could. His lungs started to burn as he worried at the rope, urging him to suck in water into his nose in place of air. Bubbles surged out of his mouth as his descent was brought up short, the collar of his robes pushed painfully against his throat. A second later he was being pulled from the water, gasping down sweet air.

"Abend, Spaetzlein. Didn't expect to see you here so soon. Again." Despite the almost kind words and his gratitude at the German being there, Gilbert's face said one thing to Lex: a rather irate "What the hell are you doing here again?"

The man had been looking forward to the rest of his shift being as eventless as the rest of his night. He hadn't met any ghosts or drunken passersby, a real rarity these days. He had even been headed to the barracks when the splash had made him turn and question what had caused it. Seeing the troubled water and figuring some drunkard had finally spoiled his night--they were as prone to falling into water as fresh caught, wriggling fish--he'd dived in after him.

Seeing just who it was he'd laid out on the pier, Gilbert managed a small smile for the quivering boy coughing up the part of the sea he'd swallowed. He looked frightened enough without an armed man shouting at him. Sheathing his sword, he said, "Trouble seems to like you, Lex. What did you do to be thrown into the sea with that fancy rope of yours?"

For a time, his only answer was ragged coughing. Finally, when the flame in his lungs had died down, Lex gasped, "Wom--woman. Woman. Chased woman, tried to help."

Gilbert stood and pulled the boy up by an arm until he was able to stand on his feet. He eyed the boy closely. The white of his robes looked to be stained with dried blood. He knew this well enough, having gotten a fair amount on his own tunic and having every pilgrim woman he asked to wash it from Bremen to Jerusalem berate him for it. They'd never gotten the stains completely out. Now that he took a good, hard look at him, the man could see the myriad little blades in his belt as well.

Gilbert frowned. There had been too many strange incidents involving this boy for his liking for the questions he had to go unanswered. He stepped in front of the boy and held up his hands to show that they were empty. His sword would stay sheathed. As if to prove it, he folded his arms across his chest.

"So, I see what you told me wasn't a legend of old. The ghost people are real." His tone was very matter-of-fact. He could have said that the sky that night was slightly overcast and it wouldn't have diverted an inch from the way he'd said what he had just then. Lex knew this, but moved backward anyway a few paces. Gilbert continued in the same calm voice, "We may not know each other well, ghost, but you have my word that I won't attack someone who isn't at the full height of his powers. Unlike my comrades, I take the term knight very seriously. You didn't kill me when you could have. I could have let you drown many times now. I think we're even so far, aren't we?"

This time his sense of service agreed with his common sense in that letting the boy go wouldn't be the smartest decision in his life. Then again, volunteering with the Templars came a close second, maybe even still clung to first on that list. Suddenly, a third voice from the back of his mind told both senses to shut up. This time, Gilbert decided to listen to this new voice. He tilted his head and waited for the Sparrow, who was ducked down and looked even pitifully shorter in his dangling, wet robes, to make the next move.

"My name isn't ghost. You know that, Gilly." Lex relaxed as he finally got his voice back in working order, though he still shivered from the taste of salt in his mouth and the rough feeling in his throat. He cleared it. "Well, you know what I am, so that means one of three things. I kill you, I don't kill you and get killed by the others, or you come with me." He held up his hands as Gilbert opened his mouth. "Nein, nein. I can give you good reasons why you should."

The man closed his mouth and waited. Lex held up a finger. "The Templars are not the good guys--no offense. They've killed and maimed good men, some of whom I know." He held up a second finger. "The Assassins won't say they're absolving you of any sins to get you to fight for their cause." A third. "Are you really happy here?" A fourth. "Our Creed is a simple three tenets." He held out his thumb and lowered his hand back to his side, swallowing. "We have lebkuchen."

He flinched when the man started laughing.

"At least you have a lot more humor to use than my comrades in gaining someone to your cause, Spaetzlein." Then he was serious again. "If it was just about being happy with what I do that kept me here, I would have left when I was still in Europe five years ago. I swore an oath that binds me here. Breaking it would make me a traitor." He glanced toward the water where he'd fished the boy from. "But I see what you mean by things not being as they should. If you and your fellow..." He rolled the word around his tongue and finally said it in his own language, "Assassinen...can give me good proof of the Templars being wrong, I might consider my oath worthless." He looked the boy in the face. "If you can guarantee me that your lot won't kill me on first sight, I will come with you, Lex." He held out his hand. "We have a deal?"

"Deal." He took his hand and shook it. "But I might have to tie you up for that to happen. Hope you don't mind." Gilbert thought for a short while.

"Ach sterben muessen wir sowieso alle mal, die einen frueher die anderen spaeter," he muttered and held his hands together before the boy, smirking. "And I hope it's true what you said about lebkuchen."