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Dropping through the roof entrance, the men scooped up a drink from the small fountain in the wall before entering the Bureau proper, bypassing the cushion-strewn rug with looks of longing. They were all hot and dusted with sand.

More than once Lex had made the comment of their smelling like a week old, hot bag of potato chips, to which Desmond had promptly told him to shut his face before he shut it for him, and the truth of his statement showed now.

The Rafiq lifted his head to ask "What is that sme--" and quickly changed it to "Ah, welcome, my friends, welcome!" He was tall, ebony skinned, and bearded. He wore the same blue robes as Malik, though the three men couldn't tell if he was there for some reason other than being there. "What can I do for you today?" He lifted a brow. "And who is this man?"

Desmond clapped a hand on Lex's back. "Ah, training his own Novice already!" The Rafiq grinned. "Jameel must take pride in his son." It took an enormous amount of effort for both time travelers not to facepalm. Lex's face turned darker beneath his tan as he looked at the floor.

"Whatever you say, Rafiki," the Sparrow muttered. Desmond elbowed his side. "Goi!" Rubbing his ribs, the young man asked, "Malik said you have a mission for us?"

"As a matter of fact, I was hoping you could keep your eyes on our informants scattered through the city." The man folded his arms and pursed his lips. "Malik has brought to my attention that they seem..."

"Next to worthless?" Lex suggested and was elbowed again, this time by Gilbert. "Ow."

"Prone to getting into trouble." The Rafiq lifted a brow as Lex stopped mid-eye roll, Desmond's hand raised to smack him upside the head. He looked at the door. "Do not be mistaken, Sparrow. I envy your ability to slip away from trouble as well. Except the lashing your father must have given you. I do not envy you that." Again, an almost facepalm session. Desmond and Gilbert dragged Lex off to the door by his arms.

The three men weighed their options before splitting up among the three districts to cover more ground.



Gilbert went off to the middle district, hoping to catch a snippet of information or two from the guards and people there as he searched for the informant. He was told that the informant would be hiding, but would try to call him over, and would be dressed in all grays with a gray headscarf. This description would have been adequate had not so many other people been dressed in gray with headscarfs around their heads.

Since blending in with the masses would have been almost impossible considering his height, looks, and accent, he took to the roofs, hiding as well as possible behind the domes and minarets and the odd chimney. He crouched when he saw two men dressed strangely, in all black and what looked like feathers, moving by below him. What next he heard made his heart soar as if it had grown wings, then plummet like it had missed the haystack and fallen into the gorge at Masyaf.

"You pox-filled, piss-licking pig-dogs! I'll turn you all into stuffing for my pillows!" Gilbert's eyes widened as he looked at the man below. He was deeply tanned, his face lined from squinting into the sun and spray of the ocean and grit of the sand, dressed in the loose clothing of a sailor, though he was far from the sea. The men in black stopped and began to turn, but the heckler had disappeared.

The man continued to rail, muffled by the gloved hand, until, "Halt dein Maul, Tancred, du bloeder Arsch!" Tancred still and turned, looking at the man who held him quiet in disbelief. A giant in white stood before him, a hood masking all but a pair of lips, skin darkened by the sun, and the faintest hints of an almost white blonde braid in its shadows. Slowly, the man uncovered his mouth.

"G-Gilbert?" His breath was cut short. "Gilbert, bist du es?" A grin grew on his face. "Er ist es! Es ist mein Bruder!" His mouth was covered again.

"Verdammt nochmal, du bist so laut wie immer, Bruder!" Gilbert swore again through his teeth, looking around hurriedly before bundling the man over his shoulder and hurrying off across the roof. Thankfully, the air had gone out in a whoosh and was in again in a gasp as he moved over the rooftops, so his brother had nothing with which to make a sound.



Desmond looked up from where he'd been tackled to the ground by an informant. The man was wild-eyed, and stuffed something into his hands only to run off with no explanation. The Eagle stood and moved to follow him, only to see the German Novice come running toward him.

"What's wrong? Who's this guy? What's he doing over your shoulder?" Desmond asked. Tancred was huffing and gasping something in German. The barkeep hissed as he saw the arrow protruding from Gilbert's shoulder. "What the hell? Who shot you?"

Hurrying to Gilbert's back, he forced the man down. Tancred held onto his brother's shoulders as Desmond broke the shaft and cut out the head. The larger man groaned and swore under his breath. Guess this isn't a very good day for him, the Eagle thought as an explosion rocked the ground. That answered one question. Another, more pressing, surfaced. "Where's Lex?"



In the poor district, the Sparrow scrambled over the rooftops, a smear of blood streaking his face from where his head had been cut. Glass and bombs, as well as saw-toothed arrows, flew after him.

He threw himself over the gap between the roof he stood on and a mosque rooft, staggering and falling on his face. Rolling up, scraping his fingers, he flew by the bewildered guards that had come over to investigate him. Jumping down from the roof, Lex landed off on a beam below that stretched across the street. The guards jumped down after him, one missing the mark entirely and landing with the sickening crack of breaking bone below, the other hard behind him. Lex grasped at the beam as he lost his balance and scurried like a drunk squirrel across it.

Coming to the end of another roof, he turned to face the man. Panting, he took a step back, his heel brushing the open air. The guard's eyes widened; he almost dropped his sword as he held out his other hand, trying to coax him back from the edge. Lex spread out his arms and fell backwards, flipping to land in a crouch. Looking up at the stunned face above, he gave the man a weary salute before running off.

Another bomb arrow took out the street section a few feet behind him, tossing him end over end until he fetched up against a market stall.

"Agh...s**t..." The Journeyman drew himself wobbling to his feet and staggered into a run, pushing off the nearest wall whenever possible. He was so fixed on getting to the gate that he didn't notice running by Desmond and Gilbert until the Novice's brother and the bartender picked him up. "Come on! That hurts!"

The pain in his back made Gilbert nauseous as they hurried through the alleys, laying false trails where they could, but their persuers were relentless. Desmond helped Gilbert and Tancred onto the man's horse. The mount protested as Desmond swung astride his own.

"Go for Masyaf!" Desmond almost did an imitation of his eight-times-great-grandfather's glare as Lex moved over to them. The kid didn't even look like he could see straight, much less ride on that fidgeting mare of his. "Wal-aan!" He slapped Desmond's horse. The animal bolted, Gilbert's following.

"'Now,' he says!" the bartender snarled as they sped toward the mountains. "He'd better not die!"



Gilbert didn't remember much from their ride back to the castle. He was too preoccupied with keeping in the saddle. When they reached Masyaf, Desmond and Tancred brought him to the infirmary as quickly as they could, wadding up cloths the servants gave them to staunch the bleeding.

Some of the Sparrow's luck must have rubbed off on him, he felt. Nothing inside was damaged that they could see. Once the bleeding was stopped, they cleansed the wound and sewed it shut.

"Who uses such foul weapons?" asked Tancred, turning the arrowhead he'd picked up over and over in his hands. Desmond took it from him and tossed it aside.

"We call them Crows," he said. Jameel's not going to like this. Gilbert nodded absently to this information. Tancred folded his arms.

"Now that that tidbit isn't fascinating and all, but I would like to know something." He looked at his brother and screamed, "Just what the hell are you doing here?"

Down in the village, Lex shivered as he dismounted. The winds were getting colder all the time now and his wounds didn't exactly help with the chill. Speckles of blood dotted his robes where the shattered flecks of glass arrows had caught on his skin and caused myriad pinpricks to blossom into red patches on his clothes. He looked up as someone stopped in front of him.

"Not my fault this time," he rasped, doubling up and coughing. He sniffed, then let himself be straightened and led toward the keep.

"What happened?" Jameel finally asked when he was settled beside Gilbert. The Sparrow sighed and explained as the Owl casually picked out a large piece of glass from his arm, "Aha! Was in the poor district. Found the informant." He sucked in a breath to his teeth. "He wasn't very lively anymore." He looked at Desmond and Gilbert and shrugged, lips pressed into a thin line. Sweat and blood matted down his hair, leaving streaks in the dust that coated him like a second layer of skin.

Gilbert was glad to see his mentor more or less well, despite the young man looking how he felt. He watched the Red Owl as he took care of the small Assassin in what he might have called a gentle manner. Not that such wounds didn't warrant careful attention, but he had to admit, it was no surprise when looking at such treatment that people fell for the father and son rumor. A son that must come completely after his mother.

"Looks as those black cloaks were after the informants rather than us," he ventured, looking at Jameel. "Who are these men? In all the five years I have served under the red and black crosses, never did I learn about such creatures within the Order."

"Assassin killers in the service of my brother," Jameel said shortly as Lex began to squirm. "Hold still!" The Sparrow winced as a stubborn, jagged bit was extracted from his back. He sighed. "That's all of it." Desmond echoed Lex's sigh.

Will these buzzards leave any of us alone? he wondered as Tancred moved forward.

"Brother, you know I don't like being ignored, much less out of the loop." He addressed the other men in the room, his voice rising with each new question. "Now answer me my questions: Who the hell are you people? What the hell are you talking about? And what in God's name are you doing in this speck of nowhere in the mountains in the middle of the damned desert that I've got to risk my life to find my delusional little brother?"