“Va bene.” Ezio grinned. “Let’s go.”

Yusuf took off, running again, through the emptying streets, until they reached the foot of the Galata Tower. “They don’t post guards in peacetime until the torches are lit on the parapets. We won’t be disturbed. Let’s go.”

Ezio looked up the great height of the tower and swallowed hard.

“You’ll be fine. Follow my lead, take a run at it, and let yourself go. Just throw yourself into it. And—again—let the hook do all the hard work. There are plenty of nooks and crannies in the stonework—you’ll be spoiled for choice about where to hook in.”

With a carefree laugh of encouragement, Yusuf set off. His skillful use of the blade made it look as if he were walking—running, even—straight up the wall of the tower. Moments later, Ezio, panting but triumphant, joined him on the roof, looking around him. As the young man on the ship had said, the views across the city were stunning. And Ezio hadn’t had to wait for permission from some bureaucrat to see them. He identified all the landmarks the young man had introduced him to from the deck of the baghlah, using the opportunity to familiarize himself further with the city’s layout. But another part of his mind just drank in its beauty in the red-gold light of the setting sun, the light reminding him of the color of the hair of that beautiful woman who’d been his fellow passenger and who’d looked right through him.

“Welcome to Istanbul, Mentor,” said Yusuf, watching his face. “The Crossroads of the World.”

“I can see now why they call it that.”

“Many generations of men have ruled this city, but they have never subdued her. Whatever yoke is placed on her neck, whatever neglect or pillage is visited on her, she always bounces back.”

“It seems a fine place to call home.”

“It is.”

Yusuf stepped to the edge of the tower after another minute or two, looked down, then turned to Ezio again. “Race you to the bottom?” he asked, and, without waiting for a reply, threw himself from the parapet in an astounding Leap of Faith.

Ezio watched him plummet, like a hawk stooping, and land safely in a hay wain he’d already singled out, 175 feet below. He sighed, pausing a moment longer to stare at the city spread out beneath him, in wonder. The Great City. The First City. The heiress of Ancient Rome. Constantinople was a thousand years old and had been home to hundreds of thousands of citizens at a time, in the not-too-distant past, when Rome and Florence were mere villages by comparison. She had been plundered and ravaged, and he knew the legendary beauty of the past was gone forever; but she had always awed her attackers and those who sought to reduce her; and, as Yusuf had said, she had never truly been subdued.

Ezio looked around one last time, scanning the whole horizon with his keen eyes. He fought down the deep sadness that filled his heart.

Then, in turn, he made his own Leap of Faith.

TWENTY

The following morning, Ezio and Yusuf sat in the courtyard of the Assassin headquarters, poring over plans spread on a table, charting their next move. There was no doubt in their minds that couriers from the Templars at Masyaf would very soon arrive in the city, if they had not done so already, and that a concerted Templar attack must be anticipated.

“It’s like a hydra, the Templar organization.” Ezio brooded. “Cut one head off, and two grow back.”

“Not in Rome, Mentor. You’ve seen to that.”

Ezio was silent. With his thumb, he tried the edge of the hookblade he was oiling. “I am certainly impressed by this weapon, Yusuf. My brothers in Rome would profit from having them as part of their equipment.”

“It’s not a hard design to copy,” Yusuf replied. “Just give credit where it’s due.”

“I need more practice,” Ezio said, little realizing that he’d get it, soon enough, for at the moment, the street door burst open before Azize had time to reach it, and Kasim, one of Yusuf’s lieutenants, rushed in, his eyes wild.

“Yusuf bey—come quickly!”

Yusuf was on his feet in an instant. “What’s going on?”

“An attack on two fronts! Our Dens in Galata and at the Grand Bazaar.”

“It never stops,” Yusuf said, angrily. “Every day, the same bad news.” He turned to Ezio. “Could this be the big attack you fear?”

“I have no way of knowing, but it must be dealt with.”

“Of course. How is your appetite for swordplay?”

“I think you know the answer to that. I do what I must.”

“Good man! It’s time to put your hookblade to some real use! Let’s go!”

TWENTY-ONE

In no time at all, they were sprinting across the rooftops in the direction of the Galata Den. As they grew close, they descended to the street in order to be less conspicuous to Byzantine crossbowmen. But they found their way blocked by a unit of heavily armed mercenaries, who ordered them, menacingly, to turn back. They pretended to retreat a few paces, conferring together.

“Use your hookblade, Mentor,” said Yusuf. “There’s a sure way to get past these thugs with the maximum of speed and the minimum of fuss.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Watch. We call it a hook-and-roll.”

Without more ado, Yusuf turned back to the line of men spread out across the street, facing them. He selected one and ran toward him at such great speed that, before the man or any of his companions could react, he leapt into the air immediately in front of his target, projecting his body forward with his hookblade unleashed and his right arm plunging down, ready to stick the hook in the back of the man’s belt. Following through, Yusuf did a somersault over the man, releasing his blade as he did so, and carried on at speed away from the dumfounded mercenaries. Before they had time fully to regroup, Ezio followed Yusuf’s lead, managing as he somersaulted over his man to grab him by the neck and wrestle him to the ground, landed some feet behind him, and ran on to join his companion.

But there were more guards ahead to deal with, and in doing so, Ezio picked up another technique from his Seljuk friend. This time, Yusuf swung the hook low, stooping as he approached his target, and wrapped his weapon round one of his opponent’s ankles, felling him as he swept past. Once again, Ezio copied the moves, and had soon caught up with the leader of the Istanbul Assassins.

“And that’s what we call a hook-and-run.” Yusuf grinned. “But I can see you’re a natural. Excellent work.”