Altaïr left the Assassin bureau and began his search in the public garden.He waited there for hours. Merchants passed, guards rotated, citizens gathered and dispersed—but nothing of value reached his ears. Just as he was about to move on, voices cut through the quiet.
A young carpenter was being escorted by a guard. The man's clothes were worn, his hands rough and nicked with old splinters. He walked stiffly, fear tightening his shoulders.
"Master has ordered you to repair the walls of the hospital," the guard said. "Here is the writ that will grant you access."
The carpenter stopped.
"How many times must I say it?" he pleaded. "I don't work stone or floors. I'm a carpenter. I build shelves, tables—small work. This is not my—"
The guard struck him with the flat end of his spear.The sound echoed.The carpenter fell hard onto the stone, breath knocked from his lungs. A few people nearby flinched, then quickly turned away. No one intervened. No one spoke.
"Next time," the guard said coldly, lowering his spear, "It will not me be."He leaned closer.
"Be on time. Even a single minute late can cost you your life."The guard turned and walked off, boots steady, unhurried.The carpenter remained on the ground, clutching his side. Tears streaked dust across his face as his voice finally broke.
"Why me?" he cried hoarsely. "Why me, God?" His hands trembled as he pushed himself upright. "Help us… this tyrant will destroy us all."
Altaïr stepped out of the crowd.He was dressed plainly now, no mark of the Brotherhood upon him."I can do the work," he said. "Give me the order. I'll take it."
The carpenter looked up, startled. His eyes ran over Altaïr, doubtful.
"You?" he scoffed weakly. "You don't look like someone who works with tools. And if you know that man…" his voice cracked, "…he won't pay you."
"Then do it yourself," Altaïr replied, already turning away.
"No—wait," the carpenter said quickly. "Please." He pushed himself fully to his feet, pain obvious in his movements. "I didn't mean it. If you can help, I'll be grateful. I don't want to die."
Altaïr stopped.
"You'll come with me," he said. "You'll say you know me. That's the only way I won't be stopped at the gate."
The carpenter nodded without hesitation. "Yes. Yes, of course. I'll say whatever you want. Thank you."
With that, Altaïr left him behind and returned to the Assassin bureau.Rafiq looked up as he entered.
"How far is your search for Garnier?" he asked.
"I know when and how to strike," Altaïr said.
"Then enlighten me," Rafiq replied.
"He lives and works in the Order's hospital northwest of here," Altaïr said. "Rumors speak of atrocities committed within those walls. The mad doctor enjoys experimenting on innocent people—most of them kidnapped and brought here from Jerusalem."
Rafiq's expression darkened."Clever," he said slowly. "By stealing his subjects from another city, he avoids arousing too much suspicion here. But tell me—what is your plan?"
"Garnier keeps mainly to his quarters inside the hospital," Altaïr said. "Though he leaves occasionally to inspect his patients. It's during those rounds that I will strike."
Rafiq studied him for a moment."It's clear you've given this thought," he said at last. "You have my leave. Remove this stain from Acre, Altaïr. Perhaps it will help you cleanse your own."
Altaïr paused at the doorway.Then he walked away without a word.He rested only briefly.Soon after, he set out for the hospital.