Free Assassin's Creed: Forsaken by Oliver Bowden Page B

two-player game, which meant there were no more guards hiding in the woodwork.
    The first guard indicated for me to place the wrapped cheese on the card table, and I did as I was told. The second man stood back, one hand on the hilt of his sword as his partner checked me for weapons, patting my clothes thoroughly and next searching the bag I wore around my shoulder, in which were a few coins and my journal, but nothing more. I had no blade.
    “He’s not armed,” said the first guard, and the second man nodded. The first guard indicated my cheese. “You want Señor Vedomir to taste this, I take it?”
    I nodded enthusiastically.
    “Perhaps I should taste it first?” said the first guard, watching me closely.
    “I had hoped to save it all for Señor Vedomir,” I replied with an obsequious smile.
    The guard gave a snort. “You have more than enough. Perhaps
you
should taste it.”
    I began to protest. “But I had hoped to save it for—”
    He put his hand to the hilt of his sword.
“Taste it,”
he insisted.
    I nodded. “Of course, señor,” I said, and unwrapped a piece, picked off a chunk and ate it. Next he indicated I should try another piece, which I did, making a face to show how heavenly it tasted. “And now that it’s been opened,” I said, proffering the wrapping, “you might as well have a taste.”
    The two guards exchanged a look, then at last the first smile, went to a thick wooden door at the end of the passageway, knocked and entered. Then they appeared again and beckoned me forward, into Vedomir’s chamber.
    Inside, it was dark and heavily perfumed. Silk billowed gently on the low ceiling as we entered. Vedomir sat with his back to us, his long black hair loose, wearing nightclothes and writing by the light of a candle at his desk.
    “Would you have me stay, Señor Vedomir?” asked the guard.
    Vedomir didn’t turn around. “I take it our guest isn’t armed?”
    “No, señor,” said the guard, “although the smell of his cheese is enough to fell an army.”
    “To me the scent is a perfume, Cristian,” laughed Vedomir. “Please show our guest to a seat, and I shall be over in a moment.”
    I sat on a low stool by an empty hearth as he blotted the book then came over, stopping to pick up a small knife from a side table as he came.
    “Cheese, then?” His smile split a thin moustache as he shifted his nightclothes to sit on another low stool, opposite.
    “Yes, señor,” I said.
    He looked at me. “Oh? I was told you were from the Republic of Genoa, but I can hear from your voice that you are English.”
    I started with shock, but the big grin he wore told me I had nothing to worry about. Not yet at least. “And there I was, thinking me so clever to hide my nationality all this time,” I said, impressed, “but you have found me out, señor.”
    “And the first to do so, evidently, which is why your head is still on your shoulders. Our two countries are at war, are they not?”
    “The whole of Europe is at war, señor. I sometimes wonder if anybody knows who is fighting whom.”
    Vedomir chuckled and his eyes danced. “You’re being disingenuous, my friend. I think we all know your King George’s allegiances, as well as his ambitions. Your British Navy is said to think itself the best in the world. The French, the Spanish—not to mention the Swedes—disagree. An Englishman in Spain takes his life in his hands.”
    “Should I be concerned for my safety now, señor?”
    “With me?” He spread his hands and gave a crooked, ironic smile. “I like to think I rise above the petty concerns of kings, my friend.”
    “Then whom do you serve, señor?”
    “Why, the people of the town, of course.”
    “And to whom do you pledge allegiance if not to King Ferdinand?”
    “To a higher power, señor.” Vedomir smiled, closing the subject firmly and turning his attention to the wrappings of cheese I’d placed by the hearth. “Now,” he went on, “you’ll have to forgive my