“So, who are you banging this week, Altair?”

“No one, Miraj, shut up and go jump in a well.”

“You’re a downright liar; you know that, Ibn La-Ahad?”

Miraj Qismat’s body language screamed scepticism, with one hand propped up on his hip and the other pointed contemptuously at the higher ranked assassin. “And what’s worse, you’re a complete lecher too.” He continued, but then rolled his light eyes. “Not that that’s a surprise or anything…”

Altair bristled visibly and indignantly, drawing himself to his full, impressive height. “Care to elaborate on that? This sounds like another excuse to pry into my personal life again.”

Miraj was one of those busybodies, who had to poke his nose into everyone’s business and wouldn’t back off unless he got his teeth into gossip of any kind. At that point in time, the flavour of the week was the questionable relationship between Altair and another novice. Let’s just say Altair was none too pleased. Miraj had already stirred up trouble a few months beforehand by way of stalking and espionage, and the other assassins weren’t particularly pleased with him knowing about their birthmarks and such. Being the persistent bastard he was – excellent with stake outs, impatient with everything else – Miraj wouldn’t let sleeping dogs lie, and would often call out Altair just to jeer at him and imply that the elder assassin had slept with most of Masayf.

And Jerusalem.

Damascus as well, for that matter.

Half of Acre, apparently.

Oh, for an excuse to string him up on a flagpole by his undergarments, Altair thought gloomily. Maybe a few years ago, but now?

The auburn haired assassin scowled dismissively at him. “Oh, you know what I’m talking about, Mr High and Mighty. Leering shamelessly over the novices… chasing after the younger boys…” He sighed theatrically. “Poor Al-Sayr must feel so violated.”

“What?!” At this, Altair’s eyebrows vanished into his hairline. “You’ve gone mad. Firstly, he’s only two years younger than me. Secondly, it’s clear that the fact that everyone else seems to be in a relationship apart from you has messed with your mind.”

Miraj spluttered incoherently for a while, which was clearly his way of saying “damn it, he found me out!” He smoothed down his hair – a nervous habit of his – and stared at Altair evenly. He had that infuriating look in his eyes which preceded a very obnoxious response. “That’s not true and at least I’m courting someone of the opposite gender!”

Altair yawned at the figurative below-the-belt blow and clearly didn’t seem interested in the jabs at his sexuality. “I didn’t realise your hand was female.”

“Oh, you think you’re so clever, Altair…”

“I do.”

“You know, I’m just hoping that Malik will be a good influence on you.”

“Or that I’ll corrupt the git from the inside-out.”

“…those are mental images that I wish to avoid.”

“You started it.”

“I’m sorely tempted to call Al-Sayr over and get him to set things straight…” Miraj grimaced, crossing his arms and looking around the courtyard for Malik. “No pun intended.”

“You’re a riot,” commented Altair dryly, seemingly unconcerned. “He’s not going to be here, he’ll be holed up in the library as usual…”

“OIIIIIIIIIIII MAAAAAAAAAAAAALIK!” hollered Miraj, cupping his hands around his mouth and hollering across the courtyard. “AAAAAAL-SAYR, THE NILE AIN’T JUST A RIVER, YOU KNOOOOW!”

The other assassins in the courtyard merely rolled their eyes, walked away or just slammed their hands on their ears to stifle the annoying sound of Miraj’s bawling. Altair was slouching, yawning and picking underneath his fingernails with his hidden blade. Miraj continued to make a fool out of himself by stamping around, looking under benches and potted plants for the elusive younger novice. “Grr… where could that little ass be?”

Altair sensibly decided to refrain from snickering or saying anything filthy.

And Miraj got the shock of his life when Malik suddenly appeared at his elbow. “When did you get here?!” he screamed, his voice shooting up several octaves higher.

Malik tapped his chin, looking thoughtful, then quipped dryly: “Since the start of this delightful conversation, I think.”

“Oh, God,” moaned Miraj, pulling at his own face. “Having Altair inside him has infected him with sarcasm and stupidity and probably a lot else.”

Again, Altair refrained from saying anything dirty. Malik inwardly marvelled. Maybe he was being a good influence on the older assassin.

“Oh, come now, Miraj, I—“ Altair began, before collapsing into helpless giggles. “Sorry…” he gasped, doubling over and wheezing. “That word always makes me laugh…”

Malik slapped his forehead.

Or maybe not.