Lever Templar by Matt Gianni

Lever Templar by Matt Gianni

Author:Matt Gianni [Gianni, Matt]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781733466912
Publisher: Castellum One
Published: 2019-08-23T04:00:00+00:00


CHAPTER 31

JUNE 3, 1308

TORTOSA, PROVINCE OF SYRIA

Brim Hastings knew that Tortosa—as well as the rest of the Levant—was ruled from Cairo by Sultan An-Nasir Muhammad. The land reverting back to its ancient name of Syria did not stop him from imagining he traveled the County of Tripoli before the loss of the Holy Land to the Mamluk Sultanate. “We haven’t a half hour of sunlight left.”

“I know this!” Shayla’s tone indicated she did not appreciate his prodding. “It should be close.”

They’d walked half a mile inland, east of the Cathedral of Our Lady of Tortosa. According to notes passed between fishermen on behalf of the two young women, it was the correct neighborhood. Brim asked the few on the street at dusk for directions to the workshop of Dabir and Farah Zayn. None he questioned knew.

The streets became deserted as dusk gave way to darkness, replacing their anxiety with fear. It was not, however, the panic they’d felt two days before.

Had it not been for the commotion at the shop of Shayla’s neighbor, the cooper, they would have had no warning of Darcan’s approach. Having had only enough time to retrieve the bottom half of the Praximus Command and two water skins before fleeing a quarter mile away, they watched the smoke rise from Shayla’s home, put to the torch by Darcan’s men. At the Limassol waterfront, they took one of the twenty-foot sailboats, quietly obtained weeks before for the brotherhood to fish for themselves after Amalric’s edict forbidding financial dealings with the order, and spent the next day sailing sixty miles to Cape Greco on the island’s east coast, twelve miles south of Famagusta. Shayla refilled the water skins from a stream handling the runoff from Paralimni Lake while Brim bought bread and dried meat with the last of the silver deniers from his leather pouch. At first light they began the hundred-mile crossing on the Etesian winds to Tortosa with the hope of receiving sanctuary from Dabir and Farah Zayn. While Brim sailed, Shayla wept for the loss of her father and their Limassol home.

Brim knocked on doors of several dwellings showing signs of activity within. Again, none recognized the names of Dabir or Farah Zayn. He then came upon what appeared to be a potter’s shop, with stacks of ceramic items littering the area. Light emanated from cracks in a front door that looked as if it had been built from discarded wood scraps. Brim knocked on what appeared to be the sturdiest part.

The collection of wood planks swung open a few inches, partially revealing a plump bearded man who could not have been more than five feet tall. After his eyes darted between the two, he spoke Arabic in a high-pitched squeal. “Who are you? Why are you out so late?”

“Peace be upon you,” said Brim. “We seek the workshop of Dabir Zayn. Can you direct us?”

The man grabbed the edge of the door with chubby fingers made gray by wet clay and forced it open a few more inches.



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