Chapter Text
Even the short voyage across the Mediterranean sea from Rome to Constantinople was tiresome to Ezio — he couldn’t imagine how those Spanish sailors were doing it, surviving the trip all the way to the New World without going insane and trying to kill each other.
The sailboat he arrived in was small, only himself, the captain, and a handful of crew. In fact, it was a merchant vessel carrying olive oil. He’d just bribed his way on board.
As he stepped off the dock and onto dry land, part of him wanted to fall to his knees and kiss the dirt, but he had his dignity to maintain — Constantinople was a big city, but that wasn’t the reputation he wanted to make for himself in any part of it.
He had with him only a small bag, containing his writing supplies. He had no money, since Florins were no good here, and he wasn’t here to live a life of luxury anyway. This was no vacation. He also had a handful of letters he’d written on his travels, which he’d mail back home as soon as he’d found a post office.
But… actually, shit. He was hungry. And maybe he could find some wine too.
And, fuck, he needed money to do either of those things. His to-do list just kept getting longer and longer. Luckily, the sun was still low in the early morning sky, so he had plenty of time, but he’d need to work quickly.
Ezio wasn’t above stealing, but he also didn’t want to start his stay in this city by getting into trouble with the authorities if it went wrong. And it would — he was old now, and additionally he hadn’t eaten since the afternoon before. He’d tried to choke down one of those dry biscuits, but he hadn’t been able to swallow more than a few bites. Not that anything was wrong with him, they were just gross.
What else could he do, though? He didn’t even speak the language. He’d need to learn it, obviously, but that didn’t help him now.
People passed by him on either side, occasionally bumping into him and hustling away, grumbling as if it was Ezio’s fault. He’d never left Italy before. Everything was so… different, so bright, so hot, and the solidity of the ground that didn’t rock beneath his feet was unnerving too.
He’d stopped in the middle of the street without even noticing. Now it was his fault that people were bumping into him, but he was rooted to the spot.
The brightness of his surroundings was no longer a problem as black spots began to dance in front of his eyes, obscuring his vision. Slowly, he sank as if an impossibly heavy weight was pushing him to the dusty ground. He was still conscious as his knees hit the cobblestones, but not much longer after that.
Yusuf liked his job. When his mother was too old to do anything but sit on the sofa and read his books, he’d taken over the coffee house. It was what he’d wanted to do since he was a child, and he’d been helping to run it all this time but it was a different feeling to own it.
Every morning he woke up before the sun and headed downstairs, where he lit a fire in the oven and started making bread dough. Of course he didn’t just sell coffee, he also made breakfast for what felt like half the city. This breakfast varied day by day; it was whatever he felt like making in the morning, but there was always bread. Today, it’d been flatbread (because he’d woken up late and he didn’t want to wait for it to rise) and soup — hagiozoumin, with lentils. Hell yes.
He was having a great day, chatting with customers as he took payment and served them their breakfast and coffee, when there was a small disturbance outside.
A woman hurried in, calling out to everyone in the shop. “Someone collapsed outside! Help him, please!”
Yusuf, the proprietor of the shop and therefore the one in charge, followed her back outside to see what was the matter.
Someone sure had collapsed. He crouched down to examine him while the woman bravely tried to keep either of them from being stepped on by the crowd that was moving around them.
This man wasn’t Turkish, and in fact he’d never seen anyone dressed like this at all before. What a strange outfit — robes, a hood, a utility belt, all stark white as if there was no dust to discolor them. He was older, too. His beard was streaked with gray.
Well, whoever he was, he wasn’t going to stay out here and get stepped on. Yusuf scooped him up with ease and carried him back inside, where he set him down on a crate in the kitchen. His customers would keep an eye on the place for him, make sure no one stole either food or money.
The man was starting to come to, and Yusuf watched anxiously as his eyelids fluttered. He straightened up a little, able to hold up some of his weight on his own.
“Good morning,” Yusuf said softly. “Are you all right?”
“Where am I?” The man asked, grumpy at best and at worst starting to become angry.
“You’re in my coffee house,” he said. “In the kitchen. No one will bother you here.”
“Except you, I suppose?”
“Except me,” Yusuf agreed. “And what is your name?”
“Ezio Auditore… da Firenze.” Ezio smiled faintly.
“That is quite the name. Is that… all your last name?”
“No. I’m from Firenze.”
“Well, Ezio, I’m Yusuf Tazim, by your tradition, da Istanbul. It’s nice to meet you.”
“You too.”
They were both silent for a moment, both contemplating Ezio’s state of affairs.
“When was the last time you ate?” Yusuf asked, since in his experience food could solve far more problems than not.
“Yesterday,” Ezio said. “On the ship.”
On the ship. Okay. Now they were getting somewhere. “Would you like something? I have soup.”
“No, thank you. I don’t have any of your currency,” Ezio admitted.
“That’s all right. I have enough to share.” He stood up and went to find Ezio a bowl, which he filled with soup. He also brought him a piece of flatbread, which Ezio took with a slightly shameful look on his face.
“Thank you.”
“You’re very welcome.” Yusuf was kneeling on the floor in front of him, looking up at him and taking in all the strange details he had to offer. He seemed to be enjoying the food, which was… nice.
He stood up. “I have to get back to work. Stay here and rest as long as you need — I’ll be back to check on you in a few minutes, and we can talk.”
Now that Ezio was alone, he tore into the flatbread, biting off nearly half of it in his enthusiasm. Fuck, it was good. He didn’t care how he’d have to pay for it, he was just happy to have something to eat that wasn’t crackers and salted meat. He could’ve cried from the sheer joy of a hot meal, but he didn’t.
Whether he liked it or not, after all, Yusuf was coming back, and he needed to be normal by then. So no crying. He had a second chance to make a good impression on someone here, and he was going to take it.
He finished his soup slowly — it was hot, and there were flavors he’d never dreamt of before. He was Italian, after all, so he wasn’t accustomed to spices. It was delicious, though, and he wished he had money to buy seconds.
Yusuf returned, drying his hands on a towel. “Feeling any better, my friend?” He asked, and Ezio was taken aback by how gentle his voice was.
“Yes. I’m much better.” He set his empty bowl aside and stood up, holding out his hand for Yusuf to shake with a small, friendly smile. Act normal, damn it.
“I’m glad to hear it.”
There was a small, awkward pause as they shook hands. It occurred to Ezio that even if he was going to befriend Yusuf, there was really no normal way to start any kind of conversation with him. He’d already made it abundantly clear that he was not a normal man. He was going to try anyway, though.
“The soup was delicious,” he said. “And the bread. I’ve never had anything like it before.”
Yusuf smiled. That meant a lot, even if Ezio was hardly an expert on the matter. “Thank you. That’s very kind of you to say. You know, I think I’ve heard your name before. Are you famous, wherever you’re from?”
“No, not… particularly,” Ezio said sheepishly. That didn’t bode well for him — how could this man know who he was? “I’m just a scholar.” That was a blatant lie.
“A scholar. What are you studying?”
“It’s a personal project,” he explained. “An ancestor of mine is from here, years and years ago. I am looking for something of his.”
“Very mysterious,” he said appreciatively. “Did you just arrive?”
Ezio nodded. “This morning. I sailed from Italy.”
“I hear it’s a rough trip.”
“It only lasted a few days.”
“Still. What are you going to do now that you’re here?” Yusuf grabbed a piece of flatbread from the basket on the counter and bit into it. Fuck it, this was a good enough time for a break.
“The first thing I must do is find a place to stay and a way to make some money, since… I don’t suppose you use Florins over here.”
“No, I’m afraid not.”
“Yeah.” He’d prepared for this. “So I guess I’ll have to look for a job.”
“Would you like one here? I could use an extra hand.”
“I would love a job here, but I do not have the kinds of skills you need. I am a scholar, not a… baker?”
“You can learn,” Yusuf assured him. “You are a smart man.”
It was nice to be believed in. “Thank you. I… I have other affairs to attend to, but I can work for you for a few days, at the very least.” Was everyone so nice here? Was everything really this easy?
“Would you like to start tomorrow?”
“If that is the case, I will need to leave soon and find somewhere to stay the night.”
Yusuf shook his head. “No! You will stay with me. Even if you are only to be my apprentice for a few days, it would be poor hospitality to make you stay at an inn.”
“But you have already fed me. I can’t expect you to give me a place to stay too.”
“Nonsense,” Yusuf said firmly. “If you are going to work here, it is best if you stay with me, if only so that mornings are easier. We must wake up before sunrise tomorrow, and I don’t want you to be late because you’re not used to it.”
Fair point. “Thank you,” he said softly. “I will repay you for this.”
He was still exhausted, but maybe he could take a nap instead of running around the city looking for work and lodgings this afternoon. Well, a second nap.
“You don’t have to,” Yusuf assured him. “But thank you. I must return to work, but you can go upstairs. Your room is first on the left. You may encounter my mother, but don’t fret. She’s a nice woman. And she’s not as crazy as she looks.”
Ezio chuckled. “Thank you. When do you close your shop?”
“In a few hours. I will run out of food to sell around noon. Then I start work for tomorrow.”
That sounded rough. “Well… all right. If you need me to do anything, I’ll be upstairs.”
“I will not, but if you’re feeling up to it you can accompany me to the Grand Bazaar later, for groceries. It’ll be unlike anything you’ve seen before.”
Ezio sort of liked the sound of that. Of course, he’d had an anxiety attack in the crowd earlier (not that he knew what an anxiety attack was, or that he even knew why he’d passed out), but he was confident he’d be able to handle himself with a friend by his side.
He found it strange to be mentored by someone so much older than he was, but he looked forward to it anyway.