"I have an extra bedroom if you wish," he said, "but you are welcome to sleep wherever you want. There is every chance I will wake you by checking on you." He placed his hand on Malik's shoulder. "Stay here, get warm. I'll be back in a moment."

And that was how Altaïr left him for a matter of minutes. While he was still getting used to the layout of this kitchen, he'd at least been able to cook. The soup was hearty, made from potatoes, onions, and pork from the beast he and the Iron Bull fought together, kept warm on a banked stove in the kitchen. He portioned it out into a bowl and brought it, as well as a chunk of bread, to Malik's chair. He placed both on the table beside him, and then fetched a glass of cool water.

"There is a modest variety here as it comes to foods," he said. "When spring comes, I'm hoping to put in a well at the side of the river to irrigate a field for rice. You will have to wish me luck." If anyone knew just how little Altaïr knew about the practical parts of farming, it was Malik. Theory - certainly. Theory was simple. But Altaïr was not a man who had held traces and guided an ox through its paces.