Cal certainly had reason to suspect hidden things, though not necessarily for the reason he was thinking. The room, other than being antiquated, looked fairly ordinary. However as Altaïr approached a particular shelf and pulled out one book—Il Principe, by Niccolò Machiavelli, tucked discreetly among the others—the entire bookshelf creaked open to reveal an alcove in the wall. There was a small notch in it.
He unsheathed his Hidden Blade and inserted it into the notch. A ceiling tile clicked and slid open, easy for someone of basic Assassin skill to reach.
"I would say, 'After you,' but telling someone I have just met to enter a strange ceiling room first seems... Anyway, follow me."
He replaced Machiavelli's book. He stepped up, climbed the wall, and leaped to catch the edge of the square-shaped hole. He hauled himself up into a domed room in Romanesque architectural style. Save for the round oculus, there were no windows. Arranged in a semicircle, framed by arches, and flanked by torches, were seven statues. Two of them, the one in Persian clothes and the one of himself, brandished Hidden Blades. He pointedly ignored the one of himself.
no subject
He unsheathed his Hidden Blade and inserted it into the notch. A ceiling tile clicked and slid open, easy for someone of basic Assassin skill to reach.
"I would say, 'After you,' but telling someone I have just met to enter a strange ceiling room first seems... Anyway, follow me."
He replaced Machiavelli's book. He stepped up, climbed the wall, and leaped to catch the edge of the square-shaped hole. He hauled himself up into a domed room in Romanesque architectural style. Save for the round oculus, there were no windows. Arranged in a semicircle, framed by arches, and flanked by torches, were seven statues. Two of them, the one in Persian clothes and the one of himself, brandished Hidden Blades. He pointedly ignored the one of himself.