Assassin’s Creed®

by Oliver Bowden

  Not that Union Street itself was at all prepossessing. Little more than a river of mud, it slowed our pace as we approached the tavern, being sure not to splash any of the groups of gentlemen who stood outside, leaning on canes and chattering intently. Avoiding carts and giving curt nods to soldiers on horseback, we reached a low, wooden stables building where we left our horses, then made our way carefully across the streams of muck to the tavern. Inside, we immediately became acquainted with the owners: Catherine Kerr, who was (without wishing to be ungentlemanly), a little on the large side; and Cornelius Douglass, whose first words I heard upon entering were, ‘Kiss my arse, ya wench!’

  Fortunately, he wasn’t talking either to me or to Charles, but to Catherine. When the two of them saw us, their demeanours instantly changed from warlike to servile and they saw to it that my bags were taken up to my room.

  Charles was right: William Johnson was already there, and in a room upstairs we were introduced. An older man, similarly attired to Charles but with a certain weariness to him, an experience that was etched into the lines on his face, he stood from studying maps to shake my hand. ‘A pleasure,’ he said, and then, as Charles left to stand guard, leaned forward and said to me, ‘A good lad, if a bit earnest.’

  I kept any feelings I had on Charles to myself, indicating with my eyes that he should continue.

  ‘I’m told you’re putting together an expedition,’ he said.

  ‘We believe there is a precursor site in the region,’ I said, choosing my words carefully, then adding, ‘I require your knowledge of the land and its people to find it.’

  He pulled a face. ‘Sadly, a chest containing my research has been stolen. Without it, I’m of no use to you.’

  I knew from experience that nothing was ever easy. ‘Then we’ll find it,’ I sighed. ‘Have you any leads?’

  ‘My associate, Thomas Hickey, has been making the rounds. He’s quite good at loosening tongues.’

  ‘Tell me where I can find him and I’ll see about speeding things along.’

  ‘We’ve heard rumours of bandits operating from a compound south-west of here,’ said William. ‘You’ll likely find him there.’

  iii

  Outside the city, corn in a field waved in a light night-time breeze. Not far away was the high fencing of a compound that belonged to the bandits, and from inside came the sound of raucous festivities. Why not? I thought. Every day you’ve avoided death by the hangman’s noose or on the end of a redcoat’s bayonet is a cause for celebration when you lived life as a bandit.

  At the gates there were various guards and hangers-on milling around, some of them drinking, some attempting to stand guard, and all of them in a constant state of argument. To the left of the compound, the cornfield rose to a small hill peak and on it sat a lookout tending to a small fire. Sitting tending a fire isn’t quite the desired position for a lookout, but, otherwise, he was one of the few on this side of the compound who seemed to be taking his job seriously. Certainly, they’d failed to post any scouting parties. Or if they had, then the scouting parties were lounging under a tree somewhere, blind drunk, because there was nobody to see Charles and I as we crept closer, approaching a man, who was crouching by a crumbling stone wall, keeping watch on the compound.

  It was him: Thomas Hickey. A round-faced man, a little shabby, and probably too fond of the grog himself, if my guess was correct. This was the man who, according to William, was good at loosening tongues? He looked like he’d have problems loosening his own drawers.

  Perhaps, arrogantly, my distaste for him was fed by the fact that he was the first contact I’d met since arriving in Boston to whom my name meant nothing. But, if that annoyed me, it was nothing compared to the effect it had on Charles, who drew his sword.

  ‘Show some respect, boy,’ he snarled.

  I laid a restraining hand on him. ‘Peace, Charles,’ I said, then addressed Thomas: ‘William Johnson sent us in the hopes we might … expedite your search.’

  ‘Don’t need no expediting,’ drawled Thomas. ‘Don’t need none of your fancy London-speak, neither. I’ve found the men done the theft.’

  Beside me, Charles bristled. ‘Then why are you just lazing around?’

  ‘Figurin out how to deal with those varlets,’ said Thomas, indicated the compound then turned to us with expectant eyes and an impudent grin.

  I sighed. Time to go to work. ‘Right, I’ll kill the lookout and take a position behind the guards. You two approach from the front. When I open fire on a group, you charge in. We’ll have the element of surprise on our side. Half will fall before they’ve even realized what’s happening.’

  I took my musket, left my two comrades and crept to the edge of the cornfield, where I crouched and took aim at the lookout. He was warming his hands with his rifle between his legs, and probably wouldn’t have seen or heard me if I’d approached riding a camel. It felt almost cowardly to squeeze the trigger, but squeeze it I did.

  I cursed as he pitched forward, sending up a shower of sparks. He’d start to burn soon, and if nothing else the smell was going to alert his compatriots. Hurrying now, I returned to Charles and Thomas, who drew closer to the bandit compound while I took up position not far away, pushed my rifle butt into my shoulder and squinted along the sights at one of the bandits, who stood – though ‘swayed’ might have been more accurate – just outside the gates. As I watched he began to move towards the cornfield, perhaps to relieve the sentry I’d already shot, who even now was roasting on his own fire. I waited until he was at the edge of the cornfield, pausing as there was a sudden lull in the merriment from inside the compound, and then, as a roar went up, squeezing the trigger.

  He dropped to his knees then keeled over to one side, part of his skull missing, and my gaze went straight to the compound entrance to see if the shot had been heard.

  No, was the answer. Instead the rabble at the gate had turned their attention on Charles and Thomas, drawn their swords and pistols and began to shout at them: ‘Clear off!’

  Charles and Thomas loitered, just as I’d told them. I could see their hands itching to draw their own weapons, but they bided their time. Good men. Waiting for me to take the first shot.

  The time was now. I drew a bead on one of the men, whom I took to be the ringleader. I pulled the trigger and saw blood spray from the back of his head, and he lurched back.

  This time my shot was heard, but it didn’t matter, because at the same time Charles and Thomas drew their blades and struck and two more of the guards keeled over with blood fountaining from neck wounds. The gate was in disarray and the battle began in earnest.

  I managed to pick off two more of the bandits before abandoning my musket, drawing my sword and running forward, leaping into the fray and standing side by side with Charles and Thomas. I enjoyed fighting with companions for once, and felled three of the thugs, who died screaming even as their companions made for the gates and barricaded themselves inside.

  In no time at all, the only men left standing were me, Charles and Thomas, all three of us breathing hard and flicking the blood from our steel. I regarded Thomas with a new respect: he’d acquitted himself well, with a speed and skill that belied his looks. Charles, too, was looking at him, though with rather more distaste, as though Thomas’s proficiency in battle had annoyed him.

  Now we had a new problem, though: we’d taken the outside of the compound, but the door had been blocked by those retreating. It was Thomas who suggested we shoot the powder keg – another good idea from the man I’d previously dismissed as a drunk – so I did, blowing a hole in the wall, through which we poured, stepping over the torn and ragged corpses littering the hallway on the other side.

  We ran on. Thick, deep carpets and rugs were on the floor, while exquisite tapestries had been hung at the windows. The whole place was in semi-darkness. There was screaming, male and female, and running feet as we made our way through quickly, me with a sword in one hand and a pistol in the other, using both, slaying
any man in my way.

  Thomas had looted a candlestick, and he used it to cave in the head of a bandit, wiping brains and blood from his face just as Charles reminded us why we were there: to find William’s chest. He described it as we raced along more gloomy corridors, finding less resistance now. Either the bandits were staying clear of us or were marshalling themselves into a more cohesive force. Not that it mattered what they were doing: we needed to find the chest.

  Which we did, nestled at the back of a boudoir which stank of ale and sex and was seemingly full of people: scantily clad women who grabbed clothes and ran screaming, and several thieves loading guns. A bullet smacked into the wood of the doorway by my side and we took cover as another man, this one naked, raised his pistol to fire.

  Charles returned fire around the door frame, and the naked man crashed to the carpet with an untidy red hole at his chest, grabbing a fistful of bedclothes as he went. Another bullet gouged the frame, and we ducked back. Thomas drew his sword as two more bandits came hurtling down the corridor towards us, Charles joining in.

  ‘Lay down your weapons,’ called one of the remaining bandits from inside the boudoir, ‘and I’ll consider letting you live.’

  ‘I make you the same offer,’ I said from behind the door. ‘We have no quarrel. I only wish to return this chest to its rightful owner.’

  There was a sneer in his voice. ‘Nothing rightful about Mr Johnson.’

  ‘I won’t ask again.’

  ‘Agreed.’

  I heard a movement nearby and flitted across the doorway. The other man had been trying to creep up on us, but I put a bullet between his eyes and he flopped to the floor, his pistol skittering away from him. The remaining bandit fired again and made a dive for his companion’s gun, but I’d already reloaded and anticipated his move, and I put a shot in his flank as he stretched for it. Like a wounded animal he jackknifed back to the bed, landing in a wet mess of blood and bedclothes and staring up at me as I entered cautiously, gun held in front of me.

  He gave me a baleful look. This can’t have been how he planned for his night to end.

  ‘Your kind has no need for books and maps,’ I said, indicating William’s chest. ‘Who put you up to this?’

  ‘Never seen a person,’ he wheezed, shaking his head. ‘It’s always dead drops and letters. But they always pay, so we do the jobs.’

  Everywhere I went I met men like the bandit, who would do anything, it seemed – anything for a bit of coin. It was men like him who had invaded my childhood home and killed my father. Men like him who set me on the path I walk today.

  They always pay. We do the jobs.

  Somehow, through a veil of disgust, I managed to resist the urge to kill him.

  ‘Well, those days are done. Tell your masters I said as much.’

  He raised himself slightly, perhaps realizing I planned to let him live. ‘Who do I say you are?’

  ‘You don’t. They’ll know,’ I said. And let him go.

  Thomas began grabbing more loot while Charles and I took the chest, and we made our way out of the compound. Retreating was easier, most of the bandits having decided that discretion was the better part of valour and staying out of our way, and we made it outside to our horses and galloped away.

  iv

  At the Green Dragon, William Johnson was once again poring over his maps. Straight away he was digging through the chest when we returned it to him, checking his maps and scrolls were there.

  ‘My thanks, Master Kenway,’ he said, sitting back at his table, satisfied that everything was in order. ‘Now tell me what it is you need.’

  Around my neck was the amulet. I’d found myself taking it off and admiring it. Was it my imagination, or did it seem to glow? It hadn’t – not on the night I took it from Miko at the opera house. The first time I had seen it glow was when Reginald held it up at Fleet and Bride. Now, though, it seemed to do in my hand what it had done in his, as though it were powered – how ridiculous it seemed – by belief.

  I looked at him, then reached my hands to my neck, removed the amulet from over my head and handed it across the table. He held my gaze as he took it, sensing its importance, then squinted at it, studying it carefully as I said, ‘The images on this amulet – are they familiar to you? Perhaps one of the tribes has shown you something similar?’

  ‘It appears Kanien’kehá:ka in origin,’ said William.

  The Mohawk. My pulse quickened.

  ‘Can you trace it to a specific location?’ I said, ‘I need to know where it came from.’

  ‘With my research returned, perhaps. Let me see what I can do.’

  I nodded my thanks. ‘First, though, I’d like to know a little more about you, William. Tell me about yourself.’

  ‘What’s to tell? I was born in Ireland, to Catholic parents – which, I learnt early in life, severely limited my opportunities. So I converted to Protestantism and journeyed here at the behest of my uncle. But I fear my Uncle Peter was not the sharpest of tools. He sought to open trade with the Mohawk – but chose to build his settlement away from the trade routes instead of on them. I tried to reason with the man … But …’ He sighed ‘… as I said, not the sharpest. So I took what little money I’d earned and bought my own plot of land. I built a home, a farm, a store and a mill. Humble beginnings – but well situated, which made all the difference.’

  ‘So this is how you came to know the Mohawk?’

  ‘Indeed. And it has proved a valuable relationship.’

  ‘But you’ve heard nothing of the precursors’ site? No hidden temple or ancient constructs?’

  ‘Yes and no. Which is to say, they have their fair share of sacred sites but none matching what you describe. Earthen mounds, forest clearings, hidden caves … All are natural, though. No strange metal. No … odd glows.’

  ‘Hmmm. It is well hidden,’ I said.

  ‘Even to them, it seems.’ He smiled. ‘But cheer up, my friend. You’ll have your precursor treasure. I swear it.’

  I raised my glass. ‘To our success, then.’

  ‘And soon!’

  I smiled. We were four now. We were a team.

  10 July 1754

  i

  We now have our room at the Green Dragon Pub – a base, if you like – and it was this I entered, to find Thomas, Charles and William: Thomas drinking, Charles looking perturbed and William studying his charts and maps. I greeted them, only to be rewarded with a belch from Thomas.

  ‘Charming,’ spat Charles.

  I grinned. ‘Cheer up, Charles. He’ll grow on you,’ I said, and sat next to Thomas, who gave me a grateful look.

  ‘Any news?’ I said.

  He shook his head. ‘Whispers of things. Nothin solid at the moment. I know you’re lookin for word of anything out the ordinary … Dealin with temples and spirits and ancient times and whatnot. But … so far, can’t say my boys have heard much.’

  ‘No trinkets or artefacts being moved through your … shadow market?’

  ‘Nothin new. Couple ill-gotten weapons – some jewellery likely lifted from a living thing. But you said to listen for talk of glows and hums and look out for strange sights, right? An I ain’t heard nothin ’bout that.’

  ‘Keep at it,’ I asked.

  ‘Oh, I will. You done me a great service, mister – and I fully intend to repay my debt – thricefold, if it pleases.’

  ‘Thank you, Thomas.’

  ‘Place to sleep and meal to eat is thanks enough. Don’t you worry. I’ll get you sorted soon.’

  He raised his tankard, only to find it was empty, and I laughed, clapped him on the back and watched as he stood and lurched off in search of ale from elsewhere. Then I turned my attention to William, moving over to his lectern and pulling up a chair to sit down beside him. ‘How fares your search?’

  He frowned up at me. ‘Maps and maths aren’t cutting it.’

  Nothing is ever simple, I rued.

  ‘What of your local contacts?’ I asked him, taking a sea
t opposite.

  Thomas had bustled back in, with a tankard of foaming ale in his fist and a red mark on his face from where he’d been very recently slapped, just in time to hear William say, ‘We’ll need to earn their trust before they’ll share what they know.’

  ‘I have an idea on how we might be effectin that,’ slurred Thomas, and we turned to look at him with varying degrees of interest, Charles in the way he usually regarded Thomas, with a look as though he’d just trodden in dog mess, William with bemusement, and me with a genuine interest. Thomas, drunk or sober, was a sharper customer than either Charles or William gave him credit for. He went on now: ‘There’s a man who was taken to enslavin natives. Rescue ’em and they’ll owe us.’

  Natives, I thought. The Mohawk. Now there was an idea. ‘Do you know where they’re being held?’

  He shook his head. But Charles was leaning forward. ‘Benjamin Church will. He’s a finder and a fixer – he’s also on your list.’

  I smiled at him. Good work, I thought. ‘And there I was, wondering who we might solicit next.’

  ii

  Benjamin Church was a doctor, and we found his house easily enough. When there was no answer at his door, Charles wasted no time kicking it down, and we hurried in, only to find that the place had been ransacked. Not only had furniture been upturned and documents spread all over the floor, disrupted during a messy search, but there were also traces of blood on the floor.

  We looked at one another. ‘It seems we’re not the only ones looking for Mr Church,’ I said, with my sword drawn.

  ‘Dammit!’ exploded Charles. ‘He could be anywhere. What do we do?’

  I pointed to a portrait of the good doctor hanging over the mantelpiece. It showed a man in his early twenties, who nonetheless had a distinguished look. ‘We find him. Come, I’ll show you how.’