Henry leafed through it quickly now, anticipating what he might find, until he came to a particular entry, one that told of – yes – a shroud. It was written in the most elliptical terms but nevertheless confirmed that it did indeed confer eternal life upon its wearer.
However, the account mentioned something else besides. A negative to its positive. The drawback – or maybe, for some, the advantage – of wearing the Shroud was that it would draw energy from whomsoever he or she touched.
The report concluded that nothing else was known of the Shroud, that what appeared here might be mere gossip or conjecture. Even so, it was enough for Henry to think of Evie – Evie going to the vault without knowing the Shroud’s true power.
84
At last Evie was back in her usual clothes. She tossed the dreaded dress to one side, adjusted the clips on her gauntlet and shook her shoulders into her coat at the same time. Once more she caught her own reflection in a window of the small antechamber she had chosen for the quick change, but was altogether happier with the results this time.
Forget that imposter’s finery. This was her real self. Her father’s daughter.
And now to the vault. Like Jacob she left the ongoing uproar of the party behind and rushed in the direction of where she knew it to be, and like him she arrived to find the door open. She rushed down the slope and into the tunnel, checking herself as she came closer to the open vault door.
From inside came the sounds of a struggle. The unmistakable sound of Jacob in pain. And her blade was already deploying as she rushed towards the portal, crashing through in time to see Starrick wearing the Shroud and pinning Jacob with one hand.
She stood and gawped for a second. It wasn’t possible. A man of Starrick’s age and build managing to restrain Jacob. Yet there it was. Sourcing power from the Shroud it was as though Starrick was leeching it from Jacob at the same time. ‘You do not listen,’ she caught him saying as her gaze travelled to an ornately decorated chest. Inside were what looked like jewels that had begun to rise as if of their own accord and glowed malevolently in the murky gloom of the vault. Guardian drones, they began to revolve as if setting up a protective perimeter around the Grand Master and his helpless victim.
She was about to find out how powerful they were, for having taken several steps into the vault she whirled at a noise from behind her. A guard had rushed into the vault, already breathlessly trying to address Starrick. ‘Sir, there’s –’
But he never finished his words. The sudden movement from the doorway seemed to excite the guardians and a bolt shot from one of them, catching the guard in the face and propelling him backwards – dead before he hit the floor.
As his singed and blackened face lolled she realized it was the movement, the sudden movement that had set them off. She remained still, one eye on the deadly hovering insects, but also monitoring the centre of the room, where Starrick held her brother captive, sucking the life from him.
The situation was desperate now; Jacob was holding on but only just.
‘London will soon be rid of your chaos!’ Starrick roared. His eyes were wide and wild and saliva flecked his lips. ‘This city was a safe harbour. A light for all humanity. You would rather destroy the fabric of society. What alternatives do you propose? Bedlam?’
Freedom, thought Evie, but stayed silent. Instead she directed her efforts towards her brother, feeling his pain as if it were her own. ‘Jacob, resist,’ she called, and heard her own voice crack with helplessness and frustration. Her brother’s eyes bulged, and the tendons in his neck pulsed so hard she feared they might actually burst.
‘Evie,’ he managed, ‘stay back.’
‘You do not know how to use the artefact,’ Evie called to Starrick. ‘The Shroud was never meant for you.’
But Starrick wasn’t listening. He was applying more pressure to Jacob’s neck, the power surging through him as he did so. He snarled as he went to complete the death grip.
At the same time, as though they sensed events drawing to a close, the guardian drones had withdrawn, their pulsing light fading as they receded. Evie took the chance to dash forward with a shout of defiance. Her blade rose and fell but Starrick was enjoying the assistance of the artefacts and seemed to easily dodge the blow. At least she’d done enough to knock him off balance, though, and in the next instant Jacob was rolling on the stone, gasping and spluttering with his hands at his neck, released at last from the grip of Crawford Starrick.
Suddenly caught by the combined aura of the Shroud, the trunk and drone artefacts, Evie found herself disorientated, and in the next moment was taken by Starrick who held her in the same grip he’d used on Jacob.
‘Another Frye to feed on,’ he shouted triumphantly. His manic gaze bore into Evie. When they’d danced she’d wondered about his state of mind. Now she was in no doubt. Whatever was left of Crawford Starrick was in there somewhere but it was buried deep. He was in some other place. ‘I admire your pluck,’ he was saying, showering her with spittle, ‘but there is little you can accomplish now. Like Jesus himself, I am immortal. Behold the power of the Shroud.’
‘Jesus wore it better,’ she managed, but if Starrick heard her he made no sign, ranting on.
‘I will begin again. And this new London shall be even more magnificent. First you will fall, then the queen.’
Around her the guardians had begun orbiting with greater urgency. It was as if they responded to Starrick’s increased emotional intensity. Or perhaps – more likely – they were somehow inextricably linked to the impulses shooting through the Shroud he wore, themselves drawing off his excitement.
Either way, Jacob had pulled himself to his feet but they prevented him from coming any closer. Now it was he who urged her to stay strong and resist the darkness of Starrick’s death grip. Bolts shot from the drones, keeping him away.
‘No amount of planning or might shall beat me,’ Starrick was raving. ‘I have history on my side. London deserves a ruler who will remain vigilant, who will prevent the city from devolving into chaos.’
‘Chaos that you are about to cause,’ she shouted, and came in close, hoping to dodge the guardians and strike at Starrick.
She was too slow. A bolt of energy slammed into her, knocking her to the wall.
Starrick capitalized on this and with an almost unimaginable burst of strength pounced on her, his hand at her neck.
Now the Templar Grand Master held both Evie and Jacob. The power of the Shroud’s energy seemed to flow through the linen, through his arms and to the hands he made his claws, gripping the twins harder. Lifting them like trophies. Squeezing. They hung helpless, shoulders thrown back, chins jutting, jaws working with an agony so intense it refused to allow them even to scream.
And Evie felt the very life force was being drawn from her. Short of breath, her vision clouding, her muscles refusing to respond to any of the weak signals of resistance sent by her brain, Starrick’s claw-like hands gripped her throat, but it was as if he were driving the point of a pike into her neck.
‘Get. Out. Of. My. City,’ he snarled and these, she realized, would be the last words she ever heard because his grip was increasing, and her consciousness receding. Thoughts passed through her dying mind. Regrets that she would never have the opportunity to tell Henry how she felt about him. Visit Amritsar with him. How she would never make her peace with Jacob. Tell her brother she loved him. Say sorry things had turned out this way.
85
At first she believed she was hallucinating. Surely the figure in the doorway was an image projected to her in death, an out-of-focus product of wishful thinkin
g? She’d take it with her, she decided. Rather than the grinning, sweating insanity of Starrick, it would be this that she carried with her from this world to the next.
It would be Henry.
She saw his hand rise and fall. Light flashing on silver. Something spinning across the vault towards them.
And then from Starrick came a shout of pain, and his hold relaxed enough on her throat for her to see a knife handle protruding from his chest, a flower of blood already spreading across his shirt.
A familiar voice. Henry. He had come. It really was him in the doorway, resplendent in his robes, activating his blade, moving towards where Starrick was trying but now failing to maintain his grip on the twins.
The guardian drones, she thought, but couldn’t say. Henry, beware the guardians.
She saw one of them seem to shudder with fury then shoot a bolt of energy that snagged Henry’s shoulder hard enough to knock him off his feet and unconscious to the stone. At the same time both twins pulled themselves free, sprawling to the floor and gasping for air even as they arranged themselves into defensive positions, blades at the ready.
They needn’t have worried. Starrick looked beaten. Perhaps the guardians were still responding to him but not for much longer.
‘You’re weakening,’ shouted Jacob in triumph. He dodged a shot from a guardian drone. ‘You cannot maintain this.’
He was right. Blood was spreading across Starrick’s front and the Grand Master was already deathly pale. The probes glowed more faintly, their respective flight paths less certain.
‘The Shroud will not protect you,’ called Evie.
Starrick bared bloodstained teeth. ‘You are wrong,’ he said. ‘The people of this city, my people, shall supply its energy.’ Whatever power the Shroud gave him was fading now.
‘This city is bigger than you will ever be,’ Evie told him.
She and Jacob made to attack, and when Starrick pulled away, the Shroud fluttered off him and to the floor of the vault, releasing its host.
At the same time the guardian drones seemed to lose their energy, as though they too knew the battle was done, and they returned to the ornate First Civilization crate: theatregoers settling down to enjoy the show from the comfort of their box.
Starrick sank to his knees. His shoulders slumped and his head hung, regarding his scarlet shirt.
With Jacob covering Starrick, Evie ran to Henry, dropping to her knees and skidding across the stone towards him. She took his head in her lap and felt for a pulse. It was strong. He was alive, his eyelids already beginning to flutter.
‘Henry,’ she said, to let him know she was near. She cradled his head for a precious moment, allowing herself a kiss. There would be plenty more of those, she promised herself.
But first …
Evie straightened, turned and crossed to where Jacob stood over Starrick.
The twins looked gravely at one another. There was no honour to be had in slaying a mortally wounded man. But there was even less in letting him bleed slowly to death on the stone.
To finish him quickly and humanely was the right way. Their father’s way. The Assassin way.
They came forward.
‘Together,’ said Evie to Jacob and they ran him through.
‘London will perish without me,’ gasped Crawford Starrick as he died.
‘You flatter yourself,’ Jacob told him.
‘I would have made it into a paradise.’
Evie shook her head. ‘The city belongs to the people. You are but one man.’
‘I am at the very top of the order,’ said Starrick with what would be his very last breath.
‘The very top should be barricading their doors,’ stated Jacob. ‘We are the Assassins.’
Yes, thought Evie. She cast her gaze at the carnage in the vault and knew that, for the time being at least, the death was done. Soon, Evie and Jacob would dab their handkerchiefs in Starrick’s blood and then the twins and Henry would leave this vault, and knowing the Shroud’s true power they would leave it behind, to be sealed up and left in the care of the Crown. And tomorrow London would awaken as a city renewed and together the three Assassins would continue to bring it hope. There would be more battles to fight, she knew. But for now …
Epilogue
Henry was trembling a little he noticed. But that was to be expected. After all, it wasn’t every day that …
He composed himself and moved into the room where Evie sat studying the bouquet he had sent her, a perplexed look on her face, and he wondered if he were making a huge error of judgement. And if he was, how he would ever recover.
Because there was no doubting his feelings for her. None at all. He had fallen a little in love with her the second he first saw her. Their time together since had seen that feeling intensify into something so strong it almost felt like sweet pain, like a precious burden – the need to see her each day, just to be with her, breathe the same air as her; what interested her he found just as absorbing, and what made her laugh tickled him too. Just to share a working day with her brought him more happiness than he could remember since childhood. She wiped his soul clean of his years as The Ghost; she scrubbed the slaughter from him. She made him feel whole and new again. His love for her was something he marvelled at, like a rare butterfly, such was its colour and intensity.
And yet, like a butterfly, it could so easily take flight and escape.
Certainly Henry thought she felt the same way about him, but, aye, like Hamlet said, there’s the rub; he couldn’t be absolutely sure. All that time they had spent together researching the artefact had brought them closer, and for him feelings of friendship and attraction had swiftly blossomed into the love he felt now, this glorious renewal. But for her? Almost exactly a month ago she’d rewarded him with a kiss for saving her life. Was he reading too much into what might simply have been a hurried thank-you?
It was not long after those epochal events at the palace that he had found her in her study one day. She sat with one leg pulled beneath herself, leaning forward, arms on the tabletop, a pose he knew well, and he was sure that she blushed a little at the sight of him as he entered the room.
(But then again, on the other hand, maybe she didn’t.)
He’d placed his still-empty herbarium on the tabletop before her and watched her eyes go from her own reading to its cover.
‘A herbarium?’ she said. ‘Are you collecting flowers for someone?’
‘Only myself,’ he replied. ‘I’m told it’s something of a British pastime. Did you know they all have symbolic meanings?’
‘I had heard something of the sort,’ she said.
‘Of course you have. Unfortunately, I’ve had no time to fill the book.’
‘I’m sure I can find some samples, if you’d accept my help.’
‘I would appreciate that. Thank you, Miss Frye.’
And so they had, building up an impressive collection together over the weeks, searching for the meaning of their own relationship just as surely as they deciphered messages in flora.
‘Mignonette: your qualities surpass your charms,’ she said one day, as they pored over the now-bulging herbarium.
‘I’m not entirely sure if that’s meant as a compliment. “Love-in-a-mist”, that’s a pretty name.’
‘Alternately called “devil in the bush”’
They looked at each other and laughed.
‘Narcissus: self-love,’ she said, pointing it out. ‘I should buy a bouquet for Jacob.’
‘Unkind, Miss Frye,’ laughed Henry, but pleased – ple
ased the twins were reconciled – and pleased that she was able to see Jacob with a little more perspective.
‘Amusing as this all is, I really should get back to work. If you need me …’
‘I’ll send a bouquet,’ he said.
‘Of Irises.’
‘“A message.” Indeed.’
And so he had. He had assembled a delightful nosegay of iris, snowdrop, strawberry flower and red tulip, each of them well chosen, selected to say something he himself was finding it so hard to express. The man in the mirror scoffed at his indecision and uncertainty. Of course she feels the same way. She kissed you at the vault. The man who stood before it couldn’t be so sure.
‘A message …’ he watched her say, as her fingertips went to the snowdrop and strawberry, ‘of hope. Perfection?’
Next she went to the red tulip. More perplexed still. Unable to decipher the meaning behind this one.
And in the doorway Henry took a deep breath, cleared his throat and said, ‘… a declaration of love.’
She turned to see him there and stood from her seat, crossing to where he stood.
Falling over his words, he said, ‘I … Miss Frye, you must know that I hold you in the highest esteem … and regard. And I wonder if you would do me the honour of … If you would, give me your hand … in matrimony.’
Evie Frye took Henry’s hands, looked up into a face she loved with eyes that were misty with tears.
And, yes, he knew she felt the same.
List of Characters
Frederick Abberline: police officer, later promoted to sergeant
Ajay: Indian Assassin, custodian at The Darkness
The bodyguard: an ex-soldier who sees the error of his ways
Boot: a terrible pickpocket and an even worse courier
Sir David Brewster: scientist and Templar
James Thomas Brudenell: Templar, Starrick’s lieutenant
Assassin’s Creed® Page 257