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1773

December 16th

"I was shaken awake by my mother one night, two years ago," a young woman, barely out of her girlhood, explained to a man in his late forties. He was wearing a black overcoat that covered his broad shoulders, and beneath that a blue, very neat coat. Altogether, the man made a very clean and neat impression on the girl. She herself was clad in leather clothing. Her skin was dark, as that of a Native, and generally everything about her would have proved her Indian heritage. But on a closer look, her fine face, her small nose, her small, red lips, betrayed that she was not completely of Indian blood. When she began to speak in English, an accent furthermore helped to reveal one part of her heritage – at least to the man listening to her it was quite clear.

"She told me we would leave my father, to make our way into the East, where I would be able to live a life apart from the danger the settlers would prove to our tribe sooner or later. She thought it would be best to get ourselves into the civilized world. I had no choice, she gave me none." She paused, hanging on to the memory of leaving her tribe it seemed.

"As soon as we reached the first settlements, we got into trouble over and over again. The men were not very kind to us – especially me. My mother they understood to be European all over, but I…my mixed heritage was too obvious. So we got into an ambush one day. They tried to hurt us, but my mother –" Here she paused again for a moment, to collect herself, "She made an escape for me. I had to leave her behind, but when I turned to look back once more, I saw her being killed by one of the men."

She looked up at the man, not having done so up to that point, as if to request whether he had heard enough. He nodded slowly.

"And what then?" he inquired, and a sort of anger flashed in her black eyes for a second. She sat straight, and assumed a prouder countenance.

"I was alone. I survived – somehow. I learned the language of the settlers by listening, and watching. I was left alone mostly. I do not know why the attacks on me got less, maybe because, the further I got East, the more civilized and friendly the people became. That is, until I got to Boston, until you caught me, for reasons I am still not aware of."

The man smiled, but in his smile the girl recognized a certain cunning that she had rarely seen before in any man. He was not smiling for benevolence or friendliness; he was smiling because he was following a scheme. It set her into high alarm, but at the same time it also fascinated her.

"I must apologize if you think of me and my friends as rude, but I had to find out who you are – for personal reasons I cannot disclose to you. You…reminded me of someone. But it seems I was mistaken. I will let you go, and as a means of apology I will give you some money. You seem to be in need of it."

She narrowed her eyes as he procured some Pounds out of one of his pockets and held them out to her. Not under any condition was she going to take that money. What did he take her for? He understood, and withdrew his hand.

"Charles, please, guide our guest to a place that suits her," he commanded, and the man with the eyes that were as cold as ice walked towards her with a smug grin.

"Now do not cause a commotion, dearie. I will not hurt you, if you are a good girl." She met his eyes with a dead stare, but remained unmoved and let him apply the eye blind to her. She was not supposed to see where their hideout was.

Earlier that day, Connor had been on his way to meet Sam Adams, to speak with him about William Johnson and his plans to buy the land of his people. He had almost been at the meeting place, when he had perceived the voice of Charles Lee, the man whose voice, and face, and very appearance, had burned itself into his memories twelve years before. Immediately Connor had made his way towards the voice, of course well hidden, so that no fight would ensue. He was not planning to eliminate Lee then and there, but he had wanted to know what he was about.

What he had seen was that Lee had taken captive a girl. The very same girl his father had just finished interrogating. He had followed Lee, to find out why she had been taken hostage by the Templars, and had sat still close to a window of the Green Dragon, listening to the conversation. He knew that his father probably had a notion that he had a child, but obviously he did not know that it was him, Connor, he was searching for. He had given Lee the mission to take any Indian looking person in his age captive so that he could interrogate him or her. But in this case, it was too obvious that she could not be his child.

Now he was following Lee again, quietly, a mere shadow on the roofs of Boston, to the place where he would dispatch the girl. Why he was doing this? Well, he wanted to find out what the fate of the girl would be, and help, if it turned out to be a would be fatal end.

But in this case, it seemed the Templars were more true to their word than he was willing to give them credit for. She was thrown into a puddle of mud – a place that suited her according to Lee's thinking, apparently – and left behind. Lee left, but Connor was not as stupid as to jump down and help her up just now. She was safe, for now, and although Connor had been very cautious, he could not afford being discovered. He did not like it, and hesitated a few times, but eventually he had to leave her there and proceed with his primal intend – meet Sam Adams.

"The people are angry, Connor. They did not like the Stamp Act, and they do not like the Tea Act either, no matter how well disguised it comes," Sam Adams explained. Connor nodded.

"So what will we do?" he asked. Sam Adams smiled.

"There lie two ships in the harbor of Boston, filled with tea crates, waiting to be unloaded, but the permission was not yet given. As long as it is not given, Johnson cannot sell his tea, and thus cannot afford buying your people's land." Those were good news, but Connor was clever enough not to trust his good luck before the end of the day.

"Sooner or later we will not be able to postpone the unloading any longer though. The people stand ready to do whatever it takes to destroy the crates, but the ships are well guarded, and most of our helpers are not exactly soldiers," Adams said. Connor smirked.

"This is where I come in, I suppose?"

"Correct. If you could eliminate the guards and protect us while we sink the crates, Johnson's plan will be defeated."

"When will it start?" he wanted to know. Sam Adams mustered the young assassin, trying to make out whether he was asking out of impatience, or out of the wish to delay the bloody task – without success.

"This evening, when the sun has set, by the docks." Without another word Connor vanished into a side street, leaving the revolutionary to stare after him. He shook his head and pursued his own way.

Sundown was still a little while off, so Connor had decided to take the time to search for the girl Charles Lee had dealt with. He had no difficulties to find the spot where that villain had left her, and after making sure that the area was safe, he tried to find hints that could lead him to her whereabouts. He did not find much though, except for the blind they had used on her, and that she had dropped in the spot where she had been left behind. He took a look around and realized that there were some people around the place. Maybe someone had seen her not too long ago; after all she was not that easily to be overseen.

He turned towards a man who had kept a close eye on him while he had examined the spot, and now looked away disinterestedly. He obviously did not want to get involved with Connor. Luckily enough for him, he would not, for Connor's intentions were interrupted. Someone screamed, "Stop that nasty thief!" and he quickly turned into the direction the scream came from, finding that the very person he was searching for came rushing towards him, followed by some very angry men. When she came close to him she slowed down a little, but passed him by, only to hide behind him. He felt her grab the cloth of his coat, a plea to help her, and making a connection between the two of them which he could not deny now.

Connor, being the valiant man he was, did not think one second of abandoning her, and was willing to solve the problem at almost any cost. The men stopped in front of him and eyed him cautiously. Apparently they did not mean to pick a quarrel with him. He assumed a passive stance, folding his hands in front of himself.

"Gentlemen, how can I help?" he asked in his politest voice. They pointed at the girl, who was glancing at them shyly from behind his back.

"She stole money from us!" one of them claimed nervously. As he had expected.

"Well, would the matter be settled if she gave you back your money?" he asked, and perceived her inhaling sharply upon his proposal.

The men looked at each other questioningly for a moment, and then nodded in unison at him. Connor glanced down at the girl, who eyed him suspiciously, but after a short moment set out to give back the stolen money. She held it out to the men, and they grabbed it rudely from her, but did not dare to become insulting or worse, keeping a close eye on Connor all the time.

When they were gone, the girl also wanted to leave, without so much as a thank you, or even a glance back at Connor. Quickly, yet gently, he got a hold of her wrist and made her turn to him. A spark of anger flashed in her dark eyes as she watched him dropping some coins into her hand. He smiled at her.

"Take this as a gift. You can use it to get some food at the inn down the street and maybe a room for yourself to rest in as well. The only thing I would ask of you is to wait for me there if you do not have any other urgent plans. I have a proposal to make," he explained.

She eyed him distrustfully as he let go of her. He wondered what it was that made her so wary of him. Was it because his father had kidnapped her? Was she scared of Connor? But she had to see that he meant no harm, being half native.

"Thank you," she finally said, and Connor took this as an affirmation to his request.

She turned down the street, into the direction the stranger had directed her to. He was right, she could use some food and rest, and the money he had given her was very welcome. Not that she could not have stolen some – for real, this time – but it was easier the honest way. She wondered what had moved him to do that though. Yes, she had drawn him into her troubles, but that did not mean that he had to help her beyond that. She wondered whether she could really trust him. He did not seem to have anything bad in mind, so much was sure. Still –

Her contemplations were interrupted by someone small bumping into her. A pair of happy eyes stared up at her, and she smiled involuntarily. She kneeled down to the little boy she had already met once that day.

"Hello my little one," she greeted the dark skinned chap.

"Thank you for helping us," the boy said, and showed her a big piece of bread. She smiled a little more and ruffled his coarse black hair.

"Did your friends get some, too? Will you be all right for a while now?" she asked. He nodded eagerly.

Her eyes lit up as an idea sprang to her mind. She got out the money she had been given and counted it, the boy watching her with growing interest. She gasped. The money was enough to pay for a whole week's stay at an inn. She wondered whether he had knowingly given her that much. However, she thought it prudent to let someone share in his generosity, and gave a few coins to the child.

"Here, take this so you don't have to steal your bread the next few times," she said with a smile. The boy beamed at her, and, after placing a quick peck on her cheek, rushed off to wherever his friends were.

Feeling a lot better now, she again picked her way to the inn. The sun had almost set – it happened so fast at this time of the year – and she was glad to have some shelter for the night. Upon entering the inn, she found it crowded with mostly men of the white and meaner type. The view raised her hackles, but what had she expected? She felt their eyes on her – of course a girl like her was sure to attract no little attention – and instinctively assumed a defensive posture while making her way to a single empty table, on her way trying to avoid being grabbed by anyone. She settled down quietly, and watched the scenery for a while. The men were drinking, burping, laughing, and they smelled of sweat and their beverages, and made an altogether bad impression on her.

"How can I help you, sweetheart?" a woman in her late forties asked her, and thus shifted her attention from the men to her grumbling stomach.

"Please, I am quite hungry, so would you bring me whatever you think would suit me best?" The woman eyed her curiously for a moment. Whether it was because of her foreign accent, which she could not hide very well, or because the woman was trying to choose what suited her customer best, she could not tell. But eventually she nodded and rushed off, ignoring all the greedy hands reaching out for her butt. The girl shook involuntarily and wondered whether sleeping in that place was a good idea.

Enjoying her food with all the men surrounding her, and trying to get at her by whatever means they were clever enough to think of, was not very easy. At some time or other, one of them had sat down in front of her, mustering her arrogantly, or saying things to her that will not be repeated at this point. But she endured that, and ate quietly. It was when she was done that the door of the tavern was flung open violently, and a boy rushed in.

"They are destroying the tea!" he called out several times, and thus set the whole tavern into motion. In no time everyone was up and running about, grabbing their hats and trying to stay on their feet in the overall commotion. And then, all of a sudden, the place was quiet. Only the thick air and the smell of beverages lingered, and maybe some drunkard who had overdone it was sleeping in a corner. The barmaid let out a deep, frustrated sigh.

"So much for business this night," she said to the owner of the tavern, who just shrugged.

"At least they are fighting the damn taxes, Betty," the man grumbled. Betty the Barmaid shrugged as well, and went about clearing the mess that had been left behind.

"Excuse me," she asked, and Betty looked at her.

"How can I help you?" She got up from her seat.

"How much do I owe you?" The woman cleaned her hands with her apron as she was thinking. She got a little impatient, and simply put an amount of money onto the table which was sure to cover the expenses, and wished the people a good night before leaving the place. There was no way she was going to stay there for the night to give her unknown benefactor the possibility of finding her. Another inn would have to be found.

December 17th

Early in the morning, after a refreshing slumber, she had mounted her horse and had followed her mother's advice: to find a person called Achilles Davenport. After a whole day of travel she had now reached the place she had been directed to, and was marveling at its beauty. There were trees, as far as the eye could see, most of them coniferous trees, which gave the woodland-scenery a rich green. Between these trees, there were others, of some height, and with strong branches, but without leaves. The whole valley was surrounded by mountains and cliffs. The cold, sharp air was indicating that winter would soon have a firm grip on the landscape, and the silence of nature emphasized that notion.

She moved her horse to follow the road, and soon found two figures approaching her. One was a man shouldering a mining pick, the other a woman shouldering a rifle. They were chatting, but when they spotted her they instantly stopped both their movement and their talking, and fixed their attention on her. She tried to approach them lightly, but could not help noticing the wariness in their faces. Well, it was a good thing to have wary neighbors, she guessed.

"Can we help you somehow?" the woman asked. She stopped her horse beside them, and wondered for a moment whether it was safe to inquire after Achilles Davenport. If she did, they would wonder what she would want of him. If she didn't, they would wonder what she wanted there at all. Either way, she was sure a close eye would be kept on her.

"Is there an Achilles Davenport to be found here?" The man's face cleared up a little. He turned and pointed at a mansion upon a hill, and then, with a French accent, said, "He lives up there!" She nodded, thanked him, and quickly set her horse into motion before the more mistrustful woman could interfere.

After his fruitless search for the girl he had helped out so generously he finally entered the homestead again. The frustration he had felt for not finding her anywhere still lingered with him, but the sight of home consoled him a little. What did it matter anyway? If she was not interested in his kindness it was just as well. Sure, the money was gone, but it was not an irreparable loss. On his way to the mansion he greeted the homesteaders that happened to pass him by, and by the time he reached the mansion, he had discarded his frustration. It had been stupid to let that incident occupy his thoughts that much in the first place. After all, he had achieved a great victory against William Johnson by destroying the tea.

Contentedly he entered the mansion, without even having taken notice of the foreign horse tied to the bar he had tied his to. He heard Achilles's voice in the parlor and decided to check on him before changing clothes. He wondered who was bearing him company as he made a beeline for the room. He entered, and looked at Achilles first, for he was sitting with his face to the doorframe. His eyes wandered to the dark shock of hair of the visitor, and it seemed familiar to him. But it could not possibly be, right?

"Connor, we have just been talking about you," Achilles said, getting up, and at the same time the visitor got up, and turned to him with a smile. That smile, however, was replaced by sheer surprise very quickly.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, her brown eyes widening. He could not really tell how much his face expressed his bewilderment, but he supposed it was quite a bit. A sheepish grin crept back onto her face and she reached for a pouch that was attached to her belt. "I suppose I owe you…" She reached for his hand and dropped money into his palm, and he looked at it, dumbfounded. Fortunately, his mind was recovering soon enough to make his rebuff seem natural.

He crossed his arms in front of his chest and looked down at her. "You owe me an apology, most of all," he stated drily.

"You two know each other?" Achilles stepped in. The girl turned to the old man, but before she could answer Connor said, "No. Would you care to introduce me?" She shot a shrewd glance at him, and Achilles confusedly ventured to do as he had asked.

"Connor, this is Alejandra da Costa, the daughter of one of my earliest recruits. Alejandra, this is Connor." Connor frowned.

"Recruits?" he asked.

"My mother is an Assassin. And so am I."

He smirked, and although he was not usually the audacious kind of person, he prompted, "You should work on your skills, in that case." He caught a reproaching glance from Achilles. She, however, only rolled her eyes, but did not seem to consider it necessary to defend herself.

"By the by, Alejandra, where is your mother?" Achilles asked, and she turned to him, drawing up her shoulders.

"She is somewhere in Europe. Alive, I hope," she said. Achilles let out a deep sigh. "She left me here three years ago, saying I could survive on my own and that she had every right to think of herself now." The old man sat back in his seat and looked a little weary.

"That is just like her…" he muttered, and then looked up at Connor. "Would you mind showing Alejandra around? I think she would like to stay with us for a while, or am I mistaken?" She nodded slowly.

"If you don't mind, that is," she said, addressing Connor. He shrugged.

"Only give me a moment to get changed," he said, and with an acknowledging nod at Achilles he left the room.

He found her outside, leading her horse into one of the stables, and found that his was already lodged. He smiled as she turned to him.

"It is really generous of you to take me in," she said as she closed the stable's door. He shrugged.

"I see no reason why we should not," he said truthfully, and she narrowed her eyes. Then she laughed.

"I see quite some reasons," she said, and smiled as she noticed his puzzled face. "For all you know of me I might be a Templar spy." He raised an eyebrow. Although he considered this very unlikely, he saw a point there.

"I will make sure not to turn my back on you, then," he said. She nodded.

"You are well-advised to do so," she told him with a grin, and then passed him by. "Let us move a bit, I am getting cold."

He caught up with her. "While we do you could tell me a bit about yourself.

"Oh no, I would rather not," she refused, and he frowned.

"How am I to judge whether you are trustworthy then?" She giggled.

"You don't really mean to build your trust on my story, do you?" He tilted his head, and shrugged. "I could tell you the greatest lies about myself and you would not even notice." He smirked.

"I think I would," he said quietly. She shook her head with a grin. He stopped and turned to her. "What makes you think I would not?" She put her arms akimbo and mustered him with a smile.

"If I told you now that when we first met I was not running away from these men because I actually failed stealing from them... Let us say I stole from them in such an obvious manner as to draw their attention to myself to give some hungry children the opportunity to steal a little something to eat from them. Truth or lie?" He mustered her for a moment, trying to see in her eyes whether she was lying or not. He considered the way she had hid herself behind him that day, and how scared she had been, and was quite sure that she was lying. He told her so, and earned her laughter.

She held something out to him next, and it looked like his money pouch. Upon examining his belt, he found that it was. He stared at it in disbelief, taking it from her. She crossed her arms in front of her chest and watched him fastening it to his belt again – this time with twice as much care as he had before. How had she managed to steal it from him so easily? Well, no matter how, if she could steal from him unnoticed, she could steal from most people unnoticed, proving her tale to be true.

"You would do best to judge me on the basis of my actions," she said quietly, without the slightest hint of haughtiness, which he had to give her credit for.

"Actions can lie just as words do," he said as he attached the pouch to his belt again, making sure to fix it better this time. She shrugged.

"You are right. And there is nothing I can say to convince you otherwise, because everything I could say would possibly be a lie." He walked up to her.

"I will rely on the old man's judgment then, until I know you better."

"Connor." Achilles stepped into his room and closed the door behind him. Connor, sitting at his table, caught up in reflections, looked up at him. "I have heard of your so called Tea Party." Slowly Connor nodded.

"I hope Johnson will refrain from buying my people's land now." Achilles got himself a chair and seated himself at the head of the table.

"I think you should have killed him while you could," Achilles said. Connor had expected something in the way, and remained accordingly quiet.

"If he recovers from this financial blow and tries to buy the land again, I will." The old man acknowledged his words silently.

"What do you think of Alejandra?" he then asked animatedly, making Connor wonder how one could change his mood so quickly. But, to be honest, he had noticed Achilles's happiness about her presence before. He drew up his shoulders when he tried to think of an answer to his question.

"I really do not know what to make of her. She herself told me that she could not be trusted. And she refused to tell me anything about herself." Achilles mustered him questioningly, and Connor started recounting their conversation to him. When he was done, the older man leaned back in his chair, with a bemused grin, crossing his arms in front of his chest.

"Her mother has indeed taught her well," he said musingly. Connor frowned, and Achilles sat up again. "Let me enlighten you just a little. Fernánda, Alejandra's mother, came to me when she was ten years old. She was an orphan coming directly from Spain. I endeavored to train her, and soon discovered that she had an amazing skill in deception. Her enemies could never be sure of her. At the same time though, we could always count on her. When she was seventeen, she left for a long time, and came back pregnant. She had fallen in love with an Indian chief, of the Dakota, if I recall correctly. But she had left him for fear for her child, and she left us, too, for the same reason. She vanished. We tried finding her, but to no avail. And now it seems she is in Europe."

"And what does that tell us about Alejandra?" Connor interposed. Achilles smiled.

"It tells us that she grew up with a very caring, but strict mother, who taught her all she knows before leaving her."

"That alone justifies that we trust her now?"

"How come you are so bent on not trusting her?" The old man scrutinized him in wonder, and Connor let out a deep sigh, looking out of the window.

"I cannot tell. It is just…she is not very disposed to trust me, I think." Achilles laughed heartily, holding his stomach from doing so. As his laughter subsided he put his left hand onto Connor's right shoulder.

"You should not forget that, as a female, she is in a more difficult position than you are. She has probably learned very early to watch her back, especially when it comes to men. If Fernánda has taught her only half as well as I think she will always be suspicious of our intentions." He mustered him for a moment before continuing, "As to her own trustworthiness, I suggest you take her with you whenever you can. I want you to find out how well trained she is, and I want you to watch her very closely. Her actions will speak for themselves. And keep in mind, Connor, that you have already learned a bit about her today: she did not lie to you, and she helped out starving children in Boston." With that he got up, and left the room. Connor let out a deep sigh, and rubbed his eyes, groaning. What had he gotten himself into?