The set up for a story that jumped into my head as I replayed Black Flag this weekend. Time Travel shenanigans, no modern day OCs planned, Story will revolve primarily around Mary Read, Connor, and Edward Kenway but I plan to give some of the smaller characters a good bit of 'screentime.'
Disclaimer: I very clearly do not own anything to do with the Assassin's Creed series.
Still timid buds peaked out from their branches. A rainfall had come by, coating the white and pink flowering trees in a light film, and so the buds were heavier than usual. For one the weight was too great. Its petals bent, spilling water onto the grass below. After a moment the bud righted itself, and even with a petal still out of place, you could not distinguish it from the buds around it. This is what Connor saw from the deck of his ship, the Aquila. There were other sights, and sounds to go with them but it was this one he took in as Myriam and Clipper discussed their guns.
"It's a damn killer, Clip. I'll give you that much," said Myriam as she leaned over the side of the ship. They were following the river all the way to sea and many fish were making the opposite trip. She spit a seed at one and watched the fish clamp its mouth around it. "Rips right through bone, doesn't stop at all. A little scary, if I'm honest. How long have you been working on this?"
Clipper laughed in his awkward way, as if he were afraid he didn't fully understand the joke and so wanted to leave himself an out. "Since I first saw a cork fly out of a bottle. I kept thinking how great that would work for a musket. But it wasn't until David explained to me how some metals expand if you get 'em under enough pressure and heat. Reckon he wasn't used to explaining his work to folks. Wouldn't talk to me unless I sat in front of him for near an hour."
Overhead, the sun shooed away the clouds, as if asking for enough time to dry the grass and whatever else the rain still clung to. With so warm an afternoon, it would not be long, thought Connor. He leaned back in his chair (foldable. One of Lance's few practical inventions). Last night had been painful. Ever since his fight with Lee, when that wooden board had pierced through his abdomen, Connor struggled with the basics. At a year old the wound still made eating, sleeping, even using the restroom leave him in agony. Often there would be blood. But right now, the ache was faint and so without its distraction, he felt his eyes grow heavy. Connor filled his nostrils with Spring before turning his head towards the wheel. "Mr Faulkner. Ms Carter. You have the ship," he called out.
"Aye, Captain!" Faulkner had a true sailor's voice. Whether cannon fire or squall, he could always be heard. It was one of the endearing things about him. Even his whispers could carry across a room. Then there was his beard. It was grey and peppered so that no matter how much he groomed, there was always something unkempt about Faulkner. "Ms Carter, you heard the captain."
"Yes, and I heard you too," said the forty-year-old. She smiled at Faulkner who gave her a disapproving look. It only encouraged you more. "They don't give you sailors in door voices, do they?"
"We say 'Aye' when we reply in the affirmative aboard a ship, Ms Carter," Faulkner corrected. "And we address superior officers as 'sir.'"
"Well what about me?" Dobby complained.
"What about you?" asked Faulkner, already tired of the assassin from New York.
"I'm no sir, so what do the men call me?"
"Loudmouth mostly," chimed in a teenage girl dressed like the sailors around her. Dobby laughed and shouted an oath at the teen. "Don't shoot the messenger."
"Ms Walston, you're aboard this ship as a favor to your mother and stepfather. You'll conduct yourself the same as any another sailor."
Connor watched the scene. He felt it was every bit as much a part of Spring as the rainfall (April Showers as the Englanders would say) of that morning. More of the pain in his stomach would not be long. And he could listen to his friends until it came. His tribe was gone. His father was dead as was Kanen'tó:kon and so many others. But here there was life. Connor could appreciate that much. There was suffering enough in the world without us inviting it into the few good moments in our lives.
"She's just excited, sir," a deckhand named Matthews joked. He was a freckled white man with brown hair he kept tied back at all times. "Her first taste of the open sea is only a few hours away."
That made Maria scoff. "Open sea? We're going to sail to New York and back. I wouldn't call that 'the open sea.'"
Every sailor within ear shot gave Maria a funny look. "Ms Walston, no journey out to sea is certain. Neptune's a fickle god at the best of times so I'll ask you to be mindful not to tempt him."
"Aye, sir!" the girl shouted in as clear a voice as she had. She was not a bad girl by any means and when she noticed the old man meant what he said, Maria abandoned her fun. There was none to be had at the expense of others, as her mother would often tell her.
More was said by the residents of Davenport and the Assassins Connor had trained but by then he was asleep. The sun on his face warmed him almost as much as the people around him. This trip was to be a holiday for them. Everyone had come. They were 'excited to play people of means' as David had said. That conversation was the last thought Connor had before dreaming of making arrows with his mother while Achilles and Haytham argued over what type of bird an eagle was. Connor smiled, content, for the first time in a long while.
Then the sun… blinked. One moment it was resting alongside clouds and the next it sat alone in the sky. No longer off at an angle either but almost directly overhead and making the day hot. Like the warmest New England July hot. The river too had changed. No longer was there land to cage it all in. No matter how far anyone looked all they could see was more water.
And the fish had all been replaced by dolphins!
Myriam cursed loud enough to wake Connor. The Assassin Master shot out of his chair forgetting for a moment the pain this would cause him and then suddenly realizing there was no pain at all. He touched the place that would always ached the most but felt only his hand pressing on his stomach. "Ms Carter," he said. "I will be taking the wheel. Please head below deck and verify we have our full manifest. See to it that every sailor is alert and that every cannon is fixed back into position."
"Will do, Connor," answered Dobby forgetting Naval customs. She had only taken a single step before white light surrounded the Aquila. It grew denser and denser, coalescing in the space just feet away from where Connor stood. Slowly, the light took shape becoming a tall bearded man wearing a toga and eagle shaped helmet. And if for no reason besides making the moment stranger, he seemed to be flickering in and out of focus.
"Oh good, I seemed to have worked it out after all. Juno looks to make her devices difficult to use on purpose," said the man.
"Who are you?" demanded Connor.
"You can call me Jupiter or Tinia if those names mean anything to you," he answered while looking around the ship as if inspecting it. "As to how I came to be here, that's too long a story and I'm pressed for time, Ratonhnhaké:ton." Connor raised an eyebrow at the mention of his name. "You've met Juno, haven't you? She asked you to join the Assassins, hide a special key for her?" Connor nodded but said nothing. His mind was racing, and he was struggling to keep down something like a roar. "Yes, I'm sorry about all that. I gave her too much free reign it seems. You don't need to know the specifics but centuries from now a descendant of yours will have sacrificed his life to stop a catastrophe. It was Juno's plan to engineer circumstances so that only a human's death could stop this calamity and a descendant of yours would be the only one capable of such a sacrifice. It is for this purpose she bid you hide that key.
"Juno, in time will come to be worshiped as a goddess. Her control over humanity will be absolute and the work I began will remain unfinished. You do not wish a world ruled by cruel gods, Ratonhnhaké:ton. And because your vision would further my own aims, I have brought you here to this time when you can realize the ambitions denied to you by circumstance." Jupiter began to flicker harder than before. His form bent as if being viewed through a glass cup. "This technology is promising. With Minerva's experiments this may all work yet." And with that Jupiter vanished.
For a full minute no one spoke, not even Faulkner who could usually be counted on to swear at the right times. It was so quiet, they could hear the goings on below deck where the other Assassins and Davenport residents were playing a jig. With all eyes on him, Connor spoke. "Dobby, I gave you an order," he said. Dobby stammered something between 'yes, sir' and 'aye, sir' but sounded like neither. "Myriam, please follow her. I have total confidence in your abilities as a hunter, but you have no experience with maintaining a ship. Clipper, head to the top and take your rifle. It will give you the best vantage point if we encounter belligerents."
"You think it likely, Captain?" whispered Faulkner into Connor's ear. "Encountering belligerents, I mean." The two men were now standing side by side as they have many times during the way with the British. Connor in his crisp blue uniform and Faulkner in his salty coat.
"I do not know what to think, Mr Faulkner," answered Connor truthfully. "But I do know work can clear the mind and calm the nerves of anxious men."
"Ourselves or the crew?" asked Faulkner. The two men smiled at each other.
"¿Que ves?" the Spanish captain, Don Juan Esteban de Ubilla, asked his first mate.
"No conozco la insignia, capitán," the man answered. "Pero me parece un mulatto que estar dando las ordenes."
The captain peered over the side of his ship at the strange vessel. It was quicker than a ship of that size had any right to be and under other circumstances de Ubilla would order his men to capture it. But his ship was too weighed down with gold for a long chase and passing oddities were how stories of shipwrecks began.
"¿Crees que son piratas?" asked the first mate. "No estamos lejo de Nassau."
"No con navío asi. Pero estamos en tiempos estrangero." Mendoza tapped the pistol he carried, something he did whenever lost in thought. "Disparenle, para que no se acerquen."
"¡Si, capitán!"
They were twelve ships strong, so the captain did not fear a straightforward attack. They had the numbers needed to weather that. Even if the English wanted to restart the war they'd need a fleet so big it'd be uncontrollable in a pursuit situation, and he'd be able to safely maneuver his ships back towards Havana under little threat. The real dangers were acts of God and the weird. If every month de Ubilla had spent at sea were laid next to each other they would map twenty uninterrupted years at the sea's mercy. In that time de Ubilla had learned that whatever cannot be controlled must be avoided. This ship with an unfamiliar ensign and mulatto captain was too great an unknown for him to want it near him.
de Ubilla had never heard the story of Peleus and Thetis on their wedding day.
A volley of cannon fire fell just short of the Aquila. "So much for saying hello," muttered Faulkner. He braced himself instinctively as some lucky cannonballs struck the side of the ship. "Why the hell would the Spanish fire on us? We're not still flying a British flag, are we? America and Spain are friends!"
Connor turned the wheel, moving them away from the Spanish convoy. "Friendships mean little to empires, but this is strange all the same. Perhaps Jupiter left us near Gibraltar and we have been mistaken for Barbary pirates."
"Still doesn't add up, Captain. Our flag's visible plain as day." Another cannonball struck the side of the ship. The old sailor stood to his full height and glared venom at the Spanish ships. "And they're a little small to be picking fights out here in the open. Only one third rate in the convoy by my count. The rest barely pass for fourth. The Aquila's seen worse than this lot."
"Be that as it may, I will not risk the lives of this crew or the civilians aboard over a few warning shots, Mr Faulkner."
"What about two pursuers?" Both Faulkner and Conner turned to look at Dobby. She pointed at two ships near the rear of the convoy. "They're breaking free of the formation."
"How many guns, Ms Carter?" asked Faulkner.
"Thirty, maybe a couple more."
"On each?"
"Looks like… Sir."
"Aye... They'll probably try to cut us off while the larger ships advance. Might even force us to fight on two fronts if they slow us down enough." The old sailor shook his head. Things were escalating beyond the point of no return. In the past, Spain had declared war over less. "Your orders, captain?"
Connor took a slow breadth. "We cannot commit to battle while there are civilians on board. The ships that pursue us must act in tandem to be successful. If we defeat one the other will not be able to prevent our escape. Ms Carter, what does the enemy's hull look like?"
"I don't know what you're asking me, Connor," Dobby admitted.
"It's hull, Ms Carter!" Faulkner all but shouted. "Has it got iron plating? About how thick is it? That sorta thing!"
"No iron plates," Dobby shouted back. "And I can't tell how thick it is. It looks boarded up in places. Like it just had some work done."
Faulkner nodded. "So she's seen action recently."
"That makes the decision for us," whispered Connor. There was no joy in killing but these men had forced his hand. "We will target that one."
"Line up right alongside her, captain?" asked Faulkner. "We'll weather her broadside much better than she'll weather ours and then it's straight sailing from there."
"We will make sure to position ourselves so that the enemy blocks their fleet's field of fire. Load the canons!"
Like the veteran crew they were, the sailors of the Aquila went about their worked with practiced ease. Even Maria who had been with the crew through only one cold fire drill fell into place. She held her cleaning sponge draped over a wooded rod and waited for the shot to be loaded. Into the cannon's barrel went the bare end of her rod, first when the powder was inserted and again when the shot was loaded. Her job complete, Maria stepped back. She stole a single glance towards the helm of the ship where Connor stood and then chastised herself for it. She wasn't that skinny girl who needed him to fight her battles anymore.
"¿Pero que en el infierno hacen?" shouted de Ubilla. His first mate visibly blanched and had to be shaken by his commander before he found his voice. "¡Habla! ¿Eres mudo?"
"No se, capitán, no se," the man stammered.
After the flagship fired on the strange vessel, two young captains (both viscounts) had leapt into action. The month before last each had been humiliated by the pirate Thatch and so they were eager for any chance to prove themselves capable naval captains. This foreign ship with strange ensigns looked the perfect target.
"¿Como que no sabes? ¿No fuistes el quien repitió mis ordenes?" The Spanish captain shoved his first mate.
"Creo que son del Senor Echeverz," the first mate muttered weakly, but de Ubilla wasn't listening. He was staring past the cowering man to the Aquila. Guns across three decks, he realized, and they were all about to open fire. There was no saving whatever idiot captain had decided to sally forth.
"¡Maldicion!"
Below deck aboard a makeshift prison ship, Edward Kenway and Adéwalé sat chained to a metal rod across the floor. It had been more than a day since their imprisonment but with no windows neither could be sure of the passage of time. They were lucky as far as prisoners go having a full three by five feet to themselves. The rest were laid up almost on top of each other, chained to whatever happened to be nearby. It was, as is typical of prisons, hot with little light and the smell of other unwashed bodies suffocating you at night.
The two sat in silence, too preoccupied with their recent failures to make conversation or even pay their new living conditions any mind. Cannon fire would force their hand.
"Jaysus, what is that?!"
"Our escape, I think." Adéwalé tugged on his chains and jerked his head towards the bar. "Help me with this?"
"Aye." The two men forced their weight to one side before quickly shifting it to the other. The iron bar that held them gave a little with each repetition until the lock at its end shattered. Edward was the first to make it to his feet. Adéwalé was clutching his wrist as if nursing some injury. "Who'd attack a Spanish fleet so close to Havana?" the Welshman asked. "Seems almost suicidal."
"All the better for us," replied Adéwalé. "Some of the smaller ships will head back to shore for reinforcements."
"Meaning there'll be no ship fast enough to pursue," Edward grinned at his fellow prisoner. "We just need to grab one of the brigs." He offered his hand. Adéwalé seized it and pulled himself up to his feet. "Edward. Edward Kenway."
"Adéwalé. Now enough pleasantries. We've a ship to steal."
"Think these lads know their way around one?"
"Most are privateers from my reckoning. The Spanish king wanted to make a big show of hanging pirates."
Edward stifled a laugh. Cannons or no they still needed to be quiet. "So that's why they didn't just shoot us. And here I was thinking it was our charming company."
"You Englishmen talk a lot," observed Adéwalé.
"I'm Welsh," Edward insisted with mock outrage. "But I see your point. I take right, you take left? Most guards will have gone to help with the battle.
The pair moved over the unlit floor like specters. Neither guard no prisoner saw them slink across the ship's makeshift prison. The deck had been divided into three parts; the aftward compartment where the prisoners were held, the center where the guards ate and went about their day, and the forward compartment where the guard's supply of munitions were stored. On their first night as prisoners aboard this ship, the guards had made a grand show of cooking meals right outside the holding cell. They shouted things too, but none save Adéwalé spoke Spanish. It didn't matter in the end. With their stomachs gnawing away at them, every prisoner understood well enough. Which is why Edward now grinned with anticipation.
Fortune tonight favored him, he could see. There was cannon fire to mask his steps even if he lost his footing and the guard's held the only light in the room. Fools that they were, they held the lantern up in front of their faces so that their eyes mistook the room for brighter than it was. Beyond them was the closed door with only a slit to look through so there was never any line of sight between the guardsmen inside the cell and those outside. Drop them quick enough and there'd be no response, not until hours later when the next set of guards were scheduled to take over. By that point they'd have every prisoner ready to take the ship, but they would not need that long. One guard could be taken and made to shout for the others to come then they could make a beeline for the weapons room.
All this Edward realized as he and Adéwalé moved across the room.
Impossible fights were routine for the Aquila. Countless ships sat at the bottom of the North Atlantic, victims of the Ghost of the North Seas. Edward Kenway had designed her to have the best qualities of a frigate and ship of the line. By gun count, at sixty-eight, she was a third-rate ship and as capable as any to stand in the line of battle but by maneuverability and speed she matched the best frigates of her day. The first of the Spanish ships that came for her was no match. It's thirty-two guns were impressive only to other ships of its epoch. To the Aquila's iron sides, they were only a little more dangerous than the war sloops so beloved by the British.
At two hundred meters the Spanish ship, El San Sébastien, opened fire with a full broadside. Her size allowed for easy maneuvering and her captain looked to take full advantage of that. El San Sébastien cut across the water like a knife, positioning itself quicker than any three gundeck ship But the Aquila was no man o' war. She was much smaller, and her weight more intelligently distributed. El San Sébastien wasn't nearly quick enough to fire and move before the Aquila could respond. One broadside would be all she'd be allowed.
El San Sébastien had meant to fire from much further away and pepper the larger ship while her sister vessel did the same, but she did not have the wind at her back. The Aquila did and with that boost in speed the already fast ship was able to force the engagement from much closer than El San Sébastien was comfortable engaging from. Furthermore, the smaller ship could never move in quite the direction she wanted as the Aquila would shift her own position and force the smaller ship straight into the wind. This negated the slight speed advantage El San Sébastien thought she would enjoy over the larger Aquila.
"Fire!" shouted Connor at the top of his lungs. The many guns and carronades of the Aquila's port side spat out furious cast-iron. Not one missed their mark. Aboard El San Sébastien men were split in two, cannons were reduced to useless clumps of hot metal, and wood splintered in every direction. She had her sails but there were not enough men to man what cannons she had left, no matter how her officers shouted. Before there could be any rally the Aquila's guns were reloaded. "Fire!" shouted Connor again.
El San Sébastien and what was left of her crew were ripped apart in that second volley.
"She didn't like that one," whispered Faulkner as he watched the enemy ship stop dead in the water. "That's her mainsail coming down now, captain. Think we got most of the crew too." El San Sébastien gave a long sad groan as her topsail slammed into its topgallant. The two collapsed onto the side of the ship and remained there, held in place by their rigging. Nothing else on the ship moved. "Poor bastards."
"Shit," cursed Dobby. "Connor, they're forming a line! And that other one is coming up behind us."
"Get those portside cannons ready!" The crew of the Aquila could be counted on to perform such obvious tasks without being told explicitly to do but Faulkner knew standards needed to be maintained aboard ships. Everyone had their place even if at times it felt redundant and his job at that moment was to make sure no matter the fog of war his sailors understood all of their captain's orders.
There was an odd thumping noise from the fleet. Dobby trained her spyglass onto it and saw half a dozen shells fired into the sky. "What the fuck?" The shells arced until they over the Aquila and the second attacking ship. "Connor?" the Assassin managed before Faulkner seized her and pulled her down towards him.
"MORTARS!" Connor and he shouted loud enough they were heard even bellow deck.
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