Achilles Davenport sat inside his home with a bottle of whiskey on the small table in front of him. Connor was at the bay helping Captain Faulkner build the Aquila along with the loggers Godfrey and Terry who supplied the wood for the ship. On a much warmer day Achilles might help with decorating or stripping finer pieces of wood but time had not been kind to the old man, he rather staying inside in the warm than have his bones creak and ache at the end of a hard day in the cold.

Fresh snow fell around the homestead coating the wilderness in more blankets of white over the thin layer of ice. The fire in the reading room blazed with the embers and smoke flickering up the chimney. Achilles' head lolled against the back of his chair. He started to dose off but a loudly cooing messenger pigeon woke him from his short nap. The old man blinked away the sleepiness in his eyes and stared at the pigeon on the windowsill.

Achilles heaved a sigh and stood up leaning on his walking stick to help. He grumpily walked to the window and opened it. Cold winter air rushed into the warm room sending shivers up Achilles' spine. He removed the message container from the bird's leg and rolled open the piece paper that was inside. It was addressed personally to Achilles but he failed to recognise the hand it was written in. Who would write him a letter?

Achilles, it said.

You do not know me nor may even remember me as we were passing acquaintances once in Boston a little over a year ago. It was when I was with my mentor, or trainer, whatever, Bartholomew Halon, who you've only met on a few occasions. I write to you so that you might help me in a predicament I have gotten myself into. I saw you in Boston not long ago and hope that you are active once again if not in battle then as a mentor of some sort.

Achilles rubbed his forehead and sat back down in his chair.

My mentor had been tracking down a man, whose name I'd rather not reveal in writing, for countless slaughters of innocent people across Europe and the Colonies. But with my mentor dead and my current carer ill I need some extra help with assassinating this man as I cannot do it alone. He is now here in Boston and I will thoroughly take this opportunity to kill him.

I understand that you yourself maybe too old to help with such a feet so I implore you to send someone you trust to my aid. I will be waiting in the Prancing Pony in Boston for your assassin to arrive at noon within the next few days and tell them to find a woman called Mary Baker there. I'll inform your Assassin of more once I see them.

Please send word when you receive this so I know help is or isn't coming.

Thank you, sir.
ES was signed at the bottom with a flourish.

Achilles smiled. This would be great for Connor to learn to work with other Assassins and learn how, even though apprentices are taught differently throughout the world, they always strive for the same goal. To save freedom. Achilles got up and walked to his writing deck and took out a piece of paper; he dipped his quill in the ink and wrote the reply:

Help is coming.

Achilles.

He rolled the paper, put it into the container on the bird and quickly sent the pigeon on its way. Achilles shut the window and locked it. He would wait for Connor to get back from the bay to tell him of the letter as the night was rolling in over the coast and he would soon be back. In the meanwhile Achilles settled himself back into his chair in front of the fire and dozed off with the flames licking the wood.

"Achilles, I am back." Connor announced entering the manor. Another gust of cold air blew into the house but the young Native American didn't care as he'd spent the majority of the day out in the cold. The door closed and he walked, stomping off snow that covered his shoes and brushing off the white on his shoulders and hair.

Achilles awoke from his slumber, straightened his clothes, and got to his feet with a tired groan. "I'm in the reading room, Connor." The old man said. Connor followed the voice. Achilles grabbed the folded message that he left on the wooden table and turned to face Connor who promptly entered the room.

His tan face was fairly mucky from the day's work and the bottom of his trousers and the end of the sleeves were damp from the ocean and melting snow. His dark hair shone from the melting snow. "What is it?" Connor asked noticing the man's poor attempt at hiding a smile.

Achilles gave Connor the paper. "You leave tomorrow at first light." He spoke while Connor read, "I've already sent word telling her of your coming. This will be a great opportunity for you to work with another Assassin."

Connor nodded at that, he didn't mind that Achilles had prematurely send word, and the reason he gave was fair- he looked forward to working with another Assassin. Then Connor looked up with a confused face having read the rest of the letter, "I thought you said there were no other Assassins in the Colonies?"

"She probably from England or some other European country."

Another question played on his mind. "If I am looking for a woman named Mary Baker then why is the message signed ES?"

Achilles shrugged in replied, "I speculate is that she's using another name due to the nature of her work but I could be wrong. Same assassinations require the upmost secrecy."

Connor nodded at that and tucked the note in his trouser pocket. "I will get my belongings together tonight and I will leave in the morning."

Achilles nodded. "Good. Take a horse too." He gestured for them to leave the reading room and he put his arm over the young native's shoulders. Achilles smiled, "You can tell me all about the Aquila during supper."