Haytham and Charles had spent much of the day going here and there, and when they returned to the Tavern, another man was among them. Thomas Hickey, it was later learned—the next day, in fact, when all seemed idle and Murkrow overheard Charles and Haytham conversing. The Flying-type had actually stayed in the area, and on the next day moved to another rooftop to watch them from a different angle. No one saw it; or no one cared that it was there. Still, it stuck close, and on that gratuitous day it gained exciting new information that only ensured reward.
"I hadn't had the chance to tell you, sir," Charles said as their initial subject veered off into a pause, "of something I came into possession of."
"Oh?" Haytham wondered simply. "And what have we been keeping to ourselves?"
"I'd forgotten about it, in fact," Charles quickly added to make up for any misunderstanding between the two. "A man gave it to me only yesterday. A rock of some kind."
"This interests me how?"
Charles reached into a pocket and pulled out a dark, purple stone. There was a murky shine about it, and it seemed clouded with darkness beyond the surface. He had no explanation for it, and held it up in front of the Grand Master so that he too could examine it. There was certainly something alluring about it, especially when it caught the sunlight. This was something Murkrow had seen as well, and its eyes widened in surprise and desire.
Murkrow were known for admiring and even collecting shiny objects, but this one was so much more than a polished rock.
"The gentleman didn't elaborate upon it, but it might be of value."
Haytham looked at his accomplice, but his face showed how little he was impressed. "I'm not interested in money, Charles."
"I mean significance, sir—for us."
"Oh, then do tell me what you have in mind."
Charles' expression turned to one of gravity, and in a quieter voice he continued: "Have you not taken into account the very presence of this rock? Its appearance alone begs a pause. The original owner might not have had an inkling as to what this fragment holds, but in our hands we can discover its purpose."
Kenway was still not sold. His head swayed in skepticism. "And if it is no more than a rock? An oddity of nature, yes, but nothing more beyond that? Charles, I—"
"I understand your doubts, sir," Charles interrupted gently, his voice rising to its usual timbre. "But I should still like to hold on to it. It can't be said what we might learn of this in time." Something about Charles' face gave the impression that he was a child trying to persuade a parent, and the Grand Master evidently picked up the hint.
"You need not my permission. Do with it what you will," he said flatly. "Keep it, toss it, even sell it—so long as it does not control your main focus. Am I understood?"
In a burst of childlike excitement, Charles replied, "Perfectly, sir! I would never let a trifling thing bind me. You have my word."
Haytham said nothing as the conversation drew to a close, but only observed the stone once more as Charles withdrew it.
An alluring little thing, indeed.
Murkrow was more determined than ever, now with a definite goal in mind. It would steal the rock, plain and simple. These humans had no need for it, whereas Murkrow could do everything and more with it. It glided over to a rooftop adjacent to the Templars' position, right in Houndoom's line of sight, and induced from it a series of barks and snarls.
Charles was not amused by the racket and made a point to correct the canine with a swift, strict tongue; but Haytham was more forgiving, and encouraged Lee to let the poor thing alone.
"Now, Charles, there's no need for hostility. It's only speaking to that Murkrow over there."
"Quibbling, I think you mean, sir. Quibbling."
"And I don't blame it," Haytham sighed. "That bird has been following us for some time. Since yesterday, as a matter of fact."
Charles bothered long enough to study the Flying-type that stood neatly atop the roof. He was perplexed, and turned to Haytham to ask, "Are you sure, sir? That very one?"
"I am confident, Charles. I think it's taken an interest in us. Perhaps it wants something."
At this, Murkrow yelled.
Haytham stepped forward, locking eyes with the Pokémon, and rose his voice slightly when he decided to speak directly to it. "I don't know what you want, but your persistence is tiring. Either leave us in peace, or make your intentions clear."
Charles offered a hint of rationale, but Haytham too was persistent. Murkrow's eyes glinted, ignoring Haytham for the moment as it observed Charles' closed hand, where it knew he held the stone. But it would not reveal what it wanted so easily.
"Is it food?" Haytham asked it. "We would be more than happy to accommodate you."
Some sarcasm was detectable.
This, however, provided no satisfaction for the Murkrow. It could pilfer food from anybody, anywhere. It cawed again, this time leaning forward with heightened exuberance. All Haytham needed was a little more time before he realized—or, made another educated guess, rather.
He turned to Charles, held out his hand, and presently gained possession of the purple artifact. He showed it to the bird, who could not resist gaping at the sheer brilliance of the thing.
"It's a fact that birds are attracted to luminous objects," Haytham stated matter-of-factly. "Would this satisfy you?"
"Sir!" Charles interjected in protest, suddenly wide-eyed. He had intended to keep the thing, after all.
But Murkrow would not be placated without earning its pleasure first. Some mischief was still in order, and it was resolved to have some fun with Haytham before the day was done. It spread its wings, expressing anger as if it had been insulted by his offering. "Murkrow!" it called repeatedly.
"This is such nonsense," Lee declared. "Better to scare it off than appease it. Houndoom, take care of this."
"No!" Haytham cautioned adamantly, yet Houndoom was not bound by the Grand Master, and unleashed a stream of fire directly at the Murkrow.
The playful creature avoided the flames, swooping down at a steep angle and removing the fabric topper that Haytham habitually wore. In the confusion, it made off with his garment, and Haytham would not leave well enough alone. He was not a man to be taken advantage of, and this was more or less caused by Charles and his haste.
"Damn!" Haytham cursed as he felt his hair. "Charles!"
"Master Kenway, I had no—"
"Stay here. Don't come after me."
With that, he darted off hot on the Murkrow's trail. He scaled over a building, and disappeared as he leapt across the rooftops. Charles Lee could no nothing, even if he wanted to. Houndoom, too, was left clueless, but not with as much guilt as its human. It sat beside him while he merely stood in place. He would be sure to wait for Haytham right where he was left.
How was he to know that it was wrong to attempt to send the Flying-type away?
And would Haytham even return with the stone he borrowed from Charles, or would he use it to barter with the bird? That is, if he were to catch up with the damned thing.
"Bloody Charles," Haytham had gasped between breaths.
He was, surprisingly, able to keep Murkrow in his line of sight. Perhaps his heightened senses had something to do with that. Nevertheless, he bounded after his target all across the city, sometimes calling out for it to stop whenever he could catch his breath for long enough.
But he never faltered, never considered the possibility of giving up. He kept the momentum going, sticking above ground as he fluidly moved over roofs. Besides, a Flying-type Pokémon would do the same.
And if it stopped, it certainly wouldn't in the streets.
Ah, but the situation began to look promising not long after the start of the chase. The Murkrow was tiring, allowing the gap between it and its pursuer to shorten. The weight of its burden was only then becoming a realization. The Pokémon had made a grand mistake by not taking this into account. Thus, it found itself inevitably defeated.
With energy draining, the Murkrow could not expend itself any further—but Haytham was fitting perfectly into its plot so far. It made a descent for a two-story building, one wide enough to accommodate itself and the human; and so it landed, turning to face the Templar who'd impressively caught up with it. He was out of breath, but as his chest heaved he did not show any outward fatigue.
They shared a moment studying one another: Murkrow with the hat in its mouth, and Haytham with very little dignity left after having chased a bird so far.
"What you have is mine," the human spoke with steady authority. "I demand you return it."
Murkrow only tilted its feathered head. He would have to try harder.
Haytham sighed, glancing at his sides as he thought. He was more than irritated then, but knew tolerance was vital to success. He turned his gaze back on the Murkrow, and offered something of a smile as a show of good faith.
"You have no need for that," he persuaded. "You can't even carry it far enough without exhausting yourself."
Murkrow knew that already. It didn't want the ugly thing to begin with. It watched him, scanned his clothing, until it spotted the stone nestled beneath the lapel roll of his outermost garment. The wind blew his frilled cravat enough out of the way for the treasure to be seen. A lucky break. He took care not to drop it, it seemed, and Murkrow had him and its prize in the best possible position. It had to take care in not making a mistake this time.
For Haytham, it wasn't losing the tricorne that upset him, but the principle; the fact that he had something taken from him. He was not about to let the matter settle without getting back what was his. And for that reason alone, he stood in defiance.
With neither of the two giving an inch, Murkrow initiated the next step of its freshly formulated plan. It set down the garment right in front of it, and with a soft touch, no less. To add emphasis to its surrender, it hopped away from the hat. As expected, Haytham took the bait. Humans could be so gullible.
"I see you've come to your senses," the Templar observed cautiously. He slowly stepped forward, both to maintain his balance on the roof and to show the Pokémon he meant no ill-will. As he found himself a mere foot or so away from his precious accessory, he gave one final long look at the bird. "You're rather intelligent, aren't you?"
He extended an arm.
He reached down.
His knees bent.
Murkrow's opportunity was at hand!
It jumped swiftly, unleashing a cloud of black haze from its beak directly upon Haytham just as his fingers grazed the fabric. He was blinded in an instant, hacking as he choked on the thick billows. It was then that he felt a sharp jab in his chest, and pointed talons scratching at his clothes. He swung his arm to brush the pest away, successful on his first attempt.
However, he was robbed yet again, having not realized it until the smoke only began to clear—and saw, in front of him, a light that was not there previously.
With his real possession in hand, he fanned the haze away, stepping backward with a hoarse cough and teary eyes. But he failed to register the end of the roof, and the glow in front of his eyes sped at him with every intention of knocking him down. That he did, too, and fell on his back much to his great pain. Falling was never easy, no matter how often he'd done it. The back of his head made contact with the ground below, and his vision became blurred in addition to the haze that still lingered before his eyes.
He groaned as he struggled to look up, seeing a black figure hovering above him through the thinning cloud. He could distinctly hear its laughter, and he snarled as he was made light of. He managed to spit out a "Damn!" but all for naught.
The Murkrow had undergone a rapid metamorphosis, and thus became the bigger, badder version of its previous form: Honchkrow.
Finally achieving its goal, the newly evolved Pokémon sat atop the roof to peer down at the outsmarted Templar Grand Master. It could not help itself as it cawed in laughter, with a timbre much deeper than it had only a few moments before. It watched as nearby denizens rushed to him, one offering aid and no sooner helping him back up to his feet. He staggered, coughing out the haze that remained in his throat and lungs. Honchkrow stretched out its wings when he looked up with clearer vision, and as he cursed something at it, the bird cried in reply. In a flash of newly acquired pride, the Flying-type bade him farewell and took off—who knows where?
Haytham knew it useless to give chase again. What was the purpose? He got what he wanted, and lost nothing of value. But his ego took a blow of some sort. To be bested, in front of others, by a bird that played pranks was a hard truth to swallow, and yet he swallowed it along with the haze he'd inhaled. But he was covered in a black residue—almost like soot—now, and his dressings were ripped. The whole of him was a mess, frankly, but at least he was no worse than when he'd engaged the Pokémon.
And as far as he knew, that was the last he'd see of it.
Charles would have to live with the fact that his precious rock was stolen.
