Chapter One – Murderous Duet
Evie looks up at the sound of footsteps heading through the train car, frowning slightly at her brother as he stopped to look at her. She sat on her little green chair, one leg crossed over the other, a book in her lap. He raises a brow back at her, before shaking his head and turning to sit on the bed across from her. She watches him take off his hat and run a hand through his dark brown, almost black hair, before wiping that hand down his face. He lays back then, putting the hat over his eyes and resting his hands over his chest.
"And where have you been?" she can't help but ask.
No movement from him except the shape of his lips as he spoke. "Taking the boroughs back from the Blighters. Fifty-percent of London now belongs to the Rooks."
There was a bit of cockiness lingering on his words, and he had every right to sound that way. After all, it was Evie that claimed the Rooks would be ridiculous, and that the plan was foolish. Then again, everything Jacob came up with was always foolish, he thinks.
She frowns, studying him carefully. He seemed exhausted, which didn't surprise her. She hardly ever saw him in the train anymore. He was always out doing something, whether it be taking down the Blighters, or getting himself into trouble.
The thing that bothered her the most, was how and where he was getting his leads from. Ever since they took over Whitechapel, Lambeth, and the Thames from their enemies, Jacob had been running off into missions that seemed too deep, too complex for someone like him. First, there was the explosion of Starrick's Soothing Syrup, as well as the assassination of Dr. John Elliotson in the Lambeth Asylum. Jacob didn't talk much about it, but from what she knew, Charles Darwin was quite shocked. He said he was going to investigate it himself, but Jacob beat him to the punch.
Then, there was the sudden assassination of Pearl Attaway, who owned her own omnibus and transportation company, and, surprise, was the cousin of Starrick himself. How Jacob had learned about her was beyond Evie, and even Henry said he was surprised.
"I wasn't going to get involved with her anytime soon," the Indian Assassin had said.
Now she watched her brother with suspicion and concern. "Any targets in mind?" she asks, hoping to pry some kind of information out of him.
He shrugs, not moving to look at her. "Not that I know of yet. I plan on taking Westminster next, however."
She raises a brow at this statement. "Not the Strand? Wouldn't that be more wise?"
He was quiet for a moment of hesitance, before he spoke up a bit quietly. "There's too many Blighters in there. The Rooks need time to grow before I take them there. I don't want to lose any more of them."
He sounded hurt, and she could understand. He was very protective of his gang members. She often caught him laughing and drinking with them, if he wasn't sitting down, going over their money and what would go to what. She had to admit she was impressed with it. He was indeed a very fine leader. He may be reckless with his own personal missions, but when it came to his gang, his Rooks, the line was drawn. He was always supplying them with money, food, shelter, weapons, carriages, supplies, and more. At least seventy-percent of their money went into the gang, and he was very stingy about it. Yes, he was very good at this, and she had to admit she was proud of him to a certain extent. It didn't cover up the chaos he caused in the meantime, or the attention he was bringing on them from men like Starrick and Roth, but she could give him this praise, just this once.
"I suppose that makes sense," she decides to comment. "I take it Westminster isn't as bad?"
He shrugs. "Not entirely, no. There's more Templars there than anything. The Strand is overpopulated by Blighters." Now, he lifted a hand up to his hat, grabbing it as he sat up, meeting her eyes. "Don't go there unless you absolutely have to," he sounded stern now, almost exactly like their father. A rare moment from egotistical and careless Jacob Frye. "The Rooks that are there need to stay out of sight, and I seriously cannot lose anymore of them, and as capable as I know you are," he leads, and she raises a brow, "I don't want to risk the Blighters coming after you."
Again, it was rare Jacob talked like this. He only ever acted this way when the danger was real and eminent, and involved his sister. They may fight and quarrel, but they were still very protective of one another. His words warmed her heart some, and she smiles.
"As long as you don't get yourself into anymore trouble," she chides lightly. "You caused quite the chaos in London's transportation system."
He shrugs again. "There would have been problems anyway. I did what I had to, and left it at that."
She feels irritation boil in her stomach. So much for the warm feelings. "And I had to pick up the pieces, Jacob. You have to plan things out more carefully, and think about the outcome of the results." She kept her words soft but firm. Not to cause an argument, but to give real and sincere advice. This was the nicest conversation they've had since being here. She couldn't ruin it.
He grumbles something under his breath, before turning to lay on his side away from her, his hat falling beside him on the pillows.
The conversation was over. He wanted nothing to do with her at the moment, and she feared if she continued to press, they would just get into another argument.
That's all they've been doing since arriving here. Fighting.
She sighs and looks down at the book in her lap, only hoping he took her words into consideration.
She tried to ignore the doubt growing ever so slightly in her chest.
The sound of heavy boots treading across the hardwood floor were drowned out by the music of a piano echoing throughout the large theatre. Small puddles of water followed those footsteps, dripping from his coat and shaken out from his top hat. He runs his gloved fingers through his hair before he puts the cap back on, walking to the center of the stage where his rival and…partner…was seated on the bench behind the large musical instrument.
The melody was light and happy, perfect for a dance for a young, naïve couple untainted by the horrors of the world. It was odd to hear from the man playing it, but it was something he has gotten used to since his time spent with Maxwell Roth.
Stepping up beside the piano, he catches the attention of the older man, who immediantly stops and grins brightly. "Ah, Jacob darling! What have I done, to deserve such a wonderful surprise?"
Roth was always excited to see him, perhaps even a bit too much. His pet names and compliments always caught the Assassin off guard, making him feel a modesty he wasn't familiar with.
"You said you had news for me?" Jacob answers with his own question. "Did you forget?"
Roth chuckles lightly, noticing how the other brushed off his compliment with business, as usual. "Of course not, my dear. Come, follow me!" he motions for the Assassin to do so, and Jacob does, like a loyal dog, eager for whatever the maniac he had grown a fondness for had in store for them.
The leader of the Blighters grabs a bottle of wine sitting on a podium nearby, grabbing two mugs off a wooden shelf right next to it. He puts the glasses down on the round, polished wooden table backstage, pouring a hefty amount of the alcoholic beverage into it with no shame and all game. He hands one to the Rook leader as he joins him, speaking like the theatric he was.
"You know the name Philip Twopenny?" he begins, watching Jacob take a quick gulp of his drink before giving him a startled look.
"The Governor of the Bank of England?" he questions. Roth grins.
"The Governor and a Templar, my dear," the man continues, happy with the spark in the Assassin's eyes at the revelation.
"Really, now?" Jacob drawls, putting his empty mug down. "I suppose that's how Starrick's been growing his pockets?"
The suited man grins and pours more liquid into his guest's glass. "Precisely, my dear. It's rather easy to steal from a bank when you practically own it." He puts the wine bottle down and motions for Jacob to sit. He does, as the man continues. "In just a week or so he plans on emptying as much as possible. A full ol' fashioned robbery."
Jacob could take a hint, and he can't help but smirk at the words between the lines. "It'd be just a shame if something were to go wrong, then?"
Roth laughs that deep, growly laugh of his. "Very much so, darling, and I happen to have just the something for us!"
Suddenly full of energy, he motions for Jacob to up and follow. "Lewis!" he yells, grabbing Jacob by the arm, much to the Assassin's surprise, and pulling him towards the back entrance of the theatre. Hooking their elbow's together, he swings the door out and open, dragging his partner in crime along with him.
The Assassin can't help but feel a bit surprised. Roth was just so energetic, so friendly with him. He lets the man guide him to the carraige, stumbling passed Lewis himself and being forced into the driver's seat.
"You know the gist, you drive," Maxwell encouraged.
That was usually how it worked. Jacob would drive, Roth would navigate him with suspense all the way to their destination. The older man seemed to like teasing the younger, not telling him his plans until the last second, making Jacob wait in eagerness to know what was in store for him. It riled him up, and Roth knew and loved it.
"Where are we going?" was a common question Jacob found himself asking more than often. Roth grins, motioning him to work the horses forward.
"Every time the bank is robbed," the man begins slowly, to draw out the impatience in his dear Assassin, "they are supplied with all the weapons, ammo, escape routes, and everything they can possibly need by a certain group run by Templars."
"And who might that be?"
Holding his arms up as if he were on stage, Maxwell makes the big reveal: "Cockham Merchants, my dear. We, are on our way to their warehouse."
Jacob raises a brow, grinning, leading the horses to the left where Roth pointed. "So your plan is to sabatoge their supplies?"
The man laughs. "Don't let me ruin the surprise for you, Jacob darling."
Knowing Roth, they were probably going to blow something up.
They make their way to the docks, where a curious amount of Templars ran in and out a nearby warehouse. There were Blighters as well, some on guard duty, others carrying heavy looking boxes to carriages outside the building. Some of them headed to the docks, carrying the crates from the boat nearby, setting them up and dusting their hands off.
Pulling the carraige off to the side of the road, the pair of gang leaders quickly creep over to a nearby building, climbing up the side of it to get a better view of the area. From here, Jacob could catch sight of a few cops nearby, as well as a small group of Rooks on the sidewalk beside the fence that marked the perimeter of the building.
"I have some of my loyal men down there waiting for my orders," Roth points to a select few. "Gather up yours if you wish. We're going to make a distraction so we can get inside the warehouse."
Jacob turns to look at him. "What distraction do you have in mind?"
Roth gestures to the boat at the docks. "That vessel there is carrying most of the weapons and gear they'll be using at the bank." He gives Jacob a knowing grin. "Ever set a boat on fire?"
The Assassin can't help but grin back. "No, but I've never had a problem trying new things."
"Excellent," Roth claps his gloved hands together. "The moment it goes up in flames, they'll all go running to it. The moment they do, you would have to sneak in the factory and plant the dynamite my men snuck in. Once your done, give them the okay, and get out of there as quickly as possible."
Jacob nods, feeling confident about this one. "Sounds easy enough. I'll send my gang to distract the guards so I can get to the boat."
"Perfect, then," Roth pats the Assassin on the back, startling him a bit. "Just make sure you're out of there before it explodes."
There was the hint of concern along the joking lines, and it was at that moment that Jacob realized Roth didn't want anything to happen to him. Although he still suspected the man to stab him in the back at any moment, he was finding himself relaxing the more time he spent with him. Roth was always warning him to be careful before he sent him on his way. At first he just brushed it off as the Blighter being a sarcastic sod, but then he started to hear the genuine care underlining his words.
He just didn't know what to think of the man at this point.
"I'll be fine," he answers with a smirk, pulling his hat off and collapsing it in his hands. He tucks it in a pocket on the inside of his coat, before pulling his hood up, hiding most of his face from the world. He doesn't look back before he leaps off the building, landing face up in a large pile of leaves below. Jumping out to dust himself off, he strides over to the Rooks who now had their attention on him.
"You lads looking for something to do?" he asks, and they smirk at him in return.
She was supposed to be headed to The Strand to find Nigel, who had gotten himself into trouble, again, however…
Her mind was distracted, taking her along the streets of the Blighter filled borough, slowly along with the hard shower of rain. She didn't mind the water, she was used to it by now, and as the wind whipped at her cape and threatened to break apart her braided hair, she continued to walk calmly, listening to the soft taps of her heels on the cracked cement below her.
A few people ran passed her in a hurry, not wanting to be soaked by the time they got to their destination. A group of Rooks sat under an arch of a building, nodding to her as she headed by. A quick ''ello,' 'stay safe, Miss Frye,' and 'how's your brother?' was discussed quickly before she continued to make her way passed a large theatre and through Leicester Square.
She can't help but think about her brother in worry. Something told her he was out there, getting into trouble. She just wished he wasn't so reckless.
Taking a shortcut through a nearby alley, her ears catch hold of the sound of a crying child, and following it, she finds a small boy, probably eight or nine years old, hiding in a corner of two meeting buildings. Her eyes widen at the sight of him curled up, being poured on relentlessly by the never ending rain, shivering and shaking; the tears that streaked his face blending with the drops of rain covering him.
As she knelt down in front of him, he flinches and looks up quickly, and suddenly her heart breaks. The boy has a cut from his left cheek to his chin, and one across his right eye and brow. They're deep gashes, ones definitely made from a blade. His eyes have black circles underneath them, a good bruise on his left cheek, and a split, bleeding lip.
This boy was beaten, and it killed her.
"Hey, it's alright," she says softly, slowly reaching for him as he tries to scoot away from her. "What happened to you?" she has to know. She'll kill whoever did this to him.
The boy's voice was raspy and weak, and she could hardly hear it over the pounding of rain on the rooftops above them. "A f-f-fight, m-m-m-miss…" he stammers.
"With whom?" she pries, needing to know. She would send this boy to Clara, and then find his attacker and end their insufferable life.
"Mmm.." he starts weakly, obviously terrified. "M-M-My f-f-father…miss…"
Her eyes widen in shock. What kind of parent would do this to their own…?
The boy actually continues, his words a bit more clear as it all just tumbled out at once, overflowing with pain. "I-I-I w-w-was f-fighting m-my s—sister, and...and he…wasn't happy w-with m-me."
Something was wrong here. Very wrong. Something about what he was saying was twisting her stomach up with…guilt? She couldn't describe the feeling. She took a closer look at his face and saw familiarity in his hazel green eyes.
"Why…" she starts slowly, feeling suddenly very light headed, sick. "Why were you fighting your sister?"
He looks down, his bottom lip quivering as he started crying again.
"I…I…I-I t-told her m-m-my s-secret-t and s-she d-didn't unders-stand…"
Reaching for the boy, she puts a gentle hand on his shoulder, trying to get him to look at her. "What is your name?" she questions. "I want to help you."
He slowly looks up, and…stops crying. His eyes narrow at her, and slaps her hand away quickly. She jumps back in shock, her eyes widening. When the boy spoke next, his voice was clear and his tone dark, very dark.
"You should have helped me when you had the chance."
Thunder boomed and when the lightening passed the boy was gone, and so was the alley she was in. She was facing a building, but when she turned around she was greeted by darkness, pitch black. Something small on the ground hopped out of the dark, and to her surprise it was a bird. A crow, to be exact. It looked at her, cocking its head and cawing almost angrily.
Then it suddenly lurched at her.
She gasps and stumbles back, but before the bird can make contact with her, it screeches and bursts into flames, falling onto the ground, screaming and jumping around. It flaps its wings furiously, but the flames are relentless, eating at the crow until it's nothing but ashes.
Her heart was pounding, her breath coming in short gasps. She whips around on her heels, looking all around her. Nothing. It was all dark, the rain even gone now, too. She turns back to face the ashes of the bird to find them gone, the only thing left behind being a red petal from a rose.
She stared at it, her eyes wide in confusion.
The girl sat up with a gasp, her pupils dilated as she tried to process her surroundings.
It…was a dream?
More like a nightmare, she concluded as she took in the train car she rode in. She was sitting up on the bed, feeling a soreness in her body spread like a wildfire.
Then she remembered…
After she had found Nigel and helped clear his name, she went her own way, keeping an eye out for Lucy Thorne and Jacob. She had found herself heading back through Leicester Square when a group of Blighters standing outside the Alhambra noticed her and flocked to her. She gave them a warning glare, but they continued to follow and pester her.
"We should take her inside for a show," they teased, gesturing to the theatre. The Alhambra… Odd how there were so many of them around the place. After turning the corner around the theatre and heading down the street, she was surrounded. The people on the streets seemed to noticed the heavy amount of gang members in red, and ran off, leaving her obviously stranded in the middle. It was apparent that a fight could no longer be avoided. She could practically hear Jacob cursing at her in the back of her head, his warning replaying itself over and over again, right before the fight took off. A small handle of Rooks got involved, but the fight was messy. It carried out into the street, moving down the road as the Rooks tried to help their leader's sister get away. It all proved undoing in the end, when the members of green had fallen. Evie had never fought so hard and fast in her life. They just kept coming, and she just kept killing.
The police showed up, and that was a mistake, too.
By the time the last few members of Blighters were left, and many bodies of red, green, and blue scattered around the street, Evie felt her adrenaline run low. She had collapsed and was nearly unconscious when she heard the shouting.
"You fools! Get away from her!" the voice was loud, harsh, and gravely.
There was more yelling, but she couldn't make out any of it. She felt someone kneel beside her and curse under his breath. "Goddammit you," he scolded her. "I'd nearly give up everything I've worked so hard for to gut you right now." He was sneering. She still had no idea who he was, couldn't see. Suddenly she's being lifted up and carried, and she tries in vain to open her eyes. To focus.
"You stay away from my theatre," she's being threatened. "I can't lose him now, dammit."
She's carried for a while, before being sat on…a chair? She hears the sound of a door shutting, feels the lurch of a carraige, hearing the orders of the mysterious man that saved her and wanted to kill her at the same time. "Take her to Whitechapel, to that Indian prick's shop. Don't been seen. I will rip your head from your bloody body if you're seen, do you hear me?"
Someone says, "Yessir," in a weak and nervous voice, and then another harsh lurch of the carraige startles her once again. She blacked out soon after.
She woke up with Henry shaking her, asking her what happened. Then she blacked out again as he took care of her wounds and brought her to the train. He had no idea how she got to his shop, and she certainly didn't understand it.
"Are you alright?" came the gentle, soft-spoken voice of Henry Green, jolting her out of her thoughts as he walked up to the bed, holding out a glass of water for her.
Taking the cup, she nods and drinks it, before playing with it in her hands. "Yes, I'm fine."
He sits beside her on the bed, his brown eyes overflowing with worry. She finishes the water, handing him the glass as he offers to take it. "Thank you," she says quietly.
"What happened?" he has to ask, has to know. When he found her in his shop's entrance he had panicked, thinking her to be dead. She looked terrible now, and it broke his heart to see her this way. Powerful Evie Frye, the best of her beaten.
She closes her eyes, rubbing her temples as she skimmed through the memories. "I helped Nigel," she reencounters, "then explored Westminster and The Strand. I was hoping to run into Jacob, or even catch word of Miss Thorne's location, but…" she takes in a deep breath. "On my way back to Whitechapel, I ran into a large group of Blighters in Leicester Square. There were so many of them, Henry," she sounded so exhausted, so drained. "They have to be taking refuge inside the Alhambra."
Henry's eyes widen. "What happened?"
She meets his eyes, her brows furrowing. "We fought. There were…oh god…" she closes her eyes. "There were Rooks there, Henry. They tried to help me but they were killed. Mr. Abberline's men showed up to help as well, but most of them were killed, too." She pauses, taking in a deep breath. "I shouldn't have been there… Jacob warned me and I didn't think…"
For once, she was the one in the wrong. So much guilt weighed heavily on her shoulders. Rooks had died. Policemen had died. She was injured.
Jacob was going to be furious.
At least no one got hurt or died when Jacob set out on is missions. He took the Creed's number one rule to heart, 'Only kill those that deserve it, and protect the ones that need it,' and always followed through with it. Sure, he nearly cost London its buses, or the hospitals their tonics, but he did whatever he could to make up for it, and he'd give his life for the innocents around him.
'I seriously cannot lose any more of them,' his words replayed again in her ears.
How many Rooks had she just lost? At least six of them… Six lives lost. Six memorials Jacob would have to arrange. Six different families he would have to write letters to. Six more names to be hung on the wall. Six lives given to protect London, to protect her.
"It isn't your fault, Evie," Henry says softly. "You never asked for that to happen."
She shakes her head, putting her face in her hands. "He told me not to go there, exactly for this reason. I can't believe I didn't listen… What was I thinking?"
She wasn't used to this. She couldn't process this. Jacob was the one that never listened, not her. She was always the good one, the one that always had to save her brother, scold him for his actions, fix his mistakes.
"Evie," Henry pries, reaching forward to take her hand in his own. She looks up at him, meeting his gaze and studying his face carefully. So much care, so much kindness, so handsome—
"Listen to me," he orders gently. "Mistakes happen. This isn't the first time Rooks have lost their lives to our cause. Jacob understands that, and they understood that when they stuck up for you. We're all making risks, doing what we do, and we have to come to terms with that, as sad as it may be. I'm sure your brother will be grateful you are alive, and will understand what has happened."
She tried not to think too hard on his words, and just focus on the surface of them. Tried to tell herself that he was right, that it wasn't her fault, but…she still felt guilty.
She looks down, feeling an odd sense of somber Frye-humor hit her then. "I suppose he and I are even now," she murmurs quietly. Henry chuckles dryly, trying to lighten the air up a bit.
"Then you two can hopefully mend your relationship," he suggests.
The sound of quick and heavy footfalls brings the two's attention to two Rooks and—
"Mr. Wynert?" Evie exclaims in sudden surprise. The American looked as if he had ran all the way from the Atlantic.
"Miss Frye, by the gods…" Ned took in a deep breath, as well as the two green gang members behind him.
"Did something happen?" Henry asks, the conversation with Evie having to wait for later.
They watch Wynert take a moment to collect himself, before he points outside. "Cockham Merchants just went up in flames," he explains, his voice a bit breathy. "Apparently a huge fight broke out between everyone. Blighters, Rooks, Templars, Police…"
Evie and Henry gape in shock as Ned continues.
"The funny part about it," he dusts himself off, "is that the Blighters and Rooks were actually working together. The police got involved on their own."
"Are you sure they didn't just join our side?" Evie questions. "They've done this before."
Wynert shakes his head. "I'm not sure what exactly went on. I just happened to be working with these two," he points a thumb behind him to the Rooks, "when it happened. I'm guessing Mr. Frye had something to do with it?"
Evie can't help but sigh. "It is possible. Where exactly did this happen?"
One of the Rooks holds up a hand. "I'll take ya."
Ned seems to realize Evie's condition, then. "Jesus, Frye, what happened to you?"
She feels the bitterness in her throat somewhat expressed in her tone. "A similar event with myself in The Strand. A fight, a large one."
The Rooks' eyes widen and Wynert stares blankly. "And what? What's the damage?"
Evie looks down, and Henry gives the American a soft, warning look. "We can discuss it later. I'll go with you, for now." Evie looks up at him in surprise as he stands and puts a hand on her shoulder. "Rest easy. I will be back shortly."
She wanted to protest, but she wasn't in any condition to argue, or go for that matter.
She watches the group leave the train, feeling pathetic in too many ways to describe.
By the time Ned and Henry arrived at the docks where the fight had broken out, most of the area was a complete disaster. The police had it blocked off; a large group of people wanting to know what happened clustered outside in large herds. From where they sat perched on the rooftop of a building across the lot, they could see the destruction for themselves. The warehouse was almost non-existent, burned to the ground. There was a half a boat sticking straight up out of the Thames, the bottom completely submerged under water. The bodies of multiple Templars lay scattered around the place, being covered by sheets by the confused coppers.
Henry can only gape. "What started all of this?"
Wynert shakes his head, crossing his arms over his chest. "Beats me. On the bright side, I don't see any Rooks down there."
"No Blighters, either," the Assassin observes. "They were only after the Templars."
Ned nods, watching a police carraige pull up. He recognized Sergeant Abberline immediantly. "It looks like it. Wonder what they were trying to achieve? I thought Starrick controls the Blighters?"
Henry frowns, watching Abberline walk through the crowd, demanding answers. "Not entirely. His gang leaders are Templars, working for him, but they themselves are underneath Maxwell Roth. He's the one that controls the Blighters."
The smaller man frowns, putting a hand on his hip. "I didn't know Roth was a Templar."
Henry raises a brow. "You know of him?"
"Hell, I wish I didn't," Ned turns to look at him. "I ran into him a few times so many years back, when I first started my business. Worked with him once, even. There was a shipment we were both after, things on it that we both needed. We compromised and raided it, splitting the difference fifty-fifty. The whole thing was a pain in the ass. He doesn't like me, and I don't like him."
Green turns his attention down below. Abberline wasn't getting any of the answers he was pressing for. "I don't know too much about him, other than the fact that many people fear him."
"Probably because he's insane," Ned shrugs. "The guy likes chaos." He pauses for a moment, taking in the sight of the wreckage before him. "You don't think by some chance he had something to do with this? I mean, the Blighters and Rooks seemed to be working together."
Henry frowns. "I don't know. I will talk with Abberline to see what he can discover. Just a precaution; stay low for a few days."
Wynert lets out a defeated sigh. "Yeah, I kind of figured you would say that."
He sprinkled the seed in, watching the little rook chirp thankfully and peck his food. It was ironic, Roth owning a rook. He didn't really get why the man was so fascinated by it, or why he kept it in a cage if he was so obsessed with freedom, but he let it go, because Roth was just a little off, and that was okay. Plus, he had warmed up to the little creature he named his gang after. They looked like they were one thing, but they were actually something far different. Looks like a crow, but isn't. Everyone thought his gang was going to be foolish, but they weren't.
The sudden sound of quick footsteps took Jacob's attention away from the bird and to Roth himself, who waltzed over to the table he liked to keep on the stage, setting down two large glasses and a bottle of whisky that seemed too expensive for Jacob's tastes. He was grinning like the madman he was, pouring a glass and holding it out to the Rook leader.
"A toast, my dear!" he exclaims, voice filled with excitement at their accomplishment. Jacob can't help but grin and take the cup, clinking it against Roth's when he held his up as well.
They drink, and Jacob's thoughts were right; the alcohol was too expensive, too fine a taste, too strong a burn, and had to hide his grimace and try not to cough as he drank it down in one swoop. Roth didn't seemed bothered by it at all, used to the best expenses of life.
"So," he tries to keep his voice clear and not sound like a choked animal, "what's next?"
He has a feeling Roth notices his slight discomfort, as the man grins and chuckles at him. Jacob's face was red over the cheeks and bridge of his nose; a surprisingly nice sight to behold for the moment.
"Time will tell," Maxwell motions for Jacob to sit as he does himself, both leaning back in their chairs and pouring more alcohol. The second round wasn't as bad as the first for the Rook. "Twopenny will most likely know of our actions by the end of the night," Roth continues, sounding proud and cocky, "He'll still attempt to rob the bank anyway, but I need to find out when."
"Is he really that dull?" Jacob can't help but ask. "If he's unprepared why would he risk it anyway?"
Roth chuckles again, emptying his glass as quick as he filled it. "He rather do that than tell Starrick what happened. He eithers dies outright, or tries and dies anyway."
Jacob chuckled. "Almost makes me feel sorry for the bloke."
The Blighter laughs at that, grabbing the almost half empty bottle and filling up his glass, once again. "My dear," he laughs, "your naivety will be the death of you."
The Assassin raises a brow to that. "I'm far from naïve, Roth. The only thing that matters at the end of the day, is the bastard on the end of my blade."
The look the man gives him is a confusing one to decipher. He smirks, but there's a sincerity in his eyes that Jacob had never seen before. "And may I ask; and what if you knew him?"
The younger of the two blinks. "You mean, got to know him?" When Roth nods, Jacob shrugs. "It wouldn't matter, I suppose. If there's one thing my father ever taught me, it's that you can't let your personal feelings compromise your mission. Even if I were to know him, and became friends, sort of say, if he does something that goes against the Creed, what we work for, then I would kill him all the same."
His words seem to settle deep into Roth's thoughts, and the Blighter hums quietly, taking this into consideration. Jacob pondered why the man would ask such a thing, but then again, he could be referring to their current partnership.
"Your Creed," Maxwell repeats, seemingly interested on the subject. "What even is it for? I never understood the whole, 'Templars versus the Assassins.'"
This catches Jacob off guard. "But you're a Templar."
Roth laughs, his voice bitter as he spoke. "My dear, I was never asked to join. Starrick required my services to train his gang leaders. Paid me a handsome amount of money and enlisted me into his 'Order.' The more I did, the more money I made."
Jacob frowns. "So what's the deal, then? Don't like the way he runs things?"
Roth didn't like talking about Starrick, that much was obvious by the furrow of his brows and the irritation in his tone. He enlightened Jacob anyway: "As I've said before, the man is dreadful. Chokes the freedom out of life and runs things by what he envisions as 'perfect.' I never liked taking orders, darling," he spins the whisky in his glass. "Freedom, Jacob. Stealing that, is far more than a sin… It denies us our humanity."
The boy has to reprocess these words as Roth spoke them. He wondered if that's all what the man really wanted – freedom, but what kind of freedom, and at what cost? "Well," he starts, removing his hat from his head, playing with it in his hands. "That, is what our Creed works for, Roth. Freedom. Of the good people of this world." At this the Blighter leader lightens up, and Jacob continues. "The code we go by, is that an Assassin only kills those that deserve it, and protects the innocents that can't protect themselves."
Maxwell tilts his head at the Assassin, studying him carefully. Jacob spoke about the Creed as if it was everything to him. "Why so protective?" he questions curiously. He never understood why people like Jacob cared so much about people so weak. It brought him down. Took away his freedom.
Jacob only gives him a slightly offended look. "Because those people can grow into something stronger, if they see others can as well, or if they're given the chance."
Well, he's certainly never thought about that, before, Roth has to admit. It was a respectful way of looking at it. Jacob continues with a shrug. "I give them the chance to make something with their lives. Whether or not they do something about it is on them. My mentor George called it, 'natural selection.'"
That, makes Roth laugh. "Understandable!" he has to agree. "I suppose giving others a chance is worth quite a bit."
Jacob smiles now, glad to have gotten his point across. "Yes. Giving people a chance is giving them freedom to make a choice."
Despite how young he was, Jacob had a humbleness about him that was fairly impressive. Underneath that cockiness and smug attitude, recklessness and carefree spirit, he certainly was wise, Roth had to give him that.
He thinks over what the Assassin had shared with him, really thinks about it. It was funny…how this mere boy could change the way he thought about things so simply, so easily. He loved it.
Jacob Frye…the spice he had been searching for his boring life.
A very wonderful surprise.
The sound of music started playing throughout the theatre, the small orchestra group beginning their practice somewhere on one of the upper floors. Jacob looks up, his eagle vision finding the group on the fourth floor. It crossed his mind once again that the music hall was huge.
"Why here?" he questions. "The Alhambra?"
The boy changed the subject, distracted like a bird finding something more interesting to peck at. Roth smiles and turns to look at the upper floors as well.
"Every good criminal, needs a place to invests his ill-gotten gains," he grins, "…and what's better, than distracting the world with a little light entertainment while you do so?"
Jacob scoffs slightly, taking another good look around the hall itself. The place was always set up as if they were about to preform at any second. There were props up and people practicing their lines, papers scattered everywhere about the shows they would put on… "Oh, come now…" he starts, looking back at Roth with a smirk. "You can't tell me you don't enjoy the triumph of a well-received play? The plaudits and praise? The reviews?"
The Blighter laughs in return. "I enjoy being entertained, Jacob. If one of the productions pleases me, I am over the moon. The theatre," he turns and waves, gesturing to the hall, "is in my blood. As you so astutely discerned, theatricality is… something of a Roth specialty."
Another question immediantly found itself spilling from Jacob's lips. "Who is this Lewis that works for you?" He was more than curious. Lewis was…an odd man. Never said much, very…
"Ha!" Roth finds it funny, the look on Jacob's face as he asks. "A bit of an odd fish, isn't he? Came to me a few years past."
Jacob's nose wrinkles in slight discern. Roth thinks it's cute.
"He's very solemn," he puts it nicely. The Blighter smirks.
"But always so polite," he grabs the whisky and pours himself another glass, "…and he has many other talents."
The Rook raises a brow. "What's that supposed to mean?"
There was something that sounded like irritation in the younger's voice. Roth notices this as he studies his guest. "He keeps those unwanted away from my doors, gets me things when I can't be seen out…those sort of things. It really comes down to, my dear… Lewis is loyal. There isn't many a man who are, anymore."
Jacob lets the man pour the rest of the dark whisky into his glass. "If that's the case, why not work with him? Why me?"
This…was the question Maxwell had been waiting for. He gives the Assassin a small smirk, putting his glass down and standing to his feet. "My dear," he starts with a lower, more clear tone, "there are two kinds of people in this world: those that work for the devil…" Jacob watches as he walks around the table, offering the Rook his hand, palm up. The music of the orchestra above was slow yet upbeat.
"…and those that dance with him."
It was a challenge…at least, that's how Jacob perceived it as. Roth waited expectedly for him to take his hand, testing the Assassin for either loyalty or something more intimate. Whatever it was, he found himself reaching upwards, taking the Blighter's black-gloved hand. He didn't know why he accepted this challenge, but he allowed Roth to pull him to his feet anyway.
The older leads the Rook over the stage, to an open spot free of clutter and props. It was just them on this floor, but it felt crowded to Jacob. Roth pulled him closer than he would have considered comfortable, their hands that are connected laced together by their fingers. The Blighter's other hand settled on Jacob's waist, making him tense, as if preparing to expect a blade in his chest at any second. He instinctively grabs that arm connecting them by the elbow, their eyes locked and never breaking.
Roth led him in a slow, gentle dance, following the rhythm of the orchestra upstairs. Their eyes were locked, neither breaking for even a second. They were only an inch or two apart. It would be so easy to kill the either at the moment. All it would take, is a swipe of an arm, or flick of a wrist.
They swayed into the music, somehow easily avoiding stepping on the others feet. The tension between the two is heavy yet somehow enjoyable. If it buried him alive, Jacob didn't think he would mind too much. The danger of Maxwell Roth was ever present. There was always the chance the man could kill him at any moment.
He loved it.
The thrill.
The danger.
So he let his supposed enemy and rival lead him through the dance, their eyes still never breaking.
"I'm not one for dancing," he has to say something, and so he does, quietly.
Roth's lips pull up in a small smirk. "But always so eager to please."
Something about those words forced a heat to creep up the younger's face. "Hardly," he answers. Did their faces get closer? He could practically feel the whisky-scented breath of the Blighter on his own. "Just willing to take on a challenge, Roth."
"Then you know why I chose you over Lewis, Jacob, my dear," Maxwell answers, a smug undertone to his words, as if he were proud of his decision.
The thought crosses the Assassin's mind on how much trouble he would be in if his sister found out. Oh, she would surely disown him, he knew for sure. Working with a Templar…or…whatever Roth claimed to be. He wasn't sure he knew yet. He could hardly trust him, that was for sure.
"I'm sure I'm breaking some kind of code," he thinks aloud. "Whether or not you feel you are a Templar, you still work for one."
"Against one, my dear," Roth corrects. "Have I not proven myself to you, or is your Creed weighing you down?"
"I don't work for anyone," Jacob responds, a bit defensively. "I just happen to agree with their methods. The enemy of my enemy is my friend, and all that." As much as he did support the Creed and what it stood for, he didn't care too much for its rules and restrictions.
"You sound quite proud of them, however," Roth acknowledges. "Of what they believe in."
The Rook frowns. "Sometimes. I do believe in freedom and such, but sometimes they forget about what else we stand for." A small scowl takes a hold of his face, his brows furrowing slightly. "Some things are worth more than freedom."
Roth nearly chokes at these words. He has to stop and stare at the Assassin, completely taken off guard. More than freedom?
"What else?" he pressures, wanting to hear it for himself.
Jacob gives a somewhat nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "A few key things, actually."
The music above seemed to grow quieter as they continued to dance. They stare at each other for a moment, before the hand on Jacob's waist sneaks its way to the small of his back, pulling him just the meter closer. So close, now.
"Enlighten me, then," the criminal mastermind pushes, his voice lowered considerably.
It took all his willpower to not pull away. Jacob accepts the next challenge without a second thought. "Well," he starts slowly. "First…there's family," he says it almost sadly, as if he wasn't sure he truly believed it. "…to help you grow."
Their feet step back, then forward, to one side, then to the other. "Then there's happiness," Jacob stresses the word, and Roth feels the curiousity burning inside him grow. "…to do what makes you happy no matter what. You don't need to be free to be happy…especially if you have someone with you through it all."
He thought about that, Roth did, as the Rook continues. "And then finally," he pauses, a small flush of pink creeping across his cheeks. "…there's love," he seems to need to catch his breath, "something that should never be traded for something like freedom." This seems to surprise Roth, and Jacob felt a somberness in his own tone. "For your family…for your partner…" he thought of Evie and all the fighting they've been through. He thought about Pearl and the idea that…if she weren't a Templar… "It's one thing to do whatever you want because it makes you feel free…it's another to lose someone dear to you because of it."
Jacob talked as if he spoke from experience. He probably was, Roth thought to himself.
The music came to a quiet end, and they stop, still holding on to each other, their eyes never faltering their stare.
"Sometimes," Jacob concluded, "you have to weigh down what matters most to you, and in the end, choose something greater over what you thought you believed in before."
The words struck Maxwell like a knife. It was as if Jacob had gathered together all of his thoughts and spoke it in one, diabolical sentence. Everything Roth had thought since meeting Jacob…all in that one phrase.
Would he give up freedom and everything he believed in…for him?
He couldn't answer. He didn't know.
For once in his life…Maxwell Roth didn't know.
It was obvious by now that their beliefs were different. They both felt it. The tension had grown tremendously, and Jacob feared this very topic…freedom…would be the blade that cuts their partnership in half.
"Very inspiring words, my dear," Roth finally responded, quietly, like their entire conversation had been spoken.
"It's what I believe in," Jacob responds, just as low. "Ignoring those things is what has caused so much trouble in the Creed…in London…everywhere…"
Roth has to say it: "You speak as if you've lived it for yourself."
There it was…pain flashing in those hazel green eyes. Jacob is the one to finally break their long kept eye contact, his gaze falling to the floor. "Life can be unfortunate," his voice is bitter.
"Indeed it can," Roth agrees, unable to deny that somber fact. "However, my parents used to tell me everything happens for a reason…" Jacob looks back up, startled by this. Roth had a small smirk teasing his lips, and a sly glint in his eyes. "I never really believed it until now."
"What made you rethink this?" The Assassin questions.
The smirk fades and suddenly the heaviness is stronger than ever. Roth's hand removes itself from the younger's back, slowly, carefully lifting it up to cup the side of the Rook's face. Jacob's breath catches in his throat at the sudden touch, suddenly feeling very hot, his chest aching in a way he couldn't grasp. Roth's hand, gloved but warm, feels along the base of his jaw and trails to the corner of his mouth, gently, as if mesmerized in the sight of the Frye twin.
"Take a guess, darling," Roth's voice was no more than a husky whisper.
…and they were so close. So very close. There was a pull, indescribable, between them, ever so slowly leading them closer to each other. Just an inch, less then that now, their faces apart. Jacob had no idea what he was doing, no idea what Roth was doing. The hand on the side of his mouth seemed to hold him a bit tighter, pulling even closer. He can't breathe, can't think. Their eyes close, Roth's lips just hovering over his, hot breath into his own slightly parted ones. All it would take, is a little push, and…
The sound of gunshots outside startled them out of their trance, causing them to jump and yank away from each other. Their eyes were wide and their breath was ragged, their minds trying to process what just happened.
More gunshots now could be heard, followed by loud yelling. The back doors to the theatre opened as a Blighter ran inside, panting heavily, as he ran up to them, completely oblivious to their shock.
"Mr. Roth…sir… There's a fight with…" he trails off, his eyes widening once he realizes who else is standing there. Wasn't that the Assassin gang leader? Of the Rooks?
He doesn't have long to ponder before both Roth and Jacob are running passed him, quickly out the back door into the alley outside.
"I 'oughta rip your legs off!" someone yelled drunkenly, and to Jacob's slight horror it was one of his Rooks. In fact…they all looked drunk.
The two gangs were crowded in the street, going at each other with knives and snarls. It was ironic, really, and Jacob had to keep his amusement to himself. Here he and Roth were just inside dancing, while their gangs are out here killing each other…
There's a joke to be had somewhere, but he lets it go in favor of stopping things before he loses any more men. "Oi!" he shouts loudly, leaving Roth behind as he runs through the crowd of Blighters, grabbing one of them off one of his Rooks and throwing him aside. "That's enough!"
The two groups stumble back from each other. Jacob was pretty sure they were all drunk, if not then most of them. "What in the bloody hell is going on here?" he demands to know.
One of the Rooks behind him points an accusing finger at the Blighters. "The bastards attacked Miss Evie, sir. Killed ol' friends of ours as well!"
Jacob's eyes widen as one of the Blighters speaks up. "The broad took out half our lads!" he argues. "We had e'ery right to show 'er her place!"
"You attacked my sister?" Jacob snarls, and then the Blighters looked absolutely terrified. All it took was a flick of Jacob's wrist and his hidden blade was retracted, and they all jumped backwards. "I should kill all of you," he warns.
A few of them turned around and started stumbling away, the one in front cowered back, holding his hands up in show of fear. "I-It wasn't us, sir!" he exclaims. "W-We just saw the damage!"
Some of the Rooks snickered. Jacob looked livid.
"You have three seconds to get out of my face, before I shove my blade down your throats," he glowered, and that was all it took to get them scrambling away as fast as they could, drunk as they were.
Any other time he would have killed them, but…
They were Roth's loyal men, and he would leave that to him. Even though the Blighter leader claimed he didn't care when Jacob killed his men, he felt like it would be wrong to do so now, with their partnership and all. His eyes find the man himself watching from a distance, and their eyes lock. They would talk about this later, he knew. He wondered if Roth knew about the fight.
Turning to the Rooks behind him, he waves them away. "Go home, now," he orders. "And from now on, unless the Blighters are doing something they shouldn't be, don't go around starting fights. We don't own this borough yet."
The men in green seemed guilty, and they all nod, with follows of, 'yes sir,' and 'of course Mr. Frye.'
With that done, Jacob takes one last glance back towards the alley. Maxwell was gone, probably inside dealing with his own men. The Assassin then sighs, rubbing a hand over his face.
So much for not losing any more of his gang members, he thinks to himself.
He takes off towards the train station, his mind whirling. He was fearful that Evie was hurt, and angry, because the one thing he asks of her, she ignores completely.