Chapter Four
March 5, 1770
Victor Wolcott had endured many things through his years living as a Templar. Many, many things. But of those experiences, he'd never quite made a decent friendship before, with the exception of his father, Edward, of course. Though it hardly counted towards the few tallies of those he could actually trust in.
Then there was Gillian, who proved to be one of the kindest yet dangerous people he'd ever known. Always modest and inquisitive, she yearned to learn about her peers and often times pitched in to aid personal issues that they weren't too keen to take to the Templars about. Could such compassion come from a woman who could murder an Assassin like they were nothing? Victor supposed so.
As he and his father spoke of the extremely secret plans of the soon to be Boston Massacre, hearing the mob of people at the Commons House grow in volume from their medicine shop, they weren't expecting for Gillian to barge in.
"Victor!" She yelled, running into the shop with a young blonde boy plastered to her side, behind her a small crowd of men carrying a body. "You need to help, please. He's been shot!" The redhead was in a state of hysterics, close to the doctor's face as she pleaded for them to help save whoever was injured.
"Okay, what's the manner of the wound?" Victor asked, standing to beckon the men into a room off the side of the parlor, spying a bloodied hole in the boy's stomach as they passed by. Clearly, he was shot, and the doctor was willing to bet as to why; their plan must've gone successfully.
"Musket shot," one of the men said gruffly, seeing a table in the center of the room they'd been led into, promptly setting the teenager upon it's surface. "Do you need any extra hands or should we make leave?" Victor just waved them off, knowing he'd be able to handle cleaning up the wound just fine without the help of five brutish men.
"Leave, go home to your families. I've got my work cut out here," the doctor said, watching as they all simultaneously nodded and fled the shop, leaving just Gillian, the mystery boy and Edward. Quickly, Victor rushed over to the boy's side and applied pressure to the wound, calling Edward over to be his extra hand in the operation. "Father, come, I require help here," he said, watching as the older man strode over to the now bloodied table, reaching to grab a cloth from a box atop the counter. He handed the rag over to Victor, who placed the item beneath his hand and continued setting his weight upon it.
"Who is this, might I ask," Edward questioned, turning to look at Gillian. She sighed, a lone tear falling down her cheek.
"Samuel Maverick… we are engaged," she said, peering up at the man before laying her eyes on Fillan, who'd been shocked by the sudden confession. Though he remained silent and looked on as Victor attempted to haul Sam on his side, trying to determine if the musket ball had gone straight through his back.
"Engaged?" The older man asked, looking between the girl and the young man who laid half drained of blood on their surgical table. She only nodded and continued looking on at the gore, prompting Edward to shoo her into the parlor. "You mustn't be seeing this dear, come and stay here with the young one," he said, taking her by the arm and pulling the girl into the opposite room, absently wondering who the kid was as well.
"Alright, please just, try to help him," she cried, more tears moving down her face. Edward just nodded curtly and shut the door, turning slowly around to approach his son who worked hurriedly. As he came upon his side, the father put a hand on the other's shoulder.
"Stop helping him," he said. Victor paused, brows knitted together as he glanced up at the man.
"What?"
"We can't let him live. If he dies, she's devoted to the Templars," Edward explained, moving to put his hands behind his back in a calm stance, opposite to that of Victor's confused glare. She was their friend, and though the death of her fiance would create a shift in her dedication to the Order, he felt very wrong in doing so. There was some sort of humanity in the idea of love, especially when involved in something so… dangerous. A part of Victor felt almost angry that his father would even suggest a thing, despite listening to his every word since the day of his birth.
Shaking his head, the son stood straight and eyed his father up. "Shouldn't there be another way?" He asked, almost in a beseeching tone. Edward remained passive for a moment, looking down at the man with sheer disappointment. How'd he become so soft at the mention of killing a man they had never even met before?
"You will kill this man, or so God help me you will be in his place," Edward said, face taut in a dark scowl, seeming to tower over the doctor who immediately shrunk in on himself. They stood like that, seeming to have a silent battle on whether or not the action would be taken, until Edward threateningly stepped forward, forcing Victor's efforts to crash.
"Okay," he said, out of breath almost with fear. "Okay, I'll do it."
"Good," his father said simply, returning to a state of peace while looking at the young man before them, breath shallow as he was on the brink of death. Even if they'd chosen not to put him down, the apparent Samuel likely wouldn't have survived anyhow. But, much to the older man's delight, there'd be no chances of life for the boy.
Once Gillian found out about her lover's demise, she'd be devastated- her heart would be shattered. And that's all they needed: some emotion. Because then, in the midst of the heartache and tears, Edward would swoop in and whisper little words of blame in her ear… blame on the Assassins for provoking the death of her loved on.
Surprisingly enough, a lot of Templars were working to spread the word that the Assassins were to blame for the tragedy, knowing that it would influence feelings of hatred within their newly welcomed followers. And for the Bostonians, well, they just blamed the Native boy for the incident, as heard through the news tellers and wanted signs already posted through the city. The profiling would help in their expansion over Indian land, hopefully making the citizens more bitter towards the tribes.
Everything so far was moving right along, hitting every checkpoint they wanted in the plan.
The next morning…
"I'm sorry Gillian, but he was practically gone when you arrived," Victor told the girl when she'd finally awoken, having fallen asleep the night before in their waiting chairs, along with the young boy that had accompanied her. As he recalled the death of her lover, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a golden pocket watch in which he'd found within the boy's trousers. The doctor figured it would serve great value in her life, especially considering it had their initials engraved on that backside.
She could barely reach out and receive the accessory without breaking into a sob, hand shakily taking the watch and pulling it towards her chest. From beside her, the blonde boy just glared up at the doctor, no tears meeting his eyes as he ignored the gentle words the man said.
No, he wasn't buying it. In fact, Fillan was a little wary of how the doctor and his apparent father had taken care of Samuel. Through the night, the boy could hardly sleep and momentarily left his sister to explore the shop while everyone presumably was resting. During this small block of time where Fillan was snooping around, he entered the surgical room only to find that Samuel still laid there, bloodied and without any sort of cover.
If the boy had known anything at all, that was truly disrespectful for a man who had just passed away. Though it did help to show the fact that there seemed to be no surgical tools laid out, nor any bloodied rags with the exception of one, which had been laid lazily beside Sam's deceased body. Something about the scene unsettled Fillan, but in that moment he'd figured it was the fact that his friend laid there, blue and no longer alive. The sight, however, didn't quite scare him, but was just off putting. It hadn't been the first time he'd seen a dead body.
Disregarding the fact that there laid Sam, Fillan ventured forward, stepping around the various trays to come beside his old friend and couldn't help but see something glinting from within his stomach. The blonde stepped forward, closer than what he had been thinking to ever dare, and took a better look at the wound. There, just barely concealed in broken flesh was a musket ball, not even removed from the hole.
Wouldn't that have been their first objective when trying to save Sam? To take the ball out? Fillan was no doctor, of course, but it seemed a little odd that they hadn't even taken the time to try and take the fragment out. Perhaps keeping it in helped to stop any excess blood to leave the body, though the boy truly didn't know and could only make up reasons within his mind.
He hadn't snuck around in there too long before feeling a little uneasy, having been around his old friends dead body for far too long, beginning to gain more consciousness and realizing the scenario he'd placed himself within.
Fillan then returned back to the parlor, sneaking around to the front counter to take a look at the medicines that were supplied (just instinctual things a retired robber did). There wasn't very much that was interesting amongst the elixirs and various cures, so the boy had decided to go back to bed, curling up next to Gillian once more before falling asleep. But through the night he couldn't help but feel uneasy, waking up a few times more only to lull himself back to his dreams before, finally, the doctor made them come to within the golden rays of the sunrise.
And there Fillan stood, arms crossed and looking up to the doctor with a doubtful and suspicious gaze as he felt rather uncomfortable yet within their shop. As well as his intuition being a bugger, the boy found it quite odd that the doctor seemed to already know who Gillian was, raising his fretfulness further yet.
"T- thank you," Gillian choked out as she rubbed her thumb over the golden surface of the watch, turning to walk out of the shop when she realized that no one had even known of Samuel's death besides her and Fillan, making the girl even more sad to have to break the news to their friends and the Greenwoods. "I'll… I'll see you in time," she called to the doctor, taking Fillan's hand in her's and leading them outside.
From behind, Victor could barely even say another word, feeling very conflicted with his choices as he plodded upstairs…
Two days later…
"Do we know anything about him?" Gillian asked Edward, standing rigid in front of his long oak desk above the medicinal shop. He shook his head in regards to knowing anything more about the Native boy than his ethnicity.
"I'm afraid not. He looked to be about sixteen or so, maybe younger, maybe older. Long dark hair, rags for clothes. Your typical savage," the older man said casually, leaning back in his chair to assess the girl's reaction to his language, immediately delighted when a look of disgust passed through her eyes.
"Filthy bastards," she muttered, placing her hands on the desk's surface, looking straight into the wicked blue eyes of her friend. "I want to find him, and make him pay for what he has done." Edward just grinned, nodding at the aggressiveness the girl withheld.
"As you have every right to. We are working as hard as we can, though the damn rebels have been tearing down our wanted signs and spreading false rumors of a different culprit," the man explained, watching as Gillian's face filled with bitterness, knowing that he was only fueling the fire. "For what reason we are unsure, but they obviously plan to deceive the entire city of Boston into thinking that the Natives are not the threat here. Likely because they want the barbarians to fight on their side without any complaints from the citizens."
"That's ridiculous, you'd appear more guarded and for your people if you rid the colony of the threats: these damned monsters who know not a shred of humanity," the girl ranted, standing straight and jabbing her hands together in a gesture of frustration. "I simply can't believe what things have come to."
Very happy with the proclamation, Edward merely smiled and agreed with her. "I've never heard truer words, for there are few who see the commendable potential in society. You understand the social inner workings of a cohesive group. You can grasp the steps taken to ensure full attention and obedience." He laughed then, reaching out across the span of the desk to grab a glass of water, taking a small sip before setting it back down, shrugging, "if only all women were like you…"
Gillian would've gave a flattered laugh had she not been in a rather rotten mood over the death of Sam and the struggle of finding the one who caused it.
"Yes, if only," she decided to say, remembering that Fillan was home alone for the day, as the Greenwoods had traveled to Salem in order to inform Samuel's extended family of the sad news. "Well, I must be going. I'm taking care of the shop for now, until Isaac returns. If there is any progress, do not hesitate to find me."
"Of course," Edward sighed, standing to lead Gillian to his office door, pulling it open and ushered her outside. "You will definitely hear from me if there is to be any news."
The girl only nodded and slipped away, feeling a ball of hate and anger slowly manifest within her as she walked home.
Ten minutes later…
Fillan sat in concentration at the dining room table, peering down at a notice that had been posted on the news bulletin outside the Commons House. The heading read: Boston Massacre Fatalities.
As soon as the boy saw it as he was on a mission to find the meat stand, he tore it from it's nail and ran back home. And as he read through the description of Samuel Mavericks death, he was overcome with anger and confusion, knowing that his intuition had been right.
Apparently, according to the Wolcott's Practice, Samuel had been killed by a musket shot (true, obviously), which impaled him to such a degree that the ball had exited through the young man's back. That- that was not true. Fillan had seen the musket ball still clearly within Sam's flesh as he laid dead on the table, even glinting in the minimal moonlight through the blood and skin. Which confused Fillan because why would you even lie about such a thing? Just say that the shot had been fatal enough to kill him before the morning, nothing more or nothing less.
Maybe it was just a mere error, perhaps a more graphic turn done by whoever wrote the note for whatever reason. Yet Fillan just felt so strange to the revelation, rereading the passage over and over again until he heard the front door open, then Gillian rounding the corner into the kitchen.
"Did you grab the lamb?" She asked, walking towards the table to see what the boy was reading. "What's that?"
"How do you know the Wolcotts?" Fillan asked suddenly, completely ignoring the girl's prior questions.
Surprised by the sudden aggression, Gillian just answered as truthfully as she could without giving the Templar position away. "They're friends of mine. We met at the tailor, I make coats for Edward." She figured that was informative enough, especially for a question sprung onto her so spontaneously.
"They're strange, I don't like them," the boy stated bluntly, crossing his arms. Gillian furrowed her brows, a little annoyed that her brother would be so judging towards people who only had the best intentions for her. He'd only met them once, and they tried to save Sam in that same encounter, yet there he was disrespecting their name. Fillan knew better than to act so childishly.
"Why," she snapped, crossing her arms as well.
"They wrote that Sam was killed by a musket ball, one that tore through him and left an exit wound," he said, lifting the paper to Gillian's view. She just shook her head, not seeing how that was any proof or reason as to why Fillan should dislike her dearest friends.
"So? It sure as hell looked that way when we carried him to the shop," she replied, not seeing any sense in his statement.
"Yes, but it's not, they hadn't even removed the ball," Fillan explained. "It didn't even looked like they had helped him at all." Gillian made a confused face, irritatedly glaring down at the boy.
"How the hell do you know that?"
"I woke up in the middle of the night and looked around in-" immediately Gillian scolded the boy.
"Why were you sneaking around? You can't just do that!" She yelled, not knowing what would happen if Edward had discovered Fillan going through his things, rooting around and such.
"When you steal from people for a year and a half you have a tendency to be nosy, have you forgotten where we come from?" The boy asked incredulously, standing slowly from his seat, being in line with Gillian's gaze then. "Oh wait, I forgot you're out there defending the Brits, like a damned royal brat."
"Don't-" the sister didn't even know how to express how angry she was with each separate point and insult of that statement. "Don't you ever dare talk to me like that! We did what we needed to do and you know what, I would do anything to forget it. And this country, I'm not from it, I'm not worried about the issues here. I've got but an outsider's perspective, so sorry if I'm not bitter at the world."
"What, you expect me to stay silent while you defend the kind of people who left half our country in poverty? The kind of people who are probably going to ruin this one?" He asked, getting increasingly louder and more passionate about his argument. This was the first time that they'd ever been legitimately angry with each other.
"Fillan, you're fourteen, what do you know about the politics of any country?" She belittled him, knowing that it was one of the things that angered the boy the most.
"Did I need to be fucked by a married man at thirteen to understand the world we live in?" Fillan asked loudly, not even regretting how harsh the words were in the moment. Even as Gillian's face turned to that of horror, he continued to glare and hold his ground.
"Did… did you just- how could you?" She stuttered out, hardly being able to register her brother's words. "I didn't think that after letting any man get near me like that, I'd have it used against me by my own brother."
"And I never thought that coming to America would make you take two lying old fools over your family," the boy spat venomously, slapping his hand on the table.
Gillian scowled heavily at the comment, leaning over the tabletop herself to get in the boy's face. "They are my family," she drawled, wanting to hurt him as much as he'd just hurt her. And it appeared she did, as for a flicker of a moment his eyes flashed in sheer pain, though were quickly clouded over in anger once more.
"Then I suppose you can go live with them, huh? Leave me to fend for myself again, right?" Fillan said, calmer but yet with frustration, cowering back towards the wall as he looked to the floor. His words confused Gillian, for she didn't know how she'd abandoned Fillan in any way. If anything, she was the reason why they never had been apart. But her mind was too freshly burned with his prior words to even think to ask about it.
"Yeah, I suppose I can, maybe when you get caught stealing again you can just leave the bloody country," she called, walking out of the room to gather her coat and satchel, amongst other things. There was no way that at that moment she could stay within the same house as the boy.
"Oh trust me I'll be gone before you can even run to your little lying friends," he yelled from the opposite side of the house, kicking the dining chair out of the way and walking out of the Greenwood's back door without another word.
He didn't intend to come back.