Chapter 7: Cutting Onions
Tears poured down my cheeks as I cut onions for a meal that was supposed to satiate dozens of people, and I couldn't help remembering my first years of sailing when I was the youngest crew member and thus got every task nobody else wanted to do. The only difference was that this time I was doing it out of my own free will.
Anna, the cook of the Black Horse Tavern, lay sick in bed, Lisa served the guests, Amadeus had been sent out to deliver a message and Grete was cleaning the rooms. Valley worked in the kitchen all by herself, and as I offered her a helping hand she instantly remembered she hadn't had her revenge for the tableware she had destroyed while chasing me through the tavern two months ago, so she gave me the most unpleasant task she could think of. To her greatest disappointment, I didn't show any resistance and dutifully put my best skills to cutting the onions into thin pieces.
Even though I considered myself pretty good with knives, having used them to kill people for decades, it turned out that Valley could wield a knife far better. She cut the ingredients so fast that it sounded like a drum roll. Watching her using her knife so skillfully surely made the fact that she had killed at least four men with her very hands much more believable ... In the end, there actually was a weapon she could wield. And I knew that, whatever was going to happen, forgetting the kitten had claws would be a deadly mistake.
It was just when I wiped away my tears for the thousandth time and received a devilish grin from Valley that Henry Fern entered. He was a man of medium height, not too thin and not too fat, just as average as a human being can be. He had a suntanned face, grey hair and a gaze that clearly indicated some kind of absentmindedness, since he often looked up as if doing mental arithmetic. The moment I first met him I immediately had my answer to why he never noticed his wife's cheating.
"Grundgütiger, Valley!" he exclaimed as he entered. "Do you really make a customer work for you?!"
Before Valley could answer I stepped in: "It was my idea, Master Fern. I'm awaiting a message from a client, so I can't leave the tavern. I'm glad there's something I can do to kill time."
Fern gave me a surprised look. "Oh, well, then ..." He paused. "You escort merchant ships, right?"
"Aye," I nodded. This was what I told everyone who wasn't supposed to know about my true purpose here. And it was the first time I wished I would have come up with another lie ...
"Do you have many contracts right now? I was told you've been staying here for half a year now."
"I have some important dealings with my partners here in New York," I said.
Fern sighed. "Pity ... Lost some valuable cargo two months ago. I've heard you're very experienced. I could use the service of someone like you ..."
I didn't say anything. Surely I would have liked him much more if he just didn't happen to be Valley's husband. It wasn't his fault, and it wasn't my fault. It was the result of natural circumstances.
If not for Valley's knife, the silence between us would have been physically palpable. She was still cutting the ingredients, completely ignoring our conversation.
"She's quite a busy bee, isn't she?" Fern suddenly muttered, his eyes resting on Valley. "Whenever I see her she's working. Has always been like that. Kind, humble and hard-working. I swore her father to look after her, but business always keeps me away. Leaving her behind all alone with all these drunken sailors and dock workers ... I'm glad there's at least one decent man around here."
I gazed at him. Was he really talking about the Valley I knew? ... Kind? ... Humble?! ... I gave Valley a surreptitious look and found that there was something stiff about how she kept chopping the crops.
"She has grown up in this tavern," I replied to Fern. "She knows how to handle herself."
"Coming from you, it sounds like it's true." Fern sighed with relief and turned to go. "Well, I have an important meeting with potential partners. Good luck with your client, Master Cormac."
"I make my own luck," I hissed, failing at a polite nod.
Fern just smiled and stepped outside, leaving me to my thoughts. We had known each other for almost three days now ... How could it be he still didn't realize I didn't like him? Yet just as one part of my brain asked the question another answered that it was obvious: A man who was so much into his trade that he couldn't even keep his word to his deceased friend surely didn't notice anything beyond his business.
"Why the gloomy face, Shay?" Valley chirped, collecting my onions.
"He doesn't know you at all, does he?" I grumbled.
"That's the meaning of it all," Valley shrugged. "I know him pretty well and can foresee his every move, he treats me nicely, he gives me the status of a married woman, and he's always absent, so I have all the freedom I can dream of. He's an ideal husband."
I stared at the table and shook my head. "He's not a husband at all. He doesn't ... He can't really cherish you ..."
Valley's hands paused before collecting the last onions.
"Marriage isn't about cherishing each other, Shay." Her voice sounded strangely weak. "I inherited this tavern from my father, but Heinrich is the rightful owner. All my possessions belong to him through marriage. In return, I have his protection and the rights of a married woman. I have all the freedom I need to run this tavern. I've turned it into the best tavern in New York, I've achieved power and connections through it, and I want it to grow and flourish even more. Without Heinrich there's no Black Horse Tavern. Without the Black Horse Tavern there's no Queen Valley."
She put the last onions in her bowl.
"Marriage is about business."
I didn't quite remember when it had started. Maybe ...
"Master Cormac, there isn't anything you don't know already. All I can say is that it was foolish to start this affair to begin with. And now it's too late."
I hadn't seen Luchezarsky again. The morning after his name day celebration everyone found themselves back home in their beds, not remembering how they got there and feeling extremely ill. They all knew they had been at Luchezarsky's, some of them even remembered the count talking about Russia's society, but then everyone finished their recollections with: "Must have drunk too much."
It was almost scary to be the only one who knew about Luchezarsky "searching" our minds, and looking back at that night ... I still couldn't believe it really happened. Especially considering that Luchezarsky had vanished the next day, leaving no trace behind. Judging by how this frustrated Valley, he probably did it to get rid of the Assassins. Even though they didn't plan to kill him, they still didn't have to shadow him all the time. It was much wiser to choose carefully which information to leak. So Luchezarsky was a witcher indeed.
Part of me regretted not having asked him more questions. Not having asked him how to understand his ... advice. Strangely, I felt like he had told me exactly what to do. - Only he hadn't. He hadn't told me anything at all. What did I know? That Valley's life purpose was dependent on the tavern and her husband? I knew that, I knew I could destroy the heart of the Assassin network simply by destroying Valley's marriage, and I knew that Valley knew it as well. Sooner or later I would destroy her anyway; there was no alternative as long as we were enemies.
I also knew that her husband's absence and him failing to carry out his obligations as a husband was a very legitimate reason for divorce. Valley did have the option to be more independent, but since Henry Fern would keep the tavern and all the other possessions Valley would lose her power and live in poverty. If she lost her status as "queen" there wouldn't be many people to help her, and many would take the opportunity to get revenge. Surely the Assassins would take care of her, but without a tavern she would be useless to them, and someone like Valley couldn't bear to live like that.
In the end, Valley had walked into a trap, and I had the power to activate it.
With all that in mind, I couldn't deny I was in a trap myself, feeling eerily comfortable there. In fact, I remained completely calm as I saw those far too familiar robes while enjoying my well-earned cup of tea. My strongest emotion in that moment was indeed plain curiosity.
It had been quite a while since I last saw Achilles' coat, but I recognized it in an instant, even though the man wearing them was different. Connor was different.
It was hard to miss that he didn't like unnecessary words. Once he entered he only nodded at Valley and then at the man and the woman following him, apparently Assassins, but not wearing the robes. While his two subordinates took a seat at a nearby table he turned and walked straight at me.
I wasn't surprised at all. Was there any other reason for the Mentor to be here? No. So I just took another sip of tea, cursed the onions for the slow recovery of my eyes and was just about to turn a neighbouring chair in a welcoming position as Connor suddenly stopped.
"Master Connor! What a pleasure to see you again!" Henry Fern grabbed his hand and shook it. "How is your boy? Business is going well, I hope?"
My mouth dropped open. Of course I knew about Connor managing the trade of the Davenport Homestead, but ... With that ominous hood and all the weapons he was carrying it should have been obvious his priorities were somewhere else. Fern was a really, really special case.
The Assassin Mentor seemed to share my opinion, as he wordlessly removed Fern's hands and walked past him. I couldn't help it: I liked the lad already.
I glanced at Fern and saw Valley whispering something in his ear and directing him upstairs. For a moment her eyes rested on me, then they switched to Connor and the two other Assassins. I just nodded. I didn't need to be told that any wrong move could be my death. Even without Connor's Assassin escort ... The Mentor was young, he had a stronger build than me, and there could be no doubt about him being an extremely experienced warrior. Apart from all that, I wasn't even armed except for my hidden blades and a small dagger. If they attacked my only chance to survive would be to break through the window to my right and run for my life. That wouldn't be my first desperate escape, though, so I still didn't worry. After all, if the Assassins really wanted to kill me they would have done - or at least attempted it - long ago. So it was pretty obvious Connor only wanted to talk. And that made me even more curious.
"I'm glad to finally make your acquaintance, Connor," I said, smiling.
Connor gave me a slow nod and took off his hood. This was when I froze for a second: That face. The ethnicity of his mother was written all over it, but ... I didn't even know exactly in which features it lay, but there was a close resemblance to the Grand Master I still remembered and admired. Yet looking in his eyes made me realize he wasn't any like Haytham Kenway at all: Despite all the men Connor had killed his gaze still remained clear and innocent. Not even his brutal-looking tomahawk and his rather savage hairstyle could hide the gentle nature shining through his eyes. The hairstyle, by the way, obviously used to be a war haircut a few years ago, since his strands decorated with beads and feathers still varied in length. A silent remnant of his hunt for the Colonial Templars. It was five years now that he had killed his father ... my Grand Master.
"Please follow me outside, Master Cormac," Connor said slowly.
"Well, it doesn't look like I have a choice," I grinned as I stood up, following him through the door and then to the docks. I was surprised I didn't have the feeling of being watched. There really were only Connor and me with all the sailors, dock workers, captains and merchants for us to blend in.
"This is a good ship," he commented as soon as we reached the Morrigan, carefully examining her.
"Aye, she is," I nodded. "My most loyal companion. Yet I suppose you didn't come just to look at my ship, did you?"
"You are right," he said calmly. "I already know about her everything I need. And you know thanks to whom."
I nodded again. "Valley."
"We have learned very much about you during the past six months. You allowed it to happen."
I smirked. "There isn't much for me to hide. As for the precursor artifacts, I know they're safe."
"I am not interested in the artifacts," he replied, still very tranquilly. "Achilles has told me about them. I hope no man's hand will ever touch them again, though I do not believe it." There was bitterness in his voice. "Humans are greedy. Very soon the lectures of the past will be forgotten, and those who swore to protect mankind will grab for power once again. The Revolutionary War was fought in the name of freedom and some achieved it while others did not. There are no real changes. Only shifts of power."
I felt there were too many things he tried to express through these words. And I also felt I understood all of them. Somehow.
"If you're not after the artifacts, then what are you here for?" I tried to redirect the conversation back to a clearer path. "I'm not involved in any Templar activities. I don't even know whether my efforts are of any help for my order."
Connor's expression hardened for a moment.
"They are," he said. "But this is not what I need to talk about. I came here solely for you, Master Cormac ... You are a legendary Assassin hunter, and yet you prefer not to take any action."
"Well, taking action would mean to provoke you to take action and destroy us completely. For some reason you, too, prefer to not to take any action and allow us to exist in this country."
Connor gave me a piercing look. "I know my father was right when he told me the Templars would always rise again."
"And so you let us live to keep an eye on our activities." I voiced a truth I already knew.
"This is not the only reason."
I looked at him more intensely. Was I subconsciously trying to read his mind?
"You used to be an Assassin." As he started walking around me, not letting his eyes off my face, I felt he was trying to read my mind as well. "You act like an Assassin. You protect innocents - like an Assassin."
This was getting very ... personal. I forced a smirk on my face.
"Is it an invitation to rejoin the Brotherhood?"
"No." Connor smiled sadly and produced a book from under his robes. "This is my father's journal. He kept it since the age of ten. He was a Templar, yet he had been meant to become an Assassin, and he always believed he acted in accordance with his father's Assassin ideals. There was a time when he believed a unity of our orders was possible. There was a time when I believed it as well."
"Then this is an invitation to unite?"
I had to admit that keeping the smile on my face was becoming harder with every word he said.
He shook his head. "No. I have learned my lesson. As have you, I suppose. I only wanted to meet you."
The scales fell from my eyes. Of course. He wore Achilles' robes and he had Grand Master Kenway's features, but he was different. The person he reminded me most of was ... me.
Suddenly mind-reading was creepily easy: "You're looking for an alternative path. A way to make changes actually happen. When the Assassins are in power and try to influence politics and society and thus behave more like Templars ... You're still trying to build a better world where everyone would get along and live happily ever after in peace and freedom. And you believe that meeting me would give you ... ideas and inspiration?"
Connor remained silent. So I was right. The Assassin Mentor famous for destroying the Colonial Rite was mentally cornered, lost somewhere between right and wrong - just like me.
When Connor finally spoke his face wore the stoic expression of a man in power: "If you decide to leave with Valley, then you have my permission to do so."
Now it was me who was speechless. I had expected many things, but not that! While I was just standing there, trying to grasp what I had just heard, Connor turned, made a gesture through a window of the Black Horse Tavern and then left with the other two Assassins. Watching them slowly blending with the crowd, I couldn't get rid of the feeling that I was part of a rather strange and dangerous experiment.
"Master Cormac! Shay!"
It was the first time I saw General Lamb so overwhelmed by feelings. With his eyes wide open and his face pale as if he'd seen a ghost he ran towards me and grabbed my shoulders.
"I'm glad you're alive! You met him, didn't you? My men reported me that Connor was in town. They tried to warn you, but they found the tavern occupied by Assassins and ..."
"We only had a friendly talk, General," I smiled, trying to calm him down.
"A friendly ..." He let go of me and shook his head. "You ... you were luckier than most of us."
"I make my own luck," I grinned, yet Lamb's face remained pale.
"Please be careful," he said. "As I already said, we can't afford to lose you."
"You won't," I replied, starting to get serious as well. "It seems I'm actually under the special protection of the Mentor himself. An honourable man. Seems disoriented, though."
Lamb nodded. "As I somewhen mentioned, he has a conflict with his wife ... uhm ... lover ... Meggie the Parrot. And also with the majority of the Brotherhood who want to secure what they had fought for. This country still hasn't quite decided in which direction it wants to go, and there are still discussions about its constitution. The Assassins have the means to influence George Washington, and if the president is given more power, they'll virtually rule the country. However, the more ... democratic this country is going to be the weaker the Brotherhood's influence and the better our chances to grow. Ironic, isn't it? I tell you, by autumn we'll have a fiery public discussion, and I'll do everything I can to strengthen the position of the states against the national government. The last thing we need is the return of monarchy, even if the monarch is called a president. I've received reports that Connor has given a special order not to harm me."
"Poor lad." I sighed. "He has lost so much, and he'll continue to lose."
"One really can't help sympathizing with him," Lamb nodded again.
For a while we stood in silence, then the general suddenly changed the topic:
"I almost forgot to tell you I've received a letter from Count Luchezarsky. He's on his way back to Europe now and he has shared his thoughts with us. His predictions for our country are rather ... bitter."
For some reason I wasn't surprised. Maybe I'd lived for too long to believe in Utopia.
"What did he write?" I asked.
"Well, he did mention that discussion about our constitution as well as some major differences between the north and the south. He is convinced that sooner or later it will lead to a civil war. He is also not very fond of democracy itself. Apparently he had the opportunity to meet some European monarchs and crown princes and likes the fact that most of them were educated as future leaders from birth on. He says that being born and raised as a ruler frees most people from the thirst for power, because they already have it. At least, he claims that most royals he has spoken to have a strong sense of responsibility for their nation and make decisions they sincerely believe to be right. When they decide wrong - which obviously does happen often - according to Luchezarsky, it isn't because they are selfish, but because they are still merely humans who can easily fall victim to bad advice and manipulation.
"As for democracy, however, he fears that, in the first place, it will serve people who are ambitious, selfish and power-thirsty. People who will tell any lie to win the elections. He also thinks that with time candidates will rely more and more on sponsors which means that power will shift into the hands of the greedy and rich with no ideals.
"He also mentioned what he calls 'Western arrogance'. He says that he knows it well, being Russian and thus belonging to a nation which is constantly called uncivilized and even was victim of the later crusades despite the facts that it's Christian, that it has its own unique history and culture and that even their peasants have a better hygiene than European nobility - whatever he means by that." Lamb paused for a moment, apparently overwhelmed with the count's statement, then he continued: "Well, he believes that Europeans - and we Americans apparently as well - usually look down on everyone who isn't us. He criticizes slavery and our relationship with the natives, and he says that sooner or later we'll find new victims to look down upon. He believes that the idea of democracy is ideal material to be perverted in order to legitimize new crusades. 'The higher the ideals the more horrifying the violence committed in their name,' he writes."
"Aye, the Assassins would stick at nothing in the name of what they call freedom, and as soon as Connor is dead and his legacy forgotten there might be indeed great bloodshed again." I furrowed my brow. "The count has made some dark predictions. Did he offer any solutions?"
Lamb nodded. "Even though he is a monarchist himself and believes that his own country still needs a strong tsar for the people to believe in, he actually does like the idea of Russia also having some kind of a parliament to hear the people's voices. He isn't all against democratic ideas and he admits that after everything that has happened here a return of monarchy would actually harm our young nation. In fact, he shares my opinion that the states should keep as much of their autonomy as possible, so every state can exist according to its own rules without the need for interference in each other's business. He says that in a country where individual rights are valued so highly it would make groups of people unhappy if these rights were going to be limited by a strong national government."
The general sighed, then he looked at the sky outside the window and smiled: "I have to admit I had some concerns about Luchezarsky being a straight monarchist, but now I see that what he truly believes in is that every country has the right to choose its own individual path, just like any person has the right to live their own life. Despite all the differences between us and the Russian Rite he does support our cause and wishes us luck in keeping this country peaceful. He is a wise man."
"Aye, he is." I followed Lamb's gaze, watching the clouds floating peacefully across the sky. The more one thinks about it the more confusing it gets. Living in a world where right is wrong and wrong is right depending on perspective and circumstances means living in a world where all ideals are obsolete. Is this true freedom, opposed to what the Assassins believe it to be? Being trapped in a dilemma myself, I knew true freedom was a burden nobody really wanted. I yearned for someone or something to force me to take one direction or another. I was no Luchezarsky who could analyze the present in order to predict the future and choose the best path. All I wanted was thinking about the options of a nation as well as my own not to feel like cutting onions. But obviously I was asking too much.
To be continued next Friday ...
