Chapter 9
How Time Flies
Haytham knew De la Tour just wanted him away from the manor.
But still. Tending to the horses? He barely knew how to do that. Connor had shown him (most of) the ropes, but how was he supposed to feed and groom five horses without at least one of them galloping away into the sunrise and getting eaten by wolves?
It was madness. There was one horse per Assassin. Haytham was twelve - old enough to kill, he thought uncomfortably - but he has never tended to horses.
Except the day before, when De la Tour and Jamie had to talk in rapid-fire French about what happened in France - maybe - and Achilles had shown him to the little stable just by the manor's side.
Still.
Haytham sighed and started gathering the hay for the horses. They all neighed appreciatively when they smelled and saw their food, lightly trotting to the mounting pile of hay. He scrunched up his nose. The smell. It was going to haunt his dreams.
He tried to distract himself. He thought of his future as an Assassin and how proud his father would be if he knew his son had chosen the same path as he.
But the thought of his dead father burned like wildfire and Haytham hastily shoved it away. Another memory popped up - "Age of piracy", the book with drawings and maps and names of people his father had probably met - but he couldn't think about the book without thinking about Birch and his betrayal.
Haytham belatedly noticed he had given too much hay to the horses and blinked away his tears. Not now.
He went back inside the stable - it looked like sloppy work, but what did he know - and gathered a currycomb, a dandy brush, a body brush and a grooming rag. His arms couldn't carry more than that if he didn't want to get even dirtier and smellier.
Haytham turned to the horse he and Connor had ridden - a dark brown mare who didn't seem to like Jamie's steed at all, with good reason - and started grooming her. The others will have to wait and not get out of the stable.
He shot a deeply annoyed look at De la Tour's horse, who was just about to trot outside.
The horse stared back at him and neighed morosely before trudging back inside.
Haytham smiled to himself. Good.
Connor joined him outside one hour and a half later and, as he helped him with the horses, he told him what happened.
"You put his journal in De la Tour's study?" Haytham eventually asked him, just to be sure.
Connor nodded. "They will soon find it," he said, and pressed his lips together. "The Brotherhood does not take kindly to traitors. He shall die."
Haytham nearly sagged in relief at that. "Thank you."
Haytham and Connor stepped inside the manor just as the screaming started.
"I am no traitor!" Jamie shouted as he was bodily dragged to the door by both Henry and Achilles. "Why would you think that?! I've done nothing but-"
"-but betraying your Fréres!" De la Tour snapped at him. "Vous avez été corrompus par l'argent templier! Despicable, traitre, méprisable!" He almost trampled Haytham in his rage, but he stopped enough to say- "Move, boy! This traitre shall get what he deserves!"
Haytham nodded and moved aside.
Jamie's expression twisted into something vile, wrath and disgust etched onto his face, as he looked at the young Kenway. "It was you! You were looking into my journal, moving things in my cabin!"
Haytham simply shrugged. Jamie's face turned redder and he struggled more desperately into the Assassins' grip.
De la Tour opened the door and socked him in the jaw, stunning him. "Tais-toi, traitre."
Achilles and Henry dragged Jamie somewhere behind the manor, with the stables just out of view. De la Tour strode ahead of them, while Haytham and Connor trailed a few steps behind.
Haytham supposed he shouldn't feel so relieved - bordering on happy, really - that someone was going to die. He also supposed that Jamie wanted to kill him, so it was only natural that Haytham would do everything in his power to stay alive and mostly safe.
Connor did most of the work for him, actually. Haytham owed him his life multiple times. He should do something nice for the hooded man, sometime in the future.
He had a feeling Connor would be permanently content even if Haytham did nothing but become an Assassin.
Henry kicked the back of Jamie's right knee and the Frenchman crumpled to the ground. Both Achilles and the captain had frowns on their faces, though Henry's was more of a snarl. De la Tour took a sword from the sheath at his left hip and put it just below Jamie's throat.
"What have you to say now, traitor?" he asked, his voice barely a whisper.
Jamie spat on the Mentor's dark green waistcoat.
The Mentor buried his sword between Jamie's collarbones, just below his throat.
He twisted his weapon - was it stuck? - and wrenched it out with a sharp movement of his arm. Jamie collapsed to the dusty ground, staining it crimson with his lifeblood.
As his life ended, Haytham's had just begun.
For the first few months, De la Tour, Achilles and Haytham lived together inside the manor and learned how not to step on each other's boundaries - mostly Haytham's. The Frenchman was still as iracound as always, though he did have his moments of near genius-like lucidity. Achilles didn't seem to hold him in very high regard - they were equals, almost: De la Tour had just reached the Colonies first - and they often disagreed over their plans.
If they were angry enough, they shouted at each other over what to eat for supper.
Haytham eventually learned to evaluate De la Tour's anger level by counting how many French words slipped into his speech. If they were just three or four per sentence, it would soon pass. If he started shouting more than two sentences in French at someone who did not speak French as fluently as him - Achilles and Haytham - he knew he had to hide, fast.
By the end of May 1737, Achilles left for Boston and decided to take Haytham with him.
"You managed to hide in the city for a whole week before that traitor found you," the would-be Mentor told him. "It is also time for you to pick up some skills that cannot be taught here."
Thinking about all the pickpocketing and acting he did, Haytham was proud he managed to keep a straight face.
So of course he was not surprised when Achilles pointed a plump old man and told him to steal something from him, whether it be coins or a letter.
Haytham - wearing his dark blue coat, the one he had bought with stolen money - snatched a pouch and a silver ring from the man. Checking the ring, he was relieved it did not bear the Templar cross.
"That's not yours!" a boy shouted at him, and Haytham fled.
The young Kenway managed to hide thanks to Connor, who helped him slip into the second floor of a building nearby. The other boy - about three years older than Haytham - searched the area until Achilles rounded the corner, seemingly unconcerned, and pointed him in the wrong direction.
Achilles told Haytham to be more careful next time he picked someone's pockets, and he was pleasantly surprised the would-be Mentor didn't stop glowing blue. Haytham risked failing his task, and Achilled glowed an even brighter blue. He was proud. Of Haytham.
He loved seeing blue. He loved drinking in the sight of it. Especially when both Achilles and (eventually) De la Tour started shining a solid azure. He loved it so much he insisted on having more blue clothes, instead of the traditional Assassin white or the strange 'dirty leaves' shade of the Frenchman's waistcoat.
For stealth's sake, Haytham agreed on a darker blue than the azure of the Eagle Sight.
It was October 1740 by then, and Haytham had spent nearly every second of those three years learning everything he could.
Achilles and De la Tour left him behind in the manor more often as their duties to the budding Brotherhood grew more pressing. Haytham told them he could handle some weeks alone. It wasn't exactly the truth - he had never been completely isolated, so he didn't know if he actually could - but Connor was always with him.
With the whole manor and the surrounding woods to their leisure, they were both free.
Haytham learned the differences between climbing buildings and trees. He learned how to map a climbing route on the branches. He learned how long he could run in waist-deep snow, and how much he hated it. He learned how to move silently enough to catch animals unawares.
There had also been a small wolf pack, once, which Haytham didn't want to see ever again. Explaining it to De la Tour had been embarassing.
"Pourquoi were you outside, Haytham?"
"I was climbing the trees around here, Mentor."
The Assassin stared at him, unimpressed. "How far from the manor is 'around here'?"
"..." As far as Connor told him it was still Homestead territory, actually.
De la Tour sighed. "At least you brought the sword I gave you."
Haytham nodded and winced as the Mentor tightened the bandages around his left arm a bit too much.
"Don't go this far," De la Tour told him, "ever again."
On 4th December 1740, Connor gave him a bow.
Haytham had no idea how or when he found every material and painstakingly put everything together - because Connor never stole anything when he could avoid it - but, somehow, he did it. He worked for the better part of the year just to give Haytham a new weapon.
Usually, Connor's gifts took one month at most to be created - the eagle drawing and the dreamcatcher, for example. His wonderfully smooth bow - along with six arrows and a quiver - had taken nearly nine months, starting from scratch and scouring both woods and cities to find the right materials.
Haytham had been almost afraid he'd have cried right then and there.
Connor could have left him at the manor and disappeared to find a way back to his own time. He could have stayed with him just long enough to make sure he'd survive. Instead, Connor was actively spending his time and (mental) resources to make him live his life at its fullest and help him along.
Haytham had been so touched by his gesture that he forgot Achilles and De la Tour didn't know anything about Connor's presence.
"Where did you get them?" Achilles asked him a couple days later, when he returned from his week-long trip to Anticosti.
He was so excited he didn't even know what could possibly be wrong. "Get what?"
"The bow on your back. The quiver… and the arrows."
Haytham froze in the doorway. Riiiight. "Uhm."
"I'm afraid I can't teach you archery." Achilles sighed. "If you just asked me you wanted to learn, I'd have told you and you wouldn't have stolen-"
"I didn't steal it!" he instantly defended himself, shooting the man an indignant look. "A… friend gave it to me. For my… birthday."
Achilles raised an eyebrow at him. "Would you mind to introduce me to your 'friend', then?"
Haytham almost bristled at the way Achilles said 'friend'. Connor was real - he just wasn't able to see him. "I don't mind," he said and turned to the Assassin standing a couple feet away.
"No." Connor frowned at him and crossed his arms.
The young Kenway turned to the would-be Mentor. "He does mind though."
Achilles frowned. His 'Really, Haytham?' look was eerily similar to Connor's. "Where did you really get the bow?"
At the end of their hour-long argument, Achilles was convinced Haytham had befriended a master thief that occasionally dropped inside the manor without anyone's notice and would take Haytham away if the Assassins weren't careful.
Which wasn't what Haytham wanted at all. At least Achilles didn't think him too crazy just yet, maybe.
His hypothesis was proven wrong when a certain Liam O'Brian started showing up at the manor.
He thought the Irishman - just a year younger than him - was a bit brash. And maybe a bit too paranoid. But Achilles had probably given him the task to check for master thieves around the manor and Liam looked at the man with something akin to heroship, so Haytham knew he'd take it more seriously than he should.
Connor was taking Liam's hostility towards him - not him, but the idea of his presence near the building - with the calm of someone used to it. "He does not hate me," he told Haytham. "It would hurt only if he hated me for who I am."
Haytham frowned at him. "Why would he hate you if you're an Assassin?"
Connor's lips twitched upwards. "I am also one of the Iroquois."
"Oh." Haytham sometimes forgot Connor - Ratonhnhaké:ton, actually - wasn't supposed to be normal. Kanien'kehá:ka on his mother's side and British on his father's. "I think he'd still consider you an Assassin Brother."
"Then you see why his enmity does not trouble me."
Haytham nodded. The Brotherhood made no distinction between races and nationalities.
The Brotherhood grew larger and more powerful as the years passed.
Haytham and Liam had been the first Assassins initiated in the British Colonies, on 7th July 1743. Just a year later, Louis-Joseph Gaultier Chevalier de la Vérendrye - Haytham had rolled his eyes at the unnecessary length of his name and his know-it-all attitude - helped them pass through French territory undisturbed to reach their target.
Achilles also met a woman called Angélique (who later changed her name into Abigail) during one of his missions, chasing leads about the so-called Pieces of Eden. Though Connor was happy for Achilles's newfound love, he told Haytham that those artefacts would only bring sorrow to those who sought them. The young Kenway argued that Achilles was searching for them only to keep them away from Templar hands, but Connor wasn't convinced.
At the end of May 1745, Achilles returned to the manor with Abigail and De la Tour's robes.
"Mentor De la Tour," he told the two (three) Assassins, "has fallen in battle. He appointed me as his successor."
Connor did not seem surprised at the news. "I have never met him in my previous life," he told Haytham, "and Achilles had always been Mentor when I came here. It was not a hard connection to make."
It wasn't, really. But Achilles still seemed a bit too hunched for his thirty-six years of age during the first few months. It did not suit him at all. Fortunately, it also did not last long. De la Tour had been important in starting the Brotherhood and they all mourned him: but they also knew the best way to honour his memory was to continue growing.
The next year, he initiated Chevalier and Kesegowaase of the Wolastoqiyik into the Brotherhood. Because of this, the Assassins gained strong connections in French politics and territories, as well as allies in nearly every French-aligned tribe. With the income they provided, Achilles built a couple houses around the manor, since it was getting crowded with all the new Assassins and training structures.
But there were also some tribes that were neutral in the British-French conflict, and Achilles needed them to remain that way. It would take very little for their French allies to anger the tribes and that would be bad for their growing Brotherhood.
Haytham offered to parlay with the Kanien'kehá:ka, specifically.
Kesegowaase had raised an eyebrow at him. "Very few of them speak English or French, Brother."
"I wasn't planning on speaking English," Haytham told him in fluent Mohawk, smirking.
Achilles muttered something about how he'd deal with native master thieves on his land and sent his first protégé to make a deal with the Kanien'kehá:ka. Haytham was excited all those language lessons with Connor would finally pay off.
Connor readily led him to Kanatahséton, the village he was born in, and they (Haytham) worked their way through the other nearby villages as well as tribes of the Haudenosaunee, or Iroquois.
Their diplomatic tour didn't give them many good results though: nearly half of the villages had already decided to side with the British - it also didn't help that Haytham was English to the bone - except for Kanatahséton.
Oiàner - the Clan Mother - decided to honour their deal of neutrality if the Assassins provided protection for them in case of attack. Haytham thought it was only fair and accepted.
He didn't know if he would have accepted so soon, had he known there were already people trying to force them out of their land.
It was a woman of the Kanien'kehá:ka that told him the news - Kaniehtiio.
She led him on a chase through the treetops - probably thinking Haytham couldn't help them if he couldn't follow her - and only when they were at the edge of Kanatahséton's land she relayed everything she knew. Connor had been silent as a rock when she started talking to Haytham.
There were small camps of mercenaries throughout the woods - at least three every time - that frightened away every animal with their gunshots and heavy stomping. When they met passing Kanienkehaka hunters, they either threatened them with their muskets until they left or told them the land was soon to be sold.
"Let me have a word with them," Haytham told her - who of course rolled her eyes at his tone - and he left to find a group of mercenaries.
His dark blue Assassin robes would blend well enough in the darkness of night, Haytham decided. He checked all his weapons - sword, Hidden Blades, dagger, a couple throwing knives, bow and arrows - and approached the first group he found.
"Good evening," he greeted.
All three men scrambled to point their muskets at him.
"I suppose you won't even allow a wary traveller warmth and rest?" he asked, still smiling innocently, with his hands hanging loosely at his sides. "That's a shame."
"We don' need yer fancy speak," one of them said. "Go away."
Haytham glanced at Connor, who was sneaking behind their backs, and smiled wider. "We're all fellow subjects of His Majesty, are we not?"
"Nein," a boulder of a man sneered at him, pointing his musket higher. "Leave, before we fill you with lead." His german accent was heavy, especially on the 'w's and the 'v', which were turned respectively into 'v's and an 'f'.
Haytham raised an eyebrow. "That's not very nice."
Connor kicked the German mercenary behind his right knee and broke his neck.
The two other men turned at the sickening 'crack' of broken bones, leaving Haytham a split second to hurl his throwing knife at the farthest one from Connor. The only survivor - the one who had not spoken - got stabbed by two Hidden Blades on both sides before he could raise his musket again.
Haytham looked down at the corpses. "We could donate their weapons and bullets to the tribe and their corpses to the wolves."
"Ià." Connor shot him a mild glare. "We cannot allow wolves to taste human flesh, in case they prefer it over deer and hare. We will burn them."
He nodded, though he almost rolled his eyes. "Of course. But we need to deal with the other groups first."
At the end of the first night, the body count was up to ten mercenaries.
The following night, Kaniehtiio almost smacked him behind his head. "They have brought more of their companions now!" she hissed at him. "If we allow this to continue, they will find Kanatahséton!"
"I have a plan," Haytham told her and, seeing her glare hardening, he hastily added- "It's an actual plan this time, I swear it'll work."
She crossed her arms. "Speak."
At the end of his explanation of his terror tactic, he asked if she thought it'd work.
Kaniehtiio's answer was: "No."
"It will work," Haytham repeated. Connor was unhelpfully silent. "We allow only two of them to leave. They'll think this land is cursed, they'll think it's not worth the trouble and relay as much to their employer. They won't come back here."
"And if they still do?"
"We chase them out and let the wolves take care of them."
Kaniehtiio nodded slowly and raised her eyebrows, as if to say, 'Well, that's great.'
It took a month of nearly uninterrupted slaughter before the mercenaries were too frightened of 'evil redskin spirits of the night' to venture into Kanienkehaka territory, but in the end it worked.
"See?" Haytham told Kaniehtiio the first night they found nobody in the woods. "I told you it'd work."
She lightly smacked his shoulder, though he could see her relieved smile in the moonlight.
Haytham left Kanatahséton a week later and returned to Davenport with the name of a greedy man to assassinate, a half-successful mission - since the other Iroquois tribes sided with the British - and the gratitude and loyalty of Kanatahséton.
"Have you already met Kaniehtiio?"
Connor's lips twitched as if he were forcing back a smile... or a grimace. "Yes."
Haytham supposed he shouldn't pry into the future, but he was curious. "She's..." beautiful, his brain oh-so-helpfully supplied, but that word alone wasn't enough to describe her. "...fierce."
Yes. She had a fire in her eyes, burning in her soul and fueling her actions. Her tongue was sharp when she wanted it to and her mind was even sharper. Haytham had never met a woman like her, and he doubted he ever would.
Connor seemed to ponder on his words, still as a statue. "...She is," he quietly agreed.
The two Assassins stared at the fire crackling in front of them, which banished the darkness from their small camp.
"Can you tell me something about her, Connor?"
The white-hooded man stared at him for a few seconds - in which Haytham felt as if he were being judged - and then he nodded. "I would not mind," he said. "Kaniehtiio once told me of a time when she was hunting. The snow was soft and deep under her feet..."
As March 1747 rolled around, Achilles sent Haytham and Liam to start an information network in New York, look for the young skilled pickpocket Hope Jensen and - as per Liam's suggestion - find Shay Cormac and dig him out of his misery.
The two Assassins decided to start by a tavern near the docks, the Crimson Crescent.
Liam swept the crowded room with his gaze and sighed. "There he is," he muttered, nodding at two drunks yelling in a corner.
Haytham trailed after him, scrunching up his nose. He was terribly uncomfortable inside stuffy, smelly and overcrowded buildings. He'd take a long travel in the woods over an evening with drunkards anytime. Sparing a glance in Connor's direction, the time-traveller seemed to agree.
Drunk 1 shook his fists at Drunk 2, taking a step towards him. "-an' don't you dare speak to me like-"
Drunk 2 shoved him back. "-ain' scared of a yippin' landlubber. ya know...!"
Liam put himself between the two men and pushed them apart. Drunk 2 fell to the ale-stained floor in a heap. "Shay, come on-"
"I AM NO LANDLUBBER!" Drunk 1 - aka Shay Cormac - shouted at the groaning sailor he was arguing with. Then he looked, really looked, at the not-drunk person near him. "...Liam…?"
The Assassin sighed. "Yes, Shay, it's me, Liam. You know me, I know you." Liam grabbed his friend's right arm and started half-dragging him to the door. "Haytham, take his other arm."
He wrapped his fingers around Shay's arm and followed Liam outside. The man must be more than three sheets to the wind to oppose zero resistance to being manhandled, Haytham supposed.
The three of them stopped in an alley nearby.
"What have you been doing to yourself, Shay?" Liam asked, sounding deeply disappointed.
"Drownin' my sorrow- you know what, Liamm?" Shay stared at his friend's chest for a few seconds, as if lost in thought... which he could not be, since he was stiff drunk. "Wheredidyagetthese fancy rags?"
Liam sighed heavily. "I've been busy."
"So've I…"
"Yes, chugging ale without a care."
Shay straightened so fast he almost fell, had Connor not reached for his chest. "Father died and you were not here!" he snarled at his friend and batted Connor's arm away, glaring at the white-hooded man. "Don' touch me!"
Connor stepped back out of sheer shock. Did Shay just... see him?
Haytham stared at the drunk man. "No one touched you," he slowly said, frowning.
Shay turned his head to the side, swaying and still glaring. "Then whaddoyou call him?" He muttered, jabbing a finger in Connor's direction. "Innit he s'mone?"
"There's no one there, Shay," Liam sighed at him. He grabbed his arm again and tugged. "Come on. You're doing nobody any good this drunk."
Shay instantly forgot about Connor at the physical contact and started rambling in Liam's ear about taverns and storms and ungrateful sailors.
The two Kenways did not forget.
Shay just saw Connor.