"Your orders, Commodore?" The Armada Commodore's masked gaze turned immediately onto his second in command, when he emerged from the dark holds of the dungeon on the Imperial Interceptor.
"Set the coordinates for Cool Ranch, specific locations will be given once I have spoken with Deacon."
Ulysses cast a single glance over his shoulder after issuing the order, another smile creeping up his features at the efficency of his clockwork crew: never changing even after he was promoted and given his new ship from the Supreme Commander.
Stepping inside his cabin, the Armada Commodore yanked the gloves off his fingers, tossing them onto his desk and slumping into the seat behind it. Another map piece is so close at hand, how could he rest? No of course not, because the best course of action right now would no doubt be to put in that much more effort.
Ulysses reached out, yanking open one of the many drawers in his desk, the metallic fingers of his left hand curling around the hologram communicater: without his glove, it laid bare something resembling the skeleton frame of a clockwork's hand, with intricate gears set together to form the joints and hair - thin wires woven through to replace the veins.
The Commodore's lower lip twitched, as memories, of how he had lost this limb shimmered like the surface of a boiling pot, ready to return into his mind until Ulysses had quite literally yanked himself back into reality: no no, this is not the time to be returning to the vaults of your own mind... The traitor can wait... His Lord and Majesty's wish comes first, does it not?
Long fingers tapped on some of the buttons, then sitting down and resting back in the chair behind his desk as the familiar face of the Spymaster Deacon was formed in the holographic light.
"Spymaster." Ulysses offered a half bow to the clockwork man. "My apologies for barging in, but it is of an urgent matter."
"It is forgiven," the Spymaster replied, shifting the walking stick he so often carried with him into his other hand. "You have my full attention, Commodore, what is it that you require?"
"I remember you speaking of an ally in Cool Ranch, Spymaster."
"Ah, yes, Santa Rana, do you wish to seek him out?"
"Si, as I have been able to learn that Devereaux intend to head to Cool Ranch next."
"I shall send you the coordinates then: best of luck to you as well, Commodore, dealing with the pirates."
Ulysses returned with a stiff salute. "Per la gloria dell'Armata."
"Remember what I had told you."
Cyrus gave a shaky nod, leaning heavily on the staff within his left hand as his right leg is no longer functional. Ulysses reached out, taking him by the collar of his outfit: there was no part of him that appreciated working with a pirate, much less a witchdoctor like this one before him. There was a reason why Supreme Commander Kane had forbid magic, after all, they were unstable.
"And keep in mind, Chamberlain, if I find you betraying even one word to your 'comrades', I will hunt you down... personally."
The witchdoctor choked back a mouthful of air. "A-as how you say, Commodore."
Ulysses' gloved fingers only released him then, his eyes following him until Cyrus disappeared into the Castillo Sapo.
"Do you trust this to be wise, Lord Septimus?"
Sentus Optimus stood next to him, his one human eye narrowed in a clear act of showing that every bit of him refused to trust the pirate-
Not after what's he has gone through. I would be surprised if he would trust them now.
"I have my own plans, Captain Optimus." The Commodore's fingers clasped behind his back, a smile threatening to emerge. "Chamberlain would not dare to do so, I can assure you of that."
Reaching into the folds of his coat, the man fished out a length of golden chain, entwining it around his left hand before snapping the cover off the pocketwatch attached to it. "Now... we wait... for the hare to come to us." Ulysses found his own words trailing off by the end of his sentence, his attention now drawn to the picture attached to the inner cover of the watch.
He didn't try to stop the smile this time, gloved fingers tracing the image of his dearest rose Lavinia: memories, much better memories returned to his mind.
It was a year after the slaughter at the fortress of Monteriggioni when he met her, during one of his own quests in search of the nine Templar generals who had orchestrated the siege. He had just barely escaped the guards then, after having stabbed the man Robert Buchet to death with his Hidden Blade.
She was the one who had allowed him into her home, hiding him while lying to the guards of the Templar general; poisoning them after their guard was down. Had it not been for Lavinia, he probably wouldn't be here today: and it was nothing other than that that brought Septimus close to her... the very start of his love for her, her, his dearest rose in the world after the loss of his brother Ezio Septimus.
He would gladly die for her if that was ever needed.
Sighing, Ulysses snapped the watch shut, sliding it into the pocket in his inner shirt closest to his heart; making a mental note to ask her the question he had been waiting to ask since last year... now that he has reached a decent rank of power in the Armada.
Pivoting on his heels, the Armada Commodore made it a move to march back toward the captain's cabin.
Cyrus winced as he stepped off the ship and onto the dock of Cooper's Roost: though the wound in his leg had healed, it still ached and burned if he as much placed too much weight on it, forcing him to lean against his staff as a makeshift crutch. There was no part of him that couldn't remember the torment he had endured in the tormenting dungeon aboard the Armada ship; the pain still vivid in his mind. If selling out those who was once his comrades mean he would not have to suffer the pain he had felt in Ulysses' dungeon, then he would do it.
Hobbling along, the witchdoctor limped his way up the wooden steps that would lead into the main part of Cooper's Roost.
Each step felt as though he was walking on the tip of blades, razor sharp daggers like the ones used by Ulysses to mutilate his flesh. Cyrus muttered a few choice curse words under his breath, only breathing a sigh of relief when he found himself in the crowded streets.
Now if only he could find Adrian and Edward.
It is alright, he told himself, all will be worth it when you get the gold, all that gold! You don't have to travel everywhere, to be commanded around by a idiot like Adrian... and best of all, you don't even have to suffer for what you've done against the Armada... Is this not worth selling out those two fools?
And with those thoughts within his mind, the witchdoctor found himself limping his way toward the saloon: there is no other place that Adrian would be at aside from this.
Silently, Cyrus repeated to himself the words the Armada Commodore had taught him, those words that the witchdoctor himself might have fell for, had he not known the Commodore had meant for it to be a oiled lie.
His eyes searched over the numerous tavern patrons after brushing his long hair out of his eyes.
"Adrian!"
The hazel - eyed swashbuckler craned his head over his shoulder, locking eyes with the witchdoctor; Cyrus could feel the grey, piercing eyes of the privateer Edward Teach on him as well, even if it was hidden under the brim of his Cool Ranch styled fedora hat. "Took you long enough, Chamberlain."
Cyrus resisted the urge to curse at his captain, choosing to clench his jaws shut; nearly collapsing into the chair Edward pulled out.
"Now where the hell is Hawkins?" The swashbuckler demanded, and Cyrus noted the large mug clenched in his gloved right hand.
"He's dead."
Immediately, the privateer's face paled, as his mouth twitched into a straight line, his lower jaw trembling; Devereaux didn't show any more emotion, however, aside from another scowl.
"Goddamn clockworks, must have been that bloody hell damned Ulysses Septimus." The swashbuckler cursed, his own Marleybonean accent emerging. "How the hell did you make it out, Chamberlain?"
"A friend from the Resistance." Cyrus said quickly, remembering what the Commodore had told him. "Ridolfo, son of Steed, he helped me escape."
"So you were just a lucky little bastard, huh?" Adrian grunted. "Figured... I would have left you behind, had it not for the fact we need-" he spat the word out as though it was sour in his mouth. "-your presence here."
Cyrus' lower lip twitched.
Just you wait, Devereaux... Just you wait...
Cyrus you little traitor... selling out your comrades just to keep your life? Little traitor...
So now we see a little bit of Ulysses' brand new plan unfold, as well take our attention back to his dear rose.
Do review please my dear readers (that includes you guests!) :) it makes me write more and happy! I also do welcome comments on how I can improve.
Until next time!
-Hades
