A/N: Wow…gone for a few days and finds 28 Reviews, over 3,900 views, 16 Favs and 32 Alerts…I'm deeply touched.

I would like to thank Darkness Knight for his continued support, and mcksaysha, Bloody-kick-ass and two guests for adding their support and sharing their concerns and support.

And don't worry, "the big change" I mentioned is soon gonna occur within a few more chapters.

Disclaimer: I don't own anything – Everything Assassin's Creed belongs to Ubisoft. I barely own R-L. Also any songs that find their way on here aren't mine.

Doesn't Always Pay

Edward spent the rest of the day in a confusing mixture of exasperation and contemplation sitting on top of bell tower of the Basilica Menor de San Francisco de Asis, leaning his back against the pedestal that held the cross and staring into the direction of the Governor's mansion. Meanwhile I was sitting—well more like straddling one of these half cylinder-like roof "adorn ornaments" (whatever, I don't know what they're called, I'm not an architect), Edward was actually sitting on top of it—in front of him, leaning comfortably back against my hands, but I was looking over at the city instead.

Traveling around by roof instead of the street isn't something I don't think I've ever thought I'd experience. In the twenty-first century, most buildings are too high or too smooth (or both) to climb or traverse, and the local police wouldn't allow anyone to just climb around on the buildings that held any potential for climbable conditions—mainly, say, the historic buildings.

Which is a shame because you really miss out on the views you can only see from up high, and it's surprisingly actually a lot faster to travel around the city without the clutter of people, animals, wagons and kiosks in the way. Not to mention it smells a lot cleaner up here to my near barely existing sense of smell.

But even though I was enjoying the view, I was still uneasy about the look I saw on Edward's face earlier. I have a strong suspicion that he's planning something. I don't know what it is, but I have a feeling I'm not going to like it very much.

However, even with that being a concern, I also couldn't get my mind off Roberts and how uneasy he made me feel.

To help continue pass the time—Edward has been up here for at least almost two hours by now—and to try and liberate myself from this confusing anxiety about a strange man who has long since died before I was even born, I looked into the Animus Database to find any information on him.

ANIMUS DATABASE SEARCH: ROBERTS EARLY 18TH CENTURY

…searching…

…record found…

File #: 2113

…open file…

Subject: John Roberts, A.K.A Bartholomew Roberts and Black Bart

Born: May 17, 1682. Pembrokeshire, Wales.

Historically credited as the most successful pirate captain of the 1700 to 1725 "Golden Age of Piracy." He is credited with having taken more than four hundreds ships in his short career as a pirate.

Most of the information we have on him comes from the 1724 biography book A General History of the Pyrates. Who wrote the book is still unknown, and it is still unclear what parts of the biography was fact or fiction. The book tells us that Roberts was the so-called exemplary pirate captain, having a love of fine clothing and jewels, yet had an unusual preference for drinking tea rather than rum. It is currently unknown just how accurate this information is.

Currently attempts to find a descendent of Roberts have been unsuccessful.

…close file…

That was woefully unhelpful where I need it the most.

A felt a shadow of pain at my collar and I looked over at Edward. His eyes were closed, his jaw was tense and I could see that he was fighting the urge to tense his shoulders. The small wound from the dart he took to the collar, while healing, was still giving him trouble, probably because it was in an area that is constantly put to use. That Assassin knew what he was doing when he blew that projectile at Edward. Even if the intent was to kill, at least successfully shooting an area of the body that would incapacitate the target would leave a persistent impairing effect until the injury was completely healed.

Knowing that, I can't help but feel a bit sorry for him.

From what I've been able to observe during these three sessions, Edward relies heavily on his body to be in good working condition. Climbing up to this rooftop was an agony for the both of us since it was too soon after getting his collar injured. It was a sigh of relief for me when I desynchronized from him, but I could still feel the shadow of the pain Edward was feeling as surely as if it were my own.

I guess that's a downside of being synchronized and connected with him…

Still…

It doesn't mean I like the idea that he's in pain.

I'm not that heartless to jerks, even those who deserve it.

And Edward deserved this pain, even if he didn't realize it.

But I still don't enjoy it.

The sun was setting when Edward finally climbed—climbed not leapt, thank god—down from Basilica Menor's bell tower. The pain in his collar had finally subsided to a more agreeable tolerance level, but it would no doubt continue to hurt for at least a few more days.

A small hole in your collar even as bandaged up as it was—Edward did somehow manage to bandage it himself—wouldn't heal over in day.

I followed Edward through the darkening streets, trying to get a beat on his emotions, but they were under his tight control again. I suppose he must have come to some conclusion with whatever it was that has kept his mind occupied during those long hours atop the bell tower of an sixteenth century Franciscan church.

It's frustrating that I can't read his mind—even in synchronization; his thoughts have to be pretty strong for me to hear them, and so far it's only happened once with that unfortunate mugger.

It sure would make my life easier if I knew what exactly he was thinking all the time.

After walking for about ten or fifteen minutes, even with the darkness of the fast-approaching night, I could see Edward had found a little tavern close to the Governor's private grounds—at least I think that's what it was if all the officer's on the other side of that small fence was saying anything.

For a moment, I wonder why Edward came here until I saw that he was, instead of going directly into the tavern, going toward an outdoor table with a lone outline of a person sitting upon one of its bench seat.

It was only when someone lit a close-by lantern that I saw that the figure was the one and only Stede Bonnet.

How on earth did Edward spot him in the dark?

…

Oh wait, duh!

Eagle Vision.

It must make for excellent night vision as well as an out-of-this-world tagging and tracking system.

I saw Bonnet smile when he recognized that it was Edward that was coming toward him when light from the overhanging lantern fell on Edward's form. He waved the pirate over and invited him to sit down, pushing a large cup of rum—I think I finally figured out what kind of alcohol that they drink is—away from him toward the empty seat on the other side of the table.

I quickened my pace to get to the table first, and stepped up on the empty bench seat Bonnet wasn't occupying in order to seat myself on top of the table's top.

So I like to sit on top of tables instead of chairs—big deal!

But as soon as Edward sat down, I nearly blown over by just how strong his anger felt when he nearly slammed the full coin purse Torres had given him onto the table—startling Bonnet, but surprisingly into silence instead of fright, the hand holding bottle of rum he was pouring into the cup he had offered the pirate frozen, his eyes narrowed in a bit of weariness on Edward. He didn't even notice when the rum was pouring over the offered cup and onto the tabletop.

I could almost feel the warm liquid as ran through the finger tips on one of my hands.

"God sink me for this pittance," Edward growled, glaring at the purse as if was the cause of his irate mood.

Then again, it suddenly occurred to me that it probably was.

Doesn't "pittance" mean "nickels" or "dimes" or something of that sort?

"One thousand reales for those maps," Edward told Bonnet, who finally noticed that he was overflowing Edward's drinking mug, "That's what? A hundred pounds at most. How's a man suppose to become rich in these times with a miser like Torres running the world?"

Ah, so that's his problem.

He was quite disappointed and displeased with the size of his reward. I supposed he hoped—no he had very strongly expected to be paid a lot more then what Torres had given him.

On the hindsight, I really should have known and can only sigh in disappointment at myself.

I mean really, since when are pirates, especially the ones so greedy for fortunes, contented with only one small bag of gold?

That would be: Never.

No wonder he's been so irritated all day, and why the look I saw in his face after the governor left made me wary of what Edward was going to do next.

It's times like these when I realize what was so obvious that I think that instead of wishing I could read his thought, I should just pay attention to him: his thoughts are literally right there, out in the open if only I had paid more attention to his tells.

But then, paying attention to and identifying people's tells isn't one of my specialties.

"Have you ever, ah... you ever worked on a plantation before?"

I have to give Bonnet credit. Despite his lack of brains in the common sense department area, he really is a sweetheart.

Too bad Edward doesn't have it in him to listen to the offered option Bonnet was graciously giving him as any good friend would do when one of their friends was in trouble. His mind was set on whatever plan he had been hatching on in his head all day.

I watched Edward re-hook his new purse back onto his belt and empty his overflowed cup of rum in only a few large gulps. With his cup now hollow of any rum that was only a few seconds ago overflowing it, I watched him pause—almost freeze really—in his seat with his head down, allowing the alcohol to begin its effects in calming himself down.

And it was working. I could feel his anger calm down immensely.

Once he was calm as he could get, he looked back up and asked, "You know what I'm thinking?"

"Oh no," I groaned gently slapping my hand against my forehead and I slid it down over my eyes, pushing the glasses I don't need down and off my nose, the nose pads hooking to my bottom lip, but I couldn't care less, "Here it comes."

The trouble with the capital T.

"I'd like to see this Observatory the governor was going on about."

Yup.

Definably trouble with a capital T.

In fact, maybe the whole word should be capitalized.

I groaned again and allowed myself to fall backwards to lie on my back, my hand still covering my eyes. But I continued to listen as Edward explained to Bonnet, who is no doubt confused at what Edward is talking about having not been at the secret meeting, "He said it were like a device that could follow people around and show where they were."

Ah, so that's what the Observatory is supposed to do.

Well, I can see why the Templars would want it. It's the ultimate spying tool.

And with how successfully they already are at spying in my time, it would just make them that more effect.

If it were real…

I mean really, come on!

An ancient device that has observational performances that is on par with modern-day surveillance technology and techniques?

If such a thing actually existed, then we would have advanced technology long before the Industrial Revolution.

It was just a legend; a mythological story, nothing more.

Really, just how much of fool was Edward?

I put my glasses back on right then I raised myself back up into a sitting position. As I did so, Bonnet spoke up, his response on par with what I was thinking. "A ludicrous idea!" he said after releasing an incredulous laugh.

Agreed. It is ludicrous.

"Imagine my wife with such an advantage over me," the merchant muttered under his breath.

I don't think Edward was meant to pick up on that, but the way he responded strongly suggests that did. "Well, imagine what a thing like that would be worth."

Oh no.

There's the "face of trouble" I saw earlier. And I can see where this is going.

He wants to chase after fairy tales.

As he stood up, I could see his eyes were un-focusing as if he were looking at something far beyond what he was really seeing.

I've seen that look before…

Many times on Leo's face.

It was a look I had come to despise over the years since his death five years ago.

"Sell that to the right person," Edward went on to say walking around the bench, "And I'd be the richest pirate—"

I tensed before he did and, nearly at the same, we looked over at our merchant friend to see if he had caught Edward's slip-up during his immenseness in his get-rich-quick fantasy.

Thankfully, it seemed Bonnet was too engrossed in drinking deeply into his cup of rum to have noticed.

"...privateer in the West Indies," Edward finished his sentence with the correction as he turned back to look at the Governor's mansion overlooking this part of the city.

Bonnet finished his drink with a pleased sigh.

A new dreaded feeling came over me as Edward continued to look up at the mansion.

Oh no.

"You're not thinking of—" I began.

"I'll catch you up, Bonnet. There's a Sage in that house I must speak to. In private."

"You are," I sighed and slid off the table before the connection yanked me into following after the pirate.

Some days it just doesn't pay to be smart.

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