Chapter Thirty-Five:

Ambush and Rescue

1776

Ratonhnhaké:ton led the way on the rooftops. The singles hardly betrayed us as we ran and snuck across them, avoiding and evading the guards patrolling around. Under the cover of night we traversed to the warehouse not far from the docks, but we needed the height to see what kind of cover would be offered to us and how many men were guarding the warehouse.

We came to a stop at the edge of a rooftop and hid behind its chimney. Ratonhnhaké:ton took in the guards while I searched for alternate paths.

"Fourteen men outside," he noted aloud. "If what Jacob said was true, they should be switching shifts every three hours."

I nodded. "We'll wait until a new set of guards has been introduced, and then wait another two hours until they begin to bore. As for routes..." I pointed to the water. "See that? There's a funnel of sorts. I'm betting it's big enough for us both. Or there's that open window on the side."

"We can use the water to enter, and escape through the window." I handed Ratonhnhaké:ton a satchel. "What purpose will this serve?" he asked.

"To put the plans in and anything else we find inside," I told him. "If we lose even a page, it'll be for nothing."

"True." Ratonhnhaké:ton adjusted his bow to place the satchel underneath.

We waited several hours before Ratonhnhaké:ton and I slid down the rooftops and leapt into the water. We dove underneath the docks and eventually found the pipe. Ratonhnhaké:ton let me go first, so I hurried and eventually found a grate. Waiting patiently for the men above to shuffle away, I pushed upwards and crawled out, taking deep, slow breaths. Ratonhnhaké:ton imitated me as he emerged from the water as well, and then we replaced the grate.

I put a finger to my lips. Ratonhnhaké:ton quietly shuffled behind me as we hid behind some crates. Mercenaries slowly paced around, some talking, others staying quiet. When most had gone off in different directions, Ratonhnhaké:ton and I hurried forward and killed the few remaining men guarding the plans.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton!" I whispered, pointing to a box on the table. I recognized the markings, and so did he. "Doesn't this belong to Oiá:ner?"

Ratonhnhaké:ton nodded. "I was not made aware that it had gone missing."

"We'll take it too." I grabbed it and shoved it inside of the satchel as Ratonhnhaké:ton grabbed the plans. They looked like they were...

Those are blueprints for the Aquila!

Ratonhnhaké:ton noticed it too. "It looks as though these people wanted to create their own Aquila..."

"Bastards," I growled.

Ratonhnhaké:ton unceremoniously shoved the papers into the satchel. "I think that is all. We should return—."

"There they are!"

Men converged on us, roaring, their guns primed and weapons pointed at us. Ratonhnhaké:ton swore in his native language while I cussed in English.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," I whispered, "make a path and get out of here. You've got the satchel. I'll cover you."

Ratonhnhaké:ton glared at me and opened his mouth to argue, but the men attacked. We dodged out of the way of the bullets and the blades, parrying them and blocking, and then Ratonhnhaké:ton broke through. I followed him as we climbed to the second-story of the warehouse. The window was still open.

Ratonhnhaké:ton leapt out of it and landed in a passing haystack. I had my foot on the windowsill, but a man had caught up as I'd slowed for Ratonhnhaké:ton and grabbed my shoulder, yanking me backwards. I hit the floorboards and fell through, slamming my back onto the stone of the first floor.

Boot! Incoming!

I rolled to the side, my back screaming in pain as the mercenary's heel came down where my face used to be. I unleashed my shortblade and hidden blade, ducking under the sharper weapons and dodging the bullets by using the mercenaries as shields, but slitting throats where I could.

The butte of a rifle slammed painfully into my ribs, and then another hit my face. I felt blood spurt from my nose as another rifle careened into my back, shoving me forward onto the ground. The mercenaries straddled my arms behind me and tied them, discarding my weapons, and then they put a sack over my head after tying a cloth around my mouth so that I was biting on it.

"Boss ain't gonna be pleased when 'e finds out those plans're gone," one of the mercenaries said. "Or that box."

"Doesn't matter. We got one of the thieves," another replied.

"Oh? Really, now?"

The last voice was new, and it was followed immediately by the screams of the mercenaries. When all were finally dead, a new set of hands grabbed my arms and hoisted me to my feet. I bit back a cry of pain when my ribs moved, but the stranger noticed.

"How very... unchivalrous of them." The stranger suddenly swept me off of my feet (not in a good way, mind you—even if there is a good way). "You need medical attention. Please excuse my haste, but I'd prefer you get looked at as soon as possible."

I made a pathetic attempt to speak, but was hindered by the cloth tied around my mouth. The man deftly made his way out of the warehouse through the front doors. I heard groaning outside, and assumed that he'd either killed or maimed the other mercenaries. But why? Was he after the same things that Ratonhnhaké:ton and I had just taken?

It was a while later (with my ribs still sore from the guns and my nose still bleeding, unfortunately) that I heard a door opening after the stranger had knocked on it.

"Dear God, sir... What is this about?" a man asked. He sounded London, like the stranger.

"She was beaten by the mercenaries at that warehouse. They called her a thief, and apparently she has an accomplice. From her garb, she appears to be Mohawk, but she's too pale—."

"And what of those blueprints sir?!"

The man paused. "Another opportunity will present itself. For now, would you kindly move? There's a chill in the air, and she's injured."

The man begrudgingly moved to the side to allow the stranger access. I was immediately set on a bed and untied.

"Charles, fetch Benjamin for me. We'll need a doctor's eye," the stranger instructed the other man.

Charles marched off without a word. He reminded me of a child, honestly. And I didn't even know the man.

The stranger finally removed the sack from my head. I had to blink to focus my eyesight to the candlelight. When they focused, however, I nearly screamed in shock.

The stranger had the familiar nose, jawline and lips that appeared to run in his family. He was far more tanned than his father, but less so than Ratonhnhaké:ton. A blue tricorne hat adorned his head, and his greying hair was pulled back into a ponytail with a red ribbon. A faded white eagle was prominent on the blue of his left cuff on his overcoat, and a broken Assassin's insignia was strapped to a blue bracer on his right arm, no doubt holding a hidden blade.

Haytham Kenway removed his hat and tipped it at me, and then tucked it underneath his arm. "Apologies, miss. My name is Haytham Kenway. Welcome to my home."

Well, shit.

2009

I took a deep, long breath of the air around me. The sights and smells of New York pleasantly assaulted my nostrils. The sounds of the typical honking and yelling from the New-Yorkers made me grin. It honestly reminded me a lot of Europe. The people had yelled at each other back then, too, although hot dogs weren't exactly common then.

I was very rudely interrupted from thinking by my phone. I sighed, dug it out of my jeans' pocket and hit the talk button.

"Yep? What is it?" I asked.

Simon was on the other end, no doubt on his headset in the van he'd parked a few blocks from my current location. "We got a call from an Assassin. She said her niece, also an Assassin, is wounded in a house near you."

"You're making it sound like a movie," I remarked. "Where?"

"I'm uploading the location to your phone." I waited a few seconds before an e-mail popped up. I read it and kick-started the engine of my motorbike. "Did you get it?" Simon asked.

I nodded, then realized he couldn't see me. "Yeah. I did."

It took me all of ten minutes to get there, even speeding. That said a lot for how far the rest of the Assassins were from that location. Then again, the Assassins were currently few and far in-between. It was the reason why the Assassin parents were training their kids. Back when I was a child, such a thing was common, but I knew that desperate measures had been taken to ensure the Order's survival.

The only reason we still had connections and technology, not to mention money in the Brotherhood was largely due to myself. Years of hoarding plates and forks had paid off, and the results were in my many bank accounts.

I hadn't put a helmet on to begin with, so it was hardly an issue when I ran into the ornate house outside of New York. If it wasn't for the bloodstains and the bodies, the place would've looked nearly untouched.

I knew immediately who was the Assassin: the only one on the floor who was breathing. That, and she had a phone in her hand, which she had likely used to call for help. I crouched near her and examined her quickly. She wasn't dressed in Assassin gear; in fact, it looked like she was dressed for a special occasion, make-up, dress and all. Three other corpses were near her. One being that of an older woman whose throat was slit, one of an older man with a knife through his back (which had pierced his heart), and the last was of a young man with a sword through his chest. The walls were adorned with swords, so it had been a deathtrap.

"All right, missy," I said, picking her up and grabbing the car keys from the dish near the front door, "somebody needs to get to a hospital, and it ain't me. So guess who's the lucky winner?"

She groaned painfully. Her brown hair was streaked with sweat, sticking to her forehead, and her make-up was running with tears. Her shoulder was bleeding badly. It reminded me of my own wound, old as it was, but I didn't dwell on it. I unceremoniously put her in the backseat of the sleek Mercedes that the people inside had owned and then hopped into the driver's seat.

"Hold on, kid," I grumbled, adjusting the mirror so I could see her. "I'm gonna get you there quick."

The trip was faster than getting there. Immediately (due to a call from Simon), Assassin-sympathizers rushed to the car and carefully placed the Assassin into a gurney. I decided to stay with her and abandoned the car. She was brought up to a hospital room where a doctor immediately began stitching the wound, and another was writing quickly on a clipboard.

A man and a woman burst in. I immediately grabbed my hood and brought it up over my face. I knew them. Heather Reynolds and Stephen Hale. Stephen was a close friend of the current de-facto Mentor, and in his good graces, but it was my own money that the Mentor was giving to his family, the Hales. After all, it was for Assassins, and with three teens at home they kind of needed it. Heather was Stephen's sister-in-law through Heather's sister, Cheryl, who had been Stephen's wife.

Frankly, Heather would recognize me easily. I left... a bit of an impression on her when she was younger. As for Stephen, he'd long been meeting with me. The last time we met was in the early 2000's—at least 2004. And the first time we met was in '88. Bill Miles had asked that he "examine" me and my condition. Frankly, I could pass as the child of the former "Number Four" easily because of how long ago it was. The difficulty was while Heather would buy into it, Stephen wouldn't.

"How is she?!" Stephen exclaimed as he hurried to the Assassin's side.

The doctor sighed. "She'll live," he said, "but one of the nerves in her shoulder were damaged. It's going to scar, and any contact with it will likely cause a fair amount of pain now."

"Damn it, Emma..." Heather paced incessantly, her dark brown hair bouncing with each step she took.

Emma Hale. That was the Assassin. I smirked at her unmoving form. She was that kid from the camp all those years ago, almost all grown up. Still an Assassin, too.

"She's okay," Stephen said, stroking the brown stubble on his face, "and that's all that matters."

Two young men burst into the room. One nearly made me jump out of my skin, his resemblance to Darim was so great. The other one held features I definitely recognized. The first had brown hair and the same brown eyes as Stephen, while the other had honey-coloured hair, but still brown eyes.

I left as they came in. There was no longer a need for me to be there. Besides, I had to get rid of any DNA of Emma's or mine before the police caught wind of what had happened. There weren't many cops sympathetic to the Assassins.

Maybe I should've become a cop... I thought as I passed through the door. At least it would help the Brotherhood a bit...