Templar headquarters, New York, December 1757
"You were the one to report this nineteen months ago correct?" The voice of the upper class gentleman formed a slight condescending tone upon the conversation as the scruffy sailor who stood before the desk nodded, clutching his cap.
"Yes, sir, we found the Precursor treasure that contained blood of the Templar Order," he confirmed.
"And it's only now you've confirmed where the treasure is being held?" The Grand Master raised an eyebrow sceptically.
"My apologies, sir," his scrawny hands tightened around the cap, his knuckles stained white, "I had to be sure."
"Of course, and I hear, after assuming the Assassin Mentor Achilles Davenport had it, you were in fact mistaken." He rifled through papers and barely glanced up to see the sailor nod. "Who has it?"
"Another Assassin, Edward Young, sir."
The Grand Master paled. He slowly raised his head, but averted his gaze, staring past the man to the back wall.
"What's my next order, sir?"
"Well," he coughed, regaining his composure, "I can't expect you to kill the man to get it, can I?"
"No, sir, I'm... I'm just a sailor."
"You're just a spy, that's what you're paid for." The Grand Master paused and barked a laugh. "Funny, men like you are never satisfied."
"Sir?"
"Your captain paid you much more than you were due when you found the treasure, yet you still accepted the payment to betray him."
The sailor shrugged.
"I take what I can get."
"I bet you do," he sighed, "it seems loyalty is worth more than people can afford to pay."
The sailor shrugged again which the Grand Master rewarded with an eye roll before he resumed shuffling his papers on his desk. He dumped a purse of coins in front of him and waved for the man to take it and leave.
"Dismissed," the Grand Master said without looking up.
As the sailor nodded humbly and left the room, the sharply dressed Irishman replaced him as he approached the Grand Master.
"You sent for me, sir?" He asked and the Grand Master raised his head.
"Ah, Shay, yes, I have a mission for you."
The Irishman nodded, willing to accept the contract as a newly inducted member of the Templar Order.
"You've recently carried out the execution of the Assassin Kesowasaage but there is more I need you to do."
"Sir?"
"A Precursor treasure has been recovered, like the box and the book you've been hunting, however, while your task has been directed at the structural integrity of the world, this is directed at the structural integrity of our order."
Shay nodded, slowly understanding the magnitude of the problem.
"Through my interest and research into precursor artifacts, this is probably the most important in regard to our order. Templar men, some alive, some dead, had pledged a drop of blood so that the Grand Master would be able to see where the man was through his eyes. With the Assassins holding this, this could prove fatal for us."
"Why haven't they used it yet?" Shay asked. "Why aren't we watching every Templar order across the world crumbling to dust?"
"They need access to the Observatory and I can only assume the location has been lost without a Sage to direct them."
"So, we're looking for a Sage?"
"No," the Grand Master shook his head, "that caused too much trouble when the Templars and the Assassins grappled over the man to find the Observatory. We need that Precursor treasure. Are you willing to kill its owner to get it for our order?"
"If it means the prevention of our downfall, then I'm willing to do anything." The Irishman spoke strongly, devout to his new found creed. "What's his name?"
"Edward Young."
"Edward Young?" Shay spluttered.
"That's what I said," the Grand Master said with a resigned sigh, "do you wish to retract your previous statement?"
"No, I can do it... I think." He clenched his fists. "Oh, he has little ones! I can't rob them of a father..."
"As is the curse of humanity," he shrugged, "you'll have to weigh the consequences, Shay. Fatherless children or a world without order, without peace, without understanding."
"The world already seems to be sorely lacking in those things already," Shay muttered. "Sir, with all due respect, why don't you do it?"
It just took a glare from the Grand Master for Shay to submit.
"Apologies, sir." He bowed his head humbly like the sailor before him as he began to back out and leave the room. "I'll do as you command."
"Very well."
As the Irishman left, Shay Cormac paused by the door and without turning his head, addressed the Grand Master.
"I'll do as you command, but know I'm not choosing to rob a family of their father, of their husband."
With that, he left.
Haytham Kenway inhaled deeply and leaned back in his chair.
"Perhaps you would be robbing a man of a brother," he said to no one in particular, "but my brother was robbed from me many years ago."
The Grand Master shook his head at the thought, recalling those years ago where he met the young man he once called brother in the streets of London. He saw his wrist blade hidden under his sleeve and all his brotherly love was suddenly replaced in unadulterated loathing for the man's creed and order. He vowed he would kill him the next time he saw him.
Luckily for Haytham, he wasn't the one to deal the killing blow. Maybe he wouldn't be able to do it, given the choice. Perhaps it was better Shay was doing this, instead of him.
Wasn't it?