Yo peeps!
So I don't know how many of you follow me on tumblr (tomatoegeek) but I posted a note a few hours ago to apologise for this late update. I know I always give an excuse of some sort, but one of the greatest music opportunities of my life happened last Tuesday, As unforgettable as it was, it left me with zero time, especially being in the middle of controlled assessments and stuff! So there, that's the reason hehe :D
Also, I was just wondering: in terms of publishing systems, do you guys prefer short(ish) chapters once a week, or long chapters once a fortnight? Let me know and I'll adapt – I'm experimenting with both to see what people like best. I suppose the easiest way is to ask, right?
Hehe I hope you like this one; I worked extra hard :D enjoy and merci pour tout!
HAYTHAM
"Aaron, be careful with that!"
For a child so petite, Alexa's influence over Aaron was comical. She seemed to grow before his eyes, snapping at him more harshly than even Ziio would.
"What?" Aaron smirked. "I haven't spilt any soup yet. Have you?"
Alexa rolled her eyes. She had indeed spilt some of the soup earlier (ironically, in fact, as she was so coordinated). She pretended to huff dramatically and marched over to the counter. I saw how uptight she seemed, and chuckled to myself.
"Brothers," she muttered to me.
"I never had one," I shrugged, handing her another bowl. "If you wish to vent, try Toby. I heard he had several brothers."
Alexa pretended to shudder. "Toby would laugh at me."
"So should you, really!" her brother called from across the kitchen. "You always do this. You pretend that you somehow care how I behave –"
"I do care how you behave!" Striding again to the pot, Alexa nudged him playfully. "Well, Mother would. And I think Haytham has seen you more childish than you really are."
"Hah! Childish? Alexa, I'm older than you!"
"By minutes."
Turning away, I could barely stifle a smile. The collision of Alexa's sarcasm with Aaron's wit; the clash of maturity and childishness, was what made their banter bounce off one another. I surveyed the twins with a mixture of amusement and something which resembled pride. Between them, Ziio, Eva, Soyala and George had raised two wonderfully unique personalities in them.
Talk of the devil, the twins turned to a point left from me. I followed their gazes to see George peering around the arch. His brown coat had been dishevelled by winds outside, and his hair like a wispy chestnut tree. "Are you two in fact doing what Eva asked?"
"I am. Aaron is not."
"I was, until I was rudely interrupted by my sister."
George leaned against the doorframe, flashing humorous eyes at me. "The norm, then. Haytham, sorry to ask but...would you mind having a quick word?"
"Of course. What do you need?"
George did not answer straightaway: he led me out into the corridor, out of Aaron and Alexa's earshot. I had barely spoken to him on the voyage: he'd been captaining most of the time, after all. Connor had offered to take over to give George a rest; I felt obliged to offer afterwards. But what could he want from me?
"Now, I'm unsure if you are aware," he murmured, "but tomorrow – by my reckoning – is the ninth of October. Aaron and Alexa's twelfth birthday."
Oh yes, I thought. Ziio had told me that; I was almost certain of it.
"And for obvious reasons, we agreed with the twins to celebrate their birthday on our return to America...but I feel as if the crew should do something, no matter how little. Some form of acknowledgement, at least. Would you be willing to help?"
"Absolutely," I nodded. "What did you have in mind?"
George itched the back of his neck. "Well," he laughed, "as you can imagine, there's very little we can do. But we do have some starting resources. I remember Hamish saying he'd acquired a new fiddle, and he had smuggled it on board for evening entertainment."
"Smuggled? I doubt that you placed a prohibition on it."
"Oh! No, certainly not. I quote from Hamish himself, in fact...odd man, that Hamish Wolf. Anyway! I digress. We've a little rum left from our journey out here. Not for the children, naturally, only for us."
"And for the children?"
"Ah." George clapped his hands together, rather unexpectedly. "Well before we left, Prudence took the liberty of picking the fruit from her orchard...pears and the like. She had somewhat planned this in advance, this birthday celebration, I think...because you'd never believe what else she took. Cinnamon! Yes, cinnamon!"
"Why?" I almost blurted.
"Prudence thought – well, I assume she thought – that she could stew the pears while on the voyage and cover them in cinnamon. It wouldn't be a grand ceremony, but a dessert makes all the difference when you've eaten nothing but soup for a month and a half."
"Agreed," I frowned. "And where do I come into this?"
"Distract the children?" George shrugged.
"I'll try. Although, as you can imagine, I'm not a regular visitor at children's parties."
"But could you be tempted with a little rum?"
I laughed. "Because it is Aaron and Alexa...yes."
"Brilliant. Thank you, Haytham! Ziio told me she believed you'd want to help us." At this moment, George shifted awkwardly, readjusting his coat. "How is she, by the way? Ziio, I mean."
"What, have you not spoken to her?" I mocked.
"Hardly! She's spent every waking moment with you! And every sleeping moment, for that matter."
I raised an eyebrow, neither protesting nor concurring. It was true: ever since the blissful night on deck, we had hardly left each other's side. George – in the end – decided to change the sleeping arrangements. I was now in a cabin with Ziio; Soyala shared with Alexa and Connor with Aaron.
"Oh, was that a complaint? Remind me, Captain: whose idea was it to rearrange the cabin vacancies?"
"Honestly, though," George chortled. "How is she? Is she sleeping well?"
"Not badly. There was only one occasion when I had to wake her. She was in the midst of a nightmare, so I took her on deck..." I trailed off, unable to look George in the eye as I recalled the kiss Ziio and I shared.
Even as I reassured him, the man's face tensed in concern. "Well, thank you for being so accepting. If only you knew how much she spoke of you and Connor..."
"Oh, believe me: I do know," I chuckled.
"Good. I must've heard your name more times than my wife has heard 'Assassin'."
It was odd, how I'd only known George for a week or so, and already he treated me as an old friend. Ziio's influence, naturally. Not that I minded: George seemed a good, humble man, and I admired him for all he did for his family. Most of this family (be it the Assassins or former slave) were not his true responsibility, yet he took it on without question. Moreover, he saw me as a brother already.
George was not the only one. Soon, everyone on the ship – including supposedly sour Prudence – was acquainted with me. I was shocked to find that we had a fair deal in common: same age, same unwitting Templar involvement, same loss of our loved ones (even though I'd found Ziio again). While Connor struggled to make conversation with her, it seemed natural to me. True, any words Prudence spoke were brief, but I found her not half as rude as Ziio had depicted in her story.
However rude Prudence was not, it soon became clear why she detested Toby Collins. A brash man in his late twenties, Collins had first worked in a shipyard. That was...until the Boston Massacre of 1770, when his townhouse was ransacked in the riots. It killed me inside that the man who recruited him – James Gould – could have died on my command that day.
I was different now...or so I reminded myself.
"So..." Toby slumped over the ship's stern. "You and Ziio, have you made love yet?"
I suppressed a snort. Why did he care? Attempting not to look flustered, I played naïve. "Pardon?"
"Come on, Haytham," he sniggered. Thinking of Hickey, I shifted awkwardly. "Have you and Ziio done anything...ungodly on the voyage?"
"You sleep in the cabin next door, do you not?" I thought suddenly. "Then believe me: if we had done anything of the sort, you would know."
"Is she loud?"
"I – what? That's none of your concern!"
"No!" Toby stood up straight and gave a friendly gesture. "I mean, with her nightmares and all. Does Ziio talk in her sleep?"
"Why not ask Soyala? She has shared with her for far longer than I –"
"No, it's fine. I only thought I heard something last night."
"Oh. Well, you were mistaken."
I knew those words would come back to haunt me one day.
The ninth of October arrived. A momentous and memorable occasion, which was also easily forgotten. What could I say? There was rum involved, after all.
What George humbly called a "little rum left over", was indeed two overflowing barrels. It required four people to roll them out on deck – or so I was told. I was too busy keeping the children entertained with Ziio.
That in itself was not difficult. Alexa had thought to pack a chess set of George's before leaving America; I sat on the floor in a surprisingly challenging match.
"Check." I placed my bishop reluctantly, not wanting to discourage Alexa.
She chewed her little lip pensively, just as Ziio always had. Aaron slumped forth on the bed next to his mother. The way those crystals Ziio called eyes watched...I knew she was calculating something. She whispered in her native language – smirked – and watched a smile spread on her daughter's face. Swift like the Assassins themselves, Alexa's white knight swooped and replaced a figure on the board.
Dammit. She'd taken my queen!
"How did you –"
Ziio responded with a justifiably coy laugh. "You never were one for observing the bigger picture, Haytham."
"I always liked to believe otherwise," I frowned.
From the bed, she seemed to tower over me with her logic. "Yes. And I always liked to believe that you would listen to me."
"What are you implying?" I teased.
"If you think Mother is smart," Aaron interrupted, "you should see our friend Hazel. She has the mind of a –"
"You mean François and Rose's daughter?"
"Yes."
"Perhaps her younger brother will follow suit," Ziio chuckled to herself.
"Louis?" Aaron spat. "He only thinks with his stomach!"
"Speaking of which..." Alexa stroked the bridge of her nose. "I'm hungry. Why has Eva not called Aaron and I to serve dinner yet? Will we eat later this evening?"
I caught Ziio's eye briefly – flashing with amusement – and I stood. "Ah. We thought you'd never ask!"
Were yet to have the all-clear from George to adjourn to the deck, so I sincerely hoped the preparations were finished. Instructing them to cover their eyes, Ziio and I led the twins along the corridor. Alexa grew restless even before we reached the steps; she wriggled her shoulders free from me and ran ahead. Aaron was soon to follow, leaving me to roll my eyes at Ziio.
"Thank you," she smiled, kissing my cheek.
"My pleasure." I pulled her closer to my face, letting her temples touch my lips. God, she was beautiful.
We would've become carried away, had it not been for the shouts of: "Surprise!" out on deck. For now, all that mattered was that Aaron and Alexa enjoyed themselves.
And enjoy themselves, they certainly did.
We all did. Prudence and François had done their best with decorating the ship: they had strung bed covers around the riggings to mimic white banners. The moment we stepped outside, all four of us were showered in a confetti of the sassafras herb. Everyone – even Prudence – was grinning at the twins. Soon the entire crew joined in, forming a circle around the twins and cheering. I felt a warmth sweep through me as they grinned; a fulfilling one at that.
When the crowd finally parted (in what seemed a rehearsed manner), they revealed the layout of the Belle Rose's bow. Six crates were pushed together to form a table; at the front stood twelve candles, dotted equally like little stars. Around it was an array of foods, all of which seemed far too sophisticated to have been made on a ship. How had George managed all of this? Immediately I eyed the stewed pears, dusted in cinnamon as promised.
"Good evening, young sir and ma'am." Hamish stood in a preened white shirt, bowing like a butler at the crate table. "A little bird told us that it was your birthday, so we...erm...redecorated. What do you think?"
"It's...wow!" That was all Alexa could manage, her blue sleeve covering her mouth. "Aaron and I never thought -"
"No need to thank us," Toby interrupted. "What are you waiting for? Those candles won't extinguish themselves, you know!"
I watched fondly as the twins rushed to the table. As the candle flames glowed in their eyes, everyone applauded their efforts of puffing at each fire. I moved to stand beside George, whose grin was obvious (even under his moustache).
"How did you manage all this?" I marvelled, brushing the herb confetti from my cape.
George ceased applauding, and laughed gently. "Well, it wasn't myself alone...every crew member contriunited, yourself included. Now," he said louder, clearing his throat, "Eva, what have you done with the gifts?"
"Gifts?" Aaron and Alexa exclaimed in unison.
Uncertain murmurs rose in the murky air. Clearly the concept of gifts was new to the crew...and to me. Even beside me, Ziio's brows were knitted in confusion.
"How did they...?" she began. "I thought that we would give Ohitekah and Imala gifts on our return."
Both of us turned to question George, but already he had moved to stand behind the table with Eva. Connor rapidly replaced George where he had stood by the rigging, half-smiling at his brother's incredulous face.
From behind the table, Eva and George walked towards the twins. Each had an object in hand: George, a leathery black case and the latter, a dainty bottle, filled with a golden liquid. Upon seeing them, Aaron gasped.
"Is that...?"
"A pocket knife? Indeed it is, Aaron," George grinned, handing the leather case to him. "As you wished for."
Aaron turned the leather in his hand, his eyes savouring it like a criminal would their last supper. "Thank you...I – thank you so!"
"And for you, Alexa," Eva chuckled, placing the bottle into the girl's palm, "your mother thought it time to find you a more mature present."
"Oh, Eva," she breathed. "It's beautiful! But what is it?"
"Perfume. Distilled myrrh, or so my chemist husband thinks –"
Before she could finish, both of Ziio's children had bundled George and Eva into a tight hug. I felt Connor twitch beside me as they did so; I nudged him softly.
"What's wrong?" I asked.
"I have given them nothing. My own brother and sister," he murmured monotonously.
I almost spat with laughter. "You haven't...why, of course not! You met them nine days ago, Connor. They expected nothing from you. Look here! Even Ziio has no gift for them."
"Oh, I have," she replied on hearing her name. "Only, the objects I asked Eva to choose are still in Philadelphia."
"Not helping," I teased, squeezing her shoulder.
"I know that," my son replied, "but still I wish I could give them something. It is a great shame that I have nothing to spare."
Much as I thought he was being ridiculous, Connor had a point. If I had brought a trinket of any kind (which I harsly counted as essential to pack on this mission), I'd have given it to Aaron and Alexa. I could see that Connor had become attached to his brother and sister: it was clear as Ziio's soul, the way he smiled at them, played with them, shared anecdotes with them. In every respect, he was a wonderfully caring brother.
That was when I thought of something...
"Wait! What about..." I let go of Ziio's arm for a moment, rummaging in my pocket. I pulled out two string bracelets: the ones that Ziio left for me before I left. "These?"
Connor held out his palm; as I handed the hardly weathered threads to him, he and Ziio looked on them in surprise.
"I made those?" she snorted softly.
"Do you not remember?"
"I must have been terribly bored," she shrugged.
"Mother, will Ohitekah and Imala appreciate them?"
"If they belonged to your father, I assume so."
The chatter on the ship ceased as Connor strode forth. He resembled a great bear as he walked (only by the size of him comparatively), though he stammered before the twins.
"Aaron, Alexa...I know you...no, I have not known you for long, but...we have...no, Father and I have a gift for you."
One of the highlights of that night was seeing Connor's face flush with humiliation. Ziio glanced at me, rolling her eyes jokingly. There were no need for mocking a, however, because Aaron and Alexa responded with a collective "aah" and clinging to Connor's enormous waist.
He'll make a great father, one day.
Better than myself, I wanted to add, but knew this was not the time to criticise my parenting.
"Thank you, Connor," Aaron said, muffled through the material of Connor's coat.
"I know they are merely bracelets, and I'm sorry..."
"I think they are perfect," Soyala grinned. "A token from your brother. How long have you waited for this, hm? Alexa? Aaron?"
"Do not thank me," Connor laughed nervously. "It was Father's idea."
Death by a Thousand Stares, if such a thing existed. Everyone (namely the twins) swivelled to face me. Before I could escape their eyes, looking at the deck, both of them were upon me. Quite literally.
After they dashed across the deck, pushing past the people, I was suddenly denied the privilege of breathing. But I liked it...in an odd way. I knelt and pulled them into my cape, which caused a rippling coo from the crowd.
"Thank you, Father." Aaron's tiny throat tickled my shoulder.
Hold on...Father?
The word was stunning as a dozen stings, but what it filled me with was not venom. It was warm contentment. Someone other than Connor had just called me "Father". Why did that knowledge lift my heart? I had only known Aaron for just over a week. I should have felt inbelieveably awkward: what, with the silent stares from the Assassins, Ziio's legs tensing beside me and Alexa pulling away from the hug, shocked. She mumbled something to Aaron in Mohawk. The words were disapproving, I could tell, for his face fell before turning back to me.
"Sorry. I didn't mean -"
"No, it's alright," I shrugged, a little too nonchalantly. "Call me Father if you wish."
Even then, I knew it was only a title. It meant nothing significant - it'd be like Connor calling Achilles his grandfather. It meant nothing in terms of family, only that Aaron saw me as a paternal figure.
So why was I soaring with the elation it created?
What was really quite flattering was when Alexa's mouth twitched into an unstoppable smile. "W-we can?"
I nodded.
"Well, then. Thank you, Father."
At that moment, several things happened at once. Firstly, Ziio's body relaxed next to where I knelt. Clearly she'd feared how I might react, but there was never any need to fear. The crew also began to coo and applaud again (even Connor). That only encouraged me to clutch the children's backs more tightly.
Just as I thought I couldn't possibly be more elated, a warmth began spreading across my head, back and the floor around me. The twins' dark hair suddenly shone silver, brown and black under my hands: the sun had decided to join us.
About bloody time. The salmon haze across the water and sky was the setting sun, but never mind. I remember thinking to myself: All this for a pair of thread bracelets?
No. Aaron was looking for any excuse to call me Father, and this was it. The sun? Well, I supposed it made for a wonderful October evening.
"Way, haul away, we'll haul away together..."
"Way, haul away, we'll haul away Joe!"
One hour and several tankards later, much had changed. The feast laid out on the crate table was replaced – believe it or not – by Hamish.
Well, Hamish and his fiddle. It had been Soyala'a suggestion, her tongue loosened a little. Wolf was initially hesitant, but as Toby and Soyala hoisted him to stand on top of the crates, he began to play.
Not just play, no. His fingers were frantic, like the legs of white spiders. The bow of the fiddle was his weapon; his tool, and Hamish, the master. The sound he made had me wondering how in the world he never became a professional.
No time to think about that. Almost in unison, we began to clap our hands in time with the music. I couldn't recall the last time I truly stood to listen to music. It was one of the privileges greyed by the nature of my work.
Very soon, Eva and George were dancing in the centre; several others followed suit. Toby linked arms with Soyala, Prudence with François and Jack with Alexa. As the space around me grew sparse, I squeezed Ziio's hand.
"Shall we?"
"You know I don't dance," she replied curtly.
A sober Haytham would have laughed her off, but this was not a sober Haytham. Instead I grabbed her whole arm, dashed for the centre and dragged Ziio behind me.
"Wait, stop!"
No chance. Before she knew it, I'd whirled her round in a large circle, catching her (just) by the waist. "You do now!"
"You will pay for this," she warned breathlessly.
No, I would not. It turned out that Ziio enjoyed herself so much, that we spent the next half an hour dancing. The music evolved, from tavern music to sea shanties, and our singing became detectably worse by the drink. I hadn't intended to drink much: no more than one, I'd vowed to myself. But as the tankard was filled more and more, my sense of self-control ebbed away. Eventually I (must've) thought: What the hell, it's hardly a regular occurrence.
As I twirled ridiculously, the moon and stars spun at twice the speed. For a moment I had to unlink arms with Ziio to regain my breath and vision. In doing so I bumped into Connor, who stood chatting gaily to Jack.
"Look, son," I slurred. "The moon looks like a 'C' tonight. Must be after you!"
All I received was a hawk-like glare. Jack, however, slapped his knees in hysterical amusement (holding a tankard, I think).
"Just look at that, Connor! Look at that! Your da must be a drunk like his da. He must be a true pirate!"
I felt someone tug on my arm, pulling me to the side. Was it me, or were Ziio's eyes even more beautiful when blurred? Nonetheless, they looked just as unfocused as I felt.
"Be careful what you say! You may regret your actions later."
"What?"
She cursed under her breath, probably in Mohawk.
"What?"
"Nothing. It was a compliment."
"What?"
"I thought how handsome you look when –"
"What?"
By now Ziio realised that this was a game; she mirrored my childish grin. "Never mind. Just kiss me, will you?"
Never before had I seen (or even pictured) Ziio tipsy. It was a funny sight; a stunning one at that. So kiss her I did, rum be damned. People danced around us as my lips crashed like a canon into hers. She responded with surprising enthusiasm, almost pushing me back into the mast. Breathless and desperate, I snaked my way into her hair and tugged it, testing her.
Bad move, Kenway.
Too quickly to contemplate, I was up against the mast, head throbbing like my heart. Too drunk to care if Connor or the children saw this. Too ardent to be had that easily. Left hand hooked round Ziio's waist, right hand clawing at her blouse, I was deaf to all else. As her lips grew rougher around mine, I knew her motive. I knew the way that Ziio worked, even in my drunken state: she had a strategy for everything. This was only stage one; it would end with a precise, fixed goal. She only wanted to coax me into her plan.
And so I let her. Letting lust cleanse me, I forgot where I was. I wanted nothing more than to please her. She kissed and kissed me, until my mouth was blotted with her purest poison. Every part of me stood ready to return fire, but suddenly I came crashing back to reality.
We couldn't do this. Not here. Not surrounded by others.
Even with her tongue between my teeth, Ziio sensed my change of heart. She stepped back, her hair slightly tangled by my hand. "Why did you stop?"
"Not here," I whispered.
She bit her lip again – bloody hell, she looked so seductive when she did that – and pressed a hand to the centre of my chest. The bubble that was my stomach warmed under her touch; Ziio leaned in and kissed my cheek a final time. "You're right. One more drink?"
The next thing I remembered was chasing Ziio down the corridor. Little minx had stolen my hat – and she knew I could barely run.
She waved the tricorne in front of me. When I tried to grab it, my hand seemed to travel through water, not air. "Give it back!" I slurred, only to find she'd disappeared behind a doorway.
Coming into the cabin. No light. Her laugh – a siren's signal – and how it heated my blood. My head. My everything.
Kissing in the darkness. I remember her tiny wrists pinned against the wall, a stream of moonlight kisses coursing down her neck. Her voice. My breathing, faster than my own mind could work. The only fuel I needed was her.
And I wasn't lacking in it. I still recall how her nails caressed the back of my jacket. Suddenly they became more demanding, clawing at the fabric. I shook the jacket to the floor, my hands still exploring a familiar habitat. When they found the root of her hair, they acted away from the rest of my burning body. I almost threw her against the wall –supporting her weight with my own hips – and I kissed her more intensely than ever before. Even Ziio was surprised by my roughness.
Wait...roughness.
That was when it hit me: this was a woman who'd been raped. What if the vigour was painful for her? What if it forced the feelings back to her? Feelings of being abused, unloved and numb? That was the last I wanted.
"Haytham," Ziio breathed, eyes closed. "Please. Don't stop."
"But –"
She gasped – subconsciously – as my hand slid around her waist. Well, I supposed I wasn't hurting her. So I continued kissing along her jaw, and watching as the bliss unfurled in her face.
"Ziio," I panted, "aren't we too old for this?"
"No," she grinned, eyes still closed. "There has never come a better time."
How did she do this to me? Within Ziio I could find a flame of fervour, but also of peace. Of perfection. Purity. I loved her, was in love with her – that knowledge was what blinded and guided me. But I couldn't find words – not yet. All I could do was paint my passions with my lips.
The tangle of hands, reaching for buttons and blouses. The darkness so vibrant in which I saw nothing...and everything. The falling onto bedsheets, and repeating the ardour again. No mind to tell me I was in the wrong – just the darkened, blurred outline of her. Beautiful – every inch of her – and more love than I could spill in one lifetime.
Well, I could try my best.
"God, I'm in love with you."
