1787: Chapter3

Shay braced himself against the icy January winds, his white coat flapping with the gusts, red tassels suspended in the frosty air like bloody streamers. For a moment, he could almost imagine he was on a ship, instead of a frozen Massachusetts plain.

The wind died, and the moment faded. The Grandmaster smirked, his smile colder than the winter air. His eyes drifted over the Regulator militia, drilling in the snow below. Despite recent setbacks, matters were coming together.

One last push, Shay decided. Something to impress the danger on the States and weaken the rebellion all at once. Two birds with one stone. It was only a matter of how.

The what was obvious: the Springfield armory held great strategic and sentimental value; it was also host to great stores of arms and ammunition – enough to keep the rebellion going for months. The Regulators had been considering taking it for some time; it wouldn't take much to convince Shays, Day and Parsons to prepare an assault.

The Regulators had been champing at the bit since the Groton raid, months before. It had taken every ounce of Shay's skill to hold them back, especially since George Monro's injuries meant he could only be in one place at a time. Robyn was good, but she couldn't double for the Grandmaster. Still, he had managed in the end.

He glanced over the paper in his hand once more, pleased.

Father,

I am afraid Mentor Kenway is not quite the out and outer I had thought him to be. He is a most terrible dancer! I have taken the liberty of providing him a caper master. He is not much for civil whiskers; truthfully, I found him cross as crabs and would have given him the cut direct if I did not think he would raise a breeze. I was near sick as a cushion from having to swallow my spleen; you will understand when I say I have never been so glad for the end of a waltz, when in the regular manner of things I would have been ever so pleased to see it outside Vienna! Father, if you make me entertain him again, I fear you shall find me a malt above water and entirely disreputable, a tragedy of the highest degree, I assure you.

Your Affectionate Daughter,

Robyn

Shay smiled grimly, tearing the letter to shreds and scattering the fragments on the winds. Connor had recovered at last, and the Grandmaster could finally loose the reins.

"We were wrong," Shay said bitterly. "Bowdoin will never listen to reason."

Daniel Shays nodded, his face drawn. "This army intends to destroy us for daring to protect the people from immediate ruin." The Massachusetts farmer was a good man, kind and genuine. He believed deeply in the regulator cause to which his surname had been given. Of the rebellion leaders, he was the calmer one, less prone to violence. That had been invaluable when Shay was trying to hold the Regulators back, but could have been a liability now that he was ready for them to move. I'll have to thank Lincoln, Shay thought dryly, and Connor. The two had done all the persuading for him.

"I wonder what they promised," the Grandmaster mused now, "to convince those merchants to part with their coin?" Nothing, if Shay was right. The Regulators had the merchants scared. Hopefully, the delegates would be too.

"Isn't it obvious?" Luke Day snapped. "They mean to take our land and parcel it out amongst themselves!"

Eli Parsons nodded somberly. "I'm afraid you're right, Luke. Miserly as they are, I can imagine no other cause for their sudden generosity!"

No? Shay thought dryly. Aloud, he said, "Transactions of public affairs do tend to involve the common people in a state of slavery." It was a popular Revolution slogan, one coined by the same men the Regulators now fought. It would serve their cause as well as it had the Patriots.

Luke's face grew dark. "This government has shown its rule to be that of tyranny. It cannot be allowed to stand." Of the three leaders, he was by far the most intense and the most eager for combat. He ran his men in strict order. A possible problem, but one easily taken care of.

"I agree," Daniel said solemnly. "We must stand firm against the cruel hand of tyranny, as we have done before."

"We are the body of the people," Luke pronounced grandly. "All the land stands with us."

The men who toil on it, at least, Shay corrected mentally. The merchants obviously didn't.

"We are the majority," Eli affirmed. "A proper government must answer to the greater number of the people."

Tyranny of the majority, Shay thought wryly. As this rebellion proved, listening to the 'greater number of people', as Eli had put it, was a terrible idea. Pity the Assassins couldn't see that. People could never be trusted, selfish as they were; unchecked, they always turned to chaos. The Templars understood that.

Focused, however, the people were a useful tool in the path toward their own improvement.

"We must turn to the people, then," Daniel said, "and ask that they immediately assemble in arms to support and maintain the rights, the lives, and the liberties of the people. Let us end this tyrannical government of Massachusetts."

Shay hid a smirk. These men were earnest, but they had little thought beyond the present. Daniel didn't have the slightest idea as to what constituted a proper government, and Luke and Eli had little more. Fortunately, the Grandmaster did, though his plans extended a good ways beyond Massachusetts.

They're good men, Shay thought again, looking over his three companions. Hopefully they would escape the coming fights unscathed. John Hancock would be running for governor again this year, and would undoubtedly win. Wise John, Shay thought fondly. You'll pardon them eventually. There was simply too much sympathy for the Regulator's cause. A year from now,these men would return to their lives, and their rebellion would be but a footnote in a greater history.

"We will need arms," Shay noted, "better than we have."

"We take the armory," Luke said coldly, "then march directly to Boston and burn the nest of devils to the ground."

Daniel frowned pensively. "I can convince the Hampshire committee; my name seems to have become one of import, though I know not why." Did they name it for you, Shay wondered wryly, or for me? Shays' or Shay's? It was true either way. Shay Cormac had brought the rebellion together and led it from the shadows, but Daniel Shays served as their figurehead and rallying force.

"We can gather in West Springfield," Luke suggested. "We've been there before and know the city well."

"We'll want to surround them," Daniel said thoughtfully, "come at them from both sides."

"Palmer," Eli decided. "A second company can be staged there, and a third force at Chicopee bridge."

"A good plan," the Grandmaster agreed. It was. It might even work, had he been inclined to allow it. As it was… "When do we strike?" The Assassins had to have the opportunity to end at least one Templar plan.

"The 25th," Daniel determined, and the meeting adjourned.

Once again, it was a matter of delay. Delay, and the right messenger, Shay amended. The militia needed to be warned. More importantly, the Assassins needed to be warned. Someone had to keep matters from getting out of hand, and the Grandmaster was occupied here.

Now, Mentor Kenway, Shay thought wryly, where is your spy? The Assassins had one, of course. Possibly more. The rebellion was practically on their doorstep, after all. Shay paused. Now that is a thought… He couldn't afford to indulge in revenge, obviously, but if the opportunity arose, or a distraction was needed…

He shook his head, setting the matter aside. The Grandmaster had other concerns right now.

Shay activated his Eagle Vision, strolling casually through the gathered men. He stayed to groups and shadows, ever present but unseen. 'Hide in plain sight,' Hope had taught him, all those years ago, as they wandered through the streets of New York. "Walk as one of them," she had told him, her voice firm, cool, and kind, "be one of them, and they will never see you coming."

Shay had laughed then, and she had chided him for not taking his lessons seriously. "How do you plan to be an Assassin, if you refuse to learn? You have so much potential, Shay. I'd hate to see it go to waste."

I've learned my lessons, Hope, the Grandmaster thought ironically. It only took being a Templar to do it. To survive his former comrades, he had had to become better than any of them. Shay had once walked through a crowded, guarded palace, teeming with Assassins searching for the traitor who had murdered one of their own in full view of every one of them. No one had seen him do it. No one saw him leave. No one ever did now, unless Shay wished them to.

Connor's Assassins were no different. The Grandmaster watched the red-tinted man mediating a dispute between two of the Regulators in an Irish accent more true than Shay's own. He seemed the calm, serious sort; a good choice for a messenger. If Shay were being honest, the Assassin reminded him of Liam.

Duncan Little. The man's uncle had been an Assassin too, one Haytham had killed, if Shay recalled correctly. Grandmaster Kenway had learned as much as he could about his son's recruits, and Shay had spent nearly a year following up on that information. Knowledge was power, after all, something both Templars and Assassins understood.

Shay laid his hand unconsciously on his pistol, eyes cold. Lack of information could be fatal, as those who had fallen to his pistols had learned. He was glad to have them back; the damn things were incredibly finicky. Fortunately, Thomas was as skilled with steel as he was with silver. It was, Shay mused, another downside to using an antique weapon – well, a recreation of one – but the age of the design was yet another reason the pistols were so useful.

No one expected to be shot with a weapon designed a hundred years before… and no one ever expected to be shot twice.

Little was finishing his mediation now, the Regulators leaving satisfied. Shay took it as his cue, blending with the departing crowd. He allowed himself a smug smile as he merged seamlessly with the gathered men. Matters were finally in hand again. Not that it had ever been otherwise. Shay had won long before the Assassins knew there was a game to be played.

When Luke Day's forces were inexplicably delayed the morning of the attack, Duncan Little was chosen to relay the information to Daniel Shays. Unsurprisingly, the message never arrived.