The Sins of the Father
Chapter 1
She felt the thin cotton fabric press into her knuckles and tighten around her outstretched fingers. She flexed them and examined the work closely, not wishing to fall foul of an oversight in the flexibility of the wraps now encasing her fists and wrists. Her father had practiced wrapping her hands and this was not the first time he had, but this was different. This was not a friendly fight. She aimed to win.
Looking up from her clenched fists, she smiles at her father who had begun to pour the last of the whiskey into two tumblers. Adira admired her father immensely. He had retired from fighting, and now ran a club for budding fighters, but past trauma to his bones and muscles broke through in the quiet moments she shared with him. His dark eyes watched carefully as he filled the glasses with a heavy hand. Her father had a strikingly impressive figure and wide shoulders which struck fear into his opponents and a resolve that allowed him to best any challenger. For such a giant, he moved with speed and grace, but the strength and power of his punches had earned him a great deal of respect. He walks towards her, his face a strange mixture of concern and pride. He laughs to himself and presses the glass into her outstretched hand. She perches on the edge of the table and raises it to his, bowing her head to him and smiling.
'To your first fight, my dear.' He dips his head in a slight bow and wastes no time in draining the amber liquid in one swift movement. His words dissolve into the rising noise of rowdy and expectant punters as Adira downs the liquid and feels it burn her insides. She shakes it off and stands, leaving the glass on the table.
Adira's father looks to the door and back to his daughter and examines the wraps with uncertainty. 'I'm afraid your mother would have made a much neater job of the wraps, but they will have to do.' He looks thoughtful and pensive as he speaks of her. She walks to him and smiles and takes his hand and places a gentle kiss on his stubbled cheek.
'She would have praised you for your effort father. I just hope she brings me as much luck as she brought you when you fought.' She smiles and runs her hand up her father's arm and squeezes it gently. He looks into her dark eyes and shakes his head.
'I'm certain she'd have beaten me to a sticky pulp for allowing you to fight in the ring, daughter.' Adira laughs warmly with her father before the angry stamps of leather boots on old wood draws the pair's attention again.
Adira's father stands and holds his daughter's shoulders and places a kiss on her forehead. She closes her eyes and takes a deep breath, and she looks up to him, his head a good foot above her own. He steps back and runs his eyes over his 25-year-old protégé and smiles. To relax, she rolls her shoulders and loosen ups, bouncing on her toes and rolling her neck. Her black trousers cling to her legs and her long leather lace up boots encase her legs up to her knees. The loose shirt is tucked roughly into the top of her trousers and allows her to move freely. A tight length of fabric wraps her chest up to allow for brisk and uninhibited movement. Her long thick, brunette hair is pulled back into a tight plait, leaving her vision clear and her strong jawline and pale neck exposed.
'Remember what I have taught you. It is just you and him. Use his power against him. Protect your core and keep moving.' He reels off short sentences in his panic and Adira can only smile warmly at his concern. He looks at her and he stops mid-sentence. 'I know you know. I just… I will be ringside.' The shouting grows as her father takes her hand and leads her to the door. He squeezes her shoulder reassuringly. 'Good luck, Adira.'
The giant of a man guides his daughter through the louts and drunkards and past the cellar bar where a quieter group of men stand and speak in a hushed tone. The lamps flicker and dance and the air is heavy with the stench of drink and sweat. Adira feels the tension in her father's fingers as they finally reach the centre of the room where wooden panels form the perimeter of the ring. Eyeing the ring and the crowd encircling it like vultures, Adira looks to her father and nods. He lets go after a long and troubled exhale, and Adira grips the wooden side and swings over with ease. Straightening up, she slowly looks around as the eyes bore into her. The shouts and slosh of tankards dies a little and she feels a hush descend on the room. Deep, focused breaths. She closes her eyes again, rolling her shoulders and flexing her fingers. She turns as the noise in the room begins to rise again. The noises are different now, mocking and condescending. Gritting her teeth and centering her weight, she steals herself against the insults and cracks her knuckles. Wolf whistles break out and she feels a fire burn deep in her stomach and spread through her torso. It threatens to consume her thoughts as she eyes up the other end of the ring and waits. She rolls her slender neck and catches fragments of shouts. 'Alright girlie! Get back to the kitchen where you belong! Big Ed's gonna ruin you up, lil' girl!' Adira turns her head from the noise and focuses on her stance and her core, easing her feet apart to strengthen her position. Voices erupt as she spots a door opening at the other end of the tavern. Big Ed was coming.
It took him only a few strides to reach the ring and he clumsily climbed in; his whole being drenched with the smell of beer. He shakes his head violently and stands up to his full height, his stomach threatening to spill out and split his trousers. He eyes up Adira and snorts, a deep and mocking laughter growing from that enormous stomach. His sweat rolls from his forehead and he rubs his grubby hand against one of his chins.
'I f'ort I was 'ere to fight, not fornicate.' He slaps his thigh and laughter beaks out amongst the crowd. Adira growls under her breath and meets his gaze. She looks to her father whose eyes have not left her since she entered the ring. He nods and winks, knowing his daughter is just about ready to bury this fool face first into the sand. Nodding back, she snaps her head back to Big Ed and a smile curls across her face.
'I fear you are equally incapable of either, sir.' Her sarcasm cuts deeply. Big Ed looks to the woman and he grunts, considering her laughable size compared to him. A wild rage pours into his eyes as the crowd's eyes fall on Adira once again. He yells and barrels towards her, his fists balled up and his savage, blood-shot pupils fixed on their target.
Without hesitation, Adira blocks and shifts his weight against him before he tumbles past her and nearly ends up head-first in the patrons. She stands and watches him, her fists raised, and her fighting stance prepared. His heavy breaths pour out of him as he turns and swings again. Adira grunts and blocks his heavy swing and lands a punch deep in his solar plex, causing his lungs to squeeze out his breath. He staggers backwards, bent over double. She balls up her fist to swing up into his jawline. Breathing through gritted teeth, her knuckles flex against his flesh and his bone and his head is thrust violently backwards, causing him to yell. Seizing the opportunity, Adira grabs his skull and pulls it forward to meet with her knee. The cartilage shatters against her patella and a spray of blood exits his nose on contact. He yelps and grunts and grits his teeth and finally lands a blow which splits Adira's lip and forces her backwards, her head reeling from the impact. Shaking to regain her focus, she presses the back of her hand into her bottom lip and a trail of blood is left on the wrap. She feels it twinge and before she has time to recover, she feels her whole body being lifted from the ground. Big Ed's enormous arms wrap around her torso. She gasps as he begins to squeeze. He presses her into his sweat-soaked chest and laughs. 'Scream girly!'
Desperately, she tries to break his grip, but he squeezes tighter and she feels her lungs begin to sear and ache as she tries to take in what air she can. Her vision begins to blur, and she frantically looks for her father in the jeering crowd. The noises begin to fade as she feels her grip on her consciousness slip from her. But then, she sees the fear in her father's eyes. They widen but never once leave her own. She grunts and screams, thrashing violently. His fear fuels her rage, and she twists and thrashes and squares up her head with Big Ed's. She holds on tightly to her last moments of consciousness and wraps her hands in his matted hair and forces her head hard into the bridge of his nose, breaking it instantly. His grip loosens and he howls, cupping his nose and trying to stop the fountain of blood pouring from it. She rises from the floor and wipes his blood from her brow. She plants her feet and swings her leg out with a force and power her father would be proud of and roundhouse kicks Big Ed square in the side of his blood-soaked face. He is knocked off balance and the sheer force of movement causes him to black out and fall to the ground in an unconscious, bleeding heap.
Adira stands, chest heaving, fists resting at her sides as she watches the giant of a man bleed into the sand. A quick look up reveals a sea of stunned faces and she turns to see her father beaming at her from ear to ear. He thrusts his fist into the air and yells over the silence, 'Adira! Adira! Adira!' A warmth fills Adira's cheeks and she spits the blood from her gums onto the sand. The crowd begins to shout and whistle, the condescension and the disdain a hollow memory now. Her father leaps into the ring and throws her blood-soaked fist up into the air, celebrating his daughter's victory with her. Adira smiles widely and enjoys the moment before her father pulls her into a deep hug. His arms hold her tightly. He pulls her back by her shoulders and leans down to look into her eyes, a bruise forming over her jawline and blood smeared over her brow. She feels her head begin to thump. 'You, dear daughter, are a tenacious and spirited fighter.' Blushing again, Adira smiles warmly at his words but feels pain creep in as the adrenaline wears off and her body weakens.
'I need a drink.' She laughs and her father wraps his arm around her before leading her back through the crowd and to the bar.
Adira smiles and nods appreciatively as she passes through, hands on her back and shoulders and offers of drinks flooding her ears. The barmaid throws her a wet rag and she smiles gratefully before she wipes the worst of the blood from her face and neck and throws it behind the bar. Feeling a little better, Adira presses her elbows into the bar and breathes, wincing a little as a pain shoots through her head. She pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales. A strong hand rests on her back and her father leans into her, his voice warm and comforting.
'Wait here a moment, I shall collect the winnings from tonight and then we can celebrate properly.' She responds with a simple hum, not opening her eyes as flashes of pain shoot across them. Her mind wanders for a moment as she feels her father depart from her company and another take his place.
A low voice requests a drink of the barmaid. The distinct sound of whiskey being poured into a glass is one Adira is exceptionally familiar with. The sound that followed caused her to pause and investigate. It was the sound of a heavy glass tumbler being pushed towards her over the sticky wood of the bar. She smiles and removes her fingers from the bridge of her nose and looks down at the amber liquid resting before her arm. Half dazed, she looks up expecting her father to be holding the bottle and her half of tonight's takings, but he is decidedly absent from her immediate view. She takes the glass gratefully and swirls it around. She feels a set of eyes on her and the distinct presence of the figure stood next to her with his back to the bar and his own whiskey in hand.
The tall, imposing stranger wears a navy-blue overcoat which is detailed with golden thread. His tricorn hat is embellished with similar detailing. Her vision resolves enough to notice he wears a sword and pistol and a cape with a strange insignia. He is about the same height and build as her father but his eyes are grey, his face pale and his jawline stronger, somehow. His dark hair is pulled back and tied with a scarlet ribbon. She pushes up on her elbows and takes the glass in hand. She watches as his eyes assess her. 'Much appreciated.' She manages to mumble before draining the liquid and letting out a hiss as it burns her insides and split lip. She raises the empty glass and nods to the stranger before pressing it down into the bar and turning to face the ring, leaning back to press the small of her back into the wood.
'Quite the show.' He says, swirling the whiskey around the glass. His accent reveals what she knew to be true just by his appearance, an upper-class Londoner.
Absent-mindedly, Adira begins to pull at the wraps on her hands and hisses and swears under her breath as the pulling motion aggravates her swelling fingers. She becomes aware that she should probably attempt some semblance of conversation. The man had just bought her a drink. 'Your first?' He looks to Adira, his eyes glancing over the split in her lip and the bruise along her jawline as she fiddles with the fabric of the wraps, growing frustrated with the increasing lack of movement in her fingers due to the inevitable swelling. Adira glances down at her attire and looks dismayed by its condition. The white shirt is sprayed with blood and patches of dirt and sweat from its contact with Big Ed and her knee is still caked in dark, sticky blood. She looks back to her hands which are beginning to bruise. She laughs to herself and accepts that she will probably need to buy a new shirt and trousers with her earnings. She looks back to the gentleman and nods. 'Is it that obvious?' she laughs, still combatting the pain growing behind her eyes. She starts to pull at the knots holding her knuckle wraps together.
The man drains his whiskey and turns to her. He leans in close and rests his glass on the bar next to hers and holds out his left hand. His face changes briefly, to one of pity at Adira's ineptitude at undoing the tight knots, but it passes as quickly as it arrives. 'If you'd permit me.' He says, neither asking nor telling. It was a statement. His eyes press her to act and she obeys. A little reluctantly, she holds out her right hand and unclenches it. Her eyes fixate on the man as he carefully flicks his wrist and produces a blade. He hovers his left hand beneath Adira's and lies the blade snugly under the tightening fabric and slices through it with remarkable finesse. He repeats the same nimble action with Adira's left hand and retracts the blade quickly before placing his arms behind his back. She looks up at him, confused and a little wary as to why he would require such a device. Focusing on the act of kindness rather than his choice to frequent taverns with such an arsenal of weapons, Adira smiles and begins to unwrap her hands. 'Thank you, Mr.…?' She eyes him up expectantly.
'…Haytham Kenway. And you are?' He looks at her with equal expectancy and she obliges.
'Adira Kane.' He lowers his head and touches his tricorn in a makeshift bow of a kind.
'A pleasure Miss Kane.' He looks to the door her father left through. 'And the gentleman you are with?' He looks at her, his grey eyes searching the depths of Adira's dark irises.
'My father, John. Johnny Haymaker Kane to his friends.' She finishes unwrapping her fingers and flexes them, feeling the joints complain and the blood on her fingers finally dry. A look of understanding flashes across Haytham' s face before he asks his next question.
'Of the Boston Brawlers?' He returns to watch Adira carefully.
She smiles to herself, still amazed how her father's reputation always preceded him.
'The very same, Mr. Kenway.'
She lets out a small hiss of pain as she presses her fingers gently into the bruise and over her split lip. 'I shouldn't have allowed him to take a swing at me. It broke my focus.' She growls in a low voice and damns herself for her poor judgement.
'Indeed. A fighter of your calibre should have knocked your opponent out cold before he had a chance to inflict any damage. 'He smiles at Adira and delivers his line with a playful tone. Adira raises an eyebrow and tries to make sense of his back-handed compliment. He straightens up and lowers his head before lifting it and meeting her gaze.
'You could have ended him with your first strike, but I suppose the punters require sating. They demand a show.' He waves his hand and gestures generally as he emphasises that final word. He sighs and looks to Adira, waiting for her to react to his assessment of her first fight.
She snorts derisively, his words like tinder to the dying fire in her soul. What the hell did he mean by that? She tries not to sound frustrated with his assessment and instead turns and leans over the bar, grunting a little as she balances. She reaches down to pull out a bottle of hard cider. She uncorks it and grips it in her bare fingers. The condensation on the bottle soothes the dull ache spreading across her hand. She lifts it to her lips and takes a swig before pointing to the ring and answering.
'Sating the punters' thirst for blood or not, I don't see Big Ed getting up to feed me my teeth, Mr. Kenway.' She replies defensively. She consumes another swift swig and folds her arms. His lips curl into a smile and he looks over his shoulder to the ring before leaning in. His hands remain behind his back and his face is only a few inches from her ear as he begins to speak. She notes the quiet timbre of his voice and the faint smell of tea and cedarwood.
'You are capable of more than entertaining drunkards. You are gifted, Miss Kane. You only need the right opportunity and this… charade… will not facilitate that.' Adira's eyes flicker dangerously but he simply smiles and straightens. She clenches her jaw and wants to retort. To demand what he knew of her to make such assessments. What right had he to stand before her both praising and damning her and her chosen path in the space of a breath? But he looks away and to the stairs leading up to the main tavern before she has a chance to react.
'I must take my leave of you, Miss Kane.' He says, clearly and without looking at her. His attention fixed on the gentleman with the dark moustache and tied back hair sporting a dark brown overcoat waiting expectantly on the stairs. His eyes snap back to Adira's and a half smile crosses his face.
'A great shame. I was so enjoying the manner in which you were trivialising my livelihood. Please do not let me keep you, Mr. Kenway.' Her words drip with sarcasm and disdain. He once again bows his head and touches his tricorn, and Adira sees him smile at her overt sarcasm from beneath its brim.
'Come and find me when you inevitably tire of punching drunkards and sub-par opponents for pay, Miss Kane.' He turns and disappears into the crowd and Adira mutters a string of profanities. His words circle through her head and she tries to evict them from her thoughts, but they burn and continue to revolve and interrupt her stream of consciousness. She wanted nothing more than to fight. How could she tire of it? She hated how his words lingered.
The cider quenches Adira's thirst and numbs her senses. She presses the bottle to her head and feels the piercing cold soothe her bruised skull. The alcohol proves to be most effective in the reduction of her cognitive function. Mr. Kenway's words still, annoyingly, resonate, for now but the next bottle would most assuredly solve that. Nestling the bottle between her thighs, she pulls out the band holding her hair in its plait and slowly runs her fingers through it, relieving the tension building in her head. She lets out a small hum of relief and her hair curls and bounces with life around her strong, pale face. Releasing her grip on the bottle, she retrieves it and takes another swig just as her eyes catch the gold and blue of Haytham's imposing frame finally making it to the stairs. Out the corner of her eye, she watches him ascend the stairs and pause.
'Master Kenway, Shay has arrived and awaits you in the meeting room.' Charles reports to his master but his eyes flick back to the young lady leant against the bar with the long brunette hair and lean build. 'Who is she, Master Kenway?' His eyes greedily trace her form as she presses her lips to the bottle of cider.
Haytham turns slightly to observe Adira but his gaze does not remain on her for long. He looks to Charles and sees him lick his lips. Haytham quietly admitted to himself that Miss Kane was most appealing to the eye. He rests his swirling and calculating eyes on Charles who remains distracted.
'That young lady is Miss Adira Kane, Charles. She is the daughter of Johnny Haymaker Kane.' He speaks in a low and hushed tone. 'She could prove to be a useful asset and a tenacious recruit for the Order.' Charles looks to his master and nods. Haytham's moves to turn but pauses, laying an authoritative hand on Charles' shoulder. 'I would advise against making advances, Charles. She will bury you face first in the ground and not spill a drop of her drink. She is not to be trifled with.' Charles nods but lingers for a moment longer before joining his master in the tavern.