The Third Life: Parties of Tea

Yeah, working two manual labor jobs sucks, especially when they're from eight in the morning to one in the afternoon, then six-thirty in the evening to eleven-thirty at night, with a thirty-minute drive back home on a dark highway.

This is why I strongly recommend getting a college degree and finding an office job in the wonderful air conditioning.

Anyway, time for Old Man Jake and Connor

Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC

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Inspire by historical events and an over-active imagination, this work of fiction was designed, developed, and produced by a single-cultural team of one religious faith and belief, sexual orientation, and gender identity.

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Martha's Vineyard

1770

The young Connor entered the tavern, following behind Bobby Faulkner. They were looking for gunnery officers for Connor's ship, the Aquila. More specifically, the Clutterbuck brothers, David and Richard. They were found easily enough, and while Mr. Faulkner had words with them, Connor couldn't help but notice two individuals sitting at a nearby table, one of which he recognized most strongly.

The young Assassin approached and started something. "Where is Charles Lee?"

The one in the powdered wig turned a dark gaze to Connor. "I don't much care for your tone, boy."

The grizzled man in the uniform stood, and Faulkner intervened. "Hey…you don't want to be doing that, Biddle."

Biddle cracked a mean grin. "Bobby Faulkner turned to wet-nursing? Good you finally realized you're a shite sailor."

Before things could escalate further, Miss Mandy the owner of the tavern stepped in. "Whoa, whoa, whoa! Not in here, gentlemen! Better yet, not at all! Bobby, take your friends and get out!"

And then a new voice cut through it all.

"Oh, but I disagree with you there, Mandy."

From the darkness of a corner, a seventy-year-old Jake Swallow emerged, tall, built, and looking very powerful in his age…yet sad and worn, as well. Still, there was a gleam in the man's eye, and the metal of all his guns gleamed as well. Four single-shots across his large chest, and four more two-shots, two at each hip. There were no swords on him.

"I can't help but notice the kid's striking resemblance to an old friend's son, nor can I ignore the…affiliation of the men before me, and I just can't help but wonder how much grief we would spare the world if we let the kid use that tomahawk and put Biddle and Church here out of their misery."

Jake's footfalls echoed loudly in the silence of the tavern, all eyes on the old man. He stopped right next to Connor, the Clutterbuck brother and Faulkner all having bowed their heads and moved out of the way. Jake held Biddle's gaze, and the younger man looked away. Jake turned to look at Church, and the man didn't even have the stones to look back.

Then Jake smiled cordially. "Luckily for you, boys, there is a time and place for bloodshed, and this fine establishment is not it. However, your welcome has been worn out, and it's time for you to leave."

Church needed to further prompt and left. Biddle was slower in his retreat, but he vanished out the door as well.

Jake turned to Connor. "So…are you Haytham's boy?"

"How do you know-"

"Ha!" Jake clapped a hand on Connor's shoulder. "I sailed with your grandfather, son. I also hate your father, and if I ever see him, I'm going to kill him."

The young Native American Assassin stared at this old, mixed man before him, dozens of questions running through his head. The first to come out of his mouth was the simple, yet eloquent:

"Why?"

"Because Haytham is a disgrace to everything Edward was, and it was under Haytham leadership that the Colonial Brotherhood is where it's at today."

"The Colonial what now?" David Clutterbuck asked.

"Not for you to worry about, David," Jake said. "Let's continue this conversation elsewhere. Faulkner, I trust you came in the Aquila?"

"Yes, sir."

"Good. It's about time that girl sailed again. Off we go," Jake said cheerily.

He left the tavern, David and his brother, Richard following like a couple of fanboys, leaving Connor and Faulkner to themselves.

"Who is that?" Connor demanded. "And why does-"

"I don't know, Connor," Bobby said. "There's more mystery to Captain Jake Swallow than I dare ask, but what I do know is that he's had a hand in Templar-Assassin business for decades, and he's the most dangerous person I know. Do not get on his bad side."

Still brimming with questions and nearly impatient to get them all answered, Connor just nodded his head and followed his seaman mentor back to the Aquila.

Once down there, they found Jake leaning against the rail next to the wheel, the crew milling about and some engaged in conversation with the new gunnery officers.

"Bobby Faulkner you disappoint me. You let a ship as magnificent as this go to near disrepair."

"W-Well, I-I mean…what with all that happened, and-"

Jake's flat look ended Bobby's excuses and explanations.

"Alright, kid. Let's see what you can do with a ship."

"My name is Ratonhnhaké:ton."

"Good for you, Jambalaya. You got something simpler?"

"Achilles calls me Connor."

The Assassin saw the light in Jake's eyes change, going softer.

"Did he now…? Well then, Connor, take the wheel and show me if you've got your grandfather's ability."

Connor did so, and he commanded the crew not with expert efficiency, but proficiency. For his age and experience, Jake was satisfied with the boy's natural talent with giving orders and when to give them. He did raise some noise when the Aquila came across a pair of unfortunate ships that had smashed and got stuck on some rocks, and Mr. Faulkner decided they were perfect for target practice.

"Where in the hell are all the guns!?" Jake ranted. "Where are the mortars?! Her ram?! Armor?!"

"Er, yes, about that, Captain…" Mr. Faulkner started, trying to come with an explanation as to how the mighty Aquila had become so weak, but failing.

"Unbelievable," Jake said. "I footed over half the bill for this bitch in France, and now she's barely sailable." He looked at Connor.

"You commissioned the Aquila?" the boy asked.

"Aye. Things were heating up over here and the Assassins needed a ship to help keep up with the Templars, so I pitched in my lot."

"Why?"

"For Mary."

"Who?"

Jake raised a brow. "Achilles hasn't told you about the Brotherhood he came from, the Caribbean one?"

Connor shook his head. "No. My training under him so far has been a daily physical exercise, lessons in tactics and in combat using different weapons, and history about the Brotherhood as a whole. Nothing specific yet."

"Ah. Well then, you'll have loads to talk about in due time."

"Why not now?"

"Captain! British navy! Looks like a schooner and a pair of gunboats!"

"That's why. Now, show me how well you can fight on the waves, but let's make it a little interesting. Sink them two gunboats using only the swivels."

"Now, Jake," Mr. Faulkner started, "I know you're an eccentric man, but let's be a little fair to the lad-"

"Challenge accepted," Connor said, his dark eyes gleaming with determination.

The naval battle began, with the up and coming captain shouting orders as he saw fit, and the crew worked their asses off to comply with those orders. The gunboats went down easily enough, with Connor calling for the shot, and the gunners striking true. The schooner provided some challenge, and Connor's inexperience showed when he called the shot at the wrong time and angle, only scoring two hits out of the full volley, but he sank the smaller ship with the next round.

The frigate that came cruising in soon after, no doubt drawn by the sounds of cannon fire, proved a challenge for Connor, with the Aquila taking a number of blows though nothing that couldn't be fixed with some trees and some skilled hands. After a battle that would've been over much sooner if the Ghost of the North Seas had the full compliment she had back when she was still worthy of the title, the Aquila went sailing back for the Davenport Homestead.

"The old man will likely have my head for having you out for so long," Mr. Faulkner only halfway joked.

"Ha! At this point, Achilles is more bark than bite," Jake said. "That bullet to the leg did him in."

"What bullet?" Connor asked.

"Haytham's bullet. Up in the Arctic."

Connor's look belayed all the questions he had.

"Patience, kid. I'll get to the story soon enough."

"We have enough of a trip before us."

"Aye, but this time is better spent teaching how to sail at night, not listening to the old man talk about history."

"Jake's right there, Connor," Faulkner said. "Now, you see that constellation there...?"

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"Je—sus wept," Jake said upon seeing Achilles, hunched over with a cane. "Honestly, you take one shot to the leg, and in the span of six years you age three times the rate. Have you taken up smoking? You sound horrible."

"Captain Jake Swallow," the former Mentor grumbled. "Why haven't you died yet?"

"Because I find things to live for, unlike you, who threw in the towel after Shay and the Arctic."

"I've already paid enough for those mistakes," Achilles said with a surprising amount of venom for his age. "I don't need you to remind me."

Connor finally had enough. In the mostly cold room of the mansion, he brought some heat. "What mistakes? What happened in the Arctic?"

"Goodness, boy," Jake said to Achilles, who was ten years his junior. "You've had Connor here for six months and haven't told him yet?"

"Told me what?" Connor growled, fed up with being in the dark about what was obviously very important information.

Jake gave a sideways smirk.

"Back when Achilles was the mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood, when the Assassins were on top of this corner of the world, they were out in force looking for Precursor artifacts so the Templars couldn't get them, and so they could use them for themselves. Well, they found some temples with some artifacts inside them, only those artifacts were keeping the earth stable. When they were disturbed…destruction.

"Achilles sent an Assassin, Shay Cormac, to a temple site in Lisbon back in '55, and most unfortunately, when Shay tried to recover the Piece of Eden, he triggered an earthquake that leveled the whole city and killed thousands of people. When he got back to the Colonies, he learned that Achilles here knew about the potential destruction, didn't believe that it was true, and planned to go for another temple up in the Arctic.

"With the Creed prohibiting the killing of innocent lives, and Achilles seemingly uncaring about the damage in Lisbon, Shay's faith in the Creed was shattered and his trust in the Mentor broken. He then correctly chose the path of rebellion, attempting to steal the Precursor box and manuscript that started the whole problem, but was thwarted and thought dead by the Assassins, but he lived, joined the Templars, and near single-handedly brought down one of the worst Brotherhood's to date.

"The Arctic episode saw Achilles finally realizing his mistakes, but Haytham and Shay arrived, and where Shay was only killing the Assassins because it was necessary to the protection of the New World, Haytham was doing it because he's a Templar. They broke even with Haytham crippling Achilles and letting him live on the condition he won't do anything Assassin-related ever again, and for the past six years that's been the case."

Achilles could only hang his head, the brim of his hat hiding his eyes.

"However," Jake continued, "Achilles has paid and suffered for his mistakes, and now he's redeeming himself by taking you under his wing, so I won't tolerate any kind of disrespect from you, boy. Am I clear, Ratonhnhaké:ton?"

The Native Assassin's eyes widened at the correct pronunciation of his real name, and he realized just how serious this enigmatic old man was.

"Yes, sir."

"Good. Now, there's a boat down the way that I paid a lot of money for only for her to go to shit, so I'm going to pay even more money to make sure she can stay afloat in the face of an armada. Good night, gentlemen."

Connor was still just a little stunned at the story he just heard, but when he registered what Jake said, he was spurned into action and went after the much older man, catching him midway down the stairs.

"Hey, wait!"

Jake turned around with an annoyed face. "Don't even think about saying it."

"Sating what?"

"You're about to give some diatribe revolving around how the Aquila is your ship and your responsibility, and you won't accept money or handouts from me regarding her upgrades, and you'll work hard to acquire the money yourself…or something like that, right?"

Connor swallowed. "…right."

"Wrong," Jake said shortly and strongly. "A), the Aquila is literally my property as I helped pay for her. If you want to get real technical, she belongs to the French Brotherhood but they're a long way from here so eh. B) since the Aquila is legally my ship, I will do with whatever I want. C) don't think for an instant I won't be collecting my dues from you, Connor. I'm letting you captain my ship, more or less renting her out to you, which makes me landlord…or shiplord, rather…and so I expect adequate service in return."

"What kind of service?"

In the candlelight of the mansion, Jake's dark eyes glittered.

"There's another war coming. One that's going to change the world forever. Undoubtedly, the Templars will be part of it, which means you'll be there too. You've already met Biddle, which means the Templars have already have a naval presence. The Assassins will need one too."

"…you said a war's coming. How can you tell?"

"Oh, Connor….When you get to be my age, you learn to read the signs."

Jake finished his trek down the stairs, the sound of his boots echoing through the quiet mansion.

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With literally nothing better to do with his life, Jake involved the next months of his life to the Aquila's repairs and training Connor, regaling the Assassins with stories of Edward. However, the time for teaching was now over, and the time for hunting was afoot.

Connor's native best friend, Kanen'tó:kon, had come bringing news that a man named William Johnson was attempting to purchase the land in which they lived. Not only was allowing this a violation of Connor's promise to his people to protect their land, but it was also perfect because Johnson was a Templar.

And so off to Boston the Assassin went, Jake going with him for the entertainment value, and because he could just feel all the drama and opportunity for higher conversation to be held.

And he was not disappointed.

Connor and Jake arrived in Boston and found Samuel Adams engaged in a debate that was getting eve the more heated with a portly fellow in green by the name of Paul Revere.

"Look, sanctions and demonstrations won't suffice, Sam. We need to act-"

"Then let's get to acting," Jake said loudly, cutting the conversation with his and Connor's entrance.

"Captain Swallow," Paul and Sam said at the same time, both surprised and inclining their heads in respect.

Connor blinked from beneath his hood, ever amazed at how everyone just seemingly knew who Jake was. Granted, he was an imposing figure, just as tall as the Assassin, and perhaps even bigger, and his black leather overcoat, big, wide-brimmed hat with the extravagant feather, tough brown boots, the assortment of pistols across his chest and at his hips, and the rings on his finger—metal bands of Precursor origin, one on the ring and pointer finger of each of his hands.

Connor had yet to discern what they did, or even if they did anything at all.

"Hello, gentlemen. Now, if we're talking about taking action, then I have the man for the job."

"Connor," Sam greeted. "You know Captain Swallow?"

"Yes," the Assassin said simply.

"Aye, and we're here for information on one William Johnson."

"I see. In that case, follow me."

Samuel started walking off, Connor following, and Jake looked at Paul who immediately stood straighter.

"Go home and begin brainstorming every idea you can think of that we can use against the Tories."

"Yessir!"

With Revere now occupied, Jake went after Sam and Connor to the alley, and happened upon the back half of their conversation.

"Then speak out against it," Connor was saying with an edge in his voice.

"We must focus on defending our rights," Sam rebutted. "When this is done, we'll have the luxury of addressing, these other matters."

"You as though your condition is equal to that of the slaves. It is not."

"Oh, slavery!" Jake crowed. "One of my favorites." The other men looked at him. "Now then, Connor, say you end slavery right here and now—you just snap your fingers and no more slavery—what happens for the slaves then?"

Connor and Sam both stared at him, totally lost.

"One, they'd be totally lost. They don't know this land and the people here aren't friends. Two, about the only thing they know how to do is farm, and there's only so much farmland to cover and so much money to pay with. Three, right now, at varying levels, the slaves are protected. They have food, water, clothes, and shelter. They get to wake up, do an honest day's labor, and go to bed. All of their needs are taken care of. Four, lots of them don't speak English, so there's a massive language barrier to overcome. In summary, the slaves are alright. Yes, there are lots of masters out there that enjoy the occasional whipping and get drunk on the power rush that comes with oppressing someone, but that's a conversation into the human animal for later and those people will be punished in due time anyway."

"Well spoken, Captain," Sam praised.

Connor didn't look too happy about just brushing the slavery issue aside, but right now, he didn't have the mental tools to refute Jake. Besides, there was an angry Frenchman nearby being harassed by some tax collectors.

"…you tell them so sail across the pond, and take it themselves!"

"It's not open for discussion!" the taxman yelled up. "Now open this door of these men will break it down!"

The Frenchman disappeared into the window for all of a second before reappearing to dump the piss out of his chamber pot. The taxman leapt back to avoid getting himself dirtier than he already was, and the British soldiers with him began to smash windows and attempt to break in. A moment later, and the Frenchman came sailing out the door, tackling the taxman through the wooden railing of his front porch.

"Besides, Connor," Jake said as combat began, "it looks as though we have more pressing matter than slavery on our hands at the moment."

Drawing his tomahawk, Connor leapt into the fray in defense of the Frenchman, and Jake did not. Instead, he just leaned against the wall of a building and watched the carnage ensue. For what felt like the next year and a half, Connor was cutting down British soldiers left and right like a demon, because the Lobsterbacks just kept popping out of the woodwork from all directions.

Jake idly wondered just how long a war with the British would last with the Assassin before him on the Colonist's side.

Sure, the British had an army, but the Patriots had a Connor.

Anyway, after probably ten straight minutes of slaughtering the king's men and doing the phrase "Boston Massacre" a lot more justice than whatever shenanigans had happened a few years back, Jake finally entered the battle and put an end to it with his guns, pulling them from their holsters in practiced, synchronized movements.

Twelve shots later, and a pile of bodies on the ground so thick that you couldn't take a step in any direction for twenty feet without falling on someone's face, and there was finally enough of a window for Connor and Stephane, the Frenchman, to escape the area.

Stephane had a splatter of blood all over his front, while Connor was completely drenched in it, but he didn't look the slightest bit winded even after the nonstop engagement with the soldiers.

"That was fun," Jake said with a smile. "Connor, you smell. Stephane, you also smell. Those guys back there smell even worse. Now, I believe we all have places to be right now, so let's get to them."

No one argued, and coincidentally, they all had to be at the Molineux Tavern, so it all worked out.

Once there, that tavern's owner, William Molineux, Sam, Connor, Stephane, and Jake conversed about tea, the tax on tea, Bostonians and their view on tea, William Johnson's smuggling of tea, tea at the docks, and tea. After wrapping up their conversation about tea, Connor and Jake headed out for the docks.

"What is it with you people and tea?" the pirate asked. "Honestly, tea's some of the most disgusting shit I've ever put in my mouth. Give me rum any day."

Connor didn't have much of an opinion on tea himself, but he had rum before, with Jake of course, and he shuddered at the memory of the strong drink and its burn across his tongue.

On their way to the docks, the most interesting thing happened.

"Hold, you two!"

Connor and Jake stopped, and slowly turned around to find themselves before a group of patrolling British soldiers, the kind that had that annoying drummer there in the back, a few Regulars, some big brutes, and were led by a captain of sorts. It was the captain that had called, and he was focusing on Jake.

And he had that certain gleam in his eye too.

"Aye?" Jake asked, already looking forward to how things were about to play out.

"Do you have permits for those weapons, quashee?"

The pirate's mouth quirked. "Quashee, eh? Haven't heard that term since the West Indies. Take it you were stationed there?"

The captain smirked, and a crowd was beginning to take notice. "Correct. Had to put down a little rebellion the rest of your filthy kind was trying to cock up."

Connor started forward, but Jake's iron arm went across his chest. "The tenants of the Creed, son?"

With a snarl at the British captain, the Assassin recited. "Stay your blade from the flesh of the innocent. Hide in plain sight. Never compromise the Brotherhood."

"Aye. Though I think that second one's a little difficult to manage with the iconic white hood. Anyway, continue on. I'll handle this."

"Jake-"

"Now, son."

The hardness in Jake's voice made Connor give one last scowl at the captain before turning away to continue with his mission of destroying the smuggled tea, leaving the pirate to have his fun.

The crowd continued to watch on, their breath bated.

"Breeding with the savages, were you?" the captain taunted.

"I don't remember fucking your mother," Jake replied innocently.

That was enough for the redcoat. "Johnson! Stonewall! Put this filth in chains so we can take him to the prison!"

The two soldiers in question stepped forward, one with a set of manacles in hand. Jake offered his wrists with a wink, making them hesitate.

"Well? Get on with it, men!" the captain barked.

At the spurring, the soldiers continued with their little assignment, and when they got close enough, the one with the chains raising them to clamp around Jake's wrists, the pirate struck.

The movement was so fast it was difficult to follow, but the result was easily enough discerned. With a sickening crunch, the soldier's throat collapsed under the force of Jake's strike, and he went down to the ground, his death a drawn-out one filled with the panic of not being able to breathe.

The crowd let out a collective Ooh!

"You…you killed him!" the other soldier screeched.

"No shit."

Jake's fist reared back, those rings catching the sun's light, and he smashed his fist in the other's guy's face, making the man's nose explode, splintering the bone and no doubt jarring the brain, killing the man instantly.

The other British were too stunned to react.

"How…how…how-" the captain stammered.

Jake clenched his fist and flexed his arm, his bicep growing so large it strained against the leather of his coat.

"Old man strength, son. Now hold still while I give you the beating of your lifetime."

Jake stepped forward, and that was enough to galvanize the rest of the king's finest. The captain drew his sword and swung while the rest readied their bayonets and encircled Jake. The pirate raised his hand and the captain's sword went flying away.

"Witchcraft!"

"Something like that, yeah."

Jake thrust his palm forward, slamming the captain right in the chest, and he felt the man's ribcage crumple as he was sent spinning across the ground, head over heels.

"Cracker," Jake muttered at the corpse.

A recoat stabbed with his bayonet, but Jake caught the gun and smacked it into the redcoat's face, breaking his nose. Then he lashed out with his foot, blowing the redcoat's knee inwards, sending him toppling with a cry. Now armed with a musket, Jake faced the rest of the British.

"Well, boys? For king and country, yes?"

They all shared hesitant glances. They had just watched this man kill three of their comrades with a single blow each, and then permanently cripple a fourth with a single strike of his foot, and for his age, he wasn't even winded or looked to be strained in any way. He looked no more tired than if he simply walked down the street.

"How about for family across the pond, then? Though be warned, these three here, and probably that man there due to blood loss, will have families getting condolence letters that something along the lines of Your husband/brother/son/uncle/cousin/whatever your relationship is, was killed not in the line of duty, in brave service to our wonderful king, or in the righteous defense of our country, but because he chose to pick a fight with an old black man with too many guns and an amazing hat. Do want that kind of letter going back to your families?"

"No," one of them snarled snootily. "'e're goin' to be the ones to kill your sorry arse."

"Come and get me, then."

He charged, and Jake shot him point blank with the musket. One of those big grenadier boys hefted his axe and swung it in a wide arc. Jake ducked and swung the musket, knocking the big man right of his feet, his face smacking hard into the cobblestone ground. Jake hefted the musket and stabbed down, right into the heart.

With a yank, he tore his weapon free and spread his arms. "Next!"

Two red coats charged, bayonets lowered. Jake dove forward in a roll, musket forward, and took out their legs. The pirate popped up to his feet, right in the face of the other grenadier.

"Hello, there."

Jake kneed the man's nuts, and then smashed the musket butt into his face.

That left only those other two, since the drummer man had long since fled, no doubt seeking reinforcements. The two that Jake tripped got back to their feet, and seeing everyone else dead, they shared a look, dropped their guns, and ran away.

The crowd cheered, several coming forward to clap Jake on the back and shake his hand, completely ignoring the corpse on the ground that they were stepping over.

It made Jake smirk as he accepted handshakes and compliments. These people had just witnessed first degree murder, they had just seen families get ruined, lives taken, and what did they care about that? They didn't. In their minds, they had just seen some bloody Lobsterbacks get what they deserved. They had seen justice in action. They had seen a stand against tyranny and oppression, and they were all excited over it.

Jake had to wonder what the Precursors were thinking when they made humans.

He had to wonder what God was thinking when he made humans.

He had to wonder what any deity who made humans was thinking to themselves when they were building.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Later in the day, after all the excitement had boiled down, Jake was left staring at Samuel Adams while Connor, Stephane, and Molineux watched in the twilight outside a courthouse.

"You're going to throw tea…into the harbor…in a show against the British…"

"Yes."

"Tea."

Sam nodded. "Tea."

"Kid, we've got a war on the horizon, and you want to throw tea overboard? If I were you, I'd be organizing militia and picking military targets in preparation for a preemptive strike."

"We're not ready for such an endeavor, my old friend. We need more time to prepare, more people to rally to the cause."

"Yeah, and those people we're talking about really love their tea, and you want to throw it in the harbor. I must be getting old, because that sounds like a very stupid idea to me."

Connor was inclined to agree, because he had spent the day destroying tea already, and had to follow Stephane around Boston as the angry chef mowed down random Englishmen with his butcher's knife out of anger over being robbed. However, Connor saw other opportunity in dumping the tea.

"By doing this, we rob William Johnson of his money and we spur the colonists into taking more action against the British."

"Fine, fine," Jake waved his hand. "Just none of you had better be bitching later on about how mad everyone is without their precious tea."

And that night, history was written. The Sons of Liberty, disguised as Mohawk warriors in order to dodge identification by British authorities, along with Assassins Connor and Stephane, and one pirate, assaulted Griffin's Wharf and the three ships anchored there, the Eleanor, the Dartmouth, and Jake's personal not-favorite, the Beaver.

"Seriously?" he muttered as dumped a crate of tea over the side of the ship. "Who the fuck names a ship Beaver? Of all names, Beaver? I've met some women with some bad beavers, but this is the first time being on a ship called one."

Connor blinked. "Beavers are kept as pets in different parts of the world?"

Jake opened his mouth to explain the inappropriate definition of beaver, but thought better of it. "Yes."

Ignorance was a lot of fun, after all.

Now, historically speaking, the Boston Tea Party was a totally nonlethal event, but in-game…yeah, the game literally had you air-assassinating someone with a musket for full synch. As far as this story goes, it's closer to historical accuracy, in that the Tea Party had no violent altercations.

At the end of it, Connor, looking over the docks at Charles Lee, John Pitcairn, and William Johnson, unceremoniously dumped the last crate of tea into the harbor. The three Templars payed no more mind to the action than that they had lost a lot of money.

Never did it occur to them that the warrior across the way was their arch enemy, an Assassin, for so firm in their minds were they that they had ridded the land of their enemies. However, you could forgive the Templars for their error, as Connor was wearing a colonial outfit with Mohawk accents to it, and the Sons of Liberty were also wearing Mohawk outfits, and so you could say they thought Connor was just another Son.

However, he was wearing a beaked hood, so shame on them.

As the Templars walked away, going out of sight behind a shed, Connor also took his leave along with Stephane and the others as British soldiers were finally taking note of all the commotion. As such, the Assassin missed a landslide of a meeting.

The Templars, Pitcairn, Lee, and Johnson all froze in their tacks at the sight of the mulatto man leaning against the side of the shed.

"Good evening, gentlemen," Jake greeted. "What a night, yes?"

"Captain Swallow," Lee said tersely, hand already going for his pistol. "It's been many years."

"Indeed, it has. Pitcairn, Johnson."

"Captain," they responded uneasily.

"What is it that you want, Jake?" Lee asked.

"Can't an old man just come and converse with old acquaintances?"

The three men stared blankly at the pirate.

"Why are you here, Captain?" Lee asked again, a little sterner this time.

Jake's smile became slightly sinister, his eyes losing their gleam. "To give you a brief history lesson accompanied by ominous foreshadowing. Back during the Third Crusade, Knight Templar Robert de Sable rallied fellow Crusaders and even Saracens to his side, and the first official Templar Order was created. These men were placed in key, powerful positions across what is known as the Middle East, and they effectively established a stranglehold on the region, using a bunch of means and tactics to instill discipline and control. It took one Assassin to bring the whole Order down.

"Fast forward two hundred years to the Renaissance, and we have the Templar Rodrigo Borgia with the Pazzi and Barbarigo families, who were all cut down by yet another lone Assassin, Ezio. Right after that, Cesare came to power and Rodrigo became the Pope, and where Cesare was rapidly establishing dominion over Italy, guess what happened? Che Si Aggira could've done it himself, but he and Ezio worked together and once again brought down the Templar Order. Then Ezio went to Byzantium and did the same again with the Ottomans, and Che Si continued ruining Templars across Europe.

"Most recently, gentlemen, it was Edward Kenway, Haytham's daddy, who laid waste to the West Indies Rite, taking out governors Rogers and Torres, along with all the agents the men had about the area. Then, in a twist, it was the Assassin-turned-Templar Shay Cormac, who used Assassin tactics, and Assassin weapons, and Assassin knowledge, to give the Templars a chance for the Colonies."

"Something you helped us with," Lee noted.

"Oh, aye," Jake admitted freely, "because under Achilles, the Brotherhood was tarnishing the Creed, and that's not something I could've let happen in good conscience in memory of Mary and Adéwalé—and tell Shay that I'm going to find him and kill him for that."

"What are you getting at, Captain?" Lee asked. "Are you here to kill us and bring down the Colonial Rite yourself, or are you trying to tell us that old Achilles has taken another disciple?"

"Oh, I'm afraid I'm much too old to be trying to fight young bucks like yourselves," Jake grinned, and the three Templars knew that was a stone-faced lie—the pirate could kill three of them without breaking a sweat, "and Achilles, despite being younger than I am, is way too old to be teaching the ways of the Assassins to anyone. What I'm getting at, boys, is that time and time again, the Templars have been top, and every time they get there, they fall hard.

"Tonight's festivities is like the distant trumpet horn. Despite all of your positions in British powers, it has been under your rule that the tensions between the colonists and their 'masters' have reached such a high that we're now witnessing blatant violence in the very streets themselves. I can't quite tell you how many poor souls I've seen running about with tar and feathers all over their body, but I digress. Thanks to all of your inaction, we're about to have a war on our hands."

Jake cracked his neck. "In summary, gentlemen, you've all failed at keeping the order you so desperately crave, and you're all going to die for it. Good night, and send my regards to Haytham and Shay."

The captain lingered just a bit longer, his eyes regaining a manic sparkle to them, making the Templars shift nervously. As they continued squirming, Jake started to giggle. It started off low and deep, coming from the depths of his big chest, but it got louder and louder, until his deep giggle became the mad laughter was echoing throughout the pier.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

The next day, Jake picked up a newspaper with the headline naming last night's event as the "Boston Tea Party." Jake was so annoyed with the title that he went right to the shop that had printed the paper and practically broke down the door.

"Benjie! Get your wrinkly posterior out here where I can kick it!"

Instead of the bespectacled inventor coming around to greet Jake, instead there came a trio of kids and a large black man.

"Good morning," the man said with narrow eyes. "What can I do for you, sir?"

"You can introduce yourself for one," Jake said with a raised brow.

"My name is Moses, and this is Sarah, James, and Henri," the now-named Moses said, indicating the redhaired girl in the dress, the blonde boy with the ponytail, and the olive-skinned boy, who each gave their own greeting in turn.

Jake raised his other brow. "What does that make all of you? The Kids of Liberty?"

"Liberty's Kids!" Henri cheered.

Jake decided that the newspaper really wasn't that important to him. "All of you have a fantastic day, and tell Ben that the only certainties in life are death and taxes."

With that, he left.

There was a war to prepare for, after all.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

Sorry for how long that took, but it's really hard to be motivated to write when you do manual labor for ten hours of the day, drive for one hour of the day, take a nap for two hours of the day in preparation for work, and then only have two or three hours left out of a 24-hour span to do things.

Working two jobs sucks, however, that won't be the case for too much longer.

Wednesday, July 31, 2019, I'm leaving for Cincinnati to attend a conference called MathFest, and I won't have my computer with me, so no writing for the next four days. After I get back from that, I'm putting in my two weeks with Job 1, so I should be out around August 19, which is just one week away from school starting back up, meaning Cal-3 for sixteen weeks, with an online History class for the first eight weeks, and then an online Government class for the next eight weeks, on top of work Monday through Thursday from 6:30 to 11:30 PM, and on Sundays from 8 PM to 2 AM.

FML.

Anyway, lots of fun this chapter, with a little cameo there at the end. It's not going anywhere beyond that, so no one get excited. I also want to remind everyone of some PJO lore regarding the Revolution:

In Lightning Thief, it's mentioned that Washington was a son of Athena, and in Blood of Olympus, Reyna says that the American Revolution was fought by Romans on the British side, and Greeks on the Americans, which means I have a fantastic playground to mess with.

Fav, Follow, and Review please!