The Fifth Life: London Town
Well, story's still here. I did make an Ao3 account just to be safe, and it's the same as here.
Added the link to my profile, but here it is:
Archive of our own users/DelayedInspiration
Remove the spaces. I hope that works.
While seven is an ironically appropriate number, I was expecting just a few more given the fact that last chapter could've been the last one here on fanfiction. And no one said anything about the Hades game or the potential story from it!
Go back and re-read Ch. 76 if you have no idea what I'm talking about.
Disclaimer: I don't own PJO or AC
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Inspired 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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The twins arrived in London's Whitechapel station. They left the train and entered the city streets, drinking in the stench of horse shit on the sides of the roads and the smoking chimneys.
"I've never seen so many people before," Jacob commented.
Growing up in the countryside of Crawley, that was an accurate statement.
"The churning streets of London," Evie quoted. "It's just the way Father described. Now, to find Henry Green and formulate a plan of attack against the Templars."
Jacob blinked. "Who's Henry Green?"
Evie fixed her little brother with a flat look. "The Assassin watching over London? Did you not listen the first three times?"
"Listen to what?" Jacob asked innocently.
Before Evie could deliver a scathing and sarcastic remark, a young boy of roughly eight or nine wasn't watching where he was going and bumped into Jacob.
"Oi! Watch it!"
"Sorry, sir! Forgive me, sir!" The boy ran off.
That's when Jacob had the presence of mind to touch his belt where his money was, and found it gone. "Hey! Get back here!"
The boy picked up his pace as Jacob, a grown man, went running after him. Evie could only roll her eyes at her brother, but when she did, when her eyes were aimed at the sky, she saw a figure on a nearby roof, looking down at her from under a hood that threw their face into shadow.
The figure raised their hand and offered a very happy, very excited wave, and Evie's blood turned to ice in her veins, because she recognized that wave very well.
It couldn't be…
The council had sent him away, yes, and she and Jacob and Father hadn't been told where, but…here…?
The figure left the roof, turning away and running out of sight. For the sake of her sanity, Evie put the exchange out of her mind and focused back on her younger twin. And the fact that he was being outran by a child that barely came up to his waist.
Evie chased after Jacob through the winding back alleys of Whitechapel and found after her beat a couple of red-clad goons to death with his brass knuckles. Evie had to raise a brow at that. Not the dead-by-her-brother's-hand, part, but the fact that these men were dressed in the same way the Templar guards had been back at Brewster's lab.
"Ha!" Jacob barked after his most recent kills. "What else does London have to offer?"
Evie rolled her eyes again. "Now is not the time for tourism, Jacob. We need to find Henry Green." She looked down the way and saw through gaps in the buildings the inactive chimney of an abandoned factory. "I've always been the better climber."
Jacob saw the chimney and grinned. "Not since we were two."
A tiny little thought rolled through their head at the fact that when they were two, Peter hadn't been born yet.
"Race you to the top!" Evie said.
"Not a chance!"
And the twins were off, adrenaline pumping through them as they were thrust into competition once more. Big smiles adorned their faces as they raced, having more fun than they had in a while. Jacob chose his route, and Evie hers. Up they went, pulling with their arms and pushing with their legs, their bodies working like perfect machines to scale the factory's walls.
Evie bounded over the ledge to arrive on top at the same time Jacob did.
"Tie," she said with a smile.
"Fine. Tie."
Evie looked over the skyline. "Where is Mr. Green's shop located? It was marked on father's map…"
The twins heard noise from behind him, and they turned with hands on their weapons. Evie's heart hammered in her chest when she thought about who it could be, but it slowed back down when it was not the hooded figure. It was an Indian man wearing white robes with gold highlights. He didn't look particularly thrilled to see them.
In fact, he looked disappointed.
And even…hostile?
"Two Assassins. Equal in height. The elder twin a female, the younger a male. And those devilish smiles. You must be the Frye twins."
"And you are…?" Evie asked, her eyes never having left the man.
"Henry Green. Mentor of the London Brotherhood of Assassins. Your superior as I understand, given that the Council has finally seen reason and sent you to aid us."
Evie's heart lurched in her chest at the mention of an "us," obviously implying plural. Hopefully, Henry meant that he'd been recruiting Assassins off the streets like Ezio, Virgil, and Connor had done so many decades ago, and not what Evie thought he meant.
"Yes, the Council," Jacob said. "They have indeed decided that it's time we free London."
Henry stared at Jacob with a critical eye, making the younger Frye twin gulp, thinking that Henry saw right through them both and was going to send word to said Council, and then Jacob and his big sister were going to be in a heap of trouble.
"Good," Henry finally said. "Welcome to Whitechapel, one of the many boroughs under the control of Crawford Starrick."
Henry eased past the twins and started climbing the chimney. The twins followed after him, and soon all three stood atop the abandoned chimney. It had a lovely view of the surrounding filth.
Henry narrated, "Starrick has a foothold in every facet of London. River transport, Parliament, factories, crime, gangs, medicine, entertainment, labor—everything. He's built the most sophisticated Templar infrastructure in the Western world. From high in the clouds with the eagles, to all the way down here with the rats. Across the city, Starrick's underworld control is enforced by a ruthless gang called the Blighters. Starrick wanted an army, and so he raised them. Any gang that opposed him was destroyed. Only one gang remains, here in Whitechapel. They call themselves the Clinkers, but they're no match for Kaylock, let alone Starrick."
A lightbulb went off in Jacob's head, and the wheels started turning.
"I've always fancied myself a gang leader…firm but fair. We'll have uniforms. And I'll unite a band of disenfranchised outsiders under one name—that's it, Evie! We can rally them to our side! Our own army!"
"Oh, like you rallied those card players at the Oakbrook Tavern into the river?"
"That was different. They beat me at whist. I can see it now! We'll call ourselves…"
Evie almost felt all of Jacob's excitement. Admittedly, it wasn't a bad idea, the idea of an army behind them to fight the Templars. Maybe, just maybe, Jacob was actually onto a rather grand idea.
Then he delivered the name of his future gang.
"The Rooks!"
And there went Jacob's last brain cell, along with all of Evie's hopes that her brother may one day amount to something greater than a brute.
"You were never any good at chess, either," she said flatly.
"You have a better plan?" Jacob sniffed.
"Find the Piece of Eden!"
"Bah."
"How about we continue this conversation at my shop, hm?" Henry suggested, though it actually sounded more like a terse order.
Without actually waiting for them to respond, Henry dove off the edge of the chimney and fell with style into a conveniently placed pile of hay. Evie landed after him, and Jacob after her.
"Why does it feel like we're being watched?" Jacob asked after heading down a few streets.
"That's because we are," Henry answered.
"Templars?"
"They know better than to openly attack me."
"Oh," Jacob blinked.
Apparently, Mr. Green here could actually use that knife under his wrist. Jacob's respect for the Indian man rose steeply by a few ticks, thinking that where he though Green to be something of a pansy, he may actually be something of an Assassin. Evie, on the other hand, felt that sinking feeling creep back into her stomach.
They rounded a corner of a tavern and Jacob bumped into a man who was nose-deep in the papers in his hand.
"Confound this city! No one ever watches where they're going!"
"Yes, I've noticed that," Jacob said dryly.
The man watched helplessly as some of his loose papers blew away in the London breeze. "Only providence knows where those words are headed now….Well, I must get to work on replacing them," he said flippantly, completely changing his mood there on the spot. He addressed the Frye twins. "Should you ever be in the mood for a tale or two, you can always find me where the ale is warm, and tempers are hot! Ta-ta!"
The man went inside the tavern.
"What an odd man," Jacob said.
"That odd man is Charles Dickens," Henry said with no small amount of seriousness. "He knows everyone and everything in the city. If I were you, I'd keep him in your back pocket."
The twins shared a look before nodding.
They made it to Henry's curio shop, thankfully empty of anyone that might have wanted to browse the shelves. Henry went to the back room and returned with a handful of papers.
"These are the allies I've made during my time here. This is Sergeant Frederick Abberline of the London Police. If we are to move, we will need the discretion of the lawmen. He also has more intel on the Templar agents throughout the city. We will need his help. But he wants things done by the book. Live targets to be prosecuted in accordance with the law. Not bodies to be buried."
The twins nodded.
"And this one?" Evie asked, pointing at the drawing of a young girl.
"Clara O'Dea," Henry answered. "Smart as a whip, and leader of the Urchin Guild."
"The Urchin Guild," repeated the twins.
"The Urchin Guild," Henry confirmed. "A city-spanning network of little spies and thieves. Pickpockets with ears everywhere. Clara's information and supply network are invaluable. However, while she is inclined to help us, she wants our services in return. Her friends and the siblings of her friends are enslaved in Starrick's factories where they are mistreated, abused, raped, and left to die of injuries and sickness. We must save those children."
The twins nodded.
"Who's this…person?" Jacob furrowed his brow at Henry's drawing of a person with a bowler hat and glasses. It was hard to tell if that was a man or a woman based on Henry's drawing.
"That is Ned Wynert. He has his hands in the cargo industry. Starrick's trains, boats, carriages—Ned seeks to undo it all and seat himself at the top. For the time being, Ned's goals align with ours, which makes him an ally. And yes, Ned is a woman in the sense of body, but lives as a man."
The twins' eyes slowly traveled to meat each other. They held a silent council, and collectively decided they had more pressing matters at hand than a crossdresser.
Evie looked at the last drawing and a little groan left her. "Oh, no."
Jacob followed his sister's gaze and beheld the visage of a mischievous man with an extravagant top hat. "Oh? Have you two met? Long lost boyfriend you managed to keep secret from Father and I?"
"Firstly," Evie snapped, "it's me and Father, and second, no. I ran into the man at Brewster's lab. I take it he's an associate of yours?" she asked Henry.
"Mr. Robert Topping. Best bookie in London. A counter to Starrick's more unsavory entertainment operations, Topping organizes carriage street races and prize-fighting tournaments. The funds he raises has helped us here with our own operations. However, while the Templars don't know of his association with us, they do use his events to scout for recruits and show off their own muscle. Kicking them out and establishing yourselves as London's best new racers and fighters may go a long way."
The twins nodded.
"There's much to be done," Evie breathed at the enormity of the operation before them.
"I know what you mean, Evie," Jacob said reassuringly. "We need the Rooks!"
Evie stared at her brother. "You are not starting a gang called the Rooks."
"But I think it's a lovely idea!"
The twins went rigid.
A smile grew on Henry's face as Evie and Jacob slowly turned around, their faces the color of milk.
And behold, there in the doorway of the curio shop was none other than Peter Frye, son of Ethan Frye and an underage Indian prostitute, and the younger half-brother of the twins.
Peter looked totally ecstatic to see his siblings again.
"Hey, guys! I missed you!"
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The twins were twenty years into their lives, putting Peter at fifteen. It had been a year since they'd last seen their brother, when he'd sent away somewhere following the absolute nightmare that had transpired between him and Ethan that left their father disfigured and blinded in his right eye. In that year, the twins had very carefully avoided any and all talk of Peter, their crossdressing little half-brother (that was their fault), their little half-brother whom they'd been coached and trained to hate and dislike (by their now-dead father).
Peter's words to them that day still rattled in their very souls.
"I love you guys," he had said after Jacob screamed in his face and revealed why they'd dressed Peter up, to humiliate and demean him. After all their mistreatment…"I love you."
It was still something that the twins buried and masked.
Peter apparently still hadn't started puberty yet. His voice was still high and indistinct, his balls still in place as opposed to having dropped. His face was still round, featuring more heavily his Indian mother's shape than Ethan's, though there were still clear traits of the Frye patriarch. Certainly, what wasn't helping Peter's masculine appearance was the way he had his hair styled.
Black as raven's feathers, with his bangs forming an outward curling curtain, like the tube of a wave, over his forehead, while the rest was pulled tight across his scalp into a tight braid that he had over his right shoulder.
Atop his head was tricorn hat almost exactly like the kind the now-dead Assassin Aveline de Grandpre used to wear as part of her robes. Only, sheathed on each side of the hat, five per side, were throwing knives. Peter's main garment was a leather poncho of all things, which was why Evie hadn't recognized his earlier from a distance. The shoulders of the poncho came down far enough to cover his upper arms, with the body covered his whole front and back down a little above his knees. He had the garment held in his arm right now, revealing the rest of his outfit.
A plain shirt and plain trousers that were tucked down inside of tough, sturdy boots that came up to his calves. On the outside of each boot, like Altair and Faris used to do, were five throwing knives tucked into little sheaths. Around Peter's waist were two belts. The higher and smaller one was a cartridge belt, each slot occupied by a bullet, all of which went to the twin revolvers Peter had holstered at the backsides of his body, just like Edward and Connor Kenway had done. The other belt sat lower and was full of big pouches that contained a whole lot of goodies. Over Peter's chest was a bandolier in an H-shape, and the leather straps were full of more throwing knives.
On each of Peter's arms was a gauntlet of black leather, the knuckles covered in metal studs, the tops protected by brass plates. They were not identical, with the left gauntlet bearing equipment like Ezio's: a Hidden Blade, a Hidden Gun over that, and a Poison Blade (and launcher, it looked like) sitting next to the previous mechanisms. The right gauntlet had a device on top of the brass plate that the twins didn't recognize, while the underside had something that looked like a small, heavily modified crossbow…a Phantom Blade. But it looked different—modified, made better.
Without his poncho, his frame was revealed, and he was still as skinny, wiry, and lanky as a lamppost. His muscles were cut, defined, and no doubt hard as the steel on his body, but he was still small. He stood at 5'3 with his boots, so he was still only a little over five feet tall, and his shoulders were narrow.
He was either done growing or hadn't started growing yet, but the bottom line so far was that Peter had inherited some really bad genetics from his parents.
Not to mention his asthma, hence the extreme preference for distanced combat tools. Guns, throwing knives, projectiles, and most likely different kinds of bombs in those pouches. No big blades, like swords or daggers.
"You're…here?" Jacob managed to ask in a strangled voice.
"Of course, he's here," Henry said. "When the Council gave you orders to come to London, surely they finally revealed to you where they sent Peter following the altercation that led to Ethan's injuries, yes?"
The twins slowly turned back around to face their superior, catching each other's eye as they did so.
"Indeed, they did," Evie said convincingly. "My idiot brother just forgot, is all. Just like how he forgot who you were even after I explained everything to him at least three times on the way here."
"Indeed."
The twins heard the pitter-patter of feet, and Jacob let out a gurgling groan when Peter came up behind him and lifted him off the ground in a big bear hug. Peter squeezed Jacob so tightly that he popped his big brother's back. Peter set Jacob down, and where Evie raised her hands in front of her defensively— "Nonono-!"—Peter ignored her and hugged her off the ground too, also hugging so tightly he popped her back.
No lie, the twins actually did feel better after Peter hugged them.
If only physically.
"Now that we're all here," Henry said, "we can discuss our plan of attack."
Peter's hand drummed against his thigh as he got excited. He was all smiles, his eyes twinkling as he radiated nothing but pure joy at being with his siblings again.
"Okay, so—Starrick's got his hands in everything—organized crime, government, transportation, labor—everything. So we need to get our own hands into everything. Henry and I got the pieces arranged on the board, now we just need to start moving them. Here in Whitechapel—we've got a factory with exploited kids, a Templar agent running about, and Kaylock—he's the leader of the Blighters in this part of town, Starrick's lieutenant, you could say—each borough in London has a gang of Blighters and a leader. We can take the organized crime route, start our own gang here, and start muscling in on the other boroughs.
"There's also the Piece of Eden the Templars found and are looking for—we're going to need to get that, or at least, keep the Templars from getting it—because if they do, then it doesn't matter if we're knocking on Starrick's door. He could just use the Piece, wipe us all out, and then take back London—or, if they get while we're still destroying the Blighters, then we're done anyway. So—we need two operations: one taking London through the underworld, the other searching for the Piece of Eden.
"I say—we just focus on Whitechapel right now. We free the kids at the factory and get Clara's help—we track down and capture that Templar and deliver him to Sergeant Abberline—we rescue the Clinkers that the Blighters are torturing nearby—start our own gang and all that—and then flush out Kaylock. We kill him, Whitechapel will be ours, and then we can move on to Phase Two!" Peter beamed. "Whaddaya think?"
Aside from all the uses of the words "we" and "ours" and "us," and the fact that it all came from Peter's mouth, it was actually a solid start to the overall mission. Gain allies, kill Templars, establish a foothold, develop some breathing room, and look ahead.
It was just the fact that it all came from Peter's mouth that had the twins hesitating.
"An excellent plan," Henry said after he figured Jacob and Evie weren't going to say anything. "Evie, go to the factory and find Clara. She won't be far, I promise. Jacob, this is the Templar agent in the area, Homer Dalton. He should be at this location, with Sergeant Abberline close by. Peter, you and I will go the Blighter's den and free the Clinkers."
"Actually," Peter said, and the twins felt their hearts sink, "I think it'd be better if us three went. That way I can introduce Jacob and Evie to everyone, and you can go touch base with Ned and Robby."
"I like this plan," Henry decided. "Good luck, Assassins. Oh, and here are these."
Henry reached into his back pockets and produced a couple of single-shot Deringer pistols. He handed them to the twins, who accepted them and stared at them.
"Something wrong?" Henry prompted, noting the looks on their faces.
"Why do we get these, and Peter gets those?" Jacob asked, failing to keep the indignation out of his voice.
Yeah, they got these bulky, ugly things that only fired one bullet—a big-ass ball of a chunk of metal—and Peter, stupid, motor-mouth, flitting, excitable, dumb Peter, got to have two very sleek, very handsome looking revolvers. The bodies were solid black, and the grips were a stained mahogany with the Assassin symbol stamped on silver pins on the grips.
Smith and Wesson Model 3 revolvers. Top-break, single-action, cartridge-fueled, with six-round cylinders.
"Because Peter earned those guns," Henry informed flatly. "In his year of service to the London Brotherhood, by the power invested in me by the Council, I have raised Peter to Rank Eight, Veteran."
As opposed to Jacob and Evie, who were both officially Rank Three Novices.
Henry stared at the twins, and the look in his eyes was clear: he had them by the balls—by the lips, in Evie's case. He knew the Council had not authorized their presence here in London, because there wasn't a snowball's chance in hell that the Council would've let the twins anywhere near Peter. Henry was in a position right now to potentially have the twins, at best, excommunicated from the Brotherhood, or, at worst, executed for treason.
If he spun the tale harshly enough, and the Council was in a bad mood.
However, Henry was desperate for the help. In his mind, it was high time the Assassins started taking back London, and if Jacob and Evie were here, then by all means. Henry would take what he could get. But he would put up with only so much. Already, he was unhappy with how the twins had started behaving when Peter walked in.
"Yep, that's me," Peter chirped. "Don't worry, though. I'm sure you guys will get there pretty soon given how busy we're about to be."
The twins looked down at Peter, trying to figure out if he was patronizing them or not. They honestly couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic or genuine, and that worried them. Just what was going through that boy's head…?
"Well, let's get going. The Templars aren't going to remove themselves from London. Er, probably not—I mean, something could happen, like, some really high-ranking Templar from elsewhere shows up and makes Starrick leave, or-"
"Peter," Henry said calmly. "The mission?"
"Right," the boy flushed slightly. He moved his tricorn hat and threw his poncho on. The material settled into place, hiding his guns, belts, and throwing knives in accordance with the modern view of people walking around with guns and swords visibly strapped all over their body. Peter then grabbed his siblings' hands and almost yanked them off their feet he tugged on them so strongly on his way out the door. "Let's go!"
Henry exhaled through his nose, wondering what the biggest problem in his life was right now: the Templars, or the Frye twins.
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The three Assassins traversed the streets until they got to a particular cluster of buildings with a particular alley between them all.
"This is where Dalton is," Peter informed, and the twins were taken aback.
"Sergeant Abberline shouldn't be far, then, yes?" Evie surmised.
"Oh, excuse me?" a high-pitched voice asked.
The trio turned to see a hunched old woman with her back turned to them, sweeping the ground.
"I may know something about this splendid fellow you're talking about."
Jacob blinked once. "Excuse me?"
He reached for the woman's bonnet to knock it off, but Peter smacked his brother's hand and gave him a stern look.
"Thank you, miss," Peter said. "What do you know?"
"Well," the disguised Sergeant continued in his altered, squeaky, scratchy, woman voice, "I know he may be around here, looking for a certain criminal to bring back to the station—alive. An associate mentioned something about the pieces beginning to move. I hope they move in the right direction, and that upstanding policemen doesn't have any more causes for headache."
"Don't worry, madam," Peter seriously. "We'll get that guy alive."
Peter winked at the twins, who shared a flabbergasted look. Peter went deeper into the alley, the twins following.
"Please," Evie said, "for the sake of my sanity, tell me-"
"Yeah, that was Freddie. He thinks he's a master of disguise, but not really. I like to let him think I'm fooled. It makes him feel better about himself, and more willing to help."
"Oh."
The twins shared another look. That was rather…sociopathic, in their book. A bit mean, but at least it was producing the desired results. Their ruminations, however, were cut short when they felt a little prick in their minds, and suddenly their senses were assaulted with the telltale boons of their Eagle Vision. Sounds amplified, their eyes sharpened, and they saw the whole world differently, in shades of blue, with the innocent people milling about in hues of grey, while the target, Dalton, shined a brilliant gold, and five henchmen glowed red. To the twins, they both shined blue, as did Peter.
With a start, they realized what this was.
They themselves had not activated their Eagle Vision. In a way, it still wasn't activated. This was Peter's Eagle Vision, linked into their own minds. They were seeing what he was seeing. This was Communal Sense, first recorded between Ezio and Virgil over a hundred and fifty years ago, and last recorded between Arno Dorian and Cheyenne Cormac.
Multiple individuals with the Precursor gene, who bore a strong enough with each other, could see what the other saw through a linked method.
It startled the twins to know that Peter apparently shared a bond strong enough to override their eyes and make them see through his eyes.
"Alright, so—there's five extra guys here, and we need Dalton alive. Just Dalton. The others…eh. But Dalton's got two with him, so subduing him and getting him out of here won't be easy. I'm going to head up top, and take out those two. Jacob, be ready to grab Dalton. Evie, can you stand over there as backup in case something goes-"
Jacob bopped Peter on the head.
"Ow! What'd I do!?"
"You're talking," Jacob said. "The adults are here now, and we'll handle this."
"But-"
"Enough, Peter," Evie cut in. "We're older than you, and we have more experience than you. You've done a…done a…ahem. You've done a good job here in London, getting everything set up for us, and we're going to take it from here. Go ahead and go up top and provide overwatch. Now."
"Okay…"
Demurely, Peter went about climbing the nearby building to the roof.
The twins shared a look, shaking their heads.
Their pride would not allow them to ever let Peter lead. The instructions of their father were too strong right now; Peter was still a mistake and a nuisance. Whatever good ideas he came up with, the twins could do so faster and better. They'd already had it well worked out in their minds how they were going to handle this little mission, and it had nothing to do with Peter's assistance.
"Do you think we could…cause an accident?" Jacob suggested innocently.
Evie rolled her eyes. "He's annoying, but not so much that we need to get rid of him."
Jacob mock-sighed. "Oh, bother. I guess we're stuck with him for now."
"I suppose."
"It's going to be a long few weeks, isn't it?"
"Depends on how easy it will be to send him on errands."
"Then let's pray to God there are many errands."
"Do let's."
The twins entered the fray, keeping track of the Templars through the walls. Jacob's outfit was more inconspicuous than Evie's, drab factory-type wear vs a black tailcoat and a cape, and they played to that. Evie stood right in the line of the Templars' sight, drawing the attention of Dalton and his immediate goons, while Jacob crept up behind them.
That's when a gunshot rang out through the alley, making everyone duck and run screaming. A hole erupted in the head of one of Dalton's guys, making them both flinch. Evie and Jacob looked up when the shot sounded, and they saw a woman in red, one of the Blighters, falling from the roof, a rifle falling away from her.
A sniper.
She'd been killed right as she was about to shoot Jacob in the head.
"Oi! Wha-"
Jacob reacted on sheer instinct when the two Templars turned and saw him there, exposing him and rendering him no longer anonymous. His Hidden Blades popped out from his wrists and his arms moved, sharp metal gliding right through both of their jugulars, spraying blood. Jacob jumped away from the red liquid, and swallowed when Dalton fell to the ground, clutching his profusely bleeding throat.
"Oh, no…" the younger twin muttered as Dalton died.
Jacob heard something in front of him, and looked up to see Evie about to engage the other two Blighters, but they both went rigid, little pricks of light striking them. Metal, glinting in the sun. They came from above, so that meant Peter.
Evie scowled, both at the fact that she'd just been "protected" by her littlest brother, and that their target, whom they were to deliver alive, was dead. Evie fixed her eyes on Jacob, who quickly shifted the blame to Peter with an upward point of his finger. Evie decided this was an acceptable turn of events.
Peter descended and joined them. "Are you two okay? I saw the sniper and threw a knife, and she-"
"Fired her shot, caused mass panic, and got the target killed?" Jacob supplied.
"Not to mention that stunt you just pulled," Evie added. "I had those two! I don't need you throwing things at idiots that I can kill well on my own, thank you."
"But, I-"
"But nothing, Peter," Jacob interrupted. "You cost us the mission here. I just hope dear Freddie is in a generous mood and doesn't want you locked up in Dalton's place."
Peter frowned.
Evie pointed at Dalton's warm body. "Pick that up and take it to Sergeant Abberline. You can explain to him what happened."
Peter blinked, wondering how he was supposed to explain to Freddie that the twins had ignored his plan, didn't notice the sniper, and in the ensuing chaos of the sniper shot, Jacob had killed Dalton…out of self-preservation? Peter went over to Dalton and hefted the brutish man onto his back in a fireman's carry. The twins had already started off for where the police coach was, and so Peter had to hurry to catch up to them.
It wasn't hard, the Precursor gene in him enabling him to carry the grown man with ease.
Abberline was out of costume, and now looked like a man of class. He saw Peter carrying Dalton's body, and his brows raised. "What happened?" he demanded.
"Peter jumped the goose," Jacob said first.
"We gave him instructions, and he failed to follow them," Evie said. "He startled a sniper into misfiring, and Dalton attacked. Jacob had to act in self-defense."
"Oh, is that how it happened?" Abberline said, unimpressed. "Because the way I saw it, Peter here came up with a solid plan and you dismissed him in favor of your own scheme, and when Peter saved your life, you acted rashly. Now I have corpse to handle, on top of wrangling a couple of wild children. Peter, put that in the carriage. Good luck with these two."
Peter did as instructed, and Abberline cracked the whip, setting the horse off for the station.
"Let's go find Clara," the boy chirped, because he could feel the heated glares of his siblings upon the back of his head.
They blamed him for getting chewed out.
With another look between them, the twins followed after Peter for the factory. They ended up in another back alley, this one occupied by a group of children shooting dice. Among them was a girl in a green dress.
"Hey, Clara," Peter said.
The girl turned and smiled. "Peter!" then she frowned. "Who are these two?"
"This my big sister, Evie, and this is Jacob, my big brother. They're twins. Evie's older, Jacob's dumber."
It did not escape Clara's eyes the twitch of the twins' brows and the slightly wrinkles of their noses when Peter introduced them as his older siblings. And the contortion of Jacob's face at Peter's jab was plain as day.
"I see. I'm Clara, leader of the Urchin's Guild. Mr. Green told me you have a business arrangement to discuss?"
"We need your spy network," Evie said. "We're here to take London from Crawford Starrick and give her back to the people."
"In exchange for our services, we ask a favor in return."
"Oh, a favor?" Jacob sniffed. "You're little brat took most of my money—why not a favor, too?"
Peter elbowed him in the gut without turning around.
Clara smirked. "Several factories in this town are run exclusively on child labor. Those children work long hours for little pay, receive next to no medical treatment, are given food that rats wouldn't eat, and are scarcely permitted to leave the grounds to see family or proper doctors. They sleep in their filth—literally, as most aren't allowed to stop working and use the loo, and they only have one set of work clothes. They're overworked, underpaid, underfed, and left to die of dysentery, sepsis, lung complications, starvation, and machine failure. You must save them."
"A small favor?" Jacob said flatly.
"In return, we will give you all the information we have, and cuts from our takes, both money and items. Do we have terms?"
Clara spat into her open palm and offered it to the Frye siblings. Peter spat into his palm, and shook Clara's hand. Clara spat again into her palm, and looked expectantly at Evie. Evie hesitated, only because Peter's spit was on that hand, but she spat and shook. The disgusted and horrified look on Jacob's face made Clara grin.
"Don't be such a girl," she jabbed.
Evie crossed her arms at Jacob, and Peter just looked innocently at him from over his shoulder.
"Urgh, fine."
Jacob spat into his palm and made terms with Clara.
"Excellent!" the girl beamed. "I look forward to doing business with you three."
That was her dismissal, and the cue of the Frye family to get to work. The twins rounded the corner after Peter did, and after a few paces, they both pinned him to the wall.
"No, thanks. The Bible prohibits this kind of sibling interaction."
The twins decided it was best if they ignored that comment.
"Here's what we're going to do," Jacob started, and before he could finish the statement, Peter spoke up.
"Free the kids, kill Kaylock, take Whitechapel, then the rest of London? Great plan. Let's get to it."
Jacob's nostrils flared. "Stop interrupting me."
"As Jacob was saying, Peter—we're going into that factory to free the children, and you're going to stay out here to…provide backup, if necessary."
"I doubt we'll need it," Jacob scoffed.
Peter shrugged. "Okay."
The twins let him go, fixing him with their death stares, which had about as much of an intimidating effect as a kitten glaring at a dragon.
Remember: Peter attacked a bear when he was four.
The twins crossed the street and scrambled up the side of the factory to a balcony, and Peter went up the adjacent roof. Now alone, he started…flitting. That was the best way to describe it. His mind went wild with fantasies of him and his siblings fighting side by side, killing Templars, freeing the boroughs, taking back London, and as that happened, his body physically reacted, fingers and hands shaking wildly on flailing arms, his feet stamping, noises escaping him as he imitated the sounds of battle.
Lost in his own little world, Peter didn't notice Jacob and Evie staring at him from across the way, both of them disturbed and annoyed. So, he still did that weird flitting thing when he got excited. Lovely.
The twins went inside the factory and got to work. Only, they were not on the same wavelength. Jacob was of the mind that they needed to display strength and force, and show the seedy Templar-controlled underworld that things were changing, and that the Assassins were back and they meant business. Evie was of the mind that they needed to be stealthy and quiet, use their anonymity to their advantage and stay in the shadows until they'd built a strong enough position to reveal themselves.
So, when Jacob put his brass knuckles on and proceeded to almost knock the lower jaw off one of the Blighters, it made Evie screw up with her throwing knives, and the little blades went harmlessly spinning into the catwalk, alerting the rest of the Blighters in the factory, and bringing all the attention of the children on them.
"Bloody brilliant," Evie cursed.
"Oh, shut up, and fight."
And fight they did.
Evie drew a cane from within her coat. She pressed a button and a blade slid out at the tip of the cane, jutting at a ninety-degree angle. She pulled on the handle of the cane, revealing the body to actually be a sheath for the short sword she now wielded.
The Blighters came up the stairs on either side of the catwalk, while the kids all took this as their golden opportunity to finally leave.
Jacob pulled out his Deringer, fired, and totally missed because he'd never actually used a Deringer before and was unprepared for the kick the little gun could produce.
"Sod it," Jacob grunted.
He flung the little right into the face of the closest Blighter, stunning him and breaking his nose. Jacob charged and tackled the man, generating enough force and momentum to take him and the other four Blighters behind him back down the stairs to the second level. Jacob just started punching at every head he could find.
Evie was a bit more refined.
Five come up on her end of the catwalk, and the first thing she did was feint. She raised her sword, the Blighter raised her arms—yes her; the Blighters were equal opportunity employers, after all—and Evie swung her other cane-bearing arm. The woman shrieked as Evie eliminated any possibility of her ever having children, but that shriek ended when Evie eliminated any possibility of her ever breathing again by stabbing through her neck and spinal column.
Evie yanked her blades and kicked the rapidly dying body away into two Blighters, knocking them down. The other two of the five had position themselves around Evie, arms raised. She flung her sword into the stomach of one, ran at him as he screamed, grabbed the knife he held and flung it into throat of the other Blighter. Evie also pulled the dying man's revolver and fired two shots as quickly as she could with a single-action gun, but where she shot one of the previous two Blighters in the face, the ones that got the woman kicked into them, she missed the other.
She cocked the hammer and made to pull the trigger, only for something to jam. Evie's eyes widened, and she just reacted. She threw the gun hard as she could, striking the Templar in the forehead, which made the gun misfire, which is how Evie nearly lost her eye.
Good God, that had been stupid of her to throw a primed gun.
She reached down and yanked her sword out of the Blighter's stomach. She produced a rag and wiped the blood off best she could, and made a mental note to properly clean her weapon the next time she had the chance to prevent the build up of bacteria and smells.
Jacob came up the stairs. "That went well."
Evie snapped at him. "Well? Well? What the bloody hell was well about any of that? You broke the Creed, Jacob! Hide in plain sight! If Father were here, he'd-"
"He'd what? Give me a stern lecture? Scream in my face? Tell you and Peter that I'm a nuisance and a mistake? Look around, Evie. Father's not here. We are. And if we're going to take London, we need to be on the same page."
"And what page would that be, hm? Kill everyone in sight and completely abandon all pretenses of stealth and anonymity?"
"We need to show strength, Evie," Jacob insisted. "We need to show the people that they have a pair of strong fighters taking on Starrick in their name, and we need to show the Templars that we're not to be ignored."
"That's the point of being an Assassin, Jacob," Evie countered. "We're supposed to be ignored because we're not supposed to be well-known people because that comprises the Brotherhood. Think, Jacob. The Creed."
"Ugh, fine," Jacob rolled his eyes. "The Creed and all that. Let's get going. We've got some Clinkers to rescue and a gang to start."
"We're not calling them the Rooks."
"They shall be called the Rooks."
"You are impossible."
"And you are a girl."
Evie raised a brow, wondering how that was supposed to be insulting.
"Oh, my mistake. I thought we were just stating plainly obvious facts."
Evie rolled her eyes. "Let's just hope those children didn't run to Clara, screaming and terrified, and she decides not to help us."
Jacob made a face. "I did not think of that."
"Clearly. Let's go."
The twins found Clara surrounded on all sides by excited and animated children regaling her with tall tales of bravery and heroism and how the two heroes had to have fought at least a hundred Blighters. Everything was kosher here.
Peter found his siblings after they definitely did not try and ditch and go get the Clinkers on their own. "That was so cool~! The Clinkers are on the other side of Whitechapel, so it's best we get a carriage."
Before the twins could say anything about the "we" part of the sentence, Peter had his fingers to his mouth, letting a very impressive, very shrill whistle. The twins blinked when a brownish horse came racing from around the corner, bearing a coach behind it.
The horse came to a perfect stop before Peter and whinnied.
"This is Rem," said the youngest Frye. "Short for Remington."
"Why do you have a horse-drawn carriage?" Evie asked.
"How did you summon it with a whistle?" Jacob asked, mesmerized. "Was it, like, sitting there or something?"
"Don't know, really," Peter answered. "I just whistle, and Rem comes running."
"From all the way across the city?" Evie blinked.
"No. Just from around the nearest corner, usually."
The twins shared a look and decided they were disturbed by Rem.
Rem seemed to enjoy the fact that he disturbed the twins, based on the way he nickered at them.
Peter occupied the perch and banged his fist on the carriage, making the door pop open. "Hop in!"
Seeing no viable alternative at the moment, the twins got in and got comfy. Against their expectations, Peter was actually a very good driver. He maintained a steady speed, wasn't whipping about the roads, causing untold amounts of property damage, injuring people, killing people, nor was he violently whipping the horse, shouting like "Yaw!" and "Faster!" and "Move it!"
It was the most awkward carriage ride the twins had ever been on. Granted, it was also their first carriage ride in their lives, but still.
Peter came to a gentle stop outside on the street that ran in front of the Blighter's gang stronghold, Spitalfields. He jumped down from the perch, the twins filing out of the carriage.
"I'll take this one," Peter announced.
"Excuse me?" Evie said.
"This one's mine. I'll handle it."
"Yeah, fat chance of that," Jacob snorted.
"Awe, don't tell me that now you care about my safety?" Peter teased with a grin.
The twins stiffened.
"You guys need to relax," Peter laughed. "Just trust me. I've got this."
He darted off.
Jacob crossed his arms. "Ten pounds says we pull his ass out of a fire."
"I'm not taking that bet."
The twins reached their own vantage point and got ready to move. Their jaws promptly dropped when they saw Peter in action.
Whitechapel was the poorest borough in London, and so Starrick hadn't spared too many resources in securing it. Here in this stronghold, there weren't even a dozen Blighters present, and peter was mowing through them. With Eagle Vision, he could see them through the walls, and was using that to his advantage.
Peter ran across a rooftop and dropped into a niche alley, landing behind a sniper. He slit her throat when she turned, and he gently set her to the ground. Peter climbed back up to the roof, ran along it, and dove off the edge into a hay-laden wagon that had a Blighter standing before it. The man turned when he heard the noise, and Peter yanked him into the hay.
Another Blighter close by saw that, pulled his knife, and went running for the hey. Peter sprang out and caught him off-guard, and killed him. In the nearby courtyard, two Blighters were delivering a speech to a gathered crowd, a green-clad Clinker on his knees with his hands tied. He was about to be executed, if the pistol at the back of his head meant anything. Peter sprinted into the courtyard and performed a textbook double-assassination on the two Blighters. With a slash, Peter freed the Clinker.
"Thanks, Peter!"
"Yep! The revolution has begun."
Apparently, that was some kind of code phrase, because the Clinker's eyes widened and he went running off.
A shrill whistle sounded behind Peter, and he instantly yanked a throwing knife from his hat and flung it with a pop of his wrist. The whistler was silenced, a Blighter that hadn't escaped Peter's notice because he left her alive just for the sole purpose of scaring the twins. The whistle did it job, however, and a couple of Blighters came running, only to get knives lodged in their throats.
They went down, the skin gaining a nasty discoloration around the puncture point. Poison knives.
Peter went running through the stronghold, heading for the last two Blighters. They were on the other side of a fence, also about to execute one of the Clinkers. Peter jumped, planted one foot, and jumped higher. His poncho billowed around him as he briefly flew, arms outstretched and flexed to release his Hidden Blades.
Peter came down on th Blighters, killing them both.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
"Clinkers! Listen up!" Jacob called loudly.
They were still in Spitalfields, but now it was being repurposed into the Clinker stronghold. About two dozen assorted men and women in green clothes stood before Jacob, and above flew the Blighter's flag: a red thing with the image of a white fist clenching a downward-stabbing knife.
"I am Jacob Frye, this is my sister, Evie, and you already know Peter," that last part being added in as unfortunate after thought. "We know the crimes Starrick has committed against the people of London, and like you, we want to put an end to it. We will put an end to it, but we need your help. To counter Starrick's machine, we need one of our own. Will you join us, Clinkers? Will you join with my sister and I to become a new gang, the one that will overthrow Starrick and return London to her people? Will you join the Rooks!?"
Evie tried really hard, and succeeded, in not shaking her head at thought atrocious name. This was it, she thought. The effort they'd already put forth, all their plans, undone here and now because of Jacob and his stupid name.
There was a resounding cheer from the Clinkers, who started chanting "Rooks, Rooks, Rooks!" over and over. One bold individual even stepped forward to grab a torch out of the nearby fire, and set the Blighter's flag ablaze, which brought even more cheering.
Jacob sent his big sister a smug look, to which she countered with a rude gesture of her middle finger.
But a gunshot brought the festivities to an instant halt. Out there on the street, there was a loud, panicked neighing, and Peter's horse Rem went galloping away, frightened by the gunfire. The source of the shot came from behind the gathering of newly minted Rooks.
About a dozen Blighters, all armed with better clothes and better weapons, and at the center of them was a big man, tall and broad, balding on top, with a thick chinstrap beard and goatee, wearing a black outfit of trousers, boots, and shirt, with a black, double-breasted vest that was purple on the back, bearing the Templar insignia in the form of a pin on the left pectoral.
Rexford Kaylock.
Before Jacob and the Templar could exchange words, Peter took the center stage, visibly incensed and pissed off for some reason. The Rooks all moved out of his way, and the Frye twins almost jogged to catch up with their idiot little brother.
Kaylock and his Blighters laughed at this display of juvenile bravado.
"Go away, little girl," Kaylock sneered. "The men are talking. Get back on that horse of yours and ride out of here."
Peter's eye twitched. "Well, you see, that's what I wanted to talk to you about. He's feeling real bad."
The laughter stopped, and Kaylock's eyes narrowed. "Huh?"
"My horse," Peter clarified. "You see, he got all riles up when you went fired that shot in the air."
The Blighters exchanged looks, as did the Rooks, and the twins were having a frantic conversation with their eyes about what to do.
"Are you making some kind of joke?" Kaylock demanded.
"Mm-mm, no," Peter shook his head. "See, I know you guys were just playing around, but my horse…he just doesn't get it. Now, if you all apologized…"
The Blighters laughed again.
Peter hung his head a little bit, and then he flipped the front of his poncho over his shoulder. The laughter came to an instant halt at the sight of Peter's steel-covered chest, all those knives, all those bullets, all those pouches. Peter looked back up, a critical look in his eye.
In that instant, he didn't look girlish at all, but extremely lethal.
"I don't think it's very nice, you laughing. You see, my horse doesn't like it when people laugh. He gets the crazy idea you're laughing at him. Now, if you apologize, like I know you're going to, I might convince him you really didn't mean it."
Peter stared directly at Kaylock.
The eyes of the Blighters darted around. The eyes of the Rooks darted around. The twins were staring at the back of Peter's head, bewildered. The tension rose so high you could feel the energy in the air. Sweat broke out across foreheads, knots formed in stomachs, people had difficulty swallowing, hands started reaching for weapons—and Kaylock spat on the ground.
In a move so fast that no one present even saw it, Peter yanked his pistols and filled the air with the sound of gunfire, each shot ending with a high-pitched whine. Smoke billowed around his hands as he discharged all twelve rounds in less than two seconds.
The Rooks and the twins could only stare in numb shock at the sight of the Blighters, all dead in a single volley. Kaylock had taken the weapon he had at his hip, a rope-launcher, and had pulled his way up to the roof to make his escape, but only because Peter hadn't aimed for him.
With a simple spin of a flourish, Peter holstered his pistols and pulled his poncho back into place.
The twins slowly turned to look at each other. Their stupid brother whom they mistreated all his little life had just gunned down twelve people with two guns fired from the hip. Two single-action revolvers, not even a full two seconds…twelve people. Twelve people, twelve bullets.
Over a horse.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
A little while later, in the London dusk of the same day, the Frye's and their Rooks were gathered at the Whitechapel train station for the final battle against Kaylock and the Blighters. The man had bet his train on the fight to the death, and he was going to get exactly what he wanted.
The twins and the Rooks engaged the Blighters, Kaylock currently missing, while Peter hung back. Melee fighting wasn't his strong suit because of his asthma. After his sprint through Spitalfields, he'd had to smoke real fast to clear his lungs before his duel with the Blighters.
The Rooks killed the red-clad men and women, and that's when Kaylock showed up. He'd been hiding in his train the whole time, and just now climbed to the roof.
"There you are!" he exclaimed with a smirk. The train whistle blew, and the locomotive began rolling away. "And there you go!"
But the smile was wiped from his face when the twins and Peter got onboard anyway.
"Kill them!" Kaylock shouted to the Blighters he had with him.
Jacob and Evie made short work of the henchmen, and that only left the gang leader.
The twins approached, their clothes billowing in the wind as the train pistoned down the tracks.
From the backside of his belt, Kaylock pulled out a paid of butcher's cleavers. He did a menacing flourish with them, and taunted the twins with a beckoning motion. With their hoods up in the night, Jacob and Evie looked rather menacing, but Kaylock was unfazed. The two attacked, and Kaylock showed why he was the representative of Starrick in Whitechapel as he fended the twins off at the same time.
His dual wielding made it hard to get in close, and the twins weren't acting in synch. Jacob kept trying to make use of his brass knuckles, but Kaylock just swiped at him with one of those cleavers, and where you'd think Jacob would just counter, that second cleaver would come around, then be followed up by the first, and so on. Evie wanted to do things with a more strategic view, but her brother wouldn't stop to listen to her, and she couldn't get in except for a few times herself whenever Jacob got knocked away, and Kaylock fended her off with just as much efficiency and ferocity.
Peter hung back, not at all about to engage the strong man. He could end this easily by himself. All he needed to do was toss a flash grenade and shoot, but his siblings were in the way, and he wasn't going to risk shooting them on accident. So he waited.
And he didn't have to wait long.
Jacob rushed Kaylock with his brass knuckles raised. Kaylock let out a roar and swung his cleaver down in a big overhead chop. Jacob thrust his fist forward, blade meeting brass, and Jacob's weapon broke. It absorbed a lot of the impact, and so he didn't lose his hand, but the butcher blade did bite a good ways down between his middle and ring fingers.
Jacob screamed as he fell away and off the train, barely managed to catch hold of the railing with his uninjured hand.
"Jacob!" Evie cried.
"You're next!" Kaylock bellowed.
Evie gasped and managed to raise her sword and cane. One cleaver struck her sword, and the other sliced through her cane and the only thing that saved her from being chopped open was that the second cleaver struck the throwing knives Evie had tucked inside of her coat. The impact didn't break skin, but she did feel a nasty bruise form. Not to mention how her arm stung severely from taking Kaylock's first cleaver.
Her sword had been knocked from her hand, and she had been knocked back, also clinging to the train with only her good hand.
That left only Peter.
Kaylock wasted no time bragging or boasting or taunting. Instead, he set his eyes on Peter and rushed him. The twins both screamed at Peter to run or dodge, but Peter just stood there. Like his siblings, he had drawn his hood, which meant he had put his hat away. Like them, with his hood up, he emanated a certain menacing air, but something was different about Peter compared to Jacob and Evie.
The train went down a hill in the tracks, and the sudden burst of speed was enough to take Peter's hood off, revealing his face.
Kaylock actually came to a halt when he saw Peter's expression.
Fury. Pure, abject rage. Righteous and holy, Peter's blood boiled in the name of his siblings that had been injured and almost killed.
Kaylock put his arms in front of him and approached cautiously. When he got close enough, he jabbed with his right cleaver, but Peter didn't try to block it. Instead, he leaned back just out of range, and moved his right arm forward into Kaylock's left arm just as he was bringing cleaver number two into action, ruining his one-two combo.
Kaylock roared when the Hidden Blade bit all the way through his arm. His hand spasmed and he dropped his cleaver. Wildly, he swung his right arm back around, only for Peter to raise his left, Hidden Blade popping up just in time to get stuck between Kaylock's radius and ulna. He screamed even louder.
Peter rammed his knee into Kaylock's groin, making him groan, and he headbutted Kaylock straight in his nose, breaking it, resulting in the eruption of blood. Peter tore his blades free and swiped them both across Kaylock's legs, cutting deep gashes through the fronts of his quads.
Kaylock fell to his knees, bleeding out of his arms, legs, and face, his balls feeling like they'd ruptured, or maybe that was just blood that had leaked out of his penis.
Peter grabbed the man by the front of his vest. "You hurt by brother and sister," he hissed, "prepare to die."
Peter hauled the Templar over to the edge of the train and held him over the car. Kaylock looked down the way, and he screamed the loudest scream he'd ever produced in all his life. But that scream ended when the train went racing past a steal beam.
The twins winced and averted their eyes when every part of Kaylock's head above the middle of his cheeks simply vanished, revealing the tops of the teeth of his lower jaw, the bottom slice of his brain, his flapping tongue, and the two holes that were his esophagus and trachea. Peter let the body go and it vanished in the night.
Peter wasted no time in running over to Evie, grabbing her by the wrist, hauling her up, and then, still holding her, went running over to Jacob to pull him up. Peter hugged his big brother and sister tightly to him.
"I'm so glad you guys are alright. I love you."
Pale and shaking, borderline traumatized, the twins just barely managed to pat Peter on the back in the best show of reciprocation that they could manage.
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Alright, this went a lot longer than I thought it would. I was honestly going to end it way sooner, all the way up there where the Frye's left the curio shop, and the next chapter was going to be all about Whitechapel, but then I was like, "Nah, it's been too long," so I kept it at it.
Then I was going to end it after Peter's duel with the Blighters, but with the following scene being the gang war, I decided to wrap it up there. All culminating in a 10k+ monster of a chapter.
Notice how not a word was said from peter about his father Ethan in this whole chapter.
How do you like Peter's design? I quite love it, with the incorporations of past Assassins and a freaking poncho. No one ever uses ponchos. Points to whoever can figure out the spaghetti western reference somewhere in here.
And yeah, if you missed the last chapter, go back and reread it. I feel like not a lot of people got notified it was posted since it was posted within 24 hours of the Danger Warning notification, which was apparently a hoax, since we are still here.
I say that, now watch as I jinx myself.
I hope the link to my Ao3 works, here in this chapter on my profile.
Fav, Follow, and Review please!
Oh, and a question that's been running around in my mind for a while now: if the Lou Ellen in this story had a Yugioh deck, would it be a generic spellcaster deck, or a Ghostrick deck?