Order Of The Cross

by 0Junebug0

"Together, we will usher in the dawn of a New World. One defined by purpose and order. One in which our hands will ensure that all things find their proper place. May the Father of Understanding guide us." Those are the words that have defined my life, and shall define it forevermore. I pledged myself to the Order of the Knights Templar, and once in, there is no way out but death.

5. Chapter 4

Okay, I know this took me an eternity, BUT IT'S 18k WORDS LONG OK NO ONE GETS TO COMPLAIN.

This chapter is longer than the complete rest of my story, what is wrong with me? Actually, I did this on purpose, just didn't want to split it it's too important. But it did turn out a bit longer than I originally planned. Anyways, there is some violence and strong language in this one, and there will be tons of more violence and swearing in the next (which will take me ages again, I'm graduating in two months)

Alright, just fyi, I have only read this in parts and some of it at ridiculous hours (I also write at ridiculous hours, it's 3 am), so I haven't actually checked the stuff I wrote two months ago, there may be mistakes, if you see one, inform me. You'll get a virtual cookie.

MY THANKS TO MiserableCreature FOR THE HELP!

Also about the foreign languages spoken in this chapter, my French always was miserable and my Latin is nonexistent, all the Latin phrases are from the internet.

I did some research on life in the 18th century, but only some. So not everything in here is accurate.

Enough talking, enjoy this monster of a chapter and LEAVE A GODDAMN REVIEW (Thanks for the follows/favs btw)

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After about twenty minutes, the coach comes to an abrupt halt. I quickly open the door and climb out, greeted by an astonishing view.

Before me towers not a house, but a small castle, probably half as big as Fort George, the whole building representing wealth and prosperity. The entrance alone is about as high as the tower of the Old North Church in Boston, with columns supporting the weight of the majestic gabled roof. The whole building, u-shaped, seems to be built of white marble, windows symmetrically arranged on both sides, all resembling the Greek architecture.

Palladian, if I remember my lessons correctly.

Outspread before the house is a huge lawn, trees lining the broad driveway to the estate, which is a perfectly straight line, besides taking a small swing on both sides of a gigantic fountain mid-way in between the mansion and the gate.

I'm so astonished; I just stand there for a few minutes and stare, until someone audibly clears his throat behind me.

Her throat.

Next to the coach stands an elderly woman, skinny and with piercing blue eyes, scrutinising me from head to toe. She's wearing a dark grey dress with an apron tied around her waist. Her hair, pinned up in a strict knot, perfectly fits her just as strict expression.

After she has finished mustering me, she opens her mouth, her voice as sharp and harsh as I expected it to be. "You must be Miss Aurelie Garceau, yes?"

"Uh, yes." I answer reluctantly, not knowing who I'm talking to and therefore how this person should be addressed.

Her expression darkens even more.

"My name is Madam Abney, but everyone just calls me Madam here. I am the girl's supervisor, managing the household of the Canterbury estate, hence being responsible for every single maid in this house. This will soon include you. As I am your superior, I would like you to address me as Ma'am and answer with 'Yes, Ma'am' or 'No, Ma'am', when I ask you a question, is that understood?"

"Yes, Ma'am!" I hastily respond, already terrified of her.

"Good.", she continues, her cold eyes fixed on mine. "I will ask one of the girls to show you around a bit and introduce you to our daily routine. Come."

Without waiting for a response, she marches off in the direction of the gate, with me quickly catching up to her, not daring to let her wait for me.

"Your name is French, yes?"

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Tu es française? Quand est-ce que tu as parti la France, exactement?" (You're French? When exactly did you leave France?)

I'm ready for those questions, keeping a neutral expression. "Oui, Madame. Nous avons déménagé en Angleterre quand j'ai quinze ans." (Yes, Ma'am. We moved to England when I was fifteen years old.)

For the first time, she seems satisfied. "Your English is quite good, I don't recognise any accent. Are your parents still alive?"

Something tells me that she already knows all the answers to those questions.

"No, Ma'am. They died of smallpox."

"And you weren't infected?"

She seems suspicious.

"No, Ma'am. I was lucky."

We walk in silence for the rest of the way, until we get closer to the front entrance, where she turns right, leading me around the building to a small wooden door, which she opens.

"This is the servant's entrance; you are only allowed to use this one, under all circumstances."

I follow her into a small room, with several doors on each wall and a long corridor out front. Madam Abney scurries through the corridor, turning left after a few meters, where she comes to a halt. We are now in a larger room with a table in its middle, at which a few chattering maids are seated. There's food stored in every shelf and hanging from the ceiling, as well as a stove in one corner of the room and a fireplace in the other. Clean and tidy kitchen utensils have been placed on the counters, neatly arranged in order of size.
A bubbling cauldron is hanging over the fire, filling the kitchen with a delicious smell and causing my empty stomach to audibly express its dissatisfaction.
The voices break off the moment Mrs Abney enters the room, the maids quickly jumping on their feet and respectively bowing their heads.
"Good evening, Ma'am.", they all chorus, eyes fixed on their feet.
"Girls, this is Aurelie Garceau, she will work here with you from now on. I trust that you do your very best to help her to accustom herself to this house and our work."
I receive some curious glances from the maids.
"Jane, I have some business to attend so I'll leave her to you, please make sure she receives something proper to wear, she looks like a scarecrow."
She tosses me a quick reproving stare, at which I slightly flush, realising that she's completely right. Having worn the same clothes for nearly two days, as well as sleeping in them hasn't exactly improved my looks, same as my ruined hairstyle.
"Go to work now, I will not tolerate any dilly-dallying, His Lordship expects his dinner at exactly 9 pm."
With these words, she, not without sending us all another one of her deeply sour glances, turns on her heel and exits the kitchen, closing the door behind her.
An awkward silence fills the room for a moment, until a tiny blonde maid exhales loudly, rolling her eyes.
"It's not like we were ever late or so, why does she always think it necessary to remind us of our duties, like, I've been here for three years, he always eats at 9, thanks very much."
"You shouldn't talk like that, you know she has her eyes and ears everywhere.", another girl whispers, eyeing the door with a suspicious look on her face as if expecting a furious Madam to burst through the door at any second.
The blonde just shrugs, seemingly not worried about her superior eavesdropping on them.
My stomach, apparently displeased with being ignored, grumbles even louder.
All attention is now focused on me, making me feel a bit uncomfortable in my wrinkled clothes and with my messed up hair.
In a pitiful attempt to reattach the loose strands back underneath the bonnet, even more of my hair escapes it, falling on my shoulders.
"Now what should we do with you.", the blonde, clearly the boss among the maids, asks me, although not really directing the question at me. "Ain't even capable of taking care of herself, but wants to work for Lord Canterbury, eh?"
Before I can reply something, another maid, a bit plump, red-haired and freckled, appears on the blonde's right side, smiling a bit sheepishly.
"Don't be mean, Miranda, I'm sure she's had a long and exhausting journey."
She offers me her hand and I hesitantly shake it.
"I'm Jane. The person responsible for your introduction here. If you need something, just turn to me at any time."
"Aurelie.", I simply say, biting back the urge to introduce myself as 'Julie'.
"Alright then." Let's get you something to eat and then show you around a bit, shall we?"
My belly loudly agrees.

The servant quarters are rather big, but humble, as expected.
Apart from the first lobby and the kitchen, there's a washing room, a pantry and a small larder for us, as well as two separate dormitories, one for the maids and one for the male servants, which are 'under all circumstances prohibited to be entered by the respective opposite sex'., something that Jane persists on telling me every few minutes.
In the bedroom itself, there are twenty straw mattresses, one for each maid, an old wall cabinet, a bucket for one's need and a small basin.
I already miss my bathtub in Fort George, along with my bed, which, compared to the uncomfortable mattresses here, seems to be made of clouds.
Similarly uncomfortable is the daily life: we rise with the sun and work all day, minus the fifteen minutes of lunch we're granted, going to bed long after sundown.
Jane introduces me to the female hierarchy among the servants, the cook and Madam Abney (commonly known as "the old witch"), who's the estate's housekeeper, being on top, closely followed by the maids themselves, where the chambermaids are the most highly regarded and the scullery maids the lowest.
I start as a kitchen maid, which is somewhere in between, as I'm too old for being a scullery maid; and the cook, a woman in her mid-forties called Esmeralda is in need of further assistance.
My duties vary from helping Esmeralda with the cooking; lighting the fireplace; washing the dishes; cleaning up the kitchen and its various utensils, which involves daily sweeping and a thorough cleaning twice a week; as well as preparing the servant's meals from the Lord's leftovers when she's too busy to do so herself. She's a bit reserved, but overall nice and pleasantly silent, besides instructing me from time to time.
After some time in the kitchen I get used to the constant heat from the fireplace, which makes me sweat in my uncomfortable hessian clothes and beneath the mutch Jane gave me on my first day, so I develop a habit of wiping my sweaty hands on my apron, at which Esmeralda sometimes shoots me a reproving look, as she told me countless times how much she disapproves of such unhygienic behaviour in her kitchen.
On my third day a twenty-something year old... well calling him a man would seem wrong, boy being more fitting... approaches me while I'm on my way to fetch some water from a well located on the estate's backside. He's wearing a red ribbon around his neck, but I'm still not fully convinced of his affiliation.
"Good morning.", he greets me with a wide grin on his face, while accompanying me on my way back, but not even thinking of offering me his assistance with the heavy bucket. "How's work going?"
"Who are you?", I answer suspiciously, tightening my grip on the bucket's handle and quickening my pace.
"Augustus Livingstone, but you can call me Gus, regarding our... association, am I right?"
After a short consideration of punching him in the face for his clear amount of pure stupidity, I decide against it, look him in the eye without showing any kind of emotion and simply say: "I have no idea what you're talking about."
He quickly checks our surroundings, making sure no one else is around, then his face lightens up. "Ah, yes, nearly forgot... Now... What was it again? Um... Right! In hog signo vinces...sicut umbra...transeunt dies... (In this sign thou shall conquer, as the shadow pass the days)... And the other one was...uh... veritas vos liberabit! (The truth shall set you free). Dunno if that's the right order, but I guess it's a matter of principle, wouldn't you agree?"
I just stare at him disbelievingly.
"What? I didn't come up with that! I'm actually just as surprised as you I managed to memorise those goddamned sentences. They told me you would understand!"
"I do understand. They just didn't make any particular sense."
He merely shrugs, waving his hand at me as if to shoo away an annoying fly. "Well, Latin never does, right? Anyway, now that I've proven my identity to you, we need to make a plan about your weekly reports. I'm usually working in the stables or the gardens, but it's better if we come up with a certain meeting point at a certain time for this to work. A place and time where no one will see us or get any suspicious, obviously."
My faith in Haytham and the whole damn Order decreases with every minute. Why they chose to send me such an idiot is beyond me.
"Why are you asking me, it's my bloody third day here! You, on the other hand, have been working here for months, so why don't you come up with something?"
Rolling his eyes, he raises his hands in pretended surrender. "Fine. Behind the stables for now. Until one of us comes up with something better, alright? Each Sunday morning. See you around."
With that he walks off, leaving me on the spot carrying a bucket full of water in both hands, and a rather annoyed expression on my face.

Weeks pass by, and I quickly accustom to the hard work, feeling as if I never left the palace, although the living conditions and the way I'm being treated are not even closely comparable to then. At night, when everyone else is sleeping, I sit in the dark pantry, armed with a small candle stump, some old paper and a quill, writing the same words to Haytham every week, about my work and how I did not have the chance to do some exploration or catch a glimpse of Lord Canterbury yet.
I sometimes picture him sitting in his quarters at Fort George, reading my annoyingly uninformative letters, sighing and asking himself what he did wrong with me. It makes me smile, forgetting my own frustration with my slow progress. Still, every early morning I rise with new hope and new ambition born out of the same feeling that makes me want to give up and go home every night as I fall into my bed dead-tired.
And so time passes by.
Jane becomes something like a friend to me, while I don't really speak much with any of the others, except Esmeralda and Gus of course, the other two people which might be considered close to me. In the first week of September, Mrs. Abney grants us a free Sunday, which I use to do some long overdue exploration of the compound and as much as I can of the house, all with caution, as the Old Witch is known for always having her eyes and ears everywhere and not being all too keen to catch her maids sneaking around the Lord's private rooms.
I return in the evening, my hair a bit ruffled and my cheeks red, finding a very strange scene in the dormitory.
Jane is sitting on her bed, her face red and her eyes teary and swollen, crying into someone's handkerchief, while some of the other maids are assembled around her, trying to provide some comfort, while Miranda, the blonde, stands in front of the small window on the room's other side, her arms crossed and her back turned to the other girls.
"I told you, Jane. I told you to be careful but you wouldn't listen to me and now you're in deep trouble. And I can only think of one solution for this situation."
"No!", Jane replies, voice a bit shaky but full of determination. "That is no option."
Mirada turns around sighing exasperatedly, opening her mouth to probably scream at the poor girl on the bed, when she hesitates. She saw me on the threshold, eying the whole scene with slightly furrowed eyebrows.
Her eyes narrow. "For how long have you been standing there?"
The words are cold as ice.
"I've only just arrived.", I answer calmly, holding her gaze. "What's going on here?"
"Nothing you should know or worry about.", she hisses, signalising the others to follow her as she leaves without another word. Jane avoids my gaze when she walks past me, eyes fixed on the floor instead. I choose not to bother her with any questions she doesn't want to answer and go to bed.
A few days later the same girl I saw crying on her bed wakes me up even earlier than usual, a bright smile on her face.
"Good news.", she exclaims. "Trish just told us the Lord will be having a ball in four weeks! Madam wants us all in the kitchen in about ten minutes, so get up quickly, I can't wait for the announcement!"
I'm among the last ones entering the meeting, the whole staff already there, chattering excitedly.
"Silence!", Madam Abney orders and the whole room immediately obeys, the heated atmosphere merely interrupted by Esmeralda's melodic voice. She's standing next to the Madam, looking as relaxed as usual.
"We have been informed that his Lordship has decided to celebrate All Hallow's Day by holding a ball in 30 days."
The silence breaks and everyone starts voicing their excitement by talking all at once.
"Now.", the cook continues seamlessly. "I know it sounds all well and good at first, but remember that this means a huge amount of work must be done in a very short amount of time. Therefore the Madam and I, after having consulted with our male colleagues, have decided that it will be best to deprive you of your current duties and make everyone available for any sort of work needed at any time. Is that clear?"
"Yes, Esmeralda." we all chorus.
"Good.", she answers. "Then let's get to work."

From now on the chance of any spare time is next to impossible. Together, we launder every last piece of cloth located in the house, sew, dust, clean and decorate the entire mansion, go on daily shopping tours in a village nearby, maintain the gardens and pretty much organise the whole ball ourselves, all under the Madame's watchful eyes. All the new various work grants me more than a great inside to the parts of the estate I haven't discovered yet, but robs me of any opportunity to write my letters in private, often having to come up with an excuse to scrawl a few words on the paper, usually "very busy, can't write much, progress in sight", and handing them to Gus in the middle of the night, the only time we don't work.
The list of tasks is never-ending, hence time flies by even quicker than usual. Two weeks before the ball, I rise earlier than usual, as another one of my weekly reports is due. Gus awaits me at the stables, a dark figure nearly not distinguishable from the night's black backdrop.
I'm just about to hand him the paper and get back to bed when he surprisingly wraps his arm around my waist and starts guiding me away from our usual meeting point.
"Augustus, what on earth?", I whisper, a tad scared of waking someone.
"You are being followed.", he whispers back through his teeth, continuing to walk in the opposite direction of where I came from, his arm still tightly wrapped around me. "Don't turn around now, just trust me."
I resist the urge of peering over my shoulder and do as he says, allowing him to manoeuvre me across the compound to achieve God knows what.
After some time, the clouds part and give way to the moon, illuminating the whole property in his eerie cold light.
Gus seems satisfied about our sudden exposure, one-half of his face now bathed in light, the other one still hidden in the dark.
"This place is good.", he confirms as he stops right next to an old tree, despite which we'd still be clearly visible for whomever he thought had followed us.
His eyes dart to the west side of the estate, its high walls casting long shadows onto the ground.
"She's still there."
"Who?", I ask, not daring to look back.
"The Witch."
"Abney?!"

"Yep, she followed you out of the house and right to our meeting place. You should've been more careful."
"She's suspicious now, anyway. We'll just come up with a story."
"No.", he says, lost in thoughts. "That won't be enough."
I muster him with narrowed eyes, trying to read his expression.
"Livingstone, what are you up to?"
He seems to be torn between two thoughts, biting his lower lip, his eyes fixed on something in the distance.

"You won't like it, but it's the best plan I have for now, so, like it or not, you'll just have to play along."
With these words, he cups my face with both of his hands and gently presses his lips on mine.
After a few seconds of both confusion and feeling the need of punching him in the face I get what he's doing. Concealing our meetings by feigning an affair actually is a pretty smart idea, something I wouldn't have thought of if I'm perfectly honest.
So I play along, with an imaginary sigh, wrapping my arms around his neck, while he pulls me tighter, his hands placed on my back.
For a moment, I'm the small thirteen-year-old girl again, enviously watching the beautiful women striding through the palace, those proud Goddesses from entirely different worlds than my own.
I wanted to be one of them, wanted to be tall and beautiful, wanted to be alongside a handsome and influential man, wanted to be cherished and loved.
But now, in this very particular situation, I am not nearly as comfortable as I would have expected. My face is burning, my heart is pounding against my chest and I feel the urge to run away as quickly as possible. I can't even pin down why exactly I'm feeling this way, a nineteen-year-old, acting as if ten years younger.

He lets go after a few minutes, which feel like hours, glaring at me with a smirk.

"Even in these lighting conditions your face astoundingly resembles a beetroot, Miss Garceau."

I quickly turn my face away, acting as if looking for Madame Abney in the dark. She's nowhere to be seen. If she ever was there in the first place, which I'm starting to sincerely doubt.

His eyes follow mine, scanning our surroundings. "She's gone."

"Yes, she's gone," I repeat my voice more harsh than intended. "Can we go now?"

We head back in silence, constantly on our guard, although I am almost fully certain that the Madame is long gone.
The moment we reach the servant's entrance, I nearly trip over my own feet trying to get away from him as quickly as possible, but he grabs my arm, forcing me to turn around.
"What?" I ask him with raised eyebrows, feigning confidence.
"The letter." he simply answers, mustering me with a slightly worried look on his face.
"Ah, yes. Nearly forgot."
I hand it to him while hoping for the light to be too dim for him to notice my burning cheeks.
"One more thing.", he says, after my second attempt of subtly backing away through the door.
I sigh internally.
"I'd recommend you to write a different kind of letter next time. And more publicly, but not too publicly. As, you know, not to be too obvious."
For a few seconds, I just stare at him uncomprehendingly. "Augustus, what the hell are you talking about?"
He only grins.

Even though I consider it an unnecessary precaution, I do as he asks and writes not one, but two letters the week after. One, the actual letter for Haytham, I write in my usual hiding spot, making sure no one sees me there. But the other, I write in the dormitory, while the other maids are at lunch.
As expected, but convenient nevertheless, the door opens the moment I fold the vellum and affix the servant's seal we are permitted to use.
"What's that?", a cool voice asks me from behind.
I turn my head to the door, where a familiar Blonde looks at me askance, her arms crossed.
It's Miranda.
"A letter.", I answer in a challenging tone.
She narrows her eyes, piercing me with her gaze.
"And to whom exactly are you writing that letter, Aurelie?"
I rise from my straw mattress and cross the room, stopping right in front of her, our faces only inches apart.
She doesn't even blink, but I grant her one of my sweetest smiles.
"That, Miranda, is none of your business."
With these words I leave her standing there, not wasting another look back.

Two days before the ball, it's Thursday, I find three chicken feathers stuck in between two of the uneven stones the well on the mansion's side is built of. For every other servant, this would've been nothing unusual, having to pluck them off poultry almost every single day of the week. For me, it's a signal. Gus wants to meet me to collect this week's letter to Haytham.
I take the feathers in order for him to know that I received the message, pick up the water bucket and head back to the kitchen, where I'm greeted by a fairly stressed Esmeralda. Since all general arrangements to the house and gardens are long finished, all work is now focused on preparing the mountain of food needed on Saturday.
"Aurelie! Finally!", she exclaims, motioning for me to fill the water into the cauldron over the fire, after which I'm ordered to join three other maids in the dining room, all busy with peeling a large heap of potatoes piled up on the table.
The constant work causes time to fly by, with the potatoes being replaced by several other vegetables and the preparation of some bread dough, along with the cleaning of the entire servant's wing, which is in a continuous state of chaos due to its promotion to the centre of all labour.
I hardly manage to convince Esmeralda to let me go after midnight has passed, feigning a terrible headache and leaving with a slightly guilty conscience for her obvious disappointment in me.
Once again silently cursing this whole stupid mission, I rush through the corridor towards the entrance, full of resolution to get the task done as quickly as possible, and nearly bump into a dark figure seemingly awaiting me at its end.
My eyes only slowly become adjusted to the darkness, it takes me a few seconds to recognise the person in front of me.
"Well, Mrs Garceau, I do wonder why and where a maid of your position would have to hurry in such secrecy and at such a late hour?"
My heart skips a few beats as I find myself incapable of nothing else but standing there in complete and utter shock.
"I would highly recommend you to answer me truthfully now, Aurelie.", Madame Abney says in an alarmingly calm tone.
"I... Uh... Just had to go and get some fresh air after this long day of work, that's all.", I answer, failing at making my voice sound both secure and believable.
Abney smiles, which probably is the scariest thing she could have done in this particular situation.
"Search her."
Two soldiers, probably belonging to the Lord's guard, appear in the entrance's threshold behind her, one of them carrying a torch. They drag me into the empty scullery and close the door behind them.
While one of them painfully locks my arms behind my back, the other one searches me thoroughly, not sparing much thought about causing me pain or touching me inappropriately.
He finds the letter and immediately hands it to Abney, who breaks the seal and quickly reads the few scribbled sentences, despite my protests of its content being private.
"Interesting.", she murmurs after a moment, her eyes meeting with mine, an unreadable expression on her face. "You two may go now."
"As you wish, Madam.", the soldier between us obeys and the other one releases his grip on me. My arms hurt and I can still feel his hands on my body, but I manage to keep a straight face.
The Madam doesn't say anything, even after the two soldiers are gone, only eyes me from where she is standing, the letter still in her hand.
"For how long exactly has this been going on, Aurelie?"
"A few weeks."
Renewed silence.
"You are aware of the rules."
"I am."
"Then be careful, girl. One misstep and you might find yourself on the edge of a gaping abyss you cannot escape. Consider this a warning."
She screws up the paper in her hands and leaves the room without a second glance, leaving me behind in my tattered dress and with my heart pounding against my chest.

"I so wish I could've seen it."
Gus seems truly disappointed.
We've managed to sneak away from the final preparations for the ball, sitting on a bench in the garden and enjoying our last free time before the arrival of the first guests in a few hours.
"The letter itself or her expression after reading it?", I ask him and take a bite of an apple he stole from the kitchen.
"Both. But more the letter itself."
"Oh, it was perfect. I have to say I excelled myself with this one."
He grins. "Maybe I should ask her about the exact wording."
"I'm sure she would be more than pleased to grant you an exclusive inside look on my oh-so-very deep and passionate love for you, Livingstone."
"I can only imagine. But the plan worked out well, she's leaving you alone now, isn't she?"
I nod in response, taking another bite.
"Good. What were you assigned to?"
"Guest attendance."
"Lucky you. Have to take care of their horses first, then I'm on kitchen duty. Can't wait.", he says with a scowl.
"Think of the vast amount of leftovers we'll get tomorrow, more food than we've seen in months.", I mumble while turning my face towards the sun's warmth and closing my eyes with contentment.
He stands up and stretches, rising on his toes. "And so society's outcasts feast on the Highborne's spoilage."
I open my eyes again and sigh. "You're such a spoilsport."
"And why exactly are you so very looking forward to serving at such lavish festivities you will take no part in?"
"Because.", I reply, mimicking his ever-present smug smile. "That might bring me a bit closer to actually accomplishing something on my mission here, maybe even to gain some insight on our dear Lord himself."
Gus flinches upon my words, darting an angry glance at me, while simultaneously scanning our surroundings for anyone who might have heard my allusions. "For Christ's sake, woman! Keep quiet about such things. We can never be fully certain of being alone, so stay in your role!"
Rolling my eyes, I rise from the bench and mockingly blow him a kiss. "Why is everyone in this business so paranoid? Anyway, better head back. See you later, Darling."
I leave him standing there, only accompanied by a quiet "Immature.", he mumbles under his breath.

A few hours later, we're all ready at our assigned spots, wearing identical neat uniforms and waiting for the guest's arrival, ready to serve them champagne and various other beverages, all alcoholic.
Somewhere around eight, the first Lords and Ladies, Dukes and Duchesses, Counts and Countesses and half of North Carolina's other highborn population enters the main hall; by nine all of the other rooms and the garden, decorated with an enormous amount of lamps and garlands, are also filled with chattering people, one dressed fancier than the other and all heavily equipped with jewellery of all sorts.
"Have you ever seen so many diamonds on one person before, it's ridiculous.", one maid beside my whispers in my ear.
I shake my head, although I have. Not long ago I might've been among those people, unintentionally putting my own wealth on display, in silent competition with all of the other privileged women. Haytham took me to a few of such festivities throughout the past few years of my initiation, for the sake of 'acquiring new contacts' as he liked to call it, and even though I never much liked them, I never considered them of such a new perspective as I do now. All the excessive pomp seems so grotesque, even preposterous now, that it strikes me as if I had been blind all those past years.
Even the decorations we had prepared for weeks seem laughable now, all those chandeliers with their candles, all those grand bouquets of perfect white lilies placed in every corner of the room, the matching curtains, even the band playing on a balcony high above our heads appears absurd.
None of the guests pays us servants much attention, besides demanding new drinks with a snap of their fingers, which provides me with the opportunity of observing their behaviour without actually having to participate in their conversations. I even manage to eavesdrop on a few of their talks, most of them the usual, uninteresting courteous chit-chat; until I overhear the Canterbury name in one of them.
"...rumour about this secret council of his."
"I don't know whether he is to be believed, but I did hear General Watkins drunkenly boasting about his membership the other day."
"With all due respect, Sir. I find it highly unlikely for a man like General Watkins to be a member of such an elitist and serious society if it exists in the first place."
Pretending to rearrange the glasses on my plate, I slightly turn my head towards the two men's direction, my interest in their conversation growing more and more.
"Well, as far as I recollect, there are nine members in total, all of the noblest of houses, Canterbury included, doing God knows what at their gatherings."
"Some of my sources even claim these meetings to be of an ungodly nature, if you understand my meaning."
"As in… satanic?"
"I'm afraid so."
"I must confess, I'd still- Hey you! Girl!"
I flinch so hard that I nearly drop my plate, the glasses sliding over it, coming dangerously close to its edge.
"Sir?" I ask him innocently, straightening my back.
"What are you trying to accomplish here, lingering about?"
"Apologies, Sir, I was wondering if you might wish for another glass of champagne?"
"No, I most certainly do not.", he answers, scrutinising me with an almost distasteful expression.
The other one seems more propitiative. "Do you have anything else to offer, girl?"
"Cherry Punch, Sir. Also-"
"Cherry Punch will do, thank you."
"Very well, Sir."
With a bow of my head, I quickly make my way back through the crowd and to the bar in the adjacent room, ordering the punch from the responsible servant there, which happens to be Miranda. She appears to be highly stressed, a mood in which I personally wouldn't like to be in her immediate proximity for longer than necessary.
"Aurelie! Perfect timing. Have you seen Jane?" she asks me eagerly. "It's important."
"Sorry, haven't seen her in hours."
She makes an annoyed noise. "If you see her, tell her to come to me, immediately!"
Quickly taking the glass, I nod. "Sure."
"No, wait. Now that you're here you might as well take her task. Kitchen needs some more firewood, go down to the hay barn and bring it to them, it's stacked in a separate room. Just enter the barn and turn left, you'll see the door. And take a lamp with you, it's pitch-dark down there."
"Uh.", I protest. "But I need to get this drink to-"
"No back talk! The wood is more important, I'll find someone else to take care of the bloody drink. Now go!"
Obeying, not without a certain amount of unwillingness, I take one of the oil lamps standing around, walk out of the main hall, enter the garden and take the path leading to the stables, which I leave behind me, following another path downhill, where it really is quite dark, as no one thought about installing any lamps here. After ten minutes of walking, the illuminated house behind me pint-sized in the distance, I reach the barn, its silhouette hardly distinguishable from the starless night sky.
Shuddering, I open the door with a squeak, narrowing my eyes in an attempt of adjusting them to the inky blackness before me. My lamp hardly sheds enough light to render the first few feet of the barn visible, leaving me standing in the entrance insecurely, not quite having the courage to step forward.
Come on, Julie. Don't be such a chicken.
I take a deep breath and cautiously enter the barn, the lamp's light now reaching the first bales of hay, all orderly arranged and stacked on the opposite wall.
Doing as instructed, I turn left and reach the door Miranda told me about, carefully pressing down the handle and opening it.
The room I'm in now is smaller than the previous one, resembling a small shed rather than a storing place belonging to someone as rich as Canterbury. I hang up the lamp on a bracket on the wall and examine the store. Logs are piled up on every wall, except the one on the door side, all in quite similar fashion to the hay bales in the other room. Just now I realise, that this must be one of the male servants' duties, as I scarcely ever see one of them near the kitchen, and always wondered what might be their area of work here.
On the room's right are some jute bags hanging on the wall, and I take one to carry the wood in. While slowly packing the logs into it, my thoughts return to the conversation I eavesdropped on before, trying to recall its details to later write them into a new letter to Haytham. A secret society only meant for the Lord himself and eight other men of his choosing. Is it a meeting of members of the Order? Are all of them Templars like Canterbury? But if, why wouldn't Haytham tell me about it, or at least Augustus? All of those thoughts appear like pieces of a great puzzle to me, not yet fitting and forming the resulting picture.
Too lost in thoughts, and focused on my work, I don't hear the voices until it's too late.
"Hey, there's light in the wood storage."
A dark, male voice.
"Jane?" another one calls. "Come on, darling, don't be shy. I know you're in there."
My heart pounds against my chest as I hectically search for an escape route, my only way back being the one through the hay storage, and past the two men.
The other option, in case of an assault, would be to engage in a fight against the two, something which I cannot be sure of winning. Judging from the sound of their voices, these are grown men, perhaps heavily armed, while all I'm equipped with are the two daggers strapped around my thighs. I quickly abandon the idea, thinking of Gus' warning to stay in the role of the servant. The mission still has top priority.
But why the sudden paranoia in the first place? These are only two men, looking for Jane. Considering that I'm not her, there should be nothing to worry about.
I step out into the light cast by their lamps, the bag still in hand. In front of me are two broad-shouldered men in the uniform of the Lord's personal guard, both at least one head taller than me.
"Evening, Gentlemen.", I greet them courteously. "I'm afraid Jane isn't here."
"Well, I was told she'd be here.", the taller one says. "Where is she then?"
"Apologies, Sir. I was sent here in her stead, as she was nowhere to be found."
"Is that so.", he replies slowly, approaching me, lamp in hand, scrutinising me from head to toe. "Truly a shame. Might I ask your name, Miss...?"
"Elizabeth... Hill.", I answer quickly, resisting the urge to draw back from his cold gaze.
"Miss Hill, then. This over there is Hancock, and I'm Newt, pleasure to meet you. Mind if we call you Lizzy? We're all friends here, aren't we?"
He's so uncomfortably close now, I can smell his awful breath.
"Such a pity about Jane, isn't it Hancock? She's a remarkably pretty little thing. But you aren't ugly yourself, my dear Missy, and I am almost certain you and I could get along very well, don't you think? You, I believe, will be a splendid replacement as long as Jane manages to avoid us, which, let me be clear about that, never succeeds for a very long time."
With every step he takes towards me, I take one back, until I feel the barn's wall against my back, having nowhere to retreat anymore.
"Listen, please...", I beg, not having to feign any panic anymore, for it being real.
But Newt doesn't seem interested in listening, as he jumps forward, presses a hand on my mouth and his body against mine, locking me in between the wall and himself, and preventing me from calling for help, which wouldn't have been very likely to succeed anyway, as we're too far away from the mansion itself to be heard by anyone but the trees around us.
"Shtshtsht.", he says. "Don't be afraid, sweetheart. The hay's quite warm and cosy, and I'm sure we're all need of a little warmth in such a cold night, are we not? I'm happy to share, and certainly Hancock is as well."
"Leave a bit left for me, will you?", the mentioned calls from the entrance.
"Just keep looking out for unwanted guests, you'll get your turn."
Newt turns his face back to me, a wicked grin on his face.
There are tears in my eyes, I'm trapped in a nightmare I can't escape.
He replaces his hand on my mouth with his lips, using the now free hand to force mine open. While thrusting his tongue into my mouth, his other hand reaches under my dress.
That's the point in which my reflexes come to use. I've had enough.
I simultaneously clench my teeth and pull up my knee, feeling both the satisfaction of tasting his blood in my mouth and the sensation of hitting him in the sensitive spot between his legs.
The effect occurs immediately.
He releases me at once, groaning and bending in pain.
"You fucking cunt!"
The other one, Hancock, doesn't seem to have fully realised what had happened yet, standing in the doorway open-mouthed, one hand resting on his sword's handle. I charge at him at full speed, wood bag still in hand.
"GET HER!"
Newt seems to have recovered, he has drawn his sword, which Hancock now also does.
I yank the bag up, rotating around my own axis, dragging the heavy thing with me as if throwing a hammer at some sports event, just that I, instead of letting go of it, bash it against Hancock's head.
The momentum and speed of it send both him and me off our feet, but I'm up again in a blink, now running past the soldier's motionless body and towards the barn's open gate. Just before reaching it, two arms wrap around me and something heavy hits my body, sending me to the floor once again.
"Got you, you little whore.", Newt snarls, pinning me down on the floor with his body, his entire weight resting on my abdomen, while his legs press down both my arms and legs, which results in me not being able to move an inch, and him having his hands free.
I twist and turn, struggling under his weight, although my entire body hurts and I know that he's just too strong, in an advantageous position and that I have no chance at all.
"You're a fighter, I like that. Jane never was as troublesome as you, she just gave in. But that's boring, isn't it? A little challenge always makes the outcome more... Satisfying. Maybe I'll come visit you frequently from now on, although I highly doubt you'll ever be as wild again once I'm finished with you."
He reaches for his belt, shifting his weight onto his legs, a chance I decide to take.
I jolt up at once, my arms painfully twisting, and ram my head against his. The impact causes him to lose his balance and to buckle sideways. Baffled by the unexpected attack, Newt doesn't immediately act, leaving me enough time to fully toss him off me and get to my feet. Just before I manage to get away, he shoots forward and grasps my ankle, making me fall down once more, but I place a well-aimed kick against his throat, succeeding in freeing myself from his grip. Not even bothering to stand up again, I crawl towards the bag I dropped when Newt seized me, grab one of the logs that dropped out of it, spin around and slam it hard against my attacker's head.
It doesn't knock him fully unconscious, as I hoped it would, but at least renders him paralysed for a few precious moments, arms wrapped around his head and groaning in pain.
I get up on my feet, breathing heavily and with wobbly knees, merely standing there for a second and staring at him, log still in hand, ready to attack in an instant.
After assuring myself of his state multiple times, I toss a quick look towards the direction I last saw Hancock, who's still motionlessly lying on the floor.
I pick up the wood bag and stumble out of the barn into the cold night.
The mansion's lights glow in the distance, seemingly galaxies away, especially without a lamp to light my way in the darkness. But it would've been foolish to take it with me, being as effective in remaining undetected as waving a flag and screaming "I'm here! Come and get me!"
The adrenaline is gone, my whole body is sore and shaking, my head pounding with pain. I urge myself forward, ignoring it as best I can, focusing on the house's lights and casting a backwards glance from time to time, but the dark has long swallowed the building. Which is fortunate, as lights would indicate the two men following me.
I wipe the tears off my cheeks and concentrate on putting one foot in front of the other, slowly and carefully, to not trip and fall in the black night, as I don't know if I'd find the strength to stand up again.
It takes me an eternity to finally reach the estate, dragging the damn bag with me as if my life depended on it. The front yard is deserted, the guests probably inside to feast and dance.
I walk past the main entrance and carry the wood into the servant's wing. It's warm inside, with people scurrying around in great haste, not paying me any attention.
Well, most of all don't pay me any attention.
"What on earth took you so long?!"
Miranda. It always has to be her.
I find myself incapable of speaking, I just stand there in the corridor, shaking and clutching the bag.
She knits her brows, scrutinising my appearance. "What happened? Why are your clothes so filthy?"
Instead of answering, I just hand her the bag and whisper: "I need to talk to Jane."
"Well, she still hasn't shown up, as I already told you. Wait here."
She disappears into the kitchen for a moment, probably to deliver the wood to Esmeralda.
"Now, let's get you cleaned up, you can't go back up there looking like this. Come.", Miranda commands while shoving me into the empty washing room. She brings me a new set of clothes and a water bucket, scrubs the dirt off my skin and helps me get dressed, as my hands are still too shaky to button my blouse or tighten my skirt properly.
I only sit there and let her do the work, just silently muttering "I need to talk to Jane." from time to time, my thoughts dancing back and forth, not really focusing on anything in particular, as past and present blend into a whirlpool of incoherent sequences of memories.
A concubine, dressed in white silk, gliding past me like a Greek goddess; Pitcairn's tin soldiers, opposing each other on their tiny battlefield; Newt's wicked grin as he-
"Tell me what happened.", Miranda demands.
Pause.
"It doesn't matter. But I need to talk to-"
"Jane. Yes, you've made that very clear. But she's not here, I am, and you'll be explaining yourself to me now."
I remain silent.
Haytham, smaller and smaller in the distance as my coach drives away.
"You're so stubborn, quit acting like a five-year-old. Did you trip in the darkness, and are now too much of a coward to admit it?"
Her harsh words don't bother me much, all I see is the vast ocean before me, the deck beneath me and the screeching of the seagulls surrounding me. And I'm with them, I'm a bird, free and-
A slapping sound and a sharp pain in my left cheek abruptly yank me back to the here and now.
"Listen, I understand that you're in some kind of shock, but acting like a bloody mute won't help you!"
It somehow helps. One hand still massaging my throbbing cheek, I reluctantly open my mouth and, although not very detailed, describe what had happened in the barn. She listens carefully and only interrupts me once or twice.
In the following silence, she just sits there for a few minutes, frowning and kneading her fingers, on which her eyes are focused.
"We'll talk about that tomorrow.", she then says. "For now, let's get back to work. No one will touch you there, I promise."
The guests have gathered in the banquet hall to feast, the servants hurrying about, refilling cups and bringing in new plates, heaped with mountains of the finest delicacies, which most of the staff haven't ever seen, let alone tasted before.
I join them, focus on my work and try to blend out the previous events as best I can. It's the first time I manage to get a good look on Canterbury himself, who is seated at the head of the table and talking to an elderly man to his right. Although already in his late forties, the Lord, with his perfectly coiffed hair, not unattractively salt and peppered with age, his dark eyes and aristocratic features, together with his graceful way of conduct, still has something provokingly appealing about himself, which does not go unnoticed, especially on the female side of his guest list.
I don't even attempt to eavesdrop on his conversation, as it's impossible to overhear a single word in the overall noise of chatter and rattling the assembly of the nobility produce.
The festivities continue until late at night, when the guests finally leave, their bellies filled with food and their minds heavy from wine and champagne.
I fall into bed sometime in the morning hours, after hours of cleaning up the mess the guests had left, asleep the second I close my eyes, the last thing on my mind being Jane's empty sleeping spot beside me.
Awoken by the clatter of dishes, I rise only a few hours later, greeted by the cheerful sight of the entire female servanthood seated at the table in the kitchen, chatting at ease and stuffing their stomachs with the banquet's ample leftovers.
Not having eaten since nigh on twenty-four hours, I am more than happy to join them and to finally satisfy my aching belly.
It's more food than most of us have seen in the previous couple of months, everything we had prepared so arduously, but the nobility not as much as touched.
After even the hungriest of maids pushes her plate away with a satisfied grunt, Madame Abney, who until this point had been patiently waiting a bit offside, steps forward. "Enough now, girls. I have an announcement to make."
The room as always immediately falls silent, all faces turned towards her agog with expectation.
"For weeks now we have been working day and night, and we have exceeded all expectations. The festival was a tremendous success and you have all earned a little rest now. For that, I have counselled with the other supervisors, agreeing on granting you a free Saturday as a reward."
Jubilation breaks out, some of the maids even clap or pat each other's backs.
"His Lordship himself, our esteemed Master Canterbury, has personally ensured me of his utmost satisfaction with yesterday's celebrations. You can be more than pleased with yourselves."
The cheering increases, I had been participating so far, but now I turn to the maid to my left, brows furrowed.
"Is the Madame close to Lord Canterbury?", I ask her curiously.
"What?", she answers, still preoccupied with celebration. "Oh, right. I suppose so? Not intimately, of course, but I believe he holds her in high esteem, she's of a great value as a counsellor, you see? Keeps all the business sorted."
I nod absentmindedly, contemplating about this new piece of crucial information, trying to fit it into the great puzzle that this mission has turned out to be.
"However.", Abney now continues, silencing the cheering without any effort. "I also have some bad news for you. Our dear friend, Jane Curtis, came to me yesterday with the decision of quitting her work at the Canterbury estate and therefore leaving us after years of shared labour and friendship. Although it pains me deeply, I had no other choice but to grant her that request, as a symbol of my respect and gratitude for her hard work and accomplishments here. She sadly had to leave very early this morning, but I am to deliver you her love and apologies for her sudden departure."
The jubilant cries from before are now replaced by an increasing sound of whimper and protests.
I stand up from my chair, my eyes fixed on Abney and my heart filled with rage.
"What for? What did she quit for?", I call over to her, my voice drowning out all the other noise.
She stares at me for a few seconds, her face blank as a sheet. "That is confidential, Mrs. Garceau, but I can assure you it were valid reasons, familistic in fact."
"Familistic? Jane's family cast her out, I very much doubt they decided to welcome her back all out of sudden. And I find it even more doubtful that she would run off to them from one second to the next."
"What you find doubtful or not is none of my concern, Aurelie. I will not let myself be challenged in such a way. Jane left and you will accept it, as it is not your business to delve in her private affairs. So sit down now, there is more to announce.", she answers coolly.
"Thank you.", I say with disdain filling my voice. "But I have heard enough."
I push back my chair and leave the kitchen without another word, feeling everyone's gazes piercing into my back.

"Don't tell me you're actually buying those cheap lies?!"
"Calm down.", Miranda says with a very annoyed expression.
I whirl around, pointing an accusing finger at her. "She could be dead for all we know."
"She's not dead."
She stares straight into my eyes, challenging me to contradict her, but I stay silent instead and sit down next to her.
After my exit from the kitchen I rushed into the garden and to the only safe place on the entire property I know of: a group of stone benches hidden behind a small copse. I sat there, contemplating and asking myself if this was the end now. If Abney decided to throw me out, she would instantly end my mission and I'd officially be marked a constant failure.
Not long after, Miranda surprisingly bursted through the bushes, confronted me on my stupidity and basically destroyed all the little hope I had left.
And now we're sitting next to each other, refusing to look at one another. She prefers to blankly stare straight ahead while I keep my eyes fixed on my entangled fingers.
In the end, it's me who breaks the silence.
"Why? Why would Abney send her away like that."
It takes a while until she answers, her voice tired and exhausted. "Because she was growing into a problem. Or more... what was growing inside of her."
I stare at her in shock, not yet fully realising the full extent of her words.
"Those two guards that assaulted you in the barn.", she continues. "They weren't actually there for you. They were awaiting her, like they had been for months. I'm not even sure when exactly it started, I just know that there were many encounters between those three, and after each and every one of them Jane would return to the quarters with tattered clothes and straw in her messy hair. Every time I would bring her to a safe place, as I have you, clean her up, wipe the blood off her legs and the tears off her face, fix her appearance and tell her to proceed with her work. Half an hour later, everything was as before, and so it went for months. No one ever noticed anything."
My heart is pounding hard against my chest, I find difficulty to breathe. Not even now, not even after I nearly shared the same fate, I still cannot even rudimentarily imagine what hell the poor girl went through all those months. What pain there must've been hiding under that perfect facade if hers.
"And then.", Miranda resumes her story, not paying any attention to my discomfort "And then, she got pregnant. A scandal. If anyone beyond our inner circle of friends were to find out and tell anyone, she would've been doomed. Only imagine what those two guards would've done to her, with that baby also presenting a serious problem to them. So, I again offered her my advice, for I have some experience with such situations. They're not uncommon and I have seen many different outcomes in the various households I was employed in over the years. So I told her the only and best solution to the problem, but she wouldn't listen. She insisted upon keeping the unborn child, babbling nonsense about how she could raise it in secret and on her own. Not possible, I told her, but she wouldn't listen. Of course, she realised it eventually. But instead of following my advice, she had the most insane idea. Going to the Madame and seeking her help. I tried to talk her out of it, but to no avail. Apparently, she chose to implement that plan yesterday. You can assume how successful it was."
I sit there in complete silence, slowly raising a hand and wiping the tears off my cheeks. "This... This was known. Her situation. You and a few others knew of it and yet no one raised a hand. She was all alone with the indignity and the violence and the humiliation and the pain. And in the end, you chose to just do nothing while she was cast out into a world that will never accept her. In which she and her child won't ever find happiness."
Miranda shrugs, remaining unaffected.
"I did all I could, but it's kill or be killed here. Quite literally in fact. Jane chose against my advice of getting rid of the baby, and now Abney threw her out. And perhaps it's for the best, was just a matter of time anyway. Everyone is responsible for their own actions, and the consequences those actions bring with themselves."
"She wasn't responsible for being raped, over and over again! But I just assume that is a common phenomenon here, nothing to worry about!", I hiss at her, my shock turning back into the rage from before, just stronger and hotter, burning inside of me.
"As a matter of fact, Aurelie, it is. I don't know in which utopian household you were previously employed, but best you can do here is keep your mouth shut and cause no trouble. We are nothing here. We're the lowest there is. That's how things are, and if someone decides to disregard those rules, they are replaced. Because there always is someone else eager to take the job, someone more convenient. It's a fact, live with it or leave."
Rising on her feet, she walks a few steps towards the treeline, stopping there with her back turned on me. "Beware, Aurelie. Your misbehaviour today might be your last one here. I'm not even sure the Madame would forgive such an act of insubordination if you crawled before her feet and begged for it. Perhaps you're lucky and a few strikes with her cane will satisfy her, but I'd be careful if I were you."
She leaves without another word, while I remain on the bench with a stony face and the rage that storms inside me. And the fear. The fear of failure. Which I know is inevitable if I don't consider my next move very carefully.
I can't go back to Abney, I can't go back to Haytham. I'm stuck between those two walls towering right and left of me. The only way I have left is forward.
Hours pass, as I gather my thoughts, weave them to a plan like a spider around her prey. In the end, the sun is already beginning to set, I know what I'm going to do. It's risky and I'd face major consequences in case of failure, but it still is the comparatively best option I have.
I make my way back to the mansion, but instead of taking the usual route to the servant's quarters I enter the main hall, where two guards eye me suspiciously, but let me pass nevertheless. Turning left, I climb up a winded staircase, finding myself in a long and embroidered gallery, decorated with a heavy red carpet and some huge portraits of stern-looking aristocrats, probably Canterbury's ancestors. The whole scene is bathed in the flaming light of the evening sun, appearing almost otherworldly. I stop for a moment, enjoying the view out of one of the heavily curtained windows, but then hastily cross the hallway. Before me stands yet another of the Lord's guards, blocking my way forward, namely a wide door leading into the next room.
"Good evening, Sir.", I greet the sentinel. "I'd be most grateful if you might grant me passage."
"What d'ya want?", he hisses at me.
"I was allowed an audience with his Lordship. I am part of his higher labour representatives, you see."
The guard frowns, taking a warning step towards me. I quickly withdraw a few paces.
"I don't need your fancy talk, wasn't told about anything, so fuck off before I make you do it!"
I sigh. I had hoped it wouldn't come to this.
Charging at him with lightning speed, I use his unreadiness to my advantage, thrashing my fist into his nose.
It hurts. My knuckles throb with pain, but they have bought me a few precious seconds. More than I need.
I rush past the sunken down man, who is groaning with pain, yank open the door he was watching, and step forward.
The room, or rather the hall I'm standing in, is well-lit by both the last rays of sunshine and about a thousand candles and oil lamps placed all over the room, evenly spread on various crystal wall lustres and a couple of chandeliers hanging from the high ceiling.
I'm so stunned by all the glistening and the sudden dazzling brightness after the rather gloomy corridor that I need a few moments until my eyes have adjusted to the new lighting conditions, only just now realising what, or rather who is standing in the middle of the hall, looking quite dazzled themselves.
Gathered around a long oak table are several middle-aged men, all undoubtedly high-ranking officials clearly evident from their expensive and well-groomed uniforms and from the way they manage to maintain their upright posture even in surprise. One of them is the very familiar dark-haired aristocrat my entire situation is about.
I fall on my knees. "Milord."
"What is the meaning of this?", Canterbury asks half disgruntled, half curious. "This is a private meeting."
"Please forgive the intrusion, Sir.", I say with my head still lowered, not daring to look at him directly. "But there is a very important subject I need to discuss with you."
"What insolence!", one of the other men cries out in indignation.
Canterbury ignores him and takes a few steps around the table until he's standing right in front of me. I bite my tongue and keep my eyes fixed on his shoes.
"Stand up."
My eyes shoot up to his face, meeting with his dark ones. For a few seconds, I'm caught in his almost hypnotising gaze, then I slowly obey, rising on my feet.
He sees right through me, I think. Past the layers of my disguise, past all the lies, past the whole identity of Aurelie Garceau. He sees Julie. Not Julie Martin. Julie without a name.
I will never be able to lie to that man. Not even with the best story in the world.
"Who are you?"
I'm breathing heavily. "My name is Aurelie Garceau, Sir. I'm one of your employees."
He's taller than me and keeps staring down straight into my eyes, making me feel even smaller under his piercing gaze.
"And what can I do for you, Miss Garceau?"
"You can't be serious, Alex.", the eldest of the gathered men now exclaims, his small eyes nearly vanishing under his bushy white eyebrows. "This audacious maid deserves nothing but a proper beating for her behaviour, so such an impudence will never happen again!"
The others grumble in agreement.
"Sir.", another voice now chimes in. "If you allow me, I can take care of her."
My heart, a moment ago beating fast, now stops in shock, my blood freezing to ice. I know that voice. Less than twenty-four hours ago, it had whispered into my ear. I will never forget the feeling of the warm, stinky breath on my skin.
"That won't be necessary, Newt, thank you.", Canterbury says without averting his gaze from me, analysing even my slightest movement. I force myself not to give away my panic, keeping a blank face and steadying my breathing.
"The matter is of a very delicate nature. I wouldn't recommend discussing it in front of your... Friends."
A faint smile flashes over his face. "You have a very interesting way of expressing yourself, for a supposedly simple maid. But I have no intention on hiding secrets from my friends. You can speak openly, what is this matter about?"
This wasn't part of the plan. Nothing of it. He should've been alone and easier to lie to. Now I've got no other option than improvising with the truth and hoping it to work.
"The way this household is managed.", I simply say.
No reaction.
"Could you specify that?"
"Rape."
His eyes narrow slightly. "I see."
Someone clears his throat behind me. It's the guard I punched. His right hand rests at his sword's handle, while the other one still tries to stop the blood stream flowing from his nose.
It's probably broken.
"Sir.", he snuffles. "Forgive me, Sir. This... Impertinent woman attacked me in surprise, I will remove her from your presence at once, Sir!"
He moves forward, but Canterbury raises one hand, making him stop. "Just to avoid any misunderstanding, soldier. Am I right to presume that you, a trained and full-grown man, were attacked and apparently also overcome by not only a servant, but a female servant at that?"
The man scowls, he casts me a quick glance filled with such hatred that the knot in my stomach tightens a bit. I have made more than enough enemies already. Should my plan fail, they probably wouldn't just leave me be.
"You are assuming correctly, Sir. I... Wasn't able to foresee her sudden aggression."
"Well, let's say someone more... Threatening wishes to enter this room. How do you intend to perform your task properly if you cannot even match a little girl?"
I cannot evade being a little annoyed about that comment, but keep my face free of emotions.
"I'm... I'm sorry, Sir. I will be more careful from now on."
Canterbury nods once, and then sends the sentinel away with a wave of the hand.
"Alexander.", the old aristocrat now tries again. "I know I am not in charge of this household, but you cannot simply just allow this..."
"I believe, Henry, that what I can and cannot do in my own house, is still my choice to make, wouldn't you agree?"
Canterbury's voice is calm and steady but carries such authority, that his opponent doesn't dare to argue any further and stays silent, as do the others, although their opinions on the matter are clearly evident from their disapproving faces.
"In fact, I think it best to resume this meeting another time. May I suggest the day after tomorrow, perhaps?"
Some incoherent grumbling arises but they obey nevertheless and one by one, not without respectfully bidding Canterbury goodbye and deliberately acting as if I didn't exist, they leave the room until it's only my superior, his guards, including Newt whom I try to ignore as best I can, and I left.
"May I ask your name?"
"Aurelie Garceau, Sir."
"Sit please, Miss Garceau."
Canterbury offers me a chair and I hastily sit, staring at him the entire time. I have no idea what to say to achieve the outcome I'm striving for.
"I... Uh... It wasn't necessary to delay your meeting, Milord. I could have easily waited outside until you had settled your affairs."
"Those matters can wait, yours cannot. Although, I have to admit, some part of me was relieved to rid myself of those vultures for today. Anyway, let's talk about what you have come and apparently also fought for to discuss with me."
"Of course, Sir." I say, but keep staring at my fingers, struggling for the right words.
Canterbury keeps his eyes fixed on my face and waits for a few seconds, then says. "Perhaps we should start with a few questions."
I nod in agreement, somehow relieved.
"First of all, this... Violation you mentioned, were you personally involved?"
"If you mean by that if I was the one being assaulted.", my glance flashes to Newt for a split second, who stares at me with such loathing that I quickly turn back to the man sitting opposite of me. "Then no, Sir. I wasn't personally involved."
"I see. So it's another maid in my employment this is about, I gather?"
"The person this is about is no longer in your employment, Sir."
He seems surprised. "I haven't been informed about any recent termination of work!"
"I highly doubt it was a decision made out of her own free will, Sir. As a matter of fact, despite what the... Responsible authority claims, I believe she wasn't left much of a choice in the end."
"I will have to ask you to be more precise, Miss Garceau."
I sigh and then tell him what I can without giving away too much, leaving out names and details where I must, adding things where they fit and avoiding anything involving myself. He listens carefully, not interrupting me once.
"It appears.", he then says after a short silence. "That I have been ridden of a chambermaid without even knowing about it."
Turning to the guard closest to the door, he orders: "Bring Madame Abney to me immediately."
My heart stops. I should've expected it, it was naive to think that he would instantly believe me without further evidence.
The guard reappears soon with the Madame following close behind.
"Milord, you have summoned me."
She curtsies longer than needed, leaving him time to speak.
"Yes, I wanted to talk to you."
"How fitting, I was just going to inform you about the unfortunate loss of a maid, she chose to..."
"No need, Mrs. Garceau here has already told me all there is to know."
Her eyes flash to me in surprise, only know realising my presence. She immediately knows what I have told him. While usually keeping a perfectly straight face, her expression starts to crack in this extreme situation.
"What audacity! I am deeply sorry, Milord, I did not realise that this rather troublesome maid slipped away from her work. I assure you I will keep an eye on her from now on and punish her properly for bothering you in such an unacceptable way!"
"Oh, quite the opposite, I very much enjoyed talking to such an outspoken woman. In fact, I would like you to assign her as Margaret's and my new private chambermaid, since the rather mysterious disappearance of the last one. My wife and I will be needing a personal servant, and I believe her to be quite fitting."
Abney looks just as puzzled as I feel. New personal chambermaid?
"Personal... But... Sir!", she stutters.
"She will take the small room where the little Lady Paddington's nursemaid was lodged when she was last visiting with her parents, next to Margaret's and my rooms. Please arrange that. And, in the future, should anything significant occur within my servantry, you will inform me of it and refrain from acting without my knowledge or permission, is that clear?"
"Of course, Milord."
"Very well. You are dismissed."
She leaves without another word. Canterbury, face still expressionless, turns back to me, my baffled expression probably easier to read than a children's book.
"You seem surprised."
I struggle for words, nothing can describe the incredible fortune I have been blessed with. Weeks and weeks of useless attempts on finding at least something I can report to Haytham, and now this: the Lord's and Lady's private maid, continuously around them, soon a common companion to their daily lives, barely even noticed to be present.
"I... Haven't expected this outcome, to be honest."
"The first thing you should know about me, Miss Garceau, that sincere honesty, along with piety, loyalty, honourableness, cleanliness and punctuality are among the things I value the most about mankind, no matter the rank, name or eminence someone possesses. You have proven great courage in approaching me today, and I believe such bravery and outspokenness should be rewarded. Especially coming from someone at a young age, and especially from a woman."
No response to his speech comes to my mind, except well that was a rather mild punishment for laying such stress on loyalty and honour.
Instead of openly voicing my thoughts on his hypocrisy, I respectfully bow my head and whisper "You have my deepest gratitude, Sir. I swear I will not make you regret this decision."
Liar, an annoying little voice in my head teases me. You can't trick him, he isn't one of those unsophisticated simpletons you had to deal with so far. He's a high-ranking Templar and he will realise your betrayal soon enough, and then, not even Haytham will be able to save you.

Immediately after my introduction and instruction on my new duties, a male valet, probably

the Butler, shows me my room. After months of confinement in the narrow, stuffy and dark dormitory, the small, but nevertheless well-lit and clean room, furnished with a simple wooden bed and a small plain commode of solid oak, feels like heaven to me.
I lie down and wrap the thick sheets around my freezing body. The temperatures are dropping daily now, everyone soon expecting the first snow to herald the start of winter.
Curled up in my warm bed, and exhausted from the events of the past few days, I soon fall into a dreamless slumber.
A quiet noise yanks me out of my sleep, it must be hours later since the candle on the floor beside my bedside has almost completely burned down.
Pop. Pop. Pop.
It's still dark outside, but there's something tapping against my window.
I cautiously get out of bed and walk across the room, peering through the glass into the inky night.
Pop.
I jerk back in surprise, then take another step forward and resolutely open the window, curiously sticking my head out of it.
Cold air pours into my room, making me shiver uncontrollably in my thin nightgown. As my eyes slowly adjust to the dark, I recognise a dark shadow standing on the ground beneath my window.
"Was about time." Gus whispers. "I was slowly running out of pebbles."
A grin flashes over my face. "Can you climb up here?"
"Oh, sure. It's only pitch-black and freezing, won't be a problem."
He does if nevertheless, elegantly sliding into the room and closing the window behind himself.
"Nice nightgown."
I roll my eyes, wrapping my arms tighter around myself, trying to warm up a bit.
"So.", Gus says, seating himself on the bed. "Everyone's talking about your raise, so I was wondering if the world has turned upside-down, or if there's some hidden genius buried deep under those layers of sarcasm and inbred annoyance. I also thought you might be needing this."
He pulls out a quill, some ink and a few scrolls of parchment under his coat, as well as my two daggers, which I had left hidden under my bed in the dormitory.
"How on earth did you get all that?"
The familiar blades are sharp as ever, reflecting the candlelight as I run my finger around their edges. Beautiful.
"I have my own ways of getting what I want. Now please, enlighten me about how in God's name you managed to become Canterbury's first maid in a fucking day!"
"What can I say?", I answer, gesturing dramatically. "He must've acquired a liking for my charming and gentle character."
We stay up for hours, discussing the details of my further course of action and then falling asleep next to each other, me curled up on one side of the bed, he in a sitting position on the other, his back leaned against the wall.

"Oh, Aurelie, good that you're here. I've got some documents for you to peruse, they're on my desk."
"At once, Sir."
I place the tray with the tea and scones on the coffee table, adding only a shot of milk and no sugar, as usual.
Canterbury is standing by the window in his study, his mind preoccupied with the letter he's currently reading.
Taking the documents from the desk, I turn towards the door to leave him with his studies, when he raises his voice.
"No, stay. I want to ask you something."
I obey, patiently waiting for him speak again.
"Did you know that mankind as we know it now hasn't always been the most powerful race on earth? Millennials ago we were ruled and guided by powerful, godlike beings, known to us as the Isu, the Precursors or simply the First Civilisation. Some sources even claim the Isu to have created the human race itself to use it as a workforce.
Anyway, after their extinction, the only things that remain of their legacy are the so-called Pieces of Eden, advanced precursor technology with which you can accomplish things beyond all imagination. However, most of these artefacts are highly unstable and are likely to cause severe damage if used by the wrong hands, namely inexperienced ones, only driven by greed and the thirst for power. There are a couple of semi-Isu bloodlines left, descendants of Isu-human hybrids, people with abilities sleeping inside of them, abilities some never discover."
I stand there completely inert, listening to him carefully. It isn't unusual that he would just start telling me stories out of nowhere, something I have grown used to in the past two months after he decided to employ me as his personal maid, and apparently also secretary, as I soon found out. He somehow immediately chose to entrust me with his private correspondence, and soon also with his thoughts about anything there was, from his dissatisfaction with his dull business partners, over his dissatisfaction with his equally dull wife, to how he would like to make the world a better place if only he had the resources. He found something in me which the other people in his life lacked: a listener. Someone to talk to and someone who would answer with opinions of their own. Opinions he learned to value, as he told me weeks ago. Opinions of a like-minded person.
"You're not really a simple maid, are you?" he had asked, making my heart stop and my blood freeze in shock.
"You are far too smart and educated, as well as your way of articulation. Not a chance you come from a low family. I presume that you're originally high, or at least middle-class born, cast out for some scandal you've caused, perhaps an affair or something of the sort."
I had just stared at him, completely taken aback by this change of events, while he had just smirked and said. "Don't worry, your secret's safe with me."
So I had decided to let him believe that story, as it didn't matter much to me anyway, and to him even less. On the contrary, it caused him to open up even more, summoning me into his study to discuss some matter from time to time, or writing down his thoughts in journals, and later reading them to me.
Canterbury is a libertine, always bored with the monotony of the work his position and rank ask of him.
I begin to understand why Haytham chose him to be a member of the Order. And why he might oppose such a threat to the Grand Master.
The Order and the Templars in general is something Canterbury never talks about, not even to me, something I emphasise in my letters to Haytham. There is nothing that might suspect him to be a traitor.
"And what of those artefacts?" I now say just to keep the conversation alive.
"Well, if used rightfully, they could change this wretched world into something better, perhaps a place some people would call heaven on earth."
He pauses.
"Now, Aurelie. Just imagine you could have one of those objects, wouldn't you use them instead of locking them away from the world as some would do?"
I cock my head sideways, absentmindedly thinking about what he just told me and considering my answer very carefully.
"You said these mysterious artefacts are very unstable, so I suppose the first thing I'd do wouldn't be putting them to use, but exploring their abilities and weaknesses, therefore not harming anyone before gaining enough information about their proper usage."
Something is painfully familiar. The temples Haytham had told me about. Intersection points of large sources of energy, and so easily destroyed.
Were those also Pieces of Eden? Created by some advanced species living hundreds of hundreds of years ago?
"A very safe approach, I suppose."
He seems satisfied with my vague answer. "Anyway, before I forget, I'll be having another council meeting in three days, prepare the Grand Hall for that and the guest rooms as well. You are dismissed."
Intrigued by this, I nod again, curtsey and leave the study.
So another one of those mysterious council meetings. This one will be the third since my promotion and perhaps the one where I will finally be able to find out what exactly happens in those hours of confinement. The last two times, the other eight members arrived late in the evening, all wearing long dark capes and hoods to cover their faces. I spied on their arrival in secret, hiding in a small lumber room located next to the entrance hall, as no one but the Lord himself is permitted outside of their chambers when such meetings occur. Even the guards are ordered to only patrol outside the house, with the exception of four members of Canterbury's personal guard, two guarding each entrance to the Grand Hall.
Unfortunately, I did not manage to sneak into the actual gathering, as I saw no chance of accomplishing this task unseen. At least until two days ago, where I made a fantastic discovery while cleaning the Grand Hall, where the assemblies usually take place. Hidden behind a huge wall hanging depicting some great battle from three hundred years ago is a small service lift, which probably never was in use, as it's shaft leads into a room in the basement where the house's old furniture is being stored, a place which isn't even close to the kitchen and where everything is coated in the dust and spider webs resulting of years of abandonment.
I'm not even sure anyone but me even knows about the place, but it's as if the house's architect only made it for me.
I spend the next two and a half days doing as ordered, preparing everything for the gathering, while meanwhile also carefully forging a plan for myself. Because should I fail and someone detect me eavesdropping on my Master's secret meeting, I'd have to face serious consequences, consequences that would probably cost me my life.
On the eve of the assembly, I retire to my room as soon as I can, waiting for the other member's arrival. Upon spotting their coaches approaching in the distance, I quickly douse my candle and start counting the passing seconds. After reaching exactly 500, my eyes have adjusted to the darkness by now, I cautiously open the door.
The hallway before me is dark and deserted no voices audible.
I sneak past the Lord's and Lady's chambers, down the staircase, halt.
The entrance hall is just as desolate, so I hastily cross it, down another staircase, smaller this time, and into the basement. For days, I had been busy memorising the way through the maze of narrow junctions and corridors, going astray more than once.
But not now, now my feet know the way, even if my eyes can't lead them.
I soon reach the storage room right beneath the Grand Hall, open the small door of the lift and climb into it. There's the rope I had placed there three days ago, securely fastening it on the shafts upper end high above my head and therefore securing myself a quick and quiet way upwards.
While tying one end of the rope around my waist, I clutch the other one tightly, simultaneously bracing my feet against the wall.
I slowly pull myself upwards, inch by inch, until their voices are loud enough for me to understand.
The wall hanging concealing me from the people in the Grand Hall is semi-translucent, allowing me to peer through its stitches and therefore seeing what's happening inside while not being seen myself.
I fasten the rope's loose end to a hook in the wall, dangling in the air as if on a fishing rod.
Pressing my face as close to the wall hanging as possible without actually stirring it, I watch and listen carefully.
All seats of the long oak table are taken, four caped men on each side, Canterbury at its head. He appears to be the council's leader. And finally, although not very clearly, I can see all of their faces, as their hoods are lowered now.
They appear to be a group of middle to elderly aged men, there is not but a single woman, though that's nothing I would've expected.
Canterbury rises.
"Brothers!" he exclaims with a booming voice. "Salutem et felicitatem!" (Salvation and fortune!)
Latin, a language I had to learn in my apprenticeship. For all the misery it had caused me, I couldn't be happier to know it right now.
"Salve, pater. Bibas, princeps optime!" the others chorus. (Greetings, father. Drink, finest of Lords!)
The Lord raises a richly ornamented chalice to his lips. "Let's share our wine, brothers. Share it, as we share the belief that keeps driving us forward."
Every man takes a gulp out of the chalice, eventually returning it to Canterbury.
"I called you here today, fellow knights, for I have good and bad news alike. Our secret source within the enemy's ranks has provided us with fresh information, only undermining my greatest fears of what madness has befallen the people supposed to guide our Order into the light, and the entire human race with it. Still, in this darkest of hours, there still is sub cruce lumen, and my beliefs in our cause are as strong as ever. Where some succumb to their human weakness, we will rise and take lead. Sub solis luce miserrimum esse quam umbrarum princeps esse malle." (Rather be the most miserable under the light of the sun than the prince of shadows)
While the others cheer loudly, I freeze in my hiding spot.

With this speech, Canterbury managed to wipe away all doubts I might have had before. Now I can see it clear as day:
Knights – Order – sub cruce lumen, light under the cross. He's talking about the Order, the one I'm also a part of. These people are Templars. And these councils some sort of a rebellion, a conspiracy. A conspiracy against the people supposed to guide the Order, the enemy, as he called them. Against Haytham Kenway.

He knew it. He knew it from the start. That's why he sent me here.
I steady my panicked breathing, force myself to calm down. There is nothing I can do right now, except to keep a cool head and collect as much information as possible to later write Haytham. And then, he will come and finally end this nightmare.
The Lord waits until the cheering has settled, then continues.
"We are ready, brothers. Everything is prepared and will soon be carried out. Our time has come. And we will rule with the ancient knowledge and possibilities our superiors would refuse us. Sacrilegia minuta puniuntur, magna in triumphis feruntur." (While small misdeeds are punished, great ones will be celebrated in triumph)
He carries on like this for another hour, creeping into his audience's brains like a plague, infesting their thoughts, manipulating them with his grand speeches and Latin sayings. In the end, they're all at his feet, agreeing with him, ready to do whatever he tells them to, practically worshipping him as some sort of saviour of the world.
"Ab hinc! " he cries out in the end. "Adora quod incendisti, incende quod adorasti!" (From now on, adore what you have burnt and burn what you have once adored!)
Some of the assembled men rise from their chairs in jubilation, raising their fists, shouting "Semel pro semper!" (Once and for all!)
"The dawn of a new era, an era where the Order of the Knights Templar will arise from its ashes and take its rightful lead! And those who oppose us then will burn and join the ashes of those who do now. Viribus unitis (with united forces), we can have the world at our feet."
He pauses dramatically, taking the time to look each and every one of them in the eye.
"Go now brothers, go and prepare yourself for the role you are meant to play. May the Father of Understanding guide you and always remember our cause. Salus populi suprema lex."
Canterbury's voice is so booming, so filled with fire and rage that it even makes me shiver in my hiding spot.
Now every single man is on his feet, their left fists closed above their hearts in a gesture resembling the one Roman soldiers used to greet their superiors.
"Salus populi suprema lex.", they repeat.
(May the welfare of the people be the highest of laws.)
They leave, one after the other, ceremonially pulling their hoods over their heads, until it's only Canterbury left, standing at the table's head completely motionless.
I'm just about to leave myself, when another voice rises, more quiet and soothing than the Lord's.
"You're quite the talker, Milord. They were under your spell the minute you opened your mouth."
Some faint accent I cannot assign to a country yet.
A figure appears on Canterbury's right, I have no idea where it came from. Judging by the sound of their voice, it's a man.
He's also wearing a hood, but it differs to the ones of the meeting. Rather than being made of heavy black velvet, it's of a more practical, lighter material, beaked with a diamond-shaped extension at its upper front, completely drowning the man's face in shadow.
He's wearing a long coat with a sturdy tunic beneath it, made of leather and stabilised by lightweight metal. Several pistols and knives are fastened to his belt, as well as a long and elegant sword. My glance scurries to his wrist and the hardly noticeable blades hidden beneath his sleeves.
There's only one kind of people I know of wearing these sorts of wrist blades.
He's an Assassin.
"They are small-minded morons.", Canterbury answers coolly. "They'd follow any man promising them more power and prosperity. They have no imagination. No other way of looking at things but their personal gains."
"You cannot expect everyone to be as visionary as you are. And Rome wasn't built in a day, nor by a single man. We need them to fulfil their purpose."
"Regrettably so."
The Assassin chuckles, taking a few steps away from the other man and pretending to study one of the portraits on the wall.
"Now let's talk about our business. Have you found out what I asked of you?", he then suddenly continues as if talking to the painting.
"I have. He will return to Boston in two weeks, taking the overland route rather than a ship. My source was certain about that.", Canterbury, who hasn't moved from his place at the table, is now carefully observing every little step the Assassin makes.
He's frightened.
"Well, is that spy of yours reliable?"
"A hundred percent."
"Very well." The man turns around, his black eyes shining under the hood. "The land route than. The riskier option. Why isn't he going by water? It's faster anyway."
"He has some business to attend to on the way."
Confronted with the other man's gaze, Canterbury doesn't seem able to hold it, deciding to stare at his own fingers instead.
"Good.", the Assassin says. "Very good, indeed. The route from New York to Boston is a dangerous one these days. The English are still at war with the French, who knows what might happen to a lonely traveller in such times eh?"
The Lord's eyes shoot up to the other man, surprise on his face. "So soon?"
"If I'm presented with an opportunity, Monseigneur, than I take it. There might never be one again."
I finally realise which kind of an accent he has. He's French, or at least from a French colony, perhaps Port-au-Prince, Baton Rouge or Haiti.
"The Assassin way, I suppose."
The stranger narrows his eyes. "You didn't seem to have any objections with the Assassin way last time."
"Your last target was of far lesser significance and rank than this one. And I'm not saying he mustn't die, I'm saying that should you fail, I go down as well."
A sharp laughter escapes the Assassin's lips. "There is no need to be frightened. I do my job alright, you needn't worry. But I hope we can still agree on the necessity of the affair, oui?"
"Of course we can. Haytham Kenway must die, and rather sooner than later."
Horror overcomes me.
My heart stops, an iron hand clasps my lungs. I struggle to breathe, tears filling my eyes.
No no no no no. They can't. They can't kill him. I won't let them. I need to stop them before they leave the room, before that wretched Assassin kills the person I care the most about in my life. I will stop him. Whatever it takes, I will. Kill him first. Kill them both. If they're dead they can't hurt anyone anymore.
My panic rises with every second that passes. The two men keep talking, slowly moving to the back of the room and out of my sight. I can't hear them, my thoughts dancing around, screaming at me.
I need to write him, need to warn him. But the letter will never reach him in time. No. I need to act now.
I reach for the wall's ledge, clutching it while simultaneously fiddling with the knot of the rope that's still holding me. It opens quicker than I expected and I nearly fall down the shaft, hanging in the air with only one hand still on the ledge. Silently cursing my clumsiness, I pull myself up, realising that the months of working here made me lose most of the strength that I had before. For one split second I'm balancing on the ledge, than I break forward through the wall hanging and tumble into the room. I immediately fall into a defensive position, ready to counter any kind of attacks.
The two men are on the other side of the room, backs turned on me and still talking. The fire on my side of the room has died down, bathing it in darkness. They haven't seen me yet.
I nearly rejoice at my fortune, silently taking off my shoes and then move forward, drawing one of my daggers.
I'm too slow.
The Assassin sees me the moment I throw the dagger, immediately pushing Canterbury aside. The blade dashes against the painting where the Lord's head was a moment ago, cutting through the canvas and sticking there, bouncing up and down.
I charge at the Assassin at full speed, who has already drawn his sword and stepped in front of Canterbury, who is crouching on the floor, staring at me unbelievingly.
"What... Aurelie? I..."
My second blade dashes against the Assassin's, who easily parries the attack, attempting to get to my vulnerable side. I dodge sideways, trying to kick his legs off the ground.
"Go. She's trained.", my opponent says in a far too calm voice, easily fending off my blow, his next one coming within an inch from my face.
He's too good.
Canterbury storms out, while I block another one of the Assassin's strikes, slowly retreating backwards.
"You're tactics are good.", my opponent says in the same indifferent tone as before. "But you lack creativity."
He parries another one of my attacks, slightly turning around and hits my side with a precise stroke of the elbow.
I groan in pain, falling to my knees, only just yanking my armed arm upwards to prevent him from ending me at once.
His blade crashes into mine at full tilt, pressing it forward, inch by inch closer to my face. It's a battle of strength now, and he's in the advantageous position, using his own weight to press the crossed blades forward. My head touches the ground, now I'm fully lying on it while he's bending over me. I'm pushing against his arms with both of mine, but it's of no use. I will die here. And as a consequence, so might Haytham. I have failed my task, as I have failed him.
With a last effort, I pull up my knee, kicking him in the crotch and yanking my arms to the side.
He immediately reduces the pressure, rolling to the side and now it's his turn to hiss in pain.
I slowly rise on my knees, and then to my feet, waiting for him to do the same, which he does at once.
"Quick learner, eh?"
The amused smile has vanished from his lips, a small victory for me.
He charges at me so quickly, that I don't have enough time to react properly.
His blade hits the side of my dagger, but slides off, brushing the flesh right beneath my ribcage.
The impact sends me off my feet again, but this time once and for all, as he places a foot on my torso, slowly shifting his weight to it.
Something cracks and a striking pain joins the one in my side.
I cry out, both of my hands trying to get him off me.
Cold metal against my throat. I freeze.
"Who are you?", he asks.
I stay silent.
The metal pierces my skin.
"I asked you a question."
"Fuck you."
He chuckles. "Really. That's all you have to say? Not really the striking sort of last words, no?"
I just stare back.
A door opens somewhere. The patter of feet.
The Assassin draws back a few steps, two pairs of arms seize me in his stead, hauling me on my feet.
Canterbury has returned, a couple of soldiers accompanying him.
What apparently also returned is his courage, as he steps forward, his face only inches from mine.
"Well well well.", he sneers. "Full of surprises, my staff. Who sent you?"
I spit right into his face, hissing "Coward."
"Such defiance. What do you think, one of your sorts, or one of mine?", he calls over to the Assassin, who advanced and says "Her wrists, toute suite."
The two soldiers force me to stretch out my arms, which he takes into his, intensively studying them.
"No Assassin.", he then exclaims, releasing me and turning back to the other man. "Her wrists would be scarred from the hidden blades. She's one of yours. The skin on her ring finger is a bit lighter, she usually wears a ring there."
"A Templar, then. Interesting. I didn't know we were talking in little girls. Why would you want to kill me, Aurelie? Aren't we all sworn brothers... And sisters apparently?"
"You fucking traitor."
I fight against the hands that restrain me with all the force I have left. I want to claw out his eyes. I want to make him pay.
"Traitor? How ignorant you are. You see, my dear, that's a matter of perspective. To me, your oh so precious Grand Master is nothing but a traitor himself, a traitor to our cause and the overall purpose the Knights Templar have sworn to fulfil."
"You will never get to him."
"No? Who will keep me from doing it? You? I most sincerely doubt that."
He walks over to the fire, taking an iron poker from the wall and starts stirring the fire.
"I overestimated Haytham, really. I wouldn't have thought that he'd be as arrogant to send a child to take me down. I think I'm actually a bit offended."
I fight even harder, but still to no avail.
The pain in my side stings like an angry insect, drawing tears into my eyes. Blood runs down my hip, soaking my blouse and skirt.
"We don't know how much she knows, and with her how much Kenway knows.", the Assassin issues from the back, watching the scene before him like an innocent bystander.
"Yes, unfortunately so.", Canterbury mumbles, still focused on the dancing flames in front of him. "But she couldn't have done it alone. There must be someone involved, someone in this household who helped her. Bring Abney to me."
One of the guards quickly salutes and them leaves the room.
Canterbury turns back to me, eyes narrowed. "Who is it."
Gus. I cannot save myself, but there still is a chance for him to survive.
"I'm operating alone."
He laughs. "And I'm supposed to believe that? I'll find out anyway. One way or the other. And whoever it is, that person will pay for their betrayal just as you will."
I struggle so hard, that I actually manage to break free for a moment. Surprised by my sudden freedom of movement, I stumble forward, reaching out a hand.
But they already have me again, pulling me backwards. One of the soldiers kicks my left leg hard. The lower bone breaks with a loud crushing noise. I'm screaming.
"Shut up.", the guard snarls.
My scream turns into sobs of pain.
The door opens. Abney enters. "What's going on here?"
Her voice is as harsh as ever, as she observes the scene before her.
And how surreal it must seem: I, slumped on the floor; Canterbury by the fire and the Assassin's dark figure somewhere in the background.
"Madame, good that you've come. Our dear Mrs. Garceau here has turned out to be a traitor, she attempted to kill me. Now I'd like to know with whom she was in contact."
Abney eyes dart around between me and her superior, her eyes widening with every second.
"I knew it.", she then whispers. "I knew something was wrong with that girl from the start."
"Her contacts, Madame, if you were so kind."
"The boy!", she exclaims, pointing an accusing finger at me. "That stable boy! I say them, always sending letters and conspiring. I thought it was merely an affair, I even confiscated a letter, and it didn't raise any suspicion. But now, everything makes sense."
"Find him and bring him here."
Three of the guards immediately obey the order.
"No.", I whisper hoarsely. "He's innocent... It was just an affair, I swear on my life."
"Your life's value has considerably decreased in the last few minutes, Aurelie. This statement just proves him to be your partner."
"No. No, he's innocent.", I keep repeating, but my words fall on deaf ears.
The minutes pass and I lie there, repeating and repeating as the tears stream down my face.
Weak. So incredibly weak you are, Julie.
The soldiers return, without Gus.
"We cannot find him anywhere, Sir. He must've escaped somehow."
"What?", Canterbury barks. "He can't be away for long. Send out search parties. Tell everyone there's going to be an award for any man or woman providing information leading to his capture. Find him!"
The relief streaming through my veins nearly makes me laugh. Gus got away. He knew of my plan tonight. Gus will suspect that something went wrong. And with a bit of luck, he'll reach Haytham in time to tell him.
Canterbury stares at me, loathing burning in his eyes. "We. Will. Find. Him."
"Perhaps.", I answer, returning his gaze with a small smile on my face. "But perhaps you won't. And then your entire plan will fail and you will go to hell where you belong."
The soldier to my right slaps me hard across the face, making my head hit the floor hard. Another pain to join the others.
Canterbury has turned his attention back to the flames, taking the end of the poker and pulling it out of the flames.
He comes over to me, slowly, enjoying every step he takes until I realise what he's about to do.
The poker is no poker. It's a branding iron. And at its front is a symbol, red-hot and very familiar. A blazing cross, four-armed and symmetrical. The Templar sigil.
"No, please don't.", I beg him, tears streaming down my face. "Please, please don't."
"Get her down."
The two guards rip my blouse in two parts, exposing my entire upper body, and press me onto the ground.
"Please, please, please!"
"I had this prepared should anyone try to cross me. Didn't think I might need it so soon."
"Please!"
"It's just all a matter of perspective, Aurelie. I did enjoy our little talks."
With these words, he throws me into hell.
The burning iron meets the skin of my left shoulder blade. Within a second, everything around me is gone. There's only pain. Hot, blazing pain. I can't feel anything but agony, I can't feel how the guards release me, how Canterbury withdraws the iron, what he says. It's all consumed by the fire burning on my skin.
I scream and scream, perhaps for hours, perhaps for mere seconds. Time has become insignificant.
The fire spreads, burning me from inside to outside until I'm fully ablaze and I scream.
I scream until the world turns black.