The little church looked as peaceful as ever. Too insignificant to attract the notice of the high and mighty, but inviting to those looking for guidance. The surrounding graveyard was equally small. Not even a hundred gravestones were scattered over the tiny plot of land. The iron gate of the fence was open. Nothing unusual for a church that couldn´t hope for big donations but relied on small gifts of the worshippers. Still, Anne had a strange feeling. For her, graveyards usually weren´t a place of death, but of peace. Here it was still possible to connect with those who had left this world for the next. Something of them still remained in places like this. But not now. Death hung over the church like a heavy cloth. Anne touched the hidden blade up her sleeve. It had taken her years to become the deadly fighter she was today, but sneaking around and hiding had always been second nature to her. She glanced around to make sure she wasn´t watched and made her way to the back entrance. The door was locked, but Father James had shown her the secret compartment in the gravestone of the Tilney family where he hid the spare key. Should she go back and fetch Omar? If Father James is in danger, there might be no time to lose. She entered the church as quiet as a ghost. Nobody was there, no sign of a struggle. When she reached the door of the sacristy, her heart raced. Whatever had happened, it had happened in there. Again, no obvious signs of a struggle, but the chair at the desk had been pushed back at an angle that suggested someone jumping up in haste. She inspected the desk. Cluttered with papers, a burnt down candle. Father James seemed to have been working on his next sermon. "We all are children of God. We have received so much…" He had written the last word with a force that smudged the ink. The incomplete sentence was followed by a strange drawing. It took Anne a couple of minutes to identity the shapes. Two crosses above a number of ovals and lines. With a bit of imagination, it looked like a rudimentary version of the Templar seal. Two knights carrying shields with crosses upon them, sitting behind each other on a single horse. It didn´t take a genius to figure out the meaning. Father James had been working on his sermon late at night and must have heard the voices. Somehow, he must have thought that he had no time to escape unnoticed and had left a brief message for any Assassin who would come looking for him. Fuck. If the Templars had him, they would torture him for every last bit of information. Where would they have taken him? Okay, you got this. Anne pulled the chair back to the desk, sat down and placed her hands palms down on the unfinished sermon. She closed her eyes and began to breathe in and out slowly, trying to sense Father James. She had managed it a couple of times, but had failed more often than she had succeeded. The Sight could not be controlled as easily as eagle vision, if those who possessed it were to be believed. Usually, it came unbidden as a feeling, a sound or a blur of images. This time, it came as a string of numbers. Anne wrote them down with trembling hands. Coordinates? Father James kept his maps stored away neatly in a shelf next to the desk. She tore them out, one after another. Why hadn´t she paid more attention when Omar had explained to her how the system worked? That she had found Omar yesterday had more to do with the Sight than her knowledge of this new system. This time, however, the Sight let her down. It took her nearly an hour to figure out the location: Royston in Hertfordshire. It was only a couple of hours away, for a good horseman on a swift animal. Quickly, she jotted down a note for Omar. Church compromised. Priest gone. Royston. Anne folded the paper, sealed it with wax and scribbled Newton´s address on it. Father James kept a horse in one of the rent stables behind the church. On her way there, she paid a street urchin a couple of coins to deliver the letter. The stable lad made only a token protest when she claimed the horse, but Anne didn´t pay him any attention and set off for Hertfordshire.
It was almost midday when she arrived in the sleepy parish. There wasn´t much to see. The pretty church formed the center of the village. The more important buildings like the principal inn and the residence of the mayor were grouped around it. Anne left the horse at the inn. She handed one of the lads a couple of coins. "Look after him, he had a long trip." The horse looked remarkably well, all things considered. Cicero was built like a farmhorse, but it moved as if it was bred for a life on the road. Father James must have felt the need to get away quickly at a moment´s notice. "We´ll get him home, don´t worry." Anne murmured. Cicero snorted sceptically. The coordinates led her to a rather impressive building at the edge of the village. Most of the houses were half-timbered, but this was built of solid stone, surrounded by a high wall. The villagers didn´t pay her much attention. With her hair tucked into her hat, still dirty and sweaty from the journey, she looked – and smelt - like every other young man passing through. Still, getting in without being noticed would be hard. Anne spotted two men who had stationed themselves on benches close to the house, seemingly enjoying a tankard of beer. On closer inspection, she saw their eyes darting towards the main entrance regularly. Sentries? She strolled along a path that led past the house out of Royston into the woods. The area was rocky. Chalk. The walls of the house encompassed a rather extensive garden, there was no back entry. Anne kept in the shadow of the trees, to avoid being seen from the upper windows. If Omar was here, he would have been able to sense every hidden door and secret passage. There had to be something, if this was truly a Templar hideout. Omar had tried to describe to her how eagle vision felt like. Anne tried to concentrate, but the thought of Omar brought back the memories of yesterday night. His lips had felt soft on her skin. How would his lips feel on hers? Concentrate. She laid on the ground, her arms outstretched and palms down. Feel the earth. Connect. We are one. We are all connected. When she opened her eyes again, she knew where to look. A couple of hundred yards along the garden wall, she felt a trapdoor. Someone had created a cave that could be accessed through two points of entry. It took her a couple of minutes to detect the door under a heap of earth. Shit. She stopped hand just in time. The handle of the hidden trapdoor looked oddly sleek. She bent down and smelt. Poison. Anne didn´t know enough about plants to identify it, but she could imagine how it worked. Whoever was silly enough to open it without protection would most likely die a horrible, painful death. She pulled out her handkerchief and took great care to open the door without getting it on her skin. A narrow flight of stairs led into darkness. Anne closed her eyes and listened. Was there an echo? Yes, someone was screaming. She imagined that she recognized Father James´ voice. Shit. Omar, where are you? Anne had hoped that her message had reached him in time. Going in alone was incredibly stupid, but what choice did she have? If she waited any longer, Father James would be dead. She steeled herself and checked her weapons. Hidden blade and daggers were all in place and ready for action. Should she close the trapdoor behind her to conceal her presence or leave it open to make escape easier? Open, she decided. Okay, focus. Anne put herself into the particular state of mind that had saved her many times during a mission. Now, she was no longer Annabelle McGregor, but a being closer to an animal that relied purely on her instincts and her training. She climbed down the stairs as silently as a ghost. They led into a rough corridor. The smell of chalk became stronger. The corridor was longer than she had expected. A couple of feet in, she realized her mistake when she heard quick footsteps behind her. Fuck. Shit. Two men, maybe three. She hurried along the corridor in the hope to evade them, but luck was not on her side. At the end of the corridor lay a single chamber, about 26 feet high and 17 feet in diameter with a circumferential octagonal podium. It was completely bare, except a chair and a table. The devices for torture were meticulously laid out on the table, half of them bloodied. They had been used on the man, tied to the chair. Father James looked like a living corpse, bleeding from several wounds. The man who was responsible for these wounds was looking straight at her. "Anne McGregor, I assume." The three men, who had been behind her, burst into the chamber. Anne was surrounded. "Save yourself, girl." Father James breathed. She was ready to throw herself into the fight, but the man next to Father James casually lifted a dagger and placed it at his throat. "I wouldn´t." he warned. Had Anne passed him in the streets, he would have caught her eyes. The man was in his forties, tall and well built, with broad shoulders and short, dark hair. He had what was commonly called a "Roman nose" and piercing, grey eyes. Suddenly, she remembered how her mother would describe men like him. Like a wolf. The other men looked far less refined. Common thugs. Armed thugs. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Anne tried to keep her voice calm. "If you don´t mind, I would like to take Father James home with me in one piece." The man stared at her. That was not the sort of answer he had expected. He gave a small laugh. "Cute. Really. But you will not be surprised if I refuse?" He turned towards the men, probably to order her execution. "Since you know my name, it would be common courtesy to introduce yourself. I do detest being killed by a complete stranger. I am not that sort of girl, you know?" The men stared at her as if she had lost her mind. However, Anne had learnt that the first thing to do in these situations was to build a rapport with her opponents. It was easy to kill someone you didn´t see as a human being, therefore the most important thing was to become human in their eyes. The leader looked almost impressed. "Well, then." He gave an exaggerated bow. "James Prisby, at your service." Prisby realized his error too late. He had moved away from father James and lowered the blade. Anne positioned herself between them quick as lightning and attacked. She threw one of her hidden daggers at the thug closest to her and hit him in the throat. Prisby moved back quickly. "Kill her!" he barked at the remaining two men. Anne killed the first with her hidden lade, but the second landed a blow in her ribs. Pain shot through her body. Anne growled like an animal and gave over to her instincts. She rammed her elbow into his face, breaking his nose and finished him off with a large knife from the table. She looked around for Prisby, but he had vanished into thin air. However, not before slitting Father James´ throat. "Rose…" he moaned. "Rose…" He closed his eyes and his head fell on his chest. Anne stared at him in shock. "Wake up. Please, wake up." She cut the rope around his wrists and laid him on the ground. That was all she could do for him. She needed to get out of here and to Rose before the Templars did.
Note: Royston Cave is an artificial cave located in Katherine's Yard, Melbourn Street, Royston, England. Popular theories speculate that it was used by the Templars and Freemasons.