Connor found Achilles slumped over and sitting on a bench. He approached the old man, calling out to the other "Achilles? Old man?" There was no response from the other. Surely he could not have fallen asleep in this frigid weather? It would be very dangerous to do so. Connor lightly touched one of Achilles' shoulders…
But the old man did not move. With trembling fingers, Connor tilted the old man's face, revealing a series of bruises and markings. He held his other hand in front of the other's nose and mouth, hoping that he would be able to feel the other's breath on his hands. Time stretched and twisted around him as Connor counted under his breath, trying not to tremble as no breath could be felt. Before he reacted too badly, Connor remembered how to check someone's pulse, trying to feel for the old man's pulse, first on the inside of his wrist, then along Achilles' neck.
He waited and counted, heedless to the fact that he was out in the open, uncaring for the moment that there were guards all over the city looking for him, who believed that Connor was the reason why they had been attacked, and the source of the city-wide brawl that was still ongoing in different parts of Boston. But Connor could feel nothing, and Achilles was cold. Too cold to be alive. Achilles's clothes were torn and battered in ways that they had not been before, and the cane he always had with him was nowhere to be found near him.
Now… Now what was he going to do? The only person who could teach him (who Connor knew of) how to be an Assassin was dead, and Connor was uncertain as to whether or not he would be able to get Achilles back to Homestead. There were roadblocks everywhere, and Connor knew that he would not be able to carry the old man's body over walls, across rooftops and through the trees he would need to scale and run across in order to evade them all. Perhaps if he put Achilles' body in a hay cart, he could move the body through the streets, hiding when the roving patrols came? Then he could continue on his way. The soldiers could not keep the checkpoints up in all parts of the city for too long, the citizens would not stand for it.
It might take a week, perhaps a week and a half, but Connor was determined to get the old man home, and to bury him next to the two other graves on the cliff near the back side of the manor. He did have a bit of money left that Achilles had given him – to pay for wood, and he did know how to pickpocket others so coin for food and an inn – if any of the innkeepers would deign to house him - would not be all that hard to come by, if he was careful. Plan in mind, Connor went in search of the nearest hay cart, wanting to get it in place, before moving his dead mentor into said cart.
Connor found the nearest hay cart with good wheels in another hour – and it was well past the darkest part of the night, as the moon had traveled most of the way across the night sky. The sun had yet to rise, and it was difficult for the teenager to stay warm without moving constantly, but at last he found a good cart He started to roll it when a shout from behind him caused the novice Assassin to freeze.
"Oi! Where are you going with that?" A soldier shouted from behind Connor, revealed to be such, when the novice Assassin turned his head to look at the person shouting.
He dropped the handles of the cart, running as fast as he could away from the soldier, stumbling a little over a loose cobblestone. He had been awake all day and most of the night, and exhaustion was starting to slow his movements and mess with his perception. The biting cold and the sorrow he felt for the loss of his mentor – and the senseless loss of life in the square caused by Templars hours earlier – only exacerbated the problem.
"Lad! What are you doing out so late? It is dangerous to be out so late." The soldier scolded him as Connor continued to run, chasing after him.
Connor nearly crashed into the wall of the building he had meant to climb, before he grabbed at a window sill, scrabbling about halfway up the wall of the building, ignoring the soldier's orders to stop and to come back down…
And realized that he had no way to climb upwards. He looked right, finding no purchase that would allow him to go upwards once again. A look to the left showed him another window that he should swing over to, that was set slightly above the window he was currently clinging to. Connor swung over, grabbing at the window sill. He managed to grab hold of it, but as his other hand let go, he realized that snow had collected on the windowsill, and his fingers melted the water. His grip was wrong and he was unable to catch himself.
He fell to the ground in a painful tangle of limbs, groaning and shaking. He had landed in a show-covered bush and was wet and shivering with cold. He cupped his hands and blew into them, before rubbing his arms and shoulders as he sat in the bushes, in pain and very much unhappy as the soldier approached him.
Unlike the others, he had white and styled hair, and his uniform was much nicer than the others. The uniform looked a bit more elaborate as well. "I know you are there, lad. Additionally, I know that you were not the one who shot into the crowd, provoking them. For one thing, you have no pistol, and you do not seem the type to cause trouble just because you want to. The old man you were checking on, was he your grandfather?" The soldier's voice was calm, understanding and kind.
"No. We… We met a few months ago, and I have been working for him." Connor answered honestly as he tentatively stood up and made his way over to the soldier, dark brown eyes sad and a little hopeful. "I was travelling through the frontier and he was being attacked by bandits. I helped him defend himself from them and I have been working for him ever since. Today was the first day I have ever been in a city this large, or any colonial city. When the… When the shot went off, I was on the roof as I was trying to find Master Davenport as there were so many people… They were so close together and so angry." Connor shivered and stared up at him, genuinely anxious. It had been frightening.
"Did you see who did shoot? Or were they in the crowd?" The soldier asked, moving a little closer to the teenager, voice still kind and warm.
"There was a man on the rooftop across from me. He had a pistol and shot it into the air, which scared the soldiers into shooting into the crowd. He ran off shortly after. I do not know who told the city guards it was I who shot, I have never shot a pistol or any kind of firearm before." Connor answered earnestly, moving closer to the man. "Ah… I think I have been rude to not ask what your name is?"
"I am Major John Pitcairn. What is your name, lad? Do you think you would be able to describe the man who provoked this unfortunate incident?" Pitcairn asked.
"Yes. We met once before, although I do not know if he remembers. His name is Charles Lee. He beat and strangled me when I was a small child. He and three others – one named Thomas, one named Church and one named… William? Were looking for my village. When I did not respond to them, Lee grabbed me and strangled me, going on a rant about how superior his kind were, and that how the wisest among my people begged for mercy at the feet of men like him. He dropped me and hit me over the head with the butt of a rifle like that. When I woke, I smelled smoke and ran to my village to find it burning. My… My mother…" Connor stopped speaking, one hand reaching for the talisman his mother had given him and holding it tightly "My mother was trapped inside of a burning building. I was not… I was not strong enough to save her. The name I go by that you will be able to pronounce is Connor."
"I… I see. This Charles Lee has much to answer for." Pitcairn responded, a frown appearing on his face as the soldier took in the information. "How did you come by the name Connor?"
"Master Davenport gave it to me, as Ratonhnhake:ton was not something he felt that he would be able to try to pronounce." The novice Assassin answered truthfully. Connor still shivered from the wetness that clung to his clothes, and no amount of shifting about in place and rubbing seemed to be taking the chill from his body.
"Come with me, lad. I will take you somewhere warm and dry, so that you will not freeze. You have been through a great deal." Pitcairn remarked, lightly placing a hand on Connor's back, withdrawing a little when the teenager flinched at the touch. "My apologies, I did not mean to startle you."
"I would be grateful for somewhere warm and dry, Major Pitcairn." The Assassin… More of a boy really answered, peering up at John with almost impossibly large brown eyes. Connor looked so lost and miserable, John's heart went out to the lad. Besides, the Grandmaster wanted the young Assassin captured alive if possible and brought to him at the Green Dragon. This way it did not overly upset the lad. "Follow me and we shall get out of the cold."
Connor nodded, teeth chattering a little as he followed closely behind the Templar, utterly oblivious as to who the other truly was or where they were going.
