Hey guys sorry it took so long and also sorry if the German is confusing but there are translations at the bottom...reviews are very much appreciated :)


Assassin's Creed: Allegiance

Chapter 5

Outskirts of Munich, Germany

The torrential rain battered the wooden roof of the carriage as it rumbled along the flooded dirt path; every puddle and pothole which caught the wheels would nearly throw the elderly occupant out of the window, which due to the owner of the carriage's obvious cheapness had no glass in them. The driver at the reins had a depressed expression upon his tight, leathery face. This was most likely attributed to the fact that his only protection from the relentless storm was a grey trench coat which had gone from its crisp grey shade to a sullen, black, wet mess of a thing which only succeeded in keeping him in a cold, damp grip for the remainder of the drive.

The carriage came to a halt outside a dark, sinister U-shaped building with only one large wooden door for an entrance. Two black-hooded guards stood outside, though they may as well have been statues as they stood so still. They had their heads bowed and held a long wooden staff in front of them with both hands, this too was immobile. The wooden sign above them read: Schnitters Wache.

The driver stepped down with a wet squelch and trudged through the soaked mud to open the carriage door.

"And here I was thinking that the weather back in England was horrifying." Crawford then stepped out; his hood prematurely over his head. He turned to the driver.

"Warte hier, bis ich zurück bekommen Sie?"

The driver nodded and retreated sensibly inside his carriage.

Crawford took a look at the sign of the building and exhaled loudly, his misty breath quickly obliterated by the aquatic barrage from above. He approached the building briskly yet cautiously, he knew these people and more importantly, how they greeted visitors.

However when he wasn't even a metre away from the front door the hooded golems heads shot up, they tapped the sticks on the ground twice and a long scythe blade slid out of the top of each of them, they then crossed each weapon over effectively blocking the door. The golems wore black masks which covered their mouths but their eyes, bloodshot and like a rapid dog, were what really inspired dread. Crawford knew that the golems would cut him up in an instant on command from their masters.

Suddenly the golems spoke in unison, "Nichts ist wahr ..." Their tone was deep yet generic, as if the words they spoke no longer held any meaning to them.

Crawford smiled slightly and held both hands up, flicked his wrists and two hidden blades emerged, one from each hand, "alles ist erlaubt." He replied confidently.

The golems, showing no satisfaction of any kind, tapped the sticks three times and the scythe blades retracted. They then returned to their previous positions, not uttering another word. Crawford guessed that they were disappointed at not being able to use their lovely blades on him.

He banged on the door three times and it was answered almost immediately by a tall blonde man in green hooded robes.

"Ah Crawford mein alter Freund, wie bist du gewesen?" Although they were near Munich, Crawford always noted that the man he was here to meet had a definite Berlin accent, he also frequently wondered what he had done to end up in this lowly branch of the brotherhood but decided not to ask as there were ,after all, his two psychotic scythe-wielding pets on either side of him.

"" Crawford replied.

The man in the doorway nodded in agreement. "Well my friend, your German can't be that bad or else I doubt your head would still be on your shoulders." He nodded to the golems for emphasis, they didn't move a millimetre.

"I still don't see how this is necessary." Crawford frowned, clearly riled.

The man shrugged, "We have to make sure people are who they say they are when they come to us."

"Have you not considered cutting a slot in the door to look through instead?" Crawford shrugged in response.

The blonde man ignored this and returned inside while prompting his 'friend' to follow suit. Once the door closed it seemed as if the storm had never existed, the colossal stone fireplace made certain that the whole interior was lit in a warm tangerine glow which weaved warmth slowly but surely back into Crawford's body. The walls of the room were covered with plaques fitted with the heads of bears, wolfs, even foxes. Crawford silently noted any predatory animal unfortunate enough to be out and about at the same time as his hosts seemed less lucky in dealing with their scythes as he had. They crossed into the centre of the room to stand at opposite sides at a large, circular mahogany table with the Teutonic assassin's symbol engraved in the centre. The both stool silent automatically sizing one another up, a natural habit considering their line of work.

"Have you brought what I requested?" The blonde man began; his friendly smile had disappeared as quickly as it had arisen at the door.

In response Crawford reached inside his robes and pulled out a soft black leather bag, reached inside it and pulled out a diamond. It was bigger than a man's fist and the orange light bounced off of it and reflected a rainbow cascade of reds, greens and blues on the walls and the old table. It was beautiful, like it had been a star that was plucked from its heavenly domain to live among mere mortals and it had brought the infinitely mesmerising cascade of starlight down with it. He replaced the star back in the bag.

It took the blond a few seconds to realise that his treasure was gone. He shook his head frantically, "Whe…" he began, still slightly dazed, he coughed into his closed hand, "Where did you get that?"

"Around thirty years ago in East Africa. I saved the chief of a local tribe's daughter from slave catchers, the ship was under Templar control so I was dispatched there to…how do I say this…slow down business? Anyway once my task on freeing the slaves, killing the crew and burning the ship from the inside out was done I returned the chief's kin to him, he was so grateful he presented me with what he called 'the sun's tear', his most precious possession. I tried to refuse but he insisted so I complied, I've kept it hidden all these years and I assure you, its value is not purely sentimental," He placed the bag in the middle of the table, "Now, where is it?"

The blonde man nodded and pulled out a bundle wrapped up in a red fabric and placed it beside the diamond in the bag. Crawford's eyes widened when he saw the bundle, it was like there was a vibrant, pulsating force asking him…no…willing him to take it. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, no, he couldn't allow himself to be taken like this.

"Gets inside your head does it not?" The blonde German smiled joylessly.

"How long would I have?" Crawford urged.

"Well," The blonde German's tongue probed the inside of his left cheek, clearly thinking his answer over, "Our main user of the artefact had worked with it for around two years and he managed to get a full week out of it, for a new owner…two minutes…if you're lucky." Another empty smile escaped the side of his mouth.

"That's it!" Crawford's jaw nearly hit the bearskin rug.

"Afraid so," another smile, dangerously close to smugness, "Oh and if you're thinking of keeping this as secret as your diamond that is quite impossible, you see if you tried to use the artefact it's power would burn you from the inside out, we originally tried it out with one of our veterans…it wasn't pretty…long story short it would require someone half you're age, perhaps that apprentice whom you valued so much…"

Crawford had already flicked out his hidden blades before the blonde man had time to finish, the man had, in response to this had his hand on a long staff (akin to the ones that the golems had) which was holstered to his back, daring Crawford to make a move.

Crawford shook his head and retracted his blades, "Thank you Hans," he picked the red parcel up while leaving the diamond to its new owner, "I'll be off now, we must do this again." He returned the smug smile.

Hans, still wearing his mask of decency, bowed, "Auf Wiedersehen Crawford."

Crawford left immediately not speaking a single word until the door closed behind him and he was back in the rain which, honestly, he preferred compared to being in the same room as Hans.

"Dickhead." He muttered, not caring about the motionless golems less than a few metres away from him.

He knocked on the window of the carriage and the driver got out almost instantaneously.

"Gehen wir." He demanded flatly. The driver nodded and in next to no time they were off again. Crawford then held on to the bottom of the seat, just in case his wild theory about falling out of the window was true, and he did not want to be on the wrong end of a scythe blade tonight.


The black and brown blurs continued to mock Carter's vision as he was pretty much thrown into a small room and bundled into a chair with his handcuffed hands behind his back, his head rocked from side to side as he gradually reached a reasonable state of awareness. He heard, in place of the ringing in his ears, the sound of at least two men arguing behind him. After several obscenities were yelled he heard the noise being drowned out by the door slamming and all he heard then were footsteps coming up from behind him.

The man who had evidently won the dispute sat opposite Carter, in his hand he had a bottle of what looked like fine malt whiskey and two small glasses. He sat down and intertwined his fingers; he stared hard at Carter for a few moments before speaking.

"Carter Hastings, born 1854 in Whitechapel's west clinic, educated at waterloo community college and graduated with honours in parliamentary studies in 76' and worked as an advisor to Prime Minister Disraeli during the last two years of his reign as PM before retiring early due to illness. This is the file we have on you in the station."

Carter restrained himself from smiling, this must have been Richard's doing to convince people that Carter was in fact his father, the fact that his last name on the file was akin to Richard's was proof of that.

"That file is a fake," The man nearly guffawed at Carter's non-attempt to hide his surprise, "I will admit that the file is a forgery of the highest possible standard, your little friend Richard certainly knows his stuff but come on, did you seriously think that there was even a slight chance that we wouldn't know who you really were?"

Carter understood; this man, whoever he may be, was undoubtedly a Templar. He had seen many of his wretched kind and he had the same stuck-up condescending air about him.

The Templar placed the glass in front of Carter and one in front of himself; he then poured the whiskey into both glasses and leant back. Carter stared at him blankly.

"Oh come now Carter, please spare me the pretence I'm not getting any younger here." He sighed impatiently.

Carter smiled widely and there was a metal clattering sound as the handcuffs which had formerly restrained him fell to the floor. He then imitated his captor's intertwined finger posture.

"How long did it take you?" The Templar asked genuinely curious.

"They're French," Carter shrugged, "So about half a minute? It would have taken less time but I had just recently been on the wrong end of a wooden baton, courtesy of your little pawns."

The Templar chuckled slightly, "Well I suppose I had better introduce myself, I am Superintendent Thomas Arnold and as you may have already sussed out, I am one of the council of ten," He picked up his glass but he saw that Carter simply stared at his, he then took a drink of his own and stuck his tongue out, placed his hands around his own throat and made a choking sound, he then smiled widely, "Carter my friend, if I had wanted to kill you the I assure you that I would have done it by now."

Carter took a sip, "That brings me to my question of your motives, why do you want me to escape?"

"Whatever do you mean?" Thomas inquired innocently.

Carter's smile disappeared, "Oh please, you're a Templar and a police officer…"

"Superintendent" Thomas interrupted.

"Whatever, the point still stands that you cannot be stupid enough to tie a prisoner's hands behind their back," he held his hands up for emphasis, "especially an assassin as you would not be able to see what their hands are doing."

Thomas reached down to the floor and picked up Carter's walking stick and examined it closely, "Okay I will admit, I have my own reasons for bringing you here but do not act as if you are surprised at this turn of events."

"Excuse me?" It was Carter's turn to act innocent now.

"You are an intelligent man there is no doubt about that, the minute you saw my spies opposite the tower you knew you would be captured and I'm guessing your disguise was so that the arresting officer would underestimate you and be vulnerable to your attack, correct?"

Carter said nothing but Thomas continued, "My question however, is that you saw this coming yet you didn't use this." He twisted the silver head of the stick and a clicking sound was made, he pulled it out, the head detached and out slid with it a light grey blade of high-tensile steel. Again nothing from Carter, his expression unchanged.

Then Thomas understood and he nodded his head in recognition. "Richard. You knew that if you pulled a blade out you would certainly have evaded capture but it could just have easily have become Richard's death warrant so you let yourself be captured instead. You are…a very unusual assassin." Thomas narrowed his eyes as if he was trying to see something about him that was not obvious…he was certain that there was something about him that was strange, even if he didn't know exactly what it was.

"What do you want with me?" Carter demanded a little too loudly. The mention of his former apprentice had reminded him that he had an important job to do and he couldn't spend much more time here.

"What do I want? Now that is a good question. I would say I want…an alliance?"

The shock and utter madness of that statement caused Carter to laugh out loud, he thought he was going to die from the laughter but he couldn't help it. When he saw the serious expression on Thomas's face however he ceased.

"You're serious? Are you sure that whiskey hasn't been tampered with because I think you just suggested an alliance?"

"I did."

"Oh."

"I know how mad it sounds but I would not ask you for this unless I was desperate. I'm the head of this division, all the officers look to me for answers but this serial killer, this Jack the Ripper…I have no answers and my Brothers in the order do nothing to help me they're more concerned in foreign interests than a killer in a backward area." He shook his head disgustedly.

"How do I know this is not some kind of Templar trap?" Carter inquired.

Thomas leant forward intently, "You know full well it isn't, I can see the disbelief in your eyes even as you utter that theory, you think it is an assassin don't you?" He raised one of his eyebrows, expecting an answer.

"If that were the case, and if you believed that it was so," He copied Thomas's gesture once again, "Then what makes you think you can trust me any better?"

"Because I'm not stupid, we've been keeping an eye on you, mercury hunter, ever since your little escapade five years ago we've never let you out of our site so I am confident that you have nothing to do with the workings of the Ripper, even if he is in fact one of your brothers in arms."

Carter considered this. He had long ago suspected that the Templars had been spying on him, it was probably the work of Mina, the girl who brought him goods from her 'farm' who also took quite an annoyingly lot of interest in his life. He didn't really mind though she was company all the same, hopefully the infamy of the mercury hunter was enough to keep any Templar hit-men at a reasonable distance, although the danger was there all the same. He had been living in a house of cards during his absence and it wouldn't take a lot for it to crash down. He had for so many nights waited for the taste of cold steel on his throat or when he went for a walk for a bullet to split his skull in two. He thought he had been lucky, that the Templars had given up on him simply because he was allowed the grace of keeping his wretched life. He realised now that that was folly.

"What, if I agree to it, would this alliance entail?" He asked flatly.

"It would be just between us," He began, "If you wish you can tell your little Richard but no one else, this must be kept secret or both of our heads will roll, literally in my case." His expression was grave, Carter knew little of Templar inner workings but what he did know was that their disciplinary measures made the assassin's methods look like a slap on the wrist.

"It will pretty much be me and you working together, temporarily of course, to catch this monster. You will tell all that you and your little team of assassin's and freemasons find out and in return, I leave my entire police division at your disposal." He spread his hands out for emphasis.

Carter placed his jaw in the palm of his hand, his eyes focused on a small black stain on the table, deep in thought. This was insane; it was like hundreds of years of being each other's nemesis had been completely disregarded as an alliance, although an essentially miniscule one, between the two secret societies seemed to be on the horizon. This was a dangerous game. If it worked then the Ripper may be caught but if it was discovered then the consequences would be unimaginable.

"Do we have an accord?" Thomas said while holding out his hand.

Carter was just about to offer his right hand but Thomas then stopped him, "The hand without the hidden blade in the sleeve if you please." He requested while showing the fake pleasant smile again.

Carter returned the expression, "Of course…but if you don't mind could you please point your revolver away from my tentacles?"

Thomas shrugged, took his hand from under the table and placed the silver coloured revolver on the table.

"I'm not even going to ask how you knew." They shook hands, genuinely grinning at each other.

"Oh," Thomas drained half of his drink, "one of my subordinates will be meeting you in around two days…maybe three actually…he's a hard man to find."

"How will I know him?" Carter inquired.

"Well he's not exactly a character you wouldn't notice but I think his most outstanding feature will be that he will try to kill you?"

"Ah well that clears it up." Carter answered sarcastically.

"Well I think you had better get going," He handed Carter his walking stick back, "and don't kill anyone on your way out but do create a stir, it has to look like an escape after all." He placed the glass down.

Carter smiled widely, "In that case." He stood up sharply, snatched Thomas's glass off the table and threw it against the closed door. It shattered in a spray of broken glass and rust coloured whiskey. He sprinted for the door and as the guard from outside opened to investigate he grabbed the top of the door frame and he pulled up with his arms, brought his knee up and smack the guard under the jaw. His head snapped back and he fell without a sound.

Carter looked back at a slightly wide-eyed Thomas, "He'll live." He then sprinted down the corridor.

"I hadn't finished that drink." Thomas mumbled to himself. He then took Carter's glass, still full, and inspected it slightly. He then shrugged his shoulders and drained it in one go.

Carter stopped sprinting halfway down the corridor and frisked himself. Thomas seemed to have made precautions as not only was his walking stick not taken into evidence upon his arrest but the arresting officers must also have been ordered not to frisk and take his other weaponry. A good thing too; because the evidence room would have had a field day with the kind of objects which he carried around with him. He only needed one for this particular instance though. He reached into a hidden compartment of his robes and pulled out his apache pistol. He had bought it in Belgium several years ago and it basically consisted of a miniature single shot firearm with a small penknife that folded off from the bottom of the nose and the handle was made in the style of a knuckleduster. He slipped his fingers into the holes, loaded the bullet and flipped out the penknife. He normally would use the hidden blade but there was too much of a chance that it would kill someone and (for once) that was not his aim.

He flattened himself against the wall and checked around the corner. Two police officers stood talking to one another, he couldn't see anyone else around but there were undoubtedly more police around. He had to act now before more came along.

He came out from around the corner and started to walk quickly towards his opponents. One of them recognised him and cried out, baton raised. He swung it in a lightning quick arc which would have knocked his teeth out if it had connected but Carter ducked swiftly and stuck the apache pistol's blade into the side of the guard's patella; he then pulled the trigger on the gun. The guard howled in agony as the wall was splattered in a spray of his blood and muscle tissue.

The second guard wasted precious seconds in shocked admiration as his colleague collapsed which allowed Carter to close the distance between them. The guard tried a clumsy overhead strike with his baton which Carter easily knocked aside with his walking stick which caused the officer take a longer step than he planned; he then gripped the stick with both hands and swung it upward with his entire strength right between the guard's legs. He looked like his eyes were about to pop out of his head and his face had turned the colour a bruised tomato he then slid down onto the floor with a slight whimpering sound.

A loud bell sounded seconds after the second guard fell, "Shit." Carter cursed, inaudible in the deafening din. Thomas must have finally reported his escape, his head start was over.

He looked around disorientated before looking around the next corner, he ducked back immediately as he saw there were at least half a dozen guards around the corner; guards with guns. And they were heading right towards him.

Carter backed away and barged back-first into the first door he came to and locked it from the inside. He flattened his back against the door, with his eyes closed and breathing heavily, and listened to the pounding steps of his pursuers outside. When he heard nothing more he opened his eyes again.

He appeared to be in the mortuary. Left and right soulless bodies that had been poked, prodded then finally 'bagged and tagged' to be sent to whatever fate that these hollow shells of human life had before them would they be burned to a crisp or left to rot in the ground? Carter personally couldn't care less he was only concentrated on a strange sight in the centre of the room. A cadaver on a steel table that had not yet been placed in a bag; in fact it was still fully clothed.

Carter approached the body on the table. He did not know why it was as if an external force was willing him towards it and he had no choice but to comply. He found himself standing over the body. It was a man in a black suit with the white shirt slightly undone. His raven black hair had fallen back revealing quite a large forehead. Despite this he looked as if he was quite handsome in life, yet in death his skin had become near transparent and had sagged down to his cheekbones in wrinkles so he looked many years older than he in fact was.

That however was not what Carter was concentrated on. Oh no what he was looking at was the obvious cause of death. There was an ugly red and black hole in the centre of his throat which, judging by the external bursting fashion of the flesh around it, it was inflicted from behind. There was something else about the wound though, something horrifying to him something that willed him with dread, made him sick to his stomach and he knew the reason. It was because his worst fears had been realised and yet there was simply no denying the truth of it.

The wound had been inflicted by an assassin's hidden blade.


Translations: Schnitters Wache- The Reaper's Guardhouse

Warte hier, bis ich zurück bekommen Sie- Wait here until I get back ok?

Nichts ist wahr… alles ist erlaubt.- Nothing is true…everything is permitted.

Ah Crawford mein alter Freund, wie bist du gewesen?- Ah Crawford my old friend, how have you been?

Wenn es Ihnen nichts ausmacht könnten wir zu Englisch wechseln? Mein Deutsch ist ein wenig rostig.- If you do not mind could we switch to English. My German is a little rusty.

Gehen wir-lets go