Assassin's Creed: Allegiance
Chapter 6
Ghosts
The small man was a most inconspicuous sight. This could have been attributed to the fact that while the rest of London was asleep at this late hour, he was sprinting across the rooftops at incredible speed. His footsteps made a constant clatter whenever he crossed a roof with particularly decorative tiles and this clatter bounced around the city causing any being wandering the orange gas-lit streets below to recoil in fright then quicken their pace; it also caused them to check their backs a lot more often. The man knew this reaction to his travels many times. He had already counted how many he had startled that night; four men, six women and a rather unfortunate ginger cat that in its terrified state ended up leaping off of the roof and landing head first into a dustbin with a vibrating clanging noise.
The small man had found this absolutely hilarious and let loose a loud hyena-like cackle which caused several drunk men who were floating around a bar he had passed over to jump back and fall right on their arses simultaneously as if it was rehearsed.
The small man continued laughing even as the great gusts of wind kept threatening to steal his precious flat brimmed hat from his head like a phantom thief.
"Nasty wind tried to steal my lovely hat but I won't let him no nope, never going to happen." He babbled hysterically like a madman as he kept one hand on his hat while amazingly keeping his balance as he continued to traverse the moonlit pathways of the rooftops. He liked the moon. Much better than the sun, the sun hurts his eyes and worst of all everyone can see him.
Not like the moonlight, no the moon was his friend lighting the way just enough for his well-adapted eyes to see and he could still move in the shadows unseen by those who would cause him harm. In the daylight people hated him, said nasty things, threw fruit and sometimes even stones at him because he looked and talked differently, he was miserable. Not here though, on the rooftops this was his escape, his sanctuary, his playground.
He headed straight for a clock tower and leaped off of the edge of the roof towards the wall. Any normal person would hit the wall and splatter like a tomato but he was cleverer than that, oh so clever. He spread his arms out like a monkey and when he collided with the wall there was a digging, scraping metal rasping sound and then he started climbing the mortar tower like a giant insect.
Not long after he started he managed to scramble his way up to the top of the pyramid-shaped tower roof. He knew for a fact that this particular roof had a flattened top on the tip of the pyramid which was roughly half a metre squared. He kept his feet close together, crouched down and sat on his heels. He looked out towards the city, his playground. Oh the politicians and monarchs can say whatever they liked and claim whatever they wanted in the daylight but the minute the sun sets this city was his.
The city's unofficial night-time ruler had quite a strange appearance to say the least. He wore multi-coloured baggy trousers that were several sizes too big for him tucked into a pair of mud-shaded worn out leather boots and held up by a belt fashioned out of old fabric. He was shrouded in a black coat which hid arms with muscles which looked like tightly wound ropes. His chest was bare but if the semi-freezing wafts of London air bothered him he showed no sign.
He reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a letter written in a formal back ink;
Brother, you know I would not contact you unless the situation was truly dire. I am aware of your wanted status but I swear to you that as far as the local authorities are concerned you are incognito. I want you to work with us on this Ripper case as I believe that your help may be essential in catching this murderer. The first step of this is to find an assassin who is working with us. I'm sure you've heard of the immortal mercury hunter, also known as Carter Jackson? If not then you will find an artist's sketch on the back of this letter. I want you to test his skills, not kill him but DO NOT underestimate him as he has proved himself in the past to be extremely resourceful. I trust you will complete your mission and may the father of understanding guide you in your labours.
Sincerely T.A
The man turned the letter over and stared for a few minutes at the charcoal-rendered image of Carter. He smiled slightly
"The immortal huh? Well…" He muttered slightly. Suddenly his smile grew until it became a large Cheshire-like crescent, whether it was anticipation or madness which fuelled this even he didn't know. When he flicked his wrists a metal rasping sound came and in the next moment the letter was ripped to shreds and raining down from the clock tower to the streets below.
"Let's put that immortality to the test!" He howled with glee.
Carter honestly thought he was going to be sick, nothing to do with the appearance of the gaping dark hole in the cadaver on the table's neck but at the catastrophic revelation that it signified. The very notion that a member of the brotherhood could be responsible for such grisly work as the ripper killings made a cold damp lump manifest inside his chest. All he could think of was who could possibly be the one, Crawford, Arthur, Richard?
Oh please God don't let it be Richard. He pleaded silently with his eyes closed and shaking his head. He had faced many horrors in his life but the thought of having to kill Richard…
No! He slammed his fist upon the body subconsciously. He refused to believe that his apprentice could do such a thing, besides there are more assassin's than just Richard that could fit the profile, though this thought was not much better a consolation.
There was something else though; something that he felt that he had missed about the wound. He brought himself to look again and sure there was something off. He bent down and turned the body over carefully to look at the entry wound.
"I wonder…" He muttered to himself. Suddenly he rushed to the desk at the other side of the morgue and raked through the drawers, sure enough he found a steel rule within the mass of tags and condolence letters. He glided back to the cadaver and measured the diameter of the entry wound; he sighed and placed his head in his hands when he knew the result.
"Of course, it had to be like this." He muttered; his words hollow and filled with dread. He shuffled back over to the desk and replaced the rule, he also returned the cadaver to his original position, crossing himself after doing so. He then walked along to the door, pausing as he was about to turn the knob.
Well, here we go again.
He opened the door and sprinted towards the nearest exit. Turning the corner he found himself less than a metre away from a perplexed police officer and another one about halfway down the corridor. Time suddenly seemed to slow down, Carter saw the officer reach for his revolver and the guard down the hall following suit. He knew what he had to do but it was risky and if it went wrong he was finished. The hammer of the revolver was being cocked and the gun brought up towards him, time still dragging like liquid mercury. Carter flicked his wrist and his blade materialised from his wrist and like a sleek lightning -bolt he lunged at the officer and brought his hand around in an arc shaped attack. The man's hand finger was already on the trigger, mere pressure was all that was needed to blow a crater right into Carter's skull. Fortunately Carter that was not in the stars, he was perfectly on target. The officer could only stand and watch as the hidden blade found its way through the trigger guard. The officer pulled the trigger frantically but it was too late. Carter already had his opponent's hand under his control, he straightened it and the bullet embedded itself harmlessly into the wall behind them. He then restrained the officer in a choke-hold with his free arm to use him like a human shield against the other officer's gun if he should fire. He brought the officer's hand around the while pulling back the hammer with his thumb, he could almost see in his mind the cylinder being rotated and a new bullet being pushed in the barrel, a new metallic bane ready to glide and lacerate all in its path. Without even the slightest hesitation he used his blade in the trigger guard to pull the trigger, which caused a fresh bullet to shoot the second officer in the shoulder which caused him to yelp and drop his gun abruptly and fall to the floor in a whimpering heap.
He then remembered his prisoner whose arm he twisted and used it to split the gun in half and empty the remaining ammunition from the firearm. Once this was done he grabbed the officer's head and smacked it ruthlessly off the wall, knocking him out. He began walking down the corridor until he remembered about the second guard who was still squirming helplessly on the floor; he knocked him out with a brutal kick to the temple.
He was breathing heavily, his heart pounding with a feeling which he had not felt in what seemed like forever. The perfect fighting mixture of desperation and rage, it was good, it kept him focused and on task. He knew he had to get out whatever the cost; that was all there was to it, he had a new lead and nothing would stop him following it. He twisted his walking stick and pulled the steel blade out halfway.
Screw it, I don't care what that Templar bastard says if any more of his cronies get in my way it will be the last thing that they ever do.
Fortunately for the 'cronies' the rest of Carter's escape was uneventful, he burst out of the building and slowed down to a brisk walking speed and flipped his hood over his head when he say two more police officer's approaching the station to investigate the cause of the alarm in the station, even a small band of people had gathered around the building and arching their heads over the people in front to see what all the fuss was about. Meanwhile Carter made his way through the crowd before slipping into a back street, he then continued at a brisk jog for a few more streets until the din of the alarm resonated merely as a memory.
Carter leant against a wall to gather his breath and his thoughts. He thought about returning to Richard's but the police would look for him there, probably on Thomas' demand to make it look like he was doing something about Carter's 'escape'. Carter wasn't worried, his wife might be shocked but Richard did well in those kinds of situations, the way he had handled the incident in Madrid had proved that beyond any doubt.
That left Carter time to investigate the new lead which he had discovered, one that, if he was correct, would hopefully shine a light on the true identity of Jack the Ripper.
After walking for the best part of an hour, the journey being so long because he had to take special precautions like ducking into side streets whenever anyone who even looked like a police officer or Templar spy came near, he had finally arrived at his destination.
He stood in front of a dull-green painted door with a rust coloured door-knob and a sign above which read in polished gold letters:
Benson's Watch repairs
Carter smiled at the sign. After all this time it will be nice to see his peculiar friend again. He tried the knob, it gave way and he stepped inside and was overwhelmed with a deep sense of nostalgia at the dark corridor within, he walked briskly towards the door which led to the workshop. He twisted the knob and opened the door.
Suddenly, as he did this there was an infernal bang and a crash as the door slammed shut with unbelievable force and breaking part of it off its hinges, narrowly missing Carter's head in the process.
"What in the name of…" Carter started as he laboriously moved the wreckage of the door out of the way. He walked into the workshop which was saturated with a dense foul smelling smoke.
"Benson…" He stopped to cough; the fumes were already slithering their way down his throat. "Benson where are you?" He shouted while wafting the smoke away.
"Carter, is that you?" The cheerful yet laboured reply came from a figure in the centre of the room that had wafted away enough smoke to show that he was wearing a white laboratory coat. Carter made his way across the workshop and opened the nearest window which sucked the majority of the smoke out like water down a drain.
Carter turned his attention towards the man in the lab coat. The man who was fiddling with his spectacles and muttering about fixing the door was Robert Benson, the official inventor of the British assassin's. Any kind of technological problem or any idea for a weapon and this man would make it happen. He was a genius, a Scottish genius, Carter and he had known each other since they were boys at the same boarding school in Paisley. They worked together quite a bit since Benson joined the order years ago, they were quite a team with Carter's knowledge of current weaponry and technology coupled with Benson being a visionary and one of the best mechanical engineers that Carter had ever met have made many revolutionary breakthroughs for the order. When Carter retired years ago, ceasing contact with Benson was one of the hardest things he had to do. Although with the foul tendrils of smoke worming their way up his nostrils, the reunion wasn't exactly comfortable either so far.
"Robert, what kind of mess have you made now?" Carter shook his head exhaustedly.
"Well you see," Benson continued to fiddle with his glasses, "I am in the process of inventing a kind of barrier which not only keeps a fire under control but also reduces the damage done by explosives." He beamed at Carter enthusiastically.
Carter had already ran over to the copper sink and let some water run into a bucket, he then poured it on an enflamed diameter of debris in the middle of the workshop, evidently Benson's latest 'project'. "Well…it's not working."
He sniggered at this, which then turned quickly into he and Benson being bent over and laughing like a couple of schoolboys. Once their giddiness had worn off they both sat down beside each other on the large worktable which took up one whole wall of the workshop. They both watched the sulphuric smoke slither out of the window, neither of them sure what to say.
Finally Carter spoke, "Are you going bald?"
Benson rubbed his indeed lacking hairline and raised an eyebrow at Carter, "Well it seems that whatever hair I have lost you have seemed to gain." This caused Carter to rub his chin, he had forgotten to shave since he had come back to the city…he must have looked like the wolf-man, he supposed that his life in the countryside had caused him not to care so much about his appearance.
"Why have you come back Carter?" Robert stared intently at Carter, not even considering looking away without an answer.
Carter shrugged in response, "Crawford reeled me back in for the Ripper case"
"No, I mean the real reason."
"What is that supposed to mean?"
"Come on, the last time I saw you leave you looked like you were two whiskey's away from swan-diving onto the railway tracks. You swore that you would never wear your blade again as long as you lived yet here you are simply because you were asked nicely? I don't buy it." He shook his head.
"Maybe I'm intrigued," He knotted his fingers together, "it's been a while since I've had to apply my training to a case this taxing, in truth I miss the work but I am really here because I was bored of wasting away in that cottage like the mortar on the bricks."
Benson, though still not entirely convinced, nodded his head and left it alone. Carter shot up out of his seat so suddenly that Benson flinched; he had forgotten how quick he was.
"Robert, do you know if there are any spare ballistic blades around here?"
The ballistic blade was an invention that Benson and Carter had help create when they were staying with the Russian branch of the assassin order, the last mission that Carter had undertaken before his 'retirement'. The invention was a hidden blade but with the added bonus of being able to fly out and embed itself in an opponent.
Benson nodded and went raking around in a nearby cupboard, tossing out the occasional clockwork contraption or decaying debris in order to burrow his way to his desired relic. He pulled out a small mahogany box with the initials C.J scribed on the cover.
Carter took it in his hands, hesitated a moment, then opened it up. His face remained generic.
"Robert, you know when I said that this case was just a way of putting off boredom? Benson nodded, Carter turned the case around to reveal it to be empty, "Well it just become a personal matter."
The thing about the ballistic blade was that it had a very specific measurement and shape. That was the reason that he had taken such measurements at the morgue and why he had to come here. There were only two assassins in the whole order that used such a weapon, he and his apprentice, Richard. The fact that the box was empty was all the proof that Carter needed that Richard was innocent, after all why would he steal a weapon which he already owns?"
Carter closed the box, bid Benson farewell and started to leave when his eyes were directed to a locked mahogany cabinet, similar in design to the box where his blade was kept. He opened the door and smiled widely.
"So you kept them?"
"Every single one, I maintained them every week, I always knew you couldn't stay away from the macabre forever, I'm not sure if it still fits though." Benson stated.
Carter smiled widely and reached into the open cabinet, "Well, let's find out."
"Come on Alicia, don't be such a baby!" Cried a shrill voice from beside the young girl in the pink frill dress who held in her hand holding a piece of string outside a familiar doorway. She stood fiddling with the cheap, braided line while mumbling in a cryptic tone which, to many observers, would sound close to tears.
"I am not a baby Oliver!" She wailed at the crooked-toothed urchin beside her.
"Are too."
"Am not!"
This little quarrel continued for the best part of ten minutes until Alicia finally relented, much to Oliver's evident delight which he did not disguise even in the slightest. She tied the end of the string to the brass door-knob of the door.
"Took you long enough eh?" Oliver sniggered before running across the street to the adjacent door which had the pleasure of the other end of the string being tied to it.
The evening sun cast a continuously fading mandarin glow upon the street as the two young souls set about their one of their daily attempts of amusement in the great dreary monotony of Whitechapel. Their method for today was a simple premise and relied essentially on the fact that both of the doors opened from the inside. Alicia watched her grubby playmate with a feature of concern and just a hint of hidden excitement at their activity.
Oliver matched her expression only with his evident titillation hidden to none. He started to count off with his fingers:
Three
Two
One,
He clenched his fist in a clear signal; to which both of the children kicked their respective doors with all of their might. The resulting reaction was utter pandemonium inside both of the homes.
The house, which young Oliver had the pleasure of disturbing, belonged to a little old lady who, upon hearing the assault on her door, materialised at the window like a thick-spectacled spectre. She banged on the window with tiny fists in a flurry while reciting language which would have cost any child to have a fresh bar of soap rammed into their jaw-lines. Oliver was hunched over in such a fit of laughter that he almost didn't notice that the woman had already made her way to the door and, to no avail, had tried feverishly to open it.
Meanwhile, on Alicia's side, a bald, beetroot-faced man was screaming at her through his letterbox:
"I'll rip your bleeding tongues out you little lice-ridden mongrels!" To this Alicia was obviously panicking. She was gesticulating as if her hair were on fire (conveniently one of the promises that her new red-featured acquaintance had made through his little brass opening in the door). All of this was done to the background symphony of rattling door knobs from both homes.
Suddenly, the string on Alicia was aware of her side of the string going limp. This caused both doors to spring open at once and the couple of occupants toppling backwards in a comical tumble. Alicia turned to see the cause of this and saw her "granddad", which had already retracted his hidden blade before she could see it, in the middle of the street standing over the severed string.
Oliver had ceased to laugh and stood gob-smacked at the stranger who had brought their game to a standstill, even Alicia was surprised at his new appearance. He wore a full formal attire of a swallowtail jacket with considerably well-crafted velvet patterns labelled on it in a great web. His undercoat was pristine white with gold buttons which blazed in the evening light along with a gold chain of a pocket watch leading into his side pocket. His appearance was startling to anyone, particularly the wide eyed children who observed him striding towards them.
"Hello Granddad." Alicia called to her elder in an innocent tone, despite what she had just been involved in less than a minute ago. Carter smiled slightly at the girl who had unwittingly conformed to pretence and, if he were honest with himself, he would truly miss the title of being a grandparent to this young one despite his little knowledge of her at all.
He became suddenly aware of an insistent tugging on the back of his coat. He turned to see young Oliver looking up at him with suspicious eyes.
"Are you a toff?" He inquired with his head cocked to the side like a muddy young spaniel.
Carter laughed aloud. "Good God no, I'm nowhere near that wealthy."
Oliver was not convinced however. "Then why are you dressed like the Queen's coming to visit?"
"It's a uniform."
"What's that?"
"Something which you wear at work."
"What kind of job do you go around dressed like that? Not a chimney sweep that's for sure."
Carter crouched down to eye level with the child, "You ask a lot of questions don't you?" his irritation clearly showing.
Oliver grinned, "You don't give that many straight answers do you, sir?"
Carter couldn't help but grin. He was a smart lad that much could be said. He reached into his pocket and propped a sovereign into the boy's hand. The boy looked at it as if it were a jewel and was almost hypnotised by the coin. It was clear that he had never seen it before and nearly rejected its authenticity had Carter not given a similar coin to Alicia who had looked quite offended at the original gesture.
They drifted the rest of the way to Richard's flat in the ambience of Oliver's cheerful mood at being given a coin worth more than what his family earned in a week and of Alicia wrapping herself around Carter's arm affectionately. This prompted an embarrassed reaction from Carter, he never had a natural way with children even when Richard was young he had no real idea of how he should treat him and this led to many conflicts between the master and student over the years. Even then though, he allowed himself to admit that he enjoyed the affectionate gesture from Alicia while at the same time despised himself for being involved in lying to her.
What would her reaction be when she discovered that you are not even remotely related?
Or a better question; would she hold your hand or latch onto you so close if she knew how many lives you had taken with it?
Those questions snuck up on him and slipped like a cold blade into his chest. His whole lifestyle had been dependant on the application of apathy. Even with the dead body in the mortuary he didn't stop to consider anything about the man on the table; was the man married? Did he have a little girl who also wrapped herself around his arm? Did he even stop to check his name?
The simple answer was: no, he did not. He had used the body as a means to an end and that was that. In his line of work the minute you developed any kind of residual feelings for the dead was the moment you lock your blades away and bury your uniform in the ground before you ended up there first.
Even with that knowledge he still felt guilty about lying this way to an innocent child and nothing, even catching the Ripper, would ever justify such a betrayal of trust.
As the dark cloud above Carter's head continued to dog him throughout his walk with the children areal one had surprisingly made an appearance. The first droplets of rain made their impact upon Alicia's nose, much to her immediate alarm. In the midst of Oliver laughing at the noise that Alicia made Carter sped up, practically dragging his two accomplices with him.
By the time they were trudging up the stairs to Richard's flat they had looked like they had all just taken a dip in the Thames. Carter raised his now sodden arm and knocked heavily upon the door while Alicia performed a little dance in order to display her obvious discomfort at being drenched in her dress.
The door was answered by Stacy wearing an apron and accompanied by the smell of roasted pork which hit Carter's senses like an aromatic train. Upon seeing her daughter huddling into her newly-discovered father-in-law's clothes for warmth she chucked lightly. "I think grandfather would rather you get warm beside the fire, Alicia?"
Large eyes stared up at Carter for confirmation, to which he patted her head and moved her inside. Oliver standing in the corridor meanwhile, shuffling about unsure of what to do with himself now that his play-mate had departed. He started off down the stairs. "And where do you think you're going young man?" came Stacy's voice from inside the house.
Oliver jumped slightly and turned to face her. "I was going home...I guess?" he muttered quite hesitantly while scratching his matted hair, clearing the way of the back of his neck which Stacy observed had a purple bruise upon it. At this point her face tripped her, ever so slightly, yet enough to show her disapproval. "There's plenty of food inside, you could come in and eat with us?" this caused Oliver to blush slightly, he knew that he couldn't refuse such an offer from her and followed her lead inside.
Richard, dressed in dark trousers and a slightly open white shirt appeared from the kitchen, upon seeing the uniform that Carter was wearing he smiled knowingly, Carter saw this and gave a brief nod. No words were needed, Richard knew that his master was truly back.
"Well I hope that you're all hungry!" Stacy called from the front door, she then proceeded to close it, muffling the maelstrom from the outside world to dwell in the warm hearth within.
The small man in the dark cloak had found himself performing a most peculiar act for him: he found himself walking upon the ground, through the streets ands not upon the rooftops.
This would not do, he thought to, himself, he was the king of London at night, he could not simply be seen to walk amongst the commoners of the city he ruled. No, this would not do.
Still he had to make do with dwelling among the common folk, because he had a mission, yes, a mission from the Templar Lieutenant himself. Oh to tackle an assassin who was worth his salt, at last a worthy opponent for him to fight, Arnold may be an arrogant blatherskite but he had given a great gift to tackle boredom with and he was grateful.
Also the fact that he wouldn't be arrested on sight as he would with most places in the civilized world was also a plus.
He knew every street in London but even with his remarkable memory it took a while to remember where this particular place was. Finally he found the shop he was looking for.
In actual fact it was not a shop at all, it was a butchers. What it appeared to be made little difference though as it was as run down as you could find a shop, however, since it was a butchers nobody would blink at blades and strange apparatus' being taken in.
This was an assassin storage house, once of many dotted around the London streets; a precaution due to the "accidental" burning of their old headquarters several years ago. The small man smiled at the memory of this, "They really think they can hide their toys from me? I'm the king!"
On this he took a small round object with a fuse and lit it. He tossed the object through the window and covered his ears in preparation.
Nothing happened.
Confused, the small man walked towards the smashed window to inspect his work. On this a great force threw him onto his back as an explosion resonated inside the storage house.
The small man groaned in pain but found himself chuckling at the same time. He pulled himself onto his feet and dusted himself off, cracking his neck in the process. "Now, we play the waiting game." on a rasping metallic sound came from him and he climbed up the side of a building like an ape.
The house is always so quiet without Alicia running around like a feral puppy. These thoughts circled through Stacy's mind as she cleaned the plates from their evening meal. Her husband had taken young Alicia to bed and hads then proceeded to escort Oliver home, things had gotten dangerous recently. Although, to be completely honest with herself, between Oliver's alcoholic thug of a father and Jack the Ripper she did not know which she would rather send to the boy to.
Her husband's father, her father-in-law now apparently, though was a very interesting man indeed. His career as a foreign ambassador had taken him all over the world; to America, Italy, even as far as the Middle East along Syria. He had spent some time in Russia too apparently, although when Stacy prompted for more information he curtly changed the subject, an act which even seemed to surprise Richard by his expression.
He certainly is a mysterious character, although Alicia obviously loves her new grandfather to pieces. She glimpsed to her right and noticed that she had forgotten to give him a candle for the night.
Oh no, what if the poor old man falls in the middle of the night in the dark?
Semi-frantically she sped-walked to the guest room and opened the door while briefly knocking. Within she found Carter in the same uniform as before at dinner but with part of his cloak in his hand, when he saw here, startled, he let it go quickly. She must have been seeing things because she thought that she saw a gun strapped to his waist and a flash of sliver along his wrist.
"S-so sorry I didn't meant to startle you…you see I just saw this…this candle and I thought, well assumed that you would want it…I mean I'm not insinuating that there's something wrong with your eyes oh no I'd never say such things forgive me for being so rude…" With this she practically seemed to overheat while Carter gave her the look one would give a mad woman.
A polite smile graced his face however, "That is very considerate Stacy, thank you," he placed the candle on the bedside cabinet, "however I shan't need it tonight I have some old friends I'd like to reacquaint myself with."
Stacy thought better of asking what kind of "acquaintances" one would need a gun to meet with. Before her curiosity got the better of her there came a frantic knocking on the front door. Carter had already exited the bedroom before she could register it, how can he be so quiet?
Carter looked thought the peep-hole to see who it was at the door, his face turned Grimm, "Stacy I think it would be better if you went into the other room?" He gave a serious look that Stacy found it difficult to ignore; she retreated back into the guest room.
Carter opened the door and George Lusk burst in in such a state of terror that even Carter was affected with unease. His eyes were wide, his face a white sheet and he kept checking the window; presumably in case he had been followed.
"Lusk have you gone mad? Why would you come here of all places this is Richard's home!" Carter gave in a cutting tone, enough to get Lusk's attention anyway.
Lusk handed over a small wooden box, hands shaking with sheer terror. Carter took the box dubiously, though when he opened it he nearly wretched. Inside it was half a kidney, and Carter had been in the business of killing long enough to know that it was human. The organ had been expertly preserved however, it was originally atop a small rag which had been, judging by the smell, doused with wine. There was also a small, crumped note beside the mutilated organ. It read:
From hell
Mister Lusk, Sorry that I only sent half of the kidney that I took from the woman, I preserved it well enough though. The other piece however I fried and ate, in case you're wondering it was very nice. I may also show you the bloody knife that took it out if you but wait a while longer.
Signed, Catch me if you can Mister Lusk.
Carter looked up at Lusk, he seemed to be a strong-minded man at the pub, how could such a hollow threat as this unhinge him so? Unless…
"George, where did you come by this box?"
Demented eyes found Carter's and came with the reply, "I," he swallowed heavily, "found it by my wife's bedside this morning when I woke up."
Of course, the writer was not threatening Lusk at all; he was threatening his wife. It was obvious why, the killer, if it is indeed from he, clearly seems to think that an alliance between the committee and the assassins would find out his identity. So he decided to paralyze their leader, this man was indeed an evil one.
"Lusk," he shook his shoulders violently, "Lusk! You have to pull yourself together man!"
The door opened behind Carter and Richard's voice boomed from the other side, "Stacy, that's Oliver home now, do we have any of the roast left over I might have a-" On this a startled lusk pulled his revolver from his pocket and Richard found himself staring down a gun barrel in place of his wife's smile.
"WOAH WOAH WOAH! What's going on here?, he raised his hands up in a surrendering stance. Stacy appeared from the guest room and upon seeing the gun let out a scream through her hands cupped over her mouth.
"Who are you? Who are you you sick, twisted abomination? How did you find my house? What will you do to my wife you monster!" Lusk spat out, a man possessed at this point.
"Lusk I understand what you're feeling right now but you're pointing the gun at the wrong man," his voice was calm, as though speaking to a wounded animal, "you see this man is Richard Hastings and I assure you not the one deserving of your fear or wrath," he leant in so that Stacy would not hear, "but, keep that gun pointed at his face for one more second and you will find yourself on the receiving end of my wrath."
Lusk apparently saw reason because he put his gun away, apologized to Stacy for the trouble and waited outside. It was at this point that Richard noticed that Carter had in fact had his own revolver out the whole time, hidden beside his hip, and it was indeed still pointed at Lusk as he existed.
Richard leant in, "You weren't really about to shoot him were you?" Carter holstered his gun but gave no other response. Richard actually felt strangely…flattered? His master was fully prepared to sacrifice a valuable asset on the slight chance that he would harm his apprentice, come to think of it he even got dragged off to prison just to let him escape earlier. When would the time come when his master would not have to save him at every turn?
He went over to his wife, almost in tears, and tried to comfort her the best that he could. Although considering that she had nearly seen him get his head blown off it would take a bit of doing. On this note Arthur stumbled in through the door.
"For the love of God, is it only the insane that knock around here?" Carter bellowed poisonously, causing Arthur to recoil a little.
"Sorry, but it's an emergency," he saw Stacy in Richard's embrace, "um…the Benson at the…embassy…wishes to see your…father...Richard as apparently they have some urgent business to sort out with you and him that can't wait until morning." The last words were said with a wide eyed and urgent tone towards Carter.
Richard gave a resentful look towards the both of them but he knew what had to be done. He took Stacy's head in his hands and wiped away the tear travelling down her left cheek, "Stacy, I'm going to leave you with Arthur, he's going to make you some tea and I promise you I will explain everything when I get back, alright?" She nodded her head and Richard kissed her on the cheek, this caused her to bury her head in his chest and the embrace lasted for an extra few seconds. He then left her before he could change his mind.
Arthur placed his hand on Richard's shoulder, "I'll keep things calm over here, I promise." Richard nodded in recognition and strode out, followed swiftly by Carter.
Lusk, still skulking outside the front door, tried to approach Richard "Richard, I just want to convey how sorry I a-," Richard moved with lightning-quick speed, pinning Lusk to the wall with his elbow with his hidden blade inches from it.
"I accept your apology," he said in a low, very unsettlingly calm tone, "but understand that you if you ever make my wife cry like that again then by the time I'm finished with you you'll be begging me to plunge this blade into your throat, are we clear?"
"U-U-Unavoidably so." Lusk managed to babble out. Richard let go of his throat and charged ahead into the rain, followed swiftly by Carter and a very uneasy and reluctant George Lusk.
