The woman sat at the edge of the tower, watching all of Barcelona from above. Streets were dotted with small fires and not all of them were emanating from the lamps. There had been witch-hunts just a few hours ago. One person would stand no chance against countless soldiers and executioners. Not unless one was a particularly gifted assassin. And even those needed situational assistance. Her hood fluttered as the wind wafted across the city.
She slipped it off her head. The odds of finding company at this height were negligible. Almost.
"That's my spot."
The woman closed her eyes before opening them again and sighed. She knew the voice. And the person.
"Rosa."
"Helene Dufranc."
The thief perched herself on the edge of the rooftop next to her. Two silhouettes crouched alongside. One a rogue, the other a member of the Venetian Thieves Guild.
"I see too many Italians tonight for my own good," said Helene.
"And you are possibly the only Frenchwoman I know in all of Spain," said Rosa.
They watched the deserted lanes below. Small alleyways scurrying to meet the others. Barcelona stretched out in a map of buildings, slanting tiled red roofs and soft candlelight gleaming from the grilled windows.
"How did you find me?" asked Helene.
"I had knowledge of your whereabouts," said Rosa, "and your love for towering landmarks."
"When did you arrive?"
"This evening with Antonio. There is work to be done." She looked at Helene. "You could be of use to us."
Helene shook her head. "I am not a hired blade."
Antonio de Magianis, leader of the Venetian Thieves Guild, had tried to prevail upon her to join their cause. He had been incredibly persuasive in some of his methods. But Helene had not been one to yield.
"Five years later and we still cannot come upon an agreement," smiled Rosa.
"Not after I realized that the hospitality in Venice had an ulterior motive."
"Does not everything?"
Helene did not answer. Rosa persisted. "We have the same goal, Helene. Do you not see? Liberty of the oppressed."
"The only liberty I concern myself with is of my own. If I had needed a cause, would I have strayed from the Assassin Order?"
"Look there," pointed Rosa to a street below, "and tell me what you see."
"I see a bonfire," said Helene after a cursory glance.
"It is the stake upon which the Inquisitors burn the heretics. Some of them may be our Assassin brothers."
"I belong to no brotherhood. I never have."
"The liberty you so cherish is being wrenched away from the people as we speak. What has made you so bitter, Helene, that you would not answer to a higher calling?"
"I do my own bidding," said Helene. "There is no greater calling."
Rosa looked resigned.
"Do not lose heart, ma amie," said Helene. "We have met after a long time. Surely there are better things to speak of."
"I suppose there are…"
"Follow me, then, to my tavern. The last person to descend the tower shall provide the food and drinks."
"Agreed!" said Rosa and dropped down to a ledge below. Helene laughed as Rosa latched onto the marble protrusions on the wall. "Why do you laugh?" asked Rosa, but did not wait for an answer. Helene stood on her toes. The pile of hay below suited her purpose. She spread her arms in a grand gesture and tilted her body forward.
The wind hit her face as she plummeted through the air, eyes watering and cloak flapping in the breeze. "That is unfair!" Rosa cried out to the freefalling rogue. Helene Dufranc was not listening. Her face was calm and peaceful as her body gracefully pirouetted in the air before the soft landing.
"I apologize for my indiscretion, Ezio," said Raphael when the assassin rejoined him for supper.
"And what would that be?" smiled Ezio as he settled down.
So he did not want any further mention of the woman. Cristina Vespucci must have meant a great deal to him. The assassin perhaps did have hidden depths.
"I refrain to speak of grave matters when dining, but with time being scarce on our side, I am wont to make an exception."
"You may do so, friend," said Ezio. "I follow no particular ordinance for supper."
"Good," said Raphael and leaned closer. "Now listen carefully. Our Assassin brethren are condemned to fall to Gaspar Martinez's blade. He oversees the executions in Barcelona."
"He shall be taken care of."
"Do not be so sure, Ezio. He is an important man. One who answers solely to Torquemada's dictates. You will have to pass through many to get to him."
"I have done so before, Raphael. I shall do so again."
"No doubt, Ezio. That is why the Brotherhood called upon you."
"You are of great service too, Raphael. It is difficult for an Assassin to make it to a position of immense power. Especially that of a royal Advisor."
"My position at times seems of futile authority, Ezio. If I have one ear of Queen Isabella, the Templars have her by the other."
Ezio shook his head. The Templars wormed their way into everything. "When you are ready, Ezio," said Raphael, "I would like to acquaint you with our key alleys and hideouts."
"Va bene," said Ezio. Italian was a force of habit. "Very good," he smiled to the bewildered nobleman.
They logged out with Desmond blinking the spots from his eyes and Shaun grumbling about the lack of progress. "Look who volunteered for supply duty," said Lucy, without looking up from her notepad.
"Pleasure's all mine," he muttered. It was quite a drag to scour for a week's worth of supply. A little outdoors, however, could do him some good. Shaun had never heard of cases of death by fresh air.
Hands in pocket, he hummed a slow tune as the rickety elevator droned to a jerky halt. Shaun walked out, into the streets. Nonchalant, as if he was there all along. Clean-cut guy, just walking, doing nothing suspicious. The sun was bright, the winds were cool.
And he was being followed by two men.
Abstergo.
Seriously, did they think he would not notice? Shaun quickened his pace. His alertness grew in his paranoia. The Templars were blending in with the crowd. And closing him away from it. Old strategy. That is how they got to him last time. Shaun walked faster now, shoulder-butting his way through people. The shopping list crumpled in his sweat-drenched hands before disintegrating.
The corner of his eye caught a man looking above a newspaper. Another was supposedly taking pictures of the city. Yet another cycled past, speaking into a Bluetooth. Assholes had him cornered. The two men were still following him. Two more joined the hunt. Sideways, but keeping their distance.
Oh God…
He made a powerful, conscious decision not to run. All hell would break loose then. Shaun kept to his right, his shoulder almost grazing the wall. His hand gripped the knob of a door and he made a blind dash down a flight of stairs. Right into a dimly lit basement. It contracted into a narrow long-winding corridor. Shaun already knew as he ran into it, that he was heading for disaster.
He was stuck underground in naturally sound-proofed environment and in a never-ending corridor. Without a weapon. The footsteps grew louder behind him. They were on top of the stairs. The corridor was a dead-end. It opened into a dormant laundry room with four washer-dryers, a vending machine and a glass window near the ceiling.
Shaun Hastings was trapped.
The only way out was no longer an option. He faced the opening into the laundry room and walked backwards, waiting for the footsteps to come closer. Today was the day. He would either be maimed or dead. Or both.
That was when his eyes rested on the vending machine. And he had an idea…
"Alright Desmond. Break's over, training begins."
"Aye aye," he grinned, following Lucy down the ramp and into the open space of the hideout.
"What're we doing today?"
"Fight training. We'll get to see what you learnt inside the Animus. And if you're stuck in an… adversative situation, you'll do a better job of fending off the opponents."
"Unlike the escape from Abstergo?"
"You were good!" said Lucy and turned around. "Desmond, you really held your own. But now, you'll get to be better."
She gestured with her hands in beckoning provocation. "Hit me."
Desmond's eyes widened. "What?"
"You heard her," said Rebecca. She was standing on the ramp, leaning against the banister.
"Hit me," Lucy repeated.
"Humor her, Desmond."
Desmond swallowed hard and sent a weak imitation of a punch her way. Lucy dodged it.
"Really, Desmond?"
"I-I can't hit you. You're- "
"A woman? Desmond, you've got to forget gender when you're under threat. The only choices before you will be of right and wrong. Living. And dying. Brace up!"
Not dying. Not like this.
Shaun had pulled off his sweater while moving over to the vending machine. His shaking fingers desperately grasped for quarters. He barely kept his hand steady as he popped them in, in quick succession.
Please… just work.
He spread his sweater under the opening duct, letting the cans tumble into it. The men, five of them now, entered the room. They were amused to find him crouched before the vending machine.
Cowering, they assumed.
Shaun waited, afraid to exhale. His instincts and their footsteps suggested that they were near enough. Shaun knotted his sweater around the cans.
Come and get me, fuckers.
One of the men approached from behind. He got the worst of it. Shaun had swung his arm as he leapt to his feet. The impact knocked the would-be assailant off his own.
Shaun launched his attack on the next Templar, felling him with a hit to his face. It was then that they discovered his little improvisation. It left a nasty pain on contact. The bastard could well have been pounding them with a rock-laden sack.
Lucy easily deflected his punches. "See how this goes?" she asked.
"These are textbook assassin moves, Desmond," said Rebecca. "Memorize."
"Don't memorize," Lucy corrected. "Imbibe."
Desmond's arm suddenly sprang up, cushioning Lucy's fist from his face. "Nice!" said Lucy. "Your instinct felt it before your eyes saw it. It's happening because of the Bleeding Effect."
Shaun's nose was bleeding. He could also taste its metallic tinge in the inside of his jaw. The suckers had managed to sneak a few blows in. Unfortunately, this situation was a little out of his job profile. Shaun swung his arm around, taking down as many attackers as he could, before dropping the sweater and the cans and making a dash for it.
One of them gave him chase into the streets and smirked when he spotted a brown thatch of spiked hair blending in with the crowd. The man inched closer till he was walking right behind his target. He jabbed his foot between his feet, tripping him over. His victim fell but when the Templar turned him around, he realized his mistake.
It was not Shaun Hastings. The henchman cursed and ran into a four lane junction. The historian had made good his escape.
One of the men who walked past the Templar was still holding the currency notes a strange, bloodied British national had pressed into his hands in exchange for his black jacket.
Shaun blinked away the blackness in his vision as he boarded a bus. His self-preservation had kicked in before panic. He was dabbing the blood off his face, bending over in caution to avoid being spotted.
Rebecca had taken Desmond's place for the demonstration.
"Pay attention," said Lucy. "Chest, stomach and neck. It's a triple threat."
Then, with a quick succession of moves, she struck Rebecca on the chest. She doubled slightly over and got a knee in the stomach from Lucy. A fiery chop to the back of the neck had her on the floor.
"Brutal," Desmond muttered.
Rebecca sat up on her knees. "It's okay. I've been in worse. Either way, Lucy hit me with speed, not with force."
"Isn't that the same thing?"
"Not really."
There was that grating sound of the elevator again. "That's gotta be Shaun," said Lucy. "You guys continue. I'll help him with all the stuff."
From afar, she saw his bent frame stooping against a railing. He was dry-gagging and clutching his ribs.
"Shit, what happened?"
"I need… help."
"Rebecca!"
"Don't call her! Take me to my room."
Lucy readily complied. He was heavy against her. As she helped onto his bed, she had a nagging suspicion about what may have happened. And she had a very bad feeling about what was to follow.
Author's note: Okay, this was a very hurriedly written chapter. College has opened in full throttle and we'll be overloaded with work very soon. This has just been put up to pull the story forward. I know I could've done this chapter better. But time's scarce on my side too. :)
I will love you if you review, so please do. It really gets me going!
Much love to shadowelf144, P-Jiggitty, Chystis, mythstoorfoot (yes, Lucy-Rebecca convo is inspired from the email. :D) and A Beautiful Oblivion (you're awesome for being so patient with my queries) for their reviews! :D