"You've been out for quite some time, ma bichette," William's accented voice pulled Connor from her deep sleep. "Just a bump on the head, thankfully. Save a few cuts and bruises, nothing else too serious. Well, outside of that bullet you took in your leg."
Muttering to herself in her native language, Connor winced as she blinked her eyes open. Her body ached from her earlier scuffle, an all too familiar feeling. Frankly, she was extraordinarily fortunate she'd hit only the mantle of the fireplace. It ended up far better than falling into its flames. Reaching up, she felt that her head was wrapped in a thick bandage around her temples. The back of it crusted with dried blood, the welt underneath and on the left side of her skull dully ached. With a deep sigh, she shifted on the comfortably firm bed she slept on. It was a struggle to sit upright. Nevertheless, she pulled herself up to lean back against the intricately carved wooden headboard.
She recognized the room immediately. It proved the same quarters on the second floor she stayed in when William first arrived in the colonies and purchased the manor. She lay in the large, four-postered bed with thick, dark blue curtains for privacy. On account the room being so warm, they were drawn and tied back to the bedposts. Upholstered in silk, white wallpaper with white crown molding, the walls obviously cost a fortune. A lovely cherry wood desk and chair sat at the opposite wall of the foot of the bed. Next to it was the stone hearth, which crackled with a freshly banked fire. The black shutters of the window behind her were closed to keep out the cold. A still-life detailing various breads, meats and fruits scattered across a table hung on the wall to her right.
Also to her right and against the wall sat a pristine, black and white striped divan. Harris slept curled up on it, beneath a heavy woven blanket. His head resting on feather stuffed pillows, his hand remained on her bed only a few inches from hers.
Reaching out, Connor's fingertips carefully grazed his bruised cheek. "How does he fare?" she tentatively asked.
"He needed a sleeping draught to calm him," William tiredly replied. "He's understandably frightened. Which is why I ensured he rest in here, surrounded by other people. A few days away from work should do him some good," he asserted, "If that is not sufficient, he may take all the time he needs."
"A pity he was witness to this ordeal," she frowned.
"At least the threat is dead," William soothed, "Still, I worry that our duties have begun bleeding over into civilian life."
"McGuire," Connor sadly hummed, tucking the blanket around Harris before withdrawing.
"Precisely. He was a good man, one of my most trusted," William clasped his hands in front of him. "Though not a member of our Brotherhood, he was fully aware of my duties, He will be buried with the highest respects in the plot down in the cemetery I've set aside for myself."
"It is the least he deserves," Connor bowed her head.
Leaning back, she suddenly realized the chaise lounge usually in the corner now sat to her left. Sitting flush against her bed, it matched the pattern of the divan. However, she didn't expect to find Hickey laying sprawled out upon it. On his back, his arms were crossed over his chest. Without his stockings or boots but still in his trousers, his waistcoat was unbuttoned over his pale, ruffled tunic. His tricorne covering his face, it muffled his light snores.
Her grogginess dissipated within seconds at the sight of him. "What is he doing here?" she incredulously whispered while covering herself with the feather filled duvet. Even despite that she remained dressed, William leaving her in her trousers, chemise and the smallclothes beneath them.
"He insisted," William lightly shrugged from his chair on the other side of the bed.
"No doubt to murder me in my bed."
"Considering you are still alive, most likely not," William fleetingly grinned. "You are feeling better, no?"
"Skennenko:wa. Because you remain here-"
"Actually, I just stopped in to ensure you weren't any worse for wear," he interrupted. "Also, to keep a close eye on Harris. He's been here all night," he lifted his chin at Hickey.
"He lacks any sort of altruistic motivations," she sniffed. "Anything resembling them does not extend beyond enriching himself. Or base carnality. He is an unapologetic lech."
"Who sleeps at your bedside," William casually pointed out, "Instead of in it."
"I am lucky he did not slit my throat in the night," Connor retorted.
"Nor my neck either, ma chérie"
"And now you prefer to call me by affectionate names as well?" she glanced around the room, taking inventory again.
William would've laughed out loud at her furrowed brow. An obvious hint of her mood. So he settled for airily asking, 'I take it that he does so?"
"It is without end," she wrinkled her nose, "But only in an attempt to drive me to insanity rather than fondness. If you were aware of the numerous, bodily threats I have made without fulfilling them? I believe you would call me what the colonists refer to as 'a saint.' In spite of it, he still persists."
"I can see how he hates you so," William breezily replied.
Mouth curling with confusion, Connor searched his countenance for any sign of mocking. Yet the other assassin appeared the very picture of innocence. This was precisely why she felt the itching need to return to the Homestead; life in the city was relentlessly full of double meanings and strange, hidden signals beneath deceptively simple words. Not that William would ever betray her. Their friendship unbreakable, they would gladly give their lives for each other without question. It almost came to pass tonight, after all. But she yearned to set out for the wilderness. Not that she would admit out loud how much she missed the homestead, her growing number of neighbors and the Old Man.
Her stomach abruptly growled, causing William to laugh. "I am in need of food," she hemmed.
"I figured as much," he rose to his feet. "Come," he gestured, "Let's head to the kitchens and fetch you something to eat, yes?"
Shoving back the duvet, she gingerly slid out of bed. Grabbing her tunic from where it lay neatly folded on the desk chair with her other clothes, she tugged it over her head. She gave Hickey a long stare before letting William take her by the arm. Leading her out, he silently shut the door behind them. It was a welcome relief to lean on her him as he guided her down a floor to the kitchens. From the clocks they passed, she saw it was halfway past two in the morning. She'd slept for hours.
The servants retired for the night, William lit the lanterns scattered throughout the kitchen. From food in the pantry, he quickly put together a meal of bread, cheese, various slices of meat and dried fruit. A covered pot of chicken soup sat on the hook in hearth over the flickering embers. Banking the fire, he stirred it up to heat the rest of their meal. He then poured each of them a goblet of wine. Taking in how Connor slowly took a seat at the cook's table in the center of the room, he brought a third chair and helped her set her injured leg on it.
She slouched low and closed her eyes as he slid into the seat next to her. "How do you fare?" he set their plates and bowls of soup in front of them. Her eyes snapped open to see him raise a calm hand near her head. She nodded, giving him permission to move closer to inspect her wound. When he cautiously ran his fingers along it, he easily heard her sharp intake of breath. "It is wholly dry," he felt the stiff bandage, "A good a sign as any the bleeding stopped."
"Did it require stitching to close the wound?" she inquired.
"A handful," he softly replied, "Done myself. I made sure to clean the wound before and after."
"The better to stave off infection," she swallowed. "I am grateful for your care,"
"Do not worry yourself, bien sûr," he slid her a glass of wine, "We shall change the bandages once you get some food into you. Then you can use your herbs and poultices to dress your wound as you wish. Otherwise, no permanent malady, eh?"
"Luck is with us," she started eating, "I keep my leg, you remain alive and another Templar threat is at an end."
"With the help of your little ally, no less," William slyly replied, "Who seems willing to come and go at your beck and call, no matter who he works for."
Connor grunted at that, flicking her fingers in dismissal. "You have not been privy to his stream of complaints, curses and unrelenting chatter. Thomas Hickey is most certainly not the means to a lasting agreement between Templar and Assassin, I promise you."
He gave her a long look of appraisal before taking a deep drink. Finishing it off in a single swig, he poured himself another serving. He then swirled it around in his goblet while picking at his food."You know," he sighed after a long while, "My mentor back home, Monsiuer Dorian, often voiced his regrets that the two sides refuse a truce. Then again, 'Mais comment peut un côté confiance à l'autre quand compromis pourrait coûter leurs deux vies?' he swore."
"This war has continued for over a thousand years," Connor sleepily rubbed her eyes with her palms, "Peace escapes us, but nothing is completely…implausible."
Arching a brow, he replied, "Your hope of such despite your utter loyalty to the Brotherhood speaks of impressive optimism."
"Well," she shyly dipped her head, "Mr. Dorian sounds a sensible man. He must be, considering he is a master assassin and your trained expertise. I hope to sail to France to meet him someday."
"I am afraid that is impossible now," William's mouth tightened with anger. Knocking back another gulp, he thumped the glass back down to the table. "In his constant correspondence, my father informed me that he was murdered last year," he clenched his fist. "Within the very home of the king, the great, royal palace of Versailles!"
She narrowed her eyes. "Templars?" she growled.
"There is little reason to suspect anyone else, for a valuable artifact in his possession is now missing," William threw his hands up in frustration. "Unfortunately, we have also lost account of his orphaned son, though various means are being employed to find him."
Shaking her head in disbelief, Connor muttered, "Perhaps peace between enemies is further away than we assume."
"Nonetheless, we currently have a sleeping Templar in one of my guest quarters," William pointed upwards. "Who's to say we're not one step closer to achieving it?"
"Apparently, I am not the only one overflowing with optimism," she took in his measured expression. "As the colonists say, I do not trust him as far as I may throw him."
"Should I be surprised if he's simply waiting for the opportune time to kill us and then rob my home of its valuables?" he shrugged.
"I cannot deny the latter. Count your silverware and search his pockets for trinkets," she snorted before taking a large forkful of food. Thoughtfully chewing for a bit and sipping her wine, she added, "His coarse language and abrasive ways hide a savvy mind. He also has no qualms with using violence if someone gets in his way. At the same time, he does not employ it for enjoyment."
"A man of contradictions? How droll," William sarcastically replied.
"Hardly," Connor scoffed. "Hickey is a dissolute liar and smuggler on the hunt for debauchery of all kind. Those endeavors cost coin. So if his orders allow him those pursuits, he follows them. But he does no more and no less than what is asked of him. That is why he did not kill me during the mission. Nor when we were imprisoned."
"So he doesn't contain a hunger for blood like our dead Hessian. We should be relieved, I suppose," William drawled.
"After my attempted execution when I caught up with Hickey in the crowd, he assumed I would kill him," she drumed her fingers on the table. "Even so, he contained no regrets. He freely confessed he uses the Templars to gather wealth and the privileges it buys. Besides that, he cares little for their ideology. Yet he remains within their inner circle."
"Their known numbers dwindle due to our efforts," William assured her, "That he is among them makes it quite obvious they cannot afford to be so discerning in their ranks."
Finishing rest of their meal, William helped Connor into the wood-paneled sitting room a few doors down from the parlor where they'd fought the Hessian. Lying back on the neoclassical, cabriole style sofa, she slid into a more comfortable position. "No more stairs for you for a good long bit," William joked and settled her wounded leg on a pile of the couch's pillows. "It's easier for you to sleep down here. Let me start a fire in the hearth and fetch some bedding." After tending to and banking up the fireplace, he left for a moment. Despite the cold of the cavernous, high-ceilinged room, she was half-asleep when he returned a few minutes later, also carrying her remaining clothes and weapons. "For once, there's no need for you to wake up with the sun," William tossed a heavy fur over her before neatly arranging her other things on the floor next to her. "Enjoy your well-earned rest for once, eh?"
Allowing sleep to claim her, she found herself barely able to reply, "Niá:wen ki' wáhi," before she drifted off.
Connor jerked awake at the sound of someone repeating her name. The snap of panic at not instantly finding a weapon within her grasp swiftly passed when she blearily recognized she remained at the manor.
"Forgive me," William frowned, holding a folded piece of paper in front of her, "But considering the remarkable circumstances of the last few days, I assume you'd want to be aware of any missives from Dobby."
Slowly blinking, she mumbled her thanks and took it. The other assassin's recognizable scrawl across the page ensured it was no trap. It also caused her to nearly jump to her feet before she remembered how useless her leg remained.
"I must go-"
"You need to convalesce," William challenged. "Better to fully cure everything now than sabotage any progress and risk it getting worse overtime."
"I would usually agree," she yawned and leaned against the arm of the sofa to button up her coat. Buckling on her swordbelt and baldric, she glanced out the window and noted the sun cresting the horizon. "However, Mallow has disappeared. She cannot be located in any morgue or with any doctor," she held up the message before tossing it in the fire. "Also, Clipper returned with serious wounds from his mission in Trenton and stays with Duncan to heal. Dobby will meet me there."
"All of us are currently free of missions and would gladly share your duties, you know that," he crossed his arms. "Recovering yourself is a priority above all."
"Better to put an end to the Templar's schemes then allow any opportunity to slip through our fingers," she countered.
Closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose, William let out of groan of disagreement. "Fine, fine," he rolled his eyes. He continued shaking his head to the contrary while retreating to the kitchen. "I've known you long enough to be fully aware of when you've absolutely made up your mind," he called out over his shoulder. Lowering herself into an armchair, Connor tightened the bandage around her leg before adjusting her trousers and lacing up her moccasins and leg wrappings over it.
"I'll have you know, ma louve féroce, that obstinacy isn't always a virtue," William gave a long exhale as he helped her to her feet and handed her the duo of burlap sacks he brought back with him. Digging around inside them, Connor gave him a pleased expression at what he'd packed. The first one contained rolls of bandages, a can of ointment and glass bottles of various herbs and plants. The second held a bottle of fine wine and plenty of food wrapped in brown paper and twine. "Sent with my regards to everyone," he smiled at her reaction, "Especially Clipper. I'm sure he could use some quality spirits considering his current state."
"I cannot disagree with that," she replied, slipping her weapons into place. However, she paused as she checked a knife in the holster she'd tied around her thigh. Withdrawing it and inspecting its elaborately filigreed grip, she took in its silver handle and pommel. Their grooves were carefully inlaid with flecks of gold and black onyx. Deftly twirling it along her palm, the blue steel of the blade glinted in the low candlelight of the room. The dagger's impeccable balance obviously belied expert construction and care.
"You are surprisingly generous with your second favorite arm of choice," William arched a brow when she unexpectedly handed it to him.
"It belonged to Eleanor Mallow," Connor insisted. "Hickey…liberated it from her when we searched her after she failed to kill you on our way here."
William let out an impressed whistle. "It's a fine prize," he nimbly tossed the blade from hand to hand. Holding it at eye level, he looked down its fuller while rolling it back and forth. "He didn't keep this for himself?" his gaze met hers over the edge of the dagger.
"It was sheathed in my belt. So I assume he did not."
"Interesting," William drawled.
Shooting him an incredulous look for a few seconds, she declared, "It should go to one in need of it. Harris would do well with a fine weapon to protect himself. Especially after what he has endured."
"I agree," he thoughtfully replied. "He excels at climbing about, adores the books I recommend him from my library and his reflexes are far beyond most young men of his age."
"That explains how he was able to flee the Hessian at the first chance we gave him," Connor breathed.
"Oui," William agreed. "Nonetheless, I don't believe he suspects how the little tests and tasks I assign drive him towards the Brotherhood. It is better that way; when he reaches adulthood, he will have the choice of whether or not to join our ranks."
"He will be a remarkable addition if he desires to pursue it," Connor approved.
They made their way out to the front drive, which was now covered in a light layer of snow. Connor didn't balk as William assisted her into a plain, black carriage that wouldn't be noticed on the road.
As he slammed the door shut, she suddenly leaned out of the coach window. "Swear to me something," she quietly asked.
"Anything, ma Cherie," he gave a brief bow.
"Should Hickey compromise anything of you or the Brotherhood-"
"His life is forfeit," William smoothly replied, "Such are always the rules, no matter your previous agreement. With the Hessian dead, every Templar is fair game again."
"Though he is afforded safe passage from here," Connor clarified.
"Unless he becomes a direct threat, yes," William carefully said. "He will be blindfolded again when he leaves, for security's sake."
"Without question," she replied. "Thank you, William," she held out a hand.
"Always," William clasped both of his hands around hers. She didn't shirk away, thoroughly used to her friend's tactile nature and sincerity. "Now go and rest up," he chuckled, "We all prefer you back in one piece."
"O:nen ki' wahi'," she let out a exhausted sigh.
"I hope not for long," William smirked. Knocking against the coach to signal he was done, he watched as it rumbled down the drive. Waiting until it exited the front gate, he jogged back to the house. He had a Templar to evict, after all.
Duncan's modest home in the North End neighborhood of Boston consisted of the rented upper floor of a printer's shop. Owned by a member of the Masons recommended by Sam Adams, the landlord was steadfast supporter of the Revolution. He also highly valued the need for privacy. So long as Duncan paid his rent on time and didn't bring the law to their doorstep, he had no complaints. More importantly, he never questioned the assassins' clandestine comings and goings. No matter that they occurred at all hours of the day and night. That it was next door to the Light-House and Anchor tavern made it all the more ideal; most of the time, Connor and her recruits simply leaped across the printer's roof to the tavern and entered it from one of the open windows on the second floor.
This time, Connor limped into the first floor of the shop. Save a worried look from the printer's apprentice (which was promptly wiped off his face by the printer's smack to the back of his head and bellow of "Pay attention, boy!" as he reset the type of some pamphlet or other), she slowly hobbled up the stairs. She reflexively flicked out her hidden blade when Duncan's door flew open while she was still at the opposite end of the hallway. However, she quickly sheathed it at the sight of the former priest. Racing to her and throwing an arm around her shoulders, he took William's bags of supplies and hustled her inside.
"I could hear you from outside, lass," he quickly explained. "Considering you're always movin' about so silently, Dobby wasn't exaggerating on how you got shot through the limb there," he nodded at her leg.
"Does she remain here?" Connor asked. She bit back a wince as he maneuvered her to sit on the settee in front of the hearth.
"She's out grabbin' more food and supplies as a favor to me before she heads back to her place and her usual patrols," he informed her. "Milly and Caleb are stayin' in town a few days to take over watching me and Clipper's sections of town."
"How kind of them," she replied with relief, "And Clipper?"
"He's mendin' up," he jerked a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the bedroom, "So his appetite has returned in earnest."
"It is good that he will be whole again."
"You don't say?" Duncan chortled. Carefully propping up her injured leg on a folded blanket, he added another log to the fireplace in front of her. "He's out of the woods now," he pulled another heavy, woolen blanket over her. "I mean, his injuries from his mission in Trenton shouldn't be so worryin' for much longer," he explained the colloquialism as she cracked an eye open, "But he completed the operation as assigned."
"Even if he did not, I value his survival above all," Connor reassured him.
"Of course," Duncan agreed, flashing her a soft smile as he crouched down next to her. "Your priorities have always been in the right place. And we thank you for it, Connor. In the meantime, do you need anything else? Are you comfortable 'nough to sleep?"
Stretching a bit, she replied, "I have everything I require. Go attend to Clipper."
"Sleep well," he moved to his feet. On his way to one of the bedrooms, he closed the shutters to keep the room free of early dawn sunlight.
Even as she as she dozed off, it was easy to hear Duncan and Clipper chattering away in the spare rom. Voices ebbing and flowing, they were every so often punctuated by either Clipper's bawdy hoot or Duncan's deep chuckle.
A bout of particularly loud laughter suddenly woke her. She sat up, clumsily maneuvering herself to get a clear view of the room where Clipper convalesced. The door still open, he lay on his back with his head and shoulders propped on a pile of pillows. Duncan remained in a chair next to the bed. Despite his back being to her, she could tell by the relaxed set of his shoulders and how his head dipped forward, he sat comfortable and unperturbed. From the window behind the bed, the watery morning sunlight filtered through the opened slats of the wooden shutters. Combined with the flickering reflection of the fireplace against the pale walls, the room appeared bathed in gold.
Clipper chortled again, slapping a bandaged hand across his chest. Momentarily forgetting his injuries, he yelped at the contact. Duncan immediately took his wrist in his hands, inspecting it with gentle fingers. While Connor made no effort to eavesdrop on their conversation, she couldn't miss how he then leaned over and pressed a kiss to Clipper's brow. Yet as he withdrew, Clipper's other hand grasped him by the front of his tunic. He must have said something amusing, for Duncan gave a hearty laugh as the frontiersman pulled him back down. Mouth hungrily capturing his, Clipper steered him forward until Duncan eagerly fell onto the bed next to him.
Connor looked away to leave the two to their privacy. At the sound of the door swiftly closing she couldn't help her brief grin. Contemplatively staring into the flames of the hearth while she wrapped herself in the heavy blanket, her thoughts drifted to the Homestead.
Of course, Achilles would scold her for her injuries. Even as he carefully redressed her leg, he'd brusquely shake his head in disbelief at her brazen actions. Couldn't she see how her obvious disregard for her own welfare would end in her dead on some snow-covered field or in some back alley of the cities? Naturally, their squabble would continue as they cooked dinner together. However, he'd eventually acknowledge her elimination of another enemy. Any chink in their armor loosens their grip on this land, girl. For as each one falls, another of your Assassins fill their place. But take heed to not and try to get yourself killed every time the opportunity arises, hmm?
His gravelly words washing over her as they ate now proved so utterly familiar, she'd could admit to their comfort. Along with how easily he'd beat her at their usual game of fanorona in the study afterwards. The next few days after her return would be spent reviewing and balancing the accounts. Once she gained back her mobility, then would come the visits with the homesteaders. A trip to Mariam's cottage to buy more winter pelts. Assisting Norris with loading his mine materials into a new convoy. Chopping down logs into wooden slats with Godfrey and Terry to help Mr. Faulkner patch the back wall of his cabin down by the shore. There was never a shortage of work or diversions.
The sooner she returned home, the better.
Thomas was roused from a warm and comfortable slumber. Sunlight streaming on his face, he stretched his arms above his head. With a roll his shoulders and the crack of his knuckles, he let out a loud yawn. The chaise he lay on was overstuffed and upholstered with exceptionally fine silk. It proved miles better than a shitty, flea-ridden bed at some backwater inn. Or the cold, frozen ground of the wild. Frankly, it was the best sleep he'd had since, well, that licentious night back at the cabin in the wilderness.
"I'm assumin' ya didn't go 'n fuckin' die on me, yeah?" he chuckled. Met by silence, he snorted, "Christ, you ain't gotta get all pouty 'bout it, she-wolf." But there was no reply.
Swinging his legs over the lip of the chaise to sit up, Hickey froze at finding Connor was nowhere to be found. Harris no longer slept in the room either, the divan he previously occupied also empty and bare of blankets and pillows. Before he could jump to his feet, there was a light knock on the door.
"Gimme a sec-"
Not waiting for him to finish, one of the maids unlocked it and pushed it open. An older woman this time, tufts of her salt and pepper hair curled around her ears and the nape of her neck beneath her starched, white bonnet. Like all the other servants, her clothes were dark blue and edged in white lace embroidered with gold thread. He hadn't seen her before either. Pleasantly plump with a bright smile, she chirped, "Good morning, sir-!"
"Where do Connor be?" he stood and demanded.
"The young miss is safe, sir." She barely spared him a glance, occupied with eagerly waving in two burly young men who each held a bucket of steaming water.
Pointing at the divan, he questioned, "And what 'bout the boy? He got all sorts 'o banged up, ya see-"
"Our Harris is recovering," she jauntily proclaimed.
"But where'n seven hells do he-?!"
"You should wash up, sir," she brightly interrupted, her jovial disposition unphased by his irritation.
"Wot?" he crossed his arms while leaning against one of the bedposts, "I don't get no privilege of Willie's valet helpin' me get all classed up this mornin' like usual?"
Without missing a beat, the maid lightly shook her head in disagreement and demurred, "I'm afraid he's indisposed, sir."
At a clap of her hands, the two men set their buckets on the floor. One of them left, only to quickly return carrying a porcelain basin. When he set it on the desk, Hickey made out a towel, some massively expensive soap that smelled of sandalwood and a scrub brush arranged inside it. Behind him, the maid announced that once he was done she'd lead him downstairs.
He couldn't get in another word before the trio left and shut the door behind them. After it clicked closed, he attempted to yank it back open. Of course, it was locked from the outside. His movements restricted again, he had no choice but to do as asked.
Finishing his morning routine, his knock on the door was greeted by the same maid. Her continued cheery expression gave nothing away as she gestured for him to follow her. He also took note that the two who brought up the water tailed them as well. All in all, there was no chance for him to go exploring. Not especially with how she took a straight path downstairs to one of the smaller dining rooms on the ground floor. By now, it was no surprise to find William settled in across the table and halfway done with breakfast. Clothing neat and coordinated with fastidious precision, he appeared as foppish as ever.
"I'm afraid Connor's been called away on other business," the Frenchman announced. Thomas shot him a look of confusion as he yanked out a chair and took a seat. According to the clock sitting on the mantle behind him, it was around ten in the morning. Later than the familiar routine, but he wasn't going to bitch about it.
Frowning for a few seconds, Hickey steeled a careless smile to his face and shrugged, "Apparently, the girl ain't one for tearful goodbyes."
"It has never been a strength of hers," William cast him a knowing look over the edge of the newspaper he perused. "However, she sends her apologies."
"Somehow," Hickey filled his teacup and starting piling his plate high with food, "I be highly doubtin' that."
"Now why ever would you assume such?" William sing-songed before wetting a finger and flipping the paper to the next page.
"Tosser," Thomas sniffed before digging into his food.
"In the meantime, I must go into town for errands," William continued, pretending not to hear the insult. "Where shall I drop you, mon ami?"
Thomas nodded with supposed ease, "Don't go troublin' yourself. I got two feet 'n can go findin' me way back-"
"Oh, we cannot have that," William casually replied in spite of his fleeting but narrowed gaze over the newspaper. "Besides, secrets must remain so. Though it was a worthy attempt in order to figure out exactly where you are at the moment." Grimacing, Thomas silently continued eating as William declared, "Enjoy your brunch. We leave within a half-hour."
As promised, Saint-Prix dropped Thomas off back at the tavern they met at some days ago. Relieving him of the blindfold when the carriage stopped, the Assassin exited it behind him.
"Well now, Mousier Hickey," William held out a hand, "I appreciate what you have done for me."
"It wasn't for ya," Hickey shrugged, though he returned William's firm shake, "Just a means to an end. And I ain't guaranteein' I'll go bein' so accomodatin' the next time we be seein' each other."
"What makes you think I shall be, Templar?" William flashed him a predatory smile. Hickey's other hand immediately flew to his belt for a weapon. "No need for that," William breezily continued despite tightening his grip around the other man's hand in warning. "Besides, it would be in particularly poor taste to take your life right here and now. In front of all of these lovely people? How gauche," he carelessly waved around the bustling town square.
"And what makes ya think I be givin' a damn 'bout the proper time to go killin' an Assassin?" Thomas sharply retorted, yanking out of the younger man's grasp.
"I've never been under any such illusions," William lightly shrugged as Thomas flexed his fingers. "Truly you cannot think me so remiss as to not always have other plans in place?" he jerked his head upwards.
Hastily glancing over his shoulder, Hickey examined the roofs. Though she was half-hidden by the shadows, he could just make out Dobby crouched above them. Not to mention, the tell-tale glint of her flintlock pointed square at him. He shook his head in disbelief as she gave him a languid salute from her temple.
"Always one bloody step ahead," Thomas muttered.
"As it should be," William steadily replied. "Then again, you should know better, considering how much time you've spent with Connor."
"Ya don't say?" Hickey cocked his head to the side.
"Precisely," the young noble agreed. Crossing his arms and rubbing his chin, he added, "It is such a pity that you've chosen the wrong side of our ancient conflict. We could use someone as, how shall I put this?" he smirked with a flutter of his hand in the air, "Ah, as spontaneously efficient as you."
"Ya don't say?" Thomas repeated in exasperation.
Laughing, William gracefully leapt back into the carriage. "While I shall not falter should it come to pass, it will be a true shame to have to kill you when I next have you in my sights."
Lip curling upward, Thomas replied, "The feelin' be mutual."
"And so it shall be when we meet again," William reached out and knocked on the door, causing the driver to pull forward. "Adieu," he waved in goodbye. With that, Thomas was left to contemplate the strange twists and turns of his alliance with Assassins. As well as the glaring fact that he hadn't spilled any of their blood. Nor had they done the same to him return.
Interesting, that.
Translations and Notes:
"Ma bichette" – "My little doe." A French term of friendly endearment.
"Skennenko:wa" – "I am fine" in Mohawk
"bien sûr" – "Of course" in French
"Mais comment peut un côté confiance à l'autre quand compromis pourrait coûter leurs deux vies?" - "But how may one side trust the other when compromise could cost both their lives?
"Niá:wen ki' wáh" – '"Thanks a lot" in Mohawk
"Ma louve féroce" - "My ferocious (female) wolf" in French
"O:nen ki' wahi'" – "Good bye then" in Mohawk
Per canon, Duncan hangs out around in the North End section of Boston. So I assume he lives there and frequents its taverns. My fanon is that he lives very close to the real, historical tavern called Light-House and Anchor, which was located near the Old North Meeting House. Unfortunately, during the Siege of Boston (April 19, 1775 – March 17, 1776), the meeting house was torn down by British soldiers to use its wood as firewood.