"You can be a king or a street sweeper, but everyone dances with the Grim Reaper." –Robert Harris
-o-
The fortress was on an island. Jacqueline was forced to track down the Aquila's crew, which took the longest portion of her hunt, as they had all gone their separate ways during the two years they had been in France so far. When she had them all in one place, she took the Aquila north, to an island called L'Ilette. It was a tiny spit of land off the northwestern peninsula, filled with rocky beaches and tiny bits of pale grass. Late-season seagulls pecked along the shores, and scattered when she jumped off the ship.
"Faulkner, it might be best to return to the mainland for supplies. I may be here for some time." She called up, pulling her hood up and muffling out the freezing wind.
"Naw, lass, already taken care of. We'll be waitin' here for ye. Good luck to ya!" He waved at her. The crewmates leaned over the edge and hung on the shrouds, also waving her goodbye and calling after her.
Jacqueline waved back, grinning, and watched the ship sail away southeast before vanishing into the mist of the evening. The fort she was heading towards was fairly nearby—in fact, she wondered why the Aquila had not been attacked. She approached the building, and turned her path a bit west to flank the fort and enter somewhere other than the front door. Before she could move much farther, though, a young serving boy came jogging toward her across the beach. She bristled, but he was unarmed.
"Jacqueline Sauvegeot?" He gasped, catching his breath.
"Yes…" Jacqueline answered suspiciously.
"Ah, good. Monsieur Rousseau has been expecting you. This way, my lady." The serf gestured for her to follow, and she did, after a moment of hesitation.
The fort's portcullis rattled open as the pair approached, up the dirt slope between hills of dark rocks rounded by centuries of ocean waves. Fresh salty water sprayed up at each wave, framing the path. Jacqueline could feel the eyes of the fort's guards on her, but kept her arms crossed and away from her weapons. The orderly led her through a few doors and up two flights of stairs.
The inside of the fort was silent. Their footsteps on red carpets were padded and hushed in the claustrophobic stone halls. She was led around corners and through passages, along the edge of a cathedral-sized hall until at last the boy stopped at a large door.
"In here, mademoiselle." He opened the door and let her in first, then followed and started ahead to continue leading her.
The room was a low, comfortable hall. A long dining table stretched down the way. At the end sat a man. Wrinkles of age were formed around his mouth and eyes. His hair was streaked gray, as was the modest beard he sported. He stood when she entered the room. A wolf the size of a mule looked up at her and yawned, exposing ivory teeth longer than her hand.
"Welcome, Assassin." Christophe Rousseau greeted, bowing.
"Rousseau." Jacqueline drew her sword and faced him, pointing at him with the steel. "I have come for your life."
"I know. You're the girl from all those years ago. The Sauvageot child."
"Then you know why I have come. Why I have killed four before you to reach this place."
"Yes. But before you kill me, I would rather like to have one last conversation. I'm an old man, you see, and when you get old you get lonely. I wouldn't expect one so young to understand. Please, sit."
Jacqueline watched him, confused and wary. "You're mad."
"Don't insult me, girl!" He snapped, and sat back in his chair. "Ease your bloodthirsty habits for one moment and have an intelligent conversation."
After a pause, she sheathed her sword and slowly sat across from him. A couple serving boys entered the room and placed bowls of soup before the two diners. They kept their eyes cast away and exited backwards. Jacqueline looked down. The soup was deep red with some green spice sprinkled on top. A wide array of silver was lined up on either side of the white china; several forks and spoons that shrank in size and a few different knives. She had no idea what to do with any of it.
"Now," Rousseau continued. He picked up the proper spoon and began eating. "Let's talk."
Jacqueline exhaled sharply and looked away, but met his gaze. "Why did you kill my parents?"
Rousseau scoffed at her behind a glass of brandy. "I was expecting something more interesting. Well, as you know, most of France is under Templar control. When we—they, the Order—start to get powerful, they get out of control, ironically. So when we learned that two retired Assassins were living in the middle of our sanctuary, we decided it would be best to be rid of them."
"You were prepared to kill a child just for that?"
"Ha! You really think we're monsters, don't you? I can see whomever trained you has instilled years of influence. Of course we didn't want to kill a child, especially Norman Durand. He always was a bit soft, a bit round on the edges. He managed to convince even I that we should allow you to live."
Jacqueline glowered at him, her hand tightening on her sword's hilt. The wolf saw this and growled fiercely, a large paw shifting forward to indicate it was about to stand up, and she quickly backed down.
"Oh, don't mind Furie." Rousseau commented lightly, resting a hand on its head. "He's quite tame, and fiercely loyal. You will get to know him quite well, in fact."
"What do you mean by that?" Jacqueline glowered at her soup, keeping her hands in her lap.
"I can't very well let him starve. You will take care of him once you've killed me, yes? He won't let any of those simple serving boys get near him." The Templar stroked the beast's head affectionately.
"You want me to take care of your hound?" Jacqueline wasn't sure whether to be honoured, shocked, offended, or all three.
"He'll love you unconditionally. You have my word." He clicked his tongue at the huge beast and pointed to her. Furie lumbered over to the Assassin, sniffed her, and reluctantly sat beside her.
"What…how is it that size?" She stared in horror at the beast, leaning away.
"Now, that is a story." Rousseau picked himself up out of his chair and shuffled to a chest of drawers. "I've come in contact with several powerful artifacts over my years of plundering and conquering. Once, I was exploring a vast desert in the far south when my faithful hound, just a pup then, ran away from me. When he returned, this was in his teeth, and he had transformed into something otherworldly."
The Templar held up a ring. It shone with a kind of inner light, cast tiny golden beams across the room. Jacqueline frowned, fading into her second sight. With everything else washed out in shades of gray and black, the ring glowed brightly gold-white with flickers of red.
"That is an unnatural artifact." She said warily, glancing at the mutated hound beside her.
"Yes, I know." Rousseau observed it proudly. "It gives me power, too. I see what will be, what was. I can look into the hearts of others and dissect their true intentions. It made Furie into a true warrior. Magnificent. Take it, won't you? As a last parting gift."
She had to admit that it was tempting. But even halfway to reaching out and taking it, she drew back. "Keep that thing away from me."
"Don't you want it? All this power?" Rousseau purred, waving the ring a little. "Pity to let it go unappreciated after I pass."
When she was about to deny him yet again, an idea struck, and she held out her hand. "You are right. It would go to waste."
Rousseau handed it over. It was warm and tickling, like feathers writhed on its surface. "I'm glad to see you have more common sense than your retired father. He was so…stubbourn, so willing to be the hand of justice and liberty. He was much too idealistic for my tastes."
More serfs entered the hall, shuffling up to each of them and removing their soup bowls: one full, one empty. The second row of boys set a new plate in front of them and uncovered it to show a full lobster on Jacqueline's plate and a bloody steak on Rousseau's. More plates of other foods were placed along the table: potatoes and cabbage, loaves of steaming bread and pitchers of spiced mead, fruit pies, orange slices with chocolate and vanilla crème. One courageous boy had the task of giving Furie his food, and slid the ceramic bowl of meat across the floor to the beast.
Jacqueline sighed. "My father wasn't retired."
Rousseau looked up from cutting his steak and placing buttered potatoes on his plate. "Oh?"
"The day your garrison came to my home, he was…looking over a collection of papers. That just proves how effective your Order is, I suppose." She rudely stirred her drink with her finger.
"All the better that we eliminated them, then." He countered cuttingly. "Honestly, you Assassin types are all the same. You think you're automatically correct and that we are automatically evil. I like to think of myself as…open-minded. Revolution is coming, Assassin. I can taste it in the air. Can you?"
"Problems concerning taxes is hardly cause for revolution."
"You forget the power the Order has. We have operatives in very high places. And remember that little trinket," He nodded at the ring. "Gave me a good two decades of foresight. Luckily, I'll be long dead before I can watch this place be ransacked and raided. So, unless you have any other questions, I think I'll finish my last meal, and we can get this messy business over with."
"Did you know my parents?" She mumbled the question quietly, ashamed of asking it.
Rousseau nodded. "Yes. Long ago, before we had chosen our sides, your father and I were good friends. He was a determined man, and I can see he's passed that on to you. As for your mother, you and she are strikingly similar. You have her eyes, you know, and that same dark fire she always had burns in you."
For a moment, Jacqueline hesitated. "Why do you want to die?"
"No one wants to die, Assassin. However, humans often get a sense when it's time. Dogs run from their masters and die alone, and that's the difference between animals, and us. We rise to meet our fate."
Much of the food remained on the table. It seemed wasteful, but Rousseau made no move to beckon any servers.
After taking a deep breath, Jacqueline drew her sword and stood. Rousseau smiled wearily and drank the last of his strong brandy. He looked her in the eyes when she stopped stand in front of him. "Let's have it, then. The Devil won't wait forever."
In one smooth, strong move, she thrust her sword forward and nearly pinned him to the chair. "Resposez en paiz, Christophe." She muttered, watching him bleed out over the expensive rug.
After a long moment of staring at his body, she sat back in the chair with a long sigh, all the air leaving her body. Her hand shook lightly as she poured herself another drink and quickly threw it back. "It's done." She said out loud, staring at the ceiling. "That's it."
Taking a moment for it to sink in, she limply reached back and held her hair off her neck. Then she slowly, purposefully raised her sword behind her head and sawed the braid off. She tossed it aside, and the loosed locks fell around her face. The much shorter locks now hung just below her ears, and it felt good. Clean. Finished.
Jacqueline sat for a good few minutes, soaking in the kill. For a brief moment, she believed there was nothing she had left to do. But in a rush, she remembered her home. The Colonies, New York, Boston, the Homestead, and Connor—Connor—were waiting for her.
She stood and snatched the glowing ring off the table, tucked it down her bodice for safekeeping, and started toward the door. Furie followed obediently. He really was a huge animal, as tall as her neck at least.
"I suppose you're mine now." She pursed her lips at him, opening the door to leave.
He nudged her shoulder with his black nose, asking to continue. They walked back through the fortress. None of the posted guards stopped her. She heard some murmuring behind her for someone to retrieve Rousseau's body. The portcullis was raised, and true to his word, she strolled out unharmed. A mile away, the Aquila waited suspiciously at shore. It was icy cold in the whipping December winds.
When she reached the ship, she called up for a boardwalk to be lowered for Furie. The wolf trotted up and bounded onto the deck, making the nearby crewmates take a few steps back. "What in the blazes did'ja get up to in there, lass?" Faulkner exclaimed, eyeing the beast warily.
"Rousseau and I talked, mostly. And then I killed him. He gave me his hound to look after." She glanced at Furie.
"Aye, well, we best head back fer some extra rations with tha' thing aboard." He patted her shoulder, and took on that rare but fatherly smile that crinkled his eyes and pulled his whitening beard up on either side. "Ye did good, lass."
Jacqueline nodded once, thoughtfully. "Yes…now, let's go home."
-o-
-And there we have it! We're back in the Colonies next chapter, people, which means…(drumroll please)…Connor!
-Soooo the closest visual comparison to a living human I can find for Jacqueline is a French actress named Roxane Mesquida. I have one of my favorite pics on my profile, but feel free to look her up anyway. Scroll a bit in Google Images, because the first row or so of photos kinda suck.
-Review for emotional closure!