Chapter 3:3
1773, December 16th
I made sure that nobody would see me before I slipped over the street and into the backyard of the inn. Garbage were piled everywhere and it reeked of more than a week old fish. I tried to hold my breath – until my eyes stopped filling with tears due to the awful smell – and sneaked by a sleeping beggar, careful not to touch anything around the decay that was spreading from the trashcans.
"The collectors grow bolder, and more forceful. Something we must address, Samuel."
"Then let us raise our banner, something to let the people know that they are not alone. The docks are an angry place of late; protestors picketing the shipments of British tea. The eyes of the city are upon that stage."
I crouched down and put my hands as support onto the brick wall. Just a couple of feet in front of me I saw a window slightly ajar and approached it. I heard the French man from earlier and quickly dealt with the information. The two voices from earlier had been completely of strangers and Connor hadn't spoken yet.
Maybe I took wrong, I thought and clenched my teeth. Is he maybe in the building next to me? And if not; what are they planning?
"William Johnson is smuggling the tea off the ships." I heard the soft sound of a pouch being put on a wooden surface. "One of his men tried to sell me this. A sample of what I refused. But it's from those ships, no mistaking the stamp. He's charging a king's ransom; must be he's making a mint of those who buy it."
I gasped. William Johnson. He's the man I am ordered to watch. But doesn't he work together with Mr. Kenway?
"Where is he now?"
Connor. I immediately recognized his dark, gentle voice.
"I've never met the man," admitted he who had spoken before Connor.
"May I ask why you seek him, Connor?"
Exactly what I was thinking, I stated quietly for myself and took the chance to peek in. I saw two men sitting on barstools with their backs against me and the French on the counter behind. The… assassin stood up, his face stern but neutral.
"He intends to purchase the land upon which my village stands, without the consent of my people."
His people? Is that an excuse for killing soldiers?
"No doubt the revenue from his little smuggling endeavors, financing the acquisition." The man I guessed was Samuel – also the man that had invited Connor, he with the potato-nose – paused before continuing. "Attacks and forced on tea grants a boon to smugglers. All way to the same men who levy the taxes are selling the tea. A stage requires a spectacle and I may know the play."
I didn't hear anything more. My legs were already sprinting off the ground and I ignored the yells and admonitions that were thrown at me. I have to tell Mr. Johnson. They're going to destroy the tea.
In my rampage, I asked a passing lady what the time was and she told me it was close to eight on the afternoon. The winter was much colder than it used to be – though there was no snow – but my running kept me warm. At this time, Mr. Johnson usually took his strode around Boston. It would be practically impossible to know exactly where to look but I decided to backtrack from what I knew would be the final destination – the harbor.
It took me perhaps about an hour and a half to find my way through the streets while I searched for the face of William Johnson, before I forfeited and decided to check the docks. Important things were at risk; if what those men said would be taken into action, they would attack the shipments of tea and lose Mr. Johnson a fortune. It wasn't like I cared about the man – I didn't even know him in personal aspects – but my orders were clear. I would look out for him as it was in Haytham Kenway's best interest.
A storm rumbled in the distance and dark clouds gathered over the sky; to my pleasure as rain was my favorite type of weather. But the sound of an aroused crowd stole my attention and my gaze was aimed forward. As I reached my goal, I was surprised by men fighting on the two sailing ships that were at port. The large number of people around the scene were cheering and whistling loudly, pointing and yelling at the view, clearly enjoying what they were watching. From where I stood, I barely saw anything and pushed my way forward to the frontline. I could see regulars trying to breach into the vessels where the violators were throwing boxes filled with tea into the dark water beneath. The soldiers were clearly at a number advantage but their attempts were brutally quenched due to a white-hooded man.
He moved faster than I thought could be possible, his hands being well-used to gripping weapons and ending lives with them. Now and then a redcoat was lucky enough to get the assassin on fair terms, but the latter easily blocked and countered every hit, his lithe body moving almost like water as he spun around and kicked the man overboard.
So this is a true assassin… he's so powerful; what a terrifying opponent. Nobody has even managed to get a hit onto him.
I watched in awe as the rest of the men and women around me were, my eyes widened in shock and reverence. How can he move so damn fast? Was his mother a cheetah?
The fight ended with the assassin being the winner of them all and the rioters on the ships hoorayed together with their audience. Samuel, the French man and a third who I didn't recognize, ventured out of the ship receiving all the praise with smiles. They gave a crate to Connor – the last box of tea I assumed – and he cockily held it up in the air, the people around me screaming in response. His eyes glimmered under the hood and I noticed how they locked with someone in front of him. I couldn't see due to the massive crowd but the tension was strong even at my distance.
The assassin then dropped the box into the sea and the Boston Tea Party ended.