Chapter 3:4

1773, December 29th/1774, June 18th

"Who is this man?"

I was silently watching them talk. A dark hood was covering my face and the obscurely lit room hid the rest of my body shape.

"I thought we had eradicated each and every one of them. Didn't the Templars make sure of learning Davenport a lesson?"

The men in front of me were in all seriousness, comfortably dressed and held a keg of the Green Dragon Tavern's best mead – all of them except Haytham. When I had asked Mr. Kenway why he didn't enjoy the qualities that an adult life provided him with, he had simply shrugged and answered that life was better without alcohol.

"I am sure that the information I received nine years ago was accurate; Reginald wouldn't lie about something like that," answered my teacher and rubbed his chin. "Achilles must've ignored the kindness we showed him that day and decided to choose a new disciple. This is very troublesome news, gentlemen."

I snuggled up into the chair and sipped my dark tea. The snow had taken Boston with surprise – me as well, frankly – and I had gotten a cold due to my unbearable habit of going around without a jacket. A pair of eyes studied me and I looked up into Charles Lee's kind countenance.

"Is the tea bearable?" he asked with a low voice, trying not to interrupt the angry voice of Mr. Johnson's. "I think I tried it out once… but after that, I lost the ability to taste food for weeks."

I smiled widely and drank the hot liquid again.

"It seems like sir have no guts," I answered with a mocking smile. "The tea is not the best I agree, but drinkable, yes."

He huffed at me but didn't have the time to reply when William Johnson cut in.

"It would be delicious would that had been my tea," he said with a bitter tone. "The tea that is now on the bottom of the ocean thanks to that damned Mohawk!"

"Calm down, William, your time will come again."

I watched Mr. Kenway wink at someone at the back of the room and a seemingly innocent barmaid put a small chest on the worn out table. It probably was as large as one of the crates of tea that was thrown into the sea a couple of weeks ago.

Connor… I clenched the warm cup. Who are you exactly? And why do you do these evil deeds? Why are you an assassin?

"…impossible. I can't… I can't, Haytham, take it back."

"Is this what you need to buy the Iroquois' land?" asked Mr. Kenway nonchalantly. "It's nothing, really. Just take it even if it's too much."

I followed the movement of the heavy chest with my eyes and guessed it to be a lot more than William Johnson really needed. The greediness in his eyes scared me but a reassuring pat from my side made me relax.

"He's been much loyal to our cause for a long time now," whispered Mr. Lee calmative. "He wouldn't use the money to stir up ruckus or cause us any trouble, I promise."

I didn't answer him but finished the last of my beverage.

"So what's the next step of the plan?" I wondered carefully, not sure if they would tell me or not. They never usually invited me to their meetings, so it had been somewhat of a surprise that Mr. Kenway wanted me to join today.

"Well, now since I have the money, I'll ride as soon as dawn breaks through—"

"No," interrupted Mr. Kenway and intertwined his fingers. "We'll have to wait this out for a while; I suggest six months."

"Why?" I couldn't stop my question from blurting out. "Why not as soon as possible?"

He looked at me in surprise but didn't seem irritated as he answered:

"I don't want to raise any suspicions. How will William answer if they're wondering how he got so rich under the period of two weeks, especially on this time of the year? Nothing will sound true and I don't want to give them another reason to decline his offer." Our eyes connected and I couldn't but think how similar his were to another person I had met. "A fight where we take their holy lands with force is not what I'm aiming for, Melissa."

I nodded in silence and soon after, it was decided that we all would wait and bide our time with strengthening the Templars grasp of Boston and New York. Six months sounded like an eternity but passed faster than I could ever imagine. My fourteenth birthday seemed to be waiting just around the corner as I got the message I had been waiting for all this time.

"…on a trip for two days into the land of the Iroquois. Two days?!"

I put a hand on my aunt's shoulder and smiled at her.

"Come on!" I begged. "I promise that I won't let the wolves eat me!"

"Wolves?"

"I was kidding," I hurriedly said even though I knew it was a lie. Of course there were wolves. It was a damn forest.

"Can't you take Alex with you?" she wondered and frowned. "I always feel that you're safe with him."

I sighed and took my bag from her, tucking down the letter all the while.

"It's only because Alex never does anything 'wrong'," I answered as I grabbed an apple resting on the kitchen counter. The trip will be long... fortunately I packed down my notebook.

"Well, nowadays he seems to be aiming for being a politician… he shouldn't be a part of that rubbish," my aunt said and sighed as well. "Boy has such a brilliant mind; he shouldn't waste it on something as useless as trying to change the taxes. He would be a great doctor, I reckon."

Doktor? She must've taken a sip of the strong today, I thought as I quickly put on my shoes, ignoring my jacket as I always did, no matter the time of the year. "I'll be going now, Auntie! Take care and don't open for strangers!"

She didn't have time to answer before I ran down the stairs and to the street outside. A short, bald man was waiting for me and he helped me up into the wagon, after I had shown him the letter Mr. Kenway had written for me. We took off as soon as my aunt stopped scolding and threatening the poor man and I reached my goal in time for tea.

"Miss Rawling, wonderful as usual," Mr. Johnson greeted me and he seemed genuinely happy for the day. "It's time to finally claim these lands as the Templars'; and not a single drop of blood was spilled!"

I couldn't help but smiling at his excitement; if I was to be honest, I never really liked William Johnson. He was greedy and much self-important, almost narcissistic in his behavior towards his subordinates. I didn't like his own private mansion here either and had heard rumor about him building it with the use of slaves.

"I surely agree with you, sir, I hope everything will go as planned," I answered and followed him to the Johnson Hall. As I looked about my surroundings, I saw a troublesome amount of soldiers and decided to ask him why he had taken that unnecessary precaution.

"Oh, these?" He chuckled but it sounded false in my ears. "They're always here and the mercenaries were on a passing foot here so I invited them to my home."

I chose not to reply as I knew that Mr. Johnson hardly was a man who invited strangers into his house. This doesn't seem right… if he now has the negotiation as in hand, why does he have so many soldiers here? It doesn't fit in.

"…tired. Do you perhaps want anything to dine?"

I realized just now how hungry I was nodded.

"Wonderful, I'll ask the chef to prepare something quick; the Iroquois are appointed to be here in a couple of hours, if not less. A housekeeper will show you to your room and feel free to ask if you need anything."

I nodded again and started to enter the great building when Mr. Johnson cleared his throat.

"Did I miss anything?" I asked politely. Even though I personally didn't like him, it was no reason to treat him without respect.

"No, it's just that…" He hesitated for a second before continuing. "Did perhaps Haytham say why he sent you here?"

So that is why you're so nervous, I thought and hid my smile with a yawn. "No, I daresay he just wanted me here to watch over you." I paused, trying to read his expression. "Is there something wrong, Mr. Johnson?"

His face turned ashen and he quickly turned around.

"No, certainly not," he answered. "I'll pay for your ride. Now, now, go in and eat something!"

I was received by a servant and she led me up the staircase into a small but spacious room. After thanking her, I started to dig up my belongings and sank down on the only bed in the room. A dream had been haunting me with an annoying persistence, always showing me the same thing: a grey wolf with yellow eyes, leading me through a burning forest. Whenever I stopped or tried to run away, I would wake up in the middle of the night and not be able to fall asleep again. It wasn't the fire that was scaring me; it was the lone wolf. I didn't know why, but I had a feeling that if I followed the beast to where it wanted me to go, I would never be able to turn back again. It wanted to tell me something, something of utter importance, but I didn't want to hear.

"Did Miss want anything to eat?"

Her voice surprised me and it took me a second extra to collect myself.

"Eh, some bread and soup will be alright," I replied and opened my journal. "Some water as well, please."

"Certainly, Miss."

I heard her footsteps disappearing down the hall and sighed. Why did you send me here, Mr. Kenway? What am I supposed to do, just eat and sleep during these two days?

Time quickly passed and I finished my meal while scribbling down the events of the day. Before I knew it, Mr. Johnson knocked on my door and asked me to come outside with him. The Natives were here and he was about to meet them and finish the negotiation.

We walked down in silence and I could see how worried the man next to me was. Seems that not everything is right with Mr. Johnson, I thought as we exited the house. Is this why I was sent here?

The Mohawk men were many, but unarmed and not even close to the number of soldiers. They were dressed in the simplest of clothes and I realized that if a fight would break out, they would stand no chance. When they saw us – or rather, Mr. Johnson – they quickly raised their voices.

"Peace, peace," Mr. Johnson interrupted and gestured calmingly with his hands. "Have I not always been an adequate? Have I not always sought to protect you from harm?"

A bald, old man immediately spoke back to him, his eyes locked on Mr. Johnson.

"If you wish to protect us, then give us arms, muskets and horses that we might defend ourselves."

"War is not the answer," replied Mr. Johnson, his eyes flashing to mine. I saw that my earlier perception had been accurate; he had not been able to convince the Iroquois to sell their lands.

The same aged Native that had spoken now rose and his expression was furious.

"We remember Stanwix." He rose up and approached Mr. Johnson with a threatening posture. "We remember you moved the borders; even today your men dig up the land, showing no regard to those who live upon it. Your words are honey but false."

I gripped my dagger, ready to defend Mr. Johnson if the Native would become violent.

"We are not here to negotiate, or to sell. We are here to tell you and yours to leave these lands."

I looked at Mr. Johnson and his countenance was calm but determined.

"So be it. I offered you an olive branch, and you knocked it from my hand." He gestured for me to back off and a solder took my place. "Perhaps you'll respond better to the sword."

The Iroquois rose one by one and a black-haired man stared at first me, then Mr. Johnson.

"Are you threatening us?"

I could almost touch the tension building up into Mr. Johnson's answer and the soldier pointed his rifle towards the man.

"Yes."

And the trigger was pulled.