A Traitor in Our Midst

by: Shadow Chaser

Story 2 – The Road to Treachery

Summary:

Season 3, Episode 9 "Blade on the Feather" and fusion of Mission 3 – Benedict Arnold DLC "A Spy Among Us." Robert Rogers finds an uncommon ally in Connor in his quest for vengeance against John Andre, while Connor finds that Rogers knows a little more than he's letting on and that their pasts intersect.

Story:

There had only been two times Connor could remember sleeping so deeply that nothing could seemingly wake him. One was when he had first arrived at Achilles' house after driving off the bandits that sought to steal from him. The other was in a very blurred memory in his mother's arms. She had been singing a lullaby of sorts and he remembered falling asleep to the sound of her voice, the smells of burning firewood, and the warmth that protected against winter's chill. Ever since those two times, Connor always slept lightly – even more so now than ever before. His Assassin instincts, honed through the years of training and the war, made him a very light sleeper and so when the distinct whistle of cannon-shot sailed through the air Connor's eyes were already snapping open of their own accord and he sat up from the tree branch he had nestled himself into for the night.

He immediately turned his head towards the sound and saw in the half-moonlit darkness the shape of an anchored ship in the distance, before the cannon ball landed with a loud splashing sound near it. Connor blinked – that ship had not been there when he had fallen asleep and must have only arrived recently. Several more cannon shots whistled in the air as they landed near the ship. He could see the distant forms of sailors scurrying about its rafters, hastily untying the sails and the ship rocking about, coming around to sail back down river.

The clouds parted for a moment, letting the full moonlight shine on the ship and Connor raised a silent eyebrow in surprise at the sight of the ship's British colors before the moonlight waned. What was a British ship doing up here so close to the fort? He had seen the chains that ran across the length of the Hudson River, the smaller Patriot-held fortifications that dotted the area. He had heard from the soldiers stationed at the Fort that the British sometimes sent ships up to see if the chain could be broken, but no ship dared to go that close to the chains for fear of ruining their ships.

He wondered if the ships were related to the mission Washington had given him – to hunt down the assassins who would end General Arnold's life. The General himself was a boorish man, dismissive and prone to a volatile temper that even Connor disliked. But he had accepted the mission and had spent the last few months hunting down the assassins. There had been four in total, and the last one had been killed within the main fort itself. It had drawn Arnold's attention and that was when Connor had met the famous General. He had not explained his mission about Washington sending him, but rather made allusions to a plot against his life. Arnold had taken it with more stoic countenance than Connor had initially given him credit for, but any goodwill he had developed for the man shattered when Arnold requested that he help around the fort and had even expected him to do so without any complaint.

Connor had been close to turning around and telling the man no before heading back to the Homestead – having been away from it for far too long, especially after receiving some news about the Old Man's condition – but stayed because he needed to be sure that there would be no more assassins sent after the General. He had considered just letting Arnold die just to spite Washington, but when Washington had made his request, the fact that Tallmadge had been there made Connor pause. It seemed like Tallmadge had made the initial suggestion to his commander before Washington decided to bring him in, and for that Connor was somewhat reluctant to help.

To him, Tallmadge was a fool who would not let go what had already been gone, but he would not fault the man in charge of Washington's intelligence for being dogged in his pursuit of his goals. He had also clearly understood the significance of the look Washington had shot at his head of intelligence when he had been giving Connor the mission. If Connor had not agreed, then Tallmadge would have been sent. He had no qualms about the man's abilities, but he also knew that the man would not be able to easily ferret out the assassins. It was a question of skill and while Tallmadge had skills in other areas, hunting a prey as deft as an assassin was definitely not one of them. So he had taken the mission.

Connor watched as a few more shots rang out before he decided to see what had happened at the northern outpost to warrant so much cannon fire. Pushing himself from the branch, he landed onto the ground in a crouch and stood up. The mild summer weather had given way to an early fall and the cold was already nipping at him. He headed silently towards the Continental outpost that was nearby, keeping to the scrub and evergreen bushes that dotted the landscape. The Continentals had somewhat accepted his presence here at the Westpoint area, and were not prone to attack him, but he knew that they viewed him with suspicion. Ever since the disaster with the perceived attack on his tribe a little over a year ago, the region had cautious contact with the other members of the Confederacy.

Most of his brothers and sisters fought for the British, but there were one or two tribes that fought for the Continentals. He understood their worry even though he had pleaded with the tribes to stay out of the war. So he stayed in the shadows of the brush, not wanting to draw attention to himself in the dead of night.

He arrived at the outpost in short order, abandoning the low ground for the comfort of the high branches that dotted the area and perched on one that was still leaf covered. One of the larger branches extended out towards the small officer's hut that was situated in the area and he climbed out onto the limb, curious to see three so-called Continentals, 'skinners' being the term for the motley garb they wore, arguing unsuccessfully with the ranking Colonel who was still buttoning up his uniform – having clearly been awakened in the middle of the night. The soldiers manning the garrison's cannons were cheering and pointing to the British ship that was sailing away.

"You've done your duty now get out of here," the Colonel – Jameson if Connor remembered correctly – seemed annoyed and waved his hand at them. Connor could see that the men were not too happy, but nonetheless complied and headed away from the camp.

"Arnold's not going to like this," he heard Jameson mutter as he turned back to head to his hut, shivering against the night's chill, "and Washington will demote me when he comes here and finds out..."

Connor had to admit that he was not surprised to find out Washington was arriving. He supposed that the lack of contact he had with the commander of the Continentals since he had accepted the mission may have troubled him. But he also thought that with Arnold more than likely sending Washington reports, the other man would have realized that his beloved General was still alive. Nonetheless, it was not his problem as he decided to follow the three skinners that had reported the appearance of the British ship.

Skinners were not exactly soldiers, but they did help the Continental cause. They were more highwaymen than soldiers and Connor had a few run-ins with them while he had been hunting down Arnold's assassins. One of which had been a skinner. Another had been in Jameson's camp – which made him suspicious of the man – one in one of the regular Continental patrols, and the last one was clearly a messenger between the various outposts who had taken advantage of his status to try to get close to Arnold.

All of them had died without telling him who had hired them and that had frustrated Connor the most.

The fact that the three skinners had been able to see the British ship and actively report it made him suspicious. Was there to be a fifth plot against Arnold? He followed the three silently until he spotted them pausing, seemingly skulking and saw ahead of them a rough-looking man who had a scruff of a beard, and a sharp demeanor about him. Connor crouched on branch he was on as the man peered through his spyglass towards the departing British warship, seemingly not even paying attention to them.

"You can come out now," the man suddenly said, his voice rolling with the droll of an Irishman, not quite as heavy as Connor had heard in parts of Boston, but distinct.

Connor watched as the skinners moved, hesitant, wary, but all with frowns on their faces.

"You too, little tree-hopper," Connor nearly fell off of the branch as he heard the man speak in his native tongue, and stared. He saw the heavy-set man look up at him, before winking, clearly indicating that he could see him. Connor frowned and reluctantly pushed himself off of the branch. He landed in a crunch of leaves, startling the skinners. The three whirled around, muskets twitching in their hands before the heavy-set Irishman held up his hands.

"Now, now, no need to get so twitchy lads," he said and Connor saw the skinners look between the two of them.

Connor stood up, holding his hands outwards, showing that he was not going to provoke them and saw them lower their muskets a little. They were still wary, but Connor did not blame them. He instead, addressed his next words to the heavy-set man, "You saw me."

"Aye, I did," the man replied, "Robert Rogers at your service, tree-hopper."

"Connor," he said, but instead of nodding and accepting his name, the man – Rogers – shook his head, a wolfish smile on his face.

"No, that's the name for a white man. What's your real name, boy?"

One of Connor's eyebrows rose in surprise. Rogers was proving to be a very interesting man. Almost with the hint of lethal grace he had seen in Haytham, but otherwise had the same affable nature. He had heard of Robert Rogers, both within the Continentals and outside of it. Rogers had been a legend among his people, having taken time to study their methods of hunting and using it to great effect in the war against the French around the time Connor had been born. He was considered 'friend' among some of the more war-like tribes that made up the Iroquois Confederacy, but his own tribe, the Haudenosaunee had been decidedly neutral towards Rogers. Connor had not understood why until he had met his father and realized he was a Templar. Considering how his mother was treated by the rest of the tribe from time to time – he was well aware that his mother shielded him from a lot of it – he was not surprised that Rogers' name and reputation was considered neutral by his tribesmen.

Still, it was not every day that a white man refused to call him by the name he had given to them and so decided to humor Rogers. "Ratonhnhaké:ton," he said, wondering if Rogers was going to give up like Achilles had and instead use Connor.

"Ratonhnhaké:ton," Rogers' pronunciation was a little mangled, but Connor was mildly surprised at how well it had been, "good name. Strong name, has history behind it, but that's a story for another time, eh, boy?"

"Perhaps," Connor inclined his head once as Rogers focused his gaze on the three skinners who were still looking a little surly.

"Time to pay up," one of the skinners spoke up, resting his musket on his shoulder, "you said if we reported the ship you spotted to the Continentals, we'd be paid. Well, we ain't paid and we want our money."

"You'll get your money soon enough," Rogers turned from them and peered through his spyglass again, the wolfish smile back on his face, "you've just made an investment in your future boys."

"Come again?"

"That ship that just left? Well, he left his most precious cargo. Treasure, lads, treasure," Rogers said as he shut his spyglass and turned back to face them. The heavy-set man gestured to him with his chin, "That treasure also might hold the answers you've been looking for."

Connor stared at him, skeptical.

"You find that treasure, a man with really fancy boots and who looks so out of place, you bring him to Jameson unharmed and I can guarantee that you will get paid. Go on now," Rogers waved his hand at the skinners who seemed to mull over his deal before reluctantly moving away. He met their suspicious stares with a steady gaze of his own before it was just him and Rogers left.

"When I first arrived, I heard rumors of what happened to some of the skinners and Continentals here. Didn't realize that it was one of your kind, and I mean it in both your kind as in natives and that other kind, was active here," Rogers started in his people's language and Connor's eyes narrowed. Did Rogers know about the war between the Templars and Assassins?

"I worked with a few back in the day. Never really picked a side, but seen both sides go at it from time to time. Nasty, ugly business this war you've been fighting since time immemorial. But, I know enough not to interfere in a hunt," the other man shook his head and held up his hands, "if you're still looking for answers to your hunt, I am sure the man that ship abandoned can provide you with answers."

Connor was sure that that Rogers knew of the war, but it seemed was wise enough not to get himself heavily involved. In a way, it reminded him of Tallmadge, who knew of the war, but wanted no involvement. But it seemed Rogers was a little more mercenary than the altruism Tallmadge had showed. He knew that the man had lead the Queen's Rangers before being replaced by a Captain Jonathan Graves Simcoe, and the Rangers themselves were sworn to money. Judging by how these skinners reacted to Rogers and the promise of payment, Rogers had used their mercenary ways to cajole them into finding the so-called lost 'treasure' that the ship had left behind. Still, he was rather impressed with Rogers' demeanor and insistence on speaking to him in his tribe's language – even though it was somewhat mangled.

"I am sorry Ratonhnhaké:ton for what happened to your village," Rogers switched back to English, his voice neutral, but expression grim, "your people do not deserve to be held by either side of this war for supporting the safety of your people. But I can tell you, that man, the one holding the answers. You take him to Washington, he will remove him as a potential threat to your goals. Might lead you to one of your other goals too, if I heard rumors correctly."

Connor stiffened. He had been putting out the word that he was searching for Charles Lee since his court martial last year. It stood to reason that perhaps Rogers had heard of those rumors, but how would he know unless- "You've met the person left here before," he stated and saw Rogers smile a little.

"Aye," the man nodded once, his smile a little predatory, "and it was a well-met meeting indeed. But why tell you everything when you can find out on your own." He looked towards the direction the skinners had left in, "Better hurry, boy, those skinners. They're in for the coin, but they do get jumpy at times."

Connor only snorted and started to climb up the same tree he had perched on. He would be able to catch up to skinners in no time, but Rogers had a point. Men who fought for only coin and were not promised coin tended to be more volatile. If the skinners decided that whomever had been left on the shore by the British ship was not worth the money, then Connor would not get the answers he wanted.

"If you do find him, boy, please let him know Robert Rogers says a cheery 'hello'," he heard Rogers speak up as he disappeared into the leafy tree tops.

~END~