Notes: Oh God, there like a plot and stuff... Also going to be pretty canon divergent in the next chapter. You'll see why when I post it. Enjoy!
Chapter 18: Parting Ways
It took Shay a good week to track down the leaders of the gang through intercepting letters and beating the answer out of a courier. Haytham spent the time preparing to return to Boston. If what the documents from Johnson and Weeks that Shay had reclaimed said were true, he had quite a bit of work ahead of him. According to the others, political tensions were on the rise and they had good reason to suspect Assassin interference. Somewhat dejectedly, Haytham stuffed the last of his maps and charts into a leather case. He and Shay would have to go their separate ways for a while. ...Neither of them was looking forward to it.
"Their base seems t'be in Anticosti." Shay complained, helping Haytham load his things on board the Sussex, that now had a new captain and crew. "I'll meet up with your lot in Boston when I'm done there."
"Be careful, Shay. This seems like a trap." Haytham warned him and leaned against the railing on the recently repaired schooner.
"It'll be fine. I en't plannin' on droppin' off the perch just yet, Sir." Shay said, giving Haytham a coy smile. Haytham returned it somewhat uncertainly. He didn't like the plan. Yes, Shay would have Gist and the Morrigan's crew, but they still would be fighting the rogues on their own turf. ...If it wasn't a trap. It sure looked like one, with little clues laid like bait to lure the Templars' favored hunter into a spike pit. Haytham dashed the thoughts from his mind. It would no good to give himself an ulcer before he even departed for Boston.
"Do not do anything reckless, do you understand me?" Haytham snapped in his usual cold, authoritative tone. Shay stared right back at him. "Because, so help me God, I-"
Shay rolled his eyes and cut him off mid-sentence. "Why? Because you said so, Sir?" Haytham glared daggers at him. Before Shay had the time to torment him any further, he shoved him against the railing behind him hard enough to bruise and kissed him like his life depended on it. Because I don't want to live without you, Haytham thought to himself as he pulled away panting.
"Just make sure you come back in one piece. The Order needs you." Was what Haytham actually said. Because I need you, he added mentally. "What the bloody Hell are you all looking at! Get to work!" He snarled, noticing the ship's crew all staring at them in varying states of shock. The ones closest to him scrambled to get away, not wanting to test the stories about Haytham's ruthlessness and skill with a blade for themselves. Shay just laughed and vaulted over the side of the ship, landing on the docks with ease. He waved goodbye, as the first mate called to hoist the anchor. Haytham watched until the docks were mere specks on the horizon before he finally turned away to the open sea before him.
It was the sound of Charles speaking that snapped Haytham out of the sort of trance he'd fallen into. "Are sure that was wise, Sir?" He asked, giving the Grand Master a sideways glance. Truth be told, he'd forgotten Charles was even there. "...After all, it is not likely that the rest of society will be as open minded about your trysts with Master Cormac as we are."
"If you call it a tryst again, Charles, I will kill you as slowly and painfully as physically possible. Though, you are right. I was not thinking." Haytham retorted, not even turning to look at him.
"Understood. ...But what should I call it, Sir?"
"Anything but that." Haytham replied and walked away stiffly to stand behind the Captain, who happened to be Mills – the Morrigan's navigator, and First Mate when Gist needed a rest. If nothing else, with Mills and Martin leading the Sussex's crew, Haytham knew he had nothing to fear in regards to making it to Boston in one piece. Both of them were capable sailors, and no less skilled with swords or guns. ...Haytham also suspected Martin might maim anyone who had a single negative comment to make him about his apparent affair with Shay. Both of them were extremely protective of their captain as Haytham had witnessed during their last voyage.
When they'd left fort Baie Rouge, and Shay had shut himself in his cabin, it didn't settle well with some of the men. Martin had told them in no uncertain terms what would happen to lot of them if their loyalty to their captain wavered. ...And here was a man who spoke only when necessary, and never chose violence unless it was a last resort. He might have more muscle than a barbarian warrior, but Haytham knew him to be a stoic, gentle soul. Well, mostly.
"I'd ask if you kissed him yet, but..." Mills said, giving Haytham a wink.
"There is no need to inquire any further, obviously." Haytham replied, shaking his head.
"Don't you do anythin' reckless either, Master Kenway. Captain Shay'll tan our hides if you get so much as a scratch on you." Martin added. Haytham hadn't even noticed him on Mills' left. If any of the Morrigan's crew stood a chance at being a properly trained killer like he and Shay, it was Martin. He could hide in plain sight, even being such a large man. He was the sort of person that naturally faded into a crowd, but could command the center of attention with ease if a situation called for it.
"I will keep it in mind. How long will it take to reach Boston?" Haytham asked.
"No more'n a week if the weather holds." Martin told him and called for fail sail.
"So, how did the two of you come to sail with Shay, anyway? It's doubtless you could have found more lucrative work with your skills." Haytham asked, hoping idle conversation might be enough to shake off the mindless worry he felt for what Shay was getting himself into.
"We met Shay in Anticosti, actually." Mills explained. "I was the navigator for a British Frigate, the Elizabeth. Martin here was the Quartermaster. She was wrecked off the coast of Anticosti in a snowstorm, we made it shore in on one of the rowboats. We were the only survivors."
"The Royal Navy allowed an Irishman such a rank?" Haytham asked curiously.
Martin shrugged. "Most o' my family's Irish, aye, but I was born and raised in London by my aunt. We were poor, and I was tired o' living like a beggar. I joined the Navy as soon as I was old enough."
"At any rate, the French were anything but happy to have us so we had to steal food to get by, because no one would sell to us or give us honest work. We gave up on any hope of getting rescued after a few months." Mills continued. "As it happens, we got caught stealing to help the local smugglers for some coin. ...And were moments away from being executed by a firing squad when Captain Shay saved us. He was still working with the Assassins then, and had only just taken the Morrigan. We've sailed with him ever since. ...Even as part of the crew that went to Lisbon. Though, it was dumb luck that we were in that tavern in Greenwich when mister Gist was looking for a new crew. We quit working for the Assassins when they told us that Shay had died and were between jobs."
"Better'n bein' surrounded by a bunch o' posh British gits, anyhow." Martin said with a nod of his head.
"Watch it there, Paddy Whack." Mills said sarcastically and rolled his eyes. Haytham listened vacantly as the two of them fell into an obviously familiar round of pointless banter. So they'd been to Lisbon when it all started to go downhill for Shay? Curious. If nothing else, it explained a few things. They knew what he'd seen.
Haytham left them and wandered the ship's deck. The Sussex was smaller than the Morrigan, and only had about half the crew. Haytham recognized a few them from their work with the rest of the fleet, though not by name. They were a hardy bunch of men who passed the time with laughter and a good helping of some rather crude songs. Unlike the Morrigan's crew, however, they wanted little to do with him. Though, Haytham figured that had more to do with his somewhat thoughtless display earlier. It wasn't that he was unaware of the general public's opinion of homosexuals, it just wasn't a thought that had occurred to him at that particular moment. ...He was really slipping lately. Normally, he never would have failed to consider the consequences of his actions, no matter how small.
He found Charles lounging near the bow and sat on top of a pile of crates beside him. They were full of tobacco, probably. The Sussex was loaded with cargo; there was hardly any point in embarking on a profitless voyage just to see Haytham and Charles to Boston.
"A lively bunch, aren't they?" Charles asked idly and glanced over at Haytham.
"I suppose." Haytham muttered, staring out over the open sea. He'd never admit it aloud, but he'd rather be beside Shay on board the Morrigan. ...Even with having to listen to the wildly exaggerated tales of every drunken romp Gist had ever had. He imagined being tangled up with Shay in his cabin, rather than alone in his bunk below decks. Actually, that was something to make a note of – sex in the Morrigan's cabin (preferably involving Shay's desk) belonged somewhere relatively high up on his list of priorities.
"...Sir?" Haytham gave Charles an odd, sort of questioning glance.
"A thousand pardons. Did you ask me something?"
"I inquired as to what your opinion of Weeks' letters was." Charles said in a flat tone; it was glaringly obvious that he was repeating himself. "It is quite alright if you would rather keep it quiet for now, but you never really discussed it with the rest of us."
"We will discuss it with the others when we reach Boston," Haytham replied. "I do not wish to jump to any conclusions without seeing the situation for myself."
The days passed by at a snail's pace. Haytham spent most of the time lounging about on the upper deck, sometimes filling in for Mills at the helm when he needed a rest. His thoughts often wandered to Shay. He tried not to worry, but the whole thing reeked of a trap. It was just too easy. It didn't sit right with Haytham that a group of criminals that had evaded Shay's watchful eye for just shy of a year were so easily tracked. No, they were using their activities as bait, luring him to a remote location and -
"Master Kenway, we'll be reachin' Boston by nightfall." Haytham blinked and made a small sound of acknowledgment. He had the tiller while Mills was taking a nap, and checking over his charts. It was just he and Martin on the upper deck. "Are you well?"
"Fine, Martin. Thank you. My thoughts are simply elsewhere." Haytham told him in a tone that was carefully devoid of emotion.
"Aye, with our Captain no doubt." He said with a chuckle. It was the first time any of the Sussex's crew had made a comment to him in regards to Haytham's relationship with Shay, no matter how vague.
"Indeed." Haytham admitted. "That does not bother you?"
"Nothin' t'be bothered by. These boys don't know him like Mills and I, but the entire crew o' the Morrigan knew about him and Liam. Mills and I aren't the only ones that were part o' the original crew. 'Sides, they couldn't o' kept it a secret if they tried." Martin answered, leaning against the railing as he kept a watchful eye on one of the deckhands that was loafing about nearby. "Just be good to him. ...And send Mills' lazy arse back up here. I don't trust your steerin' to dock her properly. No offense o' course, Master Kenway."
"I shall try." Haytham said with a sigh and let Martin take the wheel.
He found Mills in his cabin, pouring over a map of the river valley. He looked up when Haytham walked in and gave him an easy smile. "We're landing soon, I take it?" He asked, rolling the map up and storing it neatly in a crate on the floor next to the desk that full of rolled up naval charts.
"Yes." Haytham replied simply. "You're needed up on deck."
Being back in Boston felt neither refreshing nor nostalgic. The air was still rank, the streets still littered with refuse and the townsfolk as rude as ever. Haytham hadn't been ashore ten minutes and wondered if he'd ever be able to scrub the stink of Boston off of his skin. He knew the way to the Green dragon so well, that he barely even paid attention to where he was walking as he made his way there with Charles in tow.
"Well, well. Look who it is." Haytham looked up, just before he reached up to grab the door handle to the tavern where it all began.
"Good afternoon, Catherine." Charles said politely to the pug-like looking woman who partly owned the tavern. Honestly, Haytham rather disliked her poor attitude and hadn't forgotten that one time she'd had the audacity to 'accidentally' smack him with a broom handle as she'd walked by. Then again, he'd probably hate everything and everyone if he'd been born with a face like hers, too. She gave him a sour glare and he shook his head as he entered the tavern. Charles made a disapproving sound and followed Haytham like a faithful little pet.
It was bustling as it usually was late in the evening. Haytham made his way through the crowd of toss-pot British guards and a myriad of townspeople and climbed the stairs to the loft. Charles managed to grab a tankard of Ale somewhere along the way and took a long gulp of it as he stepped up behind Haytham. Johnson, Hickey and Weeks were there arguing about expenses when Haytham politely greeted them.
"Good to see you made it here in one piece, Sir." William said cordially and motioned for Haytham and Charles to sit. "Pitcairn and Church should be back shortly. I sent them off on a job of sorts."
"Let us cut to the chase then," Haytham said as he took his seat. "What do we know about the Assassins getting back on their feet?"
"Not much; jus' some rumors and more'n few corpses." Thomas replied.
"Still, it would be unwise to leave anything to chance. The targets have been powerful businessmen – all them contacts of ours. We doubt that's a mere coincidence." Weeks explained. "It hardly cripples us to lose a few merchant connections, but that could just be the beginning of a grander scheme."
"The same thing has been happening in New York," Charles supplied. "The Sussex's entire crew was slaughtered, though Master Cormac recovered our correspondences and tracked the culprits to a base in Anticosti. A few minor contacts of ours have turned up dead as well."
"Where is Shay now? I thought he would have come." Weeks asked, glancing in Haytham's direction.
"Shay is on his way to Anticosti with Gist to shake the criminals hiding there out of their nest. He should be meeting us here when he is done with that. In the meantime,we should see what we can find out about our local group of miscreants." Haytham suggested.
To drop off the perch – dropping dead
Paddy Whack – a derogatory term for an Irishman.
Toss-pot - a drunkard