Notes: Okay, so the year this is taking place in is 1764... Which makes Connor 8 years old. I apologize for destroying timelines, because I definitely have. Eh, it's canon divergent anyway sooo... *shrugs*
Chapter 20: The Hunt
It took the murder of a gunsmith that Pitcairn had commissioned for his personal arms for Haytham to find any leads. With the scene of the crime still fresh, he was able to put some of the pieces together. The work was sloppy, the small shop left in disarray. The killer obviously wasn't skilled in any form of stealth, which was consistent with what Shay had reported about the massacre of the Sussex's crew. There was obviously a struggle. It seemed unlikely that the attacker was actually looking for anything, but clearly he hadn't been able to take his victim without a fight. The motive, however, was without question.
The young family that lived upstairs from the shop told Haytham that they'd heard shouting and crashing coming from below in the night. When they looked out the window after it went quiet, they saw a man with dark skin wearing a white hood leave. His clothes were bloodied and he walked with a limp, they said. It matched the description of an Assassin, yes, but Haytham had his doubts. This just wasn't what their work looked like. Shay hadn't suspected the Assassins in the slightest for the killings in New York. He had told them that the work was too sloppy. A trained Assassin did not leave destruction in his wake, only the dead bodies of enemies that never saw them coming. ...And untrained Assassins did not carry out assignments. Both of these things, Haytham knew. He studied an unsightly bloodstain on the wooden surface of the gunsmith's worktable. The man had been decapitated, or so the authorities told him. But he'd also been stabbed enough times to look like he'd been through a meat grinder. Haytham made a quiet sound of disgust and turned his back on the workshop.
The killer had left through the front door, which was exactly how he'd broken in. Again, not the work of a proper Assassin – not when there several large, easily accessible windows and a door into the shop that was invisible to the family living above. Haytham looked around carefully for any kind of trail to follow. There was none. But it just seemed wrong, like he wasn't seeing the whole picture... He thought of Shay's uncanny ability to sense danger. Haytham was more than capable of using the sixth sense the Assassins referred to as eagle vision, but for Shay it seemed effortless. He would see something here, Haytham knew it. For him, though, he saw only a dusty cobblestone road that led back into town from the one lone building in the middle of a clearing of dense woodland. He had to focus. There had to be something that could lead him in the right direction.
Taking a deep breath, Haytham stepped out from the shade of the roof that overhung the front door to the shop. There were still some spots of blood visible on the ground nearby, but he knew from before that the trail only carried on for another ten feet or so. Absently he followed it, his boots sinking slightly into the ground that was still moist from the snow that had melted, exposing withered grass. Footprints, Haytham thought to himself and knelt on the ground. Now knowing what he was looking for, he easily found a trail leading into the woods with the aid of the eagle sight. Under the thick canopy of the trees, however, the ground was still dry and the trail faded.
"Bollocks." Haytham muttered, studying his new surroundings. There was no sign that the woods had been disturbed at all recently. He felt a pang of irritation as he realized that Shay probably would have a blade at the suspect's throat by now. They both had their own skill sets, and hunting men like trophy game wasn't Haytham's strong suit. If nothing else, the idea of Shay handling any of the Order's political affairs was laughable. It was probably the only reason the whole situation didn't strike a mortal blow to Haytham's pride. Still, failure was not an option.
He bent down and brushed aside some of the brittle fallen leaves that blanketed the forest floor. It revealed nothing other than loamy, half frozen soil. Irritably, Haytham looked skyward. If Shay were here, he could climb into the trees and – Haytham swore under his breath. Again, another shortcoming. He never did quite master the art of free running in the trees the way Shay could. Perhaps he'd ask him to teach him how. But for right now, he needed another way. Through the trees, he could make out a stone outcropping that overlooked a steep cliff. It was better than nothing. With some effort, Haytham scaled it and balanced on the edge like a cat might. All he could see were more trees, and a small herd of deer grazing in a meadow directly below him. The edge of town was visible as well, but it wouldn't have made sense for the killer to go back that way. Regardless, Haytham couldn't fathom any reason the trail should be so hard to follow. The target was anything but an expert. ...Unless he wanted it to look that way. He was just about to turn back, when the sound of something rustling in the brush caught his ears.
He engaged his hidden blade and stood in silence, waiting. Half expecting one of the Assassins' stalkers to burst out of the shrubs, he was taken utterly by surprise when a young boy crawled out of them instead. His eyes met Haytham's and went wide. He stared vacantly, as if paralyzed by fear.
"Where are your parents?" Haytham asked, frowning. He wondered if the child could even speak English. He doubted it. He was obviously one of the local natives, judging by his hand sewn leather clothing and tanned skin. Something about him seemed familiar. Haytham could swear he'd seen this child before, yet he knew he never had. He didn't answer though, he took off like a startled rabbit and vanished into the trees, climbing them like a little howler monkey. Not even Shay would have been able to keep up with him to save his life. Haytham shook his head and hopped back down off the rocky outcropping.
Admitting defeat for the time being, Haytham wandered along the road back into town. If nothing else, he had learned something. The attacker was likely of African or native heritage, and most likely an Assassin. ...Which made very little sense, because as far Haytham was aware, the Assassins had been eradicated in the colonies thanks to Shay's work.
It was the sound of screams that brought Haytham back to reality. Quickly he ran down the path, throwing himself behind a large tree just in time to stay out of sight of the group of redcoats before him. Two of them were dead on the ground, bleeding out from slashed throats. Two more of them were wounded and hanging back from the man that was obviously in charge of the patrol. Edging out from his hiding place for a better view, Haytham saw that he had the native child he'd encountered earlier shoved up a tree with his pistol to his head. Without even thinking about what he was doing, Haytham pounced out from behind the tree and silently dispatched the two wounded guards. Their leader didn't have the faintest clue what was coming when he fell to the ground with Haytham's sword through his gut. He was dead before he hit the dirt.
"What happened here?" Haytham asked the child.
"They attacked me. I fought back." The child replied in perfect English. Haytham was a little unnerved by the way he glared at him. He'd just seen him slaughter three men without batting an eyelash, but he only regarded Haytham with a cold indifference.
"Did you provoke them?" Haytham inquired, taking a step forward cautiously. He doubted the kid could harm him if he wanted to, but he didn't want to have to hurt a child. Regardless, to have killed two armed soldiers who apparently made the first move... The waif of a boy knew how to defend himself. Haytham would have to give him that.
"How do you mean by that?" He answered, giving Haytham a questioning glance. All right, not quite perfect English, Haytham thought to himself.
"Where are your parents?" Haytham asked, repeating the same question from earlier.
"Have none." He said flatly.
"Is your village nearby? I would see you home safely." Haytham suggested.
The child shook his head and looked toward the outskirts of Boston visible. "I need to find someone there."
Against his better judgment, Haytham kicked one of the bodies over the edge of the cliff. It would be at least a few days before anyone found them. "I'll help you, I suppose. You'll just find yourself trouble carrying on like this." He said and dragged another body over the edge. Catching on, the child pushed the other two down as well.
"What should I call you?" Haytham asked, brushing dirt from his clothes. He had better things to do than babysit, but for all he knew the little native boy might lead him right to the killer. He had nothing else to go on, after all.
"Ratonhnhaké:ton." The boy answered.
"...Right. I am not even going to attempt to pronounce that. I'm sure I cannot manage it." Haytham grumbled. "Who do you need to find and why?"
"Father." The boy said quietly. "I only know that he was from here."
"And what do you intend to do when you find him? Have you never met him? How will you know him?" Haytham pressed, letting Ratonhnhaké:ton lead the way. He kept his hand firmly on his sword hilt and his eyes fixed on the child that knew full well how to make good use of his small stone dagger.
Ratonhnhaké:ton looked back over his shoulder at Haytham with a frown. "Don't know." He mumbled. "Do you know Charles Lee?" Haytham nearly tripped over his own feet.
"Who?"
"Charles Lee. I'm going to kill him." Ratonhnhaké:ton said, his voice full of undisguised hatred.
"Hmph. Get in line." Haytham replied, thinking of Shay and the way his fingers had a tendency to twitch in the general direction of his various weapons when he was left alone in a room for more than two minutes alone with Charles. "Why, though? Did someone – Bollocks!" Haytham muttered and grabbed Ratonhnhaké:ton by the back of his shirt. He made an undignified squeaking sound and reached for his dagger. Haytham easily disarmed him and shoved him behind a pile of firewood beside them. If nothing else, at least he had the sense to keep his mouth shut.
"Benjamin," Haytham said cordially, as his least favorite associate approached.
"Did you find anything?" Church asked, glaring daggers at Haytham. "I'm afraid I've come up with nothing but a good load of cock and bull. I doubt it's the Assassins, though. Too sloppy, no real motive."
"I concur. There is one thing I need to check on, then I will meet you back at the Green Dragon." Haytham said in clear dismissal. Church looked as though he might refuse for a second and thought better of it. Haytham watched him go, and found himself questioning Benjamin's loyalty for far from the first or last time. He was a selfish, wealth motivated bastard. As long as he was paid, and paid well, Haytham knew he could be trusted. But what if their enemies came along and gave him a better offer? No, he only trusted Church about as far as Shay trusted Charles. Which was to say, not at all.
"Why do you want to find Charles Lee? Is he your father?" Haytham asked, prodding Ratonhnhaké:ton out of his hiding spot.
"No. He burnt my village, and killed my mother. I was younger then. But now I'm going to kill him." It sent shivers down Haytham's spine to hear a child speak speak like this, yet... Was he any different? Was this what his mother had felt when she saw him commit his first murder the night Birch's men had attacked? Still... Charles burning a native village? When, and more importantly why, would he have done that? A sound nearby made Ratonhnhaké:ton stop in his tracks and observe his surroundings carefully. Something about the way he behaved seemed oddly familiar to Haytham.
"Why did you stop following?" He asked, turning to face Haytham. He looked into his eyes for a moment, and recognition hit him hard enough to render him utterly speechless.
"What was your mother's name?" Haytham asked hesitantly, shooting a warning glance in the direction of a red coat who was reaching for his pistol with his eyes set on Ratonhnhaké:ton. He glared daggers at Haytham and went on his way.
"Kaniehtí:io." Ratonhnhaké:ton replied, giving Haytham an odd, searching stare.
"...Shite."
Cock and bull – Bullshit