Chapter 23: The Search
"So, do you have any actual leads on the smugglers' presence in Boston? Liam thinks they're holin' up here, but he doesn't know where." Shay asked as he and Haytham wandered along the docks. It was as good a place as any to start looking for information – a hub of activity occupied by people from all walks of life.
"Not really, we suspect they are behind a few killings of our business contacts. That's all though. Witnesses to one of the murders, Pitcairn's gunsmith, described a dark-skinned man in a white hood leaving the scene but he didn't leave a trail." Haytham explained.
"He did, probably, just not one you lot would o' been able to track. ...No offense, o' course, Sir." Shay replied, biting back a comment about the slight limp in Haytham's step. He was already cranky about the lack of actual evidence they had to go on, it wouldn't do to joke about how he'd manage to sit through the inevitable meeting later and keep a straight face.
"Why is Liam so hell-bent on destroying a band of smugglers? They may pose a real threat to the colonial economy, but that does not seem to concern him." Haytham commented and barely dodged a large sailor as he stumbled drunkenly on his way. Shay sighed wearily and watched a group of women that were most likely whores as they catcalled at a motley group of sailors disembarking a British schooner.
"He had his base in Anticosti, and the smugglers actually used to work for him – sort o' like Thomas' contacts with the black market here." Shay explained, the painful memory of the carnage they'd left behind still fresh in his mind. "They turned on the Assassins, and burnt a good part o' the fort to the ground. It was where the women and children lived, along with some farmers and merchants. All of them were civilians, and none o' them made it out." Shay could swear he smelled the putrid odor of burnt flesh still lingering in the air when he visited that part of the island after Liam recounted the story to him. It was a horrid sight – four buildings that were naught but burnt out husks. And then there were the graves, all freshly dug in a neat row in the center of the fort's large courtyard for the bodies that they could recover.
"Why turn on them, though?" Haytham pondered and motioned for Shay to follow him down a small side-street.
"They weren't makin' enough coin playin' nice. A lot o' them were originally pirates anyway – entirely money motivated. Tell me about the murder you investigated, though. It sounds like an Assassin, but what d'you think?" Shay replied. It felt oddly surreal, the comfortable familiarity between them as they strolled through the busy streets of Boston hoping to catch any lead they could.
"It wasn't an Assassin. Rather, I believe someone went to great lengths to make us believe it was. It was too sloppy. Blood everywhere, the shop in disarray... It was not unlike the scene you described from the massacre onboard on the Sussex." Haytham told Shay. "I doubt the killer was experienced in the art of murder, nor do I feel that he was looking for anything. Nothing seemed to be missing from the workshop, which was confirmed later by the man's assistant. So why kill an innocent merchant that had very little to do with us other than once selling a pistol to John?"
"Aye, something's off about that all right. Can you show me the place? I doubt there's much t'be seen now, but maybe I'll find somethin' you missed." Shay suggested. It was as good of an idea as any, considering they hand nothing else to go on.
Shay pushed open the door to the gunsmith's shop with Haytham in tow. A young man sitting at the counter looked up at them curiously when the bells attached to door rang, catching his attention. He regarded Shay with uncertainty that transformed into annoyance when his eyes slid to Haytham.
"Jacob." Haytham said with a cordial nod of his head. "A thousand pardons, but I would like to take another look at the shop."
"It's been cleaned up." The apprentice said tartly. He had the look of an honest, exhausted man who was utterly fed up with his work. Shay decided immediately that Jacob was very unlikely to have any connection to the case.
"Did your boss have any enemies?" Shay asked, cocking his head to side, watching his reaction carefully.
Jacob rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath. "Look, just like I've told the authorities a hundred times – no. Not that I know of anyway. Tom was a very private man, he might've pissed off the wrong varlets in the past, but buggered if I know." Jacob snapped and Shay thanked him politely.
"We'll be out o' your hair in a few, and you'll never hear from us again, you have my word, Sir."
Jacob grumbled to himself, but waved his hand in the direction of the workshop. Shay gave Haytham a questioning glance and he just shrugged. It could be that Jacob was a man easily irritated, but it was also likely that Haytham had tried his patience to the limit when he'd interrogated him after the attack. Shay wouldn't past it him. Haytham was nothing if not ruthless when he wanted answers. He would know.
The shop had indeed been cleaned, there wasn't single speck of blood and all the tools had been neatly stored. It didn't even look like Jacob had been in here. He probably hadn't been, Shay figured. He was probably struggling to come to terms with his boss' violent death and felt uneasy being in there, like any normal human being would. Curiously, Shay brushed a bit of sawdust off one of the worn wooden work benches. His first impression was that it was too late to find anything of any use, but there had to be something. Haytham hung back, leaning on the door frame watching as Shay went to work.
There was nothing unusual stored in any of the many cabinets that he rifled through, and there were far too many footprints worn into the hard-packed dirt floor to discern one from the other. With the eagle sense, maybe he could see the steps the attacker had taken, but that would do no good other than giving a Shay an account of the actual attack. What he needed was a motive – hard evidence, not an estimated number of how many times poor Tom had been stabbed in the gullet. Shay knelt down, inspecting the ground. There weren't any signs of anything having been recently buried. Brushing dirt off his pants, he stood and paced the shop as he pictured different scenarios in his mind. He had the strangest nagging feeling that he was missing something. He was aware of Haytham watching him as if in a trance – undressing him with his mind, probably.
"I feel like there's somethin' I'm not seein'. I can't put my finger on it." Shay thought aloud, and ran his hand across the surface of the wall beside him. He tapped three times. It was solid. He turned his attention back to the floor and the assortment of footprints. He could tell which were his, Haytham's, and the ones that were the freshest. Through a quick system of elimination, he guessed which belonged to Tom and his killer. They'd circled the room, maybe having some sort of verbal argument before the attacker lunged at Tom who stumbled backwards into the counter. Shay could see the small scuff marks in the dirt from where the table had moved just slightly from the impact. Tom had been cornered then, and they struggled for a few moments before his trail stopped. There were a few minuscule flecks of dried blood there, staining the ground between the counter and the wall from where it had dripped down the back of it as Tom bleed out. The killer's steps retreated straight to the exit, after pausing near a small writing desk beside the front door.
"Nothin'." Shay muttered, shaking his head. Still, it didn't feel quite right. He rooted through the drawers of the dresser, finding only tax documents and an old sale ledger. He shoved aside a pile of books on top of the desk and pulled it away from the wall slightly to look behind it.
"Ah, Tom you sneaky bastard..." Shay mumbled to himself, finding a patch of the fine wood paneled wall that didn't quite match up with the rest. He knocked lightly on it and was rewarded with a hollow echo. Haytham was back at his side in a flash as Shay carefully pried the false panel loose with the tip of his hidden blade.
"How the bloody hell did you find that?" Haytham asked in disbelief, watching Shay begin to pick the lock on a small metal safe box that was hidden in the hollowed out space in the wall.
"Followin' human footprints en't much different from animals. Luckily, you and Jacob seem t'be the only ones who've been in here since the murder. I wonder why the authorities didn't investigate." Shay commented as the box popped open. Absently he dropped his lockpicks into his pocket and plopped the box down onto the desk.
"I may or may not have intercepted the patrol sent to investigate. ...And told Jacob and his wife, who live upstairs and reported the killing, that I was sent by the authorities to examine the scene." Haytham replied, glaring at Shay as if the answer should have been obvious.
"...Shite. Haytham, they've found a damned precursor site." Shay said in disbelief, holding up a small chunk of black rock. He'd only seen that type of stone in two places, the temple in Lisbon and the ruins in the arctic.
"Bollocks! They have no idea what they're toying with with. Tell me there was nothing else in that box, Shay." Haytham growled.
Shay rolled the bit of stone around in his palm, watching as the light danced across its smooth surface, making it sparkle like little stars in the night sky. He shoved it into one of his pockets and took a closer look at the box. It hadn't been removed from its place in some time, which was obvious by the thick layer of dust covering it and all but the spot where it had been sitting. Shay could see where his fingers had brushed off the dust as he'd handled the box, and where someone else had also recently done the same. "There is probably somethin' missin'." Shay confirmed disgustedly.
"You," He said, shoving the door back open. "Do you know anythin' about this?" Shay inquired, showing Jacob the small metal box and the stone.
"Aye, when I first started as Tom's apprentice as a boy, a man gave him that to pay for a rifle. He'd said that it was worth more than any gold in the world. I didn't know that Tom actually kept it all these years." Jacob replied, handing the stone back to Shay. "There was something else too, though. An old key made out of some sort of black metal, but we never found out what it opened."
"Who gave him this, do you have any idea?" Haytham demanded. "Are they still alive?"
"It was old man Brown. He owns a farm just outside of town. He said the Natives gave him that. Tom thought he was a right tale-teller, but I guess he thought it was worth keeping. I'm sorry, gentlemen, but that's all I know." Jacob replied. "If you'll excuse me, I have to make arrangements to sell the shop. I can't work here anymore... Not after... Well. You know."
"Aye. Best of luck t'you. We'll let you know when we catch the bastard if it'll put you mind at ease." Shay replied, and Haytham followed him out into the fading daylight. "I know that farm. And Haytham, I'm sorry but I can't go there."
"What the... Why not?"
"I may o' once bedded mister Brown's daughter and..." Shay coughed and looked away. "I got caught and I'm about as welcome there as a Frenchman in London."
"...Are you serious?" Shay only smirked and Haytham rolled his eyes in disgust.
"Her name was Molly by the way..."
"I don't care what her name was!"
Shay burst out laughing and clapped Haytham on the shoulder. "You know, she had a right wicked tongue. She gave the best -"
"That is enough!" Shay only laughed harder, and decided it was well worth any punishment imaginable to see Haytham fall into a fit of jealousy over a long-ago affair that had meant utterly nothing to him.
Varlets – Rogues or thieves. Basically a petty criminal.
Gullet – your stomach or guts
Tale-teller – a bullshit artist.