Staying away from the train, did not mean staying idle. It just meant he decided for himself what missions to do, and today that involved taking down another Templar to liberate a number of orphans. Jacob had spent a few days planning, after having received intel of a particular orphanage and the conditions the children there were living under. The orphanage had been under Templar administration for years, but in the last few months, a new Master had turned the living conditions to new depths of despair. He was a low rank Templar, a man with a brutal streak and a clear ambition to climb within the order. Any fault or deficiency among the orphans was reprimanded harshly, usually by cane, and the children feared him. By the look of their thin bodies, they were not fed properly; the meals probably consisted solely of boiled potatoes, offering to little nutrition for growing bodies.

Moreover, the older children had all disappeared, and Jacob suspected they were sold off to the large factories as cheap labour, easily controlled as they were. Some factories kept children locked up, working long days for board and lodging. Not being allowed to leave the factories, they never got a chance of an education, to earn a decent wage, nor to better their standard of living. It was the modern form of slavery, and Jacob was intent on ending it.

/

The air was slowly heating and the sun burned away the morning mist as Jacob gathered his Rooks out of sight from the orphanage. It was going to be a warm day.

A few steps away, Edward was trying to give Harry the last instructions. The lad was still in training and this was going to be his first real fight. Harry listened with only half an ear while his eyes followed Greg and the two ginger brothers Tom and Liam and the light-hearted jokes flying between them. He worried more about missing the fun, than about the coming fight Jacob thought with a lopsided grin.

John and Rob were preparing in silence, one checking his gun, the other going over his knifes. John was about Jacob's age, an austere lad and a good shooter. Jacob had seen him pick just about everything he aimed at the last half year. The man could probably give Evie a good run for her money, Jacob mused, but John never made a point of his skills.

To his left Charles was idly waiting for the rest to finish. His black bowler drawn down on the front and his thumbs tucked into his belt, his eyes followed another group of people, waiting a few yards further down the street. Catching Jacob's attention, he nodded in their direction.

"Someone seems pleased ter stay behind and wai' 'til it's over," he said with a gleam of amusement in his eye. Jacob turned around to see the new management for the orphanage waiting down the street. The men were calm enough, seasoned Rooks as they were, but the three women looked positively terrified, pale and fidgeting with their clothes and bags. Jacob met Charles' gaze with a wide smile.

"All the more fun for us," he said and pulled out the brass knuckles from his pocket. Charles was a burly man, slow to anger and not a quick fighter, but one who threw a mean punch. He was the oldest of the lot, nearing fifty. He had joined the Clinkers a few years back after his wife had died. Now he was among the once Jacob trusted with his plans.

Preparations finished, all eyes turned to Jacob.

"Let's go throw them out, shall we!" anticipation and adrenaline rushed through him, drawing a smile on his face and a gleam in his eyes, as the lads answered in cheers and yells.

The orphanage was a run-down building, with broken windowpanes and paint peeling of the walls. Jacob led the men through the gates and halted outside in the yard. It was empty save for a lone Blighter who leapt to his feet and disappeared inside at the sight of them. He returned shortly after with the Master and, by the looks of their numbers, most of the remaining staff. Jacob spoke up

"The Rooks are taking over this orphanage. Your exploit of children is stopping today! Those of you who wish to leave the Blighters may do so now. The rest of you we will deal with later."

Jacob's words fuelled a rage in the Master standing on the porch, but most of the women chose to leave, and hurriedly disappeared out the gates.

Seeing the control of his staff about to crumble, the Master had had enough.

"WIPE THEM OUT" he bellowed and the remaining Blighters charged.

The Rooks threw themselves into the fight and the air filled with angry cries.

Jacob dodged a Blighters fist and punched his side, the brass knuckles connecting with ribs in a sickening sound. The man buckled and Jacob clobbered him to the ground, unconscious.

To his side Rob's blade struck and countered a Blighter's, weaving his way with determination set in his eyes and jaw. Further away John pinned and pommelled a Blighter to the ground.

Jacob found another Blighter in front of him, yanked him out of balance and chattered his knee. His howl of pain drowned under the shouts and yells, blows and strikes.

He had planned to end this fight quickly. Every minute it drew out meant greater chance for injury to his men.

A movement on the edge of his vision made him turn. Harry was in trouble, caught in the choking grip of his opponent. The weight of a throwing knife was in Jacob's hand before he'd made a conscious thought. With a deadly flash of silver flying through the air, the Blighter's grip just faltered and Harry shoved him off.

The key to end the fight lay in taking out the Master. His men were used to controlling children, not fend off seasoned fighters. Their determination and drive depended on the Master leading them, and when he fell, it would crumble.

Jacob's focus flicked back to the fight just a bit too late. The momentum of a blow threw his head sharply to the side. His vision was dappled in spots of light and the metallic taste of blood filled his mouth. Barring his teeth in anger, Jacob launched forward, brandishing cold steel. The kukri ripped through clothing and skin alike as he planted the blade in the redcoat's chest.

With a howl of anger another Blighter charged; a big brute with pure hatred in his eyes.

"You killed my brother, you filthy dipper!" he bellowed and swung a club at Jacobs head.

Jacob dodged the blow. A hit meant broken bones, and blocking it was not an option. His grip on the Kukri was wet from blood and sweat. Jacob clutched it tight and dodged again, carefully looking for an opening. The split second of opportunity was all he needed and the kukri found another target, the colour of his Blighter coat deepening as he sunk to his knees beside his brother.

Then suddenly, the way to the Master lay open ahead.

"Go, Jacob. Take 'im out," Charles shouted to his side.

Sheathing the knife, Jacob plunged forward.

The Master saw him coming. Fear filled his eyes as he aimed his gun and pulled the trigger. Jacob dropped low and avoided the shot. Before the man could aim once more, Jacob floored him, pinned him down and thrusted the hidden blade in his neck. The Templar shuddered slightly. Life and spirit left his body, and he was no more. Jacob eased his grip and retracted the hidden blade. The fight was over. The sound of the gunshot had caught the fighters' attention, and seeing the Masters demise, the remaining Blighters fled the property.

Aside from bruises and a few cuts, there were no injuries amongst the Rooks. Jacob sent Harry to fetch the new management, waiting down the street. The time had come for them to start their work, setting up a new regime at the orphanage.

The dining-hall lay just off the yard, and by the muffled sounds of sobbing, a large number of children were gathered there. As Harry left, Jacob and the rest of the Lads entered the building to find them.

Breakfast had evidently just been served when the fight started, half-eaten bowls of mashed potatoes left on the tables around the room. The room span the width of the building with a central istle and five long tables either side set a few feet from the wall. The children were gathered at the end, frightened by the sounds of the fight and startled to find bruised and bloody strangers entering the room.

Two Blighters, a man and a young woman were left with the children, guarding the only door and making sure they would not escape during the commotion. The Rooks quietly settled down, leaning against the tables and standing along the walls close to the door.

Jacob approached the man alert and aware of his stance, slightly turned away concealing his arm behind him. He sensed the coming attack, alarm triggered by the slight shift in tension. He extended the hidden blade as the Blighter launched at him, a gleam of sharp metal in his hand. In one, flowing move Jacob avoided the attack and slashed the man's throat. It was over in a second, and the dead Blighter crumbled, blood pooling on the floor around him.

It sent the children panicking. They were screaming and crying, clawing their way to the back, all trying to hide behind each other. Jacob ignored them. They would receive help once the new management arrived, but first he had to eliminate the last member of the staff.

"Yet another of these blasted people, exploiting the children."

She was standing square in front of the children, blocking Jacob and his men from reaching them. Her eyes blazing with anger, she still did not fool Jacob. He sensed the fear behind the anger as he assessed her. Her garments were simple, a grey wool skirt and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves. Her fists opened and clenched hard.

"Unarmed, then?" he thought, while silently signalling John to steal along the wall to the back of the room to get between her and the orphans. She wasn't exactly dressed for a fight, and her small frame was no challenge to take down. However, the children were still at peril if she got a hands on one of them.

Keeping her eyes fixed on himself, Jacob walked slowly sideways and unsheathed one of his throwing knifes. If she tried to take one of the children hostage, he was ready to stop her.

Her eyes followed the movement of his hand and saw the knife.

"Leave them alone!" she shouted

She had not noticed John rounding on her, silently sneaking closer by the second. Jacob kept moving, drawing her focus to him, and in a calm voice he said, "We are not going to harm the children. You, however, have been exploiting them long enough, and now you will pay for it."

Startled by his words, the young woman backed away, but John was already there. Forcing her away from the children, he gave her a firm shove in the back.

With a scream of agony, she fell to the floor.

On her back, blood seeped through her shirt, colouring the fabric red. Jacob sheathed the throwing knife and walked to her side. The pain etched on her face stunned her senses and rendered her oblivious to anything else as she lay panting on her knees. Kneeling down beside her, Jacob carefully lifted the collar at the back of her shirt, curious to see the cause of her agony.

Her whole back was swollen, the flesh a bright mix of colour, bright scarlets, purple and blue. His brow furrowed in anger. Across it, ran three half-inch wide ridges of dried blood. The push had made the scabs to split, reopening the wounds.

Who would beat a woman like that?

As the pain subsided, the young woman became aware of him, stooping over her. With a frightened shriek, she crawled backwards away from him and her shirt slipped through his fingers. John was there to stop her flight and grabbing her, he pulled her to her feet. Jacob slowly rose and pulled back the hood.

Along the wall, Charles and Edward escorted the children outside. Their relaxed demeanour and calm authority had settled the panic down, and the sounds of young voices dwindled as the room was shortly emptied. The new management was taking over care and Jacob knew the orphans would be better off from now on.

What puzzled him was the young woman. He had expected resistance from the staff, and had taken her for one of them, but something did not add up. Her wounds were not the result of a fight, there were no defensive wounds, and only her back was injured. She had been reprimanded for something and recently. To Jacob's judgement, the wounds were no more than a day old.

However, a staff member would be fired, not receive a beating if she broke the rules. Her injuries made him unsure if she was really a Blighter. Then again, if she was not, why was she there?

His attention focused on the girl, Jacob leaned against a table. Her eyes were darting around the room, as if looking for a way out. There was only the door, and with John keeping a firm hold of her arm, she reluctantly stood still.

"Who beat you?" Jacob asked.

"The Master" she answered. Her voice was colourless and her answer disinterested, however, she wasn't throwing Jacob off. She was clearly uncomfortable being at the centre of attention, her face turned away trying to avoid his gaze.

"Why were you beaten?"

"I was disobedient," she answered, still in the monotonous voice and determined disinterest.

Jacob found her illusiveness peculiar. She had the opportunity to disclaim loyalty to the Blighters and portray herself a victim of their brutal rule, as they obviously had not treated her well. Instead, she chose to answer evasively.

"Why would the Templars beat a staff member like this? Disobedience seems an unlikely cause."

At those words, her countenance changed instantly. She turned and met his gaze and anger flared inside her grey eyes.

"I was NOT working for them! I wasn't allowed to LEAVE!" she shouted.

Even as the words left her mouth, he could see she had told him more than she intended. Her eyes widened, and she drew a sharp breath before closing her mouth resolutely. Then she looked away.

Jacob crossed his arms over his chest while his mind was working to solve this mystery. The Templars had sold off all children old enough to do a day's work, and she was probably close to 20 years of age. Why would they keep her here, even hold her here against her will? The only explanation he could come to was that she was somehow important to them.

He relaxed, opened his mind and examined her in eagle vision. The room faded into black and white, as he opened up to the gift obtained after years of training. Again, Jacob was caught by surprise. He expected her to show a dull grey colour as the innocent bystander or to shine red, confirming her as a Blighter, but the young woman in front of him was shining bright white, the same way artifacts, pieces of information or treasure usually did. He had never seen a person glowing white before.

His silent scrutiny unnerved her, drawing her eyes to him despite her efforts to ignore him. Jacob let go of the eagle sense and the colours of the world flooded back.

All signs of anger in her were gone, her eyes turned into black wells of fear. It made no difference to him. He had long since become used to the effect his demeanour had on people. His main concern was what to do with her. The white glow she emitted made the decision easy to make; she had some form of value, was an asset the Templars wanted to keep, and therefor would have to come with them.

Charles and Edward came back inside with the new Master, and Jacob walked across the room to settle the few remaining matters. After having made sure the children were well cared for, Jacob turned to his men.

"Our work here is done, lads. Let's go." With a glance at the girl, he added, "She is going with us. Bring her out to the wagon."

He did not expect her to come quietly, and for a second her body tensed. Her mind worked ferociously behind those grey orbs and John tightened the grip on her arm. The Rooks all noticed her reaction and anticipating a brewing protest, rose to their feet to aid John. However, the girl shortly lowered her head and followed John calmly through the room.

Jacob had anticipated some form of resistance, at least a verbal protest, but she did not utter a word. He had seen how fear could control people, her submission was a normal reaction, and yet it puzzled him that she surrendered so easily. However, he did not think too much of it, and accredited it to the fact that she was surrounded and outnumbered.

/

On their way back to the base, they made a short detour to seek out a doctor. During his brief inspection of her injury, Jacob had seen how her garments were stuck in the wounds. It needed tending to or the wounds not heal. He had the knowledge to do it himself, but seeing her fear, he found it was better to leave it to a neutral third party.

The doctor's was a relatively new stone house, handsomely situated on the corner of the street and an adjoining square. Jacob led the young woman up the wide stone steps to the solid oak door and rang the bell. Meanwhile, the Rooks settled down in the shade. A nurse opened. Being explained their errand; she led them through the house to the doctor's office.

The doctor was a short man of solid statue with a stern face. He listened to Jacob's tale and questions, and nodded, inclining to the assignment.

"Just leave it to us. We will sort her out," he said. Jacob payed him for the services and turned to leave the room. The young woman was watching him, standing in the sunlight from the windows facing the square. Her expression was slightly puzzled and her eyes wondering, but as he met her gaze, her eyes hardened and she turned away. Jacob ignored her disrespect and went to join the Rooks waiting outside.

It was midday already, and the street lay bathing in sunlight, the rays colouring the buildings in a warm glow. The lads were passing time with jokes and discussing the ventures of the day. They were in a good mood, having taken the orphanage with few problems. Across the stairs, Tom caught his gaze, gesturing at Harry with a lopsided grin; the lad was clearly still high on adrenaline. Jacob answered his smile without a word. They both knew the feeling, the blood pounding through the veins, making everything so clear, so vibrant, but for the seasoned men it didn't last that long. By now, they were much to accustom to the fights for that. Harry could not stop talking for the life of him, and Jacob turned his focus to the street.

Time passed slowly in the heat. It was a quiet day, the few people passing seemed to be out on errands; kitchen maids with wicker baskets on their way to or from market, a couple of carriages passing on their way to appointments unknown to the onlookers. Jacob observed them indifferently as he listened to Harrys chatter and the jokes of the others. He was looking forward to lunch and cold ale when they got back to the base. Fighting always made him hungry, and the heat was making him thirsty. The thought of the dew cold ale from the cellars of the Base only made his thirst worse, and he shrugged off the thought.

On the opposite pavement, a young man wearing a cap came strolling down the street. He carried a grey bundle of fabric on his shoulder, his jacket a bit too large, hanging off the shoulders. "Probably a hand-me-down" Jacob thought absentmindedly.

The man disappeared around the corner as the nurse came out to tell them the doctor had finished. She led Jacob back through the house, giving him the doctor's assessment on the girl's health. The beating had rendered the flesh swollen, but underneath, there were no broken bones. The wounds would heal within a week's time and a fuller diet would soon restore the girl's health. Jacob listened in silence to her instructions on changing bandages while they walked through the house. When they reached the office, she had finally finished talking.

"Here we are then, Mr. Frye," she said with a courteous smile as she opened the door.

The room inside was empty.

Bewildered, the nurse walked into the office to search for the girl, but Jacob did not waste time waiting. The open window, facing the square told him where she had gone.