I have rewritten the fight scene in this part. I think it works much better now. Let me know what you think! I would love to know your opinion. It makes me learn and grow as a writer.

The next morning, Elisabeth was still in her room when Jacob knocked her door. He suspected she was dreading facing everyone after last night's events. She had probably drunk more than she should, but Jacob had not stopped her, nor had any of the others. Jacob however, had held back on the drink, knowing he needed a focused mind when trying to topple the girl. He had pushed her over the edge, making sure she chose the safe side, but he would not have her tell her story while she was drunk. When she had calmed down, he had seen her safely to her room, before sending words to Henry Green, summoning him to the base in the morning.

Elisabeth was looking pale. Whether it was from too much drink, or dreading telling her tale, he could not say, so he decided to treat her as usual, and made no comments about her outburst of the night before. After having eaten, he followed her to the office, where Henry Green soon joined them.

Sitting at the edge of her seat, she drew her breath and held it, as if wondering for a moment if she had made the right choice. Jacob and Henry gave her the time she needed to settle her mind. Slowly exhaling, her mind made up, she started to tell her story.

"The first thing I can remember is the endless sea. The waves seemed to go on forever, rolling, and tumbling and foaming. Sometimes we could see land or a bird, but mostly it was just endless stretches of water.

They had been the only passengers aboard the ship. Her father had anticipated trouble on the return to London, and he had spent the journey teaching her not to disclose their identities, and training her how to answer questions if asked.

At first, it had been a game where her father would try to trick her and get her to answer. Then, after a while, the rules had changed, and he had put her under pressure to make her talk. Whenever she slipped, there were consequences. In the end, he could shout and scream at her or even make threats, without getting her to talk.

"It made me cry at the time." A melancholic smile played on her lips as she spoke of her father. Even if she looked sad, Jacob could tell the memory was sweet to her.

"He taught me never to let my guard down, never to tell anyone who we were and what he brought with him," she said, before pausing. Her eyes were focusing on the memory in her mind, and for a few seconds she was lost in her own thoughts.

"I knew nothing but the ship when we landed in London, and yet I remember I thought it was a strange place, cold, and wet and dark.

Her father had been right to expect trouble. When they landed at Blackwall, he soon learned people had been asking for him. He left all belongings on the ship, bringing only a small package and Elisabeth along with him. They had fled, but she had not understood the danger at the time.

The light in her eyes disappeared and a furrow was deepening on her brow.

"He left me behind in an alley to hide the valuable thing he was guarding." She closed her eyes, and Jacob noted her muscles tensed as she forced herself to continue. She had seen him returning to her, when the Templars had caught up with him. She had stayed in the alley, paralyzed with fear, watching as her father was surrounded and slaughtered. When he fell, he had turned to face her one last time, anguish written on his face.

Tears were gently rolling down her cheeks as she spoke.

"When he fell, I ran to him, screaming. I did not care about the Templars any more. He was all I had." She paused, and looked away, out the window while she regained her composure. Jacob's heart was bleeding for her, knowing all too well what the loss of a father meant, but he stayed seated, not wanting intrude on her grief.

The Templars had been stunned to find her there. They had pulled her away from her father and tried to question her about him. However, the drilling her father had put her through had kicked in, and they had not been able to trick her or pressure her to tell anything. In the end, they believed she knew nothing, and put her in the orphanage.

She had grown up there, then worked there, but was not allowed to leave. Someone had made an entry in the protocol alongside her name stating that she was to remain there. When the old Master had died, the new one had figured out who she was, and once more, the questions about her father were raised. He was not as easy to fool as the old Master was, and suspected she knew something. She had feared for her life when she was caught in the yard, trying to escape, and was taken to his office. "He knew then that I was hiding something. The next morning Jacob overtook the orphanage."

Her eyes was resting at the table as she was talking, but met Jacobs eyes as the narrative was drawn up to present day. Taking a deep breath, she plunged into the final, what they had been waiting to find out for the past few weeks.

"What my father carried, was an old journal. I do not know its contents, but it is what you seek. It is hidden it in the bell tower of a church somewhere on the road between Blackwall and Whitechapel. As my father left me in the alley, he told me not to look where he went, but I saw him climb the bell-tower and disappear inside. I will know the right one when I see it."

Her tale finished she leaned back in her seat, exhaled and closed her eyes. Jacob exchanged a look with Henry. Elisabeth needed a break.

"I will go down to the kitchen and have Mrs. Cutler prepare lunch for us," Henry said.

He left the door open as he exited, while Jacob walked over and opened the windows to the yard, letting the fresh air of the morning outside sweep through the room. He remained by the window, pondering what her life would have been like, had they known of her existence. She would have been raised an Assassin, maybe even alongside Evie and himself. In his mind, he saw her standing in the orphanage, shielding the children from him and his men. She had faced them alone and unarmed, but still she had not backed down. Moreover, she had successfully deceived the Templar's at the age of three and carried her father's secret for seventeen years. She had a strong mind and a strong heart, and could have made a fine Assassin, had she received the training.

She walked over to the window and leaned against the windowsill peering out at the sky above. "How are you feeling?" He asked.

"Empty. But also relieved," she said quietly. They remained by the window, both lost in thoughts until Henry returned with lunch.

Jacob had been pondering their next move while Henry was gone.

"There must be 30 or 40 Churches between the docks and Whitechapel," Jacob said as they sat down to eat.

Henry agreed, "But not all of them have bell towers. The ones that do are visible from afar. You just have to find the right one for now."

Jacob knew he was right. He wanted to retrieve the journal and finish the job, but it would have to wait until Elisabeth was safely back at the base. Leaving someone alone, who could not defend herself, was not a good idea. Reluctantly Jacob agreed.

"We will take a wagon and search for the right tower," he said, "and I will have the Rooks trail behind us, just as a precaution."

Henry was satisfied.

"I will seek out your sister while you are gone and inform her. I know she will want to be here when you return, and join you when you go after the journal."

/

Jacob put on the leather overcoat and fastened the gauntlet to his arm. He did not expect them to meet any trouble, driving a wagon through the city, but that did not make him derive from his normal routine. Preparing for the mission, he went over every blade and throwing knife, making sure all edges were sharp as razors, before tucking them away in the sheets on his belt. As he went through the routine, his manner changed, adapting to the mission, bringing on an austere, unyielding mind-set. Gone was the humorous gleam in his eye, left was a calculating fighter, an Assassin. Ready to go, Jacob collected the cane from its stand and walked out into the yard.

The sky had turned the colour of cold steel, and in the distance, dark clouds were rolling in. The gusts of wind brought sprays of droplets, in promise of the storm to come. Elisabeth was waiting by the wagons with Tom and John. They and the rest of the lads were going with them, and the others were making the last preparations before parting.

Elisabeth stiffened when he approached, the change in his frame of mind making her uneasy. He could not blame her, after their first meeting in the orphanage. He ignored her unease as he crossed the yard and gave the lads the last instructions, letting them know the route they were going to drive. Turning to Elisabeth, he gave her a reassuring smile as he lifted her up to the driver's seat of the wagon, before climbing up and seating himself by her side.

With a smack of the reins, the horse started moving. The Rooks were going to trail them at a distance, and the second wagon held back as Jacob and Elisabeth set out.

They wound their way through the Streets of London, staying clear of the areas the Templars controlled. At the edge of Whitechapel, they left Whitechapel Street for Church Lane and Commercial Road East, which would take them to the East India Docks. As they travelled, Elisabeth was scanning the horizon for every bell tower there was. They passed numerous churches and chapels, but none of them was the right one.

The sky was dark with storm clouds and rain started to fall as they came up on Limehouse. In the distance, the bell tower of St. Anne's Church rose over the trees lining the nearby Limehouse Cut. Elisabeth was watching it and as they got closer, she said:

"Jacob, stop the wagon. I think this is the one."

He halted the wagon, scanning the surroundings for signs of trouble. All was quiet, but he did not want to stay long in one place.

"I think this is it," she repeated breathless, looking mesmerized down the narrow street leading to the church.

Jacob was satisfied, and flicked the reins to get the horse moving again, when without a word, Elisabeth got out of the wagon and started walking down the street. Jacob cursed and tugged on the reins to stop the horse. Angry, he called after her, but she continued to walk further away, not even reacting to his words.

"Elisabeth!"

Staying there, out in the open for long was dangerous. Jacob quickly got out of the wagon and set after her. She stopped for a brief moment, looking down the narrow alley across from the church, then turned and walked around the corner towards the church.

The rain was slowly making puddles in the street as Jacob caught up with her in front of the gates to the churchyard. She was staring blankly at an empty spot on the narrow street, lost to the world. He knew she had found the place where her father had perished years ago, and was reliving those final moments.

However, this was not the time for recollection. Grabbing her shoulders, Jacob shook her back to reality.

"We need to go, Elisabeth. Now!"

He was fuming that she put herself in danger like this. He knew by experience that even small deviations could topple a well-planned mission.

A year ago, he would not have cared. Then he had been reckless, his only responsibility was his own life and completing his missions. He had always been like a cat; no matter how bad things had gotten, he had somehow been able to land on his feet. In a way, it had been a game to him up until they left Crawley. None of the missions really meant anything to him; they were just minor and separate tasks in a system he could not see.

Coming to London had changed him. Seeing the state of the city and its poor workers had ignited a passion in him he did not know he possessed. It had given purpose to the missions and fuelled a drive to rid the people of the invisible chains under which they were straining and drew him to rally the Rooks to the cause. Suddenly he saw how he could change things, how he could topple the system and change people's lives.

He was still an Assassin, but the Rooks were his army. Whenever he went out on missions alone, he could still be reckless and wing it and rely on his speed, strength and skills to get him out. When the Rooks joined him, their numbers meant strength, but planning was essential to utilize it.

And so, Jacob had changed. He started to strategize and plan. Conquering a borough at the time, taking over the orphanages, leading the Rooks.

His sister had failed to notice it as she was too preoccupied with her precious artefacts. She expected him to be the same as ever, the reckless brother she had to clean up after. She considered his war a series of gang brawls. Her views always brought out the worst in him. Lately it had driven them apart.

Deviating from a plan could mean disaster, and this time it did. As they rounded the corner to go back to the wagon, Jacob's heart dropped. Blighters were blocking the alley in both directions. Fronting them was a man wearing an overcoat adorned with the Templar cross.

Jacob shoved Elisabeth behind him and took a stance at the crossroad. He put two fingers in his mouth and whistled loudly before unsheathing the cane blade. He knew the Rooks were nearby, but too far away to reach them before the fight started. He would have to hold the Blighters off on his own, until the Rooks arrived. The weight of the blade in his hand brought sense of security, like always. He gripped it tightly and twirled it once over, feeling the balance of it while his eyes locked on the Templar.

The enemies, confident of victory stopped a few yards away, jeering and laughing scornfully.

"Give her over Mr. Frye, and we will grant you a clean death," the Templar said.

His heart beat hard against his chest, pure adrenaline bringing clarity and sparking his senses alert. "If you want her, come and claim her," he growled in reply, not ready to give the Templar an inch.

His answer washed the smiles off their faces, and three Blighters moved forward. Their faces drawn in snarls, they closed in as a cresant. Jacob silently waited for them to come within his reach.

The scythe blade released with a slight klick. A second later, it swung in an arch and lodged in the neck of the first man. Jacob spun to block a second attacker. The oncoming knife sang against the cane and was thrown from the Blighter's hands. His eyes widened in fear in the second before the cane blade ended his life. Jacob didn't register, already moving on to clobber the next assailant to the ground.

When three men lay dead or dying at his feet the Blighters realized this was not going to be an easy fight. Roars of anger rose around him, but they did not move. Jacob read apprehension in their countenance, and felt a flicker of satisfaction.

Install terror in them. Show no sense of pain or weakness, show no emotion and they will fear you. His father's word rang through his head as the Templar ordered the rest of the Blighters forward.

This was not a position he wanted to be in. There was no way out; she could not run or climb and they were at a dead end.

Jacob dodged another blade. The Blighter left his side exposed and sharp steel tore through skin and hide. Sweat streamed down his face. Blood soon lined his grip on the blade, but it was not his own. He spun and let a throwing knife fly, dipped and slashed another throat as the Blighter fell.

A sense of gratitude raced through his mind towards his sister for the cane. She had insisted he add a blade with longer reach to his arsenal. Keeping this mass of Blighters at bay without it would be impossible.

His muscles were feeling the strain of the fight, sending signals of fatigue to his brain. Jacob denied acknowledging it and pushed it away as his training had taught him. The Blighters kept on coming; he kept on moving, making sure cold steel was always there to greet them.

There was a pause, the Blighters attention turning away for a split second. Jacob could hear the Rooks join in the battle, and knew it would turn. The Rooks levelled the field, making it an equal fight. He felt the mood change. The Blighters had been sure of winning, now they were unsettled. Grinning wryly Jacob took advantage of their hesitation and drove them back, gaining ground with each blow, pushing the assailants to retreat.

Until then, the foes had focused on him, tried to finish him off to get to Elisabeth. With the flash of a throwing knife flying through the air he realized she had turned a target as well. If they could not get the journal they would make sure, Jacob did not either. The hairs on his neck stood on end as she cried out in agony. He shot the Templar who threw the knife and controlled the impulse to turn, forced himself to block it from his mind. He could do nothing for her now, until the fight was over.

A knock from his cane rendered a Blighter unconscious on the spot. His throwing knife stopped another in mid stride. The next one turned around and fled. Finally, the Rooks had reached them, and the rest of the Blighters bolted.

The smell of blood lay heavy in the air as Jacob turned to find Elisabeth on her knees in the rain. She was bent over, clutching her side. He shouted for the Rooks to fetch the wagons as he knelt down beside her.

"I'm s-s-sorry," she said, her speech erratic as she lifted her gaze upon him. Gripping her arms, he eased her down on the ground.

It was my job to guard you, said the voice in his head. The lads kept guard around them, blades still drawn and keeping a lookout for any signs of trouble. Jacob fought to control his racing heart, the adrenalin from the fight and from seeing her injured now flowing freely in his veins. He still needed a clear head to get them out of this mess.

The blood seeped from the wound in her side, blending with the pouring rain to join the red river flowing down the cobbled alley. Jacob ripped the fabric of her shirt and chemise apart, exposing the injury underneath. She flinched, from the pain or the exposure, or both; he did not care. The knife was lodged in to the handle. She was still too thin and the knife had gone deep, meeting little resistance in the insufficient mass of muscle. The wound blead more than he liked. There was no point in trying to remove the knife; chances were it would make the bleeding worse. Instead, he put to fingers each side of the blade and put pressure on the wound to stem the flow. Elisabeth cried out at the shock of the initial pain. As it subsided she looked at him intently and tried to speak again.

"I-i-in the w-wall" she said, trying but failing to point in the right direction, her arm falling weakly to the ground.

"Shh, don't worry about that" he said, bending over to shield her from the rain as the Rooks brought the wagon to their side.

Jacob knew they would have to work fast, were they to save her. There was no use in seeking out a local surgeon or a hospital. Their method of stopping internal bleeding was cauterizing; jabbing a red-hot iron in the wound, a medieval method as likely to kill the patient as the wound itself. The Assassins knowledge of the art of healing derived from centuries of saving wounded brothers. Her only chance was to get her back to the base. Jacob was relying on his sister's and Henry Green's skills to save her.