INTERMEZZO ONE

"Enter."

This could've been the sixteenth or the sixtieth patient, for all Doctor Walters knew. Outside his office window, the sun bled to its downfall. Its last glory rays illumined the papers – still not done – on his desk. He sighed, sitting up in his chair. Why had it been such a long day? Perhaps he was simply becoming old; bored. Every client seemed the same to him, nowadays. That explained his lack of patience with those seeking his assistance. Or, in fact, his short fuse with everyone.

The wooden door creaked open; a tall man swaggered into its frame. He was – in short – Doctor Walters' opposite. He had a backswept mane of golden hair, with lively eyes and a permanent smirk to match. His clothes were battle-worn (which the doctor knew was no gloating matter for this man). His arms were that of a soldier or sailor. He is nothing of the sort, the doctor thought as his lip curled.

"You again, Arthur?"

"The very same," the man chuckled. He thumped heavily onto a chair opposite the desk, comfortable as if it were routine.

"What this time? Another drunken brawl?"

Arthur scoffed. "At this time of evening? Huh! No. I've scolded my arm." He rolled up his muddied sleeve and shuffled his chair closer.

Doctor Walters leaned in to inspect Arthur's outstretched arm. A large white blister bubbled in the skin, making him wince. "Goodness," he marvelled. "More than just a scold, I'd say. How did you do it?"

"Working on some iron down at the dock," the victim shrugged nonchalantly. "Caught it red-hot. Still twinges a bit."

"Naturally," the doctor droned. "Wait there. I know exactly what you need."

With some considerable effort, he ambled over to the store cupboard. He'd seen a similar burn very recently, in fact. The woman had practically licked the shelves clean of the ointment he needed. Luckily, there was one small bottle of essence left...and he plucked it from the box.

"I had a man near Boston asking for this treatment, just under a month ago."

"Really?" Arthur cocked an eyebrow. "What had he done?"

"Oh, it wasn't for him. It was for a savage girl, would you believe?" Doctor Walters found his way back to his seat, and handed the glass bottle to his patient. "Apply this to the skin, three times a day."

"A savage?"

"Said he had rescued her from some sort of house fire."

Arthur snorted. "What has this city come to?"

"Exactly. I tried to tell the man – I am a doctor, not a veterinary. I do not treat animals." He wrinkled his nose. Even the thought of the girl disgusted him. "Certainly not if the said victim has been burned so severely that she needs five bottles of this lotion to last her a month."

"What was his name?" Arthur asked. "The man. I may know him."

Behind the doctor's door, someone was listening...

HAYTHAM

"Sorry I'm late." It was Hickey, who was last to arrive. I'd set everyone up in the drawing room with drinks to keep them quiet. It hardly surprised me that it should be Thomas to come later than scheduled.

"No problem," I replied, closing the front door. "You've missed nothing...except a little wine –"

At the word 'wine', Thomas almost dived for the drawing room, without even removing his coat. He was amicably greeted by the four Templars already sat around in there. I simply rolled my eyes. Typical Hickey. Anything for a little booze.

I followed him in to find Henry topping up glasses. He looked up and saw me, just as William encouraged him to pour a little more.

"Ah, Master Kenway." Henry always called me this whenever the Templars were present. "Can I tempt you?"

"No thank you, Henry," I sighed. "Now we are all here, we should probably be starting."

Henry gripped the bottle firmly and nodded. With an exchanged glance – which we knew meant 'warn Ziio' – he was off. William's eyes followed him out of the room. Unusually, Thomas didn't seem to care that the wine had just been removed. He slouched on the nearest arm chair, mirroring Benjamin on the opposite side. Charles and William sat together on the largest seat; they'd been chatting away merrily for what seemed like half an hour. Now, they stared up at me like hounds awaiting a command. But next to them sat another man: John Pitcairn.

John Pitcairn was – by far – the Templar I respected most. He was the eldest of us all, and in ways, the wisest. His motives were not half as selfish as most Templars: he aimed for peace. Sadly, Pitcairn rarely attended our meetings; he was often busy. But there, on the chair, he regarded me with a respectful, but mistrustful gaze.

Suddenly I realised what this meant: if John was here, he must've thought this was important. And if he thought this was important...I was in for a lot of interrogation. Perfect. That is the last thing I need.

Already I could feel the hair rising on my neck. I shook the nerves, feigned a smile and addressed them all. "Good evening, gentlemen. So wonderful to see you all again, bright and –" I looked across at Hickey, who had his legs spread wide in the chair. "Alert. I understand you have...questions for me. William. Would you like to start?"

Even by dinner time, I'd had enough. The six of us re-located to the dining room. As we ate, I discovered their real purpose for calling a meeting...and kicked myself for my ignorance. I should've known.

"The answer is no."

I was firmer this time I said it. Thomas rolled his eyes for the fifth time. Charles shot icicles from his eyes at the man - but even he was full of resentment. Benjamin and William exchanged a look of a similar nature. John, however - not a regular guest - sat uptight like a caned school-child. All of them were thinking the same thing.

"Oh, but Haytham, open your eyes!" pleaded William. "This excavation could be a new opportunity!:

"We'd sure as hell be earnin' more than the trouble's worth," muttered Hickey.

"Thomas!" Benjamin scolded. "Quit with the yammering. I, for one, am trying to listen!"

It was only Charles who had the strength to see sense. He placed his cutlery down by his steaming plate. "The thing is, Haytham, you continue to bluntly refuse. I know full well that when we suggested this mission five years ago, you disagreed. Of course, that was for...personal reasons, but nowadays, such reasons no longer exist."

Personal reasons. Here it comes. Up until now, I'd received next to no interrogation about Ziio. The two purposes for this meeting – a precursor mission on the Natives' land, and answers about my behaviour, slotted together perfectly. It was an arrow placed in a bow, ready to fire at me.

I tried not even to swallow. "What are you on about?"

"He means," began John, whom up until now had been silent, "that if there is no apparent reason why you will not proceed with the excavation..."

"Why are you refusin'?"

I huffed. "I simply believe it impractical, intrusive and a waste of our time. Nothing personal."

At this point, there was a loud knock at the door. All five heads pivoted; the guest burst in before I could respond. It was Robert, the stable hand, standing at the doorframe. He was breathless as a bloodhound on a hunt, and his breeches were muddied and covered in straw. Before I could patronise the boy for interrupting out meeting, he blurted: "Master Kenway, something is wrong."

I stared back, motionless. "What is it? Can't you see I'm busy?"

"It's...Bonnie..." he rasped. "She has...keeled over, sick. I...I think she's been...poisoned!"

My men turned to face me, bewildered as I. Why tell me this now, in the middle of a Templar gathering? All right, my mare was sick. I had more important matters at stake.

"Can you not deal with it, boy?"

"I am unsure...what the...substance was. I was...wondering if...you knew." His young eyes bulged with urgency, whilst mine were clouded with impatience.

I rose slowly. "For goodness' sake," I muttered. "What could she possibly have been poisoned by at this moment in time?"

"I don't know!" Robert was completely terrified by now. "I need you to tell me! Is it life-threatening? Should I call for a veterinary?"

I motioned to my men regretfully. "Wait here. I will return in a moment."

INTERMEZZO TWO

The five men remained impassive until their master was gone, like rebellious monks in a monastery. All eyes fell on the youngest.

"What did you feed that horse, Thomas?" one of them asked.

"I wasn' me, I told ya." He gulped some wine from his glass, before continuing: "I got Arthur to do it for me. He's bought us some time. Don' ya see what this means?"

"What?" asked another.

"We can look around. See what 'Aytham's hidin' here."

The eldest of them all chewed and swallowed his last mouthful. "So, when you took your friend Arthur to the doctor..."

"...And I overheard 'is talkin' outside. He mentioned a Mohawk girl stayin' in a house near Boston," the cockney man finished drunkenly. He leaned in to whisper: "An' get this: she was bein' treated for severe burns."

Two of them gasped in unison. "The fire..."

"Severe burns! That's it!"

"And we all know which girl that might be," scowled the last. His ice-blue eyes were fixated on the candlelight, pensive. "Well, it's worth a look. Thomas, Benjamin, you check the ground floor. John, William, we'll look upstairs."

They all stood, and sneaked their separate ways.

Charles' every movement was shaky; ginger. His master could return at any given moment. Was this really a risk worth taking, purely to satisfy his curiosity?

It must be done, he decided firmly, for the the strength of the Order's sake.

"Over here!" hissed Benjamin. "Hush, though!"

William and Charles crept nimbly across the landing, and stood outside a wooden door. They all bustled tightly to fit, and their position made for an uncomfortable time. It took some considerable strain, but they could hear a voice. A female voice, along with a male's.

"You should get some rest," said the male's, behind the door.

"I will," replied the female's. She sounded sleepy, very American...and very, very familiar.

"When do you leave?"

"Tomorrow," she responded. "Haytham will take me as far as the Mohawk River, at around three in the morning."

The three men exchanged a puzzled look. Only Charles seemed to grasp the words of the nondescripts behind the door. "That's the butler," Charles hissed. "He'll see us when he comes out! Quick, hide!"

William and Benjamin swiftly obeyed, diving into the darkness of the next room. Charles could feel himself shuddering; his heart was footloose in its beating. He felt like a chhild again. Was he really doing this? Snooping around the house of his dearest friend?

I have to. I have to.

He pressed his ear against the door. What was that about Haytham? Mohawk River? Three in the morning?

"Thank you, Henry," the woman said. "For everything."

"Farewell, Ziio," he murmured, before his footsteps could be heard coming closer.

Despite his astonishment, Charles reacted just in time. He leapt behind the door as it creaked open. With the wood so close it kissed the tip of his nose, Charles listened to the butler disappearing down the landing, before he descended the staircase and was out of sight.

He motioned to his colleagues, who appeared behind the door. "We can't risk going in there just yet," he whispered, still shaking.

"Did you hear any more?" Benjamin pressed quietly.

"Someone is in there," he murmured. "Someone called...Ziio." And the revelation swung out of the blue like the door and hit him. All three of them gasped.

"Do you think...?"

"The name seemed familiar..."

"It's her," Charles muttered darkly. "I know it's her!"

It took several moments for the reality to settle. After what seemed like minutes, William spoke.

"That's why Haytham wouldn't let me sleep here..." he murmured. "It explains everything."

"Even why he will not agree to our excavation! He feels too much sympathy for the Natives!"

"Why, though?" It was Benjamin, ducking down low. "Why is she here?"

"It doesn't matter," Charles decided. "We need to make a plan. Now, here's what we are to do later..."

OOOOOOH and I'll leave it there! Sorry if it was a bit rushed and/or a bit gappy, but I hope it makes sense. Sorry about both the length it took to write this and the abrupt end. There will be a part 2 to this chapter.

Anyway, I hope you enjoyed this!The intermezzos are something a little different. I hope you don't mind them! So, things are hotting up now...what are the Templars plotting?

Thanks for reading! Don't forget to review!