HAYTHAM

Was it worth the risk?

Somehow, I've still no clue how, I managed to make it to the inn unnoticed. Charles was absent, of course. He was probably trying to control the panicked people. Now there was word in the streets: the killer was loose. Others spoke of the greatest conspiracy of all time. They were right. Somehow, people had discovered that Connor was not to blame for the plot. It was Hickey.

I knew Thomas would try and kill Washington. Why else would he stay for Connor's hanging? But I still had not seen him since yesterday. Nor Charles, actually. He returned to the inn very late; I was too tired to talk to him. Part of the old Haytham was still in me. He screamed that Charles was the traitor, who attempted to kill his son. I thought it best to stay away until the paternal instincts wore off. Juvenile as it sounded, I could hardly look him in the eye.

Immediately after, I felt that my actions were wrong. I was a Templar, and Connor, an Assassin. Our allies had waged war for thousands of years. I couldn't let one action – or rather, one person whom we had in common – change that.

Had I saved my son for me? For Ziio? It was hard to say. Letting him live was the worst political outcome. My only concerns were for the Order...so why had I betrayed them so? It was all very well, dressing up as an Assassin and saving the day. But I was a man whose feet were soldered into Templar ground. I was no hero. Not since I saved Ziio in '60.

I couldn't help it, I thought of her that night. If we'd have raised Connor together, would he have taken a different path? Did my son want me dead, or would his mother protest? I hoped so. She loved me. Or at least, she said so in that letter. The letter which I kept in my breast pocket, but never read. Every word held a memory of her; that was the last thing I needed while at work. It was far too painful to read.

But tonight, I scanned it over. I was searching for clues that meant Connor and I would meet. Could we meet again, or would I rather be locked in a cage with a wild bear? Either of those options would kill me. But oh, how I wished that my son would open his eyes...

"Wait here. I'll order."

Charles looked like he needed a drink. He waved his hand to stop me standing, and walked up to the bar. Being nearly midday, the inn was somewhat crowded. The string quartet were unpacking their polished wooden instruments; the barmaid rushed around serving table after table. The place was filled with fumes – tobacco and all sorts – which only added to my discomfort. I sank back in the chair and wondered: Why was Charles so downtrodden?

Moments later, he returned with two tankards of ale. I nodded a thanks and immediately forced it down my throat. I was unsure why, but I felt so sombre after freeing Connor. Almost guilty, that I'd even let myself stoop that low.

Charles took a longer gulp, slapping his tankard down. "I take it you're unaware of the news."

I remained impassive. "What news?"

"The Assassin escaped his punishment."

"Really? What happened?"

Charles told me what I already knew. Someone had cut him free, and all the rest. "It was an arrow. Although...I was certain I glimpsed a knife. An English one. It had the markings."

I swallowed, wondering how to say this. "Did...did you catch sight of the hand responsible?"

He shook his head. Thank the Lord.

"Where is the boy now?"

Charles huffed. "Philadelphia, I suspect. He's trailing after Washington." He spat the Commander's name like a sour taste. "He took off for Philadelphia the moment the boy was set loose."

Interesting, I thought. But why is Washington still alive?

My colleague noticed my puzzled face. He put his charred hands together, sighing. "That is the worst part. Washington lives; the Assassin saved his neck. Hickey..." Charles drank deeply, before looking into my eye. "Hickey is dead."

Immediately my stomach plummeted. Of course, I thought. Of course Connor would've killed Thomas. It was difficult to hide my guilt in the second I looked away. My son had killed a man...and I had made it possible. That man was my ally. He'd died young, too, being the youngest Colonial Templar. All my fault.

"Oh." My voice dropped as much as my stomach. "I see."

Charles nodded lightly. Neither of us had liked Hickey, that much was plain. But he was an asset to our cause. First Johnson, then Pitcairn, and now him. Who was Connor sharpening his blade for next? That question was apparent in Charles' eyes when he looked at me again.

"If only I'd known the Assassins would set him free," he said. "I could've stopped this."

"There was nothing you could have done," I reassured. "How were you to know the Assassins had new recruits? I thought there were none left."

"True. Perhaps they think the same of us. We're all but extinct now, too."

I laughed humourlessly. Well, it was a bitter truth. "So now, it's only us and...Benjamin."

In fact, I wasn't sure of that. Since the year before, Church had stopped responding to his letters. He never came to any meetings, or updated us on his progress in central Boston. I caught sight of him in a Sunday service once – but he barely looked at me. He scurried from the church like a hare when the service was over. Did he have something to hide?

Charles answered this thought. "Not exactly. I've heard from various sources that he's...drifted."

Various sources? I didn't like the sound of that. "Drifted?"

"He has sided with the British Army. No longer is he a Templar. I'm sorry."

I gulped my drink, hardly surprised. "As am I."

"Well?" He spoke with a different tone: desperation. "What now, Haytham? What now?"

"God knows," I muttered, lost as him. "I suppose we wait. Wait for Benjamin to make a move."

"Why would he want us dead?"

"It's what I expect of everyone, nowadays." I hated hearing that sentiment on my lips. What sort of cynic had I become? "In any case, monitor Benjamin for a month or two. See what he does; where he goes. I want every move that traitor makes. Can you handle that?"

"Yes, sir."

We drank in silence, before I retreated upstairs; retreated into my own guilt.

If that wasn't enough, I had a visitor later.

Wallowing in self-hatred, I sat reading Ziio's letter. That only deepened my sorrow. I suppose the knock on my door was a well-timed distraction. I hastily hid the parchment in my pocket, standing from the grubby desk. I turned the door handle and opened it to my visitor.

Wh–what?

It was an old negro man, his once-tall frame bent over a cane. His eyes held a feeling of reluctance to be here; his face was scarred and aged. Achilles Davenport. My mouth fell open, wanting to bark: "Why the hell are you here? How did you find me?", but no words came out.

"Haytham." His voice was frailer than I remembered. "Long time, no see."

By now I was irritated. People in general itched my nerves nowadays, but an Assassin in my room? It was ludicrous. "Achilles Davenport. Well, I can't say I was expecting you."

"I knocked." My goodness, he was still cold as ever. "What more could I do?"

Reluctantly, I let him in. I didn't want Charles seeing me with Achilles. Without asking, he seated himself on my bed. Was he planning on staying long? I hoped not.

"What do you seek from me?" I was straight to the point.

"Answers."

"You'll find none here." I gritted my teeth, arms folded.

"About Connor. Your son."

He wasn't being sarcastic. He genuinely wanted to sit and talk. I perched myself in the desk chair and sighed. I couldn't look Achilles in the eye: it was too shameful. What was he going to ask? Why did you sentence him to death? Where is he? Do you plan to kill him? The answers were all that I didn't know. That in itself made me ashamed.

"I saw that knife you threw. I saw you cut him free, Haytham. Thank heavens you did, in fact. A second longer and he'd be –"

"If you're here to thank me, then you're welcome." Immediately I wanted to retake the words: why was I so bitter? "In any case, how did you see me?"

The old man grunted, straightening his beige coat. "It makes no sense. You were the one who sentenced Connor to death, and yet, you were his saviour. Why the change of heart?"

Yes, why? I was careful to answer: I wasn't prepared to spill my heart to Achilles. At least he was being civil. Perhaps having my son in common was a good thing. "Curiosity, if nothing else. I never wanted him dead. Not before I could meet him. I was forced into the act. Shame, really. Now he'll only know me as the father who condemned him."

Achilles neither encouraged nor discouraged me. He simply nodded. "I see. I'll be sure he learns of this."

I scoffed. "Else he'll slit my throat...he or one of the other Assassins."

"For God's sake," he despaired. "You're as sceptical as the next Templar! Our goal is to liberate – not to exterminate."

"Of course it is," I hissed. "That's why Hickey was murdered."

"Look." He held out a hand, eyes closed in exasperation. "I did not come to quarrel. I came with a proposal."

"You're in no position to be asking favours, old man."

The former Assassin ignored my threat. "A contact in Virginia tells me that Benjamin Church has stolen some supplies. What he plans with them and why, I do not know. What I do know is of his loyalties."

"And they are not with me, I hear."

"Precisely. He has angered the Assassins, and he has betrayed you. Surely by now he should be punished?"

I cocked an eyebrow, suddenly alert. "Are you...are you proposing a truce?"

Achilles shrugged, as if reluctant to admit it. "Connor returns from Philadelphia in a week. I will send him to Martha's Vineyard, that you might discuss it further with him."

An alliance between Assassin and Templar. Would that even work? I knew that both of us wanted Church killed, if for different reasons. But it was almost against nature. The fact that he was my son hardly made it plausible. We only had Ziio, and I'd not seen her in years. But if I agreed to this, I had a chance – just a chance – of finding her again. God, if I had the luxury of seeing her face, I wouldn't hesitate to kiss her. Not this time. The thought of that elated me – such that I felt some self-sorrow disappear.

Of course, I did not voice this. "Are you sure this is wise, Achilles? Given where we stand at present?"

"What is the worst that could happen?" he retorted. "Connor would only kill you if I gave the command. Besides, why would he? You hold many answers for him. Answers he has yearned to seek for years."

"Such as...?"

"Ask him yourself." Achilles stood; our brief meeting was coming to a close. "This is not set in stone, Haytham, but expect Connor at Martha's vineyard. And..." He opened the door and indicated the hallway. "Best you keep this from Lee."

I dipped my head, letting him limp down the corridor. The moment I shut the door, I cursed. What the hell had I got myself into? I wasn't sure what to think. Part of me wanted greatly to meet my son properly; another half screamed that Charles would hear of this. It was all so sudden, too. I had no clue how Achilles had found me, nor why he felt the need to come into my room. Christ, it was intrusive. Unnecessary? No. If I'd met Achilles any other way, I'd refuse to see him. Would it be the same with my son?

I needed time to think.

OK, I know it's only 1776 and Church steals supplies from the Continentals in 1777, but I've done that for a reason, which may (or may not) become clear later on. Well, it's starting to hot up now right? It's like the Benjamin Church mission in the game...but with a very different beginning and a very different end...muahahahaha...

Thanks as ever for the overwhelming number of views! I appreciate all this support more than I can tell you...so, you guys are awesome!