October 1776 (Two months later)

HAYTHAM

"Decide who you stand for, Haytham. With me? Or with them?"

It was hard to answer Charles' question. Just months ago, I thought I knew everything. The world was a complex place; I was a Templar bent on finding its answers, bringing peace and order in the meantime. Meeting Connor had blown this picture out of the water. In the months we spent together, I learned the true meaning of those answers I wanted.

I'd always thought myself as a Templar. Templar morals, Templar beliefs, Templar this and that. The more time I was with Connor, the closer I came realising: Assassin morals were no different to a Templar's. Connor also strived for peace, for some sort of purpose...but there was one thing that set Assassin and Templar apart. That one thing is love.

No, those weren't words from my mouth. It was Connor who spoke such doctrine, and as much as I loathed it, he was right. All my men were those who threw away their hearts; all had separate reasons. Thomas was hardened by money; Charles, by power. William sought to claim land, and John wanted control. All of them could be completely and utterly heartless. Had they cared to save others (and not to enrich themselves), Connor explained, they'd be Assassins.

Ziio had been right. She was always right. Why didn't I heed that wise woman's words? The Colonials were feeding off my conscience all along. It wasn't me becoming heartless – it was my heart being starved of family.

So, who did I stand for? I was certainly not a Templar, and I was no Assassin. I couldn't sit on the fence forever, either. What about when this mission was finished? What if we did find Ziio? Then what? I hadn't planned any of it. Perhaps I refused to believe it was true.

Connor was the same. We spoke constantly in the days that followed; he filled in gaps about his past I didn't know of. He told me of his upbringing after Ziio's disappearance, and how he left to train as an Assassin aged just thirteen. He was present at the Boston Massacre of 1770, too. Apparently I pointed to him on the rooftops: a fourteen-year-old Native with a tomahawk in hand. Hm, small world. It was eye-opening to discover more about him. My son knew all about me, and I was able to hear what I'd missed out on. Any ordinary father would've been there at his upbringing. Now, I wished I was. Having some kind of family may have stopped me going insane.

"Captain," panted a crewman, "we have a problem."

It was a dark September evening; the tropical rains were spilling through the clouds. These jets of water only lasted minutes, but were concentrated enough that everyone was soaked. The sails and bell flapped noisily; Connor could hardly hear his crewman.

"What has happened?" he asked at the wheel.

"We're being followed, Captain," another yelled. He hung from the riggings with a telescope in hand. "There's a ship on the horizon!"

A brig? I thought. How didn't we see it beforehand?

"I'll go," I offered.

Connor nodded; I descended the steps and approached the watchman. He handed me his telescope, wiping the lens with his wet shirt.

"Right behind us. If you take it to the stern, you may have a closer look!"

I thanked him, dashing back up the steps. I held the eyepiece to my face. Nothing unusual at first: the choppy Caribbean sea and slate-like sky. On an endless horizon of hissing rain, it was easy to spot. It was a brig, at least a day's distance behind us. It bore clean white sails, but it was flying the Revolutionary flag.

"What does it look like?" Faulkner asked.

I pressed the telescope into his hand. He strained his eye through the lens; after a few seconds, he gasped. "By Christ...a brig! And she's flying the American flag!"

"What?" Connor barked from behind. "How did it appear?"

"It must be after Church as well," I thought aloud. "He's part of the British Army, after all."

"Wait – we can't assume that." Faulkner turned to me, a stern look on his face. "We can't assume she's an ally, purely because she bears the same flag as us. What if it's a trick?"

"Perhaps the gunboat took a different heading," I suggested. "That would explain how quickly they caught up with us. That, or it's a member of Washington's fleet."

"And how do we know they're after Church?" Connor asked. "It could be a routine crossing of the sea. Washington could've sent it on a mission."

"There is no way of knowing," I yelled over the wind. "Son, what would you have us do?"

"I suggest we sink 'er, if she comes too close," Faulkner piped up. "We can't take any risks."

"No – don't," Connor said abruptly. "Should the worst be true, we can easily overcome one brig. If not, we cannot afford to destroy a fellow Patriot crew. Leave the ship afloat."

"I agree." The storm was beginning to subside now, so my voice was lower. "The only ship we need worry about is Benjamin's. And I have a feeling we're within days of him."

I was right.

A few days later, not only did the heavens release a treacherous torrent, but someone shouted from the crow's nest.

"Ship ho!"

I had seen it, too: a pitiful ship – a frigate, perhaps – flew the British flag ahead. Its cannons glinted like black fangs. There were only a dozen of them, at most.

"Is it the Welcome?" Connor asked.

The crewmen withdrew the Aquila's wings; we approached at half sail. Faulkner and I squinted either side of the wheel, and looked at each other.

"Aye!" he called. "And she's dropped anchor!"

"Bring us in for a closer look, son."

We didn't even need to be near. By the time we were a few hundred yards away, the men buzzed lowly in confusion. The Welcome seemed lifeless and crewless – no bells, no voices...not even a man at the rigging. Benjamin, you coward. I swear that when I find you, the last thing you'll see is the tip of my blade.

"It seems the ship has been abandoned," Connor remarked.

I snorted. "Church always was a slippery little bastard."

"Enemy ahead!"

I spun at the roar of a sailor. Between two narrow rocks beyond, I glimpsed the nose of a smaller schooner. But not before two sickening booms splintered the air – and two metal cannonballs came hurtling our way. Everyone braced – just in time to hear them splash into the water. Their ambush had missed.

Hold on, their ambush?

"They're making to flee."

I looked again to see our enemy. Another British schooner, surely too small to take on the Aquila alone. That would mean...they couldn't be alone. I gasped, whipping round to warn my son.

"After them!" he cried.

"Unfurl everything! Full sail!" barked Faulkner.

Too late.

The men on deck became frantic, shoving metal ammunition into the cannons. The words 'ready to fire' bounced around the air; I could faintly hear the distant cries of the British schooner. But where were its accomplices?

Connor jerked the Aquila's wheel, so suddenly that I stumbled. But I didn't care if there was one schooner, or six of them. Church was going to die...and I'd be doing the honours. Teeth bared, I bellowed: "Speed, Connor! We need more speed!"

We meandered through the rocks, wind tearing at the Aquila's sails. By now adrenaline was racing through my body. I was preparing – squaring my shoulders and flexing my fists – for battle. Lord, I hadn't felt this charged in years. Benjamin was going to die, the filthy traitor. But with that feeling mingled anxiety: no other Brits were rearing their ugly ships. Through the dotted rocks, it was impossible to see them. Did they have the upper hand already?

Yes, they did. The schooner slipped through a narrow straight, away from the chaotic chase.

"She's passing between the cliffs, boy," said Faulkner, "and the Aquila's too big to follow. We need to go around!"

I chewed my lip nervously. "Goddammit! We're going to lose him!"

"What other choice have we?" the first mate snapped. "Those rocks would crush us!"

"The current here is swift." Connor indicated the sky. "We still have a chance."

I looked. I'd barely noticed the sky turning ever-grey. And it wasn't smoke: great thunderclouds gathered above like clumps of gunpowder. Before I knew it, the rain came crashing down. The waves scrambled higher and higher; the Aquila was resisting an escalating tide.

God, not now. Please, not now...

The thunders of the crew became muffled, and curtains of rain began to block our vision. Connor wasn't giving up. Teeth bared like a wolf, he wrenched recklessly at the wheel. The rocks around us were far from narrow, but they were only going to slow us down. How long would this last? My muscles were twitching with stress.

Just as I thought we'd lose him, I had another shock. Numerous cracks echoed through the storm; many more than beforehand. Warning shots. But how? That had to have come from a fleet, at least.

Every head turned to the source of the cannonballs. Beyond the rocks, there were – not only a convoy of five schooners – but a monstrous man-o-war, with fifty cannons loaded to the brim. Splashes flew up around us like craters; there came shouts of: "Enemy ships approaching!"

I snarled. Benjamin had predicted our coming. The bastard had sent for a fleet to protect him – and now we'd have to get our hands bloody. The men instinctively leapt to firing position, even before Connor roared across the storm.

"Ready our weapons! Prepare to return fire!"

In the intense uproar, men were soaked as they fired the cannons all at once. Ear-splitting shots erupted left, right and centre, and fireworks of gunpowder flashed across the Aquila. Moments later, the sound of splintering wood and distressed shouts came from yonder. I didn't even look as one schooner took damage: I was focused on the man-o'-war. I knew it. I knew we were wasting our time. This was all a trick.

"Church is using the ambush as cover!"

"Haytham – you may want to look at this." Faulkner held out a telescope, looking anxious.

I relaxed and took it. Faulkner pointed directly behind the Aquila, and through the shower it was hard at first to see. But I recognised it at once. Every hair on my neck went skyward. "It's the American brig," I breathed.

"She's close. And she's attacking Church's fleet..."

"But why?" I finished. I squinted into the lens again. Black spheres whipped through the air from that brig. I followed their path – and saw them collide with a sinking schooner. Our little ally was close. "How did they catch up so quickly?"

"Small enough to fit through the rocks –"

Suddenly the Aquila jerked; Faulkner and I adopted a brace. Several splashes hit the choppy sea, but one had hit the bow. Hopefully not enough to sink us. We couldn't sink. Not now.

"Connor!" I called. "Leave the schooners to the American brig. We have a traitor to find!"

Even under his hood, Connor's eyes darkened. He gripped the wheel tighter, and – without warning – hauled the whole ship sideways. At breakneck speed we hurtled towards the man-o'-war, the men firing chain shots at the sails. We had to paralyse the ship before we reached her. We'd worry about the fleet later.

I was still insecure about our ghostly sister ship. What did they want from Church? Would they get to him before us? No. I was going to kill him. Nobody else. I couldn't even see the crewmen's faces. That was a little unnerving.

Like the wind itself, the voices lashed at my ears. "Captain. The ship is immobilised!"

"Good," Connor shouted. "Prepare to board the man-o'-war!"

The crew flocked to the weapon chest. Frantically, they pulled out swords, cutlasses, pistols and whatever they could find – before tossing them around. I glanced at my own wrist: my hidden blades wouldn't fail me now. I watched anxiously as ropes were swung skyward, clawing the ship above. Just as the hooks landed on the man-o-war's side, Faulkner tapped me.

"The brig's following us," he muttered. "Do you think they intend to board?"

"Even if they do," I snarled, "this kill is mine."

"Go. Go!" Connor ordered his crew. I was swift to follow; he tugged on my cape. "Father, as soon as you find Church, you must ask him where the stolen supplies are. We will finish off his crew."

Just as I turned into the clamour, I stopped. "Connor?"

"Yes?"

I looked him in the eyes. "Please...don't die, will you?"

For a moment he looked blatantly touched, but soon adopted a dark expression. "You have my word."

It seemed to happen in slow motion. The Aquila collided with the man-o-war, and men clambered up its colossal sides. Body tense, I charged for the mast and climbed it once more. I didn't care that I was stiff with the effort. I didn't care that thunder boomed like gunshots above. I didn't care that below me, there were several poised British redcoats. I sidled across the mast, drew my hidden blades and jumped.

Two redcoats yelped. With a flick of my wrist, each blade was buried in their necks. I landed on their spluttering bodies, and looked around. Smoke from Benjamin's cannons clouded the air; the sound of steel clinking was everywhere. Right before my eyes a man fell to Connor's tomahawk. His killer emerged from the rain and fog.

"What are you waiting for?" Connor barked. "Go!"

I didn't need to be told twice. Across the deck. Through the hatch.

That bastard is going to die.

The noise was fading as I ran. My heart filled this quietness with a pounding of its own. Along the dark corridor. Over the barrels.

He must be here somewhere.

Round a corner. Past a cabin door.

He's hiding from the battle. What a coward.

A candle's light crept from under the next door. Chest heaving, I sprinted straight for it. He was in here. I could feel anger boiling like hot ash; anger at the man who kidnapped her. One of them. He would pay for all his lies.

I burst through the cabin...and didn't expect what I saw.

Dun dun duuuuuuun!

OK, I know I have an apology for the week-without-an-update. I know I said I'd try and write despite exams, but hey.

This week been extremely challenging, for lots of personal reasons...not trying to make excuses or anything! Just apologising for my sudden halt. I hope you don't mind – life's mean, isn't it? BUT I WILL NOT STOP. NEVAAAAAH!

Thanks for you guys who have followed me on tumblr – really appreciate it! And you all have such cool blogs. Like, seriously. Anything with AC on it is cool!

Thanks for reading! :D