HAYTHAM

I followed Eva across the corridors. She never turned back – only slunk swiftly forward to the hatch. That made it impossible to ask questions. How many Assassins were there? Why were they here, and how on earth did their brig catch up with the Aquila?

Well, some – if not more – of those questions were answered. We stepped on deck, and several things became immediately clear. Firstly, the storm was subsiding: although there was a definite mist, the sky was somewhat lighter than before. The rain had stopped, but the man-o-war's wood was soaked rotten. Upon the wood lay so many dead corpses, I couldn't count them all. That was easily all of Benjamin's crew.

All killed? There must be more Assassins than I anticipated.

But there weren't. Dotted around the deck were Faulkner, the Aquila's men and six hooded people. Some of their robes were crisp white, others a shade of grey. There was even another meshed figure, but their sash was blue, not red. Where was the woman (or at least, what I thought was a woman) who saved me?

Looking around the ship, I could see the brig below in the water. It'd hooked onto the man-o-war alongside the Aquila. In comparison, it was deceivingly small. It had seemed like a speck from in the distance.

"Eva." A middle-aged man approached us, with a heavy American accent. "Have I heard correctly? Benjamin Church has been cut down."

"That he has," she replied. "And I have found the survivor."

The survivor? I was surprised to see them both regarding me. I didn't want to be seen as a damsel in distress; I'd probably have evaded death anyhow. The man pulled back his hood (grey) to survey me. He was a great deal shorter than myself, but again, gave an air of authority. Was he the captain? I looked away to escape his stare. Other Assassins were becoming curious, gravitating towards us.

"How much does he know?" the man asked sombrely.

"Very little. That we are the Virginian Brotherhood, about George's supplies..."

The man raised a hand, and Eva stopped immediately. His placid authority rose like the mist. He faced me again. "Haytham Kenway. I have heard much about you."

"I – what? How?"

"Achilles Davenport." He indicated the hidden blades on his wrists, then mine. "A contact of yours?"

"Well...hardly."

The man chuckled softly, extending a hand. "Jack Wilding. Leader of the Virginian Brotherhood."

Cautiously, I shook it. "Pleasure," I said, with little hint of pleasure. I was far too confused to be civil at this moment. So many more questions whirled around me, like the new faces on deck.

"You seem troubled."

"A little puzzled, perhaps..."

"Naturally," Eva cut in. "Come this way. We have much to reveal."

Two hooded men whispered to each other as I passed. Faulkner's crew members seemed intimidated by the Assassins, drifting steadily towards their first mate. Faulkner – on the other hand – was leaning over the side to inspect the brig. "Quite an impressive ship," he remarked.

"Why, sank you." It was a Frenchman, who answered Faulkner with a smile. "I was allowed to borrow it for zis expedition. Ze Patriots are very supportive of our Order."

"So, she's only to borrow?"

"Oui. But we have an excellent captain. Eva's 'usband George used to be a sailor, you see."

"Not bad," Robert murmured. "Not bad."

Clearly I'd missed out on some introductions. Still, I avoided the bloodstained corpses and followed Jack and Eva.

"What should we do with Church's ship?" Eva asked.

"Sink her, I suppose," Jack replied. "It would be impossible to bring her back to America. But first, we need to find the supplies."

I froze. Damn. I never interrogated Church about the supplies!

"They are on the island, awaiting pickup," Eva replied. I relaxed a little. "I...had a little word with Biddle before I killed him."

At the mention of Biddle – Church's first mate – I wished I'd killed him too. I didn't even have the honour of striking Benjamin myself. The Assassins' reason to despise Church couldn't be as valid as mine...could it?

We came close to the ship's helm, and Eva stopped altogether. "Wait. Jack, how many casualties have we?"

Suddenly, a fear hit me like a cannonball. Connor! Was he alright? I hadn't seen him on deck, and despite all this mist, I had a feeling he wasn't here. Where was my son?

"Almost none," Jack replied in a low voice. Was it just me, or did he glance at me when he said that?

It's Connor. He's the 'almost'. He's injured, I know it...

"Where is my son?" I demanded.

Jack and Eva exchanged a knowing glance; my throat tightened. Why wouldn't they look me in the eye?

"The Boston Assassin?" Jack said slowly. "He is...below deck, in Biddle's cabin –"

He didn't need to finish. I whipped around and took off in the other direction, towards the hatch. Why was his tone of voice so troubled?

"Wait!" Eva called. "Before you rush off, only listen to our explanation!"

I would do no such thing. My son was down there...and that was my only priority. Revelations could come later. I pushed past half a dozen Assassins, as well as crew. I dodged the bodies; the blood drying on the deck. Down the hatch. Across the corridor again. Where was Biddle's cabin, and what was Connor doing there?

I tried the first door. Just a storage room. Another one. Only a cupboard. I whipped around the corner; an open room lay at the end of the dark corridor. I took a deep breath: whatever state Connor was in, I just hoped he was alright. Bracing myself for what I might see, I burst into the open cabin.

It was identical to Church's, except – thank God – nobody was dead. Neither was my son. On a bed in the corner, Connor was seated – still in his robes – on the edge. But what was more shocking was who was with him: the mysterious meshed Assassin. She was perched beside him; the proximity of them was almost uncomfortable. But Connor did not look concerned. They both jumped on seeing me.

"F-Father," he stammered. It took me a while to see tears in his eyes. "This...this is..."

He stopped as the hooded figure stood. Connor's gaze followed her as she walked slowly – gingerly – towards me. She had removed the black mask from her face, but her hood was pulled down, such that I couldn't see her face. But I saw the tips of her hair. Hair that bore a striking resemblance to...no. Why was I thinking of that now?

Her breaths were even shakier than before. I stepped back, unsure of whether to be frightened or trusting. Two shuddering, gloved hands reached for her hood. She began to fold it back...

It couldn't be.

In turn, her mouth, nose, tearful eyes and face became visible. With each feature I felt myself falling further, but when the picture was complete...

Connor emitted a heart-rending sob, quickly stifled. My limbs, eyes, throat, heart, mind, soul – everything that made me Haytham – turned to liquid. The air came crashing around me – like a tide, reducing me to nothing. Yet I was whole again. For the first time in sixteen years. All in a second's recognition. It was a face that resurrected.

Ziio?

...

You're gonna hate me for leaving it at this point, but I'm evil so tough cookies! You thought the previous plot twist was bad...there's more...muahahaha...

*cough* On a non-smug-and-arrogant note, thank you so much for giving me the motivation to write this chapter! You had no idea how much fun I had writing this, and how much fun I'll have doing the next bit. If the plot twist seems a little cliché, it'll be cleared up as to why it's not in a few chapters' time. You'll see!

Thanks as ever!