WARNING!
As strongly hinted on tumblr, there is Aveline/Gérald (Géraldine) shipping in this chapter. Don't say I didn't warn you! Recently I've started replaying Liberation and it's made me realise just how hard Ubisoft must've tried to get people to ship them. I'm actually astonished that it isn't, considering how well it works as a ship!
Out of pure coincidence, parts 1 and 2 both have 26 chapters. Not that it's significant...just thought it was cool. Anyway, hope you enjoy!
PS: Another shout-out to lismrox (cheers for the epic chat on Wednesday! And for listening to my ramblings about this chapter haha)
January 1777 (two months later)
HAYTHAM
"Kenway! Your daughter is calling for you."
I rolled my eyes. Recently, Soyala began addressing me only by my surname. It was a jest, of course – only one that came repetitive after only three visits.
"Which Kenway would that be?" I replied sarcastically.
"The peevish one."
"Pardon?" I pretended to splutter.
Soyala emerged into my drawing room, Alexa trailing behind her. Unbelievable. I left the kitchens for two minutes – that I could sit with Ziio and the Stirlings – and here I was badgered further?
"Father, please let us stop cooking for a short while," Alexa moaned. "Connor said that it was snowing outside."
"Alexa, it snowed only yesterday."
"Please?"
I glanced at Ziio for support, but she was leaning back – contented – on the chair. George couldn't help but chuckle, seeing my lost expression.
"At least she asked, Haytham. At home they used to abandon the kitchen without words." He stroked his chin softly, before adding: "Darling, do you remember the time when Aaron left the potatoes boiling? Flooded the kitchen, the audacious chap."
"Yes, and it took far too long to clean up the water–"
"All right, all right!" I held up my hands in mock surrender. "Clearly I am outnumbered. Yes, you and Aaron can go."
Alexa nodded – struggling to hide gleeful relief – and dashed out of the drawing room. Soyala shrugged at me, shaking her head. We'd invited her, George and Eva for dinner...but at this rate, we'd all go without. Or maybe asking the children to help was a mistake.
Why was parenting so bloody difficult?
"I'll go." Next to me, Ziio sat up slowly. Her arms were warm – presumably from being pressed to mine – but her hands were colder than this January. She patted my leg and rose to her feet.
"I will too," Eva insisted, "since Connor is on his own."
With the drawing room vacant of the three women, it suddenly went very quiet. Once again I was left alone with George (with whom I had become exceptionally close). He sighed – not out of impatience, but satisfaction.
"Heavens, you have done miracles for that woman."
"For whom?" I frowned.
"Ziio. I have never seen her so active! So...enthralled by life." His chestnut eyebrows went from casual to meaningful. "You should have seen her this time last year, Haytham. The nightmares worsening, afraid to approach Templars, enclosed in the house...I can only marvel at how much has changed."
Indeed, a lot had changed.
On the twenty-fifth of November 1776, the Belle Rose finally docked in Boston. Well, not so much Boston as Achilles Davenport's homestead by the sea. I still remember stepping off that ship – and how the ground seemed to shake beneath my feet. Ziio was blissfully unaware of the sensation when descending. In fact, I had to grip her hand as she walked. I recall Toby making a remark about us looking like an old married couple – and oddly enough, Ziio laughed with him.
That done, we ascended the steep hills to the homestead. It was Connor who knocked on the door (to which I questioned why Achilles was inside: surely he'd have seen the Belle Rose and the Aquila's masts and come to greet us?). Nonetheless the old man hobbled to the door, and could barely hide his delight on seeing Connor again. When Achilles saw a crowd behind him – Ziio at the front – he went from jaundiced to joyful. He led the lot of us inside...but as I walked past, there was a cold, hawkish glare fired my way.
Clearly he hadn't forgiven me for my crime years ago...but that was another story (and yes, I did regret it now).
"Apologies for the lack of seating," Achilles mumbled, using his cane to guide him to a chair. "The place hasn't had this many visitors in decades."
We talked for a while of our plans. Well, in terms of 'we', it was largely Achilles, Jack, Eva and Connor. Soyala made a few contributions; so did Ziio. My lips – like my grip on her hand – were tight; I was evidently uncomfortable. For once I could listen more than speak.
It seemed that we'd missed a lot while away. Hickey's death had brought all sorts of anarchy to the Templar Order...not to mention Benjamin's absconding and my absence. There had been no word that Church was dead; obviously the Assassins could affirm that. Flood had remained inactive for months now.
I was unsure what to make of that until Achilles informed us of something else. Something I wasn't expecting: Charles Lee was in prison.
Embittered by Hickey's death, Charles continued to serve (and deceive) George Washington. In an attempt to maintain patriotism in New York, Washington had been forced to retreat. Lee had delayed this retreat however – just to undermine Washington's authority – and was subsequently captured by the British. Achilles was surprised to see me scowl, as I pointed out another flawed ambition of Charles'. He used this war for his own gain, just as all the other Templars did.
"Time was, you would have done the same," Achilles grumbled – and he was right.
Eva was sceptical of Flood's supposed hibernation. He was out there, she said, biding his time. He was the Assassins' next priority. Having him slain would mean freeing hundreds of slaves, as well as revealing a mine of information.
"But what of Haytham?" François asked. "Now we at last have a man on the inside, is there any way we can make use of him?"
That sparked a lot of conflict among us. While Achilles was keen to keep me as the Templar figurehead, Ziio pointed out that very few of those Templars trusted me. No doubt Charles had spread the rumour that I had spared Connor: the most wanted Assassin in the colonies.
Eventually we decided that I'd alienate myself from Templars; sever all ties. Charles was safe behind bars, so if I gave to him the duty of Templar finances, he wouldn't even notice my disappearance. He would assume that the money in his account was not a parting gift, but income of our "achievements".
"We have solved one matter, but what of the practicalities?" Soyala asked. "Now that Haytham is among family, no doubt he will want to...want to..."
"Continue being in their company?" Eva finished. "Yes. Naturally I cannot allow Aaron and Alexa to return to Philadelphia. Prudence did suggest that they remain under her accommodation, but somehow I feel that they'd be happier with you, Haytham."
"Well..." My hand subconsciously slipped around Ziio's shoulder. "I was hoping the arrangement would be more...permanent."
"Oh." The blue in Eva's eyes dropped to my feet. "I was afraid you would ask that."
Oh, for goodness' sake. Having agreed with the twins about living arrangements, a sudden guilt trip was the last I needed. It was fair enough, though, that Eva should be hurt. She and George were fortunate enough to have Aaron and Alexa for years. To suddenly withdraw them was a shock to the system.
Luckily, Jack was the voice of reason. He said that this was a perfect opportunity for the children to trial living with me. It didn't have to be permanent yet, if that was not what Ziio wished. Legally, only George and Eva had the power to decide. And they agreed (Eva reluctantly so, but we vowed to visit them as often as Connor would visit us). It was a long day's ride to Philadelphia...but I would do it for Ziio and her extensive family.
Aaron and Alexa had been with me ever since. Ziio and I took them home that very day...and I still remember the light in their eyes, taking their first glance of my home. Their home, for the time being.
It was empty when we walked through the door. It was difficult to keep Aaron with us: he was determined to look at the stable. The first thing he saw on stepping inside was an oil painting on the white walls. He dashed over to it – sticky hands all over the wall – and I could do nothing but smile. When Aaron wasn't looking, Ziio and I stole a brief kiss. We were both thinking on the same wavelength: our home was finally complete.
Naturally, Ziio was keen to visit her village. And so I let her go with Aaron and Alexa, that they could meet their grandmother (Ziio's mother). I thought that it'd do them the world of good, meeting others who spoke Mohawk and were not family. While Connor was more comfortable in his native language, Aaron and Alexa were fluent like a stream in English. I could always tell when they were plotting one thing or another: they would converse in a code that was their mother's language. The evening they came back from Ziio's village was the evening when I felt a foreigner in my own house. Oh, it was all good fun in reality.
In that next month, time seemed to stand still. Never mind whence I would receive money; to hell with fretting over Templars. I was settled in a new life – finding a tutor for the children, food, clothing, accommodation...I even treated them to collecting all their belongings from the Stirlings'. I was like a mammal gathering food for the winter, to cocoon myself away from society for a while.
Connor came and ate dinner with us every Sunday. The cooking would always be a joint effort...and we would talk at the table (in English, I had demanded of them) and catch up on the time we were owed.
These evenings were my favourites. Those, and reclining by the fire, Ziio in my arms, whispering sweet nothings. Marvelling at how the world had changed. Stating the sentimental, tender truisms that only lovers would say. And we were lovers – always had been. Time that was not spent chasing Templars or healing wounds would come to be a crystal in my memory.
Christmas came along; the four of us travelled down to spend it with the Stirlings. Living with Anglican Christians, Ziio was used to celebrating such an event (though not for its significance). She was reluctant to celebrate it again, but Alexa convinced her otherwise. I had offered to let Connor come with us, but the unselfish young man wanted to stay with Achilles, that he would not be alone. I admired him for that.
I'd assumed it would be difficult to maintain a relationship with my son, but he had proven otherwise. The only time when he didn't come over for dinner was when he was out on a mission. That was two weeks ago; even since then, the Stirlings had visited twice. This was their second visit.
"Were you expecting visitors?" George asked, pulling me from my reverie.
"No...it's Sunday. Of course not."
"Look – there's someone talking to the twins."
Confused, I moved to look out of the window. Surely enough, there stood two indistinguishable figures in the snow. One of them was talking to Alexa (who leaned against the stable door). An instinctive concern twisted my gut: who were they? What business did they have on my land? They appeared to have arrived by foot: there was no horse in sight.
"I have never come across them," I mumbled pensively.
"Perhaps they want to speak to Ziio. Or Connor, even," George suggested behind me.
I sighed, my fears fading like mist on the window pane. "I'll ask. Ziio? Connor?"
"Yes?" my son called from the kitchens.
"Were you waiting for a visitor?"
I heard footsteps from in the hallway. "No," he replied. "Why do you ask?"
"Never mind. Perhaps it was your mother."
Just as Connor turned to go, there was a knock on the front door. How on earth had our uninvited guests moved that quickly? Did they run? Now I was curious. Glancing at a clueless George, I rose and walked into the hallway.
"Who is it?" Connor asked from the bottom of the staircase.
I shrugged, proceeding to open the door.
As I expected, Aaron and Alexa bundled themselves in the moment the door was wide enough. Both – to my disgust – were dripping snow onto the rug. I opened my mouth to say something, but did not: they had dashed straight for the kitchen, and I was faced with our visitors.
One was a woman – though at first I thought otherwise due to her masculine clothing. Her skin was of a dark complexion: not quite black, not quite white. Her dark hair was snaked back into whip-like braids, framed under a grey tricorne hat like mine. Beside her, a short distance behind stood a man in a white pinstripe petticoat. His breeches were foxglove blue; his short brown hair swept back. He was most definitely white.
"You?" The woman's mouth dropped at the sight of me. Her voice was husky; foreign. "What are you doing here?"
"I live here," I stated curtly, hiding my confusion.
"But you're –"
"Aveline?"
The young woman looked over my shoulder, straight at my son. Her tiger eyes soon went from defensive to surprise. "Connor? Is zat you?" And thank you very much, she strode into my hallway. The man followed, edging inside the doorframe. "What are you...why are you with...?"
"This is the house of my father," Connor replied. I had never seen him overly placid before, but his voice seemed to put the Frenchwoman at ease. "But...Aveline, what are you doing here?"
"Achilles sent me to this place," she responded, approaching Connor and kissing him on both cheeks. He seemed to turn a glorious shade; even I was astonished...and then I remembered: kissing cheeks was a traditional French greeting. Connor was obviously unaware of that.
Nobody noticed but myself: soon the focus was back on me. As the brown-haired man closed the door, the woman's eyes glared dangerously. "This place...the home of a Templar, it would seem."
"I am no Templar. Look." I held up my bare ring finger defiantly. "No ring."
Aveline made a slight hissing noise with her lips, looking at Connor to confirm.
"He is right," Connor nodded.
Aveline relaxed. She was an Assassin – evidently – but she knew of Grandmaster Haytham Kenway. She had every right to question...but Christ, if this were to happen with every new Assassin I met, it would grow old very rapidly.
"Haytham Kenway," I said, holding out my hand, "though clearly you knew that. And you are...?"
"Aveline de Grandpré." Lips pressed tightly, she moved uncomfortably to shake my hand. "From New Orleans. And this..." She indicated the silent man behind us. "This is my fiancé, Gérald."
At the mention of his name, the gentleman sprung to life. His hands were no longer crossed over his abdomen, but out to shake mine. "Gérald Blanc," he mumbled. "A pleasure. Sorry to...interrupt your Sunday like this."
Now that I looked, there was a small silver ring around Aveline's finger, with a vibrant emerald nestled in the centre. Hm. Gérald hadn't done too badly.
"You are engaged?" Connor nudged Aveline accidentally, to which she held up her hand for him to see. "You never mentioned it on the mission..."
"A...new development," Gérald replied in broken English. Somehow he seemed embarrassed; his constant pausing would come to annoy me.
"My congratulations." And Connor's smile was genuine.
"Without intending any rudeness," I interrupted, "why did Achilles send you here?"
"Achilles told me to seek out a woman," Aveline replied. "Eva Stirling. Is zat your mother, Connor?"
"No...but Eva is here."
And so once again, dinner was delayed. I went to fetch all three women, mouthing: "Who is she?" to Eva. She only shrugged at me. I began to help Ziio untie her apron; she, too, asked the same question. When I gave no answer, she demanded why I'd let Aveline and Gérald in. We were about to find out.
Seated in the drawing room (introductions over with), we began an informal meeting. Aveline stood to remove her coat, not wishing to drip on the floorboards, then wedged herself between Gérald and Connor. The other large seat was vacant with Eva, George and Soyala. Ziio and I had no choice but to stand.
"As Connor will know, last week I uncovered the identity of the 'Company Man'. A Templar who served their Order by exporting slaves." Aveline swallowed; I saw Gérald's hand sneak across to squeeze hers. "It was my own stepmother."
Soyala gasped. "Goodness...how terrible for you."
Aveline nodded sombrely, then cleared her throat. "I eliminated her the moment I knew...but as she lay dying, she told me that she was not the only one. In other words, there is more than one Company Man."
"And the reason we wrote to Achilles," Gérald continued, "was to inform him: we have found the other man."
"Thomas Flood. Is that his name?" Ziio couldn't hold herself back. Eva give her a warning glare: she was trained not to speak at the wrong time.
Aveline took no notice. "No. He operates under a different name, but after a little...eavesdropping on customers..." She grinned at her fiancé pointedly, who shrank back; "We discovered his real name."
"What was it? Do we know of him?" Eva asked.
"Xavier McPhearson."
Aha. Now I knew why Achilles sent them to Eva: because he felt that she would want to pursue McPhearson herself. For closure. Considering how Ziio's hip twitched against mine, she feared a dramatic response.
There wasn't one. Eva huffed shortly; a strand of hair blew over her stony eyes. "Hm. I thought so."
I remembered what Ziio told me about Eva's 1766 mission. About how she went to England to kill her father – recruiting Prudence along the way – and discovering that Xavier was alive. Ziio and I exchanged a glance, tighter than Soyala's trembling lip. We waited for someone to speak.
"Aveline," George began, "did Achilles inform you...why Eva needed this news?"
"No."
And so, lucky George spent the next few minutes filling them in. About how Eva and Xavier were once engaged...but the man wore a mask of politeness. George was the only one intuitive enough to see through; to stop Eva being raped.
Aveline drank this all in, like a cold concoction. "Connard*," she muttered to herself. "I will ensure that he dies."
"No – tell me more. How can you be sure that this is Xavier you've found?"
Aveline shifted in her seat to face her fiancé. "Gérald," she said, "show them."
The man reached into his breast pocket and pulled out a crumpled piece of parchment. He placed it on his lap to smooth it out, then passed it to Connor. He squinted intensely – then clearly made some sense of it, because he passed it to Soyala and Eva.
"This is a written account of all this man's purchases," Gérald explained. "And look at the signature."
I moved in to have a look. George handed me the parchment; I saw the inky splash of 'X. McPhearson' on the bottom of the page. Scanning it briefly, I knew that this was not a regular shopping list. It was a bill – effectively – for fifty African women and girls. Awful. What once I could have discarded as insignificant, now set icy stalactites stabbing my spine.
"Where did you get this?" Ziio asked bleakly.
"I picked it from the pocket of a customer. Well – it was Gérald's plan," Aveline replied, as if it was simple. "But that is unimportant. What matters is that – from what we overheard – we were able to track McPhearson."
"Recently," Gérald continued, "a meeting of Quakers were found dead in their place of worship...well, that is what Aveline heard. The Quakers oppose slavery...so this would be a good place to start our search."
"If you will join me," Aveline hastened to add.
Everyone looked to Eva expectantly. She glanced at George and Soyala for approval; they nodded. She half-smiled at the Assassin. "When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow at dawn."
"Of course I will join you," Eva announced. Unexpectedly, she rose to her feet and walked into the centre of the room. "That is...on one condition."
"Which is...?"
She moved to stand beside us. "That Ziio can accompany me for this mission. Apart from eliminating the odd troublesome Templar, she has never been able to contribute proportionally to the Brotherhood."
You never let her contribute, I wanted to bite back, but refrained.
"And what of Ratohnhaké:ton? Connor," Ziio corrected herself on seeing Aveline frown. "Eva, you have not seen his skill as an Assassin. If he wishes to join us...to show what he has to offer...will you allow him?"
"Certainly. Connor?"
In the silence, my ears pricked to a noise outside. I turned my head to look; nothing was there. But then I heard footsteps: footsteps trying to be light, like the hooves of a doe, but had forgotten that my staircase creaked at the bottom.
I rolled my eyes, clearing my throat pointedly: "Eva? Did you ever teach Aaron and Alexa that it's rude to eavesdrop?"
Like a nest of mice, there came a scuttle of running feet and squeaks from the twins. They were upstairs – and before I could scold them. I was ashamed that they'd do such a thing...but everyone else seemed amused, particularly Connor.
"I'll give them credit," he murmured, "for staying undetected for this long. They would make fine Assassins when they are older –"
"Connor – don't." The last thing I wanted was for the children to become involved with our work. Even the notion put me at unease. They were young, and in my opinion, already far too informed.
"Returning to the mission, will you?" Aveline asked. "Accompany us to New York?"
"Yes," Connor replied. "Of course...if I am needed."
"There is always a need for a strong young Assassin," Ziio half-smiled. "And you are yet to show me your fighting skills. Your own mother has never seen you fight."
"My mother saw me fight," I said darkly. "It broke her. Permanently."
"Well then..." Ziio tilted her head, that her eyes were sharply in line with my own. "He had better be good."
"Touché," I chuckled softly, putting my arm around her waist. She allowed herself to be pulled to my side: I had won. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught Connor despairing at his parents. Typical child. This would be him, one day.
"Intimacies aside," Eva cut across us sharply, "I think it would be wise to make a plan. Gentlemen...some peace, if you please?"
"And lady," Soyala protested as she stood up.
And so George, Soyala, Gérald and myself adjourned to the dining room. There was a tense silence as we walked, partly because I knew that – if I initiated conversation – the twins would only try to overhear. What I really wanted to know was how Aveline still assumed me a Templar. I asked Gérald the moment he sat down in a dining chair.
"Ah. Well, er...usually I have informants to tell me these sorts of, er...affairs. During the war at this current moment, communications have been...slowed."
"Are all your informants Assassins?" Soyala asked.
"Not all. Most."
Soyala's eyes centred, her mouth hanging open slightly. "So you mean to say," she murmured, "That Jack was lying? That there were other Brotherhood divisions all along?"
"Not 'lying', Soyala," George put in. "That's a little unfair. Most unlike you to accuse him."
"No! I meant no harm. It's just...if Jack had been an Assassin for so long, how had he never spoken to one of Gérald's informants? Our Brotherhoods could have joined hands. Become stronger! Eliminated Templars at a greater rate –"
"There is nothing to prevent us from doing that now," I pointed out. "I'm sure Jack had his reasons, as ever. But now he has a secure contact with Achilles...these missions between us and Aveline could be more frequent."
I wasn't sure if I was pleased about that; I merely wanted to stop Soyala from raising her voice. When she seemed quiet, I turned again to Gérald.
"And...forgive me for asking, but what do you both do? Should I have heard of you?"
"As a Templar? I would hope not." Gérald gave a nervous little laugh. "No. In seriousness, er...Aveline is a liberator of slaves. She is rarely in the same place for more than a week. So many have been granted freedom in her name."
"And you?" George asked amicably. "Where do you come into play?"
"Me? I-I am the mechanics, if you like." He gesticulated grandly, as if to cover his introversion. "The centre of a network. Through Aveline's father's business, I had access to certain...contacts. He took me on as an errand boy when I was young. From there...the list of informants grew and grew. If something has happened among the slave community, I will soon know about it."
"You never aid Aveline on her missions?"
"I did once." Gérald shivered dramatically, grinning: "Don't remind me."
Part of me thought him a coward, but the other part remembered: George did plenty for our Brotherhood behind the scenes, and he rarely accompanied his wife on her adventures. He was still an admirable man. It was most likely my Templar instincts kicking in, but something about me failed to relate to Gérald Blanc. I hoped this prejudice wouldn't stay – for my family's sake as well as the Brotherhood's. It looked as if we'd be cooperating with the New Orleans Assassins more often, based on the seemingly established friendship between Aveline and Connor.
I hoped I'd have the decency to end this prejudice...because Gérald would be staying with Achilles until the four returned.
"As you are not far from Achilles' homestead, perhaps...I-I wonder if you should visit. There we will be able to, er...discuss future plans for cooperation," he said at one point.
That would be an interesting meeting. We were both poor representatives of the Brotherhood: myself, because I was still adjusting to seeing it in a positive light...and Gérald...well, a meeting conducted by him would be as slow as his conversation. All of this overshadowed by a man who held a grudge against me: Achilles Davenport.
Brilliant. Absolutely bloody brilliant.
*Connard: bastard