The biggest adjustment of colonial life was the lack of indoor plumbing. It was time consuming and inconvenient to have to pump water from the well out back and carry it inside one bucket at a time. What made the chore even worse was the door closest to the well was out of commission. Had I not been forced to walk all the way around the house hauling heavy buckets at least a dozen times a day, the absence of running water might not have been so terrible.

I spent most of the first day doing as Achilles suggested and familiarizing myself with the manor. Most of the space upstairs was unused. I decided which room I wanted for mine and moved out the extra furniture to the room across the hall. I then sat on each of the couches and tested them for comfort. I liked the one in the library the best. But moving it to the other room was impracticable. I decided to take one from the hallway. It was heavy and difficult to move on my own, but I managed.

After I set my room up, I began to dust the surfaces in the house. I stayed out of the bedrooms but found the rest of the house enough of a chore. Once I was done with all that, I wandered around the kitchen. I looked at everything and played out possible meal scenarios until I made a decision. It wasn't time to start cooking yet, so I went outside and walked around the grounds for a bit. It was cold, but the snow had finally stopped falling. I discovered that the land was really quite beautiful. I hadn't realized that the house was so close to the water. As I walked around the back yard, I noticed the cliff overlooking the sea. It was a pretty view. I stared out at it for a long time, wondering whose ship sat on the water at the small dock and who lived in the shacks along the shoreline. I was getting ready to go back to the house when I heard a voice behind me.

"Aquila."

I turned to look at Connor. He was dressed in different clothes than he had been. He now wore a long white coat with blue trim and a hood that was not pulled up. He had on more modern pants and shirt, but his deerskin leg coverings and shoes were the same. He was also wearing a red sash and belt that I found the emblem of familiar. It was the same as the tattoo I had. As was the symbol adorning the bracer on his left wrist. He had a weapons belt with duel pistols and a tomahawk attached.

"The ship," he said, pointing to the vessel nestled in the cove below. "Her name is Aquila."

"That's the Latin word for eagle, isn't it?"

I received affirmation accompanied by surprise from Connor at this.

"I spent a few years at a Catholic girl's home when I a kid," I explained. "I never really got all the religious nonsense, but some of the lessons weren't that bad. It definitely wasn't the worst place I've stayed."

"The Aquila was constructed for use by the Brotherhood to ward off the Templar threat upon the Atlantic. She served as their flagship for many years, but fell out of service after being damaged during a mission. She remained here until I repaired her and began my captaincy. She still requires some attention to reach her full potential, but I intend to see her at her best soon."

I watched him. We hadn't really talked much but I found myself enjoying his company. He had a pleasant voice and he spoke of the ship as if it were a real person worthy of his respect.

"It's yours?" I asked.

"Yes, she is mine," he stated, emphasizing the feminine pronoun. "A ship is a she."

"Okay, then. She. She's yours."

He watched me for a moment, the shadow of a smile on his face. I couldn't be certain, but I guessed his age to be close to my own. It seemed young to be owner of a ship and apprentice to an Assassin. I wondered again about his past but was loath to ask. I doubted his story was one that could be summed up simply. I guessed I would learn more about him in time – if he wanted me to.

"Do you sail her much?"

"When I have time."

There was a note of dissatisfaction in his voice. Sailing was obviously something he enjoyed greatly. It was a feeling I couldn't relate to. I had never even been on a boat before. I had never been anywhere that required that mode of transportation. Being raised on the busy streets of New York limited my travel options to cabs or buses. I didn't even have a driver's license. I saw no point in learning to drive if it was something I wouldn't have to do.

"How old are you?"

When Connor looked at me with raised eyebrows, I wondered if I had broken some form of etiquette by inquiring about his age. I had no idea if it was socially acceptable to go around asking people such things in the eighteenth century.

"It doesn't matter," I spoke quickly. "I was just curious. You don't have to tell me if you don't want to."

"I am sixteen," Connor answered.

His youth surprised me. To be undertaking such a profession and be the captain of his own ship at such an age. It was mind boggling. None of the teenagers I had known would have had the conviction and sensibility to do what Connor did. I reminded myself that people in this day were forced to mature quicker than in the twenty-first century. Children of the 1700's didn't have the luxury of being kids. It was sad, in a way.

"Wow," I murmured. "I thought you were at least as old as I am."

Judging by his expression, Connor had been thinking along the same lines as I had. He frowned, but did not ask me my age. Unsure again if it was etiquette or not, I saved him from inquiring by admitting that I was eighteen.

A chilled wind caused me to shiver, and I noticed that the sun was beginning to get low in the sky. It was already a beautiful view and I wanted to stay where I was and watch the sun disappear beyond the horizon. But my hands were already going numb, even in the pockets of my jeans. Also, I had food to fix.

"I'm going back in now," I told Connor, who was himself enjoying the lovely dusk. His eyes remained on the horizon as he nodded absently in response. "Are you staying out here?"

"I need to gather firewood."

"Okay. Have fun."

Connor turned to me with a quizzical look. "I do not consider manual labor to be fun."

Unsure how to respond to his lack of humor, I merely shook my head before rounding the corner of the house.

Cooking with fire was also an adjustment for me. I had never been that great at it to begin with, but I felt like I was learning all over again. In all honesty, the vegetable soup I made the first night was actually pretty good. It may have just been because I was so hungry. However, Connor and Achilles seemed to enjoy it as well. The former had thirds while the latter stopped at only two bowls. I still wonder if the compliments they gave me came more from having someone to serve them than the actual quality of the food. It was a kind gesture either way. I was flattered and went to bed in a good mood.

I don't remember what I dreamed that night. It was foggy and distant, even before waking. All I can recall is a voice and a name. My name. I couldn't identify the sound as being either feminine or masculine, but I remember my name being said and waking in a cold panic while it was still dark. I lay there for a while, waiting for my heart to slow, then fell back into a dreamless sleep.

The next time I awoke, it was early morning and I had something other than dreams on my mind.