Old story reuploaded for old time's sake!

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Chapter Seven: Don't Get in My Way

Jacob stared at them. The group of eight stared back at him. No one moved; no one dared to even flinch. Each leader waited for the other to move. One could drop a pin and still not a soul would move an inch. He flexed his fingers, ready to take action should any be required, but fortunately the men didn't seem interested in fighting. For now anyway. They appeared to more interested in trading whispers with each other. He spotted two Templars exchanging whispers.

"…Who does this jackass thing he is?" one Templar said. Jacob suppressed a growl, his patience already beginning to wear thin, and he had only been here for less than an hour. Truly this was a record. He turned away from the Templar and faced the one called Thomas, the self-appointed leader of this motley crew.

Thomas walked to his side, reaching out a hand to touch his pale brown coat. Jacob clenched his jaw, took in a deep breath, and avoided making eye contact with the man. He knew if their eyes locked, there'd be trouble. "Strange clothes you have on. You mustn't be from around these parts," Thomas commented.

Jacob grunted in response.

"What was that? Did you say something?" Thomas said, pulling his hand away.

"Don't touch me," Jacob snarled. Already, he could feel his insides starting to burn, the adrenaline beginning to rise. It would be so easy to grab this man in a headlock, beat him around the head then finish him off with a stab to the stomach… But he had other places to be. Maybe he'd come back another day and finish off the job.

"Look at this lads; this one has spark in him!" Thomas jeered. His words were met with joyous laughter. "You've come to the wrong place, lad. This isn't the place for fancy townsfolk such as yourself. So why don't you run along now and go play someplace else?"

He was already in a foul mood thanks to the cheap liquor and having to listen to this jerk make lousy threats only further added to his irritation. One punch… That's all it would take… The man pushed him towards the exit. Lousy threats he could just tolerate – but being forcibly pushed? Jacob turned around then lunged forward, grabbing the man's collar with both hands. He pushed him back until the man came into contact with the counter then drove his head into the bench.

One moment there was raucous laughter. The laughter was soon replaced with shouting. Ah, how quickly a situation could change. The sound of chaos brought music to his ears. He drew back a fist then drove it forward, knuckles connecting with flesh. Thomas uttered a hiss of pain then spat. He tried to bring a hand up to push him off, but Jacob was faster and managed to pin his arm down before he could attempt anything.

He struggled to free himself. For a man who talked tough, he certainly wasn't able to fight back well. "Let me go, boy, or I will show you the beast within!" He spat again.

Jacob punched him again then lowered his head next to Thomas's right ear and whispered, "Don't try to fight me in anger – my anger is unending," he replied, before releasing his grip on the man's collar. He took a step back, pausing momentarily to soak in the taste of victory then remembered he had plans at the Seven Bells tonight.

No one said a word. All they could hear was the panting and string of curses from Thomas. Realizing none of the men were going to attack, Jacob turned around and headed for the door, stopping abruptly at the frame. "I'll be seeing you another day." Still not a sound. Most likely to scared to even think straight.

Smirking, he strutted down the street, giving himself a mental pat on the back for a job well done. He knew he'd see them again in the near future – and next time he'd be a little more welcoming towards them. Perhaps he'd even give them a chance to join with his Rooks after humiliating them. What a blow that would be to the Templar Order.

He pushed past a few people, not caring to move out of his way for them. People should be stepping aside for him and not the other way around. Someone swore. He flipped them the middle finger, gave them a piece of his mind, and continued down the path. Still no sign of his sister anywhere. That was good. Going into that shop for some information had been a smart idea after all. It threw her off his current track; left her confused most likely. She'd be too busy worrying about him that he'd have an undisturbed walk to the Seven Bells.

He saw his Rooks up ahead, huddled around in a circle just a few feet away from the entrance of the bar. Their heads were together, as if they were having a deep conversation about something. He wondered what it could be. "Hate to break up the party and all, but it's time to start taking things seriously. I need you boys to stand outside and play look out. If you see a woman coming, call for me, otherwise stay silent. I'll summon you, all right?" he said, addressing his men.

They all nodded. "Yes, boss."

"Remember, stay put. Don't come until I summon you."

The Rooks nodded again. "Will do, boss."

"What are you planning?" Charles said.

"Nothing sensible," Jacob answered with a lopsided grin. He removed his hat and held it out to Charles. The man seemed least likely to damage it. "Hold this. Whatever you do, don't drop my hat." Charles nodded. Satisfied, Jacob pulled his hood up over his head then headed inside the bar. Five Templars were seated up ahead. Two of them had the bartender on his knees whilst a third Templar tied his arms together with some rope.

"This is my bar! You can't close it! It'll be bad for business!"

A Templar kicked the bartender in the stomach. The man grunted. "It's for the best. Rest assured you will be paid a reasonable sum of money whilst we carry out the investigations."

"I already told you – there's nothing to investigate! It was just two drunks causing trouble! The problem has been solved! Please – I just want my bar back," the man pleaded, but the Templars weren't interested in negotiating. He was struck in the stomach once more. This time, he remained silent. The Templars holding him down lifted him up from the floor and dragged him to the side.

"And here I was hoping to have a drink," Jacob said, sighing with mock disappointment. The Templars froze, turned around, and narrowed their eyes.

"Oh no, not you again," the bartender exclaimed, eyes widening. "You were the one who caused the bar to shut down in the first place! He's the one you want! Arrest him so I can reopen my bar!" The Templars stood still, unmoving, as if they were planning their next action. Two of them exchanged knowing glances. The other Templars started to move towards him.

"You are under arrest!" a Templar barked. "Surrender now, criminal, and we will show you mercy."

"Criminal?" Jacob repeated. "I'm no criminal; I just do what I want." And right now he wanted to take back the bar. The self-appointed leader of the group of five lunged forward, hands reaching out for something to grab. Jacob allowed the man to push him back a few steps, then countered, ramming his knee in his stomach. The Templar staggered backwards, coughing and spluttering, and landed on his backside.

Two more Templars charged. One made a leaping tackle, but didn't quite reach his target, and crashed to the ground. The other Templar made an abrupt stop, deciding tackling wasn't quite the smartest idea. Jacob tilted his head to the side and waited for the Templar to attack. After all, a fight was only fun if the other person actually tried. The Templar didn't move.

"What are you doing, you fool? Get him!"

He charged, shoulder first. Jacob waited – then turned around, grabbed a chair and threw it. The chair struck its target. The Templar's groans filled the air as he collapsed to the floor, rubbing his head. Only two remained. "Well, which of you wants to have a go next?" Jacob taunted, darting his eyes back forth in between the last two Templars.

One of the Templars reached a hand beneath his coat. Jacob froze; a Templar had brought a gun to the fight? He threw himself over a table and took it down with him, just in time to shield himself from a bullet. The other Templar started screaming, but Jacob wasn't paying attention. A fucking gun to a bar fight? Now the entire city central would be alerted to the area.

Annoyed, he climbed to his feet. Fortunately, the Templar appeared to only have one bullet because he didn't try shooting again. He sauntered over, knelt down besides the gunman, slapped the gun out of his hands and glowered. "Bringing a fucking gun to a brawl? What are you, an amateur?" He punched him once. Punched him again. And punched him a third time just for the sake of giving the man a black eye and a bleeding nose.

That's when he felt it. An explosion of pain in his upper left arm. "Motherfuck," he swore, climbing to his feet to stagger away to safety, clutching his left arm. He stumbled into a table then tripped over onto the floor. "Rooks!" he called.

He heard footsteps from behind, but they didn't belong to his men. The first Templar he had attacked was now up and moving again, and wearing a scowl on his face. Jacob struggled to his feet, and hobbled away as fast as he could, clenching his jaw, allowing no sound of pain to escape. He briefly removed his hand away from his injured arm, his hand covered in blood. This hadn't turned out quite like he had hoped.

Before he knew it, he was on the floor again, having been tackled from behind by a Templar. Normally, he would've found it easy to take control of the situation, and switch positions, but the loss of blood was beginning to take effect. The Templar climbed on top, straddling his waist, hands clutching his collar.

"Don't kill him, you idiot! We need him alive!"

"I'm just going to make him suffer a little! The bastard hit me first!" He raised both arms and tried to pry the Templar's hands away from his neck, but the man's grip was unrelenting. Attempting to swat his hands away didn't work; it only encouraged the man to fasten his hold. "I could choke you… watch you struggle… but that would be less satisfying than watching you suffer the pain you've inflicted on us."

The Templar climbed off and rose to his feet. With a grunt, Jacob forced himself up from the floor, drawing in deep breaths, and attempted to crawl away from harm. Fighting with his fists was no longer an option – he didn't have the strength for that, but he still had one secret weapon left. He just needed the Templar in the right position.

"Where do you think you're going, lad?" Jacob felt fingers grab a tuft of his hair and jerked him upright so that he was on knees. Just a little bit closer, Jacob thought. The Templar then did something he hadn't anticipated – a swift knee beneath the belt. Blind rage filled him. Using his newfound energy, he sprung forward, activated his hidden blade and drove it through the Templar's right shin then withdrew it.

A piercing scream filled the air. The Templar released his grip immediately, collapsing to the floor, hands flying down to his wounded leg. The man would never walk again. He'd probably bleed to death here on the floor. Consumed with fiery pain, Jacob rolled over onto his side, a deep groan leaving his throat. Where the bloody hell were his Rooks?

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Evie was on her way to Henry when she heard a gunshot that caused her to stop dead in her tracks. It came from the direction she had just come from – could it be? The Seven Bells? She couldn't imagine the Templars would use a gun on an innocent civilian – that wouldn't help their order's image. It had to be someone else.

"Evie!" She turned her head towards the source, and spotted Henry clambering down a wall. He rushed over to her, concern written all over his face. "You heard the gun shot too. I haven't seen your brother, and I thi-"

Think that he disobeyed her and ran off to deal with the problem himself. Typical. Always wanting to prove to everyone and himself that he didn't need to be a stealth-expert to win battles. Pride would be his downfall if he wasn't careful. But no matter how many times she told him so, he still willingly sought out trouble. It was almost as if he was addicted to the thrill of danger.

"…and he wonders why I treat him like a child…" she murmured. "The one time I ask him to step down…" She stopped herself short. A part of the blame fell on her shoulders. She knew she should've been watching over him. That was her responsibility. Always look out for your brother, her father had told her. But for once, she wanted to trust him to do the right thing.

"Don't blame yourself, Evie."

She glanced sideways. "You don't understand what it's like to have a younger sibling, especially one like my brother. Stubborn, self-assured, and a magnet for trouble. It's a full-time job looking after him. He's all that I have left…." She trailed off. "Father, dead. Brotherhood, broken. He might be a bone-headed fool, but he's my brother."

"No, I don't understand, but I know what it feels like to lose something you care about. Before I came to London…" Henry stopped, as if realizing he was close to spilling his life secrets. "Perhaps I'll tell you another day. Let's find your brother first then sort out this mess with the Seven Bells. Come, let's go." He hurried over to the edge of the roof then jumped to the next roof. Evie followed close behind him.

They continued leaping from roof to roof until they reached the Seven Bells. Fortunately, no other Templars had arrived. Perhaps there was a slight chance they hadn't heard it? She led the way down to the back entrance of the bar. Going through the front would make it much harder to sneak up on the enemy. Her feet touched the ground. Crouching, she crept forward, sticking close to the shadows, occasionally stopping every couple of metres to gauge her surroundings.

Henry bumped into her. "Sorry," he whispered.

She didn't reply. Poking her head around the corner, she checked both directions for danger. Nothing. No sign of Clara or her father either. Clara had probably gone into hiding. What she did hear was a couple of men issuing threats. She snuck forward, still cautious. A Templar could be hiding in the dark waiting to ambush. Fortunately, it appeared her brother and his helpers had taken them all out. She stepped into the main room.

She wasn't at all surprised to see five Templars lying on the ground, all unconscious. What she didn't expect to see was her brother lying just ahead, unmoving. Was he… She hurried forward, dropping onto her knees besides Jacob. Immediately, she checked for a pulse. There! A beat. At least he was alive.

"Why didn't you listen to me, brother," she murmured, eyes wandering up his left shoulder, focusing on the patch of blood. He had been shot. No wonder he was lying on the floor passed out.

"He's your brother?" one of the Rooks said.

She glanced up, temporarily having forgotten they were present. The one who had spoken had shoulder-length black greasy hair and equally dark eyes. He was clutching Jacob's hat to his chest. She supposed he was the 'leader' of this group of five. Well, that was before they had been recruited. "Yes. I'd like to talk more, but we need to help him. He's been shot. What's your name?"

"Charles."

"Go find me a cloth, Charles - I need something to wrap around his arm."

"Yes, mam." The Rook hurried off to raid the kitchen area. The other Rooks watched nervously; one of them, a blond, was shifting his weight from foot to foot, a finger resting on his lower lip. Either these Rooks hadn't been gang members for very long or they hadn't witnessed much blood. Charles soon returned with a cloth in his left hand.

Evie snatched it from his hands and wrapped it around her brother's arm and tightened it. "Take off your coat. He'll need to be kept warm," she ordered. Charles obeyed, quickly removing his coat to give to Evie. She laid it over her brother.

"We should find a doctor."

"No time. We'll have to remove the bullet ourselves," Evie said.

"But we have nothing to cut it out with?"

She had her throwing knives, and Henry had a kukri. Her brother had one as well. Reaching a hand into her coat, she pulled out a knife. A doctor would be the smart idea, but she had no idea where one could be found. Besides, they didn't have the time to find and wait for one – Jacob had already passed out from blood loss.

"Forgive me, brother," she said. On the plus side, he wouldn't be engaging in any fist fights for a couple of days. On the downside, they'd be one person short as Henry had no interest in taking part in their activities, and the Rooks lacked the skills of an Assassin and weren't really in any condition to fight. Jacob was going to be pissed when he discovered he wasn't going to be able to fight so effectively for the next few days.

Taking in a deep breath, she rolled up her brother's sleeve. Finding another trench coat like this would be difficult to find. She didn't want to give her brother another reason to be upset so was careful not to damage it. "You can do this, Evie," Henry said.

"Here goes nothing. I'll need you boys to hold him still… My brother can be quite… temperamental." Two of the Rooks knelt down and held Jacob's arms to the ground. Once she was certain her brother was pinned down, she set to work on his upper arm, cutting into the flesh. Fortunately, the bullet scraped his arm, and hadn't gone too far deep. At least no bone had been splintered.

As she cut into his arm, she felt her brother twitch beneath. "He's regaining consciousness!" Charles exclaimed, holding down her brother's right arm with two hands.

"Hold him still." There! The bullet! Carefully, she cut it out of the tissue, and discarded the bullet onto the ground. Whoever had shot her brother had a death sentence atop his head.

"What's next?"

"We'll have to cauterize the wound. He's not going to like this very much." Rising to her feet, Evie searched around the tavern, searching for a heat source. Her eyes focused on the fire pit. A gas lamp would've been the better option, but the fire pit was the only heat source in sight. She hurried over, placed her knife above the flames and waited until it was scorching hot before returning to his side.

Her brother's eyes opened. Never had she seen him so pale before. It was as if all the colour had drained from his face. "…Father… I don't want to do this anymore… This is pointless…" he murmured. Great. He was imagining things now. Delirious. At least he was speaking.

Evie gazed down into his eyes. "Not father, Evie. Your sister."

"…Evie?"

"Yes. You've been shot. I have to cauterize the wound. This is going to hurt." Henry offered her a cloth. "You're going to want to bite into this."

"…I can handle anything…"

Stubborn as always. "Your choice." She pressed her blade's side against the open wound. An anguished cry tore through her brother's chest.

He attempted to lash out at those holding him fury fueling his actions, but the Rooks were doing a good job of keeping him pinned. Evie shoved the cloth in his mouth silencing his shouts and continued to hold the knife in place. When she felt enough had been done, she withdrew the knife, laid it on the ground and grabbed another cloth. The next step was cleaning the wound then wrapping it up with a new cloth and making sure her brother didn't try anything.

Her brother stopped screaming. He was lying still, taking in deep heavy breaths, probably trying to calm himself down. She gave him a sympathetic look – her poor brother. Maybe he'd learn something from this. "Get some rest. I'll talk to you afterwards."

For once, he didn't argue. Most likely he was still in a state of shock. He closed his eyes, as she started to clean the wound, dabbing away at the blood with the tip of the cloth. "More Templars are going to arrive, Evie," Henry started.

Evie glanced in the direction of one of fallen Templars. One of them was beginning to regain consciousness. An idea formed in her head, a smile spreading across her face. It was so simple. "How do you feel about disguising yourself?"