Thanks to anyone out there still reading this despite that it has been quite a few years sine Syndicate was released.

Also, thanks to any of those silent readers out there that enjoy this.

I'm basically just doing a re-upload for old time's sake.

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Chapter Nine: Nice to Meet You

Jacob was always the first person in the Frye family to wake up - getting up early meant more time in the day to carry out important tasks like tracking down Templars and getting up to mischief. He considered playing a prank on Henry since the man was so uptight and serious all the time, but the man had placed something heavy behind his door. Perhaps a desk. It was almost as if he predicted Jacob would try something and had gone to extreme lengths to ensure his sleep was not interrupted.

He turned his attention to Evie's door, and thought about playing a prank on her, but decided against it at the last moment. Like Henry, she lacked a sense of humour. She had no real sense of adventure, often preferring to play it safe and not take dangerous risks. It was one of the reasons they clashed so much – he was a risk taker, and she was not. He liked chaos, she preferred order. He expressed emotions openly whilst she kept them bottled inside. No wonder she was always on his case.

Turning away from her door, he made his way down the stairs, thinking of the day that lay ahead. The bartender, Paul, had asked them to visit the local store to purchase some items. Shopping wasn't high on his priority list, but at least it'd give him a chance to get out of the bar for a couple of hours. There was nothing worse than having to remain in one place for too long.

"You are up early," Paul said, giving him a slight nod as Jacob entered the kitchen area. The smell of cooked eggs filled his nostrils, prompting his stomach to growl. It had been quite some time since he had anything decent for a meal. Evie cooked, but she wasn't an expert. Normally, they stuck to basic food items such as eggs and bread. "An early riser?"

Jacob nodded, and walked over to the counter, searching for a menu. He found one leaning against a column and picked it up, scanning through the items on the list. Tea, coffee or schweitzer's cocatina. Porridge and cream. Friend whiting, grilled halibut or bloaters. Chop, kidneys and bacon. Devilled fowl. Ham or bacon and fried eggs. Omelette aux fines herbs. Pomes lyonnaise. Picked up cod or dry hash. Peek frean and com's biscuits. Cerebos salt. Wall and son's sausages. Lea and perrin's sauce. Plain breakfast with boiled eggs, cold meat or cold chicken.

So many choices, but which one to take? Not that it mattered – this was their home now, and he'd have more than enough time to try everything at least once. The price of each meal was between seven and nine pounds. How was it that breakfast was cheaper than a ride around town? "What time do you open for breakfast?"

"Eight am and we stop serving at three pm. We close for an hour to prepare the bar for the night crowd."

Jacob searched for a clock. He found an old antique clock behind the counter to Paul's right in a corner. It was now six thirty. Ninety minutes until breakfast then. "So it's just you and your daughter who work here?"

Paul nodded. "My wife used to work here too, but she passed two years ago. She had an injury. Templars refused to help her because we didn't have the money at the time. Clara was only ten when it happened."

"Sorry."

"Don't be. That's the life we have here. You're either born lucky or not." The man turned his back and wandered over to a drawer then returned a frame in his hand. He laid it out on the counter for Jacob to see. There were three people in the photo – a man, a woman and a young child, all wearing smiles on their faces. Obviously this was Paul's family. "I have every reason to despise the Templars. I've heard about your Brotherhood and what you stand for. That's why I'm allowing your kind to stay here."

He out the photo away back into the drawer. Hearing the man's words only made his hatred of the Templars grow stronger. Greed. Power. Control. The Templars preached order and peace, but their words were nothing but lies. Each word they spoke was poison. A better world, a better tomorrow? Only for the select minority of the population. "Sorry for hitting you earlier," he mumbled.

Paul gave a snort. "I'm still feeling it today. You spent a lot on the streets, didn't you?"

"How did you know that?"

"I know a thug when I see one."

Heat rushed to his cheeks. "I'm not a thug."

"Say what you want to believe, but I've been around for twice your years and I've seen many types of people. Anyone can fight – but only so few know how to make a hit hurt for days. I have something that might be of some use to you if you're interested."

Jacob snorted. "I doubt that."

"Injuries don't heal overnight. You might think you're tougher than the average person, but even the strongest of men can fall," Paul quipped.

He turned back to the drawer again and pulled something else out. This time, it wasn't a frame. It was something he had never laid eyes on before. There were two items made of brass, and both had five circles. Four loops side by side, and one larger one that seemed perfectly shaped for something the size of a wrist. At first he thought it was some strange torture device. "What is that?"

"Call them brass knuckles. You slide your through this hole here," he said, pointing to the larger oval-shaped one beneath the four loops then continued, "and your fingers go through the other holes. It may look uncomfortable, but they pack quite a punch."

He brought his face closer towards them, his curiosity piqued. The words, 'Strength Through Loyalty' could be read on the wooden handle below the oval. "How'd you come across this?" As much as he didn't want to agree with Paul, he was right. He had the skills, but with a wounded arm, he was equal to any man who knew how to fight.

"Many of the younger folk weren't alive when it happened, but those old enough to remember harbour ill feelings towards your kind. Your people once called London their home and swore to protect it only to leave the city to collapse. In the absence of the Brotherhood, the Templars came in and seized control. Some people have tried to rebel, but as you can see that hasn't worked well."

"My sister and I were never a part of the British Brotherhood. It had already fallen by the time we swore our oaths. We had our own local one." One which was comprised of a few people yet was still a functioning important Brotherhood despite the smallness.

"Yet you're still Assassins."

He nodded. "It wasn't a choice for us. We were born into it."

"What brought you to London if you don't mind me asking?"

"The working class people did. My sister and I grew up in the slums. I guess you could say we felt a connection to the people here. Work all day long for little gain while people at the top reap the rewards they don't deserve. Help those who can't help themselves."

"A noble cause."

"Like I said earlier, I'm not some common thug."

Paul studied him for a few moments then gestured at the brass knuckles. "These are just some of the remaining artefacts of your Brotherhood. I'd like you to have them."

Jacob glanced up, surprised. "Why? I thought you didn't think too highly of Assassins."

"You proved me wrong. You're not the man I assumed you to be. Who knows, you and your sister might just be what this city needs." He pushed the brass knuckles towards Jacob. "You deserve them. I have no use for brass knuckles anyway."

He studied the melee weapon for a few seconds, wondering just how well they'd fare in a battle. Even with a wounded arm, he'd be able to fight since he'd use less effort inflicting damage. Perhaps… His thoughts moved to the Thistle's Crown and the gang of Templars he had encountered the other day. They'd make for good practice. Of course, he'd have to sneak out of the bar without his sister knowing which would be a difficult task since she was the sneaking expert. Maybe he could convince her he was going to have a boy's night out with the Rooks. Or he could just take a risk and climb out a window.

"Thanks, I'll be sure to make good use of them." He took the melee weapons and placed them within a pocket inside his trench coat. Paul turned around again, and walked off, most likely to grab a few items from within the kitchen. Jacob grabbed the menu and moved over to a table and made himself comfortable. What to eat? So many choices.

"Good morning brother."

Ah, Evie had woken up. Much earlier than expected. She probably had trouble sleeping last night knowing what the plan was for today. Keep eye on brother and hope he didn't get up to any sort of mischief whilst in public. He wondered how she got any sleep at all. "Morning, Evie. Sleep well?"

She took the seat opposite to him. "I've been thinking about today. There'll be more police on the streets after yesterday's events."

"The police don't concern me."

"I know, but they should."

Jacob put the menu down. "What's the worst they can do? We're smarter, stronger and faster."

"They have numbers… and Templar support. I wouldn't underestimate the power of numbers, brother. Police work for the law… Templars are the law," Evie explained, as if he didn't know what a policeman was.

He rolled his eyes. "Who cares?"

Evie raised her hands in the air. A sign of surrender. Often she did that when she saw there was no point in carrying the conversation further. "We'll need to head out as soon as Henry joins us. The more time we spend here, the more time the Templars have to move about. Robert Strain is arriving, but I doubt he'll be the only important Templar coming. This is our chance to see the faces of them all."

"You've already planned this all out, haven't you?" Jacob replied, leaning back in his seat. "Honestly, you take out the fun in everything."

"I plan ahead to avoid failure."

Silence fell. Jacob didn't have a response to that. Typical Evie. She always found a way to silence him. He handed her the menu. "I'm not leaving until we've eaten. Can't do anything on an empty stomach. What do you want?"

"I'm not hungry."

He took the menu back. "Your loss then." Evie sighed, but didn't say anything else. Instead, she rose to her feet, and headed back towards the kitchen area, probably in search of Henry. Once she was out of sight, he reached a hand within his pocket, fingers brushing up against the cool brass of the weapons. Paul had said they had once belonged to the Assassins of the British Brotherhood, but they didn't look to have been used much, if at all. He pulled his fingers back, smirk playing at the corner of his mouth. That was going to change.

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Robert Strain was a proud man who liked to walk with shoulders pinned back, chest thrust out, and nose up high in the air. The Templar insignia was displayed clearly on his left side so everyone was aware of his status and allegiance. He also made sure he never travelled anywhere alone – having minions made him feel more powerful. The more men he had under his control, the better treatment he would receive from Bloody Nora.

That wasn't to say his relationship with her was strained – in fact, Bloody Nora rated him highly. It was why she had given him control of one of the wealthier boroughs in London, but she was a hard woman to please. There was always something more that could be done. More men to recruit. More bases to establish. More commoners to intimidate.

Each of the leaders was eager to please Nora. Getting on her bad side resulted in a quick death. She had a low tolerance for failure, and an even lower tolerance towards weakness. That was how she had earned the title 'Bloody' in the first place. He remembered the day when a man had disobeyed a direct order. She had shot him in the head in front of all present Templars then had his head hung outside her house for a short time. Ever since that day, no one dared to disobey.

They carried on further down the road, turning a sharp corner into a narrow street full of shops. The driver slowed the horses down to help navigate the tight turns better. Several pairs of suspicious eyes locked on them as they trotted through. Robert didn't need to be told they had entered the slums. The horse droppings on the road were evident enough to know this area was neglected.

Raising a hand to his face, he pinched his nostrils together, the stench of the droppings beginning to make his stomach churn. The perfect home for criminals. If he was in charge of the Blighters, he'd have all the poor areas walled off. That would keep filth inside and prevent them from mixing in with the rich, though he supposed they needed some people to carry out the menial tasks.

"Can we please pick up the pace? I feel dirty just being here," Robert ordered, scratching at his arm, as if rubbing away some dirt.

"I'm going as fast as allowed, sir," the driver replied. "If I go any faster, people will get trampled on."

Robert Strain squeezed his eyes shut in annoyance, forced a deep sigh then reopened his eyes again. At this rate, they'd be better off walking. "Do you want your head hung outside Nora's doorknob?"

That was enough to prompt the driver to urge the horses to move faster. A few commoners complained, but blurted out apologies the moment they saw the Templar cross. Watching the common people draw back in fear filled him with elation. There was nothing more satisfying than knowing just your presence was enough to make people tremble and submit themselves. He didn't even have to raise a finger or speak a word.

It wasn't long before they reached the end of the street. They were now out in the open wide roads again where the poor and rich crossed paths. Of course, the rich always made sure to distance themselves from the poor, as if fearing they would catch a disease if they stood too close. The poor were always easy to spot. Greasy hair, dirt-stained faces and poor quality cloth material were the usual signs.

Criminals most likely, Robert Strain thought. When the Templars had seized control, they cleaned up the streets. The poor and the rich once lived in the same streets, but the Templars changed that. They divided London into separate divisions – they separated the poor from the rich. It was all for the greater good. If society was to improve then only the strong could advance. It was just a shame that not everyone could see that.

Robert turned to face the driver. Brown bangs covered his right eye. "I'm sorry, what's your name again?"

"Mercutio," the man replied.

"Right. Can you tell me what the latest news is here is? Riding in silence bores me."

"Well, there's been a few murders, sir. A few Templars have been killed. Rumour has it that Assassins are at work."

Assassins? He almost laughed. The Brotherhood had left London decades ago! Why would they now suddenly return? Why would Assassins care about a bunch of poor people anyway? Most of these people were poor because of bad decision making and thus deserved it. Not to mention most of these filthy beggars were criminals. Mercutio wasn't smiling however. Perhaps there was some truth to his words. The smile faded from his face. "So that's why Bloody Nora has summoned all the leaders…" he murmured.

She had a plan and she wanted all the leaders to play a role in it. He wondered what she could have in mind. Knowing Bloody Nora, it wouldn't end so well for the opposition, but why would she need so many men when she already had the majority of the numbers? Perhaps she didn't feel her men could carry out the task. He pinned his shoulders as far back as he could. This was a chance to prove that he could be second-in-command of the Blighters.

"Here we are at the meeting point," Mercutio said, stopping by the sidewalk. Robert had been so caught up in his thoughts that he hadn't realized they had arrived at the destination. "I'll be here to pick you and your men up just before the sun goes down. You'll need to head up the road then take the first turn right," he added, as Robert climbed out of the carriage.

Strain nodded, tipping his hat forward as a sign of gratitude. "I expect you'll arrive on time. I do not want to be caught out in the streets at night."

"I'll be here." Mercutio pulled on the reins making his horses move forward once more.

Two carriages pulled up a few moments later, offloading his personal group of bodyguards. There were six in total. All his men wore identical brown coats and matching black top hats. Once the drivers had disappeared, Strain turned to face his men, all of whom were looking at him with eager anticipation. "I'll need you men to stay outside the building while I talk to Bloody Nora. Keep your eyes out for suspicious behaviour."

The men nodded, and spread themselves out in front of the restaurant called the Falcon's Nest. The place was hard to miss. There were two rows of windows – white curtains on the bottom row made it more difficult for outsiders to peer in, and pot plants hung from the top row. The words, 'The Falcon's Nest' were painted in big yellow letters on the windows. It was one of few places Strain liked to visit when he came to the city central. The less fortunate people did not come here because the prices were far too high. It was the dining place for the rich and wealthy. He took off his top hat, folded it then tucked it beneath his coat as he entered the room.

Unlike most of the places within London, this dining area did not reek of cheap wine. Wine was served, but limited to two per table. The tables themselves were small and circular, and each one was covered with a white cloth. There were two chairs per table, as if one designed the layout with couples in mind.

Paintings of locals playing football hung on parts of the green-wallpapered walls. He himself had never played football, but it was apparently popular with the poor people. That was probably why he had never tried it. There were other old photos on the walls of locals engaging in other activities, but he didn't care to name any of them. He had come here to talk with Nora.

"Robert Strain, it's good to see you have arrived on time," Nora said.

He turned to face her. Bloody Nora was dressed in her usual garbs – a black coat and matching pants and top. Her eyes locked on his. He acknowledged her with a nod, and waited for the woman to walk over to join him at the table. "The Falcon's Nest, eh? I wasn't expecting this."

"They say that breakfast is the most important meal of the day," Nora stated, hands resting on her lap. "How are your men? In peak condition?"

Strain nodded. "My men are always in their prime. Mercutio informed me that we have trouble." In the corner of his eye, he spotted a waitress dressed in a black corset. Copper curls fell around her shoulders, bouncing each time she moved head. Her eyes were round and a clear blue, protected by a pair of wide-rimmed glasses. Her arms rested on her stomach, fingers intertwined with each other, giving him the impression she was either defensive or just timid. Odd.

"That's Tabitha, newest leader of Whitechapel. Our dear friend Snow met an untimely end."

That was the polite way of saying 'I killed the bastard'. Snow had never been the smartest guy around. The guy would not be missed. "You need my men for something then?"

"Yes. I trust you've heard about the latest kills?"

"Vaguely. Something about that young lad George."

She nodded. "There's an Assassin at work. Nothing confirmed yet, but the reports seem accurate enough. I want you to take you and a handful of your men and prepare to lay trap in the main streets of London. If what my men are saying is true, then we have to take the fight into the open. They won't have anything to hide behind there."

Strain rubbed his chin, a rare smile spreading across his face. "Assassins? Fascinating. I suppose they've come here to 'fight for freedom' or some drivel like that." What he didn't understand is why they even bothered trying. Sure, they might win, but victory was short-lived. The cycle would repeat, the Templars would rise once more and the Assassins would once again be on the losing side. "What happened to your men? I thought you patrols here."

"The police patrol the streets, Robert. The Templars work behind the scenes. Whilst my men are busy fortifying the base, I need you and your men to lure this Assassin out into the open. I'll have the local police on standby to make the arrest." She reached a hand down into a pocket then leaned forward, placing a revolver on the table. "Take this gun."

He cocked a brow. "You want me to shoot the Assassin in broad daylight? That'll cause the public and the horses to panic."

"Lead the Assassin on a chase through the wide streets towards the train station. Take the fight to the top. With any luck, you'll be able to push the Assassin off, and the train will do the rest. A body won't be found, and no accusations can be made." She pushed the gun towards him. "Should you fail to carry out the task then the police will be there to finish off the job. I'll have them guarding the route I want you to take."

Did Nora expect him to fail? Was that why she planned to have police there? He furrowed his brows. "I'm not going to fail you, Nora. You have my word." Bloody Nora opened her mouth to respond when the door flung open. Turning his head, he spotted two males and a female enter. The quickly placed the gun within his coat. The two males were arguing about something, though he did not care to listen. Rather, he was annoyed at their interruption – Bloody Nora was just about to say something and these scoundrels had to enter!

"… The Rooks need training."

"They're fine as they are, sister!" said the male with the black top hat.

The woman stopped, glanced over her shoulder and gave an exasperated sigh. "They've only been with us for a couple of days. How can you say they're 'fine as they are'?"

"I've tested them. I know what they're capable of doing."

"By throwing a few punches?" she retorted.

The other male, an Indian dressed in white robes, raised his hands and stood in between the arguing pair. "Now is not the time to argue. We came here for breakfast because your brother insisted on it."

"Can't do much on an empty stomach."

The Indian nodded. "My point exactly."

She sighed. "All right. We'll get a quick meal but then we're leaving."

The trio walked up to the counter. One of the males leaned into the Indian's ear and whispered something while the female waited to be served. Tabitha pushed a lock of hair behind her right ear and hurried over to serve them. Robert Strain studied the newcomers, and looked to see if Nora was as well. She was watching them like a hawk watching a rabbit, a troublesome frown appearing on her face. He averted his gaze.

His eyes locked on the male wearing the black top hat. "What are you looking at?" the male demanded.

"Nothing of interest," Strain replied. These people certainly didn't belong to his district of the Strand. He would've recognized them straight away, especially with that sort of clothing. If these people were trying to blend in with the public, they certainly weren't doing a good job of it. He looked away.

Tabitha guided the trio towards a table right next to Strain and Nora. Just his luck. At least these people didn't look like they were carrying some form of strange disease, but their presence brought him discomfort. He didn't like being near people he didn't know. You never knew what they were going to do.

"For fuck's sake, no ale?" the man complained, studying the menu before him.

"We only serve alcohol at night," Tabitha said.

"Just give me whatever is cheapest," he said, handing the menu back.

"Make that two," the Indian man added. The woman remained silent.

Tabitha took the menus back and walked off. A Templar leader who owned an eating area. Not a bad replacement, but he didn't see how that would help their cause. Still, he wasn't going to question Nora's decision making, and trusted that she had a good reason for appointing this lady as one of the leaders of the Blighters.

"Honestly Jacob, do you have to make everything so difficult?" the woman said.

He frowned. "What am I supposed to drink, Evie? Water?"

"It'd be a nice change. You know you can't handle your alcohol."

"That's not true." Tabitha returned with some and cutlery. She laid them out on the table then left again.

"Do you remember when we were younger and father and I found you passed out on the floor one Friday night?"

The brother gave his sister a sullen look, picking up his fork. "That only happened once."

"Once? Have you forgotten that day when you came home drunk after a fight in the streets?"

The Indian man smiled. "Or that time he challenged those other men to a drinking contest."

Jacob growled, stabbing the table with the fork. "All right, all right, enough with the flashbacks!"

Silence then, "Is your arm feeling better?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes."

"Because if you're not feeling up to today's task, then you can stay at home and rest up."

"Evie, drop it already. I'm feeling fine, okay?"

Tabitha returned a few moments later carrying the plates of food. Bread and boiled eggs. The cheapest meal on the menu. It was something often the poor had for breakfast. It was simple. Poor people living in the slums were simple beings. A perfect match really. The two males dug into their food while Evie just watched.

Robert wished they'd leave. He wanted to talk with Nora about important matters, but then these louts had to come in and spoil his meeting. It wasn't often he had one on one time with Nora. To make matters, every couple of seconds, the brother would complain using as many obscene words as possible in one sentence. Truly, this man had no shame!

The one called Jacob didn't even bother finishing his plate. More than half of the food on the plate still remained. The Indian did a better job of finishing up, but even he had a few leftovers. Jacob was the first to stand. Robert was reminded of a young puppy dog – youthful and full of energy. "We better get going. London is a big place to explore." He reached into his coat and pulled out a few notes, laying them out on the table.

"All right."

Thank goodness, thought Strain. His brief moment of happiness was cut short when Jacob bumped into him. Whether it was on purpose or the man was just hyperactive, Robert wanted to give him a stern telling off. He rose to his feet and glowered. "Filthy dog!" he snapped, raising both hands to his shirt, to dust off any 'germs' he might have contracted. "Watch where you are walking, you miscreant!"

The moment he spoke those words, he wished he hadn't. Standing this close to the other male made him realize just how much smaller he was in comparison. Robert wasn't a fighter, but as a gang leader he had to learn the basics of close and ranged combat. But this Jacob guy? He was built like a fortress with arms as thick as tree trunks.

"Jacob Frye, leave it," Evie said.

The guy looked ready to tear him apart. Robert was sure he could easily rip his head off he wanted, but luck appeared to be on his side as the man backed down. Jacob continued to glare before finally pulling his gaze away. It didn't stop him from purposely bumping into him again, this time hard enough to cause Robert to almost topple over. Fortunately, the table was there to catch him otherwise he would've found himself in an embarrassing situation.

Jacob and his companions exited the building as Robert regained his composure. He spat at the ground. People like that only proved that Templars had to exist otherwise there'd be chaos. Imagine the state of London should someone like Jacob lead? He shuddered at the thought. Drawing in a deep breath, he readjusted his hat then faced Nora. "I will inform my men at once. This Assassin… whoever they might be… They're going to regret coming to London."

"Remember the gun, Robert. I didn't give it to you to kill, but to stop him or her from being a threat." She stood up, reached a hand into her pocket again, this time pulling out a map. "This is the route I want you to take. The police force will be lying in wait and they will follow you. Don't disappoint me, Robert. You know I don't tolerate failure."

The conversation was over. Nora had given him a plan to work with and he was keen to impress her. "I won't fail you – this I promise." He took his bow and left the building, digging a hand into his pocket to find his money pouch. But wait – what was this? No money bag? Heart rate quickening, Robert felt all his pockets, searching for the item. But there was nothing. Had he…

Jacob. The money pouch was definitely there when he had come inside the shop. So the man had bumped into him on purpose! Bloody thief! He must've been a practiced one too because he hadn't felt anything. Jacob fucking Frye. Oh, how he was going to remember that name and damn it to the very depths of hell.