Chapter Ten: All Hell Breaks Loose

The first couple of days under Jacob's leadership had been interesting to say the least. Charles and the other Rooks were currently upstairs in the spare room relaxing whilst the Fryes and Henry carried on with business downstairs. The spare room was slightly larger than the others and was used mostly for storage purposes, though sometimes it was used for the sick and the passed out drunks. Now it was their room to share. The other Rooks were still uncertain about their positioning within their new gang, but Charles assured them everything was going to be fine.

"So… we are called the Rooks now?"

"Yes, Tom," Charles said, addressing the man. Tom was the youngest within the gang – he had recently turned twenty-one – but age had not brought him self-confidence. He could muster up the courage when needed in a fight, but that was only because he had the support of his friends there to back him up. "This is our new life, and it will be a better one than the one we've been living thus far."

"How can you be so sure, Charles? We've been in a gang for years now and nothing has improved for us."

That was true. Gang life had always been difficult, but had become so much worse when the Templars had seized control of the city. Once there had been a time in which ten men had followed him – now he was left with four other men. The survivors of the battle that had taken place a decade ago right here within these streets. They had been caught in the crossfire of a fight between Assassins and Templars. Charles didn't know the finer details only that he had been a victim of a war he had no part in.

Now he had every reason to be part of something greater, and Jacob Frye was leading the way. The man was quite a few years younger than himself – Charles was closing in on thirty years of age, and Jacob seemed like he was in his early twenties. Twenty-one most likely – the right age to cause trouble. "Because there's something about Jacob Frye that makes me believe he can save us all. Can't you see it? The hunger in his eyes."

"But what if he damns us all?" another Rook said. "We hardly know anything about the man other than that he's a veteran of battle. What if he's just using us, Charles? It wouldn't be the first time men have tried to enforce their rules upon us. It's why we ended up on the streets in the first place."

Charles raised his hands, calling for silence. "Trust me on this. I know a bad person when I see one, and Jacob Frye is not one who will break his promise to us. He's young and self-assured, but I can see goodness in him that lacks in many other gang members. He's what we need if we are to retake these streets and make a life for ourselves here."

"That may be so, Charles, but what about the alternate life? What if it all goes terribly wrong for us?" The Rooks were all sitting on their beds, looking at him with wide eyes. They probably had hundreds of questions waiting to be answered though he knew his friends knew better than to directly question their new leader. "I'm worried, Charles. It's not like we were really given much of an option."

True. Jacob had a natural talent with words. He could make it sound like you had a choice when in reality it wasn't. "Just follow my lead and give your support to Jacob Frye and his sister. That is all I ask of you now – that you show our new leaders the same loyalty you've shown towards me. Together, we can make this work." The Rooks seemed satisfied with his response and turned away from him to make themselves comfortable on their beds. Rather than sleep himself, he decided to stay awake and think instead, his mind troubled. What if the Rooks were right? What if this was just the beginning of their self-destruction?

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Breakfast was short-lived, but they had found exactly what they needed – important information. It was a big gamble – Henry argued against it, and Evie thought it was too dangerous – but Jacob ignored them both and followed his gut instinct. Bumping into that man at The Falcon's Nest was planned. It allowed him to get close enough to reach a hand into a pocket. All those long years stealing coins from his opponents had paid off at last.

"Robert Strain, leader of the Strand," Jacob read. The coin in the pocket didn't interest him – it was the badge that caught his attention. He threw it aside onto the floor. "Who keeps a fucking badge with their name on it?"

"That woman there with him… Do you think she was Bloody Nora?" Evie said, bending over to pick up the badge. She straightened then added, "If yes, then Bloody Nora must suspect us. She's summoning her fellow leaders."

"For what?" Jacob said.

"To stop us, of course. She's suspicious, but nothing has been confirmed yet. The Templars she sent to take over the bar never returned… We made sure of that. I doubt the police would say anything either – why would they care a drunken man shot himself?"

Jacob grabbed a mug of ale and raised it in the air. "We take him out as soon as possible."

"We can't fight him in broad daylight. That'll just draw unwanted attention from the public," Evie debated, looking towards Henry for support. Henry raised his hands and kept his lips sealed. "We want the public to feel we are saving them. We don't want them to think we're the enemy."

"Kill the bastard, then hide the body. I say we throw it in the water. No one is ever going to check."

"What are we going to hide the body with?"

"Steal a carriage," he answered, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "Dump the body in there. Cover it up then drive." Evie brought a hand to her forehead. For a moment, he felt a pang of sympathy for her. Evie tried so hard to make these plans and ensure they were followed through correctly without mistake. No wonder she looked so stressed right now. "Come on, Evie. We've got this. I'll track him down."

"No. I'll handle him."

Jacob rolled his eyes. "This isn't the time for planning, Evie. If that was Bloody Nora he was seeing then they have a plan in motion. If we do things your way, he'll be dead at the end of the week." He pointed to himself. "We do things my way, and he'll be dead tomorrow."

"And there'll undoubtedly be a bloody path of destruction. I want to avoid as much bloodshed as possible."

He pouted. "You're no fun, sister."

"You can't take the Rooks with you."

"Why not?"

"Because they clearly aren't ready for something of this scale - they haven't had a day's training yet. We need to take the safest, but most effective option," Evie debated. "We track Robert to his base. When it's night, we'll strike. It'll be clean. No mess."

Jacob looked at Henry. Surprisingly, the man hadn't said anything, but then again they hadn't given him much opportunity to speak. "What do you say, Henry? Convince my sister that her idea is not the best plan for this."

Henry glanced in his direction first. "Both of you have raised fair points. Robert Strain needs to be stopped as soon as possible, but not using your preferred technique, Jacob." He then turned his attention towards Evie, held her gaze for a few moments then added, "This isn't going to be as simple as you both think – Robert Strain is a high ranking Templar. I'm sure he has a few tricks up his sleeve. We should treat this with caution. Who knows what the man is capable of doing?"

Slamming his drink on the table, Jacob sprung to his feet, glowering. "Of course you'd side with Evie!" Why must everyone always see the negatives in his plans? It was almost as if they purposefully overlooked the positives just so they had something to debate.

"Jacob-"

"I'm not listening to another word." He stormed towards the kitchen area, not sparing a glance at his sister and Henry. Marching up the stairs, he turned to the left, stopping at the door of the Charles and the other Rooks. He knocked several times. The door opened after the fifth knock. A tired Charles looked at him.

"What's the matter, boss?"

"We're going out. Get the boys ready."

"Where are we going?" Charles asked his eyes red. The poor man looked as if he hadn't slept in a few nights.

"The Thistle's Crown." Jacob pointed to the window. "We're going through there."

Charles's eyes widened. "Through a window? Why can't we just walk down the stairs?"

"Because I said so?" Jacob countered. Charles fell silent and nodded. The other Rooks lined up behind Charles, all peering at Jacob with curious expressions. "We're leaving. Now," he almost growled. That prompted the Rooks to move. Together, they walked over to the window. Jacob pushed it open and looked down. The drop wasn't too bad. There was a haystack conveniently placed directly below.

"That's a long way down, boss," Charles said, sticking his head out the window, peering down below.

Jacob sighed. "I'll go first, and I'll catch you." Honestly, it wasn't that bad. Just a two storey drop. Jumping off the Big Ben on the other hand… Now that was a real test of courage. "Just climb down. There are few ledges here you can hold onto," Jacob explained, climbing up onto the window's ledge.

"But-"

Too late. Jacob jumped off the ledge, falling right into the haystack. He uttered a few curses, spitting a few pieces of hay out of his mouth. Bloody haystacks. At least this one wasn't covering up a pile of horse faeces. That had been a rather unpleasant experience. Scrambling to his feet, he dusted himself off then glanced upwards. His men were slowly climbing down, clinging onto the ledges for dear life. He had to give them credit – at least they trying.

"Come on, lads. You're almost there." Eventually, they reached the bottom. Two of the Rooks lost their footing and plummeted into the haystack. The other three looked relieved they hadn't fallen. He grinned. "See? That wasn't so bad now, was it?"

"Why are we going back to the Thistle's Crown?" Charles said.

"And why aren't Henry and Evie coming along?" another Rook said.

"I promised you lads payment. We're going to claim it. You do want to be rewarded, right?"

The Rooks nodded. "Yes, boss," they chorused.

"As for Henry and Evie, they decided to give tonight a miss. They don't like drinking, you see. Makes no sense for them to come along. They'd only spoil the fun. Now quit the questions and just keep walking." The boys fell silent. Tonight was the night.

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Jacob Frye. It was an easy name to remember and an easy face to recall as well, especially with the sideburns and the ridiculous top hat. The man was going to pay for the little stunt he pulled at the Falcon's Nest, and he, Robert Strain, would have the honour. He climbed aboard a carriage, followed by three of his men.

"What's the plan, boss?"

Ah yes, the glorious game plan to shut down the suspected Assassin. It made a lot of sense. Assassins liked stealth and sticking to shady areas so they could make their kills undetected, but Nora's plan removed that game plan. Lure the Assassin out into the open right where the public could see them. He or she wouldn't be able to do anything without risking the lives of the public. Let the common people see the Assassin for what he truly was – a murderous brute. Not some saintly freedom fighter like the legends often depicted them as.

What was it? The three tenants of some silly Creed? He couldn't recall the finer details, but he knew there was something about 'not hurting the innocents' in there somewhere. Expose the Assassin's weaknesses and they could be defeated like any common man. "We are going to catch ourselves an Assassin."

"An Assassin? But boss, they're stealth masters. How are we going to find one out here in the open?"

Robert brought a hand to his face and tried not to strike the man. Fools. Why must he always be surrounded by idiots? "We are laying an ambush for the Assassin. We'll lure the Assassin out here in the open, and let them think they've won then we strike. The police force will have our backs."

The man's face brightened. "Oh, I see! But what if the Assassin doesn't come out to play?"

That could be a bit of a problem. The Assassin obviously knew there were Templars about otherwise they would not be here causing problems. "The Assassin will come, I'm sure of it. We'll encourage their participation. Assassins stand up for the weak, don't they? What say you and the men create a little bit of havoc here in the main street? If the Assassin truly wants to help, they will come after us."

"What should we do? Harass the locals?"

Hunt down some more filth and round them up. That was his favourite pastime – tracking down the poor and driving them off the streets. "We will start up the Hunt. Filth can be found anywhere in this area."

His Templar companion rubbed his palms together. The Hunt was the highlight of the Blighter life in Robert's part of the city. Once a week, they'd search the district for more people to round up. Factories weren't going to run by themselves after all. Many of them tried to resist, but Robert and his Templars put them back in their places easily.

"Which factory, sir?"

"Steelworks factory in the Strand. I lost a few men to an incident a fortnight ago. We'll round up some boys and convince them they will be paid well," Robert explained. Well, pay them enough money to survive the week. After all, they didn't deserve anything more. "Work hard and receive your portion." The brilliance of capitalism. Some argued it was evil, but he scoffed in their faces.

The incident had been a particularly nasty one though the fault rested on the fools who were trying to escape. According to one of his higher ranked Templars, the men tried to rebel against his authority, and tried to use the machinery against the supervisors. That had failed, resulting in the deaths of about six men. Needless to say, Bloody Nora wasn't too impressed and almost had him killed. Fortunately, the man lived – he was able to prove himself deserving of another chance.

"So where do we take them? To the main street of London?"

Robert reached into his pocket, pulling out the same map Nora had given him. He unfolded it, laid it out on his lap, and pointed. Nora had drawn black circles in places she wanted the Templars to be hiding in carriages, and black triangles for the police. She had also drawn a black line leading through the centre right to the King's Cross station. This was the route she wanted them to take. It was the most popular area in the city's central.

"It'll need to be done where the Assassin can see us," Robert said. He followed the line with a finger, stopping at the train station. "The police will join in the chase the moment we get onto the train, but up until the point, we'll be on our own. I hope your carriage driving skills are up to standard. We want as little carnage as possible."

The Templar peered over and pointed to the bridge over the river. "What if the Assassin tries to kill us? We'll have to defend ourselves."

"Don't fight back until this Assassin makes the first move. Remember, the locals will be out and about, carrying on their daily business. We don't want them to think we started it – let them think the worst of the Assassin, and the people will flock to us for help. Don't allow this Assassin to come to close," Robert added, tapping his left wrist. "Or else you'll find the Assassin's favoured weapon in your body."

"The trains only leave every thirty minutes. We don't want to be stuck around waiting for ages with the Assassin hot on our trail."

Robert nodded. "Indeed. That is why you are going to do what you can to give us some extra time encase we do have to wait a little bit longer, but we must stick to the route otherwise the police won't be able to find us."

He nodded. There was a pause then, "What if this Assassin succeeds?"

"Think positive, boy."

"Well, it's just that I've been reading the history books about the Assassins in other eras and they succeeded, and I was worried that-"

Robert Strain bopped him over the head with his right fist. "We are much more advanced than our brothers and sisters of the past. We will not fail. The Blighters will not fail. The Templar Order will not fail." And should by some miracle the Assassin succeeded, then the Templar Order would just rise up from the ashes anyway and history would repeat itself. "Now calm your fears. You'll need nerves of steel for what tomorrow will bring."

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There was laughter coming from within the tavern. The boys were back for another round of drinks it seemed, and that worked well in Jacob's favour. Tonight they would have a chance to redeem themselves and swear their allegiance to a far more noble cause. He approached the door then stopped, turning around to face Charles. "Hold this," he said, removing his hat, thrusting it into Charles's hands. The man was his favoured hat-holding lackey. Whoever held it was temporarily in charge. "Don't make any movements when we're inside. I'm going to show you lads how it's done."

Time to test out the brass knuckles Paul had gifted to him. He pulled them out, and examined them, figuring out how to equip them correctly. Slip the hand through the oval hole and slide the fingers through the other four? It sounded logical. It was a bit of tight squeeze for the wrist, but he managed to get his hands through.

"Whatever you say, boss."

Pulling his hood over his head, Jacob strolled up towards the door then flung it open. Laughter ceased immediately. The same eight men were present once more, all red in the face from too much drink. Jacob grabbed a chair, dragged it into the middle, the spindle facing away from him. He sat down, resting his arms on the rail top rail, keeping his expression neutral.

"Look what we have here, boys. It's the same lad who was here earlier in the week. Did you change your mind and come back?" Thomas said, his words earning bursts of laughter from his mates. "We don't take kindly to unwanted guests nor threats."

"I've returned to make amends. I want to make you an offer," Jacob started. "I want you to join me. Join the Rooks."

"Rooks? What kind of bloody name is that?" a man scorned. A few Templars sniggered.

"This ain't the slums boy," Thomas said. "Now why don't you turn around and walk back to whatever hole you crawled out of otherwise we'll have to force you out."

Jacob didn't move a muscle. He looked at Thomas, his gaze unflinching. The man looked to one of his friends then jerked his head in Jacob's direction. Ah, now the fun begins, Jacob thought. A man wearing a red coat came towards him, fists swinging. Jacob leaned to the side narrowly avoiding the punch then stood up. He and grabbed the man's arm and threw him to the ground.

The next man charged. Jacob picked up the chair with both hands, and raised it above his head, only to bring it crashing down on the approaching opponent. There was a sickening crack as the chair's spindle made contact with his back, splitting into halves. The man dropped to the floor, unconscious. Picking up the remains of the spindle, Jacob wielded it like a sword against his next opponent.

"Take him down, you fools!"

The third man didn't even have a chance to land a blow, falling to the ground, as Jacob drove the piece of wood into his hamstring. An anguished cry filled the air, as the man staggered backwards, hands clasped around the wooden piece, trying to rip it out. Two more men charged. He punched one guy in the face then spun around, driving his other fist into the man's jaw. Two more men knocked out.

"Get him, you idiots!" Thomas shrieked. He grabbed another man by the shirt and shoved him forward right into Jacob's path. Jacob easily pushed him aside. Thomas took a few steps backwards into the bench. Hands flung down to his pocket then he brought them forward, grasping the hilt of a small knife.

Thomas slashed the knife at him. Jacob drew his head back, missing the tip of the blade by a mere inch. Infuriated, Jacob brought his head forward, forehead smashing into Thomas's nose. The man dropped the knife, his right hand moving to the injured flesh. His left hand dug into the inside pocket of his brown coat. Seconds later, he pulled out a gun and fired. Fortunately, he missed.

Jacob grabbed his arm then shoved him into counter, slamming his face down into the bench. He dragged him along the bench, ensuring Thomas's face made contact with as many glasses and items as possible. He grabbed him by the nape of the neck and shoved him to the ground. The surrounding men all took a few steps back, frightened.

Thomas tried to crawl away, hands reaching for an item to defend himself with. Jacob sauntered over, stood over him then grabbed the man by the nape of the neck again, flipping him over onto his back. "You fucking bastard." He drew back a fist and punched him in the right cheekbone. "Let's make this a fair fight, shall we?" He raised his left arm, activated his hidden blade, and prepared to drive it through his heart.

"Uh… Mr. Frye! Boss! Can we… uh, split the payment?"

Panting, Jacob glanced up. Bloody Rooks. He looked around him. The Templars were standing as far back as they could, expressions of shock written on their faces. He then remembered the hidden blade. Shit. Now everyone including his Rooks knew just what he was. Deactivating the blade, he reached a hand down into Thomas's pocket, fingers brushing up against a stash of notes. He shoved it into Thomas's mouth then rose to his feet. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Evie was going to murder him when she found out.

Look confident, he told himself. Act normal. He walked past the Templars and the Rooks in the bar, trying to keep a vacant expression. He was so royally fucked now. All he could think of right now was the repeated use of the word 'fuck'. Evie was never going to trust him to handle a task on his own without supervision. "Take as much as you want – I don't care how you choose to use it," he said to Charles before walking out of the bar.

"I'm… I'm going to join the Rooks," a Templar said.

"Yeah, me too. I don't get paid enough for this shit," said another.

It was supposed to be a night worth celebrating considering the Rooks had just gained a few more members, but how could he celebrate now knowing what awaited him at home? He swore again. Fucking hell.

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We are progressing slowly! We're about halfway through now! Reviews are much appreciated, as always!