Chapter Eleven: Fire and Ice
LONDON DAILY POST (Evening Edition)
The Weather Overcast, Rain Imminent
Vol. XCII No. CCCXIII, Friday Evening, July 20, 1869, 10 pages
"Bar Brawl Claims the Lives of Two Men"
Police are investigating a horrific scene at The Thistle's Crown after the bodies of two young men were found. What started off as a social gathering for a close group of friends ended in tragedy as the popular tavern came under attack. Survivors described the male offender as a 'brash, brutal and reckless killer' who single-handedly defeated more than five men.
"He just came in here and started fighting us!" a witness exclaimed.
"We didn't even know who he was!" another witness says.
This brutal killing is the third incident to occur this month. Earlier in July, two missing reports were filed for two men, George (20) and Harry (19). Both these men were reported missing after failing to show up for work. This is the first killing spree London has faced since the 1850's, and police believe more will come.
"An unfortunate tragedy has occurred here today. I give my blessings to the family and friends of these unfortunate men. I swear on behalf the police force that we will work day and night to find this murderer and bring him to justice to face his crimes," says Chief of the London Police, Isaac Rico (37).
The victims were killed- "Hey, I was reading that!" Jacob snapped, as his sister snatched the paper out of his hands, throwing it down on the table. He tried to make a grab for it, but his sister moved it out of the way, and stood in front, guarding it. "What's the big deal? I had nothing to do with it!" he lied.
She crossed her arms over her chest, a look of disappointment in her eyes. "Don't lie to me, Jacob Frye. I know you had something to do with this."
"It could've been anyone."
Evie moved aside and turned to the paper. She flipped to the next page where there was an image of a man on the ground with a wooden piece sticking out of his leg. The name Peter Miles (18) was written beneath it. "Doctors had to amputate his leg, but something went wrong, and the man bled to death on the floor of the bar." She then drew his attention to the next picture which was a sketch of a man who had been hit over the head with a chair. "This one had his back broken. He's crippled for life, and will probably die within the next few days."
"Anyone could've done that."
She picked up the paper. "Harry Styles (19) is reported to have sustained a broken jaw during the conflict. The young adult explained it in writing that he had been hit with knuckles made of steel. If that doesn't convince you then perhaps this image will." She turned the page again, pointing a finger at a sketch of a man with a blade sticking out beneath his left wrist, preparing to strike a wounded man on the floor.
His stomach muscles tightened, a slow bubbling pit of fury beginning to rise. Who the fuck had ratted him out? Thomas? "I should've fucking killed the motherfucking asshole…" he muttered darkly. Now the entire community would be aware that there was a serial killer on the loose. People knew what he looked like as well, or at least were aware of his basic clothing attire.
"After everything that has happened!" she said, dropping the paper on the table. He grabbed it, tore out the first page, scrunched it up into a ball and threw it on the floor. "You still insist on charging into these fights as if you have nothing to lose!"
Evie rarely expressed anger – most of the time all she had to do was look deep in his eyes and give him the look that read, 'I'm disappointed in you' and that would be enough. But now? She was unlike herself, looking at him with genuine anger, her emerald eyes alight.
Defensive, his mouth curled. "This doesn't change anything. So a few Templars died – who cares? They're Templars, Evie. They're not innocent."
"That doesn't give you the right to charge into taverns and pick fights with people just because you want to!"
Thankfully, there were no Rooks in sight. Henry wasn't present either. Paul couldn't be seen and Clara was probably still sleeping. It was just him and his sister in an empty bar arguing at the break of dawn. What a fine way to start the day. "At least I'm doing something for our cause!" he retorted, temper flaring. He surged to his feet and scowled. "I'm getting results! I'm recruiting people! You sit here and do nothing!"
Evie's bottom lip curled. He thought she was going to shout back, but she was better than that. "I'm trying to keep us organized, Jacob," she added in a gentler tone, anger gone. "We were going to do this one step at a time together as a team." She pointed to the crunched up paper on the floor and added, "But this changes everything."
"So the Templars know there's an Assassin! They still can't confirm that it's me."
"You're missing the point. They are going to do everything in their power to find you."
"Then let them come!" he snarled. "I'm not afraid of Templars."
Closing her eyes, Evie brought her hands to her head and rubbed her temples. "What comes next, brother? An all out gang-warfare in the open streets? Will your actions draw attention to our Rooks? Who will next pay the price of this conflict?"
"No man or woman serving under our banner will die."
She tilted her head to the side. "There are always casualties in war, brother. You've made the first move, and the Templars are going to retaliate. I hope you are proud of yourself."
The disappoint cut through him like a hidden blade. It was even worse than being shot. Gun wounds healed in a few days, but words forever remained. He tried to think of something that would help settle the situation and make his sister feel less stressed, but instead he reacted as he usually did – with anger. "Perhaps if you weren't so intent on treating me like a child then none of this would be happening!" he blurted, accusing. He pointed a finger at her face and walked towards her, his scowl deepening.
"Excuse me?"
He exploded in anger. "You're always trying to control me! Ever since we were children, you were always trying to boss me around! Was it because you were able to master the skills quicker? Or was it because you thought I was too stupid to know the difference between right or wrong?!" It was cold inside and out, but he felt as if he had been standing near a fireplace for hours.
"Do you know the difference, brother? Do you know what the difference between right and wrong is because lately you've been pushing the boundaries."
He threw both hands up in the air. "What? The fucking Creed? You're going to bring this up now?" He forced a laugh, drew in a deep breath then continued. "Hide in plain sight? To run like a dog with its tail between its legs from conflict?"
"To not draw attention to ourselves to avoid situations like this," she defended. "It has nothing to do with running away."
"And what's the other tenant… Don't compromise the Brotherhood. We don't have a Brotherhood, Evie! We're not bound to irrelevant rules!" He picked up the remaining pieces of paper, rolled it up into a tube and shook it at her face. "We do what we want, take whatever we want whenever we need it. That is how it should be!"
"You're going to bring war on all our heads, Jacob! Don't you see that? We're all in danger – not just you," she pleaded. "If you keep carrying on the way you do this will only end in blood."
He was past the point of caring now. The Templars knew who there was an Assassin on the loose and he was going to end them before they could become a real threat. "I'm not going to stop, Evie. I will never surrender. Unlike you, I choose not to be bound by some long dead Creed. It'd be better if you did the same." He pushed past her, keeping his eyes averted, as to not meet with her own, and made his way to the entrance.
"Where are you going?"
He stopped at the doorway and glanced over his shoulder. "To kill a man called Robert fucking Strain. Don't try to stop me." Drawing in a quivering breath, Jacob stormed out of the tavern, his blood boiling. It always came back to the fucking Creed and its lousy tradition! He pushed past a couple of local people, ignoring their gestures and stares then stopped by a street light. With a frustrated growl, he slammed a fist against it. It wasn't much, but hitting things or people brought him some respite.
"Crawled out of the wrong side of bed, did you?" a deep voice spoke.
Jacob glanced up, and spotted two males standing before him. One wore a green coat and a top hat, and other man wore a simple white buttoned up shirt and brown pants. "If you're here for a few drinks then you've come to the wrong place. The mood is sour today," Jacob replied, hoping the two men would leave.
"It's a pleasure to meet you too," the man with the green coat said.
Jacob gritted his teeth. "What the fuck do you want?"
The man dug a hand down into his pocket. He pulled his hand out several seconds later, fingers clasped around a roll of newspaper. Jacob was half-tempted to snatch it out of the man's hand and smack him over the head with it. How many times today would he have to see the bold blaring headline? The man unfurled it and drew Jacob's attention to the front page. "I've gotta say, I'm impressed with your work. Very efficient," he drawled.
He pulled away from the street light, feeling the blood pounding in his head. He was still pissed at Evie for her words, and now his path was blocked by these two men. Normally, he wouldn't turn down good company and an opportunity to make some friends, but right now he just wanted to be alone. "Cheers, now fuck off."
The two men remained in their place. The top hat-wearing man chuckled, folded the paper back into a roll and put it away. He took a few steps closer, his smirk widening. "Charming response. Look, I'm just giving you a compliment. Taking down those Templars… I say good riddance to those creeps. It's about time someone stood up for the working class."
Jacob frowned, tilting his head to one side, suspicions rising as he took a closer look at these men. He then remembered where he had seen these faces before. They had been at the tavern the previous week as spectators of his fight with John. "You've been following me."
"I wanted to meet with you in person after that showcase of skill in the bar earlier this week," the man drawled. "Very impressive. I've seen a lot of fights myself before, but none as riveting as that performance. I think you and I would make good friends." He extended a hand. "My name is Abraham, and this is Tiny."
Abraham and Tiny. The names sounded familiar to him, but he couldn't quite recall all the details. Charles had mentioned them earlier on – something about two ex-criminals or something like that. "Jacob Frye," he replied, accepting the handshake, anger diminishing. "You lads not a fan of Templars then."
"If we were, we would've reported you to the police," Abraham replied, pulling his hand away. "We could sit down at a bar somewhere and trade stories over a couple of drinks if you're interested. I might know some things that could be of some use to you."
"That sounds all well and good, but I have places to be right now." He prepared to carry on walking down the street, but Abraham and Tiny stepped out in front of his path. He held back a growl. "You want to help my cause? Step aside and enter through the doors of this tavern instead. Ask for a woman called Evie. She can fill you in with the details."
He pushed past them, and this time they let him walk. He felt their eyes staring into his back, no doubt they had a lot of questions that needed answering, but killing Robert Strain was far more important. Blood was going to be spilled, and anyone else who dared to stand in his way, would become the first person to receive the end of his new melee weapon.
.
Evie watched her brother storm out the building, slamming the door as hard as he could. A voice inside her head told her to go after him and try to change his mind, but her heart told her it was better this way. Her brother was angry – probably at himself for last night (though he would never admit that) – and arguing with her first thing in the morning did nothing to lift his mood.
She looked down at the paper again. The first page was now a crunched up ball on the floor. At least he hadn't torn it to shreds nor used it as a weapon to hit something or someone. Sometimes he had a habit of breaking things when he was angry though she supposed he had Robert's face to break instead. She sat down. The Templars now knew there was an Assassin in town. Plans had to change to accommodate that. She wondered how much they actually knew.
"Is it safe to come out now?"
She turned to the bartender who had spent the entire time crouching behind the counter listening in. Just what was he going to think now? Would he regret welcoming the Assassins into his humble home? 'I'm sorry you had to hear that," Evie replied.
He walked around the counter and came to sit by her side. "I've heard worse."
"My brother… He's… Difficult." Difficult was an understatement. He could be a nightmare at times, especially when in one of his foul moods.
He placed a hand on her shoulder. "It's normal for siblings to fight. Don't beat yourself up over it," he said, before withdrawing his arm.
"I think he resents me deep down." Perhaps he still felt the same hurt from all those long years ago when Evie had gained the ranking of Master Assassin. Jacob hadn't even come close. "He never brings it up, but I know he still hasn't recovered from the day I became a Master Assassin." Her father had been so proud, while her brother had arrived late, looking as if he had been in a fight again.
Paul looked down at the paper and pulled it towards him. "First page is missing?"
"There it is," she said, gesturing to the ball on the floor.
He glanced down and studied it for a moment then lifted his gaze. "If I had known this was going to happen, I would never have given him the brass knuckles…"
Brass knuckles? That was news to her. "What are they?"
Paul looked equally surprised. "He never told you?"
"No?"
"Yesterday morning I talked to your brother. I told him about our city and what the Templars had done in the absence of your Brotherhood. He told me why the both of you had come here to London. I found his reasons to be noble and deserving of an old Brotherhood artefact," Paul said. "I should be apologizing. I gave him the weapons."
She shook her head. "No, it's not your fault. He would've found something else to use against them, but don't doubt my brother's intentions – it may be hard to see through his cocky façade, but he does care about the people here."
"You have a lot of faith in him."
"I believe he can still be saved." Her thoughts drifted to the last conversation she had with her father, Ethan Frye.
"Evie, promise me this. Never lose track of what you are fighting for," her father said, clasping his fingers around her own, as the man took his final breaths.
Tears rolled down her cheeks. For the past few hours, she sat at his bedside, tending to his needs. He didn't ask for much – just for her to be there to listen. "I will never turn my back on the Creed, father. I will rebuild the British Brotherhood."
The man coughed. Flecks of blood covered his palm. "The Brotherhood…" He mustered up a weak smile, blood covering his lower lip. He was so pale, and so drained of energy. It broke her heart to see him like this. "…Your aspirations are noble."
For days he had been stuck in this bed. It had started out as a common cold then turned into something far worse. Medicines were given, but none seemed to have any effect on his health. He claimed he was paying for his own sins and that he deserved death. "I can make it happen. There'll be a day where the Brotherhood rises up from the ashes, and I will be its leader."
He smiled again. "…I am certain you will… You are my greatest accomplishment. I know you will not fail me." His smile faltered, as the coughed up more blood. "…Where is your brother?"
Jacob had decided to take the afternoon off and cause trouble in the streets. He didn't want to see father, especially since the last time they had met it had ended in an argument. "…Stopping Templars," she said. It was a lie, but she didn't want her father to remember her brother in a negative light. Often, she lied to her brother as well to repair the relationship he had with their father, hoping that someday they'd reunite and put aside their differences. That day didn't look like it would ever come.
A single tear drop trailed down his cheek. Evie brought her thumb forward and caught it, then jumped, startled, when her father grabbed her arm. "…You need to save him, Evie. Only you can do it. Succeed where I failed."
"What do you mean?" Perhaps he was running a fever again? "I will always be there to support my brother no matter what."
Her father's fingers tightened around her hand, his grip surprisingly strong considering his health. "I know you've been lying to me, Evie. I know you'll always defend your brother because you care about him, even if deep down you know that he is wrong. Perhaps if my convictions were as strong as yours then maybe…" He coughed again, as another tear rolled down his face. "Your love for your brother will save him… I know you'll make the right decision even if it breaks your heart. Succeed where I failed."
"Evie?"
Evie pulled herself out of trance and glanced sideways. Paul was watching her, eyebrow raised, concerned. "Jacob and our father never had a strong relationship," Evie said softly. "Jacob found our father's ways to be too strict and restrictive so he ran. He never grew to understand the Creed, despite our father's efforts to help steer him in the right direction. He's always lived by his own rules because there aren't any set ones to follow in gang fight."
"Your father was disappointed?"
"Jacob's rejection of him broke his heart," she said. "His condition would've improved but he refused to help himself. He didn't want to take the medications – he blamed himself for my brother's behaviour and it killed him." She looked down, hands resting on her lap. Her hands were clutching her knees.
"He died of shame?"
"That's what I believe," she said then paused, biting her bottom lip to stop it from trembling. "Perhaps it would help if I shared a little of our upbringing with you. Mother died during our birth, and father raised us to be Assassins to keep us strong. We both swore upon the oath, but my brother soon turned his back."
Paul furrowed his brows and leaned forward, elbows resting on the edge of the table. "Do you know why?"
She pulled her gaze away for a brief moment to look out the window. The skies were a threatening grey. Bleak weather. She hoped that wasn't an omen for today's events. With a sigh, she turned back to Paul again. "As I mentioned earlier, my brother didn't take kindly to father's teachings so he ran to the streets and sought comfort there from the others that were also lost. He claimed he found a kinship with the men that he could not find at home. Of course, father disproved when he learned Jacob was holding tournaments in the alley ways. He called him 'his greatest disappointment'."
She remembered it all too clearly as if it had happened yesterday. Her brother had come home one Friday afternoon with a vertical cut on his right eyebrow, blood trailing down the open wound, a smirk plastered on his face. "Go on."
"Jacob told us of his victory and shared with us his prize money, but father was not impressed. He forbade Jacob from leaving the house, believing his new friends were corrupting his mind." She forced a dry laugh. "The following morning Jacob stormed up to our father, looked him square in the eyes, and told him that he was leaving and was never coming back. He said he found another family on the streets and that they welcomed him with open arms." She brought a hand to her right eye and wiped it with the back of her right hand.
"I'm not returning, father. This is the last you'll see of me," Jacob said. The wound on his right eyebrow had now clotted, but the scar would forever remain. A permanent reminder of this day. "I have a new place to call home and they don't scorn me like you do. At least they appreciate my talents."
"You're not leaving this home. You are my son, and I forbid you to leave."
Jacob glared. "You do not rule over me, father. Not anymore. I'm strong enough now to run free without your help."
A look of pain flashed in their father's eyes, but Jacob didn't seem to notice. "Think about what you're doing, Jacob – you choose to walk out that door and you walk out on your family. The men you call friends will never replace us."
"Maybe one day you'll learn to appreciate me for who I am and not what you want me to." Jacob turned his back and headed towards the door. Before exiting, he added, "But I will never forgive you – you're dead to me."
"I'm sorry."
"Once there was a time our family was united as one. We swore to one another that family was everything and we would never turn our backs on each other. Always and forever," she said softly, a temporarily smile crossing her face. Why was it that the memories that hurt the most were the ones easiest to remember? "Jacob's leaving broke my father – he couldn't live with what he had done. He believed he had helped foster the beast within my brother, instead of taming it." She looked up, meeting his gaze. "My brother doesn't know our father's true cause of death - and it should stay that way."
Paul coked his head to the side, brows furrowed. "But why not tell him the truth? If you want to protect him, shouldn't he know?"
She shook her head. A loose strand of hair fell in front of her right eye. "Jacob struggled to cope with father's passing. Despite his anger towards the man, he loved father deep down, even if he didn't admit it openly. If he knew our father died because of shame, what do you think will happen then?" He was already pushing the boundaries. She didn't need to give him a reason to overstep that boundary because once that happened there would be no return. "Please, don't tell my brother. He's broken, but not beyond repair. If he learns about this…" She trailed off, pushing the loose strand back behind her ear.
"I understand."
She mustered up a smile, relieved. "I never meant to bring this mess under your roof, but I will do what I can to fix it."
"You needn't worry about me – I'm used to mess. This is a bar, remember?" He smiled. "Now, keep your chin up, and do what needs to be done."