An update at last. It really shouldn't take me so long to update since the story is finished, but I'm just slow.
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Chapter Thirteen: The Midnight Assassin
He froze. A cold chill raced down his spine. Emerging from the shadows were a handful of police officers, all armed with guns. He turned around, searching for an escape, but the police were there too, slowly walking across the train tracks. He was surrounded, cornered like an animal in the rain. It was then it dawned on him the entire chase had been planned all along.
"Make one move and we'll shoot!"
Fuck.
"Hands behind your head! Now!"
He raised his hands behind his head and slowly lowered himself to the ground. Two policemen walked up behind him to bind his wrists together with thick rope, fastening it firmly so it cut into his wrists. So much for trying to get away, but perhaps there was a still a chance. He looked around. There were policeman standing in all directions, covering every escape route, and some were even positioned on the roof tops. Perhaps not.
The officers pulled him up from the ground, and pushed him forward, prompting him to walk. They watched him like a hawk. If he tried to escape, they'd most likely shoot him dead. He was after all the infamous serial killer of London. He wondered if they had yet come up with a name for him as they often did with killers.
He was brought forwards to a large man with a thick moustache. His eyes were as blue as the sky, and as cold as ice. A visible scar ran down the centre of his left eyebrow while the right one was half shaved off. His mouth seemed to be fixed in a scowl, as if he was physically incapable of smiling. He was also a good head taller, and carried himself around as if he were a member of royalty.
Jacob was forced down to the ground again, kneeling before whom he suspected was the chief of police. "Isaac Burton, Chief of London Police," the man said, his voice deep and hoarse. "You, Jacob Frye, are under arrest for the murders of George Smith, Harry Styles, Harry Greenwood and Peter Miles. You are also under arrest for drunken behaviour in public, being a public disturbance, theft, creating mayhem and inflicting grievous bodily harm."
Bloody Robert fucking Strain. The Templar prick had outsmarted him. The man had gotten the last word after all. No wonder he was smiling when he died. Just what was Evie going to think when she read this on the papers the following morning? According to the public, he was a notorious serial killer. Just how on earth was he going to get out of this mess?
"There won't be a trial for you, Mr. Frye. Someone who has committed your crimes doesn't deserve a fair chance. Lian and Tom - check this criminal's pockets and remove his weapons."
"At once, sir!"
The two officers that had bound his wrists together came forward and started checking him for weapons. Lian checked his pants and boots for hidden weapons, whilst Tom checked his coat. Jacob gritted his teeth. At least the cane sword was safe back under his bed at the Seven Bells. That was something they didn't have.
"Revolver, kukri, and some brass knuckles," Tom reported, laying out the weapons on the ground.
Lian started working on removing the gauntlet. Jacob waited. Any moment now and… A piercing cry erupted from his throat. Clutching an arm, Lian staggered backwards, eyes brimming with tears, face contorting with pain. The boy had triggered the hidden blade and now had a deep wound through his wrist.
"You're probably going to have that amputated," Jacob commented.
He was greeted with a punch to the face. He fell over on his side, a deep groan passing through his lips. That hurt. Gazing up, he spotted Isaac towering over him, scowl deepening. "You'll spend tonight in the jailhouse. Tomorrow you'll face the death sentence. A fitting end for a criminal of your calibre. Tom, remove the glove."
Tom bit his bottom lip, approaching the glove with caution. Lian howled in the background, lying on the ground, arm clutched to his chest. The gauntlet was removed and thrown onto the floor with the other weapons. Never had he felt so vulnerable as he did right now. Not that he often relied on weapons other than his bare hands, but he felt so exposed.
"An interesting arsenal of weapons you have here, Mr. Frye," Isaac said, eyes studying his tools. "They don't sell these weapons here in London shops." He then turned back around. Jacob thought he saw the corners of the man's mouth curve upwards into a twisted smile, but he might've just been imagining it. "You're an outsider, aren't you? Well, it doesn't matter what you are. From tomorrow onwards, you're not going to matter. You'll be nothing more than a name written in the criminal books. Put him in the carriage!"
A carriage turned around the corner at the precise moment. It only confirmed his suspicions this entire scenario had been planned. Isaac grabbed him by the back of his collar and pulled him up to standing position. It was a struggle climbing into the seat without his hands. A few men snickered as he clumsily climbed in, using his chin to assist. Isaac pushed him from behind. He stumbled over and fell on the floor of the carriage.
Isaac climbed in after, pulled Jacob upright, then sat down in the driver's seat. "Your reign of chaos is over, Mr. Frye."
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Henry was growing increasingly worried about Evie. She had spent the past thirty minutes pacing back and forth, fingers drumming on her lower lip. Jacob hadn't returned yet. Four hours had since passed since he had departed on his kill Robert Strain mission. "I should've done more to stop him," she told herself.
"You did all you could," Henry assured. "I'm sure your brother is fine. He might take things to the extreme, but he's always gotten the job done, right?"
She looked at him. "He's going to kill a Templar in broad daylight. This isn't going to end well. Whenever he goes on a rampage, something bad happens."
He placed his hands on both her shoulders and looked directly into her eyes. "Evie, this isn't you. You're the calm one. Stop stressing." It was rare to see the elder twin looking so worried. Even in pressure heavy situations, she always retained a cool head and composed state. He wondered what could have happened to make her so anxious. Another fight with Jacob? That was often a good reason. Anyone fighting with her brother was bound to feel jittery afterwards.
"I should go and find him. He's probably found himself in trouble again." Evie pulled away from him and made a break for the door, but he stepped in front of her path, blocking her exit. "Henry, please step aside."
"You can't leave the Rooks here on their own," Henry said. The Rooks were currently out the back in the kitchen learning how to cook. Paul had decided if they were going to stay here they needed to help out with running the bar. Things had not been turning out so well. There had already been a few mini explosions. One Rook had ran out of the kitchen area, black scorch marks all over his face. "You're their leader as well, Evie. If you leave now, they're going to follow. They're not ready for something like this – not yet."
She brought a hand to her forehead, rubbed a temple then exhaled deeply. "You're right."
"I'll find Jacob, and I'll bring him home, all right?"
She held his gaze for a couple of moments longer then nodded. "I know you will." She glanced over her shoulder. "The Rooks are growing restless. They feel my brother has abandoned them. I don't know what I can do to settle them."
So her brother's disappearance wasn't the only source behind her stress. The Rooks were a concern to her too. "Do they bother you?"
"They make me feel uneasy," she said. "They're boisterous, messy and careless. I can handle my brother, but these men are criminals. I don't trust them."
Henry didn't trust them either. Who knew what sort of crimes these boys had committed? Who could even know if these men were going to remain loyal to the Fryes after the Templar presence was removed? For all he knew they could just be agreeing to help to further their own ambition. All they could do was hope Jacob could hold them together. "You're going to have to pretend that you do, Evie. You're responsible for them now, remember?"
"I suppose I could try and teach them a few things," she murmured. He could already see a plan formulating in her mind. That was the Evie he knew. The one who was could see what needed to be done in advance.
"You've taught Assassins before."
"Assassins are easy to tutor," she said. "They're willing to learn and listen, and they follow the same set of morals. These people my brother recruited only desire coin."
"Then reward them with coin for a job well done. They'll be eager to prove themselves, and they'll work harder."
She lifted a brow. "I didn't expect that from you, Henry. What happened to 'this is complete madness'?"
"We can't reverse what's already been done," Henry explained. "We'll need as many loyal men and woman as possible if we hope to survive this ordeal. You're brother has started a war, and it can't be won with one man."
She ran a hand through her hair. "Don't remind me."
"I'll be back by dawn tomorrow. Keep the Rooks settled."
"Don't be late."
He nodded in response then turned his back to leave. Things were looking pretty grim. Jacob was off somewhere in London most likely caught up in trouble, the Rooks were becoming unsettled without their leader already and Evie was stressed. Not to mention the two latest recruits, Abraham and Tiny, made them both uneasy. It was something in the eyes that brought him discomfort – there was no emotion at all. He turned the right corner and headed down the footpath, being sure to pay attention to the conversations of passerby's. Eavesdropping was often the best way to obtain information without having to do the work yourself.
"…Two horses drowned they say…"
"…It was the murderer! I saw him myself speed past!"
"…I saw him steal a carriage…"
Local gossip. Hard to tell what was true and what wasn't, but all those stories definitely sounded like something Jacob would do. Where on earth was he now?
"…I saw this guy just jump down from the side of a building into a haystack!"
That confirmed it. Definitely Jacob Frye. He continued walking up the street, taking brisk steps, hoping to come across some more information. He didn't have to walk very far when he spotted a woman wailing in the streets. People were walking around her, doing their best to avoid talking to her.
"Please, I need coin! I won't be able to feed my family tonight!" the woman wailed. Henry noticed there was a black mark beneath one of her eyes. Punched? He approached her. Her eyes fixed on him, relief washing over her face. "You look like a kind man! Please, I need coin!"
"What happened to you?"
"I was robbed! My money stolen by a thief! He took my horses as well and left me with nothing but this bruise on my face!" she cried.
Never harm the innocent, the first tenant of the Creed broken. The second tenant had been broken yesterday, and he wouldn't be surprised to know if the third one had been broken as well. That was Jacob Frye in a nutshell –always finding new ways to overstep boundaries. "Here, take this," Henry said, handing the woman a pouch of pounds. Her eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Can you tell me where this criminal went?"
She pointed to the north. "That way."
"Thank you. Take care of yourself."
He continued walking, leaving the stunned woman behind. So Jacob had taken to stealing carriages and beating up people now? What other chaos had he gotten up to? Now he could see why Evie was so worried. Her brother was flirting with danger. It was almost as if he wasn't aware of what the consequences his actions would bring until it was too late.
He turned the corner and covered a few more metres when he spotted a crowd of people huddled around chattering. Pushing his way through the crowd, he reached the front to see what all the fuss was about. A dead horse. Shot in the side. Some of the children were crying. "What happened here?" Henry asked an elderly fellow standing to his right.
"There was a big fight," the man said, gesturing to the fallen horse. "The Templars were shooting at this man, and they missed."
A gun fight in public? He had a feeling the Templars started that one. Jacob didn't like using long ranged weapons unless he had no other choice. "Which direction did they take?" The man pointed north. Up ahead in the distance he saw a few people examining something on the ground. A corpse most likely. "Thanks."
What a path of destruction. Every couple of metres he learned just a little bit more about the 'big chase'. That was what the locals were referring to. They spoke of it as if it was the most exciting thing that had happened all year. It probably was. He quickened his pace. Soon he reached the group who were studying a fallen Templar.
He was alive. He heard the man wheezing, calling for medical assistance. Some of the people tried to help them, but none looked qualified for the role. He continued moving, breaking out into a steady jog. He saw the remains of a broken carriage to the left. The horses had broken free, and there were people gathering around, looking to pinch what was ever left.
He soon reached the bridge. Again, there was a large crowd. Most of them were peering over the western side, glancing downwards. Some of them were pointing in the distance. A few police officers were trying to escort people away from what was quickly becoming a crime scene. He hurried past them, avoiding their gaze by blending in with the crowd. Last thing he wanted was to draw attention to himself.
Eventually, he reached the other side of the crowded bridge. Police officers were doing their best to drive people away from the scene, but they refused to leave. A few fights started to break out. One man shoved an officer. The officer shoved back. Someone else joined in and threw a punch. Within seconds, an all-out brawl happened.
"…Something is happening! Look! Over there to the left!"
Henry looked. He saw the train station to the left. For a moment, he didn't understand why people were looking at the train station then he saw the reason for the excitement. Across from the train station was the Metropolitan Police cells used for holding criminals for twenty four hours. Some criminals were freed if they could pay up. If they couldn't afford the fee, they were moved to Pentonville Prison.
The building itself wasn't impressive. It was a rather small building, no bigger than the Seven Bells tavern, built out of orange bricks with small windows. It was three storeys high. The higher the level, the smaller the windows were. He suspected that's where the criminals were kept overnight while they awaited their fate. Before the building was a group of officers. They appeared to be escorting a man dressed in a black trench coat inside.
It couldn't be anyone else but the younger Frye sibling. "What sort of trouble have you gotten yourself into now, Jacob?" he murmured. Getting inside the building was going to be no easy task. Right now it was guarded. Killing the officers was forbidden – they weren't Templars after all, and really hadn't done anything wrong other than enforce the law.
He gazed upwards. Night was still a few hours away. He had a few hours to come up with a plan and rescue the younger twin before he was transferred to the impenetrable Pentonville Prison. He studied the building again. As with many buildings in the city, the cells had a chimney. He drew in a deep breath and moved away from the excited crowd, heading towards the train station where he could spy from a distance.
Bloody Jacob Frye.
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He fell on the hard floor, face-first. With a groan, he forced himself upright, and cast a scathing look at his gaolers. The two men just laughed, and locked the gate of the iron bars. His hands were still bound – Isaac believed he was too dangerous so the rope remained, cutting into the skin of his wrists. He could feel blood seeping through the wounds and that only agitated him further. It didn't really matter though since escape was impossible. There was a window but it was so small, not even a rabbit could fit through.
The room itself was bare. There was a wooden bed pushed up against the eastern wall lacking sheets and pillows, and a single bare bench on the opposite side. Up against the northern wall was a small white bucket, half filled with suspicious murky brown water. He sat down on the bed. No weapons. No way of escape. Things were looking were pretty grim. Evie and Henry would most likely come looking for him once they noticed he was taking too long. He just had to hope they'd come and get him soon otherwise he'd face the death penalty which was rumoured to take place at Pentonville Prison.
At the moment, he was sitting in a station guard's cell. Apparently, someone of importance wanted to speak with him privately before the execution was to take place. He climbed to his feet again and walked over to the iron bars trying to get a glimpse of the exterior of his cell. His two gaolers had left, but he could clearly hear their laughter echoing throughout the hall.
"Do not make yourself too comfortable, Mr. Frye," Isaac said, approaching from the left side, clutching a paper on his left hand. The man was still dressed in his black uniform though he had abandoned the helmet. He strode up to the bars and smiled. "We have been tracking your activities for a few weeks now. It was thanks to an event at The Thistle's Crown were we able to gain a lead on you."
Jacob snorted. "A bit slow on the take, aren't you?"
The smile widened. "Save your insults, Mr. Frye. They will not help you now."
"What do you want then? Did you come here to watch me?"
"I'm fascinated in you, that's all. I've served the Metropolitan Police for a decade now. I've caught rapists, thieves, beggars, and the occasional murderer, but you Mr. Frye – you are a different kind of animal." He pushed the newspaper through the bars, a wry smile spreading across his face. Jacob looked down and read the first headline.
"The Midnight Assassin," he read slowly. He glanced up, and cocked an eyebrow. "Surely, they could've come up with a better name than that?"
"It's a title that sells," Isaac replied. He started pacing back and forth, one hand behind his back, the other rubbing his chin. "Four men dead, all of whom who served the Templars. Four more Templars died yesterday during your rampage through the streets. A woman robbed in broad daylight, buildings damaged in the streets, and a few dead horses. Something tells me you have problems with people in respectable positions and that you have a taste for chaos."
Jacob gave a sardonic laugh. "You know nothing."
"Oh, but I think I know you better than you think, Mr. Frye," Isaac said curtly. "All the killers that I have brought to justice all had problems with upbringing. Daddy issues, divorce, financial problems… You know the sort. I believe you fit into one or two of those categories. What was it, then? You grew up in the slums or was it that your daddy didn't love you enough? Perhaps it was a combination of both."
"What if I said it was neither of those things?"
"Then I would say that I don't believe you. Everyone has a reason for their actions. Some are fuelled by greed and power, others lust for money." He stopped walking and looked at Jacob again, a knowing smile on his face. "Everyone wants to feel important in this era, and who could blame them? This is the age of innovation and invention, the beginnings of a new and better world."
He was reminded vaguely of Robert Strain. They were both in positions of respectable authority, and believed in the new world idea, except Isaac was the Chief of Police and not a Blighter. "You didn't just visit my cell to talk about the new world. Why did you come?"
"I want to know why you killed those people. What motivation did you have for committing such a vile deed?"
"Why does it matter what I say? Want to hear the confessions of a dead man?"
Isaac chuckled, though there was no humour in his laughter. "Perhaps I'm interested in getting to understand you better. It's not very often I have a chance to talk face to face with a serial killer."
"How about you untie my hands and then we'll talk."
He laughed again, his eyes alive with mirth. "You will talk. Bloody Nora will make sure of that." Bloody Nora, as in the leader of the Blighters? She was the important person who was coming here to talk with him? A muscle jerked in his jaw. "I see you recognize the name, that's good. Whatever Bloody Nora wants, she gets. That's why you're here now in a cell."
The man stopped talking, turning his head to the left. Footsteps. One person. Had to be Bloody Nora. Evie wouldn't attack during the daylight hours. She was probably formulating a strategy right now to save him once again. Chances are, she would've heard about the incident. Word travelled surprisingly fast in London despite the place being so big.
A woman turned around the corner. It was the same woman he had seen at The Falcon's Nest the previous morning. She was shorter than his sister and slimmer too, but had the look of someone who would do anything to ensure the goal was obtained. She raised her hand and pointed it at the door. "Open the door. I would like to speak with him without bars separating us."
"Are you sure that's wise, Nora? He's a trained killer."
"I'll be fine, Isaac. I'm not a weak defenceless woman."
"Very well then."
Isaac dug a hand into his pocket and pulled out a small key. Inserting it into the keyhole, he turned it clockwise until the gate popped open. Jacob took a few steps back, hesitant. If only his hands were free then he could escape this place. Nora stepped through the door and stood directly in front of him. She came up to his shoulder, but she didn't seem deterred by the height difference. Not that she'd have any reason to be worried – she had all the power here.
"Isaac, you are dismissed. I will call for you when I'm finished here."
"But-"
"This is Templar business, now. Leave." Isaac nodded. He drew back from the gate then took his leave. She waited until he was out of sight then carried on speaking, closing the door behind her after removing the key. "You've caused us a lot of trouble, Assassin. Four of my young recruits are dead at your hands, and four Templars from the Strand will never see light of day again. Two horses have drowned, two more are injured and properties have been damaged. I have to say I am rather impressed."
"Glad you appreciate my work."
She struck him in the face. "Your fun ends here, Assassin. There is no place for you or your kind here in our world." She drew a hand into her black coat and pulled out a revolver. Aiming it at the space on the floor before his legs, she pulled back the trigger, firing the bullet. It was so unexpected that he fell backwards, and onto the cold floor, the sound of gunfire echoing in his head. It was even louder in small places. He struggled to get back up. Who knew it was so bloody difficult to get back upright without your hands?
She grabbed a clump of his hair and helped him up into a seating position, a finger still resting on the trigger. He peered up just in time for her to strike him again, this time in the right cheek. He spat at her feet, glowering. "Charming, really. Is this how you recruit men and women to your Order?"
"Did you really think you could outsmart me?"
"You lost quite a few of your men today. Thought you might be a little upset."
She shrugged. "They can easily be replaced."
"Your man Robert Strain didn't put up much of a fight."
Again, she shrugged. "He was always a fool, that one. He was expendable." She paced back and forth, spinning the gun around in her hand, humming a tune he didn't recognize. "How did you feel killing Robert Strain, Assassin? Did you enjoy it?" she said, pausing momentarily to aim the gun at his forehead.
"Enough with the games," he said through gritted teeth. "Did you come here just to boast about your victory?"
"I could kill you right now, Assassin, but I'm choosing to let you live."
"Right, because you need to let the public win something for a change," he replied curtly.
Bloody Nora smirked. "Happy workers are efficient," she said, her dark eyes alight with feral pain.
"Only that they're not," he retorted. "You and your Order – you're exploiting the working class for your own personal gain! There are people living out there on the streets that have to steal to survive while you and your fucking Order standby to watch them suffer. I suppose that helps you sleep better at night."
She looked at him blankly. "You have such a narrow-minded view on the world, Assassin. Someone has to control the people. Someone has to make progress happen. Do you think that if we followed your philosophy that we would have even made it to this era? You and your kind only look a few months into the future – we look decades ahead. We see the bigger picture. That is why you'll never succeed."
"You think you've already won."
"Why should I think otherwise?" Her eyes narrowed. "Your Brotherhood left London in a state of ruin. We came in and we fixed it. What have your people ever done other than murder and steal? You accuse us of committing evil acts, but history has shown that the lines are blurred, Assassin. Did you not hear of what happened in Lisbon? The Assassins committed a crime that killed more people than my Order ever did."
Lisbon. He read about it somewhere. Something about an Assassin turned Templar called Shay Cormac. He couldn't recall much of the finer details, but he knew he hated Shay. Traitor to the Brotherhood. "What happened in Lisbon has nothing to do with us. Besides, you've got it all wrong – I'm not part of a Brotherhood. I live by my own rules."
"So you're an Assassin without a code? Doesn't that make you a criminal then?"
"I am not a criminal." How he was beginning to dislike hearing that term. He was not a criminal, yet both the law and the Templars saw him as one. Could they not see what he was trying to fight for? "We're trying to make this place better for those who have been deprived of basic rights!"
She gave a bleak laugh. "And you really believe you can save these people? How adorable, but it's just a dream, Assassin." She knelt down in front of him and brought her face to his right ear and whispered, "The world you wish to live in doesn't exist nor will it ever."
He smashed his head forward, connecting his skull with hers. "Isaac!" she called, climbing to her feet, immediately aiming the gun at him again. Footsteps echoed throughout the hallway and a few moments later Jacob found Isaac standing in the cell. "Bring him down!" she shrieked, shuffling out of the cell.
Before he could do anything, Isaac charged forward, and swung a punch. Jacob dodged – he might not have his hands, but he still could move. He kicked out a leg. Isaac stepped back, narrowly avoiding the strike. While the man regained his composure, Jacob moved forward swiftly and rammed a knee into his stomach. The man spluttered.
Nora fired a bullet at the space next to him. He froze. "Come on now, this isn't a fair fight."
Whilst he was busy looking at Nora and her gun, he was caught unaware when Isaac rammed into him with his shoulder. He was forced into the wall, back slamming up against the bench. The edge drove into his back. Pain spurred him on. Using his head again as a weapon, he forced Isaac back. Moments later, he felt a knee ram into him in the gut. He dropped to the ground, and brought his knees up towards his chest, to protect himself from further harm.
"About bloody time," Nora snapped. "I want him transferred to Pentonville Prison as early as possible tomorrow. I'll have him flogged first then we'll have him executed before the public." She wiped her brow. "Double the guard! If he has friends, I'm sure they'll come looking for him. Perhaps we'll kill two birds with one stone."
Someone spat on him. Someone else kicked him in the shin then he felt their presence leave the room, hearing the turning of a key. He squeezed his eyes shut. Time was running out.
.
Pulling his hood over his head, Henry crouched down and crept across the ground, looking both ways for any signs of trouble. Night had fallen. The sky was absent of clouds for a change allowing the brilliant starts to light up the sky. However, tonight was not the time for stargazing. There was a far more important mission at hand – save a certain troublemaker called Jacob Frye. Fortunately, many of the officers had headed home to their beds.
He reached the side of the building and started climbing up its walls. It had been several years since he had last undertaken a mission like this. He last remembered undertaking a stealth mission during the peak years of the British Brotherhood. The event was clear in his mind. In 1862, the world's first underground railway was being constructed. A body had been discovered, and Templars and Assassins blamed each other for the incident, sparking hostilities to arise.
Assassins were murdered as the Templars began to form gangs to take control of the city. As one of the last few remaining Assassins in town, Henry claimed the title of leader of the British Brotherhood, and led a final push against the Templars. The result had only ended in bloodshed. Defeated, all the Assassins left, leaving him to be the last one left.
It was 1868 now. He still hadn't forgiven himself for the horrific events that had taken place during that year, but had pushed those thoughts aside when he crossed paths with the Frye twins a few months back. They believed he was just an Assassin who had come to London to help restore order – just like they had – He didn't want them to know he was the reason the British Brotherhood had fallen apart.
He reached the rooftop and snuck over to the chimney. Fortunately, it was wide enough to drop down through. He climbed down through the hole then released, landing on the ground with a gentle thud. Unmoving, he held his position for a couple of moments, waiting for the sound of footsteps. No one came. Either there were no officers inside or they had fallen asleep on the job. He placed his bets on the latter. That's when most of the crime happened – during the night when most people were fast asleep.
Only a few lights were switched on, allowing just enough light to get a fair view of his location. The interior of the prison was quite bland. Bare white walls. Wooden floors. There were six empty cells on this floor. Steel iron bars served as a protective barrier. Each cell had a bit of a musky scent as well. Like a strange mixture of urine and something else. He slipped a hand beneath his robes and grabbed his kukri. He didn't intend to use it, but it was just an insurance policy encase something went wrong. Pressing his back against the wall, he edged across slowly until he reached the end.
He poked his head around the corner and spotted a flight of stairs leading to the next level. Again, he waited for the sounds of footsteps, but his keen senses heard nothing. Taking in a deep breath, he turned the corner and headed up the stairs, taking one at a time. Still nothing. Perhaps the officers had left the building, but why?
"Jacob Frye?" he whispered, poking around another corner. There were four cells on this floor. Two on the left and two on the right.
"Henry?" came the muffled response. "The coast is clear. There's no one here."
Henry crept across the floor to the cell on the far eastern side. Jacob Frye was lying down on the ground looking a little worse for wear, looking paler than usual. The gauntlet was missing on his left hand. His other weapons were probably gone too, hiding somewhere on the main floor. The keys to unlock the cage would be down there too. Surely, the warden would still be here.
"What happened?"
Jacob sat up and crawled over to the gate. "I killed Robert Strain then discovered it was set up. Bloody Nora had it all planned. Speaking of Nora, I met her today. Met a nice lad called Isaac too. Chief of Police."
As much as he wanted to know more, all the details could come later when they were safely back at the Seven Bells. "We need to get you out of here. Do you know who is holding the keys and where it is?"
"Downstairs, I'd imagine. Look for a big guy."
"Your sister is worried."
He rolled his eyes. "If you don't get me out of here soon she won't have to worry about me anymore. Now go, steal the key then come back here and free me. Been sitting here for the past couple of hours looking at the bloody wall."
"All right. Just keep your mouth shut, okay?"
"Will do."
Henry headed back towards the staircase and slowly made his way down, being sure to stop every couple of stairs to listen for suspicious sounds. He made it down to the second flight of stairs when he heard a cough. Police, at last. One of them had to have the cell door key.
"Tomorrow will be a grand day. The public will know that we can be trusted to keep them safe," a policeman said.
"Where do you think he got those weapons from? I've never seen anything like them before," said another, his voice deep and rough.
"The British Brotherhood, I believe. I know they've been gone for almost a decade now, but I'm sure they're still around."
"You think our prisoner is one of them?"
Pause, then, "It's possible. He has the weapons. Either that or he just came across them by chance or looted a corpse and took them for himself."
"Shit. What if there's more of them?"
"The Blighters will deal with them. Our job is to protect the citizens and uphold the law. We don't interfere with Templar business unless we're needed for back up support."
"Well, that's true. I don't want to get too involved anyway. I remember the last time Templars and Assassins fought. Never seen so many dead. Anyway, I'm going to check up on our prisoner. Might give him a bottle of piss to drink."
Laughter followed. Henry looked around for a place to hide. Unfortunately, there was nothing to hide in. All he could do was go back up the stairs then use the element of surprise to knock the man unconscious. He crept back up and crouched down in the place where it was darkest. One… two… three…. He jumped. Before the policeman could response, Henry wrapped his hands around his neck, and waited for the man to weaken. The man turned limp. Henry laid him gently down on the floor and searched his pockets but found nothing.
Perhaps the other officer had the keys. He dragged the body to the shadows. In an hour or so, the man would wake up. Fortunately, he hadn't seen his face. "Hey Richard, I forgot to tell you something!" Henry hid in the shadows again. The other police officer walked up the stairs. "Richard?"
Henry sprung forward. He pushed the man backwards, and slammed his head into the wall as hard as he could. "Sorry about that." The man's eyes rolled back, as he slid down the wall and onto the floor. He dropped down to his knees and searched the pockets. Ah. Keys. He picked them up and hurried back up to the topmost floor where Jacob was clinging onto the bars.
"I've got the keys."
"Great. Open the door." Henry wasted no time inserting the key into the lock. He turned it clockwise, heard the satisfying unlocking sound and pulled it open. "Cut the ropes. This fucking thing is cutting into my skin." He turned around and held out his arms as best as he could. Henry brought his kukri forward and cut through the rope. It fell to the floor.
"We need to find your equipment."
"When I came in, there was a room to the right where they took it. I'd say it's in there somewhere."
Jacob darted down the stairs. Henry chased after him, not wanting to lose sight of the younger Frye. "Jacob!" he hissed. "Slow down!"
Jacob turned a corner and Henry followed. "See that?" he said, raising a hand, and pointing to the opposite side of the room at a wooden door. "They went through there. I'd say that's the head office of this place, but the boss isn't around. He left with Nora after they knocked me out. Didn't hear him returning."
"Is there a key for the door?"
"Isaac's probably taken it with him. We're goin' to have to knock it down."
"That'll attract attention. Too much noise."
"Then we better be prepared to fight our way out. I'm not leaving without those weapons."
It was never a dull moment with Jacob Frye around. Henry sighed, and nodded, surrendering once again to the Frye way of life. "You Frye's are going to be the death of me," he muttered.
Jacob just grinned, and gave him a clap on the shoulder. "I think I'm starting to see why Evie likes being in your company. You both have no sense of adventure."
"Excuse me?" Henry protested.
He snickered. "Come on, let's break this door down."
Henry stood to the side keeping guard while Jacob kicked at the door. He kicked it four or five times until the wooden plank started to give way. Each kick made Henry jump. It was dead silent at this time of night; he wouldn't be surprised if people on the other side of the road could hear the sounds of the wood snapping in half. He gave it one last kick. The door snapped off its hinges and fell down.
The office was also small. There was a plain table with a couple of documents laid out on the surface, and a half-full glass of water besides it. A dark shade of brown cabinet with two drawers was pressed up against the eastern bare wall, whilst on the opposite, was a bench with a sink in it. He grabbed the documents off the table, folded them up and slipped them within his robes for later reading.
Jacob wandered over to the cabinet and pulled open the drawers. He grabbed his equipment – revolver, kukri, and what looked like some item that went on the hands – then turned around and nodded at Henry. "We should leave."
"Lead the way."
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