"I think it's best if we proceed the rest of the way on foot," François said. "Less attention than a horse-drawn carriage."

She had still not seen the crowd, facing the opposite direction, but she could certainly hear them.

The Grand Master and his guard began to make their way out, and Élise followed.

Stepping back onto the dirty cobblestone, she looked to see a marvel. It was majestic and breath-taking. She had never seen such a large sea of people. Mostly women, they carried all sorts of weapons: from rolling pins to kitchen knives to muskets.

The palace itself, which she had only heard of, reminded her of the Hôtel De Ville. It paled in comparison to the populist deluge.

"So who is this Maximilien Robespierre? The name sounds familiar."

"One of our men close to the king. He's young, barely into his thirties, but very well educated, very persuasive, and very passionate. He's climbed through the ranks of our order at tremendous speed."

They proceeded into the thick of the storm. The women's chants and shouts blended indistinctly. Wading through the protestors she saw the crisp blue uniform of a National Guardsman among the rioters. Even more surprisingly, she thought she could make out a cannon. Yes, it was a cannon. These protestors, if they could even be called such, surely meant business.

"There he is," the Grand Master said, pointing to someone next to a box and a lamp-post "The taller one." He wore a funny striped coat. He was talking to a short and ugly man, who parted and disappeared into the crowd just as Élise and François approached.

"Maximilien, I would like to introduce you to our illustrious firebrand from the Assassin Order, Élise de la Caen."

She felt a pang of discomfort at the mention of her past, but proud to be presented to other higher-ups.

"Élise," he said with a small bow. "I'm humbled to meet you, it seems like we live an era of fierce women."

Indeed. These women were very different from her, though. They were paupers looking for bread. Even among the Assassins, she had been privileged compared to most of France.

"Likewise, Monsieur Robespierre."

"What can you tell us about the marchers, Maximilien? How have things proceeded?"

"The king's heard our demands, but no further progress," Maximilien said simply.

"Well, he can't ignore a turn out like this," François said, gaze sweeping the crowd. "Especially when so many soldiers have joined the people."

Robespierre did not respond. Élise tried to read his face. It was stern, not optimistic. There was an uncomfortable silence.

"Well," the Grand Master began, finally restoring the conversation, "As much as I would like to stay here and see how things proceed, I'm afraid I cannot. Farewell, you two."

François departed, leaving her with Robespierre and the thousands he was trying to represent.

"So, you mentioned demands. What are they, exactly?" She could think of plenty to demand from the royalty, but wanted to know the specifics.

"This march started over fury at the ridiculous bread prices at the market. But we want the king to do more than just address the hunger of the masses. We want him to return to Paris, not isolate himself here like a coward."

The latter did not seem like a big deal to Élise, but she knew all too well about the starvation. Some claimed the aristocrats were starving the peasants on purpose, a nuisance to dispose of. Élise did not believe such things, nor did her fellow Templars seem to give much gravitas to the theory. Regardless, there were plenty of granary stores to be cracked opened.

"How did a march this grand get started?"

"I suspect we did what we always do: give the people a little push, let them do the rest. Once the people get their momentum, they rarely turn back. But I can't say for certain, I wasn't here from the beginning. It started somewhere in Faubourg Saint Antoine. I only knew once they reached the city hall."

She wondered if the Apple was involved. Regardless, she could scantily say it was being used unethically. It seemed the Templars, at least in this day and age, did not change who people were, just encouraged them to be be themselves. To free themselves.

"Was François there with them?"

Robespierre opened his mouth to respond, when someone else caught their attention:

"Attention everyone!" shouted a man standing on a stack of crates behind the palace gate. "King Louis has agreed to meet a deputation of six women from the crowd. Please pick those among you who see best suited as ambassadors and bring them to the front gate."

There was a small cheer from the gargantuan throng. Élise looked back at her colleage. But to her surprise, his expression remained stern.

"Well, maybe the king's not so stubborn after all," she said brightly.

"We shall see."

He began walking.

"Where are you going?"

"The front gate, to give the people some order."