A/N: This chapter was a real pain in butt to write, but special thanks to the people posting video walkthroughs on youtube, and the Assassin's Creed wiki. You've helped me immensely, not just here but throughout the whole story (but especially here). This is obviously based on the September Massacres memory sequence, though I took some liberties for history's sake.
Also I learned some very useful architectural terms before writing this chapter. Yay!
The two Assassins were perched upon the roof of a tower, the prison across the river. The ride had been a grueling maelstrom of internal debate for her, all of which was invisible to Arno. For now she had to concerned herself with the immediate world.
The Grand Châtelet was a very complex structure, with a roof that was a mix of sloping shingles and a partially open top floor surrounded by battlements, and then a bit more roof and structure above that in some areas. There was a crowd of three talking the between crenels and a wall. He looked to be giving orders to two underlings, while holding a long, thin pole that carried the head of an upper-class looking brunette man. "I think I see Rouille. The brute has someone's head on a pike."
"Lovely," Arno muttered. "Is that...no, I don't think so."
"What?"
"I thought I spotted a friend...nevermind."
"A friend?" She looked back at him. Worry rushed through her veins. Somehow her mind had jumped to Benoît, even though -
"From the Fédérés. Wait, are they...oh Christ..."
She looked where he was looking. From the large watch tower attached the building, National Guardsmen were being thrown over the edge. They screamed their way down several stories and landed upon the streets with sickening crunches.
"Monstres," Arno said. "So, how do we proceed?"
That was the real question, what she had been trying to figure out on the ride over. Part of her had hoped they would be too late, the prisoners all dead. But Benoît could still be alive in there, even exercising his craft.
The watch tower gave her an idea!
"I say we separate."
She could see Arno turn to her out of the corner of her eye.
"What!? There's an army in there!"
"Precisely. So we shouldn't risk drawing all their attention to one place. Why don't you handle that large watch tower? Those murderers have a view of the entire roof top, I'll be able to move much more easily with them dead or distracted."
She was happy such an idea had come to her. Maybe it was even good tactics.
"But all those prisoners, don't you think -"
"If any of the prisoners are still alive, they'll be killed if the militants are spooked. I can sneak about the prison easier if I'm alone."
Arno's point still stung her a bit. Was she sacrificing innocent life to keep Benoît under wraps? The men on the tower would certainly make it difficult to more about the roof, but...
"Alright," Arno said with a sigh. "You head down first, I'll proceed afterwards."
Arno's objections had shaken her, but no, she could not doubt herself now. She could not look a gift horse in the mouth. Things had gone better than expected.
She looked at the potential entrances. The front was an obvious no: three men stood guard there, two looking like Fédérés and one appeared to be a renegade National Guardsman. There was a way into the sewers at the river bank nearby, perhaps she could get inside the prison from there, though she did not recall seeing a manhole cover in the little area she explored when visiting Benoît. She kept looking. On the east flank there was a lower section of the wall with an abandoned horse-drawn wagon she might be able to use to boost herself up. There were no guards among the battlements of that flank either. Moving along the perimeter clockwise, she should even be able to make it to the lower rooftops. Then from there was scaffold and a strange support beam connecting the watchtower and the area where she had seen Rouille, either of which could be used to get to the next level.
It seemed she had found her path.
Now to get back down. She could dive into a hay cart from here for the quickest descent, an ancient trick she was taught in Normandy, but she did not want to make any spectacle of herself. She reversed course and went back the way she came. As she descended, she wondered about Benoît. Was he captive, escaped, or dead?
On ground level again, she began walking towards and then across the bridge. She brisked her pace as much as she could without breaking into a run, not wanting to attract attention. The three soldiers thrown from the towers lay in pools of blood, emanating from our their broken craniums. One woman covered her child's eyes as she walked by.
She passed the morbid sight, making her way to the east wall. The civilians seemed to be mostly going about their normal business, and she could see no more blue coats in sight. What a world.
Getting to the wagon, she put the civilians and any impression she might make on them out of her mind. It was time to infiltrate enemy territory.
First she ran up the tongues, then grabbed wagon box's roof and hoisted herself up. Then she began her way up the brick wall: She grabbed a ridge, then a pughole, then the base of an embrasure, and then a metal bar between two crenels. From there, a bit of the eastern courtyard was visible, and it seemed to be occupied. Fortunately, vaulting over would put her right behind a pillar. And vault she did, landing with a roll and placing her body behind the stone protrusion.
She heard the conversation below:
"Armand-Hector de Bort, what charges were you imprisoned on?"
"I stole a loaf of bread, Monsieur. It was -"
"LIAR!" A sword entered flesh. Armand screamed. "I expect none of you others to attempt a deception! Maintenat, Anne-Claire Claudot..."
She dearly wanted to save them from the slaughter, but she knew attacking those guards would put the whole facility on alert to her presence. Unless...how many were there?
There had to be enough to control a crowd of prisoners, she had to leave the idea of rescue alone.
Maybe if she had brought Arno...
...no, she could not think about that now.
Keeping low, she moved back to the outer edge of the perimeter and then began slinking south. There were steps ahead, with battlements constructed on both sides which helped conceal her ascent.
Making it up to the top, the tower she had assigned to Arno was just ahead and to her right.
She turned the south-east corner. Ahead was ostensibly a dead end but with a bit of Assassin's cunning and athleticism she could make it to the roof from here. First she climbed to the top of one of the mighty merlons. She wobbled briefly then jumped with all her mite to grab a ridge, followed by the rough shingles of roof.
Upon the steep shingles of the roof, she heard another man's cries of death from the courtyard she had forsaken. If she could not rescue them, she could at least provide retribution. She looked at her next obstacle.
She could see the crenels where she had spotted Rouille. That area seemed silent for now. The support beam provided the most obvious path. She walked towards it, to the side opposite the tower. She grabbed the hearty wood and mantled, again wobbling briefly before recovering her balance.
Élise looked through the embrasure. It took her a couple of seconds to analyze what she was seeing. If she vaulted over from this location, she'd be dropping to the near bottom of what was likely a steep staircase. Bad idea.
She climbed down, she would use the scaffold instead. She would climb to the top, leap, and grab embrasure, and vault over from there. She knew her fingers would be killing her tomorrow. And she wondered about Arno's progress. Was he yet in that mighty tower adjacent to her? Probably not.
She climbed up the scaffold, hearing another scream of death along the way. Getting the top, she tried to look through the battlements, but she could barely see anything between the narrowly separated and high merlons, or the embrasures. She waited to see if she could spot see any movement. Nothing.
Soon all those killed would be avenged, at least if Frédéric had stayed on that floor. She jumped for the left crenel. Grabbing it, both hands stuffed into the narrow space, she then went for the top of the wall and vaulted herself over. She landed with a roll.
No hostile were immediately visible upon landing. Deep in enemy territory Élise was aware the sound she had made could have met many ears. She stood, crouched on one knee and waiting for any response.
But no one had seemed to notice her.
Her Assassin faculties had taken her far, she was in the very core of enemy territory.
Ahead was another raised platform, like the scaffold she had used, but much bigger. It was about five feet off the ground, with walls of wooden planks surrounding its top like guard rails, but its full dimensions were not visible from where she stood.
Then she heard something.
"Look, Warden! Your brother's here to visit! Don't you want to see him?"
The severed head? Rouille? What a filthy savage. This was the hatred the Illuminati was driven by.
She advanced, removing one of her two pistols, foot falls steady and disciplined, neither quiet nor loud. She was almost certain Frédéric was not alone on that platform, but she only needed to kill him.
"Come now, Warden! Let's have a cheer! Vive la révolution!"
She was now at the corner, a precipice. This meant two things. One, of course, was that an enemy might be around said corner. Second, she knew if she went much further, the men in the watchtower would likely be able to see her. She looked up towards the behemoth of a rook. She was not an at angle where they were visible to her or visa-versa, but soon she would be.
"What's the matter? Not a fan of liberty? Freedom bores you?"
Freedom? He had the audacity to say -
- no, she had to keep focus.
It might be time to end her sneaking. The men in the tower could easily spot her sneaking about. On the other hand, if she attempted no such thing, not only would she need not worry about being spotted, but she would be nearly impossible to hit with a musket from that range, as a moving target.
Yes, stealth had served her well, but now it was time to make some noise and pounce her prey, or at least it would be very soon.
Élise peaked around the corner. A musket wielding Fédéré immediately met her eyes. "Intrus!" he cried.
He raised his musket. Her pistol thundered first and he clutched his destroyed gut while his rifle clattered to the ground. Years of training had honed her quick and accurate shot. But she was finally compromised, the blast ringing out like an alarm bell.
She holstered her used pistol, took out her second. Her eyes immediately found some barrels that could provide her a quick way up the scaffold. She dashed, jumped, mantled, and rolled onto the wooden planks that harbored Rouille.
On her feet again, she found herself face to face with four adversaries: from left to right, a man with a small, one handed axe and three swordsman, Rouille being the final one. Frédéric callously dropped his pike to get his sword from his hilt, the remains of the deceased brother falling without dignity. Four against one was never reassuring odds, but fortunately she only needed to kill one.
She aimed her pistol at Rouille and fired.
The gun roared its mighty roar.
The bullet missed, its wind flapping his frizzy lockes.
Merde.
Four burly men were now staring her down. She would have to eliminate all of them in melee combat, her two pistols expended. Her Assassin training was truly about to be put to the test. This would be real fight.
"Charge!" Rouille yelled. Her mind rushed at inhuman speeds. The one with the axe, who had the shortest range, was furthest to her left. He seemed aware of his disadvantage, charging a step behind the rest. She leaped forwards, bringing herself upon him, and swung her sword into his ribcage, then twirled her way to her next target with the grace of a swam, and stabbed him below the the sternum.
The two men clutched their wounds and fell, her blade red. Rouille's remaining lackey looked noticeably less confident now. He stood in hesitation.
"Merde ça!" he finally said, dropping his weapon with a clatter and running. She felt tremendous relief, the odds now greatly more merciful. She had even impressed herself.
But this enraged Rouille, who rushed her.
Steel clashed and clashed as she blocked his strikes, his yellow teeth bared in rage. He was not like the others, she could feel his training in his technique. She felt fear. She blocked. She blocked again.
But an opening presented herself and she quickly took it, thrusting her blade into his gut.
He looked shock. She withdrew her blade, now red with the blood of three men. She had practiced with wooden sabers for years, but he was her first mark she had ever killed with her sword. He stumbled backwards, before falling on his back, bleeding out upon the uncaring wooden planks.
Against odds that had made even her spirits shrink in fear, she had triumphed. Élise approached, looking down at her fallen foe.
"So much blood. So many dead. How do you justify these atrocities?"
"And what are you? One of those 'Assassins', as they call themselves? You fault us for killing the same kind of people you hide amongst." He winced. "If you were so high and mighty in your morals...you'd face us openly."
"This was all to kill one Assassin? Benoît-Jacques?"
He sneered. "Hardly. All these people could become allies of the menaces..." He winced again. "...menaces marching on France. To say nothing of the expenses of their upkeep. Every loaf of bread going to these prisoners could have...could have been going to those courageous souls fighting to the east."
"Is this the compassionate new France you are trying to create? You replaced the coldness of Ancien Régime with a society that labels people as liabilities to the state simply for requiring food?"
The blood pooling beneath him had reached his hair
"Compassion? Pah! Compassion is weakness. Compassion didn't storm The Bastille, or the Tuileries Palace." He cringed and wiggled slightly, shifting his weight. "Audacity, as Danton says, now that's a virtue! The Revolution...the Revolution was never about compassion, it was about liberty!"
"You call it liberty when men and women can end up dead over petty crimes and dissent?"
"Liberty from those barbarian jackals in the church, and the hedonistic aristocrats!"
She decided to stop moralizing and get down to business, before the last of his life force left him. She knelt down, one boot dipping in his blood.
"And what of the Assassin you came here for, Benoît-Jacques Lurçat, what happened to him?"
"Lurçat? Little...little rat evaded us. Cunning enough to slip away, but too...too cowardly to stay and fight."
His face formed a grin, he laughed silently.
Then he let out his last breath, passing from this world.
She respectfully closed his eyes. As she raised herself back up she jumped at the thunder of a distant gun!
"Gah!" a voice cried behind her, and she heard the sound of a pistol clattering.
She turned to see a Sans-Culottes, only a few paces behind her, now clutching his bloodied right shoulder. She skewered him. Made pathetic in the face of two dire injuries, he crumpled to the ground a bloodied mess.
She looked up to the watch tower. There was Arno, holding a musket.
"Merci, Arno!" she shouted.