It was a pleasant spring day at the Favre estate, or what was called the "Orleans Enclave" within the Assassin Order. It was farm, a fortress, and a village, headed by Arno Dorian's maternal uncle. It was several miles from the city of Orleans, about half a mile from Loire river.

Arno twisted his way around his adversary, turning the tables and getting his own pistol to his head.

"Not bad, Pisspot," Pierre Bellec said. "Next time I won't go so easy on you."

"Arno," said Delphine. Arno had not realized her approach. He disengaged from his mentor. "Your uncle Augustin would like to speak with you. You too, Monsieur Bellec."

"What about?"

"A foray into Paris."

"Paris?"

Arno and Bellec looked at each other. "Look's you're moving up in the world, Pisspot. Let's hope you last longer than those poor sods from Normandy."

"We, old man," Arno corrected. "We're both going."

They began heading to the manor, passing men and women tending crops, earning a traditional salute from one of the guards. Arno had heard a lot about Paris: the Normandy envoy slaughtered, the Templars infiltrating high society, women storming the Palace of Versailles, and most ominously was the rumor they were back in possession of the Apple of Eden. It was quite thrilling to be picked for Paris, a city of so much historic and contemporary significance.

"I can't believe it's taken this long to let us loose," Bellec said. "At this rate, the Templars will claim this country harder than America."

Arno had heard all about that country growing up. It was spoken of like the Templar's own nation. It was talked about with fear and reverence among the Order. Some worried France was next. It would be poetic for the Templars to reclaim the nation in which they were born.

Uncle Augustin's mansion was the centerpiece of the Assassin enclave. The farming operation was mostly a front, though it did well to generate some funds and feed the populace. They entered the splendorous house and headed up the curved staircase for the office.

"Arno, Pierre come in, sit down!" said his portly uncle. Their chairs were already set up. They set their rumps down upon the scarlet cushions.

He poured them tea from his painted, china pot.

"I'm sure you've heard about Paris: la Bastille, the women at Versailles, Templars crawling all over high society...worst of all we fear they might have the Apple of Eden back in their possession. Or found another one."

"I've heard it all before," Bellec said. "Been hearing about it for a year now. Cut to the chase, s'il te plaît."

"Yes, well..." even after all this time people were still caught off guard by Pierre's brusque attitude. "I believe it's time to act...again. The Normandy Enclave sent their people. They were slaughtered quickly after an failed attempt to assassinate Jean Sylvian Bailly. Now he's Mayor of Paris. Master Raffarin refused to authorize any further incursions in to the city. But recent events, and some vigorous persuasion on my part, have changed his mind. I've already spoken to Joseph and Paul, they will accompany you. Obviously, you're assuming command, Monsieur Bellec."

"Only four people? You've got to be joking."

"Four of our best. Besides, the larger the party, the more attention you'll draw."

Uncle Augustin reached into his desk and pulled out a document. "I've already compiled a list of our most important adversaries in the region."

He pushed piece of parchment over to Bellec. Bellec took it, and looked over it, grumbling.

"So when do we head out?" Arno asked. He had traveled before, but never to Paris. This was exciting.

"That's up to Monsieur Bellec's discretion."

Pierre did not even look from his list. "We're heading our first thing tomorrow, Pisspot. This little expedition is long overdue."

"Also, while you're there, keep an eye out for foreign nationals. The Templars seem to be collaborating across state lines more than usual. Austrians, Bavarians, men like those should peak your interest."