"What did you learn?"
"Little."
That's what she had told Arno, a lie after a long deliberation, just when she had been feeling brightly about their future.
Then there had been the issue of telling Timothee. She had settled on a no for that too, keeping a secret from her greatest superior. She had told them about their suspicion of Parisian prisoners, and their fears of the encroaching foreign armies, but she had made no mention of the Assassins. As much as it pained her, this visit was her own little secret, as was the Assassin presence. She had set up a prior appointment to visit the imprisoned Assassin, telling Timothee she was rectifying a failed shopping trip.
The Grand Châtelet was a mighty and gothic looking castle of a prison. It was located on the bank of the shimmering Siene river, which she walked along right now. It was near the Hôtel de Ville, where she had killed Jacques de Flesselles in front of a crowd, her first day spilling blood for the Templars. That felt like life time ago, and yet somehow also like yesterday.
She passed a cannon and some barrels, before arriving in front of young men were standing guard at the river side entrance arch-way.
"I'm here to visit a prisoner," she said.
Without a word, one of them turned, and she followed him. She got plenty of suspicious glances from the other blue-coats as she walked.
They made their way indoors, up a set of winding stone steps, like last time (it was a strange design). She approached the weathered desk at which he she originally set up her appointment. This time a dour looking, middle-aged soldier at at the desk.
"Excuse me, sir, I'm here for the visit with Benoît-Jacques Lurçat."
Without a word, he got up, and she knew to follow. The mere sight of a prison interior took her back to the Bastille; That day had meant so much for France, but even more for her. It was much the same: dingy and medieval. She glanced at the prisoners. Men, women, and children stared at her from behind the bars. It was far less empty than the Bastille, which had been owned by the Ancien Régime. Did that mean something?
He stopped. Benoît-Jacques' cell had been only a little ways from the entrance.
Benoît had been in his late teens when she last saw him (back in Normandy), with short black hair and a boyish appearance. They had never talked before, though she had heard his name several times from the others. She did not immediately realize where he was, he had several cell mates, until she deduced through process of eliminate he was the one sitting, head bowed.
"Benoît!" her blue coated escort said.
The young man jolted.
"This femme wants to have a word with you."
When his eyes fell upon her, they widened tremendously, and he got up and rushed to the bars.
"Élise! Élise-Emma!? You're alive! But why -" His eyes darted towards the guard. "I mean..."
Élise turned towards the officer. "Monsieur, could you please...we have private matters to discuss."
"With the prisoner? I don't think so, fille, especially times being what they are. I'm staying here to -"
She reached into her pocket, produced a few coins. She had expected this bribe would be necessary. "Please, Monsieur, just a moment. Nothing sinister. You can even stand and watch from afar. Just let us have our...auditory privacy..."
The guard grumbled, snatched the the coins, and took three paces back.
The prisoner leaned in. He hissed, "I thought you were dead. We all did!"
"I know, but that's for another time. Tell me what you've learned."
"But how can you just -"
"Please, Benoît I'll tell you the full story when-"
She stopped herself, looking back to the guard, who was still keeping his distance. "-when you're out of this wretched place." It was a dishonest thing to imply she had any plan to get him out, but it served its purpose for now. "Now tell me what you've learned about our enemies."
"Ouias, ouias, bien sur! It seems a mec named Maximilien Robespierre is the most powerful Templar in France right now. They all seem to be deferring to him. There's someone named Brother Spartacus he reports to, though: someone outside the country." It felt uncomfortable to hear his ignorance and need to bite her tongue to kill from filling in the blanks. "But here's the strangest thing - they seem to be looking for The Father of Understanding."
That was new.
"Who is?"
"The Templars!"
No, the Illuminati. But she dare not say as much.
"I would think the Templars of all people would know where that being is, if it's even anything more than metaphorical poetry," she responded.
"No, no, it sounds like it's something real, something physical. And they want to find it, or him! They said something about arresting some of their 'old friends' and torturing answers out of them. They seem to think it's somewhere here in France, and that's why they're so interested in this country."
Again, Élise had to play ignorant, even as the implications were flooding into her mind.
"Hm," is all she said. That seemed dire. But damn it, one lie, even by omission, did lead to another. How could she inform Timothee of this without speaking of her rogue actions here?
She shifted to another topic. "How many of ours are there here?"
"In this prison?" he asked.
"There's more than one of you here?"
"Er...no."
"In Paris, then."
"Uh...that's hard to say. Quite a few. We have some friends in the city I'm not quite sure know about The Order."
The power of her next question made her feel great discomfort.
"And where are you hiding?"
The anticipation was thick.
"Café Théâtre. It's owned by a femme named Charlotte Gouze. She's one of ours, been gathering intelligence in the city for years before Normandy decided to send her some teeth."
Café Théâtre. She had never heard of it, but treasure was in her brain, now. A dark treasure, one she would have to deliberate extensively on what to do with. She could not whimsically share it with Arno or Timothee, albeit both for opposite reasons. It was a heavy burden.
"Thank you, brother." The word 'brother' made her wince inside. How she had played him, used him.
She looked back at her escort.
"We're finished. Thank you so much for being so accommodating."
She had been a snake.
"We're going to keep a special eye on him," the guard said grumpily. "Now let's just get you out of here, fille."
She followed. As she walked, her mind was a storm. She found herself in a world she knew and hated, one she thought she had left behind: one of moral dilemmas, lies, and secret, heavy thoughts.