Chapter 2. Embers of Resentment
The train, affectionately named "Bertha," chugged into the yard for the night; its metallic exterior glistened under the soft glow of the moonlight. A fortnight had slipped by since Jacob's tense meeting with the council members, yet the anger they had ignited still simmered within him like lingering embers refusing to die out. Jacob stretched his weary limbs and rose from his plush, worn couch. Agnes cast a glance his way as she began collecting her scattered books, signalling her retreat for the night. "See you in the mornin', fancy pants," she quipped, her voice carrying a playful inflection that had characterized their friendship since the day they met. Jacob's lips curled into a fond smile at the familiar nickname, wishing her a warm goodnight as she exited the train car.
Restlessness tugged at Jacob's thoughts. After a brief contemplation, he decided to venture out to watch some of the initiates train. The solitude of the train felt oppressive now; a hollow echo of its once vibrant life ever since the Rooks had dispersed. The absence of his nightly drinking companions—Bert, Effie, and James—left a void, a gaping chasm of friendship that he longed to fill. He pondered the whereabouts of his friends, recalling that Effie, who occasionally visited, had mentioned not seeing Bert for two weeks. Their last encounter had ended bitterly, with Bert brusquely telling her to "piss off" after she tried to talk sense into him.
"Oh, well," Jacob murmured to himself. A resigned sigh escaped his lips as he realized there was no use dwelling on what couldn't be changed. With a determined leap, he descended from the train car, his boots crunching on the gravel-strewn ground. He traversed the tracks, his destination set on the heart of central London. Unbeknownst to him, shadows lurked at the perimeter; their watchful eyes tracked his every move as he departed into the night.
The initiates were impressive; displaying remarkable potential, Jacob observed them spar with focused intensity. The training sessions led by him, Evie, and George over the past year had clearly benefited the youngsters, honing their skills and boosting their confidence. Beside him, the youngest of the initiates erupted into enthusiastic cheers; their bright eyes gleaming with admiration for their fellow students. Jacob couldn't help but smile softly at their excitement. He found the children's lively company far more enjoyable than the presence of the uptight council members who stood watching from the opposite side with their usual stern expressions.
After a while, Jacob clapped his hands and announced, "Alright, you lot, time to get you off to bed." Some of these children were as young as seven; their innocence marred by the cruelty of Crawford Starrick's henchmen who had orphaned them while enforcing their iron grip across London. The decision to bring them into the fold had been an easy one for Jacob and Evie. They refused to let these young souls be tossed aside, forced to fend for themselves on the unforgiving streets - casualties of a war not of their making. The children had lost everything, but Jacob and Evie were determined to give them hope and a place to belong.
A young lad with bright, eager eyes and a mischievous grin began tugging insistently at Jacob's coat. "Awww, c'mon, Jacob, please!" he whined, his voice full of playful pleading. Jacob glanced down at him, shaking his head with a gentle smile. "No, Jack, it's already late, and you're only ten," he replied, his tone firm yet affectionate. Suddenly, another child piped up from the small gathering with a cheeky grin. "Bet you stayed up later when you were ten." "Not at all," Jacob answered, a twinkle in his eye as he recalled his own childhood. "My behaviour was impeccable," he added with a broad grin that suggested otherwise. The lad shook his head, unconvinced and persisted, "Nu uh. Evie told us how naughty you were."
Feigning offense, Jacob placed a hand dramatically over his heart, prompting a chorus of giggles from the children. "That's enough out of you lot," he said with mock sternness. "Now come on, to bed, you rascals." With that, he gently herded them towards the exit, the warmth of their laughter lingering in the air.
The group of young children dashed out of the building, with Jacob trailing behind them as they headed toward the dormitory across the yard. Suddenly, the unthinkable occurred: an enormous explosion erupted behind the small group with a deafening roar and blast of air that knocked them off their feet. As Jacob turned his gaze toward the chaos, he shielded his face against the searing heat. To his horror, he saw the entire training building engulfed in flames; the fierce crackling of the fire intermingled with the ghastly screams echoing from within.
Quickly regaining his footing, Jacob turned to check on the screaming, crying children behind him. Just then, four brutish men charged towards them; armed with vicious weapons that gleamed menacingly in the flickering light, Jacob sprinted in front of the children, ready to protect them. With swift precision, he drove his kukri into the throat of the first assailant and plunged his hidden blade into the temple of the second—his movements a deadly blur.
The two remaining thugs were ambushed from behind by older Initiates who had been relaxing at the dormitory. Alerted by the explosion, they sprang into action, their presence a welcome relief. The Assassins scanned their surroundings, their eyes sharp and vigilant as more distant explosions reverberated across London—a sinister symphony of destruction. One particularly loud blast seemed to emanate from the direction of the council headquarters, adding to the mounting tension in the air. Jacob suddenly seized one of the older Initiates by the arm.
"Get to the train," he commanded urgently, his voice cutting through the tension. "Tell the driver to bring it to London Bridge station as fast as possible." The Initiate gave a quick nod, swiftly scaling the nearby buildings and disappearing from sight like a shadow in the night.
Turning back, Jacob crouched down to the children's level. His eyes met theirs with steady reassurance. "Right, listen up," he began, his voice soothing amidst the chaos. "We're going to head to the station, get on my train, Bertha, and go for a nice ride. You need to be super brave and listen to exactly what I tell you... it'll be alright."
His calm, steady tone infused the children with a flicker of courage—a gentle light in the encroaching darkness. They all nodded, though Jack clung to him, his small frame trembling as he whimpered softly to himself, "...Not again, not again."
Jacob gently disentangled Jack's grip, but the boy's breaths came in sharp, uneven gasps. "Come on, Jack," Jacob encouraged softly. "Show me how brave you can be... we can do this; just keep hold of my hand." Slowly, Jack's breathing began to calm; the boy nodded as he drew strength from Jacob's steady presence.
"Alright," Jacob declared as he rose, taking Jack's hand in one of his and the youngest child Mary's in the other. "Let's go." With a determined stride, he led the children forward— their small hands clutching his as they moved toward their destination.
The walk through the dimly lit streets of London was a slow and cautious one; Jacob led the group, his every nerve on edge, senses heightened and alert to the slightest movement or sound. Behind him, the other older initiate moved like a shadow, silently covering the rear. Thankfully, the small group had not faced any more surprise attacks, and the ominous explosions that had echoed across London had mercifully ceased, leaving an uneasy silence in their wake. As they approached the station, Jacob's sharp eyes spotted it first: a beacon of hope amid the uncertainty. The group quickened their pace, moving through the entrance and up the narrow stairs; their footfalls echoing in the hollow space. The train on the platform hissed steam - a living, breathing beast waiting to whisk them away to safety. Across the wide platform, the driver and another initiate waved urgently; their gestures beckoning the escapees to hurry.
Jacob motioned for the older initiate, who had accompanied them, to lead the way. He then turned to address the younger members of the group, his voice firm yet encouraging.
"Right, you lot, follow him onto the train. Off you go," he instructed. The youngsters darted forward, their small feet pounding against the platform's hard surface.
Suddenly, Jacob felt a tug on his hand. It was Jack, his eyes wide with urgency as he pointed to Mary. She had wandered off, her attention caught by a lone coin glinting on the top steps. Jacob quickly approached the young girl, crouching down to her level.
"Mary Jane, come on," he urged gently. "That big exciting train is waiting for you over there, and you want to pick up pennies?"
Mary looked up at him, her eyes full of innocence. "Sorry, I just thought if I had a penny like you, I could be brave."
Despite the gravity of their situation, Jacob couldn't help but smile a little. He took her small hand in his as they turned to head towards the train. Jacob's senses heightened once more; however, as he turned, his senses prickled with an inexplicable foreboding. He halted abruptly, feeling an unsettling wrongness in the air. And then, the train burst into a blazing explosion, shattering the silence with a thunderous roar.
The blast threw Jacob backward, debris flew through the air like shrapnel, and he felt a sharp sting against his cheek as a piece of shattered wood grazed him as he landed hard against the station wall, pain coursing through him. Yet, his instinct drove him to his feet immediately. The train that had symbolized their hope now lay in ruin; steam and fire billowed into the night sky like a dark omen. A twisted metal carcass replaced what had once been their escape route, as flames licked hungrily at the remnants. Panic surged through him, but he forced himself to focus, scanning the area for Mary and Jack amidst the swirling chaos.
"Mary! Jack!" he shouted, his voice strained with urgency. The sound of their names sliced through the cacophony of destruction, but there was no response. Jacob's heart raced; he couldn't lose anyone else—not again. He pushed past the shards of metal and debris, seeking any sign of the children as he heightened his senses.
In the midst of chaos, a flicker of movement drew Jacob's attention. His gaze landed on Jack, huddled behind a weathered pillar, his fragile frame quivering as he clung tightly to Mary. The fact that they had endured the explosion left Jacob in awe, a wave of gratitude washing over him for their survival. In the chaos of echoing bells and panicked shouts, Jacob sprinted through the rubble towards the trembling children. "Hurry, stick close," he pressed urgently, his eyes locking with theirs in silent reassurance. With a firm grip on their hands, Jacob led them away from the devastation, determined to shield them from further harm as they navigated away from danger.
Jacob trudged onward, unsure of how long he had been walking, though it felt like an eternity. His leg throbbed with each step, a painful reminder of the violent explosion they had endured. Miraculously, they had escaped with only minor injuries—a stroke of luck not shared by the others. The children, their small hands gripping his tightly, now sobbed softly; their earlier cries reduced to mere whimpers. Jacob moved as if in a fog, his mind a turbulent sea of anger and confusion. How could such a catastrophe have unfolded? It defied reason! London was their stronghold... Could the Rooks be behind this? No, they wouldn't stoop to murdering children... would they? Jacob sighed deeply; his thoughts tangled and chaotic. Templars! The scent of their notorious brutality lingered in the air. But how had they managed to catch the Assassins so off guard, and on such a massive scale? What critical signs had they all overlooked? "Damn it all!" Jacob suddenly spat, his voice cutting through the silence like a knife, causing Jack to flinch. "I'm sorry, Jack," he murmured, softening his tone. "Come on, we're almost there."
The trio advanced cautiously towards the formidable main entrance of Lambeth Asylum, its gothic architecture casting long shadows in the darkness. As they drew near, Jack's body language grew tense and uneasy, causing him to fall behind. Sensing Jack's shift in demeanour, Jacob altered course, veering left to circle around the back of the building towards its south-eastern wing. This location had been designated as an emergency rendezvous point for the Assassins due to Miss Nightingale's presence. Known for her exceptional medical skills, she had become a vital ally ever since Evie aided her in saving critically ill children.
Jack's resistance grew more pronounced; his struggles intensified. Jacob finally turned his full attention to the boy, quickly identifying the root of his distress. "Hey, hey, shhh, it's alright," he soothed, trying to calm the boy's rising panic. "Nooo, I don't wanna come back here, please, Jacob," Jack pleaded, his voice breaking as tears streamed down his cheeks. "Whatever I did... I'm sorry. Please don't leave me here."
"Jack!" Jacob exclaimed, swiftly crouching in front of him and meeting the boy's fearful gaze. "You're not coming back here. You've done nothing wrong. We are just going to hide here for a little while. There's a really nice lady in there who can help patch those cuts up. Alright?"
Jack looked at Jacob with wide, searching eyes. "She... won't hurt me?" he whimpered, his voice barely above a whisper.
"No… of course not," Jacob assured him, though a frown creased his brow. "... did someone hurt you here before?"
Jack's eyes glazed over with a distant look, as if peering into a painful memory. After a moment, he slowly accepted Jacob's outstretched hand. Jacob's mind drifted back to the day he had liberated some of the children from the asylum, having discovered the appalling conditions they were subjected to. Now, the Assassin pondered whether that grim reality was only part of the suffering Jack might have endured, cursing himself for not having intervened sooner.
Jacob rapped sharply on the door; the sound echoed in the stillness of the evening. It swung open almost immediately, revealing Miss Nightingale who gestured for them to enter with urgency in her movements. "Come along," she urged, her voice brisk and efficient. "Your friends are just through here. However, I must warn you, Mr. Westhouse is quite badly injured."
"George! He's here?" Jacob cut in, his voice a mix of surprise and concern.
"Yes," Miss Nightingale confirmed, her expression grave. "But it would be wise to leave these children with the nurses and other youngsters. They arrived earlier, mostly unharmed, but Mr. Westhouse and a few of your older Initiates suffered grave injuries during their escape."
Jack hesitated before leaving Jacob's side. His promise to return quickly did little to ease his reluctance. However, as soon as the young boy noticed the familiar faces of the other children and their absence of fear, a sense of calm began to replace his own apprehension. With newfound courage, he crossed the room to join a group of older Initiates he had come to trust, allowing a nearby nurse to approach and tend to his wounds with gentle care.
Jacob was guided into another room where the sight of George's broken form struck him deeply. The older Assassin lay sprawled on the bed, his features etched with pain. Bloody bandages were wrapped tightly around his head and chest, evidence of a violent ordeal he had endured.
Jacob settled into a chair beside him, his voice barely above a whisper as he spoke. "George?"
"Jacob?" George rasped, his voice strained but relieved. "Thank the heavens you're alright." After a brief silence, he inquired softly, "The others?"
The question struck Jacob like a dagger, tearing through his heart and leaving him in pieces. His composure crumbled into dust, and he collapsed inward, burying his face in his trembling hands. His voice was strangled by the weight of his despair, barely more than a whisper. "I failed them, George... I failed them all," he confessed, each word dripping with unbearable sorrow.