Chapter 16. Secrets in the Shadows
A week after the painful encounter at her home, Lilly sat hunched over a cluttered desk with George. They were surrounded by stacks of dusty, leather-bound books, their eyes straining under the glow of flickering gas lamps. They scanned pages filled with intricate illustrations and cryptic text in search of any precursor objects that might allow manipulation. So far, the only item of interest they discovered were the mysterious orbs referred to as the "Apples of Eden." Despite their efforts, the search yielded no fruitful results, and Jacob's patience wore thin. He began to pace like a restless animal, eventually venturing into the cobblestone streets of London each night, determined to conduct his own "research" despite George's warnings.
Lilly's gaze drifted to the window, following the moonlight filtering through the fine net curtains. "Jacob has slipped away again," she whispered softly. Her voice was tinged with concern that hung heavy in the air, emotions tangling within her heart - a blend of affection and apprehension for the elusive Assassin that consumed her thoughts without respite. On the other side of the room, George paused from his intense study and met her gaze with a shared sense of unease, understanding the gravity of their situation.
"His impulsive nature has always driven him, but with Evie in Templar hands, his actions may grow even more reckless," he remarked wearily. "We must find a way to ensure her safe return for the well-being of them both." Despite George's words ringing with determination, Lilly found little solace in them. She focused on a flickering lamp nearby, its wavering flame reflecting her inner turmoil. In a hushed tone, she murmured a fervent prayer for Evie's welfare, holding onto a fragile hope that their research would soon yield success.
Jacob prowled through the murky maze of London's streets, a master of extracting secrets with lethal finesse. Night after night, he stalked the influential figures of each borough; his frustration mounting as their nefarious schemes unravelled the hard-won progress he and Evie had achieved. The weight of his failure gnawed at his thoughts when his eyes locked onto his next target: a Templar leader attempting to impose authority over a chaotic factory floor. With his hood drawn low over his brow, Jacob moved like a wraith, tailing the leader as he strode into the dimly lit yard. The departing workers shuffled past, their faces weary, as the leader impatiently ordered some of the Rooks to bring his carriage around. Alone now, he fumbled with a match, trying to spark life into a cigarette.
Jacob moved with the fluidity of a shadow; his steps were silent against the mud and stones. Like a skilled predator, he closed in on the unsuspecting Templar from behind. In one swift motion, his arm wrapped around the man's neck, applying just enough pressure to render him unconscious. As he hoisted the limp body effortlessly onto his right shoulder, a sharp pang shot through Jacob's collarbone, causing him to grimace briefly. With practiced ease, he vanished into the darkness, seamlessly blending into the night and leaving the deserted yard far behind.
Jacob strode purposefully towards the bound Templar, his hazel eyes gleaming with a mix of determination and mischief. Without a word, he upended a pail filled with brackish water; its putrid scent filled the cramped space as it splashed over the captive's face. "Rise and shine!" Jacob declared in a tone that cut through the musty air, the sound bouncing off the murky stone walls. Panicked, the Templar's gaze darted around the shadowy confines of the room; his pulse raced beneath his skin as he strained against the coarse restraints securing him to an aged wooden chair. Meeting Jacob's unwavering stare, he swallowed hard; his voice trembled with apprehension. "Damn Assassin! What do you want?" he managed to utter, fear clinging to each word like a shroud.
Jacob stood tall, a looming figure casting a shadow that seemed to swallow the space between him and the Templar. His gaze was like ice, piercing and unyielding as he whispered with a chilling intensity, "You're about to find out. Either you divulge every detail I seek willingly, or my fists will paint regret across your face." The Templar's features contorted into a smug grin as he retorted, "Ah, so you're the bastard causing chaos in our ranks? Thanks for the promotion, but I fear my knowledge won't be of much use. They keep us lowly sapheads in the dark." His laughter carried a hint of flippant bravado; yet beneath it lurked an undeniable sense of unease.
Silence enveloped the room, punctuated by the rhythmic thudding of Jacob's heart as his steely gaze narrowed with unyielding determination. "What did Starrick do to my sister?" His question, long festering within him, finally found voice. The Templar's eyes flicked upwards, a hint of amusement mingling with contempt in his expression. "I don't bleeding know. What I do know is when miss Starrick tells that bitch to jump, she barks how high, master?" His words spilled out, followed by a harsh and humourless laugh.
With a swift movement, Jacob surged forward; his knuckles met the Templar's abdomen with a resounding thud that reverberated through the darkened room. The Templar doubled over, his features contorted in anguish, each breath a strained struggle against the pain searing through him. "Have care how you speak of my sister unless you fancy a less amicable exchange," Jacob growled, his voice laced with a chilling edge. Despite his gasps for air, the Templar mustered a shaky retort, "My fate is sealed regardless—might as well savour this moment," defiance mingling with acceptance in his trembling tone. "Indeed," Jacob responded icily, a fleeting grim smirk dancing on his lips. "Let's make this memorable."
A symphony of violence filled the room as Jacob's fists hammered into the Templar captive with chilling precision. Each punch was an act of controlled savagery, echoing through the dank space like a storm's thunderclap. Despite his raw fury, Jacob carefully avoided breaking his captive's jaw; he needed him to speak, hoping that amidst the agonizing assault, he might yield valuable information. Feeling his emotions flare dangerously, Jacob paused his onslaught. His anger had proven futile before, as evidenced by the fallen Templars who yielded nothing but silence. With heightened awareness, he scanned their surroundings for signs of unwanted observers drawn by the cacophony of his actions. Suddenly, a distant sound whispered on the wind and snaked its way into Jacob's alert ears. Swiftly, he seized the back of the rickety chair and hauled it towards the dilapidated building's rear exit. The air grew heavy with an eerie whistle and the iron tang of ancient railway lines.
Terror dawned in the Templar's eyes as realization struck him. "God! You don't mean to... I've told you; I don't know!" He rasped through split lips, desperation lacing itself with panic, while Jacob positioned him against a cold rail line. Silently, Jacob kicked the chair out onto the rusted rails. The Templar followed his gaze upwards to see an approaching train - its ominous form inching closer along the trembling rails. "PLEASE, HAVE MERCY… NOT LIKE THIS!" He screamed out in sheer terror, momentarily eclipsing his physical torment.
Jacob remained stoic and unyielding under his captor's pleas for mercy. The rhythmic tremors from beneath served as a relentless reminder of impending doom. "PLEASE!" he cried once more before uttering one final desperate plea: "HENRY... HENRY GREEN!" That unexpected name jolted Jacob from his grim resolve. With fluid, well-practiced motions, he hauled the chair away from the tracks, narrowly saving his captive from becoming a gruesome testament to his interrogation methods as the train thundered past.
"Henry lives? Where is he?" Jacob's voice sliced through the tense air, his eyes locked on the wretched figure who had unintentionally soiled himself. The man's dishevelled appearance and frantic gaze betrayed his broken spirit, signalling his readiness to divulge secrets. "He's being held at an abandoned factory on the outskirts of Whitechapel," the man whimpered, his words quivering. "They're keeping him as a bargaining chip in case their dark sorcery on your sister falters. You know... for leverage."
Jacob's mind surged akin to the earlier thundering steam engine, fuelled by the possibilities swirling around him. Henry stood as the key to unlocking Evie's enigma, renowned for his mastery of ancient artefacts. Delving into Henry's wisdom could potentially unfurl the enigmatic veils cloaking Evie's situation. His fervour for such relics had beckoned him back to the Indian Brotherhood, drawn by the allure of an undiscovered subterranean labyrinth. With an unwavering resolve gleaming in his hazel eyes, Jacob propelled himself forward with a sense of urgency that crackled in the air.
"How did he appear during your last encounter?" Jacob prodded with a sense of immediacy, his words sharp as a blade slicing through silence. The Templar shivered in the frigid atmosphere of the chamber, his voice faltering under Jacob's intense gaze. "Battered but holding up," he managed to stammer out.
"Thank you," Jacob acknowledged brusquely, swiftly severing the bonds that tethered the man to the chair with a deft hand.
The Templar looked up, his eyes widening in confusion, a mix of surprise and uncertainty evident on his features. Jacob's fingers gripped the chair's back tightly as he leaned in towards the Templar, his voice cutting through the tense air with a hint of caution. "It might be wise for you to disappear from here," he suggested, his words carrying a veiled threat. "Your superiors won't appreciate loose lips. Before you rush off to inform them, consider the consequences. What I did tonight will seem minor compared to their wrath." With that foreboding warning hanging between them, the Templar swiftly stood up and swiftly darted away with unexpected agility given the circumstances.
Jacob stood still, watching as the figure vanished into the shadows. In the stillness of the night, he grappled with the choice he had just made; uncertainty flickering in his eyes. The tumultuous week had been a tempest of emotions—a whirlwind of fury and bloodshed that left echoes in his mind.
Each life taken weighed on him, a sombre reminder of the cost of their clandestine war. Some faces haunted him more than others, their stories forever lost to the violence that consumed them. As he pondered over the lives snuffed out by his hand, Jacob couldn't shake off the lingering doubt that gnawed at him.
The Templars had stripped away much from him already: pieces of his past, fragments of his identity. Now, standing amidst the aftermath of his violent actions, he grappled with a different kind of loss - that of his own humanity. With a heavy heart and troubled thoughts swirling within him, Jacob wondered if sparing one life amidst the chaos was an act of mercy or merely a fleeting illusion to mask a deeper fear within himself. Yet amidst the turmoil, a flicker of hope ignited within Jacob's heart. Henry was alive. With each revelation that surfaced from the murky depths of despair, the tendrils of determination tightened their grip upon him. He pulled up his hood, shaking off the remnants of doubt and stepped into the night air; the fog swirling like ghosts around him.
Jacob raced nimbly across the rooftops of Whitechapel; his keen eyes swept over the darkened streets and structures below until he pinpointed the warehouse he sought. It stood like a fortress, encircled by an overwhelming contingent of Templar guards whose presence suffocated the already heavy industrial atmosphere. An internal struggle waged as Jacob grappled with the daunting prospect of liberating Henry from this heavily guarded stronghold. Concern for Henry's well-being gnawed at him, yet a steadfast belief in his own abilities bolstered his determination.
Slipping into the narrow gap between two buildings, Jacob descended soundlessly to the ground, melding into the shadows and honing his senses to a razor's edge. The reason for the formidable Templar presence soon became apparent as Annie Starrick strode purposefully through the courtyard; her voice cutting through the air with authority as she directed her subordinates. Beside her moved Evie, a haunting sight with her once vibrant gaze now dulled and vacant, robbed of its usual vivacity under some unseen influence.
Annie's gaze locked onto Evie. A sly smile danced on her lips. "I can only imagine," she taunted, her words laced with scorn, "the conflicting emotions you must be experiencing as you're forced to strike the one you hold dear." Her laughter reverberated through the courtyard, cutting and merciless. "It really is most fascinating, isn't it, my monstrous pet?" Jacob's fists clenched tightly; his knuckles straining against his skin. He battled the overwhelming impulse to burst forth and challenge the woman who was tormenting his sister.
Witnessing Evie in such a predicament tugged at his heart. Yet, he understood that yielding to anger would jeopardize them both. Annie would relish commanding Evie to harm him once more. Evie meticulously surveyed her surroundings, prompting Jacob to fade into the shadows for safety. Her adeptness at managing her heightened senses was remarkable, surpassing even Jacob's own abilities. He prayed she was merely observing for now; utilizing this skill extensively could be draining, and her demeanour hinted at fatigue.
A tense silence enveloped the air, and as Jacob detected no commotion, he grew confident that he had eluded his sister successfully. With caution, he crept back along the wall until he could cautiously peer into the yard once more.
Annie settled gracefully into the plush carriage, her movements exuding poise and authority. Jacob's sharp gaze caught Hunter's approach towards her, his senses honed to capture their hushed conversation. "Another disappearance, likely a fatality," Hunter whispered urgently, his words cutting through the air like a razor. Annie let out a deep sigh, frustration colouring her voice as she mused softly, "I can't help but ponder who is at fault for this. Who allowed that troublesome Frye to slip away? Not once, but twice." Hunter visibly clenched his jaw, the tension evident in the taut muscles of his face. "I ask again - allow me to pursue him. You pride yourself on caution over your brother, yet you continue to underestimate this menace. Your lack of vigilance will be your undoing, creeping upon you in the darkness of night as you slumber."
An exasperated sigh escaped Annie, its echo lingering in the air. She raised an eyebrow, her tone dripping with superiority as she addressed Hunter, "Have you not realized our triumph? London bows before us once more, with only the desperate rats scurrying in the shadows. Do as you wish; my attention is elsewhere. Just refrain from squandering my resources on this futile chase," she dismissed casually, boredom evident in her demeanour. With a disdainful slam of her carriage door, the Templar entourage dispersed, leaving Hunter alone. A sly grin played on his lips as he watched them depart. He had no use for her assets or followers; they only complicated things unnecessarily. His own tools were more than sufficient for the task ahead. Lost in his thoughts, he strode confidently towards his waiting carriage, unaware of Jacob's vigilant gaze fixed upon him like a hawk honing in on its prey.