I'm sorry this was delayed, everyone. ^^; Now that college has started up again, I find myself with less time than I'd like for writing. Never fear though, this fic WILL be finished. I was even able to advance the slow, lurching beast that is the plot in this chapter. xD
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Haytham obviously did not return to the alleyway to check for the precursor artifact. If it hadn’t been there last night, it certainly wouldn’t be there now. No, today Haytham’s business was with his own Order. Specifically, it was with Church, or what remained of him, anyway. After the corrupt doctor had been…disposed of, a few well-placed bribes and threats to the sailors on Church’s ship had ensured that the man’s personal effects would be transported to Templar headquarters at the Green Dragon Inn. Hopefully, Haytham would find some clue in them as to where Church had found the Skull. Once he found its place of origin, perhaps Haytham could also figure out a way of harnessing its power. Then, he could fix the mess he and Connor were currently stuck in, as well as gain a powerful tool for the Templars.
Haytham leapt nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, dashing around chimneys and over scaffolding, unseen by the people milling about on the streets below. He came across one lone rooftop guard along the way, who was quickly disposed of with a firm stab of the hidden blade between his ribs. The guard hadn’t even noticed Haytham before his end had come. He couldn’t help but marvel at how gracefully Connor’s body moved, how the boy’s strong and powerful muscles carried him quickly along. So much potential, and yet his son chose to waste his time with the Assassins. It was such a pity.
Before long, Haytham had reached his destination. He surveyed the building carefully, slipping from shadow to shadow in the streets around the inn, climbing along windowsills and across rough, uneven brick edifices. It was going to be difficult to sneak inside, as Haytham had suspected. He’d ordered his fellow Templars to guard the building covertly, yet carefully, against possible attack by Assassins. A Templar was situated casually next to every window. Two people were seated by each of the inn’s doors. To the casual observer they appeared to be playing games of Fanorona and Nine Men’s Morris, but their eyes were focused on the entrances they were guarding. Haytham felt a mixture of pride and frustration at seeing the Green Dragon so well protected. Pride at the diligence of his Templar underlings at their duties, but frustration at not being able to easily access Church’s things.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, in Haytham’s particular situation) the Templar defense was not foolproof. There was only one guard on the building’s roof, a young lad who looked to be half-asleep on the sun-warmed shingles. He didn’t even notice as Haytham climbed up and landed lightly next to him, only opening his eyes when he felt Haytham’s (Connor’s) large, heavy hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing, hard. The boy’s eyes bulged at the pressure, his face turning slowly white, then blue. The young Templar opened his mouth to scream, but only a few gasping, wheezing breaths came out before he slumped in Haytham’s grip, unconscious. He’d have bruises around his neck for a few days, but would be otherwise fine upon waking. Haytham would never willingly kill one of his own, after all.
Haytham leapt atop the chimney and peered down through the grate. It was just wide enough for him to travel down, as long as he was careful. Eagle Vision didn’t reveal any telltale spots of color in the room below. He groaned inwardly, and began prying the chimney grate off with his hidden blade. Haytham had sneaked into places via chimney before, in his long and illustrious career as a Templar, but he hated doing so. It was terribly claustrophobic, and one always ended up covered in soot afterwards.
He laboriously worked his way down the chimney as fast as he could, breathing a sigh of relief upon dropping quietly down the last few feet into the fireplace and rolling out in a puff of old cinders. Now it would only be a matter of sneaking quietly up a flight of stairs, grabbing Church’s things, and getting the hell out of the Green Dragon. Yes, Haytham was quite pleased with how well this was going so far.
Just as Haytham had gotten to his feet, the door opened and a girl walked in. She was someone Haytham vaguely recognized as a new Templar recruit, though her name escaped him. It didn’t matter anyway; what was important now was making sure that she wasn’t able to alert the others to his presence. He rushed forward and had just gotten his (Connor’s) hands around her throat when the girl’s mouth opened and she screamed, “ASSASSIN! HELP! ASSASSIN!”
Haytham heard the thundering of quite a few pairs of boots in the corridor and on the stairwell before no less than nine other Templars had crowded around the doorway where their grandmaster stood frozen, hands still locked around the girl’s throat but making no move to apply pressure. Four of them pointed their revolvers at his head, and the others immediately drew their swords and knives. Haytham could see the frightened and curious faces of some of the Green Dragon’s patrons peeking out from behind the group of angry Templars.
He couldn’t fight this many people. Not when he was in such close quarters, and not while in a body he was only slightly familiar with. He briefly debated telling the others who he was, but quickly dismissed that idea. There was no way they’d believe him. Only Haytham’s Inner Circle knew of the existence of the precursor artifacts, and they were all dead, except for Charles.
Haytham muttered the foulest words he knew under his breath as he slowly released the girl’s throat and even more slowly raised his hands into the air. “I’ll come with you quietly,” he said. “Just let me speak to your Grandmaster, when he arrives.”
He could only hope that Connor would be able to track him down before the other Templars decided to kill him. It was at times like this that Haytham wished he’d sat down with Johnson to write a will while the man was still alive.
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Connor had been wandering around the docks for twenty minutes, eavesdropping on sailors downing pint after pint of ale in the pubs and gossiping ladies browsing the marketplace stalls. The most interesting thing he’d heard so far was about the new shipment of fancy scented soaps that had just come in from France. Not a word had been spoken about Haytham’s mysterious crystal, and Connor was beginning to get nervous. What if the wretched thing hadn’t been picked up after all? Maybe it had simply rolled away and was sitting at the bottom of a gutter somewhere, or worse, had somehow flowed out to the bottom of the harbor with the rest of the city’s garbage…
Connor refused to think about what he would do if he was stuck in Haytham’s body forever. It was far from weak or powerless, but Connor could nevertheless feel the slow, creeping effects of age starting to take their toll. Traveling over the rooftops had taken just a tad more energy than Connor was used to, had required a bit more force behind his jumps, and left him more breathless than usual upon arriving at the docks. Connor worried about what would happen if he needed to fight in this body for a prolonged period of time.
We will find it, the Assassin thought firmly to himself, echoing Haytham’s words from last night. Surely news of the crystal would surface after a few days of searching, and then this whole horrible mess would only be a bad memory. After all, what was the worst that could happen in that time?
The worst happened when a boy who looked to be around Connor’s age or perhaps a little younger caught his eye from across the street and ran up to him. Connor was halfway into a fighting stance before the boy spoke, his voice filled with quiet urgency, “Master Kenway, sir! We’ve found him!”
Connor’s mind went blank. All he could do was blink at the boy standing in front of him, face flushed with excitement, who obviously believed him to be Haytham. “Uh…” was all that came out of his mouth.
“Oh, sorry, sir,” the boy said with a sheepish grin. “I forgot.” He leaned in a bit closer, causing Connor to flinch slightly back. He’d never liked it when people invaded his personal space, something Europeans seemed to do far too frequently. “May the Father of Understanding guide us,” the boy whispered. “We’ve caught the Assassin. The half-savage, the one that’s been ruining all our plans. The one that killed most of your top men, sir.”
The force of this information hit Connor with all the force of a rampaging wild elk. He actually staggered back half a step from the shock, before quickly composing himself. A million thoughts ran wild through his mind. The Templars had caught an Assassin? And the “half-savage” one, apparently…they had to have caught Haytham. But how? Haytham was supposed to be one of the most talented fighters either side had seen in years. Did they know…? No, the Templars couldn’t know, or else they’d be out in force trying to kill him right now.
“We’re holding the Assassin at headquarters now, awaiting your orders. I was sent to fetch you as quick as I could, and…are you feeling alright, Master Kenway?” The boy’s face took on a look of concern at seeing Connor’s (Haytham’s) face pale and eyes wide with shock.
“Fine,” Connor mumbled, schooling his (Haytham’s) face back into what he hoped was a calm expression. This was the last thing he needed right now, on top of everything else. “Can you bring me to where he is being held, er…?” Connor trailed off as he realized that he had no idea what the boy’s name was.
“Jackson, sir. Will Jackson,” the boy said, still looking a bit confused. “With all due respect, sir, are you sure you’re alright? Your voice sounds a bit funny…”
Connor tried his best to channel Haytham and make his next words sound as commanding and English as possible. “Never you mind, just lead me to the Assassin already! Now!”
“Right away, Master Kenway, sir!” Will said. He turned and started clambering hand over hand up onto the nearest roof, with Connor right at his heels. Only one thought ran through the Assassin’s mind as he followed Will across the rooftops and facades of buildings:
Fill: Body Swap Part 5/?
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Haytham obviously did not return to the alleyway to check for the precursor artifact. If it hadn’t been there last night, it certainly wouldn’t be there now. No, today Haytham’s business was with his own Order. Specifically, it was with Church, or what remained of him, anyway. After the corrupt doctor had been…disposed of, a few well-placed bribes and threats to the sailors on Church’s ship had ensured that the man’s personal effects would be transported to Templar headquarters at the Green Dragon Inn. Hopefully, Haytham would find some clue in them as to where Church had found the Skull. Once he found its place of origin, perhaps Haytham could also figure out a way of harnessing its power. Then, he could fix the mess he and Connor were currently stuck in, as well as gain a powerful tool for the Templars.
Haytham leapt nimbly from rooftop to rooftop, dashing around chimneys and over scaffolding, unseen by the people milling about on the streets below. He came across one lone rooftop guard along the way, who was quickly disposed of with a firm stab of the hidden blade between his ribs. The guard hadn’t even noticed Haytham before his end had come. He couldn’t help but marvel at how gracefully Connor’s body moved, how the boy’s strong and powerful muscles carried him quickly along. So much potential, and yet his son chose to waste his time with the Assassins. It was such a pity.
Before long, Haytham had reached his destination. He surveyed the building carefully, slipping from shadow to shadow in the streets around the inn, climbing along windowsills and across rough, uneven brick edifices. It was going to be difficult to sneak inside, as Haytham had suspected. He’d ordered his fellow Templars to guard the building covertly, yet carefully, against possible attack by Assassins. A Templar was situated casually next to every window. Two people were seated by each of the inn’s doors. To the casual observer they appeared to be playing games of Fanorona and Nine Men’s Morris, but their eyes were focused on the entrances they were guarding. Haytham felt a mixture of pride and frustration at seeing the Green Dragon so well protected. Pride at the diligence of his Templar underlings at their duties, but frustration at not being able to easily access Church’s things.
Unfortunately (or fortunately, in Haytham’s particular situation) the Templar defense was not foolproof. There was only one guard on the building’s roof, a young lad who looked to be half-asleep on the sun-warmed shingles. He didn’t even notice as Haytham climbed up and landed lightly next to him, only opening his eyes when he felt Haytham’s (Connor’s) large, heavy hands wrapped around his throat and squeezing, hard. The boy’s eyes bulged at the pressure, his face turning slowly white, then blue. The young Templar opened his mouth to scream, but only a few gasping, wheezing breaths came out before he slumped in Haytham’s grip, unconscious. He’d have bruises around his neck for a few days, but would be otherwise fine upon waking. Haytham would never willingly kill one of his own, after all.
Haytham leapt atop the chimney and peered down through the grate. It was just wide enough for him to travel down, as long as he was careful. Eagle Vision didn’t reveal any telltale spots of color in the room below. He groaned inwardly, and began prying the chimney grate off with his hidden blade. Haytham had sneaked into places via chimney before, in his long and illustrious career as a Templar, but he hated doing so. It was terribly claustrophobic, and one always ended up covered in soot afterwards.
He laboriously worked his way down the chimney as fast as he could, breathing a sigh of relief upon dropping quietly down the last few feet into the fireplace and rolling out in a puff of old cinders. Now it would only be a matter of sneaking quietly up a flight of stairs, grabbing Church’s things, and getting the hell out of the Green Dragon. Yes, Haytham was quite pleased with how well this was going so far.
Just as Haytham had gotten to his feet, the door opened and a girl walked in. She was someone Haytham vaguely recognized as a new Templar recruit, though her name escaped him. It didn’t matter anyway; what was important now was making sure that she wasn’t able to alert the others to his presence. He rushed forward and had just gotten his (Connor’s) hands around her throat when the girl’s mouth opened and she screamed, “ASSASSIN! HELP! ASSASSIN!”
Haytham heard the thundering of quite a few pairs of boots in the corridor and on the stairwell before no less than nine other Templars had crowded around the doorway where their grandmaster stood frozen, hands still locked around the girl’s throat but making no move to apply pressure. Four of them pointed their revolvers at his head, and the others immediately drew their swords and knives. Haytham could see the frightened and curious faces of some of the Green Dragon’s patrons peeking out from behind the group of angry Templars.
He couldn’t fight this many people. Not when he was in such close quarters, and not while in a body he was only slightly familiar with. He briefly debated telling the others who he was, but quickly dismissed that idea. There was no way they’d believe him. Only Haytham’s Inner Circle knew of the existence of the precursor artifacts, and they were all dead, except for Charles.
Haytham muttered the foulest words he knew under his breath as he slowly released the girl’s throat and even more slowly raised his hands into the air. “I’ll come with you quietly,” he said. “Just let me speak to your Grandmaster, when he arrives.”
He could only hope that Connor would be able to track him down before the other Templars decided to kill him. It was at times like this that Haytham wished he’d sat down with Johnson to write a will while the man was still alive.
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Connor had been wandering around the docks for twenty minutes, eavesdropping on sailors downing pint after pint of ale in the pubs and gossiping ladies browsing the marketplace stalls. The most interesting thing he’d heard so far was about the new shipment of fancy scented soaps that had just come in from France. Not a word had been spoken about Haytham’s mysterious crystal, and Connor was beginning to get nervous. What if the wretched thing hadn’t been picked up after all? Maybe it had simply rolled away and was sitting at the bottom of a gutter somewhere, or worse, had somehow flowed out to the bottom of the harbor with the rest of the city’s garbage…
Connor refused to think about what he would do if he was stuck in Haytham’s body forever. It was far from weak or powerless, but Connor could nevertheless feel the slow, creeping effects of age starting to take their toll. Traveling over the rooftops had taken just a tad more energy than Connor was used to, had required a bit more force behind his jumps, and left him more breathless than usual upon arriving at the docks. Connor worried about what would happen if he needed to fight in this body for a prolonged period of time.
We will find it, the Assassin thought firmly to himself, echoing Haytham’s words from last night. Surely news of the crystal would surface after a few days of searching, and then this whole horrible mess would only be a bad memory. After all, what was the worst that could happen in that time?
The worst happened when a boy who looked to be around Connor’s age or perhaps a little younger caught his eye from across the street and ran up to him. Connor was halfway into a fighting stance before the boy spoke, his voice filled with quiet urgency, “Master Kenway, sir! We’ve found him!”
Connor’s mind went blank. All he could do was blink at the boy standing in front of him, face flushed with excitement, who obviously believed him to be Haytham. “Uh…” was all that came out of his mouth.
“Oh, sorry, sir,” the boy said with a sheepish grin. “I forgot.” He leaned in a bit closer, causing Connor to flinch slightly back. He’d never liked it when people invaded his personal space, something Europeans seemed to do far too frequently. “May the Father of Understanding guide us,” the boy whispered. “We’ve caught the Assassin. The half-savage, the one that’s been ruining all our plans. The one that killed most of your top men, sir.”
The force of this information hit Connor with all the force of a rampaging wild elk. He actually staggered back half a step from the shock, before quickly composing himself. A million thoughts ran wild through his mind. The Templars had caught an Assassin? And the “half-savage” one, apparently…they had to have caught Haytham. But how? Haytham was supposed to be one of the most talented fighters either side had seen in years. Did they know…? No, the Templars couldn’t know, or else they’d be out in force trying to kill him right now.
“We’re holding the Assassin at headquarters now, awaiting your orders. I was sent to fetch you as quick as I could, and…are you feeling alright, Master Kenway?” The boy’s face took on a look of concern at seeing Connor’s (Haytham’s) face pale and eyes wide with shock.
“Fine,” Connor mumbled, schooling his (Haytham’s) face back into what he hoped was a calm expression. This was the last thing he needed right now, on top of everything else. “Can you bring me to where he is being held, er…?” Connor trailed off as he realized that he had no idea what the boy’s name was.
“Jackson, sir. Will Jackson,” the boy said, still looking a bit confused. “With all due respect, sir, are you sure you’re alright? Your voice sounds a bit funny…”
Connor tried his best to channel Haytham and make his next words sound as commanding and English as possible. “Never you mind, just lead me to the Assassin already! Now!”
“Right away, Master Kenway, sir!” Will said. He turned and started clambering hand over hand up onto the nearest roof, with Connor right at his heels. Only one thought ran through the Assassin’s mind as he followed Will across the rooftops and facades of buildings:
Father, just what have you been doing?