Hidden in the long shadows cast by the storefront across the street, Haytham let out a loud sigh of dismay. The roaring fire of the McCready’s home danced in his eyes, painting the night sky vicious streaks of yellow and orange. The smell of charred wood and heated brick invading his nose, he found himself coughing a bit. Combined with the snarled sound of the flames mixing with the panicked calls of the family’s neighbors as they vainly attempted to form a fire line, the scene proved monstrous. If it wasn’t brought under control, it would soon engulf the block. A dozen stores and townhomes would be lost, some of the buildings nearly a half-century old.
“A bloody damn shame,” Benjamin Church sighed beside him. Dressed in his usual silken finery, he would’ve cut a dashing figure. Well, save the way his powered wig sat askew upon his head, along with his feathered tricorne. He also smelled heavily of gin. Crossing his arms and bracing himself up against the wall, he arched a languid brow, “George was a git and a half, but how unfortunate-”
“Except this was no accident,” Haytham grit. Leaning back against the lamp post, his expression was grim.
“And how would you know that?” Benjamin let out a dubious chuckle.
“Regrettably, as soon as I attempted to call on him, there came screams from the house," Haytham narrowed his eyes, "Yet when I tried the front door, there was no answer and it was barred solid.”
Gaze snapping back to the blaze, he took in the dozen or so more neighbors who’d come pouring out at the commotion. Well, he could at least give them some credit at being a bit more organized. An older woman in nothing but a nightgown, sleeping cap and robe started bellowing out orders, sending children to fetch buckets and lining people up next to a well to start passing water down the line. He couldn’t hold back a grin at the old battle ax’s brusque demeanor. No wonder she’d grown to such an age.
“So why didn’t you break in?” Benjamin sniffed.
“Too many people about and the building was nearly half aflame by then,” Haytham declared with a shrug. “Considering this all occurred roughly ten minutes ago? That fire was deliberately set, it’s the only explanation.”
Casting him a sideways glance, Benjamin cleared his throat. “I take it that you know that McCready was skimming profits from the General Davenport’s captured convoys?”
“Of course,” Haytham shrugged. “I look over the books myself, every month. But it was a minimal amount, nothing to cut off his hand for. Surely, not worth killing him over. Certain loses are to be expected in times of war, especially when a man has a family to feed.”
Tilting his head to the side, Benjamin murmured, “So you didn’t have anything to do with,” he waved his hand in the direction of the flaming building, “That?”
Haytham blinked in surprise, balking, “As though I would murder a man’s wife and child!”
“Just the man, eh?” Benjamin sarcastically countered.
Pushing himself off the lamppost, Haytham’s dropped his hands to the sides and balled a hand into a fist. “Watch yourself, Benjamin-”
“Oh, I am, sir,” Benjamin threw up his hands in surrender. Though it looked to be more out of habit versus actual fear.
Suddenly reaching out to pick a stray piece of lint from Church’s collar, Haytham’s voice dropped. “Do not mistake me for anything but the master of our organization, Benjamin. One who will do everything in my power to ensure it flourishes within the New World.” Without warning, he suddenly twisted the other man’s collar against his throat rough enough to cause him to gasp for air. “Yet, I find the slaying of women and children utterly distasteful. No matter who they are unlucky enough to marry or be born to. Remember that, Benjamin,” he swiftly unhanded him, “And never deign to accuse me of such monstrosities again,” he nodded at the fire. Dark eyes narrowing, he didn’t say a word as Church struggled for breath.
The other man let out a hiss of retort, his hand clutching at his throat for a moment. His shaking hands straightening out his collar and readjusting his wig, he gulped, “You have made yourself quite clear.”
“Now,” Haytham cleared his throat, “The first thing we must do is track down General Davenport.”
“W-why him?” Benjamin snorted with derision, still catching his breath.
“Because there is only one sort of man who would kill a man’s wife and child without any sort of remorse,” Haytham worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “We know for a fact George was skimming directly from the General’s convoys.” Brow creasing in thought, he added, “Not to mention, the Commander has been getting bolder as of late with his incursions outside of Fort St. Mathieu. Perhaps it is time I have a little sit down with him. And his Hessian executioner he uses to do his bidding.”
“So you think he’s let his rabid dog off the leash?” Benjamin rolled his eyes in disbelief. By now, he stood a few feet away from the Grandmaster. His back purposefully to the brick wall, he shirked away from him at Haytham’s every move.
“Between McCready’s ruinous end, the near deadly attack on Padre Perez and Ms. McCarthy’s complaints about three of her informants ending up strangled in their beds since then,” Haytham pondered, drumming his fingers against his cheek in thought, “I’d say that the Hessian has been away from his master’s heels for some time.”
“Regardless, George had other enemies. Not to mention, there are other enemies of order,” Banjamin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “How do you know it wasn’t that bloody assassin bitch and her minions laying waste?” he sneered.
It took a rather large amount of self-control for Haytham to not throttle the other man. Then again, there was no way he knew of Connor’s parentage. Letting out a long sigh, he waved away Benjamin’s words. “Even at their worst, the Assassins aren’t quite so messy. As much of a nuisance as they are, they stay their blades from innocents.” Or at least I should hope my own daughter doesn’t allow such savagery among her ranks. “Such is part of their asinine creed. In the meantime,” his looked back at the fire across the street. Somewhat under control, it didn’t appear to be spreading to the homes next door. “Come, we should head back to the inn.”
“Seeing that we are out of other options,” Benjamin sarcastically said, following in Haytham’s wake, “We don’t appear to have much choice.”
Within a few moments, they were gone, melting into the shadows as the fire continued to blaze across the way.
-----00000-----
The Yellow Goose Inn was typical of its kind. Small, slightly dingy, with poor lighting and serving mediocre food and ale, it didn’t stand out in the slightest. Which made it perfect for carrying on clandestine conversations. Upstairs were the usual rooms set aside for overnight stays. Downstairs was the bar and dining area. Behind the counter was an elderly couple and their teenage son. Thankfully, the freckle-faced, blonde-haired youth had recently gone through a growth spurt. Built of solid muscle and quite tall, his mere presence kept more of the drunken customers at bay. Frequented by Patriot soldiers, the inn’s prices were inordinately high due to their tendency to freely spend coin.
Originally, Haytham only planned to stay the night. But with George and his family now dead, he had bigger fish to fry. Finding a dark corner and ordering food, he and Benjamin ensured they were served without further interruption by tipping the innkeep’s son a couple of pounds.
“So how exactly do you find yourself able to freely move about the city?” Haytham questioned. “Weren’t you supposed to be acquiring supplies for General von Steuben to get back into the Congress’ good graces after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” Haytham pointed out
Pounding an angry fist on the table that caused their plates to jump, Benjamin growled, “That letter said nothing of any troops or any pertinent information concerning the Patriots! I’ve told you this repeatedly!” he snapped, “And yet you and others insist I am traitor of the highest order!”
Arching a brow, Haytham help up a hand, “Peace, Benjamin. I am not insinuating anything of the sort.” Curling a lip in disdain, Benjamin shook his head in disagreement. Leaning back in his chair, he waved for Haytham to continue. “I just simply pointed out that your fortunes appear to be reversing, what with the fact that you are now able to apparently move about the city without a guard,” Haytham continued.
“So long as I don’t leave the confines of the city,” Benjamin groused. “As for the supplies, as much as I wish to reiterate my innocence to the blasted Congress, they will be wasted on the likes of that lot,” he threw up a hand.
“From what I understand, General von Stueben is Prussian-trained,” Haytham replied with curiosity, “They are some of the most talented troops in Europe-”
“What, and you truly think that even he will prove able to drill a modicum of discipline into the Continentals?” Benjamin sniffed in disdain, “An army of drunks, backwoods farmers, fur traders and shopkeepers?” Leaning over in laughter, he slapped the table in glee. “Oh, Haytham,” he wiped a tear from his eye, ignoring the other man’s scoff, “Whenever did you, of all people, become the perennial optimist?”
“Again, you mistake me, Benjamin,” Haytham pressed his lips together into a thin line of irritation, “Or my motivations,” he slowly added. Quickly finishing off his ale, he pushed away his plate of finished food off to the side. “Now, what to do about General Davenport? Do we have any assets we may call upon within the vicinity of Fort St. Mathieu? Considering it is his base of operations, it should be the first place we consider seeking him.”
Thinking for moment, Benjamin let out a long sigh. “I believe that Thomas is stationed in the general area now. Guarding convoys and what not after he was recalled back to the Connecticut militia.”
“The boy is lucky was wasn’t dishonorably discharged,” Haytham sniffed.
“After that disaster with Washington a few months back? And how many pockets did you have to line to ensure he never made it to trial for attempting to kill the general after the assassin miraculously escaped the noose?” Benjamin drunkenly chuckled, gesturing for another tankard. Waiting until the innkeep’s son left again, he added with a snicker, “I hope the drunken little shit was worth it,” he guffawed.
“Well, he’s never had his loyalty to me called into question, now has he?” Haytham rejoined with dangerous glint in his eye.
“Despite that he was nearly ruined by his sloppy actions against Washington?” Benjamin smirked. “Fortune smiles on that one, so it seems.”
“Above all, he is loyal to the Order first,” Haytham warned, “‘Tis all the supposed fortune one requires.”
“No matter that we’ve a murderous Hessian on our payroll that been loosened onto the world?” Benjamin brayed, “Which is how we find ourselves in our current situation, eh?”
“Which is why Thomas will come in handy in getting us out of it,” Haytham rolled his eyes.
Honestly, Church was beginning to get rather tiresome. Between his constant complaints about the direction of the Order, his increasing drunkenness and how poorly his end of the smuggling business had gone since his arrest for treason, he was well on the road towards being far more trouble than he was worth. And that was excluding the more troubling aspects of the accusations against him. His supposed correspondence with British currently had him a practical prisoner of the city. Oh, he claimed it was only to ensure his British contacts would never doubt him, allowing him to keep hauling in his black-market goods with little trouble. But Haytham knew Church always considered himself the smartest person in the room. Alas, such hubris often caused men to make careless mistakes that could cost the Order its continued progress. Between that and his daughter’s constant attempts against them, Haytham knew he had little room for error.
Frankly, should the time come, he would have little regrets about eliminating the former surgeon general. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone; remove Church and convince Connor to abandon her vain pursuit, thereby replacing Church within his inner circle. No doubt, once he opened her eyes to the truth, her loyalty would have little need of questioning. How could Connor deny her own father, after all?
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Benjamin barked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Forgive me, it has been a long day,” Haytham made his excuses, even as he mentally envisioned the easiest way to drive the spoon next his hand straight through Church’s skull. Blood splattering all over his clothes and sending the inn into a terrified frenzy be damned...
“Clearly,” Church crossed his arms as he leaned back even further in his chair. Haytham couldn’t hold back a huff of retort as he continued, “What exactly can Thomas do from his commission out on the frontier?”
“No matter his predilections towards his baser pursuits, the man has always been rather brilliant at gathering information,” Haytham replied.
“Give Hickey a decent amount coin and he’d sell his own mother into a brothel,” Church disparaged.
“Come now, he’s done nothing of he sort to elicit such an opinion,” Haytham shook his head in disagreement. Leaning forward and dropping his elbows to the table, he steepled his fingers. “Anyway, we need to find out just how far General Davenport has fallen from our goals. From there, we may decide the next course of action. Perhaps our relationship may be saved. It will all hinge on how best to eliminate the Hessian, of course.”
“For all rabid animals must be put down at some point, right?” Benjamin shrugged, taking another long draught of his ale.
Nodding, Haytham continued plotting with Church. Hopefully, a solution to the current chink in the Templar’s proverbial armor could be repaired. Ideally, the sooner, the better.
Author’s Notes:
Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, September 17, 1730 – November 28, 1794 – was a Prussian general and ally of the Continental army during the Revolutionary War. One of the father’s of the Continential army, he helped train and drill the Patriot troops the essentials of military drills, tactics, and disciplines. He wrote the Revolutionary War Drill Manual, which became the standard for American troops until the War of 1812.
“…after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” - In July 1775, Benjamin Church sent an encoded letter to a British Officer in Boston called Major Cane through a former mistress. The letter was intercepted and sent to George Washington in September. While the letter didn’t give away much pertinent information about the Continental forces, he did state his devotion to the Crown and asked to send further correspondence. By November, the Continental Congress expelled Church and placed him under house arrest in Norwich, Connecticut. By May 1776, he was moved to Boston and imprisoned until 1778.
Re: FILL: Short Change Heroes, Part 8/?
“A bloody damn shame,” Benjamin Church sighed beside him. Dressed in his usual silken finery, he would’ve cut a dashing figure. Well, save the way his powered wig sat askew upon his head, along with his feathered tricorne. He also smelled heavily of gin. Crossing his arms and bracing himself up against the wall, he arched a languid brow, “George was a git and a half, but how unfortunate-”
“Except this was no accident,” Haytham grit. Leaning back against the lamp post, his expression was grim.
“And how would you know that?” Benjamin let out a dubious chuckle.
“Regrettably, as soon as I attempted to call on him, there came screams from the house," Haytham narrowed his eyes, "Yet when I tried the front door, there was no answer and it was barred solid.”
Gaze snapping back to the blaze, he took in the dozen or so more neighbors who’d come pouring out at the commotion. Well, he could at least give them some credit at being a bit more organized. An older woman in nothing but a nightgown, sleeping cap and robe started bellowing out orders, sending children to fetch buckets and lining people up next to a well to start passing water down the line. He couldn’t hold back a grin at the old battle ax’s brusque demeanor. No wonder she’d grown to such an age.
“So why didn’t you break in?” Benjamin sniffed.
“Too many people about and the building was nearly half aflame by then,” Haytham declared with a shrug. “Considering this all occurred roughly ten minutes ago? That fire was deliberately set, it’s the only explanation.”
Casting him a sideways glance, Benjamin cleared his throat. “I take it that you know that McCready was skimming profits from the General Davenport’s captured convoys?”
“Of course,” Haytham shrugged. “I look over the books myself, every month. But it was a minimal amount, nothing to cut off his hand for. Surely, not worth killing him over. Certain loses are to be expected in times of war, especially when a man has a family to feed.”
Tilting his head to the side, Benjamin murmured, “So you didn’t have anything to do with,” he waved his hand in the direction of the flaming building, “That?”
Haytham blinked in surprise, balking, “As though I would murder a man’s wife and child!”
“Just the man, eh?” Benjamin sarcastically countered.
Pushing himself off the lamppost, Haytham’s dropped his hands to the sides and balled a hand into a fist. “Watch yourself, Benjamin-”
“Oh, I am, sir,” Benjamin threw up his hands in surrender. Though it looked to be more out of habit versus actual fear.
Suddenly reaching out to pick a stray piece of lint from Church’s collar, Haytham’s voice dropped. “Do not mistake me for anything but the master of our organization, Benjamin. One who will do everything in my power to ensure it flourishes within the New World.” Without warning, he suddenly twisted the other man’s collar against his throat rough enough to cause him to gasp for air. “Yet, I find the slaying of women and children utterly distasteful. No matter who they are unlucky enough to marry or be born to. Remember that, Benjamin,” he swiftly unhanded him, “And never deign to accuse me of such monstrosities again,” he nodded at the fire. Dark eyes narrowing, he didn’t say a word as Church struggled for breath.
The other man let out a hiss of retort, his hand clutching at his throat for a moment. His shaking hands straightening out his collar and readjusting his wig, he gulped, “You have made yourself quite clear.”
“Now,” Haytham cleared his throat, “The first thing we must do is track down General Davenport.”
“W-why him?” Benjamin snorted with derision, still catching his breath.
“Because there is only one sort of man who would kill a man’s wife and child without any sort of remorse,” Haytham worried his bottom lip with his teeth. “We know for a fact George was skimming directly from the General’s convoys.” Brow creasing in thought, he added, “Not to mention, the Commander has been getting bolder as of late with his incursions outside of Fort St. Mathieu. Perhaps it is time I have a little sit down with him. And his Hessian executioner he uses to do his bidding.”
“So you think he’s let his rabid dog off the leash?” Benjamin rolled his eyes in disbelief. By now, he stood a few feet away from the Grandmaster. His back purposefully to the brick wall, he shirked away from him at Haytham’s every move.
“Between McCready’s ruinous end, the near deadly attack on Padre Perez and Ms. McCarthy’s complaints about three of her informants ending up strangled in their beds since then,” Haytham pondered, drumming his fingers against his cheek in thought, “I’d say that the Hessian has been away from his master’s heels for some time.”
“Regardless, George had other enemies. Not to mention, there are other enemies of order,” Banjamin wrinkled his nose in distaste. “How do you know it wasn’t that bloody assassin bitch and her minions laying waste?” he sneered.
It took a rather large amount of self-control for Haytham to not throttle the other man. Then again, there was no way he knew of Connor’s parentage. Letting out a long sigh, he waved away Benjamin’s words. “Even at their worst, the Assassins aren’t quite so messy. As much of a nuisance as they are, they stay their blades from innocents.” Or at least I should hope my own daughter doesn’t allow such savagery among her ranks. “Such is part of their asinine creed. In the meantime,” his looked back at the fire across the street. Somewhat under control, it didn’t appear to be spreading to the homes next door. “Come, we should head back to the inn.”
“Seeing that we are out of other options,” Benjamin sarcastically said, following in Haytham’s wake, “We don’t appear to have much choice.”
Within a few moments, they were gone, melting into the shadows as the fire continued to blaze across the way.
-----00000-----
The Yellow Goose Inn was typical of its kind. Small, slightly dingy, with poor lighting and serving mediocre food and ale, it didn’t stand out in the slightest. Which made it perfect for carrying on clandestine conversations. Upstairs were the usual rooms set aside for overnight stays. Downstairs was the bar and dining area. Behind the counter was an elderly couple and their teenage son. Thankfully, the freckle-faced, blonde-haired youth had recently gone through a growth spurt. Built of solid muscle and quite tall, his mere presence kept more of the drunken customers at bay. Frequented by Patriot soldiers, the inn’s prices were inordinately high due to their tendency to freely spend coin.
Originally, Haytham only planned to stay the night. But with George and his family now dead, he had bigger fish to fry. Finding a dark corner and ordering food, he and Benjamin ensured they were served without further interruption by tipping the innkeep’s son a couple of pounds.
“So how exactly do you find yourself able to freely move about the city?” Haytham questioned. “Weren’t you supposed to be acquiring supplies for General von Steuben to get back into the Congress’ good graces after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” Haytham pointed out
Pounding an angry fist on the table that caused their plates to jump, Benjamin growled, “That letter said nothing of any troops or any pertinent information concerning the Patriots! I’ve told you this repeatedly!” he snapped, “And yet you and others insist I am traitor of the highest order!”
Arching a brow, Haytham help up a hand, “Peace, Benjamin. I am not insinuating anything of the sort.” Curling a lip in disdain, Benjamin shook his head in disagreement. Leaning back in his chair, he waved for Haytham to continue. “I just simply pointed out that your fortunes appear to be reversing, what with the fact that you are now able to apparently move about the city without a guard,” Haytham continued.
“So long as I don’t leave the confines of the city,” Benjamin groused. “As for the supplies, as much as I wish to reiterate my innocence to the blasted Congress, they will be wasted on the likes of that lot,” he threw up a hand.
“From what I understand, General von Stueben is Prussian-trained,” Haytham replied with curiosity, “They are some of the most talented troops in Europe-”
“What, and you truly think that even he will prove able to drill a modicum of discipline into the Continentals?” Benjamin sniffed in disdain, “An army of drunks, backwoods farmers, fur traders and shopkeepers?” Leaning over in laughter, he slapped the table in glee. “Oh, Haytham,” he wiped a tear from his eye, ignoring the other man’s scoff, “Whenever did you, of all people, become the perennial optimist?”
“Again, you mistake me, Benjamin,” Haytham pressed his lips together into a thin line of irritation, “Or my motivations,” he slowly added. Quickly finishing off his ale, he pushed away his plate of finished food off to the side. “Now, what to do about General Davenport? Do we have any assets we may call upon within the vicinity of Fort St. Mathieu? Considering it is his base of operations, it should be the first place we consider seeking him.”
Thinking for moment, Benjamin let out a long sigh. “I believe that Thomas is stationed in the general area now. Guarding convoys and what not after he was recalled back to the Connecticut militia.”
“The boy is lucky was wasn’t dishonorably discharged,” Haytham sniffed.
“After that disaster with Washington a few months back? And how many pockets did you have to line to ensure he never made it to trial for attempting to kill the general after the assassin miraculously escaped the noose?” Benjamin drunkenly chuckled, gesturing for another tankard. Waiting until the innkeep’s son left again, he added with a snicker, “I hope the drunken little shit was worth it,” he guffawed.
“Well, he’s never had his loyalty to me called into question, now has he?” Haytham rejoined with dangerous glint in his eye.
“Despite that he was nearly ruined by his sloppy actions against Washington?” Benjamin smirked. “Fortune smiles on that one, so it seems.”
“Above all, he is loyal to the Order first,” Haytham warned, “‘Tis all the supposed fortune one requires.”
“No matter that we’ve a murderous Hessian on our payroll that been loosened onto the world?” Benjamin brayed, “Which is how we find ourselves in our current situation, eh?”
“Which is why Thomas will come in handy in getting us out of it,” Haytham rolled his eyes.
Honestly, Church was beginning to get rather tiresome. Between his constant complaints about the direction of the Order, his increasing drunkenness and how poorly his end of the smuggling business had gone since his arrest for treason, he was well on the road towards being far more trouble than he was worth. And that was excluding the more troubling aspects of the accusations against him. His supposed correspondence with British currently had him a practical prisoner of the city. Oh, he claimed it was only to ensure his British contacts would never doubt him, allowing him to keep hauling in his black-market goods with little trouble. But Haytham knew Church always considered himself the smartest person in the room. Alas, such hubris often caused men to make careless mistakes that could cost the Order its continued progress. Between that and his daughter’s constant attempts against them, Haytham knew he had little room for error.
Frankly, should the time come, he would have little regrets about eliminating the former surgeon general. Perhaps he could kill two birds with one stone; remove Church and convince Connor to abandon her vain pursuit, thereby replacing Church within his inner circle. No doubt, once he opened her eyes to the truth, her loyalty would have little need of questioning. How could Connor deny her own father, after all?
“Have you heard a word I’ve said?” Benjamin barked, interrupting his thoughts.
“Forgive me, it has been a long day,” Haytham made his excuses, even as he mentally envisioned the easiest way to drive the spoon next his hand straight through Church’s skull. Blood splattering all over his clothes and sending the inn into a terrified frenzy be damned...
“Clearly,” Church crossed his arms as he leaned back even further in his chair. Haytham couldn’t hold back a huff of retort as he continued, “What exactly can Thomas do from his commission out on the frontier?”
“No matter his predilections towards his baser pursuits, the man has always been rather brilliant at gathering information,” Haytham replied.
“Give Hickey a decent amount coin and he’d sell his own mother into a brothel,” Church disparaged.
“Come now, he’s done nothing of he sort to elicit such an opinion,” Haytham shook his head in disagreement. Leaning forward and dropping his elbows to the table, he steepled his fingers. “Anyway, we need to find out just how far General Davenport has fallen from our goals. From there, we may decide the next course of action. Perhaps our relationship may be saved. It will all hinge on how best to eliminate the Hessian, of course.”
“For all rabid animals must be put down at some point, right?” Benjamin shrugged, taking another long draught of his ale.
Nodding, Haytham continued plotting with Church. Hopefully, a solution to the current chink in the Templar’s proverbial armor could be repaired. Ideally, the sooner, the better.
Author’s Notes:
Friedrich Wilhelm von Steuben, September 17, 1730 – November 28, 1794 – was a Prussian general and ally of the Continental army during the Revolutionary War. One of the father’s of the Continential army, he helped train and drill the Patriot troops the essentials of military drills, tactics, and disciplines. He wrote the Revolutionary War Drill Manual, which became the standard for American troops until the War of 1812.
“…after your little cipher to the British was intercepted?” - In July 1775, Benjamin Church sent an encoded letter to a British Officer in Boston called Major Cane through a former mistress. The letter was intercepted and sent to George Washington in September. While the letter didn’t give away much pertinent information about the Continental forces, he did state his devotion to the Crown and asked to send further correspondence. By November, the Continental Congress expelled Church and placed him under house arrest in Norwich, Connecticut. By May 1776, he was moved to Boston and imprisoned until 1778.