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Chapter Text

     August was coming to an end. The air was still warm, the smouldering summer heat under which Warren and Prudence had to toll wasn’t entirely gone. The year was good, the harvest bountiful thanks to the rich soil of the homestead. His carriage filled with caskets of corn, bags of wheat and vegetables, Warren went to Boston to sell their crops.

     Still, Prudence had her hands full. Pigs, Cows, Sheep and Poultry to tend to, and so many vegetables yet to pick, and the most delicate task of all: Hunter.

     The boy was no longer a baby she could strap to her back while working. At four years of age, he was as swift and lively as the bunnies that constantly tried to nibble at their pumpkins. Prudence was even more worried that he apparently inherited her restlessness. Since her pregnancy and eventful delivery, she toned down her escapades in the wilderness: she felt like her poor Warren’s heart shouldn’t be furthermore mistreated and brave Connor couldn’t be around every time to save her from bears or impatient babies. Speaking of the wolf…

     Ratonhnhaké:ton was peacefully walking down the path bordering the farm. Going to Myriam cabin, no doubt to plan their next delivery of fresh furs. What intrigued Prudence was that the young man wasn’t wearing his heavy hooded coat, even he had to adapt to the heat after all. Even more unusual was the absence of any of his weapons, no bow nor guns and neither tomahawk at his sides. Only his peculiar leather bracers remained.

     “Conno’!” Young Hunter had spotted Ratonhnhaké:ton too, and rushed to his side with his usual recklessness. The balance of four years olds being what it is, he tripped a first time, and a second that made him land flat on the ground. The boy began to wail a mere two second after and Prudence could not refrain a chuckle, her son certainly had had worse stunts. Connor picked him up and brushed the dirt off with his hand.

     “Hello Connor, what deadly injury has my child sustained?” she jokingly asked.

     “Nothing worth bothering Dr White,” he softly replied, as Hunter stopped crying “this case seems beyond saving, I am afraid…”

     Prudence laughed at Connor’s unexpected joke; the humour was lost to Hunter who whined and clang to the young man. The usually touch-adverse Connor welcomed the toddler’s embrace and picked him up in his arms as he got up.

     “You were up to discuss furs and pelts with Myriam, I wager?”

     “Yes. Ellen is expecting a big commission from Boston and needed material, it will be easier to do if we team up.”

     “Indeed. Now sweetheart,” she turned to her son, “Connor has business to do, you heard, so you better leave him be…”

     Hunter yelped a defiant “No!” and clang harder to Connor when his mother attempted to grab him. The frown she made reminded Connor of how his own mother reacted to him misbehaving; she shifted her tone accordingly:

     “Oh no, you son of mine, you do not talk back to me.” Prudence growled without raising her usually gentle voice, “no one has time for a tantrum here, not Connor and certainly not me.” Hunter made a sad put and started to loosen his grip on Connor when the man spoke:

     “I do not mind if he stays with me, Prudence. You look like you have much to do and I am not that busy myself.”

     Prudence was taken aback by her friend’s proposal, but she had to admit it was a tempting one; she could finish her work much earlier without her toddler scampering around.

     “Aw that’s awfully nice of you Connor, but you are like Warren you spoil him too much, he’s going to turn rotten!” Hunter stuck his tongue out at his mother who playfully flicked him on the nose, the toddler giggled.

     “Sorry for that”, Connor said with a smile.

     “Don’t apologise for bein’ nice. And thank you, I could use this help, I trust you with him more than Terry’s boys.”

     Connor chuckled, Malcolm and Angus were rowdy kids and their last attempt at babysitting nearly ended in disaster. Thankfully, Norris saw them in his mine before lighting his charge’s fuse.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>> 

     One of the first things Hunter told Connor when he started to talk was for asking him why he is so tall. The adults around laughed at the young boy’s questions. Prudence didn’t miss the occasion and proclaimed that Connor became so tall because he wasn’t fussing when eating his soup, unlike a certain someone. Oliver thought more likely that the robust and meaty native diet was to thanks for that and Lyle White pondered if the fresh air of the Kanien’ké valley, free of the towns’ miasma, was responsible. Connor had no answers, although his parents were certainly not short. The memories of both Kaniehtí:io and Haytham made him fell silent for the rest of the evening.

     Now, Connor long legs and usual fast paced walk rapidly proved way too quick for little Hunter who scrambled behind him.

     “Conno’… Conno’!” The young man turned to face his charge, Hunter’s face clearly showed his frustration as he approached, “you too fast… I can’t follow you…”

     “You are right, Hunter. My apologies.” Ratonhnhaké:ton softly replied, he extended his hand to the boy who eagerly took it.

     For the rest of the walk, Connor had to lean and adjust his pace to Hunter’s. He didn’t mind as the child was extremely happy that way. He was hopping alongside his friend on the forest path and pointing at the birds while making joyful noises. Connor was used of this now, and resisted the urge to chide him for what would be seen as awfully rude amongst his people. He caught sight of a Northern Cardinal, all crimson, singing on a branch. “Look Connor, all the pretty feathers! Do you use its feather for your hair?”, the boy asked.

     “We do not. We use Eagle’s feathers.”

     “Oh. And why do you use feathers?”.

     Connor pondered the question and the best way to answer it to the boy. It was not often that Colonists asked him questions about his culture, even amongst his Assassin brethren. “We use it to celebrate, to show our feats to our people and our origin too.”

     “Origin?”

     “Well... I am from the Kanien’kehá:ka nation, or… Mohawk as some say. If I want to show it to the people of other tribes, I will have to put three eagle’s feathers in my hair.”

     “Oh!” Hunter showed a great deal of interest that surprised Connor, “and why don’t you do it now then?”

     “I… I am not… It will not fit with my hood.”

     “Aw… to bad, because I think it’s pretty!”

     “Yes. And we use feather to make things pretty too.” Hunter giggled.

     As they were nearing Myriam’s cabin, Connor spotted an Owl that Hunter didn’t see. He kneeled beside the boy and pointed at it with is lips, in native fashion. “Look here: tsihstekeri.”

     “What!?” The toddler’s shout startled the bird of prey who angrily stared at them both.

     “Tsihstekeri,” repeated Connor, “That’s how my people call the owls.”

     “Wah! And how you call eagles?”

     “Akweks.” Ratonhnhaké:ton replied.

     Connor was baffled but endeared by Hunter’s awe. To a four years old boy still struggling with English, the idea that things could be named in a whole different language was a constant source of amazement. When they reached Myriam’s cabin, Connor smiled and said “Iontó:rats.”

     “Hello to you too, Connor.” Myriam absentmindedly replied; she was sharpening the knife Norris once gifted her. “Kwey[1]! That’s how you say it too, right?”

     That word was familiar to Ratonhnhaké:ton, it was the first that sprung out of the lips of the tribes north and south of the Great Lakes and the Great Walking River[2] when they meet each other.

     “This is a greeting we use amongst many people, though my brethren usually say Shé:kon, to greet one another.”

     “Then what did you say, just now?”, Myriam stood up, “I hope you weren’t calling me names”, she jokingly added.

     “Conno’ is teaching me words!”, Hunter suddenly shouted.

     “Yes, Iontó:rats means ‘Huntress’.”

     “Oh well, ‘Yon-do-rads’? That’s nice to know. And how would you call a little hunter like we have here?”, she said while smiling at Hunter.

     “Rató:rats.”, he replied, while smiling at his young charge who beamed back.

     Connor and Myriam started discussing their upcoming tasks: on which ground to hunt and which to lay traps, where to find the best furs for Ellen. Hunter quickly bore of this conversation and began to wander around the Huntress’s cabin. The sight of dead trapped rabbits and drying furs didn’t faze the little farm boy much, he was used to it, watching his father kill pigs and poultry then playing in the feathers his mother plucked. The traps aligned by the door caught his eyes however. While the snares where not much to look at, the wolf and bear traps, with their sharp teeth, inspired him a morbid curiosity…

     “Do not touch that, Hunter!”

     Connor’s shout snapped him out of his little examination, his fingers already too close to the rusty maws, thankfully closed.

     “Oh, you need to keep an eye on that one, remind me of someone…” snickered Myriam.

     “Indeed” Connor beckoned Hunter to approach, as the toddler came closer, pouting all the way, he took his hand in his own, “There are things you should not touch, little one,” he lightly squeezed his fingers to make his point, “those could easily hurt you if you are not careful. Do you understand?”

     Hunter nodded and looked away, a bit upset by the lecture, Connor elected not to mind that. Myriam laughed as she stood up.

     “Well, I’m not in a hurry to get one of my own. It’d be complicated to have another baby around.”

     “I’m not a baby…” muttered Hunter and Myriam laughed again, tried to gently poke his puffed cheeks only for the boy to whine and hide behind Connor’s broad back.

     “You and Norris aren’t planning to have one?”

     “Well, he’d like too, and I’m not really against it, but you know how I feel about the whole housewife business.”

     “I do,” Connor smiled, “and the trees remember too.”

     “Oh please,” Myriam rolled her eyes, “Don’t bring this up, I panicked and nearly ruined my dress in this damn river.”

     They both laughed while Hunter side-eyed them.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>> 

     Ratonhnhaké:ton and Hunter were back into the wilds, the adults assigned each other places were to lay traps. Once again, Connor was carrying Hunter on his shoulders, to protect him from the bushes and vines. Hunter was lazily resting on Connor’s head, humming a little tune while playing with his braids. Connor didn’t mind and was looking for good spots for trapping foxes. Since he was in charge of Hunter, both he and Myriam thought it wiser that she takes care of the wolves and their pelts.

     Finding a good place, he crouches to lay his snare and place some bait. Hunter tighten his grip on Connor’s head and giggles as these movements make him rock back and forth. Connor playfully moves his shoulders to humour the child some more. Hunter’s laughter of delight echoes under the trees and scare off numerous birds.

     “Ush, Hunter, look.” Connor pointed toward the edge of the forest, by a clearance bathed in sunlight, first with his lips, then with his hands when Hunter didn’t understand. “Over there, quietly…”

     The boy squinted in this direction then gasped.

     “A doe!” His whisper barely concealed his excitement.

     “Yes. Oskenón:ton. Keep looking, under her belly.” Hunter focused, and saw a small creature peeking under the deer, similar but smaller with a constellation of white spots on its back.

     “Her baby!”, this time Hunter wasn’t as discreet and shouted. The doe stiffened and raised her head, sniffing the air, her ears twisting in all direction, searching for any trace of danger. Hunter realised his mistake and covered his mouth with his hands.

     “You need to be careful, Hunter,” whispered Connor, “Do not make any noise, lest you want to startle the animals.”

     The doe hopped back in the thick of the woods, her progeny right after her.

     “Aw no~” Hunter pouted, disappointment clear in his voice,

     “You will have other chances. Just remember to be silent, alright.” Ratonhnhaké:ton felt the boy’s nodding and resumed walking.

     “Conno~?”

     “Hum?”

     “I’m hungry…”

     “Is that so? Hum…” Connor thought of an answer as Hunter was starting to squirm, he remembered a place where blackberry brambles were growing and probably bear fruits this time of year, it would be a good trapping ground too. “Do you like blackberries, Hunter?”

     “I do! I do!”, the boy shouted in excitation and trampled his legs on Connor’s torso. “Let’s go pick bwackberries, Conno’!”

     The young man laughed at the sound of his charge’s childish slurs and enthusiasm and sprung forward.

     Despite Connor’s firm grip on the boy’s legs, he did bounce quite a bit on his shoulders. Hunter’s laughter and encouragement to go faster made him increase his pace. A soft wind began to blow, ruffling the leaves and the grass, cooling both of their faces. Hunter laughed even more and raised his arms to try and catch the leaves blown away. Connor kept his fast pace and the speed made forest around them blur in shades of green and brown.

     As they were nearing the brambles, Connor slowed down but kept skipping to humour the child. Even amongst Hunter’s giggles, he could distinctly hear a ruffle in the bushes that was way too loud to be of a hare, and far too near to be on an animal anyway. He came to an abrupt stop and gently placed in index on Hunter’s lips to advise him silence, the boy gasped and froze, taking this as a new game or the chance to see another creature.

     As they stood silent and listening, the ruffling increased.

     “Shit!”

     “Oh! That’s not an animal!” exclaimed Hunter, “Hey! Your mommy will wash your mouth with a soap if you swear!”

     “Don’t tell Ellen, then!” a girlish voice replied beyond the brambles. Connor recognised it as Maria’s. He couldn’t see the girl yet but heard her struggling in the bushes.

     “We will not, Maria. But what are you doing?” As he said that, Connor was approaching and saw the teenage girl, her dress tangled in the brambles and stained by blackberries. She looked up with a mixed expression of contrition and anger, somewhat softened by the sight of little Hunter perched atop Connor’s shoulders.

     “I was just strolling around. Something startled me and… Mom is going to kill me.” She said looking at the disaster brought on her dress.

     “She certainly will not,” Connor reassured her, “but she will probably want you to fix your dress.”

     “Same thing! I hate doing it, I don’t wanna become a seamstress, damn it!”

     “You should not swear in front of Hunter.”, Connor warned as he was getting the boy off his shoulders.

     “Right,” she sniffled, “Sorry, I… I have been trapped here for a quarter of an hour at least…”

     “Conno’ and I we saw a lot of birds,” exclaimed Hunter, running toward her, “and a doe and her baby!”

     “Ah… I that so?”, Maria replied with a grimace, trying to be somewhat amiable to the toddler.

     “Yes!” He lowered his voice, “and Conno’ he told me to be quiet because… because we shouldn’t scare the mommy with her baby!” He exclaimed anew, forgetting his caretaker’s advice.

     “Her fawn, Hunter.” Connor softly corrected him as he started to help Maria getting untangled.

     “Fawn!” Hunter joyfully repeated, “We saw a doe and her fawn, Maria!”

     “You two are lucky, then… The only thing I saw was a go… a cursed wolverine. Foul beast snarled at me, that’s why I ran and got caught here.”

     “You did well,” replied Connor, “better getting caught in a thicket than treading on the ferocious Tsikenekerehetshotáhrhon.”

     “The what?!?” Exclaimed Maria.

     “Conno’ is teaching me animal names in his language.” Answered Hunter, “An eagle you call it ‘Ag-wek’!”

     “Oh. That’s nice…” Hunter proudly beamed at her. “I think you’ll have to cut some of it Connor, it’d be too tattered even if you get it out anyway… And I forgot my knife…”

     “It looks like you are right…” Connor glanced at Hunter to check where he was looking; luckily, he was already picking and savouring the blackberries. Connor swiftly detached is left hidden blade to cut Maria free of the thorns. She stumbled out the way and stretched her legs, enjoying her new freedom.

     “Ah, thank you Connor! You must have magical power, always here to save people when needed!”

     “I wish it was true, Maria,” sadly replied Connor, he handed her the ragged piece of cloth he just got out of the bramble.

     “Maria! Say “Aaah”!”, Maria looked down to see Hunter presenting a blackberry for her to pick, the boy already had purple juice all over his mouth. She got the fruit with her mouth and smothered Hunter’s giggles with her new rag.

<<<<<<<<>>>>>>> 

     Once the trio had their fill of blackberries, or “Teiote’nenhrà:kton” as Ratonhnhaké:ton taught them, they got to rest at the edge of a clearing.  Hunter was running around after the butterflies, observing the various insects frolicking in the grass. Maria lent him her mop cap to shelter his head from the sun. It made him look rather odd, and her quite improper by colonial standard, with her brown locks free on her back, but neither of them cared, and neither did Connor.

     They were both sitting in the shade of a great oak, keeping an eye on the kid, a small mount of berries on a leather piece between them from which Maria regularly picked. Her chin was resting on her knees and her hands were buried in her dress. Connor was more relaxed; his legs were stretched in front of him and he was resting on his elbows. He didn’t get to place a lot of snares but that was something he could always do latter, with a more proper equipment this time.

     “I should do like Myriam and wear trousers when I go for a walk”, Maria suddenly muttered.

     “That would be more convenient indeed.” Replied Connor, “You said you don’t like sewing, but couldn’t you make yourself a pair?”

     Maria frowned and half buried her face behind her knees, “I asked Mom… she said it wasn’t proper, quoted a part of the Bible that said it was an ‘abomination’,” Maria snorted of frustration, “and made me read ten pages of it!”.

     “I see.” Connor understood the teenager frustration, colonial women had to put up with a lot of constraints while those of his people were the one running the show. His own reading of the Bible was motivated by his desire to better understand colonial society. While he managed to chew through the Genesis and Exodus, wondering all the way which parts were true, which were fictions and how many pieces of Eden were involved, the following books infuriated him with their nonsensical rules. He gave up and Father Timothy had the kindness to explain the rest to him. “I hope she doesn’t say that about Myriam.”

     “No. I brought her up actually, and she said that Myriam wear pants because of her trade and that – unlike me – she’s an adult.”

     “Eh, she has a point.”

     “Still, it’s unfair. I don’t mind dresses, but what’s the point of letting me explore if I have to keep it?”

     “You really do like the wilderness around here, do you?”, Connor asked. He saw a glimmer in Maria’s eyes before she answered.

     “Yes! I love it here! Everything is beautiful, it’s quiet, I discover new things every week, I doesn’t stink, and the people are nice. It’s not like in New-York…”, her demeanour suddenly darkened, “When this piece of trash was beating Mom again, I was asking for help to everyone… The neighbours, the guards, nobody answered… If you didn’t happen to be here…”

     “I was. And I would do it again anytime, Maria.” Connor comforted her, “As will everyone in the homestead.”

     “I know. That’s why I like it here.” She said with a smile. Connor smiled as well; it was during these moments that he knew everything he was doing wasn’t in vain. That he was actually able to help people be safe and happy. They both stayed silent a little while until Hunter ran toward them.

     “Conno’!! Maria! Look what I got! Look!” The overexcited toddler opened his hands to reveal a massive spotted beetle with a pair of horns on its head[3].

     “That is a good catch, Hunter.” Connor said, “Well done.”

     “Looks like a Rhinoceros…” Maria mumbled.

     “A what?” Hunter asked.

     “Rhi-no-ce-ros. It’s a giant beasty from Africa with two horns on its head, like your bug here. I’m sure Connor has heard of it.”

     “I did not. You seem really knowledgeable on the matter, Maria.”

     The young girl struggled a bit to refrain a smile of pride, “I have a book with a lot of engravings of animals from all around the world, some of them reaaally weird. I got it at school because of my good grades.” She noticed the gleam of expectation in Hunter’s big eyes, “I’ll show it to you, if you want”

     The toddler beamed at the proposal and voiced his approval of the idea. It was at this moment that the beetle decided it had enough of his handling and flew off his hands. The young boy tried to catch it without any success.

     “Ah no! It was gift for Mommy!”

     “Living beings are no gift, Hunter. Especially wild animals, that’s why it got away, you cannot deprive it of its freedom.” Connor lectured him.

     “And I don’t think Prudence would like this kind of gift anyway,” snarked Maria, “You should get her a bouquet instead, there’s plenty for it in this meadow.”

     Hunter instantly got his smile back and ran away in the grass to pick flowers. Connor chuckled, memories came back of an adventure where a flowery gift was less appreciated, but Prudence would like it no doupt.

     “So, you were good at school, a pity there isn’t any here.”

     “Oh, I had time to learn a lot. And Father Timothy keeps teaching me about a lot of things, not just the Bible. And he’s waaay nicer than the Pastor’s wife who was teaching us back in New York.”

     “Good to hear. And… do you know what you want to do later?”

     “I already work with Mom, and she wants me to take over after her.” She buried her face between her knees again, “And I don’t want to be a seamstress. I think that I want to see more of the world and help people, like you do.”

     Connor’s back stiffened. It wasn’t an answer he was expecting, part of him felt pride and approval, but he also felt fear, for his path was hard, dangerous, and thankless. For his brothers and sisters, being an Assassin was their choice. On the contrary, it was something destiny, or dreadful spirits, threw at him and he embraced it without fully realising the implications at first and he had to learn the hard way. He wasn’t one to turn down expectations and potential recruits, but dragging a young girl into his world was the last thing he wanted, especially the daughter of a friend.

     “I just help people I encounter.” Connor tried to divert the subject, “It is just something anyone would do, and should do.”

     “Ah! You’re humble but you won’t fool me. No ordinary hunter would go around with a frigate, and with those knives inside your wrists”, she glanced at Connor’s hidden blades’ bracers, “Achilles and you were working for people like Tallmadge, right? Helping the Patriots during the war?”

     “You… Let’s say that you are not far from the truth.” Connor was impressed by the girl’s deductions and relieved that her conclusion was wrong while still plausible.

     “Humpf! You can’t hide it from me,” she said with a mischievous smile, “Once I manage to make a pair of pants under Mom’s nose, you’ll have to teach me how to run in the trees like you do.”

     Connor chuckled, “Why not? Myriam could give you some lessons as well.”

     Maria brought her legs closer to her body, but Connor could clearly see her wide and proud smile.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>> 

     As the afternoon was ending, the trio made its way back to the village. Hunter was holding Maria’s hand and his flowers in the other, hopping and humming a tune. Ratonhnhaké:ton was walking besides them, holding a generous bounty of berries in a bag. As they were approaching Ellen and Maria’s house, the girl made a stop.

     “Mom is going to scold me for the dress…”

     “Probably, but she will also be glad to see you safe and sound. Trying to hide the truth from her is a bad idea, she will know in a way or another.”

     “Right…” Maria sighed and went along with Hunter as the boy was pulling her hand.

     Maria’s fears were only partially true: Ellen clearly wasn’t happy with the dress but her anger was alleviated by the offering of blackberries, the fact that Maria had to run from a wolverine and the laugh she had when she noticed Hunter still wearing her daughter’s mop cap.

     Before they left, she offered a red ribbon to properly hold Hunter’s bouquet, and quickly re-arranged the flowers to better suit Prudence’s tastes despite the boy’s protests when she left the dandelions out.

     After proper good-byes, and Maria’s renewal of her promise to show her book to Hunter, they left for the farm. Connor indulged Hunter with another ride on his shoulder. The toddler was overjoyed when Connor crossed the river by doing some free-running on a log instead of the bridge.

     When they reached the farm, Prudence was resting under the porch, Connor let go of Hunter and the child ran to his mother.

     “Mommy! Mommy! Look what I got you!”

     “You what? Oh!” Prudence laughed when her son shoved the flowers under her nose to give her a good look of it. “Thank you, my son, I like your flowers very much.”

     “Maria told me to do it and Ellen gave me the ribbon. Do they smell good?” the boy asked. His mother took the bouquet and smelled it, she did it noisily on purpose before giving her verdict.

     “They smell wonderful, Hunter.” He beamed and Prudence embraced her son as thanks. This view brought a smile to Connor, he was happy to see that some were able to freely enjoy what was taken from him.

     “Well now I’ll have to put them in a vase.” She said while standing up, “A thousand thanks to you Connor, for taking care of my son. I hope he wasn’t too much to handle and that he didn’t prevent you from doing your work.”

     “Your son behaved splendidly, Prudence. And don’t worry, none of my tasks had any urgency. I’ll leave you two be for now to attend to it.”

     “Wait!” Hunter yelped as Connor was leaving. The toddler ran to the man to hug him. Connor smiled and accepted his embrace.

     “Good bye, Conno’. I’ll get to spend time with you again and you’ll teach me other words, right?”

     “Right.” Connor smiled, “As soon as I can. Goodbye for now, Rató:rats.” Hunter laughed.

     After really leaving and waving back, Connor was left by himself again. The Sun was starting to set and the warm evening light was bathing the trees and meadows. Musty smells of flowers, earth, evergreens and berries were filling the air. Insects and birds were chirping, only interrupted by the occasional breeze that contrasted nicely with the warmth of late August’s weather.

     As he came into view of the Manor, Ratonhnhaké:ton realised – with a pinch of sadness to his heart – that it was the first time in months that he had such a nice and quiet time. He probably won’t get another moment like it anytime soon, but such was his work as an Assassin. After all, it was the joy and relief he could bring to others and the promise of such times that made it worth it.

     Clearing the clouds of sadness off his mind, like he already did so many times before, and armed with a new resolve, he prepared himself to gear up again.

End notes :

[1] Algonquin for “Hello”, it became a word for salute in many north-eastern languages.

[2] The Saint-Lawrence river

[3] Eastern Hercules Beetle (Dynastes tityus). It looks like a beige Rhinoceros beetle, with black spots.

Chapter Text

     Blood was dripping from her Jian[1]. The last of the guards expires at her feet, his throat slit by a clear and swift strike. Blood flows on the dirt. Quench the earth’s thirst. In a brief moment of daydreaming, Jun lose herself at thinking of the trail of blood she left as paintbrush strikes and drops of red ink sprawled on a silk roll. If death was an art, she was the artist. She was an Assassin.

     Clamours snapped her out of her somber thoughts. The slaves she just freed were loudly looting the goods their captors were supposed to deliver alongside them before Jun’s ambush. Bags of rice and spices, porcelain dishes and vases, lacquerwares and jade jewels, silk and paper. The sweat and blood of China’s people to be bargained at Macao for Portuguese silver. They deserved it. It will allow them to return to their homes or begin their lives anew. This thought brought comfort to Shao Jun’s weary heart.

     She had no use for such luxuries and no means to take them with her. Her needs could be covered by the few coins and bills she’ll take from the soldiers’ corpses. Enough to buy something to eat in the quiet of one of the dilapidated Assassin’s lairs scattered across the Empire’s cities and villages, rest, then leave for another. To find another abandoned den, where no pigeon coo, no chatter from her brothers and sisters, no tumble from their training and no advices from the mentors could be heard. Nothing left.

     Since she drove her sword through Zhang Yong’s chest and throat, she has been on the lookout for Luo Xiang, the last member of the Eight Tigers. All the records of his whereabouts in the Forbidden City and the Mandarin’s offices were destroyed and Jun was scouting the country for any clue that may lead her to him, but to no avail. He may have very well left China now, to Vietnam, Korea or Tibet, the box with him. This convoy was another fruitless pursuit on this matter. If it wasn’t for the people she just freed, Jun would have thought her dream of a free China even more distant than ever.

     But time wasn’t for daydreaming, she advised the former slaves to hurry and started to drag the guard’s corpses off the road to the forest bellow. An innocent traveller sighting this scene may very well panic and run to the nearest garrison, this couldn’t happen. As she was struggling to move a particularly bulky body, one of the folks she just freed, a young man, gave her a hand. She noticed the recent lashes and cuts across his broad back and face. The man was well-built and remained apparently defiant of his captors through his ordeal.

     “Thank you for your help.” Jun said has they were hiding the last body in the bushes, “I would have had a hard time moving those dead idiots alone.”

     The young man straightened his back and faced Shao Jun. She could see humility and gratitude in his eyes. “I should be the one thanking you”, Jun noticed his accent from the Sichuan, it was a long way home… “You… You saved us from those brutes who were going to sell us to the long-nosed foreigners like some sort of cattle. We all owe you our lives.” To support his point, he respectfully bowed in front of her. The other people who heard him did so too. Jun was taken aback by this gratitude. Being an Assassin and sacrificing her own life for the people’s freedom was a thankless task, yet she was glad that – for once – her toil could be acknowledged and elicit gratitude. She remembered Ezio's words:

     “Your lives are nobody’s but yours. Go! Find freedom and your loved ones. You don’t owe me anything. Just remember this: that anyone can dare to fight back against oppression…”

     “You are humble and kind, young lady.” A middle-aged woman that looked like the leader of the group said, “We won’t forget the gift you gave us, and we’ll find a way to repay you one way or another, even if it takes us Ten Thousand years.” The others nodded in approval.

     “Live your lives and find your own paths. Do good unto all people, of China and beyond, and stand true in front of tyranny. It is all I ask.” Answered Jun.

     “You speak like a hero of old,” the woman said with a soft smile, “I’m starting to believe that Buddha himself sent you to answer our prayer.”

     “She’s strong and free like Sun Wukong!” A young boy exclaimed, only to elicit laughter.

     “You’re the monkey, brat!” jokingly replied a man who started to ruffle his hair. The boy started to struggle only to have more and more hands on his head to tease him.

     Jun chuckled, but wasn’t going to let this scene distract her from her duty to these people.

     “Brothers. Sisters.” She raised her hand and all fell silent, “The night is coming, and the more we linger here, the more at risk of getting found we are. We must go our separate ways now, avoid the cities and selling what you looted here for a few days. Find new clothes and stay low. May the Heavens be kind with you.” She bowed and her salute was returned by the men, women and children she had freed.

     The people scattered. Little by little, alone, by two or three. Each of the children were taken under the wings of an adult. The boy who had compared Shao Jun to the fierce Monkey King went with the very man who teased him just after. Five of them stripped the carriage of its insignia to leave with it.

     “You’re forgetting your share.”

     Jun was straightening the saddle on her horse and turned to see the middle-aged woman, in her arms a crate she was offering to her.

     “I don’t…”

     “You deserve it. You’ll honour us by accepting.”

     Jun could see the four others left, including the strong young man from before, looking at her expectantly. For once, she could give in to the pressure and indulge these people. She took the crate and bowed again as thanks.

     “May you live well and long.”

     She sat upon her steed after having secured the crate. Before leaving for good, she noticed the young man was still staring at her. His eyes filled with a mixture of admiration, fascination and – she was sure of it – expectation. She said one last thing as farewell: “I’m heading to Guangzhou[2]. If anyone seek me here, they may want to climb the highest pagoda, were the eagle make its nest.”

     The middle-aged woman and the three other looked surprised, but the young man stayed focused. Shao Jun could swear a flame was now burning in his eyes.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>> 

     After leaving her horse in a stable of the outskirt, Shao Jun had no difficulties to enter into the city. Her walls were filled with holes used by Portuguese and Chinese smugglers. Avoiding the few patrols, she finally reached the den she knew existed near the port. She found it empty, with no sign of recent occupation. With a heavy heart, she went to sleep.

     The sound of firecrackers and children’s laughter woke her up. The Sun had barely rose and yet the city was already filled with the noises, sights and scents of a bustling activity. From the dilapidated den built on the flank of a ruined palace, Jun had a wonderful view on the new city and the port on the Pearl River. She admired the view a moment before noticing the crate the former slaves had gifted to her. She still hadn’t opened it yet and started to wonder about what was inside.

     Sitting cross-legged, she opened it. The bag of rice was the first thing she noticed, enough to last for a week. Good, it was something she wouldn’t need to worry about for now. Some jewels, a lacquerware box and a roll of silk. Jun took it to examine it. It wasn’t high quality silk by far, brownish with threads of irregular width. Good enough to fool a merchant from the West or a Japanese pirate maybe, certainly not fit for a courtier of the Imperial palace or even any self-respecting Mandarin. She thought of her friend Zheng, still trapped in the Forbidden City, now stripped of her tittle of Empress[3] and her heart heaved again. Lastly, she opened the box and was surprised to discover various brushes and inks. What use could she possibly have of these? Jun set them aside and looked at the port again.

     No imperial edict from the far away Beijing could really enforce the interdiction of foreign trade, now more than ever. Now she thought about her mentor, Wang Yangming, how he opposed the rigid Confucian scholars who despised peasants and merchants. To them he opposed than any man – or woman! – was able of wisdom and that the scholar wasn’t necessarily wiser than the beggar.

     How much was he persecuted for this… The truth hurts more those who spend their lives peddling lies.

     A deep sigh went through Jun’s chest, sadness menaced to fill her heart and her eyes. Vengeance wasn’t here to drive her anymore and she felt directionless, empty and alone. She couldn’t focus her thoughts, flowing as they where in her mind, on the verge of overflowing her with tears and exhausting her with questions without answer. She saw the flames that engulfed Macao just a few li[4] to the south and the Forbidden City in the North again. The friends and loved ones that she lost blurred amongst glimpses of her old enemies. The view she had of the city merged with the rich tapestries of the palace where she grew.

     She suddenly knew what she needed to clear her mind and find peace.

     She unfolded the silk in front of her. When she uncorked the bottles of ink, the smell brought her back twenty years ago, at the court of the Zhengde Emperor. When she wasn’t entertaining him by her dances and pranks, she was taught literature, music and embroidery. This was something she hasn’t done for so long, when she took the brush in her hand now so used to climbing and killing, she felt stiff and clumsy. But it had to be enough after all, for a roll of bad silk and a morning on Guangzhou’s wharfs. She thought again about her mentor’s words and of Wu Wei[5]’s works, and her brush met the silk.

            The shores of the Pearl River, the lines and mast of the junks and ships, the roofs of the towers, pagodas and houses; she painted them.

            Three children running after a hen, giggling and laughing after the panicked bird; she painted them.

            A pack of seagulls shrieking in the morning sky, eyeing hungrily the ships coming to dock; she painted them.

            Fishermen displaying their catches, bellowing the merits of their bounty to anyone who may listen and purchase; she painted them.

            Two noblewomen carried by their servants, their rich robes of silk and their pet dogs resting in their laps; she painted them.

            A drunken Portuguese sailor, stumbling far too close to the edge of the wharf, and the locals eagerly watching what may happen; she painted them.

            A young mother and her baby suckling at her teat, the smile of pure love she was bestowing on the infant; she painted them.

            A lone stray dog, gluttonously devouring the bones a soft-hearted old man threw him; she painted them.

            Two friends drinking tea and playing a game of Xianqgi[6], peacefully talking about their families and businesses; she painted them.

            A Buddhist monk walking amongst the crowd without looking or collecting alms, just focusing on his prayer bead, ignoring the curious cat that followed him; she painted them.

            A Persian merchant and a Malay one, arguing over bags of cloves and cinnamon; she painted them.

            A little thief, busy cutting the strings holding the heavy purse of a fat grocer; she painted them.

            A Mandarin and his retinue of sycophants, and two peacock feathers on his hat, looking for wrongs to rights or bribes to pocket; she painted them.

            A spotted pig, searching the mud for anything edible under the watchful eyes of a teenager; she painted them.

            A baker selling his wares fresh from the ovens, patiently teaching his trade to his sons; she painted them.

            A young courier, running through the market place, clutching his satchel and ignoring the old men teasing him; she painted them.

            A sailor displaying his muscles in front of a prostitute pretending to be interested; she painted them.

            A small squad of guards, looking tired and hangover, patrolling with difficulty through the tightly packed crowd; she painted them.

            Dockers loading and unloading the ships’ precious cargo, and children running between their legs, attracting kicks and curses; she painted them.

            An imposing elderly woman, yelling at a contrived group of younger relatives; she painted them.

            A donkey sniffing at the ferrets held in a nearby cage, while its owner unloads its package; she painted them.

            Two teenage girls, sitting in a corner, laughing and whispering things in each other’s ears; she painted them.

            The young and old, the women and the men, the rich and poor, the righteous and wicked, travellers and locals, beggar and lords, scholars and jugglers, peasants, workers and merchants; she painted them.

            A young man with a broad back and strong arms, covered in cuts and bruises, climbing the Flowery Pagoda at the Temple of the Six Banyan Trees; she painted him and added a white hood.

            Finally, she painted herself; in bloody red ink, her long belt flowing in the wind atop the highest tower. She didn’t paint herself bigger than the other characters; that was for the Emperors, Templar… and all those who believed themselves above anybody else. She was human amongst the humans, just with a better view to watch the great tapestry of life unfold. Jun smiled at her work. It was crude, cluttered, liable to make any scholar choke on his beard and yell his outrage, but it was real and – more importantly – alive. Her painting was of her dream, of the people of China, free of all the tyrants from the Great Wall in the North to all the islands in the Pearl River’s delta. She knew that realising this dream could take a lifetime, centuries even, but she knew that it may – one day finally – come true. And she was going to make that happen, in her time or another.

            Ink was dripping from her brushes. The last of her characters – herself – dries at her feet, her form made of clear and swift strikes. The Ink flew on the silk that absorbed it as if was thirsty for Jun’s work to make it pretty at last. She thought of the blood spilled again, but soon peace and certainty filled her instead. An eagle soared and she came forward to make a leap. If life, death and paint were arts, and she was an artist indeed. She was an Assassin and she took her leap of faith.

<<<<<<<>>>>>>>                                                                    

[1] The straight sword Jun use.

[2] Canton

[3] It happened in 1534, for unknown reasons and she died in 1537. One may imagine that the official records tried to cover up a daring rescue by Shao Jun herself. That’s what I like to imagine.

[4] Chinese measure of distance, roughly equivalent to 500 meters although it varied from period to period.

[5] A renowned painter of the Ming dynasty who didn’t shy away from depicting scenes from the people’s day-to-day life.

[6] A game similar to the western chess and shogi.

Chapter Text

     « Jacob! That’s the third time this week you ditched Father’s lessons; he’s going to whoop your arse! » Evie bellowed. “And if I have to do your chores again, I’m going to kick your buttocks all the way up to London!”

     No response. Typical.

     In this slow spring afternoon, only a few of the denizens of Crawley payed any mind to young miss Frye in her quest for her missing twin. They all have learnt that getting involved in the businesses of these two was way more pain than it was worth, especially if the esteemed Mr Frye wasn’t here to keep them in check, especially Jacob… although his sister could be just as much of a menace when she wanted to. How the scholarly and dignified Mr Frye could have sired such a rambunctious pair was anyone’s guess, but the early death of poor Cecily, their late mother, and the frequent absence of their father to mysterious “business travels” could most certainly be to blame. At least, that’s what Ms Perkins told Ms Brawnsworth when they last had tea together.

     Evie was simmering. None of the passers-by could give her any information about her brother’s whereabouts. He went too far this time. Skipping lessons was something already, but his chores too! He’s going to get it this time!

     After several fruitless leads, Evie sat on a bench to collect herself and devise a plan of action. Father’s teaching on this topic guided her to be methodical in her search and it wasn’t the first time she had to track someone to hone her skills, but few targets proved to be as elusive as her brother. He may feign to ignore a lot of their father’s teaching, but it certainly wasn’t lost on him. A search plan started to spring in her mind: going straight to the market place as she was used to was a mistake, she needed to go back to the source.

     Back home, the young girl started to inspect the surrounding of their house and it didn’t take long before she was able to spot her brother’s tracks… just under his bedroom’s windows. Couldn’t he use the door like a civilised person? He might have eloped this morning when Father called for them.

     From then on, Evie focused on the tracks Jacob made on the fresh ground. Contrary to what she first expected, it wasn’t an easy task. Not because her twin made any effort to hide his tracks but because they were frequently interrupted by his climbing of any buildings or trees that happened to cross his path. Evie frequently had to circle whole blocks of houses to find his path again. The process was considerably sped up when she reluctantly started to follow him in free-running. She wasn’t as skilled at it as he was yet, but her proficiency at stealth helped her to complete her task without being spotted and yelled at by any passing adult. Once on the rooftops, a few displaced tiles or mark of hands could help her guess the direction of his escape, details that would escape the perception of most people but not one of an Assassin. Well, a novice one, at least. Her focus would heighten her senses and allow her to see what most people would miss.

     She continued to follow Jacob’s trail and noticed it led to the Mole river. She wondered if he was here to plan mischief with his usual gang of brothers from the large Welsh family down street. The silence when she reached the riverbank surprised her, none of their usual ruckus could be heard. Evie noticed from the tracks that her brother sat near the water for a while before getting up to follow the stream. She followed his track till the ruins of the old mill.

     The contraption was in disarray since quite a few decades now, since bigger water and windmills were constructed in the village. Small water mills like this one couldn’t compete against the big ones like when the one in Ifield[1] once it was rebuilt and even this one was starting to struggle against the new ones using steam to grind wheat into flour. Such was progress, thought Evie. Now the old mill couldn’t grind anything even if it wanted to, the water wasn’t even reaching its rotting wheel through the overshoot anymore and sand was starting to pile up at its feet under the shallow stream. This was after noticing this that she spotted Jacob.

     Her idiot brother was lying on top of the wheel, the broken blades where in a near horizontal position and could actually feel comfy even without the blanket Jacob probably stole somewhere to lay down on them. Taking care to not be seen, Evie approached to get a better view of what her twin was doing. The rascal was lying on his back, one leg tucked on top of another, barefoot and – to Evie’s surprise – he was reading a book!

     Now the young girl was taken aback, Jacob actually went this far just to read in peace? And he seemed quite taken by his reading as well, what piece of literature could it be to rapture Jacob’s attention? She squinted to take a better look at it from where she stood.

     Confessions of an English Opium-Eater. Really??

     It was so just like him. Father taught them of the various drugs and chemicals they could use in the last lesson he actually attended. And he mentioned opium as something to avoid unless in need to alleviate extreme pain. Of course, Jacob had to learn more about everything Father warned them against.  Or could it be that he was reading this book in order to actually understand why this drug was to be avoided? Evie pondered a moment about her brother’s possible bout of wisdom and if she should make her presence known to him. She suddenly got curious about his choice of place of hiding instead. The broken blades atop the wheel couldn’t be the only thing of interest in this place, couldn’t it? The door of the dilapidated building was missing and Evie entered it.

     It took her eyes some moments to adapt to the darkness inside, although several rays of light were peeking through the ruined roof. Some birds were chirping above the young girl’s head and flew away when she moved further in. She paused, in case it tipped off Jacob of her presence, but the boy just lazily rolled on his side to assume another reading position. Evie sighed and started to inspect the mill’s mechanisms. The wood was rotten in many places and the grinding stone covered in dust and moss, but everything was still in place. Surprisingly, the wheel’s axle was still linked to the main mechanism and only held on by a rusting brake. Sure, it wasn’t as dangerous to leave it that way compared to a windmill but still, the brake could break and the wheel move again…

     It was with this sudden realisation that a mischievous grin illuminated Evie’s face. She knew exactly how to get back at Jacob for ditching his chores onto her.

     Whilst her dear brother was still oblivious of her presence, she moved to further inspect the brake and how to move it without alerting him. The damn thing was heavily rusted and the wood thoroughly rotten. She tried to move it without much success and the effort nearly made her grunt which would have given away her position. Her frustration, pilling up from this morning was reaching new heights as her idiot brother was obliviously reading junk literature just a few feet away. Collecting herself, she figured that a lever could do to lift the brake, more silently than a hammer for sure. She quickly spotted an adequate plank in the surrounding mess. Not to large and still in good shape.

     Placing the plank’s end under the brake’s tip, she started to maneuver it and had to refrain a sound of triumph when she saw the engine starting to give way. Through the holes in the wall she saw the wheel moving a bit. Jacob was so enraptured in his reading that he payed no mind to this worrisome – for him, at least – development. She pushed her lever again in the widening cap between the brake and the wheel and, once the lever firmly in place, pushed down all her weight on it.

     The brake jumped from the cogwheel it used to hold and the latter, free at last, started to move, the axle in tow. Slowly at first, with profusion of creaks and groans, that startled Jacob. The young boy sat up on reflex and the sudden change in weight distribution atop the main wheel, plus a few well-placed pushes from Evie, flew the whole engine in motion.

     “Wow-ah! What the bloody heeeeell?!” Jacob screamed as he was cast down head-first by the wheel onto the mud bellow.

     From inside the mill, Evie had a really hard time suppressing her laughter when she saw her brother land flat on his belly, the blanket followed and covered him just before his book stroke his head which elicited a painful “Ow!” from the boy.

     Groaning and moaning, Jacob slowly emerged from under the now soiled blanket to stand up, still shivering from the shock. He glared with anger at the slowing wheel and kicked it. Being still barefoot at this point, he only managed to hurt himself and yelled in pain, before getting startled when broken fragment of the blades nearly feel on him. Evie had to bite her own hand to refrain herself from snickering at her brother’s ordeal. Said brother, once his pain dulled, started to suspiciously look around and Evie made sure to stand completely still and silent. After a few moments, he picked up the blanket and his book before fetching his shoes from under a bush and running in their house’s direction.

     Evie needed a few moments to collect herself as well, as spams of laughter wouldn’t let her breathe in peace for several minutes. Once calmed down, she left the mill to get back home.

     She reached their house while dusk was slowly setting. She saw her brother getting gently scolded by their father on their front lawn, the book now in his hand. Jacob was silently starring at the ground, Evie noticed that he had taken the time to put his shoes back but was still caked in mud in many places, the blanket was nowhere to be seen. Evie approached slowly, feigning an air of innocence:

     “Oh my! She said with a mocking tone, the bird has finally returned to his nest!”

     Both Ethan and Jacob turned to face her and Jacob squinted suspiciously at her. Ethan’s face remained neutral when he spoke: “Indeed, before you could find him.” Evie was picked by the unexpected answer and Jacob couldn’t help but notice it with a smirk that vanished once his father’s attention was back on him.

     “Now my lad, you’re going to wash yourself, change into clean clothes and you’ll launder those first thing tomorrow morning, understood?”

     “Yes father…” Jacob mumbled, and Evie couldn’t help but to feel a bit sorry for him after all. As he was making way inside the house, Ethan taped on the book cover and handed it to his son with a smile.

     “Make sure to finish it too and tell me what you learnt of it after, alright?”

     Both twins stood a moment, taken aback by this, but Jacob took the book from his father’s hand with a nod before heading home. Both Ethan and Evie watched him go silently before the Assassin turned to his daughter:

     “Now Evie, some more lessons in tracking targets are in order, don’t you think?”

     The young girl silently nodded. She probably had proven herself in this matter today but telling it would expose the prank she subjected her brother to and she wasn’t going to risk that. Plus, she was always looking up to the prospect of new lessons from her father and a part of her hoped that Jacob will finally be with them at least.

     “I think so too, Father. Jacob and I still have much to learn.” She said with an earnest tone that elicited a nod of approval from Ethan Frye.

[1] https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ifield_Water_Mill

Chapter Text

     Father had to leave again when George Westhouse came to see him with urgent news and now the twins were alone in the house. Jacob was bored, and frustrated. Lounged sideway in a big armchair, he was squinting at his sister who was silently reading. He still had bruises from his fall from the old mill’s waterwheel and he was pretty sure the sudden loosening of the engine on which he stood didn’t happened by itself. When he went and checked the day after, he found multiple scratch marks on the brake, pieces of rotten wood where an autonomous movement shouldn’t have thrown them and a plank that would have performed perfectly as a lever...

     His conclusion is that someone voluntarily freed the wheel in order to mess with him, and he had a pretty clear idea of the culprit’s identity…

     “Would you please stop staring at me? I’m not going to read you a book to help you nap, even you’re a bit too old for that, little brother.”

     Jacob’s sole answer to Evie’s snark and smirk was to stick out his tongue at her. A gesture she mirrored without hesitation. So much for being the “great and mature big sister” Jacob thought…

     “Have you at least finished the book you were reading?” She asked.

     “Well yes", he retorted, "I learned how to read just as good as you did, Evie…”

     “And you chose to read a book about… of all things! Drugs?” Evie scorned.

     “Well yes. Why not? After all: nothing is true…” Jacob marked a small pause then, half for dramatics, half for giving his sister the opportunity to complete the phrase. But all she did was to her book close before retorting:

     “Just because Father permit us to do a lot of things doesn’t mean we should do it! Do you think of the dangers sometimes?”

     “Hey! You won’t see me in an opium den, Evie. I’ve got no intention to enrich Jardine & Matheson[1], no thanks! And it’s precisely to see what were the dangers of the stuff that I read that, you know? Father actually agreed with me on it!” Jacob wondered if Evie would buy that. He came up with this rationale after finishing the book and pondering if its warning superseded the thrill of the forbidden that brought him to read it in the first place. The face his sister was making spoke volumes of her disbelief… he decided to hammer the point some more:

     “Plus: imagine if the Templars started to use it to assert their control over the people? By putting it in cough syrup or something? Wouldn’t it be wise to be knowledgeable on this shit?””

     “Mmh… You may have a point…” Evie reluctantly agreed. Jacob smiled smugly at this small victory and celebrated by switching to a more comfortable and improper position on his armchair: sideways, his head on the armrest and his legs waggling on the side. Evie eyed him with disapproval and got up with a sigh.

     “While you’re done ruining the furniture, I’m going to make some tea.”

     “Half a cup and two spoons of sugar for me, please!”

     “Not a chance! You want some? Do it yourself!” Evie snapped.

     “Hey!” Jacob sat up with an indignant noise, “Damnit! Why you’re always so mean?” Evie’s sole answer was to smirk and smack Jacob’s right leg with the back of her book before going to the kitchen.

     Jacob groaned in anger. Little miss Evie “I’m-so-perfect-and-better-than-you” needed to be brought down to Earth and the ideal way would be one where he could get a good laugh out of it.

     Making his way to the kitchen, he observed his sister place all the items necessary for a proper five o’clock on a trail while the kettle was heating on the stove before getting out to fetch more water at the pump. Jacob had an opportunity to get back at her, but he needed to be quick.

     For starter, their recent switch to the use of white instead of brown sugar – because of “not encouraging imperialism” or something – made a prank almost too easy. Jacob emptied the sugar bowl’s content on its pot and replaced it with salt, hoping the difference in texture won’t tip her off. He’ll have to get her attention to ensure she won’t notice.

     Jacob peeked through the window and saw Evie chatting with a neighbour, her bucket still empty. Good! Some supplementary time for his mischief! The boy racked his head in search for ideas. Making his sister’s tea salty wasn’t enough, he needed something that’ll leave a stronger after taste and decided to check the drug drawer.

     Cod liver oil. Yeah, that was gross. And Jacob had to bite his tongue to prevent it from reminiscing the dreadful taste his grandmother forced down his throat to make him behave and grow up. But it won’t do, no way it would mix with the tea or even the milk.

     Laudanum tincture. Now that was interesting and its potential for messing with his sister was high. A little too high, in fact. Reading Confession of an English Opium-Eater recently made him aware of the bad side effects of the substance. He wanted to mess with Evie, not mess her up, and so kept looking.

     Quinine. Now that was good! Evie won’t spot it in the tea ball and it would perfectly spoil her little tea party. He even wondered if it wouldn’t render her too bitter after that. Laughing at his own stupid joke, he swiftly weaseled several pills into the infuser and hurried out of the kitchen as Evie was coming back.

     Slumped in the armchair again, Jacob heard Evie entering the kitchen, drop her bucket near the stove, fill the teapot, and put it delicately on her trail before add the tea ball in it and coming to the living room.

     “My, Dame Evie Frye”, mocked Jacob in a falsetto voice, “I see you’ve made a serving fit for her majesty the Queen herself! Shall I call for our dear Prince-Consort to partake in these libations of yours?”

     Evie only scowled in response and Jacob was left searching for a conversation subject as she was arranging the trail on the table.

     “Do you know he’s ill, by the way?”

     “Who’s “he”?” asked Evie. Good, Jacob was finally starting to get her attention.

     “Why, good ol’ Prince Albert, of course!”

     “And you’re concerning yourself with royalties now? That’s new…” Snarked Evie as she sat in her own armchair.

     “Well, people are always talking about politics, you know.” He said with a smile and a handwave, “It must be important somehow.”

     “As a matter of fact, yes, it is! You heard Father when he explained how the Templar meddle regularly with the House of the Lords and the Commons?” She exclaimed, while putting two spoonsful of “sugar” in her cup. She didn’t notice. Good.

     “I know Evie! I too worry if Derby’s eating right in the Templar’s hand!” He proclaimed in an emphatic manner that made Evie squint.

     “He’s no longer Prime Minister, Jacob…”

     “Ha! Yes… Uh. Well he’s still in Parliament with those damn Tories, ain’t he?” He tried to correct his course but the name of the current Premier eluded him. Damn! This one was easy to remember though… “And it’s not like he’s any different from the one we have now, you know? This Bal… Balmy guy…”

     “It’s Palmerston.” Evie dryly replied.

     “Yes! Palmerston, that cranky ol’ bastard. I’m happy to see that you follow the news too! I’m proud of you, Evie!” He mockingly said with a wink.

     “Why you… Of course, I do! And I get them by reading the newspapers, not by listening to the town drunks at the gambling dens!” Getting Evie to get riled up by poking at her little feelings of self-importance was definitely a bonus, happily thought Jacob.

     Simmering, she was about to fill her cup with some of the equally hot tea, but Jacob decided that his prank would taste better with some more infusion.

     “You know, back to ol’ Bertie, I heard he and his Vicky like their tea to infuse a reaaally long time.” Evie interrupted her movement to stare at him.

     “So? And what good does it do to us, poor commoners?”

     “Well, with this little arrangement you made, I thought you liked to have your tea like the gentry do. A shame we can’t lord people around to provide you with scones and crumpets. Is that not what every proper young girl dream of?”

     “And I didn’t think you’d listen to the old shrews next door day-dreaming about having their husbands providing them what to live like a duchess.”

     “Isn’t it what you just spoke about with ol’ miss Perkins five minutes ago?”

     “No! I… Oh shut up! To think I can’t even have my tea without you here spoiling it somehow!” Oh, it’s going spoiled alright, dear sister of mine, thought Jacob. “If I hear anymore of your stupid questions along with your stupid smile, I will hurl the teapot at your stupid face, you hear me?”

     “As long as you clean up after your little fit…”

     “I said: Shut it!!”

     Jacob quietly snickered and silently observed his sister collect herself and slowly pour the hot tea in her cup. After adding some milk, she gently stirred it with her spoon and blew on it. As she rose the cup on her saucer in front of her in a dainty gesture, Jacob feigned a gasp of admiration.

     “You can mock all you want, that’s how it’s properly done. And drinking tea is far more healthy than guzzling beer, like someone I know.” She said with a patronising tone.

     “It doesn’t hurt as long as I’m reasonable.”

     “ "Reasonable", you…” she softly laughed, “Sure you are…”

     Jacob didn’t answer as she brought the cup to her lips and crossed his arms behind his head to enjoy the show.

     Right after having swallowed the first sip, it was like all the inner machinery of Evie Frye suddenly came to a close, her eyes opened wide in an expression of abject stupor and Jacob swore he could see her hands shiver. Jacob was beaming internally but maintained his focus in order to savour the moment.

     “What’s wrong Evie?” he said while successfully feigning an air of indifference, “This tea you made isn’t to your liking?”

     “You… You wish it was…” She said with all the false bravado she could muster, “Unlike you, I can properly brew a cup of tea. This one’s as good as it gets.”

     “Uh-uh…” Jacob could clearly see past her lie; her cheeks were red as poppies. He probed her with her eyes, challenging her to prove her claim.

     And she did. Jacob’s fist clenched in victory as he saw the glorious grimace his sister was making while downing the foul brew, probably burning her tongue in the process, with all colours leaving her already pale face. She violently put the cup and its saucer on the trail once done. Visibly shaken, clenching her knees, her face petrified in a mixed expression of disgust and horror.

     “S-See?” She quavered. “A p-perfectly proper c-cup…”

     Her face took a green hue and she suddenly rushed outside to the water pump as Jacob erupted in laughter. His sister’s twisted face will be permanently engraved in his memory as a symbol of success! The great Evie unable to protect her tea from being despoiled. Better he taught her this lesson before a Templar does!

     His curiosity was picked nonetheless; he had a taste of the leftover brew in his sister’s cup. He made a face as soon as his tongue savoured it; calling it disgusting would be a euphemism indeed! Some remorse came to him when he saw his sister bent and shaking over the pump. Well, he had a way to make it up to her a little and own it in the meantime.

     When Evie came back in the kitchen after having thoroughly rinsed her mouth, and getting a good portion of her clothes wet in the process, Jacob was brewing some tea of his own.

     “Feeling better, Sis? You clearly messed up something when you made your tea, I thought I’d fix you some new one.” He joyously claimed.

     “Something… Something bad must had made its way in the leaves…” She stammered.

     “Yeah, probably some nasty bugger from China, you never know with those things! I checked those out, don’t worry!” He said while putting the infuser in the teapot.

     “This tea doesn’t come from China…” She weakly objected while slumping in a chair, “It’s actually…”

     “Ush! Sister dearest!” He cut her off and kissed her damp head, “Let your dear little brother make you a nice little cuppa’ to pick you up.”

     To his surprise, Evie actually stayed silent until he poured her a nice new cup of tea and added two spoonsful of sugar. Real sugar this time. He proceeded to do the same for himself when he noticed that his sister was just glaring at her cup without touching it.

     “Hey. I know I don’t make tea as good as you usually do but I’m feeling a little offended right now.”

     Evie’s gaze rose to meet his and there was no small amount of cautiousness in her eyes. Jacob choose to alleviate it by quietly sitting down and starting to drink. Well, it wasn’t the cup of year but adequate nonetheless. Seeing him, Evie tentatively did the same. The tension on her face dissipating as she slowly drank it. Feeling probed by her brother’s expectant eyes, she muttered a weak “It’s fine… Thank you, Jacob.”

     “You’re welcome, Evie.” Jacob said with a smile.

     For the next few minutes, they quietly enjoyed their tea together on the kitchen table. After a while, Jacob thought that moments like this between them weren’t so bad and that, maybe, he’ll try to improve his tea making skills for him and his sister.

[1] A British conglomerate infamous for its dealing in opium and its role in kickstarting the first Opium War between Britain and China in 1841. And - yes - this company does still exist...