Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Thirteen: A Dangerous Beast

Boston, December 16, 1773

Naomi

The moon is bright tonight, bathing the docks in a pale white glow. The sea breeze is chilly, and while my armor protects me against most damage, it does little to shield me from the cold. I shiver a little despite myself, but Connor does not. He walks beside me with long and purposeful strides, his breath making tracks in the night air. Right now, we are off to destroy the last batch of Johnson's tea. After Connor and I intercepted three different tea smugglers this morning, setting explosives to their stores, the town has gone into a frenzy. Many are rising up against the tax collectors, knowing that the destroyed tea weakens them financially. Stephane's voice also contributed to this. His stand against the tax collector in the market this afternoon inspired many to do the same.

Connor's arm brushes my sleeve, drawing my attention. "More guards," he murmurs, though he doesn't sound worried. Simply stating a fact.

We noticed the soldiers a little earlier than the rest of our group. "Dammit! More guards," Samuel curses.

"We need to turn the crowd's anger to our advantage," Paul Revere says, gesturing at the people gathered in the streets. I glare at him, disgusted by the idea of using the crowd as a human shield while we do our work. Connor notices, though, and speaks before I do. "The crowds will slow down any reinforcements. The soldiers will not harm civilians after the Town House."

I glance at him, feeling my anger subside. Stephane steps forward, brandishing his deadly meat cleaver. After watching him cut Redcoats apart with the blade, as if they were little more than paper, I remind myself to never cross any chefs. "Only say the word, Connor."

The men have come to look to Connor as their leader, though we've only met most of them a few days ago. I suppose it's only natural, since he is the best warrior among them. Though he and I have similar backgrounds, no one will trust a woman to lead. It's just the way things are.

But Connor seems to think otherwise. He turns to me, his eyes speaking the words his mouth doesn't. What do you think?

His gaze ignites a strange fire in me. "Connor, Stephane and I—we will eliminate the guards on the dock to grant you safe passage," I say, nodding to Samuel and Revere, since they are the ones among us least capable of combat. If they are unhappy with the plan, they don't show it. "Start dumping the tea when we give the signal."

The men nod curtly. Time to go to work.

*

"REGULARS!"

I hurl my crate of tea over the deck forcefully; it hits the water with a satisfying splash. We've only been aboard the ships for five minutes, and already more Redcoat reinforcements are here. I look around the deck, feeling my dismay grow as I realize not even half of the tea has been dumped. Some civilians have offered to help, but none of them are fighters. The people are going to be slaughtered if the Redcoats get to the ships.

Connor's voice sounds from beside me. "We need to hold them off."

"Let me help," Stephane says, jogging up to us. "I am yours to command." His voice is full of enthusiasm, as if the thought of killing soldiers excites him. Although I don't share the sentiment, his vigor is quite the morale booster.

His pledge of loyalty seems to lift Connor's spirits, too. The Assassin straightens his back and nods once, sending Stephane racing down the gangway. I nudge Connor as we follow the ex-chef. "You can't tell me you don't like him."

He rolls his eyes at me, lips twisting in amusement. The sight grounds me, keeping me sane as I dodge bullets, cut flesh and end lives. It anchors me, making the cries of pain and sprays of blood durable. It tethers me, even when agony shoots up the gash in my thigh and pain makes my head throb. I hold to this one truth I know as I fight: I am not alone.

*

I realize I've been depending on adrenaline to get me through the night. Exhaustion hits me like a wave when I slump onto the bed, melting my bones and muscles. The pain in my lower thigh has intensified since the battle ended, but I lack the energy to tend to the wound. I'm so tired that the Green Dragon doesn't even make me feel uneasy. It's a good thing, though, since Samuel is intent on using the tavern as a makeshift headquarters. It's also the only place we can stay for the night.

I'm still covered in blood and grime, and I utter a silent apology to whoever changes the sheets in the morning. My mind has almost drifted off to sleep when Connor enters, his footfalls heavier than usual. His stealth must have been worn away by exhaustion, too.

"You're injured."

"I know," I mumble into my pillow, though the words come out unintelligible. Connor gives me no respite, and hauls me up into a sitting position despite my protests. I see a bucket of water by his feet when I open my eyes, with a rag floating on its surface. He drags a chair in front of me and settles heavily onto it, bending over to wring the cloth dry. The sting of water on my wound sharpens me, and I bite my lip against a yelp. Thanks to Connor, I am fully awake now.

"You would bleed dry before the morning," he chides, holding out a bandage to me. I sigh and make a twirling motion with my finger. He obeys and looks away, leaving me to peel off my trousers and bandage the wound.

This time, I fail to stop myself from groaning. The gash turned out to be much worse than it felt, making my stomach flip. Though I would never tell him, Connor might be right about bleeding dry. I wince as I tighten the bandage, watching the blood seep through faster than it should.

"You alright?" Connor asks, still facing the wall. I wrap a towel around my waist and gingerly settle back onto the bed. "Yeah, you can turn around."

His eyes linger on my wound, and he frowns in concern. "Lie down and lean your leg up against the wall."

I obey, knowing this will help slow the bleeding. The position is awkward, but I'm in no place to complain. "How many did we lose tonight?"

Connor's shoulders relax, and I feel mine do the same. "None," he says, and I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. I will have no ghosts tonight. Just for tonight.

"What about you?" I ask, turning my head to scan him for injuries. "Are you hurt?"

He smirks wearily at me. "I am not as careless as—"

"Don't. Even start."

Despite fatigue, Connor chuckles quietly. He rests his elbows on his knees, and I see the necklace fall forward from his collar. His mother's necklace, he once told me. A sliver of envy rises in my heart, and I push it down brutally. He's lucky to have had a mother who loved him so fiercely.

His voice is low when he speaks, the sound reverberating deep in his chest. "You have to be careful."

"I know. I will be." The words seem to reassure him, though we both know I was never the more cautious one. I shift slightly on the bed, grimacing at the movement. "Do we stay here?"

"There is no reason to," he replies. "Johnson has retreated, and my village is no longer under threat."

I nod quietly. There seems to be nothing else I can do, anyway. Not with my injury.

"Connor?" I yawn. My wound is still a torment, but the pull of sleep is stronger, muffling my pain. The drowsiness is making me want to say things I normally wouldn't. "You know, this place doesn't scare me anymore."

I must've fallen asleep when he replies, but I think I hear him say, "Nothing should scare you, Naomi."

"There is nothing to fear."