Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Fifteen: Hold Me Back

Boston, 1775

Connor

I push past the doorman, whose arm is extended to take my non-existent coat, and race up the stairs that lead to Revere's drawing room. Naomi is close behind, undoubtedly shooting me a reproachful look.

"You don't have to be rude," she mutters under her breath.

"I am not here to make friends," I snap in reply.

"No, but you need them as allies. They're our best chance at getting to Pitcairn."

She is right—not that I would admit it. We rode for Boston immediately after receiving Revere's letter, which said that Pitcairn has been sighted. After the Boston Tea Party, the Sons of Liberty seem to think that I am one of them—a notion that will be harder to disprove after Naomi and I meet with Revere tonight. All we want is to get to Pitcairn. If the Sons can bring us to him, so be it. But they should not expect me to be nice.

I don't bother knocking. "Ah, Connor!" Revere exclaims when I thrust the door open. "And Naomi! You came! Allow me to introduce you to—" he claps a hand to my shoulder, which I shrug off none too gently. But he doesn't seem discouraged, and continues brightly, "—William Dawes and Robert Newman."

"Your letter said that Pitcairn was here," I growl.

"Aye. He's readying an assault on Lexington, where Adams and Hancock have taken shelter. After that, he will march on Concord to destroy our weapons and supplies. You must help us!"

Naomi's voice is kinder than mine, but none less firm. "Only tell us where to find him, and we'll put an end to his schemes."

Revere snorts at this, dismissing her instantly. Naomi's expression turns stony beside me, mirroring my anger. I think she is done being nice. "He has dozens, if not hundreds, of soldiers, miss." The mockery in the word is not lost on us. Only Naomi's grip on my robes stops me from advancing on Revere. "You cannot hope to match him by yourselves."

"Then what do you propose?" she asks icily, her fingers still pressing against my arm.

"We have an entire army on our own, only awaiting to take up arms!" Revere replies lightly, oblivious to the tension we radiate. "Indeed, you, Connor and I will cross the Charles River to rouse the boys." He then proceeds to give instructions to his other two companions.

"Are you still going to tell me to be polite?" I mutter in Naomi's ear. She glares at me in response.

"No time for dawdling, my friends," Revere turns to us, clapping another irritating arm onto my shoulder. I shove it off, barely able to refrain from twisting it. "We have lives to save. Come on!"

*

The Frontier, April 18, 1775

"Ah, they've only left us two horses. The two of you will have to ride together. Come on, I'll lead the way."

Naomi and I grunt as we drag our boat ashore—a task Revere was all too happy to leave to us. The man even has the gall to hurry us. "Quickly, Assassins! Get on the horse!"

"Is there any chance of dumping him in the river?" Naomi grumbles to me under her breath.

"I wish," I mutter back, feeling her weight settle behind me on the steed. She leans against me and sighs, probably wondering why the universe couldn't have made Revere a lot less annoying.

"Follow me!" he calls in his irksome, cheerful manner.

Revere tells us that there are four homes to warn in total. So far, we've been to two, and that leaves us two more. The moon is full tonight, beaming its soft white glow on the greenery in the Frontier. But the view does little to make the trip more pleasant.