All is Fair in Love and War

31

At the very front, waiting to step onto the platform, was Charles Lee. He was examining the ring on his finger in a very bored fashion. I wondered how he would like it if I were to cut that finger off.

"I will admit," I heard a man say around the thick cigar in his mouth, "I enjoy a good hanging. I think it spoils it when they tie the feet together. I like to see them kick." Smoke puffed out of his mouth, and he twisted the end of his grey moustache. "And at the very end," he added, "the tongue sticking out - bright blue. That's the bit that always gets me."

I was disgusted by that man and fought the urge to retch into my glove. Instead, I fixed my eyes on the wooden frame of the gallows, atop which a crow had alighted and begun its harsh death knell. How long until that noose was around Connor's neck?

Around the square, people who could not find a place to stand had remained in their homes, sticking their heads out of their windows.

This was humanity. This was pure and utter depravity, that such a crowd of people would gather to watch a man die - and enjoy it.

Next to me, Achilles tilted his head under the wide brim of his hat. "They're here," he said softly.

My chest seized. Beneath the excited chatter of the square came the sound of wheels rolling over the cobbles, the sound of horses trotting to a halt. I slipped out of the crowd, stepped around puddles, until I reached the metal gate that opened the square to the street.

It was there that I saw the prison wagon, damp from the rain. One of the prison officers opened the door and reached into the darkness, yanked Connor out by his bound hands.

My darling friend. My Connor. The bruise under his eye had deepened into a dark purple, and his wrists were red beneath the coarse ropes. His split lip had reopened, but he was never one to let pain stop him - not as Hickey stepped off the front of the wagon to greet him.

"'Ello, Connor," said Hickey, and his tone was full of mockery. "Didn't think I'd miss your going-away party, did ya?" He leaned closer to Connor to speak in a conspiratorially low voice. "I hear Washington himself will be in attendance. Hope nuffin' bad happens to him."

My friend stiffened. "You said there would be a trial."

Hickey actually laughed - it was a sound that made me sick. "Ah, no trials for traitors, I'm afraid. Lee and Haytham saw to that. It's straight to the gallows for you."

Though I had expected nothing less from Kenway, hearing Hickey confirm it made me back away with disgust. Connor's dark eyes flicked up for half a moment - and fixed on me.

Just as quickly, he looked back to Hickey. "I will not die today," he said. "The same cannot be said for you."

I ducked my head and hurried back to my place in the crowd, elbowing my way over to Achilles. Behind us, standing apart from the crowd, were George Washington and Israel Putnam, looking on with disappointment in their eyes.

As the prison guards pushed Connor to the gallows, the crowd's voices turned to harsh cries of contempt. A criminal was bad enough, but a native American? People spat on Connor as he passed them by. One woman managed to step out of the crowd, rage creasing her face into that of a wicked hag, and she swung her fist at Connor.

She hit him with surprising force, and he staggered. Fury was a flame burning into my stomach; as the woman spat on him, I shoved her roughly aside, allowing a small glimmer of satisfaction as she fell into a puddle.

I steadied Connor before he could stagger again, and he felt cold to me. "Forget about me," he said, voice rough. "You need to stop Hickey. He's–"

The officer at his back shoved him again, and he stumbled forward another step before he could finish. I knew what he was getting at.