Retribution (An Assassin's Creed III story)

Twenty: Not Today

Bridewell Prison, 1776

Connor

"Look at all of yer! Pathetic, dirty wretches. You're naught but swine, sucking at the teats of civilization!"

The prison warden's rant is insufferable, but he can ramble all he wants as long as he stays within arm's reach. Mason's key is smooth and cool in my hand, forged to perfection during his months in this hellhole. The young man's escape plan is insane, but I suppose it takes a certain amount of insanity to break out of prison. After stealing this forged key and getting thrown into the pit, I'm finally close enough to steal the real key off the warden.

The cranky warden finally wanders off to torture some other unfortunate prisoner with his raving, not knowing that his key has been swapped with the forged one. I take this chance to slip it into my cell's keyhole. The door unlocks with a soft click, and I close it carefully behind me. A guard stands at the end of the corridor, but my footsteps are quiet enough so that he doesn't notice me.

My heart is beating faster than I would have liked. One wrong turn, and all this would've been for nothing. But I force myself to take one cautious step after another towards Mason's cell. I almost shiver with relief when his lean figure enters my sights, slumped inside his dank cell. He straightens immediately when I open his door.

"Come on, this way."

Mason's knowledge of the prison layout is invaluable. He leads me to the 'privileged' prisoners' cells, where better rooms and facilities are provided. It seems that even criminals are ranked according to some sort of hierarchy.

"You'll find Hickey through here," Mason says, opening a metal grate for me to pass through.

"Thank you, Mason. For everything," I say, clapping a hand to his shoulder. "I will find a way to repay you when my work here is finished." He nods, and I step through the doorway to find my target.

Hickey's cell is not difficult to find, as his is the only one occupied amongst the 'privileged' cells. He lays face-down on the bed when I enter, seemingly asleep. I don't hesitate to wrap my fingers around his neck, squeezing the life out of his body.

Only, there is no life left in this body. This isn't even his body at all.

"Not who you was expectin', am I right?"

Dread settles in the pit of my stomach when I whirl around, already expecting the worst. And the worst is what I see. Not only is Hickey gloating at me, alive and well, he is also joined by one of his companions whose face haunts my nightmares.

Charles Lee.

"What have we here?" he chuckles darkly. "I thought we'd finished off your kind."

"You would like that, wouldn't you?" I spit through gritted teeth. "To rid the world of all who do not share your views."

He barks out an empty laugh. "Guilty as charged!" And then he raises his pistol, pointing it straight at me. "Your meddling in the revolution cannot continue. Our work is too important. But what would you know, beyond the tales Achilles feeds you and the lies you tell yourself?"

"I know that the people wish to be free, and that men like Washington fight to make it so!"

"Please," he snorts, "the man is weak. His pedigree is pathetic, his military record even more so! I could go on and on, so manifold are his faults, so deficient are his merits—but we'd be stuck here for days. He must be dealt with," he continues in a low snarl. "You as well."

My glare is the only weapon I can wield against him now. And so I wield it, hopefully better than I think I do. Bleakly, I wonder if I am about to die tonight, with my work unfinished and Naomi hating me.

Naomi. If I could take back the words I said to her that day, I would. But there is little use in wishing now, with the wrong end of a pistol trained at my forehead. My only hope is that she finds Cormac safely, and gets her revenge.

"'Ere is 'ow it's gonna work," Hickey drawls, stepping further into the cell. If he needs a moment to explain, I suppose Lee isn't about to pull the trigger on me anytime soon.

"First we bind ya and bring ya to your cell. Then tomorrow, you go before the court, accused of plotting to kill ol' Georgie." I raise my chin when he nears me, determined not to show even a sliver of fear. "And who wouldn't take the word of Charlie, over here? Once that's all settled with, well, then..." He tilts his head and pulls on an imaginary rope around his neck. The gallows.

But I will not go to my death without a fight.

Charles Lee is stronger than I thought, or maybe I am weaker than I believed. He counters my advance easily, pinning me against the wall with an arm on my neck. The pressure on my windpipe makes it difficult to breathe, and pinpoints of black begin spotting my vision.

Iron-hard eyes. Vice-like grip.

"Only tell us where your village is, boy, and you can go."

The boy is choking. Gasping. Dying.

"I could snap your neck, you know. A little more pressure, and pop! The sad little flame of your life extinguished. You are nothing. A speck of dust. You and all your ilk—living in the dirt like animals, oblivious to the true ways of the world. The wiser among you throw themselves at our feet and beg mercy!

"But not you, it seems. You cling desperately to your ways, too ignorant to know your folly... But I am not unkind."

The boy is coughing. Spluttering. But alive.

"And so I spare you, so that you may carry word to your people. Let them know that the sooner we are given what we seek, the sooner you may return to your pathetic, empty lives."

"What...is your name?"

"Charles Lee. Why do you ask?"

"So that I can find you."

Lee's eyes widen as realization dawns on him.

"All those years ago, that boy in the forest was you."

Fifteen years ago, the boy learned the name of the man who destroyed all he had. He carried the name with him ever since, for he made a promise he intends to fulfill.

"I said I would find you," I choke out.

"And so you have!" he laughs mirthlessly. "But not quite as you had expected, am I right? You know, all of this could've been avoided, had you only done what I asked. Ah, but what's done is done."

I fall to the ground when he releases me, spluttering like I did fifteen years ago. All I remember before being hit in the head is the cold, dark laughter of Charles Lee, echoing against the hard stone walls of Bridewell Prison.

*

"UP! I said GET UP!"

My head is spinning wildly, and I stumble on my feet when the guards shove me out of my cell. They are quick to grip my arms, marching me past grimy corridors and into a transport.

I have to squint against the daylight when I am thrown out of the transport. Rain beats down on me heavily, stinging my already-wounded flesh. A loud drawl in my ear makes the situation even more unbearable.

"'Ello, Connor. Didn't think I'd miss your going away party, did ya?" Thomas Hickey smirks, his breath reeking of alcohol. "I hear Washington 'imself is gonna be in attendance. Hope nuttin' bad 'appens to him."

This is not the courtroom. "You said there'd be a trial," I growl.

"No trials for traitors, I'm afraid. Lee and Haytham saw to that." My stomach drops at the mention of my father's name, though I am not sure why. It should be no surprise that a man who destroyed an innocent village would sign his son's death warrant. "It's straight to the gallows for you!"

My thoughts fly to Achilles, who is twice a father to me than Haytham will ever be. I can already see the shadow of one of my Assassins on a rooftop, and I know, without a doubt, that he is here. They are here. Only Naomi isn't. The thought sends a jolt of longing through me.

"I will not die today," I tell Hickey.

"The same cannot be said for you."