Paris, May 1799 - Team up

---------------------- Paris, Sanctuary of the Assassins, May 1799 -------

  

Arno had long considered the clothes in which he was supposed to face the Council. Adeláire had given him time and space, as did Verne. He followed them in full armament, but without a coat and a hood. The collar of his dark gray shirt was open, and his casual appearance was belied by the tension in shoulders and clenched fists.

Adeláire's sand-brown assassin's coat had not yet been completely dried. It withdrew her knowledge why the staff had found that it could also endure a laundry. Her blouse was still a little clammy, as well as her pantaloons. She knew she only noticed these neglected things to divert her mind. Again and again she went through her head as she might be able to convince the council. She would have liked so much more time to prepare for this conversation.

"You know where to go. I'll see you both later," Verne said, nodding to them for a moment, before turning to the right instead of climbing the curving stairs with them.

Adeláire looked up the steps and her pace slowed. She took a deep breath and clenched her hands into fists as well. Why did her heart beat to her throat? Huffish and irritated, she finally gave a group of Assassins a green poisonous look. Their whispers about whether it was actually Dorian in her accompaniment, and what he might be doing here, ceased abruptly.

"We should not let them wait”, it came quietly beside her.

Arno had caught up to her and she could see he felt uncomfortable. His shoulders were stiff and secured adamantine. No hood offered him the protection of their shadow, and he probably had to feel himself very exposed. His facial expression was emotionless and pent-up. He avoided allowing it to become too dark. But the longer he felt exposed to the whispering, the more difficult it was for him to ignore it.

Adeláire nodded mutely and now hurried up the steps. He was right, you didn’t let the Council wait. And she wanted to get over with it. She halted her steps at the end of the passage, bowed her head in front of the three councilors. Master Trenet turned away from the windows, which gave the view to the sanctuary, to the new arrivals. Adeláire could feel that Arno was waiting at least five steps behind her.

"Welcome back Assassine. What do you have to report?" Master Trenet's voice was cool and for the moment she ignored Arno completely.

Adeláire raised her head and briefly looked at the other two masters. Their eyes rested on her as if Arno didn’t exist.  Adeláire folded the hands behind her back and devoted her attention to Master Trenet.  "You let me know that I should’ve brought our present guest with me, so my mission would be crowned with success. Now that Monsieur Dorian is present, I am only able to report the successful fulfillment."

Master Trenet nodded mutely, then turned her gaze to Arno. There was a silence, which seemed to draw almost unbearable in the length.  "Monsieur Dorian, welcome."

Adeláire stepped aside and cleared the way for Arno. The gesture, however, was used half-heartedly to approach only two or three steps. Adeláire noticed the strained tension around his jaw. He merely returned the welcome with a stiff, courtly bow. His gaze remained unrelenting on the Master.

"You let me know that my presence is desired." His voice sounded brittle and compressed. Whereupon Master Trenet merely nodded mutely. Adeláire studied unobtrusively the other two masters. Both seemed to have decided not to join the battlefield and go with the challenge. Their eyes were resting on the hands, folded in front of them on the table.

"That's right Monsieur Dorian. And I .. thank you .. that you have followed our wish. Especially with regard to our last meeting before .. so many years .." Dorian nodded only mute and scarce. If not now, Master Trenet could understand how difficult this conversation was going to be. Adeláire could see a quiet, inner sigh. If probably only because she knew the slowly aging master better than Beylier and Quemar.

"So Assassin, what is the status?" Master Trenet sat down at her table and reflected the attitude and gesture of her Master colleagues. She looked attentively at Adeláire.

"Well, Monsieur Dorian has agreed to stand aside us at the harmonization of Bonaparte. However, we’ve not yet had the opportunity to talk about details. I have allowed myself the freedom to inform Monsieur Dorian about the background of our urgent request. Only to give him all the information he might need for a decision. His consent was thus based on all the data and facts that are currently available to us. "

Master Trenet nodded silently, and Adeláire could see Master Beylier wrestling with himself. Finally, his decision was made, and he raised his gaze to Adeláire.  "Are you sure Assassine that a comprehensive information was really needed? You have been gambling on the most secret information of the Order."

Adeláire felt the heat ascending her neck.  "Forgive me Master Beylier, but how could I have hoped to be able to convince someone with the history that Monsieur Dorian brings with him, to help us if the first contacts had already been overloaded with mistrust? He had a right to all available information in order to be free to choose.” Master Beylier merely bristled with anger at her statements.

"Excuse my interference, ladies and gentlemen, but ... I am an attendant. Since when did the Council feel as polite talking about someone rather than with him?" Dorian's tone was sharp. Probably sharper than he had intended. But Adeláire could understand it. You could literally grab Arno's frustration in the room. And yet, his words followed icy silence.

"Good to see that you have hardly changed in all these years .. Monsieur .. Dorian," the words finally came cold from Master Quemar. His gaze caught Dorian's, and the feeling of all the unspoken in the room was almost suffocating. Adeláire laced it actually briefly in the air while she watched silently as Arno's jaw worked. How much more abuse would be necessary for him to simply turn his back on the heel and leave them all alone?

"We should all calm down now and think about the far more important mission. And above all, let us bury all too old anger, in order for us to be able to work effectively. I expect that from adult people, which we all are." Master Trenet's tone tried, beside her words, to pacify the minds.

Arno signaled his agreement, now also clasping his hands behind his back, his gaze breaking from Quemar and resting on Trenet. His jaw still worked, but Adeláire could see that he consciously shifted his shoulders to relax his posture. Master Trenet nodded to him in silence, and a touch of appreciation, before she spoke.

"So Monsieur Dorian, what do you suggest how we should proceed regarding Bonaparte?" Adeláire blinked briefly. This turn of the conversation came unexpectedly. A short eye up of Dorian confirmed her, for him as well. He cleared his throat briefly before he started.

"Well, as to Bonaparte in person, we can’t really do much at the moment. He is still in Egypt. And personally I think that the brotherhood there will be keeping an eye on him. Our...” he swallowed hard before he continued,"...the support of the French brotherhood was probably already offered. To press Bonaparte now in Egypt would not make much sense. He is in the middle of a war and selling him a threat that only Assassins would be able to fight in the middle of a standing army...well..."

He didn’t need to elaborate the considerations further in order to bring their ridicule to light. Master Trenet, therefore, merely nodded and seemed to be waiting. Thoughtfully, Dorian began to pace a little up and down.

"The question that arises, does he already have an artifact or has he traveled specifically to Egypt because he somehow found out that the one from Saint-Denis is there? If so, how did he find out? We do not know when he will return from Egypt. So long we should try to infiltrate his environment and his network here in Paris. Find out who knows too much and where the intersections are where information leaks. The better we are prepared when he enters Paris ground again.”

Arno set out on his alternate motion and dedicated his attention to Master Trenet again. Adeláire noticed a very soft smile around her mouth. If she didn’t know better, she would have almost the presumption that something like maternal pride played in the master's moves. All the more she regretted the departure of this moment when Dorian continued to speak: "However, all these considerations are not measures for which my particular person is actually needed. The network of the Brotherhood is large and trained enough to accomplish this without my help. I personally don’t see my benefit for this mission until Bonaparte returns to France."

There followed a silence in which Master Trenet gave her two councilors a glance before she spoke.  "Well, you've all recognized and summarized this well Monsieur Dorian." She fixed Arno's gaze. "And as you can remember, there are many strands and information the Brotherhood needs to take care of. Even though we might like it, we can’t put any available Assassins on Bonaparte's network. We thought of a small team. With a… leader… who knows the goal better than anyone within the
Order."

Again there was a deep silence, in which the words just heard could gain importance. Adeláire studied Dorian. His mimic had briefly let control go before he got a grip on himself. His shoulders slipped out of his tense and he lowered his head only a whiff, before he spoke again.

"Is this supposed to be an offer to join the Brotherhood again?" His voice sounded flat, colorless, emotionless. And only in the lines of his tense back could Adeláire recognize the effort behind this lack of emotion.

"No… Monsieur Dorian. This is an offer to work with us and to take the lead over a small team of Assassins to accomplish this special mission successfully." Master Trenet was silent for a moment to secure Dorian's attention. "We'll talk about everything that could follow, when the right time has come."

Adeláire held his breath. Was this really what she suspected to have heard? She glanced again at Arno as she breathed unobtrusively. His tension was palpable and his jaw worked again. She could see how much of these words arose in him. She would’ve liked to use her abilities to capture more of him. Finally, Arno straightened his shoulders and raised his chin.

"Good. However, I have a condition. "

What give rise to, that the Master Beylier and Quemar let go their brace and began loudly protesting. Statements such as "no change" and "bold behavior" were used to name the most innocuous of them. Adeláire felt the heat of anger creep up her neck again. Did her mimic look as dark as Dorians at the moment?

"Enough now!" finally came barking from Master Trenet. And when all had come to rest, she gave Arno a hint that he should speak further. Arno straightened again, before continuing.

"If this... team... you are supposed, should be effective, then we need the full trust of the council. Especially when Bonaparte is back again and it’s a matter of positioning ourselves right under his nose, we have to be able to make decisions on the ground." Arno's dark gaze fixed on Master Beylier. "This includes, among other things, that we can’t obtain a Council’s blessing in advance for every kill. In the field it has to be very fast very often. Especially with such a goal as Bonaparte."

Adeláire could see Master Beylier standing before a rage as he rose from the chair. His eyes flashed. And Master Quemar wasn‘t to be inferior: "It was precisely these moods back then Dorian, which brought you the exile from the Brotherhood. It’s most unfortunate to see that you have not changed your way of thinking in all these years."

Arno's gaze replied Beylier's blaze.  "Forgive Master Beylier, but my mindset has changed. But finally you have to leave the things you can’t stop free, as the old ones did with the elephants and the sickle-carriage."

Beylier's facial expressions darkened even more if possible.  "Don’t come to me now with Machiavelli you brash… grande gueule[1]. All you want to achieve is a charter to march across Paris and bring the brotherhood into disrepute!"

Arno loosened the entanglement of his hands behind his back, and Adeláire was concerned that his left wrist had only to fulfill a slight twist to pull the blade out. He wouldn’t seriously threaten or even attack a councilor? Cautiously, she lowered her arms to her side and prepared herself for everything.

"I never put the Brotherhood in disrepute. I was just blaming myself to follow my heart!" Arno's voice growled irritably and slowly, very slowly, he lowered his arms. "But if the events of that time still bring such great concerns, after all this time, I’m perhaps the wrong choice for this mission." Arno bowed, in a courtly manner, before turning abruptly to going.

Adeláire went through a shock. Before she could hold on to herself, a horrified "Arno!" escaped, which she regretted in the same breath. Embarrassed, she bit her lower lip and the atmosphere following this exclamation, seemed to tear her into a thousand small pieces. But at the very least it prevented Arno from evacuating the premises. His dark gaze crossed hers and remained unclear. Adeláire turned to the council helplessly.

"Please... Master Trenet... we've talked about it so often... when we choose the most trustworthy among the experienced Assassins..." Adeláire could feel as if the arguments were like sand tumbling between her fingers. Her head was empty and helpless she let her arms sink.

Silence. Once again. None of the five people also seemed to stir a single muscle. Only the chests lifted and lowered in the air. Finally, Master Trenet rose and stepped out of the council chamber toward Arno. Gently she put a hand on his right forearm and looked straight into his eyes.  "So good Arno, we'll give you what you want. But please, keep the words of our Creed deep in your heart and try to lead the entrusted to you. It’s easier to obey than learn to command."

Silently, Arno replied to the almost begging glance of the Master. At last he took a step back from her and bowed his head in an assassin style in front of her. When he lifted him again, he let his gaze wander over the other two masters and lingered briefly at Adeláire. Mutely, she formed a "Merci" before he turned away and strove with striking steps out of the sanctuary.

Adeláire's and Master's Trenet's eyes followed Arno until he disappeared down the stairs from her field of vision. Quietly the young Assassin gave a soft breath, as she had just noticed, which she had stopped. Without a word, she withstood Master Trenet's eyeball as she turned to her.

"Choose a team, talk to Dorian, and then go to work as soon as possible. We don’t know when Bonaparte returns. Until then, we must have learned as much as possible."

Adeláire bowed her head deferentially in front of the Master and foster mother, and turned to go.

"And ... Adeláire ..."

The young Assassin stopped her hurried striving and turned to the Master and the Council again. The three pairs of eyes studied her in different ways. There was something like warmth and sorrow only in that of Master Trenet.

"Take care of yourself. .. Dorian is sometimes extremely... impulsive. Don’t burn your fingers..."

Adeláire blinked a little confused, and an angry, small voice inside her wondered in which context Master Trenet was giving this warning. The Assassin remained silent on these words, merely tipping her head again, and finally hurried out of the council room with great strides.

Verne awaited her at the foot of the stairs, engrossed in conversation with an assassin, who bore an unmistakably heavy ax on his back. Also the rest of the outfit seemed quite casual, in contrast to Verne. The latter was just rubbing his forehead, his arms crossed in front of his chest. Adeláire delayed her steps, as it seemed as if she were coming ill-timed.

"Sod it! When are you two pigheads finally sitting down at a table and talking about it? It has been so many years ago and so much has happened since then. Was it really worth giving up a friendship? "

Adeláire had never before perceived such a tone at Verne. He seemed deeply annoyed and frustrated. This didn’t want to fit into his otherwise rather cheerful style.

"This bastard and I have never been real friends. Otherwise he would not have performed like this. Even if his brain was obscured by this Templarbitch, that didn’t give him the right to fall out of grace."

Verne raised his head and now also folded his arms in front of his chest. "Oh, and your words were so much more sensitive than his own? And believe me, it's not really helpful if you still call her a Templarbitch. She is dead. At least a little respect would be appropriate."

"You know what Verne, bite me. Both of you!" Then the Assassin with the ax turned away on the heel and disappeared into the depths of the Sanctuary.

"Yes exactly. In that relationship, you are both the same. Weaving away when it gets too unpleasant. Merde! "

"Well, I'm assuming that he as a team member then probably fails," Adeláire murmured quietly. Apparently still loud enough that Verne noticed her.

"Team? What kind of team?"

Adeláire put down the last steps to him, pointing to a library corner.

"The Council has instructed me to put together a small team of Assassins who are willing to work with Dorian." Verne's eyebrows shot up. "Yes wait. It gets even better. They must be Assassins who also accept Dorian as their leader."

This caused Verne's jaw to sag down.  "You're gonna fool me, aren't you? Our Council has agreed to this? The two gruff old men and the nice, aging woman? Seriously?"

Adeláire could feel as she was unpleasantly touched gently red.  "Eh, Verne, maybe you should be a little quieter, if you do such statements. I don’t know if the Masters find such classifications so funny."

Verne pushed his hood back and stroked his dark blond hair. He puffed up his cheeks, then let the air go.

"Ok, phew, believe me, this is hard to swallow. Never in my life would I’ve taken anything like that, if it weren’t you who told me that. This must be a very special and important task for the Council to make such concessions,” Verne stated, his gray eyes giving her a questioning look.

Adeláire hesitated. Verne was her and Arno's friend. Still, she was not sure if the initiation of his person in the team would be so wise. Could it really be an advantage if they were all so close? Uncertainly she chewed on her lower lip.

"You're not serious about whether you want to inaugurate me or not, do you?" Adeláire could feel a redness rising up her neck again.

"Would you ever want to be there at all? I mean, Dorian and who knows who else." Verne leaned back again and crossed his arms.

"Come on Adeláire, seriously? How long have we known each other? And
Arno I've known a lot longer. With both of you I worked more than once successfully in a team. So if it's a question of getting results quickly, you should also ask Fran-cesco. Then you have the element of familiarizing each other namely right off from the start. And yes, Francesco would work with Arno. And honestly, I wouldn’t know anyone else in the Brotherhood, of which I would also claim that."

Adeláire's redness intensified, this time in a mixture of shame and embarrassment. Verne was right. There were not really any alternatives. So she decided to inaugurate Verne to the facts which have so far been available, which were still not many. When she had finished, Verne nodded mutely and seemed very thoughtful.

"I believe the Council is doing well to admit Arno and the team's liberties.
Arno is right, when we sit under Bonaparte's nose, we can’t reinsure ourselves every time. And he, Francesco, and I were more often in such ad-hoc situations." He smiled gently in her direction. "And you'll learn it quite soon." Thoughtfully, he stroked the three-day beard of his chin. "And I think, we will not need much more people."

"You think four Assassins are enough?" Adeláire could clearly hear that her voice didn’t sound convincing.

Verne nodded thoughtfully.  "Absolutely. We were always four on the road at the time and the team size was mostly quite perfect. Clearly more will be too confusing."

Adeláire nodded and breathed through.  "All right, then we just have to find Arno and ask him what he thinks about our ideas and plans."

Verne grinned briefly.  "Oh, I think we can take our time. After the conversation with the Council and the clash with LaHache, Dorian needs something whereupon he can discharge steam. Believe me darling, he is currently en route in the city in search of a more memorable exchange."

Adeláire's eyebrows wandered up into the air, then pulled together thoughtfully.  "Should we not be right after him? With a half-dead Dorian, we certainly can’t do too much."

This caused Verne to laugh out loud.  "You really still don’t know him enough. Dorian can estimate himself and his abilities already well enough that the hassle will be memorable, but not deadly." He smiled gently at her as he rose to go. "Just don’t worry, you'll soon have him intact back into your pillow." That brought him a strong nudge in the chest and actually a painful panting, coupled with coughing laughter. Together, they left the sanctuary and decided to wait for Arno's return in the café.

Verne was right - it was twilight when Arno reappeared. Adeláire and Verne had made themselves comfortable in the roof garden of the café at the fountain by kidnapping the two armchairs from Arno's rooms and setting them up in the direction of Seine. Cozily balancing the feet on the stone bench and devouring small canapés to their coffee, they enjoyed the last rays of sunshine of the warm May day.

Adeláire heard Arno swing down behind them from the roof of the café into the garden. Her and Verne's conversation fell silent, and they waited for Arno to join them.

"Well, you've made yourself at home in my absence." His tone sounded sarcastic humorous, but not searing.

"But you have it now simply untold pretty and cozy here my dear. You have to take advantage of that when you can." What Verne brought only a short snort.

Arno didn’t seem willing to join them. He aspired toward his room and Adeláire could only catch a glimpse of his back. He was dressed in his dark cowl, so she couldn’t be sure what the blurriness on the shoulders of his hood were. But if Verne was right, and Arno had been looking for a memorable hassle, you would hardly have to sum-up one-to-one to get the solution. Her eyes crossed Verne's and met his amused smirk.

"At least, the good dear is now much more relaxed than this morning.” This remark gave him an acknowledged snorting from Adeláire.

Discharged from coat and hood, Arno finally joined them. The sun was low behind him as he leaned against the stone armor with a well-filled glass of wine. Only after a deep sip did he devote his two guests his full attention.

"So, what is the state of affairs?"

Adeláire looked at him from head to toe. Almost a little frightened, she concluded, that she secretly searched him for injuries. Embarrassed, she took her feet from the stone bench and crossed her legs over each other.  "Our goodness here has the task of putting the team together and letting it approve from you. And, of course, directly afterwards work is announced."

Arno nodded, muttering something unintelligible.  "Let me guess Verne, you’ve reported yourself voluntarily?" Arno's tone was mocking.

"Almost. After Adeláire explained everything to me I couldn’t possibly miss all the fun. Besides, who likes to work with such a cretin like you. It needs nerves like mine."

"Salaud[2]," Verne laughed, while Arno sniffed disparaging again.

Adeláire chose her tone deliberately pointedly. "Really adorable to watch how dear you two have each other. Should I leave you alone?"

"There! There! No reason to become jealous. The good Arno belongs to you completely. I just lend him out for work."

"You are sometimes really impossible, Verne." Adeláire rolled her eyes to finally leave her gaze on Arno. Something in his observation met her to the marrow and made her shudder.

"Oh, give it to me, that's why you both love me so much."

Arno still held Adeláire's gaze, and around the corner of his mouth played a smile on Verne's last words. He let her go and turned to his friend, "Yes of course. Absolutely. That will be exactly the reason for Verne."

That left his friend grinning broadly before he emptied his coffee and rose: "Very nice. Now that we've made it clear, I'll leave you two turtle doves alone." A wink shot in Adeláire's direction, before Verne patted Arno twice on the shoulder. "Francesco should be back soon. Then we are complete and can start planning. I'll let you know when he's in Paris." Another grin changed between his friend and the young female Assassin. "And... don’t do anything I wouldn’t do."

"Get out of here, dumbass."

"You… me too, scumbag."

A broad smile hit a relaxed, amused laugh before Verne simply swung elegantly over the balcony brace and disappeared into the deepening dusk.

Adeláire stared into her coffee cup and already hated what she intended to do next. She gave herself a jerk, set her own cup beside Verne's, and rose from the chair. She didn’t dare to meet Arno's eyes as she pulled her hood into her forehead.

"I should go now. For today we did everything we could. "

"Stay."

Adeláire blinked and lifted her eyes to his. Still standing like a statue, he stood by the railing and caught her attention with dark eyes. She was almost tempted to believe he had not said anything.

"I don’t want you to go," came as quietly as his previous appeal. Or was it more of a demand?

Adeláire swallowed. She could feel her heart tighten and robbed her of breathing. It was precisely there where emotions were formed, which she would, and could, never allow. She was about to reply, to which it never came. Quick as a pliant predator, he was suddenly close to her and pulled her in the neck towards him, and into a passion filled kiss. She could taste the fact that he had washed out blood from his mouth, which didn’t prevent him from oppressing and overwhelming her. Adeláire sensed how, with every second, her determination began to melt more like ice in April. When, finally, her arms closed as if by themselves around him, the last, helpless little voice in the back of her mind was clear that the struggle for distance had been lost for today.

Still pushing her back into his premises, Arno began to peel her out of things. Adeláire sensed more than she wanted to admit, that this was probably more part of Arno trying to satisfy his continuing goal of seeking a lively tussle, and his evening with her was merely a second priority.  While they were getting rid of each other's clothing, she could make new bruises on him. The one at his side began to already dyed dark, and it elicited him a painful gasp when she examined whether ribs were broken.

"If you're looking for trouble by risking your neck, maybe you shouldn’t do it alone next time." She heard the snarling growling in her voice and hated herself almost in the same breath as she gently stroked the bruise.

She forcibly lifted her eyes as Arno caught her chin and raised it up to him. His eyes caught the fire of the fireplace and he mutely examined her features before he assessed.

"Never worry about me again. This could end up in a tragedy that we don’t want to experience. Do you promise me this? If we want to work together in this operation, you must promise me only that one thing."

Adeláire was almost speechless. How could she do that? Even if she were only to see him as a member of the team, she would still be responsible for the welfare of the whole group. She knew of absolutely nothing in response to his request, and finally only nodded silently. His sad smile clearly conveyed that he didn’t believe her for just a second and still accepted as it was. Affectionately and with a certain sweet heaviness he caught her lips in a new kiss.

The passion they shared seemed to be overflowing with this sweet heaviness, which almost tasted like a kind of grief. Tame as honey were his caresses and creeping as on a dangerous mission, lips wandered over warm skin. Adeláire felt the confusion behind all this and tried to capture this to her so extraneous and strange man.

Whatever that was, or was about to become, it was slowly becoming dangerous to her. And it prepared her a sleepless night in the arms of the man who was about to steal her heart.

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[1] Franz. for „Bigmouth“ (derb)

[2] franz. for „Bastard“

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[1] franz. for„Bigmouth“ (derb)

[2] franz. for „Bastard“