Malmaison, August 1799 - Break apart

----------------------- outside Paris, Malmaison, August 1799 -------

Arno had spotted the delegation for a long time before it even came close to the gate. With a faint whistle he caught LaHache's attention and hinted that they were visited. Jean merely nodded briefly and pulled his hood over his forehead. He grabbed his always present ax, but did not stow it in the back holder. He turned resolutely toward the road, while Arno remained in his position in the tree. The training of his senses had not really taken him one step further, but from up here he definitely had a better overview.

His eyes narrowed dimly as he realized that one of the persons was Genevieve, whose handiwork he could still feel clearly on his back. Silently, like the proverbial shadows around him, he watched as she strode toward the gate with the two guards, and shortly behind that openly stopped in the middle of the way. She proudly upraised her head and looked around searching.

"Assassins, show yourself! We know you are here. And we're here to fulfill your condition." Her voice was firm and not in the least uncertain. Arno felt blind anger begin to rise in him. Still dumb and dwelling in the shadows, he waited and watched LaHache as he stepped out of the thick shrubs along the way.

Silently, the four people faced each other. LaHache with lowered, drawn ax, causing the two guards to tighten their halberds and go into a slight defensive posture. 

Genévieve just smiled sweetly.  "Well, I suppose you belong to our dearest beautiful boy, with whose back I had the honor a few days ago." 

Arno felt his hands clench into fists in sheer will, not to jump down into the group in a flash of anger and to drive his blade into her throat. With clenched teeth, he watched LaHache, who for his part turned his head briefly and plainly into Arno's direction.

"You suspect correct, ma belle. So, you have something for us?" LaHache's voice rumbled softly. But Arno guessed that this would only be noticed by people who knew him quite well. Genévieve, on the other hand, merely stepped towards the Assassins with swinging skirts and continued to smile sweetly.

"Yes, I think I have. But I was told to give it to him personally. So be a nice Assassin and bring your friend here." During her speech, she had let playful fingertips wander up over LaHache's chest to his, as always very casually bound, Cravate. At which she tugged briefly, before she turned away from him with a wicked smile and went back to the guards.

LaHache showed no reaction to this provocation. Arno spread his senses one last time to make sure no more guards were in any ambush. A quick glance at LaHache assured him what he already knew. He recognized the tighter fingers around the handle of the ax and it hardly needed the short whistle anymore. He swung smoothly from his elevated position and sank into an elegant, cushioning squat, just behind the two guards. As he rose, his outgoing blade made an aggressive sound. It was only that sound that made the guards aware of him. With dreaded, surprised sounds, they backed away from him, and Arno enjoyed the moment in which he loomed over the dainty Genevieve. The brief flicker of fear in her gaze gave him an inner satisfaction he had sorely missed in the last few days.

Unfortunately, this fear disappeared all too quickly and gave way to a cattily provoking twinkling. With raised hand she held back the two guards, who remained in attack positions. With a smooth sound, the blade disappeared into the bracer, tempting Genévieve to an amused smirk. Similar to LaHache previously she approached him, letting fingertips pass over his chest.

"Uh I admit, I have missed you... my dear..."

Arno tilted his chin down to her with a barely noticeable movement and lowered his voice to a threatening whisper. "Take... your hands... away..."

Genevieve smiled sweetly up at him.  "And what if not? Will you kill me then?”

Arno merely replied that smile with a gentle move around the corner of his mouth. He knew that this behavior had something dangerous about it.  "That would be way too fast and merciful for you."  He thought for a moment.  "And I do not want to share any of your memories. Such poison should not be given to anyone."

Contrary to his expectations, these words actually made her stop with her harassment and take a step back from him. But not without eying him once again lasciviously from top to bottom and back.

"We two could have had so much fun. But no." A muted sigh until she finally conjured a letter from her décolleté.  "I think that's what you're more interested in. Rest assured that we abide by our agreement. And you should do that better too. There's nothing quicker done than slitting someone's throat."  A smile once more coquettishly played.  "But you Assassins have more presentiment about that than we ordinary mortals, isn’t that true?"

Arno remained silent on this statement and just stretched out his arm to take the letter. For whatever reason, be it  nervousness or exaggerated duty, the guard to Arno’s left gave a warning call and launched an attack. In a fraction of an instant, the Assassin raked out the blade again, spinning around his own axis and slashed the assailant's throat in deadly elegance. While still in action, Arno heard the sound of a fired phantom blade. When he turned back to Genevieve, the second guard collapsed just like a wet sack.

Arno knew pretty well that his appearance had just gained some somberness. Menacing, with his blade extended and his fists clenched, he approached Genevieve, who backed away from him until LaHache in her back stopped her. 

Arno's voice rumbled as he spoke to her.  "Next time, we will not let you get away so cheaply. And if you really plan to eliminate us on such a transfer..." he smiled maliciously, "... select more capable people. Otherwise you just insult us."

The poison in Genevieve's eyes confirmed Arno's guess. This action was planned and, to her regret, gone miserably wrong. Presumably she scolded herself that the Assassins were now warned and that further actions of this kind might be difficult. Arno kept in mind that they should soon make sure that they reinforced their post. With a harsh gesture, he finally snatched the letter from Genevieve and turned to walk past her with LaHache.

"You should think carefully about who you are threatening, Assassins. This game is too big for you!"

The look he and LaHache exchanged on these words reminded Arno of their mission back then in the Bastille. Both briefly lifted one corner of the mouth before disappearing into the shadows separately.

Arriving at the camp, Arno traced the feeling of helpless anger within. For a moment he closed his eyes and clenched his fists to open them consciously. He repeated this several times combined with deep, controlled breaths. He could feel LaHache left matters to him and just set his Ax aside. When he finally spoke, Jean's voice sounded similarly controlled furiously, as probably his own.

 

"These women are real beasts. I just hope they do not cause any more misconduct with the girl in there."

Arno just left that unchallenged in the room. He tried to drown out the cramping of his heart and the short stifling of the breath, turning his attention to the letter. Carefully unfolding, his eyes wandered over the words that looked like Adeláire's handwriting. But the words did not seem right to him. He frowned and read the few lines again.

"My dear Arno,

As promised, I can write a few lines and assure you that I'm fine. I am fed and no further harm was done to me. These lines thus prove to you that I am alive and hopefully this will stay, as long as you keep to the agreement with Joséphine. What I would like to hereby ask you earnestly again.

Dearest, do nothing to endanger this. Let time pass and the faster I can return into your arms and leave all this behind. Never forget, I love you.

Adeláire“

LaHache seemed to have noticed his silence and the frown as he spoke again. "Arno, what's the matter? Is something wrong with the letter?"

Thoughtful and still frowning, Arno shoved his hood back and weighed the letter in his hand. Finally his eyes met those of the elder.  "It's her signature. But not her way of expressing herself." 

Now it was LaHache's turn to frown confusedly.  "What do you mean?"

Arno started to pace up and down. "We have never talked about feelings for each other. Even if I feel that they seem to be quite… intense for her part." The soft laugh of his friend did not interrupt Arno’s thoughtful wandering. "I do not know Adeláire well enough to know if such a situation as the current one would lead her to reveal herself in a letter." Arno paused and fixed LaHache. "She has not even ever talked about her feelings. Not to mention that she never admitted love to me. Why should she suddenly do so in a letter? "

LaHache met his gaze and chewed on a blade of grass.  "Do not look at me. I know her even less than you do."  He spit out the blade of grass.  "Maybe you should talk about that with Verne. I think he knows her best next to Francesco." 

Arno nodded silently.  "You're right. Stay here, I'll be back soon." He did not even wait for the confirming, silent nod of his friend and turned to the horses.

The ride was short and keenly, so it was not long before Arno, taking two steps at a time, was heading for the room in which he had left Verne a few days earlier. It made him all the more astonished when he found the bed empty. Voices came up to him from outside and he went to one of the windows. He smiled and watched a Verne, flirting with the lady of the house, taking a walk through the kitchen garden.

"Old Hallodri," Arno muttered under his breath, before heading down the stairs and out again.

"Nice to find you in good health and chipper. You seem to be your old self again,” Arno finally teased, as he confronted the couple. Relieved, he registered his friend's healthy complexion and his flashing cheeky grin.

"The same could be said about you, my friend. You have not been here for a while. Poor Madame Grandjust has her hands full entertaining me." 

Madam Grandjust showed a hint of blush before she, greeting Arno, said goodbye.

Arno hurriedly approached Verne as he reached out to his side, groaning softly, as if he wanted to collapse in the next moment.

"Can it be that in your flirting mood you may have overdone, my friend?" Arno's tone teased, albeit with a clearly concerned undertone. 

Verne smiled weakly.  "All good. Just drop me off somewhere and let me take a deep breath. You're certainly here for a reason, aren‘t you?"

Arno did as he was told, and, supporting Verne, strode toward a bench at the side of the house. Once there, he let the injured brother catch his breath. "Why are you doing this again and again, Verne?"

Vernes played uninvolved mimic appeared, as if he wanted to ignore Arno's question.  "What exactly do you mean?"

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and frowned.  "You know exactly what I mean. Why do you think you still have to hide behind women with these flirtations? You do not need that. You have friends who accept you the way you are. You like men, not women. Fact."  Arno thought for a moment, but decided to pursue the path further.  "And what's even more interesting about your behavior, why does Adeláire not know about it? You two are so close to each other."

Verne raised an aching, offended look full of rage to his friend that made Arno wince guiltily. Had he gone too far?  "Exactly! That's why! Just because we are so close. At the time, I only told you about it to explain to you why I was so… hysterical at the museum mission. If this had not happened, I would not even know if you would have discovered it to this day. But at the time I felt somehow... obliged to."

Arno tried to keep his voice calm, unobtrusive. "Do you trust others... us... Adeláire... so little Verne?"

Verne scuffled his fair hair.  "You can’t understand that, Arno. You never experienced what I experienced. Yes, I've tried so many times to give you and Cesco insights so you understand. But I think that's not something you can simply… explain… somehow."

With a painful sigh, his friend leaned back against the wall behind him, holding his injured side. The look out of bright gray eyes made Arno's heart ache.  "And Adelaire... oh, I do not know. At the beginning, I never thought we would ever be so close. It did not seem important to me that she knew. When her brother died, she sought stability and protection. Which she apparently found with Cesco and me. She became a little sister to me, whom I wanted to protect first and foremost harm and sorrow. And maybe that would lead me to further silence. I just did not want to impose that knowledge on her."

Arno sensed that his friend had not yet reached the end of his words. Smoothly, he squatted and esteemed his averting gaze as he continued.  "At some point it had somehow just crept in that I postponed this conversation to 'later'. And now it is already so late that I do not even know how to start it. How could she do otherwise than ask me the same question of trust? And she had every right to do so. But what should I answer her? Sorry Adeláire, was not meant that way. You're just the first woman I tell, before I cannot run away afterwards?"

Arno imagined a conversation in this way in front of the inner eye and could not prevent the corners of his mouth from smirking. He was not often close to other people and allowed his empathy to let their emotions in. But Verne was one of his longest and best friends.

The look that Verne exchanged with Arno was full of pain and self-doubt. "She's already too important to me to not care if I lose her or not. Despite the experience of my revelation to you and Cesco, I still do not know how she will respond."

Arno felt helpless. He did not come up with anything that could help his friend. Finally, he did what he had actually come for and silently handed him the letter. Keen on the obvious change of topic, Verne breathed heavily and relieved. His friend's reactions to the few lines seemed to be a reflection of himself. Frowning and rereading the words, written in familiar handwriting.

"That does not come from Adeláire. Absolutely no way. She would never write such lines. Let alone to admit her love in such an open and almost offensive way. Love is like the plague to her. You get sick of her and she destroys you slowly but unerringly."  Verne only noticed in retrospect what he had actually said to his friend. Embarrassedly he raised his eyes to Arno.  "I'm sorry, my friend, I did not mean to hurt or shame you. Or to take away your hope for a future together. But it is how it is. Adeláire is quite… difficult when it comes to love."

Arno lowered his eyes, raised and folded again his arms across his chest. Once more he started to wander up and down.  "It would be a lie to say that I would be much easier to handle in this regard."  Verne saved any comment on this statement.  "But I think we should think about that another time. The fact is, these lines are not from Adeláire. It's her handwriting, but not her way of shaping words and phrases. The question remains, how do we deal with this knowledge? Joséphine did not keep our agreement. So we are not bound to ours any more either. Nevertheless, I would not know how to intervene without endangering her life."

Verne leaned against the wall in his back, sighing softly, holding his aching side. His gaze rested on the thoughtful counterpart as he spoke.  "I do not know either, Arno. And I hate that feeling of helplessness just as much as you do. And yet I can’t think of anything reasonable, what we could do. Except… to wait and see."

Arno growled indignantly at Verne's words. He knew only too well that his friend was absolutely right. The situation had changed, and yet not really. Not enough, that they have any new freedom of action. Enervated, he rubbed his wrinkled forehead, only remarking when familiar voices wafted to his ear.

"No one is upstairs, Francesco. The beds are all empty."

"All right, then we'll have to find them. Presumably they are in the camp waiting for news."

Arno frowned. What the hell was Léon doing here? The timbre of his voice probably expressed his rage about it.  "We are here, Cesco!"

It did not last long before Cesco, Léon and one other person walked around the house and found the two waiting Assassins. Léon was about to throw himself into a hug for Arno when he noticed his unamused facial expressions and paused. Francesco skillfully ignored this aura and turned to Verne. A quick nod, a hand on his friend's shoulder, and the "Status Report Recovery" was almost completed. The third person was silently waiting at a reasonable distance.

Arno rise to speak first.  "What the hell is Léon doing here, Cesco?"

Just yonder turned to his brother in peace of mind and showed a relaxed mimic. 
"I brought him with me because I believe he can be of great help to us here."  His facial expressions remained blank at his next words.  "And frankly, I do not give a damn if you approve it or not. Léon is a gifted thief and I know you started training him a while ago. So do not come to me with any reservations, as long as you do not know the plan yet."

Arno felt the anger rise again in him. The same as he had felt in his last confrontation with Cesco. Apparently, his friend had not yet calmed down and continued to blame him. Arno felt his facial expression darken.

"Guys, please, can’t you just bury the hatchet for the moment and focus on what might be best for us and Adeláire? Internal quarrel does not really bring us forward,” Verne finally said in a kind of tired tone. He has always been the mediator in the group of the four Assassins.

Arno finally nodded silently, noticing that Cesco was in no way commenting on Verne's objection. He turned questioningly to the third person of the newcomers.  "Please excuse us that you had to witness this. With whom do we have the honor?"

The unknown appeared foreign. Definitely not a Frenchman. The skin was dark, as were the eyes. A thick beard hid much of his facial expressions, as did the bright-natural hood of his robe. It was obvious to Arno that he faced an Assassin brother. But the robe looked as foreign as the rest of the apparition. The bodice was more of a too long shirt and not the familiar vest and coat. Several layers on top of each other, with the upper part decorated with small applications. The long cloak lay turned back over his shoulders, revealing a belt rich in weapons and other useful objects. The saber at his side looked Arabic, as did the pants. Only the usual footwear the stranger seemed to have exchanged for more suitable for France weather conditions. The greeting, which he threw in Arno's direction, seemed as foreign as the whole figure. With a gentle bow, the foreigner touched his chest, lips, and forehead.

"My name is Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad from the Brotherhood of Cairo. I greet you." His accent and voice matched his overall appearance, and Arno returned his greeting gesture with a proper bow.

"Arno Dorian. Pleased to meet you." He did not even try to pronounce the name so unfamiliar to him and his tongue, silently hoping that the necessities of courtesy were adhered enough. The stranger's gentle smile supported his hope.

"I know who you are, Efendim. You are the reason why I am in this country. And I hope you find time for me, my concerns and my thoughts."  The stranger put a hand on his chest and also bowed curtly before Arno. The latter felt it leave him uncomfortable in his skin and he moved his shoulders briefly, and hopefully as inconspicuously as possible.

"Unfortunately, the chosen moment is more than unfavourable, Monsieur. We have to find a way to free a captive sister and..."

"...keep Napoléon from using the artefact. Yes, I know, Efendim. That's why I'm here,” the stranger interrupted. Arno blinked in surprise and felt the discomfort increase.

It was Francesco who finally intervened.  "Perhaps we should all go inside and talk about the passé events. Léon, would you be so nice and ride down the street until you are almost at the border fence of the estate and bring LaHache to us? I think we should be complete to discuss everything else."

Arno was silent on this proposal. He did not know exactly right now what he should think about the latest developments. So he simply tried not to think too much of them. Verne got up without commenting on what was said. When he threatened to stumble, both Arno and Cesco jumped in. In the silent exchange of views, they finally shared the "burden" and strove together into the house. Léon did as he was told and the stranger just followed the group silently. Arno had a dull feeling that this was going to be a very interesting conversation.

 Arrived at the house initially began a busy life. Each one got rid of his bulkiest weapons and carefully deposited them. Water was put on for coffee and the stew was hung over the fire for heating. Finally, dishes and glasses were distributed and a wine bottle made the rounds. When finally everyone settled down at the table, LaHache was last to enter the room.

"It's almost like coming home," he said cheerfully, before depositing his ax next to the door.

"Then clean your boots and tap the dust off your coat. Otherwise, you will only make unnecessary work for the lady of the house." As always, Verne’s tone sounded mockingly amused. A good sign that he was on the road to recovery. With a nasty hand gesture, Jean again stepped outside, doing as he was told to, finally entered the room and closed the door behind him.

Arno frowned questioningly. "Where is Leon?"

LaHache headed for the table and sat down in one of the chairs. Hungry, he immediately reached for the fresh bread on the table.  "He wanted to look around a bit and then dismantles the most necessary from the camp. He said I should hurry. We have important things to discuss. He’s certain to come."

Arno frowned again. He knew Leon. The boy was up to something. He could only hope that he would not have to get him out of trouble again. When everyone had finally gathered at the table, it was Francesco who spoke.

"Well, the council is aware of what has happened here." Francesco seemed intent on avoiding Arno's gaze. It cost the only paltry older one all the willpower that was available to him to remain calm. "As expected, they are not pleased. Especially not Master Trenet."  Was the art break deliberately chosen, which he inserted?  "However, they agree with us that we do not have much room for maneuver to free Adeláire from her situation. The highest commandment, as might be expected, is her safety and survival."  With a neutral expression on his face, he finally turned to Arno.  "They have decided that the responsibility for the mission should remain with you."  The hiatus between them continued and both sensed the bitterness in the words before Francesco continued.

"You have agreed to my proposal to take Léon with you to possibly gain access to the property through him. Someone like him is less noticeable and probably not suspected of being an assassin. Rather a common country boy."

Arno clenched his hands into fists and his voice sounded squeezed.  "Does that mean you want to endanger him by sending him into the estate? Are you still at your senses, Cesco?"

Francesco returned the raging blaze of his counterpart with a profound calm. Arno noticed how unpleasantly silent everyone else in the room behaved.

"Speaking of senses, how far have you come in trying to improve yours?"

Arno's eyes darkened even more.  "Do not turn from the topic now. Do you really want to put a child in danger to get Adeláire out of there? Are you sure she would approve that? Not to mention that this really goes a step too far."

Before Francesco could reply, Verne took the floor in the conciliatory attempt. "It may actually be a possibility, Arno. You told us back then how well Léon could take care of himself in Franciade. And that he was able to escape the Raiders again and again. Maybe he will actually find a way in, which is denied to us."  

Arno rubbed his forehead, enervated.  "Yes, Verne, I have. But I also remember quite well that I also told you that they almost killed him had I not randomly turned up there. He is and will remain a child, not an Assassin."  

Silence filled the room before LaHache broke it.  "Well, maybe it's really an advantage that one only see a child in him. The guards on the estate may do the same, and not even bring him to Joséphine. Maybe they just chase him away."  Arno looked around silently and registering in all of them the same conviction.

"To me that's definitely too many 'maybe'. Do we really want to put an innocent in such a danger?"  The silence was lifted this time by the stranger.

"Sorry if I interfere so intrusively, but maybe you should inform those present about the other news. Only with an overall picture can decisions be made about a single action."  The stranger's voice sounded reassuring and apologetic. And the former did not seem to miss its effect. Arno leaned back in his chair, admonishing himself to patience. Francesco just nodded silently and continued.

"Monsieur Ahmad is right. There are news which are either good or bad. Napoléon has left Egypt and is on his way back to France. Where, how and when he will break the blockade, is not yet known. But he left at the end of August and was due to reach the coast at the end of this month, at the beginning of October."

LaHache puffed his cheeks and leaned back in his chair as well.  "On any coast is not very precise."  Francesco shook his head and sipped his wine.

"You're right. But we do not have any more at the moment. The council has sent Assassin’s to the southern shores to reinforce their positions there and to receive immediate information should he be spotted. Nevertheless, both the Council and I believe that it would be good if we intercept him as soon as he enters French territory."  Francesco once again turned his gaze to Arno.  "And for that we'll need you again."

Arno crossed his arms over his chest and lowered his eyes. Thoughtfully, he felt his chin muscles working.  "Understand. However, that would mean giving up the post here and leaving Adeláire alone in the hands of these… witches."  He deliberately did not raise his eyes whether his own uncertainty, which at the moment could be read in it. So the only remaining thing was, to trust his hearing when Francesco's voice penetrated pressed to his ear.

"I know. I do not like it either. But that was not all. Monsieur Ahmad? "

Arno raised his eyes to the stranger, who nodded affirmatively before reaching into one of his pockets and cautiously placing an, for Arno just too familiar, object on the table. Holding his breath, Arno drifted out of his chair and he pushed it aside from the table. His voice sounded aggressive as he addressed the stranger.

"Are you insane to bring this… thing… here? Do you actually know what this is capable of?"  Arno fixed the small, round, gently golden shimmering object on the table again, before he fixed the stranger. He raised his hands placatory and smiled gently.

"Calm down, Efendim. This is by no means the original. Much to my regret, I must admit. We had the opportunity to intensively examine the artifact that you had kindly sent to Cairo and to make an artful copy. The original..." he consciously chose his break; Arno was sure of that. "...is currently owned by Bonaparte. And that with absolute certainty. Which should explain to all those present my residence in their country."

Slowly and frowning, Arno settled back in the chair and reached for the coffee. Somehow, he did not feel like wine at the moment. The situation slowly started to get out of hand. An eloquent silence started in the round.

"Ok, I do not know what such a small, round thing to be able to do. But why is it such a drama that Napoléon has it?"  LaHache's voice sounded confused.

"I think, that should better be explained from Arno. He saw the artifact in action up close."  Verne's voice was tired and he looked pale as Arno raised his eyes up to him and finally nodded silently.

"The original of this artifact has eerie powers, Jean. When I found it in the temple back then, dozens of enemies blocked my way out. Somehow I could activate it and it sent out a kind of… light, which drove my opponents crazy. I could scare dozens without ever having to raise my sword."  Arno turned his gaze to his Assassinbrother, who looked at him incredulously.  "Imagine such an artifact in Napoléon's hands at the head of an army. He would put the enemy to flight without having to fire one cannonball. He would drive them all insane, kill each other. He would be unstoppable in his greed for more and more power."

LaHache was silent for a while, then nodded silently.  "All right, understood. Napoléon and in possession of this artifact, bad thing. So how do we take it off again?"

Francesco sighed softly and rubbed his neck.  "Good question, next question. I think we will have to split up. Two of us stay here and continue to observe the estate, keeping in touch with these women. And the other two ride towards the south coast and try to intercept Bonaparte. It would be ideal if we succeed in exchanging the original for the copy of the artifact. And that unnoticed."

Arno leaned forward thoughtfully and laid his arms folded on the table. His gaze wandered over the audience, before he lowered it, brooding, to the table.  "I think Verne should definitely stay here. For two reasons; He has not quite recovered and he knows Adeláire the best. If another letter arrives from her, he'll be the first to tell if it's real or not."  He looked up at Francesco.  "Besides you, of course, Cesco."

Arno could clearly see the pain in facial expressions and in the look of the other and felt that this was just a reflection of his own. It felt as if Francesco was just as aware of this in the divided moment. His voice was strained at his next question.  "She wrote a letter?"

Arno merely imply a gentle shake of the head as he held his friend's gaze.  "It is her handwriting, but not her words. You will recognize it when you read it. Later."

Another silent nod before Francesco lowered his eyes thoughtfully.  "LaHache should stay here as well. If anything goes wrong, a few muscles could be beneficial."  Francesco's smile at his Assassinbrother was almost lovingly mocking.  "I also brought you a small gift from Paris. Unless Arno agrees."

Surprised, the appealed raised his eyebrows and shared Francesco's briefly flashing grin as their eyes crossed.  "Let me guess, the guillotine shotgun?"

Francesco grinned wider.  "I thought she might be useful out here. Unless you'd like to keep it yourself and withhold it to Jean."

Arno felt the heaviness between him and Francesco seem to lift a little, making it easier to breathe.  "If he can separate himself from his petit cherie, then he should like to have it with my blessing. I'm less likely the right person to be in charge of such heavy weapons."  Arno almost elicited a laugh to observe, how LaHache glanced confusedly between him and Francesco.

"You'll surely enlighten me sometime, right?" grumbled the older Assassin.

"All right, enough of the silly things. I do not think I can last much longer. Let's get back to basics."  Verne's voice sounded painfully squeezed and his complexion became noticeably paler. Arno nodded silently.

"Alright, that means Francesco and I are riding to the coast trying to catch Napoléon as early as possible. Let's just hope he does not send messengers to let his wife know that he's back safely. I would trust him such a move but rather less. He never seemed particularly sentimental. Even though his feelings for Joséphine seemed quite deep."  Arno's mind kept racing while he dropped the comments more like incidentally. His eyes finally fixed the stranger.  "What about you, Monsieur? Did you have any other reasons to come here except to let us know that Napoléon is on his way home?"

The stranger smiled gently, folding his hands together and laying them on the table. His dark gaze returned Arnos.  "I should perhaps explain that in our Brotherhood in Cairo I was responsible for the scientific investigation of artefacts in the nature of this apple. And also with the research of the people who are able to use them."  The dark look became insistent.  "Like I said, Efendim, I’m here for you. The ability to use such artifacts is reserved for very few people. You said earlier that you drove your opponents mad. But you yourself remain completely undisturbed by the effects. In addition, your Council and your friend were so obliging to inform me that you have a very special gift, which is also very rare to find."  A smile brightened his exotically features.  "If you permit, I will ride with you and your friend to the coast and use the time to learn more about you and your gift. And, at best, I can even be of use regarding the replacement of the artifact. Three assassins can finally accomplish more than two. Isn’t that true?"

Arno said nothing and examined the stranger. He did not quite know what he should think of all this. In one way he felt like one of Verne's laboratory subjects, to the other a little hope arose, perhaps through the stranger he actually could learn more about his gift at least. Both, one and the other, did not help much at the moment, so he just nodded silently and turned his attention back to Francesco.

"We should put together provisions and equipment and leave as soon as possible. It's a hard ride lasting several days to the south coast."  Francesco nodded silently and rose from his chair to turn to Verne, who collapsed in his chair next to his brother. Silently he pulled him to his feet to strive with him up.

LaHache grabbed one of the bowls and some bread and headed for the stew over the fire. Arno's eyes wandered from his brothers to the copy of the artefact, which was still laying on the table. Even the copy made his spine run cold with a shudder, before a sudden thought shot through him just as coldly.

"Wait a minute, isn’t Léon supposed to be back? What's the boy doing for so long?"  

LaHache sat back down at the table and dipped the fresh bread in the steaming bowl in front of him.  "Don’t worry so much. The boy is getting along and will surely show up soon."  The older man studied the frowning Arno chewing thoughtfully.  "If it calms you, then ride towards him. But do not complain afterwards about lack of sleep."

Arno half turned to the door, hesitated, feeling his inner indecisiveness. Energetically, he crossed the room and stepped out into the yard. He spread his senses, knowing that he was too far away to even perceive anything. But this procedure had become his second skin over the years.

"It feels strange to be seized by your abilities,” the stranger's voice came to his ear in a calm tone of voice. Politely Arno turned to him.

"I'm sorry if it causes you discomfort. This was not my intention."  The stranger smiled gently, folded his arms behind his back and stepped out beside Arno. His eyes wandered through the darkening night.

"How far does your gift reach? Can you, for example... “  The stranger looked, searching around. At least that's what it seems like until Arno sensed that tingling sensation on his neck. Amazed, he looked again at the stranger, who showed no signs externally that he was doing other than looking around. "...capture that oak back there?"

Arno turned his eyes in the same direction and could see which oak the stranger meant.  "Yes, with ease. It gets more difficult with the edge of the forest."

The stranger nodded silently and Arno could still feel this prickle.  "Was your gift weaker in the past than it is today?"

Arno frowned and crossed his arms over his chest.  "Do you really think that's the right time to talk about such things?"

Ahmad turned to him and a gentle smile flashed through his thick beard.  "Why not? Do we have better things to do right now?"

Arno sighed and circled his shoulders for a moment. Something told him that this promised to be a long night.

„“ ----------------- „“

Adeláire awoke from a restless sleep. If one could really call that sleep, what she was capable of accomplishing. Her muscles protested and felt like they were collapsing minute by minute. Her head ached and she was glad for the darkness around her. Light would have stung her eyes like daggers right now. As if out of routine, she twisted her wrists and still felt them in shackles. A soft sigh escaped her lips before resigning and sinking down again. Out of the same routine she spread her senses, not really expecting anything else than the times before: nothing.

But this time she winced in surprise. Had she been able to, her head would surely have flickered in the direction of where something on the edge disturbing her perception. Groaning, the assassin tried to concentrate and purposefully adjust her senses. It was not until the presence approached that she could make out more.

"Pst, Mademoiselle, stay quiet, say nothing. The guards are very close."  The boy's voice sounded familiar to her, but Adeláire felt too sore, too crude to really classify it. She felt him begin to release her shackles.

"Who..." Her voice croaked hoarsely and she barely recognized her. As sore as her body, shredded with pain-filled screams.

"It's me, Léon. I'll get you out of here, Mademoiselle. And then I'll take you back to Arno."  His voice whispered softly beside her as he continued to deal with the shackles. Adeláire felt tears spilling into her eyes at the mention of Arno's name. Silently, her lips formed syllables.

As Léon walked around, he paused haltingly and studied the glassware. "What are they doing here with you, Mademoiselle?"

Adeláire spread her senses as her eyes found it too difficult to focus on anything. She ignored the stinging pain in her head caused by the use of her abilities. Adeláire could see Léon inspecting the tinctures, many of them disappearing into his pockets. He probably wanted to take them with him to find out what this was about. Finally he turned back to the Assassin on the torture table and studied the needles in her arms thoughtfully.

"I... I have no experience with this. And I do not want to hurt you."  Adeláire tried to smile encouragingly as she laboriously lifted one arm and tried to pull one of the needles out of her vein. Groaning and lack of strength, however, she sank back into herself.

"Léon… you have to. Otherwise… all your risk was in vain."  Adeláire wondered again at her voice. She sounded like a grater and her throat ached to squeeze the words out.

Just in the moment, when Léon gave himself a jerk and grabbed her arm, heavy footsteps sounded on the stairs. Léon slipped a 'merde' before looking around wildly. Adeláire felt hopelessness arise in her. And yet there was something burning inside her that made her think of the boy first.

"Hide yourself... cell..." she croaked softly, whereupon Léon disappeared silently like a shadow, as if he had never been there.

Moaning, Adeláire tried to roll over to the side and push herself up off the table. None of her muscles really wanted to bow to her will, and she whispered a silent curse. When she was finally able to swing her legs over the edge, it gave the rest of her body so much movement that she slipped completely off the table. As a result, the needles still in her arms were torn out with a simultaneous jerk. Once again, pain shot through her battered body, causing the assassin to collapse on the floor. Immediately followed by the pain behind her eyelids, as the front door swung open and several torches glistening lit up the room.

"What the hell...” cursed one of the guards.

"How did she manage to untie the shackles?" Asked another.

Creeping Adeláire still tried to find some escape route while she tried to clear the fog in her head to find a solution for Léon. He could not be discovered under any circumstances. She struggled to get to her feet, pulling herself up using the hold on the instrument table.

"She is here. She did not go far." She could feel the guard stepping behind her before a relentless fist buried into her hair and helped her get to the feet. Resigned, it did not even cost her a sigh of pain.

"Well darling, tell us how you managed to escape from your situation?" Adeláire could smell Joséphine's perfume, feel the warmth of her presence, and hear the poison in her voice. She silently let herself be held on her feet and mutely waited for what would happen next. She almost felt the draft earlier than the hand hit her face.

"Look at me when I talk to you!"  Joséphine barked the command, which merely made Adeláire to open her eyes a crack. Only so far as she could see shadows through the painful light. She remained silent on the question.

"Fix her back on the table. And this time, make sure that she cannot escape again. However she may have accomplished that."

Weak as a doll Adeláire let this happen to her. Even if she had wanted, she no longer had any strength to throw at her tormentors. Even the sinking of fresh needles into her arm elicited only a hiss and a sigh. She could hear the guards leave the room and set herself up for another question and answer session.

"Do you want to try again today?"  Genevieve's voice sounded strained.

"She is too weak. It would not make sense. We need her conscious, as well as her descendant to be able to successfully separate them. Only then will we have a chance of a successful takeover." Adeláire did not understand a single word of Joséphine's explanations.

"Actually, why exactly she? Why don’t we continue to infiltrate the Brotherhood through other targets? We've been successful with this approach so far." Constanze wandered through the room during her question, looking for signs of an intruder. Adeláire could only hope that Arno had taught Léon enough so that the boy knew how to hide.

"Because she and Arno will produce descendants. And we all know to which particular one this will lead. And I do not think any of us would want this line to be established. So do not always ask such stupid questions, but find our intruder." The barely concealed annoyance Joséphines was even noticeable for Adeláire. But miraculously, Léon was untraceable for the three women. Frustrated, they gave up after a while, leaving Adeláire alone in the dark again.

It almost made the Assassin breathe a sigh of relief, that she was spared further interviews for the moment. She felt helpless, powerless. Her mind did not understand what happened here. How did the three of them know that she and Arno would have children? Were they some weird kind of witches? And if so, why did they want to aim for her and Arno? Adeláire caught herself silently praying to any gods, to anyone or anything, to be heard.

What she heard instead was a Léon, who sneaked to her side again. He was once again beginning to untie her shackles.

"Léon... Léon... don’t. That makes no sense. You have to go. All this... is far too dangerous." Adeláire merely whispered, hoping the boy was listening to her.

"But... but I can’t just leave you here..." She could hear the horror in his voice and tried a reassuringly smile. Until she realized that it was far too dark for him to identify that.

"Go... Léon... and tell Arno..." She swallowed hard, lost her voice, breathing hard to finally do the only thing that remained to her: keep silent. Neither she, nor Arno would benefit if she confess love in their present situation. Also delivered by a middleman like Léon. She knew it would only be an additional burden for Arno.

"What Mademoiselle? What should I tell him?" the boy quietly asked.

She silently shook her head as best as she could in the shackles. And just as mutely, a single tear ran out of the corner of her eye. She could almost physically feel the boy swallow beside her before gently placing a hand on her shoulder.

"We will be back. And we'll get you out of here Mademoiselle. Please... hold on..." He briefly pressed her hand, before he broke away from her. For a long time Adeláire listened intently to the silent darkness, wondering if she could perceive any more of him. Only the sinking into a renewed, unsteady, unrestful sleep kept her from embarrassing emotions.

„“ ----------------- „“

"Somebody's coming." Ahmad's voice was thoughtful and he closed his eyes for a moment to focus. Arno looked away from the stranger and scanned the dark night. Finally he did it like Ahmad, closing his eyes and concentrating. It took much longer, however, until what Ahmad had felt came within his reach.

"Léon. About time,” Arno grumbled. He decided to wait for the boy until he entered the yard. He had a faint suspicion that the crossed arms and somber facial expressions were the cause of the boy's guilty expression.

"Where have you been? And what did you do again?" Arno said aggressively as Léon approached him around the horse. The sense of guilt began to change clearly in defiance.

"I did what I was asked to do. I invaded the property and found the mademoiselle." 

Arno felt himself shocked. For a moment, his breath caught in his throat and he released the entanglement of his arms in front of his chest as he breathlessly asked, "Is she..."

Léon took a step towards him and lifted his hands soothingly.  "She’s alive. She’s doing everything else than well, but she lives." Once again, guilt obscured the boy's features. "It... I'm sorry. I could not free her. She was just... too weak. And there were too many guards. And I almost got caught. And…"

Arno stopped the stuttering flow of the boy, overcoming the distance and pulling him seamlessly into a hug. His right rested on Léon's still slimmer back while the left covered placating the back of his head.

"Sh, calm down. Everything will be alright. Somehow. You did what you could." Arno felt himself only partly believing his own words. But apparently they calmed the boy down a bit, before he broke a little from the hold and looked up at him.

"I took something with me." Horror moved through the young eyes staring up at Arno. "Arno she... they do... some horrible things with her. There were... equipment. And she had needles in her arms." The boy swallowed hard. "And she was as weak as a baby."

Arno silently returned the boy's horrified look and did not know what to say. He could feel his heart ripping and his throat tightening. Carefully he stroked Léon through the hair.

"We... we will find a solution. We... I..." Arno's thoughts raced wildly and confused, unable to take any direction.

"Ah, Léon, very good. Did you find out what happened?" Francesco's voice from the entrance saved Arno from his stuttering helplessness. Hurriedly he let go of the boy and turned away from the light, which flooded behind Francesco from inside the house. Breathless, with an aching heart, he strode one, two steps into the darkness and tried to calm down. He now had to think straight to find a solution.

Listening with only half an ear, Arno noted that Francesco's reaction to Leon's information was as appalled as his own. In contrast to him followed, however, a wild barrage of curses of the roughest sort.

"I've been able to take with me some of the fluids they give her. Does that help anything?" Leon asked, though it was clear he seemed unsettled by his discovery.

Arno was silent. He still felt unable to speak again. Dark swaths swirled before his eyes and it felt like someone was slowly but surely pulling the ground away from under his feet.

"Show... show them Verne. Maybe he can analyze it and find out what that stuff is..." Francesco's voice was rough, tense, and dripping with rage.

Silence returned, interrupted only by Léon, who entered the house, followed by the footsteps of Ahmad, who apparently wanted to leave the two Frenchmen alone for the moment. Arno said nothing. As well as Francesco. Only when footsteps in Arno’s direction in his back raised, he tensed his shoulders, tightened for the supposed, what was approaching him.

He was wrong. Everything he had to face was a heavy hand on his shoulder.  "You know, I once had the hope at the very beginning Ade... she... would eventually fall in love with me." Francesco's voice was soft, squeezed, full of pain. 

Arno turned his head and could only vaguely see the face of his friend in the shadows and the backlight.  "I... I'm sorry. I never had the intention..." he stuttered, until Francesco haltingly raised his free hand.

"That was long ago. And you have nothing whatsoever to do with it never coming to that." Francesco dismissed Arno's shoulder and stood by his side, gazing into the darkness of the night. "But maybe it will explain a little more why I was so out of my mind." Arno nodded silently and followed his friend's gaze until he turned to him and urgently sought his eyes. "I can only hope for you that you are serious about her." A short, intense look. "I know you well enough to realize that what you are just ready to let leak out of emotions, is real. And may God grant that you will still be able to let her know and feel that."

Arno did not know what to say to his friend. Both Francesco as well as he himself, in spite of their close friendship, had never been men who gave up their stance too quickly. But here, at this moment, under the protection of the dark night, they shared a short, strong, male hug.

"We will get her out of there. And we will let those pay, who have done her harm. Credo or not. This has just become personal." Francesco's voice whispered softly to Arno's ear. For a brief moment, the two Assassins looked each other in the eye while holding their arms as if summoning a pact. Which was finally confirmed by mutual, silent nod.

"All right, let's pack up. The day is breaking and we should get on our way. Not that Napoléon lands on the coast without us. "

Arno returned Francesco's slight smile and followed him into the house.
Silently, he felt his friend's words linger in him for a long time. And he was right, this was personal. And even if it would forever and permanently exclude him from the Brotherhood, he would take revenge. And he would call it exactly that.

„“ ----------------- „“

Adeláire moaned as much too bright light bathed the entire room in glaring brightness. Joséphine, Geneviéve and Constanze brought far more torches this time than usual. They seemed anxious to illuminate even the farthest corner of their prison. Almost, the Assassin felt even more bared than before.

"All right, let's see if we cannot come to a conclusion of our efforts today,” Joséphine said coldly as she approached the headrest of Adeláire’s table.

Narrowing her eyes to slits, Adeláire tried to recognize something. Just to be blinded by the light. Silently and resignedly, she waited to see how things should continue.

"Are we trying to use the tracer today?" Constanze's voice.

"Yes, definitely. First set the dose to small units. We do not have any experience how she reacts to it. Dead, she no longer benefits us." Adeláire could hear how Joséphine got in position near her head. In vain she tried to steel herself against the pain.

The first pain of the evening, however, came again through her veins into her innermost. If the previous substances had already given her the feeling of being pulled off her skin alive, it now felt like it was done in extra small strips. Her muscles were too exhausted to restrain herself in the shackles. Adeláire felt herself only shaking violently.

"The tracer is halfway through. What about the sensitivity?" Constanze again.

Adeláire felt only dull through all the pain of someone approaching her from the opposite direction. She did not know what exactly Geneviéve had done, but it felt like she had reached into her guts with a bare fist to pull everything out. The pain was so intense that it even elicited sounds from her voice.

"Here's our answer. It seems to work great as always. I think we are ready. Jaida?"

Adeláire had no idea who was meant by 'Jaida'. But she felt Joséphine place her hands on her temples, and the next moment the golden light she already knew was ripping her head.

It was different, this time. Somehow ethereal. All the pain suddenly sank into the deepest depths of a dark pit below her. She was floating, weightless. And the belief in her grew that this must be death. How different should it feel? When all the pain, all the suffering, all the agony suddenly fell away and you felt weightless, careless.

Adelaire fell. Gentle, hovering, with light, whispered sighs. Those who grew louder and louder, who tried to drag her out of her carelessness. She curled up like a baby in the womb. She did not want to know anything about it, did not want to get involved. Silently formed a "leave me alone" in her head.

Fog, Float, Warmth, Light.

„ADELÁIRE!“

Arno! That was Arno's voice! It tore her out of her foetal position and cleared her eyes. The mist around her receded. Paris. Arno, herself, running, pecking over the rooftops of the city. A race. She remembered. This felt like it was ages ago. She followed him, herself. Saw how this race ended in a silent hiding place. They shared a greedy, breathless togetherness.

Fog, Float, Warmth, Light.

"Scht... rest... it was a long night..."

Arno, whispering, close to her ear. Soft lips on her temple. A blanket that was placed over her. She reached for him, pulling him close. Feeling him nestle around her. Feel his heart beating strong in her back. Feel how he pulled her close. Feel how he transported his feelings without saying a word.

Fog, Float, Warmth, Light.

"I want you…"

Whispering. Passion. Wild. Playful. Windswept. Warm rain on heated faces. She felt embarrassed, as if she were an uninvited voyeur. And yet, this was her. And him. Together at the highest point of Notre Dame. Below them a Paris shrouded in hazy fog and rain. Self-forgetting sharing, exploring each other.

"Enough of it. That's not what we came for! "

No fog, no light, no warmth. Only one tugging on a leash, which she had not noticed before. Which cut off her air and pulled her with her. Deeper, faster was the fall. Until it was stopped by a hard hit on unyielding ground.

Adeláire's view cleared. Darkness surrounded her, broken by pulsating light, which did good to her sore eyes. The floor reflected her image, the surrounding plain seemed endless.

"Where... where am I..." Her voice was no longer sore. Echoed somehow dull in the endlessness again.

A golden glare tore the darkness like a portal through which a figure materialized. Something about her seemed familiar, and yet not. The clothes were nothing that Adeláire had ever seen in her life before. The dark hair was tied back in a strict braid. Only the poisonous expression of the dark eyes made a connection.

"Joséphine?" The Assassin whispered softly and incredulously.

The figure approached and settled in front of Adeláire in a loose squat. A mocking smile played around the corner of the woman's mouth.  "Not exactly sweetheart. My name is Jaida. And I'm the one who controls Joséphine. And that's exactly what we're going to do to you now."

Adeláire went through it like a shock. She sensed that she was in full possession of her powers in this strange world. Which caused her to jump away from the stranger with an energetic leap. Only to freeze immediately in the movement. Golden glow wrapped her and held her motionless.

"Ah, ah. Not so fast, my love. We still need you."

The stranger named Jaida walked around Adeláire. Her hands glowed golden and as she raised them, the Assassin's figure followed the movement. Sombreness billowed around the stranger.

"Show yourself. You know that you have lost. The shadows are no longer protecting you!"

The golden glow intensified until it forced Adeláire to close her eyes. Thankfully she registered that she did not feel anything. Not even her own heartbeat. What she felt, however, was a tearing, as if her body were being split slowly from the top into two parts. Had her voice obeyed her, she would surely have shrieked with pain. So she just hung silently and trembling in this torture, until an increasing scream reached her ears.

It sounded as if this cry reflected the agony that she herself was unable to voice. When it ended abruptly, it let Adeláire hit on the ground again. Too sore, too drained, that she could have acknowledged that.

"What the devil... who are you? What do you want? And what the hell are you doing?"

Another, unknown voice in Adeláire’s ear. Groaning and firmly closing her eyes to this madness, the Assassin curled up into herself again. Unfortunately, the hands over her ears were not enough to turn off the voices.

"There you are ... Assassin. You have resisted for quite a long time."

"How is it possible that someone else is here? And... that I am... here. Wherever this 'here' is."

"Oh, this is the so called White Room. I think Bishop will have informed you. If she ever become familiar with it. As far as I'm informed, she was specifically scheduled for the Arno-Project. And his ISU Skills have always been... different, haven’t they?”

"Who are you? And how do you know all this?"

"That, sweetheart, is none of your business. I'll give you the choice. Either, you go by yourself and tell Bishop to keep her hands off this ancestor. "

"Or?"

"Or... I force you to go..."

Adeláire was grateful for the stillness, the silence. She did not understand all this anymore. What happened here? What happened to her? All what she was still able to adhere was a single thought: Arno.

"I stay. Kill me if necessary. But I will not let you have this ancestor without a fight."

A sound like an extending Hidden Blade urged to Adeláire's ears. An Assassin? Who was she? What did she do here? Where was 'here' anyway? Carefully, unobtrusively, Adeláire began to back away from the obvious battle noises. Only with a little distance did she open her eyes and watch a sheer insane scene. The one who called herself Jaida in a wild fight with another person, dressed like her opponent. The surrealism sheer tore the 18th century Assassin mind to pieces. This madness could not be true.

Adeláire realized, even before it happened, when the stranger had lost the fight against Jaida. A dodge, turn and golden glistening hands pushed the stranger back. Afterward, she hovered, wrapped as before Adeláire, in golden wafting mist. Her mouth twisted into a silent scream. A sudden jerk, a dividing gesture, and the figure vanished into nothingness with an audible cry.

Breathe. In. Out. Adeláire felt the trembling of her entire form and a mad laugh wanted to make his way. She went crazy, definitely. All the pain had made her flee to a completely crazy world and played her some curiosity. She was still struggling with this crazy laugh as Jaida approached her, raised her chin and looked her in the eye.

"Ok, she's about to go crazy. Get Cora in here so she can take control. She should first seek a cosy place for this picture of misery."

Golden glowing fingertips touched Adeláire’s forehead and she sank back into comforting, swirling fog.

Fog, Float, Warmth, Light.

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