France, September 1799 - Journey

---------- France, on the road to the south coast, September 1799 -----

A deep inhale while Arno listened to the soft, sweet, sighing noises. He enjoyed the way Adeláire reacted to him, the kisses of his lips on her warm skin. He followed the lurching movements of the delicious body beneath him. Could she feel his thieving smile on her belly button? He followed an impulse that he wanted to live out for half an eternity.

He slid out of bed quietly and unobtrusively and sank into a loose squat. Thorough fingertips had already explored the most receptive points. This time he sent other senses on this journey. With satisfaction and an invisible smile, he registered her reaction to this change. Unerringly, he caught her wrists before she could do anything to stop him.

All too quickly and treacherously she gave up and herself up to him. The ladies of the marquis were obviously right. All women seemed to really enjoy that. In addition, her lusty sounds confirmed him. So close and intimate he had been only with Èlise so far. He explored these new experiences with the woman so similar, yet so completely different, with complete peace of mind, until he clearly perceived her tension and trembling. But he was not willing yet to send her over this cliff.

She shuddered and glowed as his gaze sank into hers and he joined her passion. She hungered for his kiss and voluntarily offered her wrists. Since her first encounter, she had again and again found favor with a "lack of self-determination" to some degree.

He had to admit, he enjoyed it very much, as she sighed, whispering his name as they both continued to let themselves go. He barely registered the change until he realized that a piercing cry of his name was tearing the reality apart.

The room around him began to waver and flicker surreal. Terrified, his gaze sought green eyes which looked up at him in agony. Her lips silently formed his name before a piercing scream tore the whine again.

He fell. She fell. An abyss opened up among them. And as if on a roaring sea, it just sucked her out of his arms. Desperately, he tried to hold her wrists. Lost one. He wanted to call her name, but no sound came from his throat. Fearful, green eyes took his field of vision before a violent jolt brutally severed their connection and plunged them into the depths of the nothingness. A last shrill of his name rang in his ears before Arno, with gasping breath from a narrowed chest, came out of the dream.

"Breathe, Arno. There is no danger here." Francesco's calm voice actually helped Arno find his way back to reality a little faster. Groaning, he straightened up completely on the camp, which they had pitched on a reasonably protected forest clearing.

Loosely he bent his legs and laid heavy arms on his knees. Controlled breathing, he rubbed his face with both hands and finally massaged his aching neck. He finally dropped his hands and head, then silently gazed before him. He just could not get rid of the look of her green eyes.

"Seems to have been a real nightmare...?" Francisco inquired quietly.

Arno heard the offer to talk about it and considered to what extent he wanted to use this. He rubbed his neck again.  "I'm used to nightmares. However, this was the first one that did not act of... Élise..."

Silence set in between the two brothers, during which Arno finally stood up and sat down at Francesco's campfire. Fire wood was refilled. Silence was broken only by the crackle of fire and shouts of owls.

As always at such moments Arno reached into his coat and took out his father's still standing idle clock. Silently, he stared at the dial for several moments, frozen in the second as she fell to the floor in Versailles. Still silently, he gently closed the lid and stowed it away safely again.  "What do you think, how many days will we need to get to the coast?"

Francesco looked at his friend and brother silently for a while, obviously not sure if this was really the topic Arno wanted to talk about. Despite his slightly younger age, Francesco still knew exactly when it made sense to follow-up and when not. He knew his brother for too long.  "I think two, a maximum of three days."

Arno left that statement uncommented and stared silently into the fire. Endeavored to make the green vanish before his eyes by the flickering burning of the flames.

"I'll never forgive myself if she does not… survive..."  Arno's voice sounded hollow and dull in his ears. His friend answered with silence, at least for a while before he took up the statement.

"No more than me." Arno clearly noted that ‘Cesco's feelings were indeed similar. Again a kind of guilty conscience overcame him before his friend continued.  "But for the moment we have to focus on other things. Adeláire would do exactly the same thing. And you know that. If she has to go through all that, then at least let it not be in vain."

Arno rubbed his hand across his face and over the once-sprouting beard before nodding affirmatively.  "You're right. Lie down, I'll replace you. It's not long before dawn."

Francesco rose without comment and headed for his own bedstead. The younger one paused with his back turned to the fire and thus also to Arno.  "What do you think, will she ever be the same again?"

Arno felt a nasty sting in his heart at ‘Cesco's question. He felt the grief of his brother as if it were his own. His voice sounded appropriately pressed.  "I… do not know, ‘Cesco. Verne couldn’t say too much about these… drugs they seem to give her before we had to go. We can only hope he finds out what it is. And find something that helps against it."

Arno looked helplessly at his tense back, lit by flickering firelight. The cream coat was dusty, like his own. The strain of the breakneck journey slowly became apparent to them and their gear. 

‘Cesco's voice sounded tired as he spoke, not turning to Arno and the fire.  "You know, it was not easy back then. To be born and grow up in the Brotherhood with my bloodline. When Adeláire and her brother joined us, we understood each other from the beginning. Together we bridged the reservations of the others and supported each other. I… never dared to confess, that I felt more for her and could only watch helplessly how she fought with her affairs against any kind of love. Nothing she hates more than dependence. Especially from others."

Arno sensed that ‘Cesco had to speak some kind of pressure from the soul. He silently allowed it and hoped, it would help his friend. Waiting, he let his eyes wander back into the fire while ‘Cesco settled on his camp.

"And the one time dependencies could save her, they fail. I dare not imagine what thoughts she makes all alone in all the days and hours. And I wonder if she'll ever be able to trust us completely again." ‘Cesco's voice was squeezed as he put his weaponries off while talking, loosening his belt and bracer. 

Arno piled the fire up.  "Believe me, Cesco, all this… and much more… I ask myself since they forced me to leave that damn cellar. It scares me more than I dare admit, that I seem to be forced again and again to decide between duty and… feeling. I'm beginning to wonder what this life and what a damned fate is trying to tell me."  Arno was silent for a moment to give way to thoughts, to make themselves clearer. And emotions a way to tell him if he wanted to share them with ‘Cesco.  "Sometimes I think it would be better for everyone if I leave the country after all. Settle somewhere in Austria and try to turn my back on all this Assassinlife. Abandon my mistaken belief of responsibility and reparation. And that I am capable of changing or moving something. It brings nothing but suffering to everyone around me."

Again, Arno ran a hand over his face all the way to the neck, sighing and lowering his head. The silence between him and ‘Cesco weighed heavily and he wondered if he had been right to reveal his darkest thoughts to his friend.

"You have constantly and always just tried to do the right thing. Have taken responsibility for things that were out of your power. No one can do something about it, when situations miserably go wrong." ‘Cesco's voice was calm, reassuring.

Arno gave his friend a wry smile. "Like Théroigne's march to Paris?"

Cesco laughed softly. "Will you never let us all forget that disaster?"

Arno chuckled. "Just as my hands and knees will never forget the countless days of scratching candle wax which Bellec imposed on us as a punishment."

"Touché."

Arno turned his eyes to his brother and met a warm resentment and a silent nod before ‘Cesco went to sleep. It was only a few hours until morning and they still had some hard miles ahead of them.

Three days later, Arno, Cesco, and the stranger named Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad, who had mostly accompanied them silently and without complaining, rode into Marseille. The city felt like a much too busy hive after the lonely days on the street. There were voices buzzing in the ears everywhere, some in a strange tongue. With the first steps into the city's life one could feel, that the port and the shipping industry set their pace. Overwhelmed, the three newcomers to Marseille dropped off their horses in one of the public stables and looked around searchingly.

"Alright, anyone have any ideas on how to proceed?" Arno dodged a trader who loudly cursed, maneuvering his cart through the street.

Cesco looked up and down the street, searching thoughtfully.  "Hm, we should try to find the resident Assassin's office. There must be some clues so that even brothers can find their own without knowing exactly where to look."

Arno sighed inwardly.  "If Jean were here now, he certainly would have an idea where to start in his hometown."  He felt ‘Cesco's sidelong glance and returned it, as he did with the gentle smile.

"Two old strategists like us will find their way around."  Again ‘Cesco looked up and down and stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "As soon as we have an idea..."

"How about we get an overview from an elevated point first? Is not that exactly what makes us Assassins special? That we find ways to the highest peaks of human  architecture?" In Ahmad's voice, a little amusement sounded in his suggestion. But neither Arno nor ‘Cesco dismissed this suggestion as stupid.

"He's right, Arno." ‘Cesco continued his searching look around and a grinning smile stole on his face as he found a target.  "And what better way to do that than as with a building called Notre-Dame de la Garde?"  He gave Arno an encouraging nudge with a big grin.

Arno sighed softly and let his gaze wander to the tower which dominated the city in the south.  "And what are you doing for so long?"

"Ahmad and I will ask around in the harbor. I think we will most likely be able to gather information there."  With that, Francesco strapped his gun on his back and adjusted his hood.

Arno nodded silently.  "Well, I think I should have no trouble finding you again. If I do, we'll meet again here in two hours."

Francesco and Ahmad replied the nod.  "Good plan."

Without further words, Arno swung himself up to the next best building and purposefully made his way to the towering tower. The last time he had climbed such a dizzying point was a while back. That must have been in Franciade. He remembered well how he almost missed a hold on the first ascent of the church and slipped. He had not cared back then. Had the trained, knee-jerked grip almost cursed to death. Today things were different. He took a deep breath and scanned the building for a while before he began to search his way.

Arno's muscles moaned and ached. They protested vehemently against this effort, which had not been part of his training for so long. But he pulled himself higher and paused for breath only briefly on the high located platform before he climbed the last few meters to the top. And as always, he enjoyed the view, which could only be enjoyed from such points.

Concentrated, he sent out his senses and paid attention to the unusual. And indeed, something tingled his nerves and it drew his gaze directly under him to the platform on which he had just caught his breath. There was an Assassin emblem clearly shining against. The way reminded him a lot of the puzzles in Franciade and around the key fragments of the Carneillion Chamber.

"Hm, suppose the orientation of the symbol has any meaning?"  He murmured thoughtfully to himself. Seeking, he aligned his senses purposefully in the direction indicated, without success.  "All right, then we'll have to go back to a scavenger hunt again,” he sighed softly, as he carefully started the descent.

Arno stayed on the rooftops and followed slowly and attentively the indicated direction. And finally he found again something on one of the higher roofs. He adjusted his way slightly by the orientation of the symbol, as well as two more times. Until his way finally led him before a massive and defiant-looking facility, which must have been once an ecclesiastical abbey. Based on the guards on the walls, he concluded that this was probably no longer the case.

"It looks more like a prison than anything else,” Arno murmured softly as he glanced resignedly over the smooth walls.

"Because it is a prison indeed, my dear."

Arno turned to Francesco's voice behind him. In his retinue was a new, unknown face, which greeted him with a nod.

"May I introduce Guilloume d'Avignon of the Marseille Brotherhood," Francesco introduced.  "Guilloume, this is Arno Dorian, from Paris just like me."

The newcomer nodded again and bowed politely.  "Welcome to Marseilles. Francesco has already informed me why you are here. Follow me."

The local assassin led them around the defiant abbey to a hidden entrance. A  combination of stones in the wall was pushed and a mechanism opened a passage that one would never find without knowing where to look. Darkness enveloped the four men, which were immediately consumed by the light of a lantern.

"Where the hell does the inclination of the Assassin to dark, underground catacomb hideouts come from?” Arno said with amused sarcasm. He was more than slightly reminded of his first arrival at the Sanctuary in Paris. ‘Cesco acknowledged his comment with a noticeable punch on his shoulder.

"Behave yourself. We depend on their help,” ‘Cesco hissed softly.

"Do I ever not behave myself?" Arno said dryly. 

That earned him an exasperated snort from his brother.  "Should I really begin to enumerate?"

"Gentlemen... please..." Ahmad's calm voice broke the momentum of the two brothers and made them gather more seriously.

The foreign Assassin led them deeper into the catacombs of the abbey. Similar to the Sanctuary in Paris, they passed through common rooms, training halls and libraries on their way to the heart of the network. It actually felt a bit like they had returned "home". Except that they were not expected from a Council or even a Mentor at the end of their path, just a solely pick ‘n’ mix appearing group of Assassins.  A wiry, tall woman in their ranks raised her eyes as the four of them approached, straightening up from the stoop bent over the table in their midst. With her slightly graying, honey-blonde hair and slightly worn facial features, she reminded Arno a little of Master Trenet. Nevertheless, he joined the polite bow towards the troupe.

"Ah, Guilloume. I suppose these are our guests from Paris?" The voice of the unknown female Assassin was dark and warm, pleasant to the ear.

"You assume correctly Master Duchâump. Francesco Marechal and Arno Dorian from Paris as well as Mu'in ad-Din Ahmad from the Brotherhood of Cairo. They are the ones announced by Paris." Guilloume nodded briefly to the three named before joining the group of the Marseille Brotherhood.

The as Master Duchâump named, hinted with an inviting gesture to join her ranks. Arno was the first who started moving, and immediately scrutinize the papers and cards scattered across the table. He immediately noticed various markings on a map, which he traced thoughtfully with his fingertips hovering over them.

"You've assume right, Monsieur Dorian, this is Bonaparte's itinerary. And I'm afraid we will not be able to offer you our hospitality for too long. Not that we did not want to." She took a little pause for effect to be sure of the attention of the three newcomers.  "Bonaparte landed in Corsica three days ago, in Ajaccio. He is now on his way to the maincoast and is expected to land in Saint-Raphaël around the 8th or 9th of October. So there is not too much time for the exchange of courtesies."

Arno blinked in astonishment at the mass of information. A side glance at Francesco revealed that he was probably not much different. The latter found his language first.  "How do you know all this? And above all, so fast?"

The foreign female Assassin smiled grinning and invited the three newcomers to a table in the back of the hall. A steaming samovar unusually held coffee instead of tea and thankfully at least Arno was only too happy to have been offered one.

"We do not have the same opportunities here on the coast as in a city like Paris. But that does not mean that we are not resourceful. We still use carrier pigeons between our stations. This methodology has more than proven itself over the years and centuries. Therefore, we also know that the ship that Napoleon uses has Saint-Raphaël as the port of destination. You will need about two days of tight rides to get there. Enough time to rest a little, get equipment up and running and prepare accordingly."

Francesco sighed softly as Arno reveled gleefully in his coffee. It seemed like ages ago that he was allowed to enjoy a really good one. Accordingly, his voice sounded as he spoke.  "We truly thank you sincerely for all your help and support. That brings us a good deal ahead."

Master Duchâump settled in one of the armchairs and studied Arno intensely as she propped her elbows and loosely folded her hands.  "What Paris did not want… or could not… tell us was the reason why you are so interested in Bonaparte. Forgive me if this question seems too curious, but perhaps you can understand where this interest comes from."

Arno frowned and felt his shoulders tense a little. He exchanged a quick glance with Francesco, who displayed a blank facial expression. Only his long friendship made Arno able to interpret the expression in the dark eyes of his friend. As well as he himself, ‘Cesco neither approved the inquiry. 

Arno's tone turned out correspondingly cool as he answered.  "Well, if the Council of the Assassins in Paris did not want to reveal more, then this will probably have its reasons. And since I do not even belong to the Brotherhood in order to keep to the honest facts, I dare not inaugurate more intensively than the Council thought it would be good for everyone involved."

The amused smile on the part of the foreign Master irritated Arno a little. Even more so since his revelation regarding non-affiliation to the Brotherhood did not seem to surprise her in any way. Almost uneasily, he set his coffee cup aside and folded his hands behind his back.

"My curiosity is based on the question to what extent I need to bring you up to date on the developments around Bonaparte. I suspect that you have made a tight ride from Paris to where there was not much time left to get in contact with the people." The older Assassin got up from her chair and also took a coffee.  "Therefore, let it be said that the people do not see Bonaparte's campaign as defeat. Au contraire, they celebrate him as a kind of hero. Some have high hopes in him. Especially in terms of the shattered conditions in Paris and the corrupt Directorate."

Arno raised his eyebrows in surprise and did not even have to look at Francesco to know that his brother felt the same way. He therefore left the latter to speak this time.

"Is it just me, or is the Brotherhood here in Marseilles, despite being so far away from Paris, extremely well informed."

Master Duchâump turned to them and sipped her coffee with peace of mind before answering.  "The ignorance and arrogance of the Parisians is anything but unknown to us here on the coast. Therefore, we are by no means affected by it. Our task is to keep our eyes and ears open and to stay on the pulse of the people's will. And that's exactly what we do. And from these means I say to you, think well how you approach Bonaparte. He is now a national hero. And the last thing we Assassins want is to bring up the people against us. Neither here on the coast, nor in Paris."

Due to the calm tone in which the insult was raised, Arno did not even feel anger. Only confusion. The three newcomers exchanged glances again. Neither of them really seemed to know how to handle this information accurately. Oddly enough, it was Ahmad who spoke and politely bowed to the foreign Master.

"We sincerely thank you for these important insights and information. We will gladly consider these in our plans."

Master Duchâump smiled again and set aside her empty cup.  "You have to be tired and exhausted. Let me show you accommodations. Rest and everything else can be tackled tomorrow."

Arno felt his shoulders relax and honestly, deep inside, he was looking forward to a night in a real bed. His footsteps were already heavier on the way to the premises that were available to them. None of them wasted much time on anything, let alone in-depth conversations or plans. Each of them sank into the fresh, soft sheets as quickly as possible, enjoying the feel of a soft pillow under their heads. Luxury could be so easy sometimes. Even the best friends’ male-like snoring did not bother either. Could anyone have heard regarding the deep, rock-solid sleep cycle that overtook them all. For the first time in a long while, Arno was even spared nightmares.

They had used their time in Marseilles to patch equipment and restock supplies. The Brotherhood provided them with fresh horses, and Arno had even managed to exchange the borrowed brown cloak for a blue one. For a moment, he was overwhelmed by the memory of a moment and an "I like blue" before he pulled himself together and got ready.

It was a pleasantly warm day for the beginning of October. The roads were relatively empty and dry, so they progressed well. Marseilles had sent racing pigeons to Saint-Raphaël, so they were certainly expected there. And with this assumption, they should be right. No sooner had they passed the city limits, a pervasive, melodic whistle grabbed the attention of the three Assassins.

A slender figure rose on one of the roofs to their left, another a few yards ahead of them. They nodded to the group and began to move. It was obvious that the three newcomers should follow them. Unanimously, they left the horses and swung at the next best opportunity on the roofs to follow the foreign Assassins. The small, improvised hunt ended at an inn, which was quite prominent on the central market place. The two female Assassins were waiting for the city-newcomers.

"Marseille has informed us what all this is about. If Napoleon arrives and if he should remain in the city for a while, he will certainly do so at this inn. It's the best in town."  The foreign Assassin smiled mockingly.  "And as far as we've heard, luxury is important to people from Paris, right?"

Before Arno could respond, Francesco answered.  "Where does all this antipathy of the coastal people towards people from Paris come from? We are no different from any other Frenchman."  Francesco sounded calm, but Arno knew his friend too well not to hear the anger behind it. Reassuringly, he put a hand on his shoulder.

"Thank you, ladies. I think from here we can get along alone. Unless there are any other news that would be of interest to us?"

The two women exchanged a glance before the first Assassin spoke again.  "No, there is nothing new. The ship is still on the move and will arrive here in two or three days. From the sea there is no possibility to send any news. According to our contact in Corsica, Napoleon is safe and sound and remaining silent about further plans."

Arno bowed politely and smiled charmingly, making the second, previously silent, Assassin blush slightly.  "Je vous remercie, mes dames."

With a wordless nod, the two women disappeared over the rooftops, leaving the Assassins from Paris behind.

"I'll get the horses and our equipment. I think I could remember the way quite well. Otherwise, it will probably not be difficult to find the marketplace again."  Arno nodded affirmatively to Francesco's proposal and began the descent to the street, while his brother traced back the way they had just come.

The inn was cozy and comfortable furnished. The two female Assassins were probably right that it was one of the better houses. Nowhere do rats flit or spider webs pollute the corners. Although it took some persuasion to wheedle the innkeeper of a room, in the end he submitted to a reasonable, albeit significantly high sum. Apparently, the owner of the inn had already heard of the expected high guest and kept every opportunity open to offer him his premises.

Arno enjoyed, after arriving in the room, washing the new dust of the journey from his skin. As much as an Assassin's outfit had become his second self, he felt just as relieved to be able to get rid of it sometimes. Sighing quietly and relaxing quickly, he stretched out on one of the beds and closed his eyes for a moment.

"We should think of a plan on how best to approach Bonaparte."  Ahmad's voice was calm, as was usually the case when he decided to talk. Arno kept his eyes closed while he answered.

"We wait until Francesco returns. He and I are more effective in making plans together."  Arno clearly heard the tiredness in his voice. What would he have given to be able to sink into sleep now? But he pulled himself together and finally opened his eyes a crack. Ahmad stood with folded arms at the foot of his bed and studied him so intensely that Arno straightened up a bit, sighing softly.

"Then we should use the time and continue to work on your gift. We had little opportunity during the journey to engage in this important matter."  Ahmad's voice was urgent and emphatic. And for some reason, this caused such an anger in Arno that he drove straight up from the bed.

"Why the hell is this gift so damned important to everyone? It has always been the sole reason in recent years that the Brotherhood has been asking me for help from time to time. Despite that they had me outcast. As if I had no other value to offer than this damned, extra sense."  Angrily, he stepped to the window and rubbed his forehead in exasperation. Ahmad did not seem to leave his place.

"Because, as you surely know, not many have this gift. And those who do it must be encouraged and trained. In Cairo, we would even go so far as to… suggest with whom you should beget descendants. This gift is too valuable to simply let it seep into nothingness."

Arno felt his anger turn to wrath. Deadly slow, he turned to the still stranger. His voice rumbled.

"Nobody... absolutely nobody... will tell me if, and if so, with whom I have to beget descendants. And only to maintain this ability upright. I'm not a breeding bull."

Ahmad returned his words in a sharpness almost like daggers with a gentle smile.  "I did not say anyone would ask for this from you. I'm just saying in which ways we would think in Cairo. Also, we do not force anyone to anything he does not want."  He paused and waited for the peace to come.  "Still, when all this is over, you should think about how you want to maintain your bloodline. Future generations will also need talents like yours. Every small advantage in the Assassin’s ranks will make our everlasting fight easier."

Arno sighed softly again and rubbed his now aching forehead.  "Ahmad, why do we have to talk about it now? Would that not have had time until we finished our mission?"

There was a brief silence, broken by Ahmad's footsteps approaching him. Arno's gaze met the equally dark look of the stranger.

"We never know in advance what fate awaits us in the course of a mission. Should it come to a conflict in any way, it may well be that not all of us survive. I'm just using the favour of the hour."

The two men exchanged silent glances until the younger man surrendered, still mute, nodding.  "All right, what should I do?"

Once again, Arno felt himself reminded of the first weeks and months of his training in the Sanctuary, when Ahmad held out a cloth with which he apparently had to blindfold. Accordingly, a crooked smile stole around the corners of his mouth, followed by a bitter move, when he even thought to hear Bellec's "Pisspott". Blind for the moment, Arno slightly turned his head as Ahmad addressed him.

"Turn to the window as if you could see normal and try to describe as accurately as possible what you can perceive."

Arno did as he was told and sent out his senses. His surroundings revealed themselves to him as if the blindfold were not there. As if he entered the rooftops in person, he pushed forward and described the city. He felt Ahmad's presence following him, accompanying him. And as his head began to ache and he could feel that his gift was about to collapse, it felt like the stranger was taking his hand and helping him to take a few more steps. Like a whisper, the calm voice touched his ear, unable to distinguish whether it was the real one or that of his gift.

"Focus. Concentrate on a goal further ahead of you and free yourself from the shackles that constrict you. You are stronger than you have ever experienced. Believe in yourself."

Strangely, it actually worked. The pain disappeared a bit and Arno managed to maintain his gift for a moment longer than usual. And he clearly felt that his reach was expanding. However, it felt awful when it almost threw him back into his real body. Groaning, he collapsed against the window frame, holding himself upright only with difficulty.

"Is it normal that it makes you feel sick afterwards?" Arno's voice was hollow and croaked. He felt Ahmad's hand on his shoulder.

"You are fine. Especially with regard to our success today. You should be proud of yourself. That was really promising."

Arno untied the blindfold and sat up with a mocking smile.  "If you have anything on hand as a reward now, I finally feel like a green boy."

The hand on his shoulder disappeared after an encouraging tap and a hearty laugh. The first one he got from Ahmad. At least his humor had not been lost over the years.

Out of the blue, Arno shot a long-forgotten memory through his head. A memory of a hard, relentless fight on a Parisian roof. Against a Cormack with anger and madness in the young eyes. And of a clash of gifts Arno had experienced only once before. When Germain died under his blade.

"Ahmad, have you ever heard that someone with this gift could invade another's mind?"

The Assassin from Cairo paused to lay down his weapons and turned back to the younger one, who was still standing at the window, his back facing the room.  "What exactly do you mean by that?"

Arno put the blindfold aside as he turned to his interlocutor.  "Years ago, I had a clash with a Templar, who apparently also had this gift. When he injured me, he almost invaded my mind by force. It was… awful."  Arno unintentionally rubbed over his right shoulder, where one of Killian Cormack's blades had almost impaled him on a roof. His left shoulder hurt like a kind of echo to this as well.  "The gift was then for days like blind. I cannot even say how I managed to throw him out. It all happened so… instinctively."  Arno raised his eyes and crossed his arms over his chest with a still uncomfortable feeling.  "And such an experience was not the first of its kind. Back then, when I killed Germain, we entered a kind of… level… where he talked to me before his heart finally stopped beating."

Ahmad's dark gaze calmly returned his own. The older man had his hands clasped behind his back. A gentle smile flashed through his thick beard.  "I thank you."

Arno blinked in confusion.  "For what?"

"That you seem to finally have enough confidence in me to talk about such matters."

Arno shifted from one foot to the other and uncomfortably shrugged his shoulders. "I… hm… just want to understand all this. And you seem to have some idea of these… supernatural things. And, secondly, be the only one I can access right now."

Which elicited once again a slight smile and a played bow from Ahmad.  "Very  flattering."  As the older man straightened up, seriousness returned between the two men.  "But to the point, yes, I know such stories. As far as I remember, there was something in Mentor Auditores' records. He called it thought- or soul-corridor. But it is not clear if this really was his name for it or was only in the translations at some point. He described such conversations with his targets."  Ahmad stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "However, the violent intrusion of this Templar that you describe is completely unknown to me. How did you get rid of it?"

Arno shrugged.  "Honestly, I do not really know that. It was like a… impact… or push… of thought. As if I had bundled my gift and used it as a kind of… weapon. I do not even know how to explain it."

Again, Ahmad stroked his beard thoughtfully.  "Hm, let me do some research when we get back to Paris. I may have some documentation in which we could find something what has to do with it."  He raised a warm, smiling look to the younger one.  "For today we should let it be good and focus on the occurrences ahead."

With an approving nod from Arno, the two men turned away from each other. Thoughtfully sinking into the past, Arno picked up the blindfold again and finally turned his gaze out the window. Silently he admitted that he also hoped that training his senses would help her. That he would be capable, back in Malmaison, of bridging the greater distance. To reach her. His voice whispered quietly and was carried away by the wind.  "Hang in there… we'll be back soon..." 

 „“ ----------------- „“ 

 "Initiate, what does it look like? Did she wake up now?“

"Her life signs are stable Bishop. But she does not seem to have found her way back to reality yet. The animus is turned off. I do not know what else to do." 

- silence -

"Bishop?"

"Get Deakon here. He should take a look at this. And don‘t lose time. Tell him it‘s urgent and that I‘ve sent you."

"Alright."

Silence. Gorgeous silence. And a sore head, as if someone had her body parted from top to bottom. Moaning softly writhed the as 'Ava' called internally. What had happened?

"What unutterable chaos have you done here? Was it really wise to put someone with so little experience to the surveillance? Goddamnit, look at this."

"Deakon, do not scold me but help her. We have no idea what has happened. And that makes me more nervous than anything else. It looked like someone had deliberately catapulted her out of the DNA. And you know yourself that this is impossible. Even if Abstergo had found her, then..."

"Then she would just be brain-mush and dead, yes, I know. That looks quite different. Let me check this in peace."
- silence -

It was a busy silence in which she could hear Deakon's wild search for answers. But she did not want to. She just wanted to stay here, float and feel nothing. Disconnected her senses and let herself drift. Until a sustained pull forced her back and a scream reached her ears. Which she registered as her own in the next moment.

"Very good, you did it, Deakon. She is back. Initiate, help her and check her vitals."

Familiar eyes, a familiar face. The face she had last seen before Ava had climbed into the Animus.

"Ava, it's me, Jessy. Coming back to you. Everything will be alright."

"Your initiate should not lie to her, Bishop. Nothing is good. The animus has been hacked. And from the inside. That should not only make us think, but also Ava."

"Thank you Deakon, that does not really help for the moment. Initiate, help her and as soon as she gets better, put together a conference call. We have to know what happened."

"Alright, Bishop."

A headache. Her head was roaring like never before in her life. For the first time, she was grateful for medical infusions and their rapid effects. She pulled herself together as best as she could and just a few hours later found herself in front of a screen and a video conference.

"You say there was a foreign woman in your ancestor? And she named the place "white room"?
– a nod -

"I‘ve not heard that term since… Desmond. Are you sure she called it that? "
- again a nod -

"Deakon, how can that be? How can someone foreign hack into an ancestor from the outside? Since when is there animus technology that can do that? And why don‘t we know about it?"

"Bishop, you ask me questions that I can‘t answer myself. And I‘ve no answers because I‘ve not been able to investigate. Suggestion: we leave it for today, I do my work and get in touch as soon as I have something. As long as you should obey the advice of these strangers and keep your hands off this ancestor. At least until we know what we're dealing with. Let's hope that William is back from Egypt by then. Maybe he has ideas."
- Silence -

"Alright, Ava, you're recovering and dedicated to your normal training. Initiate, I want all the records of the recent events in my system. Deakon, let me know as soon as you have something." - Another silence -  "All this is scary. And anything but good. Whatever that is, we have to stop it. Fast." 
- Unanimous nod -

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