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