France, October 1799 - Piece of Eden

----------- Southcoast of France, Saint-Raphaël, 9. October 1799 ------

  

The white sails of the three-master were slowly hauled while the ship was moored to the dock. And, of course, the first who stepped over the pier to the shore was Napoléon Bonaparte. His unmistakable attitude had not changed over the years, let alone his outward appearance. And he did not seem in the least astonished by the waiting crowd of people, who joyfully welcomed his arrival.

 

Arno stood up, frowning, beside Francesco on the roof, studying the triumphal entry. After a moment's thought, he stepped openly and visibly to the edge of the roof. His left hand rested on the handle of the rapier at his belt, his cloak billowing in the wind. He exactly registered the moment when Napoleon looked around and caugt sight of the assassin in his elevated position.

Despite the distance, it felt like their eyes were meeting. Even without his special gift, Arno did not find it difficult to interpret Bonaparte's next gesture. Slowly, his right hand wandered out of his jacket to the handle of his pistol and rested there. The distance was too big to read in the other's facial expressions. But at least for Arno, this was not really necessary. When Napoléon got distracted and finally looked around again, the Assassin had long since vanished into the shadows again.

"Let me guess, that hampers us a direct, ‘Hello, we're here to protect you for a reason that has not occurred to us yet. May we sit with you?’" Francesco was not usually a great friend of sarcastic humor, which spoke for how hopeless he just classified their situation. Arno was still watching Napoléon's from their cover.

"Well, our last meeting, which Bonaparte was supposed to know, was not really in discord. So I cannot really say exactly where this obvious hostility comes from. Except…"

"Except...?" Francesco asked after a while of waiting silence.

"Except... someone let him know that it was me who boycotted his plans in Franciade."  Arno exchanged a look with his brother and his smile was squeezed. "And we all know who that could have been."

Francesco nodded silently before answering.  "We should meet with Ahmad and discuss what we want to do next."  He got up cautiously, looking for the next cover.

Arno followed him without comment until they reached their hostel. And indeed, the local Assassins were right, Napoleon moved into his quarters in the same house. Which caused the two brothers to enter their room via the window-way.

"That you are here and not in the company of Bonaparte means no good, right?", came Ahmad's question, as Arno swung behind Francesco into the room. Sighing, Dorian pushed his hood back.

"No, not at all. Bonaparte does not seem to think very well about me. Of course, we do not know why yet, but we should try to find out as soon as possible before..." Arno's thoughtful speech was interrupted by forcefully hammering against their room door.

"Open! In the name of Napoléon Bonaparte! Or we gain access by force!"

Ahmad started from his chair.  "Maybe they do not know anything about me yet. And in the current situation we should leave it at that. If Napoléon notices that someone from the Brotherhood of Cairo has followed him, he will have the artefact disappear. You know where the copy is stored. I’ll keep low and will contact the local Brotherhood."

Arno and Francesco had just enough time for a short, confirming nod before Ahmad disappeared through the window as someone break off their door, entering the room. Unanimously and as a result, the two assassins raised their hands in the face of the numerous rifle barrels pointed their way. An obvious officer stepped through the soldiers and closer to them.

"The Commandant awaits your presence gentlemen. Follow me."

"I do not suppose we have a chance to deny this invitation, right?" Arno's mocking tone did not fail to work. He clearly saw anger rising up the officer's neck.

"Was that really necessary?" Francesco whispered quietly beside him.

"Why not? We have nothing to fear."  Arno's eyes fixed on the officer.  "Have we not, right Captain? After all, we did not do anything wrong deserving to be locked up or even killed. Right?" 

The anger of his counterpart crept a little higher.  "Follow me… gentlemen… please." The forced politeness was literally spat at them before the officer turned away and led them through the soldiers down into the dining room.

At the foot of the stairs, Arno immediately spread his senses. The guest room was not crowded, but peppered with well-placed guards. He knew that he could rely on Francesco blindly, that he also explored any escape route if the occasion arises. Bonaparte had made himself prominently seated at one of the tables in the middle of the room, enjoying a fresh and sumptuous meal. He turned his eyes to the two Assassins as they approached his table. In a calm gesture, the Commandant leaned back and implied for his two "guests" to sit down.

Arno uncomfortably felt the guards' eyes between his shoulder blades. Francesco's tense attitude revealed that he was not much different. Napoléon studied them silently for a long time before he began to speak.

"Really long since we met, Arno. What brings you so far away from Paris? And that's just to the place, which I have chosen for my return from… Cairo? "

Arno fixed Naploéon's gaze and was sure. He knew it. And he registered in the same breath that Napoléon realized exactly that Arno understood. Hostility crackled between them and did not really relax the attitude of the three men.

"You know exactly why I'm here Napoléon. And you should have taken enough of the reports of that time to know that this artefact is dangerous. Whatever Joséphine told you, do not believe her. She pursues her own goals by sending you like her hunting-hound to the chase for this cursed thing."

Napoleon put his arm down on the table and leaned forward. Something glinted dangerously in his eyes.  "You, Monsieur, have cost me a hell of a lot of time. And a lot of dead men from my army go onto your account. And only because you had to stick your nose in matters that did not concern you. Where I could already be, if you would not have boycotted me in Franciade."

Arno opened his mouth to say something, but was held back by a raised hand.  "Do not dare to defend yourself now. I know who and what you are. Since the moment I met you in Louis's chambers. At the time, I thought we could be useful to each other."  Napoleon paused, studying Arno for a long, intense moment, that it made him uncomfortably tense his shoulders again.  "But this is over. Only my thanks for your positive actions at that time saves you and your friend from being arrested by me today."

Napoléon leaned back in his chair and beckoned one of his Aide-de-Camp.  "Make sure that these gentlemen clear the inn and secure all accesses. I do not want... unexpected... visits. Do you understand me?"  The Aide-de-Camp merely saluted and walked slowly around the table.

Arno's gaze still rested in Napoléon’s.  "I understand your anger. But I can only repeat myself once again. This thing is dangerous. And you have not the slightest idea what Joséphine is up to. Do not risk the lives of thousands for your greed for power."

Napoleon sprang from his chair, causing it to rumble backwards. The guards around him immediately put on their rifles and in the split second the situation was tilted to the detriment of the two Assassins. Carefully and with raised hands, they also rose from their chairs, covering each other's backs.

"You, Monsieur, are not in the position to prescribe me. Still to condescend to a judgment about my ambitions. This is your last chance to leave this house undamaged. I advise you, use it. At our next meeting, I will not be so lenient.”

Giving up this fight as lost, the two Assassins came around the table and followed the Adjutant up the stairs, back to their room. The guards waited outside the door until they packed up their and Ahmad's things. Silently and without exchanging further glimpses with Napoléon, Arno and Francesco finally left the inn.

It was not long before Ahmad found them and showed them the way to the local office. Arno could not resist a comment that this time it was not even underground.

"Let's think about what we should do now. Obviously, our plan to sneak in on Napoléon failed hopelessly."  Ahmad's tone was still calm, although pressing.

"I should have guessed it considering all the information Joséphine possessed. We should have come up with a different plan."  Arno felt helpless rage lift his spine.

"The whole ‘have, have’ thing is no use to us now. We must try to make the most of what we have now. Ideas?"  Francesco interjected.

Thoughtfully, the three Assassins let their eyes wander over the city. The small balcony just barely surmounted the outer wall of the office, but gave enough room to see the sea sparkle in the distance.

"We'll have no choice but to invade there tonight, find the artefact and exchange it for the copy. Napoleon will never give it up voluntarily. And if we do not do it tonight, he'll keep it somewhere unreachable on the trip back to Paris. Here and today, the best option seems to exist."  Arno's voice sounded thoughtful and not really convinced. Nevertheless, the other two men nodded affirmatively.

"As much as I do not like rushed missions, you're right, Arno. As soon as he embarks on the journey to Paris it becomes even harder to get to him. Here, in this city, at least our sisters and brothers can support us. An advantage that we can use less on open roads."

Arno nodded and pushed away from the railing of the balcony against which he had leaned thoughtfully.  "Alright, let's talk to them and work out a plan. They know the inn. They will certainly be able to give us some advice on how best to get in and out undetected."

Without waiting for further Arno strove back into the house and to the local Assassin's. Inwardly, he was almost inclined to pray dumbly to all the new and unknown, that they all came out reasonably well on this matter. Napoléon's words about all the lives lost that should go to his conscience were still with him. More than he wanted to admit. And another life was on the line with this operation.

 

The night was pitch dark. No moon stood in the sky and the stars were swallowed by clouds. Somebody seemed to want to put her intention under one of those good stars. Arno and Francesco crouched flat on one of the nearby rooftops at the back of the inn. Tense, both were cautiously groping their belts again and again to see if the new bombs were actually there, where they had stowed them.

Not for the first time, Arno thanked her foreign guest for his presence. Cairo was probably more advanced in the development of 'toys' than the French Brotherhood. He had not only provided them with stun bombs with improved effects, but also sleeping bombs. According to his description, Arno strongly recalled the effect of which Joséphine had used. He was all the more eager to quasi pay it back by using them in this cloak-and-dagger operation.

A melodious owl-cry drove him out of his thoughts and let him spread his senses. The local Assassins who volunteered for this mission were in position. Carefully Arno got into a slight squat and nodded to Francesco, who stretched flat on the roof and armed his rifle in position.

Quiet as the wind, Arno crept over the rooftops until he was above his destination; the balcony of Napoléon's bedchamber. Noiselessly he sank down onto the railing and sent out his senses again. Naploéon was not alone in his room. He shared his camp with a woman who had made herself comfortable in his arms in their sleep. Guards were just outside the room. Arno had to blindly trust that the local Assassins were well trained and knew what to do.

Carefully putting one foot after the other on the balcony, Arno glided to the locked door. Taking a deep breath, he squatted in front of it and took his time and peace to crack the lock. As he heard the last bolt snap, another call sounded in his ear. The group of Assassins that was stationed around the house went into position.

While Arno made the sleep bomb sharp, he casually pulled the protective scarf over his mouth and nose. Carefully, he let the bomb roll into the room and toward the bed before quietly drew the door without closing it completely. It did not take long for the smoke to spread. The girl in Napoléon's arms stirred uneasily for a moment before being sucked into the numbing swaths. Arno once again spread his senses and captured the rest of the house. Everywhere guards sank into the same sleep. Step one of their operation had fortunately been running surprisingly smooth.

Quietly and gently, he slipped like a shadow through the balcony door and controlled Napoléon's sleep. Deep, stunned breaths soothed his ear. He closed his eyes for a moment, breathing heavily through the protective scarf two or three times, finally focusing his senses in the room. Not long, and the artefact shone towards him like a sun set too small.

Determined, the Assassin turned to the hiding place and completed step two of her mission; replace the artefact with the copy. Arno did not like the tingling in his palm at all when he salvaged the artefact from his hiding place. It almost seemed that it recognized him. And what sent him even more a shiver of horror down the spine was that it seemed to welcome him. Hurriedly, he hid the gently golden-shining object inside his cloak and turned away leaving the room the same way he had entered it. He thanked everything that was watching over them at the moment, that nobody had been harmed.

Back on the roof where Francesco waited, they did not lose another moment. Quick and purposeful, they started their way towards the city limits, where horses were waiting for them. They had unanimously decided that they would return the same night to Paris, or better, to Malmaison. Should Bonaparte notice the exchange, at least they would have a sufficient advantage.

Arno sighed inwardly at the thought of again countless days in the saddle, brought behind him in a tight gallop. But he kept in mind what their goal was. It was almost a complete month in which Adeláire had been in Joséphines' ‘company’. It was time to finally put an end to it. Determined, he therefore spurred his black horse and drove him forward. He had no plan yet what to do next. But he knew one thing for sure; he would not expose Adeláire to this situation any longer. Come what may.

 

----------- outside of Paris, Malmaison, October 1799 ---

 

The days on the road were tough. Harder than on the outward journey. The weather had deteriorated noticeably. Barely rested from their first journey, it drove the three Assassins almost to the brink of their powers. Always on guard, whether they were being persecuted, they exclusively used accommodations of Assassin-sympathizers or unobtrusive hideouts. Accordingly emaciated and exhausted, they rode after 10 days of uninterrupted travel back into the small village without a name.

"Arno! It's Arno!" the three of them heard Léon's voice exclaim.

Tired and groaning, Arno caught the onslaught of the boy in transition to a teenager. Not too much longer until he was Arno’s height.

"You will wake up the whole neighbourhood if you keep this up. Go and feed the horses. Are Verne and Jean here or in the camp?"

Léon took the reins of Arno's horse and picked up the one Francesco threw him. Ahmad was already taking care of his mount.  "No, they are in the camp. Shall I pick her when I'm done with the horses?"

Arno smiled gently at the exuberant enthusiasm and once again ruffled Léon's hair.  "That would be a great idea. Do that. Merci, mon ami."

Tired, the three travelers strived inside and into the warmth of the Healer's House. Apparently not silent enough, she just came down the stairs at that moment, pulling a night coat around her shoulders and holding a lit candle in her hand.  "You are back. Very good."

Arno got rid of his weapons including the hidden blade and the cloak. Groaning and sighing, he stretched tired muscles and finally sat down at the table. Francesco did the same; Ahmad just put down his weapons.

"Any news?”  Arno asked questioningly to the healer, who started to stir up the fire and panned over a stew.

"I think that’s what your friends should tell you. They are better acquainted with this kind of information than I am."  Everyone nodding unanimously and let them grab bread for the moment, which the wife of the house prepared for them.

All three sat over a hearty bowl of stew when new sounds were heard from arriving horses in the yard. It was not long before Jean and Verne stormed the room.

"Finally, you're back. How did it go?" Verne managed to sound somewhat cheerful.

Arno studied his friend attentively and leaned back in his chair. A soft smile played around the corner of his mouth.  "Nice to see you so well again, Verne. Are you back to your usual self?"

Verne threw the hood of his coat back and sat down at the table without a word, a broad, relieved grin on his face.  "You know me. Nothing gets me down so easily."

Arno smiled again and raised his eyes to Jean, who drew up a chair on the other side of the table. He, too, looked tired and drained. Time that all this came to an end.

"Tell us! How did it go? Do not tease us so much and put us in suspense,” LaHache declared rather grumpily.

Arno nodded mutely and silently reached into his coat, which lay behind him over his chair. Carefully, almost like a raw egg, he put the artifact in the middle of the table. Why talk so long when the possession of this small, golden-shimmering sphere speaks for itself?

Verne, as the one who always liked to analyze everything and take it apart, leaned forward curiously, and carefully reached out a hand for the artifact.

Arno's voice was sharper than intended as he stopped Verne.  "Don’t! This thing looks more harmless than it is."

Verne's gray eyes looked at his friend with a hint of arrogant unbelief. But when he realized the seriousness in the opposite, he withdrew his hand and nodded silently.  "Ok, that's it? This shrouded in legends artefact? What exactly can it do, that it’s so important to Napoléon?"

All eyes rested on Arno, who was the only one who had ever seen the artifact in action. And who had as few answers to these questions as his friends. So it was Ahmad who appealed for explanations:

"This so-called Edenapple can manipulate people's fears and horrors. As far as I know, he was then in an underground temple, which was littered with night animals. No one feels comfortable with that. Therefore, these creatures were summoned to put Arno's enemies to flight. But that also works with other fears. Our tests in Cairo have shown that the apple also takes advantage of fears that hide deep in the soul and only eat away internally without possessing an outward manifestation. We suspect this can lead to suicide."

Silence ensued after this explanation. Gazes rested on the harmless, small, round object in the center of the table. Until finally Jean‘s snarling voice broke the silence.

"OK got it. Bad little thing. What are we going to do with it now? "

Arno felt his heart clench. Every single day of their return journey he had thought about this question. And about how they could free Adeláire from her situation. They knew from the Assassin Network that they had one, maximum two days ahead of Bonaparte. However, they did not know whether he would ride directly to Paris, or first visit his wife in Malmaison. Regardless, a solution had to be found for their captive sister. He hoped his brothers would consider his next words:

"We exchange it. Against Adeláire. "

His voice was dry and brittle in his ears. And it narrowed his throat and chest during the following silence. That no one protested directly in the first breath, Arno pointed out as a good sign. But he also knew that this did not always mean something to these men, his friends. Therefore he was silent as well and waited.

It was Francesco who was the first to speak.  "How do you want to do that?"

Strangely enough, Verne protested before Arno could answer.  "Are you both crazy? With all the love I feel for Adeláire, she would not want that. You have just snatched from Bonaparte this damned thing and now you want to deliver it him back home by handing it over to his wife? In exchange for our sister? You cannot be serious?!"

Even Jean spoke up.  "I was not there when you got it and I did not experience this thing in action. But what Monsieur Ahmad explains does not sound good. Not at all. And things like that should not be in the hands of such power-hungry... idiots as Bonaparte. My opinion."

Arno raised his hands placating and then laid his forearms on the table.  "I did not say Joséphine should keep the artifact. I just said that we offer her the exchange."  He paused for a moment to capture the attention of the four other men.  "And then we make sure that we leave the property with both; the artifact... and... Adeláire."

Verne let the air out of his lungs noisily as he leaned back in his chair. Francesco imitated Arno's posture, his gaze resting on the artifact. Jean had taken his usual sitting position in a chair and rubbed a hand over his face.

It was Verne who started to speak again.  "Forgive me, Arno, your idea is honorable. But the last plan to play games with Joséphine failed miserably. Not that you have recently come up with bad plans. But we still know too little about Joséphine to be able to eradicate clearly that she is not three steps ahead of us again. And somehow, I have the feeling that this time she will not let us get away so cheaply."

Arno felt a nasty sting in his heart as he perceived the unconscious gesture of his friend, with which Verne embraced his left side. Despite the many days that had passed since the knife wound, he must had to feel this injury still clearly. Sighing softly Arno let his head hang down a little.

"Ahmad, what's the reach of this... apple... as you call it?" Francesco's voice sounded thoughtful as he continued to study the artifact.

"What exactly do you want to know?" came the counter question from the stranger.

"Well, for example, could it be used only against opponents who are in front of you? Or is it more of a kind of radius that covers everything around the wearer? The latter was the case, as far as I correctly remember Arno's stories, when he used the artifact in Franciade. But have you been able to find out more about it in your research in Cairo?"  Francesco looked up at Ahmad. His body language
expressed a spark of hope.

Ahmad crossed one arm over his chest and stroked the lush beard with the other hand. Now it was up to him to rest his gaze thoughtfully on the artifact.  "Mhm, we have done only a few experiments with the apple. But at least the radius was adjustable. As far as I know, Monsieur Dorian has also had this experience. However, if you can adjust the effect, I'm sorry, I cannot say."

Oppressive silence weighed in the room. Until she was torn by Jean.  "How about if we just give it a try? We do not harm anyone out here and Arno has already controlled the thing once. He can certainly do it again. Or not?"

Arno nodded silently, though a shiver of horror went down his spine. "You are right, Jean. Not a bad idea."

Even before anyone could protest, Arno got up from his chair, took the artifact and headed for the door. It was Verne who held him back.  "Are you really sure you want to do that, Arno?"

He turned half back to his friends. His eyes touched the familiar figures and pairs of eyes. A soft smile played around the corner of his mouth before turning away in silence and stepping outside. The proclamation of a "For Adeláire" would have sounded only pathetic.

Once outside, he ignored the light rain, which soaked his shirt in an instant. He took a few steps out into the open field and looked over his shoulder to make sure the others were far enough away. He already hated the slight tingle in his palm. How would it feel once he activated it?

The answer followed at the foot as the familiar golden field spread around him. Due to the fact that nobody was near him, it caused no further reaction. Arno strained the artifact in short impulses, trying to focus them in a certain direction. He felt the little thing in his palm pulling and tugging at him. To penetrate into him, trying to turn his inside outward. He felt, as it wildly trying to escape his control, struggled against him with all his might. Finally, with an angry, pain-filled cry, he collapsed; as a result, the apple rolled out of his trembling fingers.

The terrified yell of his name Arno only heard through the angry growling in his ears. It was Verne, who first arrived at him and sank down beside him. Arno raised his hands defensively and reassuringly as Verne grabbed him firmly by the shoulders and shook him.

"Arno, come to your senses! Arno!"

Confused, he noticed that he was lying on his back, worried faces of his friends bent over him. With a sour gag, he curled up convulsively and on his side to regurgitate the stew from earlier.

"Okay, so much for the idea of trying to control this thing."  Verne's tone was filled with anger and a trail of helpless fear.

Jean handed Arno a strong hand and pulled the younger man firmly to his feet.  "You better save that thing."  He studied Arno for a moment.  "If you can do that right now. I mean, we could just let it rust out here."

That really made Arno laugh. With disgust, he turned to the shiny metallic object, picked it up, and stashed it in his belt. His voice was croaking as he began to speak.  "Verne is right. I cannot seem to control this thing. I can influence the radius. But nothing more."

Tired, he turned to Francesco, who thoughtfully waited a bit aside with Ahmad.  "So ‘Cesco, what exactly was the background of your considerations?"

The question that prompted at him made Francesco cross his arms over his chest and stare thoughtfully at the ground. What he always did when he first wanted to sort out his thoughts.  "If we could have aligned the effect, we might have been able to make sure that Joséphine was in front of you at the feigned delivery. That might have opened the way for an attack by means of this thing. Since this is not possible, we have to think of an alternative."

All five men were silent. Nobody started to return to the house. After all, it was Arno who thought the idea over.  "That means then that I'm best to go to the handover alone. I do not even want to begin with a test here, in the open field, to explore what effect this thing has on you. The risk is too big. When I go alone, I do not have to pay any attention to anyone else. Except for... Adeláire... "

Once again silence spread, which was finally broken by Francesco.  "Maybe she's as immune to the effects as you are? Maybe it's related to your gift."

"The woman also has the gift?" Ahmad interjected unexpectedly, and with a completely surprised tone.  All four French Assassins nodded silently to this statement.

"But it's not as pronounced as mine,” Arno said.  "She knows no visions and cannot perceive opponents as clearly as I do. At least according to her statement." Ahmad nodded silently and sank back into his silence again.

"How about you go to this delivery together with Ahmad. At least you are not completely alone. And if it really is determined by this gift, whether it is influenced or not, well, then at least Ahmad is also immune."  Verne's voice sounded calmer than his outward attitude suggested. Nervously, he let two of his bombs roll in one hand as if they were Qigong orbs.

"All right, suggestion, we'll do it this way,” Francesco began, his tone clearly suggesting that he was becoming annoyed with all this planning,  "Arno and Ahmad are going open to this feigned exchange. Verne and Jean, you try to follow hidden within the range of vision. Make sure you stay out of range of the artifact. And I’ll stay down on the lookout as usual with my rifle as a hedge. Arno, at the first available opportunity, you use the artifact against Joséphine, and whoever she has with her. If something does not work as intended, try to get Adeláire out of there without anyone getting hurt. Should this not be the case, be sure to keep the artifact. Then at least we have a means of negotiation and pressure. Can anyone agree with that?"

Although Francesco was the youngest in their group, everyone present unanimously nodded to his suggestion.

"And what about me? What should I do?" Léon crowed indignantly from behind them.

"You, young man..." Arno put Léon in his place before Francesco interrupted him.

"...you'll wait for us on the borders of the property with the horses ready to go if  something goes wrong. If all goes well, we can ride home unmolested. But if not, we need a reliable contact point. Can you manage that, Léon? "

The boy straightened and his features stole something like adult seriousness and irrepressible pride.  "Of course I can do that. Would not be the first time that I have to save Arno's butt."

This elicited an easy detachedly laugh, causing Arno to give the boy a nudge on the shoulder.

"Believe me, boy, saving Arno's butt can become an exhausting task." Verne's teasing tone sounded just like the old one. All the less could Arno be angry with him.

"Let's go inside before we all catch our death out here in the rain. I still need something to warm up and then someone should sit down for a letter for Joséphine. It's time for us to put an end to this whole theater."  Arno felt the determination return to him and set aside the horror of the artifact. He welcomed that familiar feeling which always came after the troupe decided that they had found a plan to pursue. Now it was only to hope that everything went smoothly. In all their, and especially in Adeláire’s, senses.

 

Arno brooded thoughtfully the next morning with a cup of coffee over the letter, which they wanted to send Joséphine. For some unknown reason, he found it difficult to find words. And to make the letter sound as if Joséphine would trust them. He chewed thoughtfully on a piece of dried meat as Verne came down the steps into the living room and joined him for breakfast.

"Are you moving forward?" his friend finally asked attentively.

Arno grabbed his hair for a moment before leaning back in his chair.  "I simply cannot find any plausible arguments as to why she should trust us and our proposal. It's like seeing our trick shimmer through every line."

Verne put on a strikingly unremarkable neutral expression and dunked a piece of fresh bread in his coffee.  "How about simply writing about your feelings for Adeláire and explaining to Joséphine that you would even be willing to surrender the artifact for her?"  Verne stared intensely at his friend.  "So she’ll set the woman you love free."

Arno swallowed hard and felt nervous discomfort rising in him. It almost closed his throat and made him look away. Irritated, he played with the quill pen until he broke it unintentionally.  "I... I do not know. I... " the otherwise deadly Assassin stuttered helplessly to himself.

"When will you two finally admit it to each other, huh? Every blind person with two eyes can see it. And I'm sure you two know it for yourself as well. Now you just have to have the courage to say it out loud and stand by it."  Verne’s voice sounded gentle and sensitive. Nevertheless, it only reinforced Arno's inner panic. He rose quickly from the table and began to wander up and down the room.

"It... it's just... complicated. After all what happened... at that time. I've already let her come too close to me. And see what it has already brought her into. I only put people I love in danger. And then... they die. I... I cannot do that... Verne. I cannot do that again. I do not ...want… to have to go through everything again. I... for God’s sake..."  Again, the younger man ruffled his dark hair and finally stood helplessly breathing heavily at the table.

"I know… Arno..." Verne finally said, gently.  "But it's already too late for that. It does not change the fact that you have feelings for each other. To deny them does not help anyone of you. And if you can use them now to convince Joséphine, jump over your shadow and do it. Afterwards, when we're all safe in Paris again, you can take care of the rest of the entanglements."

Arno raised his eyes to his friend, who was finishing his little speech with a sip of his coffee.  "But I ...", the younger one stammered again, before pausing and surrendering to Verne's logic with a sigh.  "You're probably right."

Verne smiled gently and leaned back. "Sometimes I have that, yes."

Arno grinned softly.  "Not really often. But... sometimes."  Tired, he sank down into his own chair again.  "Speaking of entanglements, did you find something out about those weird tinctures which Léon brought with him?"

Verne snapped his fingers and dug out his chemistry notebook from his belt.  "Good that you remind me. That would almost have perished otherwise."  He flipped a moment until he found the right pages.  "Well, most of the ingredients are plant-based. However, in the particular constellation strange. Nobody would normally come up with the idea of mixing these substances in this way. The end result is highly addictive relaxants and hallucinogens. I still could not penetrate into the cellular details, I simply do not have the equipment here. But they may even be highly toxic."

Arno felt his heart tighten more and more with every word he heard. What the hell did these women do to Adeláire?

Verne's gaze and facial expression changed from analytical to profoundly worried.  "In any case, no matter what it is and what it does, it cannot be good for a human organism. One more reason, together with the many others, to get her out of there as soon as possible."

Arno just made a silent nod. Throat and voice were blocked by a stubbornly thick lump. Silently he sought a new quill pen and finalized the letter to Joséphine. Time to end this.

 

Arno felt his hands clench in to fists over and over again, as he headed purposefully along the gravel path toward the main entrance of Joséphine's country house. Behind him, Ahmad's footsteps interrupted his sound measure. A day had passed since they had sent word to Joséphine. There was no news from Napoléon. All the Assassins silently hoped he would head straight for Paris.

It almost seemed to be tearing Arno's heart as he approached the waiting group and saw the familiar, brown-reddish hair shining in the sunshine. Silently, he spread his senses, forcing himself to perceive everything around him and not focus solely on her.

Of course, Joséphine had posted guards. Even if only Constanze and Genévieve were in her direct company. The three women were dressed in the strange robes they had worn during Arno's last stay in the basement of the house. He could only guess that they wanted to get enough freedom of movement. It caused him to be more alert than ever.

Finally, he ventured to capture Adeláire with his senses. Her figure nestled intimately into his perception, and he was relieved to find that at least physically she seemed to be well. To read her gaze, the distance was still too great. Another pulse of his senses made him ascertain that Verne and LaHache were behind him and Ahmad at the distance. Everything was ready.

"Monsieur Dorian, good to see you again. And so safe and... sound."  In Joséphine's voice, as always, this viper-like swung along, sending Arno a raging shiver down the spine. He stayed at a reasonable distance and waited. Silently, the two groups, one slightly larger than the other, stared at each other, combatively. Finally, it was Joséphine who spoke again.

"You have something to offer, Monsieur Dorian?"

Arno clenched his fists again and lowered his head. He knew that the hood of his coat hid most of his features in the dark and he was not grateful for that for the first time. Silently, he picked up the artifact and gently lifted it into the sunlight so that it shimmered golden.

He could clearly read the vastness of eyes and greed in them as the general object of desire was brought into play. It elicited only a very slight draft around the corner of his mouth before his facial expression smoothed out again.

"You know the conditions. Our sister against the artifact and undisturbed escort. Should you have changed your mind in the meantime, now is the time to talk about it."  Arno did not dare to glance at Adeláire. He was not sure his body language would have betrayed him in any way.

"Absolutely, those were the conditions."  Joséphine smiled artificially.  "And no, I do not intend to change that. Everything is as it should be."  Slowly, Bonaparte's wife stepped down two or three steps to him while she fixed him with a smile.  "So, Monsieur Dorian, let's get rid of this miserable affair so everyone can go their own ways again."

Joséphine stretched an arm sideways and flicked twice invitingly. As a result, Adeláire stiffly set in motion and joined her side. It was just a touch of movement that would have allowed Arno to turn his gaze to his sister. But still he did not dare. Silently holding up the artifact in his left hand, he nodded affirmatively to Joséphine.

The tension of all present was almost tangible. Ahmad stayed behind Arno as he slowly approached Joséphine and Adeláire. Arno felt sweat on his forehead. Silently he prayed to all knowns and unknowns that nothing could go wrong now. Slowly he raised his right arm and held out his open hand to Adeláire. Relieved, he determined that she returned his gesture. Only out of the corner of his eye did he perceive the trembling of her fingers. His gaze was still fixed on Joséphine, who was wearing an irritatingly confident smile.

Just outside his reach, Bonaparte's wife finally stopped and smiled honey-sweet.  "Tell me one thing before we finish all this here, Monsieur Dorian. Were all those heart-breaking words in your letter that should inspire confidence really true?"

Arno felt his jaw clench as well as his fingers around the apple. But he still held his arms outstretched from the body so as not to provoke Joséphine.  "Why do you want to know that? And more important, why the hell would I just tell you that?"

Joséphine continued to smile in this enervating manner as she nonchalantly took one of Adeláire’s arms, and thus prevented her from further striving towards Dorian.  "Because our dear guest is probably burningly interested in it, whether you are doing all this only out of fraternal sense of duty. Or... if perhaps love really is involved, as you so beautifully described in your letter."

Arno felt a growl in his throat, which only expressed itself in the short, furious bleeding of his teeth.  "Listen... witch... even if it's none of your business. If it causes us to get over this faster, fine, you should have your will."  He fixed his gaze on Joséphine and still avoided apprehending Adeláire.  "Every word I wrote to you was true. If it has served to gain your trust, so much the better. All I want is to be able to leave this property unharmed with this woman. That ought to do.”

Joséphine pretended to think about his words and finally smiled wickedly. "Not quite what I had hoped, Monsieur Dorian, but it should be enough for the moment. Give me the artifact and you can go. Both of you."  With which she extended her right hand to him.

Arno took another step forward and twisted his wrist so that the apple in his left hand hovered over Joséphine's open palm. His right hand extended to Adeláire, carrying something almost imploring. He still did not take his eyes off Bonaparte's wife for a moment, nor she him.

"Arno ..."

The soft whisper of her voice at his ear was almost too much for him to endure. He felt his outstretched right hand gently begin to tremble. And he angrily registered, what a triumph that gave to Joséphine. He bit his teeth stubbornly.

"Arno... please... go. You cannot trust her. She will never let us go. Please... Arno... listen to me..."  The pleading whisper almost broke his heart.

"Everything will be fine. I'll get you out of here."  He whispered to her just as softly, knowing that Joséphine could hear them. His eyes still fixed her as an enemy.

"No, Arno... you cannot... She knows... she just knows everything... I... I'm lost ... I'm... no longer me... you... have to let me go..."  Her voice was pleading, hollow, broken. It brought rage and bottomless fear to the surface in Arno.

"That's out of the question. I will never lose anyone again. Not without a fight..."  His whisper sounded more like a hiss.

"Arno... please... save yourself... this fight is already lost..."

He swallowed hard and strained to hold his hand still, which reached out to offer her salvation and support.

"Calm down. Everything will be fine. Take my hand... Adeláire... please..." he pleaded softly and fervently.

The moment he felt a slender hand closing around his right wrist, it all happened very quickly. With a jerk he pulled Adeláire in his direction, while on his left the hidden blade went out and carried out an attack on Joséphine's palm. Instinctively Arno put all his power into activating the artifact and sent a golden wave into the group, praying silently that they were right and Adeláire was not bothered by it.

And this was also the moment when Arno realized with horror that the smooth running of their plan came to an end. He heard the snap of the whip before he saw its result. As in his nightmare on the road to the south coast, he felt the slender hand disappear around his wrist and Adeláire was snatched away again. In addition, neither Joséphine, nor her girls were in any way impressed by the effect of the artifact. An angry shriek went up and belonged to an ugly distorted face of Joséphine.

"I knew you could not be trusted... Assassin! Catch him! And bring me the artifact!"

Why she had not ordered to kill him eluded Arno's understanding. But he took it as it came. There was no time for wondering questions. Desperately, he searched for Adeláire in the churning-up of chaos, but she had vanished again – just like nothing. Joséphine hid her bleeding arm at her waist while guards stormed out of the house behind her. Arno reflexively threw one of the many smoke bombs, while Ahmad grabbed one of his different gadgets.

Ahmad's bombs clung to the guards, releasing something as they burst, apparently frightening them to death. Francesco's rifle sounded and switched off the riflemen on the roof. The pistol shots belonged to Verne, and Arno almost elicited a faint smile from the dumb 'pfhump' of the guillotine shotgun. LaHache's eyes had shone lovingly at the sight of his new beauty.

With wild despair Arno sent out his senses and sought in all the shouting and battle noise to Adeláire. But it was hopeless. She was and remained missing.

"Arno, let's go. We have to disappear. The plan has failed,” Ahmad said urgently, while placing a hand on Arno’s shoulder and pulling him away from the fray.

A fist once again laid iron-heavy around Arno's heart and squeezed. An angry, furious outcry escaped his chest, before he, leaving behind more smoke, inevitably began the retreat. They would never be able to reach back to Adeláire again. All that remained was to wait for a new opportunity. Wait, wait again. Not knowing what they were doing with her in the meantime. Angry and with burning eyes, Arno spurred his black horse to return to the village with the others.

 

 „“ ----------------- „“

 

Adeláire pulled and dragged on her shackles. It all felt so surreal. Caught in her own body, barely able to control it herself. The presence of the stranger in the neck, which narrowed her throat to suppress any treacherous sound. Desperately, the Assassin tried to resist, to rebel, perhaps even to free. Unsuccessful.

She felt her heart and breath stop for a moment as the so familiar figure to her came into view in the company of a stranger. The blue coat was not his, but that did not matter at the moment. It was clearly him.

"Keep her under control. Don’t you dare try anything if something goes wrong," came the hissing reply quietly next to her from Joséphine. Adeláire knew exactly she meant the other in her. And it was also she who answered with a silent nod.

"Just let the reins go so far that he does not notice. According to the memories that you have already been able to dig up in her, in the short time he might still have gotten to know her quite... intensively.... So be careful."

Joséphine's voice sounded nervous, as if she did not really trust that stranger in Adeláire. The usual riding crop tapped nervously on her boot and the free hand in the waist drummed uneasily on the belt. All this gave the Assassin enough courage to fight back against the shackles. If this was supposed to be a spectacle, she would make it as hard as possible for everyone present.

Adeláire's heart was heavy as Arno stopped at a proper distance. Only with half an ear did she follow the conversation, concentrating on perceiving everything in him and sucking it in herself. The strange cloak, the strange rapier at his side, the new bracer with hidden and phantom blade, the stubborn pull of his jaw. It was not until Joséphine's requesting snapping brought her back to reality.

With new strength and energy, Adeláire fought against the stranger, who inwardly but surely stifled her. It was her turn that caused her hand to reach out to Arno. But it was the inward struggle that made her fingers tremble.

Unexpectedly, her opponent let loose, possibly stunned by a Adeláire’s maneuver. She wasted no further thought and took the opportunity.

"Arno ..."

Adeláire cheered inwardly. She had done it. She fought hard to stay on the surface. Clinging mentally to his, so close and so distant, statue. She stretched out her hand to his, who had begun to tremble at the pronouncement of his name.

But her fight had not served to whisper loving words to him. Solely to warn him. To save him.

"Arno... please... go. You cannot trust her. She will never let us go. Please... Arno... listen to me..." the Assassin whispered softly.

"Everything will be fine. I'll get you out of here." His whisper was as quiet as hers. Knowing that Joséphine could hear them. Adeláire brought it tears to her eyes and it almost broke her heart. Still, she had to make him give up all this.

"No, Arno... you cannot... She knows... she just knows everything... I... I'm lost ... I'm... no longer me... you... must let me go..."  She could hear her voice pleading, hollow, broken. And she could feel his anger and fear almost physically.

"That's out of the question. I will never lose anyone again. Not without a fight..." His whisper sounded more like a hiss.

She did not dare to look away from him. Who knew when she would see him again? Especially when, as herself. Her eyes blurred at her next words.  "Arno... please... save yourself... this fight is already lost..."

She saw his quarrelling, felt his will, felt how what must be love burned in her and gave her strength. Maybe she was wrong all the time. Maybe love was not a weakness?

He swallowed hard and tried strained to hold his hand quiet, which reached out to offer her salvation and support.

"Calm down. Everything will be fine. Take my hand... Adeláire... please..." he pleaded softly and fervently.

With the last of her strength and only deep in her mind whispering the three words that she might never have been able to confess to him in person, she reached out and wrapped his wrist. Everything that followed happened so fast that Adeláire perceived it as if through a fog.

Thrown back into helplessness, the stranger took full control again. The snap of the whip placed itself breath-taking around her throat before anyone could tell Genévieve that her ally was again mistress of the situation. Determined, the three girls withdrew and took advantage of the mists of the Assassins to disappear unseen in front of their eyes.

Adelaire shouted and yelled inwardly, taking her last bit of strength before sinking back into what had become her new world.

Fog, Float, Warmth, Light.

 

„“ ----------------- „“

 

"Deakon, what does it look like? What did you find out? "

A new meeting like the many others in the last few days. Everyone had worked excitedly and purposefully while Ava recovered and distracted herself with training. Now she sat again in front of a screen with a videoconference.

"As mentioned at the beginning, we have been hacked. And in a very subtle way. Any of the DNA sequences were contaminated and opened, so to speak, backdoors in all directions. I have not been able to isolate the corresponding sequences yet. Say, I cannot say exactly if it concerns the Dorian or the Fontaine data. And for the closing of the open barn doors I have only a temporary solution. As long as I do not know where the source of the attack is coming from, I cannot really take effective action against them. "

- thoughtful silence -

"So what are you considering, Deakon?"

"Mm, we should contact Gavin. Somebody has to find these people in here, in the real world, and eliminate them. And as for the technology, we need Rebecca. This is dangerous. And I advise you to do everything but underestimate it."

- Silence -

"Hm, heavy cannons. But you're probably right, Deakon. My gut feeling also tells me that someone is sitting dangerously on our necks. Ava? Do you feel fit and stable enough that you can re-establish contact with the Fontaine data?"

Ava startled from a kind of audience lethargy and thought for a moment before nodding.

"Good. Jessy, I'll take you off to a less delicate project. We need someone with more experience at the monitoring station. Ava, as soon as the new technician is available I want you to take up the contact again as cautiously as possible. As soon as even weird things happen, leave the Animus and contact me. Deakon, contact Gavin and Rebecca. Let's get to the bottom of this... whatever."

Unanimous nod before the conference died down and everyone went to work.

 

 

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