Chapter Text
1868 London — Southwark
Behind the haystack, a woman raises her head to expose the copper red curls and frizz—tied in red ribbon with a fountain pen as support. Her eyes glued onto the target. Her right eye is green, and her left eye is blue; both are affected by heterochromia—passed down by her great-grandmother. The vast amount of freckles are laid against her cheeks and the bridge of her nose, noticed by the fair color of her skin. She is known as the redheaded stranger who joins her uncle, traveling throughout London.
Her uncle, Grayson Harlow—is an Assassin. He is an older man in his early forties, his age inapplicable from how he fights and kills his enemies. Flexible to dodge, quick to block a punch, releasing his fury from the keen edge of his blade. His long hair had slight curls, all shaded with white and gray strands, and scars were exposing the flesh tone on the bridge of his nose—another on his cheek. His freckles are visible all over his features, his dark beard covering most of it.
Grayson peeks over the hay to spot the presence of the Templar; the Council assigned his target—Wilfred Griffiths. He is standing by a lone carriage.
"Jacqueline, is he alone?" He questioned his niece, furrowing his brows.
She draws out the fountain pen from her hair. "I presume he’s waiting for someone based on his impatient toe-tapping, though I do not expect him to stroll to the park."
"Go—signal me once it's clear."
The redhead gives a brisk nod, raising her skirt slightly as she hurries to the nearby wall, plastered with advertisements of different products—most were under Crawford Starrick's company. London’s Templar Grand Master, a man Grayson loathes. Though most assassins have shown their civil dislike towards Starrick, Grayson is not afraid to speak his mind freely.
Jacqueline huffs as she slides on the wall to sit. She wished she could have her standard yet sufficient attire to fight any incoming attacks—urging her to practice wielding her dagger and hand-to-hand combat. The redhead shifts out her journal, opening a new page as a man approaches Griffiths. Wearing a red uniform—a Blighter. One of the most notorious gangs in London, lurking all over the boroughs.
"Any news?" Wilfred asked, uncrossing his arms. His voice is sincere, and he does not yell at his men for once as if he is after a particular artifact.
"The Piece of Eden exploded in Croydon's laboratory a few days ago; Miss Thorne was unsure who had done it. Although there is no doubt an Assassin was there that day."
"It's gone?"
"The laboratory is all destroyed, all covered in debris—the Piece of Eden must have gone with it."
"What about Sir David?"
Jacqueline scribbles the name, attaching a line to the mention of an explosion in the laboratory.
"He was killed from the explosion—although I presume an Assassin possibly killed him."
"Was it Harlow? Arsehole is still lurking around." Griffiths pinched the bridge of his nose.
"Green could never leave London—Frye is dead. Remember, Mister Harlow hasn’t been to Croydon in quite some time."
"Indeed, he has to be around still—and none of you—!" He punches the door of the carriage with a blatant grunt. “Have the AUDACITY to kill him?!”
"In disclosure,” The Blighter slightly raised his tone to interrupt Griffiths’ fit. “Archie is enlarging his hideout in Whitechapel. He wanted me to inform you, Eleanor and Gladys, to meet him at Raven's Row."
Jacqueline counts the names with her fingers, flipping through her last pages as she recalls listing the Templars' names. The three other targets her uncle is searching for. Gladys Harris, the woman determined to hunt for the Assassin, desires honor from the Order to kill a deadly man. Archibald "Archie" Dawn: he befriended her uncle when they were younger. He blames Grayson for the death of his sister, killed by a Blighter. Dawn joined the Templars for vengeance. Eleanor Taylor, his arch nemesis for ten years. She is in charge of a few child labor factories in London. She has more connections with Starrick's trusted allies, including himself.
Jacqueline lifts her hand to signal Grayson to make his advance. The Assassin pulls over his hood, sneaking in until dashes of red speed past him. He stops, running back to the hay—listening to the loud brays of the stallions and mares. Men shout a song from the heart, and others greet Griffiths.
"Uncle?" Jacqueline mouthed as he shook his head, placing his finger to his lips.
The redhead keeps her journal open, pen yearning to scribble.
Wilfred knitted his brows together, pacing towards the Blighter, taking the lead of the multiple carriages. "What is it now?"
"There's another ambush at Spitalfields—Clinkers are back."
"Oh, are they? Alright, boys, let's get this over with!" He clapped his hands, hopping inside the carriage to take off.
Grayson lowers at the Blighters, shooting bullets in the air, echoing through the streets of Southwark. Shouting in a barbaric manner.
Jacqueline sighs, rising at last. "That was rather interesting," she says, arranging the fountain pen back in her hair.
Grayson ran his hands down his face, muffling his groan before slapping his palms against his thighs. "Perfect, he is always leaving with those men by his side!"
"Don’t concern yourself, uncle, maybe—"
"No, we'll have to be hasty next time, Jacqueline… well, at least you had a few notes in your journal."
"Indeed, I'll share with you what I got: the individual told Mister Griffiths a handful of updates. I find his formal speaking intriguing."
"An educated Blighter, that's a new one." Grayson chuckles, pulling down his hood. Revealing his whole head of grays, the sun lightened his brown eyes to an amber glow.
"How many men and women have you met in this city?" Jacqueline tilted her head in curiosity.
"My dear, I would be rich as the Queen if I told you the exact amount." He encloses his arm around his niece's neck, holding her by his side to nudge his knuckles against her scalp.
"Stop it!" Jacqueline laughed as she freed herself from his grip.
Grayson was relieved to see his niece safe once again. A genuine smile from Jacqueline's uncle delighted her. The two have been close since her birth and even closer since Grayson trained her to become a loyal ally of the Brotherhood. The redhead refuses to become an Assassin, never appreciating the killings or confrontations of Templars. Worrying that she will lure more danger to her family, especially her aging uncle. He taught her to fight, dodge, and block and gave her a dagger to master her kills.
A strong woman but an agile writer and intellectual. She manages to spy on various Templars with an alliance with the four primary targets. After finding the Piece of Eden, Grayson aims to kill Crawford Starrick. Believing he is the last Assassin guarding London.
London — Whitechapel: Curio Shop
The night emerges as Henry Green shuffles through documents on his desk. Born in India, he has been watching over London alone. Locating several Templars—recruiting men, women, and children to help him for the sake of the dying Brotherhood.
He retrieved all this information, now in the hands of Ethan and Cecily Frye's children.
Evie Frye, the intrepid twin sister—and Jacob Frye, the impetuous twin brother.
"Occupied, Mister Green?" Evie asked, cautious to place the cup of tea in front of the Assassin. A compelling man who fortunately found the twins after they arrived in London.
"Very, I'm quite anxious if you haven't noticed," Henry said, unfolding a document to read.
"Anxious? That's new, Greenie." Jacob commented, resting his legs on top of the couch. Holding onto the glass of whiskey.
Evie gave a dismissive wave. "What distracts you?"
Henry takes a sip of his tea, clearing his throat. "I've written a letter to another Assassin residing here in London." The twins both exchanged faces. Jacob shrugged as he chugged down his drink.
"Do we know him?" The twin sister asked, fixing her gaze to focus.
"Your father had a close bond with him—he also conspired to find the artifact and is highly loyal to the Brotherhood. He is—"
"Grayson Harlow?" Evie questioned.
"Yes, did your father tell you both about him before?"
Evie glances at her brother, who appears to be ignoring their discussion. "Jacob and I were ten when he visited us. I could recall he had two scars and all smiles when he was around my father. He described Mister Harlow as a well-respected follower of the Creed."
"Sounds familiar," Jacob remarked.
"Grayson Harlow moved to London five years ago. From what I remember, he has a niece fascinated by the history of the Brotherhood."
"She's an Assassin?" Evie questioned—her brother turning his head to listen.
"No, Mister Harlow sent Ethan a letter declaring she refused to become one due to her fear of involving her family in danger. Although, she has a writing flair."
"What good will that make?" Jacob swings his legs over the couch. Evie frowned at her brother.
"Mister Frye, she is a spy and was taught by her uncle… Which is why I wrote him an invite for a consultation at Moonrakers Pub."
"Are you certain he will come? After what happened to our father?" Evie picks on the leather of her bracer.
"It’s hard to declare—I do hope he arrives."
Jacob rises from the couch and walks towards the two. "What's our plan? Should we form an alliance?"
Evie crosses her arms. "We could. He could help me with the Piece of Eden."
"Or help me kill Templars." The brash twin nudges his elbow against his sister's arm.
Henry flattens his palms on his desk. "I want to inform him about you two—to free London from its corruption due to Starrick’s influence." He stops as he takes a sip of his tea. "I believe his niece is helping him to kill his targets."
"Or busy writing a novel." Evie hits her brother on the arm. "When’s the meeting?"
"Two days from now, I gave him time to deliberate as I do not want to rush things."
Evie and Jacob exchange expressions, dubious about the small reunion with a man who had known their father for years.
"Get some rest. You are meeting new allies tomorrow." Henry says with a sincere smile, aiming his focus back on his reading.
Jacob scratched under his chin, whispering, "What will Mister Harlow's reaction be?"
Evie ambles away from Green with her brother. "My thought as well—is seeing us after these long years positive?"
They head outside from the curio shop, street lamps brightening their way down the streets of Whitechapel. Taverns roared with mugs clinking and songs of victory.
Jacob began to climb on the wall of the shop "Or pissed off for disobeying the council." He chuckled, grunting as he pulled himself over the roof's edge.
Evie tags behind, "We’ll prepare a good argument against him."
"My sister? Arguing with thee, Grayson Harlow?"
"Don't act innocent now, Jacob."
He smirked, swinging one leg over the border of the rooftop. "I suppose you're right. His niece will help him if we do not contribute together."
Evie sat beside him, "While I look for the Piece of Eden on my own."
"And I'll be beating Templars to a pulp."
London — Southwark: Crucifix Lane
Morning came as Jacqueline yawned to awaken herself from her bed. She reached her arms above her head and twisted her torso to hear the small cracks in her bones. Growing old, aren't we?
She scratches her full head of red curls—studying herself in the mirror ahead of her. Toying with her locks, extending them as they began to coil back together once she let go. Jacqueline blows out her cheeks, getting dressed for the day.
Making her way to the kitchen, she tied her hair with the red ribbon her uncle had gifted her, adding her fountain pen as the final touch to her look.
She halts as her uncle is already sipping his tea while reading the name on an envelope.
"Morning, Jacqueline," he greeted, facing her with a grin.
"To you as well, is that for you?" She examined, pointing towards the paper.
"Ephraim gave it to me—"
"And I received this letter, I'm out of a job." Announced Ephraim Scott. A man who befriended Jacqueline and her family when he was a boy. Standing six feet and four inches, towering over everyone, including the petite redhead. However, his bright blue eyes, full head of curly blond hair, and clean attire made him gentler to approach. An angel, his family described; his shy tone and easily flustered cheeks made Jacqueline wonder how she is close friends with an adoring man.
The Scotts and the Harlows became close friends after Ephraim was born a few days after Jacqueline. Grayson treated him like a son, providing him books and often telling him stories of his time in India.
"My boy, who sent you that?" Grayson asked.
"Nothing important, Mister Harlow—I'll work at the coffeehouse nearby."
"Perhaps my old boss can recruit you at the factory where I used to work. I'm assuming they need more men." Jacqueline scruffs his blond locks as he snickers.
Grayson glides out his blade, opening the envelope:
Brother Grayson, it has been so long since we last met. I recall your training as a young boy with Mister Frye; much has changed since then. I hope you are doing well in life and health, but I hope my news will give you some investment. Ethan Frye's children are here to take down Crawford Starrick and the gangs in each borough of London. I've invited you to the Moonrakers pub before Bishopsgate Station in Whitechapel for a meeting. I assume you can make it and bring along your niece if possible.
Sincerely, an old friend, Henry Green
His eye twitches, his chest heaving for air from the anxiety building up with haste—he slams the letter on the table. "Here in London? Not in Crawley?!"
Jacqueline overheard the startling thud. "Who was it from?"
He passes his niece the message—she scans through the writing, and Ephraim is peeking over her shoulder.
"Henry Green? Who is that, Mister Harlow?" he asked, as Jacqueline acknowledged.
"If I’m correct… I believe he’s given himself an alias to avoid loose ends.” Grayson releases an exasperated sigh. “He's an Assassin, raised in India and banished to England. Ethan was the reason his life was spared by the Brotherhood."
"I don’t think you mentioned him to either of us?" Ephraim questioned softly.
"He had a closer bond with Ethan. I’ve trained him several times and noticed how vastly different he was from the other assassins. He is not prone to violence, but he is still skilled nonetheless."
"Another Assassin in London, and the Frye twins… His children! That's great news!" Jacqueline beamed, folding the letter by the creases. She hid it inside her leather bag.
"No, it's not; they disobeyed the Council—they need to stay in Crawley with Mister Westhouse." Grayson splays his hands out, soon lowering them as he exhales deeply through his nose.
Jacqueline holds one of his hands. "They made the right decision to come here, uncle, expect the outcome. We can make an alliance—quicken our pace to stop the Templars. Help the poor. I could give them my notes!"
"I only care about the Piece of Eden. We’re after Archie Dawn since the artifact exploded in the laboratory." Grayson takes back his hand, slicking back his hair. "Can't they see that the twins have other important matters?! I need them to stay back and let me finish my friend’s work."
"They're still young, uncle. Mister Frye did not train them for nothing." The redhead bows her head, pressing her palm against her forehead. "The children in factories are suffering," she raises her head. "Families are starving, and Starrick has eyes everywhere. Yet you only care about a block of metal!"
Grayson grits his teeth, speaking in restraint, "Don't you dare say that! We will not focus on the people whether you like it or not!"
Ephraim promptly goes between the arguers, hands on their shoulders, "Jacqueline, Mister Harlow, please! Let's not release our tempers to each other. Let the twins and Mister Green have their own business to take care of."
"We need more aid on our side," Jacqueline muttered.
"That's enough." Grayson mounts his palm. "We're wasting time. Ephraim, please make sure the food is ready for Henrietta. I don’t want her to attack Jacqueline again."
"It was an accident last time, uncle," Jacqueline pinched her lips, rubbing onto her temples with one hand. "Mister Griffiths was revealed that Archie may enlarge his hideout in Whitechapel. He is inviting him."
Grayson fixes his collar, "Right, let's go. Ephraim, please be careful with that woman."
"I will, but as long Jacqueline is away, we’ll be alright."
"Good, I must speak with her parents about their decision." Grayson smacks his back playfully as he departs their home with his niece.
The two have different ideas and complex methods. Jacqueline has witnessed the sacrifice this city has made to advance their technology. Hell, she observed children offering to help her carry buckets of coals to earn more money. Only earning docked wages.
The two go toward Waterloo Station, which is near their home. Jacqueline wants to know why her uncle is obsessed with the artifact. Nevertheless, it was apparent she knew the answer already. Ethan has been researching the Pieces of Eden, leaving them to her uncle after he passed away not long ago. Fearing Starrick will find the object in later years.
"Uncle, I do not want to ask again, but how come you haven't found the Piece of Eden?" Jacqueline asked, wincing as she worried her uncle had not loosened his firmness. “You worked with Mister Frye for many years... something stopped you?"
Grayson glances with a raised brow. "There are many reasons why: Ethan and I traveled to India to train with our Indian Brothers, including Mister Green’s training. There are also our families to take care of, other targets to confront and kill, and the list goes on."
"Tell me more about him." The duo access the station, weaving through the crowds of passengers.
Her uncle closes his eyes briefly. "Ethan knew him better than I did—I know his identity, for now—I will seal it for his sake. I will tell you what I know."
"Of course, continue."
They entered the train's interior. Jacqueline sat by the window, and her uncle sat across from her.
He clears his throat. "I mentioned before that he was different from all the other assassins I’ve met. We are all trained to kill, hunt, spy, and keep a keen mind. He was not into killing Templars or executing brutal missions with his father. Even so, he’s intelligent, spreading knowledge, and full of life and charm. He enjoys reading. I would often find him reading before and after our training sessions.” Grayson chuckles as he recalls finding the young boy tired and exhausted, yet needed a good book to ease down. “Ethan has explained to his father and me that he may lack our skills to kill, or we lack something he has."
"He sounds like a humble man, an Assassin who does not kill. And be amused by reading! Maybe Ephraim can get along with him?" Jacqueline joked, smiling that she often found her friend with a pile of books in his bedroom.
"Perhaps if I told him more stories about the Brotherhood, I have no doubt Mister Green and Ephraim could bond over their love of literature." Grayson continued, peering out the window as the train passed by the City of London. Markets sell fresh fruits and vegetables, and families take their time to pick out edible foods.
"Have you ever seen him around London lately?" Jacqueline questioned.
"No, the last time I saw him was with Ethan when he first arrived back to England—he told everything that happened with Mister Green before I departed for other matters. Green had a clue where we live—he’s been working tirelessly, it seems." Grayson leans his head against the window.
Jacqueline takes out her journal, jotting down the information her uncle revealed. Henry Green is an Assassin who opposes violence due to his divine nature, yet appears to be doing more behind the scenes for the London Assassins.
"I do hope I'll meet him soon, uncle."
London — Whitechapel
The train stopped in Whitechapel, steam piping while the wheels squeaked to stop. Gas was sizzling as the locomotive stood by.
Jacqueline hurries out, eyes trailing along the ceiling's architecture, begging herself to climb no matter her clothing. Mounting on top of high buildings is a fear her family has for her safety. Her mother would call for Grayson to take down a five-year-old Jacqueline from going to the ledge of the third-floor window.
"We should get going," her uncle says, placing her hand behind her back. "Perhaps you can find Archie Dawn's new location."
Exiting the station, the two stroll past the cobbled road, down past Moonrakers Pub—the location Grayson should attend.
"Do you see any uncanniness here, uncle?" Jacqueline asked, spotting men and women in green uniforms. All standing by walls of merchant shops and taverns, careless about the danger they might face with the Blighters.
"Last time I was here, there were fights between the Whitechapel Clinkers and the Blighters. I wonder if they have gotten a leader who gave them a knock on their heads." Grayson said, scratching his cheek as his scar was in the way.
"Whoever they are, these Clinkers are safe for now."
"Indeed, but let us get back on finding Dawn."
Jacqueline wonders if she would feel relieved by the lack of Blighters lurking around. Still, her curiosity lingers as she speculates who is responsible for the Clinkers' successful leadership.
Shaking her head, "Do you know if Archie had any relation with Whitechapel?"
Grayson tucked his hands behind his back "He was raised here with his sister. Your grandmother would take your mother and me to stroll around here with Archie's family. It could have been nostalgia."
"He is hiding in a cemetery in Lambeth, Debbie is buried there."
"His home in Raven's Row could have been an attached memory."
"I reckon he is residing there. Where else should he go besides his childhood home?"
Grayson gives a weak smile. "Back to Lambeth for sure."
Gunshots repeated in the air, and shouts were heard as workers ran and stumbled. Radclyffe Mill is a factory owned by Eleanor Taylor. Jacqueline was tugged by her uncle for shelter, witnessing the men in green uniforms scurrying the area.
"Follow me!" Announced a woman taking a child by the hand, leading the other children away from the company. The redhead spots the Clinkers lashing at the last standing Blighters.
"What the devil?" Grayson cursed—marching to the scene.
Jacqueline follows, glimpsing at the quizzical children. Free from the abuse they endured, released from the sweat and tears they have drained. The lack of money owed to comfort their families.
She held onto the leather strap of her bag, reaching to the factory's opening. Glancing at the machines running without any support from the workers, she wondered what made the Clinkers unbeatable.
Jacqueline swallows hard, holding onto her neck as she views the carnage surrounding her. Her uncle crouched to examine the marks that killed the enemies.
The redhead approaches a man near a body. "Excuse me, sir?"
He faces her. "Yes?"
"I've noticed you took out this Blighter here—you and your gang."
"Ah yes, thanks to the Frye twins—we managed to free the children. These foes did not know what was coming." He chortled, tucking inside the coins he searched for inside his pocket.
Grayson's jaw twitched. "The twins? How did they—"
"Uncle, behind!" Jacqueline warned—he switched directions as an injured Wilfred Griffiths crawled to snatch onto the Assassin's ankles.
Wincing, teeth baring as he ignores the agony. Grayson kicks him to have him lie against his back. He crouches to place his hand on his chest, scowling at the Templar.
"Who did this?"
Griffiths coughs, chest heaving for air. "He's one of yours… why are you acting like you don't..." He gags on his blood, attempting to speak, "—you know him!"
"What are you saying? Stop being foolish!" Grayson fisted his coat, lifting his head.
"He killed me with your blade! You must be so daft to recognize your own kind."
Grayson widened his eyes, dropping him. "Enough of that… tell me more about Dawn's new hideout."
Griffiths pinched his lips, his eyelids drooping. His breathing became slower and quieter.
"Tell me, god damn it!" The Assassin shook him vigorously. Wilfred gasped, his hand holding onto his wrist with a tight squeeze. His force disappeared as his eyes completely closed.
Jacqueline walks to her uncle, "We must leave now."
He takes out his handkerchief and wipes the blood away from his chest. "The brother must have killed him." Grayson shoves the cloth into his pocket.
"Uncle, let's go, " the redhead repeated, patiently waiting for him to stand beside her. They made their way out of the factory, silent as they left the carnage behind. Clinkers guarded the factory, and a few began to store the remains of their fallen enemies.
London — Southwark: Crucifix Lane
A man trudges forward, shouldering the weight of a drunk woman to return back to Crucifix Lane. Henrietta Harlow is Jacqueline's older sister.
A woman who does not have her sister's copper red hair as she is born with dark but thick brown hair. Little specks of freckles, not a significant amount, as Jacqueline is marked with the feature all over her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. Dressed in trousers and a blouse, she craves drinking at the local pub. Visiting the bar with money in her hands, preparing herself to fight any drunken man or woman. Leaving them bruised for days.
"Where the hell is everyone…" Henrietta muttered as she was thrown onto the doorstep of her home, reeking of booze stained on her clothes.
She detected Grayson and Jacqueline approaching. The Assassin did not smile, and his niece did not speak a word on their way back on the train.
“What took you so long?!” Henrietta spat.
“Quiet! You’re so lucky you still have a roof to live in, thanks to your mother—!”
“Uncle.” Jacqueline held his arm, walking inside with him as Henrietta crawled.
The two of them enter the kitchen, where Ephraim is reading a novel, raising his head from their presence.
"You made it…" He greeted as the redhead gave a faint grin.
"Did Henrietta eat?”
"Like always, then goes out to the pub for the whole day." Ephraim closes the door and Grayson paces to the end of the table. Ignoring his surroundings.
“Hey,” he beckoned Jacqueline to whisper in her ear. "What happened?"
"Griffiths is dead. However, it was one of the Frye twins who killed him. They cleared the factory. I'm assuming they know what they're doing to free London."
"Jacqueline," Grayson called as the redhead perked her head.
"I'll leave you two alone," Ephraim says, rising from his seat and exiting the kitchen.
The redhead purses her lips as she views Grayson massaging his temples.
"Something troubling you?" His niece asked, taking a seat.
"I never knew the twins would quickly get started on their missions. They freed those children and killed Griffiths."
"Let them do what they need to do for this city. I'm sure they're responsible enough. But we could at least give them our gratitude for killing Wilfred."
"Gratitude? They killed my target, who knew where Archie would be."
"Uncle, I'm sure Archie resides in Raven's Row."
Grayson clasps his wrist. "We still need to kill Dawn and find the Piece of Eden. I'm sending you to the meeting to tell them I won't attend."
Jacqueline broadened her eyes. "What?! Uncle, they need you! London needs you!"
"The Templars have taken over this damn city far too long! They can manage themselves."
"Why don't you want to see them, uncle?! Can't you say that yourself?"
Grayson hurls his hand on the table. "Those twins, I met them when they were younger! Ethan told me Cecily died giving birth to them, their son and daughter." He managed to relax the vexation in his tone. "Both are around your age now. His daughter practiced stealth and is a great spy like you. His son, however, is reckless but a great fighter. Those scars he received tell his father otherwise."
"But, they are Ethan's children. Wouldn't it be nice to see them again? How much have they grown?"
"He's not there with them, Jacqueline!"
"Mister Frye is resting in a safe—"
"Ethan is DEAD! You do not have to soften this topic!" Grayson shouted as Jacqueline winced; Ephraim hurried to the kitchen and raised his palms.
"Mister Harlow, please—"
"No. Stay out of this, Ephraim." He turns his head back to the redhead. "You're going to Whitechapel. Give them my word and tell them never to contact us again. Understood?"
Jacqueline hesitates to speak, wrapping her arms around herself. Her uncle would never yell at her, not even after Ethan's tragic death. However, she often ponders if their methods are causing their arguments.
"Jacqueline Harlow."
"Yes. I understand." She rose from her seat, leaving the two behind in the kitchen.
Ephraim furrowed his brows. "That wasn't necessary, Mister Harlow."
Grayson creased his brows, realizing what he had done. "She. I—"
"She was not attacking you. She wanted you and the Assassins to unite to free this city. No matter the agenda." Ephraim took a deep breath. "My pardons for being rude." He leaves as he goes upstairs.
Jacqueline sat on her bed as she took out her journal, running back her locks firmly.
"Jacqueline?" Ephraim knocked on the doorway.
She did not glance at her friend. "I did not mean to anger him—"
"No, he was in the moment of catharsis. He really misses him."
"A lot. Ever since Mister Frye died, I wondered if Grayson would get over his death. Turns out that he can never let go of it. We lost Aunt Beatrice, and he lost Cecily. It's not fair to lose his only friend left."
Ephraim plops on her bed, pulling his knee above to prop his chin on top. "He cannot lose you as well."
"I told him not to worry, although I worry about his optimism."
"He still got it."
"Not like before… I hope the twins may have given him such anticipation."
"He did say they caused Cecily's death."
"But what fault is that?! She held them for nine months, and they came out as healthy and vigorous children."
"I do agree… Mister Harlow has been through so much."
Jacqueline stood to brush out her navy blue skirt. "And to ensure he's content enough to find the Piece of Eden." She stares off to read the time on the clock, biting her lip. "I need to rest now."
"Wait." Ephraim stopped her. "I'll join your journey to Whitechapel."
"It's quite alright, you don't have to—"
"I would rather not have you go alone, especially when Mister Harlow is not accompanying you due to his outburst."
Jacqueline smirked, "That would be very nice. Thank you."
Ephraim embraces his friend and kisses her head several times. "Good night, get some rest!" he chuckles as he closes the door. Jacqueline is left standing alone in her bedroom. She digs through her bag to find the letter Henry Green sent.
"It will be nice to meet you three at last."
The morning started off with the newsboy shouting the daily headlines. Claiming murder at the Mill in Whitechapel.
Jacqueline shifts on her navy blue coat, which her mother has given her ever since she moved to Southwark. It is a jacket that keeps her warm and is length to her knee level. She fixes her collar, staring at her reflection in the mirror, observing her two different-colored irises. Huffing as she leaves her bedroom, she wishes no one spots the unusual condition.
Ephraim runs out of his room, fixing his tie. "Grayson was wondering where I was going, " he chuckles, catching his breath. "Ready?"
"Mhm, also, Henri left this morning."
"Perfect, come on."
The two friends hurried out of their home and went to Waterloo Station. Ephraim was never involved with their missions. He always stayed home to make sure dinner was ready or receive any letters from their family. He's not a fighter, nor does he look like a brute looking for a brief brawl.
Grayson does articulate about the Brotherhood at some point. His tales are primarily about Edward Kenway and his family, a fascinating story Ephraim enjoys listening to and reading. However, he desires to read fictional stories, especially those of Charles Dickens and George Eliot.
Entering the train, Ephraim rubs behind his neck. "What do you think will be their reaction?"
"Surprise? I'm not sure if Grayson spoke of me."
"He perhaps did... to Ethan." The two sat down beside each other. "Aren't you nervous?"
"Me? No, it's just a meeting with three assassins." She whispered, scrunching her shoulders, hoping no one else heard her words.
"Well, that's why! I'm just worried if they'll get upset."
"Ephraim, they never kill the innocents with their blades. If we were Templars, then we would be killed in an instant by Grayson."
Ephraim gives a brisk, lopsided grin. "I guess you're right… I'm wondering how Grayson did not mention this Henry Green fellow. Has he always been here in London?"
"Ethan bonded with Green more than my uncle; he told me what he knew about Green the previous day. This is the first time he has contacted him in years. An opportunity down in the sewers."
"Perhaps you should help them. Without Grayson's permission."
Jacqueline lifts a brow, a bizarre saying from her friend who would dare not to do a risky task. Not part of his considerate character. "What? Ephraim, I don't consider that's a great idea. It depends on what the twins will do. Kill Templars or find the Piece of Eden. If it's the second option, I might have them meet my uncle."
"You do have some training from him." He jabs his finger against her shoulder.
"But not like an Assassin. I don't have a hidden blade. I have a dagger and fists. My only way out of a struggle."
Ephraim laughed, convincing his clueless friend, "I depend on running away or grabbing a nearby sharp weapon."
"Have you ever done that?"
"No. Except last year, a drunk lad punched me in the nose."
"The rum must have got him."
"Or he was just a simple arsehole." His cheeks grew red. "Pardon my language!"
"No worries!" She laughs, leaning her head on his shoulder.
The trains rattled through the arrival of Whitechapel, Ephraim leaping out of his seat as he peeked out from the entry. Hanging onto the border as if he were a sailor on the Aquila, the wind hit his face, his locks of hair flying back. "It's a wonderful sight!"
Jacqueline laughs in amusement, convincing herself to take her friend out more often. "The sight will be over once we get off," she says, pinching his coat and gently tugging him inside the train.
"You said they were here?" He fluffs his hair promptly.
"Mhm, at the Moonrakers Pub."
"Why a pub? Doesn’t seem discreet."
"A drink can distract their patience, my friend." Jacqueline winked as the train hissed to their stop.
Ephraim pokes his head out from the entrance, not expecting seas of people flooding inside a station. Families and children are all waiting for their next stop.
"You're mesmerized again." Jacqueline held his hand, leading him out of the station.
"My, you and Mister Harlow sure love traveling. Look at these new faces!" He beamed at the sight of a kitten on top of a crate. "And a cat!"
The redhead tilts her head at his enthusiasm. "I thought you like dogs better?"
"Why not both?" He smirked as she rolled her eyes playfully.
Out from the station, the two stood by to read the bar's name. Moonraker is an uncommon name for a tavern. Jacqueline lets go of her companion's hand.
"Do you want to come inside?"
"Might as well get to know the three."
Entering the pub, Jacqueline holds onto the cuffs of her blouse. Fingers fidgeting as her nails scratch onto the fabric.
Surprisingly, there are not many people in the reasonably large tavern. A man sits with his friend with a mug of beer. One is having brunch with a woman who keeps talking about her work day.
She spotted a man of a different complexion thumbing through his book. Hands on the table—one man sleeping on his forearms—a woman admiring her hidden blade—an Assassin's blade.
Jacqueline swallows a lump in her throat, chewing on her bottom lip as she assumes the man is Henry Green. His white robes are all decorated with gold trimmings, with red and lavender scarves covering his waist and bound around his bracer. His dark hair shimmers, unable to break contact with his book.
The redhead approached, clasping her hands in front of her as Ephraim stood behind.
She clears her throat. "Excuse me, are you Henry Green?