Assassin's Creed: Underworld - WordPress.com · 2019-01-09 · ASSASSIN’S CREED®...

OliverBowden

ASSASS IN’S CREED®

Underworld

Contents

PartOne:GhostTown

Chapter1

Chapter2

Chapter3

Chapter4

Chapter5

Chapter6

Chapter7

Chapter8

Chapter9

Chapter10

Chapter11

Chapter12

Chapter13

Chapter14

Chapter15

Chapter16

Chapter17

Chapter18

Chapter19

Chapter20

Chapter21

Chapter22

Chapter23

Chapter24

Chapter25

Chapter26

Chapter27

Chapter28

Chapter29

Chapter30

Chapter31

Chapter32

PartTwo:LostCity

Chapter33

Chapter34

Chapter35

Chapter36

Chapter37

Chapter38

Chapter39

Chapter40

Chapter41

Chapter42

Chapter43

Chapter44

Chapter45

Chapter46

Chapter47

Chapter48

Chapter49

Chapter50

Chapter51

Chapter52

Chapter53

Chapter54

Chapter55

Chapter56

Chapter57

PartThree:MetropolisRising

Chapter58

Chapter59

Chapter60

Chapter61

Chapter62

Chapter63

Chapter64

Chapter65

Chapter66

Chapter67

Chapter68

Chapter69

Chapter70

Chapter71

Chapter72

Chapter73

Chapter74

Chapter75

Chapter76

Chapter77

Chapter78

Chapter79

Chapter80

Chapter81

Chapter82

Chapter83

Chapter84

Chapter85

Epilogue

FollowPenguin

AlsointheAssassin’sCreed®series

RenaissanceBrotherhood

TheSecretCrusadeRevelationsForsakenBlackFlagUnity

PartOne

GHOST TOWN

TheAssassinEthanFryewasleaningonacrateintheshadowsofCoventGardenMarket,almosthiddenbythetradesmen’scarts.Hisarmswerefoldedacrosshischest,chinsupportedinonehand,thesoft,voluminouscowlofhisrobescoveringhishead.Andastheafternoondwindledintoeveninghestood,silentandstill.Watching.Andwaiting.ItwasrareforanAssassintoresthischinonhisleadinghandlikethat.

Especiallyifhewaswearinghishiddenblade,whichEthanwas,thepointofitlessthananinchfromtheexposedfleshofhisthroat.Closertohiselbowwasalightbutverypowerfulspringmechanismdesignedtodeploytherazor-sharpsteel;thecorrectflickofhiswristanditwouldactivate.Inaveryrealsense,Ethanwasholdinghimselfatknifepoint.Andwhywouldhedothis?Afterall,evenAssassinswerenotimmuneto

accidentsorequipmentmalfunction.Forsafety’ssakethemenandwomenoftheBrotherhoodtendedtokeeptheirbladehandsclearoftheface.Betterthatthanriskignominyorworse.Ethan,however,wasdifferent.Notonlywashepractisedintheartofcounter-

intelligence–andrestinghischinonhisstrongestarmwasanactofdeceptiondesignedtofoolapotentialenemy–buthealsotookadarkdelightincourtingdanger.Andsohesat,withhischininhishand,watching,andwaiting.Ah,hethought,whatisthis?Hestraightenedandshooktherestfromhis

musclesashepeeredthroughthecratesintothemarket.Traderswerepackingup.Andsomethingelsewashappeningtoo.Thegamewasafoot.

InanalleywaynotfarfromEthanlurkedafellowbythenameofBoot.Heworeatatteredshootingjacketandabrokenhat,andhewasstudyingapocketwatchliftedfromagentlemannotmomentsago.WhatBootdidn’tknowabouthisnewacquisitionwasthatitserstwhileowner

hadintendedtotakeittothemendersthatveryday,forreasonsthatwereshortlytohaveaprofoundeffectonthelivesofEthanFrye,Boot,ayoungmanwhocalledhimselfTheGhostandothersinvolvedintheeternalstrugglebetweentheTemplarOrderandtheAssassinBrotherhood.WhatBootdidn’tknowwasthatthepocketwatchwasalmostexactlyanhourslow.Oblivioustothatfact,Bootsnappeditshut,thinkinghimselfquitethedandy.

Nextheeasedhimselfoutofthealleyway,lookedleftandrightandthenmadehiswayintothedyingdayofthemarket.Ashewalked,hisshouldershunchedandhishandsinhispockets,heglancedoverhisshouldertocheckhewasn’tbeingfollowedand,satisfied,continuedforward,leavingCoventGardenbehindandenteringtheStGilesRookeryslum.Thechangeintheairwasalmostimmediate.Wherebeforehisbootheelshad

rungonthecobbles,nowtheysankintotheordureofthestreet,disturbingastinkofrottingvegetableandhumanwaste.Thepavementswerethickwithit,theairreeking.Bootpulledhisscarfoverhismouthandnosetokeepouttheworstofit.Awolfish-lookingdogtrottedathisheelforafewpaces,ribsvisibleatits

shrunkenbelly.Itappealedtohimwithhungry,red-rimmedeyesbuthekickeditawayanditskitteredthenshrankoff.Notfaraway,awomansatinadoorwaywearingtheremnantsofclothestiedtogetherwithstring,ababyheldtoherbreastasshewatchedhimwithglazeddeadeyes,rookeryeyes.Shemightbethemotherofaprostitute,waitingforherdaughtertocomehomewiththeproceedsandwoebetidethegirlifshereturnedempty-handed.Orshemightcommanda

teamofthievesandblaggers,soontoappearwiththeday’stakings.Orperhapssherannightlodgings.Hereintherookerytheonce-grandhouseshadbeenconvertedtoflatsandtenements,andbynighttheyprovidedrefugeforthoseinneedofshelter:fugitivesandfamilies,whores,tradersandlabourers–anyonewhopaidtheirfootinginreturnforspaceonafloorandwhogotabediftheywereluckyandhadthemoney,butmostlikelyhadtomakedowithstraworwoodshavingsforamattress.Notthattheywerelikelytosleepverysoundlyanyway:everyinchoffloorspacewastaken,andthecriesofbabiestorethroughthenight.Andwhilemanyofthesepeoplewereunfitorunwillingtowork,manymore

hadoccupations.Theyweredog-breakersandbirddealers.Theysoldwatercress,onions,spratorherring.Theywerecostermongers,streetsweepers,coffeedealers,billstickersandplacardcarriers.Theirwarescameintothelodgingswiththem,addingtotheovercrowding,tothestench.Atnightthehouseswouldbeclosed,brokenwindowsstuffedwithragsornewspaper,sealedagainstthenoxiousatmosphereofthenight,whenthecitycoughedsmokeintotheair.Thenightairhadbeenknowntosuffocateentirefamilies.Orsowastherumour.Andonethingthatspreadabouttheslumsmorequicklythandiseasewasrumour.Soasfarastheslumdwellerswereconcerned,FlorenceNightingalecouldpreachasmuchassheliked.Theyweregoingtosleepwiththewindowssealed.Youcouldhardlyblamethem,thoughtBoot.Ifyoulivedintheslumyour

chancesofdyingweregreat.Diseaseandviolencewererifehere.Childrenriskedbeingsuffocatedwhenadultsrolledoverintheirsleep.Causeofdeath:overlaying.Itwasmorecommonatweekendswhenthelastoftheginhadbeendrunkandthepublichousesemptied,andMotherandFatherfelttheirwayhomeinthesoupyfog,uptheslickstonesteps,throughthedoorandintothewarm,stinkingroomwheretheyatlastlaiddowntheirheadstorest…Andinthemorning,withthesunupbutthesmogyettoclear,therookery

wouldringtothescreamsofthebereaved.DeeperintotheslumwentBoot,wheretallbuildingscrowdedouteventhe

meagrelightofthemoon,andfog-boundlanternsglowedmalevolentlyinthedark.Hecouldhearraucoussingingfromapublichouseafewstreetsalong.

Everynowandthenthesingingwouldgrowlouderasthedoorwasthrownopentoejectdrunkardsontothestreet.Therewerenopubsonthisstreet,though.Justdoorsandwindowswadded

withnewspaper,washinghangingfromlinesoverhead,sheetsofitlikethesailsofaship,and,apartfromthedistantsinging,justthesoundofrunningwaterandhisownbreathing.Justhim…alone.Orsohethought.Andnoweventhedistantsingingstopped.Theonlysoundwasdripping

water.Ascuttlingsoundmadehimjump.‘Who’sthat?’hedemanded,butknew

immediatelyitwasarat,anditwasaprettythingwhenyouweresoscaredyouwerejumpingatthesoundofarat.Aprettythingindeed.Butthenitcameagain.Hewhirledandthickairdancedandeddiedaround

him,anditseemedtopartlikecurtainsandforamomenthethoughthesawsomething.Asuggestionofsomething.Afigureinthemist.Nexthethoughtheheardbreathing.Hisownwasshortandshallow,gasping

almost,butthiswasloudandsteadyandcomingfrom–where?Oneseconditseemedtobeaheadofhim,thenextfrombehind.Thescuttlingcameagain.Abangstartledhim,butitcamefromoneofthetenementsabove.Acouplebeganarguing–hehadcomehomedrunkagain.No,shehadcomehomedrunkagain.Bootallowedhimselfalittlesmile,foundhimselfrelaxingabit.Herehewas,jumpingatghosts,scaredofafewratsandapairofoldbirdsquarrelling.Whatevernext?Heturnedtogo.Inthesamemomentthemistaheadofhimbillowedand

stridingoutofitcameafigureinrobes,whobeforehecouldreacthadgrabbedhimandpulledhisfistbackasthoughtopunchhim,onlyinsteadofstrikingout,hisassailantflickedhiswristandwithasoftsnickabladeshotfromwithinhissleeve.Boothadsqueezedhiseyesshut.Whenheopenedthemitwastoseetheman

inrobesbehindthebladethatwasheldsteadyaninchfromhiseyeball.Bootwethimself.

EthanFryeawardedhimselfasmallmomentofsatisfactionattheaccuracyofhisblade–thensweptBoot’slegsfrombeneathhimandslammedhimtothefilthycobbles.TheAssassinsanktohishaunches,pinningBootwithhiskneesashepressedhisbladetohisthroat.‘Now,myfriend,’hegrinned,‘whydon’twestartwithyoutellingmeyour

name?’‘It’sBoot,sir,’squirmedBoot,thepointoftheknifediggingpainfullyintohis

flesh.‘Goodman,’saidEthan.‘Goodpolicy,thetruth.Now,let’syouandmehavea

talk,shallwe?’Beneathhimthefellowtrembled.Ethantookitasayes.‘You’reduetotake

deliveryofaphotographicplate,amIright,MrBoot?’Boottrembled.Ethantookthatasanotheryes.Sofarsogood.Hisinformationwassolid;thisBootwasaconnectioninapipelinethatendedwitheroticprintsbeingsoldincertainpubsinLondon.‘AndyouaredueattheJackSimmonstocollectthisphotographicplate,amIright?’Bootnodded.‘Andwhat’sthenameofthefellowyou’resupposedtomeet,MrBoot?’‘I…Idon’tknow,sir…’EthansmiledandleanedevenclosertoBoot.‘Mydearboy,you’reaworse

liarthanyouareacourier.’Heexertedalittlemorepressurewiththeblade.‘Youfeelwherethatknifeisnow?’heasked.Bootblinkedhiseyesyes.‘That’sanartery.Yourcarotidartery.IfIopenthat,you’llbepaintingthe

townred,myfriend.Well,thestreetatleast.Butneitherofuswantmetodothat.Whyruinsuchalovelyevening?Instead,howaboutyoutellmewhoitisyouplannedtomeet?’

Bootblinked.‘He’llkillmeifIdo.’‘That’sasmaybe,butI’llkillyouifyoudon’t,andonlyoneofusishere

holdingaknifeatyourthroat,andit’snothim,isit?’Ethanincreasedthepressure.‘Makeyourchoice,myfriend.Dienow,orlater.’JustthenEthanheardanoisetohisleft.HalfasecondlaterhisColtsidearm

wasinhishand,thebladestillatBoot’sthroatashedrewaimonanewtarget.Itwasalittlegirlonherwaybackfromthewell.Wide-eyedshestood,a

bucketbrimmingfullofdirtywaterinonehand.‘I’msorry,miss,Ididn’tmeantostartleyou,’smiledEthan.Hisrevolverwent

backintohisrobesandhisemptyhandreappearedtoassurethegirlhewasn’tathreat.‘Imeanharmonlytoruffiansandthievessuchasthismanhere.Perhapsyoumightliketoreturntoyourlodgings.’Hewasgesturingtoherbutshewasn’tgoinganywhere,juststaringatthemboth,eyeswhiteinagrubbyface,rootedtothespotwithfear.InwardlyEthancursed.Thelastthinghewantedwasanaudience.Especially

whenitwasalittlegirlwatchinghimholdabladetoaman’sthroat.‘Allright,MrBoot,’hesaid,morequietlythanbefore,‘thesituationhas

changedsoI’mgoingtohavetoinsistyoutellmeexactlywhoyouintendedtomeet…’Bootopenedhismouth.MaybehewasabouttogiveEthantheinformationhe

required.OrperhapshewasgoingtotellEthanwherehecouldstickhisthreats.Ormorelikelyitwastosimplywhinethathedidn’tknow.Ethanneverfoundout,becausejustasBootwenttoreply,hisface

disintegrated.IthappenedatwinklingbeforeEthanheardtheshot,andherolledoffthe

bodyanddrewhisrevolverjustasasecondcrackrangout,andherememberedthegirltoolate,hisheadwhippingroundjustintimetoseeherspinaway,bloodbloomingatherchest,anddropherbucketatthesametime–deadbeforeshehitthecobblesfromabulletmeantforhim.Ethandarednotreturnfireforfearofhittinganotherunseeninnocentinthe

fog.Hepulledhimselfintoacrouch,steelinghimselfforanothershot,athirdattackfromthedark.Itnevercame.Insteadtherewasthesoundofrunningfeet,soEthanwipedthe

shardsofboneandbitsofbrainfromhisface,holsteredtheColtandflickedhis

hiddenbladebackintoitshousing,andthenleaptforawall.Bootsonlyjustgainingpurchaseonthewetbrick,heshinnedadrainpipetotheroofofatenement,findingthelightofthenightskyandabletofollowtherunningfootstepsastheshootertriedtomakehisescape.ThiswashowEthanhadenteredtherookeryanditlookedlikethiswashowhewasgoingtoleave,makingshortleapsfromonerooftothenext,traversingtheslumashetrackedhisquarrysilentlyandremorselessly,theimageofthelittlegirlsearedontohismind’seye,themetallicsmellofBoot’sbrainmatterstillinhisnostrils.Onlyonethingmatterednow.Thekillerwouldfeelhisbladebeforethenight

wasout.Frombelowheheardthebootsoftheshootercloppingandsplashingonthe

cobblesandEthanshadowedhimquietly,unabletoseethemanbutknowinghe’dovertakenhim.Comingtotheedgeofabuilding,andfeelinghehadasufficientlead,helethimselfovertheside,usingthesillstodescendquickly,untilhereachedthestreet,wherehehuggedthewall,waiting.Secondslatercamethesoundofrunningboots.Amomentafterthatthemist

seemedtoshiftandbloomasthoughtoannouncethisnewpresence,andthenamaninasuit,withabushymoustacheandthicksidewhiskers,camepeltingintoview.Heheldapistol.Itwasn’tsmoking.Butitmightaswellhavebeen.AndthoughEthanwouldlatertellGeorgeWesthousethathestruckinself-

defenceitwasn’tstrictlytrue.Ethanhadtheelementofsurprise;hecould–andshould–havedisarmedthemanandquestionedhimbeforekillinghim.Insteadheengagedhisbladeandslammeditintothekiller’sheartwithavengefulgruntandwatchedwithnolackofsatisfactionasthelightdiedintheman’seyes.AndbydoingthattheAssassinEthanFryewasmakingamistake.Hewas

beingcareless.

‘MyintentionhadbeentopressBootfortheinformationIneededbeforetakinghisplace,’EthantoldtheAssassinGeorgeWesthousethefollowingday,havingfinishedhistale,‘butwhatIdidn’trealizewasthatBootwaslateforhisappointment.Hisstolenpocketwatchwasslow.’TheysatinthedrawingroomofGeorge’sCroydonhome.‘Isee,’saidGeorge,

‘Atwhatpointdidyourealize?’

‘Um,letmesee.Thatwouldbethepointatwhichitwastoolate.’Georgenodded.‘Whatwasthefirearm?’‘APallMallColt,similartomyown.’‘Andyoukilledhim?’Thefirecrackledandspatintothepausethatfollowed.Sincereconcilingwith

hischildren,JacobandEvie,Ethanwaspensive.‘Idid,George,anditwasnothinglessthanhedeserved.’Georgepulledaface.‘Deservehasnothingtodowithit.Youknowthat.’‘Oh,butthelittlegirl,George.Youshouldhaveseenher.Shewasjustatiny

weething.HalfEvie’sage.’‘Evenso…’‘Ihadnochoice.Hispistolwasdrawn.’Georgelookedathisoldfriendwithconcernandaffection.‘Whichisit,

Ethan?Didyoukillhimbecausehedeservedit,orbecauseyouhadnochoice?’AdozentimesormoreEthanhadwashedhisfaceandblownhisnose,buthe

stillfeltasthoughhecouldsmellBoot’sbrains.‘Mustthetwobemutuallyexclusive?I’mthirty-sevenyearsofageandI’veseenmorethanmyfairshareofkills,andIknowthatnotionsofjustice,equityandretributionplayadistantsecondtoskill,andskillsubordinatetoluck.WhenFortuneturnsherfacetoyou.Whenthekiller’sbulletgoeselsewhere,whenhedropshisguard,youtakeyourchance,beforesheturnsawayagain.’Westhousewonderedwhohisfriendwastryingtofool,butdecidedtomove

on.‘Ashamethenthatyouhadtospillhisblood.Presumablyyouneededtoknowmoreabouthim?’Ethansmiledandmock-wipedhisbrow.‘Iwasrewardedwithalittleluck.

Thephotographicplatehecarriedboreaninscriptionidentifyingthephotographer,soIwasabletoascertainthatthedeadmanandthephotographerwereoneandthesame,afellowbythenameofRobertWaugh.HehasTemplarassociations.Hiseroticprintsweregoingoneway,tothem,butalsoanotherway,totherookeriesandalehouses,viaBoot.’Georgewhistledsoftly.‘WhatadangerousgameMrWaughwasplaying…’‘Yesandno…’Georgeleanedtopokethefire.‘Whatdoyoumean?’

‘Imeantthatinmanywayshisgambleofthetwoworldsstayingseparatepaidoff.Isawtheslumsafreshtoday,George.Iwasremindedofhowthepoorareliving.ThisisaworldsocompletelyseparatefromthatoftheTemplarsthatit’sscarcelybelievablethetwosharethesamecountry,letalonethesamecity.Ifyouaskme,ourfriendMrWaughwasperfectlyjustifiedinbelievingthepathsofhisdisparatebusinessenterprisesmightnevercross.Thetwoworldsinwhichheoperatedwerepolesapart.TheTemplarsknownothingoftherookeries.Theyliveupriverofthefactoryfilththatpollutesthewaterofthepoor,andupwindofthesmogandsmokethatpollutestheirair.’‘Asdowe,Ethan,’saidGeorgesadly.‘Whetherwelikeitornot,oursisa

worldofgentlemen’sclubsanddrawingrooms,oftemplesandcouncilchambers.’Ethanstaredintothefire.‘Notallofus.’Westhousesmiledandnodded.‘You’rethinkingofyourman,TheGhost?

Don’tsupposeyouhaveanythoughtsabouttellingmewhoTheGhostisorwhatheisdoing?’‘Thatmustremainmysecret.’‘Thenwhatofhim?’‘Aha,well,Ihaveformulatedaplan,involvingtherecentlydeceasedMr

WaughandTheGhost.Ifallgoeswell,andTheGhostcandohisjob,thenwemayevenbeabletolayourhandsontheveryartefacttheTemplarsseekthePieceofEden.’

JohnFowlerwastired.Andcold.Andbythelookofthegatheringcloudshewassoontobewet.Sureenough,hefeltthefirstdropsofraintap-tappingonhishat,andthe

engineerclutchedhisleather-boundtubeofdrawingsmoretightlytohischest,cursingtheweather,thenoise,everything.BesidehimstoodtheSolicitorofLondon,CharlesPearson,aswellasCharles’swifeMary,bothflinchingastherainbegantofall,andallthreestoodmaroonedbymud,gazingwithamixtureofforlornnessandaweatthegreatscarintheearththatwasthenewMetropolitanline.Somefiftyyardsinfrontofthetriothegroundgavewaytoasunkenshaftthat

openedintoavastcutting–‘thetrench’–twenty-eightfeetinwidthandsometwohundredyardslong,atwhichpointitstoppedbeingacuttingortrenchandbecameatunnel,itsbrickworkarchprovidingagatewaytowhatwastheworld’sveryfirststretchofundergroundrailwayline.What’smore,theworld’sfirstoperationalstretchofundergroundrailwayline:

trainsranonthenewlylaidrailsnightandday,pushingwagonsheapedwithgravel,clayandsandfromunfinishedsectionsfurtheruptheline.Theychuggedbackandforth,smokeandsteamnearsuffocatingthegangsofnavviesworkingatthemouthofthetunnel,whoshovelledearthintotheleatherbucketsofaconveyorthatinturnbroughtthespoiltogroundlevel.TheoperationwasCharlesPearson’sbaby.Foralmosttwodecadesthe

SolicitorofLondonhadcampaignedforanewlinetohelpeasethegrowingcongestioninLondonanditssuburbs.Theconstructionofit,meanwhile,wasJohnFowler’sbrainchild.Hewas,quiteapartfrombeingtheownerofremarkablyluxuriantwhiskers,themostexperiencedrailwayengineerintheworld,andthushadbeentheobviouscandidateforchiefengineeroftheMetropolitanRailway.However,ashe’dtoldCharlesPearsonontheoccasionof

hisemployment,hisexperiencemightcountfornaught.Thiswas,afterall,somethingthathadneverbeendonebefore:arailwaylinebeneaththeground.Ahuge–no,agargantuan–undertaking.Indeed,therewerethosewhosaidthatitwasthemostambitiousbuildingprojectsincetheconstructionofthepyramids.Agrandclaim,forsure,butthereweredaysthatFowleragreedwiththem.Fowlerhaddecidedthatthemajorityoftheline,beingofshallowdepth,could

bedugusingamethodknownas‘cutandcover’.Itinvolvedsinkingatrenchintotheearth,twenty-eightfeetinwidth,fifteenfeetdeep.Brickretainingwallswerebuiltintoit,threebricksthick.Insomesectionsirongirderswerelaidacrossthetopofthesidewalls.Othersweremadeusingbrickworkarches.Thenthecuttingwascoveredandthesurfacereinstated,anewtunnelcreated.Itmeantdestroyingroadsandhouses,andinsomecasesbuildingtemporary

roadways,onlytohavetorebuildthem.Itmeantmovingthousandsoftonsofspoilandnegotiatinggasandwatermainsandsewers.Itmeantforginganever-endingnightmareofnoiseanddestruction,asthoughabombhaddetonatedinLondon’sFleetValley.No.AsthoughabombwasdetonatingintheFleetValleyeverydayandhaddoneforthelasttwoyears.Workcontinuedovernight,whenflaresandbrazierswouldbelit.Navvies

labouredintwomajorshifts–thechangesignalledbythreetollsofabellatmiddayandmidnight–andsmallerduty-shiftswhenmenwouldmovebetweentasks,swappingoneback-breakingandmonotonousjobforanother,butworking,alwaysworking.Muchofthenoisecamefromthesevenconveyorsusedontheproject,oneof

whichwaserectedhere:atallwoodenscaffoldbuiltintotheshaft,toweringtwenty-fivefeetabovethem,anagentofdirtandringingnoise,likehammerblowsonananvil.Itbroughtspoilfromfurtheralongtheexcavation,andmenworkeditnow,gangsofthem.Somewereintheshaft,someontheground,somedanglinglikelemursofftheframe,theirjobtoensurethepassageoftheconveyorasgiantbucketsfullofclaywerehoistedswingingfromthetrench.Ontheground,menwithspadestoiledatamountainofexcavatedearth,

shovellingitontohorse-drawnwagons,fourofwhichwaited,eachwithacloudofgullshangingoverit,thebirdsswirlinganddippingtopickupfood,unconcernedbytherainthathadbeguntofall.

FowlerturnedtolookatCharles,whoappearedill–heheldahandkerchieftohislips–butotherwiseingoodhumour.TherewassomethingindomitableaboutCharlesPearson,reflectedFowler.Hewasn’tsureifitwasresolveorlunacy.Thiswasamanwhohadbeenlaughedatforthebestpartoftwodecades,indeed,fromwhenhe’dfirstsuggestedanundergroundline.‘Trainsindrains’,sothescoffingwentatthetime.They’dlaughedwhenhe’dunveiledhisplansforanatmosphericrailway,carriagespushedthroughatubebycompressedair.Throughatube.LittlewonderthatforoveradecadePearsonwasafixtureofPunchmagazine.Whatfunwashadathisexpense.Then,witheverybodystillchortlingatthat,therecameascheme,Pearson’s

brainchild–aplantobuildanundergroundrailwaybetweenPaddingtonandFarringdon.TheslumsoftheFleetValleywouldbecleared,theirinhabitantsmovedtohomesoutsidethecity–tothesuburbs–andpeoplewouldusethisnewrailwayto‘commute’.AsuddeninjectionofmoneyfromtheGreatWesternRailway,theGreat

NorthernRailwayandtheCityofLondonCorporation,andtheschemebecameareality.He,thenotedJohnFowler,wasemployedaschiefengineerfortheMetropolitanRailwayandworkbeganonthefirstshaftatEuston–almosteighteenmonthsagototheday.Andwerepeoplestilllaughing?Yes,theywere.Onlynowitwasajagged,mirthlesslaugh.Becausetosaythat

Pearson’svisionoftheslumclearancehadgonebadlywastoputitmildly.Therewerenohomesinthesuburbsandasitturnedout,nobodyespeciallywillingtobuildany.Andthere’snosuchthingasanundercrowdedslum.Allthosepeoplehadtogosomewhere,sotheywenttootherslums.Then,ofcourse,therewasthedisruptioncausedbytheworkitself:streets

madeimpassable,roadsdugup,businessesclosingandtradersdemandingcompensation.Thosewholivedalongtherouteexistedinaneternalchaosofmud,ofengines,oftheconveyor’sironchime,ofhackingpicksandshovelsandnavviesbellowingatoneanother,andinperpetualfearoftheirfoundationscollapsing.Therewasnorespite;atnightfireswerelitandthenightshifttookover,

leavingthedayshifttodowhatmenondayshiftsdo:drinkandbrawltheirwaythroughtomorning.Londonhadbeeninvadedbynavviesitseemed;everywhere

theywenttheymadetheirown–onlytheprostitutesandpublicansweregladofthem.Thenthereweretheaccidents.Firstadrunkentraindriverhadlefttherailsat

King’sCrossandplummetedintotheworksbelow.Nobodyhurt.Punchhadafieldday.ThenalmostayearlatertheearthworksatEustonRoadhadcollapsed,takingwiththemgardens,pavementsandtelegraphwires,destroyinggasandwatermains,punchingaholeinthecity.Incredibly,nobodywashurt.MrPunchenjoyedthatepisodetoo.‘I’dhopedtoheargoodnewstoday,John,’shoutedPearson,raisinghis

handkerchieftohismouth.Afinickything,likeadoily.Hewassixty-eighttoFowler’sforty-fourbuthelookedtwicethat;hiseffortsoverthelasttwodecadeshadagedhim.Despitehisreadysmiletherewaspermanenttirednessroundtheeyes,andthefleshathisjowlswaslikemeltedwaxonacandle.‘WhatcanItellyou,MrPearson?’shoutedFowler.‘Whatwouldyouliketo

hearotherthan…?’Hegesturedoverthesite.Pearsonlaughed.‘Theroaroftheenginesisencouraging,that’strueenough.

Butperhapsalsothatwe’rebackonschedule.OrthateverycompensationlawyerinLondonhasbeenstruckdeadbylightning.ThatHerMajestytheQueenherselfhasdeclaredherconfidenceintheundergroundandplanstouseitatthefirstopportunity.’Fowlerregardedhisfriend,againmarvellingathisspirit.‘ThenI’mafraid,Mr

Pearson,Icangiveyounothingbutbadnews.Wearestillbehindschedule.Andweatherlikethissimplydelaysworkfurther.Therainwilllikelydousetheengineandthemenontheconveyorwillenjoyanunscheduledbreak.’‘Thenthereissomegoodnews,’chortledPearson.‘Andwhat’sthat?’shoutedFowler.‘Wewillhave–’theenginesplutteredanddied–‘silence.’Andforamomenttherewasindeedashockedstillastheworldadjustedto

theabsenceofthenoise.Justthesoundofrainslappingonthemud.Thencameacryfromtheshaft:‘slippage’,andtheylookeduptoseethe

cranescaffoldlurchalittle,oneofthemensuddenlydanglingevenmoreprecariouslythanbefore.‘It’llhold,’saidFowler,seeingPearson’salarm.‘Itlooksworsethanitis.’

Asuperstitiousmanwouldhavecrossedhisfingers.Thenavviesweretakingnochanceseither,andthegangsonthecranescrambledtogroundlevel,swarmingthewoodenstrutslikepiratesonrigging,hundredsofthemitseemed,sothatFowlerwasholdinghisbreathandwillingthestructuretoholdthesuddenextraweight.Itshould.Itmust.Itdid.Andthemenemergedshoutingandcoughing,carryingshovelsandpickaxes,whichwereasprecioustothemastheirlimbs.Theygatheredinknotsthatwoulddividealongregionallines,everysingleoneofthemcakedinmud.FowlerandPearsonwatchedthemcongregateintheexpectedgroups–

London,Irish,Scottish,rural,other–handsshovedintotheirpocketsorwrappedroundthemforwarmth,shouldershunchedandcapspulledtightagainsttherain.JustthentherecameashoutandFowlerturnedtoseeacommotionbythe

trench.Asonethenavvieshadmovedovertolookandnowsurroundedthelipoftheshaft,staringatsomethinginsidethecutting.‘Sir!’thesitemanagerMarchantwaswavingathim,beckoninghimover.He

cuppedhishandstoshout.‘Sir.Youshouldcomeandseethis.’MomentslaterFowlerandPearsonhadmadetheirwayacrossthemud,the

menpartingtoletthemthrough,andtheystoodatthetopofthetrenchlookingdown–pastthestrutsandbucketsofthesilentconveyortothelakeofmuddywaterthathadformedatthebottomandwasalreadyrising.Bobbinginitwasabody.

Therainhadeasedoff,thankGod,andthewaterlevelinthetrenchhadfallen,butthemachinesremainedsilent.Withahandonhishat,Marchanthadrushedawaytoinformhisimmediateboss,Cavanagh,adirectoroftheMetropolitanRailway,whileanothermanhadbeensenttofindabobby.Itwasthepeelerwhoarrivedfirst,ayoungconstablewithbushysidewhiskerswhointroducedhimselfasPoliceConstableAbberlineandthenclearedhisthroatandremovedhiscustodianhelmetinordertogetdowntothebusinessofseeingthebody.‘Hasanybodybeendowntoit,sir?’heaskedPearson,indicatingthetrench.‘Theareawasclearedassoonasitwasdiscovered,constable.Youcan

imagineitcausedquiteastir.’‘Nobodylikestoseeadeadbodybeforetheirelevenses,sir.’Thoseassembledwatchedasthepeelerleanedtentativelytostareintothe

trenchandthensignalledtoamannearby.‘Doyoumind,mate?’hesaid,andhandedtheworkerhishelmet,thenunbuckledandremovedhisbelt,truncheonandhandcuffsbeforedescendingtheladdertoinspectthecorpseatclosequarters.Theycrowdedroundtostaredownintothecuttingandwatchashestepped

roundthebody,liftingonearmandthentheother.Presently,thepeelercrouchedandthewatchersheldtheirbreathinexpectationasheturnedoverthebody.Inthetrench,Abberlineswallowed,unaccustomedtobeingonshowand

wishinghe’dleftinstructionsthatthemenbeaskedtomoveback.Theylinedbothsidesofthetrench.EventhefiguresofFowlerandMrandMrsPearsonwerethere.Allofthemweregazingdownathimfifteenfeetbelow.Right.Heturnedhisattentionbacktothecorpse,puttingasideallself-

consciousthoughtstoconcentrateonthejobathand.Thebodythen.Facedowninthemud,withonearmraisedasthoughtryingto

hailacarriage,thedeadmanworeatweedsuit.Hisbrownbootswerewellshod,

andthoughcoveredinmudwereotherwiseingoodcondition.Nottheattireofaderelict,thoughtAbberline.Crouching,heedlessofthemudthatsoakedhisclotheshetookadeepbreathandreachedtotheman’sshoulders,gruntingwiththeeffortasherolledhimover.FromabovecamearippleofreactionbutAbberlinehadhiseyesclosed,

wantingtodelaythemomenthesawtheman’sface.Withtrepidationheopenedthemandstaredintothedeadgazeofthecorpse.Hewasinhislatethirtiesandhadabushywhite-fleckedPrinceAlbertmoustachethatlookedcaredfor,aswellasthicksidewhiskers.Bythelooksofhimhewasn’tarichmanbutneitherwasheaworker.LikeAbberlinehewasoneofthenewmiddleclasses.Eitherway,thiswasamanwithalife,whosenextofkin,whentheywere

informed,wouldwantanexplanationastohowheendedupinatrenchatNewRoad.Thiswas,withoutdoubt–andAbberlinecouldn’thelpbutfeelasmall,

slightlyshamefulthrillatthethoughtofit–aninvestigation.Hetorehisgazeawayfromtheman’ssightlessopeneyesandlookeddownat

hisjacketandshirt.Visibledespitethemudwasabloodstainwithaneatholeatthecentre.IfAbberlinewasn’tverymuchmistaken,apuncturewound.Abberlinehadseenvictimsofstabwoundsbefore,ofcourse,andheknew

thatpeoplearmedwithknivesstabbedandslashedthesamewaytheypunched.Inquickhaphazardmultiples:bomf,bomf,bomf.Butthiswasasinglewound,directintotheheart.Whatyoumightcallaclean

kill.Bynow,Abberlinewasvibratingwithexcitement.He’dfeelguiltyaboutthat

later,rememberingthattherewas,afterall,adeadmaninvolved,andyoushouldn’treallyfeelanythingbutsorrowforhimandhisfamilyinthatsituation,andcertainlynotexcitement.Butevenso…Hebeganaquicksearchofthebodyandfounditimmediately:arevolver.

Christ,hethought,thiswasageezerarmedwithagunwho’dlostafightwithaknifeman.Hepushedthegunbackintoajacketpocket.‘We’llneedtoliftthisbodyoutofhere,’hecalledupinthegeneraldirection

ofthebossmen.‘Sirs,couldyouhelpmetocoverhimandputhiminacartfortakingtothepolicemorgue?’

Withthathestartedtoascendtheladder,justasorderswerecalledoutandateamofmenbegantodescendtheotherladderswithvaryingdegreesofeagernessandtrepidation.Atthetop,Abberlinestoodwipinghismuckyhandsontheseatofhistrousers.Atthesametimehescannedthelinesofassembledmen,wonderingifthekillerwasintheresomewhere,admiringhishandiwork.Allhesawwasrowuponrowofdirtyfaces,allwatchinghimintently.Othersstillcrowdedaroundthemouthofthecutting,watchingasthebodywasbroughtupthenlaidontheflatbedofacart.Thetarpaulinflappedasitwasshakenoutthendrapedoverhim,ashroud,thefaceofthedeadmanhiddenagain.Bynowithadstartedtoraininearnest,butAbberline’sattentionhadbeen

arrestedbythesightofasmartlydressedmanmakinghiswayovertheboardsthatcrossedtheexpanseofmudtowardsthem.Notfarbehindlollopedalackeycarryingalargeleather-boundjournal,itslacesdancingandjerkingasthelackeytriedunsuccessfullytokeepupwithhismaster.‘MrFowler!MrPearson!’calledtheman,gesturingwithhiscaneand

instantlycommandingtheirattention.Theentiresitequietened,butinanewway.Therewasmuchshufflingoffeet.Menweresuddenlystudyingtheirbootsintently.Ohyes?thoughtAbberline.Whathavewehere?LikeFowlerandPearsonthenewarrivalworeasmartsuit,thoughheworeit

withmorestyle–inawaythatsuggestedhewasusedtocatchingtheeyeofapassinglady.Hehadnopaunchandhisshouldersweresquared,notstoopedwithstressandworrylikehistwocolleagues.Abberlinecouldseethatwhenhedoffedhishatitwouldbetorevealafullheadofalmostshoulder-lengthhair.Butthoughhisgreetingwaswarm,hissmile,whichwasamechanicalthingthatwasoffasquicklyasitwason,neverreachedhiseyes.Thoseladiesimpressedbyhismodeofdressandgeneraldemeanourmightwellhavethoughttwiceuponseeingthelookinthosecoldandpiercingeyes.AsthemanandhislackeydrewclosetothemAbberlinelookedfirstat

PearsonandFowler,notingthediscomfortintheireyesandthehesitationinCharlesPearsonasheintroducedtheman.‘Thisisourassociate,MrCavanagh,adirectoroftheMetropolitancompany.Heoverseestheday-to-dayrunningofthedig.’Abberlinetouchedhisbrow,thinkingtohimself,What’syourstorythen?

‘Ihearabodyhasbeendiscovered,’saidCavanagh.Hehadalargescarontherightsideofhisface,asthoughsomebodyhadonceusedaknifetounderlinehiseye.‘Indeed,sir,ithas,’sighedPearson.‘Let’sseeitthen,’demandedCavanagh,andinthenextmomentAbberline

drewbackthetarpaulinonlyforCavanaghtoshakehisheadinnon-recognition.‘NobodyIknow,thankGod,andnotoneofoursbythelooksofhim.Asoak.Adrunklikethepoorsoulserenadingusoverthere,nodoubt.’Hewavedatwhere,ontheothersideofthefence,abroken-downmanstood

watchingthem,occasionallybreakingintosongashebrandishedabottleofsomethingfoulandbroken.Cavanaghturnedhisbackonthecart.‘Marchant!Getthesemenbackto

work.We’velostenoughtimeasitis.’‘No,’camealonevoice,anditwasthevoiceofMrsPearson.Shetookastep

infrontofherhusband.‘Amanhasdiedhere,andasamarkofrespectweshouldsuspendthedigforthemorning.’Cavanagh’sautomaticsmilewasswitchedon.Instantlyoleaginousheswiped

histallhatfromhisheadandbowedlow.‘MrsPearson,pleaseforgiveme,howremissitisofmetoforgetthattherearemoredelicatesensibilitiespresent.However,asyourhusbandwillattest,weareoftenthesiteofmisadventuresandI’mafraidthatthemerepresenceofadeadbodyisnotenoughtopreventthetunnelworkcontinuing.’MrsPearsonturned.‘Charles?’Inreturnherhusbandloweredhiseyes.His

glovedhandsfrettedatthehandleofhisstick.‘MrCavanaghiscorrect,mydear.Thepoorsoulhasbeenremoved;work

mustcontinue.’Shelookedsearchinglyatherhusband,whoavertedhisgaze,thenMrs

Pearsonpickedupherskirtsandleft.Abberlinewatchedhergo,notingCavanagh’sairofslytriumphashewent

aboutthebusinessofmusteringMarchantandthemen,andthesadnessinthefaceofCharlesPearson,amantorn,ashetooturnedtoleaveinthewakeofhiswife.Meanwhile,AbberlinehadtogetthiscorpsetoBelleIsle.Hisheartsankto

thinkofit.TherewasscarcelyaworseplaceonthewholeofGod’sgreenearth

thantheBelleIsleslum.

Amongthemenwhowere,atthatverymoment,beingurged,cajoled,bulliedandthreatenedbacktoworkbythesitemanagerwasayoungIndianworkerwho,thoughheappearedontheworksheetasBharat,andifanyofthemenworkingbesidehimwerecuriousenoughtoaskthatwasthenamehewouldgivethem,thoughtofhimselfbyanothername.HethoughtofhimselfasTheGhost.ToalloutwardappearancesTheGhostwasunremarkable.Heworesimilar

clothestotheothernavvies:shirt,neckscarf,railwayman’scap,waistcoatandworkcoat–thoughnoboots,hewentbarefoot–andhewasacompetent,conscientiousworker,nobetterorworsethanthenextman,andhewasperfectlypersonableshouldyouengagehiminconversation,notespeciallyloquaciousandcertainlynotthesorttoinitiateaconversation,butthenagainnotparticularlyretiringeither.ButTheGhostwasalwayswatching.Alwayswatching.He’dcaughtsightof

thebodyandbygoodfortunehadbeencloseenoughtolookbeforetheorderwasgiventoevacuatethetrench.He’dalsoseenthedrunkardbythefenceandintheensuingcommotionhadbeenabletocatchhiseyeandthen,asifrespondingtoanitchhehadrubbedhisownchest,atinyinsignificantgesturepracticallyinvisibletoanybodyelse.Andthenhe’dwatchedasAbberlinearrived.He’dwatchedCavanaghcome

bustlingontothesite,andhe’dwatchedverycarefullyindeedasthetarpaulinwasdrawnbackandCavanaghhadgazeddownuponthefaceofthedeadmanandhiddenhislookofrecognition.Oh,hewasgood.TheGhosthadtogivehimthat.Cavanagh’spowersof

concealmentwerealmostonaparwithhisown,buthiseyeshadflickeredbrieflyashelookeddownupontheface.Heknewtheman.NowTheGhostwatchedasAbberlineleftonthecart,takingthebodytoBelle

Islenodoubt.AndhewatchedasshortlyafterAbberlinehadleft,thedrunkhaddeparted

PrinceAlberthadbeendeadsomemonths,andthoughhistasteinfacialhairlivedon,hisadherencetodecencyandgoodmannershadevidentlyfailedtopercolatethroughtothegeneralpublic.Quitethereverseitseemed;therewasapallthathungoverLondon,darkandmalignant.Someblameditonthequeen’sabsence;shemournedAlbertstillandhadtakentotheHighlandstodoso.Otherssaidtheovercrowdingwastoblame–theterriblestink,thepovertyandcrime–amongthemthosemadmenwhothoughtthebestwaytosolvethatproblemwasbybuildinganundergroundrailway.Stillotherssaidthatactuallyitwasnottheovercrowdingthatwastoblame;ratheritwastheconstructionoftheundergroundrailwaythathadthrownthecityintodisarray.ThislastgroupwereapttopointoutthattheundergroundrailwayhadthusfarexacerbatedovercrowdingbyevictingthousandsoftenantsfromtheirhomesintheFleetValley,thecity’sbiggestslum.Whichwastrue;ithad.Ah,butatleastwe’vegotridofthecity’sbiggestslum,saidthefirstgroup.Notreally,scoffedthesecondgroup.You’vejustmovedanothersluminto

firstplace.Havepatience,pleadedthefirstgroup.No,saidthesecond,wewon’t.Sittingontheboardofhiscart,reinsheldlooselyinonehand,Abberline

thoughtitover,howthehigher-upsmadedecisionsintheclubsandboardroomsthataffectedusall.Andtowhatend?Forthegreatergood?Ortheirownpersonalbenefit?AlinefromLordTennyson’spoemaboutthechargeoftheLightBrigadesprangtomind:‘Theirsnottoreasonwhy,theirsbuttodoordie.’Hiscartclatteredovertherailstowardswherethetall,spiredbuildingsof

BelleIsleappearedlikeasmudgeofdirtonthehorizon.Alreadyhecouldsmellthefoulstenchofthehorseslaughterers,theboneboilers,fat-melters,chemicalworks,fireworkmakersandthelucifer-matchfactories.

Tohisleftsomepoordeludedidiothadmadeavaliantattempttogrowakitchengardenbutitwasoverrunwithsicklyweedsthatclimbedtheironfencessproutingoneithersideofhim.Dirty,barelyclothedchildrenwererunninginthewastelandoneitherside,lobbingoldtincansatoneanother,scurryinginthestreetoutsidethecottages.Insideeachhomewereroomsandwashhouses,andatnightthehouseholdersandtheirtenantswouldcraminside,justastheywouldattheRookery.Hiscartcamepastthehorseslaughterers.Underthearchwentlivinghorses,

whosesenseofsmellandinstinctmustsurelyhavewarnedthemwhatlayahead,andinthefactorytheywouldbeputtodeath,thenthefleshboiledincoppervatsforcatfood.Outsideintheyardsmenstrippedtothewaistusedsledgehammerstobreak

upbones,watchedbyever-presentgroupsofchildrencladinfilthyragstingedyellowfromthesulphurintheair.Abberlinesawagroupwhohadobviouslytiredofwatching–afterall,it

wasn’tanactivitywithanawfullotofvariety–andsetupagameofcricketinstead.Withouttheusualequipmentthey’dimprovisedwithpartofanoldbedsteadforabat,whiletheballwas…Abberlinewinced.OhGod.Theywereusingthedecapitatedheadofakitten.Hewasabouttoshoutacrosstothem,tourgethemforpity’ssaketouse

somethingelseforaball,whenhebecameawareofachildwhohadwanderedinfrontofthecart,forcinghimtopullup.‘Oi,’hecalled,wavinganiratehandattheyoungruffian,‘policebusiness.

Getoutofthebleedin’way.’Butthescruffyurchindidn’tmove.‘Whereareyouoffto,sir?’heasked,

takingtheheadofthehorseinbothhands,strokingit.ThesightsoftenedAbberline’sheartalittle,andheforgothisirritationastheboyrubbedhisfingertipsovertheanimal’sears,enjoyingtherareintimacyofthemoment:boyandhorse.‘Whereareyouoffto,sir?’theboyrepeated,tearinghiseyesoffthehorseand

turninghisurchingazeonAbberline.‘Nottotheknacker’syardwiththisone,Ihope.Sayitain’tso.’InhisperipheralvisionAbberlinesensedamovementandturnedtoseethree

otheryoungscallywagsclimbbeneaththefenceandcomeontotheroadbehind

him.Letthem,hethought.Nothingofvaluebackthere.Notunlessyoucountedasoggycorpseandthetarpaulin.‘No,don’tworryyourself,son,I’mofftothemortuarywithabodyonthe

back.’‘Abody,isit?’Thiscamefromtherear.Oneofthenewarrivals.Acouplemorechildrenhadarrivedbynow.Alittlecrowdofthemmilling

around.‘Oi,you,getoutofit,’warnedAbberline.‘Nothingbacktheretointerestyou.’‘Canwehavealook,sir?’‘Noyoubloodywellcan’t,’hecalledoverhisshoulder.‘Nowgetoutofit

beforeyoufeelthebusinessendofmytruncheon.’Thefirstboystoodpettingthehorsestill,raisinghisfacetospeakto

Abberlineagain.‘Whyisthepoliceinvolved,sir?Didthisonemeetastickyend?’‘Youmightsaythat,’repliedAbberline,impatientnow.‘Standaside,son,and

letmepast.’Thecartbouncedandjerkedandhewasabouttoturntoadmonishthekids

whowereobviouslytryingtopeekbeneaththetarpaulin,ghoulishlittlesods,whenitbouncedagainandthistimeAbberline,irritatedandwantingtogetthehelloutofBelleIsle,shookthereinsdecisively.‘Walkon,’hecommanded.Ifthekidstoodintheway,well,thatwashis

lookout.Hedrewforwardandthechildwasforcedtostepaside.Ashepassed,

Abberlinelookeddowntoseetheyoungurchinsmilinginscrutablyupathim.‘Goodluckwithyourbody,sir,’hesaid,touchinghisknuckletohisforelockinaderisivewaythatAbberlinedidn’tcarefor.Inreturnhemerelygruntedandshookthereinsagain,settinghisfaceforward.Hewentpasttherestofthehousestothemortuarygate,wherehecoughedloudlytorouseaworkerwho’dbeendozingonawoodenchairandwhotippedhishatandlethimthroughintotheyard.‘Whathavewegothere?’saidasecondmortuaryworkerasheemergedfrom

asidedoor.Abberlinehadclambereddownfromthecart.Attheentrance,sleepyhead

closedthegates,behindhimtheBelleIsleslumlikeasootythumbprintona

window.‘BodyIneedkeepingcoldforthecoroner,’repliedAbberline,securingthereinsastheattendantwenttotherearofthewagon,liftedthetarp,peeredbeneath,thendroppeditagain.‘Youwanttheknacker’syard,’hesaidsimply.‘Comeagain?’saidAbberline.Theattendantsighedandwipedhishandsonhisapron.‘Unlessthisisyour

ideaofajokeyouwantthebleedin’knacker’syardiswhatIsaid.’Abberlinepaled,alreadythinkingofhisencounterwiththeslumchildrenand

thewayhiscarthadshook,rememberinghowhisattentionhadbeenarrested,cleverly,perhaps,bythekidnuzzlingtheneckofhishorse.Andsureenough,whenheskiddedtothebackofthecartandsweptbackthe

tarpaulin,itwastoseethatthebodyfromthetrenchhadgone;initsplaceadeadpony.

EverynightTheGhostmadethesamejourneyhome,whichtookhimalongtheNewRoadandpastMaryleboneChurch.Inthechurchyard,amongtheramshackleandraggle-tagglegroupingsofheadstoneswasoneinparticularthathewouldlookatashewentby.Ifthestonewasupright,asitwasmostevenings,thatmeantnomessage.If

thestoneleanedtotheright,itmeantdanger.Justthat:danger.ItwasuptoTheGhosttoworkoutwhatmannerofdanger.However,ifitleanedtotheleftthenitmeanthishandlerwantedtoseehim:

usualtime,usualplace.Andthen,havingperformedthatcheck,TheGhostbeganhisfive-milewalk

hometoWappingandhislivingquartersattheThamesTunnel.Ithadoncebeencalledoneofthegreatwondersoftheworld,andevenat

groundlevelitcutanimposingfigureamongthesurroundingbuildings:aspiredoctagonalmarblebuildingactingasanentrancehall.Enteringthroughdoorsthatwerenevershut,hecrossedthemosaicfloortoreachaside-building,thewatch-house.Duringthedaytimepedestrianshadtopayapennytopassthroughandreachthestepsdownintothetunnel,butnotatnight.ThebrassturnstilewasclosedbutTheGhostclimbedover,justaseverybodydid.Icehadformedonthemarblestepsthatspiralledroundtheinsideoftheshaft,

sohetrodmorecarefullythanusualashedescendedtothefirstplatform,andthentothenext,andfinallytothebottomoftheshaft–thegrandrotunda,morethantwohundredandfiftyfeetunderground.Onceithadbeenvastandopulent,nowitwasmerelyvast.Thewallsweredirty,thestatuesscruffy.Theyearshadhadtheirsay.Evenso,itwasstillasighttosee:alcovessetintogrubbystuccowalls.Inside

thenooks,curledbeneathsacks,sleptthepeopleoftherotunda:the

necromancers,fortunetellersandjugglerswhointhedaytimepliedtheirtradetothosevisitingthetunnel,thefamousThamesTunnel.Thefirstofitskindanywhere,ever,theThamesTunnelstretchedfromhere,

Wapping,belowtherivertoRotherhitheandhadtakenfifteenyearstobuild,almostdefeatingMrMarcBrunelandclaimingthelifeofhissonIsambard,whohadneardrownedinoneofthefloodsthathadplagueditsconstruction.Bothhadhopedtoseetheirtunnelusedbyhorse-drawncarriages,buthadbeenundonebythecost,andinsteaditbecameatouristattraction,visitorspayingtheirpennytowalkitsthousand-feetlength,anentiresubterraneanindustryspringingforthtoservethem.TheGhostmovedfromtheentrancehalltotheblackmouthofthetunnel

itself,itstwoarchespointingathimlikethebarrelsofpistols.Itwaswideanditsceilinghigh,butthebrickworkpressedinandeachfootfallbecameanecho,whilethesuddenchangeinatmospheremadehimmoreawareofthegloom.Indaytimehundredsofgaslampsbanishedthedarknessbutatnighttheonlyilluminationbelongedtotheflickeringcandlesofthosewhomadethetunneltheirhome:traders,mystics,dancersandanimalhandlers,singers,clownsandstreetdealers.Itwassaidthattwomillionpeopleayeartookawalkdownthetunnel,andhaddonesinceitopenedsomenineteenyearsago.Onceyouhadaplaceatthetunnelopeningyoudidn’tleaveit,notforfearthatsomeotherhawkermightstealitwithyouabsent.TheGhostlookedovertheslumberingbodiesofthetradesmenand

entertainersashepassedby,hisfootstepsringingonthestonefloor.Hepeeredintoalcovesandpassedhislanternoverthosesleepingunderthearchesofthepartitionthatranthelengthofthetunnel.Astricthierarchyoperatedinsidethetunnel.Thetradesmentooktheirplaces

atthemouth.Furtheralong,thederelicts,thehomeless,thevagrants,thewretched;andthenevenfurtheralong,thethieves,criminalsandfugitives.Comemorningtime,thetraders,whohadavestedinterestinmakingsurethe

tunnelwasfreeofvagrantsandassanitaryaspossible,wereenthusiasticinhelpingthepeelersclearoutthetunnel.Theblaggersandfugitiveswouldhavedepartedundercoverofdarkness.Therestofthem,thevagabonds,beggars,prostitutes,wouldcomegrumblingandblinkingintothelight,clutchingtheirbelongings,readyforanotherdayofsurvivingonnothing.

TheGhost’slanternplayedoverasleepingfigureinthegloomofanalcove.Thenextalcovewasempty.Heswungthetorchtoilluminatethearchesofthetunnelpartitionandtheytoowerevacant.Hesensedthemiserlylightrecedingbehindhim,theglowgivenoffbyhislanternsoverymeagreallofasudden,dancingeerilyonthebrick.Fromwithinthedarknesshadcomeascuttlingsoundandheraisedhislightto

seeafigurecrouchedinanookaheadofhim.‘Hello,MrBharat,’saidtheboyinawhisper.TheGhostwenttohim,reachingintohiscoatsforathickcrustofbreadhe’d

putthereearlier.‘Hello,Charlie,’hesaid,handingitover.Theboyflinchedalittle,fartooaccustomedtotheslapsandpunchesofgrown-ups,thentookthebread,staringatTheGhostwithgratefuleyesashebitintoit,cautiouslyatfirst.Theydiditeverynight.Thesameflinch.Thesamecaution.Andeverynight

TheGhost,whoknewnothingoftheboy’sbackground,justthatitinvolvedviolenceandabuse,smiledathim,said,‘Seeyoutomorrownight,Charlie.Takecareofyourself,’andlefttheboyinhisalcove,hisheartbreakingashemadehiswayfurtherintothetunnel.Againhestopped.Hereinanotheralcovelayamanwithalegbrokenfroma

fallontheicystepsoftherotunda.TheGhosthadsetthelegandheheldhisbreathagainstthestenchofpissandshittocheckthathissplintwasstillinplaceandthatthelegwasonthemend.‘You’reafinelad,Bharat,’growledhispatient.‘Haveyoueaten?’askedTheGhost,attendingtotheleg.Hewasnotamanof

delicatesensibilitiesbutevenso–Jakewasripe.‘Maggiebroughtmesomebreadandfruit,’saidJake.‘WhatwouldwedowithoutMaggie?’wonderedTheGhostaloud.‘We’ddie,son,iswhatwe’ddo.’TheGhoststraightened,pretendingtolookbackupthetunnelinordertotake

alungfulofuncontaminatedair–relativelyspeaking.‘Legislookinggood,Jake,’hesaid.‘Anothercoupleofdaysandyoumightbeabletoriskabath.’Jakechuckled.‘Thatbad,eh?’‘Yes,Jake,’saidTheGhost,pattinghisshoulder.‘I’mafraidit’sthatbad.’TheGhostleft,pressingfurtheronintothetunnel,untilhecametothelastof

thealcovesusedforsleeping.HerewaswhereheandMaggiestayed.Maggie,at

sixty-two,wasoldenoughtobehisgrandmother,buttheylookedafteroneanother.TheGhostbroughtfoodandmoney,andeverynighthetaughtMaggietoreadbythelightofacandle.Maggie,forherpart,wasthetunnelmother,arabble-rousingmouthpiecefor

TheGhostwhenheneededone,anintimidating,redoubtablefigure.Nottobetrifledwith.Beyondthispointfewpeopledaredtotread.Beyondthispointwasthe

darkness,anditwasnocoincidencethatthiswaswhereTheGhosthadmadehishome.Hestayedhereasakindofborderguard,protectingthosewhosleptinthetunnelfromthemiscreantsandmalfeasants,thelawbreakersandfugitiveswhosoughtshelterinitsdarkerregions.Beforehehadarrivedtheoutlawswouldpreyuponthosewholivedinthe

tunnel.Ithadtakenawhile.Bloodhadbeenspilt.ButTheGhosthadputastoptothat.

OnthenightthatTheGhosthadfirstmetMaggie,hehadbeentakinghisroutebackhome–ifyoucouldcallit‘home’,hislodging,hisrestingplaceinthetunnel.Occasionally,ashewalked,helethisminddriftbacktohisrealhome,

AmritsarinIndia,wherehehadgrownup.Herememberedspendinghischildhoodandadolescenceroamingthegrounds

ofhisparents’houseandthenthe‘katras’–thedifferentareasofthecityitself.Memorycanplaytricksonyou–itcanmakethingsseembetterorworsethantheyreallywere,andTheGhostwasfullyawareofthat.Heknewhewasindangerofidealizinghischildhood.Afterall,howeasyitwouldbetoforgetthatAmritsar,unlikeLondon,hadnotyetacquiredadrainagesystemandthusrarelysmelledofthejasmineandherbsthatherecalledsovividly.HemightforgetthatthosewalledstreetswhichloomedsolargeinhisrecollectionshadplayedhosttocharactersasunsavouryasanywhereelseinIndia.Possiblythesundidn’treallybathetheentirecityingoldenlightalldayandallnight,warmingthestone,makingthefountainsglimmer,paintingsmilesonthefacesofthosewhomadethecitytheirhome.Possiblynot.Butthatwashowheremembereditanyway,andifhewas

honestthatwashowhepreferredtorememberit.Thosememorieskepthimwarminthetunnelatnight.HewasbornJayadeepMir.Likeallboysheidolizedhisfather,ArbaazMir.

HismotherusedtosaythathisfathersmelledofthedesertandthatwashowTheGhostrememberedhimtoo.FromanearlyageArbaaztoldJayadeepthatgreatnesslayaheadofhim,andthathewouldonedaybeaveneratedAssassin,andhehadmadethisfuturesoundasthrillingasitwasinevitable.Inthecomfortableconfinesofhislovingparents’home,Jayadeephadgrownupknowinggreatcertainty.

ArbaazlikedtotellstoriesjustasmuchasJayadeeplovedtohearthem,andbestofthemallwasthestoryofhowArbaazhadmethiswife,Pyara.Inthisone,Arbaazandhisyoungmuteservant,RazaSoora,hadbeentryingtofindtheKoh-i-Noordiamond,theMountainofLight.ItwasduringhisattemptstoretrievethediamondfromtheImperialPalacethatArbaazbecameinvolvedwithPyaraKaur,granddaughterofRanjitSingh,thefounderoftheSikhEmpire.TheKoh-i-NoordiamondwaswhattheycalledaPieceofEden,those

artefactsdistributedaroundtheglobethatwerethesoleremnantsofacivilizationthatprecededourown.Jayadeepknewoftheirpowerbecausehisparentshadseenitforthemselves.

Arbaaz,PyaraandRazahadallbeentherethenightthediamondwasactivated.Theyhadallseenthecelestiallightshow.Talkingofwhatthey’dwitnessed,hisparentswerecandidabouttheeffectithaduponthem.Whatthey’dseenhadmadethemmoredevoutandmoreferventintheirbeliefthatsuchgreatpowershouldneverbewieldedbytheirenemies,theTemplars.Theyinstilledthatintheboy.Backthen,growingupinanAmritsarpaintedgoldbythesunandbeing

mentoredbyafatherwhowaslikeagodtohim,JayadeepcouldnothaveconceivedofadaywhenhemightbenamedTheGhost,huddledinafreezingdarktunnel,aloneintheworld,veneratedbynobody.Traininghadbegunwhenhewasfourorfiveyearsold,butalthoughitwas

physicallydemandingworkithadneverseemedlikeachore;hehadnevercomplainedorplayedtruant,andtherewasoneverysimplereasonforthis:hewasgoodatit.No.Morethanthat.Hewasgreat.Anaturalfromthedayhewashandedhis

firstwoodentrainingblade,akukri.JayadeephadagiftforcombatsuchashadbeenrarelywitnessedintheIndianBrotherhood.Hewasextraordinarily,almostsupernaturally,fastinattack,andmorethanusuallyresponsiveindefence;heboastedtremendouspowersofobservationandanticipation.Hewassogood,infact,thathisfatherfeltimpelledtocalluponanothertutor.Intotheboy’slifecameEthanFrye.MeetingEthanFryewasamongTheGhost’searliestmemories:thistired-

looking,melancholyman,whoseWesternrobesseemedtohangheavieronhimthanthoseofhisfather.

Justatinychild,theboyhadneithertheinclinationnortheinitiativetoaskaboutEthanFrye.Asfarashewasconcerned,theelderAssassinmightaswellhavefallenfromtheskies,tumbledtoearthlikeadownheartedangelcometosullyhisotherwiseidyllicexistence.‘Thisistheboythen?’Ethanhadasked.Theyhadbeensittingintheshadedcourtyardatthetime,theclamourofthe

streetsoutsidedriftingoverthewallandjoiningthebirdsongandthesofttinkleofafountain.‘Thisisindeedtheboy,’saidArbaazproudly.‘ThisisJayadeep.’‘Agreatwarrioryousay.’‘Agreatwarriorinthemaking–oratleastIthinkso.I’vebeentraininghim

myselfandI’vebeenastonished,Ethan,astonishedbyhisnaturalaptitude.’Arbaazstood,andinthehousebehindhimJayadeepglimpsedhismother,seeingthetwoofthematonce.Forthefirsttime,perhapsduetothepresenceofthisgruffstranger,hewasawareoftheirbeautyandgrace.Hesawthemaspeopleratherthanjusthisparents.Withouttakinghiseyesfromtheboy,EthanFryeclaspedhishandsoverhis

bellyandspokeoverhisshouldertoArbaaz.‘Supernaturalinhisabilities,yousay?’‘Itislikethat,Ethan,yes.’EyesstillonJayadeep.‘Supernatural,eh?’‘Alwaysthinkingtwoorthreemovesahead,’answeredArbaaz.‘Asoneshould.’‘Atsixyearsold?’EthanturnedhisgazeonJayadeeponceagain.‘It’sprecocious,I’lladmit,but

…’‘Iknowwhatyou’regoingtosay.Thatsofarhehasbeensparringwithme

andasfatherandsonwenaturallyshareabondandthatmaybe,justmaybe,I’mexhibitingcertaintellsthatgivehimtheedge,yes?’‘Ithadcrossedmymind.’‘Well,that’swhyyou’rehere.I’dlikeyoutotakechargeoftraining

Jayadeep.’Intriguedbytheboy,EthanFryeagreedtoArbaaz’srequestandfromthatday

hetookupresidenceatthehouse,drillingtheboyinswordcraft.

Theboy,knowinglittleofwhatdroveEthan,wasconfusedatfirstbyhisnewtutor’sgruffmannersandroughtone.Jayadeepwasnotonetorespondtothetouchofadisciplinarian,andithadtakensomemonthsforthetwoofthemtoformatutor–pupilrelationshipthatwasn’tcharacterizedbysourasides(Ethan),harshwords(Ethan)andtears(Jayadeep).Forsometime,infact,JayadeepbelievedthatEthanFryesimplydidnotlike

him,whichcameassomethingofacultureshock.Theboywashandsomeandcharismatic.Heknewnexttonothingoftheadultworldandalthoughheremainedoblivioustoconceptssuchascharmandpersuasionhewasinstinctivelyadeptatbeingbothcharmingandpersuasive,abletotwisthisfamilyandhouseholdroundhislittlefinger,seeminglyatwill.Hewasthesortoflittleboythatgrown-upslovedtotouch.Neverwasaboy’shairsoconstantlyruffledbythemen,hischeekrarelylastinglongerthanhalfanhourwithoutoneofthehouseholdwomenpraisinghissmileandplantingakissonhim,inhalinghisfreshlittle-boysmellatthesametime,silentlyluxuriatinginthesoftnessofhisskin.ItwasasthoughJayadeepwereadrugtowhichallwhomethimbecame

addicted.All,thatwas,exceptEthan,whoworeapermanentlypensiveandpreoccupied

expression.Itwastruethatoccasionallythelightwouldcometohim,andwhenitdidJayadeepfanciedhesawsomethingofthe‘old’ormaybethe‘real’Ethan,asthoughtherewereadifferentEthanstrugglingtopeeroutfrombeneaththegloom.OtherwiseitseemedthatwhateverJayadeephadthatintoxicatedothergrown-upssimplyfailedtoworkonhistutor.Theseweretherathershakyfoundationsonwhichtheirtutorialswerebuilt:

Ethan,inagreystudy;Jayadeepconfusedbythisnewtypeofgrown-up,whodidn’tlavishhimwithaffectionandpraise.Oh,ofcourseEthanwasforcedtooffergrudgingpraiseforJayadeep’sskillsincombat.Howcouldhenot?JayadeepexcelledateveryaspectofAssassincraft,andintheenditwasthismorethananythingthatcrackedopentheirrelationship,becauseifthere’sonethingaskilledAssassincanadmireandappreciate,evengrowtolike,it’saninitiatewithpromise.AndJayadeepwasmostcertainlythat.So,astheyearspassed,andmasterandpupilsparredintheshadeofthe

courtyardtrees,discussedtheorybythefountains,andthenputtheirteachings

intopracticeinthestreetsofthecity,itwasasthoughEthanbegantothawtowardshisyoungcharge,andwhenhespokeoftakingtheboyfromwoodtosteeltherewasanunmistakablenoteofprideinhisvoice.Forhispart,Jayadeepbegantolearnalittleabouthisreflectivementor.

Enough,infact,forhimtorealizethat‘glum’wasthewrongadjective,andthat‘troubled’wasmoreaccurate.Evenatthatagehewasremarkablyintuitive.What’smore,therecameadaywhenheoverheardthewomeninthekitchen

talking.HeandEthanwerepractisingastealthexerciseinthegroundsofthehouse,andEthanhadcommandedhimtoreturnwithinformationobtainedusingcovertmeans.WhenTheGhostthoughtaboutthisyearslater,itoccurredtohimthatsending

asmallchildtogathercovertinformationwasaplanfraughtwithpossiblepitfalls,notleastthatthechildmightlearnsomethingunsuitableforyoungears.Which,asitturnedout,wasexactlywhathappened.Ashewaslatertolearn,though,Ethanwas,despiteoutwardappearances,

pronetomakingtheoddrashandhastydecision,aswellasbeingpossessedofwhatyoumightcallasenseofmischief,andthinkingback,Ethan’sinstructionsfortheexercisewereperhapsthefirsttimeJayadeepsawanoutwardmanifestationofthisinhistutor.SoJayadeepwentonhisexerciseandtwohourslaterjoinedEthanatthe

fountain.Hetookaseatonthestonebesidewherehismastersatlookingpensiveasusual,choosingnottoacknowledgeJayadeepaswashiscustom.LikeeverythingelseaboutEthan,thishadtakenJayadeeptimetogetusedto,andgettingusedtoitwasaprocessthatinvolvedmovingfirstfrombeingoffendedtobeingconfusedandlastlyacceptingthathislackofwarmthwasinitsownwayameasureofthefamiliaritythetwoofthemshared,thesetwomensofarapartinageandculture–oneofthemanexperiencedkiller,theothertrainingtobeone.‘Tellme,mydearboy,whatdidyoulearn?’askedEthan.EthancallingJayadeep‘mydearboy’wasarelativelynewdevelopment.One

thatpleasedJayadeep,asithappened.‘Ilearntsomethingaboutyou,master.’MaybethenEthanregrettedsendinghisyoungchargeonthisparticular

assignment.It’sdifficulttoimaginethathehadplannedit,butthenwhocansay

whatwasinEthanFrye’smind.Whocaneversay?Theboyhadnowayofknowing,butasaneagerpupilandonewhohadbeenschooledinobservationhenaturallywatchedhistutorcloselyforsignsthathemighthavecausedoffenceorsteppedoveraline.‘Thiswastittle-tattleyouoverheardwasit,son?’‘“Tittle-tattle”,master?’‘Tittle-tattlemeansgossip–and,asI’vealwaystoldyou,gossipcanbeavery

powerfulinformationtool.Youdidwelltogleanwhatyoucouldfromwhatyouoverheard.’‘You’renotangry?’AcertainplacidlookhadcrossedEthan’sfeatures.Asthoughsomefeelingof

internalturmoilwerebeinglaidtorest.‘No,Jayadeep,’hesaid,‘I’mnotangrywithyou.Praytellmewhatitwasthatyouheard.’‘Youmightnotlikeit.’‘Idon’tdoubtit.Goaheadanyway.’‘ThewomenweresayingthatyouhadawifeinEnglandbutthatshedied

givingbirthtoyourtwochildren.’Itwasasthoughthecourtyardstilledastheboyawaitedhismaster’sresponse.‘That’strue,Jayadeep,’saidEthanafterawhile,exhalingthroughasigh.‘And

whenItriedtolookatmychildren,EvieandJacob,IfoundIcouldnot.InvitedbacktoIndia,IsupposeyouwouldhavetosaythatIfled,Jayadeep.IfledmyhomeinCrawleyandmychildrentocomehereandswelterinthesunwithyou.’Jayadeepthoughtofhisownmotherandfather.Hethoughtoftheloveand

affectiontheylavisheduponhimandhisheartwentouttothesetwochildren.Hehadnodoubttheywerelookedafter,butevensotheylackedafather’slove.‘Butnotformuchlonger,’saidEthan,asthoughreadingJayadeep’smind.He

stood.‘I’mtoreturntoEngland,toCrawley,toJacobandEvie.Ishallseetoitthatyoumoveontosteel;Ishallsatisfymyselfyouwillbereadyincombat,andthenIwillreturnhomeandthere,Jayadeep,IshalldowhatIfeelIshouldhavedoneinthefirstplace:Ishallbeafathertomytwochildren.’Ethan’swordsrangwithasignificancethatJayadeep,forallhisintuition,

failedtopickupon.InhisownwayEthanwasconfessingtoJayadeepthathisfriendshipwiththeboyhadawakenedaparentalinstinctunseensincehiswifehaddied.InhisownwayEthanwasthankingtheboy.

Jayadeep,though,hadheardtheword‘combat’.Anditwassometimeafterthat–infact,oncetheboyhadmadethetransition

fromwoodtosteel,thatEthandiscoveredtheboyhadaweakness.Aseriousweakness.

OnthenighthefirstmetMaggie,then,TheGhosthadbeenreturninghometohisplaceinthetunnel,whenhepassedMarylebonechurchyard,ashealwaysdid,andglancedtochecktheangleofthestone,ashealwaysdid,butfoundhisattentionarrestedbyeventstakingplaceinthegraveyard.Itwasdark,ofcourse–thiswasalmostexactlyayearago,whenthedays

wereasshortastheywerenow–anditwascoldtoo,thekindofnightwhereyoudidn’thangaroundindarkenedchurchyardsunlessyouhadaverygoodreasontobehangingaroundinadarkenedchurchyard.Andnobodyhadbusinesstobeinadarkenedchurchyardonanightlikethat.

Notanykindofbusinessthatwasn’twickedbusiness.Sureenough,whatTheGhostheardwasverywickedbusinessindeed.Hestoppedonthepathwaybythelowchurchwall.Listened.Andhedecided

thatonascaleofwickedness,withnot-very-wickedatoneend(somefornication,perhaps:aconsensualbusinesspropositionconductedbetweenaprostituteandherclient),hewashearingsomethingfromtheotherend.Andwhatheheardwasthesoundofseveralmen–TheGhostknewinstantlyitwasfivemen–someofwhomwerelaughingandurgingotherson,aswellasthesoundofviolence,ofbootsbeingusedinawaytheirinnocentmakerneverintended,andaboveallthatthesoundofawoman–TheGhostknewinstantlyitwasonewoman–inpain.Inverygreatpain.Therewereotherswhopassedby,ofcourse,whowouldhaveheardthe

commotioninthechurchyard,theunmistakablesoundofawomanscreamingandcallingformercyastheblowsrainedin,butitwasonlyTheGhostwhostopped.Heshouldn’thavedone.Hisjobwastoblendinatalltimes.ButhestoppedbecausehewasanAssassin–hewasstillanAssassin–trainedbyArbaazMirandEthanFrye,instilledinthevaluesoftheBrotherhood.

Andhewasdamnedifhewasgoingtowalkonbywhilefivemengottheirjolliesbeatingupawoman.Hevaultedthelowstonewallthatactedasthechurchyardboundaryand

movedfurtherintothegloom.Thenoisescontinued.Thedrunken,boisteroussoundofmenatplay.FromtheiraccentsTheGhostwasabletotellthattwoofthemweregentlemen,theotherthreeofindeterminateclass.Nowhesawtheglowoflanterns,andwhathemadeoutinaclearinginthe

shadowofthegreatchurchweretwowell-dressedmenandafigureonthefloor.‘Whatdoyoucallthat?’oneofthemwassayingashestoodastrideher,

slappingherface,thesecondmanlaughingandswiggingfromaflask.Intheforegroundwerethreebiggermen,allofwhomworebowlerhats.They

stoodwiththeirbackstothetwogentsandtheirvictim.Bodyguards.TheystiffenedasTheGhostnavigatedthegravestowardsthem.ArbaazandEthanwouldhaveadvisedastealthyintrusion;TheGhostcouldhavekilledtwoofthemenbeforetheyhadevenhadachancetoreact.Butwhathesawhadawakenedinhimaprimalanger,asenseofrighteousjustice,andhewantedaconfrontation.Hewantedjusticetobedoneandforjusticetobeseentobedone.‘Movealong,mate,’saidoneofthebodyguards.Hehadhisarmsfolded.

‘Nothingforyoutoseehere,lad.’Theothertwobodyguardshadshifted.Oneofthemhadhishandspushed

deepintothepocketsofhiscoat.Theotherclaspedhishandsbehindhisback.‘Letthewomango,’saidTheGhost.Thetwomenhadstoppedtheirgame,andtheystoodawayfromtheproneand

bleedingbodyofthewoman.Released,shegroanedwithamixtureofpainandreliefandrolledovertooneside,herskirtsindisarrayatherlegs,facebloodiedbehindatangleofmattedhair.Apoor,pitiablecreature,shelookedtobeinhersixties.‘Moveawayfromher,’commandedTheGhost.Oneofthetoffssniggeredandpassedtheflasktothesecondman,whoseeyes

twinkledwithdelightasheputittohislipsanddrankgreedily.Bothlookedasiftheywereanticipatingthebeginningofanentertainingshow.Standingthere,alonemanagainstfive,TheGhosthopedhewouldn’tdisappoint.Healsohopedthatwithallhisfinethoughtsofseeingjusticedone,hehadn’t

bittenoffmorethanhecouldchew.

Thefirstbodyguardtiltedhischinandspokeagain,hiswordsdroppinglikestonesinthenewlystillchurchyard.‘Movealong,mylad,beforewedoitforyou.’TheGhostregardedhim.Heregardedthemall.‘I’llmoveonwhenI’m

satisfiedthewomanwillbeharmednolonger…’‘Well,that…’‘AndwhenI’msatisfiedthatthetwomenwhodidthistoherhavebeen

sufficientlypunished.’Theothertwobodyguardsburstoutlaughingbuttheleaderstilledthemwitha

hand.‘Well,now,look,thatain’tgoingtohappen,becauseyouseethesetwogen’menhere?Theypayhandsomelyfortheservicesofmyselfandmytwocolleagues,specificallytoensurethatnoharmcomestothemastheytourthelesssalubrioussidesofthisnation’sgreatcapital,ifyoucatchmymeaning.Togettothemyouhavetocomethroughus,andyouknow,don’tyou,thatain’tgonna’appen.’Behindhimthetwopleasure-seekingtoffstitteredsomemore,passingthe

flaskbackandforth,enjoyingtheshow,anaperitifpriortothemaincourse.TheywereweakanddrunkandTheGhostknewhecouldtakethembothwithonehandtiedbehindhisback,but…Firstthebodyguards.Numberthree’scoatwasunbuttoned,hishandsstill

claspedbehindhisback.Eitherhewascarryingarevolveroracutlasshangingathisflank.Helookeddangerousbutalsoalittletoorelaxed,tooconfident.Thesamewentfornumbertwo.Heworeanankle-lengthcoatbuttonedup,

andthoughhislefthandflexedinthepocketofhiscoat,hisrighthandwasmotionless,whichmeanthe’dbeholdingacoshorknifeinthere.Good.Hewaswearingacoatthatwasnotconducivetoclose-quartercombat

and,secondly,thoughunwittingly,he’dshownTheGhostfromwherehisweaponwouldappear.ForthesetworeasonsTheGhostwouldtargethimfirst.Hewouldbeeasiesttoovercome,andheneededaweapon.Hehopeditwasaknife.Numberonewascleverer.Hedidn’tthinkaloneattackerwouldfaceupto

fivewithoutgoodreason.Hisarmshadremainedfoldedacrosshischest–hecarriedashoulderholster,perhaps?–buthiseyeshadroamedtheareabehindTheGhost,seekingoutwhateverreinforcementsmightbelurkingthere.

WhenhesawnothingheregardedTheGhostwithevengreaterinterest,suspicionandapprehension,guessingwhathiscolleaguesdidnotevensuspect:thatthisIndianladwasplayingsomekindofangle.Thathewasmorethanheseemedtobe.Numberonewassharper.Hewouldbethehardone.TheGhosthadfinishedsizingthemup.Hewishedheheldakukriinonehand

andhadhishiddenbladestrappedtohisotherwrist.Werethatthecasethebattle’soutcomewouldbeinnodoubt.What’smore,itwouldhaveendedsomemomentsago.Butevensohewasconfidenthecouldprevail.Hehadcertainfactorsonhisside:thathisfoeswerelargelyunderestimatinghim;thathewasdisgustedandsupremelymotivated;thathewashighlytrainedandveryadeptandveryfastandhadassessedhisdistance,hissurroundings,hisopponents.Andnowcameonemorethinginhisfavour.For,asnumberonebeganto

speak,sayingthewords,‘I’llgiveyouonelastchance,lad…’TheGhostawardedhimselftheadvantageofsurprise.Andhestruck.Numbertwowasstilltryingtopullhishandsfreeofhiscoatpocketswhen

TheGhost’sforeheadsmashedintohisnose.Thisblow–a‘dirtytrick’thatArbaazhadneverfullyendorsedbutofwhichEthanwasmostfond–hadtheadvantageofcausingmassivepain,instant,traumaticbloodlossandtemporaryblindnessanddisorientation.Forthefirstcrucialmomentsofthebattle,numbertwowasincapacitated.Hewasoutofthegame,unabletoresistasTheGhostspunandjabbedanelbowbacktoknockthewindoutofhimashisotherhanddelvedintothecoatpocketsandfound…acosh.Damn.Butithadsomeweightatleast,andhepulleditoutofthecoatthenswung

backintheotherdirection,theblackleathercoshconnectingwiththetempleofnumbertwo.TheGhostswunghard,withallhismight,whichwasalotofmightindeed,andtheblowalmosttookthetopofhistarget’sheadoff.Thesecondmanhadbeenreachinginsidehiscoatatthetime,butTheGhost

nevergottofindoutwhathehadinside.Theman’shandwasstillinsidehiscoatashestaggeredtoonesidewithhismouthgapinglikeafishondryland.Theballbearingsinthecoshhadopenedagashinthesideofhisheadandbloodwasalreadypouringfromit.Hewouldprobablylive,butwouldbebrain-damaged,likelytospendtherestofhisdaysinabathchairdrooling,beingfedmushed-upfoodonaspoonandlackingthefacultiestowonderhowamereboyhadso

easilybestedhiminafight.TheGhoststeppedforward,punchedhimtwiceinthethroatandhisbodywasstillfoldingtothefloorasTheGhostspunbackround.Thewholemovewasoverinthetimeittooktodrawasword,whichwas

exactlywhatnumberonehaddone.Betweenthembothwasnumbertwo,reelingfromtheheadbutt,yetstillonhisfeetandabouttogaincontrolofhissenseswhenTheGhost,keennottorelinquishhisforwardmomentum,struckoncemore,swingingwiththecoshandnotmakingfullcontactbutdoingenoughtobreaktheman’sjaw.Hekickedoutatthesametime,thisoneacleanconnect,snappingthebodyguard’sleg,whichfoldedbeneathhimandsenthimsprawlingtothedirtofthechurchyard.Thisonewouldneverwalkagainandthebrokenjawmeantthatveryfewpeoplewouldunderstandhimwhenhespoke.InthesamemovementTheGhostlashedoutwithhisotherfoot,kickinga

lanternintothefaceofnumberone,whowashopingtousetheopeningtohisadvantage.Thebodyguardknockedthelanternawaywithacryofsurpriseandfrustrationthathismovehadmetfailure,anditgaveTheGhostamomenttogatherhimself.Hecheckedhisbalance,movedawayfromthepossibleobstacleofanearby

headstoneandshiftedthecoshfromonehandtotheother,thenbackagain.Theguardiangatheredhimself.Heraisedhiscutlass,movedintoposition

betweenTheGhostandthetwomenhewaspaidtoprotect,andthenhecalledtothemoverhisshoulder.Whathesaidwas,‘Sirs,run.’Thetwotoffsneedednofurtherinvitation,stumblingoveroneanotherand

crashingintothestonesastheytooktheirleave,disappearingnoisilyintothenight.Behindthemonthefloorlaytheflaskofbooze.TheGhostclenchedhisteeth.Hecouldn’tletthemgetaway.‘Youdon’thavetodieforthelikesofthem,’hetoldthebodyguard,whogave

ashortchuckle.‘You’rewrong,myfriend,’hereplied.‘Dyingforthelikesofthemisexactly

whatthelikesofmedo.Wedoitallovertheworld.’Youngthoughhewas,TheGhostknewhowitworked.Therichpurchased

commissionssotheycouldrisequicklythroughtheranksoftheBritisharmy,ensuringthatforthemostparttheystayedoutofthebloodiestfightingandenjoyedthebestcomforts.‘Itdoesn’tneedtobethatway,’hesaid.

‘Itdoes,lad.Whenyou’reaswiseinthewaysoftheworldasyouareincombat–andbyChristyou’rewiseinthat–thenyou’llknow.’TheGhostshookhishead.Timewaswasting.‘Itdoesn’tmatter,sir.Either

way,it’snotyouIwant,it’swhoyouserve.’‘Stillcan’tdoit,son,’saidthebodyguardsadly.‘Ican’tletyoudoit.’The

cutlasswasraised,hekepthisopponentonpointandhisstanceremainedfirm,buttherewassomethinginhiseyesTheGhostrecognized.Alookofimpendingdefeat.Thelookofamanwhoknowshe’sbeaten,whosedeathordownfallisnotamatterofif,butwhen.‘Youhavenochoice,’TheGhostreplied,andwasalreadyinmotion,andto

thebodyguardhewasamereblur,asthoughthenighthadrippled,thedarknessshiftingtoaccommodatetheyoungAssassin’ssheerspeedashesprangforward.TheGhosthadnotmadethemistakeofunderestimatinghisfoeofcourse.He

hadanticipatedhowhisopponentmightdefend,aswellasfactoringinthathisopponentwouldexpecthimtoattackacertainway.Andsohefeintedfirstonewayandthentheother,feelingtheflowofhisownbodyashemanipulateditintwodifferentdirectionsatonceasheleapt,usingagravestoneasaspringboardtocomeatthebodyguardfromanunexpectedheightandangle.Toogood,toofast,andmuchtoocombat-intelligentforthebodyguard.This

man,trainednodoubtbytheEnglishmilitary,toughasoldbootstobeginwithandtoughenedevenmorebycountlessoverseascampaigns,evenhewasnomatchforTheGhost.Nomatchatall.Thecosh,stickywithbloodfromitslastvictim,crashedintothebackofhisheadandhisjawslackenedandhiseyesrolledashefellunconscioustotheground.Anhourorsolaterhewouldawaken,withasoreheadbutotherwise

unharmed,whenhewouldneedtoanswersearchingquestionsastohowheandhisthreeequallybattle-hardenedcompanionscouldpossiblyhavebeenbestedbyameresquitofalad.Fornow,though,hewasoutcold.Meanwhile,TheGhostvaultedagravestone,comingtothewomanwhohad

pulledherselfuponherhandsandnowstaredathimwithamixtureoffearandaweandgratitude.‘Bloodyhell,lad,whatthebloodyhellareyou,somekindofdemonor

summat?’

‘Go,’hetoldher.‘Leavethisplacebeforeourfriendgetshiswitsbackabouthim.’Andwiththathetookoffafterthetwopleasure-seekinggentlemen,thesightofthewoman’sbruised,bloodyandswollenfacespurringhimon,kindlinghisangerashesnatchedupthecutlassandran.Catchingthemwaseasy.Theyweredrunkandnoisyandslowandthough

theywerefrightenedtheywereprobablyconfidentthattheirchampioncouldbestthisyoungupstart,becausemenlikethishadneverneededtoworryaboutanything.Theyemployedpeopletodotheirdirtywork;theyhadservantsandlackeystodotheirworryingforthem.So,yes,TheGhostcaughtthemeasily,andhereachedtheonewholagged

behind,barrellingintohimsothatthebesuitedtofffellandTheGhostwasonhiminaninstant,rollinghimoverandpinninghimdownwithhiskneesoneithersideoftheman’schest,raisingthecutlassandchannellinghisfury,rememberingashewenttodeliverthekillingblowthatitwasthisman–thisveryman–whojustmomentsagohe’dseenlaughingashekickedadefencelesswomanhalftodeath.

ThetimehadcomeforEthantoleaveAmritsar,buttherewassomethingtroublinghimandhehadcalledameetingofthefamily,theoutcomeofwhichwastosendshockwavesthroughtheMirfamily.AtthismeetingArbaazhadbeenexpectingEthantoannouncethatJayadeep

wasreadytoembarkuponthenextstageofhiseducation–inthefield.However…‘Idon’tthinkhe’sready,’saidEthanbluntlywithoutceremonyorwarning.Arbaazbrokebreadandsmiled.‘Thenyoucannotleave,Ethan.Thatwasour

agreement.’Thetwomenhadsharedgreatadventures.TheytalkedoftheKoh-i-Noor

diamond.HowArbaazhadretrievedit.SometimesJayadeep’smotherwouldbepresentandallthreewouldreminisce.NameslikeAlexanderBurnesandWilliamSleemanmeantnothingtoJayadeep,buttohisparentstheywereadoorwaytoanotherworldofexcitingmemories.‘I’vealreadysentword.TheyexpectmehomeandIintendtohonourthe

commitmentI’vemadetothem.Iwillreturn,Arbaaz,ofthatyoucanbesure.’‘ThenIfailtounderstand.OuragreementwasthatyoushouldtrainJayadeep

untilhewasreadyforthefield.’Theboyhadsatbesidehismotherfeelinginvisibleastheydiscussedhim

withoutacknowledginghispresence.Itwasn’texactlyanunknownoccurrence;themoreimportanttheissue,thelesslikelyhewastohaveasay.Hehadneverbeenconsultedonhisfuture,norwouldheexpecttobe;itwassimplyamatteroffactthatuntilfurthernoticehehadnosayinmattersinvolvinghisowndestiny.‘You’regoingtohavetoenlightenme,myoldfriend,’saidArbaaz.

‘ThroughoutyouryearshereyouhaveassuredmethatJayadeepisoneofthemosttalentedyoungAssassinsyouhaveeverencountered,whichweallknow

meansyouthinkJayadeepisthemosttalentedAssassinyouhaveeverencountered.Andwhynot!Hewastutoredfirstbymeandthenbyyourgoodself.I’veseenformyselfthathehasnolackofskill,andunlessyou’vebeenhoney-coatingmyearsallthistime,youthinksotoo,andyetnow,ontheeveofyourdeparture,comesthisnewstheboyisn’tready.Youmustexcusemyconfusion.Inwhatwayisthishighlytrained,consummatelyskilledboywhosementorisabouttoembarkforhomenotready?Andmoretothepoint,why?’Anoteofangryirritationwasevidentinhisfather’svoice,whichhadrisenas

hedeliveredhisspeech.Evenabreadcrumbclingingobstinatelytohisbottomlipdidnothingtodiminishhisformidablelook.Jayadeepshrankback.Evenhismotherappearedconcerned.OnlyEthanwasunperturbed,returningArbaaz’sdauntingstarewithan

unfathomablegazeofhisown.‘It’struethattheboyhasastonishingnaturalskill.It’struethatIhavebeen

abletomouldthatnaturaltalentintoAssassinshipofagreater-than-usualstandard.Formyownpart,Ihavelearntmuchfromtheboy,whichispartlythereasonIintendtoleaveforhomeandhavenointentionofdeviatingfromthatpath,nomatterhowmanybreadcrumbsyouspitatme,oldfriend.’Arbaaz,abashed,wipedhismouthandwhenhishandcameawayitrevealed

theverybeginningsofasmile.‘Sowhythen?’heasked.No,demanded.‘Whyleaveusatthiscrucialtime,whenthereisstillsomuchtoteachtheboy?’Ethan’ssmilewasn’tsomuchasmileasalookofkindnessandconcernthat

reachedhislipsaswellashiseyes.Alookthathepassedfirsttotheparentsandthentotheboy.‘Helacksthekillerinstinct.Theboycankillandnodoubtwill,buthelacks

somethingwehave,youandI,orperhapshehassomethingwelack.’Arbaaztiltedhischin,colourrising.‘Areyousayingmyboy’sacoward?’‘OhforGod’ssake,Arbaaz,’huffedanexasperatedEthan.‘No,ofcourseI’m

bloodynot.It’samatterofdisposition.Ifyouputthisboyinthefield,hewilleitherfailor…’‘Iwon’t,’saidJayadeepsuddenly,surprisingevenhimself,anticipatinga

scolding,maybeevenamorepainfulpunishmentforthissuddenunwarrantedanduninvitedoutburst.

Insteadhisfatherlookedproudlyathim,reachingovertosqueezehisshoulderinagesturethatmadeJayadeep’sheartswellwithpride.Ethanignoredhim.HehadturnedhisattentiontoPyara.‘Thereisnoshamein

this,’hetoldher,andhecouldseethesoftnessinhereyes,thesecrethopethatmaybejustmaybeherfamilymightatlonglastbefreeofbloodshed.‘HecanservetheBrotherhoodinotherways.Whatamentorhewillbe.Amastertactician.Apolicymaker.Agreatleader.Andsomebodyhastobethesethings.Jayadeepcanbethesethings.Justnot…never…awarrior.’Arbaazcouldcontainhimselfnolonger.Pyara,calmandresolute,accustomed

tothesightofherhusbandinfullflight,remainedimplacableasheexplodedwithrage.‘Jayadeep,myson,willbeagreatwarrior,Frye.HewillbeamasterAssassin,amentoroftheIndianBrotherhood…’‘Hecanstill…’‘Notunlesshehasprovenhimselfincombat.Asawarrior.AsanAssassin.’Ethanshookhishead.‘Heisnotreadyand,Arbaaz,I’msorryifitbreaksyour

heartbutinmyopinionheneverwillbe.’‘Ah,’saidArbaaz,risingandshepherdingJayadeep.Pyarasurreptitiously

wipedatearfromhereyeasshetoostood,loyal,despitehertornemotions.‘Therewehaveit,Ethan.Itisjustyouropinion.Whatdoyouthink,Jay,shallweproveourEnglishfriendwrong?’AndJayadeep,theboywhowouldonedaybeTheGhost,wasnoteventen

yearsoldbutwhosodesperatelywantedtopleaseArbaazbecausehisfatherwashisking,said,‘Yes,Father.’

TextofaletterfromEthanFryetoArbaazMir,decodedfromtheoriginal:DearArbaaz,

SixyearshavepassedsinceIleftIndiatoreturnhomeheretoEngland.Sixyearssincewelastspoke,myoldfriend.Andfar,fartoolong.InthemeantimeIhavelearnttomournthelossofmybelovedwife,Cecily,anddosoinamanner

ofwhichshewouldhaveapproved,whichistosaythatIhavesetasidemyformerresentmentinordertobuildarelationshipwithourtwochildren,EvieandJacob.IregretthatIeverconsideredthemresponsibleformyloss;Ihavedonemybesttomakereparationsforthelostyearsoftheirchildhood.Itwastheyearsspentwithyourextraordinaryson,Jayadeep,thatgalvanizedme,andforthatI

ameternallygratefultoyouboth.Jayadeepsetmeonapathofenlightenmentthatmademere-evaluatemythinking.I’msorrytosay,Arbaaz,thatithasonlystrengthenedmyresolveregardingthematterthatdroveawedgebetweenusallthoseyearsago,andnowpromptsmetomakecontactonceagain.Ishouldexplain.AsAssassinsweareinstilledwithacertainphilosophy.UnliketheTemplarswho

dividetheworld’sinhabitantsintoshepherdsandsheep,weseemillionsofbrightspots:intelligent,feelingbeings,eachwiththeirownpotentialandcapableofworkingwithinagreaterwhole.Orsoweliketothink.ThesedaysIwonder.Dowealwaysputthisphilosophyintopractice?When

wetrainouryoungAssassinsweputswordsintotheirhandswhentheyhaveonlyjustlearnttowalk.Weteachvaluespasseddownthegenerations,sculptingthechildintoacreatureofpreconceptionanddiscriminationand,aboveall,inourparticularcase,akiller.Whatwearedoingisright.Pleasedon’treadintothisanexpressionofideologicaldoubtonmy

behalf,forIhaveneverbeenmorefirminmybeliefsthattheBrotherhoodstandsforwhatisrightinthisworld.Mydoubt,dearArbaaz,liesintheapplicationofthatideology,andthisdoubtiswhatkeepsmeawakeatnight,wonderingifwefailourchildrenbymouldingthemintoourimage,when,infact,weshouldbeteachingthemtofollowapathoftheirown.Iwonder,arewemerelypayinglipservicetotheveryprinciplesweespouse?WithmyownchildrenIhaveattemptedtotakeanalternativepathtotheoneIhavealways

followedinthepast,anddifferenttotheoneItriedtofollowwithJayadeep.Ratherthanindoctrinatingthem,Ihaveinsteadstrivedtogivethemthetoolswithwhichtoteachthemselves.Itpleasesmethattheirtrajectoryfollowsmyown.Asyouknow,inLondon,theAssassinpresence

islongsincedepleted.OurBrotherhoodisweakhere,whiletheTemplars,underthecommandoftheirGrandMaster,CrawfordStarrick,continuetothrive;indeed,newshasreachedusthatourenemy’sinfiltrationintothecity’seliteisevenmorepronouncedthanwefeared.Theyhaveplansafoot,ofthatthereisnodoubt.Bigplans.Andoneday,whentheyareready,JacobandEviewilljointhestruggleagainstthem.

Whentheyareready.Notethatwell,Arbaaz.Iallowedthemtofindtheirownpath,andIhaveabidedbytheprinciplethattheyshouldonlycallthemselvesfullyfledgedAssassinswhenIknowthemtobeasmentallycapableoffulfillingthetaskastheyarephysically.Idothisintheknowledgethatweareallindividuals,someofussuitedtoonedirection,sometoanother.Assassinswemaybeinname,yetnotallofuscanbe‘assassins’innature.AndsoitiswithJayadeep.Iunderstandhowheartbreakingitmustbeforyou.Heis,afterall,

yourson.YouyourselfareagreatAssassinandhehasthepotentialtobeone.However,whatIknowforsureisthatthoughhemaybeskilledandtalentedinthemeansofdealingdeath,Jayadeeplacksthehearttodoso.Hewillkill.Yes,hewillkill,ifneedsbe.Inaheartbeatifitwereindefenceofhimselforofthose

heloves.ButIwonder,willhedosointhenameofanideology?Willhedosoforthecreed?Willhedosoincoldblood?Whichbringsmetothetimingofmyletter.ThetroublingnewshasreachedmethatJayadeepisto

embarkuponhisfirstreal-worldassignment.Anassassination.Firstly,ImustsayhowmuchIappreciatethatyoutookmyconcernsofsixyearsagoseriously

enoughtodelayhisbloodinguntilafterhisseventeenthbirthday.ForthisIamgrateful,andcommendyouforyourwisdomandrestraint.However,itismyviewthatJayadeeplacksthecoreresolveneededforsuchanact–andnorwillheeverattainit.Simplyput,heisdifferenttoyouandme.PerhapsdifferenttoJacobandEvie.Further,itismy

belief–andabeliefthatisentirelyconsistentwiththecorevaluesoftheBrotherhood–thatweshouldembracewhatisdifferentabouthim.WeshouldcelebratethatindividualityandturnittogoodusefortheBrotherhood,ratherthantrytodenyitandmoulditintoroughandawkwardshapes.Toputitanotherway,bysendingJayadeepintoaction,youareinvitingsomethingfarworsethan

your(imagined,ifImaysayso)disgracethatyoursoncannotfollowinyourownesteemedfootsteps,infavourofamuch,muchmoreprofounddisgrace:abjectfailure.Ibegofyou,please,retirehimfromthisassignation,takeafreshviewofhim,utilizethebestof

yourextraordinaryson’sabilitiesforthegoodoftheBrotherhoodratherthandependingontheworst.Ihopetohearyourdecisionbyreturn,andIpraythatyoushowthesamewisdomandrestraintfor

whichIhavealreadycommendedyou.Youhavetrustedmeinthepast;please,Arbaaz,trustmeagain.

Yours,asever,EthanFryeLondon

LettertoEthanFryefromArbaazMir,decodedfromtheoriginal:Ethan,Ithankyouforyourcorrespondence.However,Iregretthatyouchosetobuildbridgesoversuchturbulentwaters.ThereisnodebatetobehadregardingJayadeep’sabilitiesasanAssassin.Yougavehimtheskills,Iintheinterimhaveprovidedhimwiththemoralfibrenecessarytoputthemintopractice.You’refondofputtingthingssimply,Ethan,soIshalldosonow:itissixlongyearssinceyoulastsawJayadeepandyouarenolongerinapositiontomakejudgementsconcerninghissuitabilityasanAssassin.Hehaschanged,Ethan.Hehasdevelopedandgrown.Iamconfidentheisreadyforhisblooding,andhewillindeedcarryouttheassassinationasplanned.Histargetisalow-rankingTemplarwhoseterminationisanecessityinordertowarnourenemiesthattheirincreasedpresenceinIndiashallnotbetolerated.IapologizeifthesenextwordsappearedtobeajibeagainstyouandGeorgeWesthouseinLondon,Ethan,butwearekeenthattheTemplarsshouldnotgainafootholdhereastheydidinLondon,forweknowwherethatleads.Ithankyouforyourcorrespondence,Ethan.Ihopeandtrustthatthefoundationsofour

relationshiparesecureenoughthatthisneednotbetheendofagreatfriendshipforyouandme.However,Ihavemademydecision,andjustasyouabidebyyourownprinciples,Imustabidebymine.

Yours,asever,ArbaazMirAmritsar

InternaldispatchsenttoGeorgeWesthouseofLondon,decodedfromtheoriginal:PleaserelayimmediatelytoEthanFrye:JayadeepMirinTheDarkness.

Thedoorclosedbehindthem.Torchesboltedtothewallslitstonestepsdowntoaseconddoor.AheadofEthanwasthemeeting-roomcustodian,Ajay.LikeEthan,hiscowl

coveredhisheadasthoughtoacknowledgethegrimnatureoftheirbusinesshereinthisdark,coldandunforgivingplace.Inaddition,AjayworeacurvedswordathisbeltandEthanhadcaughtaglimpseofhishiddenbladeasheopenedthedoor.Yes,Ajaywoulddohisdutyifneedsbe.Withregret,forsure,buthewoulddoit.TheycalledthisplaceTheDarkness.Aseriesofsmallchambersbeneath

Amritsar’smainBrotherhoodmeetingroom.Nominallytheroomsweredesignatedfordocumentstorageorasanarmoury,buttheircrepuscularatmosphereandcell-likedesignensuredrumoursconstantlyswirledaroundaboutwhatmighthavetakenplacethereinthepast:plotshatched,enemiesinterrogated.ItwasevensaidthatababyhadbeenborninTheDarkness,thoughfewgavethestorymuchcredibility.Today,however,TheDarknesswouldearnitsreputation.TodayTheDarkness

hadaguest.AjayledEthanthroughasecondfortifieddoorandintoadimlylitstone

corridorbeyond,doorsliningeitherside.Atthepassageend,heunlockedadoorinsetwithnothingbutatinyviewinghole,thenstoodtooneside,bowingslightlytoallowhisvisitorinside.Ethansteppedoverthethresholdintoasmallchamberthat,whateveritspreviousfunction,hadbeenrepurposedasacell,completewithawoodencot.OutofrespectforEthan,AjaylaidhislanternattheAssassin’sfeetbefore

withdrawingandclosingthedoorbehindhim.Andthen,aslightglowedontheforbiddingdarkstoneoftheroom,Ethangazeduponhisformerpupilforthefirsttimeinoversixyears,andhisheartbrokeafreshtoseehimlaidsolow.

Jayadeepsatcross-leggedinacorneramongthedirtystrawthatcoveredthecellfloor.He’dbeenhereforweeks,whileEthanhadmadethelengthycrossingfromEnglandtoIndia.Asaresult,hisnewlivingquarterswerenonetoofreshandhe’dnodoubtbeeninbetterhealthtoo,butevensoEthanwasstruckbytheboy’slooks.Intheinterveningyearshehadmaturedintoahandsomeyoungman,withintense,piercingeyes,darkhairthathewouldoccasionallyreachtobrushfromhiseyes,andflawlesschestnut-colouredskin.He’llbreaksomehearts,thoughtEthan,gazingathimfromthedoorway.Firstthingsfirst,though.TheAssassinputafisttohisnoseandmouth,asmuchtoreplacethestinkof

thecellwiththefamiliarscentofhisownskinastoregisterhisdismayathisformerpupil’spredicament.Thepossibilitythathehimselfcouldhavedonemoretopreventthesituationsharpenedhisregret,andthelookinJayadeep’seyesasheturnedhisgazefromcontemplatinghislaptofindinghisoldtutorinthedoorway,apenetrating,heart-wrenchingstareofgratitude,relief,sorrowandshame,onlysharpeneditfurther.‘Hello,master,’saidJayadeepsimply.Itwasn’tparticularlypleasant,butEthantookaseatbesideJayadeep,thetwo

mentogetheragain,circumstancessodifferentthistime,thesmellofjasmineamemoryofanancientandnowunattainablepast.EthanreachedahandtopluckattheragsJayadeepwore.‘Theystrippedyou

ofyourrobesthen?’Jayadeepgavearuefullook.‘There’salittlemoretoitthanthat.’‘Inthatcase,howaboutwestartwithyoutellingmewhathappened?’Theboygaveashort,sadsnort.‘Youmeanyoudon’talreadyknow?’EthanhadarrivedinAmritsartofindtheBrotherhoodinmilddisarray,amore

thanusuallyvisiblepresenceastheyworkedtonullifytherepercussionsofwhathadtakenplace.So,yes,ofcourseheknewthestory.Butevenso…‘I’dliketohearitfromthehorse’smouth,asitwere.’‘It’sdifficultformetotalkabout.’‘Pleasetry.’Jayadeepsighed.‘Yourtraininghadshapedmymindandbodyintoaseriesof

responsesandreactions,intocombinationsofattackanddefence,calculations,

forecastandprognostication.Iwasreadytogointoactioninallbutonerespect.Youwereright,master,Ilackedtheheart.Tellme,howdidyouknow?’Ethansaid,‘IfIweretosaytoyouthatitallcamedowntothedifference

betweenawoodentrainingkukriandtherealthing,wouldyoubelieveme?’‘Iwouldthinkitwaspartofthestory.Butjustpart.’‘Youwouldberight,Jayadeep.ForthetruthisthatIsawinyoureyes

somethingIhaveseenintheeyesofmenIkilled;menwhoseveryownlackofheartincombatwasaweaknessIrecognizedandexploitedinordertoplungemybladeintothem.’‘Andyouthoughtyousawitinme?’‘Idid.AndIwasright,wasn’tI?’‘Wethoughtyouwerewrong.FatherbelievedIcouldbeinstilledwiththe

mettleneededtobeakiller.Hesetaboutshowingmetheway.Wepractisedandrehearsedwithlivesubjects.’‘Puttingananimaltotheswordisverydifferentto–’‘Iknowthatnow.’Thewordscameoutsharply.Alittleoftheoldmaster–

pupilinteractionreturnedandJayadeeploweredfearfuleyesinapology.‘Iknowthatnow,master,andbelievemeIregretit.’‘ButyouandArbaazfeltthatyouwerereadytotakethelifeofoneofyour

ownspecies,totakefromamaneverythingheeverwasandeverythingheeverwillbe,toleavehisfamilygrieving,tobeginawaveofsadnessandsorrowandpossiblerevengeandrecriminationthatmightripplethroughouttheages?Youandyourfatherfeltyouwerereadyforthat?’‘Please,master,don’tmakethismoredifficultforme.Yes,youareright,in

thefaceofwhatyousay,ourpreparationsmightseemdreadfullyfeeble,butthenagain,whatAssassincanclaimdifferently?Everythingistheoryuntilitisputintopractice.Andmyturncametoputtheoryintopractice.FormybloodingIwastokillanIndianTemplarbythenameofTjinderDani.AmanwebelievedwasmakingplanstoestablishaTemplaroutpostinthecity.’‘Andwhatwastobethemethodofhisexecution?’‘Thegarrotte.’InwardlyEthancursed.Agarrotte.Ofallthings.Youdidn’tneedahuge

amountofskilltouseagarrotte,butyouneededresolve,andwhatJayadeephad

wasplentyofskillbutnotsomuchresolve.WhatthehellhadArbaazbeenthinking?Jayadeepcontinued.‘Undercoverofdarkness,myselfandFatherrodeoutto

thestreetwhereDanikepthislodgings.Oneofouragentshadbribedanightwatchmanforthekey,andinthestreetwetookpossessionofit,thankedandpaidthemanandsenthimonhisway.’Awitness,thoughtEthan.Itgetsbetter.‘Iknowwhatyou’rethinking.Icouldhavepickedthelock.’‘Youareanexcellentlock-pick.’‘TheinformationgiventousbytheagentwasthattheTemplarDaniwas

expectinganattackandthuswasaccompaniedbybodyguardsduringtheday.Ourenemieswererelyingonthefactthatadaytimeattemptonhislifewouldhaveresultedinapublicconfrontation.AstreetskirmishinvolvingmultipleAssassinsandTemplarswastobeavoidedatallcosts.Forthatreasonitwasdecidedtomakeanight-timeincursion,andforthatreasonweassembledasmuchinformationaspossibleregardingthetarget’snocturnalactivities.’‘Anditwasyouwhodidthis,wasit?’‘Yes,andIlearntthatDanibarredhisdoorandlaidtrapsatnight,thatan

invasioneitherbythedoororthewindowwouldresultinalarmsbeingactivated.So,yousee,thekeygiventouswasnottothedoorofDani’sroom,noteventohislodgings,buttothewarehousenextdoor,whereIwasabletomakeanunobtrusiveentrance.Therewerethreemenstationedinthestreet,lookingforalltheworldasthoughtheywereprovidingsecurityforthewarehouse,butIknewthemtobeTemplarguards,andtheirjobwastoseetoitthatnoAssassinscaledthewallsofeitherthelodginghouseorthewarehouse.Itwasclever.TheyhadtheoutsideofthebuildingscoveredwhileinsideDanihadhisroomsecure.Itwouldtakeameasureofstealthandguiletogetinside.Ihaveboth.‘Iwaitedintheshadows,takingstrengthandreassurancefromtheknowledge

thatnotfarawaymyfatherwaitedwithourhorses,readyforourescape.AtthesametimeImeasuredthemovementsoftheguardsastheycarriedouttheirpatrol.‘Ihadbeenthereonpreviousnights,ofcourse,timingjustasIwasonthis

occasion,andwhatI’dlearntwasthattheguardscoordinatedtheirmovementstopreventanyonehavingtheopportunitytoscalethewalls.Undertheirrobesthey

carriedcrossbowsandthrowingknives;theykeptasafedistancefromoneanothersoastopreventaquickdouble-kill,sotakingoutoneofthemwouldalerttheothers.Ihadnoreasontosuspectthattheywereanythingbutsupremelycompetent.ThatiswhyIhadthekey,Ethan.’‘Thekeywastothewarehouse?’‘Yes.Ihadgreasedthekeyholemyselfthatverymorning,andnowIcounted,

Itimed,andImademymovewhenthemomentwasright.Istreakedacrosstheapronbehindthewarehouseandtothereardoor,whereIthrustthekeyintothelock.Thesoundwasmuffled,awell-oiledclickthat,eventhoughitsoundedtomyearslikeagunshot,wasinrealityjustanotherindistinguishablenightnoise,andthenIwasinside.Ilockedthewarehousedoorbehindmebuttookthekey.Thiswastobemyescaperoutealso.‘OrsoIthoughtatthetime.ButofcourseIwaswrongaboutthat.’Theboy’sheaddroppedoncemoretohislapandhewrunghishands,tortured

bythepainofthewretchedmemory.‘Thewarehousewasempty.AllIsawonthestonefloorwasalongslatted

tableandsomechairs.PossiblyitwastohavebeenusedbytheTemplarsforsomereason.Ineithercasetheideaofitneedinganexteriorguardwaslaughable.Ofcoursetheyhadn’tbotheredtopostaguardinside,butevensoIstayedsilentasImademywayupstepsandthenladderstotheroofofthebuilding.Onceoutside,Istayedintheshadowsandtookmyneckerchieffromroundmyneck.YouaskaboutmyAssassin’srobes,but,infact,Ineverworethem.IwaswearingthenwhatI’mwearingnow.IfbysomechanceI’dbeendiscoveredbythewarehouseguards,theywouldhavetakenmeforastreetboyofnoconsequence,givenmeaslapandsentmeonmyway.HadtheyinvestigatedmorethoroughlytheywouldhaveknownthatIdifferedfromastreeturchininonlyonerespect–thatIhadinmypocketacoin.’Ethanwasnoddingsagely.Heknewtheweapon.Thecoiniswrappedinthe

neckerchief,theneckerchiefusedasalumal,akindofgarrotte.Thecoinchokesthevictim’swindpipe,crushinghislarynx,hasteningdeathandpreventinghimfromcryingout.ItisoneofthemostbasicbuteffectiveoftheAssassin’stools.EthanbegantounderstandwhyArbaazhadselectedit.HeevenbegantounderstandwhyArbaazhadchosenJayadeepforthejob.‘Continue,’hesaid.

‘Imadethejumpeasily.Andthen,stayingintheshadowsofthelodging-houseroofandwaryoftheguardswhostillpatrolledbelow,IcrepttowardsthehatchIknewtobeintheceilingofDani’sroom.Ihadbroughtgreasewithme,adabofitbehindmyear,andIuseditonthehatch,whichIopenedascarefullyaspossible,beforelettingmyselfdownintothedarkspacebelow.‘Mybreathwasheldandmyhearthammered.Butasyouhadalwaystaught

me,thepresenceofalittlefearistobewelcomed.Fearmakesuscareful.Fearkeepsusalive.Therewasnothingsofaraboutmymissiontogivemecauseforworry.Everythingwasgoingtoplan.‘NowIwasinDani’sroom.Icouldseethetrapshehadplacedathisdoorand

atthewindow.ApulleysystemattachedtoaceilingbellthathungnotfarfromthehatchIhadjustusedtomakemygrandentrance.‘Andthereinbedwasmytarget,amanaboutwhomIhadlearntagreatdeal

intheweeksleadinguptotheassignment.Mybreathingbecameheavy.Mytempleseemedtothrobasthoughtheveintherewasbeatingintimetomyincreasedheartrate.Thiswasmynervesworsening–’Ethanstoppedhim.‘WhileyouwerelearningaboutDanihewasalso

becomingahumanbeinginyoureyes,wasn’the?Youhadbeguntothinkofhimasapersonratherthanasatarget,hadn’tyou?’‘Inretrospect,you’reright.Ihad.’‘Whocouldhaveseenthatcoming?’saidEthan,regrettinghisinappropriate

sarcasmimmediately.‘Perhapsitwouldhavebeentoolate,evenifIhad.Toolateforsecond

thoughts,Imean.Therewasnogoingback.IwasanAssassinintheroomofaslumberingman.Mytarget.Ihadtoact.Ihadnochoicebuttogothroughwiththejob.TheissueofwhetherornotIwasreadyhadceasedtoberelevant.Itwasnotaquestionofbeingready,itwasaquestionofaction.Ofkillorfail.’‘Andlookingaround,Ithinkweallknowwhathappenedthere.’Again,Ethan

regrettedhisflippancy,rememberingthatwhenthisconversationwasoverhewouldpullhimselftohisfeet,brushthestrawfromhisbackside,callforthecustodianandleavetheboyaloneinthisdarkanddampplace.No,thiswasnotimeforsmartremarks.Instead,hetriedtoimaginethesceneintheroom:thedarkenedlodginghouse,amanasleep–didamaneverlooksoinnocentaswhenhewasasleep?–andJayadeep,hisbreathheld,wringinghisneckerchiefinhis

handashegatheredhisnervesreadytostrike,thecoinrolledintotheneckerchief,and…Thecoinfallingfromtheneckerchief.Strikingthefloorboards.‘Yourgarrotte,’hesaidtoJayadeep.‘Didthecoinfallfromit?’‘Howdidyouknow?Ididn’ttellanybodythat.’‘Visualization,mydearboy.Haven’tIalwaystaughtyouaboutit?’Acrosstheboy’sfacecamethefirsthintofasmilesinceEthanhadentered

theroom.‘Youdid.Ofcourseyoudid.It’satechniqueIuseconstantly.’‘Butnotonthisoccasion?’Acloudofsadnessstolethesmile’sslightbeginnings.‘No,notonthis

occasion.OnthisoccasionallIheardwasthebloodrushinginmyhead.AllIcouldhearwasmyfather’svoiceurgingmeontodowhathadtobedone.WhenthecoindroppedthenoisesurprisedmeanditwokeDaniandhewasquickertoreactthanIwas.’‘Youshouldhavestruckthemomentyouwereintheroom,’saidEthan,and

anangerthatdidn’treallybelongwiththeboywasdirectedathimanyway.‘Youshouldhavestruckthesecondyouhadthechance.Yourhesitationwasyourundoing.WhatdidIalwaystellyou?Whatdidyourfatheralwaysadvise?Youhesitate,youdie–it’sassimpleasthat.Anassassinationisnotacerebralact.Itrequiresgreatthought,butallofthatthoughtgoesintotheplanningandpreparation,thecontemplationandvisualizationpriortotheactitself.Thatisthetimeforsecond,third,fourththoughts,asmanythoughtsasyouneeduntilyouaresure–absolutelycertain–thatyouarereadytodowhatneedstobedone.Becausewhenyouareinthemoment,whenyoustandbeforeyourtarget,thereisnotimeforhesitation.’Jayadeep’seyesswamwithtearsashelookedupathisoldfriend.‘Iknow

thatnow.’Ethanlaidacomfortinghandonhis.‘Iknow.I’msorry.Tellmewhat

happenednext.’‘Hewasquick,I’llgivehimthat,andIshouldcredithimwithalotmore

besides,becausehewasquickandhewasstrong,andhesprangfromthebedwithaspeedthatsurprisedmeinamanofhisageandsizeandhecaughtme,bynowpracticallyunarmed,andthrustmebackwardstothewindow.

‘Wewentstraightthroughit,DaniandI.Wewentstraightthroughtheshuttersandplummetedtothecobblesbelow,afallthatwasthankfullybrokenbythecanopybeneath.Lookingback,perhapsIhopedthatmytrainingmightreturntome,akindofinstinct,ifyoulike.Butitfailedme.EvenasIrolledawayfromDani,hurtandstunnedanddesperatelytryingtogetaholdofmysenses,Isawfacesappearatthewindowsontheothersideofthestreet,andheardthesoundoftherunningfeetastheguardshastenedtowardsus.‘IrolledawayfromDani,feelingablindingpaininmyheadandanotherin

myhip.Thenextmomenthewasuponme,histeethbared,hiseyesbrightandwidewithhatred,hishandsfixedroundmyneck.‘Heneverheardthehorse.NeitherdidI.Earlierwehadusedstripsofblanket

tomufflethehooves,FatherandI,andhecameridingoverthestonetowardsus,silentasawraith,andthefirstIsawofhimwasarobedfigureonhorsebackloomingbehindDani,onehandonthereinsofthehorse,theotherheldout,crookedattheelbowandflexing,hishiddenbladeejecting,moonlightrunningalongthesteel.Fatherwrappedthereinsinhishandandwrenchedback,forcinghishorsetorearuponitshindlegs,andforasecondIsawhimasthefearsomeAssassin-warrioroflegend.Isawthedeath-dealingglintinhiseye,hisintenttokillasstrongandtrueastheweaponhewielded.IsawamanIcouldneverhopetobe.PerhapsIknewthenthatIwaslost.‘Andperhaps,also,Dani,myintendedvictim,knewthatdeathhadcomefrom

behind.Butitwastoolate,andmyfather’sbladepunchedthroughthetopofhisskullandintohisbrain,killinghiminstantly–aninstantinwhichhiseyeswidenedthenrolledbackandhismouthdroppedopeninsurpriseandahalf-secondofexcruciatingagonybeforehislifewasextinguished–aninstantduringwhichIsawtheblood-streakedsteelinsidehismouth.‘Fatherwithdrewhisbladeanddropletsofbloodflewfromitashesweptit

back,thistimetoslicethethroatofthefirstoncomingguardwhofellintoamistofarterialspray,hisswordnotevendrawn.Father’sarmsweptbacktheotherway,thistimeacrosshischestandtherewasaringofsteel,assharpandloudinthenightasDani’swarningbellashisblademettheswordofthesecondguard.Hisparrysenttheattackerstaggeringback,andinablinkFatherwasoffhishorsetoclaimhisadvantage,drawinghisswordwithhisotherhandandattackingatthesametime.

‘Itwasoverinaheartbeat.Inablurofrobesandsteel,Fatherattackedwithbothweapons.Instinctivelytheguardhadstraightenedhisforearmtodefendagainsttheswordattackbutitlefthimexposedtoastrikefromtheothersideandthat’sexactlywhatFatherdid,slamminghishiddenbladeintotheguard’sarmpit.‘Themanfell,histunicalreadycrimson,thecobblesgleamingwithit.He

wouldbleedoutinmoments.Eitherthatorchokeonhisownbloodif…’‘Ifthebladepuncturedhislungs.Yes,Itaughtyouthatmyself.’‘Whethermoreguardsweresimplyslowinarrivingorhadwitnessedmy

fatherinactionanddecidedthatdiscretionwasthebetterpartofvalour,Idon’tknow.Withoutawordheregainedhishorse,reachedformeandsweptmeuptoridebehindhim,andthenweweregone,leavingthestreetinpandemoniumbehindus.’Therewasalongpause.Ethansaidnothing,feelingtheboy’straumaalmost

asifitwerehisown.Sothatwasit,hethought.Jayadeep’sactionhadbrokenthetenetsofthecreed:hehadbeenforcedtosurrenderhidinginplainsight;worse,hehadbeenforcedtocompromisetheBrotherhood.‘Iknowwhatyou’rethinking,’saidJayadeepatlast.‘You’rethinkingI’ma

coward.’‘Well,thenyoudon’tknowwhatI’mthinking,becausethat’snotwhatI’m

thinking.There’saworldofdifferencebetweenthoughtandaction,andonethingIknowofyou,Jayadeep,isthatyou’renotacoward.’‘ThenwhywasIunabletodeliverthekillingblow?’Ethanrolledhiseyes.Hadnobodylistenedtoabloodywordhe’dsaid?

‘Becauseyou’renotakiller.’Againcamesilence.SorrowbloomedfromtheboyandEthanthought,Whata

worldwelivein,whenwemournaninabilitytokill.‘Whatdidyourfathersaytoyou,onthejourneyhome?’‘Nothing,master.Hesaidnothing,notaword.Butofcoursehissilencespoke

volumes,andhascontinuedtodoso.Hehasnotbeentoseeme.NorMother.’Ethanfumed.Thebloodytyrant,leavinghisownsoninthishole.‘The

Assassinswillhaveforbiddenyourmotherfromcomingtoseeyou.’‘Yes.’

AndEthancouldwellimaginehowArbaazhadbeenfeeling.Hecouldpictureitasheandhissonrodehome,droppingoffJayadeep,packedofftohisquartersinsilentdisgrace,thenridingofftoseethementor,Hamid.Theboywentontotellhimthathehadbeenasleepinbedwhenhewasawokenbyablackhoodoverhishead,andhadbeenbundledawaytoTheDarkness.EthanwonderedwhetherArbaazwasoneofthemenwhohadtakenJayadeepintocustody.Hadhisownfatherledthearrestparty?Hestood.‘Iwillbedoingmybesttogetyououtofhere,Jayadeep,ofthatyou

maybecertain.’ButashecalledforAjay,inEnglishandinHindi,whatstayedwithEthanwas

thelookintheboy’seyesasheshookhisheadinsaddenialofhope.

EthanandAjaymadetheshortjourneyalongthepassageandupthestonestepstothemeetingroomabove.Therewasasecondguard,astriking-lookingwomanwhostoodwithherfeetplantedslightlyapartandherhandsonthehiltofalargesword,itspointontheflagstoneatherfeet.SheregardedEthanimplacablyfrombeneathhercowl.‘ThisisKulpreet,’saidAjaybywayofintroduction.Hetiltedastubbledjaw

inherdirection.‘SheisthebestwithaswordintheBrotherhood.’Andyettheswordshemindedwaslonger,hadaflatterblade…‘When?’Ethanaskedher.‘Tomorrowmorning,’shereplied.AndEthancouldseefromhereyesthathewastalkingtoJayadeep’s

executioner.

‘Ithankyouforseeingme.’EthanhadeveryreasontofearthatArbaazmightsimplyrefusehisrequestfor

anaudience.Whathadhappenedwasn’tEthan’sfault–farfromit–butinArbaaz’seyeshemusthavebeenheldatleastpartlyresponsible.Then,ofcourse,therewasthesmallmatteroftheexchangeofletters.Notthathewouldhavetakennoforananswer.Hewasheretosavethelifeof

JayadeepMir,andhewasn’tleavinguntilthejobwasdone.Sureenough,hisoldfriendregardedhimwarily,witheyesthatweretired

fromworryandsleeplessness,facepinchedanddrawn.Whatmusthehavebeengoingthrough?Whatagoniesoftornloyalty,parentalloveanddutytotheBrotherhood?Hisworrieshadevidentlyrelievedhimofhisobligationsasahost.Therewas

noofferofbreadorolivesorwineforEthan,andcertainlynowarmgreeting.TheAssassinhadbeenledthroughthecoolmarblecorridorsoftheMirhousehold,disappointednottocatchsightofPyara–hemayhavehadanallythere–andthendepositedinoneofthebackoffices,aroomhehimselfhadonceusedfortutoringJayadeep.Backthenhe’dchosentheroombecauseofitsspartanfurnitureanddecoration.Nodistractions.Today,therewasn’tevenhottea.Justasimplewovenwallcovering,twostraight-backedchairswheretheysat,anunpolishedtablebetweenthemandanunmistakableatmosphere.‘Don’tmisinterpretmyreasonsforagreeingtoseeyou,Ethan.Ihave

somethingIneedtoaskyou.’Wary,hopinghemighthavehadachancetostatehiscase,Ethanspreadhis

hands.‘Goon.’‘Iwanttoknow,Ethan,howyouintendtodoit?’‘HowdoIintendtodowhat?’

‘FreeJayadeep,ofcourse.DoyouplantobreakhimoutofTheDarknessorperhapsrescuehimfromtheexecutionitself?HowmanyAssassins’livesdoyouplantotakeintheprocess?’ThegazeofArbaazwasflatandterrible.‘Ihadratherhopedtotalktoyouaboutitfirst,Arbaaz,asoneofmyoldest

anddearestfriends.’Arbaazshookhishead.‘No.Thereistobenodiscussion.Andwhat’smoreI

musttellyouthatyouwillbeundersurveillanceforthedurationofwhatIhopeisashortstayinAmritsar.Thereasonyouareundersurveillanceistoensureyoudon’ttrytofreeJayadeep.’‘WhymightIwanttofreeJayadeep,Arbaaz?’askedEthansoftly,a

reasonabletoneinhisvoice.Theothermanpickedataknotinthewoodwithhisfingernail,regardingitas

thoughheexpectedittodosomething.‘BecauseyourlifeintheWesthasmadeyousoft,Ethan.It’swhytheBrotherhoodinLondonispracticallywipedout,andwhyyouandGeorgearemereinsurgentscomparedtotheTemplarstranglehold.‘You’reweak,Ethan.YouhaveallowedyourBrotherhoodoverthewaterto

deterioratetothepointofirrelevancyandnowyouwanttobringyourprogressivepoliciesoverhereandyouthinkI’llletyou.’Ethanleanedforward.‘Arbaaz,thisisnotaboutTemplarversusAssassin.

ThisisaboutJayadeep.’Arbaaz’seyesslidaway,cloudingforjustamoment.‘Evenmorereasonthat

heshouldpaytheultimatepriceforhis…’‘What?’‘Misconduct.’Arbaaz’svoicerose.‘Hismisconduct,hisincompetence,his

negligence.’‘Heneedn’tbeexecuted.’‘Yousee?Youhavecometopleadforhislife.’Ethanshrugged.‘Imakenobonesaboutit.Idocometopleadforhislife,but

youmisjudgemeifyouthinkmeweak,orthatIdisapproveofthehardlineyoutake.Quitetheopposite,Iadmireyourinnerstrengthandresolve.Thisis,afterall,yoursonwe’retalkingabout.IknowofnoAssassinforcedintosucha

difficultpositionastheoneyoufindyourselfinnow,forcedtoputdutybeforefamily.’Arbaazgavehimasharpsidewayslook,asthoughunsurewhattoreadinto

Ethan’swords.Seeinghisoldfriendwasgenuine,hisfacefolded.‘Iloseasonandwifetoo,’hesaidinavoicethatdrownedinmisery.‘Pyarawillneverlookatmeagain.Shehasmadethatperfectlyclear.’‘Youneednotmakethatsacrifice.’‘Howso?’‘Banishhim–banishhimintomycustodywhereIhaveanimportantjobfor

him,onethat,ifitissuccessful,mayhelptorestoretheBrotherhoodinLondon.Anoperation,Arbaaz,acovertoperationforwhichJayadeep,withhisparticulartalents,isideallysuited.Heneednotdie.Doyousee?HecanreturntoEnglandwithmeandyourhonourwillbesatisfied.Suitablejudgementwillhavebeenpasseduponhim,buthewilllive,Arbaaz.Notinthecomforttowhichheisaccustomed,Igrantyou.WhatIhaveinmindinvolvesextraordinarilyreducedcircumstances.Butperhapsyouwillconsiderthatpartofhispunishment.Andafterall,youneedn’ttellthattoPyara.Simplythatheiswithme.Iwillbehishandler.’Prayingfortherightoutcome,Ethanwatchedindecisionflitacrosstheother’s

face.‘IwouldneedtotalktoHamid,’saidArbaazthoughtfully.‘Youwould,’saidEthan,andsuppressedaburstofrelief.Arbaazhadno

desiretoseeJayadeepputtothesword;Ethanwasofferinghimawayoutofasituationthatwouldhavetornhisfamilyapart,andallwithnolossofface.‘What’smore,Ithinkyouwillfindthatconversationaneasieronethanyoumightimagine,’continuedEthan.‘IsawAjayandKulpreettoday,andiftheirmoodisrepresentativeoftheBrotherhoodasawhole,thentheynomorewishtoseeJayadeepexecutedthanyouorI.Letthepunishmentbeexile.Therearemanywhoconsideritevenworsethandeath.’‘No,’saidArbaaz.Ethanstarted.‘Ibegyourpardon?’‘Thepunishmentmustbedeath.’‘Idon’tunderstand…’

‘Ifthisassignationisasundercoverasyousuggest,thenwouldn’titbeadvantageousiftheagentdidnotexist?WhocanlinkhimtoJayadeepMirifJayadeepMirisdead?’Ethanclappedhishands.‘Aghost?’hesaidhappily.‘That’sastrokeof

genius,Arbaaz,worthyofthegreatAssassinIknow.’Arbaazstoodthen,cameroundthetableandfinallytookhisoldfriendinan

embrace.‘Thankyou,Ethan,’hesaidastheAssassinstumbledclumsilytohisfeet.‘Thankyouforwhatyouaredoing.’AndEthanleft,thinkingthat,allinall,ithadbeenagoodafternoon’swork.

Hehadnothadtousetheletterinhispocket,theoneinwhichArbaazhadexplicitlyrejectedEthan’sadvice,aletterthatprovedthatanychargesofincompetenceornegligencelaynotwithJayadeepbutwithhisfather.What’smore,hehadsavedthelifeofaboywhowasasclosetohisheartashisowntwochildren,andquitepossiblysavedthemarriageofArbaazandPyaraintothebargain.Also,hehadanagent,andnotjustanyagent.ThemostpromisingAssassinit

hadeverbeenhisfortunetotrain.

TwoyearslaterJayadeep,nowTheGhostinnameanddeed,kneeledastridetheupper-classpleasure-seekerinthechurchyardatMaryleboneandraisedtheshortswordreadytodeliverthedeathblow.Andthen,justashehadonthenightofhisblooding,hefroze.HismindwentbacktoDaniandtheblood-streakeddullgleamofhisfather’s

bladeinsidethedyingman’smouth,andhesawagainthelightblinkoutinDani’seyesandknewhehadwatcheddeath:fastandbrutalanddeliveredremorselessly.Andhecouldnotbringhimselftodoit.Thetoffsawhischance.Themanhadneverfoughtafairfightinhislife.Any

militaryservicewouldhavebeenspenttoastinghisgoodfortuneintheofficers’messwhilethelowerorderswentouttodieinthenameofhisqueen.But,likeanyotherlivingbeing,hehadaninstinctforliving,andittoldhimthathisattacker’smomentofhesitationwashisbestchancetosurvive.Hebuckedandwrithed.Hethrusthishipswithsuchsudden,desperate

strengththatitremindedTheGhostbrieflyofbeingbackathome,tamingwildponies.Thenhefoundhimselfthrowntotheside,stilldazed,butwithhismindsentinaturmoilbythislatestfailureofnerve.Theswordtumbledfromhisfingersandthetoffmadeadiveforit,acryoftriumphescapinghislipsatthesametime.‘Aha!’Andthenthetoffswungabout,readytousethebladeonTheGhost,andasamazedbythesuddenfavourableturnofeventsashewasenthusiastictotakeadvantageofthem.‘Youlittlebastard,’hespatashelungedforward,armsstraight,thepointoftheswordaimedforTheGhost’sthroat.Itnevergotthere.Fromtheirleftcameacryandthenighttoreopentoreveal

thewoman,herlonggreyhairflyingasshecameshriekingfromthedarknessandbarrelledintothetoffwithallhermight.Asattackswent,itwasn’tpretty.Itwasn’tevendecisive.Butitwas

devastatinglyeffectiveandwithashoutofsurpriseandpain,thehigh-class

yobbowassenttumblingintothegravestones.Hetriedtoraisethecutlassagainbutthewomanwastherefirst,jumpingonhisswordarmandbreakingitwithanaudiblesnapandthenusingherotherfoottostamponhisfacesothatforaseconditlookedasthoughshewasdancingonacarpetoftoff.Themanpulledaway,snarling,hisfaceamaskoffreshbloodashegrabbed

forthebladewithhisgoodarmandroseatthesametime.Off-balance,thewomanfell,andthetablesweresuddenlyturnedagain,theswordabouttohaveitssay,butTheGhosthadgatheredhissensesandhewasn’tabouttolethimfinishwhathehadstarted,andhestruck,rammingtheflatofhishandintotheman’sshoulder,hiswoundedarm,causinghimtospinandscreaminpainatthesametime.ThescreamwasabruptlycutoffasTheGhostdeliveredhissecondblow–the

deathstrike–againwiththeheelofthehandbutthistimeevenharderandintothespotjustbelowthetoff’snose,breakingitandsendingfragmentsofboneintothebrain,killinghiminstantly.Therewasaclumpastheunluckyaristocrathithisheadonagravestoneon

thewaydownandthencametorestontheuntendedgrass.Darkrunnelsofbloodandbrainfluidtrickledfromhisnostrils.Hiseyelidsflickeredashedied.TheGhoststood,shouldersrisingandfallingtocatchhisbreath.Sprawledby

anearbyheadstonetheoldwomanwatchedhim,andforalongmomentthetwoofthemregardedeachothercautiously:thisstrangegrey-hairedoldlady,thin-facedandweatheredandbloodyfromthebeating,andthisstrangeyoungIndianman,filthyfromhisday’sworkatthedig.Bothwerecladintornanddirtyclothes.Bothexhaustedandbruisedfrombattle.‘Yousavedmylife,’hesaidpresently.TheGhostspokesoftly.Hiswords

seemedtoevaporateinthesilenceandgloomofthegraveyard,andthewoman,feelingreassuredthathewasn’tamanonakillingspreeandabouttodoherinwithafinalflourishofnocturnalbloodlust,pulledherselfpainfullyuptorestononearm.‘Iwasonlyabletosaveyourlifebecauseyousavedmine,’shesaidthrough

brokenteethandrawandbloodylips.Hecouldtellshewasbadlyinjured.Thewaysheheldahandtoherside,she

hadprobablybrokenaribortwo.Thewrongmovementanditmighteasilypuncturealung.

‘Canyoubreatheallright?’Hescrambledoverthebodyofthetofftothegravemarkerwhereshelayandputgentlehandstoherflank.‘Here,’sheprotested,suddenlyflusteredagain,thinkingmaybeshemight

havebeenabitprematureinrelaxing,‘whatthebloodyhelldoyouthinkyou’redoing?’‘I’mtryingtohelpyou,’hesaiddistractedly,feelingforbrokenbones,then

adding,‘Youneedtocomewithme.’‘Now,lookhere,you.Don’tyoubegoingandgettinganyideas…’‘Whatelsedoyousuggest?Wehaveadeadmanhereandthreeinjuredmen

backthere,andsomewhereisyetanothermanwho’seithergoingtobelookingfortheconstablesorreinforcementsormaybeboth.Andyou’reinjured.Stayherebyallmeans,butI’dpreferitifyoudidn’t.’Shelookedathimwarily.‘Well,whereareyougoingtotakeme?Haveyou

gotaboardinghousesomewhere?Youdon’tlooktooprosperous.’‘No,’hesaid,‘it’snotquiteaboardinghouse.’Atthishegaveawrysmile,andtothewoman,whosenamewasMaggie,it

wasquiteasighttosee,likethesunpeekingthroughthecloudsonanovercastday.Shewasinhersixtiesbutperhapsbecausehehadsavedherlifeandperhapsbecauseofthatsun-and-moonlightsmile,Maggiefelljustalittlebitunderhisspell,andsheaccompaniedhimtothetunnelthatverynight.FromhimshelearnthisnamewasBharat.ThatheworkedasalaboureratthoserailwayworksupnearRegentsPark.Sherathertooktolifeatthetunnel.AtnightsheandTheGhostsleptinan

alcovebacktobackforwarmth:together,butalonewiththeirthoughts,andshenevergavemuchconsiderationtothemenwhotheyhadmetthatnight.Twoofthemweretoobusybeingfedbyuncaringsanatoriumstafftocare,ofcourse.Buttwoofthemwerestilloutthere.Thelastbodyguard.Thesurvivingtoff.TheytoohadseenTheGhostinaction.Theytooknewhewasamostunusualyoungman.

WhenAbberlinemadeareturntriptoBelleIsleitwaswiththeridiculeofhisfellowbobbiesstillringinginhisears.Notsolongagothey’dbeencallinghim‘Fresh-facedFreddie’onaccountof

hisenthusiasmandtirelesspursuitofjustice,andonthatscoretheywereright:hehadnowifeorfamily;hewasdevotedtohisjob,anditwastruethathedidregardhiscolleaguesasmenwhocouldalwaysbedependedupontotakethepathofleastresistance.Butwhatwasittheywerecallinghimnow?‘Thenobodybobby’.‘The

cadaverlesscopper’.Or,withaslightalteration:‘thecopperwithoutacorpse’.Nonewerewittyorfunny.Infact,asfarasAbberlinecouldtell,theyconsistedsolelyofanalliterativeconnectionbetweenonewordforadeadbodyandanotherwordforalaw-enforcementofficer.Butevenknowingthatdidn’thelp.Itfailedtoalleviatetheconsiderablepainofhiscolleagues’taunts,nottomentionthefactthatwhenallwassaidanddone,theyhadapoint.Hehad,afterall,lostabody.Andwithoutabodytheremightaswellhavebeennomurder.Whichmeant…Hereallywantedtofindthatbody.WhichwaswhyhefoundhimselftraipsingbacktoBelleIsle,withoutthe

benefitofahorseandcartthistime,butalittlewiserandmorewaryofanysurprisestheslummighthavetooffer.Overhisshoulderwasslungasack.Inithissecretweapon.HewentdeeperintoBelleIsle,wherethestenchfromthefactoryandthe

slaughterhousewasalmostoverwhelming.Todaythedenizensoftherookerywerehiddenbyadensefog.Properslumfog,itbillowedandboomedthreateningly,andwithinitdancedflakesofsootaswellasthicker,eddyingcloudsoflung-chokingsmoke.Devil’sbreath.

EverynowandthenAbberlinewouldseeshapesinthefog,andhebegantogetasenseoffiguresgathering,trackinghisprogressashecamedeeperanddeeperintothisgodforsakenland.Good.Thatwasjusthowhewantedit.Herequiredanaudienceforwhatcame

next.Bynowhewasatthespotwherethechildrenhadhaltedhiscartandwhere,

presumably,theyhadmadetheswitch:hisdeadbodyforanequallylifelesspony.Hestopped.‘Ahoythere,’hecalled,catchinghimselfbysurprise,unsurewhat

hadcompelledhimtotalklikeasailor.‘You’llrememberme,nodoubt.I’mtheplumwhosecadaveryoustole.’Itwaspossibleheimaginedit,butevenso–wasthatatitterheheardfrom

withintheveilofdarkness?‘Ineedtospeaktotheyoungladwhopettedmyhorsetheotherday.See,it

occurstomethatsomeoneputyouuptothatcaper.AndIwoulddearlyliketoknowwho.’Thefogstayedsilent.Itssecretssafe.‘Didhepayyou?’pressedAbberline.‘Well,thenI’llpayyouagain…’He

jingledcoinsinhispalm,thenoiseasoft,tinklingbellinthesuffocatingstillness.Therewasapause,andAbberlinewasabouttounveilhissecretweaponwhen

atlastcameareply,andayoungdisembodiedvoicesaid,‘We’rescaredofwhathe’lldo.’‘Iunderstandthat,’repliedAbberline,peeringintothemurkinwhathe

thoughtwastherightdirection.‘Hethreatenedyou,nodoubt.ButI’mafraidyoufindyourselvesinalocationknownasbetweenarockandahardplace,becauseifIleaveherewithouttheinformationIneed,thenI’llbecomingback,andIwon’tbealone.I’llbereturningwithoneofthemcoveredcartsyousee,theonespassinginandoutoftheworkhousegates…’Hepausedfordramaticeffect.‘Ontheotherhand,ifI’mgiventheinformationIwantthenI’llforgetabouttheworkhousecarts.I’llleavethismoneybehind,andwhat’smore…’Andnowhehoistedthesackfromoverhisshoulder,placeditontheground

andtookacricketbatandballthatheheldup.‘Theseaswell.Nomoreplaying

cricketwithakitten’shead,notwhenyougetyourhandsontheselittlebeauties.Costaprettypenny,Icantellyou–youwon’tfindabetterset.’Theresponsecameagain,causingAbberlinetojerkhisheadthiswayand

that,feelingatadistinctdisadvantageashetriedtopinpointthesourceofthesound.‘We’refrightenedofwhathe’lldo,’repeatedtheyoungvoice.‘He’slikea

demon.’Abberlinefelthispulsequicken,knowingforsurehe’dbeenrighttosuspect

somethingoutoftheordinaryaboutthismurder.‘I’vemademyoffer,’hecalledbacktohisunseenintermediary.‘Ontheone

handIhavegifts.OntheotherIhavedireconsequences.AndIcantellyouthis:aswellasreturningwiththeworkhousecarts,I’llputitaboutthatIwasgiventheinformationIneededanyway.Thewrathofthisdemon–andhe’snotademon,youknow;he’saman,justlikeme–maywellfalluponyouanyway.’Hewaitedforthefogtomakeitsdecision.Atlastitbillowedandparted,andfromitsteppedthesameboywhohad

stoppedhimtheotherday.Dirtyface.Rags.Ahollowed-out,hungryexpression.Thiswasachildwhoseappointmentwiththegravewassurelyimminent,andAbberlinefeltbadforthewayheandotherslikehimwereusedandabused.Hefeltbadforthreateningthemwiththeworkhousewhenthreatsandcoldandhungerwasalltheyknew.‘Imeanyounoharm.Youhavemyword,’hesaid.Helaiddownthebatand

ballonthegroundbetweenthem.Theboylookeddownatthecricketgearthenbackatthepoliceman.

Abberlinesensedtheexpectancyofthefigurescloakedbythefog.‘You’llbeangrywetookyourbody,’theboysaidwiththereticenceandcautionofpainfulexperience.‘I’mnotbestpleasedyoutookmybody,no,you’rerightaboutthat,’conceded

Abberline,‘Butlisten,Iunderstandwhyyoudidit.Andletmetellyouthis,ifIwereinyourshoesrightnow,Iwouldhavedonetheexactsamething.I’mnotheretojudgeyou.Ijustwantthetruth.’Theboytookastepforward,moretoacknowledgeagrowingtrustof

Abberlinethanforanyotherreason.‘There’snotmuchmoretosay,sir.Youwasright.Wewaspaidtodistractyouinyourdutiesandtradethecorpseforthe

pony.Wewasn’ttoldwhy,andnordidweask.Ahandfulofchinkwaswhatwegotfordeliveringthebody.’‘Andthegun?’‘Ididn’tseenogun,sir.’‘Itwasinthedeadman’spocket.’‘Thenitstayedwithhim,sir.’‘Andwheredidyoudeliverthisbody?’Theboyhunghishead.Insteadofansweringheraisedahandtoindicate

wherethehorseslaughtererswouldhavebeen,ifnotforthesmog.‘Someofussawthemangointherewithit,andthennotlonglatercomeoutwithoutit.’‘Andwhatdidhelooklike,thisman?’askedAbberline,tryingtokeepthe

eagernessoutofhisvoice,andfailingmiserably.

Notlonglater,theconstablebreathedadeep,gratefulsighofreliefasheleftthechokingfogofBelleIslebehindandmadehiswaybacktotherelativelycleanairofhisdistrict.Hewaslightsomecoins,acricketbatandball,buthisconsciencewasthankfullyclean,andhehadadescriptionofthis‘demon’whosemotivesweresomuchamystery.Itwasadescriptionthatrangbells.He’dheardtalkofamandressedthisway,thisveryparticular–youmightevensay‘idiosyncratic’way–whohadbeeninvolvedinsomeructionsattheRookeryaweekorsoago.Abberlinefoundhispaceincreasingasitallcamebacktohim.Therewasa

bobbyinanotherdistricthecouldspeakto,whomightknowsomethingaboutthisstrangefigurewhoshouldbeeasytospot–astrangefigurewhoworerobesandacowloverhishead.

EthannevertoldTheGhostanythingofhishomelife.TheGhostknewnamesofcourse–Cecily,Jacob,Evie–butnothingdistinct,apartfromthefactthatthetwinswereclosetohiminage.‘OnedayIhopetointroduceyou,’Ethanhadsaid,withastrange,unreadableexpression.‘Butthatwon’tbeuntilI’mcertainthey’rereadytojointhefight.’ThatwasasmuchasTheGhostknew.Ontheotherhand,hedidn’tpry,and

besideshehadn’ttoldEthananythingofhisownlifeawayfromtheexcavation.EthanknewnothingofMaggieorthedenizensofthetunnel,andTheGhosthadn’ttoldhishandlerthatheoftenlayawakeshiveringwiththecold,hiseyesdampwithmemoriesofMotherandFatherandjasmine-scentedAmritsar.OrthatthedyingfaceofDanicontinuedtohaunthisnightmares.Lipsdrawnback.Bloodiedteeth.Amouthfullofsteelandcrimson.Hejustcontinuedtoexist,workingshiftsatthedig,buryinghisspadeinits

specialhidingplacebeforegoinghometothetunnelandlookingafterthepeoplethere.Andthen,fournightsago–fournightsbeforethebodyhadbeendiscovered

atthedig,thiswas–TheGhosthadbeenmakinghiswayhome,whenasusualhe’dglancedintothechurchyard–butthistimesawthegravestoneleaningtotheleft.Insteadofgoingbacktothetunnelheturnedandwentintheopposite

direction,headingforPaddington.Itwouldbealongwalkbuthewasusedtoit.Itwasallpartofthedailypenancehepaidforhis…Cowardice,hesometimesthought,inthosemomentsofgreatdarknessbefore

thedawnfreezinginthetunnel.Buthehadn’tbeenacowardthenighthehadsavedMaggie,hadhe?Hehad

foughtforwhatwasright.

Somaybenotcowardice.Atleastnotthat.Failuretoactinstead.Hesitancyorunwillingness–whateveritwasthathadstayedhishandthenightofhisblooding,andheapedsuchgreatshameonhimselfandhisfamilyname.Byrightsheshouldhavepaidwithhislife,andwouldhavedone–wereitnot

fortheinterventionofEthanFrye.SometimesTheGhostwonderedifhisultimateactofcowardicewasinacceptingtheolderAssassin’soffer.Thesoundsofthestreet–acacophonyofhooves,tradersandabusker’s

sawingfiddle–allfellawayashewalked,lostinthought,hismindgoingbacktoTheDarkness.Whenthedoorhadopenedthatmorningitwastoadmithisexecutioner.Orsohehadthought.Instead,EthanFryehadreappeared,grinningbroadlyfromeartoear.EthanhadcheckedhimselfatthesightofJayadeep,whoseexpectationof

deathwaswrittenalloverhisface,andhetookaseatonthestraw,justashehadthepreviousday.Here,EthanhadexplainedtoJayadeepthathewasrequiredinLondonforanimportantmission;thatArbaazhadgivenhisblessingforit.Itwouldinvolvehimgoingundercover.‘Deepcover’washowEthanhadput

it.AndbeforeJayadeepwentthinkingthiswassomekindofpitymission,thatEthanwasdoinganythinghecouldjusttosavetheyoungsterfromtheAssassin’sblade,hecouldthinkagain.EthanwantedJayadeepbecauseJayadeephadbeenhisstarpupil.‘You’llrememberIadvisedagainstsendingyouonAssassinassignment?’

Ethanhadsaid,andJayadeephadnoddedhisheadsadly.‘Well,that’sbecauseIsawinyouahumanitythatIthinkcanbehelpfultotheBrotherhood.ThejobIhaveinmindisbynomeanspleasant.Youwillbecomeadifferentperson,Jayadeep,allvestigesofyourformerselfburiedwithinthefoldsofanewdisguise.YouwillnolongerbeJayadeepMir,doyouunderstand?’Jayadeephadnodded,andthenEthanhadleft.Onlythistimethedoor

remainedopen.IttookJayadeepsomemomentofcontemplationbeforehetoorosetohisfeet

andleft–steppingoutofTheDarknessatlast.

‘Themissionbeginsnow,’EthanFryetoldhimthenextdayatdusk.ThewarmthJayadeepwasusedtoseeinginhistutor’seyeswasabsent.Ethan’sreliefat

havingfreedJayadeepwasshort-lived.Nowwastimetoattendtothenextorderofbusiness,thenextphaseoftheoperation.Theystoodaloneonaharbourwall.Thehullsofboatsclunkedtogetherinthe

gentleswell,whilegullsswoopedandcalledandpreened.‘I’mabouttoleaveyou,’saidEthan,lookingtheboyupanddown,notingthepauper’sclotheshewore,justasdirected.‘YouneedtomakeyourownwaytoLondon.Findsomewheretolive,somewherebefittingamanofverylimitedmeansindeed.Here…’HehandedJayadeepasmallpouchofcoins.‘Thisisforyoursubsistence.Itwon’tgoveryfarsospenditwisely.AndrememberthatfromthismomentforthyouarenolongerJayadeepMir,sonofArbaazandPyaraKaurofAmritsar,accustomedtocomfortandwealthandtheattendantrespectofothers.WhenyouarriveinLondonyouarriveasthescumoftheearth,abrown-skinnedoutsiderwithoutapennytoyourname,which,incidentally,willbeBharatSingh.However,yourcodename–thenamethatIwillknowyouby–isTheGhost.’JayadeephadthoughtthenthathehatedthenameBharatSingh.TheGhost

suitedhimbetter.‘WhenyouhavelodgingsIneedyoutofindwork,’continuedEthan,‘butata

veryspecificplace,thesignificanceofwhichwillbecomeclearinsomemonths’time.IneedyoutofindworkattheMetropolitanrailwaydiginthenorth-westofthecity.’Jayadeephadshakenhisheadinconfusion.Alreadytherewassomuchtotake

in.Anewlife?Anewjob?Allofitinastrangeforeignland,withoutthebenefitofhisfamilyname,withouthisfather’stutelageandEthan’sguidance.Itseemedimpossiblewhatwasbeingaskedofhim.Andnowthis.Arailway?‘Don’tworryaboutthatjustatthemoment,’saidEthan,readinghisthoughts.

‘Allwillbecomeclearwhenyou’reinLondon.’Hetickedthingsoffhisfingers.‘Firstfindlodgingsofsomekind.Lodgingssuitedtoamanontheverylowestrungofthesocialladder;thenbecomeacquaintedwithyoursurroundings,thensecureemploymentattheMetropolitanrailwaydig.Isthatclear?’Theyoungmancouldonlynodhisheadandhopethesemysterieswould

somehowsolvethemselvesinduecourse.‘Good.Youhavethreemonthsfromtodaytodoit.InthemeantimeIneedyou

tostudythis…’

Afolder,leather-boundandtiedwithathong,wasdulyproducedfromwithintheolderAssassin’srobes.Jayadeeptookit,turningitover,wonderingwhatlaywithin.‘Isuggestyoureadthepapersduringyourpassageandthentossthelotinthe

ocean.Justmakesureyouhavecommitteditscontentstomemory.Weshallmeetonthisdaythreemonths’hence,inthegardensoftheFoundlingHospitaloffGray’sInnRoadatmidnight.Now,andthisisthemostimportantaspectofwhatI’mtellingyou,undernocircumstancesareyoutodemonstratethatyouhaveanyabilitiesbeyondthoseexpectedofadirt-poorseventeen-year-oldIndianboy.Walksmall,nottall.You’renotanAssassinandyouarenottobehavelikeone.Ifyoufindyourselfunderthreat,thenbecowed.Ifyouappeartobeamorecompetentandableworkerthanyourfellowmen,thentrylesshard.Theimportantthingforyounowistoblendinineverysingleway.Youunderstand?’TheGhostnodded,andwaterlappedattheharbourwallasthesunpokedits

wayintoanewday.

LostinthememoryofhisfinalmorninginIndia,TheGhosthadalmostwalkedpastthehousethatactedashismeetingplacewithhishandler.Number23and24LeinsterGardens,Paddington,lookedjustlikeanyother

houseonthestreet,butwhatonlyahandfulofpeopleknew–theneighbours,thebuilders,and,morepertinently,TheGhostandEthanFrye–wasthatthetwohouseswere,infact,falsefrontsbuilttohideaholeintheground.IthadbeenCharlesPearson’sidea.Constructinghisrailwayhehadcome

acrossanimmediateproblem,whichwasfindinganenginesuitableforuseunderground.Anordinarysteamenginewithitsusualemissionwouldhavesuffocatedpassengersandcrewstraightaway.Sinceitisunacceptableforrailwayoperatorstokilltheirpassengers,Pearsoncastaboutforasolution.Firsthehadtheideaofdraggingcarriagesthroughthetunnelsusingcables,andthen,whenthatprovedimpractical,cameupwithaplantouseatmosphericpressure.Thatprovedimpracticaltoo–thoughitwasofcoursegreatfodderforthecity’smanysatirists.ItwasJohnFowlerwhocametoPearson’srescue,inthisasinsomany

aspectsoftheline.Hehadoverseentheconstructionofanenginewheresmokeandsteamwouldbedivertedintoatankbehindtheengine.Theonlytroublewasthatthesmokeandsteamwouldneedtobereleasedatsomepoint,andthatwaswhynumber23and24LeinsterGardens,W2,weresetaside,sothattheenginesfrombelowcould,quiteliterally,‘letoffsteam’.TheopeningoftheMetropolitanlinewasstilloverayearaway,anditwas

herethatTheGhostandEthanFryewouldmeet.‘Howareyou?’saidEthanthatnight.Hehadbeensittingontheedgeofthe

void,staringdowntowheretimberscriss-crossedjustbelowhisdanglingboots.TheGhostnoddedbutsaidnothing,aclosedbook.Hetookaseatnextto

Ethan.Hisbarefeetdanglingnexttothebootsofhismentor,agreatdarkness

belowthem.‘Youwillbepleasedtoknowwearemovingtothenextphaseofthe

operation,’saidEthan.‘Mattersaregoingtocometoahead.Youwillfindyourselfunderscrutiny.IhavenodoubtwhatsoeverthatyouwillbefollowedandyourcredentialscheckedbyourTemplarfriends.Areyouconfidentyourcoverremainsabsolutelysecure?’TheGhostponderedwhetherthiswasthetimetotellEthanaboutMaggieand

hisunofficialguardianroleatthetunnel.Itwasaconversationhe’dcarriedoutinhisheadmanytimes,imaginaryexplanationswherehe’dtellEthanthatonethinghadledtoanotherandthathehadn’tintendedtosethimselfapart,justthathehadbeenunabletostandbyandallowinjusticetoprevail.AndsurelyEthanwould…Well,evenifhedidn’tapprove,thenhewouldcertainlyunderstand,wouldn’the?Andafterall,itwasn’tasthoughTheGhostwerearecognizablepublichero,front-pagenewsintheIllustratedLondonNews.Butno.Hekepthismouthshut.Hesaidnothingandwalkedwillinglyintothe

nextphaseoftheplan.‘Whichiswhat?’heasked.Mischieflithismaster’seyes.ItwasalookthatTheGhosthadcometolove

whenhewasachildinthesecurityofAmritsar.Now,staringdownintothevoidwithonlyuncertaintyaheadofhim,hewasn’tsosure.‘YouwillneedtowritealettertoourfriendMrCavanagh.Youcanuseyour

knowledgeofCavanaghtoestablishyourcredentials.I’llleavethedetailsuptoyou.TheimportantthingisthatyoutellMrCavanaghthathehasatraitorinhisranksandthatyouhopetocurryfavourwithhimbyunveilingthistraitor.’TheGhostnodded,hisgazefixedonthedarknessbelow.‘Isee,’hesaidwhen

Ethanhadfinished.‘Andwhatthen?’‘Waitforabodytobediscoveredatthedig.’‘When?’‘Difficulttosay.Inthenextfewdays,I’dimagine,dependingontherainfall.’‘Isee.AndamIallowedtoknowwhosebodywillbediscovered?’‘YourememberourTemplarfriend,MrRobertWaugh?’TheGhostdidindeedrememberhim.‘Thepornographer?’‘Theverysame.OnlyMrWaughhasn’tbeenaltogetherstraightwithhis

associates.He’sbeenusinghiseroticprintstomakealittleextramoney,a

sidelineIuncoveredlastnight.’‘Whenyoukilledhim?’‘Ohno,Ididn’tkillhim.’EthanslappedTheGhostheartilyontheshoulder.

‘Youdid.’

AshereturnedfromhismeetingwithEthan,TheGhostreflectedonthefirsttimehebecameawareofthemanhenowsaweverydayatthedig.ThemanknownprimarilyasCavanagh.ItwasonthepassagefromAmritsartoEngland,whenhehaddoneashewastoldandopenedthefoldergiventohimbyEthanontheharbourwall.InsidewasanintroductorynotefromEthanexplainingthatthecontentswere

dispatchescopiedanddecodedfromaTemplarhaul.Thepapershadbeenreplaced;asfarastheAssassinsknewtheTemplarshadnoideatheywereinpossessionoftheinformation.Thedispatcheshadbeencompiledfromfirst-handaccountsassembledby

Templardocumentarians,andtheybeganinnocuouslyenoughwithafactualaccountoftheEnglishretreatfromKabulin1842.TheGhostknewallaboutthemarchfromKabulofcourse.Everybodydid.It

wasoneofthemostdisastrouseventsofEnglishmilitaryhistory,andtheturningpointofthegodforsakenwarinAfghanistan.Sixteenthousandsoldiers,familiesandcampfollowershadembarkedonaninety-mileretreatfromKabultoJalalabadinJanuary1842.Onlyahandfulmadeit.Notonlydidtheyhavefoodforjustfivedays,buttheirleader,Major-General

WilliamElphinstone–otherwiseknownasElphyBey–hadaheadassoftashisbodywasfrail.Notonlywasheidioticbuthewasgullible,andhebelievedeveryliethattheAfghanleader,AkbarKhan,toldhim.AndAkbarKhantoldElpheyBeyalotoflies.InreturnfortheBritisharmy

handingoverthemajorityoftheirmuskets,Khanguaranteedsafepassage,aswellasofferinganescortthroughthepasses.HealsogaveassurancesthatthesickandwoundedleftinKabulwouldbeunharmed.IttookKhanroughlyanhourtogobackonhisword.Themarchhadonlyjust

leftthecantonmentwhenhismenmovedintoloot,burntentsandputthe

woundedtothesword.Meanwhile,therearguardwasattacked.Porters,campfollowersandIndiansoldierswerebutchered,andwithlittleornoresistancefromthecolumntheAfghansbeganmountingincreasinglybrazensorties,swiftlydevastatingthebaggagetrain.BarelyoutofKabulandthemarchleftbehindatrailoftrunksandcorpses.Veryfewtentsweretakenonthemarch,andtheywereforwomen,children

andofficers.Thatnightmostlaydowntosleepinthesnowandbynextmorningthegroundwaslitteredwiththecorpsesofthosewhohadfrozentodeathinthenight.Frostbittenandstarving,themarchpressedon,hopingtobeattheworstoftheweatherandwithstandtheconstantAfghanattack.Forreasonsknownonlytohimself,ElphyBeyorderedarestatjusttwo

o’clockintheafternoon,whenwhatheshouldhavedonewasheedtheadviceofhisofficersandpressonthroughthedangerousKhord-KabulPass.Perhapstheoldboyhadsimplylosthismindcompletely,forhisdecisionmeanthandingthepasstotheAfghanswhosesniperstookuppositionontheledges,whiletheircavalryreadiedthemselvesformoresport.Sureenough,shotsbegantoringoutasthecolumnenteredthepassthe

followingmorning,andthemarchstoppedasnegotiationswerecarriedout.AkbarKhanagreedtoletthecolumnthroughinexchangeforhostages,buthisdeceitknewnobounds,forafterthehostageswerehandedoverthefiringbeganagain,whilemountedtribesmenrodeintothecolumn,scatteringfollowers,hackingdownciviliansandsoldiersandevencarryingoffchildren.Threethousandlosttheirlivesinthepassandallsupplieswerelost.That

nighttheremnantsofthemarchcampedwithjustfoursmalltentsandnofuelorfood.Hundredsdiedofexposure.Thekillingcontinuedoverthenextfewdays.Toescapethemassacresome

killedthemselveswhileothersdeserted,thoughtheywerenotallowedtoescapebytheAfghans,whoonlysparedthosetheymightransomlater–theofficers,wivesandchildren.Soldiers,servantsandfollowerswerebutchered.Bythefifthdaythecolumnnumberedjustthreethousand–fivehundredof

themsoldiers.ElphyBeygavehimselfup,latertodieincaptivity,whilethewivesandfamiliessurrenderedalso.Stillthemarchstruggledon,numbersdwindling,andwasattackedattheJugdullukCrest,sufferingappallingcasualties.Runningbattlestookplaceovernight,infeetofsnow,untilthe

survivorsgottoGandamak,bywhichtimetheynumberedfewerthanfourhundred.Theytookuppositiononahill,butfoundthemselvessurroundedbyAfghans,

whocommandedthemtosurrender.‘Notbloodylikely!’scoffedasergeant,andhisretortwouldbecomesomethingofanEnglishnationalcatchphrase.Hewasasgoodashisword,though,sotheAfghansniperswenttoworkbeforeafinalattack.JugdullukCrestwasnobattle;itwasamassacre.Sixofficersescaped,fiveof

whomwerecutdownontheroadtoJalalabad.Justone,WilliamBrydon,madeit.PartofhisskullhadbeenshearedoffbyanAfghanswordstrokebuthe’dsurvivedtheblowthankstoacopyofBlackwood’sMagazinestuffedintohishat.‘NeverknewthisoldbitofLollanddrivelcouldcomeinsohandy,’he’dapparentlyremarked.OfthesixteenthousandwhohadsetofffromKabulsixdayspreviously,he

wastheonlyonetoreachhisdestination.Except…notquite.ThestoryofgoodoldWilliamBrydonmakingitaloneto

Jalalabadwasagoodone–sogoodthatitloomedlargeinthepublicconsciousnessforsometime.Sadly,however,itwasnotquitethetruth,becausetherewereothersurvivors.JustthatthemethodsandmeansoftheirsurvivalwerenotquitesonobleasthestoicismofDrWilliamBrydon.Amanwilldoanythingtosurvive,tolivetoseeanothersunrise,feelthelipsofhiswifeandchildren,laughalongwithadrinkinhishand.So,yes,therewereotherswholivedthroughthatdisastrousmarch,buttheirexploitswerenottobeapplauded,celebrated,sungaboutnorlaterimmortalizedbyartists.Theywerenoteven‘exploits’atall,inthesensethatthewordsuggestsadventureandderring-do.Theywereactsofsurvival,pureandsimple.Dirtyandmeanandruthlessandexecutedatadreadfulcosttoothers.

AndsoitwasthatonthemarchtherewasacertaincommanderwhowentbythenameofColonelWalterLavelle.ThismanbelongedtotheOrderoftheKnightsTemplar.Hewasnotanespeciallyhigh-rankingTemplar,notapersonofinteresttotheAssassinBrotherhood,butknowntothemnevertheless.ShortlybeforethemarchwasduetoleaveKabul,acorporalbythenameof

CavanaghinveigledhimselfwithWalterLavelle.

‘IwonderifIcouldhaveaword,sir,’saidthisCavanaghonthemorningofthemarch.Seeingacertainseriousnessand,ifhewashonestwithhimself,alittledanger

inthisman’seyes,Lavellehadnodded,despitethefactthatthemanwasamerecorporal,andthetwosoldiersmovedtotheshelterofacypresstree,awayfromwhereservantsandfollowerswereloadingcarts,andhorsesstruggledbeneaththeweightofpanniersandsaddlebags.Indeed,thecourtyardwasahiveofindustry.Abovethesoundofmencursingandstrugglingandordersbeingissuedandwomenwringingtheirhandsandcrying,cametheconstantexhortationsofLadyFlorentiaSale,thewifeofMajorGeneralRobertHenrySale,awomaninwhosehonourtheword‘redoubtable’mightwellhavebeenminted.LadySaleleftnobodyindoubtthatsheconsideredthismarchamereafternoonexcursion,amatteroflittleimportforthemightoftheEnglisharmyandthattothinkotherwisewastreacherouslyun-English.‘Ohdoceaseyourbawling,Emily,andmakeyourselfuseful,’shewouldexhort.‘Youthere,haveacare.ThatismyverybestMadeirawine.Andyou,watchthatchinaormyJalalabadsoiréeswillbesomewhatlackinginfinesse.I’mplanningmyfirstonetwodayshence.WhatahootitwillbetomeetthegoodladiesofJalalabad.’Awaybythecypresstree,CorporalCavanaghturnedtoLavelleandinadead-

eyedwaysaid,‘She’safool.’Theywerewelloutofearshotbutevensothecolonelsplutteredindignantly,

ascolonelswereinthehabitofdoing.‘Haveyougonemad,sah?Haveyoutakenleaveofeverysingleoneofallyoursensesatbloodyonce?Doyouknowwhoyou’retalkingto,man?Doyouknowwhoyou’retalkingabout?Thatis–’‘IknowfullwellwhoI’mtalkingtoandwhoI’mtalkingabout,sir,’replied

Cavanaghevenly(bygadthemanwasacoolfishandnomistake),‘andit’spreciselybecauseIknowwhoI’mtalkingtothatIfeelIcantalkopenly.ForgivemeifImisjudgedthesituationandIshallretiretocontinuepreparingthemenofmysection.’Hemadeasthoughtowalkaway,butLavellestoppedhim,curioustohear

whatwasontheimpertinentcorporal’smind.‘I’llhearyouout,man.Justmindyourtongueisall.’ButCavanaghdidnothingofthesort.Heplannedtospeakhismindandspeak

ithedid.‘DoyouknowhowfaritistoJalalabad?It’sninetymiles.Wehavean

armyoffourteenthousand,buthardlyaquarterofthemaresoldiers,therestofthemagreatrabble:porters,servants,womenandchildren.Hardlyafighteramongthem.Doyouknowwhattheconditionsarelike,sir?We’llbemarchingthroughafootofsnowontheworstgroundonearthandthetemperaturefreezing.AndwhatofAkbarKhan?He’sbeeninthehills,goingfromthischieftothat,gatheringsupportforfurtherhostilities.Khanwillnotstandbyhisword.Assoonaswestepoutsidethosegateshewillbegintakingusapart.LadySalethinksshe’llbehavingherfirstJalalabadsoiréeintwodays’time.Isaywe’llbeluckytomakethatmarchintwoweeks.Wedon’thavearms,ammunition,norenoughfoodorsupplies.Themarchisdoomed,sir,andwearedoomedwithitunlesswejoinforcestotakeaction.’HewentontotellLavellethathehadareasonablecommandofPushtu,and

suggestedthathetookapositionasLavelle’sbatman.ButLavellehadn’tfinishedspluttering,andhedidabitofblusteringaswell,andwhenthatwasoverhedismissedCavanaghwithafleainhisear,tellinghimnottobesoimpertinentandtokeephistreacherousthoughtsofdesertiontohimself.‘Youmusthavehopedtocurryfavourwithme,y’wretchedlickspittle!’he

roared,‘ForwhateverreasonIcannotimagine,butI’mtellingyouIremainGeneralElphinstone’sfaithfulservanttotheverylast.’BythefirstnightofthemarchitwasclearthatAkbarKhanhadindeedgone

backonhiswordandthatElphyBeywasafool.AndasthecolumnrangtothescreamsofwoundedmenandtheAfghansortiescontinued,andpoorunfortunatesfrozewheretheylay,aterrifiedandcravenLavellecreptintoCavanagh’stenttoaskifthecorporalwouldagreetobehisbatman.‘Me,amerewretchedlickspittle?’saidCavanagh,hisfacebetrayingnothing

ofthedarksatisfactionhefeltatthelookofpaniconthecolonel’sface.Hedemurredandrefused,actingoffended,untilheelicitedanapologyfromthequakingcolonel.Thenextmorning,asBritishLancersrodeagainsttheAfghansinafutile

attempttodeterfurtherattacks,Cavanagh,Lavelleandafaithfulsepoy,whosenameisnotrecorded,leftthecompanyforgood.Theirpaththroughthehillsandpasseswastreacherous.Theydidn’tdareget

toonearthecolumnforfearofbeingseenbyeithertheBritishsoldiersortheirAfghanattackers,butneitherdidtheywanttostraytoofarfromestablished

routes.TheAfghancountrysidewaswellknownforbeingamongthemosthostileonthefaceoftheknownworld,nevermoresothanintheunforgivingfrostofJanuary,andwhat’smorethemenfearedfallingintothehandsoffar-flungtribes.Theyhadfeedfortheirmounts,butastheymadetheirwaythroughthecliffs

andpeaksofthepassitbecameclearthattheyhadseriouslymiscalculatedwhenitcametofoodforthemselves.Sowhen,inthelateafternoonofthethirdday,thechillbreezebroughttothemthesmellofcookingmeat,theirstomachswereasalertastheirsenses.SureenoughtheysooncameuponfiveAfghanhillmenonthetrack.They

weretendingtoafireinaclearing,overwhichtheywereroastingagoat,withsheerrockononesideofthemandavertiginousdropontheother.Thethreedeserterstookcoverimmediately.LikeallEnglishsoldiersthey

maintainedahealthyrespectforthefightersofAfghanistan–theirswasawarriornation:themenwereskilledandfearsome,andthewomennotoriousfortheirghastlymethodsofexecution,withflayingand‘thedeathbyathousandcuts’amongtheleastsadistic.Sothetriostayedhiddenbehindalargeboulder:thesepoy,implacable,a

pictureofsteelyresolve,despiteknowinghowtheAfghanstreatedtheirSikhprisoners;LavellewordlesslycedingauthoritytoCavanagh,whothankedGodthetribesmenhadnotthoughttopostalookoutand,inaseriesofquickglances,tookstockofthesituation.Well,therewasnomakingadetourroundtheposition,thatwasforsure.In

ordertocontinuealongthepath,Cavanagh,Lavelleandthesepoywouldhavetoengagethemincombat–eitherthatorreturntothecolumnandexplaintheirabsenceandmostlikelybeshotfordesertion.Combatitwasthen.Therewerefiveofthem,wearingskullcapsorturbansandlongcoats.

Tetherednearbywerehorsesloadedwithsupplies,includingthecarcassofasecondgoat.TheAfghanrifles,calledjezzails,werearrangedinatepeeshapenotfarfromthecampfire.Cavanaghknewthejezzailwell.Home-madeweapons,theirlongbarrelsgave

themaconsiderablerangeadvantageovertheBritishBrownBessmusketusedbyElphinstone’smen.TheseAfghanwarriorswouldusetheirjezzailstogreat

effectagainstthecolumn,withexpertsnipersfiringadeadlybarrageofbullets,nailsandevenpebblesdownuponthebeleagueredretreatsomeeighthundredfeetbelow.Theywereintricatelydecorated,aswastheAfghancustom;oneofthemwasevenadornedwithhumanteeth.However,notedCavanagh,withrelief,thejezzailwasamuzzle-loaded

weapon,andbythelooksofthingsthestackinfrontofthemwerenotprimed.Eitherway,thetribesmenwouldreachfortheKhyberknivesattheirwaists.Excellentclose-quarterweapons.Cavanaghlookedathistwocompanions.Thesepoy,asheknew,wasadecent

shot.Hewasn’tsureaboutLavelle,buthehimselfhadtrainedattheDomenicoAngeloTremamondofencing-masteracademyandwasanexpertswordsman.(Here,TheGhostcameacrossanote,presumablyleftbywhicheverAssassin

curatorhadassembledthedossier.ThewriterwonderedhowamerecorporalhadstudiedatthegreatAngelo’sSchoolofArmsinCarlisleHouse,Soho,inLondon,wherethearistocracyweretutoredinswordsmanship.Or,perhaps,toturnthequestionround:howagraduateofthatparticularacademyhadendedupamerecorporal?ThenotewasappendedwithaninscriptionfromEthan,asingleword.TheGhostknewitwellfromthedreadedLatinlessonsEthanhadinsisteduponaspartofhistutelage.‘Cave’itsaid,meaningbeware.)CavanaghknewthiswashischancetoimpressuponLavellethathewasmore

thanameredeserter.Thedaybefore,whenLavellehadaskedhimwhyhemightwishtocurryfavour,thequestionhadgoneunanswered.ButthetruthofitwasthatCavanaghwaswellawareofLavelle’spositionwithintheOrderandwishedtotakeadvantageofit.SoCavanaghdrewhissabresilently,gavehisownservicepistoltothesepoy,andindicatedforLavelletoreadyhis.Whenthetwomenwereinplaceheindicatedforthemtotakethetwo

tribesmenontheleft.Nextheroseupslightlyonhishaunches,stretchingouthiscalves.Thelast

thingheneededwashislegsseizingupwhenhemadehismove.Whichhedid.TrustingLavelleandthesepoytobeaccurateandputtinghis

faithintheelementofsurpriseandhisownnot-inconsiderableswordsmanship,Cavanaghsprangfrombehindthebouldertodobattle.Hesawthesoldierontheleftspinandscreamatthesametimeasheheardthe

pistolshotfrombehind,andthencameasecondshot,thisonenotsoaccurate

butenoughtoliftthenextmanoffhisfeetandtakehimdownclutchingathisstomach.AsthesecondtribesmanturnedandsnatchedfortheKhyberknifeathiswaist,Cavanaghreachedhimandattackedwiththesabre,asinglechoppingblowtotheneckthatopenedthecarotidartery,andthensteppednimblyawaytoavoidtherhythmicfountainofblood.TheEnglishmanhadchosenhisfirststrikedeliberately.Afghanwarriorswere

astoughandunflappableastheycome,buteventheycouldnotfailtobedisturbedbythesuddenappearanceofbrightarterialsprayarcingandsplatteringinthedyinglightoftheafternoon.Itsenttheothertwointoastateofdisarray,oneofthemwipinghiscomrade’sbloodfromhisfacewithonehand,evenashereachedforhiscurvedknifewiththeother.Hisknifeclearedthebeltbutthatwasall.Cavanaghspunhisownblademid-

airasheswungbackhand,slicingopenthelucklesshillman’sthroat.Theman’sskullcaptumbledfromhisheadashefoldedtothedirtwithbloodsheetingdownhisfrontandafinalwetdeathrattle,buttherewasnotimeforCavanaghtobringhissabretobearandtakethelastman.Heheardashotfrombehindandfelttheairpart,buttheshotwentwild.ToolatehesawtheKhyberknifestreakfromoutsidehisperipheralvision,andthoughtherewasnoimmediatepainhefeltthehotwashofbloodcoursingdownhisface.[Anotefromthedossiercurator:NBCavanaghbearsthisscartothisday.]HadtheAfghanpressedhomehisadvantagehemighthavemadeitoutofthe

clearingalive,andmaybeevenwiththebloodofaBritishcorporaltoshowforhispains.Insteadhechosetomakeabreakforthehorses.Possiblyhehopedtoescapeandwarnhisfriends;maybeheknewofaloadedpistolsecretedwithinthesaddlebags.UnfortunatelyforhimthesightofaterrifiedmanrunningtowardsthemwastoomuchforthenormallyimperturbableAfghansteedsandtheyrearedup,pulledtheirtethersfreeandscattered.Hell’steeth,cursedCavanagh,ashewatchedthehorses,thesuppliesandnot

tomentionthesecondgoatcarcass,goscarperingoutofsightalongthefrostytrack.Meanwhile,theAfghanwheeled,histeethbaredandhisKhyberknife

slashing.ButCavanaghwentonguardsabre-style,hisrighthandraised,thepointoftheswordtippingdownwards,anditwaswithsomesatisfactionthathe

sawthetribesman’seyeballsswivelupandtotheleftforasecondbeforeheburiedthetipofhisbladeintotheman’sface.Intheaftermathofthebattlewassilence.Thegut-shotAfghanwrithedand

moaned,andCavanaghdeliveredthecoupdegrâce,wipinghissabrecleanontheman’srobes,whichwerealreadysobloodstainedastobeuseless.‘Quick,grabwhateverclothesyoucanbeforethebloodruinsthem,’hetold

Lavelleandthesepoy,whohademergedfrombehindtherock.Thesepoyhadacquittedhimselfwell,justasCavanaghalwaysthoughthewould,andCavanaghcongratulatedhim.LavellecongratulatedCavanagh.NobodycongratulatedLavelle.Thethreemenateheartilyofgoat,whichhavingbeenleftunattendedduring

theconflictwasslightlyoverdone.NotthatitmatteredtotheravenousBritish.Theyateuntiltheirbellieswerefullofovercookedgoat,andafterthattheydonnedtherobesandturbansofthedead,cobblingtogetherwhatoutfitstheycouldthatdidn’tshowobviousbloodstains.Whenthatwasdone,theyhidthebodiesasbesttheycouldandcarriedontheirway.Foradaytheyrode,stayingaheadoftheretreatingcolumn,amileorsoasthe

crowflies.Despitethedistancetheyheardtheconstantcrackofshot,eventheoccasionalshriekofpainthatwascarriedtothemonthechillwind.Cavanaghbegantogrowinconfidence.Theydrewfurtherawayfromprescribedroutes,findinganewtrackhigheruptherockpass.Andthen,ontheafternoonofthefifthday,theycameupontheoutskirtsofanothermuchlargertravellingencampment.Andtheyfacedtheirmostdifficulttestyet.

Thinkingaboutitlater,CavanaghwouldcometotheconclusionthattheyhadhappeneduponaroamingsettlementbelongingtooneofAkbar’swarlords.Fromsuchabasethechieftaincoulddispatchsniperstotakeuppositiononthepassesabovethecolumn,wheretheywouldusetheirjezzailstoraindevastationonthepoormarchersbelow,andsendriderstomaketheirwaydownnearhiddenpathstothefloorofthepass,wheretheycouldmaketerrifyingdamagingchargesintotherear,lesswell-guardedsectionsofthecolumn,mercilesslycuttingdownservants,womenandchildrenandplunderingwhatfewsupplieswereleft.ItwasherethatCavanagh’sknowledgeofPushtucameinhandy.Indeed,it

savedtheirlives.Comingoverthebrowofahill,withtheirhorsesslippingandslidingonafrosty,flintypath,theywerehailedbyalookout.ThankGod.Themanhadtakenonelookattheirgarbandfromadistance

takenthemtobeAfghans.Whenhecalledhello,Cavanagh’squickthinkingonceagainsavedtheday,forinsteadofshowingsurpriseandtakingflight,hekepthiscomposureandrepliedinkind.Athissignal,thethreemencametoahalt.Sometwohundredyardsinfront

ofthemthelookouthadrisenfrombehindarockyoutcrop,hisjezzailslungacrosshisback.HisfeatureswereindistinctashecuppedhishandstohismouthandcalledagaininPushtu.‘Hello!’Cavanagh’smindraced;therewasnowaytheycouldgettooclose:they

wouldberecognizedasimposters.ButtheAfghanswouldmountapursuitiftheyturnedtailandfled,andbeingthesuperiorhorsemenitwouldinalllikelihoodbeashortpursuitindeed.Sittingbesidehim,Lavelle’seyesflickednervously.‘Whatthehellarewe

goingtodo,man?’

‘Shutup,’hissedCavanagh,oblivioustoLavelle’soutrage.‘I’mthinking.Justwhateverhappens,don’tsayanotherwordandfollowmylead.’Meanwhile,thelookout,againwithhishandscuppedtohismouth,was

callingtounseenothersbehindhim,andfacesappearedfromthelandscape.Sixorsevenmen.Christ,they’dalmostriddenslap-bangintothemiddleofthecamp.Theynowstoodstaringacrossthespacebetweenthetwogroups,oneortwoofthemshieldingtheireyesagainstthedyingwintersun,allnodoubtwonderingwhytheirthreevisitorshadstoppedontheperimeterofthecamp.Cavanagh’smindreachedforanswers.Couldn’trun.Couldn’tadvance.And

anyattemptstoansweranyfurtherinterrogationwouldsurelyexposehisshakygraspofPushtu.Oneofthemenunslunghisrifle,butCavanaghpre-emptedwhatmight

happennextandcalledouttohimbeforehecouldbringtheweapontobear.‘Mygoodfriend,wecomefromhoundingtheBritishcowards.WithusisacapturedSikhscum.Amantryingtoadoptourdressandescapeasadeserter.’FromoverthewaycameAfghanlaughter.UnschooledinPushtu,thesepoy

satoblivioustowhatawaitedhim.Loyal,faithful.‘Whatareyousaying,man?’demandedLavelle.‘Quiet,’snappedCavanaghback.Hisvoiceroseagain.‘Here.We’llleaveourprizewithyouasagiftforyour

women,andtakeourleaveifwemay.’WiththathedrewhisstolenKhyberknifeandinonequickmovement

pretendedtocutbindingatthesepoy’shands.Confused,thesepoyturnedinhissaddletofaceCavanagh,hisfacecloudingwithconfusion.‘Sir?’ButCavanaghreacheddown,snatchedtheman’sfootanddraggeditupwards,unseatinghimatthesametimeaswithonealmightyandmercilesssliceoftheKhyberknifebladeheslashedopenthedesperateman’sAchillestendon.AstheAfghansoverthewayjeeredandlaughed,Cavanaghwavedgoodbye,

andheandLavellepulledtheirhorsesround.Atthesametimethesepoytriedtopullhimselfofftheground,buthistorn-openheelfoldedbeneathhimgushingblood,andhewassentbacktothegroundmewlingandpleading.‘Sir?Sir?’Buttheylefthimthere,tohisfateatthehandsoftheAfghanwomen.Flaying

aliveordeathbyathousandcuts.Theyleftthenamelesssepoytheretodieanunspeakabledeath,sothattheymightsavethemselves.

‘Christ,man,thatwascold,’saidLavellelater,whentheyhadmadecampintherocksabovethepass.‘Itwashimorus,’saidCavanagh.Thatnightthesoundofgunfirecametothem,andbothmenfanciedthatthey

couldalsohearthescreamsofthesepoyinthefardistance,astheAfghanwomenbegantheirwork.

TheGhosthadseethedwithhatredforCavanagh.Amonthorsolater,whenhefacedthemeninthechurchyard,heunderstoodthestrengthoftheimpulsetosurvive.Thatheunderstood.Butwhathecouldnotunderstand(andmaybethiswaswhyhewasnevertrulycutoutforalifeofbloodshed)wastheabilitytosacrificeanotherman’slife,toletanothermandieinyourstead.Notonlythat,butamanwho’dshownyounothingbutloyalty.HewonderedwhetherthefaceofthatsepoyhauntedCavanaghinhisdreams.

Didhefeelanythingatall?Thedossierhadgoneon.CavanaghandLavellehadturnedupatJalalabada

dayafterWilliamBrydonhadmadehishistoricappearance.Theirsurvivalwentunheralded,shroudedasitwasinrumourandsuspicion.Despitetheirinsistence,andthefactthattheyhadsteadfastlystucktoa

preparedanddetailedstoryaboutbecomingdetachedfromacavalrysectionandlosingtheirway,thegossipattheJalalabadCantonmentwasthatthetwomenhaddeserted.NothingaboutLavellesuggestedanyotherexplanation,butwhen,on7April1842,theJalalabadgarrisonattackedAkbarKhan’slines,Cavanaghacquittedhimselfwell,provingindomitableincombat.HismovementswerenextnotedsomeyearsafterhisreturntoEngland,by

whichpointhehadgainedapositionforhimselfwithintheTemplarOrder.ItwasshortlyafterthisthatColonelWalterLavellemetwithafatalaccident.AccordingtothedossiertheAssassinsbelieveditwasCavanaghwhohadnotonlyrecommendedbutcarriedouttheexecution.Upuntilthispoint,TheGhosthadbeenwonderingwherehecamein.Why

washereadingaboutthismanCavanagh?Thenitbecameclear.ThenexttimeCavanaghappearedasapersonofinterest

totheAssassinswaswhen,quiteoutoftheblue,hehadsecuredanappointmentwiththecompanybuildingtheworld’sfirstundergroundrailwayline.He

becameadirectorattheMetropolitanRailwayanddirectlyinvolvedwiththeexcavation.Thecompany’s‘manontheground’,asitwere.NowTheGhostwasbeginningtounderstand.WhenhearrivedinEnglandhedidashe’dbeentoldbyEthan.Hefound

lodgingsatthetunnelandhegainedanappointmenttotheMetropolitandig,thoughinaratherlessexaltedpositionthanhisquarry.AndsoitwasthathehadbeenthereatNewRoadtoseetheshaftsunk.Hehadseenwoodenhousesonwheelscomeintoview,thenwagonspiledhighwithtimbersandplanks,menarmedwithpickaxesandshovelsmarchingbytheirsidelikeanoncomingarmy.Hehadboughtaspadefromadrunkenmaninapub,etchedthenameof

‘BharatSingh’intoitandthenjoinedthem.Hehadhelpedtoenclosehundredsofyardsofroadway,whenNewRoadhadbeentransformedfromapartofLondon’shistorytoasignificantpartofitsfuture.Horses,carpentersandtroopsofnavvieshadarrived,thesoundofpickaxes,spadesandhammersandthepassingofsteambegan,aclamourthatwasrarelytocease,dayornight.Hugetimberstructuressprungupatintervalsalongthecentreoftheroad,

spotsforopeningshaftholesweremarkedout,ironbucketshadbeenbroughtontotheroadway,whichwasdraggedup,peeledreluctantlyawayfromthesurfaceoftheearthandcartedofftobetilteddownagapingpit;thenoiseofitlikeastorm–anotherdistantrumbletoaddtothedinthatwastoreignfromthenon.TheGhosthadbeenthereforalloftheproblemsencounteredbytheline.On

paperithadbeenasimple–well,arelativelysimple–operation:PaddingtontoEustonRoadandtheFleetValleytothecity.Butgaspipes,watermainsandsewershadallstoodinitsway,andalongEustonRoadtheyhaddiscoveredthatthelandwasmadeupofsandandgravel,whichhadtobedrained,whileatMountPleasanttheusualpolicyofcut-and-coverhadbeenabandonedandatunneldug.Meanwhile,TheGhosthadwatchedtheworldaroundhimchange.Hehad

seenthesqualidstreetsoftheFleetValleydestroyed.Athousandhomesweredemolishedandthetwelvethousandpeoplewholivedthere(adamningstatisticbyitself)displacedtootherslums.SomeofthemhadcometotheThamesTunnel.Perhapssomeofthemhad

enjoyedthebenefitofthebenignformofprotectionthatTheGhostprovidedthere.Therewasacircularitytotheprocessthathecouldappreciate.

Atthesitehisbarefeetwereoftenthesubjectofaremark,andofcoursehisskintonemarkedhimapart,butotherwiseheneverdidanythingtostandout.Heneverattemptedajumpheknewhecouldmake.Henevercarriedloadsheknewhewascapableofbearing.Ifajokewascracked,helaughed.Nottooloudly,andnotdistinctively.Thiswashowhemaintainedhiscover,byensuringthatitremainedsolidatalltimes.Sothatwheninfuturehewascalledupontopenetratetheorganizationfurtheritwouldwithstandanyamountofexamination.HemustbeBharat,thedirt-poorbutconscientiousIndianworker,belowcontemptandthusabovesuspicion.Hemustmaintainthatcoveratalltimes.Maintaininghiscoverwasessentialtostayingalive.ThefirstdayheclappedeyesonCavanaghhehadbeenmanningoneofthe

buckets,draggingitfromthemouthofthetrenchtodeposititscontentsintoacart.Overthewayhe’dseenthedoortothemobileoffice-on-wheelsopenandafamiliarfaceemerge.NotCavanagh,butMarchant,whomanagedtheroster,tickedoffnamesandpassedtheworksheetstothewages’clerkswhoappearedeveryFriday,settingupdeskandhandingoutcoinswithpainedexpressions,asthoughitwastheirveryownmoney.Ohyes,TheGhostknewMarchant.Aweaselofamanwithawheedling,nasalvoice.AndthencameCavanaghhimself.JustasTheGhosthadbeenledtobelieve,Cavanaghhadahorizontalscar

belowhisrighteye,almosttwoincheslong.Theeyesthemselveswerehard.Thechinset.InallthetimesthatTheGhosteversawCavanagh,itwasimpossibletoknowwhathewasthinking.‘Iwanttofindoutwhatthey’reupto,’Ethanhadsaid.TheyhadmetinthegroundsoftheFoundlingHospital,justasarrangedon

theharbourwallathomeinIndia.EthanhadledTheGhosttoafollyinthehospitalgrounds,wherefoliageobscuredthemfromview.Therethemasterhadtakenagoodlookathisformerpupil,eyeinguptheboy’srags,hisgeneraldemeanour.‘Verygood,’hesaid,whenhe’dfinishedgivingtheboytheonce-over.‘Very

good.Youlookthepart,thatmuchiscertain.’‘Ihaveapositionatthedig,’saidTheGhost,‘justasinstructed.’Ethansmiled.‘Iknow.I’vebeenkeepingtabsonyou.’‘Isthatwise?’

‘Whywouldn’titbe?’Inresponse,TheGhostshruggedandspreadhishands.‘Anythingthat

increasesthechanceofmydeceptionbeinguncoveredistobediscouraged.’‘Well,IseeItaughtyouwell,’smiledEthan.‘Youneedtopractisewhatyoupreach.’‘You’llexcusemeifIdon’tacceptadvicefromayoungpuplikeyourgood

self.’Ethansmiledinpretenceofalittlefriendlybadinage,buthiseyeswereflinty.‘Youknow,’saidTheGhost,‘youshouldn’tsitwithyourchinonyourleading

hand.’‘Oh?’Ethan’seyebrowsraisedinsurprise.‘Pupilhasturnedteacher,hashe?

YouhaveanotherlessoninAssassin-craftforme?’‘Youriskanaccidentwiththeblade.’‘Ideceiveanypotentialopponent.’‘Therearenoopponentshere.’‘Nowwho’sbeingcareless?’‘Ididn’tsayyouwerebeingcareless,master.Justthatmistakescanhappen.

Theycanhappentothebestofus.’Hehadn’tmeantthatlaststatementtosoundassignificantasitdid,andfora

secondheallowedhimselftohopethatEthanmightnotpickuponit,butofcoursewhatEthanlackedinfocushemorethanmadeupforinintuitionandperception.‘Youthinkmecareless?’‘Ididn’tsaythat.’‘Youdidn’tneedto.’TheGhostglancedaway.Hehadbeenlookingforwardtothismeeting.Partof

himanticipatedhismaster’spraise.Somewherealongtheline–andhewasn’tevensurehow–theconversationhadtakenawrongturn.Whenheturnedbacktolookathisoldfriendandtutor,itwastofindEthan

regardinghimwithhardbalefuleyes,buthedecidedtoaskafavouranyway.‘MayItryonyourhiddenblade,master?’heasked.Ethansoftened.‘Andwhywouldyouwanttodothat?Checkitfor

maintenance,perhaps?’‘I’dlikethefeelofitonceagain,toremindmyselfofwhatIam.’‘ToremindyourselfyouareanAssassin?Ortoremindyourselfofhome?’

TheGhostsmiled,unsureoftheanswer.‘Maybealittleofboth.’Ethanfrowned.‘Well,I’drathernot.It’sperfectlycalibrated.’Theboynoddedunderstandingly,thoughsadly.‘Oh,getthestickoutofyourarse!’explodedEthan.‘Ofcourseyoucanhavea

go.’Andheyankedupthesleeveofhisrobesandreachedforthebuckles…

Sometimelaterthetwomen,havingresolvedtheirunspokendifferences,satinsilence.TheGhostcouldseethebronzeglowinglightsoftheFoundlingHospitalfromhisseatinsidethefollyandthoughthowpeacefulitseemed,andhowdifficultitwastobelievethatjustafewhundredyardsawaylaytheturbulenceoftheMetropolitandig.Thenewundergroundlinewaslikeabendedarm,andrightnowtheysatsomewhereneartheelbow:GraysInnRoad,NewRoad–aworldofturmoil.Besidehim,Ethanfinishedrecalibratinghisblade.Thatfamiliarsnicking

sounditmadewhenheejectedit.Ethanwasright–wearingithadn’tmadeTheGhostyearnforhislifeasanAssassin.Ithadmadehimyearnforhome.TheolderAssassinflexedhishandtocheckforunintendeddischarge.He

slappedhishandsonhisthighs,satisfiedallwasinorder.‘Iwonderifnowisthetimetotellmethepurposeofmymission,’saidThe

Ghost.‘You’veguesseditissomethingtodowithourfriendCavanagh,ofcourse?’TheGhostnodded.‘Thedossieronhimmadeinterestingreading.’‘HispositionattheMetropolitanisanexampleofthelevelofpowerthe

TemplarscurrentlyholdinLondon.Theyareverymuchintheascendancy.Theyhavetheadvantageofknowinghowweakweare,thoughIratherdoubttheyrealizejusthowweak.“We”inthiscontextbeingmyselfandanothermemberoftheBrotherhoodbasednotfaraway.Andnowyou.’‘That’sit?’‘That’sit,mydearboy.Thebestwecandotochallengetheirsupremacyis

takelittlepotshotsinthehopeofdiminishingsomeoftheirfringeactivities.Well,wecandothatandwecandothis.Thisbeingwecantrytofindoutwhattheirgameis.’‘This?’

‘Yes,this.Thisareaoflandinthenorth-westofLondonis,wethink,ofinteresttotheTemplars.Wethinkthattheyarediggingforsomething.PerhapsaPieceofEden.’‘APieceofEden?LiketheKoh-i-Noordiamond?’‘Somethinglikethat,perhaps.Whoknows?SomethingrelatedtotheFirst

Civilization,ThoseWhoCameBefore.Thepointiswedon’tknowandnordowehavetheresourcestointerrogatetheissueatanyhigherlevel.‘Thereisanadvantagetothat,ofcourse.Withoutourinvolvementthe

Templarshavenoneedtosuspectthatweharbouranysuspicionsabouttheiractivities.Asaresult,theymaygetcareless.Nevertheless,it’sasadstateofaffairs.ThefactiswehavenoideahowdeeptheOrderhaspenetratedintoLondonsociety,beyondahandfulofnames.’TheGhostnoddedasthoughsatisfied,butneverthelessharbouringdoubts.

Meanwhile,Ethanopenedhisrobestorevealthebrown-leatherstrapofadocumentscase.Heliftedtheflapandpulledfromitadossier–boundintheliveryoftheAssassins,justastheCavanaghfilehadbeen–andhandedittoTheGhost,watchingwordlesslyastheyoungermanbegantoleafthroughpagesofinformationgatheredonactiveTemplarsinLondon.Leadingthepack,ofcourse,wasCrawfordStarrick,theTemplarGrand

Master.OwnerofStarrickIndustries,StarrickTelegraphCompanyandtheMillnerCompany,he’doncebeencalled‘agreatrailbaron’bynoneotherthanCharlesDickens.ThentherewasBenjaminRaffles,theTemplarkingpinandStarrick’s‘headofsecurity’,aswellasanotherkingpin,HattieCadwallader,thekeeperoftheNationalGallery,whomaintainedStarrick’sextensiveartcollection.Anotherkingpin:ChesterSwinebourne,whohadapparentlyinfiltratedthe

police.ThentherewerePhilip‘Plutus’Twopenny,thegovernoroftheBankofEnglandnoless;andFrancisOsbourne,theBankofEnglandmanager.Second-in-commandwasLucyThorne.Shespecializedintheoccult.The

Ghosthadseenheratthedig.Starricktoo.ThentherewasRupertFerrisofFerrisIronworks.He’dbeenspottedattheworksaswell.AshadMaxwellRoth.Hewasn’taTemplar,buthehadhelpedthemsetuptheLondongangs.DrJohnElliotson.Ethanknewhimpersonally.Hewastheinventorofthe

panaceaStarrick’sSoothingSyrup.

ThentherewasPearlAttaway,theproprietorofAttawayTransportandacousintoStarrick.AgangbosscalledRexfordKaylock.AsleazyphotographerbythenameofRobertWaugh(andnow,ofcourse,TheGhostknewallabouthim).Stillothers:SirDavidBrewster,JohnnieBoiler,MalcomMillner,Edward

HodsonBayley,JamesThomasBrudenell,otherwiseknownas‘LordCardigan’,asoldiercalledLieutenantPearce,ascientistcalledReynolds…Thelistwasseemingendless.‘Thisisaratherlargedossier,’saidTheGhostatlast.Ethansmiledruefully.‘Indeeditis.Andthesearejusttheonesweknow

about.Inopposition?Justthethreeofus.Butwehaveyou,mydearboy.Onedayyouwillberecruitingspiesofyourown.Oneofthemmayverywellbeinthismotleycrewwehavehere.’

Thenightafterthebodywasdiscovered,TheGhostglancedintothegraveyardashealwaysdidonhiswayhomefromthedig,andasusualhiseyessoughtoutthegravestonethroughwhichEthancommunicated,andasusualitwas…Ah,noitwasn’t.Nottonight.Itwasleaningtotheright.Danger.Whichto

TheGhostmeantsomethingsignificant.NotthathewasbeingfollowedbyCavanagh’smen.Healreadyknewthat.ButEthanwasaround,keepingtabsonhimstill.Buttomorepressingmatters.Therewereindeedmenfollowinghim.Oneof

themhadleftthedigafewminutesbeforehim.Astheshift-changebellrang,TheGhosthadseenMarchantnoddiscreetlytooneofthethreehiredhandswhowereconstantlytobefoundhangingaroundtheofficeoronthedig.TheirnameswereHardy,SmithandOtherHardy–Cavanagh’sownpredilectionforusinghissurnamehadeitherrubbedoffonhismenorbeenimposeduponthem–andtheywerepassedoffaspayrollsecurity.Theothermencalledthem‘punishers’,acertainbreedwhowereexpertatgivingoutagoodhidingifyougreasedtheirpalmwithsilver.ButwhileTheGhostdidn’tdoubttheywerepunishersofasort,healsoknewthemforwhattheyreallywere:Templarstrongarms.Theywereprofessionalstoo.Bigmen,theywerefitandalert;theydidn’tspendtheirtimecrackingjokesorwhistlingattheprostituteswhohungaroundtheperimeterfencetoutingforbusiness.Theykepttheirmindsonthejob.Buttheyweren’tthatgood,asthecommencementoftheircovertpursuitof

TheGhostproved;theyweren’tgoodenoughtohidefromhim.ThemanwholeftatMarchant’ssignal–OtherHardy–wasnexttobeseenleaningonabarrowwearingalookofstudieddisinterest,likehewasn’treallyscanningthecrowdsofdepartingworkersthatthrongedthestreetforhisquarry.WhenhecaughtsightofTheGhost,OtherHardypushedhimselfoffhisbarrowand

movedonwithawalkthatcouldonlybedescribedasan‘amble’,likehewasn’treallysetonstayingjusttherightdistanceaheadofTheGhost.Meanwhile,therewouldbeanothermanbehindhim.Probablytwo:Smithand

Hardy.Andthatwasgood,thoughtTheGhost,becausethatwasjustwherehewantedthem.Ihopeyoulikeanicelongwalk,myfriends,hesaidtohimself,andthenhe

spenttherestofthejourneyspeedingupandslowingdown,settinghimselfthechallengeofmakinglifeasdifficultaspossibleforhispursuerswithoutactuallytippingthemoffthatheknewtheywerethere.Until,atlast,hereachedthetunnel.He’dlongsinceleftthecrowdsbehind,of

course.Aheadofhim,OtherHardywasanalmostlonefigurenow,asTheGhostapproachedtheshaft.Somewayaway,themanstopped,makingapretenceofneedingtotiehisbootlace,asTheGhosttookthestepsdownintothetunnelrotunda.Hehadspenthisdayunderground,andnowhewouldspendhisnighttheretoo.Reachingthebottom,TheGhoststoodamongtheneglectedstatuesand

carewornfeatures–oncesoswankyandplush,nowrotting–andgazedupwards,makingashowofenjoyingtheview.Sureenough,hesensedfiguresonthestepsabovehimpushingthemselvesintotheshadows.Hesmiled.Good.Thiswasgood.Hewantedthemtoseewherehelived.

‘Somemenmaycomeinthenextfewdays,’hetoldMaggielater.BythenhehadcheckedonCharlieandgivenhimbread,andhe’dattendedtoJake,pleasedtoseetheoldlag’slegwasonthemend.Andwiththosetwotaskscomplete,hehadcontinuedfurtheralong,deeperintothesepulchraldarknessofthetunnel,pickinghiswaypastalcovescrammedwithrag-swaddledbodies.Someofthemslept;somestaredathimwithwidewhiteeyesfrominsidetheir

unwelcominghidey-holes,silentlywatchinghimpass;andsomegreetedhimwithawave–‘Hello,Bharat’,‘Hello,lad’–orperhapsasimpleblinkedsalute.Someheknewbyname,othersfromtheirjobs:Olly,forexample,wasa

‘pure-finder’,whichmeanthecollecteddogshittosellonBermondseyMarket,butwhohadatendencytobringhisworkhomewithhim.TheGhostheldhisnoseashepassedOlly,butraisedashortwaveanyhow.Manyofthemhadcandles,andhewasgratefulforthelight;manydidnot,andlayshiveringinthe

dark,alonewiththeirpain,weepingastheyawaitedthecrispydawnandthebeginningofanotherdayofsoul-destroyingsurvivalinLondon–theworld’smostadvancedcity.TheshiningjewelofHerMajesty’sgreatempire.AndthenhereachedMaggie,whotendedasmallfire.Shewouldhavebeen

doingsomostoftheevening,ladlingbrothintothebowlsofanytunnelinhabitantwhocameasking.Theyallreceivedtheirfood,or‘scran’asitwasknown,withamixtureofgratitudeanddevotion,andleftthankingMaggieandsingingherpraises;butmostlytheyalllookedfearfullybeyondhertowherethelightlostitsbattlewiththeshadows,anddarknessreignedliterallyandmetaphorically,andtheythankedGodfortheyoungIndianmanwhosomeofthemknewasBharatandsomeofthemknewasMaggie’slad,whohadbroughtordertothetunnel,andmadeitsothattheycouldsleepmoreeasilyintheiralcovesatnight.Andtheretheysat,sidebyside,MaggieandTheGhostwiththeirbacks

againstthedamptunnelwallandthedyingfireattheirfeet.Maggie’skneeswerepulledupandshehuggedherselfforwarmth.Herlonggreyhair–‘mywitchyhair’,shecalledit–layoverthefabricofafilthygreyskirt,andthoughherbootshadnolacesshesaidshepreferredthemthatway.Shehatedfeeling‘trussedup’,shealwayssaid.Onceuponatime,longago–‘beforeyouwereevenaglintinyourdaddy’snutsack’–she’dseenpicturesofOrientalladieswithboundfeet,andafterthatshe’dneverwornlacesinherbootsagain.Shefeltthingskeenlyforherfellowman,didMaggie.Nowherfeaturesrearrangedthemselvesintoapictureofapprehensionand

concern.‘Andwhy,’sheasked,‘willmenbecomingforyou?’‘They’llbeaskingquestionsaboutme,’TheGhosttoldher,‘andtheymay

wellbepointedinyourdirection.’Shegaveanindignantharrumph.‘Well,Ibloodywellhopeso.Theybloody

welloughttobe.’Aswellashelpingothers,Maggielikedpeopletoknowaboutit.Shelikedher

effortstoberecognized.‘I’msuretheywill,’saidTheGhostwithasmile.‘AndIwouldliketoaskyou

tobecarefulaboutwhatyousay.’Shelookedsharplyathim.‘Whatdoyoumean?’

‘ImeanthattherewillbeotherswholiveinthetunnelwhowillsaythatIprotectyoufromthethievesandvagabondswholivefurtheralong,andthatisacceptable;theywillpaintapictureofmeofamanwhoisnostrangertoviolenceandIhavenoproblemwiththat.WhatIdon’twantisforthesementobefurnishedwithanexaggeratedaccountofmyabilitiesasafighter.’Shedroppedhervoice.‘I’veseenyouinaction,don’tforget.Thereain’tno

exaggeratingyourabilitiesasafighter.’‘That’sexactlywhatImean,Maggie.That’sexactlythesortofthingIdon’t

wantyoutosay.Amanofviolencebutnotnecessarilyamanofgreatskill,doImakemyselfunderstood?’‘I’mgettingthere.’‘Theyarelikelytoaskyouexactlyhowwemet,but…Tellthemwhatyou

like.Tellthemyoufoundmedrunkinagutter.Justdon’ttellthemaboutwhathappenedatthechurchyard.’Shereachedforhishand.Herweatheredhandwasalmostthecolourofhis

own.‘You’renotinanytrouble,areyou,Bharat?’‘I’mtouchedyoushouldworry.’Shechuckled.‘Oh,likeIsay,I’veseenyouinaction.It’stheotherswho

shouldworry,but…’Hisheaddropped.‘But…?’‘ButIalsosawyouhesitatewhenyouhadthatmurderouslittletoffbangto

rights,andIsawthefightdrainoutofyou,justassurelyasifyou’dbeenuncorked.Isawsomeonewho’sverygoodatdealingdeathbutain’tgotnoheartfordoingit.Now,I’vemetlotsofevilbastardswithasadisticstreaklongasyourarm,whowouldgoknockingyourteethoutofyourmouthjustbecausetheyhadtoomanyalesandfanciedswingingtheirarm.Evilbastardswholoveddishingoutpainbutonlytothoseweakerandmorevulnerablethanthemselves.Christonlyknows,I’vebeenmarriedtotwoofthem.Andwhat’smore,I’veseenmenwhowasgoodatfightingandcouldhandlethemselvesifabrawlbrokeout,andwhowoulddowhattheyhadtodogiventhecircumstances,andmaybetakeagrimprideintheirwork,andmaybenot.‘ButwhatIain’tneverseenisamansogoodatfightingasyou,whohadso

littlestomachforit.’

TheGhostwatchedassheshookherheadindisbelief,hergreyhairsweepingherskirts.‘I’vethoughtaboutthatanawfullot,youngman,believeyoume.I’vewonderedifmaybeyouwasadeserterfromthearmybutnotoutofcowardice–ohno,I’veneverseenamansobrave–butbecauseyou’reoneofthem,whatd’youcallit?Conscientiousobjectors.Well,thetruthofitis,thatIdon’tknow,andfromthesoundsofwhatyou’resayingnow,it’sprobablybestIdon’t,butwhatIdoknowisthatyou’vegotabigheartandthere’snoroominthisworldforpeoplewithaheartlikeyours.Thisworldeatsuppeoplewithheartslikeyours.Eatthemupandspitsthemout.YouaskifIworry?Yes,myboy,Iworry.Youaskwhy?That’swhy.’

Ashewaitedwiththeothermenfortheirshifttobegin,TheGhostwonderediftheTemplarshadfoundwhattheywerelookingfor,thisartefactleftbyacivilizationbeforeourown,aburiedtimecapsuleawaitingdiscovery.Whattremendouspowermightithave?HismindwentbacktoAmritsarasitsooftendid–hismemorieswereallhe

hadnowandhewouldrevisitthemwithallthereverenceofadevoutmanbeforeareligiousshrine–andhethoughtoftheKoh-i-Noordiamondandthespectacularall-powerfullightshowithadrevealed,asthoughprovidingaportaltootherworlds,deeperknowledge,moreprofoundunderstanding–amapformankindtofindabetterworld.Butifitfellintothewronghands?Hedreadedtothink.Butintohismindcameunbiddenimagesofenslavement.

Hesaweverymanandwomangrounddownlikethoseatthetunnel,virtualslavestobespatatandlookeddownupon,treatedassomethinglessthanhumanbygrinningmasterswhoruledfromplushlyappointedbuildings.Menwhotooksymbolsandtwistedtheirmeaningtomeettheirownideology.Hesawagonyandanguish.Hesawaworldwithouthope.Thebellrang,andthenewshiftbarelyacknowledgedthedepartingmenas

theymetliketwoopposingarmieswhocouldn’tbebotheredtofight,passingoneanotheronthemud,clutchingtheirprecioustools.NextTheGhostdescendedaseriesofladdersintotheshaft,walkingalongthelineuntilhecametotheface,wherethediggingandscoopingandcarryingcontinued–itneverreallystopped–andsoonhewasfilthy.Soontheyallwere.Therewerenodivisionsofcolourintheunderground;therewasjustwhetheryoucouldworkandhowfast.Therewasonlyacheerfulorencouragingwordforthemannextdoor.

Bellsweresupposedtodenotethepassingoftime,tollingonthehour.ButeitherMarchantdidn’tenforcetheirringingorTheGhostdidn’thearthem,becausetimesimplytrudgedonwithoutdemarcation.Dig,dig,dig.Thenoisewastheincessantscrapeandclangofspadesandpickaxesandthechatterofmenalongtheline,certainvoiceslouderthantheothers,thecomedianswho,theysay,kepttheother’sspiritsup.Mostmenpreferredworkingonthecranes.Theysawmoresunlight.The

metronomictoandfroofthecraneservedasaclock,denotingthepassingoftimethatwasabsentinthetrench.ButnotTheGhost.Downhereseemedlikearespitefromallthat.Dig,dig,dig,likeanautomaton.Mindwanderingtohome,towherehewasJayadeepagain.Besides,hewasusedtobeingunderground.

‘Well,ifitisn’tPoliceConstable72AubreyShawofCoventGarden’sFDivision,’saidAbberline,‘allthewayouthereinRegentStreet.’Ared-faced,rotundandratherglum-lookingpeelerlookedupfromhismug

andpeeredbalefullyatAbberline,amoustacheofale-frothgleamingonhistoplip.‘Well,’hesneeredback,‘ifitisn’tPoliceConstable58FrederickAbberlineof

Marylebone’sDDivision,alsosomewayoutofhisjurisdiction,whocantakehisinsinuationsandstickthemwherethesundon’tshine.’‘Who’sinsinuating?’saidAbberline.‘I’mcomingstraightoutandsayingthat

you’reskiving,mate,andI’vecaughtyoubangtorights.’Itwastrue.Bothconstableswerealongwayoutoftheirrespectivepatches,

sincetheywereintheGreenManpubonRegentStreet.AbberlinehadthoughthemightfindAubreyhere,seeingashowhewasn’ttobefoundonhispatchandhadanameassomethingofaregular.Aubreywasfondofcricket,andtheGreenManwasahauntofplayersandenthusiasts.Inthewindowwerebatsandstumpsandothercricketparaphernalia,whichnodoubtsuitedAubreyfine,ashecouldsavourhisalewithoutmembersofthepublicpeeringthroughtheglassandseeingapeelerapparentlyenjoyingaboozybreak.‘Anyway,I’mnotskiving.’‘Well,whatdoyoucallitthen?Skiving,slopingoff,showingacleanpairof

heelstotheGreenMantosinkabraceofales–it’sallmuchthesamething,ain’tit?’Aubrey’sshoulderssank.‘Itain’tskiving,anditain’tslopingoff.It’smore

likeskulking.No,waitaminute,it’ssulking.That’swhatitis.’‘Andwhywouldyoufeeltheneedtosulk,Aubs,eh?’Abberlinetookaseatat

thebarbesidehim.Abarmanwearingacleanwhiteapronapproached,butAbberlinewavedhimaway,becauseFresh-facedFreddiedidn’tdrinkonduty.

Besidehim,AubreyhadunbuttonedthetoppocketofhistunictotakeoutafoldedpieceofpaperthathehandedtoAbberline.Acrudeimitationofanewspaperscreamerwashandwrittenacrossthetopofthepage.‘HaveYouSeenThisMan?’itsaid,whilebelowitwasacharcoaldrawingofamaninrobescarryinganimprobablylongknife.‘Theblokesatthestationarehavingalotoflaughsatmyexpense,Icantell

you,’saidAubreyruefully.‘Whywouldthatbe?’‘AdoublemurderintheRookery.Iexpectyou’veheardaboutit.Ihavea

witnessthatsaw–’‘Amaninrobes.Yes,Ididhear.’Aubreythrewuphishandsinexasperation.‘See?ThisisexactlywhatImean.

ThewholeofbloodyLondonknowsallaboutmystrangerobedmanwiththeverylongknife.ThewholeofbloodyLondonknowsI’mlookingforamaninfancyrobeswithalongknife,butnobuggerapartfromsomeoldcroneintherookeryhasactuallyseenhim.Mindyou…’HelookedsidewaysatAbberline.‘Theyallknowaboutyourmissingbodytoo,Freddie.Matteroffact,andyou’llhavetoforgivemeforthinkingthis,butsinceIheardaboutFreddieAbberline’sincredibledisappearingcorpse,Ididratherhopeitmighttaketheheatoffme.’Abberlinegaveadrylaugh.‘Andnosuchluck?’‘Nosuchluck.That’swhyyou’rehere,isit?You’reskulkingtoo?’‘No.Andasamatteroffactyourrobedmanhascroppedupinmymissing-

bodycase,wouldyoubelieve?’Aubrey’slookofopenincredulitywasinstantlyreplacedbyanotherof

derision.‘Ohyes,Iknowyourgame.’HelookedoverAbberline’sshoulderasthoughexpectingtoseepranksterscomechortlingfromtheshadowsofthepub.‘Whoputyouuptothis?’‘Ohdopipedown,Aubs.I’mtellingyouthatIbelieveinyourrobedman.

That’ssomething,isn’tit?’‘Well,you’dbethefirst.You’dbepracticallytheonlyone.LikeIsay,apart

fromthecrone,nobodyelsehasseenarobedman.I’veaskedeverytraderinCoventGardenMarket.ImusthaveaskedhalfoftheRookery,andyouwouldthinkthatarobedmanwithanenormouslylongknifewouldstandout,wouldn’t

you?Eye-catchinglike.Butno.Nobody’sseenhim.Nobodyapartfromthatonewitness.It’slikehejustappeared–andthendisappeared.’Abberlinethought.Forsomereasonthatchimedwithhowhefeltaboutthe

strangeratBelleIsle–amysteriousfigurewithinthemist,hismotivesjustasmuchamystery.‘Sowhoareyourmarks?’heasked.‘OneofthemwasalowlifewentbythenameofBoot.Pettythief.Runnerfor

variousEastEndgangs.’‘Nostrangertotheblade,nodoubt.’‘Yeah,but,no…Actually,hewasshot.’‘Hewasshot?Whatabouttheotherone?’‘Ah,here’swhereitgetssad,Freddie.Itwasalittlegirl.Gotintheway,looks

like.’‘Andwassheshottoo?’Aubreythrewhimalook.‘Mostpeopletakeasecondtoreflectonthetragedy

ofalittlegirlbeinggunneddown,Freddie.’‘Ah,soshewasshot?’‘Yeah,shewasshot.’‘Right,soawitnesssawamaninrobes,carryingwhatlookedlikeawickedly

longblade?’‘Thinaswell,thisblade.Morelikeoneofthemfencingswords.Likea

rapier.’‘Notforcutting.Forcombat.Forstabbing.YetthismanBootandthelittlegirl

werebothshot?’‘That’sright.’‘Soyou’relookingforamysteriousrobedfigurewhoshottwopeoplewitha

knife?’‘Ooh,mesides,Ithinkyou’vesplit’em.’Abberlinesighed.‘Wastheguneverfound?’‘No.’Andnowtheyoungerpeelerwasthinkingaboutthegunhe’dfoundonthe

body.Hewasthinkingaboutthepuncturewoundhefoundonthebody.‘Youonlyhadtheonewitness?’‘Anotherone,whoonlysawablokerunningaway.’‘Washewearingfunnyrobes?’

‘Thewitnessortheguyrunningaway?’‘Theguyrunningaway.’‘No.’‘Sohecouldbetheshooter?’Aubreylookedathim,alittleshame-faced.‘Well,hecouldbeIsuppose.

Neverreallythoughtaboutit.Ihadtheknife-carryingfigureintherobestooccupyme,didn’tI?’Abberlinethrewuphishands.‘Bloodyhell,Aubs.Comeon,supup.Youand

mearegoingbacktotheRookery.’

AnhourlaterandpooroldAubreyShawwasevenmoredespondent.Hisfirstwitness,thecronewho’dseenthemaninrobes,wasnowheretobefound.‘She’sdisappeared,justlikethemythicalknifeman,’Aubreywasbemoaning,althoughbothmenknewthatsuchwastheitinerantlifeoftheslumsthatshe’dprobablyjustpackedupandmovedon.ThankGodforsmallmercies,then,thattheywereabletofindthesecond

witness.Abberlinethoughthemighthavehadabrokenmanonhishandsotherwise.‘Heresheis,’saidAubreythroughthesideofhismouthastheyapproached

number32.Thereonthestepsofatallsmoke-discolouredandflat-frontedtenementsatadefeatedwoman.Shegazedatthemwitheyesshornofallemotion.Sheheldababytoonebarebreast.Aubreycoughedandlookeddown.Abberlinedesperatelywantedtobe

worldlybutfailed,andhetoofelthimselfcolouringashefoundsomethingofgreatinterestinalineofwashingnearby.Bothmendidwhatagentlemanshoulddoinsuchcircumstances.Theytookofftheirhats.‘Excuseme,madam,’saidAbberline.‘Ibelieveyoutalkedtomycolleague

here,PoliceConstableAubreyShaw,uponthematterofsomethingyoumayhaveseenonthenightofanhorrificdoublemurderrighthereintheRookery.WouldIbecorrectinmakingsuchanassumption?’‘Saintspreserveus.’Shesmiledthroughteethliketimeworngravestones.

‘Don’tyoutalkpretty?’Abberlinewasn’tsureifshewastakingthepissorgenuinelybeingnice,but

herfacehadlitalittle,andhereyessoftened,sohepressedhometheadvantage.

‘Madam,didyouseesomefellowrunningdownthisverystreetonthenightofthemurder?’Sheseemedtothink,lookingdownatthebaby’shead.Sheadjustedtheinfant

onhernipplethenreturnedherattentiontothetwopeelersonthestepsbelow.‘ThatIdid.’‘Andhewasjustrunning,washe?’‘Thathewas.’‘Canyoudescribehim?’Shesniffedhaughtily.‘LikeItoldyourfriendthere,Idon’tthinkIcould

describehim,no.Notwithoutacoupleofpennieslike.’Frowning,AbberlineturnedtoAubrey,‘Youmeantotellmeyoucouldhave

gotadescriptionbutforafewpennies?’‘Itwasallabouttheblokewiththerobes,wasn’tit?’Aubreyraisedhishands

defensively,colouringevenmorethanusual.‘Allaboutyoubeingatight-arsemorelike.’‘HowwasItoknowyou’dsuddenlygetallinterestedinsomeblokerunning

inthestreet?Matteroffact,whyareyousobleedin’interested?Heprobablyjustsawtheblood,orbetterstilltheblokewiththeknife,andthoughthe’ddowelltomakehimselfscarce.Wouldn’tyou?’Abberlinehadstoppedlistening.Hewasalreadyclimbingthestepstopress

coinsintothewoman’spalm,gallantlyavertinghisfacefromhernakedbreastashedidso.‘Now,canyoutellmewhathelookedlike?’Shelookeddownatherhandasthoughwonderingwhethertoquibblebut

thendecidedagainstit.‘HewereablokeinasuitwithabigpuffymoustachelikewhatPrinceAlbertusedtowearbeforeheupanddied,Godresthissoul.Andhehadbigthicksidewhiskersdownhere,bitlikeyours.’‘Andtellme,madam,washecarryinganything?’Shelookedshifty.Afraid.Abberlineleanedforward,stillkeepinghiseyesprimlyavertedbutableto

speakintothewoman’sear.‘Washecarryingarevolver,byanychance?’Withhereyesshesaidyes.Abberlinethankedherwithhis,andthen

withdrew.AsheandAubreymadetheirwayoutoftheslum,Abberlinewasebullient.

‘Youseewhatthismeans,Aubs?Itmeansthatmorethanlikelyyourrunning

manandmycorpseisthesamebloke.AndyourmaninrobesisthesamemanwhoturnedupatBelleIsle.This,myfriendcouldcrackthecasewideopen.’‘ThankGodforthat,’sighedAubrey.‘JustmaybeI’llbeabletorestoremy

reputation.’Abberlinesighedaswell.‘There’salsothesmallmatteroftruthandjustice,

Aubrey.Let’snotforgetthat,eh?’Andinreturntheoldermangavehimalookthatsaid,Youmaybekeenbut

youhaveanawfullottolearn,saying,‘Truthandjusticeain’tgonnabringthatlittlegirlback,Freddie.’

BackatthestationAbberlinebadgeredAubreyintoaskingthedesksergeantforthelogbook,andasAubreywenttomakewhathedescribedasa‘well-earnedbrew’Abberlinesatitonalectern,hoistedhimselfuptoatallchair,andbeganleafingthroughtheheavypagesinsearchofpersonsreportedmissingonthenightof…Ah.Thereitwas.Bloodyhell.Justoneinthisarea.Amanwhosewifehad

madethereporttheeveningafterthenightinquestion.He’dgoneoutto–oh,thiswasgood–theRookery,tellingherhehadabitofbusinesstoattendto,andthathe’dbebacksoon.Onlyhehadn’tturnedup.HisnamewasRobertWaugh.Helivednotfarfromhere.‘Aubs,’saidAbberline,astheotherPCreturnedtothefrontdesk,two

steamingmugsofteainhisfists.‘Notimeforthat,we’vegotahousecalltomake.We’regoingtothehomeofRobertWaugh.’

‘BharatSingh!’Itwaslateafternoonwhenhisnamecamedown,bouncinglikeaballdropped

intotheshaftasitwaspassedfromonemantoanother:‘BharatSingh…BharatSingh…BharatSingh…’Andthoughhewasconditionedtorespondtothenamehe’dbeengivenhe

wastoolostinthoughttoresponduntilthemannexttohim,barelypausinginhiswork,tappedhimwiththeheadofhispickaxe.‘Hey,Indian,you’rewanteduptop.’HetooktotheladderstofindMarchantwaitingforhimatgroundlevel.With

himwerethethreepunishers,andtogethertheyledTheGhostacrosstheplanks,traversingareservoiroffilthtothemobileofficeonwheels.InsidewasCavanagh–noMrPearsonorMrFowlertoday–justCavanagh,andhesatbehindawidepolished-oakdeskthatwasemptysaveforadocumentthatTheGhostrecognizedatonce.Afternoonwasbecomingextinct,andinthedimlightoftheofficeCavanagh’s

scarshonedullyashepickeduptheletterforTheGhosttosee.‘YournameisBharatSingh,’hesaidwithoutemotion.‘OriginallyfromBombay,authorofthiscorrespondence?’TheMetropolitandirectorspokeinamoreconfidentialregisterthanThe

GhostwasusedtohearingfromthecommandshebarkedtoMarchantandtheforemenofthetrench.‘Yes,Ididsir,’TheGhostacknowledgedwithabowofthehead.Marchanthadtakenaplacejustbehindhismaster,wearingthesameoily

smilehealwayswore.Hestoodclosetohim,asthoughhewishedtoreachoutandtouchCavanaghjusttodrawonsomeofhismaster’sgreatness.Behindhim,meanwhile,thethreestrongarmshadsteppedinandfannedout.

Thiswasit.Thiswasthemomentthat,ifCavanaghhadhissuspicions,hewouldact.TheGhostweigheduppossibilities.Healreadyknewwhichofthemenwerestrongestandwhichwereweakest.Marchanthadthehonourofproppingupthatparticularlist.Atthetop,however,wasthemanbehindthedesk,amanTheGhostknewfromhisdossiertobeasruthlessashewasquickincombat.‘AndyourfatherwasasepoyatJalalabadin1842,yousay?’saidCavanagh,

allowingthelettertofluttertothetabletop.TheGhostnodded.‘Verybrave,thesepoys,’continuedCavanagh.‘Iknewanespecially

courageousoneonce.’TheGhostlookedathim,hardlyabletobelievehisearsashethoughtofthe

poornamelesssepoy,butCavanaghhadalreadymovedon.‘Andyourfatherknewme?’‘Knewofyou,sir,thoughhewouldhavelikedtheopportunitytobecome

acquainted,I’msure.Ifeelcertainhewouldbeenviousofmenow.’Cavanaghraisedafaintlybemusedeyebrow.‘Ohyes?Andwhywouldthat

be,exactly?’‘Hespokeveryhighlyofyou,sir.Hetalkedofyouasahero,asthegreat

soldierwhosurvivedthemarchfromKabul,thatIshouldlookoutforyournameasyouweresurelydestinedforgreatness.’‘HethoughtIwas“destinedforgreatness”?Why,becauseIcanbearthecold

andI’mhandywithasabre?Gooutthereandyou’llfindahundredmenwhofoughtasfiercelyasIdid,servedtheircountryjustasIdid,anddidwhattheycouldtosurvive,justasIdid.Noneofthemhaveachievedgreatness.NotunlessyouconsideritagreatachievementtohaveMarchantshoutatyoudayandnight.Nonehavereachedmyrank.WhatonearthmadeyourfatherthinkIwouldbetheonetothrive?’‘Hewasright,though,sir,wasn’the?’Cavanaghacknowledgedthepointwithatiltofthechin,but…‘Thequestion

remains.’TheGhostswallowed.Herecomesthemomentoftruth.‘Hementionedan

organization,sir,’hesaid,‘anorganizationthathadtakenaninterestinyou

becauseofyourtalents.Averypowerfulorganization,sir,andthathavingthisorganization’ssealofapprovalwascertainlyenoughtoensureyourrise.’‘Isee.Anddoesithaveaname,thisorganization?’‘TheKnightsTemplar,sir.’Marchant’soilysmileremainedfixedbuthiseyesnarrowedasthewords

‘KnightsTemplar’droppedlikeastoneintothestillpooloftheroom.Behindhim,TheGhostsensedthethreestrongarmstense.WeretheyreadyingthemselvesforsomethingTheGhostmightdo?OrsomethingCavanaghmight?‘That’sright.Yourfatherwascorrect.’Abriefsmileflickeredontheotherwise

impassiveface.Hisscartwisted.‘Howgratifyingtoknowsuchrecognitionexistedwithinthelowerorders.’ThemomenthungasCavanaghsatbackinhischair,fixingTheGhostwithan

assessinglook,asiftryingtodecodesignalstheyoungermanrefusedtosend.Whateverdecisionthedirectorreachedmustbehisalone,aproductoftrustinhisowninstinct.Nothingelsematterednow,apartfromgainingCavanagh’strust.Andthenthemanbehindthedeskseemedtorelax,indicatingtheletter.‘The

secondinterestingaspectofyourmissiveisthisinformationyouhaveonanemployeeofmineyouaregoingtoexposeasatraitor.Iwonder,wouldthathaveanythingtodowithmyemployee,RobertWaugh,whowasfounddeadatthedigtwodaysago?’TheGhostnodded.‘Tellme,howdidyoumaketheconnectionbetweenhimandme?’‘Isawhimvisitingyouroffice,sir.’AtthisCavanaghlookeduptoMarchant

withameaningfulstare.‘AndthenwhenIsawhiminapublichouseIknewitwashim.’‘Andthat’showyouknewhewasindulgingin,asyousay,treacherous

activities?’‘That’swhenIsuspected,sir,yes.’‘Andwhatmadeyoudecidetoreportittome?’AnothermomentoftruthforTheGhost.Anotherpointinhisfavouroranail

inhiscoffin,dependingonwhatCavanaghdecidedtobelieve.‘Afterwhatmyfatherhadtoldme,sir,Icouldn’tbelievemyluckinseeing

you.Seeingyournameandseeingthescar,andknowingitwasthesamescar

withwhichyouhadreturnedfromthedoomedretreat,Idecidedthatfatehadbroughtmeintoyourwidercircle,butthatitwasuptometoentertheimmediateone.TheKnightsTemplaroncelookeduponyouasamanoftalent,whomightbeofusetothem.Ihope,now,thatishowyoulookuponme.’‘That’sallverywell,andmaybeevencommendable,butatthemoment,allI

haveisyourwordandadeadbody,andI’mreallynotsurethateitherisallthatmuchusetome.’‘ItwasIwhokilledRobertWaugh,inthehopethatyouwouldhavegivenme

thejobeventually.’Cavanaghsnorted.‘Well,thatwasratherpresumptuousofyou,wasn’tit?

Becausetoreturntomyfirstpoint,Ionlyhaveyourwordthathewasatraitor.’‘Hewassellingyourgoodsinthepublichouses,usingamannamedBootto

dothedirtywork.’Cavanaghshrugged.‘Itsoundsplausiblebutit’sstilllackinginconcrete

evidence.’‘IkilledhimintheRookery,sir.Itookfromhimtheevidence.Aphotographic

platethatIhaveatmyhome.’‘Atthetunnel?’TheGhostswitchedonalookofsurprise.‘YouknowwhereIlive,sir?’‘Ohyes.Youlikeyourtunnels,don’tyou?We’vebeenthereandwe’veasked

around,andyouarealittlebitmorethanjustanoccupantofthetunnel,aren’tyou?Byallaccountsyou’retheclosesttheyhavetoaleader.’‘Icanreadandwrite,sir.IwastaughtonmypassagefromIndia.Igained

somemedicalknowledgealso.Forthisreason,andthefactthatIhaveonoccasionstoodupagainstthescumwhoalsomakethetunneltheirhome,someofthepeoplewholivethereconsidermetheirfriend.’Cavanaghsmiledtightly.‘Evenso,it’saveryresourcefulpictureofyouthatis

beingpainted.’Judgingthistobetherightmoment,TheGhostletalittleeagernesscreepinto

hisvoice.‘Amanwhocanbeofusetoyou,sir.Idonotnominatemyselftoyourserviceslightly,sir.Ihopethatinmeyouseesomethingofyourself.’‘Yes,well,thatremainstobeseen.’Cavanaghgaveanothertiltofhischin,

suggestinghe’dreachedadecisioninTheGhost’sfavour.Headdressedoneofthestrongarmsbehindhim.‘Smith,gotothetunnel,retrievethisphotographic

platehe’stalkingabout.Oh,andSmith,benicetotheoldlady,won’tyou?FromwhatIcangather,sheandourfriendhereareclose.’HelookedsignificantlyatTheGhost,whosuppressedadreadthought,before

continuing.‘Inthemeantimeyou,MrBharatSingh,aregoingtoaccompanyMarchantandMrHardytovisitthehomeoftherecentlywidowedMrsWaugh.And,MrHardy?GiventhatI’mcertainwe’regoingtolearnthatournewassociateistellingthetruth,youdon’tneedtoworryaboutbeingnicetoMrsWaugh.Youcanbeasunfriendlytothatoldbaggageasyoulike.’Hardygrinned,revealingagoldtooth.Hespokewithavoicelikethescrape

ofspadesatthetunnelface.‘Itwouldbemypleasure,sir.’

‘Idon’tsupposeyoucandriveacarriage,canyou,lad?’raspedHardywhenthethreemensteppedoutsidethegatesofthedigtowheretheirtransportwastethered.AndTheGhost,whowasanexcellenthorseman,andwhohaddrivenmanya

carriagebackhome,andwhorecognizedanexcellentlysprung,beautifullyupholsteredClarencewhenhesawone,tookpainstolooklikethecluelessbumpkinHardyclearlythoughthimtobe,andshruggedhisshouldersandlookedlost.‘Good,’saidHardywithflintyeyes.Hescratchedathisstubblethencorrected

thesetofhishat.‘BecausenobodygetstodriveMrCavanagh’scarriageapartfromme,MrSmithorOtherMrHardy.Isthatclear?’‘Ihavenoproblemwiththat,sir,’repliedTheGhost.‘ShouldIjustjoinMr

Marchantinside,sir,whereit’swarm?’Hardyshothimalook,asthoughtosaydon’tpushyourluck,andinthenext

momentoccupiedhimselfwithpullingonascarf,topcoatandmittens,readyfortheshortjourneytoBedfordSquare.TheGhost,meanwhile,stoodtothesideoftheClarence,awaitingMarchant,

andthenopeningthedoorfortheclerkwhenheappeared.WithoutawordofthanksMarchantsteppedinsidebeforefussilyarrangingablanketoverhimselfandleavingnoneforTheGhost,whotookaseatopposite.Whenhewassettled,MarchantyankedacordandthenmadeapointofignoringTheGhosttostareoutofthecarriagewindow.UptopHardyshookthereinsandthecarriagesetoffforthehomeofMrsWaugh.

WhentheyarrivedTheGhostwatchedwithimplacableinterestasHardysteppeddownfromtheseatofthecarriage,removedhismittensandpulledonapairofleatherglovesinstead,flexinghisfingerswithagrimandbusiness-likeairand

fixingTheGhostwithamalevolentstareatthesametime.Watchyourstep,I’vegotmyeyeonyou.NextHardyreacheduptothestorageboxonthecarriage.Fromithetooka

pairofbrassknucklesthathefittedoveroneleather-glovedhand.Outcamesomethingelse:athickwoodentruncheonwithaleatherloopthatheslidoverhiswristbeforeslippingthebatonintohissleeve.Lastlyheproducedaknifefromsomewherewithinthefoldsofhistopcoat.Hetwirleditinhisfingers,lightdashingdowntheblade,andallthetimehenevertookhiseyesoffTheGhost.Watchyourstep,I’vegotmyeyeonyou.Andnowthethreemenconsideredthehouseacrosstheroad.Theshutters

wereclosed,justadimlightburningsomewherewithin.Otherwisetherewasnosignoflife,except…TheGhostsawit:aslightdisruptionofceiling-shadowglimpsedthroughthe

windowofthefrontdoor.Withahandheldout–waitthere–totheothertwo,hedartedquicklyacrosstheroad,havingtosatisfyhimselfwithmerelyimaginingtheoutragedlooksonthemen’sfacesatbeinggivenanorderbythisnewrecruit.Aboy.AnIndianboy,noless.Anoutsider.Stealthilymountingthefrontsteps,hecrouchedtolistenatthefrontdoor.

Frominsideheheardvoicesretreatingupaninteriorpassage.HetriedthedoorhandlebutfounditlockedandthenscuttledbacktotheClarence.‘There’ssomebodyintherewithher,’hetoldMarchantandHardy.‘Soundslikethepeelers.’‘BeenalongtimesinceIbaggedmyselfabluebottle,’Hardysaidthrougha

wickedsmile.Goldglintedmalevolentlyinthedark.‘Iwouldguessthatwhoever’sthereisinoneofthebackrooms,’saidThe

Ghost.‘Inthekitchen,perhaps.Isayweassesshowmanybeforewegorushingin.’‘Assess,now,isit?’sneeredHardy.‘Howaboutwedoitanotherway?How

aboutweknockonthedoorandtakethembysurprise.’Hisbrassknucklesshoneasheperformedaquickboxer’sone-two,justincasetheywereinanydoubtofexactlywhathemeantbytakingthembysurprise.‘Wemaybeoutnumbered,’warnedTheGhost,turninghisattentionto

Marchant.‘Thereareonlythreeofus,afterall.’

Atlasttheclerkwasspurredintoadecision.‘Right.Hardy,putthosebloodythingsawaybeforeanybodyseesthem.Thisisarespectablesquare.You,Indian,gototheback.MyselfandMrHardyherewillawaityoursignalthatitissafetoproceed.Assumingitis,meandHardyenterbythefront,andyoucanmakesurenobodytriestoleavefromtheback.Isthataplan?’Theothersagreed.TheGhostdemonstratedhisowlcall,andthenmadeoff,findinganalleywaythatranthroughtheterraceanddartingalongituntilhecametoadoortothegroundsoftheWaughs’home.ThedoorwouldbeboltedbutTheGhostdidn’tevenbothertryingit.Instead,withaquicklookleftandright,heleapt,grabbedanoverhangonthewallandnimblypulledhimselftothetop.Hecrouchedthereforamomentorso,adarksilhouetteagainstthegunmetal

night,enjoyingabriefmomentofprideinalifethatwasotherwiseshornofit.Hewishedhewaswearinghisrobesandcouldfeeltheweightofhishiddenbladealonghisforearmbut,forthetimebeing,justcrouchingherewoulddo.Momentover,hedroppedsilentlytotheotherside,wherehewaitedinthe

shrubsandshadowsforhisvisiontoadapttothenew,lessmalevolentdarkness.Stretchingawayfromhimwasagarden–wellmaintained,evidentlytherewasmoneytobemadeinsellingthese‘eroticprints’–whileloomingtohisleftwastherearofthehouse.Hemadehiswaytherenow,guessingfromtheglowofinteriorlampswhichwasthekitchenwindow,andtherehesquatted,allowingthenighttoclaimhim.Andthen–very,verycarefully–hepeeredinside.Standinginthekitchenwiththeirhatsintheirhandsweretwopeelers.One

wasared-facedplumpfellowhedidn’trecognize,andtheotherwasAbberline,theconstablewho’dcometothedig.TheGhostrememberedthathe’dpaidcloseattentiontoWaugh’schestwound.Itsoundedlikeacontradictioninterms,butsuchacleankillhadbeencarelessofEthan.Abberline’ssuspicionshadbeenraised.WhichwasprobablythereasonhewasstandingintheWaughs’kitchenright

now.Heandhismateweretalkingtoaflustered-lookingoldmaidcompletewith

bonnetandapron,whoheldarollingpinlikeshemightbetemptedtouseitinanger.ThiswasMrsWaugh,nodoubt.TheGhostcouldn’tseehermouthtolip-read,butshespokesoloudlyhecouldhearherthroughtheglassanyway.

‘Ialwayssaidhewasgettingintoodeepthere.Ialwaysknewhewasplayingwithfire.’Somethingcaughthiseye.Thereinthekitchendoorway,hiddeninthe

shadows,wasafigureTheGhostrecognizedasHardy.TheGhosthadnoideahowhe’dgotintothehouse,butthereasonwhywasclearfromthewickedglintoftheknifeheheld.ThetwoconstableshadtheirbackstoHardy;theywouldn’tstandachance.

Thewomanwastoobusygesticulatingwiththerollingpintoseehim.Noneofthemstoodachance.TheGhosthadasecondtodecide:savethepeelersandendangerhismission.

Orletthemdieforthegreatergood.

Theyrubbedalongwithouttoomuchstrife,butevensoAbberlineandAubreyweren’texactlycrazyaboutoneanother.Forastart,AbberlinethoughtratherpoorlyofAubrey’squalitiesasapoliceconstable,whileforhispartAubreyreckonedAbberlinemightlearnathingortwoaboutbasichumancompassion.Aubreyhadreturnedtothepointearlier,asthetwoofthemmadetheirwayto

theaddressofMrandMrsWaughonBedfordSquare.‘Thejob’saboutpeopletoo,youknow,Freddie,’hetoldhiscompanionas

theythreadedthroughthehustleandbustleofTottenhamCourtRoad.‘Servingtruthandjusticeisallverywell.Butwhataboutservingthepeople?’‘That’swhattherulesistherefor,Aubrey,’Abberlineremindedhim.‘Rulesis

forthegoodofeverybody.’Theyskirtedrivalpure-finderswhowereabouttobrawloveraparticularly

sizeablepileofdogshitbutstoppedwhentheysawthepeelersapproachingandmadeashowypretenceoflookinglikeoldpals.Aubreyfrownedatthemastheypassed.‘That’sasmaybe,’Aubreysaid,whentheywerepastanditwassafetoexhale.

‘Justaslongasyoudon’tstartputtingtherulesfirstandthegoodofeverybodysecond,iswhatI’msaying.Besideswhich,it’snotalwayssocutanddried,isit?Afterall,ifourtheory’sright,thenyourmanwiththegunshotdownalittlegirlincoldblood.Where’sthejusticeinapprehendingthemanwhokilledherkiller?’‘Well,let’sgettothetruthofthematterfirst,shallwe?Andthenwe’ll

questionthejusticeofitall.’Theyhadreachedtheirdestination,adeceptivelyhandsomeflat-fronted

Georgianhouseinanappealingsquareofotherdeceptivelyhandsomeflat-frontedhouses.ItwasjustcloseenoughtoTottenhamCourtRoadforthesquare’snodoubtsmartlyattiredresidentstoreachtheirofficeseachday,butfar

enoughawaysothatthenoiseofthethoroughfarewasadistanthubbubratherthanthenever-endingclamourthatmightsendapersonmadiftheyhadtoliveontopofit.Thetwobobbiesstoodwiththeirthumbsintheirbeltsregardingthehousein

question.Shuttersatthebaywindowwereclosed.Alightatthewindowabovethefrontdoorwastheonlysignoflife.Astheytrodthestepstoknock,AbberlinewonderedifMrsWaughwasinsidenow,weepingasshepinedforherhusband…

‘Whereishe,thatbastard?’Abberlinehadbeencorrectinoneregard.MrsWaughwasindeedinsidethe

house.Whensheopenedthedooritwasclearfromherflour-coveredfacethatshewasmid-baking.Butasforweepingandpining?‘Comeon,’shedemandedofthetwopeelersonherdoorstep.Shehadthe

appearanceofawell-fedbutcher’swife,completewithruddycomplexionandawhiteapronbearingstainsofunknownprovenance.‘Wherethebloodyhellishe?’‘Wedon’tknow…’startedAbberline,sentoff-guardbyherferocity.Itwasn’tthebestwaytobegin,andsureenoughMrsWaugh–atleast,they

assumeditwasMrsWaugh,unlessMrWaughhadanexceptionallybad-temperedandinsolenthousekeeper–wassentintoaspin.‘Whatdoyoumean,youdon’tknowwhereheis?Whyareyoucominghere

then?Youshouldbeoutthere,lookingforhim.’Shethrewupherhandsinfrustrationanddismay,turnedawayfromthedoorandstompedoffupthehall,mutteringtoherselfasshewent,leavingflourfootprintsontheterracottatiles.AbberlineandAubreylookedatoneanother,AbberlinegivingAubreyalook

upanddown.‘Justyourtype,’hesmiled.‘Oh,giveover,’saidAubrey.‘Arewegoinginorwhat?’Theyclosedthedoorbehindthem,throwingtheboltbeforefollowingthe

soundoffemininedistresstothekitchen.Theretheyfoundheralreadyusingarollingpintotakeoutherfrustrationonavastmoundofdough,poundingatitfuriouslyandalmostobscuredbycloudsofflour.HangingnearbywasaphotographofMrsWaughwiththemanwhosebody

Abberlinehadlost.Theywereintherightplace.AbberlinenudgedAubreyin

theribsandgavehimanod.‘Madam,’hebegan,tryingagainwithwhathehopedwasalittlemore

composure.‘Amanmatchingyourhusband’sdescriptionwasseeninthevicinityoftheRookeryatthesceneofa–’‘Well,hewasonhiswaytotheRookerythenighthewentmissing,sothat’s

aboutright,’shesaid,continuingtoworkatthedoughwiththerollingpin.Thiswasthenewmiddleclass,musedAbberline.Theyatejustaswellasthe

high-bornsbutdiditallthemselves.Thensomethingoccurredtohim.‘Whattradewasyourhusbandin?’heasked.‘Hewasaphotographer,’sherepliedinatoneofvoicethatlefttheminno

doubtwhatshethoughtofthatparticularprofession.‘Aphotographer,eh?’saidAbberline.‘Andwhatbusinessdoesa

photographerhaveintheRookerythen?’Stillpounding,shefixedAbberlinewithacontemptuouslook.‘Areyou

havingmeon?HowamIsupposedtobleedingknowwhatbusinesshehasintheRookeryatanysortofhour?Hedon’ttellmewhathe’sdoing,andtobequitefrankwithyou,Idon’tbotherasking.’Therewassomethingaboutherprotestationsthatwerealittletootheatrical

forAbberline’sliking,butheputthattoonesideforasecond.‘Aren’tyouworriedaboutyourhusband,MrsWaugh?’Sheshrugged.‘Notespecially.Howwouldyoufeelifyourwifewentand

madeherselfscarce?You’dprobablythrowaparty,wouldn’tyou?’‘I’mnotmarried.’‘Well,comebacktomewhenyouareandwe’llhavethistalkagain.’‘Allrightthen.Ifyou’renotworriedabouthim,thenhowcomeyoureported

himmissing?’IndignationmadeMrsWaugh’svoicerise,andshewasalreadyfairly

indignant.‘Becausewho’sgoingtopayforallthisifhe’sbleedin’missing?’‘Mypointbeing,MrsWaugh,thattheRookeryisadangerousplaceatthebest

oftimesandperhapsnotsomewherethatarespectablephotographerlikeyourhusbandmightwanttovisit.’‘Well,’shesnappedback,‘perhapsthat’swhyhetookhisbarker.’AbberlineandAubreysharedalook,barelyabletobelievetheirears.‘Hetookhisgun,didhe?’

‘That’swhatIsaid.’‘Yes,except,MrsWaugh,themanmatchingyourhusband’sdescriptionwho

wasseeninthevicinityoftheRookerymayormaynothavebeeninvolvedinashooting.’Nowatlastshesetdowntherollingpin.‘Isee,’shesaidgravely.‘Itwouldbeagreathelptousifyoucouldtelluswhatyourhusbandmight

havebeendoingintheRookery.Whatwasthepurposeofhisvisit?Washetheretomeetsomebodyforexample?Apartfromhisbarkerdidhetakeanythingwithhim?Didhetellyouwhattimetoexpecthimback?’Sheignoredallthequestions.PinningAbberlinewithhergaze,shesaid,‘This

shootingthatoccurred.Wasanybodyhurt?’‘Thereweretwoconfirmedfatalities,MrsWaugh.Alittlegirl–’hewatched

asthewomanwinced,closinghereyes,absorbingthepain–‘andastreetthugwhowentbythenameofBoot.’Sheopenedhereyesagain.‘Boot?RobertwasonhiswaytomeetBoot.As

farasIknow,Bootwasabusinessassociate.’‘I’msorry,Ithoughtyoujustsaidhenevertoldyouabouthisbusinessand

youneverasked?’‘Well,Ipickeduptheoddthing,didn’tI?Anyroadup,hewasonhisway

thereforsomekindofdeal…’‘Adeal?’Hereyesdarted.Shehadalreadysaidtoomuch.‘Yes,well,he’sa

photographer.He…’‘…takespictures,’saidAbberline.‘Yes,that’swhatphotographersdo.

Photographerstakepicturesofmenandtheirwivesandthechildrenofmenandtheirwives.Bigcrinolines,buffed-upboots,buttoned-upjacketsanduncomfortablystarchedcollars,grimandforbiddinglooksintothecamera,allthatkindofthing.That’swhatphotographersdo.Theydon’tdodealsinslumswithstreetthugsafterdark.’‘Waitasecond,youhaven’tsaidyet–ifthereweretwoconfirmeddeaths,

doesthatmeanRobert’sstillalive?’Again,AbberlineandAubreysharedalook.‘I’mafraidourmostlikelytheory

atthemomentisthatyourhusbandmayhavebeenkilledbyasecondassailant.

Infact,Iwaswonderingifyouhaveaphotographofhim,soIcanconfirmifhisbodywasfoundattheMetropolitanlinediginthenorth.’Himaskingwasaformalitysohecouldbreakthenews,butitwasatthe

mentionoftheMetropolitanlinethatadarklookpassedacrossherface.‘Oh,lummy,’shesaid,shakingherheadwiththeterribleinevitabilityofitall.‘Ialwayssaidhewasgettingintoodeepthere.Ialwaysknewhewasplayingwithfire.’Tryingtocontainhisexcitement,andasfarasPoliceConstableAubreyShaw

wasconcernednotsucceedingintheslightest,Abberlineleaptonherwords.‘Whatdoyoumean“toodeep”.Tellmeexactlywhatyouknow,MrsWaugh…’TheWaughs’kitchenwindowwastallandasblackasnight,likeastained-

glasswindowwithoutthestainedglass.AsMrsWaughlookedathim,abouttospeak,somethingtherecaughtAbberline’seye.Andasecondlaterthewindowexploded.

TherewasasplitsecondofindecisionbeforeTheGhostdecidedhecouldn’thavethebloodoftwoinnocentpeelersonhishands,andhemadehismove.Intheendhegambledontwothings:hisownmarksmanship,andMrsWaugh

makingenoughnoisetowakethedead.Hewasnotdisappointedineitherrespect.Twoobjectives:tosavethepeelersandtopreventthemfromseeingeither

him,MarchantorHardy.Hecastaroundforastone,foundalargepebblefringingaflowerbednearbyandslippeditintohispalm,andthen,ashesawHardytenseandthesilverbladeriseinthedoorway,hemadehismove.TheGhostworeonlyrags,nothingtoprotecthimfromtheglass,sowhenhe

hitthewindowatfullforcehefeltwhatseemedlikeathousandknifecutsashecrashedthroughglassandsplinteredwoodandtoacrockerytableontheotherside.Asinglelamphungfromtheceiling,theonlylightsourceintheroom,and

TheGhostletflywithhispebbleatthesametimeashecrashedthroughthewindowandhisaimwastrueandthelightblinkedoutandnightfelllikeswiftdeathintheroomatexactlythesametimeasashoutwentupandMrsWaughstartedscreaming.DislodgedcrockeryfellandsmashedandaddedtothedinbutTheGhostwas

alreadyonthemove,andhepropelledhimselftoadrainingboard,goingroundMrsWaughtothepeelersbytraversingtheroomwithouttouchingthefloor,likethegameschildrenplay–likeagamehehimselfhadplayedathomeinAmritsar.Anotherjumpfromthedrainingboardtookhimtothepeelers,neitherofwhomsaworheardhimorhadtimetoreact,ashelandedonthetilesjustinfrontofthem,anddeliveredtwoquickthroat-punches,fellingfirstAbberline,andthenhiscompanion,alldoneinamatterofhalfasecond,andalldonetotheaccompanimentofscreamsfromMrsWaugh.

Itwasoverinatrice.NobodybutTheGhostknewwhatwashappeningandthatsuitedtheyoungmanfine.Confusionwashisfriend.‘Grabher,’hecommanded.HardyandMarchanthadcomebargingintothe

roomandTheGhostsawthefuryofdenialonHardy’sface.‘Grabherbeforeshebringsotherrozzersrunning.’ThenMarchantwasbarkingorderslikehewasamaninchargeandnotaman

whowashopelesslyconfusedaboutasituationthathadspunirretrievablyoutofhiscontrol.‘Youheardhim.Grabher!Bloomingwellshutherup!’Andperhapsgratefulforthechancetocarryoutalittleviolence,HardystrodeacrosstheroomtowhereMrsWaughstoodscreaming,andTheGhostsawtheflashofbrassknucklesandheturnedhisheadawayasMrsWaugh’sscreamsabruptlystopped.Ittookallthreeofthemtocarryheroutofthehouseandbundleherinthe

Clarence.TheGhostmadesurehewasthelasttoleave,andclosedthefrontdoorbehindhim.Inthehouseanicywindblewthroughthesmashedwindowofthekitchen.On

thefloorthetwopeelerslayoutcold.

Itwasadayofrecrimination.ThenameBharatSinghcamebouncingdowntheshaftandintothetunnel,

andTheGhostonceagainscaledtheladdersandmadehiswayacrosstheplankstotheoffice.TheresatCavanagh,justashehadthedaybefore,andtherestoodMarchant,Hardy,SmithandOtherHardy,justastheyhadthedaybefore.Onlythingsweredifferentnow.WhereyesterdayHardyhadlookedatThe

Ghostwithcuriosityatbest,nowhegazedathimwithunmaskedhatred;Marchanttooregardedhimwithnewinterest.‘Ihavesomeimportantnewsforyou,youngBharat,’saidCavanaghwith

hoodedeyes.‘Youaretobepromoted.Nomoreworkinginthetunnel.Nomorelabouringinthetrench.FromnowonyouwillworkunderMarchanthere,puttingyourreadingandwritingskillstogooduse.Congratulations,youhaveachievedeverythingyourfatherwouldhavewanted.’Itwasafictionalfather’sadmirationthatCavanaghmocked,butthatdidn’t

stopTheGhostfeelingatwingeofsomethingapproachingpurehatredforhim.‘Youmayaskwhy,’continuedCavanagh.‘Whyhaveyoubeenpromoted?It

appearsfromtalkingtoMrsWaughthateverythingyoutolduswascorrect.AndasI’msureyouarealreadyaware,MrSmithhererecoveredaphotographicplatefromyourholeattheThamesTunnel.Therefore,yourfirsttaskistocarryoutthesentenceofdeathonthetreacherousMrWaugh.Only,ofcourse,thatsentencehasalreadybeencarriedout,andyouhaveprovedyourselfinmyeyes.’TheGhostnodded.‘Thankyou,sir.Whatofmyvictim’swidow?’‘She’sbeentakencareof.’TheGhostkepthisfaceblankbutchalkeduponemoreinnocent.Meanwhile,frombehindhim,Hardyclearedhisthroat.Cavanaghacknowledgedhim,turninghisattentiontoTheGhost.‘MrHardy

herefeelsaggrievedaboutyouractionslastnight.Neitherseemquitesurewhat

happened.’AtthishelookedhardatMarchantandthenatHardy.‘Butbothareagreedthatyouactedimpulsivelyandputthematrisk.’TheGhostopenedhismouth,abouttodefendhimself.‘But…’Cavanaghheldoutahandtostophim.‘IhappentodisagreewithMr

MarchantandMrHardy.Wehadabodydiscoveredatthedig,whichraisesquestions.Thelastthingweneedistwodeadconstablesaswell.Thereareonlyacertainamountofquestionswecanwithstand.You,MrHardy,shouldknowbetter.’‘That’sasmaybe,’growledHardy,‘buttheladwentrogue.Itwasagreedthat

MrMarchantandmewouldtakethekitchenandhewouldstopanybodyleavingfromtherear.Hesmashedthroughabloodywindow,guv.Itwasn’texactlystealthy,knowwhatImean?’Cavanaghgaveathinsmile.‘Somethingtellsmeournewestemployeeknew

exactlywhathewasdoing.’

AbberlineandAubreyhadpulledthemselvesfromtheflooroftheWaughs’kitchen,madetheirwaybacktothestationwithpoundingheadsandtheirtailstuckedfirmlybetweentheirlegs,andthenbeddeddownforthenight.Bedraggled,painedandstillexhausted,theyfoundthemselvesatthefront

desknotlongafterdawn,whenthealarmwasraised.Awomanhadrushedinscreamingaboutasuicide.‘Where?’‘HouseonBedfordSquare…’Andthey’dlookedatoneanother,amirrorimageofslack-jawedshock,and

thenbothboltedforthedoor.

Lessthanhalfanhourlatertheywerebackintheverysamekitchenthey’dleftintheearlyhours.Ontheirdepartureithadbeendark,withwindgustingthroughthesmashedwindow,theterracottatilescrunchywithbrokenglass,andadroppedrollingpinonthefloor.Now,though,itwaslight,andeverythingwasjustasithadbeentheprevious

nightwiththeexceptionofonething:MrsWaughhadreturned.Shewashangingfromtheceilinglamp,anoosefashionedfromlinentightroundherneck,headlolling,tongueprotrudingfrombluelipsandapuddleofurineonthetilesbeneathherdanglingboots.Nobodylikestoseeadeadbodybeforetheirelevenses,thoughtAbberline,

andheturnedonhisheelandmarchedout.

‘Theypissthemselves,youknow!’Cavanagh,Marchant,thepunishersandTheGhostwerestillintheoffice

whenAbberlineandAubreyannouncedtheirpresencewithaloud,not-to-be-denied,we-are-the-peelersknock,clompedinsideandstartedtalkingaboutpeoplepissingthemselves.

Aubreywasasred-facedasever,butangerhadgivenAbberlineanexpressiontomatch,andhegloweredfrommantoman,hiseyesalightingfinallyonTheGhost.‘You,’hesnapped,‘wheredidyougetthosecuts?’‘MrSinghisalabourer,constable,’brokeinCavanagh,beforeTheGhost

couldanswer,‘andI’mafraidhisEnglishisn’tverygood,buthesufferedanaccidentinthetrenchlastnight.’CavanaghmadenoefforttobecharmingoringratiatingwithAbberline.He

simplystatedfacts.AtthesametimeheindicatedtoOtherHardy,whoturnedtoleave.‘Wheredoyouthinkyou’regoing?’Abberlinebarked,wheelingonOther

Hardy.‘He’sgoingwhereIsayhegoes,orwherehelikes,ormaybeeventoyour

ownstation,shouldhesodesiretospeaktoasergeantthere…Unlessofcourseyouplantoplacehimunderarrest,inwhichcaseI’msurewe’reallinterestedtohearonwhatcharge,andwhatcompellingevidenceyouhavetosupportit?’Abberlinespluttered,lostforwords.Hehadn’tbeensurehowthiswouldgo,

butonethingwasforsure,hedidn’tpictureitgoinglikethis.‘Now,youweresaying…aboutpeoplepissingthemselves?’saidCavanagh

drily.‘Whichpeoplewouldthisbe,exactly?’‘Thosewhofindthemselvesattheendofanoose,’spatAbberline.‘Suicides?’‘Notjusttoppers,no,butmurderstoo.Anywhereyoufindapoorsoulatthe

endofanooseyoufindsomeeffluentnotfaraway.Thebowelsopen,yousee.’Hepausedforeffect.‘LuckyforMrsWaughthatshedidn’tneednumbertwos.’Hisgazewentaroundtheroom:unreadableCavanagh,slyMarchant,thethree

punishersseeminglyhavingthetimeoftheirlives,and…theIndian.Abberline’sgazelingeredontheIndianthelongest,andhecouldswearhe

sawsomethingthere,aflickerofemotion,andnotanemotionoutofthegutter,either,butaproperone.ThekindthatAubreywasalwayssayinghehimselfcoulddowithlearning.AbberlineremovedhiseyesslowlyfromtheIndian,takingtheminsteadtothe

bigguy,thepunisherwiththegoldtooth.‘You,’hesaid.‘Itwasyou,wasn’tit?Youwasatthehouse.’

Theman,‘Hardy’ifAbberlinerememberedcorrectly,displayedhisgoldendentistryaswellassomeothersplendidspecimens.‘No,Iwashereallnight,MrBlueBottle,asMrCavanaghwillconfirm.’‘Youjustbloomingwatchyersauce-box,you…’saidAbberline,pointingat

Hardy.‘Yes,MrHardy,’sighedCavanagh,‘perhapsitmightbewisenottoexciteour

visitorhereanymorethanheisalreadyexcited.Andasforyou,constable,mayIreiteratethatMrSingh,MrHardy,Marchant,SmithandOtherHardywereallwithmelastnightand,ah…Abberline,itappearsyouhaveavisitor.’‘Abberline,’theconstableheardfrombehindhim,andcringedatthe

distinctivesoundofhissergeant’svoice.‘Justwhatthebloodyhelldoyouthinkyou’replayingat?’

Furious,Abberlinesteppedoutintothenoiseofthetunnelworks,withAubreyathisheels,strugglingtokeepup.‘Holdup,holdup,whereareyoubleedin’going?’yelledhisred-faced

companionoverthenever-endingdinofmachinery.‘BacktoBedfordSquareiswhereI’mbleedinggoing!’Abberlineroaredback

overhisshoulder.Hereachedthewoodengateattheperimeterofthesite,yankeditopenandbrushedpastasleepynavvywhosejobitwastokeeptheriff-raffout.‘Thislotareintoitrightuptotheireyeballs.Thestinkofit,I’mtellingyou.’Outsideinthestreettheyweavedtheirwaythroughthehumandetritusthat

waseitherattractedbythecommercialpossibilitiesofthedig–traders,hawkers,prostitutes,pickpockets–orgenuinelyhadbusinessinthatpartoftown,andbegantheshorthikebacktothehomeoftheunfortunateMrandMrsWaugh.‘Whatdoyouthinkitisthey’reuptotheirnecksin?’Aubreyheldontohis

hatashetriedtokeepupwithAbberline.‘Idon’tknowthat,doI?IfIknewthatthenlifewouldbealotbloodysimpler,

wouldn’tit?’Hestopped,turnedandraisedafingerlikeanadmonishingschoolmaster.‘ButItellyouthis,AubreyShaw.They’reuptosomething.’Heshooktheself-samefingerinthedirectionofthefenced-offrailworks.‘Andwhateveritisthey’reupto,it’snogood.Youhearme?’Hereturnedtohismarching.‘Imean,didyouseethemall,stoodthere,guiltyasyoulike?Andthatyoungfella,theIndianbloke.Bloodalloverhim.Accidentinthetunnel,myfatarse.HegotallcutupwhenhecamethroughMrsWaugh’swindow.’‘Youthinkthatwashim?’‘OfcourseIthinkitwashim!’explodedAbberline.‘Iknowitwashim.I

knowitwashim.Theyknowitwashim.Evenyouknowitwashim.Provingitis

thebloodyproblem,butitwashimallright.Hecamethroughthewindow,knockedoutthelightandthenknockedusout.’Aubreyhaddrawnlevel,speakingthroughgulpsashetriedtocatchhis

breath.‘Doyourealizewhatyou’vejustsaid,Freddie?Imean,isn’tthatwherethistheoryofyoursfallsdown?Becausethereain’tnowayhecouldhavedoneallthat.He’dhavetobesomekindofacrobatorsomething.’BynowtheywerebackatBedfordSquare,likethey’dneverleft,and

AbberlinestrodeinsidewhileAubreystoodinthedoorway,onehandontheframe,almostdoubledoverashetriedtocatchhisbreath.FromthekitchencamethesoundsofAbberlinemutteringandthenan

exclamation.‘Whatisit?’saidAubrey,holdinghissideashejoinedtheotherpeelerinthe

kitchen.Abberlinestoodatthefarendoftheroombeneaththecomprehensively

brokenwindow.Triumphantlyheindicatedthedisturbedcrockerytable.‘Here,’hesaid,‘whatdoyouseehere?’WhateveritwashewaspointingoutlookedverymuchtoAubreylikea

smudgeofblood,andhesaidso.‘Right,abloodstainleftbywhoeveritwaswhodivedthroughthewindow,

right?You’dexpectthat,wouldn’tyou?’‘Well,yes.’‘BloodfromthatIndiangeezerwe’vejustseenstandinginCavanagh’soffice

likebutterwouldn’tmelt,Iwouldwager,’saidAbberline.‘That’sanassumption,Freddie.Haven’twealwaysbeentaughttolookfor

evidence,neverassume,lookforevidence.’‘Howaboutifyouformulatetheoriesthenfindtheevidencetobackitup?’

askedAbberlinewithaglintinhiseye.Youhadtogiveittohim,thoughtAubrey.Whenhewasonaroll…‘Goon

…’hesaid.‘SeetheIndiangeezer?Hehadbarefeet,didn’the?’‘Iknow.Bloodyhell,mustsaveafewbobonbootleather…’‘Bearthatfactinmind,andnowtakeanotherlookatyoursmudgeofblood.’AubreydidashewastoldandAbberlinewatchedasthelightslowlydawned

onhiscompanion’sface.

‘Christalmighty,you’reright;it’safootprint.’‘That’sright.That’sbloodyright,Aubrey.Afootprint.Nowlook,youandI

wasstandingoverhere.’Hepulledtheothermanovertowheretheywerethepreviousevening,whenthey’dbeenremonstratingwiththepermanentlyindignantMrsWaugh.‘Now,youhavetoimaginethewindowisintact.Thatmakesitlikeamirror,right?Likeablackmirror.Well,I’mtellingyou,abouthalfasecondbeforethatblackmirrorsmashedandsevenyearsofbadluckcameinatusallatonce,Isawamovementinit.’‘Yousawtheassailantbeforehecamesmashingthrough?’‘ExceptnowwethinktheIndiangeezerwastheassailant,don’twe?Butit

wasn’ttheIndiangeezerIsaw.WhoIsawwasmuchbiggerthanthat.SonowI’mwondering…nowI’mwonderingifwhatIsawwasareflection.’Hepressedahandtohisforeheadasthoughtotrytomassageasolutionoutofhisbrain.‘Allright,whataboutthis,Aubrey?Whatifoneormaybeeventwoofthosesecuritygeezersfromtherailworkswerestandingbehindus?Whatwouldyousaytothat?’‘I’dsayweboltedthedoor,sohowdidtheygetin?’‘Here.’AbberlinedraggedAubreyoutofthekitchenandtowardsthecoal-

cellarentrance.Itwasajar.Nothingsuspiciousaboutthat.Butinsidethecellarthecoalhadadistinctman-sizedgrooverunningthroughitsmiddle,fromthestonefloorofthecoalhole,rightuptothehatchatstreetlevel.‘Gotcha!’exclaimedAbberline,‘Now…’HereturnedAubreytothekitchen

wheretheyresumedtheirpositions.‘We’restandinghere,right?Now,sayifwe’rerightandIsawthereflectionofabludgerstoodrightbehindus,justwaitingtocold-cockus.Isawhowclosehewas.Andwehadourbackstohim,don’tforget.WhatI’msayingisthathehadus,Aubrey.Hehadus,Aubrey,likeapairofsittingducks,fattenedupandreadyfortheslaughter.Couldhaveknockedourblockoffwithatruncheon.Couldhaveslitourthroatswithaknife…Andyet,forsomereason,eventhoughhismatewasinposition,theIndianfellowcomescrashingthroughthewindow.’AbberlinelookedatAubrey.‘Nowwhywouldthatbe,Aubrey?Whatthebloodyhellwashedoingcoming

inthroughthewindow?’

PartTwo

LOST CITY

Fifteen-year-oldEvieFrye,thedaughterofEthanandthelateCecily,haddevelopedanewhabit.Shewasn’tespeciallyproudofit,butstillithaddevelopedanyway,ashabitshaveahabitofdoing.Whatitwas,shehadtakentolisteningatherfather’sdoorduringhismeetingswithGeorgeWesthouse.Well,whynot?Afterall,wasn’therfatheralwayssayingshe’dsoonbe

joining‘thefight’,ashecalledit?Andwasn’tanotherofhisfavouredexpressionsthatthere’snotimelikethepresent?ForyearsnowEvieandhertwinbrother,Jacob,hadbeenlearning

Assassincraft,andthetwoofthemwereenthusiasticstudents.Jacob,themoreathleticofthepair,hadtakentocombatlikeafishtowater;helovedit,despitelackingthenaturalgiftthathissisterpossessed.Atnightsthesiblingswouldtalkexcitedlyofthedaywhentheywouldbeintroducedtothefabledhiddenblade.Nevertheless,Eviefoundherinterestwandering.Whatcamenaturallytoher

didn’tquiteengrossherthewayitdidherbrother.WhileJacobwouldspendhisdaysintheyardoftheirhomeinCrawley,whirlinglikeadervishtopractisemovestaughtbytheirfatherthatmorning,Eviewouldoftencreepaway,declaringherselfboredoftheconstantrepetitionofswordpractice,andmakeherwaytoherfather’sstudy,wherehekepthisbooks.Learning,thatwaswhatfiredtheimaginationofEvieFrye.Thewritingsof

Assassinelders,chroniclesoflegendaryAssassins:AltaïrIbn-La’Ahad,whosenamemeans‘theflyingeagle’,thehandsomeanddashingEzioAuditoredaFirenze,EdwardKenway,ArnoDorian,Adéwalé,AvelinedeGrandpréand,ofcourse,ArbaazMir,withwhomherfatherhadspentsomuchtimewhentheywereyoungermen.AllofthemhadjoinedthestruggletoholdtheTemplarscourgeatbay,

fightingforfreedominwhatevertimeandterritorytheypliedtheirtrade;mosthadatonetimeoranotherbecomeinvolvedinhelpingtolocatewhatwere

knownasartefacts.Nomuseumpieces,these.TheartefactsthatpreoccupiedAssassinsandTemplarswerematerialsleftbyThoseWhoCameBefore.Ofthemall,themostimportantwerethePiecesofEden.Thepowertheyharnessedwassaidtobebiblicalandtheknowledgesupposedlycodedintothemwassaidtobethelearningofallages:past,presentandfuture.Thereweresome,AltaïrIbn-La’Ahad,forexample–Eviehadporedoveratranscriptionofhiscodex–whohadexpresseddoubtaboutthem,wonderingiftheyweremeretrinkets.Eviewasn’tsure,andperhapsthatformedpartoftheappeal.Shewantedtoseetheseartefactsforherself.Shewantedtoholdthemandfeelaconnectionwithasocietythatexistedbeforeherown.Shewantedtoknowtheunknowablepowersthathelpedshapemankind.Thus,whensheoverheardtheword‘artefacts’frominsideherfather’sstudy

onenight,shehadlingeredtolistenfurther.AndthenthenexttimeGeorgeWesthousevisited,andthenthetimeafterthat.SometimessheaskedherselfifFatherknewtherewereeavesdropperspresent.

Itwouldbejustlikehimtosaynothing.Whatmitigatedherguiltwasthefeelingthathewouldn’tnecessarilydisapprove.Afterall,shewasmerelyharvestingearlytheinformationshe’dbegatheringlater.‘He’sabraveone,thismanofyours,’GeorgeWesthousewassayingnow.‘Indeedheis.Andessentialtoanychancewehaveofonedaytakingbackour

city.TheTemplarsbelieveustobereduced,George.Letthemthinkthat.Havinganagentintheirmidstgivesusacrucialadvantage.’‘Onlyifhelearnssomethingofusetous.Hashe?’Evie’sfathersighed.‘Sadlynot.WeknowthatCavanaghisregularlyvisited

byCrawford,andinparticularweknowthatLucyThornespendsagreatdealoftimeatthedig…’‘LucyThorne’spresenceatthesiteindicateswe’reontherighttrack.’‘Indeed.Ineverdoubtedit.’‘Butthere’snothingtosuggestwhentheTemplarshopetofindwhatthey’re

lookingfor?’‘Notyet,butwhentheydo,TheGhostisinplacetosnatchitforus.’‘Andiftheyalreadyhave?’‘Thenatsomepoint,ashecontinuestogaintheirtrust,hewilllearnthatand,

again,beintherightplacetoretrievetheartefactandputitintoourhands.’

FrombehindEviecameawhisper.‘Whatareyoudoingthere?’Startledandstraighteningwithaslightcrackingofherlegs,Evieturnedto

findJacobbehindher,grinning,asusual.Sheputafingertoherlipsthenusheredhimawayfromthedoorandtothestairssotheycouldretireforbed.EviewouldtellJacobwhatshehadlearnt,knowingfullwellthatforallhe

wouldinsistoneverylittledetailhewouldn’treallybotherlistening.Assassinhistory,tactics,policy,theartefacts–thesewereallaspectsoftheAssassinlifethatJacobwashappytoleaveforalaterdate,whentheirfatherwasgoodandreadytoteachthem.NotforEvie,though.Eviewasthirstytolearn.

MonthshadpassedsincetheeventsattheWaughs’home,andduringthosemonthsAbberlinehadbrooded.Occasionallyhebroodedalone.OccasionallyhehadhelpintheformofAubreywho,whilenotquiteasbroodingasAbberline,didalittleoutofsympathy,aswellasbeinggladofanaleortwointheGreenMan.Duringtheseoccasions,despondentlyhunchedoveratableinthepuband

tryingnottostandoutliketwoskivingbobbies,Aubreywouldattempttolightenthemoodwithoneofthebestnewmusic-halljokes.‘Isay,Isay,Isay,Freddie,whenisaboatsmallerthanabonnet?’‘Idon’tknow.Whenisaboatsmallerthanabonnet?’‘Whenit’scapsized.’Andsometimeshewouldtrytolightenthemoodwithoneoftheworst.‘Isay,Isay,Isay,Freddie.Whydotailorsalwayspleasetheircustomers?’‘Idon’tknow,why?’‘Becauseitistheirbusinesstosuitpeople.’AndothertimeshewouldtrytoengageAbberlineinmoreprofoundand

philosophicaldiscussion.‘It’sjustoneofthosethings,’hesaidoneday.‘Butit’snot,though,isit?’Abberline,whohadlongsinceforgonehisno-

drinking-on-dutyrule,drainedtherestofhispint.‘IfitwasjustoneofthosethingsIwouldn’tbesobothered.Becauseyouknowwhatreallyirksme,Aubrey?It’sthenotknowing.It’sthefactthatliarsandmurderersarewalkingaroundoutthere,thinkingtheygotoneoveronthepeelers.No,whatamItalkingabout?Notthepeelers,becausenobuggerelseapartfromyouandmecouldgivetwohootsaboutrobedmenandmissingbodies.Thinkingtheygotoneoveronyouandme,iswhatitis.’

Aubreyshookhisheadsadly.‘Youknowwhatyourproblemis,Freddie?Youwanteverythingtobeblackandwhite.Youwantanswersallthetime.Andsometimes,youknow,therejustain’tnoanswers,andthereain’tnoblackandwhite;there’sjustdifferentshadesofgrey,whichistosaythatthingsareasmurkyasthebottomoftheThamesandjustasrotten-smelling,butthereain’tnothingyoucandoabouttheThamesandthereain’tnothingyoucandoaboutthateither.’‘No,you’rewrong.’Abberlinestoppedhimselfandreconsidered.‘Well,all

right,maybeyou’reonlyhalfright.Thereareshadesofgreywhenitcomestorightandwrong.I’llgiveyouthatandstandyouapintforyourinsights.’Hehelduptwofingersandwasrewardedwitharesponsefromacrosstheroom.‘Butyou’rewrongaboutanswers.Thereareanswers.AndIwanttoknowthoseanswers.’Aubreynodded,triedtodredgeupanotherjoke,buttheonlyonehecould

thinkofwasonewiththepunchline,‘Nonooseisgoodnoose’,andhedidn’tthinkthatwasappropriateinthecircumstances.Soinsteadtheydranktheirnextpintinsilence,anddidsomemorebrooding.

OutsidetheywenttheirseparatewaysalongRegentStreet,andAbberlinewonderedifamanfromthepub,whohadseemedtobetakinganinordinateinterestinthem,wouldfolloweitherhimorAubrey.Glancinginthereflectionofashopwindow,hesawthathewastheluckyone.

‘So,howaboutyoutellmewhyyou’vebeenfollowingmethesepastfewdays?’ItwasanespeciallyvexedAbberlinewhohadledhisshadowupanalleyway

ontheNewRoadinordertoconfronthim.Especiallyvexedbecausethatverymorninghehadbeencalledintothedivisionsergeant’sofficeandgivenatelling-off.No,notjustatelling-off,butarightoldbollocking.Andwhy?BecauseapparentlyacertainMrCavanaghoftheMetropolitanRailway–thatdead-eyedbastard–hadmadeacomplaintabouthim.Accordingtohim,ConstableAbberlinewasspendingadisproportionateamountoftimeatthesite.Makingsomethingofanuisanceofhimself,hewas,whatwithhisinsinuationsthatCavanaghandfiveofhisemployeeswereinvolvedwithamurder.Andhewastostopthatatonce.So,yes,anespeciallyvexedAbberline,givenstrengthbyhisvexationwas

watchingtheman’sfaceturnpurpleabovethebluesergeofhisforearm.Themanworeadarksuitandabowlerhat,alittletatty,butotherwisefairlyrespectable-looking.Infact,thoughtAbberline,hewasdressednotunlikeoneofthedetectivesfromthedivision.ExceptAbberlineknewallthedetectivesfromthedivision.Heknewallthe

detectivesformilesaround,andthispillockwasn’toneofthem.Whichhadmadehimwonderifitwasadifferentkindofdetectivealtogether.Withhisotherhandhefriskedthemanandcameupwithasmallleathertruncheonthatheslippedintohisowntunicpocket.‘Privatedick,arewe?’saidAbberline.Inresponsethemannoddedfuriously.‘Gak,gak,gak,’hetriedtosay.Abberlinerelaxedhisgrip.‘Yes,ConstableAbberline,aprivatedetectiveiswhatIam,andonewho

mightbeofbenefittoyou,ifyouweretoletmespeak,’gaspedthemanagainstthewall.

Cautiousbutcurious,Abberlinelethimgo.‘What’syourname?’hedemanded.‘Leonard.LeonardHazlewood.’‘Right,nowstateyourcase,MrHazlewood,andmakeitagoodone.’Hazlewoodstraightenedhimselfupfirst,adjustinghishatandhissuitandhis

collarbeforehewenton.‘You’reright,I’maprivatedetectiveintheemployofamemberofthearistocracy,aviscount,ifyouplease,whopayswellanddoesn’tmindwhohepaysitto,ifyouknowwhatImean.’‘Yes,Iknowexactlywhatyoumean.HowaboutItakeyouinforattempting

tobribeamemberofHerMajesty’sconstabulary?’‘Who’sbribinganyone,constable?Iknowmybusiness,andIknowthatthe

othermenatthedivisioncallyouFresh-facedFreddie,andthatyouliketodothingsbythebook,andthatyoudon’teventakeadrinkonduty…’Abberlineclearedhisthroatguiltily.Yeah,mate,ifonlyyouknew.‘Whatof

it?’‘SoIreckonyou’dbejustasinterestedinsolvingacrimeasyouwouldbein

liningyourownpocket.Maybeevenmoreso.AndthatifIcanhelpyoudotheone,whilemaybealsodoingtheother,thenmaybethatisn’tabribesomuchasagiftinrecognitionofyoursterlingpolicework,suchasabenefactormightbestow.’‘Justsaywhatyouhavetosayandsayitoutright.’‘Thisviscountofmine,himandhismateweresetuponnotfarfromhere,in

theMarylebonechurchyard.Hismatewassoviciouslyattackedthathelosthislifethere.’‘Hedidn’thavefartotravelforhisburialthen,didhe?’‘Asomewhatoff-colourjoke,ifyoudon’tmindmysayingso,constable.’‘It’sanoff-colourjokebecauseIknowaloadofcodswallopwhenIhearit,

andI’mhearingitnow.Iftwomembersofthearistocracyhadbeensetuponinagraveyardandoneofthemkilledrighthereinthedivision,IthinkI’dhaveknownaboutit,don’tyou?’‘Bothmyemployerandthefamilyofthemurderedmanpreferrednotto

reportthematter,inabidtokeepitoutofthepublicspotlight.’Abberlinecurledalip.‘Ohyes?Uptonogood,werethey?’‘Ididn’task.I’vesimplybeenappointedtofindanddetaintheirattacker.’

‘Detain,isit?Andthenwhat?Deliverhimintothehandsofthepolice?Don’tmakemelaugh.Dohimdownortophimcompletelyiswhatyou’vegotinmind.’Hazlewoodpulledaface.‘Doesitmatter?Thefactisthatjusticewillbe

served.’‘Justiceisservedbythecourts,’saidAbberline–althoughthesedayshe

wonderedifhestillbelievedit.‘Notalways.’‘You’reright.Notalways.Notonyoungnobleswhogetdrunk,takeatrollop

ortwointoagraveyardandthenfindthemselvesbeingrolledoverbytheladies’pimps,amIright?Imean,unlessyou’retryingtotellmetheywasinthereputtingpoppiesonagrave?Onethingyoucanalwaysdependonthearistocracytodoisgettheirjolliesattheexpenseofthelowerorders.Maybethetablesgotturnedforonce.’Thedetectiveshrugged.‘Itwasn’tapimp.Nosimplecashcarrierattackedmy

employerandkilledhisfriendanddisabledtwoofhisbodyguards…’Abberline’seyebrowsshotup.‘Theyhadbodyguards,eh?Bloodyhell,you

reallyknowhowtoplayonaman’ssympathiesyoudo,don’tyou?’Hazlewoodfrownedandtuggedathiscollaragain.Hisneckhadreddened.

Thiswasn’tgoingwell.‘Thiswasadangerousman,constable.Hardlyevenaman,theysay.Anditwouldbeinallofourbestinterestsifheweretobeoffthestreetsforgood.’AbberlinewasthinkingofAubrey’sdifferentshadesofgrey.Hewasthinking

aboutjusticeandhowthatfittedintothepicturewhentwoaristocratstookbodyguardsfordrunkenjauntsintothelesssalubriouspartsoftown.Whyshouldhecareifalonemantaughtthebastardsalessonbygivingthemagoodhiding?Inotherwordsarightbattyfang.AbberlineknewwhatAubreywouldsay.Goodlucktothefella.Morepowertohisbloodyelbow.FormaybethefirsttimeeverAbberlinefoundnotthathedidn’tcare,butthat

himcaringwasinabnormallyshortsupply.Hechuckled.‘Andtellme,whatdidhelooklike,thismanwhowasnotevenaman?I’llkeepaneyeoutfor…what?Amonster,perhaps?Six-feettallandarmedtohisjaggedpointyteeth,withtalonsforhandsandaroartosplitthenight?’

Theprivatedetectiverolledhiseyes.‘IfIdidn’tknowbetterI’dsayyou’dbeendrinking,constable.No,whenIsaynotquiteaman,Idon’tmeanmorethanone,Imeanayounglad.’‘Ayounglad?’‘That’sright.AnIndianboywithbarefeet.Andtheysayhefoughtlikethe

devil.Quitetheacrobat,hewas.’Abberlinelookedathim,suddenlyseriousaseverythingelsefellawayandall

otherconsiderationsweresidelined.‘Anacrobat,yousay?’

Thenextday,TheGhoststoodbytheshaft,overseeingthework.Heclutchedlaced-upfilesfullofdockets,manifests,schedulesandworkrotastohischest–Marchanthadoffloadedalmosteveryaspectofhisclerk’sworkontoTheGhost–andtendingtothemallwasprovingmoretaxingthananythinghecouldrememberdoingever,andthatincludedlearningthefinerpointsofthekukriwithEthanFrye.Oneoftheforemenapproached,wipinghisnoseonhissleeve.‘ShallItollfor

theshiftchange,MrSingh?’TheGhostlookedathimwithoutseeing,tryingtofocusonwordshewasn’t

usedtohearing,specificallythewords‘MrSingh’.‘Oh,yes,’hesaidatlast.‘Thankyou.’Andthenhewatchedastheforeman

touchedahandtohisforelockandsteppedaway,stillnotquiteaccustomedtothissuddenchangeofevents.‘Indian’waswhattheycalledhim,themen,upuntilhestartedathisnewpost.Butnow…MisterSingh.Ithadrespect–power,even.Because,yes,whatwasrespect,ifnotakindofpower?ForthefirsttimeinhislifeTheGhostcouldunderstanditsallureandtheconstantpursuitofit.Forwithpowercamemoneyandinfluenceandperhapsmostimportantlyitmeantbeingheard,andthesethingswereasseductiveaslove,friendshipandfamily,probablymoreso,becausetheyspoketoselfishegoratherthanthegentleheart.Yes,he’dallowedhimselftothink,Icould,inanotherworld,getusedtobeing

calledMrSingh.Icouldcometotrulyenjoythat.Indeed,hehadnochoice,whatwithhisnewexaltedpositionatthedig.ThroughMarchant,CavanaghhadinsistedTheGhostsmartenup.Hardyhad

handedhimabrown-paperbundle.‘Hereyougo,mate,somenewkecksandboots,ashirtandajacketforyou.Hatintheretoo,ifyouwantit.’ThatnightatthetunnelTheGhosthadtriedonhisnewensembleforMaggie’sapproval.

‘Well,whataswell,youlookquitethemanabouttown,’shetoldhimwhenhewasalltoggedup.‘You’llhavealltheladiesafteryou–ifthey’renotalready.’TheGhostsmiledandMaggiefeltherheartopenatthesightofthatsmile,just

asithadonthenighttheyhadmet,andnow,justasshehadthen,shethoughttoherself,IfonlyIwerefortyyearsyounger…Intheevent,TheGhosthaddoneawaywiththehat.Henevermuchlikedhis

railwayman’scap.He’dgiveittosomeonefurtherupthetunnel.Thetrouserswerewaytooshort,andTheGhostthoughtthiswasprobablyHardy’seviltrick.Butthepunisherwouldhavebeendisappointedtoknowthattheshortertrousers,flappingjustabovetheankle,suitedTheGhostjustfine.HegavethebootstoMaggie.Shegleefullytoreoutthelacesbeforeputtingthemon.Heroldonesshe’dpasstoanothertunneldweller.Andthenextdayhewentbacktothesite,literallyachangedman.Theworkwasdemanding.Allhistimewasspentscratchingoutnamesand

numbersonthevariousschedulesMarchantpresentedtohim,aswellaskeepingupwiththeconstantlychangingshiftsorliaisingwiththemanyforemen,someofwhomhadtaken‘Indian’sappointment’betterthanothers.Interestingly,he’dfoundthatasharpbutsoftwordaccompaniedbyaglancetotheofficewasenoughtosetanyrecalcitrantforemanstraight.Itwasn’trespectthatruled,heknew.Itwasfear.Nevertheless,hisprimarypurposeofbeingherewasnottoruminateon

ideologyorlearnnewworkplaceskills.ItwastospyonbehalfoftheBrotherhood,toascertainexactlywhattheTemplarswereupto,andinthatregardhe’dbeenslightlylesssuccessful.Forastarthisnewworkkepthimbusy;secondly,herarelyhadanexcusetovisittheofficewheretheplanswerekept.Onedayhehadlookedupfromhisvantagepointbythecranestosee

CrawfordStarrickandLucyThornearrive,thetwoofthempickingtheirwayacrossthemudflatsbeforedisappearinginside.Now’sthetime,hehadthought,andtrodacrossthemudtotheofficeonthe

pretextofdeliveringsomedockets–onlytobestoppedbySmithandOtherHardy,thetwopunishersguardingtheportaltotheinnersanctum.They’dtakenthedocumentsfromhimandsenthimaway.TheGhost’sintroductiontoCavanagh’simmediatecirclewasonlytheoretical,itseemed.Perhapstheywere

stilltestinghim;indeed,notlongafterthatdaywasanincidentthatTheGhostwasstillpuzzlingover.ItcameonelateafternoonwhenTheGhostapproachedMarchantonthe

mudflats.Shoutingtomakehimselfheardovertheracketofasteamengineladenwithspoil,hehadtriedtohandthesitemanagertherota,justashedidattheendofeveryshift.‘Allinorder,sir,’hesaid,indicatingthehiveofindustrybehindhim:men

wereswarmingonthecranes,bucketsofearthswingingblackagainstthegreydwindlinglightoftheday,filthy-facednavvieswithspadesandpickaxesslungovertheirshouldersleavingthetrenchlikedefeatedmenonaretreat.Theconveyorrattling,alwaysrattling.Butonthisoccasion,insteadoftakingtherotaashewouldhavedone

normally,Marchantshruggedandindicatedthewoodensiteofficebehindthem.‘Inthere,’hesaid.‘Leaveitonthesideneartheplanstable.I’lllookatit

later.’Hiseyesbetrayednothing.TheGhostnoddedassentandmadehiswayacross.

TherewasnoCavanagh.NoHardy,Smith,orOtherHardy.TherewasjustTheGhoststeppingintotheoffice,theheartoftheoperation,alone.Hestoppedhimself.Thiswasatest.Thiswassurelyatest.Consciousthat

Marchantmightbetiminghim,helitalamp,thenmovedovertotheplanstable.Marchanthadbeenveryspecificaboutthat.Theplanstable.Andsureenough,there,rolledupontheplanstable,weretheplans.Placingthelamponthetabletop,TheGhostbenttoinspecttherolled-up

document.Ifitwasatrapashesuspectedthenthisishowitwouldbelaid,and…there,hesawit.Asingleblackhairhadbeenleftrolledintotheplans,justthetipofitprotruding.Hishearthammering,hepluckedthehairoutbetweenhisfingernails,andthen,prayingitwouldbetheonlytraptheyhadset,unrolledthem.Thereinfrontofhim,werethedesignsfortheexcavationandthebuildingof

therailway,butnottheofficialdesigns.Thosehehadseen,craningovertheheadsoffellowworkmenasCharlesPearsonandJohnFowlergavepresentationsontheirbaby.Thoseplanslookedexactlylikethesebutforonevitaldifference.TheyhadthecrestoftheMetropolitanRailwayinthetopright-handcorner.ThissetsportedthecrestoftheKnightsTemplar.

Marchantwouldbewonderingwherehewas.Quicklyhescannedthedrawingsinfrontofhim,eyesimmediatelygoingtoasectionofthedig–infact,thesectiontheywerecurrentlydigging.Herewasashadedcircle.InsidethatshadedcirclewasanothersmallerTemplarcross.TheGhostrolleduptheplans,replacedthehair,extinguishedthelampand

lefttheoffice.Ashewentwiththeimageoftheplansfreshinhismind,histhoughtswentbacktotheeventsofafewdaysago,whenboxeshadbeenbroughtandamakeshiftstagebuilt.Cavanaghhadtakentoit,withMarchantandthepunishersstandingatthehemofhiscoat,andthroughaspeakingtrumpethadgoneontoregretfullyannouncethattherehadbeensomeinstancesoftheftfromthesite,thatmen’stoolshadbeenstolen.Thishadelicitedagasp.Themencaredabouttheirtoolsasmuchastheydid

theirfamilies.Moreso,inmanycases.TheGhosthadlongsincebeeninthehabitofburyinghisownspadeataspotontheperimeterofthedig,butformanymentheirspadesandpickaxesweren’tjustthemeansoftheirlivelihood,theyweresymbolicofit.Whentheywalkedthroughthestreetswiththetoolsoftheirtradeovertheirshoulderstheywalkedtallwiththeirheadsheldhigh,andpassers-byknewtheywereinthepresenceofahard-workingman,ratherthanjustadirtyone.Thus,theideathatsomewretchwasstealingtools,well,thisfellowmightaswellhavebeenstealingthefoodfromoutoftheirmouths.Cavanaghhadthemenwrappedroundhislittlefinger,andhisproposalthatworkerswouldbesearchedastheyleftthesitefromnowonwasthereforemetwithfewerthanexpectedgrumbles.ShiftchangesnowtookthreetimeslongerbutatleastthemencouldbereassuredthattheMetropolitanRailwayhadtheirbestinterestsatheart.TheGhosthadn’tbeenfooled,butnowheknewexactlywhatlaybehindthe

decision.Itwasbecausetheexcavationhadfinallyreachedtheshadedcircle.Theendwasinsightandthoughthemenwereunderstrictorderstoreportanyunusualfinds–withthepromiseofarewardtomatchthevalueofanythingprecious–therewasstillapossibilitythatoneofthelabourersmightsimplypurloinwhathefound.ChancesweretheTemplarswereascluelessaboutthisartefactastheAssassinswere.Theyweretakingnochances.Andthen,ofcourse,therewastheotherissue,thesmallmatterofthe

persistentPoliceConstableAbberline,whohadbeenturningupattheworks

and,accordingtoMarchant,makingaccusationsagainsthim.‘Don’tyouworry,’MarchanthadtoldTheGhost.‘We’vegotyoucovered.’Theimplicationwasthatthem‘havinghimcovered’camewithaprice.Hewouldseetoitthatherepaidthem.Yes,hewouldrepaythem.ButnowAbberlinehadreturned,andwithhimwasaconsortium,twoof

whomherecognized–theotherpeeler,Aubrey,andthedivisionsergeant–andtwohedidn’t–asmartlydressedmanwhohadahabitoftuggingathiscollar,andafourthman,who…TherewassomethingaboutthisfourthmanthatTheGhostrecognized.He

lookedclosernow,feelingasthoughhisbrainwasmovingtooslowlyashetriedtoplacehim…Marchantwaswalkingtowardshim,comingcloser,hailinghimwithaweasel

grin.‘Oi,you’reneededoverhere…’AndstillTheGhostwasstaringatthenewarrival,whohadstoodslightly

apartfromthegroupandwaslookingrightbackathim.Astheireyesmet,theyrecognizedoneanother.Hewasthebodyguardfromthegraveyard.

Abberlinewatchedhimcome.Thatmorninghehadstormedintothesergeant’soffice,withhisnewfriend

Hazlewoodtheprivatedetectiveintow,andtoldthesergeantthathehadsomethingnewontheIndianatthedig.‘Tellhimthatwhatyoutoldme,’heinsistedtoHazlewood,whoworean

expressionthatseemedtoindicatethingswerequicklymovingawayfromhim,likethiswasn’tthewayhehadplannedit.Oneminute,tradingconfidenceswithacontactwhomightbeofuseinfindingthisIndianfellow,thenextbeinghauledbeforethedivisionsergeantbyanexcitableAbberline.Sureenough,thesergeantlookedhimupanddownbeforereturninghis

attentiontoAbberline.‘Andwhothebloodyhellisthis,Freddie?’‘He’saprivatedetective,iswhatheis.He’saprivatedetectivewhohappens

tohaveinformationregardingourfriendsattherailworks.’‘Ohnotthebloodyrailworks,’sighedthesergeant.‘Pleasenotthebloodyrail

works,again.’‘Nowholdon,holdonaminute.’Hazlewoodhadhishandsheldoutto

Abberlineandthesergeantlikeamantryingtocontrolasmallcrowd.‘I’vebeenaskedtolocateayoungthuginvolvedinabrutalattackonamemberofthearistocracywhowishestoseejusticeserved.Idon’tknowanythingaboutanygoings-onattherailworks.’‘Oneandthesame,mate,oneandthesame,’Abberlinereassuredhim.‘Now

justtellhimwhatyoutoldmebeforeIdoit,and,believeyoume,Iain’tleavinganythingoutandImayevenaddafewbitsandpiecesthatwon’treflectatallwelloneitheryouoryouremployers.’Thedetectiveshothimafuriouslookandthendirectedhimselftothe

sergeant.‘AsIwastellingthe–’hepaused,forextracontempt–‘constablehere,

Ihavebeenemployedbyahigh-rankinggentlemaninordertohelpapprehendaverydangerousman.’‘Averydangerousman,’spoofedAbberline.‘That’samatterofopinion.You

saythattherewasanotherbodyguardthere,apartfromthetwointhesanitorium?’‘Therewas.’‘Thenhecouldidentifytheboy.Wecouldtakehimtotherailworksandget

himtoidentifythemanwhoattackedhimandyouremployer.’‘Wecoulddothat,Isuppose…’saidHazlewoodcautiously.‘Andwhywouldwedothat?’roaredthesergeantfrombehindhisdesk.‘I’ve

alreadyhadMrbloodyCavanaghoftheMetropolitanRailwaygivingmethebollockingtoendallbollockingsonaccountofyourbehaviour,Abberline,andifyouthinkIintendtoriskanotherone–orworsestillhavehimtalktoJohnFowlerorCharlesPearsonandthenextminutehavethesuperintendentbreathingdownmyneck–you’vegotanotherthinkcoming.’Abberlinewinked.‘Ourfriendherecanmakeitworthyourwhile,sergeant.’Thesergeantnarrowedhiseyes.‘Isthistrue?’hedemandedofHazlewood.Thedetectiveadmitteditwastrue.Hecouldindeedmakeitworththe

sergeant’swhile,andthesergeantdidalittleweighing-up.True,therewastheriskofanotherbollocking,butthenagainhehadascapegoatinAbberline.What’smore,alittleextrawedgewouldcomeinhandy,whatwithMrs

Sergeant’sbirthdaycomingup.Sohe’dagreed.He’dagreedthatiftheycouldproducethisbodyguardthen

theyhadenoughofareasontoconfronttheIndianladatthedig,andnowtheIndianwascomingoverthemudtowardsthem.Bloodyhell,thoughtAbberline,he’sgoneupintheworld.Wearinganewpair

ofstrides,hewas,aswellasbracesandacollarlessshirtopenattheneck.Stillbarefoot,mind,trousersflappingabouthiscalvesashecameclosertowardsthem.Everybody,itseemed,wasfixedbyhisdark,impenetrablegaze.‘BharatSingh?’saidAbberline.‘I’mpleasedtoseeallthosecutsandbruises

havehealedsincethelasttimeIsawyou.’Barelyacknowledgingthem,TheGhoststoodbeforethegroup,holdingfiles

tohischestandlookingquizzicallyfrommantoman.Abberlinewatchedasthelad’sgazesweptpastthebodyguard,andheremindedhimselfthatifevenhalfof

whattheysaidaboutthisyoungmanwastrue,thenhemightbeaveryslippery,nottomentiondangerous,customerindeed.Hereadiedhimself.Forwhat,hewasn’tsure.Buthediditanyway.‘Now,’hesaid,addressingTheGhost,‘ifyoudon’tmind,wehaveamatterto

attendto.’Surreptitiously,hefeltforthehandleofhistruncheon,andthendirectedhisnextquestiontothebodyguard.‘Isthisthemanwhosetuponyouandyourtwoemployersinthechurchyard?Haveagoodlonglooknow.It’sbeenawhile,andhe’ssprucedupabitinthemeantime.Butifyouaskme,that’snotthekindoffaceyouforgetinahurry,isit?So,comeon,isithim,ornot?’TheGhostturnedhisattentiontothebodyguard,meetinghiseye.Theman

wastall,likethethreepunishers,butnotcockyandarrogantliketheywere.Areducedman;theencounterinthegraveyardhadlefthimchangedbutherewashisopportunitytorecoversomeofthatlostprideanddignity.Abberline’sfingersflexedonthebuttofhistruncheon;Aubreywasreadytoo,

andthepunishersstoodwiththeireyesnarrowed,handsloosebytheirsides,readytoreachforwhateverconcealedweaponstheycarriedastheyawaitedtheirnextsetofordersandanticipatedbloodshed.Andeverysinglemanthereexpectedthebodyguardtogivetheanswer‘yes’.Soitcameassomethingofasurprisewhenheshookhisheadandsaid,‘No,

thisain’ttheman.’

‘So,whatisthetruthofitthen?’askedAbberline.‘Idon’tthinkIknowwhatyoumean.’TheimpromptumeetingattherailworkshadbrokenupandAbberlinehad

leftwithhistailbetweenhislegs,andthen,backatthestation,thesergeanthadgivenhimafleainhisear,andthen,withhistailbetweenhislegsandhisfleainhisear,Abberlinehadgonesearchingforthebodyguard.Why?Becausehe’dseenthelookonthegeezer’sfaceandhe’dseenthelook

onBharatSingh’sfaceintothebargainandtherewassomethingthere.Non-recognitionmyarse,thosetwoknoweachother.Theyhada…well,strangeasitmaysound,butAbberlinewouldhavesaidhe’dwitnessedakindofgrudging,mutualrespectpassbetweenthem.Sothenextorderofbusinesswastofindthebodyguard,whichwasn’t

difficult.He’ddoneitwithHazlewoodthepreviousday,andthisafternoonhefoundthebodyguardinthesameplace:theTenBellsonCommercialStreetinWhitechapel,afavouritehauntofprostitutesandblaggers,theoccasionalpoliceconstableanddisgracedformerbodyguardsattemptingtodrowntheirsorrows.‘You’reprotectinghimiswhatIthink,’saidAbberline.Withoutawordthebodyguardpickeduphisdrinkandmovedtoatableinthe

snug.Abberlinefollowedandsatopposite.‘Someonepayingyoutoprotecthim–isthatit?Notamaninrobesbyanychance?’Noanswer.‘Orperhapsyou’reprotectinghimoutofthegoodnessofyourownheart?’

saidAbberline.NowthemanlookedupathimwithsorrowfuleyesandAbberlineknewhewasontherighttrack.Hepressedthepointhome.‘WhatifIweretotellyouthatIhadmyownsuspicionsaboutthisyoungIndianman?WhatifIweretotellyouthatIthinkhemightwellhavesavedmylifetheother

day,andthat,infact,farfromtryingtoputthisfellaintheclinkI’mactuallybeginningtowonderifhemightbeonthesideoftheangels.’Anotherpauseandthenthebodyguardbegantospeakinavoicethatrumbled

frombetweenhishunchedshoulders.‘Well,thenyouwouldberight,constable,becauseifyouaskme,heisindeedonthesideoftheangels.He’sagoodman.AbettermanthaneitheryouorIwilleverbe.’‘Speakforyourself.Sohewasinthechurchyardthatnightthen?’‘Hewasindeedandtherewasn’tno“settingupon”anyonebeingdone.There

wasawrong–awrongwithwhichIwasinvolved,tomyshame–awrongthatheputright.Myemployersatthetime,twonobs,weredoingdownadollymop,justforkicks,becausetheycould.Andmeandmymateswerelookingoutforthem.Oursnottoreasonwhyandallthat.’Abberlinegaveathinsmileofrecognition.‘Andthisyoungmanturnsup,theonlypasser-bywhodidanythingmorethan

reacttoherscreamswithmildpuzzlement.Andwhenthetwonobswouldn’tstoptheirgamehestoppeditforthem.‘I’veneverseenanythingmovesofast,I’mtellingyou:boy,manoranimal.

Hebestedallofus,includingyourstruly.Hediditintheblinkofaneye,andwedeservedit;everylastoneofus,wehaditcoming.‘Soifyou’reaskingwhyIdidn’tidentifyhimattherailworks,andifyou’re

sincerewhenyousayhe’sadecentman,andaslongasyou’reaskingmeinthesnugoftheTenBells,knowingI’lldenyitatthesite,atthestationorifI’mupbeforethebeak,thenyes,itwasthesameman.Andbloodygoodlucktohim.’

‘Ofcourseitwasthesameman.’MarchantandCavanaghhadmetHazlewoodattheTravellersClubonPall

Mall,wheretheytookhimtothesmokingroomoverlookingCarltonGardens.CavanaghwasamemberattheTraveller’s,nominatedbyColonelWalter

Lavelle,shortlybeforeCavanaghhadkilledhim;Marchant,asCavanagh’sright-handman,wasalsofamiliarwiththeclub.Hazlewood,ontheotherhand,wasagogor,ashe’dlatersaytohiswife,‘asexcitedasadogwithtwococks’.Menlikehimweren’taccustomedtobeingentertainedintheTravellersClubonPallMall,andhesmelledmoney,aswellasmaybethechancetosolvethisbloody

caseintothebargain.Andmaybe,ifheplayedhiscardsright,thechancetosolvethecaseandmakeabitofextrachinkontheside.Notforgetting,ofcourse,thefactthatitwasaswankyoldplace,andno

mistake.Aroundthemwasthelaughterandraisedvoicesofdrunkenlordsand

gentlemengettingevendrunker,butitwashardtoimagineCavanaghparticipating.Hesatinavoluminousleatherarmchairwithhishandsonthearmrests,wearingasmartblacksuitwithflashesofwhiteshirtatthecollarandcuffs.Buteventhoughhefittedinamongthetoffsandswells,Cavanaghradiatedacertaindanger,anditwastellingthatwhentheoccasionalpassinggentlemangreetedhimwithawave,theirsmilesdippedmomentarily,moreasthoughtheywerepayingtheirrespectsthansayinghello.‘YouthinkthemanwhoattackedyourclientandmyemployeeBharatSingh

areoneandthesame?’heaskedHazlewoodnow.‘I’msureofit,sir.’‘Whatmakesyousosure?’‘BecausewhenIhearhoovesIlookforhorses,notzebras.’MarchantlookedconfusedbutCavanaghnodded.‘Inotherwordsyouthink

logicdictatesitmustbethesameman.’‘ThatIdo–thatandthefactthatIspoketoourfriendthebodyguard

afterwardsanditwasprettyobviousthatforreasonsbestknowntohisownself,hewaskeepingquietaboutit.’‘Thenperhapsweneedtopersuadethebodyguard,’saidCavanagh,and

Hazlewoodthought‘money’,andwonderedifsomeofitmightbecominghisway.‘Tellme,’saidCavanagh,‘ifthisyoungIndianmansetuponthebodyguard,

and–what?Fourothermen?–inanunprovokedandviciousattack,thenwhywouldthebodyguardwanttoprotecthim?’Hazlewoodlookedshifty.AtanodfromCavanagh,Marchanttookfolding

moneyfromhispocketandlaiditonthetablebetweenthem.Herewego,thoughtHazelwood,palmingit.‘Well,’hesaid,‘Ionlyknow

whatI’vebeentold,butitseemstheIndianladtookituponhimselftorescueadamselindistresswhowasbeingusedasabitofaplaythingbythetwotoffs.’

Cavanaghnodded,eyesflittingaroundthewood-panelledroom.Heknewthetype.‘Gettingtheirjollies,werethey?’‘Bythesoundsofthings.Yourman,thisIndianboy,wasquitethedervish,it

seems.Hetookonthelotofthemandwon,andbyallaccountscarriedthepoortailtheywasdoingdownoffintothenight.’‘Isee,’saidCavanagh.Hepausedfornearbylaughtertodiedown.‘Well,Mr

Hazlewood,Ithankyouforyourhonesty,andforbringingthismattertoourattention.Ifyouleaveitwithus,weshouldliketoconductourowninvestigations.Perhaps,whenthisprocessiscomplete,andassumingthatourfindingsareinaccordancewithyourownsuspicions,wecanjoinforces,sothatwecanrootoutthebadapple,andyoucangetyourman.’WhenHazlewoodhadleft,ahappyman,Cavanaghturnedtohiscompanion.

‘Weshallbetruetoourword,Marchant.WeshalllookverycloselyintoourinterestingIndiancolleague.’

Earlythenextmorning,aswasquicklybecominghiscustom,Abberlinewasstaringatadeadbody.BesidehimstoodAubrey,andthetwoconstablestookofftheirhelmetsasamarkofrespect.Theyknewthemanwholaysprawledonthestreet,hisfacebarelyrecognizablebeneatheyesthathadswelledshut,afacethatwasamixtureofpurplebruisesandopencuts,andabrokenjawthathungatanobsceneangle.Itwasthebodyguard.‘Someonewantedtoshuthimup,obviously,’saidAubrey.‘No,’repliedAbberlinethoughtfully,staringatthecorpseandwonderinghow

manymorehadtodie.‘Idon’tthinktheyweretryingtoshuthimup.Ithinktheyweretryingtomakehimtalk.’

Acrossthecity,Cavanaghsatbehindhisdeskattherailworksoffice,Marchantononeside,Hardyontheother.Infrontofthedesk,sittingonforbiddingstraight-backedchairsandwearing

expressionstomatch,weretheTemplarGrandMasterCrawfordStarrickandLucyThorne.Asusual,theywantedareportfromCavanagh,themanwhohadpromisedtodeliverthemtheartefactbutwhohadsofarconspicuouslyfailedtodoso,andasusualtheywantedthatreporttoincludeencouragingnews.‘We’reclose,’Cavanaghtoldthem.Lucysighedandfrownedandrearrangedherskirts.Starricklookeddistinctly

unimpressed.‘Thisiswhatyousaidlasttime,andthetimebeforethat.’‘We’recloser,’addedCavanagh,unperturbedbyhisGrandMaster’sirritation.

‘Wehavetobe.We’reintheimmediatevicinityoftheartefact’slocation.’TherecameaknockatthedoorandOtherHardyshowedhisface.‘Sir,sorry

todisturbyou,butMrandMrsPearsonhavearrived.’

StarrickrolledhiseyesbutCavanaghheldoutahandtoshowitwasamatterofnoconcern.‘Illasheis,Pearsonprefersthecompanyofthenavviestothehospitalityoftheoffice.He’llhavehisusualroyaltour,don’tworry.’OtherHardyglancedbackoutofthedoor.‘Seemsallright,sir.Likeyousay,

he’smakinghiswayovertothetrench.’‘Evenso,’saidStarrick,‘Ibelievethatconcludesourbusiness.MissThorne

andIshalltakeourleave.Seetoitthatthenexttimewevisityouhavesomemoreencouragingnewsforme.’WhentheyhadgoneCavanaghlookedatMarchantwithhoodedeyes.‘He’sa

fool;heknowshistimeisshort.’‘HeistheTemplarGrandMaster,sir,’saidMarchant,andthenaddedwithan

obsequioussmile,‘forthetimebeing.’‘Exactly,’saidCavanagh.‘Forthemoment.UntilsuchtimeasIhavethe

artefact.’Andheallowedhimselfasmile.Theghostofasmile.

Meanwhile,asCavanagh,Marchantandco.wereoccupiedwithStarrickandThorne–andwithTheGhostyettobeginhisshift–PearsonwasdoingjustasCavanaghsaidhewould,andconductingasmalltouroftheworks,hiswifeMaryonhisarm.ThemenlovedPearson,andonthisparticularoccasionhadcookedupaplan

toshowhimjusthowmuch.Attheofficesteps,withStarrickandThornemakingtheirwaytothegates,MarchantwatchedthemengatheraroundMrandMrsPearson,andfrowned,seeingthatworkseemedtohavebeenabandonedfornogoodreasonhecouldthinkof.Therewasdefinitelysomethinghappening,though.HeleanedontherailtospeaktoOtherHardy.‘Getoverthere,wouldyou?Seewhat’sgoingon…’

ItwasarareafternoonoffforPoliceConstableAubreyShaw.No,thatwasn’tstrictlyspeakingtrue.Firstly,becauseAubrey’safternoonsoff

werecomparativelyfrequent,and,secondly,becauseitwasn’treallyan‘afternoonoff’.Notintheofficiallysanctionedsenseanyway.AmoreaccuratewayofputtingitwouldbetosaythatPoliceConstableAubreyShawhaddonnedplainclothesandwasskivingagain.Asusual,Aubrey’sskivingincorporatedacricketingelement.Mostofthe

timethismeanthoistingaleintheGreenManbuttodaywasaspecialday.HehadtakenhisbusinesstoLord’sCricketGroundinordertowatchtheannualEtonversusHarrowmatch.Itwasanicesunnydaytospendwithaspotinthestands(albeitcrowded,astheeventwasattendedbytensofthousands),apieandmaybeanaleorthree,withplentyofcrinolinesandbonnetstocatchaman’seyeandthecricketwhitesblindinginthesun.Truthbeknown,Aubreydidn’tmuchcareforcricket,butthegentleman’s

sportwasapastimehiswifeapprovedof,andwhat’smoreitinvolvedpiesandbeer–andmeetingthosetworequirementswascentraltoAubrey’sjourneythroughlife.HethoughtofAbberline.UnmarriedAbberline,constantlypreoccupied

Abberline–thetwoundeniablyconnectedasfarasAubreycouldsee.‘Awifeiswhatyouneed,’waswhathe’dtoldAbberlineoneafternoonin,

whereelsebut,theGreenMan.‘Afellowbobbywhocaresmoreaboutpoliceworkandlessabouthowtoget

outofdoingitiswhatIneed,’waswhatAbberlinehadreplied.Whichwasratherhurtful;afterall,he,Aubrey,hadbecomealmostas

involvedintheirongoingcaseasFreddie,and…Ohno,hethought,ashetookhisplaceonthestands,I’mnotthinkingabout

Freddietoday.Freddie,begone.Andtosignalanendtowork-relatedthoughtshe

beganlustilyjoininginwiththecheers,happytosubmithimselftothetidesofthegameandtherhythmoftheday.Justanotherfaceinthecrowd.Worriesebbingaway.Still,though.Hecouldn’thelpit.HisthoughtsreturnedtoAbberlineandhis

obsessionwithwhathecalled‘thegoings-onattherailworks’.Thetwobobbieshadaskedthemselveswhobeatthebodyguardtodeath.‘Oneofthemstrongarmsfromtherailworks,’saidFreddiepredictably,butonthisoccasionAubreyhadtoagreewithhim.ItwasasplainasthenoseonyourfacethatCavanaghandco.wereuptonogood.Afterall,weren’ttheyall?Aristocratsandindustrialistsandpoliticiansallfeatheredtheirownnests,andbreakingafewlawswasasmallinconvenienceifyouhadenoughinfluencetorideroughshodoverthem.Bloodyhell,thoughtAubrey.Harkatme.HewasstartingtothinklikeFreddie

himself.Itwascatching,thatwaswhatitwas.Buttheymightknow–thiswaswhatAbberlinesaid.Ifthey’dgotitoutofthe

bodyguardthenCavanaghandco.mightbeawarethatBharatSinghwastheboyatthegraveyard.‘Whatwoulditmattertothemifhewas?’Aubreyhadasked.‘Maybenothing,Aubrey,maybenothing.Whoknows?’Itwasapuzzle,nodoubtaboutit.Likethosecarvedwoodenshapesthatfitted

together.Youturneditoverinyourhandstotrytoworkouthowitfittedtogether.Acombinationofcogitation,aleintake,thesheervolumeofotherspectators

andthefactthathewashereatLord’sonanunofficialdayoffandprobablywouldn’thavenoticedanyway,meantthatAubreywasn’tawareofthreemenwhohadbargedthroughthecrowdstotakeplacesattherearofthestand.Theystoodwiththeirbackstothefence,withtheirarmsfoldedandthebrimsoftheirbowlerhatspulleddownintheuniversalposeofmentryingtolookunobtrusive.Thethreemenweren’twatchingthegamefrombeneaththebrimsoftheir

hats.TheirgazewasfixedfirmlyonAubreyShaw.

ThelastoccupantofTheDarknesshadbeenJayadeepMirsomethreeyearsago.Nevertheless,theroomshadtobemaintainedandso,asregularasclockwork,AjayandKulpreetwouldtakethestepsdownfromthemeetinghousetosweepoutthechambersandallowfreshairfromoutsidetotemporarilybanishthedankairofgloomthatotherwisehungabouttheplace.AndasregularasclockworkAjaywouldthinkitagreatjoketolockKulpreet

inoneoftherooms.Clang.He’dcreptuponherand,beforeshecouldstophim,doneitagain;onlythis

time,insteadofstandingoutsidesnickeringandmockingherasusual,hewasmakingoffdownthepassageway.Hershoulderssankwiththesheerboringinevitabilityofitall.Wouldheever

growtiredofit?Possiblynot,becauseAjaywasnothingifnotjuvenile,anddespitethefactthatshehadahusbandandalittleboyathomehewasprobablyslightlyinlovewithhertoo.Andinherexperiencethatwasaverytediouscombinationinaman.Exasperated,shecalledthroughtheviewingaperture,‘Ajay,notagain,’

cursingthathe’dbeenabletosneakuponherlikethat,therat.Therewassilencefromoutside.Ajayhadgone.Damnhiseyes.Shehopedit

wasn’toneofthosedayswhenhedecidedtostringoutthejoke.He’dleftherinthereforhalfanhouronce.Thankheavensshe’dlongsincelearnttobringacandleintothechamberswithher.‘Ajay,’shecalledagain,thewordsfallingflatonthedankstone.Sherattled

thedoor,thesoundbouncingawayintothedarkness.‘Ajay,thisstoppedbeingfunnymonthsago.Openup,willyou?’Stilltherecamenosoundfromoutsideand,cometothinkofit,shehadn’t

heardhimforawhile.Ajaywasn’toneforkeepingquiet.Evenwithhimupstairs

andherdownstairs,hewouldhavebeencallingtoher,makingbadjokesandpuns,teasingher.Infact,whenwasthelasttimeshe’dheardanyvoiceotherthanherown?Youcouldloseallsenseoftimedownhere.Fromoutsidethedoorcameasoundthatmadeherjump.‘Ajay,’shesaid

sharply,butbroughtherleadingarmtobear,tensingherwristinreadiness.Andthenhewasthere,faceatthewindow,grinningather.‘Igotyouthattime,Kulpreet.Youthoughtthey’dcometogetus,didn’tyou?’Right,shethought,andshearchedoneeyebrowandengagedherblade,

precision-controllingitslengthsothatitshotthroughtheapertureandintothetipofAjay’snostril.NotjustoneoftheIndianBrotherhood’sbestwithasword,Kulpreetwasalso

oneofthebestwithablade,anditwasaperfectlyjudged,expertlybalanceddeployment.‘Impressive,’saidAjay,withanewlyacquirednasaltwang.Hewaspinnedin

placebytheblade,knowingthattheslightestmovementcouldeffectivelysliceopenhisnostril,andthinkingthat,byGod,shekeptthatthingsharp.Constantlygreasingandrecalibratingit,shewas.‘It’llneverjam,Ajay,’she’dtellhim,slidingthebladeintoitshousing,andthenfollowitwithherbestdisapprovingstare.‘NotlikesomeothersIcouldmention.’Kulpreetkeptherbladewhereitwas.‘Tossmethekeys,’shesaid,andthen

whenhe’ddoneashewastoldandwasfreeagain,bargedangrilypasthimonherwaytothedoor.Upstairstheylockedupandpreparedtoleaveforthenight.Kulpreet

studiouslyignoredAjay,whichsheknewwasafarworsepunishmentforhimthanahiddenbladeuphisnose.Asshedideverynightsheplacedherflat-bladedswordintothewallrack,

kissedherfingersandtouchedthemtothefineIndiansteel,beforejoiningAjayatthemeeting-housedoor.ThetwoAssassinssaidtheirpartingwordsthenslippedoutsideandlockedthedoorbehindthem.Neithernoticedfacesinthecrowdedstreetthatwatchedthemleavewith

interest–andthenmovedtofollow.

Whatagreatday,thoughtAubreyashejoinedthethousandsofspectatorsleavingLord’s.Hewasalittlemerry,ifhewashonestwithhimself.Merryenoughtodecidetosweet-talkaflowergirlonadealforabunch,taketheflowershometoMarjorieandtellhiswifehelovedher;merryenoughtohaveforgottenallaboutacrobaticIndianboysandmysteriousdisappearingmeninrobes;andwaytoomerrytonoticethethreemenwhowerefollowinghim,theirheadsbowedandtheirhandsintheirpocketsintheclassicmannerofmentryingtolookinconspicuous.Hewasevenmerryenoughtoconsiderhailingoneofthegrowlersconstantly

poppingtoandfro,butthendecidedagainstit.Besttosoberupabit.Justabit.Andsohekeptonwalking,turningoffthemaindragintoquietersidestreets,leavingthecrowdsandcloppinghoovesbehindasheweavedhiswaythroughdarkerstreetswheretheconstantsoundofrunningwaterremindedhimthatheneededapiss,andheduckedintoanalleywaytorelievehimself.Becauseintheendit’sthesmallthingsthatmatterasmuchasthebigones:a

stolenpocketwatchthatisslow,amaninneedofapiss.Aubreysensedthelightinthealleywaychangebeforehesawanything,and

stillputtinghimselfbackintohistrousers,heglancedtooneendandsawthatinthemouthofthealleywaystoodafigure.Thenbackattheotherend:anotherfigure.Aubreyshivered.Anyotherdayandthiswouldbeapairofmutchers,the

streetruffianswhopreyedonthepoorsoulswhoweretoodrunktooffermuchresistance–andofcourseAubreycoulddealwiththemallright,drunkorsober.Butthiswasn’tanyotherday.Andbesides,hefanciedherecognizedthetwo

menwhoblockedbothexits,andthatmadeitworsethanapairofmutchers.Theyweremovingupthealleytowardshim.Athirdfigurehadappearedat

themouthofthealley.Aubreydesperatelywishedhehadhistruncheonbut

knewitwouldbenogood.Hecasthiseyesatthestreamingwallinfrontofhiminthehopethataladdermightmagicallybepresent,andthenbackatthemen,whowereuponhimnow.Herecognizedthegrinningfacesinthesecondbeforethelightwentout.Just

ashe’dknownhewould.

StridingthroughthestreetsofAmritsarintheirrobes,KulpreetandAjayhadbeenpreoccupiedwiththeirownthoughts–whichwaswhytheydidn’tnoticeuntilitwastoolatethatthecrowdhadseemedtode-materialize,andinthestreetbeforethemwasalineofsevenmeninmatchingbrownsuits.Curses.Theywheeledround.Thestreetwasemptying.Behindthemwasanother

phalanxofmeninbrownsuits,nervouscrowdsmovingawayfromthemlikeripplesfromadroppedstone.Atempooffearincreasedasthebrownsuitsbegantoproducekukrisfromwithintheircoats.Overadozenbladesversustwo.AjayandKulpreetlookedatoneanother.Withareassuringsmileshepulled

hercowloverherheadandhedidthesame,andthenhereachedtogiveherthreequicktapsandasqueezeonherupperarm,andsherespondedtothecodewithanod.Theyknewwhattodo.Mentallytheybothcounted–one,two,three–andthen,inonecoordinated

movement,wentbacktoback,deployingtheirbladesatthesametime.Itwasameasureofhowquieteverythinghadbecomethatthenoiseofthiswasaudible,andameasureofhowconfidentthebrownsuitsfeltthattheydidn’tevenflinch,didn’tevenlooknervous.Theoneinthemiddlewastheleader.Hegaveawhistleandrotatedafinger.

Asone,thebrownsuitsbegantoadvance,theendofeachlineedgingforward,closingthecircleinthehopeoftrappingAjayandKulpreetatitscentre.‘Now,’saidKulpreetandtheymadetheirmove.Shedashedtoacanopyon

herleftandhewentintheoppositedirection,andbothreachedtheirrespectivetargetsbeforethebrownsuitscouldgettothem.Ajay’sbladewasbackinitshousingashehitthewallrunning,hisbarefeet

clingingtothestoneashereachedforasillandheavedhimselfup.Twomoregruntingeffortsandhewasontherooftraversingthebuilding,jumpingdowntothestreetontheothersideandsprintingintoapassageway.Attheendwasone

ofAmritsar’sstreetwallsseparatingonethoroughfarefromthenext,andAjaywentforitnow,knowinghe’dbehomefreeifhecouldscalethewallandgetover.Henevermadeit.Thebrownsuitshadanticipatedhismove,andasAjay

reachedtheendofthealleywaytheyappeared,takinghimbysurprise.Hestumbledandsawakukriflashingtowardshim,andactingoninstinctbroughthishidden-bladearmintodefence,engagingthesteel…Only,thebladedidn’tengage.Itjammed.

Aubreyhadnoideawherehewas,butsensedthatwastheleastofhisconcerns.Whatmatteredwasthathewasboundtoachairinaroomthatwasdark,apart

fromaflickeringorangeglowgivenoffbylampsboltedtothewalls,whileinfrontofhimstoodthethreepunishers,gazingathimwithsmilingdispassion,preparingtodotheirwork.Hardymovedforward.Hepulledonblackleatherglovesandthenfromhis

jacketpockettookapairofbrassknucklesthatheslippedoverhisfingers.ThetwoothermensharedalookandthensteppedbackintotheshadowsasHardycametoAubreyandputhisglovedhandtothepeeler’sface,likeasculptortestingtheconsistencyofhisunmouldedclay.Andthenhemovedbackandplacedhisfeetwiththeexpertiseofaboxer,and

Aubreythoughtthatclosinghiseyesmightbeagoodidearightnow,sohedid,anditwasfunny,becausehe’dalwaysfounditdifficulttopicturehisfamilywhenhewasawayfromthem;itwassomethinghealwayswishedhecoulddo–justtohavethemwithhim.Buttheycametohimnow.Aperfectimageofthemthatheclungtoastheblowsbeganrainingin.Therewasthat,atleast,tobesaidforbeingbeatenup.ThankGodforsmallmercies.

Kulpreetawokewithasoreheadandfoundherselfsquintinginthegreydarkofawarehouse:anempty,cavernousspace,withjusttheslappingsoundofrainpouringthroughtheroofandbirdsnestingintherafters.Rustingstairwaysledtoancientdilapidatedgantriesoverhead.Shewasrestrainedinanunusualmanner.Shewasseatedatoneendofalong

slattedtable,toallintentsandpurposesasthoughshewereanhonouredguestfordinner–apartfromthefactthatyoutendednottotieuphonouredguests.Herchairwaspushedneatlybeneaththetable.Shecouldn’tseeherfeetbutthey

wereboundtothechairlegs.Meanwhile,herhandswerelaidoutinfrontofherandtiedtightlywithleatherthongs,palmsflattothetabletop.Theywereplacedalmostasthoughshewereabouttoreceiveamanicure.Inasenseshewas.Afewinchesfromherfingers,laidverydeliberatelyso

thatshecouldseethem,wasapairofpliers,thesortofrustingpliersonemightusetoextractafingernail.Sheknewofthistortureofcourse.Thecumulativepain.Apparentlytherewas

anAssassinwhohadmanagedfivebeforehebroke.Asfarasshecouldtell,therewerethreebrownsuitsinthewarehousewith

her.Withaclenchedjawshewatchedasoneoftheminspectedherhiddenblade,andiftherewasonethingthatmadeherangry–beyondbeingcaptured,beyondhavingittakenfromherandbeyondbeingtoldbysniggeringbrownsuitsthatAjayhadbeencutdownlikeadoginthestreet,itwasthat.TheyhadAjay’sbladeaswell.AnotherTemplarthugstoodattheendofthetableturningitoverinhishands.‘Thisonejammed,’hetoldhisfriends,andtheylaughed.Butthat’snotwhyyoucan’tdeployit,youidiot,thoughtKulpreet.Notunless

youcanslipitoveryourwristandarrangeyourmusclesandtendonsinsuchawayastopreciselyemulateAjayorcanactivatethefail-safeswitch,andtobehonestyoucouldspendtherestofyourlifelookingforthefail-safeswitchandstillnotfindit.TheleadbrownsuitturnedhisattentionfromhiscolleaguestoKulpreet.‘It’s

calibratedtoeachindividualAssassin,’calledtheleadbrownshirtoverhisshoulderashecameforwardtoKulpreet.Behindhimthetwothugshadgrownboredofinspectingthebladesanddroppedthemtothetable,andshewantedtolookoveratthem,tochecktheirposition,butdidn’tdare.Shewasthinkingaboutthatfail-safeswitch.‘Well,well,she’sawake,saidthegrinninginquisitor.‘Lookslikeit’stimeto

begin.’Hepickedupthepliersbutthenmadeashowofpretendingtoreconsiderand

droppedthembacktothetablewithaclunk.‘MaybeIwon’tbeneedingthose,’hesaid,almosttohimself.‘Imean,it’snotasifit’sadifficultquestion,theoneIhavetoask.“DidyouputJayadeepMirtodeaththreeyearsago,orwashebanishedtoLondoninstead?”It’squitestraightforwardreally.’

Helookedather,butifhewashopingforaresponseshedidn’tgivehimthesatisfaction.Hecontinued.‘Yousee,prettyone,wehaveacolleagueinLondonwhowasaBritisharmyofficerwhospentsometimeinIndia,andheheardallabouttheextraordinaryJayadeepMir,andnowhe’smetaratherextraordinaryIndianboyinLondonandwhatwithonethingandanotherhewondersifthetwomightbeoneandthesame.Whatdoyouhavetosayaboutthat?’Shesaidnothingbutwhenhesteppedtoonesideandretrievedthepliersshe

wasabletoseepasthimandcheckthepositionoftheblades.Nowsheneededtocheckthestabilityofthetable,andshefeignedahelplessfury,shakingherselfasthoughtryingtowrenchfree.Themensharedanamusedglancebutshe’dlearntwhatsheneededtoknow:thetablewasnotsecuredtothefloor,butitwasheavy,tooheavyforhertotipbyherself.She’dneedhelptodothat.Butifshecouldtipit,thenmaybeshecouldreachoneoftheblades.‘Water,’shesaidsoftly.‘Ibegyourpardon,’saidtheinquisitor.He’dbeenturningthepliersoverin

hishand,staringatthemfondly.‘Whatwasthat?’Shemadeasthoughsheweretooparchedtoformwords.‘Water…’Heleanedalittlecloser.‘Whatdidyousay?’Washecloseenoughtograbwithherteeth?Shehadtwochancestodothis,

andthiswasoneofthem.Butifshemesseditup…No.Besttowait.Besttotrytolullhimintoafalsesenseofsecurity.Andso,asthoughmakingaHerculeaneffort,shemanagedtosaytheword

‘water’audiblyenoughforherinquisitortohear,andhesteppedaway,beaming.‘Ah,Ithoughtthat’swhatyousaid.’Heindicatedtooneofthemenwho

disappearedthenreappearedafewmomentslaterwithanearthenwaremugthatheplacedonthetableinfrontofher.Shemadeanattempttoreachforitwithherteethbeforefixinghimwitha

lookofappeal,andwithasmilehepickedupthemugandliftedittoherlips,excitedathavingthisbeautifulwomansomuchinhiscontrolthatsheneededhelpevenhavingasipofwater.Oh,howhewasgoingtoenjoywhatcamenext.Theinquisitorwasamanwhoenjoyedhiswork.Hewasgoodatit;hewasanexpertwhenitcametoinflicting…Pain.

Itshotuphisarm.Withherteethshehadclampedontohishandandshewasn’tjustbitinghim,shewaseatinghim.OhmyGod,shewaseatinghimalive.Heyelledinagony.Themugdroppedbutdidn’tsmash.Kulpreetkepther

teethclenchedontheinquisitor’shand,tastingsweatanddirtandwrenchingherneckatthesametime,maximizinghispainandusingeveryounceofherstrengthtobringhimcloser.Atthesametimeshetippedthelegsofthechairouttooneside,restingallherweightonherforearmsassheusedthemtoslamintotheinquisitor’sshins,sendinghimoffbalanceandincreasingthespeedofhisdownwardjourneysothatatlasthesprawledtothetable,facebreakingtheearthenwaremugashemadecontact,andifthataddedtohispainthengreat,thoughtKulpreet,butthatwasn’thermainobjective,becausewhatsheneededtodonowwas…Andwithallhermightandusingtheweightofthemboth,sheboredownon

thetable,whichtiltedsothebladescameskiddingdownthesurfacetowardsherwaitingfingertips.Theinquisitorwasinthewaysoshecouldn’tevenseethemcomebutshefeltonereachherfingertipsjustashemanagedtoyankhishandfreeofhermouth,andshegaspedwithherownpainasoneofherteethwentwithit.Bloodandtornfleshwereroundhermouthbutshedidn’tcareaboutthatnow;allshecaredaboutwasthebladeshewasturningoverinherhands,feelingforthefail-safe.Overthebodyoftheinquisitorshecouldseetheothertwomenexchanginganamusedglancebeforereachingfortheirkukris,because,afterall,whatcouldshedo?Theoddswerenotinherfavour.Evenwithabladeshewasstilltiedtoachair,andtherewerethreeofthemandalockeddoor.Skilledandcleverandluckyasshewas,therewasn’tenoughluckintheworldtosavehernow.Theyknewit,sheknewit.Theyallknewhowthiswouldend:shewouldtellthemwhattheywantedtoknowandthenshewoulddie.Kulpreetrealizedthisofcourse.Buttheobjectofgettingthebladeswasnotto

useonhercaptors.Itwastouseonherself.Butstill,thankGodforsmallmercies,becauseshehadtheopportunitytotake

onewithherandsoasherthumbwenttothefail-safeswitch,shedidwhatlookedlikeanoddthing:shebroughtherfaceclosetothethroatoftheinquisitor,whowasstilltryingtopullfreeofher.Shebroughtherfacecloseto

histhroatasthoughsheweretryingtolookatsomethingcloselythere,andbecauseofthepositionofherarmsitlookedasifsheweretakinghiminalover’sembrace,pressingherfleshtohis.Oneofhercaptorsrealizedhertrueintentionbutitwastoolate.Shehad

alreadyrammedthebladehousinguptotheinquisitor’sneckandthen,withhereyestillathisthroat,releasedtheblade,whichshotthroughhimandintoher.JustbeforeKulpreetdiedshethoughtofallshehaddone.Shethoughtofher

husbandandlittleboyathome,whowouldbewonderingwhereshewas.SheeventhoughtofpooroldAjay–Well,I’llbejoiningyousoon,oldfriend–andshethoughtoftheBrotherhoodandwisheditwell,anditwaswithaheavyheartthatsheknewthestruggleforabetterandfairerworldwouldhavetocontinuewithouther.Andasthepointofthebladedrovethroughherattacker’sneckandintoher

owneyeandintoherbrain,Kulpreetknewthiswasabetterdeaththantheonetheyhadplannedforher,butshewonderedifitwasanobledeath.Shehadtoldthemnothing,andshehopedthatwouldcountforsomething.ShehopedtheCouncilwoulddecreethatshediedwithhonour.

TwodayslaterontheharbouratAmritsar,threemeninbrownsuitsinterceptedanAssassinmessenger.ThethreemenkilledtheAssassin,madesuretoretrievethemessagehe’d

beenduetodelivertoLondon,andthenbundledhisbodyintoawagonforpigfeed.AsinstructedthemessagewashandedtoTemplarcodebreakers,whoset

aboutdecodingit,aprocessthattookthemaweekorso.‘Urgent,’itsaid,whentranslated.‘Missionpossiblycompromised.Ajayand

Kulpreetdead,maybetorturedforinformation.Suggestabortmissionatonce.’Andthen,atthebottom:‘Ethan,lookaftermyson.’

AbberlinewasintheGreenMan.Butnotdrinkingtoday.Notbroodingnordrowninghissorrows.Hewasthereonaltogethermorepressingbusiness.‘Hey,Sam,youseenAubreytoday?’‘Notseenhimforawhile,Freddie,’repliedthebarman.‘No,tellalie,he

poppedhisheadroundthedoorearlier,onhiswaytoSchools’DayatLord’s.’FreddieshotthebarmanaconfusedlookandSamwasdisgustedinreturn.

‘Whatthebloodyhellareyoudoinginhereifyoudon’tevenknowabouttheEton–Harrowmatch?’‘Allright,keepyourhairon…what’sleftofit.Aubreywasonhiswaythere,

washe?’Samsuddenlypulledaface,asthoughhe’dsaidtoomuch.‘Well,um…no.

Hewasonduty,wasn’the?’NowitwasAbberline’sturntobeexasperated.‘Look,youcan’ttellme

anythingaboutAubreyIdon’talreadyknow.Hewasonaskive,right?’SamslappedabartoweloverhisshoulderandgaveAbberlinethekindof

reluctantnodthatwouldn’tstandupinacourtoflaw.‘Right,’saidAbberline.‘Nowwe’regettingsomewhere.Hecameinhereto

…Oh,Iknow.Hecameinheretochangehisclothes,didhe?’Anotherreluctantnod.‘Allright,’saidAbberline,slidingoffhisstoolandabouttomakeforthedoor.

‘Whenhecomesbackforhisuniform,tellhimI’mlookingforhim,wouldyou?’‘Bloodyhell,everyonewantsoldAubsatthemoment,don’tthey?’Abberlinestoppedandturned.‘Comeagain?’‘LikeIsay,seemslikeeveryonewantstotalktoAubrey.’AgainSamwas

wearingaqueasylook,asthoughhemighthavesaidtoomuch.‘Putabitmoremeatonthosebonesforme,mate.Whoexactlyislookingfor

Aubrey,apartfromme?’

‘Threegeezerscameinnotlongafterhe’dleftforthematch.’‘Andwhatdidtheylooklike?’askedAbberlineandthenfelthisheartsinkas

Samgavehimadescriptionofthethreepunishers.Notknowingwhatelsetodo,heheadedforLord’s,butimmediatelyregretted

itwhenhefoundhimselfswimmingagainstthetideofhumanityleavingtheground.Cabswerestoppingandturningtail.Nearby,ahorsesnortedandstampeditsfeet.TheweightofpeoplebecametoomuchforanAuntSallyownerandhebeganpackingquicklyaway.Sameforthestallholderwhocalledfortheshoving,ebbingcrowdstomindout,mindthebloodybarrow,aslittlehandsreachedtograbproducefromhisstall.Anotherwaspushingacartawayfromthecrowds,throughaseaofbonnetsandcapsandchildrencarriedonshoulders.Abberlinefeltsomethingdraghisclothesandlookeddowntoseeadogweavingthroughaforestoflegs.Despitethecrowdsthemoodwasgenial.Agoodtimewasbeinghadbyall.

Themassescertainlyenjoyedcheeringonthesonsofthenobilityastheyplayedtheirannualgame,thatwasforsure,thoughtAbberline.Onedaythehigh-bornprogenywouldbedoingwhatalltheupperclassesdid:liningtheirpocketsattheexpenseofthelowerorders,takingtheirfunwheretheyfounditandwhocaresiftheyruinafewlivesintheprocess.Andno,hedidn’tfindAubrey.Hefoundlotsofdrunkspassedoutintheroad.

Foundlotsofwomentryingtosellhimmatchesandposies.Foundlotsofswellsandladiesinposhfrockslookingdowntheirnosesatthedrunksandmatch-sellers.ButnoAubrey.HewentbacktotheGreenMan.Samshookhishead;therehadbeennofurthersignofAubrey,andno,notthe

threemeneither.Thepunishers,that’swhoitwas,themattheline.He’dbepayingthoserail

worksavisitunlessAubreyturnedupprettysoon.Onemoreplacetotry,though,andhetookhimselftoAubrey’sroomsinStepney,wherehelivedwithhiswifeandtwochildren.MrsShawopenedthedoorandrelaxedwhenshesawhisuniform.‘Don’ttell

me,’shesaid.‘You’reFreddieAbberline?’Whenhenoddedsheburstoutwith,‘Well,haven’tweheardalotaboutyou!Children,comeandmeetthefamousFresh-facedFreddie.’

ShehadruddycheeksbutwasotherwiseoppositetoAubreyineveryway,beingslightwherehewaswellbuilt,andwhileheworeapermanentlynervousandbewilderedexpression,shewasanentirelydifferentkettleoffish,beamingwithwelcomeandfussingaboutherhairassheinvitedherguestinside.Twochildren,aboyandagirl,botharoundfiveorsix,camerunning,onlyto

skidtoahalt,clingtoherskirtsandgazeathimwiththekindofnakedcuriositythatonlychildrencangetawaywith.Abberline’sheart,alreadyheavywithworryforAubrey,sankalittlemoreat

thescene.ItwouldhavebeeneasiertokeepasafedistancebetweenhimandthethingsAubreyloved.SeeingthemlikethiswouldonlymakethingsharderifwhatAbberlinefearedwastrue.MostofthetimeheenviedmenlikeAubs,whowenthometowivesandfamilies,butnotattimeslikethis.Notwhenyousawwhatyouleftbehind.‘Ican’tstay,MrsShaw,I’mafraid,’hesaid,reluctantlyhavingtodampenthe

warmwelcomehewasbeinggiven.‘IwasjustwonderingifyouknewofAubrey’swhereaboutsatall?’Thesmileslidoffherface,replacedbyalookofimmediateworry.Thetwo

children,sensingtheirmother’ssuddendistress,clungontoherskirtsmoretightly,eyeswideningintofrightenedsaucers.‘No,notsincehewentoutthismorning,’shesaid.‘OnhiswaytoLord’s?’Shechewedherlip.‘Ican’trightlysay.’‘IknowhewasonhiswaytoLord’s,MrsShaw,butthematchisover,andI

waswonderingifhe’dreturned.’‘MaybehewentforanaleintheGreenMan?’‘Ofcourse,’hesaid.‘That’sit.I’lltakemyleaveforthere,ifImay,andwish

youallthebest,andifyou’dletAubreyknowthatI’mlookingforhimthenI’dbemuchobliged.’AndAbberlinedidjustthat.Hetookhisleave.HewentbacktotheGreen

Man,justincase,andSamshookhisheadandsaidno,andthenAbberlinewenttothestation,justincase,andthedesksergeantshookhisheadno,withasuspiciousexpression,asthoughheknewAubreyhadbeenontheskive.Andthen,lastly,Abberlinewenttotherailworks,wherehestoodbythefenceandlookedoverthesite.Theworkcontinued:fireshadbeenbuiltastheywereevery

nightandbraziersglowedonthemudflats.AsAbberlinewaitedthere,asteamtrainpulledinfromfurtherupthelineandtheactivitiesonthewoodencranesgrewevenmorefreneticasnavviesbegantounloadthespoil.ButAbberlinewasn’tlookedatthat.Hewaskeepinghiseyeontheoffice.He

watchedasthedooropenedandoutcametheIndianlad,clutchinghisfiles.Good,thoughtAbberline,findingitareassuringsight.Forsomereasonhe

doubtedanyharmwouldcometoAubreyiftheIndianladwasaround.‘Heisindeedonthesideoftheangels.He’sagoodman.Abettermanthan

eitheryouorIwilleverbe.’WhatAbberlinesawnextwasanevenmorereassuringsight.Comingoutof

theofficewerethepunishers,allthreeofthem,ascasualasyoulike.Andiftheywerehere,well,thentheyweren’touttheresomewhere,hurtingAubrey.Abberlinewonderedifmaybetheirpathshadbeensimilartohisown.PerhapstheyhadreachedtheGreenManandbeensenttoLord’swheretheyhadbeendeterredbythecrowds.Yes,hethought,turningawayfromthefenceandputtingthesitetohisback.

Yesthatwasit.Hopefullybynow,Aubreywassafelybackinthebosomofhissmilingfamily…

Hislandladylivedonthegroundfloorandsheappearedtheminuteheshowedhisface.‘Busyday,constable?’shesaid.‘Youmightsaythat,ma’am,’saidAbberline,removinghishelmet.‘Toobusytotellmeyouwereexpectingadelivery?’Helookedathersharply.‘Adelivery?’‘Threegentlemendeliveringalargerug,sotheysaid.Musthavebeena

bloodyheavyrugtoo,becauseittookallthreeofthemtogetitupthere…’Abberlinewasalreadymountingthestairs.

ThebastardshadleftthebodysittingupinoneofAbberline’schairs,asthoughawaitinghisreturn.They’dleftitthereasawarning.They’dbeatenhimtodeath.Hewasbarelyrecognizablebeneaththepuffed-

up,lividflesh,bulgingbruises,closed-upeyes,andthebloodthatoozedfromcutsmadebybrassknuckles.‘Oh,Aubrey,’saidAbberline.

It’snotlikethey’dbeenfriends,but…Waitaminute,yes,theyhadbeenfriends,becausefriendssupportedoneanother.Youcouldturntothemforadvice.Theyhelpedyouthinkaboutthingsadifferentway.AndAubreyhaddoneallthatandmoreforhim.Beforeheknewit,hisshoulderswereshakingandtearsdroppedtotheboards

ofhisroom.‘OhAubrey,’herepeatedthroughawetmouth,wantingtoreachoutandembracetheman,hisfriend,butatthesametimerepulsedbywhattheyhaddonetohim,hisfeaturespummelledawaylikesomuchtenderizedmeat.InsteadhetriedtoimagineAubreyashewas,tellinghimmusic-halljokesin

theGreenMan.Mourningthedeathofaslumgirl.Hehadtoomuchcompassion,thatwasAubrey’sproblem.Hehadtoomuchheartforthisworld.AndhewonderedwhatitwouldhavebeenlikeforAubreyinhisdying

moments.Theywouldhavedemandedinformationofcourse.TheywouldalreadyhaveknownabouttheIndianfromthebodyguard,sowhatmightAubreyhavetoldthem?Aboutthemanintherobes,perhaps.Asifitmatterednow.TheotherdayAbberlinehadtoldhimselfthekillinghadtostopandyetthewholebusinesshadclaimedyetanotherlife,apreciousone.MaybeAubreywasright.Maybetherewerenoanswers.Maybeyoujusthad

toacceptthatonceinawhile.Forthetimebeing,hesimplystoodwithhisfriend,AubreyShaw,shoulders

shaking,tearsflowingmorefreelynow.‘I’msorry,mate,’hesaidoverandoveragain.‘I’msobloodysorry.’Andthen,Aubrey’seyesopened.

Monthspassed.InMaytheChancelloroftheExchequerGladstonedeclaredhimselfdelightedaftertakingthefirstfulljourneyonthenewundergroundrailway.HeandvariousotherMetropolitandignitaries,includingJohnFowler,CharlesPearsonandCavanagh,hadtravelledtheentirelengthoftheline,allfourmilesofit,fromtheBishop’sRoadstationinPaddington,throughtunnelsandotherhalf-builtstations–EdgwareRoad,BakerStreet,PortlandRoad,GowerStreet,King’sCross–andlastlytoFarringdonStreetinthecity.Ajourneyofsomeeighteenminutesorso.Gladstone’ssealofapprovalwasimportanttotheMetropolitan,especiallyas

thePrimeMinister,Palmerston,hadalwaysbeenrathersniffyabouttheproject,declaringthatathisagehewantedtospendasmuchtimeaspossibleaboveground,thankyouverymuch.ButGladstone’sapprovalgaveaboosttoaprojectthatwasotherwisegreetedwithatbestmildsuspicionandapathybythegeneralpublicandatworstoutrighthatredandhostility.However,therailway’sreputationwasdentedfurtherwhen,thefollowing

month,theFleetsewerburst.ThebrickpipesthroughwhichLondon’s‘foulblackriver’flowedhadbeenweakenedandeventuallybroke,waterandfilthfloodingthetunneltoadepthoftenfeet,puttingtheprojectbackbymonthswhileremedialworkwascarriedout.Andthen,earlyonemorninginlateJuly,theClarencebelongingtoMr

CavanaghoftheMetropolitanRailwayleftthesite,bearingitsownertoStKatherineDocks.Therethecarriagewaitedforashiptodischargeitscargo,whichinthiscase

wasthreeIndianmeninbrownsuits,twoofwhomwereescortingathirdman,whotheydeliveredtotheClarence,takingtheirleavewithabowandreturningtotheirship.

ThenewarrivaltookaseatacrossfromCavanagh,whohadloosenedhisjacketbutotherwisemadenoconcessiontotheJulyheat.‘Hello,Ajay,’saidCavanagh.Ajaylookedathimflatly.‘Iwaspromisedmoney.Lodgings.Anewlifehere

inLondon.’‘Andwewerepromisedthefullbenefitofyourknowledgewithregardto

JayadeepMir,’saidCavanagh,andthenpulledthecordandsatbackasHardyshookthereinsandtheymadetheirreturntothesite.‘Let’sseeifwecanbothabidebythetermsoftheagreement,shallwe?’AshortwhilelaterthecarriagecametoahaltoutsidetherailworksandAjay

wasdirectedtolookoutofthewindow.Asarranged,MarchantbroughttheunsuspectingBharatSinghtoadesignatedspotsomeonehundredyardsawayontheothersideofthefence,closeenoughforAjaytosee.‘That’sourman,’saidCavanagh.‘Andwhatdoeshecallhimself?’askedAjay.‘HegoesbythenameBharatSingh.’‘Thenthatmusthavebeensomethingofacomedownforhim,’saidAjay,who

pulleddowntheblindandsettledbackintohisseat,‘becausethatmanisJayadeepMir.’‘Excellent,’saidCavanagh.‘Now,howaboutyoutellmeeverythingyou

knowabouthim?’

Therewasatrickthegangsusedwhentheywantedinformation.‘Twobirds’theycalledit.Gangmemberswouldtaketwounluckysoulstotheroof,throwoneofthemoffandmaketheotheronewatch.Twobirds.Oneofthemflies,oneofthemsings.AjayhadbeenoutsidethedoorwhenKulpreetdiedherhonourabledeath.He

hadseenwhatlayinstoreforhim:eithertheworld’smostpainfulmanicureordeath.Andthenhemadethemhisoffer.Theycouldtorturehim,andgoodluckto

themiftheytried,forhe’ddoeverythingtoresist,andiftheirquestioningwassuccessfulthey’dgetwhattheyneededtoknowbutnothingelsebesides,andthey’dneverbesureifitwasthetruthornot.

Or…iftheymethisdemands,thenhewouldtellthemeverythingtheyneededtoknowandalotmorebesides.SotheTemplarshaditputaboutthatAjayhaddiedinthealley,andthe

Assassin–nowanex-Assassin,atraitor–wasgivenpassagetoLondon.Andthereoutsidetherailwayheupheldhissideofthebargainandtold

Cavanagheverything.HetoldthemthatthemantheyknewasBharatSinghwas,infact,JayadeepMir.HetoldthemthatJayadeephadbeenimprisonedbecauseofafailureofnerve,andCavanaghhadbeenmostinterestedinthatparticularaspectofthestory,beforeAjaywentontotellhimthatJayadeephadbeendeliveredintothecustodyofEthanFryeforamission.Morethanthathedidnotknow.‘Amission?’musedCavanagh,staringwithinterestatTheGhost,seeinghim

anew.‘Anundercovermission,perhaps?’Cavanagh’smindwenttotheinformationrelayedbythepunishers.Thetwo

HardysandSmithhadreturnedfromquestioningConstableAubreyShawwithnewsthatamaninrobeswasresponsibleforkillingRobertWaugh,andnow,withthislatestpieceofinformation,thingshadfinallyfallenintoplace.Howironic.Theirnewestrecruit,whohadcurriedfavourwiththembykilling

atraitor,didsowithtreacheryonhisownmind–andwasnotevenresponsibleforthekill.Allinall,thoughtCavanagh,itwasadelightfuloutcome.Hehadlongsince

decidedthatwhenhekilledCrawfordStarrickandwrestedthepositionofGrandMasterfromhim,whenhehadtheartefactandwasthemostpowerfulmannotjustinLondonbutintheknownworldoftheKnightsTemplar,thathisfirstorderofbusinesswouldbetosmashwhatremainedoftheAssassinresistanceinhiscity.Here,though,wasachancetodobothsimultaneously,anopportunityto

ascendtotherankofGrandMasterwithafeatherinhiscapaswellastheartefacttoprovehissuitabilityfortherole.Inonefellswoophewouldsecurecommandoftheriteaswellastherespectofitsmembership.Ohyes,thiswasmostopportune.‘Andnowforyoursideofthebargain,’saidAjay.‘Yes,mysideofthebargain.’

Thedoortothecarriageopened,andtherestoodHardy.‘IpromisedyourichesandlodgingsinLondon,andyoushallhavethem,ononecondition.’Guardedandreadyforthedouble-cross,withanescaperouteinmind,Ajay

said,‘Yes,andwhatisthat?’‘ThatyoucontinuetotelluseverythingyoucanabouttheBrotherhood.’Ajayrelaxed.Theywouldkeephimalivethatlong,atleast.Plentyoftimeto

makehisescape.‘It’sadeal,’hesaid.

Monthspassed,duringwhichAubreystayedinFreddieAbberline’sroomsandFreddienursedhimbacktohealth.Aubreyhadfewerteethandspokedifferently,asthoughhistonguewastoobigforhismouth,andtherewereotherinjuriesbesides,buthewasalive.Andtherewasalottobesaidforthat.Andhewasagoodcompanion,andAbberlinesoonfoundthattherewasalottobesaidforthattoo.Onenight,afortnightorsoafterthebeating,AbberlinehadbroughtAubrey

somebroth,leavingitonabedsidetable,andthinkinghimasleepwasabouttodepartwhenhelookedathisfriend’sfaceandsawitwetwithtears.Heclearedhisthroatandlookeddownathisstockingedfeet.‘Um,areyouall

rightthere,meoldmate?Yougettingabitoftheoldbad-memorygubbins,areyou?Thinkingbacktowhathappened?’Aubreywincedwithpainashenoddedyes,andthenthroughbrokenteeth

said,‘Itoldthemeverything,Freddie.Itweren’talot,butIsanglikeabird.’Abberlinehadshrugged.‘Goodluckto’em.Hopeitmeansmoretothemthan

itdoestoeitherofus.’‘ButItoldthem.Itoldthemeverything.’Aubreywaswrackedbyasob,his

bruisedfacecrumplingwiththeshameofit.‘Hey,hey,’saidAbberline,perchingontheedgeofthemattress.Hereached

forAubrey’shand.‘Itdoesn’tmatter,mate.Anyway,youhadnochoice.Andlook,somethingtellsmethatourfriendinrobescanlookafterhimself.’Hesatlikethatforawhile,insilence,gratefulforthecomforttheyeach

provided.AndthenAbberlinehadhelpedAubreywithhisbrothbeforetakinghisleave,tellinghisfriendthatheneededhisrest.Meanwhile,Aubreywaslistedasmissing.‘Missing,presumedboredofpolice

workandretiringtotheGreenManforgood’wastherumour,butAbberlineknewdifferent.Heknewthatthepointoftheattackwastosendamessage,and

toallintentsandpurposes,heheededthewarning.Nomoresitevisitsforhim.Bycompletecoincidencethedivisionsergeanthadassignedhimadifferentbeat,onethattookhimnowhereneartherailworks.‘Justincaseyougettempted,’waswhathe’dsaidashedeliveredthenews.You’reinituptoyoureyeballs,aren’tyou?waswhatAbberlinehadthought,

staringwithconcealedfuryacrossthetableathisdivisionsergeant.Buthewalkedhisbeat,andwhenhisshiftwasdonehewenthometopeeloffhisuniform,checkAubreywasallrightandthenignoredtheotherman’swarningsandreturnedtotherailworks.Everynight,hiddenintheshadows.Alonevigilofwhat,hedidn’tknow,butavigilnevertheless.Aubreywasupandaboutbynow,albeitwithlimitedlocomotion,andlaterthe

twomenwouldsitbeforethefire,havingachinwag.Abberlinewouldtalkaboutthecase.Hewasconsumedbyit.Aubreytalkedoflittleelsebuthisfamilyand,moretothepoint,whenhewouldseethemagain.‘No,Aubs,I’msorry,’Abberlinetoldhim,‘butthosegeezersleftyoufordead

andifyouturnupalivethey’llwanttofinishthejob.You’restayinghereuntilthisthingisover.’‘Butwhenwillitbeover,Freddie?’saidAubrey.Heshiftedpainfullyinhis

chair.Thoughhisfaceshowednosignsofhisordealapartfromthecriss-crossingofscarsleftonhischeekbythebrassknuckledusters,hisinsideshadtakenapummelling,andtherewasapaininhishipthatseemedinnodangerofgoing.Itmadeitdifficulttowalk;itevenmadeitdifficulttositstillattimes,andeverytimehewincedwiththepainofit,hismindwentbacktoananonymousdarkenedroomandtherelentlessthumpoffistsrammingintoasoftbodythatbelongedtohim.Aubreywouldneverwalkthebeatagain,butthankstoacombinationofthe

punishers’carelessnessandAbberline’scarehewasalive,andheneverforgottobegratefulforthat.Ontheotherhand,whatwaslifeifitwasalifespentwithouthislovedones?‘Justhowdoyouthinkthiswholething–whateverthis“thing”is–isgoing

toend?’hesaid.Abberlinereachedtowardsthefireandgavehisfriendamournfulsmile.‘I

don’tknow,Aubs,isthetruth.Idon’trightlyknow.Butyoumarkmywords,whileIcan’tlayclaimtobeontopofthesituation,I’mthereorthereabouts.I’ll

knowwhenit’stime,andIpromiseyouwewon’tloseasecondgettingyoubacktoyourfamily.’Theyhaddecidedforsafety’ssakethathiswifeandchildrencouldn’tknowhe

wasalive,butitmeantallfourofthemlivedinpurgatory.OnedayAbberlineandAubreytookapolicegrowlerouttoStepneyandsatinthestreetsoAubreymightcatchglimpsesofhisfamilythroughthewindows.Aftertwohoursorsoithadbeentoomuchforhimandtheyhadleft.Abberlinewenttothemwithmoneyandgifts.HetookthemAubrey’s

uniform.TherewasnolightinMrsShaw’seyesnow.Thevisitsweretraumaticforher,shesaid.EverytimeshesawAbberlinestandingonthedoorstepshethoughttheworst.‘BecauseIknowifhewasalivehe’dbewithyou.AndwhenIseeyoualone,Ithinkhe’snot.’‘Hemaystillbealive.’Abberlinetoldher,‘There’salwayshope.’Itwasasthoughshehadn’theardhim.‘Youknowtheworstthing?It’snot

havingabodytobury.’‘Iknow,MrsShaw,andI’mso,sosorry,’saidAbberline,andthenleft,happy

toescapetheweightofgriefforamanwhowasnotonlyalivebutenjoyingtherelativecomfortandwarmthofAbberline’srooms.Takingwithhimtheguiltofhavingtolie.Itwasforthegreatergood.ItwasforthesafetyofthemallthatCavanaghand

co.thoughtthisparticularlooseendhadbeentied.Butstill.Theguilt.

‘YouaretobeinductedintotheKnightsTemplar,’saidCavanagh.He,Marchantandtwoofthepunishers–Hardywasmissing–hadtakenTheGhostawayfromhisdutiesandtoacorneroftheexcavationsite,toallintentsandpurposesconductinganimpromptuworksmeeting.‘Thankyou,sir,’saidTheGhost.Hebowedhisheadlow,hatinghimselfat

thatmoment.WhenhiseyesreturnedtoCavanaghhesawsomethingunreadableintheman’seyes,likeadistantmocking.‘Butfirst,Ihaveajobforyou.’‘Yes,sir,’repliedTheGhost.Hemaintainedablankexpressionbutinsidehis

mindracedandhefelthispulsequicken,thinking,thisisit.Indicatingtohismentoremainwheretheywere,CavanaghtookTheGhost’s

armandbegantoleadhimawayfromthegroup,towardstheperimeterfence.ThereTheGhostcouldseeCavanagh’sClarence.TendingtothehorsewasHardy,wholookedupatthembrieflyandthenreturnedtobrushingthenag’smane.Awayfromthenoise,Cavanaghnolongerneededtoraisehisvoice.‘What

I’mabouttotellyouisinformationknownonlytomembersoftheKnightsTemplar.Youareyettobeinductedandso,byrights,Ishouldn’tberevealingthis,butyou’veprovedyourselfanassettomyoperationandyourtaskiswhatwemightcall“timesensitive”.InotherwordsitneedstohappenbeforetheCouncilcanmeettoratifyyourinduction.IamamanofinstinctandIprefertoactonit.Ihavefaithinyou,Bharat.Iseemuchofmyselfinyou.’TheGhostallowedhimselfafeelingoftriumph.Everythinghehaddone,the

monthsoflivinginthetunnel,ofbuildingalifeasBharatSingh,hadallbeenleadingtothismoment.Cavanaghcontinued.‘Thisdigyou’vebeeninvolvedin,perhapsyoumight

haveguessed,givenmyinvolvement,butthere’smoretoitthanmeetstheeye.

Therailwaywillofcoursebefinished,anditwillofcoursebeasuccess,butthereis,believeitornot,anulteriormotivebehinditsconstruction.’TheGhostnodded.‘TheKnightsTemplarinLondonareinsearchofanartefactbelievedtobe

buriedalongtheline.Pinpointingitsexactlocationhasprovedtobeademandingtask.Let’sjustsaythat,inmyopinionatleast,LucyThorne’sexaltedpositionwithintheOrderisnotfullydeserved.Certainlynotonthisshowing.’‘LucyThorne,sir?’CavanaghshothimaquicklookandTheGhosthadtosuppressanervous

swallow.Wasthedirectortryingtocatchhimoff-guard?‘Allingoodtime,’saidCavanagh.‘Youhavethedelightsoftherulingcouncil

tocome.ForthetimebeingallyouneedtoknowisthatLucyThorneisamongacadreofhigh-rankingTemplarswhosejobitistolocatetheartefact.’‘This…artefact,sir,whatdoesitdo?’‘Well,yousee,thisisthetroublewithscrolls,isn’tit?They’resodamnably

ambiguous.Thedetailsarelefttotheimagination,I’mafraid;thescrollssimplysaythatgreatpowerwillcometowhoeverhasitintheirpossession.AnditmaynotsurpriseyoutoknowthatIintendtobetheoneinpossessionofit.WhoIhaveatmysidewhenthatdaycomeswillverymuchdepend.’‘Ihopeitwillbeme,sir,’saidTheGhost.HeglancedovertowheretheClarencewastethered.Hardywasreplacingthe

horsebrushinthecarriagestowagebox,butasTheGhostwatchedhetooksomethingelsefromtheboxandslippeditintohispocket.‘Well,asIsay,thatwillverymuchdepend,’saidCavanagh.Thetwomenwalkedafewmorepaces,TheGhostkeepinganeyeonHardy.

Thepunisherseemedtohavefinishedgroomingthehorse.Nowhecheckedtheharnessbuckles.Andnowhewasleavingthecarriageenclosureandmakinghiswaytowardsthegate,shoulderingamatchgirloutofhiswayandkickingawakeanavvywholeanedonthegatepostwitharailwayman’scappulledoverhiseyes.‘Onwhatwillitdepend,sir?’‘Onhowwellyouperformyourtask.’Hardywascrossingthemudflatssomefiftyyardsaway.‘Andwhattaskisthat,sir?’

‘YouaretokillCharlesPearson.’

Latelytheyhadjudgedittooriskytomeet;TheGhost,inparticular,wantedtoleavenothingtochance.Butthiswasdifferent.ThisrepresentedamajorescalationofeventsandheneededEthan’scounsel,andso,afteranexchangeofgravestonepositionsintheMarylebonechurchyard,thetwoAssassinsconvenedatLeinsterGardens.‘Why?’askedEthan.‘WhykillPearson?’‘Theritecommandsit,soMrCavanaghsays.’‘Toomuchofaphilanthropistfortheirtaste,eh?Christ,theywon’tevenlet

himseehisbelovedrailwayopen.’‘Cavanaghhasthedetailsworkedout,master.Nowthatworkhasresumed

aftertheFleetsewerburst,hewantstodemonstratetoMrPearsonthatthelinebetweenKing’sCrossandFarringdonStreetisfullyoperational.What’smore,hehasanewenclosedcarriagetoshowoff,andheplansatrainridetoFarringdonStreetandback.Butattheendofthejourney,whenMrandMrsPearsonmaketheirwaybacktotheircarriage,Iamtokillhim.’‘ButnotMrsPearson?’‘No.’Therewasalongsilence,andthenTheGhostspoke.‘Whatdoyouthink?’Ethantookadeepbreath.‘Well,it’snotatrap,notinthesensethattheywant

todoyoudown;theycouldcallyouintotheofficeforthat.Whatitis,isatest.’TheGhost’spalmsweresweaty.Hegulpedandreturnedtoabalmyroomin

Amritsar,tastingthefearafresh,seeingthebladeinDani’sscreamingmouth,bloodandsteelshimmeringinthemoonlight.Hehadtosummonallhisstrengthtosaythenextwords,andithurttohear

himselfsaythembutsaythemhedid.‘Ifitisatest,thenIamsuretofail.’Ethanshuthiseyesinsadresponse.‘We’rethisclose,Jayadeep.’Hewasalmostwhispering.TheGhostnodded.Hetoolongedtoseetheartefact.Foryearshehad

dreamedofbearingwitnesstoitsunearthlylightshow.Butontheotherhand…‘Thisartefactcouldbenothingmorethanatrinket.EventheTemplarsknow

nothingofitstruepotential.’

‘Scrollsarecryptic.That’sthepointofthem.They’repasseddownthroughtheagessothatourforefathersshouldthinkthemselvesmorecleverthanwe.’‘Yes.That’swhathesaid,moreorless.’‘Howperceptiveofhim.Perhapshealsopointedoutthat,trinketornot,the

artefact’sactualpowersarelessimportantthantheperceptionoftheirworth.Yes,it’struethatwhatliesbeneaththeearthmaybeanancientbaublefitfornothingmoredevastatingthanentrancingolddamesandimpressionablechildren.ButforcenturiesAssassinsandTemplarshavefoughtoverartefacts,andwehaveallheardthetalesoftheirgreatpower:theKoh-i-Noordiamond,theunearthlyforceunleashedbytheAppleofAlMualim…Isitpossible,perhaps,thatthesetaleshavebecomeexaggeratedinthetelling?Afterall,noneoftheseartefactshaveeverbeensopowerfultheyproveddecisiveinthewar.Andthescrollsareasgoodataggrandizementastheyareatbeingabstruse.’‘Myparents…’‘Yourparentsareacaseinpoint,bouncingyouontheirknee,fillingyourhead

withthetalesoftheartefacts’awesomepower.’HelookedacrossatTheGhost,whoreturnedhisgaze,notquiteabletobelievewhathewashearing,andgaveadrychuckle.‘Evie’slikeyou.She’sfascinatedbytheideaofartefactsjustasyouwerefascinatedbythatstupidbloodydiamond.’TheGhostbitdownonhisanger,sayingnothing.‘It’sthefascinationwithit,doyousee?Theideaofit.That’swherethe

talismanicpoweroftheartefactlies.AssassinorTemplar,we’reallinthebusinessofsellingideastothemasses,andweallthinkourideasaretheonestosavetheworld,butonethingwehaveincommonistheknowledgethattheseartefactscontainsecretsoftheFirstCivilization.Lookaroundyou…’Heindicatedthefalsehouseinwhichtheysat,thetunnelthroughwhichundergroundtrains–undergroundtrains–wouldsoontravel.‘Wehavesteampower.Soonwewillhaveelectricity.Theworldisadvancingatanalmostunimaginable,unthinkablerate.Thetwentiethcenturyisalmostuponusandthetwentiethcenturyisthefuture,Jayadeep.Thetechnologybeingusedtobuildbridges,tunnelsandrailways–thatsametechnologywillbeharnessedtocreateweaponsofwar.That’sthefuture.Andunlessyouwanttoseemanenslavedbytyrannyandtotalitarianism,thenweneedtowinthatfutureforourchildrenand

allthegenerationstocome,whowillonedaysitwithstorybooksandreadofourexploitsandthankusforrefusingtodeliverthemintodespotism.‘Inotherwords,Jayadeep,weneedtowinatallcosts.Andthatmeansyoukill

Pearsonandthemissioncontinuesuntilwehaverecoveredtheartefact.’Itwasquiteaspeech.TheGhostletitsinkin.Then:‘No,’hesaid.Ethanleaptangrilytohisfeet.‘Damnyou,man!’heroared,tooloudlyforthe

stillnight.Thenhebithistongueandturnedawayfromthesteamholetogazeangrilyandunseeinglyatthefalsebrick-frontofthehouse.‘Icannotkillaninnocentmanincoldblood,’insistedTheGhost.‘Surely,

aftereverythingthathashappened,youknowthat?Orisyourdesirefortheartefactmakingyouasblindtothetruthasmyfatherwas?’Ethanturnedandpointed.‘Hewasn’ttheonlyonewhowasblind,mydear

boy.Youyourselfthoughtyouwereready,Iseemtorecall.’‘Ihavemoreself-knowledgenow.Iknowyou’reaskingmetodosomethingI

simplycannotdo.’Therewasacatchinhisvoice,andEthansoftenedtoseetheboysowrought

withdespair:aboybroughtuptokillforhiscausebutincapableofdoingso.Onceagainhethoughtwhatasadworld,whatanobscenestateofaffairs,whenwemournedaman’sinabilitytokill.‘InformCavanaghyouplantouseablowpipe.Youcantellhimyoulearntits

useinBombay.’‘But,master,Ican’tkillaninnocentman.’‘Youwon’thaveto.’

Itwaseveningandwithherbreathheld,EvieFryecrouchedoutsideherfather’sstudyashesatwithGeorgeWesthouse;thetwomenweretalkinginsuchlowvoicesthatshecouldbarelyhearthemthroughthedoor.Shetuckedherhairbehindherearasshestrainedtolisten.‘Tomorrowthen,Ethan,’Georgewassaying.‘Yes,tomorrow.’‘Andifallgoeswell,thentheartefact…’‘They’reclose,theysay.’‘Well,logicdictatestheymustbe.Afterall,thetunnelisbuilt.’‘Therearedozensofservicetunnels,re-routedsewerpipesandgasmainsstill

toinstall.There’splentyofdiggingtobedoneyet.Besides,who’stosaytheburstsewerintheFleetValleywasn’ttheirdoing?’‘True…’JustthentherecameaknockonthefrontdoordownstairsthatstartledEvie,

andshestoodquickly,slightlydisorientated,beforesmoothingherselfdownandthengoingtoanswerit.Theyhadnoservants.Ethanwouldnothaveallowedit,believingtheveryideaofretainingservantswentagainstthetenetsofthecreed.AndsoitwasthatyoungEvieFryeansweredherownfrontdoor.ThereonthestepstoodayoungIndianmanwearingabrownsuit.Hewas

handsome,shethought,andyettherewassomethingabouthimthatoffsethisgoodlooks,awildandhuntedexpressionthathefixedonher,regardingherfromthegreylowerstepswitheyesthatdidn’treallyseeher.Nevertheless,whenheprofferedaletterhesaidhername.‘EvieFrye.’Shetookit,afoldedpieceofpaper.Ontheflapwaswritten:Fortheattention

ofEthanFrye.‘TellhimthatAjaycame,’saidthemanonthedoorstep,alreadyturningto

leave.‘TellhimAjaysaidheissorryandthathewillseehiminthenextlife.’

Rattled,Eviewasgladtoclosethedooronthestrange,hauntedman–thenrushedtoherfather’sroom.Asecondlaterthehouseholdwasinuproar.‘Jacob,’calledEthan,stormingoutofhisstudywithhisforearmextended,

bucklinghishiddenbladeatthesametime.‘Armyourself,you’recomingwithme.Evie,youtoo.George,comeon,there’snotimetowaste.’Hehadunfoldedtheletterinaburstofpanic,onlytofindanotewrittenin

codetheyhadnotimetotranslate.ButAjay–themanwiththecrypticapology…SurelythiswasnotthesameAjaywhostoodguardatTheDarkness?BecauseifthatmanwasinLondonthenEthanshouldhavebeeninformed…Butthenagain,whoelsecoulditbe?Allfourofthemcameburstingintothestreet,Ethanstillbucklingtheblade,

holsteringhisrevolverandpullingonhisrobesatthesametime,thetwochildrenthrillingtothesightoftheirfatherinaction.‘Whichwaydidhego,darling?’saidEthantoEvie.Shepointed.‘TowardstheBroadway.’‘Thenwe’reinluck.TherearesewerworksonTheBroadway;hewillhaveto

turnontoOakleyLane.Evie,Jacob,George,getafterhim.Withanyluckhe’lltakeGeorgetobemeandnotsuspectI’veworkedmywayinfrontofhim.Go.Go.’ThetwoyoungAssassinsandGeorgetookoffinthedirectionofthe

Broadway.Ethanranforawallthatbelongedtoanoppositeneighbour,andwithaleapandafasttap-tapofhisboots,almostasthoughhewerekickingthewallinmid-air,wasontopandthenoverit.Infrontofhimstretchedthegarden,andgazingalongit,heexperienceda

briefmomentofinvoluntarygardenjealousy.He’dalwayswonderedwhatsizegardentheneighbourshadandherewashisanswer.Bigger.Twicethesizeofhisown.Keepingtotheshadows,heranitslengthandthenatthebottom,whereeventhegardenersfearedtotread,hedrewhishiddenbladetohackattheundergrowth.Succumbingtothefoliageatthebackwasawall,buthescalediteasilybeforedroppingtoapassagewayontheotherside.Allwasquiet.Justtheever-presentdrip-dripofwater.Hestrainedtohear,

pickingoutsoundsfromthedistantsurroundingcity,untilitcametohim,afarawayrhythmicthudofrunningfeettohisright.

Excellent.Ethansetoff,dartingquietlyalongthepassagewaytotheendandthenwaitedintheshadows,listeningagain.Therunningfeetwereclosernow.Good.Ajayhadseenhispursuersandwastakingevasiveaction.Allhisattentionwouldbeconcentratedonwhatcamefrombehind.Drainpipe,loosebrick,windowledge–andthenEthanwasontheroofofthe

adjacentbuilding,framedagainstthemoonlitskybutknowinghisquarrywasunlikelytolookupwards.Hewasalmostdirectlyabovetherunningfootstepsinthealleywaybelowandhesprintedahead,dashingtotheendofthetenementthenjumpingtothepitchedroofofthenext.Flatteninghimselftotheshingleshelookeddownintothestreetbelowand

watchedasafigureinabrownsuithurriedintothealleyway,throwingalookbehindhimselfatthesametime.Ethan’srobesflutteredasheswungtothelipoftheroofthenlethimselfdown

tothecobblesbelow,wherehetookaseatonacrateandrestedhischininhishandasheawaitedAjay’sarrival.

Ajaydidn’tseeanythinguntilitwastoolateandthenwasbroughtupshort.Ex-Assassinthoughhewas,hestillthoughtlikeone,andheinstantlyappraisedthesituationanddrewhiskukriontherun,takingnoteofEthanFrye’spositionandposture–hisbodyatrest,hisleadinghandhangingdownbytheside.Andseeinganopponentwhowastoorelaxedandtoovulnerabletoattackonhisweakerside,itwastothatflankthathedirectedhisattack–fastand,ifhisassessmentswerecorrect,thendecisively.But,ofcourse,hisassessmentswerenotcorrect.Theywerebasedon

assumptionsthatEthanhadanticipated,andasAjay’skukriflashedtowardshim,theolderman’shandshotoutfrombeneathhischin,hisbladeengagingatthesamesecond.TherewasaringofsteelasAjay’sswordwasblockedinmid-air,andthenascreamofpainasEthancompletedhismovewithadownwardslashthatshearedoffhalfofAjay’shandandtookthebladeawayfromhim.Thekukridroppedtothestone,alongwithachunkofAjay’shand.Inpain

anddisorientatedashewas,heactedoninstinct,duckingandspinningandkickinghisswordbackupthealleyashedivedawayfromanotherattack.Ethancametohisfeetandtookafewstepsupthealleyway,stillreelingfrom

theshockofrecognition–Ajay,itisAjay,howthehelldidhegethere?–justastheothermanreachedhisweapon,stumbledandwithonehurtandbleedinghandclutchedtohischest,snatcheditupfromthecobbleswithhisgoodone.‘Thisisafightyoucannolongerwin,’calledEthan.Theotherthreehad

appearedinthealleybehindthemandAjayheard,turningtoseehisexitbarredandthenswingingbacktofaceEthanagain,knowing,surely,thatallwaslost.‘Whydidyoucometomydoor?Whydidyouattackme?’Ethantooktwo

stepsforwardthreateningly.‘Idon’twanttohurtyouanymore,butIwill,ifIhaveto.’

AgainAjayglancedbehindhimandbackatEthan,andthenhestoodupstraightwithhisshouldersthrustback,andthroughalastwretchedsobthatbubbledupfromsomeplaceofinnerpainsaid,‘I’msorry.I’msorrytoyouandI’msorrytoKulpreet,andI’msorryforeverythingIhavedone.’Andthenhedrewthebladeacrosshisownthroat.

Later,whenthechildrenhadgonetobedwiththeimageofachoking,gurglingmanpaintingthecobblesscarletwithhisownbloodstillfreshintheirheads,GeorgeandEthanhadretiredtothestudy.Bothwereshakenbywhathadhappenedandtroubledbythequestionsforwhichtheyhadnoreadyanswers,andsoitwasthattheydranktwoglassesofEthan’sbestHighlandwhiskybeforeeitherofthemevensaidaword.(Which,havingcreptdownfromupstairs,Eviewastheretooverhear…)‘Anewdevelopmentthen,’saidGeorge.‘Youcouldsaythat.’‘Damnedestthing.’Ethanstaredoffintonothing.Hewasthinkingthatheneededtosendwordto

Amritsarfirstthing.TellthemtheymightbeshortanAssassin–andwhatnewsofKulpreet?Hesaid,‘Isuppose,onthebrightside,itpreparesthetwinsfortheir

blooding.’Georgegaveadrylaughashisfriend’seyescamebacktohim.‘Thisletter–’

heheldoutthedocument–‘shallwedecodeit?’Ashortwhilelatertheysatatthestudydeskwiththedocumentandseveral

Assassincodebooksopeninfrontofthem.Andthetranslation.Ajay’snotehadread:Positioncompromised,mustabort.Afriend.‘“Afriend”who’slyingouttheresomewherenotfarfromOakleyLane.’

Georgesetdowntheletter.Thebodywouldbediscoveredsoon.AtanymomentthetwoAssassinsexpectedtohearthesoundofapeeler’srattle.‘Themanouttherediedofshame,’saidEthan.OutsideEviecrouched,listening,thinkingofAjay,whohaddiedofshame.

SheknewfromherreadingsthatintheannalsofAssassinstherewasanother,

AhmadSofian,whohadtakenhislifebythesamemeansandforsimilarreasons.‘Shame.Indeed.Itwouldseemso,’Georgewassaying.‘Atraitortothecreed.

Buthowmuchhashetoldourenemy?Whatdoesheevenknowtotellthem?You’vealwaysbeenscrupulouswiththeinformationyou’vegivenme;Ican’timaginewhathecouldhavetoldthem.’‘Putitthisway,George,ifyouandAjayhadgottogetherthenyoumighthave

beeninpossessionofmostofthefacts.Butonewithouttheother?Nochance.’‘Evenso,youmustinformyourGhostatonce.’Ethanchewedtheinsideofhischeekthoughtfully.‘I’mnotsure.IknowThe

Ghost.Hewillerronthesideofcautionandabortthemission.’‘Well,that’swhatthenotesaystodo.’Georgeleanedforward,hisface

cloudingwithincomprehension.‘I’mnotquitesureIcanbelievewhatI’mhearing,Ethan.IfyouinformTheGhostandhedecidestocontinuewiththeoperationthenheisguiltyofrankanddangerousoptimismatbest,andatendencytosuicideatworst.Ifheabortshewillbedoingtherightthing;thecourseofactionwewouldrecommendifwewerethinkingwithourheadsinsteadofourdesires.Eitherway,wemusttellhimsoheisabletochoose.’Ethanshookhishead.Hismindwasmadeup.‘ItrustTheGhost.Itrusthim

tolookafterhimself.Mostofall,Itrusthimtorecovertheartefact.’‘Thenyoumustalsotrusthimtomaketherightdecisions.’‘No,George.I’msorry,Ican’tdothat.’Fromfarawaycamethefamiliarclackingofthepeeler’salarm.

Andsoitcametopass.Adayofgreatexcitement.TheMetropolitanRailwayhadplacedanadvertisementinthepreviousevening’snewspaperstoannouncethattonightwasanewbeginningfortherailway:CharlesPearsonwastotakeajourneyonthereopenedstretchoflinebetweenKing’sCrossandFarringdonStreet.Notonlythatbuthewouldbemakingthejourneyinanenclosedcarriage,saidtobethelastwordinundergroundrailwayluxury.Otherrailwaydignitarieswouldbepresent,saidthenotices,andmembersofthepublicwerealsoinvitedtowitnessthisgrandoccasion–justsolongastheystayedontherightsideofthepicketfence.Andthepublicwouldcome.Despitetheexcavationturningtheirlivesintoa

livinghellofnoiseandmud,closingroadsandbusinessesalike,despitethefactthatithadmadethousandsofalreadypoverty-strickenLondonershomelessyethadhadnodiscernibleimpactonthewell-to-do,anddespitethefactthatitwasoverayearbehindscheduleandthatthecostwasnowestimatedat£1.3million.Theywouldcome.Ateamofcarpentershadbeenemployedtobuildasetofstepsdownintothe

shaftatKing’sCross.UnlikeGladstone’sinauguraltripfromBishop’sRoadfourmonthsbefore,theundergroundstationatKing’sCrosshadyettobebuilt.Nextyearitwouldbeconstructedasanadjuncttotheten-year-oldmainlinestation,withgablesateitherend,aswellaspavilionroofsandparapets.Whatwerecurrentlycuttingsactingasmakeshiftboardingpointswouldbefashionedintoproperplatformswithstairways,ticketoffices,kioskssetintothewallsandfootbridgesateachend.Butfornow,itwaslittlemorethananuglyholeintheground,andto

accommodaterailwaytopbrassandtheirwives,thestepswerebuilt,andthecuttingswerelaidwithplankstobestapproximateaproperplatform,andinstead

oftheflaresthatthemenhadusedfornightwork,thereweretobelampsstrungalongthetopofthetrench,aswellasinsidetheshaft.Italladdedtothecelebratoryair.Whenthebelltolledthreetimesatmiddayit

wastosignalthechange,butonthisoccasiontherewasnonextshiftwaitingtotakeover.Themenwerewelcometotaketheirleave.Theycouldstayandwatch,ofcourse,justsolongastheystayedontherightsideofthefence,buttheywerealsowelcometospendtheirfreetimesuppingaleinpubscalledthePickledHenortheCuriousOrangeortheRisingSun,orwiththeirfamilies;itwasuptothem.Eitherway,forthefirsttimeintwoyearstherewouldbenoclamouroftoolsinnorth-westLondon,norattleofsteamengines,noswingingleatherbucketssilhouettedagainsttheskyline.Noconstantlygrindingconveyor.Notthatnavviesweretobeabsentfromthesite.‘Wewantthebigwigsseeing

properworkers,notthatbloodyrabble,’Marchanthadsaid,andsoasquadof‘pretend’workmenhadbeendraftedin.Atfirstglancethisnewgroupofthirtyorfortynavvieslookedthepartastheymilledaboutintime-honourednavvyfashion,butacloserlookrevealedthattheyweresmarterandmoreserious-lookingthantheirregularcounterparts.What’smore,astheystoodawaitingthearrivalofthedignitaries,therewerenojokesorlaughter,nolollingaroundorsnatchingeachother’scapsandsettingupimpromptugamesofcricket.TheGhostknewthatthesepowerful-lookingnavviesweremorethanmeredecoration.TheywereTemplarmen.Asdaybecamenightheknewoneotherthingtoo.Notonlycouldhenottake

thelifeofaninnocentman;hecouldnotallowittobetaken.

AbberlinehadheardabouttheexhibitionjourneybutwenthometoseeAubreyfirst.‘Youthinkyoucanmakeitdown?’heaskedhim.‘No,Freddie,butyoupopalongifyou’veamind.Sayhellototheoldgang

forme.Yougoinginuniform,areyou?’Abberlinelookeddownathimself.‘Ifigureourfriendswillhavemoreon

theirmindsthanlookingoutforme.PlusIcanmakemywaythroughthecrowdsmoreeasilyasapeeler.Therearestillsomewhohaverespectforthelaw.Oh,onemorething.’Fromthedrawofhisroll-topdesk,Abberlinetookanavalspyglassthathe

extendedthenclosedwithasatisfyingclickclick.‘ThinkImightbeneedingthis,’hesaid,andwiththathetookhisleaveintothebalmySeptemberevening,feelingalittleguiltyaboutleavingAubreybehind,truthbetold;afterall,itwasn’tsolongagothathe,Abberline,hadbeentheonetobrood,withAubreydoinghisbesttoshakehimoutofit.HowwasAbberlinereturningthefavour?Exactly.Hewasn’t.HewasoffgawpingatbignobstakingtrainrideswhenheshouldhavebeeninvestigatingwhateverfiddleitwasCavanaghhadgoing.Fraudwashisbestguess.Somekindofembezzlementscam.Itwasthenot-knowingthatwastheproblem–thenotknowinghowtomakeitsafeforAubreytorejoinhisfamily.Lostinthought,hemadehiswayalongaroadwaycrowdedwithtraffic,where

theairseemedtocracklewiththeconstanttrundleofhorseandcarriage.Anomnibuspassed,packedwithmenontheupperdeck,andtoAbberlinetheirtophatswerelikechimneys.InthedistancesmokestackspoisonedtheEastEndwithribbonsofthickblacksmog.Justaspredicted,thecrowdswereheavyatKing’sCrossandhewasgladof

hisbobby’suniformasheelbowedhiswaythroughtothefencesurroundingthesite.Hypocrite,hethought.You’renotaboveusingyourownstatuswhenitsuits

you.Aroundhimwastheusualcrowdattractedbysuchevents:familieswithchildrenonparents’shoulders,sightseers,meninsuitsandwomeninbonnets–ageneralairofexpectation.Abberlineputthemtohisbackandstoodwithhishandsonthefencepostsfeelinglikeamanimprisonedashestaredoutacrossthesite.Whatachangeitwasfromusual.Wheretheshaftwas,hecouldseeanew

woodenstructurewithstepsleadingdownwards.Thewholesitehadbeensprucedup.Wagonsandcartswerelinedneatlyatthefarendofthesite,andtherewerenomountainsofspoilawaitingtheirturntobetakenaway.Justanemptyapronofmud,aseriesoflitglaziersprovidinglight,andthenthetrenchitself,wherelampshadbeenstrungupsothatitlookedalmostpretty,likeafairground.Asforthetunnel,itwasmostlycovered.Whathadspentsolongasagroove

intheearthwasnowabonefiderailwayline.All,thatwas,apartfromoneshortstretchnearesttothenewlybuiltsteps,whichawaitedthecoveringprocess.Asidefromthat,Abberlinewaslookingatarealundergroundrailway.Theretheywere,themenwhohadhelpedithappen:variousMetropolitan

Railwaybigwigsthathedidn’trecognize,aswellasafewfamiliarfaces:Cavanagh,Marchant,twoofthepunishers,SmithandOtherHardy(andthatwasapoint,wherewasthethird,thecharmingHardy?)Youhadtohandittothemurderingscum,hethought.Whatevertheirracket,whatevertheirfiddle,whatevercrimetheyhadperpetratedinthenameoftheundergroundrailway,they’ddoneit.Theygotthebuggerbuilt.WiththemwastheIndianlad,BharatSingh.Abberlinetrainedhisspyglasson

thathandsomeimplacableface.Therewassomethingdifferentabouthimtoday,thoughtthepeeler.Hiseyesseemedtomovenervously.Abberlinekepthisspyglasstohiseyeas,withintroductionsover,thegroupbegantomoveacrosstheapronandtowardsthenewsteps,therailwaycompanymenbreakingintoapolitesmatteringofapplauseastheypassed.Thegroupreachedthesteps,butbeforedescendingwereduetogreetagang

offoremen.MrandMrsCharlesPearsonwereusheredforward.TherewasmoreshakingofhandsastheywereintroducedtotheforemenbyBharatSingh.Whenthatwasover,Cavanaghthankedtheforemenand,withdoffedcaps,

theyleft.Bharatwenttomoveawayaswell,tofollowtheforemen,but

AbberlinesawCavanagh’shandshootout,takeBharatbytheupperarmandusherhimtowardsthestepsinstead.Thentheyweregone.Thecap-doffingforemenmovedaway,therailway

bigwigsstoodconsultingtheirwatches,awaitingtheirturn,andthelineofnavviesstayedwhereitwas–aguardofhonour,ormaybejustaguard–andacurioussilencedescended.Untilfromthetunnelcamethewhistleofasteamengine,andgreatchuffsofsmokepassedthroughtheplanksoftheuncoveredsectionasthedriverstokedhisengine.Thetrainwasabouttopulloff.Furtheralongthefencewasanenclosurewherethebigwigs’carriageswere

tethered.Therestooddriverschatting,smokingpipesortendingtotheirhorses.Therewasnothingunusualaboutthescene,butevensoAbberline’sgazewent

toit,hiseyeglasslingeringthere.Forsomereasonhewassurehe’dseensomethingoutofplace,asthoughhe’dwalkedintoafamiliarroominwhichapieceoffurniturehadbeenmoved.Thenithithim.Howthedevilhadhemisseditforsolong?Standingthereat

thefence,boldasbrassandwithhiseyesontheeventsatthetunnel,wasamaninwhiterobes.

TheGhosthadseenthefuture.ItwasafutureinwhichhewasinductedasaTemplar,andthemorehewastrustedbythem,theclosertotheirinnercirclehewent,andthemorevaluehehadfortheAssassins.Whichmeanttheywouldn’tlethimleave.Evenwhenthisoperationwasover,

theywouldmakehimstay,andhewouldhavetodoitbecausetheinnocentlifeofCharlesPearsonhadpaidhiswaytopurgatory.Hewasn’tpreparedtodothat,andsohe’ddecidedthatwhenCavanagh

dismissedhimhewouldgotothecarriageenclosureasarrangedandtherehewouldtellEthanhisdecision.Thathewasout.DisarmEthanifnecessary.Hurthimifneedsbe.Butendthisrightnow.ExceptCavanaghhadn’tdismissedhim.Insteadthedirectorhadusheredhim

towardsthesteps–‘Youknow,I’vechangedmymind,Ireallythinkyoushouldseethis.’–andhehaddescendedwiththerestoftheparty.He’dflashedhisbossaquizzicallook.Ishouldbetakingupposition.But

Cavanaghdismisseditwithaquickdon’t-worryshakeofhishead.Why?Hismindraced.Wouldtherebetimeafterwards?WasthatthegameCavanaghwasplaying?WasthisallpartofanongoingtestofTheGhost’smettle?Orwasitsomethingelse?Atthemakeshiftplatformstoodalocomotiveandtwocarriages.Thegroup

proceededtothefrontoneandCavanaghledthewayinside.‘Asyoucansee,ournewestcarriageismostcommodious,’saidCavanagh,

welcomingthePearsonsintoitwithaflourish.‘Compartmentsandarm-restsinfirstclassmakeovercrowdingimpossible,whiletheleather-upholsteredchairsmeanthatevenoursecond-classpassengerswillenjoytheutmostcomfortatalltimes.’‘Therearenowindows,’saidMrsPearsonwithatouchofpanicinhervoice.

‘Ahyes,’saidCavanagh.‘Butwindowsarenotnecessaryinanundergroundtrain,MrsPearson.Besides,first-classpassengersshallhavethebenefitofgaslighting.ThegasiscarriedinlongIndia-rubberbagsinboxesontopofthecarriages,andwhenwepulloffyouwillseethatthegaslightingeasilyprovidesenoughlightbywhichtoreadamorningnewspaper.’Theytooktheirseats,withthePearsonsandCavanaghatthefarend,andthe

resttowardstherear,whereadoorprovidedaportalthroughtothesecondcarriage.Pearsonthumpedthetipofhiscaneexcitedlyontheboards.Thedriver

appearedattheopendoor,gavethemathumbsupwithaglovedhand,grinnedatthedignitaries,andthenclosedthedoorandwentbacktothelocomotive.Gaslampsflickeredbutthedarknesswaskeptatbay,justasCavanaghhadsaiditwould.Withaclankandatrundle,thetrainmovedoff.TheGhostfeltMarchant’sgazeonhim.SmithandOtherHardywerestaring

athimtoo.Allhadtheeyesofmenwhowerehungryfortheirsupper.TheabsenceofHardy–sofarunexplained–begantognawathim.Attheotherendofthecarriage,thePearsonsandCavanaghkeptupapoliteconversationbutTheGhostwasn’tlistening.Hewaswonderingwhatmalicelaybehindthestaresofhiscompanions.ThetrainpulledinatFarringdonStreetandletoutagreatbelchofsmoke.

Momentslaterthedriveropenedthecarriagedoorandpeeredinsidetocheckonhispassengers,aswellasbaskinginthecomplimentsonthesmoothjourneyfromMrandMrsPearson.Ashortwhilelater,andtheywereonthemoveforthereturnjourneytoKing’sCross,MrPearsonreachingforhispocketwatchtocheckthejourneytime.But…‘Mywatch,’hesaid,fumblingforitbutnotfindingit.Thetrainclankedon.‘Whatisit,dear?’saidMrsPearson.Cavanaghhadleanedforwardwithfalse

concern.TheGhostbegantofeelanewonsetofdread,daringtohopethattheSolicitorofLondonhadmerelymisplacedhispocketwatch,butknowingsomehowthattherewasmoretoitthanthat,knowingthatwhateveritwasinvolvedhim.

AlleyesinthecarriagewereonPearsonnow,watchingashepattedhisbelly.‘No,no.Mywatchandchainisdefinitelygone.’‘Whendidyoulasthaveit,dear?’Speakingloudlyoverthenoiseofthe

engine,MrsPearson’svoiceseemedtoshakewiththemovementofthetrain.‘Ican’tremember.’OtherHardycalledoutfromtheendofthecarriage.‘Youhaditonthe

platform,sir–’heflashedagrinatTheGhostbeforecontinuing–‘ifyoudon’tmindmesayingso,sir,becauseIsawyoutakeitoutandconsultit.’‘Ohwell,that’sarelief,thenitmustbearoundheresomewhere…’Pearson

plantedhiscaneontheboardsandgotshakilytohisfeet,alreadystrugglingwiththemovementofthetrain.‘Charles,sitdown,’admonishedMrsPearson.‘MrCavanagh,ifyouwouldbe

sokindastoaskyourmentolookforthewatch…’‘Ofcourse,madam.’AsMarchantandthetwopunisherswentthroughthemotionsoflooking,The

Ghost’smindraced,desperatelytryingtocomeupwithasolution.Hesurreptitiouslycheckedthepocketsofhisjacket,justincasethewatchhadbeenplantedonhim,andthenraisinghiseyetothetwopunishers,caughtthemsmirkingathim.No,theyhadn’tplantedthewatchonhim.Notyet.‘No,nowatchhere,’saidMarchant,steadyinghimselfwithahandonthe

carriageshell.TheGhostsatmotionlessasthoughwatchingthewholescenethroughglass.

Cavanaghwasstickingtothescript,apictureoffalseconcernforpoorPearson’smissingpocketwatch.‘ThenImustaskthatyoumenturnoutyourpockets,’hesaid.‘No,betterstill…turnouteachother’spockets.’Theydidastheywereasked.Theywentthroughthecharade.TheGhostwas

nearrigidwithtensionnow.Knowingwherethiswasgoingbutunabletodoanythingaboutit.Hefeltatuggingathiscoat.‘Ohdear,sir,’saidSmithoritmighthavebeen

OtherHardy,butitdidn’tmatter,becausethetrapwassprung.‘IbelieveImayhavefoundMrPearson’swatch.ItwasinthepocketofyoungBharathere.’SmithtookthewatchtoPearsonwhoidentifieditand,witharuefullookat

TheGhost,replaceditinhishippocket.Meanwhile,Cavanaghhadstood,the

verypictureoffury,amanwhosetrusthadbeenbetrayedintheworstpossiblecircumstance.‘Isthistrue?’HeglaredatTheGhost.‘Didyoutakethewatch?’TheGhostsaidnothing,juststaredathim,mute.Cavanaghturnedtohisguests.‘MrandMrsPearson,Iofferyoumysincerest

apologies.Thisisquiteunprecedented.WeshallplaceBharatunderarrest.MrsPearson,mayIaskthatoneofmymenaccompanyyoutoanadjoiningcarriage,awayfromthisyoungthief?Ifearhecouldwellturnnasty.’‘Yes,dear,’saidPearson,concernetchedonhisface.‘Youshouldgo.’MarchantwobbledupthecarriagetowardsMrsPearson,givingheranoily

grinasheheldouthishandinordertoaccompanyherawayfromthenastymessthatwastocome.Sheleft,meekasalamb,withafearful,uncomprehendinglookatTheGhostasshepassed.Nowtheywerealone.Andthen,justasthetrainpulledintoKing’sCross,Cavanaghdrewapearl-

handledknifeandplungeditintoPearson’schest.

Cavanaghopenedthecarriagedoorinordertocallouttothedriver,congratulatinghimonasmoothjourneyandtellinghimtheywouldalightpresently.AndthenheclosedthedoorandturnedbacktowherePearsonlaywithhis

legskickingfeeblyasthelifeebbedoutofhim.Cavanaghhadhammeredtheknifedirectlyintohisheartbeforewithdrawingtheblade,andPearsonhadn’tmadeasound;inthenextcarriagehiswifewasoblivioustothefactthattheMetropolitanRailwaydirectorhadjuststabbedhimtodeath.AnticipatingTheGhostmightmakeamove,thetwopunishershadgrabbed

him,pinninghimtohisseat.Cavanaghsmiled.‘OhmyGod,’hesaid,‘theyoungIndianruffianhaskilledCharlesPearson.’HewipedhisbladecleanonPearson’sbodyandsheathedit,thenlookedatTheGhost.‘Youwouldneverhavedoneit,wouldyou?’TheGhostlookedathim,tryingtogiveawaynothingbutsensingitwastoo

lateforthatanyway.‘“Blowpipe”,thatwasgood,’saidCavanagh.‘Ilikedthat.Youtellingmeyou

wantedtouseablowpipegavemeeverythingIneededtoknow.IttoldMrHardyeverythingheneededtoknowtoo,andhe’sgonewithasquadofmentoapprehendorpossiblykill,Ican’tsayIammuchtroubledeitherway,yourfriendandmyenemy,EthanFrye.’Thetrainseemedtorelaxasthelocomotiveexhaledsteam.TheGhostthought

ofEthan.Theborn-warriorEthan,anexpertinmultiplecombatantsituations.ButcarelessEthan,pronetoerror.‘Heisasgoodasdead,Jayadeep,asareyou.Ah,thatsurprisesyou,doesit?

ThatIknowyourname.Knowyourname,knowyourweakness,knowyourprotectorwouldbealongtotakeoverajobyoudidn’thavethebackboneto

complete.Thejigisup,I’mafraid.Youplayedagoodgame,butyoulost.MrPearsonisdead,theAssassinsarefinishedandIhavemyartefact.’TheGhostcouldn’tdisguiseanotherlookofsurprise.‘Ahyes,Ihavetheartefact,’smiledCavanagh,enjoyinghismoment.‘Or

shouldIsay–’hereachedtoscoopupPearson’scane–‘Ihaveitnow.’HepresentedthecaneupandTheGhostsawthatitshandlewasabronze-

tingedsphereaboutthreeinchesindiameter.‘There,’saidCavanagh,andhiseyeswereaflame,hislipspulledbackoverhisteeth,astrangeanduglylookofloveatfirstsight.‘Thisistheartefact.RecoveredbylabourerssomeweeksagoandgiventoMrPearsonasatokenoftheiresteem.AndMrPearsonlikeditsomuchhemadeithiscanehandle.ButMrPearsonwalkswiththeangelsnow.Andhewon’tbeneedinghiscane.’

Standingatthecarriageenclosure,EthanFryehadwatchedthedignitariesdescendthestepsandwonderedwhythey’dtakenTheGhost–andtriedtodismissaqueasysensethatmaybesomethingwasgoingwrong.Nexthe’dseenthegreatsmokeemissionsasthetrainpulledoutofKing’s

Cross,andhe’dwaitedasitwenttoFarringdonStreetthenreturned,andhe’dstoodpatiently,awaitingtheemergenceofMrandMrsPearson,daringtobelievethatallwouldstillgotoplan.I’msorry,MrPearson,hethought,andreachedfortheblowpipebeneathhisrobes.Fromwithintheranksofcarriages,Ethanwasbeingwatched.Hewasbeing

watchedbyamanwhodrewaknifethatglintedinthemoonlight,whowhenhesmiled,revealedagoldtooth.

Comingcloser,Abberlinesawthathewasn’ttheonlyonemakinghiswaytowardstheenclosure.Fromamongthecrowdsagroupoflabourershadmaterializedandweremovinginonittoo.Hestoppedandliftedouthisspyglass,leaningforwardoverthefencetotrainitonthemaninrobes.Hestayedwherehewas,oblivioustotheapproachingdanger,stillstarklyvisible,yetsomehowinvisible.Abberlinesawthatheheldsomethingbyhissideanditlookedlike…GoodGod,wasthatablowpipe?Nowheswunghisspyglasstopeerintothethicketofcarriages.Thenavvies

werestillapproaching,andalso…

Abberlinecaughthisbreath.Ifitwasn’thisoldfriendHardy.Thepunisherhadhisbacktohimbutitwasunmistakablyhim.AbberlinewatchedasHardycaughtsightofoneofthelabourersandtippedhimawink.Thetrapwasabouttobesprung.Abberlinebegantomovetowardstheenclosuremorequickly.Henolonger

caredaboutrobedmenandwhethertheyfoughtforgoodorbad.WhathecaredaboutwasgivingHardyagreetingfromAubrey,andhistruncheonwasinhishandashepushedhiswaythroughthecrowdsthenvaultedtheenclosurefence.Hethreadedhiswaythroughtheparkedcoaches.Oncemorehewasgladofhispeeler’sthreadswhenoneoftheoncomingnavviessawhimapproachandturnedsmartlyonhisheel,feigninginterestinsomethingbehindhim.HewasafewfeetfromHardynow,andthepunisherstillhadhisbacktohim,stillwatchingthemaninrobes.Whatheandthemaninrobeshadincommonwasthatboththoughtthemselvesthehunter,nottheprey,andthatwaswhyAbberlinewasabletocomeupbehindHardyundetected.‘Excuseme,sir,butcanIaskwhatbusinessyouhaveinthecarriage

enclosure?’‘Business,’saidHardy,turning.‘It’snoneofyourbloodybusinessiswhatit–’Heneversaidtheword‘is’.Asitturnedout,hewouldneversaytheword‘is’again,becauseAbberline

swungashardwiththetruncheonashecouldanditwasaviciousattackandnotoneworthyofanofficerofthelaw,butAbberlinehadstoppedthinkinglikeanofficerofthelaw.Hewasthinkingabouttheweeksofpain.Hewasthinkingaboutthescarsmadebyabrassknuckleduster.Hewasthinkingaboutamanwhohadbeenleftfordead.Andheswungthattruncheonwithallofhismight,andinthenextmomentHardyhadamouthfulofbloodandteethandanappointmentwiththedirtathisfeet.TohisrightAbberlinesawapowerfulnavvysnarlingashecametohimwith

acoshinonehand.Therewereothernavviescomingtoo,butthroughthecarriagesAbberlinecaughtaglimpseofthemaninrobes,whowasnowawareofthedisturbanceathisbackandwasturning,tensing.Atthesametime,Abberlinefeltthenavvy’scoshslamagainsthistempleanditfelledhim,dazed,hiseyeswateringandheadhowlinginpain,justafewfeetawayfromwhereHardywasalreadypullinghimselftohisknees,withhischinhangingata

strangeangleandhiseyesablazewithfury–andaknifethatstreakedoutofthedarknesstowardsAbberline.Abberlinerolledbutthenfoundhimselfpinnedbythelegsandfeetofthe

navvy,lookinguptoseethemantoweringoverhim,aknifeinhishand.‘He’smine,’saidHardy,althoughbecauseofhisinjuryitsoundedmorelike

hismon,butthenavvyknewwhathemeantandstayedhishandasHardy,hislowerfaceamaskofblood,lurchedtowardsAbberline,hiselbowpullingbackabouttostrikewiththeknife.‘Stop,’saidthemanintherobes,andHardyjerkedtoahaltmid-strikeashe

feltthemechanismoftheAssassin’shiddenbladeathisneck.‘Calloffyourman,’saidEthan.Theyheardtherunningfeetofreinforcements.Hardyspoke,andthroughhisbrokenjawandteethitsoundlikegufferellbut

EthanFryeknewwhathemeantandengagedhisbladeandittorethroughHardy’sthroat,emergingblood-streakedandgleamingfrombeneathhischin.AtthesametimeEthandrewhisrevolverwithhisotherhand.AblasttorethenightandthenavvypinningAbberlinespunaway.Ethanwheeled.Hisrevolverspokeagainandagain,andmorebodiesfellamongthecarriages.Atthefirstshotpanichadtakenoverthecrowdandtheirscreamsspookedthehorses.Terrifiedcoachmenflungthemselvestotheground.Ethanwasemptybuttheattackhadfadedandsohedashedtowhere

Abberlinelay.‘I’mEthanFrye,’hesaid,reachingouttohelpAbberlineoffthedirt.‘AnditappearsIoweyouafavour.Iwillnotforgetthis,ConstableAbberline.TheBrotherhoodlikestopayitsdebts.Now,ifyouwillexcuseme,Ihavesomepressingbusinesstoattendto.’Andwiththathevaultedthefenceandtookoffoverthemudtowardsthe

shaft.Meninsuitsscatteredatthesightofthiswildfigurepoundingovertheplankstowardsthem.Moreimportantlythesquadofnavviesatthetunneledgesawhimcomingtoo,butwithjustfourofthembetweenhimandthesteps,hewasn’ttooconcerned,andheflippedtheblowpipefrombeneathhisrobes.Stillontherunhepluckedtwodartsfromhisbelt,clampedthembetweenhisteeth,broughttheblowpipeuptothefirstdart,loadedandfired.Theclosestmanfellwithapoison-tippeddartintheneck.Outofdeferenceto

PearsonEthanhadassembledanexpensivepoisonthatwaspainlessandfast-

acting.Apartfromtheprickathisneck,hewouldn’thavefeltathing.Hadheknownhe’dbeusingthemonTemplars,hewouldhavedippedtheminthecheapstuff.Hereloaded.Spattheseconddart.Anothermanfell.Athirddrewacutlass

fromunderhisjacketandcameforward,cursingEthan.Hismouthshonewithsalivaandhewasslow,andEthantooknoprideindeflectinghisfirstblow,anticipatinganeasyscoopingstrikeandthensteppingintohisbodyandjabbingbackwiththeblade.Hewhirledswiftlyawaytoavoidthedyingman’sfinalblood-fleckedcoughandmetthelastmanatthesametime.Thisonewasbetter,faster,moreofaproblem.Again,thisonehadacutlass,andagainhebeganwithachoppingstrikethatEthanknockedaway,tradingtwomoreblowsbeforedrivinghisbladehome.Theothernavvieswereclosingin,buthereachedthestructurefirst,not

botheringwiththestepsthemselves,shinningdownthetimberuprightsuntilhisbootsmettheplanksofthemakeshiftplatform,andtherebeforehimstoodthestationarytrain.Nothingstrangeaboutitatfirstglance.Thenhefelttheearthmove.Arumble.Anunmistakablemovement.Enough

torockhimonhisfeet.Thetimbersontheunfinishedtunnelroofbegantotumble.

InsidethecarriageTheGhosthadwatchedasCavanaghbentandsmashedthecaneonthefloor,pullingtheorbfromtheshaftthathetossedaway.Smiling,thetriumphantdirectorhelduptheartefactforinspection.GreedyeyeswentfromthebronzeglobetoTheGhost;thetwopunishersgoggledandevenTheGhostfeltatremorofsomethingindefinableintheair,asthoughtheartefacthadfounditsworshippersandwasshowingitselftothem.Hethoughtoflightshowsanddepthlessknowledgeandunderstanding–andthensawdeathanddestruction,andgreatexplosionsonbattlefields,andwonderedwhathehadhelpedunleashontheworld.Hisjobhadbeentorecoverthatartefact.Attheveryleastpreventitfromfallingintothehandsoftheenemy.Hehadfailed.‘Canyoufeelit?’Cavanaghwassaying.Thesphereseemedtoglowinhis

handand,yes,unlesstheywereallexperiencingthesamehallucination,theycouldallfeelit.Itwashumming.

SuddenlythedoortotheadjoiningcarriagewasflungopenandMarchantwasback,slammingtheconnectingdoorandcuttingthemofffromMrsPearson,obliviousMrsPearson,whonodoubtwonderedwhentheywereduetodisembark.‘EthanFrye’scoming,’saidMarchantbreathlessly.Atoncethewavesof

energythatseemedtopulsefromtheorbincreasedinintensity.‘What?’saidCavanagh.‘MrsPearsonwantedtobeletout,soIopenedthedoorandsawEthanFryeat

thetopofthesteps.’‘Didheseeyou?’‘Backtome.Hehadhisbackto–’Thedoortothecarriageopened.Atthesametime,lightningfast,Cavanagh

whirledandthrewhisknife,andtherewasashortscreamfromthedoorway.Ethan,thoughtTheGhost.Butitwasthetraindriver’sbodythatfellintothe

carriage.Theyallfeltit.Theearthseemedtomove.Therewasadistinctrumbleand

Cavanaghlookedattheobjectheheld,fixingitwithaterrible,power-drunkgaze.AndwasitTheGhost’simaginationordiditseemtoglowmorebrightly–almostboastfully?Lookatme.LookatwhatIcando.Andthentheworldcavedin.

Theslippagecausedthesurroundingbankstomove.Andthoughthetunnelheld,themakeshiftroofabovethecarriagewasdislodgedandcametumbling,clatteringandcrashingtothecarriagebelow.Theroofcrackedandgave,showeringthoseinsidewithsplintersanditgaveTheGhostjustthechanceheneeded.Hewrenchedhimselffreeofthepunishers.‘Ethan,’hecalled,andcrashedthroughthedoorintotheadjoiningcarriage,

whereMrsPearsonsatscreamingandterrifiedwithherhandsoverherheadandthenatthesightofTheGhostscreamedevenmoreloudly.Heyankedopenthecarriagedoor,leaptoutontotheplatform–andalmost

bargedintoEthanFrye.‘Killhim,’calledCavanaghwithavoicethatsoundedasthoughithadbeen

draggedfromtheverypitsofhell.‘Killthemboth.’Thetwopunishersburstoutofthecarriagedoor,blockingthewayforward,

oncomingnavviesbehind.OtherHardyreachedintohissuitjacket,handappearingwitharevolveraimedatTheGhost.Unwavering,TheGhostmethim,wishinghehadabladebutsettlingforthe

toughenededgeofhisbarefootinstead,seemingalmosttopivotintheairasheleapt,knockingtherevolverawaywithonekick,thenwrenchingtheman’sheadbackwithastriketothechinfromhistrailingfoot.Theweaponspunawayandthetwomenbothsprawledtothedeck,butThe

Ghostwasthefirsttoreact,kickingagainbutthistimetotheundersideofOtherHardy’schinandhearingacrunchinreturnthatmeanthewaseitherdeadoroutforthecount.TheGhostwasn’ttoobotheredeitherway.AtthesametimeEthanhadthepleasureofSmith’scompany.Thesecond

punisherhaddrawnalong-bladeddirkandcameforwardslashinghaphazardly,withnotacatinhell’schanceofbestingtheAssassin.Sureenough,Ethan

steppedsmartlyaway,andfeltthereassuringtickleofthemechanismonhisforearmashisbladeengagedbeforeheburieditintheman’sneck.Suddenlytheearthquakeseemedtoincreaseinintensityandatthesametime

Cavanaghsteppedoutofthecarriageandontotheplatforminfrontofthem.Hisknifewasstillburiedinthetraindriverbuthehadnoneedofitnow.Notnowhehadtheartefact.Itglowedandseemedtopulseintimewiththetremors.Twentyfeetaway,EthanandTheGhostexchangedafearfullookasCavanagh

heldtheartefactbeforehim,asthoughprofferingittothegods,andtherewasagreatmoanoftraumatizedwood,andthenasuddenincreaseinthedelugefromabove.Inthedistancecamethescreamsofspectatorsterrifiedbythesuddenearthquake–anearthquakethatwasincreasinginintensitynowasbehindtheglowingartefact,Cavanagh’sfacesplitintoamaniacalgrin,hiseyeschanging,untilthemanwhohadspenthislifeburyinghishumanityinfavourofambitionandcorruptionhadnomorehumanityleft.Hehadn’tnoticedMarchantedgingclosertohim.Hedidn’tseethatMarchanthadretrievedthepearl-handledknifefromthe

bodyofthetraindriver.‘CrawfordStarricksendshisregards,’shoutedtheclerkabovethecrashingof

theshaftaroundthem,andthenburiedtheknifeintoCavanagh’sarmpit.Thedirector’seyeswidenedinpainandshockandincomprehensionatthe

suddenturnofevents.Straightawaytheartefact’srhythmicpulsefadedashesanktohiskneeswithhissuitfrontalreadygleamingdarklywithblood.HelookedfromMarchanttothetwoAssassins,thenfellforward.Andperhapsinthatfinalmomentalittleofhimselfreturned,enoughtoponderontheevilhehaddone,beforeheleftthisworldwithawetchokingnoiseashislungsfilledandhedrownedinhisownblood,andTheGhosthopedthattheunnamedsepoywastheretogreethiminhell.ThenavviesswarmedontotheplatformbehindthemasMarchantsnatched

uptheartefact–andEthanFryeleaptforwardtorelievehimofit,allofwhichhappenedinthesplitsecondbeforeafallingpieceoftimberignitedthegassuppliesontheroofofoneofthecarriage,andtheMetropolitanRailway’sbrand-newenclosedcarriageburstintoflames.

EthanandTheGhostdivedforcover,flingingthemselvesintothetunnel.Behindthemwasfireandpandemoniumandnoise,andthenafteramoment,duringwhichtheafter-effectsoftheexplosiondieddown,theyheardMarchantscreamingatthenavvies–‘Getthem!Getafterthem!’–andtheytooktotheirheels,headingwest,backtowardsPaddington.‘Ihavesomethingtotellyou,’saidEthanastheyran.Theypoundedin

betweenthetraintracksintotaldarkness,sharpenedsensesleadingthemalongthetunnelasfastastheydared,untiltheyfoundthemselvesbeneaththesteamholeatLeinsterGardens,wheretheypulledthemselvesuptosafety.Sureenoughthegangofnavviesranrightbelowthem.Theydidn’tevenlookup.Foramomenttherewassilenceasbothmentriedandfailedtomakesenseof

whathadjusthappened.‘Whatdoyouhavetotellme?’askedTheGhost,hisshouldersrisingand

fallingashekepthisbreath–dreadingwhathewasabouttohear.Ethansighed.‘Thisisallmyfault,’hesaid.‘Iwaswarned.’‘Whatdoyoumean,“warned”?’EthantoldTheGhostaboutAjayandwatchedsorrowcrippletheman’s

features.‘Howcouldyou?’saidTheGhostatlast.Ethanwasdesolate.‘Ijudgeditforthebest.’‘Youjudgedwrong.’Againtherewasasilence,brokenbyEthan,whosaidsoftly,‘WasItheonly

onetomakeanerrorofjudgement?Howweretheyabletoidentifyyou,Jayadeep?’TheGhostflashedhimafuriouslook.‘AnythingIdidwasbornofadesireto

helpmyfellowman.Isn’tthattherightway?Isn’tthattheAssassinway?’

‘Itis.Butifyouexcuseyourselfonthosetermsthenyoumustexcuseme,becauseIdidwhatIdidforthegoodofallmen.’‘Youwereasobsessedwiththatartefactashewas.’‘Ifso,thenIwasobsessedwithmakingsureitdidn’tfallintothewrong

hands,andnowwe’veseenitinactionIknowIwasrighttobe.’TheGhosthadbeenpromisedlightshowsoraprettytalismanfromthe

artefact.Insteadhehadwitnessedsomethingdifferentaltogether.‘Well,it’sinthewronghandsnow,’hesaid.‘Notforlong.’Frombelowthemcameashout.‘Comeon,mates.We’retogettothetunnel.’‘Thecoastwillbeclearsoon,’saidEthan,drumminghishandsonthedirtin

frustration,‘buttheartefactwillbehalfwaytoStarrickbynow.’TheGhostwasn’tlistening.LetEthanfixateonhisartefacts.Henolonger

cared.Hewasthinkingabouttheorderthey’djustheard.‘Thetunnel’.TheTemplarsknewaboutMaggie–theyknewthatthroughherwasawaytogettohim,andthroughhimawaytoEthan,andmaybejusthavingtheartefactwasnotenough.TheymeanttosmashtheAssassinsaswell.‘IhavetogotoMaggie.’‘Ihavetogoaftertheartefact,’saidEthan.‘Justasyourconsciencedictates

youmustgotothetunnel,soImustgothere.’‘Youshouldgoafteryourpreciousartefact,’saidTheGhost,andthentookto

hisfeet.

ItwasadistanceofsomesixmilesfromLeinsterGardenstotheThamesTunnel,plustheTemplarmenhadaheadstartandweretravellingbycarriage,butTheGhostwasfastandhewasdetermined,andheknewtheroutewell,andhemadeitwithinthehour.Evenso,hewastoolate.Wagonswerealreadyarrangedaroundtheoctagonal

marbleentrancehallofthetunnelshaft.Figuresweremillingabout,someofthemholdinglitflaresandlamps.Hesawotherfiguresrunning,heardscreamingandtheunmistakablesoundofcoshesandtruncheonsbeingusedinangerandtheshoutsofpaintomatch.Theresidentsofthetunnelwereaccustomedtohavingtheirrefugeinvadedbutnotwithsuchviolence,notwithsomuchmaliceorsingle-mindedpurpose.

Andthepurpose?TotakeMaggie.Buthewasn’tgoingtoletthemdothat.Atthis,hewasn’tgoingtofail.PandemoniumreignedbutthroughaforestofbodiesTheGhostsawOther

Hardy.Thelastsurvivingpunisherstoodatacarriagewithhisrevolverinonehandandtheotherathisinjuredface,shoutingorders.‘Bringthewoman,bringtheoldwoman.’TherewasnosignofMarchant,andTheGhostguessedEthanwasright:theartefactwasonitswaytoCrawfordStarrick.Bestofluck,Ethan.Youmadeyourchoice.Runningpastaseriesofminorskirmishesoutside,TheGhostburstintothe

octagonalhall.Overbythewatch-house,thecommotionwasatitsmostheated.HesawthegreyhairofMaggieamidathrongofbodies,someofthemtunneldwellers,someofthemstrongarms.ShewasshoutingandcursingloudlyasTemplarthugsattemptedtomanhandleherovertheturnstile.Thetunnelpeopleweretryingtosaveherbuttheywereill-equippedtodoso.Templarclubsandknivesroseandfell,andshoutsofresistanceturnedtoscreamsofpainthatreboundedfromtheglass.TheGhostthoughthesawtheprivatedetectiveHazlewoodsomewhereamongthegreatmassofpeoplebutthenthefacewasgone.AsecondlaterherealizedthatOtherHardy’surgingsseemedtohavestoppedandthenheardavoicefrombehindhim,saying,‘Right,youlittlebastard…’OtherHardywasright-handed.HewasarmedwithaWebleythatpulledtohis

right.TheGhosttookbothfactorsintoconsiderationasheduckedandwheeledat

thesametime,goinginsideHardy’sgunarmandpleasedtoheartheairpartagoodsixinchesawayfromhisheadahalf-secondbeforeheheardtheblast.Therewasascream.OneoftheTemplarthugsfellandthatwasonelessmantodealwith,hethoughtashebrokeHardy’sarm,reachedforthedirkthathungsheathedatthepunisher’swaistandthenthrustitintohischest.OtherHardyreachedforTheGhostandtheireyeswerejustinchesapartas

TheGhostwatchedthelightoflifedieintheotherman’seyes–andheexperiencedawaveofsomethingthatwaspartsicknessandpartdespair,agreathollowingoutinsidehimashetookalife.

Maggiehadseenhim.‘Bharat!’shescreechedfromamongthebrawlattheturnstile,andTemplarthugsturnedawayfromthecommotion,sawTheGhoststandingovertheirbossasheslidlifelesslytothemosaicfloor,andmovedclosertoattack.TheGhosttossedtheknifefromonehandtotheother,disorientatingthefirst

thugwhocameforward.Braveman.Stupidman.Hediedinseconds,andnowTheGhosthadtwoblades,thedirkandacutlass,andusedthembothtoopenthethroatofasecondattacker,thenspun,jabbingbackhandwiththecutlassandopeningthestomachofathird.Hewasanexpertswordsman,skilledinthebusinessofdeath.Hetooknopleasureinit.Simply,hewasgoodatit.BynowMaggiehadbeenreclaimedbythetunnelpeopleandtakenbackto

thesanctuaryofthesteps,andperhapstheTemplarthugsknewthegamewasup;perhapsseeingthreeoftheircomradesfallsoquicklyatthehandsofthebarefootIndianladhadmadethemdecidethatdiscretionwasthebetterpartofvalour;orperhapsthedeathofOtherHardytookwhateverspirittheyhadleft,becauseacrywentup,‘Timetogo,mates,timetogo,’andthebeatingsstoppedasthethugsstreamedoutofthehallandheadedfortheircarriages.Inamatterofmomentsthehallhademptiedandthentheareaoutsidehadtoo,

andthetunnelwasnolongerunderattack.TheGhoststoodwithhisshouldersrisingandfallingashecaughthisbreath.

Heletthedirkandthecutlassfalltothefloorwithadullclangthatreverberatedaroundtheroom,andthenhewalkedtowardstheturnstile,climbingoverandheadingdownthesteps.Therotundawasamassofpeopleandtherewerecheersforhimashe

descended.‘Maggie?’heaskedawomanheknewandshepointedhimalongthetunnel.‘Theytookheruptheretosafety,’shesaid,beforestealingakissandthen

clappinghimontheback.Thetunneldwellerskeptupthecheeringashepassedthroughtherotundaand

intothetunnelitself,leavingthepressofpeopleandtheshockandexcitementofthebattlebehind.HehadalreadydecidedthathenolongerbelongedtotheBrotherhood;nor

wouldheeverspeaktoEthanFryeagain.LettheAssassinsandTemplarsfightit

outamongthemselves.Hewouldstayhere,withhispeople.Thiswaswherehebelonged.Athoughtoccurredtohim.Theytookheruptheretosafety.Whohadtakenhertosafety?Herememberedseeingthefaceoftheprivatedetectiveinthemelee.Hebroke

intoarun.‘Maggie!’hescreamed,dashingupthetunneltowardstheberththeyshared,whereshehadtendedthefireanddoledoutbrothandreceivedherrightfulloveastunnelmother.Hefoundherthere.Shelayinthedirt.Whoeverhadkilledherhadstabbedhermultipletimes,shreddinghersmock.

Hergreywitchyhairwasfleckedwithblood.Hereyesthatsooftenblazedwithfuryandmirthandpassionweredullindeath.Theyhadpinnedanotetoherchest.Weconsiderthedebtsettled.TheGhostsanktohishaunchesandheldMaggie.Hetookherheadinhislap

andthetunneldwellersheardhiscriesashewailedhisgriefanddespair.

PartThree

METROPOLIS RIS ING

Coldanddampandgrippedbymelancholy,theAssassinGeorgeWesthouseshiveredinthesidingsofCroydonrailyard.WasitthatatiredpallhungoverallofEngland?Ordidithangoverhim?Therewasastormbrewing,hethought.Bothliterallyandmetaphorically.ItwasFebruary1868,fiveandahalfyearsafterthewretchedeventsatthe

Metropolitanline.Afterthat,he,EthanFryeandTheGhosthadretiredinfailure:TheGhosttohishidey-holeintheThamesTunnel,aself-imposedprisonofregretandrecrimination;GeorgetobattendownthehatchesinCroydon;andEthantobusyhimselfwithraisingthenextgenerationofAssassinresistance–oneunencumberedbythedisappointmentandfailurethattaintedtheirelders.Anewgenerationwithfreshambitionandenthusiasm.Anewwayofdoingthings.Whatashame,Georgethought,thatEthanwillneverseeitinaction.Ethanhadbeenjustforty-threeyearsoldwhenhediedamatterofweeksago,

buthehadbeenillwiththepleurisyforsometimebeforethat.DuringmanyhoursspentatEthan’sbedside,Georgehadwatchedhisoldfriendwither,likefruitonavine.‘Findtheartefact,George,’Ethanhadinsisted.‘SendEvieandJacobforit.

ThefutureofLondonliesintheirhandsnow.Thetwins;youandHenry–you’retheonlyonesleftnow.’‘Hushnow,Ethan,’Georgesaid,andleanedbackinhischairtohidethetears

thatprickedhiseyes.‘Youwillbeheretoleadus.You’reindomitable,Ethan.AsunbreakableasoneofthoseinfernaltrainsthattrundlethroughCroydonnightandday.’‘Ihopeso,George,Itrulyhopeso.’‘Besides,theCouncilhasnotratifiedanyoperationsinthisarea.They

considerustooweak.’

‘Iknowwhenwe’rereadybetterthananyCouncil,andweareready.Henrywillprovide.JacobandEviewillact.’‘Well,thenyouhadbetterhurryupandgetwellandinformtheCouncil

yourselfthen,hadn’tyou?’chidedGeorge.‘ThatIhad,George,thatIhad…’ButEthanhaddissolvedintoacoughingfitsohardthatthemuslinclothhe

heldtohismouthcameawayspeckledwithblood.‘Weweresoclose,George,’hesaidanothertime.Hewasevenweakernow,

becomingmorefrailbytheday.‘Theartefactwasjustafewfeetawayfromme,asfarawayasyouarenow.Ialmosthadit.’‘Youdidyourbest.’‘Thenmybestwasnotenough,becausetheoperationdidnotsucceed,

George.Irananunsuccessfuloperation.’‘Therewerecircumstancesbeyondyourcontrol.’‘IfailedTheGhost.’‘Hehimselfmademistakes.WhetherheacceptsthatIhavenoidea;whether

hismistakescontributedtothefailureoftheoperationIcouldn’tsayeither.Butthefactremainsthatitfailed.Nowwemustconcentrateonregrouping.’EthanturnedhisheadtolookatGeorgeanditwasallGeorgecoulddotostop

himselfrecoilingafresh.ItwastruethatEthan’sachievementsasanAssassinwouldneverbecelebratedalongwiththoseofAltaïr,EzioorEdwardKenway,butforallthathehadbeenacredittotheBrotherhood,andhewasamanwhoevenwhenhewasdownheartedexudedathirstforlife.WithEthanyoualwayshadthesensethatinsidewasapersonalityatwarwithitself,pushingandpullingthiswayandthatbutneveratrest,alwaysquestingforward.Now,though,theskinthatonceglowedwithlifewaspaleanddrawn,theeyes

thathadburnedwithpassionsunkenanddull.Ethanwasnolongerquestingforlife;hewastakingthelongwalktowardsdeath.Firsthehadsufferedwiththeflu;then,whenthatseemedtohavepassed,

camechestpainsandaconstanthackingcough.Whenhebeganhackingupbloodthephysicianwascalled,whodiagnosedpleurisy.BenjaminFranklinhaddiedofpleurisy,saidthephysicianphlegmatically.WilliamWordsworthtoo.Evenso,thephysicianassuredthefamilythatpleurisywasaninfectionofthe

chest.Andsolongasthepatientrestedtherewaseverypossibilityitwouldclear

upbyitself.Plentyofpatientsrecoveredfrompleurisy.JustnotBenjaminFranklinorWilliamWordsworth,thatwasall.AndnottheAssassinEthanFrye,itturnedout.Foreachpassingdaythe

pleurisyseemedtowriteitsfateuponhisskinmoreemphaticallythanthelast,andtohearhimcough,acrunchingrattledisgorgedfromdeepwithinachestthatwasnolongerfunctioningasitshould,wasdreadfultowitness.Thesoundofittorethroughthehouse.Ethanhadtakenaroomintheeaves–‘I’mnottobeaburdentothetwinswhileI’mill,’hehadsaid–buthiscoughcarrieddownthestairwaystothelowerrooms,wherethetwinssharedtheirconcerninbittenlips,downcasteyesandsharedglancesastheytookstrengthfromoneanother.Inmanywaystheterriblestoryoftheirfather’sillnesscouldbemeasuredin

hischildren’sreactions:rolledeyeswhenhefirstgotill,asthoughhewasexaggeratinghismaladyinordertoenjoythebenefitsofbeingwaitedonhandandfoot,andthenaseriesofincreasinglyworriedsilentexchangeswhenitbecameterriblyapparentthathewasnotgoingtorecoverinamatterofdaysorevenweeks.Afterthatcameaperiodwhenthesoundofhiscoughingwouldmakethem

flinchandtheireyesfilledwithtears;latterlytheylookedasthoughtheywishedforitalltobeover,sotheirfather’ssufferingmightbeatanend.Helimitedtheirtripstohisbedchamber.Theywouldhavelikedtohavebeen

byhisbedsidenightandday,justashehadoncesatwithhisbelovedwifeCecily.Perhapsthatexperiencehadconvincedhimthesickbedofalovedonewasnoplacetospendyourdays.Sometimes,though,ifhewasfeelingwellenough,hewouldsummonthemto

hisroom,tellthemtowipetheworriedlooksofftheirfaces(becausehewasn’tbloodywelldeadyet),thenissueinstructionsonhowtheyweretoleadanewvanguardofresistanceagainsttheTemplars.HeinformedthemhehadwrittenseekingtheCouncil’sapprovalforwhenitwastimetosendthetwinsintoaction.Ethanknewhistimewasshort.Heknewhewasleavingthisworld.Hewas

likeachessplayermanoeuvringhispiecesreadyforafinalattackthathehimselfwouldnotbearoundtosuperintend.Buthewantedthingsinplace.Perhapsitwashiswayofmakingamends.

ItinfuriatedhimthattheCouncilrefusedtogivehimtheirblessing;indeed,theCouncilwithheldanydecisionontheLondonsituationuntilsuchtimeastheyhadnewsofasituationworthactingupon.Stalemate.Oneevening,Georgevisitedhim.Asusualtheyconversedforsometimeand

then,asusual,Georgewaslulledintosleepinthecosywarmthoftheeaves.Heawokewithastart,asthoughsomesixthsensewereproddinghimbackintoconsciousness,tofindEthanlyingonhissidewithbothhandsacrosshischest,hiseyesclosedandmouthopen,athintrailofbloodrunningfromhismouthtothesweat-soakedsheets.WiththeheaviestheartimaginableGeorgewenttothebody,arrangingiton

thebed,pullingasheettobeneathEthan’schin,andusinghishandkerchieftowipethebloodfromhisfriend’smouth.‘I’msorry,Ethan,’hesaidasheworked.‘I’msorryforslumberingwhenIshouldhavebeenheretohelpguideyouintothenextworld.’Hehadcreptquietlydownstairstofindthetwinsinthekitchen.Evieand

JacobhadtakentowearingtheirAssassins’attire,asthoughtoacknowledgethatitwastheywhowouldcarrythetorchfromnowon,andtheyhadbothbeenwearingthemthatnight,theircowlsraisedastheysateithersideofthebarekitchentable,acandleslowlygutteringonthewoodbetweenthem,inthesamewordlessdialogueofgriefthathadenvelopedthemforweeks.Theyheldhands,henoticed,andregardedoneanotherfromundertheir

cowls,andperhapstheyalreadyknew,perhapstheyhadfeltthesameenergythathadpromptedGeorgeawake.Fortheyhadturnedtheirgazeuponhiminthekitchendoorwayandintheireyeswastheterribleknowledgethattheirfatherwasdead.Nowordsweresaid.Georgesimplysatwiththemandthen,asdawnbroke,

leftforhometoattendtothetaskofnotifyingtheCouncilthatoneofthebrothershadfallen.Condolencesarrivedatthehouse,butinaccordancewithAssassintradition

theburialwasanunremarkable,quietoccasion,attendedbyGeorge,EvieandJacobalone–justthreemournersandapriestwhoconsignedEthantothegrave.Ashestoashes,dusttodust.Forsometimetheyseemedtoexistinastateoflimbo.Untilnewshad

reachedGeorgethattheMetropolitanartefactwasclose.Hehadnotimetoseek

theCouncil’sapprovalforanoperationtoretrieveit;theyprobablywouldhavedemandedmoredetailedinformationanyway.AndheknewexactlywhatEthan’swisheswere.Hisfriendhadimpartedthemtohim.EvieandJacobwereready.Theywouldgointoaction.

AndsointheCroydonrailyardbelongingtoFerrisIronworks,adarkenedworldofsmoke-belchinglocomotives,clankingcarriagesandcomplainingbrakes,Georgemetthetwinsforthefirsttimesincetheirfather’sfuneral.Asever,hewasstruckbytheirlooks:Jacobhadhisfather’scharisma,the

sameeyesthatappearedtodancewithamixofmischiefandresolve;Evie,ontheotherhand,wasthemirrorimageofhermother.Ifanythingevenmorebeautiful.Shehadatilted,imperiouschin,freckledcheeks,exquisite,questioningeyesandafullmouththatalltoorarelysplitintoawidesmile.Jacobworeatophat.Evie’scowllayacrosshershoulders.Theirclotheswere

free-flowingandcustomizedintherightplaces:longthree-quarter-lengthbeltedcoatsopenoverdiscreetlyarmouredwaistcoatsandbootswithnoise-proofedsolesandsubtlesteeltoe-caps.Ontheirforearmswerethegauntlet-bladeswithwhichtheywerebothexpert(EvieevenmoresothanJacob,accordingtoEthan),theirfingerssnuginhingedsteelprotectorsthatdoubledasknuckledusters.Astheaircrackledwiththethreatoftheoncomingstorm,Georgehad

watchedthemmovethroughtherailyardstowherehecrouchedbehindoneofthetraincars.Thankstotheirlooksandgarbyoucouldhardlyhopetoseetwomorestrikingfigures.Yettheirfatherhadtaughtthemwell.Justashehimselfwasamasterofhidinginplainsight,sotoowerehisoffspring.Theygreetedoneanother,sharingsomethingunspokenofEthan.Georgehad

notifiedthembyletterofthejobathand,warningthemwhatitwouldentail.Beforehedied,EthanhadtoldthetwinsverylittleaboutthePieceofEdenthathadbeenthefocusofhisfailedmissionin1862.Afterall,itwasnotexactlyagloriousepisodeinthehistoryoftheBrotherhood.Theyknewitwasauniquelypowerfulobjectandnottobeunderestimated.Beyondthatwasscarcelyanythingtobesaidbeforethejobbegan.

Itwastobetheirblooding.Theyhunkereddown.Jacob,histophatperchedatitsusualrakishangle,was

themorebrash.Hisedgeswererough,hispatienceshort,andwhenhetalkeditwaswiththegrowlingvoiceofthestreets.Eviewasthemorethoughtfulandculturedofthetwo.Anoutersoftnessbeliedasteelwithin.‘Theironshipsfromhere,’saidGeorge,indicatingtheworks.‘TheTemplar

runningthingsisRupertFerris,andourtargetone.TargettwoisSirDavidBrewster,who’sgothishandsonthebauble.Thinkyoucanhandleit?’Thetwinswereyoungandkeenandfearless,andmaybe,thoughtGeorge,

turningtofindthattheyhadbothclimbedtothetopofacarriage,theywouldalsobecunning.‘Ladiesandgentlemen,’hesaidwithasmile,‘theunstoppableFryetwins.See

themnightlyatCoventGarden.’Eviegavehimadon’t-worrylook.‘George,honestly,I’vestudiedtheplansof

thelaboratoryandhaveeveryroutecovered.’‘AndI’vegotallIneedrighthere,’saidJacob,engaginghisblade.Heturnedatthesoundofatrainwhistle.‘Jacob…’saidGeorge.‘I’llextendyourregardstoFerris,’hereplied.HeandEviewerewatchingthe

trainasittrundledthroughthesidingtowardsthem.Theycrouchedontheroofoftheirownrailcar,readytospringforth.‘Evie…’saidGeorgewarningly.‘Chatlater,George,we’veatraintocatch,’saidEvieandthenthetwoofthem

madetheirleap,landingwithallthegraceandstealthofpredatorywildcatsontheroofofthepassingtrain.AwavetoGeorgeandthemissionhadbegun.‘Maythecreedguideyou,youvagrants,’Georgecalledtothem,butdidn’t

thinkthey’dheard.Insteadhewatchedthemgowithastrangemixtureofemotions:envyfortheiryouth,graceandbalance.AndconcernthatEthanwaswrong–thatthetwinswerenotyetbattle-ready.Notforanoperationofthismagnitude.Butmostofall,hope–hopethetwoincredibleyoungAssassinscouldturn

thetideintheirfavour.

‘Poorman,moreafraidthanever.Theyearshavenotbeenkind,’saidEvietoJacob,shoutingabovetheroarofthelocomotive.‘EvieFrye,’chidedJacob,‘wheredoyougetitfrom?’‘Sameplaceasyou,Jacob,’shesaid,andtheyexchangedaglance,that

preternaturalmeetingofeyesinwhichtheybothrememberedandhonouredtheirmotherandfather.Theknowledgethatalltheyhadnowwaseachother.‘Havefun,’saidJacob.Theywerenearingtheironworksontracksthat

threadedthroughdarkindustrialbuildingsandchimneystackspouringoutchokingsmoke,andJacobrolledhistophatfromhishead,collapseditandsecreteditwithinhisrobesinonewell-practisedmoveasheraisedhishood.Eviepulledherowncowloverherhead.Theywereready.‘Don’tdie,’shetoldherbrother,andthenwatched,heartinmouthdespite

herself,ashecrouched,handseithersideofhimonthetrainroof,fingerssplayed.Asthetrainpulledlevelwiththeironworksandtheforbiddingdarkbrickworkrushedtowardsthemasthecarriageleanedandthetraintiltedontherails,Jacobleapt–anotherperfectlyexecutedjumpthattookhimtoasillonthefirstflooroftheironworks.Asecondlaterandhe’dbeinside.Shewatchedhimrecede.Thenexttimesheheardanythingofhimitwouldbe

viathethumpofanexplosionasheescapedtheironworksspatteredwiththebloodofRupertFerris.Forthetimebeing,however,shewenttooneknee,glovedhandsontheroofofthecarriage,windwhippinghercowlasthetraincutitswaythroughtheoutskirtsofCroydonandontotheshippingyardfurtheralongtheline.Here,accordingtotheplanssenttothembyGeorge,wasthelaboratorywheretheartefactwasstored;where,providingtheinformationwascorrect,SirDavidBrewsterwasworkingonit.Whatdidsheknowaboutit?Therewasinformationgleanedfromancientscrolls,ofcourse,butscrollstendedtobealittleambiguous.However,herfatherhadactuallyseenitinaction.He

hadtalkedofhowitwouldglow,seemingtofeedoffsomeinnerenergyoftheuser,transferringsomethingdarkandprimalintoanactualdestructiveenergy.‘Takethatlookoffyourface,Evie,’hehadaddedalittlecrossly.‘Thisisnot

anobjecttoadmireorcovert.Itistobetreatedwiththeutmostcaution,asaweaponofwarthatcannotbeallowedtoremaininthehandsoftheenemy.’‘Yes,Father,’shesaidobediently.Butifshewashonestwithherselfthe

object’sattractionoutweigheditspossibledanger.Yes,itwassomethingtobefeared,tobetreatedwithrespect.Butevenso.Theshippingyardtowhichthetrainwasheadingbegantoloomeverlarger

ontheimmediatehorizon,sosheturnedandcrabbedalongthetrainroofuntilshecametoahatch.FingerspriseditopenandmomentslaterEviedroppedintothecarriagebelow.Shepulledbackhercowl,blewhairawayfromherfaceandtookstockofhersurroundings.Shewasamongcrates,allofthemmarkedSTARRICKINDUSTRIES.CrawfordStarrick.Themereutteranceofhisnamehadsentherfatherintoa

painfulreverie.HewastheTemplarGrandMaster,themansheandJacobhadpledgedtotopple.NomatterwhatGeorgesaid.NomatterwhattheCouncilweretoapproveornot,thetwinshaddecidedtheirfather’slegacywasbestobservedbyremovingCrawfordStarrickfromhisposition;recoveringtheartefact,takingouthislieutenants,disruptinghisbusinesspractices–allthesewerestepsonapaththatledtothedeathanddishonourofCrawfordStarrick.Justthen,thedoortothecarriageopened,andEvietookcover.Aman

entered:justashapeinthedarkness,framedunsteadilyintheopendoor.Aburlyman,shethought,andtheimpressionwasconfirmedwhentherecametheflareoftinderandheliftedalamptoseeinthegloom.‘Whereisit?’hesaidoverhisshoulder,addressingsomeunseencomrades.

‘Where’sBrewster’ssupplies?’Nowtherewasanamesherecognized.Brewster.Shecrouchedinthe

shadows,waiting.Thismanwouldbeherfirst.Herfirstlivekill,andsheflexedherwrist,feelingthereassuringweightofthegauntletmechanismalongherforearm,itsindividualsectionsmovingeasilyandsilently.Sheremindedherselfthatshewastrainedforthis.Atthesametimesherecalledwhatherfatherhadalwaystoldher–thatnoamountoftrainingcouldprepareyoufortakingaman’slife.‘Takingfromhimeverythingheeverwasandeverythingheeverwill

be,toleavehisfamilygrieving,tobeginawaveofsadnessandsorrowandpossiblerevengeandrecriminationthatmightripplethroughouttheages.’Herfatherknewthattherewasreadyandthentherewasready.AndEviewasready,butwasshereallyready?Shehadtobe.Shehadnochoice.Themanwascursinghismateforacoward.BehindacrateEvieusedtwo

handstoraisehercowl,lettingthefabricsettleoverherhead,takingstrengthandcomfortfromthesymbolismofit,andthenactivatedherblade.Readynow,shegavealowwhistle.‘Who’sthere?’saidthevisitor,raisinghislanternalittleandmovingintothe

carriagetwomoresteps.HedrewlevelwithEvie’spositionandsheheldherbreath,awaitinghermoment.Hereyeswentfromherbladetothespotjustbehindtheguard’searwhereitwouldpenetrate,slicingupintotheskullcavity,intothebrain.Instantpainlessdeath…Butdeathallthesame.Shewasontheballsofherfeetnow,theheelsofher

bootsraisedofftheboardsofthecarriage,onehandsteadyingherselfonthefloorandherbladehandbroughttobear.Hewasherenemy,sheremindedherself.Amanwhostoodalongsidethosewhoplannedtopersecuteandtyrannizeanywhodidnotsharetheiraims.Andpossiblyhedidnotdeservetodie.Butdiehewould,inservicetoacause

thatwasgreaterthanthemboth.Andwiththatthoughtuppermostshestruckfromherhidingplacebehindthe

crateandherbladefounditsmarkandhervictimmadeatinyalmostimperceptiblenoise,afinalcroak,andthenshewashelpinghimtocollapsesilentlytothedirtyfloorofthecarriage.Sheheldhimashedied,thisstranger.Youweremyfirst,shethought,and

silentlyhonouredhim,closinghiseyes.‘It’sneverpersonal,’waswhatFatherhadsaid.Butthenhe’dstoppedhimself.

‘It’srarelypersonal.’Shelaidthemandownandlefthimthere.Itwasn’tpersonal.Now,shethought,asthetrainpulledintothelaboratoryfacility,whatIneedis

adiversion.Ifonlyshecoulduncouplethecarriages…Outsidethecarriagestoodthefirststrongarm’smate.Hehadbeendozingand

shetookhimouteasily.Fatherhadalwayssaiditbecameeasierandhewas

right;shebarelygavehernexttargetasecondthought.Shedidn’tbotherclosinghiseyesandwishinghimwell;shelefthimwherehefellandmovedonuptowardsthelocomotive.Inthenextcarriageshepressedherselfintohidingtoavoidapairofgossipingguards.‘How’sSirDavidandMissThornegettingon?’oneofthemwassaying.‘She’sturneduplikeabadpenny,ain’tshe?’repliedhismate.‘I’llputfive

bobonthingsnotbeingtoherliking.’‘Ain’tlookin’toogoodforoldSirDavidthen.’LucyThorne.Eviehadheardthenameofcourse.WasshewithBrewsterthen?Shelettheguardspassthenmovedquicklythroughthefinalcarriageandto

thecouplingbetweenthelocomotiveandthecarriage.Shedidn’thavelongnow;theywoulddiscoverthebodiesofthemenshehadkilled,andshewasgladofherglovesassheplantedherfeetapartandreachedfortheringofthecouplingpin.Asthewindrushedandthetraintrackspassedbeneathherfeet,shegaveagruntofeffortandwrencheditfree.Smartlyshesteppedontothelocomotive,watchingthecarriagespullaway.

Fromaroundhercameshoutsasthemenoftheyardwonderedwhythecarriageshadbecomedetachedandcamerunningtoinvestigate.Meanwhile,sheclamberedtotheroofofthelocomotive,tryingtotakestockofhersurroundingsasthetraingroundtoahaltintheyardwithascreechofbrakesandcomplainingmetal.Toonesideofher,thewateroftheThamesinletglittereddarkly,totheotherwasthetumultoftheshipyard,withitscranesandrailwayssidingsandrowuponrowofofficebuildingsand…Somethingveryinterestingindeed.Flatteningherselfintoalmostinvisibility,thefirstthingshesawweretwo

figuressherecognized:SirDavidBrewsterandLucyThorne.Thetwoofthemhadbeensurveyingthesuddenchaosaroundthembeforeturningtocontinuetheirprogresstowardsacarriageandcoachmanstationedclosetotheentrancegate.Eviejumpedfromthelocomotive,pleasedherdiversionhadbeenso

diverting,nottomentiongladofthesmokethathunglikeapermanentfuneralshroudoverthesite.Industrializationhasitsbenefits,shethought,asshefollowedthepair,stayingintheshadowsoftheperimeter,gettingagoodlookatherquarry.

LucyThorneworeblack.Ablackhat,longblackglovesandablackcrinolineandbustlegownbuttonedhighonthethroat.Shewasyoung,withattractivelooksoffsetbyascowlthatmatchedherdarkensemble,andasshewalked,disturbinglayersofsmokethathunglikeaship’shammocksinthedimlylityard,itwaswiththequalityofashadow.Asthoughsheweredarknessrepellinglight.Scuttlingbesideher,SirDavidBrewsterwasmaybethreetimesherage,with

afretfulfaceandlongsidewhiskers.OlderthanLucyThorne,heneverthelessseemedcowed,subsumedbythedarknessofher.ThiswasamanwhowasrecognizedastheinventorofthekaleidoscopeandsomethingEvieknewonlyasthe‘lenticularstereoscope’,whateveroneofthosewas.Anervousman,ornervousnowatleast,overawedbythepresenceofLucyThorne,hestruggledtokeepupwithher,andspeakinginawhiningScottishaccenthesaid,‘Ineedtwomoreweekswiththedevice.’Angry,LucyThorneretorted,‘Yourquestionablepracticesarebeginningto

drawunwantedattention.Youhavebeengivenmorethanenoughtimetoachieveresults,SirDavid.’‘Iwasunawarethatyouexpectedmetoperformlikeacockerspaniel.’‘PermitmetoremindyouofyourobligationstotheOrder.’Brewstermadeanexasperatednoise.‘MissThorne,youridemelikea

racehorse.’Astheyreachedthecarriage,thecoachmandoffedathree-corneredhat,

bowedlowandopenedthedoorforLucyThorne,whoacknowledgedhimwithanimperiousnodasshetookherseatandarrangedherskirts,beforeleaningfromtheopendoortoaddressBrewsterafinaltime.‘SirDavid,Iwillreturntomorrow.Ifyouhavenotunlockedthedevice’ssecret,forgetyourdogsandyourhorses.Iwillleaveyoutothewolves.Goodday.’AndwiththattheTemplarcultistindicatedtothecoachman,whoclosedthe

door,tippedBrewsteranimpertinentwinkandresumedhisplaceontheboardtodrivethehorsesandremoveLucyThornefromthechaosoftheshipyard.Asitdroveoff,EviewatchedBrewsterletoutaflabbergastednoisebeforehis

attentionwasdrawntoagroupofmennearby.Evie’sgazewenttheretoo,andwhatshesawwasseveralguardsescortingaflamboyantlyattiredmanacrossthe

yard,themanincustodyprotestingloudly.‘Iwasmerelypromisedatourofthepremises,m’lords.’‘Whosentyou?’demandedoneoftheTemplarmen.Anotherchimedin.‘He’soneofGreen’sspies.’ButBrewsterwasalreadycallingovertothem.‘Getthatmantointerrogation.

ThenIwanthimbroughttothelab.’Eviewatchedhimstill.Thenhergazewenttotheskyoverhead.Bynowthe

canopywasblackwithgatheringclouds,andtheairhadacrackleandtensionaboutitthatmadeastormmoreofacertaintythanever.ShecouldseethatBrewsterthoughtsotoo;hehadspunonhisheelandmovedovertosomethingshehadn’tspottedbefore.Ametalpolefixedintothedirtoftheyard.Somekindoflightningconductor,perhaps?Withanotherlookuptothegatheringclouds,Brewsterbrokeintoasprightlyrunanddisappearedintoadoorofthebuilding,leavingtheuproarofthefacilitybehindhim.Thefirstdropsofrainwerebeginningtofall;themenwerestillattemptingtore-couplelocomotivesandcarriages,whilesimultaneouslyconductinganinquestintohowthetwohadbecomedetached.Evie,theagentofchaos,merelysmiledassheslippedthroughthedoorbehind

Brewster,andjustasshedidsocamethefirstcrackofthunderandtheskywaslitinaflashofblindingwhitelight.Onceinside,sheclungtothewall,stayingwideofthelamps’illuminationand

engagingherbladeatthesametime.Hereyesmovedasshehadalwaysbeentaught:sectionbysectionaroundanygivenspace,identifyinghostiles,pinpointingareasofvulnerability,thinkinglikethefullyfledgedAssassinshewas.However,whatgreetedherwasn’tquitewhatsheexpected.

Shehadanticipatedalaboratory.AccordingtoGeorgeWesthouse’splans–theselfsameplansthatshehadporedoverathomeinCrawley–whereshestoodnow,atthisverypoint–shouldhavebeenthelaboratory.Butitwasn’t.Insteadshewasinaroundhouse,somekindofantechamber,

andtherewasnosignoflaboratoryequipment.Therewerenohostiles.Therewerenopointsofvulnerability.Therewasnothingatall.No,whatwasthat?Therecameashoutfromadooroppositeand,withaquick

glancebacktotheyardoutside,whererainwasfallinghardnowandthemenstillshoutedandcursedoneanother,Evieclosedthedoortotheoutsideandcrossedthefloortotheseconddoor,thisoneajar.Thereshestood,controllingherbreathingasshepeeredcautiouslythroughit.

ThescenethatgreetedherwasjustwhatBrewsterhadordered:aninterrogation.TheTemplarmenhadboundtheirdandilydressedcaptortoachairandthequestioninghadbegun.Perhapsthemanhadexpectedtobebroughtbeforeagentlemanofhighsocial

standing,whowouldapologizeprofuselyfortheroughtreatmenthehadreceivedatthehandsoftheguardsandofferhimbrandyandcigarsinthebackofficepriortoaroundofpunitivesackings.Nosuchluck.He’dbeentossedinachairandtrussedupforburlysecuritytofirequestionsathim.‘Iaskyou,m’lord,’hewassaying,‘can’tagentlemanwanderthetracks?’‘Howdidyoubreakintothelaboratory?Theentranceishidden,’growledone

ofthemen.HehadhisbacktoEviebutshecouldseehewaspullingonapairofblackleathergloves.Theprisoner’seyeswentfromtheglovestothefaceofhisinquisitor,butifhewaslookingforsignsofmercyorcompassionthenhewaslookinginthewrongplace.‘Whatdoyouwishmetoelaborateupon,m’lord?’

Therewasawheedlingtonetohisvoicenow,anunmistakablenoteofforeboding.‘Whosentyou?’demandedtheinquisitor.Heflexedhisfingersinthegloves.

Evieheardanotherunseenmanchortlewithanticipationofthegreatshowtocome.‘Why,Idid,m’lord.Icameonmyowntwofeet.’Nowthesecondthugmovedintoview,thetwoofthemcrowdingtheman

fromEvie’sview.‘Letmeputhisfingersthroughthemangle–’‘Notyet.’Thefirstmanstoppedhismate.‘Notyet.’Heturnedhisattention

backtotheprisoner.‘WasitGreen?’‘Neithergreen,norblacknorbrown,’saidthemaninthechair.‘HenryGreen,’saidamanEviecouldn’tsee.‘Ah,HenryGreen…who’she?’Threateningnow,theunseenmansaid,‘Yourverysoulhangsinthebalance

…Confessormysharpfriendherewillhavehisway.Youshallreturnempty-handed.’Evieheardthedistinctivesoundofaknifebeingdrawnfromitssheath.And,ofcourse,shecouldn’tallowittobeused.Sheflexedthefingersofher

gauntlet,engagedherbladeandthenmovedintotheroomtoconfrontthemen.Therewerethreeofthem.Thismissionwasturningintoquiteatestofher

skills.Thistime?Multipleopponents.Sheweighedup,sheassessedandthenstruck,dancingintowardsagrinning

thugontherightbutatthelastsecondunexpectedlyduckingandswipingherbladeupandacrossthechestofamaninthemiddle.Sherolledandcameupwiththebladeforemost,jammingitthroughthebreastplateofaTemplargoonontheright.Theremaininginquisitor,theslowest,hadbarelydrawnhisswordwhenEviedrewbackherkneeanddeliveredahighkickwiththereinforcededgeofherboot.Damn,shethought,watchingasheropponentstaggeredback.Thecoathad

impededtheheightofherstrike,andinsteadoffinishinghimoffshe’dmerelyunbalancedhim.Atthesametimehe’drecoveredenoughpresenceofmindtodrawhisweaponandevenasshesteadiedherselftomeethisattackhewascomingforward,demonstratingalittlemoreguileandcunningthenshehadoriginallygivenhimcreditfor.

Stupid.Stupidamateur.Evieturnedherheadintimetoavoidthesteelmakingcontactwithherface.Shecheckedbackquicklyandatthesametimetappedherlefthandontheforearmofherrighttoretracttheblade.Nextsheturnedintohisoutstretchedarm,amovementthatwashalfdancestep,halfembracebutwhollydeadlyassheendeditwithajabtothefacefromhergauntletandthenengagedherbladeintohiseyesocket.Blood,brainandeye-fluidsluiceddownhisslackeningcheekasheslumped

tothefloor.Sheshookbloodfromthebladeandsheathedit,andthenturnedtothemaninthechair,whowasgivingherabemusedbutotherwisegood-humouredlook.‘Ah,thankyoukindly,’hesaid.‘Iwasineversuchasqueakyfix,when–

whatdoyouknow?–yourescueme.’‘Where’sthehiddenlaboratory?’sheaskedhim.Themenshe’djustfought

weretakingtheirtimetodie.Gurgles,deathrattlesandthesoundofbootsscrabblingatthebrickinafinalfeebleburstoflifewerethebackgroundtotheirconversation.‘Untieme,andthenwecanparlay,mylady,’bargainedthetrussed-up

prisoner.Evieclimbedastridethemanandpulledherfistback.Hisfacetwistedintoa

mixtureoffearandindecision.Hehadseenthebladeinaction.HehadseenEvieinaction.Hehadnodesiretobeonthereceivingendofeither.Thiswasamanwhohadbeenlulledintoafalsesenseofsecuritybyaprettyfacemanytimesbeforeandwasn’tabouttoletithappenagain.‘I’mpressedfortime,’shesaid,justincaseherintentionsweren’talready

clear.‘Tellmenow.’‘It’sunderground,’heswallowed,inclininghischintowardswhatlookedlike

apanelofsomekindinthewalloftheroundhouse.‘Itrequiresakey.Oneoftheguardsnickedmine,cheekysod.’‘Thankyou,’shesaid,andstood,abouttoleave.‘Nowuntieme.’Sheshookherhead.‘Yougotyourselfin.Itrustyoucangetyourselfout.’Hewasstillcallingoutafterherassheleft.‘Nottoworry,mylady,Icanstill

recallacoupleoftricksfrommycarnivaldays.’

Goodlucktoyouthen,shethought,asshedepartedbyadifferentdoor,nowlookingforanotherguardwhomighthavethekey.ThankGodfortheflappingmouthsofTemplarguards.Shepressedherself

intotheshadowsofapassageway,overhearingtwoofthemdiscussingtheverykeyshesought.‘Whatareyoudoing?Keepthatkeyinyourpocket,orelseMissThornewill

haveyourgutsforgarters.’‘Let’shaveabutcher’sdownstairsthen.Iwanttoseethatartefact.’SodoI,thoughtEvieFrye,assheclaimedanothervictimandrecoveredthe

key.Shereturnedtotheroundhouse,decidingtoreleasetheprisonerifandwhen

thekeyworkedonthepanel,buttoolate–hewasabsent,chairoverturnedandropesdiscardedonthefloor.Shetensedincasehewasplanningtoleapoutatherbut,no,hewasgone.Insteadsheturnedherattentiontothepanelsandwasatlastabletoletherselfintothebuilding’sinnersanctum.Inside,thewallsweredarkandwet.Theymuffledthesoundofthestormand

yetsomehow,here,itfeltasthoughtheelementswereattheirfiercest.Howcouldthatbe?Sherememberedthelightningrodandthoughtofpower

beingdirecteddownhere.Powerneededforanundergroundlaboratory,perhaps?Andthenshecameuponit.Andsheknewshewasright–thatshestoodatthe

veryepicentreofthestorm’schannelledenergy.Andthattheartefactwasclose.

Theflagstonesstretchedawayfromwhereshestoodatthedoor,openingouttoalargevaultedundergroundspacewherescientificapparatusontableslaybetweenTeslacoilsanduprightlightningconductors–allthrobbingwithasteadilyintensifyingenergy.Toomuch?Intheroofofthelaboratoryhungaseriesofharnessesand

platforms.Lightningparticlesseemedtocrackallaroundthem,sparkingandflashing,paintingtheroomasuddenglareofphosphorescentwhite.Attheotherendofthelaboratorywaswhatlookedlikealargeinspectiontube

andinthere,shecouldsee,wastheartefact.StandingnearbywasSirDavidBrewsterwithanassistant,bothporingoverwhatlayontheothersideofthetoughenedglass,theorb-likegoldenApple.Evenfromsofaraway,Eviefoundherselftransfixedbyit.YearsandyearsofresearchintothePiecesofEdenandnowherebeforeherwasarealone.Eviestoodclosebythedoorway,buteventhoughshewaslitbythesudden

lightningflashes,themenweretooabsorbedintheirworktoseeher.Shecreptforward,stillhypnotizedbythesightoftheApplebutabletoeavesdroponBrewsterandhisassistantnow.‘ByJove,underbluelightitgoescompletelytransparent!’exclaimedthe

scientist.Brewsterwasnothinglikethemanhehadbeenbefore:weakandsmallwithin

thedarkshadowofLucyThorne.Nowhewasamaninhisowndomain,incommandonceagain,andfeelingconfidentenoughtothrowafewjibesThorne’sway.‘Thecheekofthatwoman,’heshoutedoverthebuzzingofthelightningconductors,thehissingoftheTeslacoils,therhythmichuffingofautomatedbellows.‘Isay,IoughttoseizetheblastedartefactforEdinburgh.’‘Ifyoudon’tmindmesaying,thatwouldbeanexceptionallybadidea,’

retortedhiscompanion.

‘Why?It’sGod’sapple,nothers.I’ddisplayitinpublic.Darwinwouldbevanquished.BanishedinshametotheblastedGalapagostoroostwithhisbelovedfinches.’‘MissThornewouldhaveyourhead,andMrStarricktherest,’saidhis

colleague.‘Youknow,Reynolds,itmightjustbeworththerisk!’exclaimedBrewster.‘SirDavid,youcannotbeserious.’‘Justaweejoke,Reynolds.Onceweunlocktheartefact’ssecrettheTemplars’

griponLondonwillbefixed.TheAssassinswillfall,andDarwinwillbelittlemorethanabeardedmemory.’Asshedrewcloser,comingoutintotheopennowwherethetwomencould

easilyseeher,shecouldseetheAppleglowing.Brighternow.Litbyanincreasinglyheavyshowerofsparks.Itwastimetomakeithers.Sheengagedherbladeandstruck,andsawtheassistantslideoffherblood-

streakedsteelbeforeBrewsterwasevenalertedtoherpresence.HiseyeswenttohisdeadcompanionandthenbacktoEvieFrye,lookingatheragog,hisbraintryingtomakesenseofthissuddenunexplainedappearance.Andthen,Evieleaptandkilledhim.‘Itistimetolaydownyourhead,SirDavidBrewster,’shesaid,lettinghimto

thefloor.‘ButIhavesomuchmoretodiscover.’Hiseyelidsflickered.Hisbreathingraggednow.‘Donotbeafraid,’shetoldhim.‘Iamnot.Godwillprotectme.’‘Iwillcontinueyourexperiments,’shesaid,andsawitclearly,thepaththat

laybeforeher.Shewouldcarryonwiththelearningthathadbeguninherfather’slibraryatCrawley.Shewouldmakeithermissiontolocatetheartefacts,toharnesstheirpowerandusethemforthebenefitofmankind.Awindofgoodfortune,notill.‘YoucannotstopStarrick,’saidBrewster,hisheadonherkneesassheknelt

withhim.‘MissThornehasalreadyfoundanotherPieceofEden,morepowerfulthanthelast.’

‘Iwilltakethatonetoo,’saidEvie,nevermoresureofanythinginherwholelife.‘Wefighttogainwhatwecannottakewithus,’saidBrewster.‘Itisinour

nature.’Andthenhedied.Evietookoutherhandkerchiefand,inaritualpasseddown

byherfather–onehesaidwasahomagetoAltaïr’sownfeatherceremony–touchedittoBrewster’swound,soakingitwithhisblood.Shefoldedthehandkerchiefandsecreteditinsideherjacket.Inthesamemomenteverythingseemedtohappenatonce:guards,threeof

them,camerushingintothelaboratory.Eviestood,alreadyengagingherbladeandreadyforbattle,justastherecame

asuddenincreaseinelectricalintensity,andtheartefactseemedtobulgewithafreshinfluxofpower–andthenexploded.Eviewasimmediatelybelowtheinspectionglassandprotectedbytheplinth

onwhichitstood.Theguards,however,werenotsolucky.Theywerepepperedwithflyingfragmentsandseemedtodisappearinafogofblood-mistanddebrisasbeams,harnessesandplatformscametumblingdownuponthemfromabove.Eviescrambledtoherfeetandranforthedoor,justasthechainreactionbegan,lightningconductorsburstingintoflame,machineryexplodingwithaflatwhump.Andthenshewasoutside,gratefultobejoiningthosewhoweresprinting

awayfromthefactoryasaseriesofexplosionstoreitapart.

‘Whatwasthatexplosion?’ShehadmetJacobbackattherailyardasarranged.Hetoolookedasthough

hehadseenplentyofactioninthemeantime.Bothwerebloodednow.‘ThePieceofEdendetonatedandtookthelabwithit,’explainedEvie,

finishinghertale.Jacobcurledalip.‘Thatmagiclumpofhyperbolicmetal?I’mshocked.’Sherolledhereyes.Allthosenightsreadingtohim.Impartingthatknowledge

tohim.Theyreally,trulyhadbeenforabsolutelynothing.‘SimplybecauseyouhavenevervaluedthePiecesdoesnot–’AnoldargumentwasabouttoresurfaceuntiltheappearanceofGeorge

Westhouse.‘Allwentaccordingtoplan?’saidtheelderAssassinsardonically.‘Therewasaslight…complication,’repliedEvie,shamefaced.‘Thelabexploded,’saidJacobwithaneyebrowarchedathistwinsister.You

wantsomebodytoblame;theresheis.‘Youderailedatrain,’GeorgeWesthouseremindedhim.‘Ohhedid,didhe?’saidEvie.Jacobshrugged.‘Well,thetrainderailedandIhappenedtobeonit.Ikilled

mytarget.’So,RupertFerris,ofFerrisIronworks,anorganizationthataswellasbeingin

Templarhandsemployedchildlabour,wasdead.‘Brewsterisalsonomore,’saidEvie.‘Then,allinall,asuccessfulmission,inspiteofyoutwo,’saidGeorge.‘WhataboutLondon?’saidJacob.Evieglancedatherbrother.Forherthe

eventsoftheeveninghadbeenanepiphany,asignpostforthewayforward.WasthesametrueofJacob?‘Whataboutit?’askedGeorgecautiously.

‘Wearewastingtimeouthere,’saidJacob,indicatingtherailyardaroundthemandthesuburbs.ThecityofLondonwasclose–yetsofaroutofreach.‘YouknowaswellasIdothatLondonhasbeenthedomainoftheTemplars

forthelasthundredyears.Theyarefartoostrongyet.Patience.’Ethanthoughtdifferently,rememberedGeorge,seeinghisfriend’sbeliefalive

andwellandlivingonwiththetwins.‘ButtheTemplarshavefoundanewPieceofEden,’saidEvie.Georgeshrugged.‘SirDavidisdead;theydonotknowhowtouseit.The

Councilshallguideus;soundadvicethatyourfatherwouldhaveseconded.IshallseeyoubackinCrawley.’ThetwinswatchedGeorgeleavewithsinkingandsomewhatresentfulhearts.

FiresthatburnedbrighthadbeencomprehensivelydousedbyGeorgeandhisinvocationoftheCouncil.Whattheybothknew,ofcourse,wasthattheirfatherwouldcertainlynothaveagreedwiththeremoteAssassinelders.AndwhattheybothalsoknewwasthattheyhadnointentionofabidingbyeitherGeorgeWesthouseortheblamedCouncil.Atrainclatteredslowlypastandblewitswhistle.‘What’sstoppingus?’saidJacob,noddingatit.‘Londoniswaitingtobe

liberated.ForgetCrawley.’‘Fatherwouldhavewantedustolisten…’‘Oh,Father.YoucouldcontinuehislegacyinLondon.’‘FreeingfuturegenerationsfromacityruledbyTemplars.Youknow,Jacob

Frye,youmightjustberight.’‘Then,shallwe?’‘Yes,let’s.’Withthat,thetwoofthemranandboardedthetrainboundforLondon.There,theywouldmeetHenryGreen,‘theAssassinwatchingoverLondon.’Theyknewnothingofhistruehistory.

AfterwhathadhappenedattheMetropolitanline,TheGhosthadstayedintheThamesTunnelforoverayear.Therehehadcontinuedtoprovideareassuringpresencefortheothertunnel

dwellers,thoughintruthhedidlittlebutactasafigurehead.Mostoftheyearwasspentsittingorlyinginhisalcove,grievingforMaggieandfortheotherinnocentliveslostinthefailureoftheoperationtoretrievethePieceofEden.Hecursedtheage-oldhuntfortrinkets,scorningAssassinsandTemplarsandtheirobsessionswithbaubles.Ethanhadcometohiminthetunnel,butTheGhosthaddismissedhisold

mentor.HehadnodesiretoseeEthanFrye.Georgecametoo,andexplainedthattheBrotherhoodneededamaninthe

city.‘Anotherundercoveroperationifyoulike,Jayadeep.Somethingmoresuitedtoyourtalents.’TheGhosthadchuckledatthat.Hadn’tEthanFryesaidtheverysamethingto

himallthoseyearsagoinAmritsar?Somethingmoresuitedforhistalents.Lookhowthathadturnedout.‘Youwouldberequiredsimplytoestablishanidentityasacover,fullstop,’

Georgehadsaid.‘There’snoinfiltrationinvolved.Quitethereverse.Wewantyourcovertobejusttightenoughtoavoiddetectionbutnotsotightthatyoucan’tbegintoassembleanetworkofspiesandinformants.Youaretobeareceptacle,Jayadeep,agathererofinformation,nothingmore.Youhaveawayaboutyou.’Georgehadindicatedalongthetunnel.‘Peopletrustyou.Peoplebelieveinyou.’TheGhostraisedhisheadfromwherehisarmswerecrossedoverhisknees.‘I

amnotaleader,MrWesthouse.’Georgehunkereddown,grimacingashisoldbonescomplainedbutwantingto

sitwithJayadeep,anunknowingechoofatimewhen,inTheDarkness,Ethan

haddonethesamething.‘Youwon’tbealeader,notinthetraditionalsense,’saidGeorge.‘Youwillbe

requiredtoinspirepeople,justasweknowyoucanalreadydo.TheBrotherhoodneedsyou,Jayadeep.Weneededyoubeforeandweneedyounow.’‘IfailedtheBrotherhoodbefore.’Georgegaveashortimpatientsnort.‘Oh,dostopwallowing,man.You’reno

moretoblamethanEthan,ormyself,oraCouncilthatseemsintentonallowingtheenemytoriseunchecked.Please,domethisonefavour.Willyouatleastthinkaboutit?’TheGhosthadshakenhishead.‘Iamneededhereinthetunnelmorethanin

anywar.’‘Thistunnelwillshortlyceasetoexist,’Georgetoldhim.‘Notlikethis,

anyway.It’sbeenboughtbytheEastLondonRailwayCompany.Lookaroundyou,there’snobodyhere.Therearenomorepedestrians,nomoretraderstoservethem,andnonebutthemostdesperatecomeheretosleep.There’sjustyouandafewdrunkssleepingitoffuntiltheycangohometotheirwivesandtellliesaboutbeingrobbedoftheirwages.Theydidneedyouonce,you’reright.Buttheydon’tneedyouanymore.Youwanttoofferyourservicestoyourfellowman,thendevoteyourselftothecreed.’TheGhosthaddeferred.Hehadcontinuedtobrooduntil,asthemonthswore

on,hewasvisitedagain.Anditwasstrange,becauseTheGhosthadspentsomanynightsinthisvery

tunneldreamingofthemanddreamingofhomethatwhenhismotherandfatherappearedtohimheassumedthatthistoowasadream,thathewashavinganawake-dream,hallucinatingtheimageofArbaazandPyarastandingtherebeforehim.Ithadbeenamatteroffiveyearsorso,andtheywerejustasluminousashe

remembered,andaroundthemthedingydarknessofthetunnelseemedtofallaway,asiftheycreatedtheirownlight,standinginfrontofhimcladinthesilkengarmentsoftheIndianBrotherhood,thechainthatranfromthephulathismother’snosetoherearglimmeringinthesoftorangelightofalantern.Nowonderhethoughthewasdreamingatfirst.Theirappearancewasetherealandother-worldly.Amemorymadeflesh.

TheGhostsensedotherfigureshangingbackinthedarknessandcouldmakeoutGeorgeandEthan.Nothen–notadream–andhescrambledtohisfeet,handsreachingouttothewettunnelwalltosteadyhimself,thedizzinessofsuddenlystanding,theweaknesshefelt,havinglanguishedsolong,theemotionofseeinghismotherandfatheragain,makinghimwobbleunsteadily,kneesbuckling,andhisfathersteppedforwardtosupporthim.Ethantoo,andthenthefourAssassinsledJayadeepoutofthetunnel.Outofthedarkness.

HismotherandfatherhadtakentemporaryapartmentsinBerkeleySquare.There,TheGhostsleptinabedforthefirsttimeinaslongashecouldremember;heatewellandhereceivedhismother’skisses,eachonelikeablessing.Meanwhile,betweenTheGhostandhisfatherhungpoisonedair.WasArbaaz

oneofthosewhohadarrestedJayadeepandflunghimintoTheDarkness?WhathadArbaazdone–ornotdone–aboutthedeathsentencepronouncedonhisson?Thequestionswereneverasked.Noanswersoffered.Doubtandsuspicion

remained.SonaturallyTheGhostgravitatedtowardshismother,whobecameaconduitbetweentheelderAssassinsandtherecalcitrantyoungerone.ItwasshewhotoldhimhewouldnotbereturningtoAmritsar.Notnow.Maybenotever.Hisappearancetherewouldposetoomanyquestions,andanywaytheneedsoftheBrotherhoodwerebestservedifheremainedinLondon.TheGhosthadsensedthehandofEthanFryeandGeorgeWesthousebehind

thesedecisions,butheknewhismotheragreedthattheMir’sverypresenceinLondonwasariskandtakingJayadeephomeanunconscionablemagnificationofit.Heconsideredleavingofcourse.ButhewasstillanAssassin,andyoucan’t

turnyourbackonabelief.TheGhosthadseentheartefact’sterrifyingpotentialandknewitshouldberetrieved.Havingpreviouslyfaileddidnothingtochangethat.Oneday,duringthathoney-coatedperiodatBerkeleySquare,hismotherhad

invitedTheGhostforawalk,justherandhim.TheytrodstreetsthrongingwithLondonerswhogoggledathismotherasthoughshewerenotmerelyfromanothercountrybutbelongedtoadifferentspeciesaltogether.Herrobesweresilkbutotherwiseunadornedandinstarkcontrasttothecrinolines,whalebone

corsetry,unwieldyhatsandfussyparasolsoftheindigenouspopulation.Andforallthatnonecouldtouchhismotherforherbeauty.Hehadneverbeenmoreproudofherthanhewasatthatmoment.‘Youareaware,Ithink,ofthecourseofactionthatMrWesthouseandMr

Fryefavour?’shesaidastheywalked.Herarmshunglooselyathersides,shouldersthrustback,chinproud,meetingeverystarewiththesamedignity.‘TheywantmetobesomethingI’mnot,Mother.’‘Theywantyoutobesomethingyoumostdefinitelyare,’sheinsisted.‘A

credittotheBrotherhood.’Heforgothisprideforamoment,headhanginginremembrance.‘No,Iwas

notthat,andfearIneverwillbe.’‘Ah,hush,’shechidedhim.‘Whataloadofrubbish.Didweraiseyouto

welcomedefeatwithopenarms?DoIlookintoyoureyesandseenothingbutsurrender?Ifearyouwillexhaustmypatienceifyou’retocontinuebeingquitesoself-pitying.’‘Self-pitying?Really?Youthinkmeself-pitying?’Sheinclinedherheadwithasmile.‘Maybealittle,sweetheart,yes.Justa

touch.’Hethoughtaboutthat.Thensaidtartly,‘Isee.’Theycontinuedtheirpromenade,headingalittleoffthebeatentracknow,

towardsthelesssalubriousareasoftown.‘I’vehurtyourfeelings,’shesaid.‘Nobodylikestothinkofthemselvesasasulkychild,’headmitted.‘Youareneverthat,andmakingthisjourneytoseeyou,I’vefoundmychild

hasgrownintoaman.’Hegaveaderisivesnort.‘Someman.Incapableofcompletinghisblooding.’‘Thereyougoagain…’‘Sorry,Mother.’TheyhadmadetheirwaythroughwindingsidestreetsintoWhitechapel,until

theyfoundthemselvesinfrontofashop,wherehismotherstopped,turnedandreachedtotakeherson’sfaceinherhands.‘You’resomuchtallerthanmenow.’‘Yes,Mother.’‘Yousee?You’reamannow.Amanreadytoshedthechildishconceitsof

self-admonishment,guilt,shame,whateverotherpoisonousemotionscrowding

thatheadofyours,andtakeupthenextphaseofyourdestiny.’‘Isitwhatyouwish?’Shedroppedherhandsandhalfturnedawaywithalaugh.‘Ah,nowyou’re

asking,Jayadeep.Dear,sweetJayadeep,growninsideofme,broughtintotheworldandnursedbyme.Whatmotherdreamsofhersongrowingupakiller?’‘AnAssassin,Mother.AgreatAssassin,notagreatkiller.’‘YoucanbeagreatAssassinwithoutbeingagreatkiller,Jayadeep.It’swhatI

hopeforyounow.It’swhywearehere.Fornowyouhavereconciledyourselftoyournewlife;Iwelcomeyoutoit.’Shewasindicatingtheshopinfrontofwhichtheystood.Hiseyeswenttoit,a

grimywindowcrowdedwithdustyknick-knacks,bric-a-bracandgewgaws.‘Acurioshop?’hesaidtoher.‘Justtherightthingforanenquiringmindsuchasyours,’shetoldhim.‘I’mtobeashopkeeper,’hesaidflatly.‘Let’sgoinside,shallwe?’Sheproducedakeyfromwithinherrobesandmomentslatertheystepped

intothecrowdedbutsomehowcomfortingsurroundingsoftheshop.Insideitseemedtostretchbackalongwayintospectralandmysteriousdepths,andwhentheyclosedthedoortheywerecutofffromthesoundsofthestreetoutside.Dustdancedinshaftsoflightthatleakedthroughdirtywindowsobscuredbypiled-hightrinkets.Shelvesheavedandbulgedwithavarietyofgoodsthatwerelittlemorethanindistincttwilightshapes.Helikeditatonce.Butevenso–ashop.‘IbelieveitwasNapoleonwhosaidthatEnglandwasanationof

shopkeepers,’smiledhismother.Shecouldseehewasintrigued,andthathelikedthepremisestoomuchtosimplydismissthemoutofhand.‘Howfitting,then,tobecomeashopkeeper.’Theymadetheirwayalonganarrowpassagewaybetweenshelvesthat

groanedwitheveryconceivableornament.Herewasonecrammedwithdustybooks,anotherthatseemedindangerofsimplycollapsingbeneaththeweightofthechinapiledontoit.Hesawpressedflowersunderglassandfoundhewasstillabletonamethem,thankstomemoriesofhismotherinAmritsar.Shesawhimlooking,andtheysharedaglance,andhewonderedhowcarefullytheseitemshadbeenchosenandplaced.Afterall,hismotherhadevidentlybeenhere

before.Astheypassedalonganarrowpassagewaysheindicatedmorethingsshethoughtmightbeofinteresttohim:atrayofclockworkcomponentsthatexcitedhimonsight,takinghimbacktomorebarelyrememberedhoursasachild,whenhehadporedoverbrokenclocksandclockworktoys.Notfarawayabureaugroanedbeneaththeweightofamultitudeofcrystalballs,asthoughtheshophadbeenvisitedbyagangofhard-upfortunetellers,andherecalledhavingbeenfascinatedbythemasachild.Sheledhimtothebackoftheshopwhereshedrewacrossathickfloor-to-

ceilingcurtain,usheringhimintoaworkroombeyond,pickingupaherbariumthatshehandedtohim.‘Here.It’ssomethingofaBritishpastime.’Heopenedit,findingitempty.‘Foryoutofill,’shesaid.‘Iremembergatheringflowerswithyou,Mother,athome.’‘Theyallhavesymbolicmeanings,youknow.’‘Soyouoftentoldme.’Shechuckledandthen,ashelaiddownthebook,indicatedtheirsurroundings.

‘Whatdoyouthink?’sheaskedhim.Helookedather,thinkinghisheartmightbreakwithlove.‘Ilikeit,’hetold

her.Onatableintheworkroomwerefolded-upclothesandascrollthatshe

pickedupandhandedtohim.‘Thesearethedeeds.Itbelongstoyounow.’‘HenryGreen,’hereadfromthescrollasheunfurledit.‘Thatistobemynew

namenow?’‘YoualwayslikedthenameHenryand,afterall,you’rewearingagreenhat,’

saidPyara.‘Andbesides,it’sanEnglishshopkeeper’snameforanEnglishshopkeeper.Welcometoyournewlife,Henry.FromhereiswhereyoucanoverseetheAssassinfightbackinthecityandcontrolyourinformationmatrix.Whoknows?Perhapsyoumightbeabletoselltheoddcuriowhileyou’reheretoo.Now…’Shereachedforthesmallpileofclothes.‘Anoutfitofwhichyoucanatlastbeproud.’Topreservehismodestysheturnedroundashechangedandthenswungback

toadmirehim.Hestoodthere,resplendentinflowingsilkyrobesedgedwithgold,aleathercheststrap,softslippers.

‘Nomorebarefeet,Jayadeep,orshouldIsay,Henry,’hismothersaid.‘Andnow,onelastthingtocompletethepicture…’Shereachedtoaboxthatalsolayonthetable.Henryhadseenitslikebefore,

knewexactlywhatitcontained,andhereachedforitwithamixtureofgratitudeandtrepidation.Sureenough,itwashisoldblade.Hestrappedittohiswrist,enjoyingthefeelofitthereagain,afterallthistime.HewasnolongerTheGhostnow.HewasHenryGreen.

Andsotothetwins.‘TwoAssassins,’saidHenry,onarooftopoverlookingthecity,‘equalin

height.Onefemale,onemale.Twodecadesold,andthosedevilishsmiles.YoumustbetheFryetwins.’Heassessedthemimmediately:yes,thesmileswerevery‘Ethan’.Otherwise,

theyseemedtoincorporatedifferingqualities.Jacob:arrogant,impatient,alittlerougharoundtheedges;forHenryitwasambivalenceatfirstsight.Evie,ontheotherhand…‘Andyouare…?’shesaid.Hisrobesflappedinthebreezeashegaveashortbow.‘HenryGreenatyour

service,miss.’Hepaused.‘Iwassorrytolearnofyourfather’spassing.’‘Thankyou,’shesaid,andhereyesdippedinsorrowbeforefindinghimagain

andholdinghiminagazeinwhichheswaminforamomentorso,reluctanttocometothesurface.‘WhatcanyoutellusaboutCrawfordStarrick?’saidJacobatlast,anditwas

withsomereluctancethatHenryturnedhisattentiontotheothertwin,slightlyirritatedathavingthespellbrokenandassessingEvie’sbrotherafresh.‘IsupposetheCouncildesiresnews,’hesaid,rememberinghimself.‘Londonmustbefreed.Toprovideabetterfutureforallitscitizens.’The

convictionlitEvie’sfaceasshespoke.Itdancedinhereyesandmadeherevenmorebeautiful,ifthatwerepossible.‘ThankgoodnesstheCouncilsawreasonandsentyoutoaidus.’‘Yes,thankgoodness,’saidJacobinatoneofvoiceHenryrecognized.Young

customerswhothoughthimacluelessIndianshopkeeper.Hewentonanyway.‘I’mafraidIdonothavepleasantnews.Today,Starrick

sitsatthehelmofthemostsophisticatedTemplarinfrastructureeverbuiltinthe

Westernworld.HisreachextendsallacrossLondon.Everyclass,everyborough,theindustries,thegangs…’Jacobpreened.‘I’vealwaysthoughtIwouldmakeamarvellousgangleader.

Firmbutfair.Strictdresscode.Unitingamixofdisenfranchisedoutsidersunderonename.Evie,that’sit.Wecanrallythemtoourside.’Evieshothimawell-practisedlookofreproach.‘Oh?Thewayyourallied

thosecardplayersattheOakbrookTavernintotheriver?’‘That’sdifferent.Theybeatmeatwhist.’Hestaredoffintothedistance.‘Ican

seeitnow.We’llcallourselvestheRooks.’‘Youwerenevergoodatchess,either,’shesaid,castingasidewayslookat

Henry,apologizingforherbrother.‘Youhaveabetterplan?’Jacobwassaying.HereyeswereonHenry,akindredspirit.‘FindthePieceofEden.’Jacobmadeadisgustedsound.‘Well.’Henryclearedhisthroat.‘Nowyou’vequitefinished…’

Later,Henrytookthemtohisshop.Intheyearssincehismotherhadunveiledit,nothinghadchanged.Businessincurioswasn’texactlyboomingbutthatdidn’tmatter;sellingknick-knackswasn’thisprimaryobjectiveandhisotherbusinessofassemblingresearchintotheartefactsandmonitoringTemplaractivitiesthroughagrowingcoterieofinformantswasflourishing.GeorgeWesthousehadbeenright,HenryusedthesameinnatetalentsthathadendearedhimtothetunneldwellerstocourtthepooranddispossessedofWhitechapel.Hehadcultivatedthemalmostunknowingly:alittleprotection,oneortwomoneylenderstaughtalesson,apimpshowntheerrorofhisways,aviolentfatherwhoneededremindingofhisresponsibilities.Hehadmanageditusingthreatandinsinuation.Hiscombatskillsfallingintodisusesuitedhimfine;heneverwasawarrior.HisgangwasunlikeothersthatroamedtheEastEnd–likeJacobwishedhis‘Rooks’wouldbe–thatwerebuiltonhierarchicalprinciplesofpowerandviolence.Hisranalongfarmorebenignprinciples.Theirleaderhadearnedtheirrespect,andalsotheirlove.‘OvertheyearsIhaveestablishedanumberofconnectionsacrossthecity,’

wasallhesaidnow.‘Splendid!’repliedEvie.‘We’llneedfocusedaid–’‘Focusedaid?’scoffedJacob.‘No,whatweneedtodoistakeoverStarrick’s

gangstocripplehiscontrol.’‘You’renotaiminghighenough,’saidEvieexasperatedly.‘Starrickhas

influenceineverybranchofsociety.Weneedtomatchhim.’‘Iseewhatyou’resaying,Evie.WeneedtheRooks.’Sheshookherhead,repeatinganoft-statedmaxim.‘You’renotstartingagang

calledtheRooks.WeneedtolocatethePieceofEden.’‘No.WeneedtoreclaimLondonfromStarrick.Justtellmemytargets…’‘No.’

‘What?’‘It’snottimeforthatyet.’‘Ididn’tcomeheretohuntdowncurios.’‘“Firstunderstandthedance,onlythenbecomethedancer”,’shesaid,quoting

somethingsaidtothemmanytimesovertheyears.‘Oh?Soyou’retakingoverwhereFatherleftoff?’‘Someonehasto.’

‘Well,Freddie,it’snicetoseeyou.’AbberlinesatinthefrontroomofMrandMrsAubreyShaw’sStepneyrooms

andrememberedatimewhenhewasgiventhewarmestofwelcomesbyMrsShawandhertwochildren,whenhehadferventlywishedhehadbetternewstoimpart.Nowwasthesame.Exceptthistime…‘Wouldyoulikeacupoftea,Freddie?’Withoutwaitingforananswer,MrsShawdeparted,leavingthetwomen

together.‘Well,’repeatedAubrey,‘it’sgoodtoseeyou,Freddie.SergeantFrederick

Abberline,asIliveandbreathe.Fresh-facedFreddiefinallycameofage,eh?Ialwaysknewyou’ddoit,mate.Ofallofusyouwerealwaysthedeadcerttodowellintheforce.’AubreynowranabutchershopinStepneyGreen.Abberlinehadswiftly

discovereditwasgoodtohaveabutcherfriend.Especiallywhenitcametocultivatingcontacts,becauseitwastrue:Abberlinehaddonewellintheforce.AmannamedEthanFryehadintroducedhimtoanotherman,HenryGreen,whomAbberlinehadrecognizedastheIndianladfromthedig.Aboutthat,hewassworntosecrecybutonlytoohappytomaintaintheconfidence.Afterall,EthanFryehadsavedhislife.HeandHenryhadgoneupagainstCavanaghandco.AsfarasAbberlinewasconcerned,thatputthemfirmlyonhisteam.Anditwasfunny,becauseAbberlinehadnevergottothebottomofwhat

happenedattheMetropolitandig.The‘powerfulobject’,thatEthanhadtoldhimabout,well,Abberlinehadimaginedsomekindofweapon,somethingthatsetoffanexplosion.Towhatend,hehadnoidea.ButCavanaghhaddied,histhreelieutenantsweredeadtoo,andasfortheotherone,theclerk?Well,hehadturnedouttobeworkingforathirdparty,andthatwaswhenithadgot

complicated;whenitcamedowntowhatEthandescribedasage-oldenemies:menwhomoveamongusplottingtowrestcontrolofman’sdestiny.AndthatwasplentyforAbberline.Thathadbeenenoughtoconvincehimto

stopaskingquestions,becausesomehowaferventlyheldbeliefofhisown–thatthereareforcesbeyondourcontrolmanipulatingusfromonhigh–haddovetailedwithoneofAubrey’sferventlyheldbeliefs:thatsometimestherearenoanswers.SoFrederickAbberlinehadacceptedthattherewerethingshecouldn’t

change,butpledgedtofightforthethingshecouldchange,andgavethanksforbeingabletotellthedifferencebetweenthetwo.Meanwhile,HenryGreen,itemerged,hadbuiltupacommunityofloyalinformantsinWhitechapel.Abberlinejoinedhisgang,sometimesthebeneficiaryofinformation,sometimesabletopassinformationon.Inotherwordsthesituationwaswhatyou’dcallmutuallybeneficial.Andfor

thefirsttimesincethemessattheMetropolitan,thenewlymintedSergeantAbberlinehadthoughthewasmakingprogress.Doingabitofgoodinthisworld.Why,he’devenmetawoman,Martha,falleninloveandgotmarried…And

there,unfortunately,hisrunofgoodfortunehadcometoanend.‘Freddie,issomethingwrong?’Aubreywassaying.Thesmileonhislipshad

diedatthesightofhisfriend’sforlornfeatures.‘Thisisjustasocialvisit,isit?You’venotgotanythingtotellme?YouandMartha?Youhaven’thadafall-out,haveyou?’Freddiewrunghishandsbetweenhisknees.Hehadbecomeadeptatdisguise.

HispenetrationofWhitechapelsometimesdependedonhisabilitytomoveinthestreetsunrecognized,unnoticed,unremarked.TherewereoccasionswhenithadprovedinvaluabletoHenry’sgang.Hewishedforadisguisenow,sothathewouldn’tfeelsoveryexposed.‘No,Aubs,andIcan’ttellyouhowmuchIwishthatwehadjustfallenout,

becausethenmydearMarthawouldbealiverightnow.’‘Oh,Freddie,’saidMrsShawfromthedoor.Shehurriedin,placedthetrayof

teathingsonthetablethencameovertoAbberlinewhereshekneltandtookhishand.‘Wearesoverysorry,aren’twe,Aubrey?’

Aubreyhadstood,painfully.‘Ohmy,andthetwoofyouonlymarriedamatterofmonths.’Abberlineclearedhisthroat.‘Shewasclaimedbytuberculosis.’‘That’sagreatshame,Freddie.MeandAubreyalwaysthoughtyouwent

perfecttogether.’‘Wedid,MrsShaw,wedid.’Forsometimetheysat,andthen,notquiteknowingwhatelsetodo,Mrs

Shawservedtheteaandthenthethreeofthemsatinsilenceforalittlelonger,thetwoShawshelpingFrederickAbberlinetogrieve.‘Whatnow,Freddie?’saidAubrey.Abberlineplacedhiscupandsauceronthetabletop.Onlythetealeavesknew

whatthefutureheldinstoreforhim.‘Timewilltell,Aubrey,’hesaid.‘Timewilltell.’

Weekspassed.ThetwinsmadetheirmarkinLondon.DespiteEvie’sprotestations,Jacobhadsetuphisgang,theRooks,andestablishedthemasaforceinthecity.Meanwhile,theyhadliberatedtheurchins,JacobhadassassinatedthegangleaderRexfordKaylock,thetwinshadfoundatrainhideoutandtheyhadsecuredthetrustofFrederickAbberline,whohadpromisedtoturnablindeyetotheiractivities.AndwhileJacob’sattentionwasfocusedonbuildingthereputationofhis

gang,EviehadthrownherselfintoinvestigatingthePieceofEden.‘Ah,anotherexcitingnighthomeforEvieFrye,’hehadsaid,spyingherwith

letters,mapsandassortedotherdocuments.Perhapshehadn’tspottedthefactthatshewasalsostrappingonhergauntletatthetime.‘Justonmywayout,actually,’shesaid,withmorethanahintofprideinher

voice.‘IfoundthePieceofEden.’Asusual,itwaslostonJacob,whorolledhiseyes.‘What’sthisonegoingto

do?Healthesick?Deflectbullets?Controlthepopulace?’‘Theyaredangerousobjects,Jacob.EspeciallyinTemplarhands.’‘YousoundexactlylikeFather.’‘Ifonly.’Nowshedrewherbrother’sattentiontoanimageofLucyThornethatlayon

thetable.MoreandmoreoftenlatelyEviehadfoundhergazegoingtoit,rememberingtheintimidatingwomanshehadseenintheshippingyard.‘LucyThorneisexpectingashipmenttonight.SheisStarrick’sexpertintheoccult.IamnearlycertainsheisreceivingthePieceofEdenSirDavidBrewstermentioned.’Jacobsniffedaction.‘Soundslikefun.MindifIjoinyou?’‘Promiseyouwillsticktothemission?’‘Iswear.’

Ashortwhilelatertheywereatthedocks,wheretheyflattenedthemselvestotheroofofawarehouseoverlookingthemaindockingareainordertowatchboxesbeingunloadedbelowthem.Theresheis,thoughtEvieexcitedly.LucyThorne.Theoccultistwasdressed

inhercustomaryblack.EviewonderedifshemournedthelossofBrewster’sPieceofEden.LucyThorne’swordsdrifteduptothemasshetookoneofthementotask.

‘Thecontentsofthatboxareworthmorethanyourlifeandthoseofyourentirefamily,’shesnapped,onebonyfingerpointingataspecificcrate.‘Doyouunderstand?’Themanunderstood.HedoubledtheguardthenturnedbacktoLucyThorne.

‘Now,MissThorne,there’sthematterofsomepapersforMrStarrick.Ifyou’djustcomethisway…’Reluctantlyshefollowedhim.Fromtheirvantagepoint,EvieandJacob

assessedthesituation.‘Whateveritisshe’safter,it’sinthatchest,’saidEvie.Theycasttheireyes

aroundthedocks,notingTemplargunmenontherooftops.Meanwhile,thecratethatwassuddenlyasprecioustothemasitevidentlywastoLucyThornehadbeenloadedwithothersontoaflatbedhorse-drawnwagon.Aguardstoodholdingthereins.Twootherguardsclosebyweremutteringdarklyabouttheirterrifyingboss,aswellasspeculatingwhatmightbeinthepricelesscrate.Jacobslippedoffhistophatandraisedhiscowl,hisownlittleritualbefore

action,andthen,withawinkatEvie,helefttodealwiththeguardsontherooftops.Shewatchedhimgobeforemakingamoveherself,scuttlingsilentlytothe

edgeoftheroofthendroppingdowntocrouchbyalargewatercontainerbeneathadrippingdownpipe.Withoneeyeonthemenguardingthecart,shekeptwatchonJacob’sactivitiesabove.Therehewas,movinguponanunsuspectingsentry.Hisbladeroseandfell.Themanfellsilently,aperfectassassination,andEviehissedaquietcongratulationthroughherteeth.Itdiedonherlips.Thesecondgunmanhadseenhiscomradefallandhad

broughthisrifleuptohisshoulder.AsJacobdashedacrosstherooftoptowardsthegunman,herbrothermoving

fasterthantheguardcouldtakeaimandsqueezethetrigger,Evieherselfscooted

outfrombehindthewaterbarrel.Shecameupbehindthetwomenwhostoodattherear,bothofwhomhadtheirbackstoher.Pivoting,sheunleashedakickattheneckofthefirstman.CleverEvie.Shehadrememberedtoundohercoatthistime,andtheluckless

sentrywassmashedforwardintothecart,noseandmouthcrunchingasecondbeforeheleftabloodystreakonthecratesasheslidtothedirt.Eviehadalreadyswungtoherleft,bringinghergauntlethandroundand

punchingthesecondguardinthesideofthehead.Thismanhadapproximatelyhalfasecondtoliveandhespentitfeelingdazedandoffbalance,beforeEviepulledherelbowback,engagedherbladeandthrustitintohistemple.Bynowthethirdsentryhadmadehisescape,andthegunmanontherooftoplaydead.Butitwastoolate.Thealarmhadbeenraised,andjustasshepulledherselfuptothewagonandusedherbladetoleverthenailedlidofthecrateopenJacobhadjumpedfromtheroofofthewarehouseoppositeandcomesprintingacrosstheaprontowardsthewagon.‘Ithinkit’sbestweleave,’hesaid,andneverwasatruerwordspoken.The

dockswereinuproar.Doorsofwarehousesflewopentodecantmeninbowlerhats,snarlingdogsintweedsuits,allofthembearinggunsorsteel.EversinceEvieandJacob’sactivitiesinthecityhadattractedtheattentionoftheTemplars,they’dhiredthemostmercenary,ruthlessandbloodthirstyunderlingstheycouldlaytheirhandson,andheretheywere,pilingout,withLucyThornescreamingdirectionsatthem.Mencamepilingoutofthemeetingroom,withLucyThornescreaming

directionsatthem.Shehadpickedupherskirtsandwithagreatandrighteousangercamebarrellingoutofhermeeting,onlytofindherpreciouscargowasonthemove.Thereweretwinspotsofemotionathercheeksandhervoicewasascreech.‘Getafterthem!Getafterthem!’Eviehadabriefimpressionofthatface.Alingeringglimpseoffurytomatch.

Andthechasewason.WithJacobatthereinstheircarriageflewoutofthedockyardandintothe

wasteareathatwasitshinterland.OnthetopofthewagonEviehungontight.Hercowlbillowedwiththeonrushingwindasthehorsesgainedspeed.ShewantedtoscreamatJacobtogomoreslowly,butoutofthedockyardsemergedasecondcarriage,aporcupineofTemplarmen.

OntheboardwasLucyThorne,resemblingaravenwithcrinolinewings.Thoughshehadn’tquitelostherblackcomposure,ithadcertainlybeenrattledknowingshehadletthepreciouscrateoutofhergrasp,andshewaspointingandscreaming,herexactwordslostinthewindbuthermeaningveryclearindeed:getthetwins.Nowthecarriagescameburstingoutofthedocksandcareeredleftonto

RatcliffeHighway.Tallbuildings,shopsandflat-frontedtenementslinedeithersideofthestreet,windowslookingimpassivelydownonahighwaypackedwithwagonsanddocktrafficbelow.RatcliffeHighway,astreetnotoriousforitsviolence,wasnowwitnessingmoreofit.Therattleofthetwowagonsoverthecobbleswasalmostdeafening.Eviewas

terrifiedthewheelswouldcomeloose.Meanwhileshewasdesperatelytryingtomakesenseofwhatshesawinthecrate–acacheofdocumentationandabookinscribedwiththeAssassincrest–aswellastryingtoclingon.Ashotrangoutandsheheardabulletwhistlepasthercheek,eyesreflexivelygoingtoJacobtocheckhewasallright.And,yes,hewasallright.Hiscowlflappedinthewind,hisarmsspreadwide

ashehandledthereins,intermittentlyyellinginsultsoverhisshoulderattheirpursuersandurgingthehorseson.Aheadofthempedestriansscattered,tradersflungthemselvesontheir

barrowstostopproducetakingflight,coachmensteadiedtheirhorsesandshooktheirfistsangrily,andstillthecartsthunderedon.Anothershot.Evieflinchedbutsawittakealumpoutofbrickworknearby,

evenastheyracedpast.Nowwhatcametoheroverthecrashofcartwheels,thescreamingofterrifiedpedestriansandspookedhorseswastheincreasinglypanickedurgingsofLucyThorne.Herheadwhippedroundandonceagainthetwowomenlockedstares.LucyThorneseemedtosimmerwithhatredfortheyoungAssassin.Whateverwasinthispackingboxwasimportanttoher,importanttotheTemplars–andthereforeimportanttoEvie.Ifshecouldkeepholdofit.Anditwasabigif.Jacobwasdrivingasfastashecouldbuttheirpursuers

weregaining,theTemplarspullinglevelnow.Eviesawthemenhangingon,pullingpistols–andthenrememberedthatthankstoHenryGreenshenowhadoneofherown.

Withonehandsteadyingherselfonthecrate,shepulledtheColtfromwithinherjacket,drewabeadonthemannearestwhowasaiminghisownweapon,andfired.Eviewasnotasgoodwithagunasshewaswithablade,butwasagoodshot

nevertheless,andherbulletwouldhavemadeanewholeintheman’sforeheadwereitnotforthefactthathiscartsuddenlylurchedasthewheelshitapothole.Asitwas,heclappedhishandtohisshoulderandscreamed,droppinghisownpistol,onlyjuststoppinghimselffrombeingflungoutofthewagonandontothecobblesbelow.Meanwhile,theTemplars’wagonhadgonedangerouslyoffcourse,thedriver

desperatelytryingtokeepitfromtippingover.EvenLucyThornehadstoppedherscreamingandwashangingontotheboardsfordearlife,herhatathingofthepast,herhairtossedaboutbythewind.Theothercarttriedtoramthem.Moreshotsrangout.NextEviesawTemplar

thugspreparingtojumpfromonewagontothenext,LucyThorne’sordersbecomingincreasinglymorethreateningasshepicturedthetwoAssassinsescapingwithherdocuments.‘Look.’Jacobwaspointing,andsureenough,thereinthedistance,rattling

alongtheBlackwallrailwayline,wasthetrainthattheAssassinshadmadeintotheirhideout.SeeingithadgivenJacobanidea.Theycouldmakeasharprightinto

RosemaryLaneandthen,aslongastheytimeditright,theywouldbeintheperfectpositiontoleapfromthecartontothetrain.Itwouldmeanhavingtoleavethechestbehind,butthetwins,withtheirpreternaturallink,seemedtodecideonthatcourseofactiontogetherwithoutactuallysayingasmuch.TheyreachedthejunctionofRatcliffeHighwayandRosemaryLane,and

Jacobwrenchedthehorsestotheright,alreadybeginningtogettohisfeet,tryingtocontrolthematthesametimeashepreparedtomakethejump.Theywerelevelwiththetrainnow.Eviehadnochoicebuttomakethejump.

WithacryoffrustrationshegrabbedthenotebookadornedwiththeAssassincrest–itwasallshecouldtakewithher–thrustitintohercoatandthen,asherbrotherleaptfromthewagonandintoanopencargodoorofthetrain,shedidthesame.

Thetwoofthemlandedheavilyontheboards:Jacobexuberant,flushedwithexcitement;Evietheopposite.Allshehadtoshowfortheeveningwasonedog-earednotebook.Andforherthatwasn’tgoodenough.

EvieandJacobcontinuedtoputtheirstamponLondon,manoeuvringtheAssassinsintowhatmusthavebeentheBrotherhood’sstrongestpositionforacentury.TheyevengavemedicinetothesickofWhitechapel–likeHenrytheywerewinningheartsandminds.And,ofcourse,theTemplarswerenothappy.TheirGrandMasterCrawford

StarrickwasgivenupdatesofAssassinactivity,receivingthemfromhispositionatthemahoganydeskofhisoffice.‘JacobFryeintendstoendangerallofLondonatthehandsofthemob,’his

lieutenantJamesBrudenelltoldhim.‘Orperhapshedoesn’tintendmuchofanythingatall,’chimedinPhilip

Twopenny,asStarrickaddedacubeofsugartohistea.‘Perhapsheissimplycontenttodicewithourlives.’Starrickliftedhisteacuptobreatheinitsscent.Hishandlebarmoustache

quivered.‘Gentlemen,’hesaid,‘thisteawasbroughttomefromIndiabyship,thenup

fromtheharbourtoafactory,whereitwaspackagedandferriedbycarriagetomydoor,andpackedinthelarderandbroughtupstairstome.Allbymenandwomenwhoworkforme,whoareindebtedtome,CrawfordStarrick,fortheirjobs,theirtime,theverylivestheylead.Theywillworkinmyfactoriesandsotooshalltheirchildren.AndyoucometomewithtalkofthisJacobFrye?ThisinsignificantblemishwhocallshimselfanAssassin?Youdisrespecttheverycitythatworkeddayandnightsothatwemaydrinkthis.Thismiracle.Thistea.’LucyThornehadenteredtheroom.Shetookaplacebyhermaster’sside.The

terrifyingvisionatopthewagonnolonger,herhatwasonherhead,hercomposurerepaired.‘Iamnearingtheendofmyresearch,’shesaid.‘OurbelovedLondonshall

notsuffersuchabothersomefoolformuchlonger.’

‘AndwhatofthissisterIhearof?MissFrye?’askedStarrick.LucyThornepursedherlips.‘MissFryeshallbeguttedsoonenough.’

Oblivioustotheforceswhoplottedagainstthem,EvieandHenry’sresearchcontinuedathisshopandintheirhideout.‘YoumaynothavefoundaPieceofEden,’hetoldher,tryingtoconsoleher,‘butthismaterialisinvaluable.’Shelookedathimgratefullyandthepairheldeachother’sgazeuntilEvie

gaveanawkwardlittlecoughandlookedaway.Togethertheywentbacktolookingatthenotebookrescuedfromthecrate,untilHenryhitonsomething.‘Look.ItsaysthattheLondonAssassinshadfoundashroud.’Ashroud.EviecameclosetoreadoverHenry’sshoulder.Closerthansheneededto.

Bothknewit.Bothmaintainedcontact,tinylittleshocksrunningthroughthem.‘TheShroudofEdenissupposedtohealeventhegravestinjury,’Evieread.

‘IftheAssassinshadfoundsomethinglikethat,surelyFatherwouldhaveknown.’No,hewasobsessedwiththeMetropolitanartefact,thoughtHenry.Theapple

ofhiseyewastheApple.‘Theremustbesomethingwe’remissing,’hesaid.AsifoncueEviesawhowdocumentsinsertedintothenotebookcame

togetherasamap.Havingstudiedit,shesnatcheditup,goingtoleave.‘Aren’tyoucoming?’shesaidHenry.Helookedawkward.‘Fieldworkisnotmyspeciality.’‘Wefoundacluetoaprecursorobject–don’tyouwanttofollowit?’Hedidofcourse.HewantedtostaywithEvietoo.‘Putthatwayonecan

hardlyrefuse.’

Thetwoofthemfollowedthemap,excitedbythenewdiscoveryandthrilledtobeineachother’scompany,asittookthemtooneofthemorewell-to-doareasofthecity,wherethestreetswerelesscrowdedandthehousesmoregrand.

SomethingoccurredtoHenry.CouldtheybeheadinginthedirectionofQueenSquare?‘Doyouknow,IthinkthismapmaybetakingustotheKenwaymansion,’he

said.‘Kenway?Thepirate?’‘MasterAssassinandpirate,yes.’‘It’ssurprisingthatyouhaven’talreadysearchedthehouse.Kenwaywasan

Assassin,afterall.’‘Edward’ssonHaythamjoinedtheTemplars.Theyownthehousenow.’‘SotheTemplarsownahousewithAssassintreasuresstoredinit–andhave

neverlocatedthem?’Henrygaveashortsmile.‘Wemustbebetterathidingthingsthantheyare.’Theycameintothesquare,whichevenHenryknewhadchangedoverthe

years.OncenamedQueenAnne’sSquare,ithadbeenlinedwithmansionsonallsides,theKenways’amongthem,andthoughthestatueremainedinplace,andthealehouseonthecorner,theQueen’sLarder,hadstayedopenforbusinesssincetimeimmemorial,themansionshadsincebeenoccupiedbyhospitalsandothercharitableinstitutions,aswellasbooksellersandprinters.Therewerefewerbuildingsusedasdomicilesnow,buttheKenways’mansion

wasamongthem.ThiswaswhereEdwardKenwayhadlivedonhisreturntotheseshores.Hisson,Haytham,hadbeeninductedintotheTemplars,alongandghastlystorythathadseenfatherpittedagainstson.JenniferScott,Edward’sdaughterandHaytham’shalf-sister,hadspentyears

livingthere,cursingAssassinandTemplarequally,thoughcontinuingtoenjoythebenefitsofherlinkstoboth,notleastofthembeingthegrandhomeonwhathadsincebeenrenamedQueenSquare.ThereJenniferhadremained,occasionallyventuringforthtoproposethat

AssassinsandTemplarsshouldseeksomeaccord,untilherdeathofoldagewhentheLondonTemplars–andprobablytheAssassinsaswell–breathedasighofrelief.EvieandHenrycameontothesquarenow,passingtheRomanCatholicAged

PoorSocietyandtheSocietyofStVincentdePaul,beforeEviesuddenlygroundtoahalt,draggingHenrytowardsthescantshelterofironrailingsliningthesquare.

‘Look,’shesaid,breathingthewordintohisear.Sureenough,acarriagestoodoutsidetheKenwaymansion.Emergingfromit

wastheunmistakablepersonageofLucyThorne.‘I’llbeinthestudy,’theyheardhersaytoamalecompanion.‘Idon’twantto

beinterrupted,unlessyouhavenewsofthelostnotebook.’AndinthenextsecondthetwoTemplarswereinside,andEvieandHenry

wereexchangingalookofconcern.Gettinginwouldbeachallenge.StayingclearofLucyThornewouldbeanotherone.Buttheyhadcometoofarnow.

Abovethemwereopenwindows.NoproblemforanAssassin.Thetwoofthemscaledthewallquicklythendroppedintowhatturnedouttobeamusicroom,completewithavastgrandpianoandoverlookedbyaportraitofEdwardKenwaystandingwiththeyoungHaytham.Otherpaintingsgaveacluetothemansion’sseafaringhistory.HenrybroughthismouthclosetoEvie’scowlandshereachedafingerto

hookitback.‘Whatarewelookingfor?’hewhispered.Hereyesrovedaroundthespace.‘I’mnotquitesure.’Thepairofthemset

aboutconductingasearch,findingthatthereweremusicalnoteshiddenaroundtheroom.‘WhataretheTemplarsnotseeing?’saidHenryalmosttohimself.‘Somethingonlywecan.’‘EdwardKenwaywasapirate.Wherewouldapiratehidehistreasure?’‘I’dhidemineinalibrary,’saidEvie,andHenrychuckled.‘Minewouldbethelibrary,’hesaidandthepairofthemsharedanotherlook.

Kindredspirits.‘Thepianoisbeautiful.’‘Doyouplay?’‘No.IwishIcould.Ilovethesound.You?’‘Alittle.EnoughtopassasagenteelyoungladyifIneedto.’‘Iwouldlovetohearyouplayiftheopportunitypresentsitself,’hesaid,and

noticedablushcometohercheeks.Hewenttothepianonow.‘Someofthesekeysaremoreraisedthanothers,’

hesaid,andstudiedthem,tryingtofindsomerhymeorreasontothealmostimperceptiblewaythatcertainkeyssatmoreproudlythanothers.

Hetriedone–tink–whichmadeEviestart,andshelookedover,abouttorebukehimforthenoise,whensuddenlythepianobeganplayingitself.Theyforgottopanicaboutthesoundcarrying,when,atthesametime,asectionoftheflooropenedtorevealstepsthatleddownintosomeunseenbasement.This,then,wastheKenwayvault.‘Notenormouslysubtle,isit?’saidHenry.Evierolledhereyes.‘ClearlyKenwayhadastrongsenseofspectacle.’TheywentdownandfoundthemselvesintheKenwayvault,theirbreathheld

astheybegantomakesenseofalifetime’sworthofparaphernaliathatwasstoredhere.‘Thisisincredible.IthinkthisistheJackdaw,’saidHenry,hiseyesalighting

onamodelofEdwardKenway’slegendarypiratebrig.‘Tothinkthishasbeenhiddenforacentury.’ButEviehadmovedtoahightableinthecentreofthevault,wherehereyes

hadgonetoadocumentandanengraveddisc.Shescannedtheparchment.‘ThehistoryoftheLondonAssassins…Boltholes…Vaults…Ahiddenkey.’Excitednowsheadded,‘Thisisit.’Henrymovedacrossandagaintheyenjoyedthesuddenproximity,beforethe

momentwasbrokenbythesoundofLucyThornefromthemusicroomabovethem.‘Yousayyouheardmusic,’theyheardhersnapatunseenguards.Andthen:‘Therewasnoopeningtherebefore.’EvieandHenrylookedatoneanother.Uh-oh.Henryfoundalatchthathe

closed,excitinggeneraldismayfromthoseabove.‘Helpmeblockit,’calledLucyThorne,sensingthatthisnewlyopeneddoor

wascrucialtotheircontinuedprogress.Downbelow,thedoorshutandEvieandHenrywereleftwonderingwhatto

donow.Awayout.Therehadtobeone.Togethertheyscouredthewallswitha

fingertipsearchuntil,withasmallcryoftriumph,Henryfoundit:awallpanelthatopenedtorevealstonestepsspirallingdownandbeyondthereachofanylantern.Nexttheyweremakingtheirwayalongapassagewaybeneaththegreathouse,gratefultoescapetheclutchesofLucyThornebuttingedwithdisappointment.

‘AnentirevaultfilledwithAssassinhistory,leftbehindonceagain,’bemoanedEvie.‘We’lljusthavetofindanevenbettercacheorreclaimthisonelater,’Henry

said.Shescoffed.‘We?Ithoughtyoupreferredtostayoutoffieldwork.’‘I…Iwasthinkingmoreofyouandyourbrother.Ishallprovideplanning

assistance.Fromthetrain.’‘Jacob’soffmarauding,’shesaid.‘Thereisavacancy,shouldyoudecideto

broadenyourhorizons.’‘I’llthinkonit,’hesaid.‘Youdothat,’shesaidwithagentlymockingsmile.‘Nowlet’sgetabove

ground.’

‘So,thehintsyoufoundintheKenwayhouseleadhere…’Jacobwavedasomewhatdisparaginghandatthehugecolumnrisingfromthe

groundbelowthem.Theystoodonahillsideoverlookingit,yetwerestilldwarfedbyit.TheGreatFireMonument.BuiltnearthespotinPuddingLanewheretheeponymousFireofLondonhadstartedon2September1666,andasuitablyawe-inspiringtributetothatepochalevent.Forsomemomentsthetwinssimplygazedatit,eyesgoingfromthesculpted

plinthatthebooth,uptheflutedcolumnandtothetop,whereacagehadbeenconstructedtopreventsuicides.Asthetallesttowerintheworld,itdwarfedsurroundingbuildingsandonacleardayitwaspossibletoseeitfromrightacrossthecity.Atclosequartersittooktheirbreathaway.EviewishedHenrywerehere.Thenchidedherselfforthedisloyalthought.

Afterall,Jacobwasherbrother,hertwinbrotherwithwhomshesharedanalmostsupernaturalcommunication.Thingsshe’dsavefromafire?Numberone,herblade;numbertwo,herbrother.Andonagoodday,ifJacobwerebeingespeciallypleasantcompany,well,shemightevenrescueherbrotherfirst.Today,however,wasnotoneofthosedays.Jacobwasnotpleasantcompany.

Insteadhewaschoosingtomockandlampoonherateveryavailableopportunity,specifically,itseemed,thegrowingaffectionbetweenherselfandHenryGreen.Henry,ofcourse,wasn’theretodefendhimself.Hewasattheshop,

reviewingthematerial,soJacobwastakingadvantageofhisabsence.‘Ohyes,MrGreen,’Jacobsaid,parrotinghissister,‘that’safascinatingidea.

Ohplease,MrGreen,comeandtakealookatthisbookandstandoh-so-closetome,MrGreen.’Shefumed.‘Idonot…’Andthencomposedherself.‘Well,perhapsyouhave

nothingbettertodo,butIambusyprotectingtheAssassins.’

‘Areyoureally?WhatwasitFatherusedtosay…?’‘“Don’tallowpersonalfeelingstocompromisethemission”?’Evierolledher

eyes.‘Precisely,’repliedherbrother.‘Anyway,I’moff.IfIfindanymorewild

geeseforyoutochase,I’llbeintouch.’Toshowhisscornheloweredhiscowl,retrievedhishatfrominsidehis

clothes,poppeditoutandthenrolleditalonghisarmtothetopofhishead.Andwiththatheleft.ShewatchedJacobgo,pleasedtoseethebackofhimalmostasmuchasshe

mournedthetensionbetweenthem,andthenmadeherwaytothemonument.Onitsbasewasasmallandfamiliar-lookingrecess.Sureenoughthediscshe’dliberatedfromtheKenwaymansionfittedperfectly.Inresponsethestoneseemedtocrack,justenoughtoopen,andshetookasetofspiralstepsuptheinsideofthemonument.Thesewerenottheusualsteps–notthosetakenbysightseersandsuicidesandJamesBoswell,whohadapparentlysufferedapanicattackhalfwayup,beforegatheringhimself,completingthejourneyandthendeclaringtheviewanabomination.No,thesestepswerepurelyforheorshewhowasinpossessionofthedisc.Sureenough,whenshereachedthesummit,twohundredfeethigh,twothings

greetedher.Firstly,theview–andshestoodbuffetedbywindasshegaspedatapanoramathatbristledwithchimneysandspires,askylineofindustryandworship.Secondly,shefoundanotherdisc,thisonelarger,andwithaslot.Shecomparedthetwodiscsinherhandandthen,onawhim,decidedtotrytofitthefirstoneintotheapertureofthesecond.Itfitted.Perfectly.Stillpummelledbythewind,shelookedatitinblank

amazementasapictureformed.IfwhereshecurrentlystoodwasLondon’sbest-knownlandmark,thenthiswaspointinghertothesecondbest-known,anotherSirChristopherWrenbuilding:StPaul’sCathedral.Ashorttimelatershehadmadeherwaythere,wishingshe’dstoppedto

collecteitherJacobor,preferably,Henryontheway,butknowingtheycouldbeanywhere.Sheascendedtotheroofofthegrandcathedral.Noproblemforawomanofherskills.There,atthestatueofStPaul,sheinsertedthetwodiscpiecesintoaslotin

thestone.Next–didshesenseitorgenuinelyfeelit?–adoordeepbelowher

opened,andshortlyafterwardsshehadgonedownandwaswalkingintoavaultinthechapel.Itwasalargeroomdominatedbyatableinthecentre.Ononewallwasan

Assassinsymbol.Ah,soitwasadedicatedAssassinvault.Acrosstheroomwasastained-glasswindow,whileinanalcovehungwhatEvieatfirsttookforabeautifulitemofjewellery.Shemovedcloser,examiningachainthatwasdecoratedwithlinksandsmallintricatespheres,aboutthesizeofpearlsbutinscribedwithoddangularhieroglyphics,aswellasapendantthatsheliftedinherpalm.Againtherewassomethinginfinitelypreciousaboutit,asthoughithadbeenfashionedbyasilversmithwhowasnotofthisearthorofthisera.Athrillranthroughher.TheknowledgethatinalllikelihoodshewasholdingsomethingoftheFirstCivilization.Akeyofsomekind.InscribedonitwasLatin,meaning‘theremedyisworse

thanthedisease’,andshepickeditup,turningitoverinherhands.Itwasnothingsherecognizedfromanyofherreadings.Nothingshecouldmakesenseofthereandthen.Perhapswhenshehadtheliteratureinfrontofher…Shehungitroundherneck–justasthedooropenedtoadmitLucyThorne.‘Goodday,MissFrye.I’lltakethat,’saidtheTemplar.Allinblack,her

featuresbakedintoapredatorystare,shecrossedthechambertowardsEvie.Shecamealone,supremelyconfidentofherdominion.Evieletthekeyfalltoherchest.Sheraisedhercowlthenletherhandsdropto

hersides,loosebutready.‘YouwanttheShroudtocementyourownpower,’shesaid,‘butwhatifyoucannotcontrolit?’Lucypursedherlips.‘AndwhydoyouwanttheShroud?Merelytokeepthe

Templarsfromhavingit?HowlikeanAssassin–toholdthepowerofeternallifeandyetbetooafraidtouseit.’LucyhadstoppedafewfeetawayfromEvie,justoutofstrikingrange.The

twowomensizedeachotherup.Eviesawnoobviousweapons,butthenwhocouldsaywhatwasconcealedinthevoluminousfoldsofheropponent’sfunerealgarb.‘Eternallife,’shesaid,everymusclealert,‘isthatwhatyouthinktheShroudoffers?’‘WhatIthinkisnolongeryourconcern,’saidLucy,whoseeyesgaveaway

herintentionsasecondbeforeshemadehermove,andinoneeye-wateringly

fastmotionshehadsnatchedabladefromherbootandsprang,full-length,knifehandextended,inanactionthatalmosttookEviebysurprise.Almostbeingtheoperativeword.TheyoungAssassinskippedback,triggered

herbladeatthesametimeandwaspleasedtoseetheexpressiononheropponent’sfaceinstantlytransform.IfLucyThornesaweasypickingsshehadmadeadiremistake,foraTemplarandabootknifewerenomatchforEvieFrye.Aspiritedattackitmighthavebeen,butitwaspredicatedonsurprise,andwithoutthatLucyhadnothingsaveadesiretowinandaninstinctforsurvival.AndneitherwereenoughtobestEvie.Theirbladesclashed.Theringingsoundricochetedaroundthestonewalls.

WithbaredteethLucytriedagainbutEviefendedheroffeasily,takingthemeasureofheropponent,bidinghertime,readyforthedeathblow.ButLucyThornewasn’tdone.AsEvieapproached,herhandshotout.What

bloomedfromthecentreofherfistwasaglobeandforastrange,madmoment,EviethoughtthatLucyThornewasattackingherwithaPieceofEden,untilitregistered:asmokebomb.Blindedandtemporarilydisorientated,Eviestaggeredback,bringingher

bladeintoadefensivepositionandrestoringherbalance,readytomeetafollow-upattack.Sureenough,itcame.LucyThornewasaninferiorcombatantbutshelackedfornothingwhenitcametocommitmentandshewasbrave.MyGod,thoughtEvie,isshebrave.Throughthesmokeofthebomb,Lucyflewforwardwithherbootdaggerslashingmoreinhopethanconfidenceandthankstothefogandferocityofherattackverynearlysucceeded.Nearlybeingtheoperativeword.SmokebillowedasEvieturnedsmartlytooneside,thrustingoutherchestas

shesweptbackhershouldersandbroughtherbladelow,knockingLucyThorne’sknifeaside.Inthenextmomentsheswungabout,bringingherrightshoulderforwardinamostunladylikebutveryEvieFrye-likeroundhousepunchthatmadehardandsickeningcontactwithLucyThorne’sjaw,sendingtheTemplar’seyeballsspinningandherteethrattlingasshestaggeredback.Eviesheathedherbladethensteppedforwardandswungthegauntlethand.Themovehadbeenneat.Ithadwonherthefight.ButmaybeEviehadalittle

toomuchofherfatherandbrotherinher.Perhapsshewasoverconfident.ForthepunchwastoomuchandinsteadofflooringLucyThorneitsentherflailing

back,bladeskitteringofftooneside,armswildlypinwheeling,towardsaplate-glasswindowbehindher.Eviesawwhatwasgoingtohappenandrealizedhermistake.Butitwastoo

late.Shesprangforwardandinherhastelostherfooting.HergraspingfingersfailedtofindLucyThorne,andforasplitsecondthetwowomenscrabbledatoneanothertryingtopreventtheinevitable.Theycouldnot.TheglassshatteredaroundLucyThorneandsheseemed

abouttofalltohercertaindeathwhenonedesperatehandfoundthekeyroundEvie’sneck.SuddenlyitwasallthatpreventedherfromfallingandEviewastrappedtoo,cryingoutinpainasthechaindugintoherflesh.‘Comingwithme?’sneeredLucyThorne,andonceagainEviehadtohandit

toheropponent.Shedidn’tlackforvalour.But…‘Ihaveotherplans,’saidEvie,andoutcameherbladeandsheslicedthe

chain,dismissingLucyThorne.WithascreamtheTemplarfell,stillholdingthekey,andEviewasdumped

backinsidetheroom.Shepulledherselfup,coughingandpantingasshedraggedherselftocheckthebrokenwindowandthestonebelow.LucyThornewasgone.‘Dammit,’saidEvie.

Eviesatandbrooded.True,shehadbeenpleasedtohearofJacob’sprogress.HehaddispensedwiththebankownerTwopenny,puttingacrimpintheTemplar’sfinancialpipeline,foronething.Othersmallersortieshadprovedsimilarlyeffective.Herownworkhadmetwithlesssuccess.Ontheonehand,shehadtheopportunitytospendmoretimewithHenry

Green,andevenJacob’stauntscouldnottaketheedgeoffthatparticularpleasure.SheandHenryweregrowingcloserallthetime.Butontheother,theirinvestigationshadyieldedlittleofmerit.Themorethey

buriedthemselvesinbooksandthemoretheyporedoverthematerialthatEviehadtakenfromthecrate,theless,itseemed,theylearnt.ShemulledoverLucy’swords.HowtheShroudofferedeternallife.They

alreadyknewtheShroudofEdenwas,quote,‘supposedtohealeventhegravestinjury’,buteternallife?AndnowLucyThornehadEvie’skey.‘Whatgoodisakeyifyoudon’tknowwhatlockitopens?’shesaidone

afternoon,assheandHenrywastedanotherfruitlessafternooninthecompanyofcandlelightandmystifyingliterature.‘IdaresayMissThorneisinthesamepredicament,’Henrysaiddryly,not

evenbotheringtolifthisheadfromthejournalhewasreading.Itwasagoodpoint.OnethatEvieacknowledgedwithasighandaheavy

heart,hereyesgoingbacktoherownwork.Andthen–justasshedidso–shesawit.Thereinfrontofherwas…‘Henry,’shesaidquickly.Sheputherhandtohisarm,thenjustasquickly

droppeditoncemore,clearingherthroatofthesuddenembarrassmentofcontact.‘Here.Thisisit.’

Henrysawanimageofthekeybeneathherfinger.Sothatwasit.Galvanized,hereachedtoapileforanotherbook,mindinstantlymakingconnections.‘Thismatchesthecollectionownedbythequeen,’saidHenry,flicking

throughthepages.Hefoundwhathewassearchingforandlookedather,eyesshiningwithexcitement.‘It’skeptintheTowerofLondon.’

Hourslater,withthecitycoweringbeneathacurtainofdarknessandfog,EvieFryecrouchedinthecrenulationofawalloverlookingtheinnerwardoftheTowerofLondon.ToherleftwerethedarkenedwindowsofLanthornTower,whichhadbeenguttedbyfireinthegreatblazeof1774andwasstillinneedofrepair.Forthatreasonitremainedanuninhabited,badlylitandmostlyunguardedcorneroftheTowergrounds.PerfectforEvietotakestock.Squattingthere,shewasabletoseeoverintothecentralcomplexwherethe

WhiteTowerstood–‘thekeep’,presidingoverthesmallerstructuressurroundingit.DottedaroundwerethefamiliarfiguresoftheYeomanWarders,thebeefeaterswhoguardedtheTowerdayandnight.AmongthemwouldbeamanthatHenrycountedasanally.Findingthismanwashernexttask.Asshecrouched,watching,shestretchedouthermuscles.Fourhoursshehad

beenwaiting,andithadgivenherampleopportunitytostudythemovementsoftheWarders.Whatstruckherwasasenseoftwodistinctgroups.Somethingwasafoot,shethought.Andshebelievedsheknewwhatitwas.AndthenherattentionwasarrestedbythearrivalofLucyThorne.Evieclungevenmoretightlytotheshadowsashernemesissteppedfroma

carriageandcrossedthecourtyardtothelowerstepsofthegreatkeep.TheTemplarwoman’sgazesweptaroundthewallssurroundingtheinnerwardandEviefoundherselfholdingherbreathasitpassedherhidingplace.ThenLucyThorneascendedthestepsandsteppedinsidethekeep.Eviedecidedtobidehertimesomemore.Below,theCeremonyoftheKeys

wastakingplace,butshewaswatchingsomethingelse.Awayfromtheceremonytwoguardsweredraggingaconstableaway.Themanwasprotestinginnouncertainterms,buthiscursesfellondeafears.Except,notquiteondeafears.DownbelowwasanotherYeomanWarder.

Eviesawhimlookingonfretfullyastheconstablewasfrogmarchedtowardsthe

WaterlooBarracksatthewesternendofthecomplex.Thelookinhiseyes.Thatwashim.Thatwasherman.Spurredintoaction,sheclimbeddownfromherperchandintothewardclose

towherehestood,stillapictureofindecision.Fromtheshadowssheattractedhisattentionwithalowwhistle,identifiedherselfasafriendofHenryandwatchedalookofgratefultrustovertakehisfeatures.‘Thankheavensyou’vecome,’hesaid,andwentontotellhistale.WhatemergedwasapictureoftheTemplarsextendingtheirtendrilsintothe

Towerhierarchyitself.ManyofthebeefeaterswereTemplarimposters.ManywerestillloyaltotheCrown,butgossipandsuspicionreignedandthebalanceofpowerwasbeingtipped.‘ThatThornewomanhasgoneintoStJohn’sChapel.’Hejerkedathumb

towardsthekeep,wheretheapseofthechapelwasvisible.‘Icouldhelpgetyouin.’Shenodded.Doyourworst.‘Allright,forthistowork,you’llhavetopretendtobemyprisoner.’Andwiththat,hetookholdofherarmandmarchedheracrosstheapronof

thewardtowardsWaterlooBarracks,manoeuvringheroverthethresholdandthenintothemainentrancehall.StraightawayshecouldseetheextentoftheTemplarinfiltration.They

mockedherwithitasshewasledthroughthebarracks.‘NicetoseeanAssassininchainsforonce,’calledguards.Tauntingher.‘TheTemplarsownLondon,Assassin.Don’tforgetit.’Theallyledherintoapassagewayforthecellblock,closingthedooronthe

menintheouterbarracks.Herethereweretwosentriesstandingguardatadoorinthefarend.Likethe

others,thesentriesweregoadingher.ButnowEvieFrymadethemeattheirwords.Pretendingtoslipfreeofhercaptor,shesprangforwardinafencingstanceandtriggeredherbladeinthesameinstant,thrustingitthroughthetunicofastartledguard.Thesecondmanneverstoodachance.Stilllow,Eviepunchedforwardwiththeblade,jabbinghimquicklyinthethighthentakingadvantageofhimdoublingoverinpaintothrustupwardsintothespacebetweenhiscollarboneandneck.Hegurgledandslumpedtothestone.Dead.

Herallyhadwatched,givenherthethumbsupandwiththequietassurancethathewouldorganizethefightbackslippedaway.Inmomentsshewouldhearthesoundofbattlefromoutside.Inthemeantimetheshortbattlehadbeenfoughttotheaccompanimentof

anguishedcriesfromtheothersideofthelockedcelldoor.Theconstablehadbeenmakinghispresenceknownforsometimenow,andsensingactionashortdistanceaway,called,‘Issomeoneoutthere?’Voicemuffledbythethickwoodendoor.Shecametoit,putfingertipstothewood,lipsclosetoit.‘Yes,afriend.’‘Oh,that’sgood.Say,friend,couldyougetmeout?’Eviewasagoodlock-pick.Herfatherhadmadesureofthat,andshemade

shortworkofthedoor,findingherselfinthegratefulpresenceofared-faced,excitableconstable.‘Thankyou,’hetoldher.‘It’streason,iswhatitis.Anddesecrationofthe

chapel.MissThornetoldmetobegratefultheydidn’tkillmeoutright.Thenerve.’‘She’safteranobjectofgreatpower,’Evietoldhim.‘Shecan’tbeallowedto

stealit.’Theconstable’sfacefell.‘NottheCrownJewels?’Evieshookherhead.‘Somethingmuchmoreimportant.’Henry’sfriendhadseentoitthatthebarrackshadbeenmadesafe.Blood-

soakedbodiesweretestamenttothat.Thewesternsectionwastheirs.Outside,theconstablespoketohismen.‘Allright,gentlemen,’hetoldthem,‘wearefacinganenemyweneverexpected–traitorsinourmidst,’beforeoutliningaplanofactionandseriesofsignalsforwhenthemenshouldstrikebackattheTemplarstooges.Themendispersedandthen,atasignalfromEvie,launchedtheirattack.In

theribbonsoftheinnerandouterwardandinthecourtyardoutsidethekeep,theconstable’smendescendedquicklyupontheTemplarguards.TherewereminorskirmishesbutEviecouldseethebattlewouldbeshortandeasilywon.ShewasnotevenrequiredtoactivateherbladeasshemadeherwaytotheentranceoftheWhiteTower.There,sheranquicklyandnimblyupthesteps,thenknockedonthedoor,

prayingthoseinsidewerestillunawareoftherebelliontakingplaceinthewards.

Shetensed,waiting,readytodispatchwhoeverwasunfortunateenoughtoanswer.However,noanswercame.Steelingherself,shetriedthegreathandleofthedoorandfoundthatitturned.Next,sheslippedinside.Damn.Straightawayshefeltthepointofapikeatherneckandrealizedshe’dwalked

intoatrap.Atthesametime,therazor-sharpedgeofaWilkinsonswordwasplacedtoherforearm,justabovethegauntlet,prohibitinganymovement.Shefeltawarmdropletofbloodmakeitswayintothecollarofherjacket,butthepainwasnothingcomparedtoherchagrinatbeingsoeasilycaught.‘Lookslikewe’vecaughtourselvesanAssassin,’sneeredoneofthethree

men,‘onlyforrealthistime.There’llbenoslippingyourguard.Nofreeingtheconstablesothathecanrallyhismen.We’llbetakingyoutoMissLucyThorne.Let’sseewhatshewantstodowithyou.’Shewantstokillme,thoughtEvie.Butevenso,theysaythateverycloudhas

asilverliningandherewashers.LucywasinthechapelrightnowandshewassearchingfortheShroud.Certainly,thoughtEvie.TakemetoLucyThorne.You’reonlytakingmeclosertoit.Anyplansshehadforescapewereswiftlyshelved.Insteadsherelaxed,

allowingthebladeofthepiketoremainwhereitwas,theswordtostayinplace.Thelastthingshewantedtodowasdrawtheirattentiontohergauntlet.Theydidexactlyasshewantedthemtodo.Theybroughtherintothechapel.Knockingandentering,theycameuponLucyThorne,whowasstartledby

theirentranceandlookingunusuallyflustered.Evidentlyshe’dfailedtofindtheShroudofEden,andhercheekswereflushedassheturnedtoEvie,flankedbyherguardsinthedoorwayofthedarkenedchapel.‘Welcome,MissFrye,’shehissed.‘Wouldyoucaretotellmewherethe

Shroudis?’Eviesaidnothing.Therewasnothingshecouldsay.‘Asyouwish,’saidLucy.‘Ishallfinditwithoutyourhelp.AndthenI’ll

strangleyouwithit.’Shestalkedacrosstheroom,handsgoingtothepanelling,pressingherearclosetothewoodtolistenfortelltalehollowingandthesoundofsecretcompartmentswithin.Atthesametime,Eviewasreadyingherselfforbattle,sizingupherenemy.In

thechapelwerefouropponents,butLucyThornehadalreadyfoughtEvieonce

andlost.ShewasdependingontheYeomanWarders,whowereofftheirguard.TheythoughtthathavingdeliveredEvieintothecustodyofLucyThornetheirjobwasdone.Evieallowedherarmtodropafraction,removingitfromtheimmediate

threatoftheWilkinsonswordandthen,allatonce,droppedtooneknee,engagedherownbladeandburieditintothegroinofthemanstandingnearesttoher.Itwasuglybutitproducedalotofnoiseandbloodand,asshehadoftenbeen

taught,alotofnoiseandbloodisashelpfulassurprisewhenitcomestoasuccessfulattack.Theguardfellscreaming;hiscomradesshouted.Butthepikehadalready

beenremovedfromherneckandwithoneglovedhandonthestonefloorshewaspivotinginordertofacethesecondman.Itwasasthoughshepunchedhiminthestomach,onlywithbladeandgauntlet,andtheblowdrovehimacrosstheroom,clutchingatastomachwoundthatwouldbleedoutinamatterofseconds.Whenitcametothethirdman,shewasn’tsolucky.Hehadnotbeenableto

bringhispiketobearbutinsteadusedthepikestaff,swingingitroundtoclobberheronthesideofthehead.Shestaggered,knowingthelackofpainforwhatitwas–adelayedagony–andslicingwildlywiththeblade.Shecaughthisclothes,openedagash,butitwasn’tnearlyenoughtofinish

himoff.Hedartedtooneside,moreagilethanhelooked,andtriedtohitheragainwiththepikestaff,aimingoncemoreforthesideofherhead.Thistime,however,hemissedbutshedidn’t.Herstrikewastrue,andshe

rammeditintohisheartsothathefell,deadalmostbeforehehitthefloor.Theothertwomenwrithedandscreamed,theirfinaldeaththroesnoisy,butEviewaslaunchingherselfatLucyThorne,bladeout,knockingasidethebootknifethathadappeared,relishingthesurpriseandfearinheropponent’seyes,knowingthebattlewaswonandallowingherselfthegrimsatisfactionoffeelingherbladestrikehome.Andnow,atlast,LucyThornelaydying.Evieregardedher,almostsurprised

atherownlackofpity.‘Yousoughtatoolofhealinginordertoextendyourownpower,’shesaidsimply.‘Notmine,ours.Youaresoshort-sighted.You’dhoardpowerandneveruse

it,whenwewouldbettertheconditionofhumanity.Ihopeyouneverfindthe

Shroud.Youhavenoideawhatittrulycando.’Curious,Eviebenttoher.‘Tellmethen.’Itwasasif,inthelastmoment,LucyThornedecidedagainstit.‘No,’she

smiled,anddied.Eviereachedintoherjacketforherhandkerchief,whichshecarefullyspotted

withLucyThorne’sblood,foldingitandreplacingit.NextsheretrievedthekeythenstareddispassionatelyaroundStJohn’sChapel.Thewardersweredeadinpoolsoftheirownblood;LucyThornelaylookingalmostserene.Eviepaidthemsilentcompliment,thenleftandmadeherwaybackalongtheflickeringpassagesofthekeepuntilshereachedtheentrance.Thereshestoodatthetopofthestepsandlookedoutoverthecourtyard,wheretheconstableandHenryGreen’sYeomanallywererallyingtheirmennowthebattlewaswon.TheShroudwasnothere,shethought.ButtheTowerofLondonhadbeen

returnedtotheCrown,andthatatleastmeantajobwelldoneforEvieFrye.DuringherjourneybacktobaseherthoughtswenttoLucy’slastwords.It

wastrue,Eviehadthoughtofitasaninstrumentofhealing.Naively,perhaps,giventheTemplars’interest.Butthenshehadlearntitgaveeternallife–andnowthis.WasitpossiblethatLucyThornehadknownsomethingEviedidn’t?Mullingoverit,sherememberedsomethingshehadreadonce,alongtimeago.Andthenlater,assoonasshewasable,EvieputpentopaperandwrotetoGeorgeWesthouse.

CrawfordStarrickcouldn’trememberwhenhehadlastpartakenofhisbelovedtea.Hisusuallyorderedlifehadtakenonadistinctlychaotictinge.Thestresswasbeginningtoshow.NotonlyhadLucyThornebeenstymiedinhereffortstofindtheShroud,

largelyduetotheinterruptionsofEvieFrye,buttheotherFryetwin–ithurtStarricktoeventhinkhisname,Jacob–hadalsobeencausingtrouble.Templaragentswerefallingbeneathhisblade;planstheOrderhadspentyearslayinginplacewerebeingundone.Starrickhadcometodreadtheknockonhisofficedoor,foreverytimeoneofhismenarriveditwaswithmorebadnews.AnothermemberoftheOrderdead.Anotherschemeconfounded.Nowheraisedhisheadfromhishandsandregardedthenervousscrivener

whosatontheothersideofhisuntidydesk,patientlyawaitinghisdictation.Starricktookadeepbreaththatwasindistinguishablefromasighandsaid,‘Takethisdown,thenIwantitsealeduntilyoureceivefurtherorders.’Heclosedhiseyes,composinghimself,andbeganhisdictation:‘MissThorne.

YousuppliedmewiththemeanstosecureLondon’sfuture.Thecitythanksyou.TheOrderthanksyou.Ithankyou.ButtheShroudcanbewornbyonlyone.Therefore,Iherebydissolvethispartnership.Ipromisetoendowyouwithanincomeintoyouroldage,butthatisthemostIcando.Maythefatherofunderstandingguideyou.’There.Itwasdone.Starricksatlisteningtothescratchofthesecretary’spen

ashiswordsweredulytranscribed.Yes,hethought,theShroudcanbewornbyonlyone,andhefoundhimselfrelaxingalmostsleepilyintheknowledgethatitwashisdestinytobetheone.Aknockatthedoorstartledhimfromhisabsorptionandstraightawayhefelt

hisjawclench,realityintrudingwiththepromiseofmorebadnews,furtherhavocwreakedbythejuniorFryeclub.

Inthatregardatleast,hewasnotdisappointed.‘Whatisit?’hesnapped.Entering,anassistantlookednervous.Onehandfiddledathiscollar,

looseningit.‘MissThorne,sir…’hesaidinafalteringvoice.‘Whatofher?’‘I’msorry,sir.She’sdead.’Onethinghisassociateshadlearnt–orbeenforcedtolearn–wasthatyou

neverknewwithStarrickwhathewasgoingtodonext.Thetwoattendantsheldtheirbreathashisshouldersroseandfellheavilyandhishandswenttohisfaceasheabsorbedthenews.Allofasuddenhepeekedthroughhisfingers.‘Whereisthekey?’hesaid.Theassistantclearedhisthroat.‘Therewasnokeyfoundonherbody,sir.’Starrick’sfingersclosedashecontemplatedthisnewandevenmore

unwelcomedevelopment.Nexthisattentionwenttoabowlonhisdeskthathebegantoturnoverinhishands.Hisfacewasreddening.Hismenknewwhatwastocome.Oneofhisoutbursts.Andsureenough,theroomwasfilledwithhisfrustratedshriek,hishair,usuallysoneatwithpomade,indisarrayasthebowlwasliftedhigh,abouttobedashedtothetabletop,until…Theshriekdieddown.Withexaggeratedcare,Starrickplacedthebowlonthe

table.‘TheShroudwillbemine,’hesaid,tohimselfmorethanhismen.‘EvenifIhavetoraisehellfiretodoit.’

‘Pleasetellmeagainwherewe’regoing,’saidEvie,assheandHenrypassedthroughirongatesandtowardsasetofbenchesattheoppositeendofaleafysquare.Intruth,shehadbeenenjoyingthewalk.TimespentwithHenrywasablissful

antidotetothekillingthathadbecomesoroutineinherlife.Herfatherhadalwayswarnedheragainstbecominginuredtoit.‘Akillingmachineisamachine,andweAssassinsarenotmachines,’hesaid,makingherpromisenevertoloseherempathy.Nevertoforgetherhumanity.Atthetimeshehadwonderedhowthatcouldeverhappen.Afterall,shehad

beenbroughtuptorespectlife.Howonearthcouldshefailtobemovedbythetakingofit?Butofcoursetheinevitablehadhappened,andshehaddiscoveredthatonewaytocopewithslaughterwastoshutherselfofffromit,disallowingaccesstothosepartsofherbrainthatwantedtoreflectuponit.Andmoreandmoreshefounditasimpleprocesstodothat,sothatsometimessheworriedshe’dloseallsenseofhertrueselfinherownsurvivalmechanism.Henrywasameansofpullingbackfromallthat.Herfeelingsforhimhelped

Evietocentreherself,andhisreticencetotakeuparmsservedtoremindherthattherecouldbeanotherway.Hehadtoldherabouthislifebeforehemether.Sheknewthathehadoncebeenwhereshewasnowandhadreturnedfromit.Hiswasatatteredsoulbutneverthelessintact.Hewasanexampleofhowitcouldbedone.Still,nowcamethenextphaseoftheirmissiontoretakeLondon,and

whateverherfeelingsforHenrytheywouldhavetowait.RestoringtheBrotherhoodwashermainpriority.Theywereclosenow.Soclose.SinceeventsattheTowerthetwinshadstruck

againandagainattheheartoftheTemplarorganization.Theyhadhitthemwhereithurtmost.Inthewallet.AfterneutralizingTwopenny,Jacobhadclosed

downacounterfeitring,helpingtorestoreordertothecity.JacobhadalsoputanendtotheactivitiesofBrudenell,whowasworkingfortheOrderbytryingtopreventthepassageoflegislationharmfultothem.EachsuccessfuloperationhadseentheAssassins’staturegrowintheeyesof

thoseintheEastEndandevenbeyond;Henry’sganggrewexponentially.TheTemplarsmighthavetakenLondonbywormingtheirwayintoitsmiddleechelonsbuttheAssassinswerereclaimingitbyworkingtheirwayupfromthebottom.TheurchinswhostreamedthroughthestreetssawtheAssassinsaschampionsandwereeagertohelpinanyway;theireldersweremorecautiousandmorefrightenedbutofferedtheirtacitapproval.Henrywouldoftenreturntohisshopanddiscovergoodwillgiftsleftonthedoorstep.Allofthiswasofbenefitofcourse.ButinEvie’smind(thoughnotinJacob’s)

ittooksecondplacetoissuesoftheShroud.Nowtheyhadrecoveredthekey,theystillfacedtheproblemofnotknowingwhereitwaskept.Theyknewwhereitwasn’t–itwasn’tintheTowerofLondon.Butwherecoulditbe?AndsosheaskedHenryagain,‘Wherearewegoing?’‘IfoundaletterfromthePrinceConsortamongLucyThorne’sresearch,’he

toldher,‘dated1847.’ThePrinceConsort.PrinceAlbertforwhomQueenVictoriamournedstill.‘1847?’shesaid.‘TheyeartheprincebeganrenovationstoBuckinghamPalace,’heexplained.‘YouthinkheaddedavaultfortheShroud?’askedEvieexcitedly.Henrynodded,smilingatthesametime,pleasedtobaskinEvie’sapproval.

‘Andsincenomapofthepalacehasaroommarked“secretvault”…’Bynowtheywerenearthebencheswheretheresataverysingular-looking

man.AnIndiangentleman,hehadaroundedwell-fedfacethatmadehimlookboyish.Neverthelesstherewasahandsomenessabouthim.Abearing.Heworesilks.Expensivesilks.Hefoldedhispaper,placeditdownandrosetomeetthemastheyapproached.

‘YourHighness,’saidHenrywithashortbow.Asomewhatbegrudgingshortbow,ifEviewasn’tverymuchmistaken.‘MayIpresentMissEvieFrye.MissFrye,MaharajahDuleepSingh.’EvieandSinghgreetedoneanother,beforeSingh’sfacebecamegraveandhe

turnedtoHenry.‘Myfriend,theplansyouaskedforhavebeenremoved.’

‘Removed?Bywhom?’‘CrawfordStarrick’sforces.Orsomeoneemployedbyhim.’SinghsawEvieandHenry’sfacesfall.‘Yes,Ithoughtyoumightrecognize

thatname.Iknowwheretheyare,butitisheavilyguarded.’Eviethrewhershouldersback.‘Thatpartwillnotbeaproblem.’Singhlookedherupanddown.‘Ithoughtnot.’

ItwasashortwhilelaterthatEvieandHenrywerecrouchedonarooftop,havingracedeachothertothetop(winner:Evie)wheretheyoverlookedafortressbuildingtheyknewtobeaTemplarstronghold.Intherewerethedocumentstheysought,takenbyCrawfordStarrick,who

hadclearlyreachedthesameconclusiontheyhad.However,hedidn’thavethekey.Theydid.Andnowtheywantedthe

documents.Problemonewastheguards.Henrycountedsentriesatthewindowsofwhat

mighthavebeenasmallfortressbutwaswellguarded.Hesawmeninthewindow,atthegate,guardingthegroundsthatsurroundedit.‘We’regoingtoneedaplan,’saidEviesimply.‘Icanprovideadistractionfortheguardswhileyoudiscoverawayinside,’

Henrytoldher,andshelookedathim.‘Really?’shesaidwithamixofconcernandsurprise,notsureifhewasready,andthen–didsheimagineit?Ordidheblush?‘Foryou,Evie,’hesaid,‘certainly.’‘Well,’shesaid,‘onceI’minside,Ishallfindsomeonewhoknowswherethe

papersarestored.’‘Andwewillmeetlater,’hetoldher,andthenturnedtoleave.‘Becareful,’shetoldhisretreatingbacksoftly.Heprovidedjustthedistractionsheneeded.Theguardsonthenearsidebegan

todisperseatthenoiseandsheusedtheopportunitytoscalethewallandletherselfintoafirst-floorwindow.Thiswastheadministrativecentrewhere,ifshewasn’tverymuchmistaken,theplansshouldhavebeenstored.Shewaseitherverymuchmistakenortheplanswereelsewhere.Shehada

brieflookaroundtheofficeintowhichshehadclimbedbuttherewasnothingthere.Right,shethought,nowforPlanB.Findsomebodyandinterrogatehim.

Shewenttotheofficedoorandlistenedcarefullyforsoundsfromthepassageway.Satisfied,shewaitedandthen,asaloneguardmadehiswaypast,yankedopenthedoor,rabbit-punchedhiminthethroat,crookedherrightarmroundhisneckanddraggedhimintotheofficeandclosedthedoor.Hesprawledtothefloor,gaggingwiththepainoftherabbitpunchand

scarcelyabletobelievethesightofhisassailant.InasecondEviewasstandingastridehimandhestaredupatherwithterrifiedeyes,babbling.‘Iswear,miss,Idonotknowwherethey’vetakenhim.’Heronehandheldhiscollars,gauntletfistdrawnback,readytothreatenhim

withanotherevenmorepainfulblow,butcheckedherself.Takenhim?‘Takenwho?’shesnapped.‘Themandressedlikeyou.Theguardsdraggedhimoff…’theguardsaid.Damn.‘Henry.’Shegatheredherself.‘Theplansyoustole.Wherearethey?’Heshookhisheadfuriously.‘Idon’tknowanythingaboutthat.’Shebelievedhim,andwithaquickjabofthegauntletlefthimunconscious.

Nowshehadadecisiontomake.Continuehersearchfortheplans?OrrescueHenry?Except,therereallywasnodecision.

Outsideinthestreet,EviegotherfirstbreakwhensheranintooneofHenry’surchininformants.‘They’vegothim,miss,’shewastold.‘TheytookMrHenry.Wecouldn’tstop

them.Theydraggedhimoffinaredcarriage.Theywon’tgetfar,though.Onewheellookslikeitwasaboutreadytofalloff.Youcanseethecarttracks.Itlooksallwobblylike.’ShethankedhimandthankedherluckystarsthattheAssassinscouldcounton

thesupportofthepeople.LettheTemplarstrytotrackacarriagethroughthestreetsofLondonwithouttheeyesandearsofthepopulacetoaidthem.Justletthemtry.Andsoshefollowedthetracksmadebythecarriage,weavingherway

quicklythroughthecrowdedstreets,justafast-movingfaceinthecrowduntilshecameclosetoCoventGarden,whereshefoundthecarriageabandoned.Shedashedontothepiazza,hopingtocatchsightofHenryandhiscaptors,

buttherewasnosignofthem.Atradernearbywaslookingherwaywithanadmiringglance,soshehurriedover–timetouseherfemininewiles.‘Didyouseesomemengetoutofthatcarriage?’sheaskedhim,withthesweetestsmileshecouldmanage.Hesimpered.‘Yes,theypulledsomeoneout.Deaddrunk,hewas.They

carriedhimintothechurchyard.Maybehewantedaquietplacetosleepitoff?’Nexttohimwasastallsellingoils.‘Yeah,’calledthetrader,doffinghiscapat

Evie,‘Isawthemdraggingsomeoneoutafterthewheelfelloff.Theysaidhe’dhithishead.Notsurewhytheyneededtotakehimintothechurch,butthat’swheretheywent.’Bothweredirectingherattentionacrossthepiazzatothefamiliarporticopiers

andcolumnsofStPaul’sChurchatthewestend.Despitethetallbuildingsoneveryotherside,itstillloomedoverthesquare.Onanyotherdayitwouldhave

beenimpressive,asighttobehold.Now,however,Evielookedatitandsawamausoleum.Shesawdread.Shethankedhertwoadmirers,crossedthesquareandwenttothechurchyard

attheback,glancingattheequallyimpressiveporticoatthechurch’srearasshethreadedherwaythroughthedarkchurchyard,quicklyatfirst,andthenwithmorecautionwhensheheardvoicesintheneardistance.Shewasatthebackofthechurchyardnow,wheretheundergrowthwasthick

anduntended,whenshecameacrosswhatshecouldonlydescribeasaTemplarencampment.InthemiddleofitwasHenrytrussedtoachair,guardsstandingoverhim.Withajoltofshockshethoughttheymighthavekilledhim.Hisheadlolledonhischest.Onsecondthoughtstherewasnothingaboutthewaytheyweretalkingthatsuggestedhemightbedead.‘Whydidyoubringhimhere?’oneofthemenwassaying.‘ThemanisanAssassin,’repliedhiscolleague.‘Wedidn’twanthimgetting

awaybeforeyouhadachancetoquestionhim,now,didwe?’Thefirstguardwasanxiousandjumpyaboutsomething.‘Hewasmoresecure

wherehewasbefore.Itoldyounottocomehere.’‘Itcan’tbehelped.Now,wakehimup.’ItwaswhilethesecondguardwastryingtoshakeHenryawakethatEvie

madehermove,dashingoutoftheshadowswithherbladedrawn.Shemadeshortworkofheropponents.Shehadnodesiretoprolongthefightevenforthesakeofherenemy’sdignityorherownpride.Shemerelyfinishedit,quicklyandruthlessly.HowdifferentshewastothecallowAssassinwhohadfirstembarkedonthis

mission.OnlywhentheylayatherfeetdidshegotoHenry,rushingtountiehim.‘Didtheyhurtyou?’sheaskedhim.Heshookhishead.‘I’mfine.Listen,theysentsomeonebacktomovethe

architecturalplans.Doyouhavethem?’Nowitwasherturntoshakeherhead.‘Mycapturehasundoneyourplans,’hesaidastheymadetheirescape.‘I’m

sorry.’Disconsolate,theymadetheirwaybacktobase.

CrawfordStarrickwaspreparingforaparty.Averyimportantparty.Oneforwhichhehadgreatplans.Aservantbustledandfussedaroundhim,fixinghisdinnerjacketand

waistcoat,flickingdustfromtheshoulders,adjustinghistie.Starrick,meanwhile,admiredhimselfinthemirror,listeningtothesoundof

hisownvoiceasheopined,‘Orderhasbreddisorder.Thesearisestofloodthepubsandextinguishthestreetlamps.Ourcitywilldie.Twopennyhasfailed,Lucyhasfailed,Brudenell,Elliotson,Attaway.Allhavegoneintothenight.Itisuptomenow.TheAssassinshavebroughtnature’sfuryintoourhomes.Menhavebecomemonsters,barrellingtowardsus,teethout.Ourcivilizationmustsurvivethisonslaught.’Hisservanthadfinishedhiswork.CrawfordStarrickturnedtogo.‘Toprevent

thereturnofthedarkages,’hesaid,‘Iwillstartanew.Londonmustbereborn.’

Theywerearguingagain:EvieandJacob.Watchingthem,Henryfoundhisfeelingsconflicted.Ontheonehand,hehatedtoseethetwinsateachother’sthroats,andyetontheother,hecouldfeelhimselffallinginlovewithEvieFryeandwantedheralltohimself.Selfish,yes.Butthereitwas.Hardlyworthdenying.HewantedEvieFryeto

himselfandifshewasatloggerheadswithherbrother,well,thenthatdaywouldarriveevenmorequickly.Meanwhile,theargumentragedon.‘Starrickismakinghismove,’Eviewassaying.‘ThePieceofEdenis

somewhereinsideBuckinghamPalace.’‘Lethimhaveit,’Jacobretorted.Hewasstillfullofarrogance,notedHenry.Inmanywayshehadeveryright

tobe;somuchofwhathe’ddonehadbeensoverysuccessful.HislatesttriumphinvolvedtheassassinationofMaxwellRoth.HenrycouldrememberatimewhenhehadleafedthroughdocumentsfullofTemplarnamesgiventohimbyEthan.ThankstoJacob,most,ifnotall,wereoutofactionorincapacitated.Quitesomefeat.AndyetEvie,whowassofixatedonfindingtheShroud,couldn’tseepastthe

devastationhehadcaused.‘Ihaveseenyourhandiworkacrossthecity,’shewastellingherbrothernow.

‘You“sufferthepenaltyoftoomuchhaste,whichistoolittlespeed”.’Heroundedonher.‘Don’tyouquoteFatheratme.’‘That’sPlato,’shecorrectedhimwitheringly.‘Iamdreadfullysorrythis

doesn’tinvolveanythingyoucandestroy.Fatherwasright.Heneverapprovedofyourmethods.’‘Evie,Fatherisdead…’

AndnowitwastimeforHenrytostepin.‘Enough!Ihavejustreceivedwordfrommyspies.Atthepalaceballtonight,StarrickplanstostealthePieceofEden,theneliminatetheheadsofchurchandstate.’Whichchangedthings.EvieandJacoblookedatoneanotherandknewthatthankstowhatwas

Starrick’slastthrowofthedice,afinal,desperateattempttowinbackwhatthetwinshadsofarcosthim,hehadunwittinglysynchronizedherobsessionwiththeShroudandhisneedtowrestcontrolviamoretraditionalmeans.Whatpassedbetweenthemwasthatknowledge.Abegrudgingknowledge.

Butaknowledgeallthesame.‘Oncemore,foroldtimes’sake?’saidJacobwithoneraisedeyebrow,andfor

amomentsherememberedwhatitwastheyhadbetweenthemandshemourneditspassing.Whocouldeverhaveknownthatcarryingouttheirfather’swisheswouldenduptearingthemapart?‘Andthenwe’refinished,’shetoldhimwithahardheart.‘Agreedwithpleasure,’hesaid,adding,‘Sowhat’stheplan?’TheplaninvolvedutilizingarelationshipformedwithBenjaminandMary

AnneDisraeliinordertostealinvitationstotheparty–fromnoneotherthantheGladstones.EviesetaboutarranginganothermeetingwithSinghwhileJacobwastasked

withstealingtheinvitations–ajobforwhichhewasideallysuited.BeingabletolifttheinvitationfromabesottedCatherineGladstone,JacobalsosetaboutstealingtheGladstones’carriage.Thefactthattheinvitationstatedthat‘swordsmustbeleftatthedoor’theydecidedwasamatterbestlefttoFrederickAbberline,whopromisedtosmuggletheweaponstheyneededinsidethepalacegrounds.ItinvolvedJacobhavingtostealauniform.Meanwhile,EviemetwithDuleepSingh,whotoldhertheplanshadbeenremovedtothequeen’spersonalpapersintheWhiteDrawingroom.Nowsheknewwherethedocumentswerekept.AndthankstoJacobtheyhad

acarriage.Theyhadthemeansofsmugglingweaponsintothepalace.Theyhadinvitations.Thegamewasafoot.

Priortosettingout,Eviestudiedtheavailableplansofthepalace:theeasternfrontagewheretheywouldenter;thewestwing,wheretheterracefortheballwouldsoonhostdancing;andtheninside,thefivefloorsandoversevenhundredrooms.Therewasonlyoneshewasinterestedin,though.TheWhiteDrawingRoom,

anditwastotherethatshewouldgoassoonasshewasable.GototheWhiteDrawingRoom,stealtheblueprints,locatethevault,findtheShroud.SheandJacobsatintheGladstones’carriage,withthecouple’sinvitations

clutchedtightastheyjoinedaprocessionofcarriagesmakingtheirwaytowardsthepalaceatthewesternendofTheMall.DidEvieimagineit,orwasthereacertainexcitementintheair?Afterall,thequeenhadmostlyshunnedpublicappearancessincethedeathofthePrinceConsort,Albert.Shehadbeenthesubjectofsomelampooneryasaresult.However,itwasreputedthatshewastobemakinganappearanceatherownballtonight.Astheyreachedthemainentrance,Eviesawimmediatelythatthequeen’s

appearancewasunlikelytobethenight’sonlytalkingpoint.TheircoachpassedMrandMrsGladstonearguingwithpalaceguardswhoworebearskinhatsandcarriedrifleswithbayonetsattached.MrandMrsGladstoneinfullflightwerenottobetrifledwith,butthenagainneitherweretheQueen’sGuard,andthetwopartiesseemedtohavereachedanimpasse.Evieslippeddownalittleinhercarriageseatastheypassed,thankfullyunnoticedbytheGladstones,stilloccupiedinalternatelythreateningandpleadingwiththeQueen’sGuard.Outofsightnow,theircarriageclatteredoncobblesthroughthecolumnsof

theentrancewayandintothefrontcourtyardofthepalace.Atthetopofthequeueimmaculatelyattiredfootmenwereeithershoutingangryordersatcoachdrivers,oropeningcarriagedoorssothatthedistinguishedpersonageswithinmightstepoutandmaketheirwayintothemainreceptionhall.Inthere,they

wouldascendtheGrandStaircaseandmaketheirwayeithertotheballroomortheterrace.Thepartywasalreadyinfullswing.Meanwhile,astheysatintheircarriageandawaitedtheirturntobedecanted

intohighsociety,EvieandJacobexchangedglances.Anadmissionofnerves.Goodluck.Takecare.Itwasallinthelooktheyshared.‘IshallgotofindthePieceofEden,’shetoldhim.Hepursedhislips.‘Asyouwish.IamofftomeetFreddie.’Andthenthedoortotheircarriagewasopenedandtheylookedoutupon

bowingblank-facedfootmenandthentothestepsthatledtotheopendoorsofthepalace,againflankedbyfootmen,asteadystreamofimmaculateguestsmakingtheirwayinside.Well,atleasttheylookedthepart.Jacobinaformalsuitfortheoccasion,Evie

insatintrimmedwithlace,abodice,satinslippers,skirtsandwireruches.Shefelttrussedup.AturkeyreadyforChristmasdinner.Still,sheblendedin,thatwasforcertain;exceptwheremostofthefemaleguestsworediamond-encrustednecklaces,Eviehadthevaultkeyhangingonachainatherthroat.Shehadbeenthroughanawfullottosecurethatkey.Shewasn’tabouttoletitoutofhersight.Justastheysteppeddownfromthecarriagetheyheardacrysomedistance

away.‘That’smycarriage!’TheplaintiveindignantshoutofthePrimeMinister-to-be,Gladstone,ashoutthatthankfullywentunacknowledged.Nowtheysplitup.JacobslippedofftomeetAbberline,secureweapons,then

somehowpreventStarrick’splottoslaughterhighsociety,whileEviehadaWhiteDrawingRoomtofind.Likeotherguests,shemadeherwaytotheGrandStaircase,deliberatelyjoiningcrowdsandkeepingalowprofileasshewascarriedalonginatideofsilksandsuitsandpoliteconversationandhushedgossip.Shesmiledandnoddedifspokento,playingthepartofayoungdebutantetoperfection.Leavingthestreamofguestsforacorridortoherleft,sheheardawell-

meaningvoicefrombehindhersay,‘Mydear,theballroomisthisway,’butpretendednottohear,creepingaway,silentlytreadingtheluxuriousAxminsterinhersatinslippersasshemadeherwaydeeperintothepalace.Shemovedsilently,likeawraith,everysensealertforguardssoshewould

hearthembeforetheysawher.Sureenough,shepickedupthesoundofapproachingfootstepsandamurmurofvoices,soletherselfintoanoffice.It

wassparselyfurnished,closedshutterslettingintheonlylight,andshestayedbythedoor,openacrackinordertolettheguardspass.Astheydidshepeepedthroughthecrackandgotagoodlookatthem.They

woretheuniformoftheQueen’sGuardbuttherewassomethingaboutthem.Somethinglessordered,lesssmart.Imposters.Ofcourse.Starrickhadinfiltratedtheguard,postinghisownmeninsideand

outsidethepalace.Howelsecouldtheyhopetopulloffwhatwasbasicallytobeamassacre?Sheswallowed,hopingthatatthisverymoment,JacobwouldbelearningthesamefromAbberline.SheletherselfoutoftheofficeandbackontotheAxminstercarpet,hurrying

alongthecorridor.ShefoundherwaytotheWhiteDrawingRoomandletherselfin.Thereshehuntedfortheplanssheneeded,keepingoneearonanythinghappeningoutside.Shefoundthem.Spreadingthemoutonadesk,shebitherlipwiththe

excitementofherfind.Unliketheplansofthepalaceshehadalreadystudied,theseincludedeverything.Everyroomwasaccountedfor,everycorridorandpassagewaymarked.ThesewerethePrinceConsort’spersonalplans.And…Shecaughtherbreath.Therewasthevault.ShewishedHenrywereheretoseethis.Shesavouredthethoughtofhis

reaction.Infact,shethought,shesavouredthethoughtofspendingalotmoretimewithHenryGreenwhenthiswasallover.Butthatwasforlater.RightnowshecouldonlyhopeJacobwasneutralizing

thethreatfromStarrick’smensoshecouldconcentrateonmakingherwaydowntothevault.Shewenttogo,thencaughtsightofherselfinalongmirroratoneendofthedrawingroom,adjustedherself,smoothedherdresses,andthen,withtheblueprintshiddeninhercleavage,letherselfoutofthedrawingroomandontothecorridorbeyond.Shemadeonemorestoptoavoidsentriesalongthewayandthenwasquicklybackintothethrongofguests,anonymousandinvisibleonceagain.Nowforthevault…Justthencameavoicethatstoppedherinhertracks.‘Thereyouare.’

Damn.ItwasMaryAnneDisraeli,afriendandally,andnotsomeonetobeeasilypalmedoff.‘IhavesomeoneIamsimplydyingforyoutomeet!’exclaimedMrsDisraeli

and,brookingnoargument,tookEviebytheupperarm,leadingherthroughtheguests,skirtingtheballroomandtotheterraceoutside.TherestoodawomanthatEvieFryerecognized.Sucharecognizablewoman,infact,thattheyoungAssassinhadamomentofsimplybeingunabletobelieveherowneyes.‘YourMajesty,’saidMaryAnneDisraeli,givingEvieasurreptitioussqueeze

toremindhertocurtsey,‘mayIpresentMissEvieFrye.’HerRoyalHighness,wearingthedarkgarbthatwasnowhercustomandan

expressiontomatch,lookeduponEviewithamixtureofdisinterestanddistaste,andthenquiteunexpectedlysaid,‘YouaretheoneresponsibleforMrGladstone’smishap?’Evieblanched.Thegamewasup.Theyhadbeendiscovered.‘Y-yourMajesty,

Iapologize…’shestammered.Andyet…thequeenwassmiling.ApparentlyGladstone’s‘mishap’hadleft

hermostamused.‘Thecakeisparticularlygood,’shetoldEvie.‘Enjoytheball.’Withthatsheturnedandleft,afootmanscurryingtoherside.Dazed,Evie

simplystoodandgawped,toolaterealizingthatshewasallofasuddenthecentreofattention.Shewasinplainsight,andnothiding.Shemovedtoquicklygo,butthedamagewasdoneandahandgraspedher

upperarm,andthistimeitwasn’tthefriendly,assuringgripofMaryAnneDisraeli,whohaddriftedoffinsearchofmoresocializing.No,thiswasthefirmcustodialgraspofCrawfordStarrick.‘MayIhavethisdance…MissFrye?’hesaid.Itwasabreachinprotocolthatdrewgaspsfromthosearoundthem,but

CrawfordStarrickdidn’tseemtocareaboutthatasheledEvietothemiddleoftheterrace–justastheorchestrabegantoplayamazurka.‘MrStarrick,’saidEvie,joininghiminthedance,hopingshesoundedmorein

commandofthesituationthanshefelt.‘You’vehadyourfun,butthegameisover.’ButStarrickwasn’tlistening.Eyeshalfclosed,heseemedtransportedbythe

music.Evietooktheopportunitytostudyhisface.Withsatisfactionshenotedthetirednessandanxietywrittenintothedarkringsandwrinklesroundhiseyes.

TheAssassins’activitieshadtrulytakentheirtollontheTemplarGrandMaster.Anyotherleadermighthaveconsideredcapitulation,butnotCrawfordStarrick.Shewonderedabouthisstateofmind.Shewonderedaboutamanso

consumedwithvictoryhewasn’tabletoadmitdefeat.‘One,two,three,’hewassaying,andsherealizedthathewasgesturing

aroundthemattherooftopsoverlookingthecrowdedterraces.Hereyeswenttowherehewaslooking.Yes.Theretheywere.MenintheuniformoftheQueen’sGuardbutevidentlyTemplarmarksmen,halfadozenorso.Asshewatched,theylevelledtheirrifles,pointingthemintothecourtyardbelow,awaitingasignal.Themassacrewasabouttobegin.‘Timeisawonderfulthing,MissFrye,’Starrickwassaying.‘Ithealsall

wounds.Wemaymakemistakeswhiledancing,butthemazurkaendsandthenwebeginagain.Theproblemisthateveryoneforgets.Theytriponthesamemistakesoverandoveragain.’Evietrackedhereyesfromthemenontherooftops,expectingtheshootingto

beginatanysecond.Whatwashewaitingfor?Andthenhetoldher.‘Thisdanceisnearlyover.Soonthepeoplewillforget

thegenerationonthisterrace,theruinyounearlywroughtonLondon.Whenthemusicceases,MissFrye,yourtimeisupandminebeginsoncemore.’Sothatwasthesignalthemenwerewaitingfor.Theorchestraplayedon.

Whenthemazurkaended…Evie’sgazewenttotherooftopsagainandherheartleapttoseethefamiliar

figureofJacob,nowinhisAssassin’sclothes,ashemovedinononeofthemarksmenandslithisthroat.Sheknewherbrother.Sheknewthatiftherewasonethingshecoulddepend

onhimfor,itwastogetthisparticularjobdone.Andhedid.Bythetimethedancewasended,therooftopswereemptyand

Starrickwassuddenlyrousedfromhisreverie.Furiousthenfrantic,hiseyeswenttotherooftops,sawthememptyandthenfoundthesmilingfaceofhisdancepartnerasshesaid,‘Ihaveafeelingsomeoneisabouttocutin…’Hebaredhisteeth.‘ThenwithregretIwillrelinquishyou.’Hewasfast.Hishandhadreachedtosnatchthekeyfromherneckbeforeshe

hadachancetostophim.Thenheturnedandwashurryingaway,leavingEviegasping,herhandatherthroat.Aroundhercameoutragedcries.‘Didyouseethat?Didyouseewhathedid?’ShemovedquicklyawayinStarrick’swakebutlosthiminthecrowd.Behind

herscandalragedbutsheputherheaddownandmadeherwaytotheedgeoftheterrace,gratefulforthesightofJacobwhotookadvantageofthesuddentumulttoemerge.Shepulledthepapersfromherdécolletage,thrustthemintoJacob’shands.

‘Here,’shesaidquickly,breathlessly.‘Thelocationofthevault.Go.’Helookedattheplans,eyebrowsknitted.‘Justlikethat?Noplan?’‘Notimeforplans.I’llcatchupassoonasI’mridofthis–’shegesturedatthe

hateddress,tookhergauntletfromJacob’soutstretchedhandscoopedupasatchelcontainingherAssassin’sgarb,andthenmadeoffinsearchofasuitablespotforhertransformation.

Jacobran.Thevaultmarkedontheblueprintwaslocatedclosetothewinevaults,andpresumablyhadbeenconstructedatthesametimebeforebeingstruckfromtheplansanddisappearingintosecrecy.Itsdoorwashidden,seeminglyjustanothersectionofornatepanelling.ButasJacobarrivedhesawitajar,nodoubtopenedwiththekeythatCrawfordStarrickhadstolenfromEvie.Thepartywasalongwaybehindhimnow.Probablytheywerestillclutching

theirpearlsafterwhathappenedbetweenStarrickandEvie.Thispartofthepalacewasdeserted,silent.Exceptnotthatsilent.AsJacobmadehiswayalonganarrowtunneltowards

thevaultheheardthedullthumpofanexplosionfromahead.Starrickhadunsealedthevault.Jacobtensed.Heheardhisknucklescrack.Hisblademadelessnoiseashe

flexedhisforearmtoengageit.Evenmorecautiouslynowhemadehiswaytowardstheblown-outvaultdoor.

Steppingthroughhefoundhimselfinaroomofmedievalarchitecture.So,itwasolderthanthewinevaults,whichdatedbacktotheremodellingofthepalaceinthe1760s.Infact,itlookedverymuchtoJacobasthoughthecurrentpalacehadbeenbuiltontopofthevault.Despitehimself,hesuppressedasmile.HowEviewouldhavelovedtohave

madethisdiscoveryforherself.AtthecentreofthevaultstoodtheTemplarGrandMaster,havingopeneda

boxhe’dfoundthere.ThetrunkwasareceptaclethelikeofwhichJacobhadneverseenbefore.Adarkgreyfuturisticrectangleinsetwithstrangeangularindentations,inscriptionsandcarryhandles.Andforasecondallhecoulddowasstareatit,astransfixedbyitasStarrick.Justtolayeyesonthecratewasenoughtoconvincehimthattherewassomethingother-worldlyandunknowableaboutit.PerhapsEviewasrighttoplacesuchstoreintheseartefacts.CrawfordStarrickstillworehissuit,butdrapedoveritwasashimmering

pieceoflinenthatappearedtoexudethesamesenseofsuppressedenergyandmenaceasthebox.EvenasJacobwatched,patternsseemedtoformanddissembleonthegoldencloth,anddifferentcoloursglowed.Insidetheboxwasaseriesofwhatlookedlikedecorativebaubles,andeithertheytoohummedwithpowerorwerereflectingitfromthecrate.StillJacobwashypnotized,fallingintodeepbelief,feelingthecalloftheartefacts–until,withaneffort,heshook

hisheadtofreehimselfofit,stitchedthesmilebackonhisfaceandsteppedforwardtogreettheGrandMaster.‘Aren’twealittletoooldtoputfaithinmagic?’hesaid.StarricklookedupathimwithapuzzlingexpressionthatEvieFrymighthave

recognizedfromthedance.Onlynowhewassotransporteditwasalmostbeatific.‘Comenow,’hesaidwithasmile.‘Allowanoldmanhisindulgences.’‘Iwillallowyounothing,’saidJacob,bemusedandsteppingforward.Starricktooknostepstodefendhimself,merelysmiledindulgently.Thesmile

ofthetrulywise.‘Theyoungthinktheycanmaketheirmarkonthisworld,aworldentirelybuilttoexploitthem.’Jacobshookhisheadanddrewhimselfuptogang-leaderstature.‘Idon’t

thinkIcanmakemymark,oldman,Iknow.’Starrick’sfacehardened.Hewasbackinthehereandnow,drawingancient

powerfromhisfind.AndthenJacobattacked.

Henryhaddecided.HewouldleavetheAssassinstowhomhehadbecomeaburden,andleaveEvietowhomhewasaliability.HehadspenthisentireliferunningawayfromtheknowledgethathewasanunfitAssassin.HeldprisonerinthegroundsofStPaul’sChurch,CoventGarden,Henryunderstoodthatithadcaughtupwithhim.Awashwithmemories,hehadclosedupshopandextinguishedthelightsat

thefront,retiringbehindthecurtaintohisworkroom.ClockstickedandhewonderedwhatEviewasdoingnow.NodoubtsheandJacobwerearrivingattheQueen’sBall.Whentheyreturneditwouldbetheendoftheline.Eitherway,winorlose,thisbattlewouldhavebeenfoughttoitsconclusion:theAssassinswouldbeoncemoreintheascendance,withtheruleoftheLondonTemplarsatanend,ortheywouldbehavingtoretreat,regroup,thinkagain.AndHenry?Hesatatthecentraltable,withdocumentsandinscriptionslaid

outaroundhim,mapsandplansoverwhichheandEviehadpored,andputhisfaceinhishands,thinkingbacktohislifeasachildandtheyearshehadspentasTheGhost.Alifetimeofdelusionandshattereddreamsandfailure.Yearsagohe’dthoughtofleavingtheBrotherhood.Youcan’tturnyourback

onabelief,he’dthoughtatthetime.Yes,hedecidednow.Yesyoucould.Hedrewablankpieceofpapertowardshim,reachedforhisstylusand

inkwell.‘DearEvie,’hewrote.Andthenhewasstoppedbyasoundfromthefrontoftheshop.Itcameagain.

Knocking.Henrystood,reachedforhisbladeandbegantostrapitonashemoved

throughthecurtain,barefeetnoiselessonthefloorboardsashetraversedtheclutteroftheshoptothedoor.Heshookhissleeve,obscuringthebladeand

studiedtheglassofthedoorwherehecouldseeafigure,anoutlineherecognizedatonce.‘Comein,’hesaid,openingthedoorandthrowingglancesupanddownthe

busyWhitechapelstreetoutside.Overthethreshold,steppingfromthebalmyeveningoutsideintothe

darkened,oppressiveatmosphereofHenry’sshop,cameGeorgeWesthouse.‘You’rearmed,’hesaid,bywayofagreeting.Trainedeyes.‘WehavetheTemplarscornered,’repliedHenry,‘andyouknowwhata

corneredratdoes?’‘Itattacksshopkeepers?’saidGeorge.Henrytriedtoforceasmilebutsmilesnevercameeasilytohimandsure

enoughthemusclesrefusedtoobey.Insteadheclosedthebolts,turnedandledGeorgethroughthetotteringshelvestohisworkroom.TherehebrushedasidetheletterhehadbegunanddirectedGeorgetoachair;previousoccupant,EvieFrye.Georgecarriedasmallleathersatchelthatheplacedonthetabletopashesat

down.‘Perhapsyou’dliketofillmeinoneventsinthecity?’hesaid.Henrytoldhimhow,withthehelpofhisinformationnetwork,Jacobhad

organizedthegangsintheEastEnd,thensuccessfullycarriedoutaseriesofoperationsagainsttheTemplars,severelyweakeningtheirposition;howheandEviehaddiscoveredthelikelylocationofthelatestPieceofEden;howEvieandJacobwereatthisverymomentattheQueen’sBall,EvieseekingthevaultwheretheShroudwaskept…AtmentionoftheartefactGeorge’seyebrowsraised.Yes,thoughtHenry,moreaccursedartefacts.Moredeathinthenameof

baubles.‘Andyou’vehadawillingcohortintheshapeofEvieFrye,nodoubt?’‘WehaddifferentreasonsforseekingthePieceofEden,’agreedHenry.‘She

wantedtowitnessit.ShewantedtolookuponthepowersoftheFirstCivilization.Ihadalreadydoneso.IwantedtomakesurethatthatpowerneverfellintothehandsoftheTemplars.’‘“Had”yousay…’‘Ibegyourpardon.’

‘YousaidyouhadverydifferentreasonsforseekingoutthePieceofEden.Whatmakesyouthinktheseeventsbelonginthepasttense?’‘Ihaveeveryfaithinthetwins.EvenifEvieshouldfailtorecovertheShroud

thenIamconfidentJacobwillneutralizeCrawfordStarrick.Eitherway,thePieceofEdenwillbesafeforthetimebeing.’‘Andthat’sit,isit?’GeorgepointedacrossthetabletowhereHenry’s‘Dear

Evie’letterlay.‘Nothingelse?’Henrylookedathim.‘No,’hesaid.‘Nothingelse.’Georgenoddedsagely.‘Well,thengood.That’sverygood.Because,you

know,asEthantoldyou,andasyourmothertoldyou,theAssassinsneedtheiranalyticalmindsasmuchastheyneedtheirwarriors.’HenryavoidedGeorge’seye.‘AtrueAssassinwouldbeboth.’‘No,no.’Georgeshookhishead.‘Whatyou’redescribingisn’taperson,it’s

anautomaton.Ourorganization–anyorganization–needsaconscience,Henry.It’sanimportantfunction.Wemaybeslowtorecognizeitonoccasion,butthefactremainsit’savitalfunction.Whateveryoudo,I’dlikeyoutorememberthat.’Henrynodded.‘Right,nowthat’sclear,perhapsIshouldcometomynextorderofbusiness

…’Georgeopenedthesatchel,removedaleather-boundbookandsliditacross

thetabletoHenry.‘Eviecontactedmeaboutthis.Abookshedimlyrememberedseeinginherfather’slibrary,whichmayormaynotcontainsomeinformationabouttheartefactyouseek.’HenryfrownedathimandGeorgeshrugged.‘Yes,allright,Iknewaboutthe

Shroud.Imerelywantedtohearitfromthehorse’smouth.Well,anotherhorse’smouth.’Curious,Henrydrewthebooktowardshim,slippedopenthecoverand

straightawayfeltatickleoftheoldexcitement.Containedwithinwaswhatlookedtobeaseriesoftestimonieshandeddownthroughouttheages–detailsofbattlesfought,assassinationscarriedout,treasureswonandlost–allofitreferringbacktotheveryearliestyearsoftheEnglishBrotherhood.HadEviecomeacrosssomethingabouttheShroud,perhaps?Somethingthat

madenosensetoheratthetimebutwhichresonatednow?

GeorgewatchedHenry’sfacewithasmile.‘Ittooksomefinding,Icantellyou,’hesaid.‘Hopefullyitwillbeofuse.’Hestoodtogo.‘Nodoubtyouwillwanttoreaditatonce,soIshallleaveyouinpeace.You’vedonewell,Henry.Yourmotherandfatherwillbeproud.Ethanwouldbeproud.’WhenHenryhadlockedupafterGeorgehereturnedtothebook.Theyknew

thattheShroudwasreputedtooffereternallife,andfromthatEvieassumedtheartefacthadhealingabilities.However,shehadsincebecomeconvincedthatitalsocontainedsomegreater,

perhapsdarkerpower.Hercuriosityhadsparkedamemory;thememoryhadbroughthertothisbook.Henryleafedthroughitquicklynow,anticipatingwhathemightfind,untilhe

cametoaparticularentry,onethattoldof–yes–ashroud.Itwaswritteninthemostellipticaltermsbutneverthelessconfirmedthatitdidindeedconfereternallifeuponitswearer.However,theaccountmentionedsomethingelsebesides.Anegativetoits

positive.Thedrawback–ormaybe,forsome,theadvantage–ofwearingtheShroudwasthatitwoulddrawenergyfromwhomsoeverheorshetouched.ThereportconcludedthatnothingelsewasknownoftheShroud,thatwhat

appearedheremightbemeregossiporconjecture.Evenso,itwasenoughforHenrytothinkofEvie–EviegoingtothevaultwithoutknowingtheShroud’struepower.

AtlastEviewasbackinherusualclothes.Shetossedthedreadeddresstooneside,adjustedtheclipsonhergauntletandshookhershouldersintohercoatatthesametime.Oncemoreshecaughtherownreflectioninawindowofthesmallantechambershehadchosenforthequickchange,butwasaltogetherhappierwiththeresultsthistime.Forgetthatimposter’sfinery.Thiswasherrealself.Herfather’sdaughter.Andnowtothevault.LikeJacobshelefttheongoinguproaroftheparty

behindandrushedinthedirectionofwheresheknewittobe,andlikehimshearrivedtofindthedooropen.Sherusheddowntheslopeandintothetunnel,checkingherselfasshecameclosertotheopenvaultdoor.Frominsidecamethesoundsofastruggle.TheunmistakablesoundofJacob

inpain.Andherbladewasalreadydeployingassherushedtowardstheportal,crashingthroughintimetoseeStarrickwearingtheShroudandpinningJacobwithonehand.Shestoodandgawpedforasecond.Itwasn’tpossible.AmanofStarrick’s

ageandbuildmanagingtorestrainJacob.Yetthereitwas.SourcingpowerfromtheShrouditwasasthoughStarrickwasleechingitfromJacobatthesametime.‘Youdonotlisten,’shecaughthimsayingashergazetravelledtoanornatelydecoratedchest.Insidewerewhatlookedlikejewelsthathadbeguntoriseasifoftheirownaccordandglowedmalevolentlyinthemurkygloomofthevault.Guardiandrones,theybegantorevolveasifsettingupaprotectiveperimeteraroundtheGrandMasterandhishelplessvictim.Shewasabouttofindouthowpowerfultheywere,forhavingtakenseveral

stepsintothevaultshewhirledatanoisefrombehindher.Aguardhadrushedintothevault,alreadybreathlesslytryingtoaddressStarrick.‘Sir,there’s–’Butheneverfinishedhiswords.Thesuddenmovementfromthedoorway

seemedtoexcitetheguardiansandaboltshotfromoneofthem,catchingthe

guardinthefaceandpropellinghimbackwards–deadbeforehehitthefloor.Ashissingedandblackenedfacelolledsherealizeditwasthemovement,the

suddenmovementthathadsetthemoff.Sheremainedstill,oneeyeonthedeadlyhoveringinsects,butalsomonitoringthecentreoftheroom,whereStarrickheldherbrothercaptive,suckingthelifefromhim.Thesituationwasdesperatenow;Jacobwasholdingonbutonlyjust.‘Londonwillsoonberidofyourchaos!’Starrickroared.Hiseyeswerewide

andwildandsalivafleckedhislips.‘Thiscitywasasafeharbour.Alightforallhumanity.Youwouldratherdestroythefabricofsociety.Whatalternativesdoyoupropose?Bedlam?’Freedom,thoughtEvie,butstayedsilent.Insteadshedirectedherefforts

towardsherbrother,feelinghispainasifitwereherown.‘Jacob,resist,’shecalled,andheardherownvoicecrackwithhelplessnessandfrustration.Herbrother’seyesbulged,andthetendonsinhisneckpulsedsohardshefearedtheymightactuallyburst.‘Evie,’hemanaged,‘stayback.’‘Youdonotknowhowtousetheartefact,’EviecalledtoStarrick.‘The

Shroudwasnevermeantforyou.’ButStarrickwasn’tlistening.HewasapplyingmorepressuretoJacob’sneck,

thepowersurgingthroughhimashedidso.Hesnarledashewenttocompletethedeathgrip.Atthesametime,asthoughtheysensedeventsdrawingtoaclose,the

guardiandroneshadwithdrawn,theirpulsinglightfadingastheyreceded.Evietookthechancetodashforwardwithashoutofdefiance.HerbladeroseandfellbutStarrickwasenjoyingtheassistanceoftheartefactsandseemedtoeasilydodgetheblow.Atleastshe’ddoneenoughtoknockhimoffbalance,though,andinthenextinstantJacobwasrollingonthestone,gaspingandsplutteringwithhishandsathisneck,releasedatlastfromthegripofCrawfordStarrick.SuddenlycaughtbythecombinedauraoftheShroud,thetrunkanddrone

artefacts,Eviefoundherselfdisorientated,andinthenextmomentwastakenbyStarrickwhoheldherinthesamegriphe’dusedonJacob.‘AnotherFryetofeedon,’heshoutedtriumphantly.Hismanicgazeboreinto

Evie.Whenthey’ddancedshe’dwonderedabouthisstateofmind.Nowshewasinnodoubt.WhateverwasleftofCrawfordStarrickwasintheresomewherebut

itwasburieddeep.Hewasinsomeotherplace.‘Iadmireyourpluck,’hewassaying,showeringherwithspittle,‘butthereislittleyoucanaccomplishnow.LikeJesushimself,Iamimmortal.BeholdthepoweroftheShroud.’‘Jesusworeitbetter,’shemanaged,butifStarrickheardherhemadenosign,

rantingon.‘Iwillbeginagain.AndthisnewLondonshallbeevenmoremagnificent.

Firstyouwillfall,thenthequeen.’Aroundhertheguardianshadbegunorbitingwithgreaterurgency.Itwasasif

theyrespondedtoStarrick’sincreasedemotionalintensity.Orperhaps–morelikely–theyweresomehowinextricablylinkedtotheimpulsesshootingthroughtheShroudhewore,themselvesdrawingoffhisexcitement.Eitherway,Jacobhadpulledhimselftohisfeetbuttheypreventedhimfrom

cominganycloser.NowitwashewhourgedhertostaystrongandresistthedarknessofStarrick’sdeathgrip.Boltsshotfromthedrones,keepinghimaway.‘Noamountofplanningormightshallbeatme,’Starrickwasraving.‘Ihave

historyonmyside.Londondeservesarulerwhowillremainvigilant,whowillpreventthecityfromdevolvingintochaos.’‘Chaosthatyouareabouttocause,’sheshouted,andcameinclose,hopingto

dodgetheguardiansandstrikeatStarrick.Shewastooslow.Aboltofenergyslammedintoher,knockinghertothe

wall.Starrickcapitalizedonthisandwithanalmostunimaginableburstofstrength

pouncedonher,hishandatherneck.NowtheTemplarGrandMasterheldbothEvieandJacob.Thepowerofthe

Shroud’senergyseemedtoflowthroughthelinen,throughhisarmsandtothehandshemadehisclaws,grippingthetwinsharder.Liftingthemliketrophies.Squeezing.Theyhunghelpless,shouldersthrownback,chinsjutting,jawsworkingwithanagonysointenseitrefusedtoallowthemeventoscream.AndEviefelttheverylifeforcewasbeingdrawnfromher.Shortofbreath,

hervisionclouding,hermusclesrefusingtorespondtoanyoftheweaksignalsofresistancesentbyherbrain,Starrick’sclaw-likehandsgrippedherthroat,butitwasasifheweredrivingthepointofapikeintoherneck.‘Get.Out.Of.My.City,’hesnarledandthese,sherealized,wouldbethelast

wordssheeverheardbecausehisgripwasincreasing,andherconsciousness

receding.Thoughtspassedthroughherdyingmind.RegretsthatshewouldneverhavetheopportunitytotellHenryhowshefeltabouthim.VisitAmritsarwithhim.HowshewouldnevermakeherpeacewithJacob.Tellherbrothershelovedhim.Saysorrythingshadturnedoutthisway.

Atfirstshebelievedshewashallucinating.Surelythefigureinthedoorwaywasanimageprojectedtoherindeath,anout-of-focusproductofwishfulthinking?She’dtakeitwithher,shedecided.Ratherthanthegrinning,sweatinginsanityofStarrick,itwouldbethisthatshecarriedwithherfromthisworldtothenext.ItwouldbeHenry.Shesawhishandriseandfall.Lightflashingonsilver.Somethingspinning

acrossthevaulttowardsthem.AndthenfromStarrickcameashoutofpain,andhisholdrelaxedenoughon

herthroatforhertoseeaknifehandleprotrudingfromhischest,aflowerofbloodalreadyspreadingacrosshisshirt.Afamiliarvoice.Henry.Hehadcome.Itreallywashiminthedoorway,

resplendentinhisrobes,activatinghisblade,movingtowardswhereStarrickwastryingbutnowfailingtomaintainhisgriponthetwins.Theguardiandrones,shethought,butcouldn’tsay.Henry,bewarethe

guardians.Shesawoneofthemseemtoshudderwithfurythenshootaboltofenergy

thatsnaggedHenry’sshoulderhardenoughtoknockhimoffhisfeetandunconscioustothestone.Atthesametimebothtwinspulledthemselvesfree,sprawlingtothefloorandgaspingforairevenastheyarrangedthemselvesintodefensivepositions,bladesattheready.Theyneedn’thaveworried.Starricklookedbeaten.Perhapstheguardians

werestillrespondingtohimbutnotformuchlonger.‘You’reweakening,’shoutedJacobintriumph.Hedodgedashotfroma

guardiandrone.‘Youcannotmaintainthis.’Hewasright.BloodwasspreadingacrossStarrick’sfrontandtheGrand

Masterwasalreadydeathlypale.Theprobesglowedmorefaintly,theirrespectiveflightpathslesscertain.

‘TheShroudwillnotprotectyou,’calledEvie.Starrickbaredbloodstainedteeth.‘Youarewrong,’hesaid.‘Thepeopleof

thiscity,mypeople,shallsupplyitsenergy.’WhateverpowertheShroudgavehimwasfadingnow.‘Thiscityisbiggerthanyouwilleverbe,’Evietoldhim.SheandJacobmadetoattack,andwhenStarrickpulledaway,theShroud

flutteredoffhimandtothefloorofthevault,releasingitshost.Atthesametimetheguardiandronesseemedtolosetheirenergy,asthough

theytooknewthebattlewasdone,andtheyreturnedtotheornateFirstCivilizationcrate:theatregoerssettlingdowntoenjoytheshowfromthecomfortoftheirbox.Starricksanktohisknees.Hisshouldersslumpedandhisheadhung,

regardinghisscarletshirt.WithJacobcoveringStarrick,EvierantoHenry,droppingtoherkneesand

skiddingacrossthestonetowardshim.Shetookhisheadinherlapandfeltforapulse.Itwasstrong.Hewasalive,hiseyelidsalreadybeginningtoflutter.‘Henry,’shesaid,tolethimknowshewasnear.Shecradledhisheadfora

preciousmoment,allowingherselfakiss.Therewouldbeplentymoreofthose,shepromisedherself.Butfirst…Eviestraightened,turnedandcrossedtowhereJacobstoodoverStarrick.Thetwinslookedgravelyatoneanother.Therewasnohonourtobehadin

slayingamortallywoundedman.Buttherewasevenlessinlettinghimbleedslowlytodeathonthestone.Tofinishhimquicklyandhumanelywastherightway.Theirfather’sway.

TheAssassinway.Theycameforward.‘Together,’saidEvietoJacobandtheyranhimthrough.‘Londonwillperishwithoutme,’gaspedCrawfordStarrickashedied.‘Youflatteryourself,’Jacobtoldhim.‘Iwouldhavemadeitintoaparadise.’Evieshookherhead.‘Thecitybelongstothepeople.Youarebutoneman.’‘Iamattheverytopoftheorder,’saidStarrickwithwhatwouldbehisvery

lastbreath.

‘Theverytopshouldbebarricadingtheirdoors,’statedJacob.‘WearetheAssassins.’

Yes,thoughtEvie.Shecasthergazeatthecarnageinthevaultandknewthat,forthetimebeingatleast,thedeathwasdone.Soon,EvieandJacobwoulddabtheirhandkerchiefsinStarrick’sbloodandthenthetwinsandHenrywouldleavethisvault,andknowingtheShroud’struepowertheywouldleaveitbehind,tobesealedupandleftinthecareoftheCrown.AndtomorrowLondonwouldawakenasacityrenewedandtogetherthethreeAssassinswouldcontinuetobringithope.Therewouldbemorebattlestofight,sheknew.Butfornow…

Epilogue

Henrywastremblingalittlehenoticed.Butthatwastobeexpected.Afterall,itwasn’teverydaythat…HecomposedhimselfandmovedintotheroomwhereEviesatstudyingthe

bouquethehadsenther,aperplexedlookonherface,andhewonderedifheweremakingahugeerrorofjudgement.Andifhewas,howhewouldeverrecover.Becausetherewasnodoubtinghisfeelingsforher.Noneatall.Hehadfallen

alittleinlovewithherthesecondhefirstsawher.Theirtimetogethersincehadseenthatfeelingintensifyintosomethingsostrongitalmostfeltlikesweetpain,likeapreciousburden–theneedtoseehereachday,justtobewithher,breathethesameairasher;whatinterestedherhefoundjustasabsorbing,andwhatmadeherlaughtickledhimtoo.Justtoshareaworkingdaywithherbroughthimmorehappinessthanhecouldremembersincechildhood.ShewipedhissoulcleanofhisyearsasTheGhost;shescrubbedtheslaughterfromhim.Shemadehimfeelwholeandnewagain.Hisloveforherwassomethinghemarvelledat,likeararebutterfly,suchwasitscolourandintensity.Andyet,likeabutterfly,itcouldsoeasilytakeflightandescape.CertainlyHenrythoughtshefeltthesamewayabouthim,but,aye,like

Hamletsaid,there’stherub;hecouldn’tbeabsolutelysure.Allthattimetheyhadspenttogetherresearchingtheartefacthadbroughtthemcloser,andforhimfeelingsoffriendshipandattractionhadswiftlyblossomedintothelovehefeltnow,thisgloriousrenewal.Butforher?Almostexactlyamonthagoshe’drewardedhimwithakissforsavingherlife.Washereadingtoomuchintowhatmightsimplyhavebeenahurriedthank-you?Itwasnotlongafterthoseepochaleventsatthepalacethathehadfoundher

inherstudyoneday.Shesatwithonelegpulledbeneathherself,leaning

forward,armsonthetabletop,aposeheknewwell,andhewassurethatsheblushedalittleatthesightofhimasheenteredtheroom.(Butthenagain,ontheotherhand,maybeshedidn’t.)He’dplacedhisstill-emptyherbariumonthetabletopbeforeherandwatched

hereyesgofromherownreadingtoitscover.‘Aherbarium?’shesaid.‘Areyoucollectingflowersforsomeone?’‘Onlymyself,’hereplied.‘I’mtoldit’ssomethingofaBritishpastime.Did

youknowtheyallhavesymbolicmeanings?’‘Ihadheardsomethingofthesort,’shesaid.‘Ofcourseyouhave.Unfortunately,I’vehadnotimetofillthebook.’‘I’msureIcanfindsomesamples,ifyou’dacceptmyhelp.’‘Iwouldappreciatethat.Thankyou,MissFrye.’Andsotheyhad,buildingupanimpressivecollectiontogetheroverthe

weeks,searchingforthemeaningoftheirownrelationshipjustassurelyastheydecipheredmessagesinflora.‘Mignonette:yourqualitiessurpassyourcharms,’shesaidoneday,asthey

poredoverthenow-bulgingherbarium.‘I’mnotentirelysureifthat’smeantasacompliment.“Love-in-a-mist”,that’s

aprettyname.’‘Alternatelycalled“devilinthebush”’Theylookedateachotherandlaughed.‘Narcissus:self-love,’shesaid,pointingitout.‘Ishouldbuyabouquetfor

Jacob.’‘Unkind,MissFrye,’laughedHenry,butpleased–pleasedthetwinswere

reconciled–andpleasedthatshewasabletoseeJacobwithalittlemoreperspective.‘Amusingasthisallis,Ireallyshouldgetbacktowork.Ifyouneedme…’‘I’llsendabouquet,’hesaid.‘OfIrises.’‘“Amessage.”Indeed.’Andsohehad.Hehadassembledadelightfulnosegayofiris,snowdrop,

strawberryflowerandredtulip,eachofthemwellchosen,selectedtosaysomethinghehimselfwasfindingitsohardtoexpress.Themaninthemirror

scoffedathisindecisionanduncertainty.Ofcourseshefeelsthesameway.Shekissedyouatthevault.Themanwhostoodbeforeitcouldn’tbesosure.‘Amessage…’hewatchedhersay,asherfingertipswenttothesnowdropand

strawberry,‘ofhope.Perfection?’Nextshewenttotheredtulip.Moreperplexedstill.Unabletodecipherthe

meaningbehindthisone.AndinthedoorwayHenrytookadeepbreath,clearedhisthroatandsaid,‘…

adeclarationoflove.’Sheturnedtoseehimthereandstoodfromherseat,crossingtowherehe

stood.Fallingoverhiswords,hesaid,‘I…MissFrye,youmustknowthatIhold

youinthehighestesteem…andregard.AndIwonderifyouwoulddomethehonourof…Ifyouwould,givemeyourhand…inmatrimony.’EvieFryetookHenry’shands,lookedupintoafaceshelovedwitheyesthat

weremistywithtears.And,yes,heknewshefeltthesame.

CharacterList

FrederickAbberline:policeofficer,laterpromotedtosergeantAjay:IndianAssassin,custodianatTheDarknessThebodyguard:anex-soldierwhoseestheerrorofhiswaysBoot:aterriblepickpocketandanevenworsecourierSirDavidBrewster:scientistandTemplarJamesThomasBrudenell:Templar,Starrick’slieutenantCavanagh:directoroftheMetropolitanRailway,TemplarBenjaminDisraeli:politicianMaryAnneDisraeli:wifeofBenjaminRupertFerris:headofFerrisIronworks,TemplarJohnFowler:chiefengineerfortheMetropolitanRailway,responsiblefortheconstructionoftheworld’sfirstundergroundline

EthanFrye:AssassinandmentortoJayadeepMir,fathertoEvieandJacobEvieFrye:AssassinandtwintoJacob,daughterofEthanJacobFrye:AssassinandtwintoEvie,sonofEthan,headoftheRooksCatherineGladstone:wifetoWilliamWilliamEwertGladstone:ChancelloroftheExchequerHardy:oneofCavanagh’sstrongarms,apunisherOtherHardy:oneofCavanagh’sstrongarms,alsoapunisherLeonardHazlewood:privatedetectivePyaraKaur:wifetoArbaazMir,mothertoJayadeepKulpreet:IndianAssassin,custodianatTheDarknessColonelWalterLavelle:TemplarMaggie:afriendofTheGhostand‘mother’totheunfortunatesoftheThamesTunnel

Marchant:sitemanagerattheMetropolitanRailwayArbaazMir:IndianAssassin,fathertoJayadeep

JayadeepMirakaTheGhost,BharatSinghandHenryGreen:Assassinundercoveragent

CharlesPearson:SolicitorofLondonandthe‘father’oftheLondonUnderground

MaryPearson:wifetoCharlesAubreyShaw:policeofficerDuleepSingh:maharajahandAssassincontactSmith:anotherofCavanagh’sstrongarms,andthethirdpunisherCrawfordStarrick:TemplarGrandMasterLucyThorne:Templar,expertintheoccultPhilip‘Plutus’Twopenny:thegovernoroftheBankofEngland,TemplarRobertWaugh:pornographerwithlinkstotheTemplarsGeorgeWesthouse:Assassin

Acknowledgements

Specialthanksto

YvesGuillemotAymarAzaiziaAnoukBachmanRichardFarreseAndrewHolmes

Andalso

AlainCorreLaurentDetocGeoffroySardinXavierGuilbertTommyFrançoisCecileRusseilJoshuaMeyer

TheUbisoftLegaldepartmentChrisMarcus

AntoineCeszynskiMarieCauchon

ThierryDansereauJamesNadigerCeriYoung

JeffreyYohalemClémentPrevostoRomainOrsatSarahMoisonAlexClarkeHanaOsmanViolaHayden

VirginieSergentClémenceDeleuze

Coverart:HugoPuzzuoli&GrantHillier

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Firstpublished2015

Assassin’sCreed,UbisoftandtheUbisoftlogoaretrademarksofUbisoftEntertainmentintheUSand/orothercountries

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ISBN:978-1-405-91887-9

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