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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
1
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.
2
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.
3
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.’
4
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.
5
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
also.
6
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.
7
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.
8
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.
9
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.
10
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.’
11
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
12
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
13
InternaldispatchsenttoGeorgeWesthouseofLondon,decodedfromtheoriginal:PleaserelayimmediatelytoEthanFrye:JayadeepMirinTheDarkness.
14
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.
15
‘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.
16
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.
17
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.
18
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.
19
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.’
20
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.
21
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.
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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.’
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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.’
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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.
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‘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.’
26
‘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.’
27
‘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.
28
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.
29
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.
30
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.’
31
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?’
32
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
33
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.
34
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.
35
‘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?’
36
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.
37
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.’
38
‘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.’
39
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…’
40
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.
41
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.
42
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.
43
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.
44
TwodayslaterontheharbouratAmritsar,threemeninbrownsuitsinterceptedanAssassinmessenger.ThethreemenkilledtheAssassin,madesuretoretrievethemessagehe’d
beenduetodelivertoLondon,andthenbundledhisbodyintoawagonforpigfeed.AsinstructedthemessagewashandedtoTemplarcodebreakers,whoset
aboutdecodingit,aprocessthattookthemaweekorso.‘Urgent,’itsaid,whentranslated.‘Missionpossiblycompromised.Ajayand
Kulpreetdead,maybetorturedforinformation.Suggestabortmissionatonce.’Andthen,atthebottom:‘Ethan,lookaftermyson.’
45
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.
46
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.
47
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.
48
‘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.’
49
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.
50
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.
51
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.
52
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.
53
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.
54
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.
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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.
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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.
57
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
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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.
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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.
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‘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.
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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.
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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.
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‘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.
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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.
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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.
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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…’
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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.’
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‘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.’
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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.
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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.’
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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.
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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.’
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‘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.
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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.’
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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.
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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.’
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‘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.
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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.
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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.’
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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.
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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.
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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.
83
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.
84
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.
85
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
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ISBN:978-1-405-91887-9