Assassin's Creed: Black Flag (16 page)

MAY 1716

It was two months later, and I was in Tulum off the eastern coast of the Yucatán Peninsula. My reason for being there? The ever-mysterious James Kidd and what he had showed me on Inagua Island.

He had been waiting, I now realize. Waiting for his moment to get me alone. After the death of DuCasse, the theft of his galleon and the . . . well, let’s just say “removal” of the rest of the Frenchman’s men, an operation that boiled down to either “join us and become a pirate,” or “enjoy your swim,” Thatch had sailed for Nassau with the Spanish galleon, taking most of the men with him.

Myself, Adewalé and Kidd had remained behind with some vague idea of how we might utilize the cove. What I had in mind, of course, was using the cove by relaxing on its beaches and drinking until the supplies of rum ran dry, then returning to Nassau.
Oh, you constructed the fortified harbour without me
.
What a shame I missed the opportunity to help.
Something like that.

What Kidd had in mind—well, who could tell? At least until he approached me that day, told me he had something to show me and led me to the Mayan stones.

“Odd-looking things, aren’t they?” he said.

From a distance they’d looked like a collection of rubble, but up close were actually a carefully arranged formation of strangely carved blocks.

“Is this what they call Mayan?” I asked him, staring at the rock closely. “Or is it Aztec?”

He looked at me. He wore that same penetrating, quizzical look he always seemed to when we spoke. It made me feel uncomfortable if I’m honest. Why did I always get the feeling he had something to say, something to tell me? Those cards he held close to his chest, there were times I wanted to wrench his hands away and look at them for myself.

Some instinct, though, had told me that I’d find out in good time. That instinct would be proved right.

“Are you good with riddles, Edward?” he asked me. “Puzzles and ponderings and the like?”

“I’m no worse than the next man,” I said carefully. “Why?”

“I think you have a natural gift for it. I’ve sensed it for some time, in the way you work and think. The way you understand the world.”

Now we were getting to it. “I’m not so sure about that. You’re talking in riddles now, and I don’t understand a word.”

He nodded. Whatever he had to tell me, it wasn’t going to appear all at once. “Clamber on top of this thing here, will you? Help me solve something.”

Together we scrambled to the top of the rocks, where we crouched. When James put a hand to my leg I looked down at it, just as tanned, weathered and worn as that of any pirate, with the same latticework of tiny cuts and scars earned at sea. But smaller, the fingers slightly tapered, and I wondered what it was doing there. If . . .
But no. Surely not.

Now he was speaking, and he sounded more serious than before, like a holy man in contemplation.

“Concentrate and focus all your senses. Look past shadow and sound, deep into matter, until you see and hear a kind of shimmering.”

What was he going on about?
His hand gripped my leg harder. He urged me to concentrate, to focus. His grip, in fact, his whole manner, brooked no disbelief, banishing my reluctance, my resistance . . .

Then I saw it. No, I didn’t
see
it. How can I explain this? I
felt it—
felt it with my eyes.

“Shimmering,” I said quietly. It was in the air around me—all around me—a more vivid version of something I had experienced before, sitting in the farmyard at home in Hatherton, late at night when, in a dream, my mind roaming free, it was as if the world had suddenly become that bit brighter and more clear. I had been able to hear things with extra clarity, see things ahead I hadn’t been able to see before, and here was the funny thing: as though there was contained within me a huge bank, a huge vault of knowledge awaiting my access, and all I needed to open it was the key.

That was it, sitting there, with Kidd’s hand gripping my leg.

It was as though I had found the key.

I knew why I’d felt different all those years ago.

“You understand?” hissed Kidd.

“I think so. I’ve seen its like before. Glowing, like moonlight on the ocean. It’s like using every sense at once to see sounds and hear shapes. Quite a combination.”

“Every man and woman on Earth has in them a kind of intuition hidden away,” Kidd was saying as I gazed about myself, like a man suddenly transported to another world. A blind man who could suddenly see.

“I’ve had this sense most of my life,” I told him, “only I thought it related in some way to my dreaming, or the like.”

“Most never find it,” said Kidd. “Others it takes years to tease out. But for a rare few it comes as natural as breathing. What you feel is the light of life. Of living things past and present. The residue of vitality come and gone. Practice. Intuition. Any man’s senses can be tuned well past what he is born with. If he tries.”

After that, we’d parted, with arrangements to meet in Tulum, which is why I found myself standing in the baking heat trying to talk to a native woman who stood by what looked like a pigeon coop and squinted up at me when I arrived.

“You keep these things as pets?” I asked.

“Messengers,” she replied in faltering English. “This is how we communicate between these islands. How we share information . . . And contracts.”

“Contracts?” I asked, thinking,
Assassins
.
Assassins’ contracts?

She told me Kidd was waiting for me at a temple and I moved on. How did she know? And why, as I walked, did I get the feeling that they were awaiting my arrival? Why, as I passed through a village made up mainly of low huts, did I feel as though the villagers were all talking about me, gaping blankly at me when I looked their way? Some wore colourful flowing robes and jewellery, and carried spears and sticks. Some had bare chests and wore breech-clouts, were daubed with markings and wore strange adornments, bracelets made of silver and gold and beaded necklaces with bones for pendants.

I wondered if they were like the people from my world, bound by notions of rank and social class. Just as back in England a high-class gentleman might be recognized by the cut of his clothes and quality of his walking cane, here those at the top of the scale simply wore finer robes, more ornate jewellery and had more intricate daubing.

Perhaps Nassau really was the only place that was truly free. Or perhaps I was fooling myself about that.

It was as if the jungle fell away, and rising high, high above me in a pyramid shape was a vast tiered Mayan temple, huge flights of steps rising through the centre of the layers of stone.

Standing gulping in the undergrowth, I noticed the freshly cut branches and stems around me. A path had been recently cleared and I followed it until I reached a doorway in the foot of the temple.

In there? Yes. In there.

I felt along the sides of the stone door and with effort dragged it across until I was able to squeeze inside, into what looked like an entrance chamber, but not as dark as I’d expected. As though somebody had already lit . . .

“Captain Kenway,” said a voice from the shadows. It was a voice I didn’t recognize, and in the next instant my pistol was drawn as I span and peered into the dark. My new enemies had the advantage of surprise, though, and the pistol was knocked from my hand at the same moment as I was grabbed and pinned from behind. The flickering torchlight lit hooded, shadowy figures holding me in place, while in front of me two men had appeared from within the shadows. One of them was James Kidd. The other a native, hooded like the others, his face indistinct in the shadows. For a second he simply stood and stared at me until I stopped struggling and cursing James Kidd, and had calmed down, then he said, “Where is the Assassin Duncan Walpole?”

I threw a glance at Kidd. With his eyes he assured me everything was all right, that I was in no danger. Why I trusted him, I didn’t know. He’d tricked me into this meeting, after all. But I relaxed, nevertheless.

“Dead and buried,” I said of Walpole, and I didn’t see the native man in front of me bridle with anger so much as sense it. Quickly I added, “After he tried to kill me.”

The native gave a short, thoughtful nod. “We are not sorry to see him gone. But it is you who carried out his final betrayal. Why?”

“Money was my only aim,” I said impudently.

He moved in closer, giving me a good look at him. A native man, he had dark hair and piercing, serious eyes within a brown, lined face adorned with paint. He was also very angry.

“Money?” he said tightly. “Should I find comfort in that?”

“He has the sense, mentor,” said James, stepping in.

The sense. That much I understood. But now this:
mentor
. How was this native chief
mentor
to James?

Mention of my sense seemed to calm the native chief—the man I would later come to know as Ah Tabai.

“James tells me you met the Templars in Havana,” he said. “Did you see the man they call The Sage?”

I nodded.

“Would you recognize his face if you saw it again?” asked Ah Tabai.

“I reckon so,” I said.

He thought, then seemed to reach a decision.

“I must be certain,” he said quickly, then he and his men dissolved into the shadows, leaving me alone with James, who gave me a sharp look and raised a don’t-say-a-word finger before I could remonstrate with him.

Instead he took a torch, grimacing at the dwindling, meagre light it provided, then bent to move into a narrow passageway that went further into the temple, gesturing at me to follow. There the ceiling was so low that we were almost bent double as we made our way along, both conscious of what might be lurking within this thousands-of-years-old structure, what surprises might lie in store. Where before in the chamber our words had echoed, now they were deadened by the walls—damp rock that seemed to crowd in on us.

“You walked me blind and backwards into this mess, Kidd! Who the bloody hell was that jester back there?”

He called back over his shoulder, “Ah Tabai, an Assassin, and my mentor.”

“So you’re all part of some daffy religion?”

“We are Assassins and we follow a creed. But it does not command us to act or submit, only to be wise.”

He came out of the low tunnel into another passageway, but one that did at least let us stand upright.

“A creed,” I said as he walked. “Oh do tell. I’d love to hear it.”

“‘Nothing is true, everything is permitted.’ This is the world’s only certainty.”

“‘Everything is permitted’? I like that—I like the sound of that. Thinking what I like and acting how I please . . .”

“You parrot the words, Edward, but you do not understand them.”

I gave a short laugh. “Don’t get all haughty with me, Kidd. I followed you as a friend and you tricked me.”

“I saved your skin bringing you here, man. These men wanted you dead for consorting with Templars. I talked them out of it.”

“Well, cheers for that.”

“Aye, cheers.”

“So it’s you lot them Templars have been chasing, then?”

James Kidd chuckled. “Until you came along and mucked things up, it was us chasing them. We had them running scared. But they have the upper hand now.”

Ah . . .

As we kept walking along passageways I could hear the sound of stone on wood.

“Is someone in here with us?”

“It’s possible. We’re trespassing.”

“Someone’s watching us?”

“I don’t doubt it.”

Words dropped like a stone, echoing around the walls of the temple. Had Kidd been in here before? He didn’t say but seemed to know how to operate doors that we came to, then stairways and bridges, climbing up and up, until we reached the final door.

“Whatever’s waiting at the end of this path had better be worth my time,” I said, irritated.

“That’ll depend on you,” he replied mysteriously.

Next thing we knew, the stones beneath our feet gave way and we plunged to water below.

The way behind was blocked by rubble so we swam underwater until at last, just when I began to wonder if I could hold my breath a second longer, we broke the water’s surface and found ourselves in a pool at one end of another large chamber.

We moved on, out of this chamber and through into the next, where we came upon a bust displaying a face. A face I recognized.

“Jaysus,” I exclaimed, “that’s him. The Sage. But this thing must be hundreds of years old.”

“Older still,” said Kidd. He looked from me to the bust. “You’re certain it’s him?”

“Aye, it’s the eyes that mark him.”

“Did the Templars say why they wanted this Sage?”

With distaste I remembered. “They drew some of his blood into a little glass cube.”

The cube you gave them,
I recalled, but felt no guilt. Why should I?

“Like this one?” Kidd was saying. In his hands was another vial.

“Yes. They meant to ask him about The Observatory too but he escaped.”

The vial had disappeared back into the depths of Kidd’s pouch. He seemed to consider before turning away from the bust of The Sage.

“We’ve finished here.”

We returned, finding a new set of steps through the Temple’s innards until we were heading towards what looked like a door. As it slid away I saw sunlight for the first time in what felt like hours, and in the next moment was gulping down fresh air, and instead of cursing the heat of the sun as usual, was thankful for it after the clammy cold of the temple’s interior.

Ahead Kidd had stopped and was listening. He threw a look back and motioned me to hush my noise and stay out of sight. What was going on, I couldn’t tell, but I did as I was told, then followed him. Slowly and quietly we inched forward to where we found Ah Tabai crouched out of sight behind a rock—out of sight because in the distance we could hear the unmistakable Cockney bray of English soldiers at work.

Behind the boulder we waited in silence. Ah Tabai turned his penetrating stare upon me. “The statue in the temple,” he whispered. “Was that the man you saw in Havana?”

“Spitting likeness, aye,” I whispered back.

Ah Tabai turned back to watch the soldiers over the edge of the boulder.

“It seems another Sage has been found,” he said to himself. “The race for The Observatory begins anew.”

Was it wrong of me to feel a thrill? I was part of this by then.

“Is that why we’re whispering?” I said.

“This is your doing, Captain Kenway,” said Ah Tabai quietly. “The maps you sold the Templars have led them straight to us and now the agents of two empires know exactly where we operate.”

Kidd was about to step forward to engage the soldiers. No doubt he felt more comfortable hacking down English soldiers than natives, but Ah Tabai was already stopping him. With one hand restraining Kidd, his eyes went to me.

“They have taken Edward’s crew as well,” he said. I started.
Not the crew. Not Adewalé and my men.
But Ah Tabai, with a final reproachful look my way, slipped away. Behind him he’d left what was unmistakably a blowpipe, which Kidd picked up.

“Take this,” he said, handing it to me. “You’ll attract no attention and take fewer lives.” And as he gave me a few tips on how to use it, I wondered, Was this part of some new challenge? Or was it something different? Was I being trained? Evaluated?

Let them try,
I thought darkly.
I’m nobody’s man but my own. Answerable only to myself and to my conscience. Rules and baubles? Not for me, thanks
.

They could stuff their creed where the sun don’t shine as far as I was concerned. Besides, why would they even want me? This
sense
, perhaps? My skill in battle?

Doesn’t come cheap, gentlemen,
I thought, as I came to the perimeter of a clearing where my crew had been deposited, sitting back-to-back with their hands bound. Good lads, they were giving the English soldiers all kinds of grief: “Let me up, tosspot, and face me like a soldier!”

“If only you knew what was coming to you . . . I think you’d pack your kits and run.”

I fitted the first of my darts into the blowpipe. I could see what needed to be done: take out the English soldiers one by one, try and even up the numbers a little. A poor, unfortunate native gave me just the diversion I needed. Howling outrage, he staggered to his feet and tried to run. With him went the attention of the soldiers, grateful for the sport, gleefully fitting their muskets to their shoulders and firing.
Crack. Crack.
Like snapping branches in the forest. There was laughter as he crashed down in a haze of crimson, but they didn’t notice that one of their number folded silently into the undergrowth too, his hand clutching at the blowpipe dart protruding from his neck.

As the guards returned to the clearing I crossed the path behind them and at the same time spat a second dart at the soldier bringing up the rear. I span on my heel and caught him as he fell, and as I dragged his body into the bush, I thanked God for my rowdy men. They had no idea of my presence but couldn’t have been more helpful if I’d primed them.

A soldier swung around. “Hey,” he said, his friend nowhere to be seen. “Where’s Thompson?”

Hidden in the undergrowth my fingers fitted the next dart and I raised the pipe to my lips. Took a quick breath and puffed out my cheeks just as Kidd had shown me. The dart pierced him below the jawbone and he probably thought he’d been bitten by a mosquito—right up until the second he lost consciousness.

Now we were in business. From my vantage point in the bushes I counted. Three men dead, six still alive, and if I could take out a couple more before the remaining guards worked out they were being picked off, well, then I thought I could take the rest myself. Me and my hidden blade.

Did this make me an Assassin? Since I was behaving and thinking like one? After all, hadn’t I pledged to fight the Templars for Hatherton?

My enemy’s enemy is my friend.

No. I’m my own man. I answer to no one but myself. No creed for me. I’d had years of wanting to be free of convention and I wasn’t about to give all that up.

By then the soldiers were looking around themselves. They’d begun to wonder where their comrades were. I realized I didn’t have the luxury of picking another one off. I had to take them all out myself.

Six against one. But I had the advantage of surprise, and as I leapt from within the undergrowth I made it my first order of business to swipe my blade across the ropes that bound Adewalé. Behind me he scrambled to find a weapon of his own. My blade was in my right hand, my pistol held in my left. Positioned between two men with my arms out straight, I pulled the trigger of the pistol and slashed with my right hand at the same time, bringing my arms to cross in front of me. One man died with a metal ball ploughing through his chest, the other with a gaping throat wound.

I dropped the empty pistol, pivoted, snatched a new pistol from my belt and uncrossed my arms at the same time. Two new targets, and this time the blade’s backswipe sliced open a man’s chest, while I shot a fourth man in the mouth. I met a sword blow with a parry from the blade, a soldier who came forward with bared teeth giving me no time to snatch my third pistol. For a moment we traded blows, and he was better than I had expected because all the while I wasted precious seconds besting him, his comrade was looking along the barrel of his musket at me, ready to pull the trigger. I dropped to one knee, jabbed upwards with the blade and sliced into the swordsman’s side.

Dirty trick. Nasty trick.

There was even something of the outraged English sense of honour in his agonized yell of anguish and pain as his legs gave way beneath him and he came thumping to the ground, his sword swinging uselessly and not enough to prevent my blade punching up underneath his jaw and through the roof of his mouth.

A dirty, nasty trick. And a stupid one. Now I was on the ground (never go down in a fight) with my blade wedged in my opponent. A sitting duck. My left hand scrabbled to find my third pistol but unless the other soldier’s musket misfired because the powder was wet, I was dead.

I looked over to him, saw him do the about-to-fire face.

And a blade appeared from his chest as Adewalé ran him through.

I breathed a sigh of relief as he helped me up, knowing I’d been close—
this close
—to death.

“Thank you, Ade.”

He smiled, waved my thanks away, and together our gaze went to the soldier. His body rose and fell with his last breaths, and one hand twitched before it went still, and we wondered what might have been.