Chapter Text
Crawley was always cold this time of year. Well, cold is a generous way to put it. Though winter should have been making way for spring by now, the season seemed determined to dig its claws into the countryside. Its chill could still pierce through even the thickest layers of wool and cut through soft flesh.
The harsh wind bites at your cheek as the cold metal of the factory ledge you sit on seeps through the warmth of your overcoat. You’re supposed to be celebrating yet another successful stealth mission—one without a proper fight, something you're certain he would have scoffed at, you briefly thought. The notion is uninvited, and so you push it down as quickly as it came.
Your hand reaches into your pocket, feeling for the parchment of the Templar document you had just stolen. The rustle of paper grounds you, anchoring you back to your purpose—what you should be focused on. Your stomach twists with the same chill as Crawley’s air as you swing your legs over the drop in an effort to keep blood flow circulating. You huff a breath of air into the wind and watch as it manifests into mist.
But the mind is fickle, and thoughts of him return. The chill would’ve been more bearable if the twins were here. They always did make Crawley feel less dreary during the harshest of its winters, Jacob especially.
The two had a habit of always dragging you along with them, scaling buildings together and racing across rooftops. Evie would end up the victor more often than not, but Jacob would never admit that.
Late nights like this had you and Evie dragging Jacob out of whatever pub he fancied for the evening. If he had gotten himself in a bar fight, you'd jump to his aid without hesitation—and he would've done the same for you. Afterwards, he would’ve had you doubled over in laughter by now, in tears over something ridiculous he said without a second thought.
They had been your source of warmth. Without them, Crawley felt colder than it should have.
Well, they chose not to stay here without half a mind to even tell me, you remind yourself. Your fingers grip at the lapel of your overcoat as you pull it tighter against you. You tell yourself it's because of the cold.
Ever since Evie and Jacob’s unauthorized escapade to London, the council’s iron-clad grip over the assassin initiates in Crawley only tightened even further. The younger initiates—including you—are under strict supervision so as to extinguish any flame of rebellion that may have sparked upon the twins’ act of disobedience.
Not that you had any intention of following the two to London. No, you would not grant them—him, that honor. If they view you as close a friend as you view them, they would’ve at least kept you in the loop.
The familiar patter of footsteps behind you brings you out of your thoughts. “George.” You greeted without turning around, acknowledging the older assassin. You move to get up from your position on the ledge, dusting your trousers as you get onto your feet.
He greets you in kind. “I assume the mission was a success?” He asks as you turn to him, arms crossed with a soft, proud smile on his face. His smile lines are prominent, a constant reminder of his age.
“Would it be anything but?” You offer your own grin back, pulling out the Templar document from your pocket.
“The Templars have issued a shipment of mechanical parts, most probably for yet another industrial installation. God knows Starrick already has more than enough.” You explain as you hand him the document. He takes it from you, unfolding the piece of parchment and quickly scanning over its contents.
“Good work, child.” He commends, folding and tucking the document away in his coat. “But I’m afraid your work is far from over. The council has another mission for you.”
Your face tightens with confusion.
“London’s situation has… shifted. Its internal hierarchy has been disrupted. Dr. John Elliotson is dead, and now the city’s pharmaceutical trade is in disarray. The council has appointed you to investigate the matter.”
You narrow your eyes, confusion only growing. “Investigate the matter? We both know Jacob and Evie are responsible for whatever chaos is unfolding in London.”
“Yes. And we both know the Council doesn’t want to acknowledge that fact publicly.” George responds, letting out a sigh.
“It’s been six weeks since those two sodded off to London without a word. Now the council wants somebody to watch over them?” You scoff in disbelief.
“It wouldn’t be watching over them, exactly.” George hastily clarifies. “Only… on-the-ground reconnaissance.” His voice carries a hesitant tone as he finishes.
You two remain silent for a beat. The wind picks up, its harsh whistle growing louder.
“I don’t have a choice in the matter, do I?” You murmur quietly, watching as white flakes of snow fall and settle on the red brick of the roof. You hug yourself tightly. You tell yourself it’s because of the cold.
“The council rarely gives any of us a choice.” Your mentor responds with quiet resignation, rubbing your arm in a steady, familiar gesture. You let him.
The rhythmic hum of the engine fills the train carriage as you settle into your seat, rubbing your hands together in an attempt to stave off the chill invading your fingers. The train horn cuts through the air, signaling your departure. You jolt as the train lurches forward, taking one last look at the station.
Your eyes scan the platform, instinctively in search of your mentor. You do not find him amongst the sea of faces on the ground, and so you look up.
There, you find him perched upon a ledge, hood pulled over his head. You give a gentle wave in his direction. He nods and you swear there’s a smile on his face.
The station begins to shrink away as the train speeds ahead until it eventually becomes a small dot in your vision. Everything you’ve ever known—Crawley, the Assassin Brotherhood, George—fades behind you.
You expect to feel excited. This was all you ever dreamed of—escaping Crawley. Well, you dreamed of escaping with the twins. The weight of their absence settles heavily into your heart, more than your excitement ever could. You do your best to ignore it.
London awaits.
As you step onto the streets of London, the scale of it all hits you at once. You've never seen anything like it.
The sheer number of people alone is disorienting. Frantic voices overlap, footsteps clash against the ground, and carriages tear through the streets without room for pause.
Buildings stand tall and proud, pressing into one another. It feels as if the architecture is closing in on you from all directions, containing the city’s chaos within itself. Patches of white snow litter the roads and sidewalks, a stark contrast against the grey grit of stone. A chill runs down your spine. The churning seas of London, as Ethan Frye had put it.
You had never felt more alive.
You move through the streets, blending into the throngs of people in the way only an assassin ever could. You had one objective—to find Henry Green, the assassin officially assigned to London. He would be the one person to have the information you need. And maybe the one person to have also gotten in contact with the Frye twins.
As you pass through crowds of people, you can't help but instinctively look for Jacob, knowing for a fact he was here. You half-expect to see his face within one of the passersby or in the shadows of an unassuming alleyway. The thought grips at your chest.
He probably wasn't looking for you the way you were searching for him in every corner. Why would he?
You will your thoughts of Jacob to vanish and focus on getting to Henry Green. You pick up the pace, heels striking the pavement with more power. It doesn’t take you long to happen upon his humble curio shop. It looks unassuming enough. No one would guess it to be anything of importance.
Your fingers settle upon the grain of the wooden door. For a beat, you do not move.
The streets behind you care little that you are still. London keeps on moving—keeps on breathing. Newsboys shout headlines, businessmen hurriedly rush to appointments, and merchants call out their wares.
You raise your fisted hand to knock, but stop yourself just before your knuckle hits the door. Your hand falls.
The thought of the twins being in there—of Jacob being in there—makes your stomach twist. You aren’t sure how you would react if you were to see him now.
Your fingers flex at your side. A carriage whips past you, dragging a cold current of air across your back. The chill cuts through your bones.
You take a deep breath and steel your resolve.
You knock.
Nothing but silence. For a second, you think nobody’s home.
Then the door swings open, and before you stands a tall, composed, dark-skinned man in white assassin robes. You recognize him from George's description immediately. "Mr. Henry Green?" You ask with a quizzical tilt of your head.
"That would be me." he smiles. He confirms your name and identity, and you answer in kind. Henry steps aside to let you in.
"Please, do come in." He gestures into his curio shop. You hesitate a short moment, but ultimately step inside. You let out an exhale, relieved to have escaped the cold, and examine the place before you. The shop felt warm and well-lived in. Its cozy warmth reflected Henry well, making it difficult to imagine that such a man was called the ghost.
Shelves line the store, containing various charming little trinkets and oddities alongside books with well-worn spines. You run your fingers along the spines, noticing the lack of dust.
"You must be the operative the council has sent." Henry says as he moves behind the store counter, snapping your attention to him. You glance up and nod in response, following him. Your eyes are drawn toward a top hat with deep red trim comfortably resting on the chair behind Henry.
"Only for reconnaissance," you clarify, looking back at him. "The council views things in London as being somewhat more... disordered, I'm afraid." You continue as your gaze catches several documents containing names and locations of interest scattered across the counter.
"So the council requires information." He says, deflating a little bit. "No plans of direct intervention?" He asks.
"Not that I'm aware of. I'm sorry, I'm not what you may have been expecting." You apologize. Henry hurriedly shakes his head. "No, it’s not that at all. I'm more than grateful for your presence here. I just wish the council would offer more direct help to our efforts in London." He quickly reassures you.
You pause for a moment.
"Our efforts in London?" You repeat with an inquisitive look on your face.
Henry offers a polite, well-mannered smile. He looked like the picture of composure. "I'm working with several other operatives." He continues calmly, hands moving to gather the scattered documents and neatly organizing them into stacks. "Nothing out of the ordinary." He quickly adds without looking up from his work.
You study him for a moment. He places the stacked documents into a neat pile with finesse.
"Other operatives..." You repeat slowly. "In London?" Surely you were mistaken, you knew that Henry had been officially working alone in the city for some time now. Unless…
He opens a drawer and begins placing the documents inside. "Yes." He responds, looking up.
Jacob and Evie.
"And the council is aware of this?" You ask.
Henry hesitates for a moment. "I inform the council of what they need to know." He decides on answering. Well, if you could even call it that.
"And these other operatives, are they also in contact with Crawley?" you pressed further. You catch the hint of a smirk briefly flash across his face. If you weren't paying close attention, you would have missed it. "Crawley prefers not to meddle in the affairs of London." He simply states.
"But you're not here to discuss operatives, no?" Henry says. He pulls out a different stack of documents from another drawer. "You're here for reconnaissance."
You nod, deciding to store away that tidbit of information. "The pharmaceutical sector." You begin. "As you know, with Elliotson out of the picture, Starrick's Soothing Syrup is no longer in circulation. I need to figure out who is in control of the supply chain now. Who is hoarding medical ingredients and selling counterfeits."
Henry nods, and pulls out a document from the stack.
"You will find that things operate differently here in London." He explains, facing the document—which you now realize is a map—towards you. "It is several groups that have taken hold of the pharmaceutical trade. Opportunists who seek to fill the vacuum of power. But I believe this would be your best bet." His finger points to a location with ink-marked routes leading towards it on the piece of parchment. Your eyes follow the route, showing the directions to a marketplace nearby. "Word has it that a prolific peddler has been recently selling medical components at egregious prices here."
Your eyes narrow in understanding. "And this peddler must have a steady source," you say. Henry nods in agreement, smile sharpening. "Exactly."
You exhale, nodding once. "Thank you, Mr. Green. Your information has been of great help." You express with gratitude. "Just Henry is fine." He replies lightly. "Here, take the map. You'll need it." He states, gently offering up the parchment to you.
You take the map, carefully folding it and tucking it into your pocket. "I'll investigate this lead," you say after a moment, "and get back to you should anything of importance arise."
"That would be wise." Henry nods in agreement. "Safe travels. And best of luck to you." He says, smile sincere. You offer a small nod. "Thank you." You offer a smile back.
You exit the curio shop and step back into the cold streets of London. Evening was about to settle over the city. One by one, street lamps began to flicker alight, enveloping the sidewalks in an amber glow. You quietly mourn the loss of the shop's warmth as the door clicked shut behind you. Adjusting your coat, you begin to walk.
You set off to the marketplace.