6 Saying Goodbye
Thomas felt sick, his feet rooted to the ground as he watched the scene. More assassins jumped down, pinning soldiers to the floor with their blades but their lives were swiftly cut short as the armoured guard threw his axe into one, the Sage embedded his wrist blade in another.
Liberated, the Sage fled and Kenway bolted after him. The battle died down, the Templars victorious. Confident no more assassins watched them from above, they sheathed their weapons and wandered away.
Thomas breathlessly stepped into the empty square, bodies littered the floor. All were still, but one.
The young assassin ran to the shaking form, blood pouring from the man's chest. His eyes were unfocused but he recognised a figure kneeling beside him. His hand batted at the air until Thomas took it, holding it tight.
"Brother..." The man whispered.
"Brother." Thomas said, his voice unsteady.
The dying assassin's chest heaved, his hand intently gripping Thomas's. He gave a weak smile, showing a sign of comfort, before he stilled.
Thomas placed the assassin's hand on his chest and closed his eyes.
"Rest in peace." A tear made a trail down his cheek.
Thomas stood and stepped away from the bodies of his fellow assassins. How many had died, he didn't know. One was too many.
He had already lost the trail of the Templars but by now, he was past caring. A third figure plagued his thoughts, that of the dying assassin. His eyes, filled with pain but contained a glimmer of happiness just as he died.
With heavy feet and a heavier heart, he sat down on a bench outside a tavern. The bar maid recognised a distraught face and stood beside him, a hand on his shoulder, placing a bottle down.
"It's on the house." She smiled.
"Cheers." He said weakly and took a swig.
He buried his head in his arms, resting on the table. He wasn't going to cry but he sure as hell was going to feel damned sorry for himself.
He raised his weary head and greeted the merchant.
"Oh, hallo, Bonnet."
"Mind if I take a seat?"
"Not at all."
Bonnet sat beside Thomas, rather awkwardly, as the young man took another drink.
"I was going to ask how your morning went, you know, with all that sneaking about. Looked quite exciting."
"It wasn't much. I followed Kenway for a bit. Saw him kill a few assassins." Thomas took a swig from the bottle.
"Oh, is that bad?"
"Aye, it's bad when you're an assassin yourself and you see your kin killed in front of you and there's nothing to do but watch. Kenway can wear the uniform, but he's a Templar through and through."
"I'm sorry. But, um, Kenway...?"
"Oh, well, Edward always seemed a good man. I'm sure this is all for show, just so those Templars will let him in. I bet he regrets the deaths of those assassins as much as you."
Thomas took another drink as the Templar pirate sat down opposite them.
"God sink me for this pittance." Kenway spat, slamming the purse of gold onto the table. "One thousand Reales for those maps. That's what? A hundred pounds at most. How's a man supposed to become rich in these times with a miser like Torres running the world?"
"Have you ever, ah... You ever worked on a plantation before?" Bonnet asked, wary of two guards that passed.
"You know what I'm thinking? I'd like to see this Observatory the governor was going on about. He said it were like a device that could follow people around and show where they were."
"A ludicrous idea! Imagine my wife with such an advantage over me." Bonnet laughed.
"Well, imagine what a thing like that would be worth." Kenway stood. "Sell that to the right person and I'd be the richest pirate-" he looked back, glancing from Thomas, who already knew his identity, to Bonnet, who glugged away on the drink in his hand, oblivious to the information Kenway just let slip. "- privateer in the West Indies."
Kenway watched the large house in the distance, the dark blue sky dotted with stars, set as its background. He turned again, noticing the dark look on Thomas's face.
"What's up, lad?"
Thomas said nothing.
"It were those assassins, weren't it?" Kenway said, more exasperated than remorseful.
Thomas took yet another drink and slammed the bottle down, abruptly.
"All you care about," he growled, "is how much Reales you can get by the end of the day, whether you get it from selling someone out, killing a dozen assassins, or just by being a bastard. There's blood on your hands, and on that money there, Kenway. And soon enough, you'll never be able to wash it out."
Thomas stood, snatching up the bottle with him. He paused for a moment, his wrist blade twitching. All it would take was him to grab the man from across the table and his brother's deaths would be avenged.
Kenway barked a laugh.
"You got that right, but I don't care how bloody my hands get, as long as I can wash 'em in gold!" He grinned.
With a roar, Thomas leapt at Kenway, pinning him to the ground.
"Have you any idea what you've done?!" He cried, his wrist blade mere hair widths from Kenway's neck.
"What are you playing at, Thomas? I had to kill them, you saw that!" Kenway exclaimed, taken by surprise as he lay flat on his back.
"You didn't have to, you could had stopped it!"
"Damn it, Thomas, you know that's not true! And besides, I've got information for you and your Brotherhood. Does that mean nothing?"
"Not if you're killing them! The only bloody disappointment you have is that the Templars didn't pay you well."
"Aye, 'tis." Kenway growled, defiantly staring back at the young man that had his life in his hands.
Thomas shoved Kenway, standing up again.
"Goodbye, Kenway. Find me when you want to help the assassins, instead of killing them." He said, putting thoughts of murder aside, for now, and walked away, not looking back.