System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 136: Chapter 135: ’What a pain in the arse...’

[Current Balance: 11,416,929,000 R]

---Port Royal, Jamaica---

The tavern in Port Royal stank of cheap rum, sweat, and desperation... just the way most of the patrons liked it.

Tonight, though, it was extra loud and rowdy.

The crew of the Jacobite celebrated hard after they successfully intercepted and plundered a Spanish sugar shipment just off the coast earlier that day. Mugs slammed down, crude songs were sung off-key, and pirates stumbled through drunken jigs with their pockets heavier and their spirits high.

It was maybe a bit nuts, celebrating so openly right under the nose of Fort Charles, the massive stone fortress just over the harbor. Any sensible captain might have chosen a more discreet location, but Abel Bramah wasn’t known for his sensibility.

Edward Kenway nursed his mug of ale at a corner table, watching the chaos with an amused detachment. The noise, the rough laughter, the sheer life of the place... it was a world away from the life he’d left behind, and part of him still found it exhilarating, even if another part constantly scanned the doorways for trouble.

Captain Bramah, who was a stout man whose fine coat couldn’t quite conceal the ruthlessness in his eyes, plopped down onto the stool opposite Edward, already half-drunk.

”How ye holdin’ up, Kenway?” Bramah slurred, clapping Edward on the back. ”Good haul today, eh? Those Spaniards barely put up a fight!”

Edward smirked, taking a sip of his ale. ”Doin’ fine, Captain. Though I admit, celebrating this close to the fort feels like tempting fate a bit.”

”Bah!” Bramah waved a dismissive hand, nearly sloshing his drink. ”Fort Charles? Bunch o’ pansies hidin’ behind stone walls! They wouldn’t dare stick their noses out here, not with the Jacobite’s crew enjoyin’ their spoils!” He chugged the rest of his ale in one go. ”More rum!”

Edward chuckled, shaking his head slightly. Bramah’s confidence often bordered on recklessness. Still, the sugar haul had been profitable. He took another sip, letting the loud energy of the tavern wash over him, a welcome distraction from... well, from everything else.

Suddenly, his eyes snapped towards the tavern entrance. Leaning casually against the rough wooden doorframe, half-hidden in the shadows cast by the flickering lanterns outside, stood a figure. Tall, platinum-blonde hair catching the light, dressed in a ridiculously fine crimson coat... smoking a cigar and looking directly at him with an unnerving smirk.

Edward blinked, his heart giving an odd jolt. ’Who the hell...?’ He quickly glanced around the tavern. None of the other pirates seemed to have noticed the newcomer as they were too lost in their revelry, shouting and singing.

He looked back towards the entrance.

The man was gone.

’What the...?’ Edward frowned, pushing his mug away. ’Am I seeing things? Too much rum already?’ But the image had been too clear, too distinct.

And that look... it felt familiar, yet utterly alien.

”Oi, Kenway! Where ye off to?” one of his crewmates shouted as Edward abruptly stood up and pushed through the crowd towards the door.

”Need to take a piss!” Edward called back over his shoulder without looking back as his mind was racing.

He burst out into the humid night air outside the tavern, scanning the dimly lit street.

Nothing.

Just a few drunken sailors stumbling along, the usual night-time sounds of the port. No sign of the man in the crimson coat.

’Damn it. Maybe I am losing it,’ he thought, running a hand through his hair in frustration. But the feeling lingered...that brief, intense gaze. He wasn’t imagining it.

He started walking, peering into alleyways, glancing at the few figures lurking in the shadows, but found nothing. His steps eventually led him towards the center of Port Royal, near the somewhat tall White Protestant Colonial Church.

He stopped, looking up at the simple wooden structure... tall, narrow windows, a plain steeple piercing the night sky. ’Hmm... high ground’s always good for a look around...’

With practiced ease honed by years of climbing whatever offered a handhold, first from the farmhouses back home, now ship riggings and city rooftops, Edward sprinted to the church wall. He moved quickly and quietly, scaling the wooden facade, finding grips in window ledges and decorative carvings. He reached the small wooden platform just below the steeple, pulling himself up and crouching low.

Rain began to fall, it was plastering his hair to his forehead and soaking his clothes almost instantly. Thunder rumbled, followed by a flash of lightning that briefly illuminated the town and the harbor below.

’What a pain in the arse...’ he muttered, wiping rain from his eyes.

He closed his eyes for a moment, focusing inward, pushing aside the distractions of the rain and the distant thunder. Then he opened them again. The world sharpened. Details leaped out... the texture of the roof tiles across the street, the pattern of raindrops hitting a puddle, the faint glow of a pipe from a window down the lane.

It was a sense he’d always had, an ability to see more clearly, to pick out details others missed. He never told anyone about it, figuring it was just sharp eyesight, but sometimes... sometimes it felt like more.

He scanned the town, his enhanced vision cutting through the rain and darkness. Warehouses, taverns, homes... then his gaze swept towards Fort Charles, the imposing stone structure dominating the spit of land jutting into the harbor. And there, on top of one of the watchtowers near the fort’s outer walls... a figure. Standing perfectly still, seemingly oblivious to the pouring rain.

Edward squinted, pushing his vision further. Platinum-blonde hair plastered down by the rain, a familiar crimson coat... smoking a cigar, the tip glowing faintly in the darkness. And the figure was looking directly back at him, across the considerable distance, as if they’d known exactly where he’d be.

’He... he can see me? From that far? Does he have the same... sight as me?’ The thought sent a shiver down Edward’s spine that had nothing to do with the cold rain.

He looked down from the steeple. A large pile of hay, likely discarded near the church stables, sat conveniently below. Without a second thought, Edward took a leap... having faith that nothing would happen to him, tucking into a roll as he soared through the rain-streaked air, landing with a muffled thump deep within the haystack.

’Still gets the blood pumping, even after all this time,’ he thought, disentangling himself from the damp straw, ignoring the bits clinging to his clothes.

He quickly assessed the situation. The tower was close to Fort Charles proper, meaning the area would be heavily guarded, even more so in this weather.

He crept forward, staying low, using alleyways and the deep shadows cast by buildings. As he got closer, he saw the expected patrols... British soldiers in their distinctive red coats, huddled under archways or marching in pairs, muskets held ready.

The tower itself was within a fenced perimeter, likely part of the fort’s outer defenses, with two particularly large, burly guards standing stoically at the gate, arms crossed, looking miserable in the downpour. Getting through them directly was suicide as he had nothing but a single cutlass.

Edward scanned his surroundings. Adjacent to the fenced area was a closed General Store. ’Perfect.’

He darted across the muddy street when the patrol passed, scaled the store’s wall using the drainpipe, and crept onto its slippery roof. From there, a short leap took him to the thatched roof of a neighboring building. He moved silently across the rooftops until he was overlooking the tower from the side. He waited for the patrolling guards below to turn their backs, then dropped silently into the muddy yard behind the tower.

The tower wall itself was rough stone, offering plenty of handholds for a skilled climber. Ignoring the rain plastering his hair to his face and soaking him to the bone, Edward began his ascent, moving quickly and surely. He reached the wooden platform at the top, grabbed the railing, and vaulted over, landing silently on the wet planks.

The man in the crimson coat hadn’t moved. He stood near the opposite railing, looking out at the storm-tossed harbor, the glowing tip of his cigar the only point of warmth in the scene. He turned slowly as Edward landed with a calm and knowing smile on his face.

”It’s been a long time, cousin...”

Consider buying me a coffee!

patreon.com/kulark

I’m uploading dozens of Chapters ahead there!