Assassin's Creed: Underworld (19 page)

Two days later on the harbour at Amritsar, three
men in brown suits intercepted an Assassin messenger.

The three men killed the Assassin, made sure to
retrieve the message he’d been due to deliver to London, and then bundled his body into a
wagon for pig feed.

As instructed the message was handed to Templar
codebreakers, who set about decoding it, a process that took them a week or so.

‘Urgent,’ it said, when translated.
‘Mission possibly compromised. Ajay and Kulpreet dead, maybe tortured for information.
Suggest abort mission at once.’

And then, at the bottom: ‘Ethan, look after
my son.’

Abberline was in the Green Man. But not drinking
today. Not brooding nor drowning his sorrows. He was there on altogether more pressing
business.

‘Hey, Sam, you seen Aubrey
today?’

‘Not seen him for a while, Freddie,’
replied the barman. ‘No, tell a lie, he popped his head round the door earlier, on his way
to Schools’ Day at Lord’s.’

Freddie shot the barman a confused look and Sam
was disgusted in return. ‘What the bloody hell are you doing in here if you don’t
even know about the Eton–Harrow match?’

‘All right, keep your hair on …
what’s left of it. Aubrey was on his way there, was he?’

Sam suddenly pulled a face, as though he’d
said too much. ‘Well, um … no. He was on duty, wasn’t he?’

Now it was Abberline’s turn to be
exasperated. ‘Look, you can’t tell me anything about Aubrey I don’t already
know. He was on a skive, right?’

Sam slapped a bar towel over his shoulder and
gave Abberline the kind of reluctant nod that wouldn’t stand up in a court of law.

‘Right,’ said Abberline. ‘Now
we’re getting somewhere. He came in here to … Oh, I know. He came in here to change
his clothes, did he?’

Another reluctant nod.

‘All right,’ said Abberline, sliding
off his stool and about to make for the door. ‘When he comes back for his uniform, tell
him I’m looking for him, would you?’

‘Bloody hell, everyone wants old Aubs at
the moment, don’t they?’

Abberline stopped and turned. ‘Come
again?’

‘Like I say, seems like everyone wants to
talk to Aubrey.’ Again Sam was wearing a queasy look, as though he might have said too
much.

‘Put a bit more meat on those bones for me,
mate. Who exactly is looking for Aubrey, apart from me?’

‘Three geezers came in not long after
he’d left for the match.’

‘And what did they look like?’ asked
Abberline and then felt his heart sink as Sam gave him a description of the three punishers.

Not knowing what else to do, he headed for
Lord’s, but immediately regretted it when he found himself swimming against the tide of
humanity leaving the ground. Cabs were stopping and turning tail. Nearby, a horse snorted and
stamped its feet. The weight of people became too much for an Aunt Sally owner and he began
packing quickly away. Same for the stallholder who called for the shoving, ebbing crowds to mind
out,
mind the bloody barrow
, as little hands reached to grab produce from his stall.
Another was pushing a cart away from the crowds, through a sea of bonnets and caps and children
carried on shoulders. Abberline felt something drag his clothes and looked down to see a dog
weaving through a forest of legs.

Despite the crowds the mood
was genial. A good time was being had by all. The masses certainly enjoyed cheering on the sons
of the nobility as they played their annual game, that was for sure, thought Abberline. One day
the high-born progeny would be doing what all the upper classes did: lining their pockets at the
expense of the lower orders, taking their fun where they found it and who cares if they ruin a
few lives in the process.

And no, he didn’t find Aubrey. He found
lots of drunks passed out in the road. Found lots of women trying to sell him matches and
posies. Found lots of swells and ladies in posh frocks looking down their noses at the drunks
and match-sellers. But no Aubrey.

He went back to the Green Man.

Sam shook his head; there had been no further
sign of Aubrey, and no, not the three men either.

The punishers, that’s who it was, them
at the line
. He’d be paying those rail works a visit unless Aubrey turned up pretty
soon. One more place to try, though, and he took himself to Aubrey’s rooms in Stepney,
where he lived with his wife and two children.

Mrs Shaw opened the door and relaxed when she saw
his uniform. ‘Don’t tell me,’ she said. ‘You’re Freddie
Abberline?’ When he nodded she burst out with, ‘Well, haven’t we heard a lot
about you! Children, come and meet the famous Fresh-faced Freddie.’

She had ruddy cheeks but was otherwise opposite
to Aubrey in every way, being slight where he was well built, and while he wore a permanently
nervous and bewildered expression, she was an entirely different kettle of fish,
beaming with welcome and fussing about her hair as she invited her guest
inside.

Two children, a boy and a girl, both around five
or six, came running, only to skid to a halt, cling to her skirts and gaze at him with the kind
of naked curiosity that only children can get away with.

Abberline’s heart, already heavy with worry
for Aubrey, sank a little more at the scene. It would have been easier to keep a safe distance
between him and the things Aubrey loved. Seeing them like this would only make things harder if
what Abberline feared was true. Most of the time he envied men like Aubs, who went home to wives
and families, but not at times like this. Not when you saw what you left behind.

‘I can’t stay, Mrs Shaw, I’m
afraid,’ he said, reluctantly having to dampen the warm welcome he was being given.
‘I was just wondering if you knew of Aubrey’s whereabouts at all?’

The smile slid off her face, replaced by a look
of immediate worry. The two children, sensing their mother’s sudden distress, clung on to
her skirts more tightly, eyes widening into frightened saucers.

‘No, not since he went out this
morning,’ she said.

‘On his way to Lord’s?’

She chewed her lip. ‘I can’t rightly
say.’

‘I know he was on his way to Lord’s,
Mrs Shaw, but the match is over, and I was wondering if he’d returned.’

‘Maybe he went for an ale in the Green
Man?’

‘Of course,’ he said.
‘That’s it. I’ll take my leave for there, if I may, and wish you all the best,
and if you’d let
Aubrey know that I’m looking for him then
I’d be much obliged.’

And Abberline did just that. He took his leave.
He went back to the Green Man, just in case, and Sam shook his head and said no, and then
Abberline went to the station, just in case, and the desk sergeant shook his head no, with a
suspicious expression, as though he knew Aubrey had been on the skive. And then, lastly,
Abberline went to the rail works, where he stood by the fence and looked over the site. The work
continued: fires had been built as they were every night and braziers glowed on the mudflats. As
Abberline waited there, a steam train pulled in from further up the line and the activities on
the wooden cranes grew even more frenetic as navvies began to unload the spoil.

But Abberline wasn’t looked at that. He was
keeping his eye on the office. He watched as the door opened and out came the Indian lad,
clutching his files.

Good
, thought Abberline, finding it a
reassuring sight. For some reason he doubted any harm would come to Aubrey if the Indian lad was
around.

‘He is indeed on the side of the angels. He’s a good man. A better man than
either you or I will ever be.’

What Abberline saw next was an even more
reassuring sight. Coming out of the office were the punishers, all three of them, as casual as
you like. And if they were here, well, then they weren’t out there somewhere, hurting
Aubrey. Abberline wondered if maybe their paths had been similar to his own. Perhaps they had
reached the Green Man and been sent to Lord’s where they had been deterred by the crowds.

Yes, he thought, turning
away from the fence and putting the site to his back. Yes that was it. Hopefully by now, Aubrey
was safely back in the bosom of his smiling family …

His landlady lived on the ground floor and she
appeared the minute he showed his face. ‘Busy day, constable?’ she said.

‘You might say that, ma’am,’
said Abberline, removing his helmet.

‘Too busy to tell me you were expecting a
delivery?’

He looked at her sharply. ‘A
delivery?’

‘Three gentlemen delivering a large rug, so
they said. Must have been a bloody heavy rug too, because it took all three of them to get it up
there …’

Abberline was already mounting the stairs.

The bastards had left the body sitting up in one
of Abberline’s chairs, as though awaiting his return. They’d left it there as a
warning.

They’d beaten him to death. He was barely
recognizable beneath the puffed-up, livid flesh, bulging bruises, closed-up eyes, and the blood
that oozed from cuts made by brass knuckles.

‘Oh, Aubrey,’ said Abberline.

It’s not like they’d been friends,
but … Wait a minute, yes, they
had
been friends, because friends supported one
another. You could turn to them for advice. They helped you think about things a different way.
And Aubrey had done all that and more for him.

Before he knew it, his
shoulders were shaking and tears dropped to the boards of his room. ‘Oh Aubrey,’ he
repeated through a wet mouth, wanting to reach out and embrace the man, his friend, but at the
same time repulsed by what they had done to him, his features pummelled away like so much
tenderized meat.

Instead he tried to imagine Aubrey as he was,
telling him music-hall jokes in the Green Man. Mourning the death of a slum girl. He had too
much compassion, that was Aubrey’s problem. He had too much heart for this world.

And he wondered what it would have been like for
Aubrey in his dying moments. They would have demanded information of course. They would already
have known about the Indian from the bodyguard, so what might Aubrey have told them? About the
man in the robes, perhaps. As if it mattered now. The other day Abberline had told himself the
killing had to stop and yet the whole business had claimed yet another life, a precious one.

Maybe Aubrey was right. Maybe there were no
answers. Maybe you just had to accept that once in a while.

For the time being, he simply stood with his
friend, Aubrey Shaw, shoulders shaking, tears flowing more freely now.

‘I’m sorry, mate,’ he said over
and over again. ‘I’m so bloody sorry.’

And then, Aubrey’s eyes opened.

Months passed. In May the Chancellor of the
Exchequer Gladstone declared himself delighted after taking the first full journey on the new
underground railway. He and various other Metropolitan dignitaries, including John Fowler,
Charles Pearson and Cavanagh, had travelled the entire length of the line, all four miles of it,
from the Bishop’s Road station in Paddington, through tunnels and other half-built
stations – Edgware Road, Baker Street, Portland Road, Gower Street, King’s Cross
– and lastly to Farringdon Street in the city. A journey of some eighteen minutes or so.

Gladstone’s seal of approval was important
to the Metropolitan, especially as the Prime Minister, Palmerston, had always been rather sniffy
about the project, declaring that at his age he wanted to spend as much time as possible above
ground, thank you very much. But Gladstone’s approval gave a boost to a project that was
otherwise greeted with at best mild suspicion and apathy by the general public and at worst
outright hatred and hostility.

However, the railway’s reputation was
dented further when, the following month, the Fleet sewer burst. The brick pipes through which
London’s ‘foul black river’ flowed had been weakened and eventually broke,
water and filth flooding the tunnel to a depth of ten feet, putting the
project back by months while remedial work was carried out.

And then, early one morning in late July, the
Clarence belonging to Mr Cavanagh of the Metropolitan Railway left the site, bearing its owner
to St Katherine Docks.

There the carriage waited for a ship to discharge
its cargo, which in this case was three Indian men in brown suits, two of whom were escorting a
third man, who they delivered to the Clarence, taking their leave with a bow and returning to
their ship.

The new arrival took a seat across from Cavanagh,
who had loosened his jacket but otherwise made no concession to the July heat.

‘Hello, Ajay,’ said Cavanagh.

Ajay looked at him flatly. ‘I was promised
money. Lodgings. A new life here in London.’

‘And we were promised the full benefit of
your knowledge with regard to Jayadeep Mir,’ said Cavanagh, and then pulled the cord and
sat back as Hardy shook the reins and they made their return to the site. ‘Let’s see
if we can both abide by the terms of the agreement, shall we?’

A short while later the carriage came to a halt
outside the rail works and Ajay was directed to look out of the window. As arranged, Marchant
brought the unsuspecting Bharat Singh to a designated spot some one hundred yards away on the
other side of the fence, close enough for Ajay to see.

‘That’s our man,’ said
Cavanagh.

‘And what does he call himself?’
asked Ajay.

‘He goes by the name Bharat
Singh.’

‘Then that must have been something of a
comedown
for him,’ said Ajay, who pulled down the blind and settled
back into his seat, ‘because that man is Jayadeep Mir.’

‘Excellent,’ said Cavanagh.
‘Now, how about you tell me everything you know about him?’

There was a trick the gangs used when they
wanted information. ‘Two birds’ they called it. Gang members would take two unlucky
souls to the roof, throw one of them off and make the other one watch.

Two birds. One of them flies, one of them
sings.

Ajay had been outside the door when Kulpreet died
her honourable death. He had seen what lay in store for him: either the world’s most
painful manicure or death.

And then he made them his offer. They could
torture him, and good luck to them if they tried, for he’d do everything to resist, and if
their questioning was successful they’d get what they needed to know but nothing else
besides, and they’d never be sure if it was the truth or not.

Or … if they met his demands, then he would
tell them everything they needed to know and a
lot
more besides.

So the Templars had it put about that Ajay had
died in the alley, and the Assassin – now an ex-Assassin, a traitor – was given
passage to London.

And there outside the railway he upheld his side
of the bargain and told Cavanagh everything. He told them that the man they knew as Bharat Singh
was, in fact, Jayadeep Mir. He told them that Jayadeep had been imprisoned because of a failure
of nerve, and Cavanagh had been most interested in that particular aspect of the story, before
Ajay went on to tell him that Jayadeep had been
delivered into the custody
of Ethan Frye for a mission. More than that he did not know.

‘A mission?’ mused Cavanagh, staring
with interest at The Ghost, seeing him anew. ‘An
undercover
mission,
perhaps?’

Cavanagh’s mind went to the information
relayed by the punishers. The two Hardys and Smith had returned from questioning Constable
Aubrey Shaw with news that a man in robes was responsible for killing Robert Waugh, and now,
with this latest piece of information, things had finally fallen into place.

How ironic. Their newest recruit, who had curried
favour with them by killing a traitor, did so with treachery on his own mind – and was not
even responsible for the kill.

All in all, thought Cavanagh, it was a delightful
outcome. He had long since decided that when he killed Crawford Starrick and wrested the
position of Grand Master from him, when he had the artefact and was the most powerful man not
just in London but in the known world of the Knights Templar, that his first order of business
would be to smash what remained of the Assassin resistance in his city.

Here, though, was a chance to do both
simultaneously, an opportunity to ascend to the rank of Grand Master with a feather in his cap
as well as the artefact to prove his suitability for the role. In one fell swoop he would secure
command of the rite as well as the respect of its membership. Oh yes, this was most
opportune.

‘And now for your side of the
bargain,’ said Ajay.

‘Yes, my side of the
bargain.’

The door to the carriage opened, and there stood
Hardy. ‘I promised you riches and lodgings in London, and you shall have them, on one
condition.’

Guarded and ready for the double-cross, with an
escape route in mind, Ajay said, ‘Yes, and what is that?’

‘That you continue to tell us everything
you can about the Brotherhood.’

Ajay relaxed. They would keep him alive that
long, at least. Plenty of time to make his escape.

‘It’s a deal,’ he said.