Assassin's Creed: Underworld (6 page)

Catching them was easy. They were drunk and noisy
and slow and though they were frightened they were probably confident that their champion could
best this young upstart, because men like this had never needed to worry about anything. They
employed people to do their dirty work; they had servants and lackeys to do their worrying for
them.

So, yes, The Ghost caught them easily, and he
reached the one who lagged behind, barrelling into him so that the besuited toff fell and The
Ghost was on him in an instant, rolling him over and pinning him down with his knees on either
side of the man’s chest, raising the cutlass and channelling his fury, remembering as he
went to deliver the killing blow that it was this man –
this very man
– who
just moments ago he’d seen laughing as he kicked a defenceless woman half to death.

The time had come for Ethan to leave Amritsar, but
there was something troubling him and he had called a meeting of the family, the outcome of
which was to send shockwaves through the Mir family.

At this meeting Arbaaz had been expecting Ethan
to announce that Jayadeep was ready to embark upon the next stage of his education – in
the field.

However …

‘I don’t think he’s
ready,’ said Ethan bluntly without ceremony or warning.

Arbaaz broke bread and smiled. ‘Then you
cannot leave, Ethan. That was our agreement.’

The two men had shared great adventures. They
talked of the Koh-i-Noor diamond. How Arbaaz had retrieved it. Sometimes Jayadeep’s mother
would be present and all three would reminisce. Names like Alexander Burnes and William Sleeman
meant nothing to Jayadeep, but to his parents they were a doorway to another world of exciting
memories.

‘I’ve already sent word. They expect
me home and I intend to honour the commitment I’ve made to them. I will return, Arbaaz, of
that you can be sure.’

‘Then I fail to understand. Our agreement
was that you should train Jayadeep until he was ready for the field.’

The boy had sat beside his
mother feeling invisible as they discussed him without acknowledging his presence. It
wasn’t exactly an unknown occurrence; the more important the issue, the less likely he was
to have a say. He had never been consulted on his future, nor would he expect to be; it was
simply a matter of fact that until further notice he had no say in matters involving his own
destiny.

‘You’re going to have to enlighten
me, my old friend,’ said Arbaaz. ‘Throughout your years here you have assured me
that Jayadeep is one of the most talented young Assassins you have ever encountered, which we
all know means you think Jayadeep is
the
most talented Assassin you have ever
encountered. And why not! He was tutored first by me and then by your good self. I’ve seen
for myself that he has no lack of skill, and unless you’ve been honey-coating my ears all
this time, you think so too, and yet now, on the eve of your departure, comes this news the boy
isn’t ready. You must excuse my confusion. In what way is this highly trained,
consummately skilled boy whose mentor is about to embark for home
not ready
? And more
to the point,
why
?’

A note of angry irritation was evident in his
father’s voice, which had risen as he delivered his speech. Even a breadcrumb clinging
obstinately to his bottom lip did nothing to diminish his formidable look. Jayadeep shrank back.
Even his mother appeared concerned.

Only Ethan was unperturbed, returning
Arbaaz’s daunting stare with an unfathomable gaze of his own.

‘It’s true that
the boy has astonishing natural skill. It’s true that I have been able to mould that
natural talent into Assassinship of a greater-than-usual standard. For my own part, I have
learnt much from the boy, which is partly the reason I intend to leave for home and have no
intention of deviating from that path, no matter how many breadcrumbs you spit at me, old
friend.’

Arbaaz, abashed, wiped his mouth and when his
hand came away it revealed the very beginnings of a smile. ‘So why then?’ he asked.
No,
demanded
. ‘Why leave us at this crucial time, when there is still so much to
teach the boy?’

Ethan’s smile wasn’t so much a smile
as a look of kindness and concern that reached his lips as well as his eyes. A look that he
passed first to the parents and then to the boy.

‘He lacks the killer instinct. The boy can
kill and no doubt will, but he lacks something we have, you and I, or perhaps he has something
we lack.’

Arbaaz tilted his chin, colour rising. ‘Are
you saying my boy’s a coward?’

‘Oh for God’s sake, Arbaaz,’
huffed an exasperated Ethan. ‘No, of course I’m bloody not. It’s a matter of
disposition. If you put this boy in the field, he will either fail or …’

‘I won’t,’ said Jayadeep
suddenly, surprising even himself, anticipating a scolding, maybe even a more painful punishment
for this sudden unwarranted and uninvited outburst.

Instead his father looked proudly at him,
reaching over
to squeeze his shoulder in a gesture that made
Jayadeep’s heart swell with pride.

Ethan ignored him. He had turned his attention to
Pyara. ‘There is no shame in this,’ he told her, and he could see the softness in
her eyes, the secret hope that maybe just maybe her family might at long last be free of
bloodshed. ‘He can serve the Brotherhood in other ways. What a mentor he will be. A master
tactician. A policymaker. A great leader. And somebody has to be these things. Jayadeep can be
these things. Just not …
never
… a warrior.’

Arbaaz could contain himself no longer. Pyara,
calm and resolute, accustomed to the sight of her husband in full flight, remained implacable as
he exploded with rage. ‘Jayadeep, my son,
will
be a great warrior, Frye. He will
be a master Assassin, a mentor of the Indian Brotherhood …’

‘He can still …’

‘Not unless he has proven himself in
combat. As a warrior. As an Assassin.’

Ethan shook his head. ‘He is not ready and,
Arbaaz, I’m sorry if it breaks your heart but in my opinion he never will be.’

‘Ah,’ said Arbaaz, rising and
shepherding Jayadeep. Pyara surreptitiously wiped a tear from her eye as she too stood, loyal,
despite her torn emotions. ‘There we have it, Ethan. It is just your opinion. What do you
think, Jay, shall we prove our English friend wrong?’

And Jayadeep, the boy who would one day be The
Ghost, was not even ten years old but who so desperately wanted to please
Arbaaz because his father was his king, said, ‘Yes, Father.’

Text of a letter from Ethan Frye to Arbaaz Mir,
decoded from the original:

Dear Arbaaz,

Six years have passed since I left India to return home here to England. Six years since we
last spoke, my old friend. And far, far too long.

In the meantime I have learnt to mourn the loss of my beloved wife, Cecily, and do so in a
manner of which she would have approved, which is to say that I have set aside my former
resentment in order to build a relationship with our two children, Evie and Jacob. I regret
that I ever considered them responsible for my loss; I have done my best to make reparations
for the lost years of their childhood.

It was the years spent with your extraordinary son, Jayadeep, that galvanized me, and for
that I am eternally grateful to you both. Jayadeep set me on a path of enlightenment that made
me re-evaluate my thinking. I’m sorry to say, Arbaaz, that it has only strengthened my
resolve regarding the matter that drove a wedge between us all those years ago, and now
prompts me to make contact once again.

I should explain. As Assassins we are instilled with a certain philosophy. Unlike the
Templars who divide the world’s inhabitants
into shepherds and
sheep, we see millions of bright spots: intelligent, feeling beings, each with their own
potential and capable of working within a greater whole.

Or so we like to think. These days I wonder. Do we always put this philosophy into
practice? When we train our young Assassins we put swords into their hands when they have only
just learnt to walk. We teach values passed down the generations, sculpting the child into a
creature of preconception and discrimination and, above all, in our particular case, a
killer.

What we are doing is right. Please don’t read into this an expression of ideological
doubt on my behalf, for I have never been more firm in my beliefs that the Brotherhood stands
for what is right in this world. My doubt, dear Arbaaz, lies in the application of that
ideology, and this doubt is what keeps me awake at night, wondering if we fail our children by
moulding them into our image, when, in fact, we should be teaching them to follow a path of
their own. I wonder, are we merely paying lip service to the very principles we espouse?

With my own children I have attempted to take an alternative path to the one I have always
followed in the past, and different to the one I tried to follow with Jayadeep. Rather than
indoctrinating them, I have instead strived to give them the tools with which to teach
themselves.

It pleases me that their trajectory follows my own. As you know, in London, the Assassin
presence is long since depleted. Our Brotherhood is weak here, while the Templars, under the
command of their Grand Master, Crawford Starrick, continue to thrive; indeed, news has reached
us that our enemy’s infiltration into the city’s elite is even more pronounced
than we feared. They have plans afoot, of that there is no doubt. Big plans. And one
day, when they are ready, Jacob and Evie will join the struggle against
them.

When they are ready.
Note that well,
Arbaaz. I allowed them to find their own path, and I have abided by the principle that they
should only call themselves fully fledged Assassins when I know them to be as mentally capable
of fulfilling the task as they are physically. I do this in the knowledge that we are all
individuals, some of us suited to one direction, some to another. Assassins we may be in name,
yet not all of us can be ‘assassins’ in nature.

And so it is with Jayadeep. I understand how heartbreaking it must be for you. He is, after
all, your son. You yourself are a great Assassin and he has the potential to be one. However,
what I know for sure is that though he may be skilled and talented in the means of dealing
death, Jayadeep lacks the heart to do so.

He will kill. Yes, he will kill, if needs be. In a heartbeat if it were in defence of
himself or of those he loves. But I wonder, will he do so in the name of an ideology? Will he
do so for the creed?

Will he do so in cold blood?

Which brings me to the timing of my letter. The troubling news has reached me that Jayadeep
is to embark upon his first real-world assignment. An assassination.

Firstly, I must say how much I
appreciate that you took my concerns of six years ago seriously enough to delay his blooding
until after his seventeenth birthday. For this I am grateful, and commend you for your wisdom
and restraint. However, it is my view that Jayadeep lacks the core resolve needed for such an
act –
and nor will he ever attain it.

Simply put, he is different to you and me. Perhaps different to Jacob and Evie. Further, it
is my belief – and a belief that is entirely consistent with the core values of the
Brotherhood – that
we should embrace what is different about him. We
should celebrate that individuality and turn it to good use for the Brotherhood, rather than
try to deny it and mould it into rough and awkward shapes.

To put it another way, by sending Jayadeep into action, you are inviting something far
worse than your (imagined, if I may say so) disgrace that your son cannot follow in your own
esteemed footsteps, in favour of a much, much more profound disgrace: abject failure.

I beg of you, please, retire him from this assignation, take a fresh view of him, utilize
the best of your extraordinary son’s abilities for the good of the Brotherhood rather
than depending on the worst.

I hope to hear your decision by return, and I pray that you show the same wisdom and
restraint for which I have already commended you. You have trusted me in the past; please,
Arbaaz, trust me again.

Yours, as ever,

Ethan Frye

London

Letter to Ethan Frye from Arbaaz Mir, decoded from
the original:

Ethan, I thank you for your correspondence. However, I regret that you chose to build
bridges over such turbulent waters. There is no debate to be had regarding Jayadeep’s
abilities as an Assassin. You gave him the skills, I in the interim have provided him with the
moral fibre necessary to put them into practice. You’re fond of putting things simply,
Ethan, so I shall do so now: it is six long years since you last saw Jayadeep and you are no
longer in a position to make judgements concerning his suitability as an Assassin. He has
changed, Ethan. He has developed and grown. I am confident he is ready for his blooding, and
he will indeed carry out the assassination as planned. His target is a low-ranking Templar
whose termination is a necessity in order to warn our enemies that their increased presence in
India shall not be tolerated. I apologize if these next words appeared to be a jibe against
you and George Westhouse in London, Ethan, but we are keen that the Templars should not gain a
foothold here as they did in London, for we know where that leads.

I thank you for your correspondence, Ethan. I hope and trust that the foundations of our
relationship are secure enough that
this need not be the end of a great
friendship for you and me. However, I have made my decision, and just as you abide by your own
principles, I must abide by mine.

Yours, as ever,

Arbaaz Mir

Amritsar