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Chapter Text

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Christmas, 1773

There is a line at the age of 17. Straddled between worlds of childhood and adulthood where mistakes made now could bring shame to the family, and everyone was looking as an example of how girls should become proper young ladies. But the scary thing about becoming an adult is that no one knows when that moment will come. Margaret’s moment was fast approaching, but she didn’t know when it would come crashing in.

So far, it was not at this party, Margaret thought idly as she sat in the parlor. She did not hold a crystal flute of champagne like her parent’s friends, but just being here was a privilege, Mother made sure to stress to her, pulling her to the side before guests showed up. During most of the parties her parents hosted, she would be upstairs looking after her siblings or fighting against one of her headaches. But Mother, after persuasion and some convincing from her father, had deemed her old enough to attend the annual Christmas party for her father’s work colleagues. Margaret had been ecstatic this morning, hardly siting still as she spoke with Polly, the head of the house staff who helped her to get ready. . The older woman dressed her in a deep green gown, curling her dark hair up fashionably and applying rouge like the ladies back in London that Mother spoke about. Although her and Mother did not get along most of the time, perhaps being as well behaved as possible would convince her that she wasn’t a child anymore.

Had someone told her that parties were just talking about the same topic eight different times with eight different people and pretending to remember who they were talking about, she would have opted to stay upstairs. At least now she knew why people drank during these things. Margaret sighed. She could feel her mother’s stare at her from across the room, checking to see if she was slouching or staring too much. Margaret’s eyes glanced at the gleaming cane at her side, but the grip was relaxed and calm.
‘She must be in a good mood,’ She thought with relief. Mother’s good mood meant that everyone else was in a good mood. Maybe tonight was more productive than she thought. Adjusting her stance, she pretended to listen to Mrs. Foster’s opinion on the Patriot’s latest ploy at upsetting the Crown.

“I mean, of all the things to destroy, they had to go for the one thing we cherish the most?” She said, the three ladies listening nodded along solemnly.
“And now the King is going to hike the prices even further, so it was all for nothing. Their foolish ideas will be nothing more than a pebble in the sea for the King.” Mrs. Johnson said, turning her head to address the youngest member of the party. “Now, listen here Margaret, don’t go fooling around with one of those rebels. Stick to the good sort, the last thing you need is to embarrass yourself or your family.”
“Of course, Mrs. Johnson,” Margaret said simply, even though she barely had a clue what the women were talking about. Then again, if it wasn’t in her textbook or brought up in conversation at dinner, she wasn’t much aware of anything that happened outside of the house.

“Those boys will get themselves killed, the King won’t stand for this.” Mrs. Foster shook her head, adjusting her dress front as she settled down on a chaise. “I do wish the men would come out, I’m desperate to get out of this dress.”
“I just had some new dresses shipped over from France, did you know that the French ladies had enormous bustles now? Some cannot fit through the doors!” Mrs. Johnson said loudly. The women laughed, but Margaret was completely lost, imagining how wide the doors in France must be.

The party was winding down, several of the men had excused themselves into her father’s study for business talk. Once the conversation shifted solely to complaining that they could talk business any other time, Margaret stood up from her seat, wishing the ladies a good night. Gliding across the house, she toyed with her fan, tapping it against her hand idly. Luckily, there were no scolding words from Mother about leaving an event she had been so graciously invited to, caught up in her own conversation. Mother didn’t even notice as she grabbed her shawl from the front closet, sneaking out the back door as quiet as a breath.

The snowy backyard was picturesque, the faint moonlight giving a silver hue against the snowy ground. It was like a moment from the oil paintings that hung on the walls of the manor. There wasn’t a single sound to be heard, not even from the party. It was incredibly peaceful. Margaret sighed deeply, a small twinge of pain from how tight her stays were laced. She couldn’t wait for the end of the night to talk to Polly about how boring it was, how when she was older, she would refuse to host such boring events.

Something glimmered in the corner of her vision, drawing her attention away from her thoughts. There was a set of footprints leaving the house. All of their guests had either come or left through the front door, and there wasn’t a set of returning steps.
A warning voice in the back of her mind told her to turn around and head back inside. Mother would flay her if she found out her daughter had ruined her nice clothes or caught a cold just to satisfy her curiosity. But something tugged in her gut, a sense of urgency pulling her forwards like a siren call. At the very least, it had to be better than useless small talk.

Lifting her skirt, Margaret carefully stepped into the first track, lining up her feet so they wouldn’t get soaked. She had to step much wider than normal, this person had long legs, she nearly fell several times as she followed them to the edge of her property and off towards the neighbors’ land. They were out for the evening, so no one would see her pass through. She kept walking further, the snow getting deeper as she went. The trees were thicker and taller here, towering over her with white caps on evergreen needles.

Just as her feet were beginning to ache from the cold, wet ground, she noticed the footsteps were headed towards an abandoned farm. She was much further out than she had dared wander before, especially at nighttime, with only the moonlight to guide her. Someone would have noticed that she wasn’t around, they would be looking for her. She should turn back now, before Mother got too cross, she was still recovering from her last punishment…

But then she heard grunting from inside the barn. Standing up straighter, Margaret put her hand on the door. Who could be on the other side of the barn? It couldn’t have been lovers looking for a quiet place to get intimate, the barn was too drafty, practically falling apart. Perhaps it was a traveler, maybe one of the Native people she heard her father complaining about looking for shelter. Either way, if she opened the door, she might regret doing so.

Then there was a cry from inside, and Margaret could no longer stay put. With a solid grip, she pushed the wooden door open, the hinges whining in protest.< br /> Inside the barn was lit by several lanterns, it was dry and warm, the cold hardly seeping in despite the holes in the ceiling. A tall and slender man with a shock of red hair had his back to her, a long saber in his hands. He was battling a scarecrow, strafing and parrying off like he was a formidable opponent. He did not notice her, too caught up in his imaginary duel. Margaret would have written it off as some crazy man until she caught a glimpse of a birthmark on the back of his hand, a dark splotch like a splash of water.

“Master Watson?” She spoke loudly in the quiet barn.
The man immediately spun around, sword in one hand and his other hand splayed out to his side. The light caught on something metallic and sharp poking out from his sleeve, but it was gone before she could tell for certain.

Now that he was turned around, she could see the face of Reginald Watson, her personal tutor. He was only a decade older than she was, but he was by far the smartest man in the area. Unlike the kids in town, her father had enough coin and prestige to hire a private tutor for his daughter once her headaches became too much to bear attending lessons in town. Master Watson was patient and had many affirming words to say about her, even if she didn’t believe half of them. He had been at the party that night but declined to go into her father’s study with the rest of the men, claiming he had a meeting early the next morning to prepare for.
What in God’s name was he doing out here?

“Mistress Fletcher.” He immediately sheathed his sword and nodded his head to her. “I did not expect to see you out here.”
“I saw your footprints. What are you doing out here?”
“Same as you, my dear. Just needed to clear my head.”
Margaret hummed softly, looking at the dummy he had set up. Her tutor was a strange fellow.

“How is your head this evening?”
Margaret had to sit out of her lessons today because of a terrible migraine. Unfortunately, this ailment was something that plagued her constantly. It was why she had a private tutor, as well as why she was strictly kept under wraps. It would be rather embarrassing for her siblings if people heard that the eldest Fletcher girl could barely keep her wits. Today was the worst case in a very long time, colors blurring together and sounds were muted even though he tried to speak with her. She would have passed out if not for the quick thinking of her tutor, who gave her some water and told her to lay down. She had begged him not to tell her mother, she had been doing better at hiding the growing headaches, that she wasn’t an invalid and could do the things her siblings could. With a peculiar look on his face, he had agreed.

“It is much better, sir. I hardly feel anything.”
“No more woozy feeling? Or feeling your nerves rising?”
She shook her head.
“May I ask you how long you’ve been getting these headaches?” Master Watson asked. He had never pressed about her condition before, paid to keep silent. He had always been respectful with her, never too personal even in private. But he was one of the few people in this world who she could let her guard down around.
“As long as I can remember. Mother tells me that I am being dramatic, but I believe they have gotten worse as I have grown older.”
“No, no,” Master Watson shook his head. “It is not dramatic what is going on.”
“Going on?” Margaret asked. It was a headache, not some sort of scheme.

“My dear, could I ask you to do something for me? It may sound strange at first, but it is very important.”
“Of course, sir.” Margaret held her hands behind her back, rocking on the balls of her feet.
“Stare at me. Concentrate as hard as you can.”
“Mother says it’s rude to stare.”
“Well, she is not here right now, so let’s bend the rules for a bit, huh?” He raised his bushy eyebrows.

“Okay, I’ll try.” Margaret furrowed her eyebrows, staring at her tutor with wide eyes. Nothing was happening, so she opened her eyes even more, ignoring the tingling sensation in her head and the dryness of her eyes.
“Concentrate, Mistress Fletcher, you can do it.” Master Watson encouraged her to continue, even as she felt a bit ridiculous. Margaret felt a twinge of pain, similar to the one she had this morning, and gasped, holding her head in her hands.
“It’s alright Mistress Fletcher, try again.”

She did as she was told, but this time the pain was much sharper, like driving a quill pen through her eyes. She protested the pain with a small cry, breathing heavily. The pressure kept building and building, her head felt like it was about to burst. She placed her head between her hands. She stood corrected, this was the worst.
“Push through the pain, my dear.” Master Watson said encouragingly. “I know that you can do this, the pain is part of the way.”
“What are you talking about?” She asked through her teeth, closing her eyes tightly.
“Because I had to go through the same trial you did, I promise you it will be worth it.”

Margaret took a couple of deep breaths, opening her eyes just as the pain snapped. She gasped aloud, her mouth hanging open as she saw the barn around her, but it was not as she had just seen it moments ago. Everything had turned grey and white, sounds just as muted as they had been before, but everything was crystal clear like she was seeing out of new eyes.

“What is this?” She asked just barely above a whisper, looking around the barn. Not quite everything was greyscaled, there were flashes of silver now and again, especially near piles of hay.
“So it’s true then.” Margaret turned towards her tutor, distracted by how brightly he was glowing, a striking blue color.
“You’re blue!”

“Oh thank heavens, I was worried you wouldn’t be able to see it. The vision works differently with everyone.”
“The vision?” Margaret asked, rubbing her eyes until normal colors returned.
“You mean you don’t know? Your family never told you about your gift?”
“I have never been told that I am gifted.” She shook her head, unused to seeing the blur of colors out of the corner of her eye. “What do the colors mean?”

“No one knows where they come from or why it chooses some over others, but from what I can tell, the Eagle Vision is a system to tell who is a threat.” Master Watson explained gently.
“Eagle Vision?” She tilted her head.
“That was the name that was told to me, my mentor told me that only those with special bloodlines could even attempt. I cannot hold mine for more than a few seconds, but you held yours for half a minute without training. You must be very special indeed.” Master Watson took her hand. Her cheeks burned, normally he kept his distance during their lessons and gave a few kind words as a show of pride, but this was overwhelming.

“Who was this mentor?” She wasn’t aware that tutors had mentors, however, the more that Master Watson spoke the more she realized that he wasn’t just a scholar.
“I’m afraid I cannot give you a name, for he was a wanted man, and to be associated with him is to brand me a criminal. But, now that I know that you are who I believe you to be, I am obliged to give something to you.” Master Watson dug in his pocket, tugging out a long string, a small bronze key attached to the end. He held it out to her. “This was given to me by my mentor. It belonged to a person who wanted to make sure their possessions did not fall into the wrong hands.”
“So why give it to me?” Margaret held her hand out to take the key, the cold metal quickly warmed in her hands.
“Because you have just shown me it is yours by right. You will know what to do with it.”

“Do with what? I am tired of speaking in questions.” Margaret said.
“I know my dear. But I am afraid that we are out of time. I fear you have been gone too long, your parents must have raised an alarm.”
“What’s going on?” She asked, the hair on her arms raised at the feeling of being watched by unseen eyes. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw a flash of red in the window.

Master Watson grabbed her arms tightly, squeezing and looking into her eyes with a sense of urgency that startled her.
“Listen closely, Mistress Fletcher. I am not your enemy, no matter what lies they will spin about me. The men outside will not hear any explanation I give to defend myself. But you must heed my next words, and follow them without question, do you trust me?”
“Of course I trust you.” This was the same man who had taught her so much about the world without ridicule; if she couldn’t trust him, she might not be able to trust any man.
“Good. Firstly, you must open wherever that the key goes to. It will be somewhere well hidden and no one will tell you about it. Secondly, take whatever story they tell about what happened or who I was. I’ve done my best to keep them from targeting you. Don’t argue or try to make it better, just keep your head low. Wait for your moment to run. And lastly, I need you to repeat the next words I say back to me, they are crucial to your survival.”
“Okay.” She nodded her head.

“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.”
“Nothing is true. Everything is permitted.” She parroted back, her breath shaking now. “Master Watson, I don’t-“
“Please don’t hate me for what I have to do next, Margaret.” He breathed out quietly, reaching down for his belt.

“Master Watson?” Her pitch rose as he pulled out a knife, grabbing her left hand. Before she could even protest, a slicing pain caused her to scream as her hand was sliced open. Tears sprang to her eyes as he threw the knife away.
The barn door was kicked open, half a dozen men pouring through with muskets and bayonets out. Master Watson forced her to spin around, the odd blade that she had glimpsed earlier was out again, preset tightly to her throat. Her hands immediately grabbed his wrist, but he did not budge.

“Give it up,” A voice called out, Margaret could see through her tears that it belonged to Mrs. Johnson’s husband, his pistol drawn. “Let the girl go. She has nothing to do with this.”
“She has everything to do with this! She’s spoken the words and she has the mark now, she’s every bit of an Assassin now, you Templar scum.” Master Watson yelled, pressing the blade tighter as the men moved forwards. Master Johnson held his hand out to the soldiers with him. Her heart was beating out of rhythm, her bottom lip trembled as she gripped his wrist. They were speaking in riddles, assassins and blood and templars, it didn’t make any sense to her frenzied mind.

“I was sure that an Assassin needed to have a trial to be considered true, and I don’t think Mistress Fletcher has ever said a mean word in her life, let alone kill anyone.”
“We’ll take anyone that wishes to come with us. Anyone who wants to see you all dead.” Master Watson was speaking loudly, gripping her tighter. It was completely out of character for the soft-spoken scholar. Yet something about this made her pause. He had the flat of the blade against the skin of her throat, and he was only holding her with one hand. She could have easily got out of this stance with how loosely he was holding her, but why put on a show?

“Master Watson, you’re not well. There is a sickness in your mind, but I’m sure that we can talk this out calmly.” Master Johnson spoke slowly. “Just let her go.”
“It’s you lot who are sick. Bleeding this country dry with your taxes, and you Templars are making us weak.” Master Johnson took a step forward, lowering his gun slightly.
“This is your final warning. Let her go, we can talk this out like civilized men.”
“I let her go, and you let those men form an execution line as soon as she’s out of the way. I know all of your tricks, I’m perfectly safe right here. I won’t let you take her!” He pulled her closer, the blade nicking the exposed skin at her neck as he moved.

Then there was a loud bang, something wet splattering all over Margaret. It was hot and tasted the way pennies smelled, as her tutor staggered, dragging her down. They landed with a thud. Footsteps approached, but Margaret couldn’t take her eyes off of Master Watson and where his throat used to be. Now it was a waterfall of blood, so dark it was almost black. It pooled out around his head, staining her dress and skin in the sticky substance.
Hands grabbed her and pulled her to her feet, but she couldn’t look away. Master Watson was still twitching, gurgling as he choked on the blood. He never looked away from her, even when a bayonet stabbed through his temple.

“Christ, turn her away, she doesn’t need to see it!” Master Johnson’s voice was loud in her ears, new hands pulling her away from the two soldiers who had helped her stand. With an arm draped over her shoulders, she has led away from the body. She let him move her to the far end of the barn, sitting on a crate just by the door. She could not take her eyes off of him, Master Watson, watching as the Redcoats drug his body away unceremoniously. Crimson trails followed his body, pooling on the floor.

“Lass.” A firm hand gripped her chin, turning her head away from the carnage. Master Johnson was looking her in the eye, unwavering and almost unnerving. “You need to calm down, you’re scarcely breathing and I do not want you to pass out. In and out.” With a shuddering breath, she complied, trying to copy his movements through the tears streaming down her face. She closed her eyes to try to stop the flow of emotions.
“It’s alright, there’s no more need to fret. The threat is gone, you are completely safe now.”

She opened her eyes, not realizing she had tapped into her vision again. Margaret could no longer see the welcoming blue light from Master Watson’s body. Instead, all she saw was red, and it wasn’t just the coats the soldiers wore. Her hands tightened in her skirt, but Master Watson’s words came back to her. “Keep your head low.”
So, instead of commenting, she blinked the colors back and nodded numbly, it was the least she could do as the barn door closed between her and Master Watson one final time.

Chapter Text

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Margaret did not remember how she got home. One moment she was in the barn, the next she was in her bedroom, listening to Polly hum some old song as she combed through her hair. The bathwater in the tub besides them was a ruddy color, the blood of her tutor staining the delicate porcelain. Had she been so out of it, she hadn't noticed the head of staff changing her into a nightgown, her green dressing gown draped over her shoulders limply. Her bleeding hand was wrapped in stiff bandages, the pain a distant memory now. Polly’s hands in her hair were comforting as ever, gently scratching her scalp as her hair was pulled back out of her face.

“Welcome back, darling,” Polly spoke softly, tying the ribbon in her hair.
“What happened?” Margaret asked, toying with the braid that was draped over her shoulder.
“Master Johnson brought you back around an hour ago, he and your father’s associates are in the office now. Your mother is dealing with the lingering guests and reassuring them so they can go home.”
“Glad that she’s helping someone,” Margaret said bitterly. Polly gently tugged her braid to chide her.

Margaret tried not to scoff. Dorothy Fletcher was hard and unyielding like stone, one who could stare down entire platoons and make them back down, but the moment her children had any emotional problems, they were passed along to the nearest servant. The servant would coddle them when feelings were hurt and make warm milk or tea on nights they couldn’t go to sleep.

“How are the kids?”
“Tucked into bed, none the wiser of anything from this evening. Your father will probably tell them that Master Watson went away on a trip.” Polly mused. “You were very brave tonight, I am so proud of you, Madge.”
Margaret let out a shaky breath, closing her eyes against the tears that welled up at the mention of what had happened to her. “I don’t feel very brave.”
“I know darling, but you were. You are.” She corrected herself, setting the comb aside. “But I’m afraid the night isn’t over yet. I heard that Master Kenway will want to speak with you about what happened.”

That made Margaret’s back straighten.
Master Kenway was an elusive figure in their household. Father spoke of him with the utmost respect, as he was his main employer, and Mother thought he was more important than any man on this side of the ocean. Despite all of the talk of him, she had never met the man before. Occasionally she would hear a very proper London voice in Father’s study when she passed by. Mother believed that children should not meddle with grown-up affairs, so she kept the kids away from all of Father’s associates. Tonight was the first night she had seen any of them, having a proper introduction like a young lady coming up in society would.

Polly reached around to grasp Margaret’s hands in hers, the rough texture from years of hard work enveloping her dainty ones.
“It’s alright, sweetheart. I will be right there with you.” Her arms went around her shoulders in a comforting gesture that she would normally melt into. But tonight she just wanted to scream and cry. She didn’t want to recount her side yet, especially when she knew that she would have to lie about almost everything. Master Watson had stressed that she kept her newest discovery to herself. He hadn’t told her who she had to keep it hidden from, but judging by his last conversation with Master Johnson, it was whoever these Templars were. She had seen it with her own eyes, the men that had saved her were not her allies. She just wished that she knew why...

There was a sharp knock at the door, Polly had just enough time to pull herself away before the door opened.
Patrick Fletcher was a slight man in every sense of the word, hardly bigger than a flagpole and just as tall. His glasses were always dirty with fingerprints and his breath smelled like tobacco, but his smile was bright and his voice kind. Unfortunately, even he couldn’t muster up a smile for her, grimacing tightly at her from the doorway.

“How are you holding up, Madge?” As much as her father tried to come off as loving, it always seemed to fall flat. Even the childhood nickname seemed insincere. Margaret shrugged her shoulders, pulling the dressing gown that Polly had draped over her a bit tighter.
He cleared his throat awkwardly. “There is someone that I want you to talk to before you turn in for the night. Are you up for it?” It may have been posed like a question, but even she knew that it was more of a courtesy. If her Father’s associate wanted to speak with her, she didn’t have a say in the matter.

Nonetheless, Margaret gave a small nod.
“Wonderful, I will fetch him.” He turned to Polly, his tone changing completely when addressing the woman. “My wife needs your help with changing. Then we need the china cleaned and put away, as well as all of the food needs to be packaged up.”
“Of course sir. Will there be anything else?” Polly asked as courteously as ever. Margaret wondered how she could stand people talking down to her, it did not seem fair, seeing how much work Polly did to keep this house running smoothly.
“No, I will have breakfast in my office in the morning.” He dismissed himself. Polly curtsied as he left.
“I’ll stop in later.” She whispered as soon as her father was out of earshot she leaned over and kissed the crown of her head.

“Stay strong, he is not the kindest man.” With that, Polly took her to leave.

Margaret took a shuddering breath, her mind whirling faster than a storm. She had no reason to mistrust her tutor, but that had been before he had been killed for being a part of some sort of organization that her father and his associates were against. Could she have been fooled by the kind tutor? Could he have spun lies to make her more susceptible to whatever his plans could have been? Should her father’s associate find out about her gift, there was no telling what would happen to her. Would she end up like Master Watson? Or in a situation far worse?

She wasn’t given time to dwell on what might happen to her or to put her thoughts straight as her father came barging in.
“He will meet us in the parlor.” Was all he said.
Standing up with the blanket as her only protection from her incoming doom, she followed her father. The house was silent, not even the maids were running around at this time of night. She forgets how big the house is until it goes quiet like this. It had much more space than even her big family needed. The estate was not theirs, but thanks to her Father’s inheritance from his hard work, they were living life lavishly compared to some.

“Who is this gentleman I am meeting again?” Margaret asked tentatively.
“My employer, Master Kenway, you met him briefly tonight. He is a powerful man in the Colonies. Although he does not have a title, he is very influential in politics and other business in the big cities.” He explained.
“Why am I meeting him? Why not the captain of the soldiers or another authority figure?” ’Why would a businessman need to act as an investigator?’ She dared not voice that question in fear of being impertinent.
“He’s the one who found out where you went, he sent Master Johnson and his lackey to find you. I’m sure he just wants to check in to see if you’re alright, you gave everyone a big scare.”

Her father opened the door to the parlor, ushering her inside. Master Kenway stood at the window, looking out into the gardens below, turning when they entered the room. For someone so intimidating, she expected him to be built like one of the large men that some Redcoat patrols had, towering and imposing with their strength. Yet Master Kenway was just as tall as her father. It was hard to tell his age, but she could see a few gray strands in his hair under his hat. He was dressed impeccably, the fabrics and tailoring suited for a man of her family’s status, but there was something about him that stood out, an air of someone who had seen their share of violence and death. Master Watson had given off the same impression. The thought of her mentor was like a hot knife slicing through her.

“Master Kenway, I present my eldest daughter, Margaret.” She barely remembered to curtsy on her cue.
Master Kenway nodded his head to her. “The pleasure is mine, Miss Fletcher. I don’t expect that we’ll be together for more than 10 minutes.” Master Kenway spoke like one of the King’s men, dismissing her father with a nod of his head.

A warning bell went off in her head, trying not to stare after her retreating father with wide eyes. She knew that she was going to have to talk to him, but she never expected to be alone with the man. Yet her father had already shut the door, quick to comply with orders in his own house. She had never seen her father be so complicit with anyone before, (save for her mother) closing the door behind him like he was a manservant. Margaret gulped.

“I apologize for intruding on what has already been a stressful evening, but I need a witness account before the details get lost.” Master Kenway did not waste any time, gesturing for her to sit across from him. Edging around the room, she found a seat on the loveseat while he sat in an armchair.
“I will try to help,” Margaret said softly, but not enough to be considered mumbling. She didn’t want to incur any annoyance, especially if her fate hung in the balance. He sat there for a moment, his dark eyes boring into hers. Her stomach squirmed uncomfortably.

“Could you recount your tale from this evening? Leaving no detail out.”
“Of course.” Margaret took a deep breath. If there was one skill that she had learned over the years, it was how to find the real within a lie. As long as she stressed the truths, the small omissions would be glossed over.
“I was attending the party this evening, but I needed some air. I stepped out, only intending on staying for a moment, but I saw footprints in the snow, so I followed them. I came across a barn and I heard strange noises inside, so I investigated. It was Master Watson, I am not sure why he was there, but we were talking. I must have lost track of time, because the next thing I know, he grabbed me as the doors burst open. I-uh, that was when Master Johnson had to step in and... as you know.” She waved her hand awkwardly.
“Killed Master Watson?” Master Kenway finished.
“Yes, uh… that is all I know.” She gripped the blanket tightly, waiting for his response. It had been surprisingly easy for her to skip over the weird vision and what Master Watson had made her promise. Now she just had to hope he didn’t ask about what they were talking about.

“What did you talk about with Master Watson?”
‘Damn it!’ “He, uh, he was talking in riddles mostly, I didn’t understand much of it. Talking about odd things and asking me strange questions. It didn’t make much sense.”
“Has he ever gone off on these kinds of tangents before?” Master Kenway asked.
Margaret shook her head, defensive for her mentor who couldn’t speak for himself. “He never talked about anything except for the subjects he was hired to teach.”

He hummed quietly, standing up from the chair taking a stroll about the room. “Is that everything that happened this evening, Miss Fletcher?”
Was it that easy? He looked as if he were ready to walk out the door. Perhaps Polly had been silly to warn her. “Yes, sir.”
“I mean no disrespect, Miss Fletcher, but you are a terrible liar.”

Her heart sank. She tried to school her face before he could see it. But it was too late for that, keen eyes watching her every move.
“I’m afraid that I don’t know what you’re talking about...” Margaret said, unconvincing even to her own ears.
“But you do know something.” He was behind her now, she didn’t want to be too obvious and stare at him, so she kept her eyes forwards, a cool drop of sweat racing down her back. “Come now, did you think that people were that blind? That they wouldn’t notice?”
“Master Kenway, I promise you, I don’t know anything. Master Watson sprung it on me today, I never knew.” Her voice was shaking now, God, why did she agree to lie? This was the worst thing, and who knows what kind of punishment awaited her for lying.
“Then how did you know where to meet him if you didn’t know about the letter?”

Thank God he was behind her, or he’d see the confusion on her face.
“I know about the letters you had sent over the past few months. He wanted to meet you tonight, to make official what his intentions were.” Pieces of parchment were slapped down onto the coffee table in front of Margaret. She could make out a scrawl of words and sentences from how they were laid. It was her own handwriting, but Margaret had no memory writing these notes.

‘You make me feel like I’ve never felt before…
…I admire your courage…
…You make my heart race with passion…
…I think I’m in love with you…’

It wasn’t until she got a closer look that she noticed something off, the spacing of the words too close and her i’s were dotted in a slant, the similar writing patterns she had seen every day from her tutor. Her face flushed, equal parts flustered and confused.

Before she could investigate further, Master Kenway rounded the loveseat, returning to his chair. “I will tell you what I think happened. You and your tutor have been exchanging notes for months, each one becoming more and more intimate as you grew to know each other. It would have been social suicide should you’re relationship be found out, but you persisted. You were planning on running away with Master Watson tonight so you could be together, is that correct?”
She opened her mouth, meaning to correct him on these false claims, but something rang in the back of her head.
‘Play dumb and keep your head low, accept whatever story they come up with’
She closed her mouth and looked away.

“I can see why you didn’t want to talk about it. If word of this scandal got out, your reputation would be ruined. Your entire family would be shamed for years. So, perhaps we should bury it along with Master Watson, hm?”
Margaret looked back at him, tears in her eyes at the thought of burying her tutor. There was something about his tone that made her pause. She may have been sheltered from many things in her privileged life, but she knew what blackmail sounded like. Even if he was off base, it would be better to pretend, especially if it meant he would not ask about the vision.

“What would you have me do?” Margaret asked quietly.
“These papers will be confiscated, I will see to it personally that this does not become public knowledge. As long as you forget about any odd conversations you may have heard this evening. I feel that is more than a fair compromise.”
Could it be that he was trying to keep something from getting out as well? She could use this to her advantage.
“I agree.” Margaret spoke slowly, still not looking him in the eye.

Master Kenway stood up, brushing off a bit of unseen dirt from his trousers before grabbing the notes. “Well now, that wasn’t too horrendous. I think I should depart. After all, it has been a tremendously long night.”
“Of course, sir. Just one question, if you don’t mind.”
“Ask away.”
“Who else knows of...this?” She glanced at the papers in his hand.
“Only the people in this room, Miss Fletcher. Shall we keep it that way?”
“I think it would be wise, sir.” She nodded a bit too eagerly.

Master Kenway opened the door. Polly was on the other side, hand raised to knock.
“A thousand pardons sir.” Polly curtsied when she saw them exit.
Master Kenway hardly acknowledged her existence, striding across the foyer. Margaret, more at ease now than she had been all night sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. When she opened, however, she was in the Eagle Vision mode, the greyscale throwing her off for a moment. Polly, who was fetching Master Kenway’s cloak, was glowing a bright blue like a beacon. She froze when she saw Master Kenway’s true colors, red like the blood splashed across her tutor’s face. A sharp twinge behind her eyes had her blinking it away, clutching her head.

Polly immediately noticed, hurrying to her side.
“Mistress Fletcher, are you alright?” She asked with a soft tone, not too warm in the company of strangers.
“I’m fine, just a headache.” Margaret grit out, feeling some of the dizziness from earlier today creep back in.
“You’re bleeding!” Polly pulled out a rag from her pocket, she dabbed at her face, wiping the blood away quickly.
“It’s nothing, thank you.” She pushed the rag back, her eyes pleading with Polly.
Polly, ever so sharp, bowed her head. “Of course Miss Fletcher. Shall we retire for the evening?”
“Yes, please.” Margaret wanted this night to be over.

“Miss Fletcher.” Margaret had almost forgotten about Master Kenway in her urgency to leave. She turned around halfway up the staircase to face him.
“Be sure to rest well.”
The next moment happened so fast, she wasn’t sure if it was a trick of the light or her overworked imagination, but she swore that his eyes flashed. She felt a strange sensation wash over her, like unseen eyes watching. But before she could unpack what had just happened, Master Kenway spun on his heel and saw himself out, closing the door with a ‘snap’.

Margaret felt the breath leave her body, very light-headed for the second time that night. She had seen eyes flash like that before, that brief moment in the barn before Master Watson recognized her. Her tutor had told her that he had the same sight that she did, he must have been using his Eagle Vision to see who she was. Her stomach dropped, gripping the railing tighter as she fought the rising panic.

Master Kenway had the same gift that she did. And somehow, he knew that she did too.

Chapter Text

——

That night took a toll on Margaret. The birds chirping did not rouse her the next day, nor did her younger siblings as they hurried around to get ready for their lessons. That in of itself was miraculous, as there were four other kids outside of Margaret. None of the servants had tried to wake her, most of the morning passing before she roused herself from bed.

Solitude was something she was used to. She has spent so much time inside the house that many people outside of her parents' friends forgot that the Fletchers had five children. Margaret wanted nothing more than to just go to school like her siblings, to be out in public without pain as a constant companion, but Mother and Father never understood how some days were good and some were not. There were times when she would get to go out, errands when Polly could sneak her out, and walks around the neighborhood on nice days when Master Watson thought she had done exceptionally well, but those were far and between.

The thought of poor Master Watson hit hard. That last bloodied image of him stuck with her, even when she closed her eyes. She could still smell the blood, even after scrubbing her hands until they were raw.
Margaret pulled her stays tighter and bid any thoughts of him from her mind. She could not afford to dwell on his death, especially not after such a close call last night. Who knows what would happen if someone else were to figure out what Master Watson had shown her. Whatever this…thing was, she had very little control over it and dangerous.
“Stay low and keep your head down.”

She felt something bump against her hand as she adjusted her pockets inside of her petticoats, pulling out a long string with a key attached to the end. The thing Master Watson had given her last night before it turned bloody. She turned the metal in her hand several times. It looked just like a normal key, but there was an odd insignia inscribed on the end, rusted so it was almost impossible to see it. Using her thumbnail, she started to peel off the rust.

Footsteps outside her door sent her scrambling, her heart rate dropped once she saw familiar dark hair peek around the door.
“Margaret.” Polly shut the door behind her, losing the professional attitude once they were completely alone. “I’d come to see if you were awake yet, but I see that you’re completely ready for the day.” She finished with a smile, brightening up the whole room.
Margaret, heart still racing, could not return the sentiment. A sweaty hand clutched the key in her pocket like a burning secret. “I was surprised that no one had come to get me yet.”
“Your father said that you were to be given the day off to recuperate.”

“Oh. And there were no tasks that I needed to complete?” During lull times, Margaret would often find chores to complete, working alongside Polly and the rest of the staff despite her Mother’s disdain.It was an unspoken thing in their house, but as long as it had not interfered with her studies, she was allowed to continue. Sometimes, she preferred it, even if it were just to have someone to talk to.
“Not that the serving staff cannot handle. Your father also asked that we keep a close eye on you, just in case a late-stage hysteria comes over you. I’ve taken that charge upon myself.”
“I wouldn’t want to take you away from your duties.”
“Nonsense, your mother and father are out today, so there are fewer things that need to be taken care of than normal. Unless you need the time alone?” Polly raised her eyebrows, as if seeing right through her. Margaret bit her lip, sitting on the bed and refusing to make eye contact with the maid.

“Madge, what’s wrong?” Polly dropped the formalities.
Why was she hiding the key? She had never hidden anything from Polly before. Yet a tugging sensation in her gut told her that she needed to keep it hidden. This was bigger, something dark and terrifying, but at the same time, Margaret did not want to do it alone.
“Polly, you know I trust you more than anyone I know in this house, right?”
“Yes, why do you ask?”
“May I speak frankly? Without fear that word will get back to my parents?”
“Of course.” Polly gripped her free hand as she eased herself down besides Margaret. “I won’t speak of it to anyone.”

“Last night, I...I discovered something.” She pulled the string from its hiding place until the key hung between them. “Master Watson gave me this, he told me that I would know what it means, but I don’t.”
Margaret knew that color did not show the same on Polly’s face as it did with people of her complexion, but she could tell that all of the blood had drained from her face, looking at the metal trinket like it was responsible for all of the horrors of the world. Her hand grasped hers tight, uncharacteristically rough for the gentle woman.

“Miss Fletcher, you must not show that to anyone else.” Polly held her hand for a moment more before letting her go.
“What is it?”
“I am not allowed to say.” She shook her head. “There are many secrets in this house, horrible and terrible secrets, but that is one I can never divulge, even to you.” She shuddered, standing up to put distance between her and Margaret.

“Wait, do you know what Master Watson was speaking of?” Margaret asked.
The maid shook her head, but it wasn’t out of denial, more akin to terror. “I cannot say. Miss Fletcher, I may lose more than just my position if I were to tell you the truth. Please understand.” Polly’s skirts swished as she made her way across the room, gripping the door handle in one hand. “I will not speak of this conversation if you will not.”
“Of course not, but Polly...”
“I will see you in the parlor for dinner. We are having sandwiches.” Just as suddenly as her tone shifted, she was leaving, closing the door behind her with uncharacteristic urgency.

Margaret sat with a gaped mouth for several moments. What was that all about?
Polly was one to keep quiet about many things, such as Margaret's complaints about her mother, or her father’s not-so-secret affair with the butcher’s wife. But she had never looked so fearful, and Polly had once faced down a outspoken drunk man who had spoken ill about the children.

If she could not confide in Polly, who could she trust?

____

After their meal, Polly left her to her own devices, busy working on supper and the laundry. Margaret had a few hours before her siblings would return from school, and her parents had let her know they would be home for supper, so she was on her own for a few hours. That worked perfectly for her plan, but she would have to act fast.

She tried every single keyhole in the house. Every door and lock, even her father’s liquor cabinet, but none seemed to fit the strange key. As she walked, Margaret picked at the rust, slowly but steadily chipping away to see the symbol. By the time she had reached the last door, once again a failure, underneath her fingers were ruddy and sore.

The symbol shone brightly for the first time as she blew away the remaining flecks. A wide upside-down ‘V’ with a curve just barely connecting the far points. Margaret ran her thumb-pad over the engraving, trying to remember where she had seen this before. It had been a day like today, where she was wandering all on her own in this big empty house. She always tried to hide from her mother to avoid the punishments that she would give, but it would end up with her enduring the cane even worse than if she hadn’t run. Margaret made a list of all the places she would hide as a kid, silently checking off the rooms that she had just been in.

It hit her like a bag of bricks. Of course! Why hadn’t she checked there yet? Margaret turned on her heel and crept down to the main level. Peeking her head around the corner, she willed her vision to come forwards. Most of the serving staff, a dull grey color identifying them, were in the kitchens. Polly was around back, elbow-deep in the washing, still shining a bright blue. At least their disagreement hadn’t soured her image. Cautious, Margaret opened and shut the front door as quietly as humanly possible.

The snow was still very deep outside in the gardens, almost untouched by the others since no one in their right minds would want to spend time out in this freezing weather. Only the groundskeepers footsteps were present, and thankfully they led up to the back building behind their house. Margaret lined her feet up and hurried over, damp snow soaking her stockings and her petticoats. Once again, luck was on her side, the large door was unlocked. The closed the door behind her, the noise loud in the empty warehouse.

The owners before had turned this into some kind of dungeon where terrible experiments on animals, and even humans, had taken place. At least, that is what her father had told each child when asked about the warehouse on their property. Margaret had seen through that lie, her curiosity had found odd trinkets, but nothing to suggest torture of any kind took place here. So it would be the perfect place for Master Watson to hide something for her.

Margaret wandered the space for nearly half an hour before groaning in frustration. Nothing was resembling a keyhole anywhere! She searched high and low, but no door. The brunette was ready to tear her hair out and call it quits when her eye caught on to something. But when she turned towards the area, it seemed to vanish again.
Perhaps she wasn’t looking at the problem with the right lens.

She took a deep breath, tapping into the Eagle Vision again. It was becoming easier as time went on, the more she practiced, the longer she could use it. Looking around the room, she glimpsed a glowing section of the room, a hidden doorway! Margaret hurried over, moving aside some of the boxes that had piled up. Sure enough, there was a small hole that looked like it could fit the key. Pressing her lips to the key briefly, a small prayer to her tutor that this was correct, Margaret slid the key into the hole and turned it.

It clicked open.

The secret panel opened, waving away the dust that rose with the movement. Sneezing from the stale air, she reached into the cubby and yanked out a chest. It was a massive, rich mahogany color with gold hinges. The symbol from the key was engraved into the top. She traced an idle finger over it, the smooth wood running under her hand like silk. There was another latch that looked like the key would fit, would she be lucky twice in a row?
There was a click as she turned the key. She took a moment to steel herself for what she might find, it could be anything from money to old family heirlooms. Maybe there would be nothing, and this whole search was pointless? Her hands were shaking at the possibilities

Margaret tilted her head as she looked inside, a perplexed expression crossing her face. She reached forwards and grabbed a letter on top. It was unopened, the wax seal bore the same curved symbols she had seen on the key and the chest. Quickly looking over her shoulder, Margaret slid her thumb under the fold. The parchment was old, but not fragile enough to rip, so it couldn’t have been ancient. Unfolding it, she read the fancy scrawl.

‘October 1st, 1759
Mentor Davenport,

The device is nearly ready to experiment on the box. Replicating Master Franklin’s experiment proved to be much simpler than originally thought, much to the chagrin of the other Master Assassins. I am getting reports that several of our headquarters across the city have been taken over by the British, I am led to believe these are due to the actions of the Rogue. Perhaps it was unwise to let the vagabonds of the city rule the streets, but I have no complaints, as they keep the Templar’s busy enough that we have time to plan and execute.

However, as more of my allies in the streets fall, I am beginning to fear that my demise is close behind. I have made my peace with this fact, I have given everything in my power to this order, and would gladly give my life when the time comes. But I will need reparations for the one soul that I leave behind. Even though they are no longer mine, I wish to pass something on to the child. I have left instructions with the head of the gangs and his apprentice to keep an eye on them so that they grow up safe but prepared. Instead of keeping my spare blades with me as I journey from this life, I will leave them with the tools to help them. Unfortunately, this is all I can do, for I would not want for the enemy to know of a child with our bloodline, for them to kill or corrupt.

Should anything go wrong in these next few weeks, be secure in the knowledge that our order will not die out, not as long as there is even one with our blood. Even the Templars can not take that away from us.

Safety and Peace Mentor,
Hope Jensen’

Margaret read through the letter several times, each time growing more and more curious. Was this Hope Jensen a part of the same group Master Watson had been? Who was this Mentor person she was writing to? And the child she mentioned, were they like Master Watson? Setting the letter aside, she dug through the chest, intent on finding another letter. Perhaps it would answer her questions. She did hold an inkling of regret looking through what was a dead woman’s things, but not enough shame to make her stop, wanting to know more about this mysterious woman and her strange world.

There was a set of clothes inside, bright purple robes with plenty of ruffles and a bow. It reminded her of a dress her mother wore in one of her portraits as a young woman, but this hemline was much too short to be worn in public without wearing something underneath. Next, Margaret pulled out two odd-looking bracers. Thin bands of leather held the contraption to one's arms, and when she pulled the string attached, a long silver blade slid out. She nearly dropped it in surprise, a small gasp escaping. The odd blades had the symbol etched into the leather casing. Wasn’t this what Master Watson had worn under his sleeve?

There wasn’t much else inside the trunk now, a couple of pieces of parchment, detailing a list of cargo ships and hidden routes to every major city from here to Virginia. Another paper held a list of names from the year 1755, some were crossed out and others had notes written in the margins. Her eyes scanned down, stopping at a familiar name.

“Reginald Watson, Assassin Novice. 1754-Present.”
She tried picturing a young Master Watson, even younger than she was now, signing up for this order. But all that she could think of was his blood stained face. With a heavy heart, her eyes trailed back up, passing over several more names, including a name that was crossed out so many times it was illegible, until she got to the top of the page.
“Achilles Davenport, Master Assassin, and Mentor of the Colonial Brotherhood 1740-Present.

A carriage trotting past with a loud driver caused Margaret to look around again, cursing how much time had passed. Her family would be home any minute. Tucking everything back inside where she had found it, hesitating on the bracers and original letter. She knew that they would draw questions should anyone find them, but she did want to know more about the odd devices. So, shoving them between her skirts, she locked the trunk up and slid it back into the wall, like it was never touched. Despite her desire to know more, she would need to wait for another opportunity to present itself. The string was long enough for her to wear as a necklace without arousing suspicion, hidden under the layers of fabric, burning like a secret.

None of the maids were around and Polly was still busy, allowing her to sneak back into her room undetected. It almost felt easy to creep around the house like this, a flushing sense of pride overcoming her as she hid her new treasures under her mattress. No one would ever be the wiser for now, but she would have to find a new hiding place before Polly changed the sheets again. Just as Margaret had changed out of her wet petticoats, hiding them under the pile of clothing needing to be washed, the front door opened and closed. Holding the handle, she opened her door just as two pairs of tromping feet came up the stairs, two kids chasing each other down the hallway.

“Samuel Bartholomew!” A high-pitched voice shrieked, the blonde hair of her youngest sibling stopping right outside her door. At the age of 6, Corrine was a sweet girl, unless she was dealing with her brother. The little girl was almost an exact replica of their Mother, blonde hair and eyes a deep blue, but her gaze was never as cold as Mother’s.

Margaret was able to catch the youngest brother Samuel as he tried to hide behind her, another blue eyed member of the family, but with light brown hair like their father.
“Sissy, protect me from the banshee!” He begged her. Like any other 8-year-old boy, he got a kick out of bothering his sister. It was his goal to make her cry at least once a day.
“Margaret, tell him to stop being mean to me! He’s been teasing me all day!” Corrine was on the verge of tears, stomping her foot in anger.

“Alright now,” Margaret knelt down beside them, holding them back. “Let’s take a break, you two have probably been at each other’s throats all day now, give it a rest.”
“Tell her to stop being a pest.”
“Samuel, go wash up. I can see the mud under your nails. Have you been trying to ride the neighbor’s horse again?”
Samuel groaned, but the distraction worked. “It wasn’t just me.”
“I’m sure it wasn’t.” She arched her brow, motioning to his room. The boy sighed, continuing down the hall and slamming the door shut behind him.

With one less distraction, she turned to her sister. “Now Corrine, do you know why he torments you?”
“Because he’s a jerk.” She stuck out her tongue at the door. Despite her age, she was very articulate, probably because of how much older her siblings were.
“Well. Yes, but also because he knows he can get you all riled up. He finds it funny when you get upset.”
“So tell him to stop! He won’t listen to me.” She stomped her foot again.
“Probably not, but I know something even better than telling him to stop.”

“What?” She asked, blue eyes lighting up.
“Don’t give in to it. No matter what he says, just turn up your nose and ignore him.”
“But it’s hard!” Corrine whined, clearly not satisfied with that answer.
“Oh no, it’s not easy. But it works, he’ll see that you’re not upset and stop trying to get to you. And I know you can do it because you are very smart.”
She huffed, but her words seemed to placate the young girl for the moment. “I’m going to play. Will you play me, sissy?”
“In a bit.” Margaret patted her cheek before sending her on her way, watching as she skipped to her room.

“How?” A new voice broke out. Margaret couldn’t help but chuckle at the baffled look on her other sister Tabitha’s face, like she had solved all conflict in the world. “I’ve been trying all day to no avail, but you just waltz in and solve it in one minute?”
“It’s the power of being the eldest.” Margaret teased.
“Ha ha, very funny.” Tabby rolled her eyes. The brunette was fair and petite, an absolute heartthrob of a 15 year old. No one would guess it from looking at her that she was mischievous, but her sweet disposition always helped to sway suspicion away. Tabitha was the closest thing she had to a friend her age, even if she barely saw her siblings.

“How are you?” Tabby asked. “I didn’t get the chance to ask last night and you slept through breakfast.”
“I’ve been better. Last night was...” Margaret trailed off, thinking back to the body of her mentor, with his face bloodied and half-sunken in. Her sister didn’t need to know what flashed through her thoughts, shaking it off with a small smile. “But I’m much better now.”
“That’s wonderful to hear. I was so worried, I’ve never seen everyone in such a tizzy before. Even Polly wasn’t as chipper as usual this morning.”
“I apologize for making you worry.”

“It is water under the bridge.” Tabby brushed it off, smiling brightly.
“Where is Johnathan?” Margaret peeked over her shoulder, looking for her lanky 16-year-old brother.
The smile dropped off Tabitha’s face so quickly, disgust overtaking her features. “Out with his lover again.”

Margaret mirrored her expression. If Corrine was a look alike of their mother, the eldest son of the family was almost an exact copy of their mother‘s attitude. He’s set to take over their father’s business in a few years, so he was trying to be the town gossip before he had to be boring for the rest of his life. Margaret could not remember the last time she had seen him for more than five minutes. Not that she was complaining. Whenever he was around though, he never spared a kind word towards his younger siblings, particularly towards her. Tabby’s guess was that it was jealousy due to Margaret getting “special treatment” because of her ailment, which had only made her resent him more. Even if he knew the truth, he would still treat her the same, she knew that in her bones.

“I refuse to keep his secrets anymore. If mother and father ask, I will tell them.” Tabby said haughtily.
“Bold of you to assume that they care enough to ask.” Margaret scoffed. “They’ve been caught up in their own issues recently.”
“I suppose. C’mon, let’s wash up.” Tabby grabbed her hand, dragging her to the washroom. Corrine was waiting for them to finish, her paper dolls in hand, dragging them to her room. For just a while, all Margaret had to worry about was the intricate storyline that her sisters came up with and how her dolls came into play.

Chapter Text

——

Things were settling back into a routine again as the new year rang in. Time passed as if nothing had happened just a few weeks before, even Margaret had started to settle in. No news was good news, as she had heard before, and since nothing came of her conversation with her father’s boss, she could only surmise that what she had witnessed had been a fluke, an overworked brain coming up with ridiculous conclusions. Even her curiosity of the symbol and the chest hidden away on their property had dwindled to a small flame, just barely burning and only coming to her thoughts when she could not sleep at night.

Despite all of this, the headaches never ceased. If anything, they’ve increased in frequency and intensity. Several times she found herself crouched over a chamber pot emptying the contents of her stomach, even once passing out in her room. If it hadn’t been for Polly’s quick thinking, she might have needed to visit the doctor for stitches in her head. But the housekeeper knew how to keep things discreet, even within the house.
She had yet to bring up their terse conversation about secrets in the house, and Margaret knew better than to push an issue that was sensitive, despite how badly she ached to get it off her chest. Despite everything, Polly had not faltered once in her attitude towards her, still warm and accepting as ever, but there was a shift that she couldn’t name. Sometimes Margaret would catch the housekeeper looking at her oddly, but she would find some excuse or another to distract the attention away before she could ask why.

Perhaps it was just Margaret, but the air in the Fletcher household was tense, silent but heavy as if something loomed just out of view. Although she was more on edge since the holidays, she couldn’t shake the feeling, even as Margaret helped Polly serve supper, loading up the plates with food for her younger siblings.

Tabitha came into the room with a pitcher of water for them, the youngest siblings charging in after her with loud voices talking about nonsense as they settled in their spots at the table.
“Are mum and dad home yet?” Tabby asked as they served. Margaret placed soup in front of the children as her sister placed glasses of water besides them.
“They are, but they have requested that you children be served separately. They have a guest they are entertaining out of the blue.” The housekeeper explained.

Margaret looked up as she spoke, noticing the tension around the maid’s mouth. That would explain the urgency of the house staff, rushing around to finish a lavishly decorated plate of meat and steamed vegetables, much fancier than what their supper was. They were probably hosting supper in one of the other dining rooms in the house. Mother had been insistent on keeping several rooms free of children for this purpose, wanting to use her imported china and silver on those who deserved it. But who could they be serving such a spread for at such a late notice?

“There’s no need to worry, let’s have a nice dinner, right?” Polly was quick to bounce back, hiding any feelings again.
“Yeah! Lucky us, we don't have to have dumb grown-up conversations yet.” Tabby said happily, Corrine giggled in agreement, Samuel already starting to talk with a mouth covered in food. Conversations carried around her, eyeing the empty chair of her oldest brother, who hadn’t been home for longer than a few minutes in the past month, both worrisome and a blessing. The last thing she needed was his sour attitude to upset her stomach further. Picking at her dinner, she could blame it on still feeling weird from this afternoon. The younger siblings barely noticed, but that watchful gaze of Polly’s spurred her to at least try to finish her bowl. Just as they were finishing their food, Margaret helped to clear up the dishes when there was a knock on the door. Another maid walked in, curtsying to the young ladies before addressing Margaret.

“Your parents request your presence.”
Margaret felt her stomach drop, the food threatening to make an appearance again. Polly looked between the maid and her, dark eyes narrowed.
“Why?” Tabitha asked. “What do they want from her?”
“They didn’t say, but it sounded important, their guest wants a word with her again.”
Again? Was this someone she had already spoken to before…

She fought to keep the fear off her face, connecting the dots in her head. Had Master Kenway come to the same realization that she had all those months ago? Had he realized that she had made him look a fool with his alleged discovery? Was he here to confront her about everything?

“Margaret, why don’t you go lay down now.”
The two of them turned to Polly perplexed. “What?”
“Remember? Earlier you complained that you had those headaches again. It’s been keeping you down all day. Right?”
Margaret opened her mouth, just to see the slightest shift in Polly’s expression. A firmness that she wasn’t used to seeing, staring her down behind the maid’s back.

“Yes...of course.” Margaret spoke slowly. “I’ll go lie down for a while.” She said simply.
“Wait, don’t you wanna play tonight?” Corrine pouted, tugging on Margaret’s sleeve.
“It’s fine, Corrine, I’ll play with you. We want Margaret to be able to play all day tomorrow, right?” Either Tabby noticed Margaret’s fear or Polly’s look, waving her older sister off with a smile and grabbing a hold of Samuel to bring him with them. Margaret could have cried in relief.
“I suppose. Sleep good sissy.” The youngest turned to her sister tugging her arm out of the room, Samuel following behind with a complaint that they better not play with dolls.

Polly ushered Margaret towards her room once they were in the hall. “I’ll explain to your parents, just keep quiet.” She muttered.
Margaret mouthed her thanks, but the maid had already made her way down the hall, her worker at her elbow listening intently as she spoke softly. Looking down to avoid the squeaky floorboards, she quietly made her way to her room.
Margaret’s room was at the top of the stairs, three voices floating up the rafters and through the crack in her door. Two men and a woman spoke of local politics, one sounding posher than the others. Her suspicions had been correct, but why was he here? It could not have been a coincidence.

“I apologize, I have just seen the eldest Fletcher, she looked sickly. It’s one of those headaches again. She could hardly sit up long enough for dinner.” Polly’s voice came through clearly from the floor below. Gratitude and guilt flooded Margaret, she would need some way to repay her for this kindness.
A scoff came from her mother. “How conveniently timed, just when we need her to act like a grown-up, she behaves like a child.”
“I pray that this does not impact your decision, Master Kenway.” Her father acted as the diplomat, as if consoling the man.
“Her inability does not impact my mood nor something that has already been initiated. How often does she get ill like this?” Master Kenway was curt.
“Since she was a little girl, she would complain about it “hurting to see”, but they have gotten worse,” Polly’s voice explained after a beat of silence.

“She’s being dramatic.” Her mother scoffed, Margaret could imagine her waving her hand to dismiss the housekeeper. “Ever since she was little, she would throw fits. Unfortunately, that was not something we could get out of her. Now Margaret claims a headache whenever we need her to do something, and soft-hearted folk fall for her deception.”
Margaret bit her lip, her fingers tracing over her scarred knuckles, years of beatings showing on the delicate skin. Her legs and back held similar marks. Her mother always knew how to keep things under wraps, even the evidence under gloves and petticoats.
“I pray that whatever training you have will work better than the punishments I would give.” Her fingers paused as the words processed.

“Our methods are unconventional, but they will bring out the best qualities in your daughter.” Master Kenway said. “The Templars will be sure to report back with the progress.”
Her chest seized. She recognized that name. Master Watson had used it when describing the people who had killed him, the same people who were to never find out about her sight. She had failed her tutor, and they were going to take her away. How were parents okay with entrusting her to a group of dangerous men? There was no way that they didn’t know what kind of man stood in their house. Her father worked for them! Her mother was friends with all of the associate’s wives! How could they just give her away like this? So caught up, Margaret had nearly missed what was said next.

“Oh, don’t worry about progress reports like that. It isn’t like she’s our real daughter anyway.”
“What?” She and Master Kenway had the same question, but she slapped a hand over her mouth before she could be heard.

“Oh apologies, we didn’t tell you yet.” Her father’s voice filled the silence to explain. “Margaret is not ours, at least by birth. Our eldest son is our first real child. She was given to us about 18 years ago, shortly after we came to live on the estate. We’ve done our best to raise her as one of us.”
“You claim her as ours, I never have.” Her mother corrected sharply. “That whore chose to abandon her and I took her in to save my family from ruin. Sometimes I still see bits of her in that child. I’m glad that she is someone else's responsibility now.’
“Dorothy…”
Mother huffed. “I won’t lie to Master Kenway. He deserves to know what exactly he’s getting into. Just so you know, when she is weak and pathetic, it was not given to her by us. That is all her own doing.”
Silence rang out in the house, Margaret could have sworn that they could hear her heavy breathing behind her hand, leaning against the door to keep herself upright. This couldn’t be real, this had to be a dream, some headache induced nightmare. Bile burned in her throat, it took her every fiber of her being to not retch.

“I assume she doesn’t know of her true parentage.” Master Kenway asked.
Her father responded. “No, we were planning on telling her after she came of age. So there wouldn’t be any shame if she left and to separate ourselves from any embarrassment she might cause. Are you going to tell her?”
“I do not get involved in family issues.”
“Good. We’ll be sure to tell her before she boards the ship tomorrow. We are sorry if this evening did not go the way it was supposed to…”

Margaret could not listen anymore. Gently closing the door, she numbly walked to the bed, barely keeping the strength to crawl under the covers. She didn’t even register that she was crying until she couldn’t breathe properly. Tears tracked down her face as she curled in on herself, biting a scarred hand to keep the noises down. Heaven forbid someone finds her like this, she wasn’t sure if she could find a way to tell them how her heart was shattered through her chest, stabbing through every crack and crevice.

——

Margaret had finally drifted off in a gray lull when she was being shaken awake. Scrambling against the sheets, she sat up, blinking blearily at the tight face of Polly. The fog in her head cleared almost immediately.
“Your mother would like to speak to you.” Her voice was tight, as if it were wound too much in her throat.

Margaret opened her mouth, but nothing came out. Was it even right to call that woman her mother? Not only had she practically sold her off, but she might not even be related to the woman now.
“It was not a request.” Polly finished, looking away from her. In the dim light that filtered in through the window, Margaret could see a splotch high on her cheek, dark against her brown skin. Margaret held back the cry in her chest. Had she been struck because of her lie?
That thought was enough to spur her into action, sliding out of bed and straightening her skirts with a heavy hand. Mother had only ever struck Margaret, she had thought she was the only one to ever incur her wrath, but now she had struck someone who had tried to protect her, she might as well have punched a hole through her chest. Margaret would not let her friend take any more for her.

Determined steps masked how frightened she was feeling, hands wound tight in her skirts as she approached her father’s study. She didn’t bother knocking, walking into the room with a clenched jaw.
Her father sat at the desk, fire blazing casting a long shadow over his face. Her mother stood before the hearth, clutching the jade and pearl walking stick. It had been a marriage anniversary gift from her father, one of his clients visiting the Spice Trade around the world and brought it back as a gift. It was a status symbol more than an aid for walking, the marks on her body that matched the width of the staff proved that she did not need it for walking. Her step faltered as both adults turned to her.

Dorothy Fletcher’s blue eyes could have put glaciers to shame, freezing her to the spot. But Margaret did not shy away as she usually did, meeting her with a glare of her own, but even she could tell it was nothing to this woman.
“Do you enjoy making a mockery of your father and I?” Mother started coldly, the walking stick clenched in her fist. “First the Christmas party where you made a spectacle of yourself in front of your fathers work colleagues, then again tonight. Have you no shame?”

“Why did you hit Polly?” Margaret asked, her voice shaking with anger and a hint of fear. “She-she didn’t do anything…”
“Perhaps if she were ever to do something useful, then you wouldn’t be the disrespectful child you are now.” Mother cut her off, sharper than an ax. “It’s not your concern about the house staff, so stop pretending like you care.”
Madge closed her mouth, her heart nearly bursting with the effort to not cry.

“Your father and I wanted to tell you something.” Mother looked pointedly at father, waiting for him to get the detached look off his face and stand up. He may be the man and the one with the connections, but in this house, Mother was in charge.
“Madge…Margaret.” He corrected himself. “Your mother and I have thought long and hard about this decision. We have decided that your next step in education requires a more…hands-on approach. Normally we would have sent you back to England to complete your studies, but an opportunity has arisen that we cannot turn down.”

For a fleeting moment, she believed that his hands were tied, that he had no choice but to send her away with alleged mad men. But the look that he sent her mother, a resolute sigh leaving his lips, and that hope was shattered.
“Where are you sending me?” She couldn’t let them know she overheard them earlier this evening, her heart slamming against her rib cage. “Why do I have to leave?”
“Boston, I know it sounds dreadfully far, but it’s close enough for us to visit, much closer than England would be.” Father carried on, a patronizing tone in his voice. Mother scoffed at the fire but did not refute.

Margaret, had she not known what she does now, would have flinched at the sound. Even a few hours ago would have probably begged and pleaded not to be sent away. She could not glean if they knew what this meant for her, she wondered if Master Kenway had divulged the information to them, or if they had just been that eager to get rid of her.
“Why?”

Mother turned around at that, hand clutching her cane tightly in her hands.
“Only you would be ungrateful for this opportunity. We could have stopped your education entirely, it’s more than what most earn in their entire lifetimes, but your father’s colleague offered us a boon and you are going to take it, especially after your little shows as of late.”
“I’m not…I don’t mean to sound ungrateful, Mother, I’m just…not ready to leave.” Margaret tried to correct herself, looking away from the icy glare, grabbing her arm for support. “I don’t think now is the time…”
“Now is the only time.” Mother cut her off. “You will leave for Boston tomorrow. And you will not make a mockery of our family.” Dismissive and final, there was nothing that could pass through once Mother spoke the command.

“But I’m not even part of this…” Margaret’s mouth shut so fast she nearly bit a hole through her cheek, still looking down.
Both Mother and Father paused, his glasses half off his face.
“What was that?” Mother asked slowly, in a tone that warned her to be very careful with her next words or she would regret them.

A moment of clarity washed over Margaret in that instant. Why was she trying to pander and please a woman who was clearly not happy with her no matter what she did? If the earlier conversation was any indication, Dorothy Fletcher was never going to be impressed with what she did, and would never be pleased, even if she batted her eyes and skipped onto the ship to Boston tomorrow. Why was Margaret putting in all the effort to play along?
So, looking up from the floor and jutting her chin out, she spoke. “How can I make a mockery of this family when I do not belong here in the first place?”

It was silent for a long while, only the crackle of the fire in the hearth to fill the tension. Father’s face went white, but Mother…she looked just as stone faced as ever, eerily calm in the face of this revelation.

Margaret heard the crack of the cane connecting with her cheek mere moments before the pain blossomed, sending her reeling. Margaret landed on the floor in a heap, unfortunately not the first time she had found herself in this position. She looked up at the stone face of her Mother. Father didn’t move, rubbing his glasses clean like this was just another normal night. The reality sunk in, blood dribbling down her cheek with the tears.
“I’m glad you know.” Dorothy's voice was icy like an icicle, just as sharp as it plunged deep into her chest. “Now there is no need to pretend that I care.”
Had her treatment before been her being kind? All those times she had been struck before, or sent to bed without food, or isolated for days at a time, was she pretending? What did a future with a woman who did not care look like?

“You will be ready at 9 sharp for your ship. No exceptions, take our last gesture of kindness without any complaints. Now, get out of my sight.” Dorothy stepped over her on her way out of the room, finished with her and the conversation. The three step cadence echoed down the hall as Margaret turned to her father, pleading silently.
He wasn’t even looking at her, turned to some document from his desk, speaking from behind it. “Please close the door on your way out, Madge.”
Surprisingly, this hurt more than the blow, knocking the air from her lungs. Tears fell freely now, pulling herself back up to her feet and shaking off the moment. It took everything in her to not run, walking silently to her room as tears dripped in silence.

After all, any weakness shown was all her own.

Chapter Text

____

The house was silent, but her mind was not.

Margaret lay staring at the ceiling, numb from the conversations that transpired this evening, the revelations that had been announced. As of tomorrow morning, she would be under the care of these Templars, the sworn enemy of Master Watson and the woman in the letters. All without her consent. But then again, what could she say? That she was seeing odd colors and that these men were bright red and therefore couldn’t be trusted? If her parents didn’t commit her to a madhouse for seeing things, they would oust her secret to the Templars and she would never see the light of day again. After all, it wasn’t like they would feel obligated to protect someone who wasn’t their own blood.

Margaret rubbed her face. In all honesty, she should have connected the dots a long time ago. She didn’t share the same features that her family had with her reddish-brown hair and freckles. Her brother—adopted sibling— was close to her age, a little less than 9 months apart. She had blamed it on him arriving early or her being late. Then there was Mother who was terribly strict towards her, more so than the others, like she was disciplining something out of her. That cane of hers was an extension of her anger.
Even if she was not her true mother, she still had no right to be so callous. She had always been blunt and stoic, but was it always like this? Had there been a time that Dorothy Fletcher had ever felt anything but disdain? Was that how they all truly felt?

The quilts were kicked off as Margaret sat up, letting her feet brush the floor. With all of these signs, she had two choices. She could go with these Templars and turn her back on the one man she trusted. Or, get away as far as possible before anyone could stop her. Margaret didn’t know the first thing about living on her own, and all it would take was one misstep for her to be dragged back.

So the question was to live in fear of being found out or to run like a coward?

Margaret grit her teeth until the roots ached. She was many things, but she wasn’t stupid. Did she think she could find a happy life among those men? They had killed someone right in front of her, with no remorse for the life that was taken. She could, no, she would not, let them turn her into that person. Even if she was caught, she’d pitch herself from the ship or find another way to keep from falling into their clutches.

She knelt next to the bed, pulling out her newfound treasures from their hiding place. The bracers looked a bit complicated to put on, but she fumbled with them until they fit right. She couldn’t help but jump when the blade slid out of the bracer. Her reflection shone in the silver, a scared but determined young girl staring back at her. She unclasped her hand and let the blade fall back into place.

Margaret thought for a moment, trying to figure out where the letter should go. She couldn’t go out in her starkers, it would raise suspicions and be absolutely freezing. She bit her lip, looking around her room, it would take too long for her to get ready, especially without help, and it would make her more recognizable…

Unless she didn’t look like herself.

She hurried across the room, grabbing a pouch of money she had been saving for new stationery, hidden even from Polly so that Mother wouldn't spoil it. The letter went into the bag along with the pouch, grabbing an extra pair of stockings, stays, undergarments, and mittens for the road. Margaret peeked out of her room. Once she was certain that the coast was clear, she snuck down the hall.

Her brother’s room was still unoccupied, not back from his nightly tryst. She had never been so thankful for his whorish ways, nor for the fact that he was taller than her but about the same width. Tucking in her long shift into the pants was bothersome, but the shirt and waistcoat would hide her feminine features well enough. She took a worn gray coat that he wouldn’t miss, the leather cracking along the shoulders and a few loose buttons down the front. It was probably only still here because of her brother’s inattentive behavior.

Then came the problem of her hair. She could tie it up and use a hat to hide it, but she would have to go searching for a hat, and it would take up precious time. But she couldn’t have her hair down with her disguise, people would see straight through it and send her back home. Then her eyes fell on the razor her brother used to shave his patchy beard.
Her heart sank, fingers weaving through the end of the reddish brown braid. Each morning, Polly would take the time to brush it out and braid it, one of the few times they were allowed to talk with their guards down. It was one of the few things that had that was hers alone. But was it worth more than her freedom?
Taking a shuddering breath, Margaret hacked the hair until most of the braid fell to the floor with a sense of finality. Boys her age were just starting to grow out their hair, she’d blend in just fine.

She brushed the hair under the dresser to hide the evidence, tears welling in her eyes like she was burying a beloved pet. How pitiful. People had died and lied for her and she was concerned about being ugly. She really was tired of crying.
As uncomfortable as the transformation was, it hid her well. Even the bruise on her face helped to disguise her face. It should be enough, as horrible as this was, no one could recognize her like this.

“Madge?”

Margaret spun around, brandishing the razor with shaking hands. Polly stood in the door, her hair wrapped up in a blue cloth and a candlestick in her hand. Margaret opened her mouth, trying to come up with some explanation, but her mind was blank. “Polly, I—“
The woman sighed, the candlelight drawing the fine lines on her face that had never seemed so severe before. Polly was younger than her parents were, but now she looked as grizzled as a soldier fresh from combat. “I figured this would happen, but I never thought it’d be so soon.”

“I didn’t...” Margaret tried to find a response, something that would erase the pain from her face.
She raised a hand to silence her. “You don’t have to explain. I knew this moment was inevitable when you brought up that key.” She nodded to the chain around her neck, tucked securely out of prying eyes. “It’s in your blood. I am glad that they didn’t take you away first.”
Margaret had so many questions, thinking of their conversation a few weeks back. What exactly did Polly know about the key? Did she know who her true birth parents were? Why was she just letting her go? But none of them would be answered as the head maid waved her hand, gesturing for her to follow. Margaret went, tracing the maid’s footsteps to avoid the squeaky floorboards.

“You don’t have much time. If what the butcher’s apprentice told me is correct, there is a ship called the Restful heading to the south side of New York City, and the crew are generally willing to look the other way for the right price. They sail at night to hide some of their more...suspicious cargo. Once you land, find a ship to Boston as soon as you can, do not linger in the city, they have eyes everywhere. Look for a man named Achilles Davenport. He will explain everything that I cannot.”

A coin pouch was pressed into her palm as they crept through the dark kitchen. It was fairly heavy, and definitely did not belong to her. “I cannot take your money.” Margaret said softly as Polly adjusted her clothing to hide her features better.
“Think nothing of it, I’ll be alright.” She wasn’t making eye contact with her.
“Come with me.” Margaret held onto her hand, feeling more like a scared child than ever before as she was ushered to the servant door. Too clouded with her own fear, it occurred to her that there was someone she would miss, who would miss her even. This woman was a constant in her life - every memory she could think of had Polly, and she was going to leave just like this?

“Then your siblings would be left alone with your parents’ wrath. I will not let what happened to you happen to them.” Polly’s eyes hardened.
“Then I’ll come back for you.” If tonight's treatment was anything, Margaret would be just as complicit to leave Polly behind to face the wrath of her mother.
“Don’t you dare.” Polly’s voice turned severe.
Margaret shivered, she had never heard her speak like this before.
Polly took a deep breath to adjust her tone. “I want you to get as far from this place as you can. No matter what happens to me, I will be glad knowing that you are safe.”

Lips pressed to her temple before steady hands pushed her towards the door. “You must go. The ship leaves soon, and I want to make sure you’re on the open sea by the time I raise the alarm.”
Margaret took a few steps, looking back at the woman who just rescued her, who had been more of a mother than the woman with the cane ever had been. Stifling a sob, Margaret rushed back and hugged the older woman tightly. Arms shook as they embraced, and Margaret could have sworn that Polly was also crying, but could not see through her own tears.

This wasn’t fair! She didn’t want to leave Polly, she didn’t want to be a fugitive, to have to sneak out of her own house because of someone pulling the strings. This was beyond cruel.
“Go.” Polly pushed her forwards again, pain clear in her watery eyes.

With a quivering lip, Margaret stepped out into the quiet night. The door immediately shut behind her, leaving her out in the cold. Scrubbing her knuckles against her eyes, Margaret turned and made a bee-line for the main road.

----

Two days can really drag on, being stuck at sea with nothing to do or to see. There was no drama, the rest of the ship didn’t care too much about her, so there were no prying questions. No sign of any ships chasing after them, so her cover wasn’t blown yet. They made port in Boston with no issues, only some freezing rain to prolong their journey.

At first glance, Boston was very similar to New York. The bustling of crowds, yelling vendors and marching soldiers. Even the houses and streets were similar enough. Margaret patted her satchel subconsciously. She knew what she needed to do now, the only question was how did she find this man? She had nothing to base him off of. Where would she even start?
The inns and taverns were not a place of young ladies with class to socialize in, but a young man looking for information wouldn’t seem too out of place. Pushing down the nausea of new experiences, Margaret stepped inside.

Shock would have been an understatement. Men were all sorts of drunk, from the content to drink alone to the boisterous ones that were trying to entice girls with so much skin showing that Margaret felt herself flush and had to look away. A band played a merry tune, adding to the cheery atmosphere. Barmaids with slightly more modesty than the other girls walked around with large trays of ale. It was almost overwhelming, not noticing that she was taking up the doorway until a couple eager to get out of the candle light pushed past her, a dirty look thrown at her.
Once the shock wore off, Margaret sauntered over to the bartender, trying to have the same swagger she had seen young men have.

“I think you’re too young to be here.” The barkeep didn’t even let her try, looking at the bar as he scrubbed it down.
“I-I wasn’t going to...I was not going to order a drink.” She stumbled over her words. The older man looked up at her, taking her in with a small chuckle.

“What can I do for you, young man?”
“I’m new to town, I’m looking for directions to a…relative’s home.”
“They didn’t send you their proper address?” The barkeep raised his eyebrow.
“I lost it.” She spoke quickly, feeling flushed with embarrassment and anxiety. He stared at her for a long moment, before shaking his head.

“Kid, I don’t know what your deal is, but whatever is going on, you might be in over your head.”
“And yet I’m still here.” Margaret said firmly. She didn’t risk so much just for her to lose her cool now. “Can you help me or not?”
“Depends on who you’re looking for.”
“He goes by the name Davenport.”
The man paused, laying down his rag. “I knew of a place with that name, my friend used to be a sailor that would stop there occasionally, but I haven’t heard of anything from that direction in years.”

Margaret tried not to show the horror on her face. She never considered that this person may have died or moved. She was basing this whole operation on chance, and it looked like her luck had finally run out.
“Okay, thank you very much.” Margaret nodded as she turned.

It couldn’t have been true. But after three more instances where bartenders did not know who she was talking about, the discouragement grew. The sun had set now and darkness was growing by the minute. It was so cold and the clouds had decided to release their load in frozen waves. She didn’t have enough coins for a room, having bribed the barkeeps for their time and information, probably more than she needed to.
Damp from the sleet and more hopeless than ever, she started walking. Maybe she could find a decent barn to stay for the night, or burrow in some empty house. She was considering sleeping in one of the hay carts that littered the streets when something grabbed her arm.
No, they couldn’t have found her!

Instinct took over, moving without even thinking about it, turning on her heel and her fist plowing into a man’s face. She was released with a yelp in pain. Margaret shook her hand as her knuckles split. How did others make it look so painless? That seriously hurt. Not as bad as the guy she had punched though, if his moaning was anything to go by. Another voice was laughing loudly. Margaret patted her bag down, feeling the letter and her money before raising her hands again.
“What do you want?” She tried to make her voice go lower, to seem tough and more like a man.

“Holy shit Terry, I told you we should have just bought him a drink.” The laughing man finally sobered up enough to talk, wiping his eyes. “Gotcha real good, didn’t he?”
The man called Terry raised his head with a dumbfounded look on his face, blood dripping from his nose onto his shirt.
“Oh my Lord, I am so sorry, I didn’t mean to make you bleed.” Her act dropped immediately, patting her pockets for something to help him staunch the bleeding. Then she remembered she didn’t carry handkerchiefs anymore. It hadn’t been a high priority in her frantic packing.

“You’re a lass!?” The laughing man asked her suddenly, looking closer at her.
“I-uh...” Margaret tried to think of something to cover her story, but she was drawing a blank.
“What is a lass doin’ out here? Dressed in boy's clothes?” The first man asked, looking concerned. Margaret didn’t answer, eyes darting looking for an escape route. If they knew her secret, they could sell her out if someone came knocking.

The uninjured man could sense her tension, gesturing his hand to them. “I’m Godfrey, and this useless lump is Terry. Sorry to give you such a scare, we don’t mean no harm.”
Margaret stopped scanning the area to look at them. The one who was still trying to stop the bleeding was a slight fellow with bright red hair. The other was a large bushy man wearing a cap. They certainly didn’t look too threatening, despite the fact they had approached her on a quiet street. If they were going to attack her, they would have by now, right?

“So what are you doing in the city this late? Don’t you know about the curfew?”
“No. I just got into town today.”
“Where you roll in from?” Terry spoke, nasally from pinching his nose.
“New York.”
“Why are you dressed like a boy?”
“...They were the only clothes I had.”
Godfrey looked her up and down. “You sure seem to have a quick answer for everything. Why are you really out here?”

Margaret paused. The half-answers she was giving were making them wary, but perhaps that was a good thing for her. The Templars would not have cared for her response, but perhaps this was someone who really wanted to help. Perhaps she was being a bit too cautious. She supposed she could at least ask her questions to get something out of them.
“...I’m looking for someone who can help me. I found a letter mentioning a man who lived on a homestead not too far from Boston. None of the barkeeps have heard of him, even the sailors at the docks said they don’t sail any place with that name.”

Godfrey responded with a bright smile. “Are you talking about Davenport? That sounds like the place we’ve settled.
“There is an old man there, but he’s not quite reclusive anymore.” Terry said.
Finally a lead! She could have cried in relief. “I need to speak with the man. It’s urgent.”

“We could take you. We’ve finished our business in town and we're heading back in the morning, as long as you don’t mind sitting beside our winter stockpile.”
“That would be great.” Margaret fumbled for her bag, belatedly remembering her lack of money. “How much for passage? I can’t pay you now, but I’ll find a way as soon as I can.”
The men exchanged looks, she couldn’t tell if it was pity or disbelief. Her ears burned, not liking this feeling of shame that rolled down her spine.

“Tell me something, are you…running from something?” Terry asked in a serious voice.
Margaret opened her mouth, ready to spill her week from hell, but her common sense caught up at the last moment, the key heavy on her chest. She settled for nodding her head.
“Well, whatever you’re running from, the old man can give you some shelter at the very least.” Godfrey held out his hand. After a moment’s pause, Margaret took it.

“What’s your name, lass?”
“I’m Marg—“ She stopped again. No one could know her real name, she had to think of something else. Something only a few people would know... “You can call me Madge.”

“Well then Miss Madge, why don’t we find a nice warm meal and drink for you before we turn in for the night?” Godfrey suggested.
“Thank you.” She silently added that to the running tally of things to pay them back for.
“We’ll get a nice ice pack for poor Terry too.” The large man chuckled as his friend rubbed his face.

As the men started grumbling back and forth, Madge allowed her vision to change, just in case she was wrong so she could run while their backs were turned. To her relief, both men were bright blue. Madge sighed, her shoulders dropping.
For now, at least, she was safe.

Chapter Text

____

The two men kept their word, paying for a meal and drink at the inn they were staying at. She should have felt a bit ashamed of how fast she ate, inhaling her meal like some wild child, but a full belly had been a stranger for days. If her family could see her now, she would most definitely have got the cane. The men however did not seem to care, chatting amiable among themselves while she tucked in.

She listened in on their conversation. Years of flying under the radar had taught her how to read people without their knowledge, keen eyes observing over her plate. They were skilled workers, talking about their trading with the local shopkeepers and how much better this year’s profits were. Probably something with arduous labor judging by the calluses on their hands. Silver bands and mentions of kids' clothes meant they were family men, also seen by how they were willing to take her in with little complaint. They must have been close friends, seeing how they could banter off of each other and finish stories easily. Although it seemed like Terry had a temper and Godfrey didn’t know when to stop sometimes, they seemed like decent men. Not quite like any men she had seen before. Her parents circle of friends included the likes of high quality merchants, businessmen, and governors.

“So Madge, have you got any family to speak of?” Terry asked her after taking a long swig of ale.
“I guess.” Her hackles raised slightly as she turned to her drink, trying not to pull a face at the bitter taste. How did these men drink this like water?
“Do they know you’re here?”
Madge shook her head. “I left in the middle of the night, it’s better if they don’t know where I am.”
“Oh, that must have been tough on them.”

She ducked her head as if to dodge the statement. Madge didn’t want to think about what her siblings must feel now, their older sister vanishing without even a note to explain herself. Johnathan wouldn’t have cared, but what of Tabitha, Samuel, and Corrine? The weight of her actions was settling in now, the pain she must have been causing to her family. Even if this homestead plan didn’t work out, she couldn’t go back home, lest the Templars get a hold of her. Staying away was for the best, she knew that, so why did her chest feel so heavy? She barely noticed the tears welling until they had already fallen, the men looking panicked.

“Nice going, remind me to never send my kids to you for advice.” Terry glared over at his companion. Madge wiped away the few tears with a free hand, staring out the dark window to compose herself. She was getting really tired of crying.
“I’m sorry, it wasn’t my intention.” Godfrey apologized. She sniffed, blinking at the handkerchief that Godfrey presented her. A small thanks before wiping her face and blowing her nose into the scrap of flannel.

“Oh, so she cries and you’re quick to have something for her, but when I’m bleeding all over you’ve got nothing?” Terry accused, crossing his arms across his chest.
“I’m a gentleman. And I didn’t want your blood all over my stuff.” Godfrey insisted.
“But her snot is better? Unbelievable!” Madge gave a watery chuckle, handing back the handkerchief with a small thanks.

“Don’t worry, whatever you’re looking for, Mr Davenport can help you find it.” Godfrey moved the conversation on.
“More like he’ll put Connor up to it.” Terry muttered cheekily before taking a drink, the other man snorting in agreement.
“Connor?” Madge thought back to the list, trying to remember if she had seen that name on the list from Hope Jensen’s trunk.
“Aye, Davenport’s ward. He’s from one of the Confederation tribes up North. He came to the Homestead about five years back. He’s always out doing errands for the old man. Don’t smile much, but he’s the kindest fellow you ever met, even saved Terry here from drowning.”
“He did?”
“Yeah, he didn’t ask for anythin’ in return either. He convinced the old man to allow us to live on the estate in exchange for lumber for their house. He’s done more for us than anyone has since our journey here.” Terry raised his mug and took a drink to the unseen boy. “If anyone is able to help you, it’s those two.”

It would be nice to have more allies, but her sight would be the ultimate judge. She really hoped that would work, especially since she had thrown all of her eggs in one basket. Maybe she should start a fallback plan just in case.

“I’d best check on the horses, make sure they’re watered and fed. We’ve got a long trip tomorrow.” Terry slapped his palm on the table, missing how Madge flinched at the sudden noise. Godfrey didn’t notice either, ushering for her to stand.
“Let’s see if we can get you a room for tonight. We’re heading out at first light, we’ll come and get you in the morning.”

Madge didn’t like not being able to take care of things herself, watching as he talked to the barkeep about a room to let. The large man looked her over, pushing a few more coins for a bath as well. A girl around her age led her upstairs, ducking in and out of the room to fill up the basin for her bath, sending coy glances her way as she went. It wasn’t until she trailed a finger down her arm and winked as she left that Madge remembered that she still looked like a boy. She had never had anyone send her a second glance back when she was Margaret. She locked the door just in case the girl decided to come back.

It had been a while since her last bath, at least since the night of the party. The water was just warm enough to turn her skin pink. Not having tons of hair to wash was a strange feeling, her fingers seeking out the long locks on instinct. Her baths usually spent most of her time on washing her hair, the water hadn’t cooled down completely before she was patting herself down with the towel. Her face was tingling and her hair curling around her cheeks from the heat.

Only the one set of clothes, she changed back into a dirty outfit. Maybe the men would be able to help her, yet another thing she would have to pay them back for. With a small sigh, Madge pushed the basin out into the hallway, locking the door and propping a chair under the handle for good measure. Alone at last, she looked through her belongings again, making sure everything was in place. She unlaced the bracers, a brief and horrifying thought of the blades piercing her in her sleep making her wince and stuff them in the bag under her pillow.

She curled into the covers. The fabric was scratchy against her cheek and was most definitely not washed, but she sighed anyway. In the locked room away from prying eyes, she allowed herself to relax. For the first time in ages, she fell asleep right away.

____

Madge’s eyes fluttered open, screams echoing and the taste of blood heavy in her mouth. She held a hand to her heaving chest, trying to regulate her erratic heartbeat. It took a moment to register that her heart wasn’t the only thing beating loudly, a fist loud but not angry against the wood.

“Madge! Godfrey is finishing loading up the wagon, we’re heading out soon if you’re still up for the trip.” The gray light was barely beginning to peek through the window. Turns out they meant it when they said first light.
Exhaling a shaky breath, Madge responded. “I’ll be down shortly.”

Hardly taking time to splash water on her face to wake up, she pulled on her stays, nimble fingers working the lacing before pulling the waistcoat and jacket on. She was thankful for the mittens and extra stockings she packed, doing a wonderful job of keeping the chill out as she hurried down the stairs. Terry greeted her with a tired grunt, sliding coins to the innkeeper. The woman passed three tins to the man, the savory smells of sausage and bacon wafting upwards made her stomach growl.

Godfrey was finishing hooking up the horses with a stable boy as they approached. It was still too early to be spring, frost clinging to every boot and breaths that misted into the air.
“Ah, and here I thought we were leaving without our new friend.” He joked. “Sleep well?”
Madge shrugged. “As well as I could.”
“Alright then, shall we be off?”

Terry held out a hand to help her into the wagon. She made her way around the bags and wooden crates with enough food and supplies to last until the summer. Settling at the mouth of the wagon, she folded her legs under her as the men climbed in.

“There should be some extra clothes back there if you want to change. I think Terry might be a bit bigger than you but you can manage.” Godfrey suggested. Madge grimaced, realizing that there was a foul smell coming from her direction.
“Bah, that’s nothing compared to this man’s feet after a long journey.” Terry waved his hand as he joked good-naturally. “His wife makes him go stand in the river.”
Godfrey shook his head at the nonsense and snapped the reins, spurring the horses on.

The shirt and pants were nowhere near the fine cotton or linen that they had back at home, but it was nice to wear something that was new. Madge debated for a minute on the green coat she had brought with her. Even if the cuffs were fraying and there was a weird stain on the inside lining, it was a functional coat. She wrapped it around her shoulders, maybe one day when she wasn’t in debt, she’d buy a new one. Maybe they would let her work for them to pay back her debt. She couldn’t swing an ax, but she could try.

Madge sat quietly as the men chatted, soon the city trickling away until it was a smudge on the horizon and then nothing entirely, submerged in the forest. Every second brought her closer to the Davenport manor, the one place she might finally get answers. Both Master Watson and Polly had told her to go, but now that she was almost there, she had doubts. What if she was diving into something even worse than the Templars? What if she came all this way and still was unsatisfied with what she found? Was all of this worth it?

She shook her head, chiding herself quietly. It would be worth it. It couldn’t have been a coincidence that she was taught by the same man the mysterious woman spoke of. It couldn’t have been a chance that she found the hiding place with secrets from the past. Or that these men knew exactly who she was talking about and were kind enough to help her. Everything must mean something.

Terry and Godfrey didn’t stop for breakfast, eating while taking turns driving. She barely touched her food. She took apart the bracers and put it back together again, scrubbing away the grime and rust until the blade gleamed like new. She read Ms Jensen’s letter over and over, trying to memorize it. Madge practiced her questions quietly to herself, imagining every scenario possible, from warm and inviting to cold and abrupt. As the horses trudged on, her stomach clenched tighter and tighter. How embarrassed would she be if she asked the men to pull over so she could vomit? She had already cried in front of them, so how much lower could she go?

She wouldn’t get the chance, as Terry called out to the not-so-quiet forest. Madge held one side of the flap open to look out. Her eyes widened.

They were right, it wasn’t as desolate as others in town made it seem. There was a pale man with a red cap talking to a woman who was holding a cougar on her back like it was a sack of grain. They rode past a dark skinned couple as they tended to their crops and animals. Further down there was a couple of men chatting as they walked across the bridge, waving happily to the two of them.

Everyone here was so...nice? In the city, if you looked at someone for too long they shouted nasty words at you. The only time that people were polite to each other was when they were trying to get something from someone. When a man in a blue cravat smiled and waved at her, her first instinct was to hide away. She tried to ignore the chuckles from Godfrey and Terry as she ducked behind the tarp.

“Don’t worry, they don’t bite. They’re all lovely folks, after your chat with Mr Davenport we can introduce you to everyone. Welcome to the neighborhood if you want.” Godfrey comforted her. Madge nodded slowly. If her conversation didn’t become a huge catastrophe, it would be nice to meet the people that she would live near.

Terry pulled the reins, compelling the horses to a stop in front of two of the houses on the river. A giant wheel churned water a short distance away, the sound of the water comforting. A peaceful scene, but not for long. Two women and several boys came pouring out of the houses, the boys immediately pouncing on their respected fathers. For a moment there was a clamor of voices as the boys and the men tried to talk at the same time. The women were chiding them as Madge eased herself down from the back of the wagon.

“Boys, what have we told you about bringing home strange people?” Madge froze as attention turned to her. Despite the words, the woman’s tone was happy, teasing even.
“Sorry Catherine, I couldn’t help myself. Everyone, this is Madge.” Godfrey plopped a comforting hand on her shoulder. “Madge, this is my wife Catherine and Terry’s wife Dianna.” The two women didn’t curtsy to her, shaking her hand with as strong of a grip as any man.

“Where did they pick you up from?” Dianna tutted in a warm motherly tone, glancing between her and the two men.
“Picked her up in town.” Terry said before Madge could open her mouth.
“Are you here to join the Aquila’s crew?” Catherine asked.
“She has important business with Mister Davenport to conduct.” Godfrey filled in. Catherine’s eyebrows pulled together, bouncing up when she connected the dots.

“Oh dear, I could hardly tell that you were a gal under those garments.”
“Why not let her have a chance to speak, you dolts?” Dianna whacked Terry upside the head.
“Sorry!” Terry held up his hands.
Catherine turned to her children who were digging through the bags as if looking for treasure. Instead of scolding or shouting, the woman said, “Why don’t you boys help your father unload the wagon? I’d love to sit down with a cup of tea and hear your story dear.”

“I apologize, but I must speak with Master Davenport.” Madge spoke softly.
“Oh, of course.” Neither of them seemed too angry with her refusal, much to her confusion. “How long are you staying? Or are you from around here? Is your family far too?”
Did everyone here love to ask a million questions? Her neck was starting to flush from how much attention was on her. “…I’m not sure. I guess it will depend on how it goes.”
“Tell me you offered her a place to stay?” Dianna called out to her husband before turning back. “I’m sure the boys wouldn’t mind, but I would be glad to have you stay with us if you’re needing a place.”
“Oh. Thank you.” Madge ducked her head. Why were these women being so kind to her? Would she have to pay them back as well as their husbands?

“Why don’t we walk you up to the house? Master Davenport can be prickly but we could at least introduce you.” Catherine flagged down her husband as he made the trip back to the wagon.
“No, no. It’s fine. I can walk there myself.” Madge waved both of her hands urgently. “I have a very good sense of direction.”
“Oh, of course. Mister Davenport lives in the house on the hill.” Dianna pointed to the giant brick house, towering over all of the other houses and cabins around. Of course he would have the nicest house, this was his land.

“Thank you.” Madge awkwardly curtsied, feeling odd without petticoats to grab onto.
“Remember, you’re more than welcome to stay with either one of us when you are finished. Just knock on the door, our home is open to you.” Catherine smiles at her, Madge returning a small tight-lipped one. She turned away and started walking up the path, listening to the mothers scold their children for throwing potatoes at one another.

She tried to keep her breathing steady as she walked. Her palms were practically dripping with sweat, no matter how many times she wiped her hands off. She gripped the end of her sleeves as she marched up the stone steps of the manor. How could the front of a house be so intimidating? Her eyes were drawn to a hatchet with a yellow handle, the sharp blade buried several inches deep in the white wooden pillar. Had that been from a fight or was that to drive strangers away?

It was too late to back out now. She had walked into the lion's den, might as well see what was inside before she was eaten. Lifting her hand to the door, she knocked three times. With her heart beating fast, she waited…

And waited…

Was there no one home?

She knocked again, and this time she swore she heard muffled voices. She clenched her fists behind her back, then played with the strap of her bag when she felt her clammy hands again.
Still no response. Her spirits quickly disappeared as she continued to wait in the cold. She hadn’t expected to not even speak with the man. Fingers and toes now numb, she started to turn around. Maybe she should visit another time?

Then the door opened. An older African man stood before her, leaning heavily on a cane. Madge just barely caught her jaw from hitting the floor. That was something she had not expected.
“Can I help you?” He didn’t sound hostile, but it was a tone far from welcoming.

“Are you Achilles Davenport?” Madge asked, her heart rate jumping now that she was face to face with the man.
“Depends on who’s asking?” He raised an eyebrow at her.
“My name is Mar-, no sorry, my name is Madge. Madge Fletcher.” She stuttered, forgetting that she wasn’t using her normal name anymore. “And I need to speak with you.”
“I assume so, we do not get many new faces out here. Especially not unannounced.”

Maybe she should have had Godfrey or Terry walk her up, they would have at least vouched for her.
“I’m sorry, I know that this is very out of the norm. I didn’t — I’ve traveled a long way to speak with you.” Where were the words she had practiced all morning? It’s like her brain had frozen too.
“Out with it child, I don’t have all day.”

Clearly her words were not doing justice. So Madge reached down her shirt, careful not to activate the blade, and tugged the key necklace off her neck. She held it out between them. She watched his eyes flicker between the dangling key, the bracer around her arm, and her face. Although his expression was as smooth as stone, his eyes were wide.
“I came in possession of this key a few weeks, and I know it means something to you. I want to know about the this symbol, and you’re the only person that I can ask.”
Mister Davenport’s eyes stopped moving, looking somewhere beyond her.

Before Madge could turn to see what he was looking at, there was a flare of pain from the top of her head and her vision went black.