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“Jacob?”
“Yes?”
“What do you think London is like?”
“Oh...big, probably. Busy. And if Georgie is to believed, a cesspit of despair. Of course, Crawley's a cesspit of dullness, so I'd rather take despair over that any day.”
“Jacob. It's not all that bad.”
“Oh, look at you, trying to be all polite. You know it's just me, right? Admit it. Crawley's boring as hell.”
“...oh, all right. It is.”
“And as for London? Fun, I hope. Crowded. I'm not a choosy man, and so long as it's not boring, I'll be satisfied.”
“It shouldn't be. Boring, I mean, at least for us. You know that there's only one Assassin left in London? The rest were driven out or killed years ago.”
“Oh really? Who's the poor sod?”
“An Assassin named Henry Green. He's a curio shop owner, and he's been writing letters to George about the situation in London. From what I can tell it's all rather dire over there.”
“Evie Frye, have you been stealing Georgie's personal correspondence? Tut tut. Whatever would Father say?”
“Absolutely nothing, because Father used to receive letters from Mr. Green as well, and he showed those to me too. So no, nothing. Anyway, like I was saying, Mr. Green says that the Templars control every aspect of London society. The banks, Parliament, the factories, the trains...”
“Oh, are we sitting on a Templar train right now? Perish the thought. Should we begin the revolution now?”
“Please don't blow this train up. Or at least not until we get to London. I'd rather not walk.”
“Too lazy in your old age, sister dear.”
“You do know how twins work, right? Besides, excuse me for preferring a subtler entrance. I'd rather not have a massive bounty on our heads the first day in the big city.”
“How about tomorrow? My schedule should be free after midday.”
“You're incorrigible. Why did I agree to this again?”
“Because secretly you yearn for a life of adventure and freedom in the unknown hinterlands? Because you want to secure the piece of ancient secret magic before anyone else does? You can't stand the idea of me getting all the fun? Pick your poison.”
“I am excited about the Piece of Eden.”
“Of course you would be.”
“You can stop rolling your eyes now. The Pieces of Eden don't need you to believe in them in order to wreak havoc in Templar hands.”
“Splendid. I was wondering if I'd have to pretend to care, so thank god that's responsibility's gone.”
“So, all right, what are you planning to do in London? Please tell me you have a plan.”
“In fact, I do.”
“One that involves more than smashing the nearest convenient head.”
“Well, that's just not fair. You didn't say it had to be a good plan.”
“Jacob...”
“What? Look, we'll figure it out when we get there. We don't even know where we're going to stay tonight, so why fuss? It'll all come together.”
“Of course we do.”
“Of course we do what?”
“Know where we're going to stay. We're going to find Henry Green. He'll have a place for us to stay, I'm sure, and we will get his evaluation of the city.”
“Henry who? And why do we care about what he has to say about the city?”
“Because he's the only Assassin who's been there for the past five years. If anyone can start us off in London, it'll be him.”
“Are you sure that's wise? Maybe he'll tattle on us to the Council. Ooh. Won't that be frightening.”
“We don't have to tell him everything. What he doesn't know won't hurt him.”
“My prim and proper sister, reduced to lying. London has changed you so much already!”
“Oh, shut up.”
“You're too easy these days. Well, it's all the same to me. The Council can send us as many angry letters as they want. As long as we stay within London, we're safe. They wouldn't dare step a foot into the big bad city.”
“That's reassuring. So that just leaves the two of us against the most powerful stronghold of Templars in the world and their Grandmaster, Crawford Starrick.”
“That sounds like a name with a massive moustache attached to it.”
“Some of Father's correspondence had photographs. He does have a splendid one.”
“I've never liked men with massive moustaches.”
“You're just jealous because you can't grow one. How petty.”
“Well, fine, he's a Templar and an evil git to boot. Can I hate him now?”
“Only if you promise to at least pretend to be sorry on Sundays.”
“Every other Sunday all right with you? I'm a busy man.”
“Fine.”
“And so what will you be giving up for the greatest of holy days, Miss Frye?”
“Well, Mr. Frye, I think that I'll give up any irritation I've ever had with my most darling brother.”
“No, Miss Frye, that can't be right. I've heard that your brother is the most delightful man the world's ever seen. He's brave, he's charming, he's—”
“Far too arrogant and got a swelled head to boot—”
“—and he's going to liberate London. Isn't that delightful?”
“We haven't liberated London yet. Let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's not exactly like we're just going to swan into Buckingham Palace and sweep the queen from her throne.”
“Oh, are we overthrowing the monarchy now? Evie, you bloodthirsty revolutionary, what do you have against the House of Hanover?”
“Nothing—oh, you know what I meant. It's not going to be easy. We don't even know where to start.”
“Of course we do. We've got a name, so there's our first target. He of the massive moustache must die.”
“...”
“Fine. We'll do it your way. This Bean fellow better be good.”
“Henry Green.”
“That's what I said. And so we'll have a plan, and you can chase after your artifacts to your heart's content. And then Georgie will be so proud of us, and I might just swoon with joy.”
“I wonder what he's thinking right now.”
“Who?”
“George. We're not going to be in Crawley tonight, obviously. They're going to think that we were run over by a train or something.”
“What, you want to send him a letter? 'Dear Georgie, have gone to liberate London, will not be back in time for afternoon tea'?”
“I had something a little more descriptive in mind, but that would be a start. 'Postscript: will deliver the marks of our enemies as soon as possible, do keep supper warm in the oven.'”
“Ha! He'll appreciate that sentiment, I'm sure. Anyway, a little worry will do Georgie good. It'll put some color to his cheeks. Variety is the spice of life, after all.”
“The poor man must be having an apoplexy as we speak. He's far too timid.”
“I am so very sorry; you can't possibly comprehend how much. Oh! Did you see that?”
“See what?”
“That sign. I think we're almost there.”
“You're right. We're close to...Whitechapel? I think that's it.”
“There are so many people. Do you think all of London is this crowded? And oh, that air. I can smell the smoke already.”
“To be fair, that might be the train. Oh, Jacob, look at the streets! They're crowded with carriages...”
“That's bloody brilliant. I want one.”
“So do I. This is going to be amazing, isn't it? This is the grandest city in the whole world—”
“—and it'll only get grander now that we're here!”
“I hope so.”
“Ever the optimist, Evie Frye. You know, it's not to late to turn back if you've lost your bottle already.”
“And give up the greatest adventure of our lives? You're mad.”
“That's the spirit. Come on. The train's about to stop.”
“I'm glad we did this, Jacob.”
“As am I. Let's go.”