Varius knelt down beside the sofa. “Let me examine him,” he said. “I have some experience with these things.” He touched and pressed, gently but with apparent determination and purpose, moving from her father’s eyelids and face down to his torso, and then along the length of his arms and legs, bending his joints and feeling for breaks. When he was finished, he sat back, looking at her father with the back of his hand against his mouth. “Eliza …”
“Tell me,” she said.
“He’s alive, but barely. I believe his skull is fractured. The bones of his face are shattered. He has at least four broken ribs, one of which may have punctured his lung, because he seems to be bleeding internally.”
Eliza sobbed again, and gasped, and covered her mouth as tears fell from her eyes. “Oh, Papa,” she said. “Papa!”
Grace nearly lost it within her own mind. If David had experienced all of that, if Monroe had let her little brother go through that pain, she was going to unleash a holy fury on him.
Varius turned to the two strangers. “What happened? Who did this?”
“Thugs,” the man said. “Rioters. I stopped them when I saw them, but they were already going at him.”
“Thank you,” Eliza said, feeling as though her chest had become an eggshell. “Thank you for saving him.”
“You’re injured, too,” Varius said, pointing at the man’s side.
“I’ll be fine,” the stranger said, though a moment later he lowered himself into one of the library’s armchairs.
“What is your name?” Eliza asked him.
“Tommy Greyling,” he said. “This is Adelina Patti.”
The woman nodded her head toward Eliza, and Eliza noted the tears in her eyes, too. Then she turned back to her father and knelt down as close to his face as she could. She stroked his forehead, afraid to touch any other part of him. If his chest was moving, she couldn’t see it, so she laid her head upon his breast to listen.
She heard his heart beat once, weakly. Then it went quiet. Then it beat again. Then it went quiet, as if each beat required almost everything he had left to give.
“I wanted to take him to a hospital,” Tommy said. “But he asked to be brought here.”
“Papa,” Eliza whispered, her tears falling down upon her father’s blood-soaked shirt. “Don’t leave me. I can’t lose you, too.”
Varius suddenly looked up at the ceiling, and then left the room without a word.
“Where is he going?” Tommy asked.
But Eliza ignored him. “Please,” she whimpered. “Papa, please.” And then the eggshell of her chest caved in, and she sobbed openly against her father’s chest, squeezing her eyes shut so tight she saw stars. A few moments passed this way, and then she felt a change in him, something passing up his body, and she pressed her ear against his heart, listening.
A beat.
Then quiet.
It stayed quiet, and she pressed her ear more tightly.
Another beat, as faintly as the flutter of a leaf in a breeze.
Then his heart went quiet again, for too long, and he expelled a long, raspy sigh, but took nothing back in. He became stillness and silence.
He was gone.
Eliza couldn’t breathe. Her chest had seized up and she clutched at it, gasping, and when she finally took some air in, she wailed. There were no words behind it, no thoughts, only pain, rage, grief, loneliness, fear, and Grace felt it all with her.
Something thudded outside the library in the hall, and then Eliza heard the heavy impact of boots on the floor. Varius wasn’t in the room, and she knew Cudgel was due to arrive at any moment.
She got up and hurried to the doorway, flanked by Tommy and Adelina, and from there, she saw Cudgel standing in the hall, looking surprised. Varius raced down the stairs behind him, but before anyone else could react, Cudgel ran for the front door.
Varius threw several flashing knives at him at blinding speed, five or six in the space of a moment. One of them struck Cudgel just before he made it outside. Varius charged after him, and Eliza did, too.
“Wait,” Adelina said. “Don’t—”
But the woman fell silent when Eliza turned around and they met each other’s eyes. “That is the man responsible for my father’s death,” Eliza said, and then she charged out into the street.
She couldn’t see Cudgel or Varius, but she knew if they had vanished from the streets they would take to the roofs, and she followed them up. Once she reached the rooftops, she glimpsed Varius in the distance, free-running north, and she flew after him.
Before she had gone far, she realized just how much Varius had been holding back while teaching her that day. She could not yet keep up with him, but she pressed forward, the smoke from the fires closing in around her, burning her lungs and her eyes. She crossed one block, and then another, and another, descending to the streets when she knew she couldn’t make the leap. In her pursuit, she had no fear to embrace. It was fury that drove her.
When she reached the ruins of the Crystal Palace, she heard noises coming from within and realized that was where Cudgel and Varius had gone. She entered that place of metal and glass, keeping to the shadows, becoming invisible.
She heard her father’s voice in her ears. My little sneak thief.
The deeper she went, the clearer the noises became: grunts, footsteps, the sound of a fist cracking against bone. She passed under statues lurking in the ruins like ghosts and through metal tangles twisted by fire and their own weight, following the sounds of combat.
Then she heard Varius speaking. “Do you even know what you hold?” he asked.
Eliza moved toward the sound, and her foot bumped up against something. She looked down. It was Cudgel’s rifle.
“It’s a Precursor relic,” another voice said, which must have been Cudgel’s. “Do you think I’m a fool?”
Eliza picked up the rifle. She’d held a gun once before, but it had been a long time ago, and a carbine with a much shorter barrel. But she tucked the rifle under her arm, her finger on the trigger, and slipped forward through the wreckage.
“Look around you!” Varius said. “You think this isn’t chaos?”
“This is the refiner’s fire,” Cudgel said. “This is necessary to rid the city of those who would hold back its progress.” He hacked a wet-sounding cough, and then both men came into Eliza’s view.
Grace recognized them as Owen and Javier, friends facing off against each other once again. Javier held the Piece of Eden in his hand, and Owen stood only a few feet away from him.
“These riots will be over in a matter of days,” Cudgel said, “and at the end they will have cleared away all our opposition. The Order will bring about the fullness of its purpose for this nation at last. You are the fool for resisting it. For not seeing it.”
Eliza didn’t know why Varius was just standing there. The Assassin looked confused, dumbfounded. And then suddenly, Cudgel flipped a knife in his hand and hurled it, and the blade struck Varius square in the stomach. After a stunned, silent moment, his body folded to the ground. But Eliza kept still, concealed in the shadows, and took aim with the rifle.
Cudgel sighed, making a gurgling sound, and when he turned away, Eliza saw a knife protruding from his back.
She had little confidence in her aim, so there was only a moment in which she could shoot him before he was too far away. She raised the barrel and sighted along it, right at his back, and calmed her breathing. She pulled the trigger, and felt the rifle butt slam into her shoulder at the same time she heard its muffled bang.
It wasn’t a bullet that struck Cudgel, but some kind of dart. He staggered forward without turning around, and stumbled into a shuffling run. Eliza pursued him, but kept her distance as he gradually slowed and his legs wobbled, and before he had made it out of the Crystal Palace ruins, he collapsed.
Eliza quickened her pace to approach him, but carefully. He turned his head toward her, a trickle of blood leaking from his mouth. Grace knew it was Javier, but sh
e had to stay back and let this moment unfold for Eliza. This was her revenge.
“You’re Tweed’s servant,” Cudgel said. “Abraham’s daughter?”
Eliza could see he was paralyzed by his own toxin, just as Varius had been, and she moved to stand over him. This was all his fault. His and the Grand Master’s. Her beautiful father was gone. Her loving, constant, peaceful father, taken from her by the devil in human form.
“You killed him,” she said.
“Who?”
“Abraham!” she shouted.
He tried to shake his head, but it looked more like a shudder. “No, I … Skinny Joe …”
“He’s dead,” Eliza said. “They beat him. A harmless, kind old man, and they—”
“I didn’t beat your father,” Cudgel said.
“Perhaps not,” Eliza said. “But you fed the dogs who did, and then you set them loose.”
He said nothing in reply to that.
Eliza noticed the dagger in his hand. She reached for it, and she could see the terror in his eyes, but he could do nothing as she took it from him. It was a curious thing, and it was hard to imagine it being worth the price that had been paid for it. But its edge was very sharp.
“You did something with this,” she said. “This dagger. You stopped Varius with it. Confused him somehow. That’s what Varius meant when he said General Grant could use it to win the war, isn’t it?”
Cudgel said nothing, but he didn’t need to. The tears glossing his eyes said everything Eliza wanted to hear from him.
“There is a path open to me,” she said. “I wasn’t sure if I would take it. But now I am.” She laid the blade against his throat, and his eyes blinked and opened wide. “I will become an Assassin,” she said. “And you and I will meet again.” His eyes closed and he lost consciousness. She rose and left him to dream of his failure.
Varius was unconscious when she returned to him, but with the help of Adelina and Tommy Greyling, Eliza managed to get him to a hospital, and an hour later, she stood at the Christopher Street Ferry with the two of them. They seemed to be quite attached to each other, though Tommy appeared to have different ideas about the ferry than Adelina.
“Come with me,” she said.
“I’m not going to do that,” he said. “I’m not going to leave the city in the hands of the mob.”
“But you are injured,” Eliza said, offering support to Adelina.
“I’ll pay a visit to the infirmary,” Tommy said. “They’ll stitch me up right, and then I’ll be back at the front line.” He looked down at Adelina. “Go to your aunt’s. Stay there until the riots have passed.”
“But I need to see you again,” she said. “When—”
“I’ll see you again,” he said. “The very next time you sing in New York, I promise I’ll be in the audience cheering you.”
“That’s not what I mean,” Adelina said.
“I know it’s not,” he said. “But that’s the only way it can be. I may only be a patrolman who wants a farm, but I know that much.”
Adelina looked down. “Don’t say that.”
“Say what?” Tommy asked.
“Don’t talk about yourself that way. You are …” But she didn’t finish what she was about to say. Instead, she shook her head at the ground, almost as if she were angry, and when she looked up, she was crying. “I think I love you, Tommy Greyling.”
“And I think I love you, Miss Adelina.” He smiled. “But the ferry is about to leave, and you must go now. I need to make sure you’re safe.”
“I’m safe,” she said. “I’ve always been safe with you.” She wrapped her arms around him then, and after a moment, he did the same, nearly enveloping her, and they embraced for some time. Then she pulled away, wiping her eyes, and walked down the pier toward the boat without looking back.
Tommy watched her go and said to Eliza, “Make sure she gets to her aunt’s, if you can.”
“I will,” Eliza said.
“And what will you do?” he asked.
“I have a task to complete,” she said, the dagger tucked away in the pocket of the trousers she still wore. If she was going away to war, she needed to look the part. “After that, I think I’ll come back to New York. I still have unfinished business here with Cudgel and Mr. Tweed.”
Tommy nodded, looking a bit perplexed, and Eliza bade him good-bye. Then she boarded the ferryboat, which was filled to capacity with black men, women, and children. They huddled together, some of them nursing injuries, driven from their homes by hatred and violence, pain the look in every eye, and “why?” the unspoken question on every lip. The answer was that the city and the country were not free. Not yet.
The boat’s steam engine chugged them along, out into the Hudson River toward New Jersey, and as the distance from the island grew, it seemed the whole city glowed red beneath a mountain of coal.
“It looks like it might rain,” a young mother said, eyeing the clouds as her infant daughter slept in her lap. “That’d be a mercy.”
“You pray for mercy, then,” Eliza said. But to herself she whispered, “But I will fight for freedom.”
Owen’s simulation went black, but not the black when Varius was unconscious. A black that meant the simulation was over, and suddenly he was standing in the gray of the Memory Corridor, and he was there as himself.
You doing okay, Owen? Monroe asked.
“Did I die?” Owen asked. “I felt …” He had felt the knife enter his stomach, and he had felt his heart pumping out his blood, and he had felt his body going cold and numb, starting at his feet and moving upward.
No, you didn’t die. Close, but Eliza saved you. Did it hurt?
“Not bad, actually.” It wasn’t the pain he remembered, but the fear. Varius’s fear.
That’s because the brain isn’t built to store physical pain memory. In fact, it’s supposed to mostly forget it, or else we wouldn’t be able to function.
“I’m glad for David, then.” The mob had really worked him over, a level of violence and hatred Owen still couldn’t understand. “He’s okay?”
I wouldn’t say that. He might not remember the physical pain, but he remembers the emotional pain. That, our brains hold on to.
“Can I talk to him?” Owen had examined David, or David’s ancestor, and he felt sick thinking about what that poor kid had gone through.
Soon, Monroe said. You need to stay in the Memory Corridor a bit longer.
“Why?”
Think of it like deep-sea diving. You can’t come up too quickly or you get the bends. In this case, it’s the brain bends. Little bubbles of your ancestor’s consciousness that can cause all kinds of problems. Right now, you need to concentrate on leaving all those memories behind. You need to get your ancestor out of your head.
That would be hard. He’d been living in Varius’s mind and memories for two days. Owen felt as if he knew Varius as well as he knew himself. It almost seemed as though they could be the same person. But he knew they weren’t, and he also knew it hadn’t actually been two days.
“What time is it?” Owen asked.
Almost four thirty in the morning. You guys have been in the Animus for a couple of hours.
“A couple of hours?” Owen shook his head. That seemed impossible.
It could have gone even faster, if it was just you. I had to slow things down a bit to keep you all integrated in the simulation. That way … Hang on. Javier’s coming in.
Owen looked around, filled with a sudden avalanche of anger and hatred at the mention of Javier’s name. But that didn’t make sense. He wasn’t angry at Javier; he was angry at Cudgel. But Javier was Cudgel, in a way.
Before he could sort it all out, Javier appeared next to him, and Owen almost took a swing at him before he caught himself. Instead, they just stared at each other.
“I want to kill you right now,” Javier said.
“You almost did kill me,” Owen said.
“I know,” Javier said. “This is messed up.?
??
Relax, you guys, Monroe said. You’re out of the simulation. You’re Owen and Javier, not your ancestors.
“You’re talking like it’s a switch,” Javier said. “Like we can just flip it on and off.”
I know it’s easier said than done, Monroe said. Just focus on your lives. Focus on your friends, your family, your home, your neighborhood. Focus on your memories, all the things that make you who you are. Remember, you’re lying in a warehouse with a visor strapped to your head. Some of you are drooling.
“Thanks for that,” Javier said.
Hey, just trying to keep you grounded.
As time in the Memory Corridor passed, Owen noticed a lessening in the pressure of Varius’s consciousness against his. As if he had more room to stretch and breathe inside his own mind. He thought about his grandpa’s shop and his grandma’s immaculate garden. He thought about his mom’s polo shirts from work, and he thought about his room. He thought about his father.
Owen’s whole reason for going into the Animus had been to get Monroe to help him find out what had really happened the night of the bank robbery. But the Animus had done something to that motivation. Where Varius feared he wouldn’t live up to his father’s legacy, Owen’s grandparents and his mother feared that Owen would.
Owen didn’t know what that meant, or how he felt about it. But he knew he looked up to his father, just as Varius looked up to his, and the experience of the Animus had made that even stronger.
“I don’t even know what to think right now,” Javier said to Owen. “She could have cut my throat.”
“What?” Owen said. “Who?”
“Grace,” Javier said. “No, not Grace. Eliza. She had the Piece of Eden.”
Owen grinned, because he knew that would have given Varius a lot of satisfaction.
“You think that’s funny?” Javier said.
“No,” Owen said. “It’s not that.”
“Then why’re you smiling?”
“It’s nothing … My ancestor …”
“Your ancestor what?”
“Come on, man,” Owen said. “You threw a knife at me. Are you really going to get all mad about this?”