System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 92: Chapter 91: ’Decisions, decisions...’

[Current Balance: 374,970,232 scudi, 93 baiocchi]

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In a luxurious, wood-paneled room within St. James’s Palace, Queen Anne Stuart sat on her throne, her expression was impassive as she awaited her visitor. The air was filled with the scent of beeswax and old paper.

”Sir John Cass, Alderman of the City of London, attends Her Majesty,” the butler announced formally from the doorway as his voice echoed slightly in the grand chamber.

Sir John Cass entered. He was a prominent figure in London... Alderman, Sheriff of London the previous year, Knight of the Realm, founder of schools, merchant, trader, and a significant investor as he became the Assistant Directorship of the Royal African Company.

He was a man of influence and wealth, built largely on the very trade structures Alaric’s deal threatened.

While Alaric had been fortunate to find an ally in the Quaker William Penn, Sir John Cass represented the established, powerful interests now feeling distinctly nervous, even jealous of Penn’s rising influence and the potential disruption caused by the ’Bristol Experiment’.

Cass walked forward with measured steps with his fine coat while his face was carefully composed. He stopped before the throne and executed a deep, formal bow as the Queen inclined her head slightly.

”Sir John, your presence is marked. Rise, and let your purpose be known,” Queen Anne stated, her voice was calm but carried the weight of authority as she gazed down at the politician.

Sir John Cass rose then clasped his hands, ”Your Majesty, I am but your humble servant, moved by duty to speak on matters that stir both the city and the Kingdom.” He paused as he chose his words carefully. ”I come not in defiance, Your Majesty, but with loyal concern for the realm’s prosperity.”

”Loyal concern often wears many coats, Sir John. Do not cloak commerce in loyalty unless it be genuine.” The Queen arched her delicate eyebrow while her gaze sharpened. ”Speak plainly... what stirs the city so?”

”Word reaches every port and merchant hall, Your Majesty,” Cass began, his tone was respectful but firm, ”of a pact struck concerning Bristol. A noble endeavor, surely, this exchange for... salves... yet one that threatens the very bedrock upon which Bristol’s, and indeed much of our nation’s, prosperity currently stands.”

He met the Queen’s gaze, though a slight tremor betrayed his nervousness. ”This gift, these... Celestial Salves... are wondrous, yes, by all accounts. But can they truly replace the tides of gold that flow through Bristol’s established trade? Have we weighed the scales fully, Your Majesty, or have we perhaps been blinded only by the glow of their reported miracles?”

Queen Anne leaned forward slightly in her throne, her gaze turning colder, making Sir John visibly flinch. ”You speak of trade, Sir John. I speak of legacy. You speak of gold; I speak of the strength of my people. You fear financial loss; I fear the moral rot that festers within certain enterprises.”

”The salves offer more than mere coin, Sir John. They offer immediate health, mercy, and the potential for dominion with less casualties on our side,” Her voice was low but clear. ”This is the very reason why the Crown has purposely proposed an exclusive deal with William Penn for more than a decade.”

”But Majesty,” Sir John Cass shifted uncomfortably as he pressed, lowering his voice slightly, ”is it not dangerous to loosen such a profitable cornerstone, even for something perceived as fine? You may cut the slave trade from Bristol, yes, but trade is like water... it finds new rivers. And not all hands who may carry it onward from other ports serve the Crown as loyally as Bristol’s merchants.”

”Then let those hands be watched,” Queen Anne replied coldly as her voice hardened with resolve, ”and let their rivers be damned if need be. Bristol shall be the crucible in which we forge a new face for Empire, one that need not wear the ugly mask of chains in its primary port.”

She sat back, her gaze unwavering as a hint of annoyance entering her tone. ”And if I have traded a single city’s sin for a salve that heals my subjects and strengthens my kingdom, then I have not erred, Sir John...”

”I have ruled.”

---Galleon, La Providencia---

Kara Murad Beyoğlu al-Hasan. Born to Hasan Bey, a respected Ottoman officer in the Janissary Corps, and Amina Sultan, a woman of noble lineage from the Hashemite family in Syria.

Murad had joined the Ottoman Navy as a young sailor, rising swiftly through the ranks thanks to his exceptional skills in navigation, strategy, and his keen understanding of both Ottoman and European naval tactics. By the age of 25, he had earned the title of ”Reis” after leading a successful raid against a Venetian convoy in the Aegean, capturing valuable goods.

However, in 1704, Kara Murad turned to piracy after a bitter conflict with the Sultan’s naval command, who saw his growing power and independence as a threat. He sailed the Mediterranean as a feared corsair, his black-painted Xebec earning him the nickname ”Kara” Murad.

He adhered to a strict, albeit piratical, code of honor... ruthless in battle against designated enemies, yet known to spare Ottoman traders and local fishermen, believing piracy should never harm the common people of the Empire.

He had amassed wealth, power, and a notorious reputation, yet the thrill of the chase and the freedom of the sea kept him from abandoning his chosen life.

And now?

”...”

Murad’s eyes snapped open as his jaw throbbed violently where the blonde devil’s fist had connected. He blinked, trying to clear his vision.

He was inside a small, roughly made wooden room, probably a jail cell in the massive galleon. He tried to move his hands, only to feel the cold iron chains securing his wrists behind his back.

The sound of heavy footsteps approached outside, and after a few seconds, the door creaked open, revealing four figures silhouetted against the light from the corridor.

One was the giant captain of the galleon, his white crescent beard making him look like some sea demon. Beside him stood the blonde who had him in shock with the impossible sorcery, and the dark-haired who also fought his men. The fourth man was shorter, one of the galleon’s officers.

”Are you sure he’s Murad?” the giant captain, Oldgate, questioned the shorter officer, though his sharp eyes remained fixed on Murad.

The officer nodded curtly. ”I am certain, Captain. Kara Murad Beyoğlu al-Hasan. His bounty poster was prominent in the tavern back in Roma. Ten thousand scudi, dead or alive.”

Oldgate grinned with a predatory light in his eyes. He walked forward and stopped just a meter from the chained Murad. ”Hello Murad...”

”The name’s Oldgate... Edward Oldgate, captain of the galleon you were foolish enough to aim for.” He jerked a thumb towards the short officer. ”This man right here says there’s ten thousand scudi offered for yer head... ye agree with that valuation?”

Murad glared defiantly at Oldgate, remaining silent, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of a response.

”Oh yeah, forgot,” Oldgate grunted dismissively. ”He doesn’t speak English...”

”Oh, he speaks English alright, Captain,” Alaric chuckled softly from the doorway, pulling out a fresh cigar, and lighting the tip with his finger. ”Not as fluently as us, perhaps, but he understands you perfectly well.”

Oldgate turned his head towards Alaric, then back to Murad, his grin widening. ”Heh... is that so?” He leaned closer to Murad. ”As a fellow captain, Murad, I must say I’m hurt you tried to rob me.”

Murad continued to glare as he gritted his jaw tight. Oldgate sighed dramatically and turned away. ”Ah well, I’m off. Don’t know why I made time to talk to him when I can just enjoy a few mugs of fine mead from his own stores.”

”...Kill me...”

Oldgate, who had started walking towards the door, stopped. He turned back slowly, looking at Murad with mild surprise. ”You said anything, pirate?”

”...Kill me,” Murad repeated, louder this time, his dark eyes burning with hatred as he glared at Oldgate.

”GURARARARA!” Oldgate suddenly burst into laughter that was echoing in the small room. The laughter died down abruptly, leaving a cold grin on his face. ”Kill you? Ye think I’ll allow that? After the trouble you caused? You put this upon yourself, dipshit.”

He stepped closer again, leaning down slightly to stare directly into Murad’s eyes. ”No, no. Killing you would be too easy. Here’s what I’m gonna do,” Oldgate stated, his voice dropping to a menacing growl.

”I’m going to sail this fine galleon, La Providencia, into Livorno harbor. I’m going to collect your hefty bounty, making myself a tidy profit and a little fame to boost ’me sales up,” He paused, letting the words sink in. ”While you... you’ll be handed over to the authorities. Sent to the deepest, darkest prison they have. Where you’ll rot for the rest of your miserable life.”

Murad gritted his teeth, straining against the chains uselessly. Oldgate laughed one more time, a harsh, triumphant sound, before turning and leaving the room. The shorter officer gave Murad one last look before following his captain out.

Alaric chuckled softly at Oldgate’s dramatic exit, while Reuben just sighed, looking uncomfortable.

”Well, I would say that was... unique. Given that this is my first time helping in capturing someone with a bounty on their head.” He nodded slightly, as if confirming something to himself, then turned and left the room as well, leaving Alaric alone with the prisoner.

Alaric watched Reuben leave, then turned his attention back to Murad. He walked closer, stopping just out of arm’s reach. He put the freshly lit cigar to his lips, taking a slow, deliberate drag, letting the smoke rise lazily in the air. He seemed utterly relaxed, almost bored, which only served to infuriate Murad further.

Before Murad could spit out another curse or demand, Alaric’s eyes changed. The casual blue irises bled into a vibrant crimson, the intricate pattern of the Eternal Mangekyo Sharingan spinning hypnotically. ’Genjutsu: Sharingan!’

Murad’s defiant glare instantly went slack, his eyes becoming dull and unfocused as the genjutsu took hold.

”So, Murad,” Alaric asked conversationally, smoke trickling from his lips. ”A successful pirate captain like you... you should have some sort of treasure stashed away, yes? Where is it? And how much is it worth, in scudi?”

The dulled Murad took a moment, his mind processing the command through the haze of the genjutsu. ”...Evet...”(Yes) he answered eventually, his voice flat and monotone. ”...Treasure... worth... eighty thousand scudi... It is hidden... in my Malikâne... my estate... in Varna.”

(Malikâne: Manor, or something like that.)

’Varna... in Bulgaria?’ Alaric raised his eyebrows slightly, processing the information. He took another long drag from his cigar, considering. ’Damn... that’s far, definitely not on the current itinerary.’

’I mean... not that far in the grand scheme, but far enough to be inconvenient right now,’ he mused. ’And eighty thousand scudi... honestly, the amount is ehh.’

He deactivated his Sharingan, and Murad’s eyes slowly regained a semblance of life, though confusion clouded his features before exhaustion and the lingering effects of the genjutsu pulled him back towards unconsciousness.

Alaric watched him slump against the chains. ’My priorities now are Florence, then Thera. After Thera... maybe Masyaf, see what secrets the old Assassin stronghold holds. Then perhaps Persia to visit Suleiman, if time allows... the Sword of Eden is supposedly there, according to the game’s lore... although that’s just a rough sketch, could be anywhere.’

He frowned slightly. ’The products back in Bristol... the Salve, the masks, the tea... they’ll likely sell out within two or three years at the current rate. I shouldn’t take that long travelling around indulging my curiosity.... I have a business to run.’ He glanced back at the sleeping Murad.

’Decisions, decisions...’.

Alaric turned and walked out of the damp, wooden room, pulling the door closed behind him. ’We’ll see...’

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