System in Assassin's Creed

Chapter 137: Chapter 136: Tavern in Port Royal

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”It’s been a long time, cousin...”

”’L-’Laric?” Edward stammered, rain dripping from his hair and clothes, his mind struggling to reconcile the sight before him with reality.

This couldn’t be right.

His cousin, the one who ran the family business back in Bristol, the one who seemed content with ledgers and merchant deals, was standing on a rain-lashed tower in Port Royal, Jamaica, looking completely unfazed. ”What the hell are you doing here?”

Alaric took a slow drag from his cigar, the tip glowing brightly against the stormy backdrop, before letting out a plume of smoke that was instantly snatched away by the wind. He smirked. ”What? Can’t a man visit his favorite cousin anymore?”

”No! Not here!” Edward hissed, his voice barely audible over the drumming rain but sharp with agitation.

He gestured wildly around them, towards the rough town below and the imposing fort nearby. ”This place is dangerous! Crawling with soldiers, pirates, cutthroats! What are you doing mixing in all this?”

Alaric just stared at him for a few seconds, that unnerving calm never leaving his eyes, before chuckling softly. ”Sightseeing.”

”S-Sightseeing?” Edward sputtered, his eyebrows practically disappearing into his hairline. ”You came all the way to Jamaica for sightseeing?” He shook his head, trying to make sense of it. ”Fine... whatever. Let’s say I believe that. How did you even know where I was? How did you find me up here?”

”I have my ways,” Alaric answered vaguely, taking another long drag before flicking the cigar butt off the tower into the darkness below. He gestured towards one of the two simple wooden chairs tucked under the tower’s small roof. ”Anyway... how’ve you been keeping, cousin?”

”...” Edward hesitated, unsure how to answer. He looked down at his own rough, sea-stained clothes, then back at Alaric’s immaculate crimson coat.

”...Fine,” he finally muttered, scrubbing a hand over his wet face. ”As you saw back at the tavern... turned pirate.”

”Aye,” Alaric nodded, sinking casually into one of the chairs. He motioned for Edward to take the other. ”Your friend Thatch mentioned you back in Nassau. Wasn’t exactly singing your praises, mind you, but he confirmed you were around.”

”Nassau!?” Edward’s eyes widened again as he reluctantly sat down opposite Alaric. ”You went to Nassau? That pirate den? Why in God’s name would you go there?”

”Looking for you, obviously,” Alaric said, as if it were the most normal thing in the world. ”Heard whispers about a Kenway making trouble in the Bahamas. Had to check it out.” He leaned forward slightly. ”Speaking of which, the family sends their regards. They’ve... relocated, by the way. Left Bristol.”

Edward blinked. ”Relocated? What? Why? Where did they go?”

”Pennsylvania, for now,” Alaric said, waving a hand dismissively. ”Long story. Political troubles back home, King George isn’t as... agreeable as Queen Anne was. Bristol wasn’t safe anymore.” He decided against mentioning the specifics of the raid or the clone’s letter-spreading campaign for now. ”You’ll find out soon enough, I reckon. News travels, even out here.”

He paused, studying Edward’s face. ”Point is, they’re setting up in the New World. Plenty of space, plenty of opportunity. Caroline’s there too, you know. Settled in quite nicely at the estate we set up near Philadelphia. Doing rather well for herself managing the tea business.” He let that sink in. ”You could always join them, cousin. Quit this rough life. Settle down. Be a house-husband to a wealthy wife. Sounds easier than dodging cannonballs, doesn’t it?”

Edward’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Caroline being wealthy, a flicker of surprise crossing his features before being replaced by a familiar stubborn pride. He looked away, staring out at the rain.

”Easy isn’t the point,” he muttered. ”I can’t go back like this. Can’t face her... face them... with nothing to my name but salt stains and a bad reputation. I left to make my fortune, Alaric. I won’t go back until I have.” He clenched his fists. ”I couldn’t live with myself otherwise.”

Alaric watched him, seeing the fierce determination mixed with underlying insecurity. ’Stubborn fool,’ he thought, but not without a degree of understanding. ’Can’t force him. He needs to walk his own path, make his own mistakes... that’s his charm.’

He sighed softly. ”Alright, Edward. Have it your way.” He leaned back in his chair. ”Just... take care of yourself out here. I know you’re capable, probably more than you realize... but this life eats people alive.”

Alaric reached into his coat, activating the System interface mentally.

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He pretended to fumble in his pocket for a moment before pulling out a small, familiar vial filled with the potent white salve... the same kind he’d given Edward years ago.

”Here,” he said, holding it out with a bag of money. ”For emergencies. Try not to need it too often.”

Edward stared at the vial, recognizing it instantly. He hesitated for only a second before taking it and the money, his fingers closing around the cool ceramic.

”...Thanks, ’Laric,” Edward mumbled, avoiding his cousin’s eyes.

Alaric grinned, clapping Edward lightly on the shoulder. ”Now then,” he said, his tone brightening. ”Enough serious talk for one night. How about we head back down and find some proper rum? My treat, cousin.”

Edward looked up, meeting Alaric’s gaze. He saw the genuine warmth there, beneath the layers of mystery and unnerving power. After a moment, a slow, weary smile touched his own lips. He nodded.

”Aye,” he agreed, standing up. ”Let’s.”

---

Alaric and Edward made their way back through the muddy streets of Port Royal towards the raucous sounds spilling from the tavern. The downpour hadn’t let up, and by the time they reached the entrance, Edward was thoroughly soaked, his clothes plastered to him, water dripping from his hair and stubble. Alaric, on the other hand... wasn’t.

As they stepped through the doorway, shaking off the worst of the rain, Alaric subtly performed two near-instantaneous hand signs hidden within the folds of his coat. ’Suiton: Full Body Cleanse. Suiton: Laundry Jutsu.’

A brief, almost invisible shimmer of chakra enveloped him, and in less than a second, every trace of rainwater vanished from his clothes and hair. His crimson coat looked freshly pressed, his platinum hair dry and falling perfectly around his shoulders.

Edward, busy wringing out his own soaked bandana, looked up at his cousin and did a double-take.

”Bloody hell, ’Laric... how are you not drenched?” he asked, bewildered. He squinted, wondering if the rum from earlier was playing tricks on his eyes or if the tavern’s dim light was hiding the wetness. ’Must be drunker than I thought,’ he concluded, shaking his head and running a hand through his dripping hair.

Their entrance hadn’t gone unnoticed this time. Captain Bramah and several of the Jacobite crew looked up from their mugs, surprise registering on their faces at seeing Edward return with the mysterious stranger who’d bought the tavern keeper’s information earlier.

”Kenway! Back already?” Bramah called out, gesturing them over. ”And ye brought yer... friend?”

Edward clapped Alaric on the shoulder, a slightly forced grin on his face as he tried to act casual despite the lingering shock of their rooftop conversation. ”Aye, Captain! Lads! Meet my cousin, Alaric Kenway. Just arrived in the Caribbean, lookin’ for adventure... and apparently, me.”

Bramah stood up, eyeing Alaric with renewed curiosity. He extended a hand. ”Abel Bramah, Captain of the Jacobite.”

He gave Alaric’s hand a firm shake, his eyes widening slightly as he took in Alaric’s height and build up close. ”By the saints, lad, ye stand tall! Taller than young Edward here, even.”

Alaric returned the handshake with a polite smile. ”Pleasure to meet you, Captain Bramah. And your crew.”

”Well, any cousin of Kenway’s welcome aboard... er, I mean, welcome for a drink!” Bramah corrected himself quickly, slapping Alaric on the back perhaps a bit too hard. ”Pull up a stool! First round’s on... well, probably on Kenway, considerin’ his luck today!” He laughed heartily.

”Actually... tonight, the drinks are on me. For everyone.” Alaric tossed a hefty pouch of Reales onto the nearest table, easily covering the cost of several rounds for the entire tavern. ”Drink ’til you drop, lads! Celebrate your successful haul!”

A stunned silence fell for a second, then erupted into a massive cheer.

”Huzzah!”

”Bless yer generosity, Master Kenway!”

”Edward, yer cousin’s alright!”

”More rum!”

The pirates surged towards the bar, praising Edward for bringing such a free-spending relative into their midst. Bramah grinned, clapping Alaric on the back again. ”Now that’s how ye make friends in Nassau... er, Port Royal!”

As the tavern keeper scrambled to fill mugs, Bramah leaned closer to Alaric, lowering his voice slightly, though still loud enough to be heard over the din. ”So, Kenway... yer cousin here tells me ye come from means back in England. How’s a lad like Edward end up sailin’ under the black flag when he’s got rich family back home?”

”Rich? Us?” Alaric chuckled, playing along. He shook his head, adopting a conspiratorial tone. ”Nah, Captain. Edward’s got his own path to walk, same as any man. As for me...” He leaned in, giving Bramah a sly wink. ”...let’s just say I had a very profitable encounter with a certain overloaded merchant vessel on my way here. These fancy clothes?” He gestured to his crimson coat. ”Courtesy of some poor sod who didn’t guard his cargo well enough.”

Bramah roared with laughter, completely buying the lie. ”HAHAHA! A fellow practitioner of the trade, are ye? Knew I liked the cut o’ yer jib!” He raised his mug. ”To profitable encounters!”

Alaric clinked his own mug against Bramah’s, hiding his smirk. ’Can’t have these vultures thinking Edward’s got wealthy family ripe for ransom.’

The rest of the evening dissolved into typical pirate revelry, amplified by Alaric’s funding. He drank alongside Edward and the crew, easily keeping pace thanks to his enhanced constitution.

He joined a game of Nine Men’s Morris, quickly mastering the simple strategy and soundly beating several overconfident pirates, much to their groaning dismay and Alaric’s amusement.

”Come on now,” Alaric teased one particularly sore loser, ”even my aunt plays a better defense than that.”

”Your aunt plays Morris?” the pirate grumbled, scratching his head.

”Plays it like a chess master,” Alaric lied smoothly, taking a sip of rum.

He shared stories, mostly fabricated tales of daring merchant raids, listened to their crude jokes, and generally let himself relax, enjoying the simple, boisterous company. He focused on Edward, drawing him into conversations, laughing at his stories, trying to bridge the gap that had formed between them over the years.

He remembered Edward as a kid back in Swansea, always eager to play, always trailing after his younger, more serious cousin. Alaric had usually brushed him off then, finding childish games tedious. Later, in Bristol, Alaric had been consumed by his own training, by building the family business, by dealing with threats Edward knew nothing about. He’d rarely made time for his younger cousin.

Now, sitting here in this rowdy Jamaican tavern, watching Edward laugh freely with his crewmates, seeing the spark of adventure in his eyes despite the path he’d chosen, Alaric felt a pang of regret.

Maybe he should have paid more attention, offered more guidance... or maybe Edward needed to find his own way, make his own fortune, however dangerous the route.

For tonight, at least, he could just be here, sharing a drink, sharing a laugh, enjoying a rare, uncomplicated moment with the cousin he barely knew.

Just as Alaric was setting up the pieces for another round of Nine Men’s Morris against a burly, one-eyed pirate from the Jacobite, a clear, confident female voice cut through the noise of the tavern.

”Think you can handle a real challenge, pretty boy? Or do you only play against drunken fools?”

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