Templar's Creed

Chapter 38

West Indies, 1715.

"Where's the bloody map?" Edward Teach bellowed, his voice echoing through the tavern. The patrons froze, their eyes darting to the burly figure standing at the bar. The bartender, a seasoned old salt, didn't flinch.

"You've got the wrong place, mate," he replied calmly, wiping down a mug with a stained cloth.

Edward's eyes narrowed. "Don't play coy with me. I know you've got it," he said, leaning in closer, his hand resting on the hilt of his sword.

The bartender sighed, setting the mug down with a clunk. "Look, if you're looking for the map to the Sage, you're going to have to go through me and my boys," he said, jerking his head towards a group of muscular men at the back of the room.

Edward's eyes lit up with the challenge. He was used to fighting his way through obstacles, and this was no different. "Is that so?" He smirked, drawing his sword in a swift, practiced motion. The tavern grew tense as the air thickened with anticipation.

The bartender's "boys" slowly got to their feet, fists clenched and glares fixed on Edward. They were a formidable bunch, but he had faced worse. The pirate in him thrived on the thrill of a good fight. The tavern door creaked open, and the cool sea breeze carried in the scent of salt and rum. Edward took a deep breath, his senses heightened.

He stepped back from the bar, giving himself room to maneuver. His eyes scanned the room, noting the placement of tables and the glint of knives tucked into the men's belts. The bartender took a step forward, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "You think you're the first to come looking for that map?" He spat on the floor. "You're not even the toughest."

Without warning, the first attacker lunged. Edward met him with a well-placed punch to the jaw, sending the man sprawling backward. The others rushed in, fists and bottles flying. The sound of breaking glass and grunts filled the air as Edward danced among them, his cutlass flashing in the dim candlelight. He felt alive, his heart racing in time with the clang of steel on steel and the thud of flesh meeting wood.

A burly pirate with a thick beard swung a chair at him, but Edward ducked and sliced the chair in two. He used the momentum to spin and disarm another with a swift kick to the hand, sending a knife skittering across the floor. The fight was fierce, the tavern a whirlwind of chaos. Edward's crew, sensing the trouble, burst through the doors, guns drawn.

The bartender's smile vanished, replaced by a snarl. He reached under the bar, pulling out a pistol. Edward saw the glint of metal in his peripheral vision and dove to the side, just as a shot rang out. The plank floorboards splintered where he had been standing. He rolled and came up with his own pistol, pointing it at the bartender's chest.

"This is your last warning," Edward said through gritted teeth. "The map, or you'll be meeting Davy Jones sooner than you'd like."

The bartender paused, his hand hovering over the pistol's trigger. The room was silent, save for the heavy breathing of the combatants and the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore. The tension was palpable, like a storm cloud about to unleash its fury.

"You're Teach," the bartender finally said, his voice low and gruff. "Why should I believe you won't just kill me and take it?"

"Because," Edward replied, his voice steady, "you know that if I were going to do that, I would have done it already."

The bartender held his gaze for a moment longer before his hand slowly lowered. "Very well," he said, reaching into his shirt and pulling out a rolled parchment. He tossed it onto the bar. "Take it and get out of my tavern."

Edward didn't need a second invitation. He sheathed his sword and picked up the map. Unfurling it, he studied the faded ink lines and the cryptic symbols. It was definitely the map he had been searching for, the one that would lead him to the Sage, a key piece in the puzzle he was trying to solve for the Assassins. His heart raced with excitement. "Thank you for the... hospitality," he said, his tone dripping with sarcasm.

The bartender glared at him. "Just remember, you'll be dealing with more than me when you go after that map," he warned.

Edward smirked. "Is that your way of saying I've got company?"

The bartender nodded curtly. "The Templars have eyes everywhere."

Edward's smirk grew. "I wouldn't have it any other way," he said, rolling up the map and tucking it into his sash. He turned to his crew, who had been watching the scene unfold with a mix of excitement and anxiety. "Gentlemen," he announced, "it seems our journey just got more interesting."

With a nod from Edward, they moved as one, squeezing through the narrow tavern, their boots thumping against the wooden floorboards. The air outside was a welcome relief from the stale, tense atmosphere of the tavern. The moon cast a silver path on the choppy waves of the sea, guiding them back to their ship, the Jackdaw, which bobbed gently at the dock.

Once aboard, Edward spread the map out on the captain's table in the cabin, the soft light of the swinging oil lamp playing over the ancient parchment. His eyes traced the lines and symbols, his mind racing with the possibilities of the hidden locations marked by X's. His quartermaster, Mr. Kenway, leaned over his shoulder, his own gaze sharp with curiosity.

"What does it mean, Captain?" he asked, his voice a mix of excitement and apprehension.

Edward's finger tapped a spot on the map. "This is where we're heading," he said, pointing to an island marked with a skull and crossbones. "We're going to find the Sage before the Templars do."

Mr. Kenway's eyes widened. "The Sage? That's a dangerous quest, Captain."

Edward nodded, his gaze unwavering. "Aye, but one we must undertake. Gather the crew. We set sail at first light," he said, the determination in his voice leaving no room for argument.