50 Shaydes of Haytham.

Chapter 9: Pain.

The boys take to the streets to find the Assassin. An unexpected turn of events immediately puts the two in danger.

The two men made their way through the bustling streets filled with people going about their day. Smell of manure and the sea air hangs in the air. They hadn't really discussed a plan of action besides taking to the rooftops and jumping from building to building till they find the assassin either on ground level or on the rooftops with them. Shay had a few concerns about this plan.

"Sir, may I voice an opinion?" Shay enquired. Haytham only hummed in response. "I feel we will be too exposed on the rooftops, maybe we should stick to lower ground and maybe split up to avoid looking too obvious of a target?" Shay suggested. "Good plan, Shay. We will put that in motion although i'm not too keen on splitting up, you are right though, it would have been too obvious" Haytham agreed silkily. "One other thing" Shay began quietly. "How are we going to just let them take the journal without getting us killed?" He asked quietly, not knowing who is listening.

Haytham had just opened his mouth to answer when a large white blob had appeared over the top of them. "Assassin!" Shay shouted, forcefully shoving the Grandmaster out of the way who then fell to the floor. Before he could react any further, The assassin was upon him, their hidden blade sinking into Shay's shoulder. Who in turn yelped in pain as he was pinned to the floor. Meanwhile, where Shay had pushed Haytham out of the assassin's attack range, the journal had flew out of Haytham's outer coat pocket and slid across the cobbled floor, Haytham instinctively throwing a hand out in an attempt to grab it. The assassin, seeing this, abandoned Shay and ran, scooping up the journal from the floor and scrambling away.

"I'm going after him Shay!" The Grandmaster shouted, climbing to his feet and breaking into a sprint as soon as he was balanced enough. He turned to Shay to see him lying on the floor clutching his shoulder. "Shay?" He repeated, concern in his voice this time, mouth slightly parted in both surprise and concern. "I'm fine! Go!" Shay shouted, his teeth gritted as he pressed harder to stop the bleeding. Haytham listened to Shay for once and ran in the direction of the fleeing assassin.

I know this chase matters not but I must still make it believable.

Shay, he pushed me, he risked his life for mine. He could have died

Haytham scolded himself inwardly, now fuelled by his anger that Shay nearly got killed for him, he sprinted harder through the streets, pretending, making the lie believable. A minute or two more passed as he jogged aimlessly through the streets before he 'gave up' and began running back to Shay who quickly came into his sight. Shay was now up and on his feet, still holding his shoulder. "Shay" He shouted worried, placing a hand on Shay's uninjured arm who hissed and gritted his teeth at the pain "I'm fine, Tis just a scratch, Sir" Shay tried to smile. "Lets get that stitched up" Haytham replied not believing the Irishman.

----- Back at the manor. -----

Shay grunted as Haytham stitched his wound up "So much for a little scratch" The Grandmaster recalled frowning. "It's fine, Sir." Shay chuckled trying to reassure him. "Ow." He complained as the needle went into the flesh. "Keep still." Haytham scolded as he tied off the last stitch and wiped the wound over causing Shay to tense up to avoid making another hiss. "There, your done, get your shirt on and get cleaned up, dinner will be soon." Haytham advised whilst putting the needle, thread and other tools used back on the tray, ready to dispose of. Shay shrugged his bloodied shirt on and buttoned it up, he turned to face the Grandmaster and bowed. "Thank you for patching up my shoulder, Sir." He then turned and left the room. Haytham sighed looking at the bloody tissues.

----- A short time skip. -----

Shay laid on the floor, cold as ice... Face pale as snow . A pool of dark crimson surrounded him in the snow. Haytham's hands covered in blood...  Shay's blood. Haytham fell to his knees and scooped him up in his arms and sobbed, rocking him back and forth. Arms limp and motionless, eyes white and lifeless...