Corvo relaxed his mind, relaxed his body. He blinked to the next platform up, to the ceiling framework, then down to the gallery.
He turned back to face Emily. He felt the Mark burn on his hand and he felt his own strength ebb, his limbs becoming heavy, his reflexes slow, his concentration slipping along with his grip on the power of the Void.
Time sped up and reality snapped back to normal.
Emily fell.
Corvo turned, and jumped, and blinked.
He materialized with his arms wrapped around her. They twisted, tumbled, fell. He reached out and blinked again, the tether linking his mind to the gallery across the factory, moving and slipping as he fell through the air.
He was going to be too late.
He had no target, no destination. No hope.
Corvo closed his eyes, pushed all other thoughts aside, and just blinked.
They hit the metal decking of the gallery with a thud, Emily rolling on her side. She was breathing and her eyes moved rapidly behind closed lids. She was alive, but unconscious. Something had happened to her up on the framework.
The sounds of voices rose from below.
Corvo sucked in a long breath of the hot air of the factory. He turned, expecting to see the leader of the Whalers materializing right behind them. But they were high up, and—thus far—alone.
He lifted Emily across one shoulder, and headed for the fire escape door straight ahead.
Outside the cool of the night air was a shock, but it was a good one. It woke Corvo up. Balancing Emily carefully, he reached inside his tunic, his fingers wrapping around a vial of Addermire Solution. He drank it in one gulp, and immediately felt the benefit, the ache of his body fading, the burning of the Outsider’s Mark on his hand fading to an electric prickling.
He turned, checking through the door. There appeared to be some confusion inside—certainly more than two voices were now arguing. Some of the Whalers must have returned from the failed raid. Galia’s voice stood out, instructing them to capture intruders they hadn’t even seen.
As the Whalers piled up the gallery stairs, Corvo could see the man in the greatcoat standing outside the control room. He was facing Corvo, and even at this distance, the red glass of his goggles shone brightly, like two lamps.
A wave of nausea swept up Corvo’s body, and he felt instantly cold, as if he had been plunged into the river. He felt dizzy, felt like he was going to be sick, and the factory began to swim in front of his eyes. He squinted, trying to focus on the only thing that seemed to be fixed in his vision—the man in the coat, his red glass eyes shining.
Corvo gasped and turned away, heaving in a breath of cold air. Already, dawn was approaching, the clouds gathered along the eastern sky colored as red as the man’s goggles by the rising sun.
There was nothing left to be done here. His priority was getting the unconscious Empress back to the Tower. He looked down over the fire escape railing to the building that stood opposite—a pub, the Lost Cause.
Grimacing at the establishment’s unfortunate name, Corvo tightened his grip on Emily and swung over the fire escape railing, blinking as he fell, reappearing on the tavern roof.
And then he ran back to Dunwall Tower, carrying Emily with him.
16
THE ROYAL SPYMASTER’S CHAMBERS, DUNWALL TOWER
14th Day, Month of Darkness, 1851
“I was asked, should we not tolerate the possession of simple bonecharms among the populace? Surely this is a trivial matter, merely a cultural practice seen across the Isles? Not as terrible as the creation and coveting of more complex occult runes? Such an insidious question.”
— THE BONECHARM SITUATION
Excerpt from a report to the Office of the High Overseer
High Overseer Yul Khulan raised an eyebrow as he looked around the maps and charts tacked to the back of the wooden panels in Corvo’s chamber, the screens forming a temporary—and slightly more private—operations center separated from the rest of the room. He steepled his fingers and pursed his lips.
“Most impressive, I’m sure.”
Corvo stood by the map table. He looked up and folded his arms.
“I’m glad you approve, Yul.”
The High Overseer laughed, still looking around. “Well, let’s not get away with ourselves.”
Corvo raised an eyebrow and Khulan’s laugh died fairly quickly in his throat. He coughed, and moved over to the map table.
“What is it you need to show me, anyway?”
Corvo stroked his chin, and stepped over to a painting hanging on the wall, one of Empress Jessamine. A reminder of another place, another world.
He swung the portrait open like a door. Behind it, set into the wall, was a safe. Entering the combination, he spun the handle, opened the safe, and reached in to take out a small linen-wrapped object.
“I called you in here,” he said, “because I don’t want this to get out of this room. It’s too much of a risk.” He placed the object on the map table, and unwrapped it. The High Overseer moved to his shoulder.
“What is it?” he asked.
“Take a look for yourself,” Corvo said, folding the last of the linen wrap open.
“By all the Isles,” the High Overseer whispered. His fingers gingerly reached for the object, then he snatched them back before they made contact, as if the object was hot.
“Where did you get it?”
Corvo folded his arms and looked down at the strange bonecharm. Already the white bone had charred even further, the entire surface now blackened and crisscrossed with a fine tracery of cracks. The linen in which the charm had been wrapped was burned where the fabric had touched it. The apparent disintegration of the object—and the heat that it produced—was curious.
“From one of the Whalers we captured at Brigmore Manor,” Corvo said. “His name was Rinaldo—he knew Daud, back in the day. He had this on him.”
“And where did he get it from?”
“That’s where it gets interesting. He says he found it in the basement of a slaughterhouse, where the Whalers were regrouping.” Corvo paused, thinking back over his own experience at the factory two nights before. Emily was fine, but exhausted, and had given Corvo a half-hearted story about being taken ill. She clearly didn’t remember how she had got back to the Tower. Corvo was content to leave her with the belief that the strange disorientation he had seen her experience at the slaughterhouse had simply clouded her memory, and that she had made her own journey back home.
He had to keep his own involvement a secret from his daughter, so he played the innocent, accepting her claim that she was simply under the weather.
Corvo’s thoughts turned to the strange man he had seen. He remembered the glowing red eyes, and shuddered.
“It seems that the Whalers have a new leader,” he said, “a man who wears a winter greatcoat from the Tyvian military.”
“A Tyvian agent?” the High Overseer asked, his eyebrows dancing on his forehead. “Do you think they’re planning something against the Empress?”
Corvo scratched his stubbly chin. “I’m not sure, but it doesn’t feel like it. I think this man is some kind of independent operative. He’s revived the Whalers, with some of the old guard back in place. According to Rinaldo, a woman called Galia has become the stranger’s right hand. She and Rinaldo were in the original Whalers together, back when Daud was operating in Dunwall.”
“You don’t think this stranger could be Daud?” Khulan asked. “Who knows what happened to him over the last fifteen years.”
“I suppose it’s possible,” Corvo said. “I didn’t see his face. Rinaldo says the man has powers, like Daud used to have—and he’s shared them with Galia. That means it was she I encountered at the cemetery in the New Mercantile District. She was leading the raid. According to Rinaldo, this man in the coat never leaves the factory.
“And I saw how Galia could move,” he continued. “Transverse, like the Whalers used to be able to do.”
T
he High Overseer frowned. “Then it is Daud?”
Corvo looked down at the bonecharm. Was the man in the coat Daud? He was disguised, but he was bigger than Daud was… wasn’t he? Did Corvo really remember?
Yes, of course he remembered. Daud was the man responsible for the murder of Jessamine. It didn’t matter that it had been on the orders of Hiram Burrows. The blood was on Daud’s hands.
Corvo should have killed him when he had the chance. The thought had come and gone throughout the last fifteen years. If only there was a way of doing more than just stopping time. Of turning it back…
The High Overseer leaned over the bonecharm. He reached out for it again, but Corvo stopped him, resting a hand on Khulan’s forearm.
“Careful. It’s hot—look at the way the linen is charred.”
Khulan nodded. “Yes, I see what you mean.” He took a white glove out of his red velvet coat and pulled it on, then he carefully prodded the charm with a covered finger. Even as he did so, the charm cracked across the middle, the two halves splitting and crumbling like spent charcoal. Khulan snatched his hand back and frowned.
“Well, if this is a bonecharm, it’s like none I have ever seen before.” He stood back. “It is clearly unstable. Perhaps the power it holds decays the structure over time, causing this instability.”
Corvo nodded. “That’s my guess. It would give it a limited lifespan, too.” He rubbed his chin again. “I haven’t seen a charm like this before, either. It’s human bone, we know that—most likely taken from the cadavers lifted from the merchant cemetery. Rinaldo says the man in the coat has a whole workshop set up under the factory, and has been carving the bonecharms day and night.
“If they do have a limited lifespan, then—whatever he needs them for—he would need to make as many as possible. Perhaps their decay accelerates when they are worn, as their power is taken up by the wearer.”
“Heretics!” Khulan said, shaking his head. Then he composed himself and continued. “That doesn’t explain the power you saw at the cemetery. Bonecharms are not in the same league as that. If this Galia has been given the gift of transversal, then that’s a higher magic all together.”
“I agree.”
“Have you elicited any other information from this Rinaldo character?”
Corvo nodded, and, unfolding an arm, he pointed to a spot on the map table.
“Rinaldo says that Galia and the man in the coat haven’t yet finished. They’re working on something—something big—and to finish the job, they need one more component.”
The High Overseer peered at the map, then he looked back at Corvo, a shocked expression on his face.
“But that’s… that’s…”
Corvo tapped the map. “The Boyle Mansion, yes.”
“But the masquerade is in just a few days. You’re not suggesting—”
“I don’t know, but it seems to fit. There is something at the masquerade they want. Whoever they have left from the raid at Brigmore, they’re going to hit the party.”
“Can’t we stop them? We know the location of their base. We can send in the City Watch, the Overseers! I know the Music Boxes weren’t tuned in time for you to take them to Brigmore Manor, but they are ready now. We can put a stop to this before any more damage is done.”
Corvo shook his head. He pointed at the bonecharm. “The man in the coat has more of these things. Dozens of them, according to Rinaldo. Until we know just what they are capable of, we can’t risk a frontal attack. Music Boxes don’t have any effect on the power of bonecharms, remember.”
“Then what do you suggest?”
“Stealth,” Corvo said. “Subtlety. Let me do this the way I know how.”
Khulan snorted. “So says the Royal Spymaster.”
“Royal Spymaster and Protector, Yul. Don’t think I take threats to the Empress lightly. However, we need to know what the man in the coat is planning. The more information we have, the better. He’s dangerous, and powerful—in fact, we likely have no idea just how powerful.”
“And what do you propose?”
“We let the masquerade go ahead.”
“What? You can’t be serious.”
“Never more so,” Corvo said. “The masquerade goes ahead. I’ll fill the place with agents. Nobody will know, and nothing will change.”
The High Overseer blew out his cheeks and shook his head. “I don’t like this, Corvo. It goes against my grain.”
Corvo nodded. “I understand, Yul, but it makes sense. Listen. The man in the coat never leaves the factory. The Whalers lost most of their men at Brigmore Manor. If they’re going to hit the masquerade, it’ll be Galia and the scraps of her crew.”
Khulan raised an eyebrow. “I think I see,” he said. “With the Whalers at the masquerade…”
“The man in the coat will be at the factory, alone, yes,” Corvo said. “We wait at the masquerade and grab Galia and the others. Meanwhile, with the factory clear, we’ll have that surrounded—as many of the City Watch and as many Overseers as we can muster. I’ll take the Warfare Overseers to the masquerade. The Music Boxes will stop Galia using her powers, and I’ll have enough agents among the guests to detain her and her men before they cause any trouble.”
The High Overseer hissed. He stepped away from the table, and began pacing behind the screens, steepling his fingers again and tapping them against his lips.
“I don’t like this, Corvo,” he said. “It’s a risk. A huge risk! You’re using the masquerade—and the guests—as bait.”
“It’s a calculated risk, Yul, and the guests will be protected. I have more than enough agents at my disposal.”
“And what about the Empress?”
“She’ll be in the safest place possible,” Corvo said. “Right here, in Dunwall Tower. The Empress is invited to the masquerade each year, but never attends. Protocol and tradition forbid it.”
“So the Empress will be safe.”
“Yes, absolutely.”
“Even without her protector at her side?”
Corvo raised his hands. “Yul, listen. This is our one opportunity to find out who these people are, and what they are doing.”
“By putting the people of Dunwall at risk, Corvo,” the High Overseer said, waving around the room as if to indicate the general population of the city. “The elite of the Empire will be at the masquerade, and you intend to allow this gang to walk among them.”
“We will be there, Yul. I will be there. No harm will come to any of them. You have my word.”
Khulan frowned. “Very well, Corvo, but on your head be it—and on the head of the Empress.”
Corvo nodded and walked over to his friend. He held out his hand, palm up. Khulan looked down at it with a grimace, but then he shook it anyway.
“On your head be it,” the High Overseer repeated, and then he turned away and headed for the door.
17
DUNWALL TOWER
14th Day, Month of Darkness, 1851
“This leads to the most common critique of the Office of the Royal Spymaster, that actions are taken and deeds committed that even the Emperor or Empress is not aware of. This lack of oversight or accountability is a commonly debated topic during Parliamentary sessions, but those who hold the position of Royal Spymaster insist that in order to function the role must exist outside existing bureaucracy or law.”
— THE ROYAL SPYMASTER
Excerpt from a historical record of
government positions and ranks
Corvo found Jameson waiting, as arranged, out in the gardens of Dunwall Tower, by the gazebo that overlooked the water lock, and together the pair headed for the throne room. It was late morning on the second day after rescuing Emily from the slaughterhouse, bringing her back to her own secret safe room, into her private apartments, and Corvo had hardly slept since. He had much to think about, and much to plan.
Now that he’d at least got the High Overseer to agree, it was time to put those plans into action.
Daylig
ht dappled the pair as the Royal Spymaster and his chief agent headed toward the Tower foyer. Corvo blinked in the light. So much of his work was confined to the night, to the darkness, but not now. Sleep was for tortoises. There was no time lose.
On the way up to the throne room, he briefed Jameson on his plans, the two of them discussing which agents to disguise in the elaborate costumes required for the Boyle Masquerade. Corvo was pleased—in Jameson he was grateful that he had a faithful, loyal agent. Whatever Corvo wanted, the man would deliver, no questions asked. And if he wanted Jameson’s opinion on his plans, he would ask for it.
He didn’t.
At the throne room, the two guards on duty came to attention and swung the doors open. Corvo stepped through, then came to a halt. He frowned. Something was going on. Something he didn’t know about.
Empress Emily Kaldwin was sitting on the throne, dressed in her usual black trouser suit with high white collar, looking none the worse for wear after a day of rest, and nobody in the room apart from Corvo—not even Jameson—had any idea that she had narrowly escaped death just two nights before.
Assembled in front of the dais were Captain Ramsey of the City Watch, Commander Kittredge of the Wrenhaven River Patrol… and High Overseer Khulan. As Corvo and Jameson approached, Khulan stuck his tongue in his cheek and gave Corvo a glance, as if to apologize for being summoned by the Empress. But that look told Corvo all he needed to know—the High Overseer hadn’t betrayed his plans. A summons by the Empress of the Isles was simply an order one couldn’t ignore.
Corvo bowed to the throne, then to the High Overseer. The Captain and Commander, meanwhile, saluted both him and Jameson. He turned back to the dais.
“I’m sorry, Your Majesty, I wasn’t aware we had a meeting scheduled. Have I missed something?” He looked at her with narrow eyes, and wondered what she was planning.
“Lord Protector,” Emily said, greeting her father in the customary, formal tone she reserved for those she commanded. Corvo bit his tongue to stop himself betraying his thoughts. “I’ve summoned you all here to issue an Imperial edict,” she continued. “The city of Dunwall is to be placed under full lockdown until the grave robbers have been caught.”
Dishonored--The Corroded Man Page 17