Dishonored--The Veiled Terror

by Adam Christopher

  Billie followed, closing the distance with every step, until they were both away from the light spilling from the Golden Tulip, swallowed by the darkness of the ruined city.

  11

  LEVIATHAN CAUSEWAY, ALBA

  17th Day, Month of Darkness, 1853

  As Billie approached the iron gates at a steady pace, she pulled the hood of her recently acquired cape over her head with one hand while the other curled around the stiff rectangle of card she had also borrowed from the worker, whose unconscious form she had left snoring behind a storage shack a few blocks from the Golden Tulip.

  She’d picked well. The cape was an excellent disguise, and the punch card pass had SECTOR 2 stamped across the top. With a little luck, both would let her through the gate.

  She’d watched the gate a while, hidden behind a stack of wooden pallets, just to get the lay of the land. As she had suspected from the waves of workers who had come and gone at the pub, construction appeared to run on a series of multiple, overlapping shifts that continued around the clock. She had only needed to wait a few minutes before the gate opened and a stream of workers poured out, while a similar line filed in, clocking in with their punch cards at a machine that stood just inside the gate, a black-uniformed Leviathan guard watching them without much interest.

  As soon as the next shift change started, Billie had come out into the open and joined the end of the new line. Now she moved through the gates, offering her punch card pass to be read by the machine. Within moments she was inside the construction zone proper.

  It was only now that the true scale of the operation became clear. Because beyond the iron wall, the city of Alba ceased to exist.

  Billie stood at the head of a road that curved down a gentle slope before disappearing from sight. From here, she could see that the entire construction zone surrounding the causeway was a giant crater-like quarry, the sides of which were cut into the earth in a series of terraces. The entire area was floodlit by dozens—hundreds—of enormous arc lamps, and in their harsh white light Billie watched as a steady stream of workers moved like swarms of insects along pathways that zigzagged up the sides of the crater, the roadways all clustered with more of the prefab buildings. Billie couldn’t see the floor of the crater itself from here, but the sides of the quarry she could see were at least a couple of hundred feet high. From the top of the road, a mass of scaffolds and gantries rose, surrounding the base of the causeway. The entire place was rendered monochromatic by a thick layer of heavy gray dust that seemed to coat everything beyond the iron wall. At the center of the crater stood the Royal Morley Observatory, its central tower extending from a cluster of lower buildings, the golden dome reaching not even a quarter of the way up to the lower part of the causeway, despite the fact that the complex was now perched on the summit of a small hill, the quarry apparently having been dug out around it. That explained what Billie had seen in the Hollow, anyway.

  Billie headed down the road, just another worker reporting for their shift. Nobody paid her any attention in her cape, and she glanced around from under the hood, noting that the black-uniformed Leviathan guards were outnumbered by the construction workers by maybe a hundred to one, perhaps more. All the while, the Sliver burned in her head, pulling her onwards as though she had a strong tailwind behind her.

  Because the causeway was not the most remarkable thing about the site. The huge, circular quarry that Billie was descending into was only half there. Straddling the center of the site, cutting the massive causeway itself clean in half, was the Void rift. It spanned the entire space, and as Billie got a better view, she saw that it touched the quarry floor—or at least, it appeared to, as the lower part of it was hidden behind another black iron wall like the one at the gate. People were working right at the edge, loading the block-and-tackle platforms that carried materials high up into the web of ironwork hundreds of feet above.

  It was remarkable. Impossible. And, Billie thought as she got closer, pointless. The causeway was huge but it would never reach Gristol, let alone anywhere else—and half of it was inaccessible, disappeared forever in the rift. But despite this, she knew she was in the right place. Dribner’s data had showed that someone was experimenting with the rift, in an apparently deliberate attempt to destabilize it—and they were doing it here.

  Billie walked on.

  ***

  It took Billie a full half-hour to reach the floor of the quarry on foot. She realized later that there were a series of rail lines laid into the terraces of the quarry, transporting workers and materials down from the gates. But she used the time to observe, to learn. As she drew closer to the main construction zone, it grew steadily noisier, and busier, and dirtier. The gray dust coated everything, and the once-regular prefab buildings that were clustered all down the road and around the construction zone had become lopsided, even ramshackle, as though mere proximity to the rift had somehow caused them to decay. The workers were covered in the dust as well—in every face, Billie saw raw red eyes and the shine of wet mouths. In fact, the only people who didn’t seem to be affected were the Leviathan guards. Their trim black uniforms seemed somehow immune to the dust and dirt as they patrolled in pairs or threes. They swaggered as if they were there to supervise the work, although Billie didn’t see any of them give any kind of instruction or direction, and there were foremen aplenty busy with that task, their heads in papers and blueprints stretched out across long trestle tables, voices raised and fingers pointing as they conducted the operation like an orchestra.

  The rift stretched right across the site, shielded behind a black iron wall about fifteen feet high. The wall was made up of portable L-shaped panels turned with their flat faces to the rift, the “feet” of the panels serving as a useful raised platform to store smaller materials—toolboxes, small timber, coils of chain and rope. Looking up, Billie was now standing directly beneath the causeway itself. It was a complex construction of girders, a vast latticework of iron and steel like any rail car bridge, only magnified—amplified—a thousandfold.

  As she looked up, something caught her eye. It was a bird, swooping low. Billie blinked, the outline of the thing flashing red, before she realized that there was nothing there. Billie glanced around in confusion, and then saw she was being watched, not by the workers, but by a pair of Leviathan guards. They were talking to each other as they watched her.

  Billie regained her composure and, making sure her pace was steady, turned on her heel and headed for one of the nearby buildings.

  ***

  The prefab hut was a supervisor’s office. There was a desk and a chair, a set of file cabinets, and little else. As Billie crossed the wooden floor, her boots echoed loudly on the thin boards, which moved under her weight. The walls were just as insubstantial; the sound of her movements was easily drowned out by the noise of construction outside. Working in the office must have been a real headache for the poor foreman assigned to it. Billie only hoped he didn’t come back soon, because something caught her eye that looked like it was worth spending some time studying.

  A large, flat board made of a single table-sized panel of wood on a simple wheeled stand was pushed up against the back wall, and on the board was pinned what looked like a map of the construction zone. Finally, thought Billie—now she would be able to get some idea of the layout of the site, perhaps enough to discover some kind of clue as to the place she should be looking for. The construction site was interesting, but not particularly useful—she would learn little by just wandering around, and already she thought her luck was almost due to run out. She couldn’t talk to the workers without arousing suspicion that she wasn’t one of them, and the longer she loitered in the zone, the greater the risk that the black-uniformed Leviathan guards would eventually challenge her.

  If she wanted to find out what was going on, she needed to get to the heart of the operation, and quickly.

  Billie moved over to the board, and cast an eye over the map. It seemed more diagrammatic than strictly accurat
e, and showed the construction zone as one large, complete circle, although the bottom half of the plan—the area beyond the Void rift itself—was entirely blank. In contrast, the upper half was crowded with detail, every building and path apparently shown and conveniently labeled.

  She peered closer, trying to read the tiny labels, tracing her route from Sector 2 Gate A down the main road and around the edge of the main quarry. If she was reading the map correctly, she was now in Foreman Hut AA23, located at the Void rift barrier just to the west of the site’s center.

  And it was the center that looked the most interesting. Here, the map showed a cluster of what appeared to be more substantial buildings than the prefab offices. They looked like they were built up against the barrier wall itself at the top of a rise, the map showing a series of irregular circles around the buildings to indicate increasing elevation. It was the hill, at the top of which stood what used to be the Royal Morley Observatory—“used to be,” because the building’s use had clearly changed. On the map, the tower was represented by a large circle, surrounded by smaller semi-circles on the cardinal points. These were labeled as laboratories one through four.

  And in the center, one word: CONTROL.

  Billie started to make a note of the route from the hut, but she jerked around as she heard voices raised over the noise of construction, voices that stopped right outside the hut.

  The display board was almost floor to ceiling; Billie ducked behind it and watched through the gap between the bottom of the board and the floor as the door of the prefab was kicked open. It banged against the thin wall and ricocheted back before being arrested by the outstretched arm of a Leviathan Company guard. His other arm was looped under the armpit of a dust-caked worker, who was being dragged in by a second guard on his other side. As soon as the trio were through the doorway, the guards flung the worker onto the floor, then the one on the right turned and slammed the door shut.

  The worker lay on the floor, panting, a thick tendril of mucous unspooling from his mouth to the rough wooden boards. He tried to push himself up, but the booted foot of one of the guards shoved him back. The man’s jaw clicked as it connected with the floor, and bright blood spattered the boards in front of his face.

  Billie flattened herself against the floor to get a better view.

  With his colleague’s boot still pressing down on the worker’s back, the second guard folded his arms and began to pace the small office.

  “This employment tribunal meeting is now in session,” said the guard. His companion grunted in amusement, then he bent down and hissed at the worker, who had mumbled something. He grabbed the worker by the hair and yanked his head up.

  “What did you say?”

  The worker spat blood onto the floor. “I said that an employment tribunal is composed of three officers.”

  “That so?”

  Somehow, the worker managed to nod while in the guard’s grip. “And then I said your mother is a rat whore who should never have left the sewers.”

  The guard shoved the worker’s head back to the floor; his chin bounced on the boards again and he grunted in pain, before the guard’s boot connected with his stomach, once, twice. The worker groaned, curled up in agony on the boards, blood and spit bubbling from his mouth as he fought to catch his breath.

  “Mr. Hearne,” said the pacing guard, pausing only to glance down at the prostrate form of the man for a moment before resuming his circuit of the office. “I have to say, I admire your persistence. We all do, really. There’s something admirable, even remarkable, in the way you just won’t ever give up.” He came to a stop by Hearne, and bent down, his arms still folded, as he peered at the man. “It’s gone right to the top, too. Oh yes, believe it. Even Severin himself has taken notice.” He paused. “Thing is,” he said, “Severin is a busy man. Very busy man. He’s got a lot on his plate, as I’m sure you know.” At this he stretched out with both arms and looked around the office; behind the board, Billie shrank back instinctively as she watched. “This whole place belongs to Severin. His design, his vision, his work.” The guard spun back around. He pointed at Hearne, who had managed to turn himself around under the other guard’s boot, so he was looking up at his tormentor. “His workers. That includes you, Mr. Hearne. And it seems you’ve forgotten it again.” He made a clicking sound with his tongue against his teeth, and looked at his colleague. “What are we going to do with the remarkable Mr. Hearne now, Blanco, eh?”

  The other guard, Blanco, juggled his shoulders; Hearne moaned as the pressure increased under Blanco’s boot. “It’s a puzzle, mate, a puzzle all right. Nothing works, does it?”

  The first guard was quick to agree. “You are right there, mucker. Nothing works for Mr. Hearne. We turn him out, he’ll just be at it again.” He folded his arms and cocked his head. “I think we’ve reached a certain point now, don’t you,Blanco?”

  Blanco grinned. “Sometimes accidents happen, even to the best of us. Or maybe we can disappear him. He’ll be just one of many. Nobody will bat an eyelid, they won’t.”

  “You’re right there, mucker. You are so right there.”

  Hearne squirmed under Blanco’s boot, but the two guards just laughed. The worker managed to twist again, his fingernails scrabbling against the boards; as he craned his neck out, his eyes went wide, and his ragged breath caught in his throat.

  Billie fixed the man with a steely look, and, ever so gently, shook her head. From his angle on the floor, Hearne had a clear view of Billie crouched behind the display board, her face almost at the same level as his. She held her breath, but after a moment, the man seemed to relax, and he blinked, quite deliberately, indicating his understanding.

  The two guards had been talking; now, Hearne interrupted them, his voice loud, echoing with surprising volume from the hard surfaces of the prefab office.

  “I want to see him.”

  The two guards fell silent. Blanco lifted his boot from Hearne’s chest, and the man convulsed, briefly, his hands squeezing at his chest as the pressure was suddenly relieved. Billie watched two pairs of booted feet moving together, until the guards were both standing in front of their prisoner.

  “Take me to Severin,” said Hearne. “He may be a son of a witch, but he is an engineer, at least. He’ll see reason.”

  There was silence for a moment. Then the guard who wasn’t Blanco laughed.

  “Oh, trust me,” he said, “you don’t want to see Severin.”

  Hearne pushed himself up into a sitting position, so he was now mostly out of Billie’s sight. “You said that even he had taken an interest in what I was doing. So, fine. Take me to him. Let me talk to him. Let me take the workers’ concerns directly to Control.”

  The first guard chuckled again. “See, Blanco? What did I tell you? Admirable, that is. There’s something there.”

  “Bravery,” said Blanco.

  The other hissed. “Ooh, no, I wouldn’t go that far, mucker. I’d be more inclined to say… foolishness.”

  Hearne stirred on the floor again. “Severin. Take me to him.”

  “No, mate, that’s not going to happen,” said the first guard. “See, it’s like I said. All of this is Severin’s. The whole project. So Severin is a busy man. He’s got a lot to oversee. And, let me tell you right now, the very last thing he needs is some self-appointed representative—”

  “I am not self-appointed,” said Hearne. “I was elected by the union—”

  Blanco shot forward; Billie couldn’t see the punch, but she heard the guard’s fist connect with Hearne’s cheek, the worker flying backward across the floor, the back of his head thudding onto the boards with a sickening crack. He lolled on the floor, rolling his head back, and Billie saw the blood from the man’s smashed nose now joining the blood trickling from his mouth.

  “You will hold your tongue in the presence of the Leviathan Company!” yelled the first guard. “The union of workers is a criminal fraternity, and you are the leader.” He stepped forward. Billie listen
ed to the creak of his boot leather, the rasp of the dry, dusty floorboards under those boots, and the meaty slap as the guard began pounding his fist into his other palm.

  “Tell you what. You want us to take you to Severin, eh?” asked the guard. “Okay, we’ll do that. Just answer me one question.”

  The snick, unmistakable, of metal on metal, a faint ringing in the air. The guard had drawn a knife.

  Blanco bent down over Hearne. Billie couldn’t see his face yet, but she could see the glint of steel as he placed the tip of his blade into the hollow of the worker’s throat.

  “How many pieces do you want to be in?”

  The guard drew the blade back, then paused.

  It was now, or never.

  Billie pushed up with her legs, powering forward. She crashed through the display board, splitting it clean in two. Blanco, standing further back, saw her first, and was already turning to run for the door when Billie tackled him, throwing her entire weight behind her raised forearm, aiming squarely for the man’s larynx. The arm connected, something audibly popped, and Blanco collapsed. Billie landed astride him on her knees, but without pause she stood, spun around, and kicked out. As she had anticipated, the first guard, his reactions slow thanks to the element of surprise, was still raising himself from the awkward position he had been in, leaning over Hearne. He still had his dagger clutched in one hand, but wasn’t ready for any kind of attack.

  Billie’s foot took him in the side of his head just as he was standing. He yelled out, his right arm swinging randomly, the dagger still held only loosely. Billie blocked the arm, and chopped down on the hand, sending the knife to the floor. With Blanco choking behind her, Billie rushed forward, pressing the assault, shoving the first guard back into the shattered display board, tripping him over the heavy base of its wheeled frame. The guard hit the floor flat on his back, but immediately kicked his legs, trying to untangle himself from the frame. Billie stepped over the frame and wrapped an arm around his neck; then, with one hand on the top of his head, she twisted sharply, separating the man’s cervical vertebrae. The guard’s now lifeless form was an instant dead weight in her arms, and as Billie stood she let him drop with a thud to the floor. As she turned, she saw Blanco staggering toward her, his face purple-red as he fought to breathe through his ruined throat. Billie took a step backward, ready to dispatch him, when the guard froze, then juddered on his feet for a few moments before toppling sideways, landing heavily in front of the desk.