Dishonored--The Veiled Terror

by Adam Christopher

  “Oh, Billie Lurk, how much we have to discuss. And how much time we have to discuss it in.”

  ***

  After leaving the Queen in the long gallery, Billie was taken by a member of the Royal Morley Constabulary through the building. That the constabulary apparently acted as the Queen’s personal servants in the House of the Fourth Chair—as well as acting as the general police and security forces in every city, town, and village across the country—was the least of Billie’s concerns. As she followed the green-jacketed constable, Billie scarcely noticed her surroundings. The building was made of marble. The carpets were thick. Every wall was covered with an extravagant display of antique weaponry. It was all the same.

  Billie was stunned by the Queen’s comments. She knew the name of her mother and father—actually, Billie herself didn’t know who her father was; and while she had no particular reason to believe the name Eithne had given was the correct one, there was no reason she could think of that the Queen would be lying. Besides which, she had spoken the name of her mother—Asher. If Eithne knew that, then certainly everything else she had said was true.

  Wasn’t it?

  Deirdre. Billie’s heart raced as she thought of her. Truth be told, she had been content to let the memory of Deirdre sleep in her mind. Life had gone on, and as Billie knew all too well, part of life was death. If you couldn’t accept that, you would lose your mind.

  And then there was the Outsider. The Queen said she knew how the Outsider had fallen. How was that even possible? The only ones who had been present in the Ritual Hold on that day were herself, the Outsider, and the ghostly echo of Daud. Nobody else knew—could possibly know—what had happened there.

  Billie blinked out of her reverie as her guide cleared his throat, and she realized they had stopped. The constable was standing to attention by a door, which stood open. With Billie’s mind returned to the present, he gestured into the room beyond with an expansive sweep of his arm.

  “I trust that these quarters will meet your standards, m’lady. Should you require anything, anything at all, then please do not hesitate to call for a member of the constabulary.”

  Billie frowned and stepped into the room. It was a sumptuous bedchamber, practically big enough to fit the entire Lucky Merchant tavern into. There were no displays of arms and armor here, but the room was paneled in dark wood, every available space covered with paintings, all of which seemed to be of wildlife.

  Billie turned to her guide. He stiffened as she looked at him, his gaze fixed somewhere in the middle distance over her shoulder.

  “Why does the Royal Morley Constabulary serve the Queen in her palace? Doesn’t she have servants and guards of her own?”

  The constable pursed his lips, like he was considering his answer. Then he spoke.

  “The constabulary has the pleasure of serving the Queen and King of Morley at their leisure, and has done for the last year, m’lady, since the Crisis.”

  “The… Crisis?”

  “I believe it is called the Three-Day War elsewhere in the Isles.”

  So that was it. The Queen and King of Morley had been employing the country’s military as their own private security force since peace had been restored.

  Perhaps Billie didn’t blame them.

  “If there is nothing else, m’lady?”

  Billie snorted. “Oh please, you can lose the m’lady part. I am anything but.”

  The constable pursed his lips again. “If you will pardon me, m’lady, but any private guest of Queen Eithne is to be accorded all rank and privilege as accorded by official protocol.”

  Billie shook her head. “Fine, whatever.” She turned back to the room. “So what am I supposed to do? Wait for the Queen to call me back into her presence?”

  The constable gave a nod. “The very same, m’lady. Now, if that will be all?”

  “Yes, whatever.” Billie waved her hand and the constable saluted, then headed away down the corridor. Billie stepped out of the chamber and watched his retreating back.

  What in all the Isles was she doing here? An honored guest of Queen Eithne? What did the Queen want with her? The fact that she had sent her constabulary to the Leviathan Company to retrieve her didn’t make any sense either. How had the Queen even known she was there?

  Then again, Eithne seemed to know a lot of things about her—some things that even Billie didn’t know herself.

  She looked up and down the passageway. It was a long gallery, the far wall made up mostly of tall windows that stretched almost from floor to ceiling, looking out onto an immaculate lawn and gardens, at the far end of which was a lake. There were constables positioned at intervals around the garden, either standing rigidly to attention, or marching stiffly between black wooden pillboxes.

  To her right was the passageway she had just come down; her guide had left by the same route. To her left, the windowed passage ended at a large, arched door. There was a constable on guard beside it, and when Billie met her eye, the guard stamped her foot and came to attention.

  Intrigued, Billie walked down the passage toward the constable, who had her gaze fixed straight ahead. When Billie got within speaking distance, the guard stamped her foot again.

  “So…” said Billie, shaking her head, “am I prisoner here or what?”

  The guard glanced at Billie, but only fleetingly, her attention returning to the empty passageway almost instantly.

  “Do you require assistance, m’lady?”

  “Seriously, I wish everyone would cut out the lady shit.”

  The guard said nothing.

  “Okay, fine,” said Billie. She rubbed her forehead, looked back down the passage, then turned and gestured to the door.

  “Where does this go?”

  “East wing, m’lady.”

  “And I’m free to enter the east wing?”

  The guard stamped her foot. “Any private guest of Queen Eithne is to be accorded all rank and privilege as accorded by official—”

  Billie waved her hand. “Accorded by official protocol, all right, I get it.” She paused. “So protocol gives me free rein, right?”

  Once again, the guard stamped her foot. “Any private guest—”

  “Enough already! I heard you the first time.”

  The guard fell silent.

  Billie turned to look out of the big windows. The sun was low, so it was late afternoon at least, although she still didn’t know the date. She watched as members of the constabulary patrolled the gardens.

  Her guide had said earlier that she was free, until the Queen summoned her. Billie decided to see just exactly what “free” meant.

  She headed back along the passageway. In the middle of the windowed wall was a set of ornate gilded metal doors, leading to a small flight of steps that provided access to the garden. The doors opened silently under Billie’s hand.

  After the far too-warm interior of the House of the Fourth Chair (whatever that meant, Billie had no idea), the cold outside was a pleasant shock. Billie savored the clean air, and looked out across the formal gardens. She saw now that the garden was walled, the boundaries framed on either side by tall red-brick borders, mostly hidden behind elegantly sculpted trees, their branches trained against the brickwork to form a more natural-looking barrier. The gardens themselves were laid out in a geometric pattern of squares and rectangles, with paved paths running between them.

  Every flower was an orchid, and, to Billie’s untrained eye, seemed to be entirely different to the one next to it. Unlike regular plants, the orchids clung with spidery exposed roots to large logs, which were laid out in groups alongside the paths.

  It was an impressive sight, and although Billie had little interest in horticulture, she had a keen interest in money and a fair knowledge of the black markets of the Empire. The famous orchids of Morley were a key ingredient in several medicinal elixirs, not to mention had been components of both Piero’s Spiritual Remedy and Addermire Solution. Billie wondered about the sheer monetary value of
the plantings that now lay spread out around her.

  She walked directly away from the main building, along the widest path. Constables were on duty at intervals, standing to attention at the points where smaller avenues branched off, their black pillboxes shining in the dying light. Further away, more constables patrolled the brick walls.

  At the end of the main path was the shoreline of the lake; across the water, dense woodland crowded the opposite shore, and the body of water curled around to her left, the far side shielded by the trees clustered at the main bend. There was a sunken paved circle at the end of the path, set with a fixed stone table and two long benches, each heavy with rich green moss.

  Billie supposed she could swim for it, if needed, but then her eyes caught movement across the water, and she saw a constable begin a patrol from his pillbox, hidden in the shadow of a tree, on the other side.

  So much for that idea. Billie turned, and looked back at the winter palace of the Queen and King of Morley.

  From this side, the palace was a long, rectangular building, composed of two levels. The upper level was covered almost entirely with a regimented series of tall rectangular windows, while the lower part was mostly hidden behind a row of enormous columns, which broke in the middle for the glass-walled passageway and doors leading to the garden, through which Billie had come. The style looked more suited to a bank than a palace, but Billie’s interest in architecture was almost as strong as her interest in gardening. Rising above the building, not quite dead center from this position, was a huge copper dome, which was now a soft, soapy green, having succumbed to verdigris long ago.

  As she cast her eye over the building, she saw a figure in one of the big windows on the upper level—the Queen, although with the light fading it was hard to be sure. She seemed to be watching the garden—watching Billie, perhaps—before she moved out of sight.

  Billie sighed, and shook her head. While she was grateful for the rescue from the Leviathan Company, she had no idea why her salvation had been at the behest of the Queen of Morley herself, and any time spent at the palace was time wasted. The journey here hadn’t taken that long, which meant they were still close to Alba, although Billie had no idea in which direction the city lay. But it was imperative that she get away as soon as possible. She had learned a lot about the causeway site and its strange shadow-world version in the Void hollow, but still didn’t have any physical evidence to show what the Leviathan Company was doing.

  Her plan was simple. She needed to get back there, collect evidence—runes, bone charms—and take it back to Dribner. He would be able to understand what the company was doing with them, and then together they could get both the Academy of Natural Philosophy and Empress Emily herself to aid them.

  It was then that she noticed a constable rushing toward her, having emerged from the glass doors. Billie put her hands on her hips and frowned, but didn’t move. Let him come to her.

  That was when she saw something else—or rather, felt something. It was subtle, and she almost missed it, but it was only in the stillness of the garden that it became evident.

  The Sliver of the Eye of the Dead God was getting warm, the sensation of heat spreading over the side of her face. As soon as she noticed it, she felt the telltale pressure inside her skull, and the faintest buzzing, a vibration, from the arcane object.

  She knew exactly what it meant. And it made perfect sense.

  There was something Void-touched nearby.

  Of course there was. It was in the palace. Because how else did Queen Eithne know so much about her? She must have an object, or artifact, something connected to the Void, channeling its magic.

  Billie also suspected that Queen Eithne knew exactly what Severin and the Leviathan Company were doing at the causeway.

  The constable reached her at the end of the garden and snapped a salute, his back ramrod straight. Billie could only shake her head at the formality. Being treated like royalty did not sit well with her at all.

  “M’lady,” began the constable, “Her Majesty Queen Eithne of the Four Chairs, and His Majesty King Briam of the Four Chairs, hereby summon you to an audience, as per official protocol and—”

  Billie raised her hand and gave the constable a look that instantly silenced him. As the guard stood shaking in his boots, Billie headed past him, back toward the glass doors. A moment later she stopped, realizing she was alone. She turned, and gestured to the grand building.

  “So, are you going to show me where to go, or do I have to find their Royalnesses myself?”

  The constable moved his lips first, but it took a moment longer for him to find the courage to move the rest of himself. He gave a sharp nod and proceeded toward the palace.

  Billie followed at a distance, her eyes scanning the building ahead of her.

  There was something there. Something inside, hidden.

  It seemed that the Queen of Morley was keeping secrets.

  20

  HOUSE OF THE FOURTH CHAIR, NEAR ALBA

  Date unknown, Month of Darkness, 1853

  The banquet was as ridiculous as the room in which it was held. For three long, long hours, Billie sat at the head of a table longer than the Dreadful Wale, on which was laden a staggering amount of food—sweet and savory, hot and cold, delicacies from every corner of the Isles. It was as impressive as it was stupid, because the only company Billie had for the ostentatious meal was Queen Eithne and King Briam, who sat on her right and left, respectively.

  Billie was hungry. The last time she had eaten had been in that square in Alba, which felt like a lifetime ago. But the sight of such immoral, obscene decadence robbed her of her appetite. It was only through sheer willpower that she forced herself to eat at least something. Fuel, she told herself, for the work ahead. Nothing more, nothing less.

  Also, there had been hardly any time to eat, despite the casual, unrushed nature of the meal, given the constant barrage of questions from the King. The Queen only occasionally interjected with a delicate laugh. As they sat at the table, positioned directly beneath the great dome of the palace, constables moved quietly around them, acting both as guards and servants to the royal couple. Billie found their movements a comforting distraction as she talked, and talked, and talked, while at the same time trying to decide what she made of Morley’s royal couple—a couple who had been engaged in a short but devastating war, that had all but destroyed the city just miles from where they now sat in luxury.

  The Queen was in an effusive mood. King Briam seemed to be her total opposite. He was polite enough, but cold and distant, not showing a flicker of interest, even as he subjected Billie to his tableside interrogation. He was about the same age as the Queen—that is to say, roughly middle-aged—and, like her, he had jet-black hair swept back under a somewhat more modest diadem. His goatee was sharply cut, the stubble on his cheeks shaved into intricate swirling patterns, which stood out against his pallid complexion. His eyes were blue, and Billie wasn’t sure they blinked quite enough. Like her, he picked at his food.

  To Billie, the waste was sickening. There was so much poverty, so much suffering, right across the Isles, that to see such pointless luxury made her stomach turn. Especially here, in a palace on the outskirts of a city ruined by an apparently pointless civil war fought between the two people who now sat at Billie’s side. A war that had cost the lives of hundreds, and had ruined the lives and livelihoods of countless more.

  Of course, it was all a game to them. Because what kind of life, what kind of existence, did the Queen and King really have? Decades of pampering, decades of idleness. To them, war would have been a pleasing distraction from the tedious luxury of their existence. An idle exercise to pass the time.

  No sooner had Billie been served her first course—some kind of Karnacan fish swimming in wine—than the King began bombarding her with questions.

  Billie hesitated at first. She looked at Eithne questioningly, and that was the only time King Briam showed any flicker of pleasure on his face. He sm
iled, glanced over at his wife.

  “You will have to forgive me,” he said, “I understand Eithne knows far more about you than I do, but I have been distracted of late, with many matters of state to attend to.” Then he turned back to Billie. “Besides, my wife may know all there is to know about the famous Billie Lurk, but I, on the other hand, like to learn about our honored guests from their own mouths, so to speak. Knowledge is best learned first-hand, when it is at its purest, most undiluted form.”

  Billie didn’t like the King’s smile, nor was she particularly convinced by his speech. It sounded flat, rehearsed, more like something he rolled out to keep the Queen happy.

  But Billie finally relented. So far, her stay at the House of the Fourth Chair had been peculiar, but not unpleasant. And for the moment, she wanted to keep the Queen and King on her side. So she played her role, answering the King’s questions about Dunwall, skirting the nature of the Whalers as best she could, and only briefly skipping through an account of her years of exile following the betrayal of Daud. She focused instead on her travels, describing the people and places she had seen. This information was safe, and also quite useless to anyone other than an armchair traveler.

  Eventually, the King waved his hand. Billie came to a stop, mid-sentence.

  “Yes,” said Briam, “but tell me, how did you come by the arm, and the artifact you have in place of an eye? They are remarkable curios. I’m not sure I’ve seen their like in all my studies.”

  “Studies?” asked Billie.

  The King smiled again and picked up his goblet of wine. “Oh, I dabble in natural philosophy, when time allows.” He took a sip of his wine, his eyes not leaving Billie’s.

  Billie watched him, silently. Then the King laughed.

  “Oh, come now, don’t be shy. We are all equals around this table. Tell us about the hand and the eye.”

  Billie glanced at the Queen. She still held her knife and fork, but they were resting on the edge of her plate. She was looking at Billie intently—looking at the Sliver.