“Yes, do tell us, my dear,” she said, softly.
Billie licked her lips, and sighed. Then she forced an entirely fake smile onto her face. “I really need to get some rest.”
The Queen and the King said nothing. The pair of them were almost frozen in place as they looked at Billie. Billie raised an eyebrow as she glanced between them. Then the Queen broke the odd, uncomfortable pause, clattering her cutlery against her plate as she released it.
“Of course!”
The King instantly sprang out of his apparent paralysis. “Of course!” he said, mimicking his wife’s tone. It was an unconvincing performance.
“You must rest well,” said the Queen. “We have much still to discuss!”
The King smiled coldly at Billie. “Yes,” he said, “we have much still to discuss.”
Billie frowned at the King, then pushed her seat back and bade the strange couple a good night.
When she was out of the Great Hall, she paused by the doors, leaning back against them with her head cocked, listening for any further conversation between her hosts. But all she could hear was the clink of crockery, then a muffled thud, followed by the loud ticking of a clock. Perhaps one of the serving constables was adjusting one of the many grandfather clocks that occupied the corners and alcoves dotted around the hall.
Billie headed for her room. But rest was far from her mind. The House of the Fourth Chair had a secret, and she was determined to find out what it was.
And what better time to do it than at night?
21
HOUSE OF THE FOURTH CHAIR, NEAR ALBA
Date unknown, Month of Darkness, 1853
Billie lay on top of the cover of her bed, counting seconds, her eyes never leaving the clock on the mantel over the gargantuan fireplace, her ears straining to pick up any noise from outside the chamber. Staying on alert like that came with practiced ease, the bed on which she lay pure luxury compared with some of her experiences working surveillance for the Whalers.
As time wound on, the sounds of the palace gradually quieted as the majority of the constables retired from their duties. True enough, there would be a night shift, but Billie hoped it was a far smaller contingent, their efforts perhaps more concentrated on guarding the outside of the building than the inside.
Not that there was any threat to the Queen or King, not anymore. The two former enemies were reconciled and had resumed their bizarre, stale existence, confined within the walls of their palace and the boundaries of the protocol that kept the strange kingdom of Morley together.
Billie rose from the bed as the mantel clock struck three. She listened at the door before opening it. The passageway beyond was lit by a bright, full moon, the silvery light streaming in through the glass wall. She glanced up and down the corridor. She was in luck—there was no constable on duty by the entrance to the west wing.
Billie closed the door of her room and headed down the passage. When she got to the west wing entrance, she paused, closed her human eye, and focused her mind.
There. She felt it at once, the gentle hum inside her head as the Sliver came alive, seeing both the real world and the magical one adjacent. As the signature pressure began to build between her temples, Billie concentrated, and looked around her.
The red-blue-yellow trail of the Void was immediately evident—weak behind her, strong ahead. Pulling on her reserves of mental strength, Billie stared at the door, her teeth grinding as she stoked the embers of power that remained in the Sliver. It might not have been able to grant her the abilities she once wielded with ease—like the power of foresight, the ability granted by the Sliver that allowed her to see around corners, beyond walls, through any solid object, which she really wished she could call on now. But as she concentrated, the moonlit passage in front of her faded into deeper shades of blue, until she could see only the skeleton of the building—including the passageway beyond the door in front of her.
There. The trail was faint, but clear, a yellowish blur, like a narrow stream of water, running ahead of her, twisting and turning as it traveled from passageway to passageway, corridor to corridor, room to room. Billie wasn’t quite sure how or why she was seeing it like that. She had been expecting to see, perhaps, the distant glow of a Void-touched artifact, buried somewhere in the building. This was something else. It was a trail, very clearly—the wake left by someone who had had direct contact with the Void.
No, Billie realized with a start. More than that—not just contact. This person was Void-touched, like she was, a part of both it and the real world. There was no other explanation for the trail being so strong.
The Queen. It had to be her. She knew so much about Billie, impossible knowledge, including facts that even Billie didn’t know about herself. It must have something to do with the Void. It made her even more sure that the Queen must have an artifact that allowed her to see the world and gain knowledge without leaving the palace.
Billie let her concentration slip, and her vision snapped back to reality as the Sliver let go of the arcane world. The passageway was suddenly darker, the moonlight duller, and the door ahead of her very solid. She paused, another thought entering her mind.
Was the disturbance of the Void that Dribner had sent her to find actually occurring here, rather than at the Leviathan Company?
Too many questions. Not enough answers.
Billie reached for the door handle. It was unlocked. She stepped through, closed it, then followed her memory of the Void trail.
***
Time seemed to move slowly. Whenever she passed one of the many clocks that lined the passageways of the House of the Fourth Chair, it seemed like the minutes were stretching to hours. She had been stalking the dark corridors of the palace for ages, and had so far found nothing.
She had been right about one thing—the palace was virtually empty. Billie had stopped at several points as she had tried to get her bearings, taking a moment to check the view from the windows. The ornate orchid gardens were bleached of their color in the moonlight, transforming from elegant, aristocratic constructions into something altogether more sinister, an alien landscape rendered in nothing but shades of gray. Constables patrolled in the night, their own forms monochrome and shadowy, their bright tunics hidden underneath black capes.
But as Billie moved on, she lost track of the yellowish trail left by the Void—or rather, by whoever it was who had contact with the Void. She tried a couple of times to summon the power of foresight again, but it was no use. So instead she concentrated on sensing the presence of the Void rift itself, like she had in Dunwall, and in Alba. That must be what she had felt the previous day, looking back at the palace from the garden, it had to be—the Sliver pulling her to the Void.
There was a rift somewhere in the palace. She knew there was.
But the palace that was a maze. The building wasn’t designed to confuse, she knew that, but it was the sheer scale of the place that made it easy to get lost in. One grand hallway led to another, the walls crawling with arms and armor, or more paintings of wildlife, like a catalogue of zoological specimens had been torn out of the pages of the Academy of Natural Philosophy and framed for the pleasure of the royals of Morley. Soon enough, Billie lost track of where she was, and several times had left one drawing room only to come back in through the door opposite a few minutes later. It was only by picking one direction and keeping to it—eventually leading to a window, so she could check on her position relative to the outside—that she made any kind of progress. If she could call it that. She wanted to find the rift, but the pull of the Sliver was erratic, waxing and waning with no apparent pattern.
Maybe her excuse for avoiding the King’s questions had been right. Maybe she was tired—scratch that, she knew she was. Despite the sumptuous banquet, she hadn’t eaten much, and as soon as she thought of it, hunger and thirst began to gnaw at her stomach. She hadn’t rested properly since arriving in Alba.
There was nothing left to do but give up—at least for
now. So long as the Queen and King were playing host—and so long as, Billie suspected, she gave them the right information when they asked for it—she would have another opportunity to go scouting. Perhaps time spent at the House of the Fourth Chair wasn’t entirely wasted, not if this was the source of the Void destabilization.
Now the only question was—which way was her room?
Billie sighed, rubbed her face, and picked a direction.
That was when she saw the movement. The sighting woke her up with a start as adrenaline flooded her system. She blinked her human eye, took a breath, and headed down the passageway, intrigued.
It hadn’t been a constable. She hadn’t seen any inside the building and, besides, there was no reason for one to be prowling the palace in secret. The way the shadow had vanished almost as soon as it had appeared, like whoever it was had ducked away quickly, fearful of being seen… Billie knew that kind of movement well.
She was being followed. But by whom, she could only guess.
Billie paused at the doorway, then quickly turned into the next room. It was quiet, and empty, and, like the majority of the palace, lit by the turned-down electric lighting that emanated from the frosted, shell-shaped fittings that dotted the walls. The light was dull but diffuse—enough to see by, not enough to cast much shadow. As she stepped into the room, the back of her neck prickled, the hairs standing on end. A lifetime of training, a lifetime of experience, had given her instincts that were keen and sharp, abilities that didn’t need any magical arm or eye or gift from the Outsider to be used.
She spun around just in time to see her tail dart out of the room. She caught only a glimpse, but the person was tall, athletic. There was something about them that Billie thought she recognized. Someone from Alba? Perhaps Severin had sent an agent from the Leviathan Company to… what? Spy on her? Assassinate her? Severin certainly hadn’t appreciated the intrusion of the constables. But if he was trying to play with her, then he had picked the wrong person to mess with.
Billie’s fingers curled near her belt. She wished she had a weapon—wished she could take the risk and summon the Twin-bladed Knife, but, once again, she decided this was no time to experiment. Instead, she turned to the nearest wall, and walked over to an elegantly curved alcove set into it, decorated with a rich spread of bladed weapons: stilettos, daggers, short swords. Blades that were straight, blades that were curved, and others of more exotic design.
Billie selected a dagger, lifting it gently from the hooks that held it in place in the center of the perfectly circular display. She balanced it in her hand, feeling the weight, and examined the blade. It wasn’t the sharpest, but it was in good condition, and, like everything else in the palace, was well looked after. It would do just fine.
She flipped it in her hand, holding it with the blade flat against her forearm. Then she headed toward the door, padding on her toes, silent, listening for her quarry.
The next room was narrow and boxlike, and there was only a single door, dead ahead. Billie moved forward cautiously, then dropped to her knee so she could peer through the keyhole. The room beyond was bright, but the light seemed angled, somehow, so that she couldn’t make anything out clearly.
There was nowhere else her quarry could have gone. Billie adjusted her grip on the borrowed knife, and pushed open the door.
She was back in the Great Hall. The chamber was in darkness, except for a pool of light spotting the middle of the table from a large, portable arc lamp. Under that light, King Briam was hunched over, examining a large spread of papers scattered across the table in front of him.
“Won’t you come in, Billie Lurk,” he said.
Billie frowned, but relaxed her grip on the knife. As she moved down the length of the table to the King’s side, she slipped the blade inside her sleeve, concealing it.
“Your Majesty,” she said, wondering if she was supposed to bow, then deciding not to bother. Then she looked over the papers on the table.
They were plans—blueprints and diagrams rendered with mathematical precision, along with other pictures and sketches, depicting various pieces of equipment of a kind similar to the ones Billie had seen in Dribner’s laboratory, and in the workshops in the Royal Morley Observatory, although nothing that she specifically recognized. In the middle, however, the main blueprint appeared to be of something architectural, a large angled slab—or at least, half of one, the blueprint ending on one side with a pair of parallel lines. It looked, if anything, like a tabletop tomb.
Next to the King’s hand was a stack of notes, and next to the notes was a goblet of wine. He stood tall, his upper body now out of the spotlight. He took up his drink, and glanced at Billie. His eyes glittered in the shadow.
“I told you I… dabbled,” he said.
Billie didn’t like the smile that came next. His teeth shone, his skin deathly pale.
A trick of the light, Billie told herself. She straightened up.
“I’m sorry to disturb your studies,” said Billie.
The King said nothing, but watched her as he drank from his goblet.
“Did somebody come through here just now?” asked Billie.
The King narrowed his eyes. “Somebody?”
“Yes,” said Billie, and then she paused. What was she going to say? “I thought I heard someone.” She put on a smile as fake as the King’s. “I must have been dreaming. It feels like I haven’t slept in days.”
“Indeed,” said the King. He was still watching her.
Billie glanced again at the papers on the table. None of it meant anything to her. If the King was an insomniac who indulged his hobby of amateur natural philosophy in the middle of the night, then, well, he was welcome to it.
“Sorry for the intrusion,” said Billie. She backed away, then turned and headed to the doors. Once there, she glanced over her shoulder. The King was still watching her.
Billie slipped through the door and closed it after her. Putting the strange encounter out of her mind, she considered her options. She still wanted to find the other person—the intruder, who had somehow vanished into thin air. She would just have to go around the Great Hall, find another route.
As she padded through the small boxy room and out into the main passageway, she thought about who else had the power to appear and disappear at will.
Which was, as far as she knew, everyone who worked for the Leviathan Company, all of whom carried runes.
Billie let her borrowed knife slip back into her hand from her sleeve, and continued her nocturnal expedition.
22
HOUSE OF THE FOURTH CHAIR, NEAR ALBA
Date unknown, Month of Darkness, 1853
She picked up the trail immediately after leaving the Great Hall—but it was the trail of the Void rift, not the intruder. Not long after she had wandered down a series of connected rooms and passageways, trying to navigate her away around the hall and avoid the King, the Sliver grew hot, and her vision clouded with red and blue and yellow contrails.
She was getting close. The rift she suspected of being somewhere in the palace was near.
Very near.
The wing of the palace in which Billie found herself was no different from any of the rest of it, just another impossibly large maze of interconnected rooms and corridors. Billie didn’t bother tracking her progress—she had no reason now to return to her room, after all, not with the Sliver leading her on like this.
The pull was strong, the direction clear. She followed it for several minutes, looping through corridors, drawing rooms, halls, the world flashing in red and blue around her as she walked, knife held firmly in her grip.
Eventually, she came to a large lobby. On her left a magnificent staircase swept up, flanked on either side by somewhat less ostentatious stairs leading down. The Sliver was drawn to the descending stairs, so Billie followed them.
The stairs were wide, carpeted in a rich red tread, and the walls were paneled in dark wood. Billie followed the trail as the stairs twisted down past
a series of landings. After she’d descended some way, the decor changed suddenly. Gone was the carpet; the stairs were now bare, smooth flagstones. Gone, too, was the wood paneling on the walls, which were now the same pale stone as the floor. The ornate, orchid-shaped wall sconces were replaced by austere lanterns.
The gravity of the rift pulled her on, and as Billie turned to peer at the next flight of stairs heading ever downwards, she felt the Sliver vibrating in her skull, like a trapped insect. It was an uncomfortable, slightly nauseating sensation, but she ignored it.
Billie continued. By now she was far below ground level, and had entered the foundations of the House of the Fourth Chair, an area of the winter palace that was clearly far more ancient that the luxurious apartments above. As the stairs narrowed, and the walls of the passageway began to close in, it reminded her of the vaults of the Academy of Natural Philosophy, where Dribner had set up his clandestine laboratory.
Finally, the stairs ended in a heavy black arched door. Already, Billie could see a blue light flickering around it, and through the keyhole; she concentrated, shutting out the vision of the Sliver, viewing the world with only her normal human eye, and she knew at once that she had arrived. The blue light leaking around the door was no magical vision; it was real.
The rift was behind the door.
It was heavy, but well maintained, the hinges silent. Someone had been using this passageway for access, and recently, too.
The chamber beyond was long, the walls on either side punctuated by a row of high, pointed alcoves; Billie counted a dozen on each side. While the ceiling was low, it was an ornate masterpiece of the stonemason’s art, an intricate vault carved out of gleaming white stone that looked so delicate Billie couldn’t imagine how it stayed aloft. The main floor of the chamber was plain white flagstones, and down the center ran a series of large raised daises, each intricately carved, each unique, on top of which lay the supine forms of men and women, their features frozen forever, captured perhaps by the same master stonemason responsible for the complex ceiling that arched over the top of them.
Dishonored--The Veiled Terror Page 17