TW: blood, gore, death, classism, Jindosh being a complete asshole
Sorry if this seems rushed, but it was almost 9 pages!
Part 1
You’d been serving the Armstrong family for almost three years and you had begun to take pride in this fact. They were a wealthy family just at the edge of Karnaca on Amber Street, up near the Prieto Reserves. The Aventa Quarter was one of the safer neighborhoods in Karnaca, certainly the safest you had ever worked in. To say the least, you had a very cushy job that paid you decently and took care of you. There hadn’t been a moment where you had questioned your happiness or willingness to go into work each day.
Well, until today.
The Lady of the house had given you specific instructions to go downtown to Aventa Station and take the carriage to the infamous Jindosh Mansion. Her Husband, a salesmen who dealt primarily with ores and minerals, was currently away in Tyvia and would be staying there for five months. His absence left her feeling a little anxious about security on the estate. You couldn’t really blame her. While they were wealthy, they didn’t have the luxury of the Royal Guard patrolling their grounds day in and day out. In fact, the only security they really had was their serving staff—that’s you—and the fake sense of safety that comes with being a well-known family in a decent neighborhood.
Despite being in a safer part of town surrounded with equally wealthy families, there were still instances of robbery that occurred on a monthly basis. Up until the Clockwork soldiers were released, these families would just have to adapt around losing fortunes every other month.
Lady Armstrong had written at least three letters to her husband with more urgency in every new paragraph. They had been saving money for years in order to purchase a new estate in Tyvia—so that when the Lord of the house went to sell, the Lady could accompany him and live safely until they could return to Karnaca. However, with the release of the Jindosh Soldiers, the Lady felt inclined to come up with another solution.
“They cost a fraction of the price of a new estate,” she would say as you readied her morning tea and biscuits. “And from what I’ve heard, they work better than any royal guard. Just think of what a new manor would cost us—having to hire a new staff, having to maintain the grounds between sales trips—it is much more sensible to invest in a Jindosh soldier.”
You heard her say “Jindosh” more than fifteen times a day. Eventually, her husband wrote her back and permitted the purchase of a single soldier—that’s all they could afford. He also, unfortunately, insisted that she not be the one to go pick it up.
You caught a glimpse of the letter after she had discarded it. His exact words were “. . . Jindosh may be a genius, but he was banned from the academy for a reason. I don’t feel comfortable sending you into his house. You will send a maid and a worker in our behalf. Pick someone who you trust to represent us.”
He might as well have spelled out your name.
And so—that is how you arrived where you are now, nauseous and riding the carriage cart up the steep hill to the mansion. You were wearing your absolute best outfit; you had to repair a hole in the sleeve the night before in a nervous hurry. Next to you sat Henry, the most robust worker that the Lady could have chosen. He was hulking in size with worn skin that had grown tough due to tremendous labor. It was fairly obvious that he would be handling the mechanical murder device while you dealt with the more dangerous of the two options—speaking with Kirin Jindosh on the Armstrong’s behalf.
You had heard horrible things about his mansion; you knew that countless members of his staff had perished in the hallways of his home due to accidents with the clockworks or the man himself after rather terrible moods.
Despite your own pride, you found yourself shaking ever so slightly as you arrived at the moss-covered cobblestones that comprised the entrance to the mansion. Henry reached to open the door for the two of you and you could have sworn you saw him hesitate. If this giant of a man was afraid of Jindosh, then you certainly had reason to be as well.
To your surprise, however, the warm light of the main room immediately calmed your nerves. It wasn’t so different form the Armstrong’s lobby area. There were large wooden carvings of sea creatures lined against the walls and a single desk in front of the door that an audiograph stationed neatly next to a plate of fruits.
You were the first to step through the threshold, the sound of your footstep echoing in the empty room. “Do you think we should wait here?” Henry asks. It’s the first time he’s spoken to you all day.
“Let’s see,” your fingers aren’t trembling as bad anymore as they reach for the audiograph. The device turns on as you flick the switch and with a loud popping sound of feedback, a voice fills the room.
“Welcome to my home, stranger. The door is always open to those with the will to pass the threshold. If you are here by appointment, they proceed—and bide your time. Otherwise I’d be remiss if I didn’t inform you about the defensive mechanisms employed here—which are quite formidable! Many have entered without invitation for reasons as myriad as the fish in the ocean. But of those that have dared to explore further, very few have found their way back out.”
Any sense of calm that you had gathered left you shortly after you realized whose voice greeted you. The hint of threat in his smooth voice was enough to set you on edge before he had even gotten to the part where he admitted that some guests had never left the mansion. There was a very large, apparent trace of arrogance that dispelled the fear and replaced it with something else, something bordering irritation.
Your agitation was likely due to the fact that you had grown accustomed to the Armstrong family and their politeness and agreeable nature. “The audacity,” you mutter, balling your fists and turning toward Henry. “Can you believe the nerve of this man?”
Henry looked positively pale. He didn’t answer.
As if by some sort of summoning, the foyer doors opened and a female guardsmen passed through the doorway, her body stiff as she greeted the two of you formally. “Armstrong?” she asked. All emotions fled from you as you rushed to best represent your household. You folded your hands in front of you and replied with a curt, “Ah, yes.”
“This way, please. You will need to wait in the guest room until Mr. Jindosh is ready to greet you. He’s in the middle of a huge project, currently.”
“A huge project?” You asked as she led you to the doorway between two sets of carpeted stairs. “Forgive me, but I was under the impression that we were here by appointment. Did Mr. Jindosh not receive the Armstrong’s letter—?”
“Mr. Jindosh is aware of your appointment. He sends his condolences.”
The way she says it makes you press your lips together firmly so that you don’t end up saying anything else. Her back is to you, but you can practically see the irritated look on her face. Henry is silent, ghosting behind you despite his enormous size.
The three of you arrive in an open room with a high glass ceiling. The walls are lined with tables of food that looks like it was freshly put out. The smell of roasted rabbit swims in your head and you try to ignore the guise of it all—how they are trying to make you feel at home. The floor is made of glass, below your feet you see an arc-pylon waiting to be brought up if a threat arises. You try not to think about the possibility of someone dying in this room.
“This way,” says the guardswoman. She directs you and Henry into a small waiting room on the right. There are striped couches awaiting you as well as a couple of bookshelves full of literature. You got the immediate feeling that Mr. Jindosh was quite used to being ‘in the middle of huge projects.’
“If you’ll take a seat, Mr. Jindosh will be with you shortly.”
“Ah, if you don’t mind me asking—” you begin to say. The guardswoman pauses and you can see her hands clench into annoyed fists. You are reminded very abruptly of where you are and who you are. She’s probably dealt directly with noble men and women up until this point. Her curtesy toward you most likely won’t extend past formalities. She has every right to admonish you; you’re beneath her. “—Nevermind, I’ve sorted it out in my head.” You finish discretely, taking your seat on the less than comfortable furniture.
She gives you a curt nod, acknowledging your submission more than anything else, and takes her leave.
As soon as she’s out of ear-shot, you let out a deep sigh of relief and are shocked to hear Henry do the same. “I don’t know about you, miss,” he says, looking completely out of place on the tiny furniture. “But this whole place gives me the creeps.”
You couldn’t agree more.
The next couple of hours were spent reading books that were on the shelves and trying to stay awake as you waited for Jindosh. You took the time to recount the money that Lady Armstrong had sent with you to pay for the clockwork. It had been kept in your pouch, tightly secured to your waist. It was more money than you’d ever held in your life and likely would ever hold. It would pay for a clockwork, yes, but it would also pay for you to go back to school and for every maid in the household to feed their children for a year. You run your hands over the pouch every few seconds, astounded that its there and that you were entrusted it with it. Its true that you could have run away with it the second she let you out of her sights, but you knew that was never an option. The Armstrongs were too good to you.
In the midst of deep thought, you feel yourself begin to yawn. How long had it been since the guardswoman had left? Two hours? Three? The light coming from the glass ceiling in the main room was artificial. You had arrived hear around 2 o’clock, it would be getting darker by now, yes?
Attempting to stretch your legs, you hoist yourself up from your seat only to have your legs threaten to go out from under you. The room was moving! The glass lobby sunk in front of you as the room you were began to rise. Henry clutched a dainty pillow within his great big fists and looked like he would be ill. You place a calming hand on his forearm, though you yourself were soon to be sick as well. Fortunately, it didn’t last long, only a few seconds in fact. The room stopped with a jolting motion that sent you back into your sitting position with an undignified thud.
“By the void,” you grumble, trying to steady yourself again. This was worse than sea legs!
“You’ll have to forgive me for making you wait,” came a familiar voice, “But you see, I’m a very busy man. I’m sure you understand.”
You turn around in your seat a little too fast, obviously frightened. So much for not giving away your state of mind. Standing before you is a tall gentlemen who is mostly legs and the rest suave. His hair is styled back, his eyes thin and unforgiving. It’s the way he’s standing, too, with an arm behind his back and the other loosely holding a clipboard in front of his chest—like he’s trying to present.
And he was. This was almost exactly how you envisioned him. Complete with the smug moustache and smirk. Of course, there were paintings of him but they didn’t really do him justice. They always made him look shorter than he really was.
You have to shake yourself out of your thoughts in order to stand up and properly great him. “I do, sir. It’s no trouble.”
You give him a small curtsy; Henry bows himself slightly. Jindosh says, while you’re leaned down, “I’m used to dealing with nobility and they often times are not keen on waiting more than a half hour. But I suppose the help, such as yourself, don’t have any standards to go by.”
There’s a burning feeling in your stomach. You bite your tongue.
“We are here to represent the Armstrong family, sir. They have made arrangements to purchase a Jindosh Clockwork Soldier from you. I’ve brought the coin and a letter from the Lord of the house giving his permission to carry the money in the Armstrong name.”
He says nothing to you for a good seven seconds, merely looking you up and down with an unimpressed expression plastered on his face. You feel your ears grow warmer the lower he glances, knowing that he’s aware of your tattered clothes.
“He’s walking as he’s talking, down a railed pathway that hugs the right wall. Below there is a glass maze that allows the viewer to see inside. “Armstrong . . . Armstrong . . . Oh, yes, the miniscule manor uptown. The salesman, correct? Hm. Very well. I have the paperwork here. I’m assuming that you want a standard model, the ones that don’t have depth perception yet. Those are prototypes and while they are available for purchase, they cost a pocket’s worth more and are still under construction. I know my letter with the Lady of the house negotiated a newer model, but after later consideration, I have decided against that. Your household is far too small.”
You stiffen with indignation, “Sir, it’s not . . . miniscule.” There’s a bit of spite in your voice and he definitely takes notice of it. “The Armstrongs are a respectable house in Karnaca, just as deserving as any other noble household.”
He stops walking and turns to face you fully. There’s a glint of something in his eyes that you don’t like at all, directing your gaze elsewhere as his falls upon you. He says, “I don’t usually do handouts to such small families. They aren’t at risk of robbery as larger households are; they don’t provide a very good experience for the Clockwork and they don’t typically yield useful results.”
“But sir,” says Henry. His voice is thick from all the tension. “Lord Armstrong is away in Tyvia. The Lady of the house is all by herself and would feel much safer if—,”
You interrupt Henry, “Mr. Jindosh, you don’t seem to understand—,”
That does it.
Jindosh draws his clipboard in front of him and scrawls something down as he speaks, “Listen, the both of you, while I loathe having to take time away from my studies to deal with business affairs pertaining to noble men and women, I do find it incredibly insulting that the Lady and Lord of house Armstrong have sent their serving staff to address the Grand Inventor. Now. We can do this one of two ways: I can send you home with a standard Jindosh Clockwork model and you can pay the typical amount, or I can have you both sent home to your houses with a letter signed by myself stating the exact amount of time that you’ve wasted here today. Are we at an understanding?”
You feel yourself growing angrier and angrier the more he opens his mouth. This man wasn’t frightening at all. He was infuriating.
Henry rushes to say, “Yes sir, we understand. We apologize, deeply, truly.”
Jindosh isn’t looking at Henry, he’s looking at you.
“Are we at an understanding?” He repeats, slower this time.
A pause fills the space between the two of you. You take a deep breath and let it out, saying, “Yes, sir. My deepest apologies.”
“Very good,” he says, like you’re some sort of animal that he’s conditioned. “Now then. The loading area is a floor down. I’m going to assume that’s why you’re here” he gestures to Henry with the tip of his pen. The bulking man gives him a swift nod. “Meet with my staff down there, they will debrief you on the handling of a clockwork. Do mind their instructions.”
Henry doesn’t move from his spot next to you. After second, you realize that Jindosh didn’t give you instructions to go with him. He’d be leaving you alone.
The inventor didn’t seem to notice the hesitance as he continued to jot down information on the clipboard. You turn to Henry and once more place a hand on his arm, ushering him away. He goes, but only after a wary look at Jindosh then a squeeze of your shoulder.
As he leaves, you stand and wait for Jindosh to finish his note taking. He doesn’t seem to have anything left to say, glancing from his clipboard to the maze below, then back at the paper. You take the time to observe him closely; this is probably a once in a lifetime opportunity after all. The other servants will want details when you return. There’s a cook by the name of Milly back at the manor who goes on and on about Jindosh’s attractiveness. She had once seen him give a press release when he had first introduced the clockworks. While his attitude spoiled him for you, you could not help but admit she had been right. He was perfectly agreeable visually. And, yes, there was an appeal to an intelligent man. Regardless, that was all the good you could say about the Grand Inventor.
After about five minutes, you ask, “Sir, about the payment method—,”
The man sighs. He sighs! Like you had interrupted him from something important!
“Yes, yes, of course. You’re paying in coin, correct? The price was already discussed, but of course it’s going to be reduced now that you have a later model. I do hope you don’t intend to steal the rest of the money. I’ll be sure to send a letter with the receipt to the lady of the house.”
This man. This man.
“I would expect nothing less,” you grit through a smile.
“Hm,” he responds doubtfully. With one last pen flick, he moves to hover over your shoulder, placing the clipboard in your hands. He’s too close now; you have to fight the urge to elbow him in the side.
“You’ll need to sign here. It’s not a very legitimate signature; I would have preferred to have the Lady or Lord of house Armstrong here to sign. But if they trust you, then what can be done?”
You finish signing your name and eagerly hand the clipboard back to him, desperate to get some space between the two of you. He doesn’t move, examining your signature from over your shoulder.
He says your name aloud and it’s like you’ve never heard it voiced before. There’s something about how it sounds coming out of the mouth of a genius that is unique and equally terrifying.
“Yes, sir.” You turn around so that you can face him without having him breathing over your shoulder. “First of my name.” There’s a smirk on your face that he returns.
“We’re all royalty in our own eyes, aren’t we?” he muses, not really expecting an answer. You watch him tear off a perforated bit of the paper at the bottom and hand it to you. You take it and glance at the line of numbers that have been written on it.
“Is this the price?” you ask meekly. He gives you a sly smile.
“More than you make in a decade, yes?”
You couldn’t even be angry; he was right. Fortunately, the Armstrong family had sent you well prepared to pay it. The price looked much larger when it was written on paper.
Jindosh directs you back to the waiting room, pulling the handle that lowers the room back to the first floor. You don’t feel as dizzy this time around, but that might be attributed to how much you’re focusing on not showing weakness in front of him. As the room settles, he leads you out of it and into the room across from it. There’s a desk with paperwork that had barely been touched and a safe in the corner. He dials in the code, not even bothering to hide it from you despite all his talk of thievery.
You open the pouch and deal out the coin to him, counting it aloud to make sure that you don’t miss a single cent. He takes his own pouch from the safe and stores the coin away, closing the safe and laying the clipboard down on his desk. “Very good. Now, let’s go down to the loading area to make sure that your husband has finished with the heavy lifting.”
“He’s not my husband,” you say, though you’re not sure why you have to.
He doesn’t seem to notice or care, leading you to the elevator at the end of the glass foyer. Walking above the arc pylon makes the hairs on your neck stand up, but you quickly smoothen your façade so that he doesn’t notice your displeasure.
It occurs to you as you’re waiting with him in the elevator that you’re being very aware of your appearance around him. Instead of thinking about it too hard, you attribute it to your need to represent the Armstrong family and ignore all other possibilities.
As the elevator lowers, you can hear something that sounds . . . not good.
You hadn’t heard the sound of men dying before, but it was a sound that one recognizes the first time that they hear it. Screams like this would paralyze even the most experienced soldier.
“What in the void?!” Jindosh snarls, taking a step back from the elevator doors. He hits the override button just as the wooden panels separate and just before the bars open. This allows the two of you to see the entire scene at a safe distance.
For the most part, you had lived a very safe and sheltered life. You had never witnessed a war and you had never had to attend to anything worse than an accident with a kitchen knife.
The amount of blood that you saw before you set your stomach turning. Before you, in the middle of the loading area, was a dismembered clockwork. Its wooden attributes were missing and it looked as though it had been in the process of being dismantled and packaged when whatever happened had happened. Really, though, it was hard to tell what was what when everything was covered in visceral entrails and body parts.
The clockwork itself laid in several different parts on the floor, smoking and sizzling in the puddles of blood. The sounds of screams had stopped right as the elevator had opened up, but there were still bodies lying everywhere, writhing or convulsing.
One of those bodies belonged to Henry.
He was alive, from what you could tell, but just barely. His arm was missing, his stomach slashed open. He was whimpering.
You fling yourself at the metal bars, prying them open with your bare hands. Jindosh voices his disdain from behind you, but you aren’t really listening. “Henry?!” You cry out, trying to run to him without slipping on the mess. “What happened? Henry!”
You fall to his side, taking his head in your hands. His eyes look beyond you, somewhere far away, but he is still alive. “We were taking it apart,” he mumbles, “we were gonna package it up—they said it wouldn’t wake— they said it wouldn’t attack us unless something triggered it.”
The sound of Kirin’s footsteps approach from behind you. He says nothing.
“Henry, how did this happen?” you wipe away the blood from his mouth, but more keeps coming as he tries to relay information to you.
“It wasn’t supposed to come alive! It—they said—they said it could be taken apart safely—I didn’t know I wasn’t supposed to take off the headpiece first—they didn’t tell me—they didn’t see me do it until it was too—late.”
You feel a lump well up in your throat as you watch him dying in your arms. “It’s okay, it wasn’t your fault. I’ll take care of this, don’t you worry.” You squeeze his arm one last time, watching as the light in his eyes fades away right in front of you.
“If you take off the headpiece, it relies only on audio feedback.” Jindosh says. His voice doesn’t sound too terribly invested in the scene before him. “They probably did tell him not to take it off first and he didn’t pay any attention. It wouldn’t be the first time. This is by far the worst case scenario, though, I must say. What a mess.”
You lay Henry’s head down on the wet floor, your hand trembling, covered in blood all the way up to your elbows. “This—this wasn’t supposed to happen.” You murmur, “No one was supposed to die—I wasn’t supposed to let him die.”
“Well, he’s dead. As are at least eight of my own employees. Not to mention the destroyed Clockwork! I’m sure I don’t have to remind you how much it costs, considering you just handed the coin to me just a moment ago—.”
You whirl around; your hand stings as it connects with his cheek. “How dare you? How dare you? You insufferable piece of shit.” Tears sting at your eyes. You hadn’t even known Henry for very long but he didn’t deserve to die like that, terrified and thinking that it was all his fault. Even if it was!
Jindosh’s hand touches his face, his eyes boring into you so hard that by the time you realize what you’ve done, he’s already made up his mind about what to do next.
“So that’s eight dead men and one destroyed clockwork. I’d say that calls for some ample reimbursement, wouldn’t you?” His hand leaves his face and you blanch at the mark your palm had left on his skin. “I’ll be sending a letter to the Lord and Lady of house Armstrong denying their request for a Clockwork, after all. And let’s see,” he points out the bodies in the room, pretending to recount them. “Exactly eight dead employees of mine? I think you, at the very least, should be compensation enough. A servant that can read and write is worth at least ten that can’t even give decent instructions, wouldn’t you say? I’ll write the Armstrongs asking for your transfer in the morning. In the meantime, I hope you wouldn’t mind cleaning up this mess? It’s beginning to stain the hardwood.”
“Transfer?” you echo, “Mr. Jindosh, I’m so sorry—I shouldn’t have ever raised a hand to you—I can’t tell you how horrible I feel—,”
“Oh, you’ll have plenty of time to do that while you work here for me. I hope you won’t mind my mentioning your assault in the letter. That might help them send your paperwork faster.”
You take a step forward and feel your shoes beginning to soak up the blood. You look down and feel yourself grow light-headed. Surely this isn’t happening; you never would have struck Kirin Jindosh in your right mind. This must all be some sort of hallucination. Just thirty minutes ago you were sitting in his waiting room!
“This—it’s all a misunderstanding—I can’t—you can’t—,”
He turns his back to you, walking toward the elevator. “You’ll work here until you can pay off the clockwork your incompetent cohort destroyed. How long did we say it would take, earlier? A decade?” he spits the last word at you as the wooden panels of the elevator close before him and he disappears.
You hear his voice over the intercoms calling for more maids to meet you as well as some guardsmen to help clear out the debris. All you can do is stand there, soaked up to your ankles in someone else’s blood, watching as they drag Henry’s body out of sight. The house keepers try to speak to you, snapping their fingers in front of your face and guiding you to a seat. They ask if you’re alright, but they don’t ask what happened. They have probably seen something like this a thousand times.
If you hadn’t hit him, you would just be another number. You’d still get to go home.
What a fool you’d been.
Note:
So I know that the loading dock isn’t an actual floor in Jindosh’s home but like…how does he ship them off to people? Do they just strap them to the top of the carriages? Fictitious loading dock area it is then.
a little fire that warms is better than a big fire that burns.
Every single fiber of his being hurt.
The metal door was shut in that deafening sound as the Serkonan’s weakened body sprawled along the wooden chair in the aftermath of the Royal Torturer’s session, burning like flames from a dragon’s mouth. His thick skin, that used to be tan and bulging with muscle, was marred beyond the flawless texture he once possessed. New and old scars ran along his padded columns of abdominal muscles - from whips, burning hot steel brands, and sometimes mere fists. His taut, dirtied chest heaved in his hitched breathing, jaw too tired from clenching as he tried his best to hold in his screams, which only made the bastard of a torturer punish him harder. The dark chestnut hair had grown even longer, strands stuck together from muck and sweat across his rugged face.
All he could think about, all he could ever hope to think about was her.
Her warm embrace was all he could feel on his already burning skin. In his weakest moments, when he felt close to that shining bright light of the Void calling him in, ready to succumb to the desire of falling asleep and never waking up. The memory of her kept on giving him life, drop by drop, lulling him back to the living moments he had waiting for him ahead. There was a hole inside him, a vast and deep pit elongating further towards the Void itself - that freezing cold, bottomless space that only her endless love could fill.
You’ll know what to do. Won’t you, Corvo?
Truth was, he did not.
He knew nothing, when there was a time he thought he knew everything.
His mind and knowledge were numb to no avail. How could he know anything other than the evident need in his very soul and body, longing for her to be by his side? Other than the fact that his execution was steadily approaching, that he was going to get decapitated for a crime he would not dream of committing? How could he save his own blood, his daughter from the hands of corrupt men, given that they had not killed her yet?
The former Royal Protector could feel his amber eyes shut close forcibly, exercising whatever will power that he had left in him to keep his thoughts away from the horrors his daughter would no doubt be facing, without her father there to protect her like he always had been.
And the one time, the one and only time he had been caught blindsided, the only instance where she was more than an arm's reach away from him - she was gone.
The sheer flashback of gloved hands grabbing her small frame to abduct her made him want to cause a total and utter rampage to the men who had the audacity to raise a finger at his girl. Like any father who doted on his daughter, a natural force made his protective urges activate and this inexplicable, enraged fire erupt deep in his chest.
Corvo Attano had spent the last six months wanting to spill blood, so much blood, just like they spilled his darling Jessamine’s at that gazebo. And in turn, in a sick twist of fate and a cruel game of destiny, the only blood that was spilled belonged to him. He, of all soldiers, knew better that more bloodshed and mayhem would not bring her back - yet he often found himself tightening his fists in lust for sweet, sweet revenge.
None of it mattered.
Not the blood and pain, nor the rusty iron shackles that were bound to his feet. Neither his lust nor his willpower could change the approaching, harsh reality. He had lost track of time in his decrepit cell - the mere concept of it consisted of when they tossed inhumane ratios of bread into his dinner tray at that point - but from what he could discern from the guard’s banter, he was bound to be executed in less than two days.
Just a couple more nights and he would find just what the so-called Void was, his dead body soaring in the bluest and yet the darkest skies.
His mind would always drift to his little sweet Emily. She was all that was left in that cursed world to him, to hold dear and cherish and protect till the Void took him - to guide and to raise. His last known family member, the blood of his blood.
The sole Heiress of the Empire.
If only he could hug his daughter one more time, feel her little heart beat against his. He would give everything to hear her sweet voice again, but instead her painful screams calling out for her father and her dying mother were all that echoed in his tainted mind.
The oozing pain of the freshly-made cuts into his lean but undernourished physique was starting to fade him slowly into unconsciousness. With the last ounce of strength left in him, he would extend his arm out to reach his makeshift bed, pulling himself on it and collapsing immediately.
He would hear the whispers of a whalesong in his last dream at Coldridge.
a day before your mission, you pay the little girl a visit.
The longer you spent roaming the cold and ruthless streets of Dunwall, the more you found yourself longing for the relaxing ease and seeping warmth of your hometown.
The contaminated waters of the Wrenhaven River, squirming with countless hagfish eager to bite, along with the fair share of river krusts finding their nests below docks could simply not compare to the vast, shiny ocean at the Edge of the World.
It had been a long, long time since you sailed from the city that smelled of fresh fish and exotic spices, to a city of corruption and bloody money, trusting a killer-for-hire to keep you company. Yet, as you boarded the smuggler's ship from the dockyards all those years ago, you did not dare look back to the gardens you used to run in, the beautiful Conservatory you used to marvel at, nor the unforgiving cobblestone streets you had been thrown onto.
Leaving Karnaca behind had been an ache in your sore heart for the years that followed - you had been a foreigner in a world of nobles and pure Gristol-born lineages, while your heart beat to the gentle rhythm of Serkonan mandolins.
With all the flaws it possessed, all the rats that hid in every corner of the paved streets and all the stuck-up rich aristocrats it housed - the cursed city of Dunwall had become close to a second home to you.
It had to, sooner or later, after having you roam through every gritty corner of it with a blade in your hand. Trouble could find you at any given time of the day, every step of the way yet there was this certain excitement of sneaking around that said trouble and feeling clever about it - making your way across chimneys and rooftops, jumping from balconies and ledges alike, finding shortcuts through noble homes without even alerting a soul of your shadowy presence. It enthralled you, gave you a sense of purpose, with the additional strength your gifted power running through your veins donned you.
Before, you had fought to survive.
To see another day, living on the run, sleeping near dumpsters and moth-eaten mattresses that someone had thrown out. Breaking and entering the vast, breeze-filled apartments of the Aventa district, overlooking the endless ocean that the Jewel of the South had to offer - apartments that once you resided in before fate loomed upon you. Picking up fights with stray Guards in back alleys just so you could loot some coin off of them in the aftermath. How sure you had been that you would win the duels that you initiated recklessly. And win you did, most of them to say the least.
It still ran shivers of sheer disappointment down your spine when images of that one duel you had lost flooded into your mind, blade crossing blade as amber eyes locked into yours.
They were all in the past now, fragments of memories soaring in the Void, visiting you with their reminding thorns at night. Times long gone, yet never forgotten. In the aftermath of endless winds of change over the years spent running and cutting, killing had become merely a job to you - they were contracts to execute, after all, signed by your Master to whom you had pledged allegiance. That was what you had taught yourself. Going out on missions and finishing off targets meant you and your friend’s pouches would be full. It was an attuned trait among assassins to let all thought and emotion slide, and just focus on the task that could cost them way more than the distaste of emotion.
Lately, you had found out that you could only suppress those emotions for so long. Guilt and buried feelings found their way to resurface, to re-capture that essence of humanity left in your trained body and soul. A constant hollow surrounding your being - and there was only one thing that could fill the void.
In front of you, the famous round glass rooftops of the Golden Cat loomed tall, the pretty architecture of the building undeniable amid the inhabited, unkempt apartments that surrounded the bathhouse. Little rays of light gleamed in mesmerizing reflections, a welcome mix of purple, blue and gray in a world of browns and crimson reds. The supposedly finest establishment of the Isles that housed an heiress, whom you longed to help with all that you had to give.
The moment you found out that the young Lady was kept captive at a renown bathhouse, which had been the fancier word for brothel that nobles loved to use - your blood had gone cold. In the harsh reality across the Isles, it was a known necessity that many children matured early on, learning to steal as a means of providing and wielding a blade as early on as their little hands could hold onto it.
No children was supposed to see the horrors of the world. Pure and innocent souls, they were supposed to laugh, tell stories and draw about the creatures of the endless ocean - leave the ugliness and sadness over to the older. To grow up showered wit love and care and all the attention, not with their mother’s crimson blood.
Even if it meant sacrificing your own blood and bone, you were going to make sure another child did not have to see what you had seen - long as you had the power to change things, you swore to yourself that you would.
She was the future of an Empire, a promising leak of bright sunshine through rocks, the sole rightful heiress among a litany of unqualified tyrannical weasels. The only hope for the continuation of the shortened Kaldwin reign, whose rulers longed for the welfare of their beloved citizens - thrown onto a dirty road that she did not deserve to be on.
Whatever that was left of your heart ached for sweet Emily who had lost everything that made up her life, left with no one there to protect, to guide her throughout. It stung a sharp pain through you, merely thinking about the horrors she had to witness down in the Cat.
By the Outsider, if you saw the slightest trace of harm on the little girl, you were prepared to spill the blood of the entire cursed building.
That little part of your soul which had some sort of faith thanked the soaring leviathan that one of the courtesans had owed you a favor - indebted to you after you had saved her sister from the dirty hands of a corrupt, disgusting bastard in some back alley near the distillery, a long time ago. The very few good deeds you had done over the years of being a paid assassin seemed to be helping you back out when you needed it the most - and there you stood, after a series of sneaky transversals and climbing, right across the VIP entrance, with the door conveniently left unlocked in anticipation of your arrival. She really did live up to the task - the mere thought of her risking months of missed pay, especially under the infamous new Madame, putting a soft smile of gratitude on your features.
It felt good to know that the Empire still had people who were loyal to their word - unlike you, who had purposefully failed a contract you had been paid to execute. Knowing your true loyalty laid with Daud and the Empire he operated under, provided little to no solace from your constant self-criticism and state of guilt.
Closing the metal door behind your step with the faintest of clicks, your hands would hastily peel off your mask only for it to be hung low on your belt - the last thing you needed when you visited the little Lady was for her to see another one of those masked figures who kidnapped her, who fought and attacked her Protector. All you wanted to do, with every fiber of your being right there and then, was to ease her suffering at least a little bit, not increase it.
Sneaking came easy to you. Hidden in the shadows cast upon the crumbling magenta wallpapers of the establishment, you would make your way towards the wooden set of stairs out in the back, the stench of sin mixed with cheap perfume lingering around with each step. Ascending yourself to the crevices close to the rounded ceilings to navigate, the moans and feminine laughs echoed off of the thick curtains and the wooden panels of various rooms scattered around the pleasure house.
It was not often you came around to the Cat - occasionally there would be some loyal client with a bounty on his head that you had come to claim, so you had a pretty decent idea of the layout. The curtains though, those had been new additions that were saving your bottom from getting spotted as you kept on executing your transversals with accustomed ease. Courtesans, dressed in skirts and bustiers that left nothing to modesty roamed the halls, often with a cigarette in their nimble hands. Most of them had been thrown on this path without having any other choice - in a way, you sympathized and understood, could only fathom the trauma they had been put through by the revolting guards of the City Watch and aristocrats like.
Speaking of aristocrats, you had half a mind to find those sniveling Pendleton bastards first, who were no doubt violating yet more poor women, and dirty your blade with their disloyal blood. Nothing would please you more at that moment than to inflict the same pain they have caused on the little child.
Yet, you had to be patient. There would come a time to take them out, sooner rather than later hopefully, and only then, you would take pleasure in getting rid of those gutless men. For now, you had a future Empress to see.
Leaning over the far wall you had dropped down near, the lined doors across the empty hallway was a surprising yet welcome sight. Powers granted to you by your Arcane Bond enabled you to spot living forms through your gaze - one that came in very handy as you spotted the gleaming yellow silhouette of a small child. Deep within, you knew your Master could sense whenever powers originating from his mark were used, and it created a twinge of guilt in you - secretly running off of base to conduct missions of your own, but all guilt was erased momentarily as you opened the door with a slight creak and came across her.
The future Empress of the Isles, ruler of the four countries with dire troubles, destined to govern over millions of citizens - and she was sitting cross-legged with her back to you on the hardwood, painting with colorful crayons that shed some rainbow into this dark place. The white bow decorating her brown locks, her finely-tailored white garments still her only choice of clothing. Just like how you had last seen her, yet so very different.
Noticing the creak of the door, Lady Emily turned to face you, her golden brown eyes widening as she spotted your unfamiliar figure. In a matter of seconds that had passed approaching her, you did not even realize you had been holding your breath ever since you stepped in - letting it out slowly, your fingers pushed the door to a close. A warm, harmless expression on your face as you lifted a gentle hand, indicating you meant no maim.
The little girl's expression changed into a slight look of fear and confusion, eyes darting over to the door in a means of escaping.
"Who are you?" her voice would give out, laced with some sort of intrigue mixed with her initial fear.
To that, you would raise both of your hands, and very lightly, bow your head in a swift motion of respect. Your loyalty to the Empire and the rightful reign had been something newfound - all your life, you had longed for something to stay loyal to, whether it was a man or a cause. This time, it had been the girl right in front of you and what she stood for.
"I mean no harm. I - " you would stutter, orbs widening only slightly as you pondered an answer to that question. That simple yet weighted question sparked storms in your mind, sending waves of guilt to tremble your heart in its place. What could you tell her? The truth - that you were nothing short of a reckless killer who had been right there when her mother's blood was spilled? Who could only watch but not do anything to save her, to save the Empire? Whose actions, albeit indirectly, condemned her Protector to prison and death?
"I am a friend to the Lord Protector."
Now, among all lies you had told in your lifetime of stealing and killing, this one had to be the most desperate.
"Oh," the little Empress would say, the apprehension on her features lessening yet she took another step back. Smart girl. She had been taught well, not to trust strangers who donned the very same crimson uniform that had taken her mother away from her.
Sensing your taller stance was scaring her more than to it gave her comfort, you would crouch down to her level slowly, daring to take a little step forward as a gentle smile spread your lips. Gloved fingers reached your pouch with slow movements, intending not to scare her, taking out the silver-encrusted wooden cameo.
"Lady Emily," your voice gave out, softer than anyone in the Empire had heard you speak. "Forgive me for scaring you. You don't know me, but all I wanted to do was to give you this." As the words dripped out of your parted lips, your hand would extend the artifact towards the little figure, as if crossing the invisible chasm with the pull of her mother's silver-modeled face. Something inside you broke as you watched the Lady, take tentative steps towards you as her eyes fixated on the cameo only, and you could swear you saw her eyes glisten for a second. Her hands would reach out and clasp onto the cameo representing her lineage, candlelight reflecting off of the both of you as she held it to her heart.
"Thank you," you would hear her say in her sweet voice, words lowly spoken, her lips curling up ever-so-slightly in a ghost of a smile of appreciation.
The remorse on your delicate face coupled with an unknown emotion seeping through your being, you would nod softly, returning her faith smile. You would realize, only there and then, that if bringing Corvo out of prison was the last thing you would do on the wretched Earth, you would gladly die if it meant for this little girl to be happy. You had been involved in a plot that took everything from her, everything and everyone she held dear - the debts of the guilt would never wash off completely, but if the road led to putting her back on the throne with her Royal Protector guiding her, it was worth taking.
"Everything will be alright, Empress. I promise you."
The whispered sweet nothing echoed as she watched you leave with a gaze full of confusion and sadness, hearing the door click yet once more only for her to be left alone with her memories that were much too dark for a child her age.
It was the ache in your heart and your old soul that prayed to the eyeless god, prayed that you could succeed in your suicide mission - only to see her smile.
a simple assassination contract takes an unexpected turn.
This was where it all ended, but in many ways no one could fathom, where it all began.
Dunwall Tower had been where reigns started and ended, whether legendary or calm. Where calculated coup attempts took place, some successful, some condemned to death. Where the law that governed the citizens all across the Empire was made, where nobles and aristocrats and the like raced their voices during court. The gardens of the vast Tower used to be open for the general public to visit and relax in, though they were sealed off again during the late Empress’s reign - you guessed it was the Royal Protector’s order, to ensure the Empress was protected against any impromtu attempts against her life and rule.
Sadly, that had not been enough to keep the blade from killing her in the end, hence led to the new Lord Regent taking new precautions, many out of sheer paranoia, over the months.
From the rooftop you were perched up on for the last couple hours, you had a front-row view of the new installments the Regent had added to the once gleaming tower. By the Void, you were sure the entire city of Dunwall could spot the creepy-looking, steel installment of a safe chamber on the rightmost wing of the tower, along with the numerous tallboys venturing around the entire premises to spot any intruders. Being one of the very limited number of people who knew the truth behind this grand coup, seeing those additional structures made you want to tear them all down with fire and smoke. It made your blood boil to see the man guilty of all this chaos stay safe in his high-up tower while the entire city, the city he seemingly ruled, bled from their eyes.
So much had changed in the Tower District since the last time you were around. Witnessing the consequences of your actions first-hand as you roamed through the rooftops of Dunwall did nothing but deepen the crack in your pained soul. Under the purple and orange lights that the city’s pretty sunsets offered, the plague victims who sneezed and coughed and vomited in the back alleys proved to be a stark contrast. It was a city of opposites after all - across the river, a little further down the shore was a gentleman’s club, surprisingly accompanied by the close proximity of the Office of the High Overseer. A city where the poor wept under the doorsteps of the rich and noble.
And yet there you were, tasked with the mission of ending another noble life.
This would not be your first aristocrat who tasted your blade, nor would it be the last by the looks of things. Before, during your days of following your master’s orders without failure or divergence, killing anyone had been easy. A very well-trained assassin like yourself did not even bother shutting their eyelids after your target was on the floor, gargling on their own blood. Never before did you have any doubts.
This certain Pendleton, brother however, would be different. Your fellow assassins had delivered the innocent and pure Lady Emily, only a little child, to his forsaken brothers a mere four months ago. Over the years, rumors had been spiraling around that the three Pendleton brothers,the very three banes of aristocracy, had not been getting along well - with Morgan and Custis siding off together to keep their mining business running, the number of people they have enslaved and tortured only known by the Outsider. The very same two brothers who knew the location of the little heiress.
Brothers would be brothers - they would fight, bicker and argue, but they shared secrets. You hoped Pendleton would not be so shy to let you know what he knew before you put a blade through him.
Roaming on the rooftops came as second nature to you, with so much time spent running from tacklers and stray gang members looking for their preys for the night. It was liberating, to feel the breeze ghost over your overcoat, with the muffled sounds of your stealth boots across the tiles. That night had not been different - despite the numerous plans and kill scenarios going on in your mind, it was a short-lived blessing to be able to sneak and transverse across the rooftops as the illuminated Parliament building loomed in front of you, overlooking a vast square encircled with apartment buildings - no doubt occupied by the affluent who had influence on the court.
The previous adventures you had as a Whaler had brought you over to this part of town many times, so the horizontally stretched-out architecture with many ornate windows and well-kept white stone walls did not intimidate you like it had the first time. The long, red banners draped across the exterior, with none other than the Lord Regent’s silhouette pasted on them did, however. It should have been the light blue, golden-encrusted silk adorning the walls instead, their memory still fresh and aching from that wretched day when they stopped swaying in the wind.
That beautiful blue, reminiscent of clear skies, was the fragment of your memory that kept you on the drive to reach the little Empress, somehow, sometime.
Senses in your body were awakened as you crouched at the edge of a balcony, closer to the ground level but with a clear vantage point for the huge wooden doors. There exited two figures, their clothes and faces illuminated by the ever-blinding streetlights installed by the City Watch. The thinner, slightly taller one clad in finely-tailored ivory garments you could discern a mile away - your target. The muscular one clad in uniform on his side, however, you had yet to meet. Unknown pawns and intruders in any mission had been a huge risk, and you needed to see if you could get that nobleman alone.
Other members of the Parliament, slowly yet surely, started walking out of the double doors, following the pair’s lead as they descended the stairs after the session ended.
Some would head to their homes to their wives and kids, some would head to bars to drink their woes away. Yet your attention was on the pair of men, who were headed towards a back alley, their body language rigid and somewhat eluding.
Like they had something to hide. Needed some place to talk privately.
Behind the mask, you would raise your eyebrow in intrigue. What would Pendleton have to do with some uniform for them to head over to the back of an ale house to talk? Playing court politics was not exactly your particular area of expertise, you had been a foreigner to Gristol after all, but you knew this much - if it meant a secluded and hushed talk in a dark corner, it was more than just games played to win votes.
Making your way as you followed their movements albeit on the leverage that the roof provided, you spot them stopping near a row of wooden barrels, without a soul in sight while you loomed over to eavesdrop.
“So you think he will make it out? No one’s ever done that before, Admiral... this could either make or break us,” Pendleton spoke lowly, running a hand over his face in thought.
The supposed Admiral nodded, albeit hints of worry were etched in the slow movement. “He’s our only hope. We cannot go and save her ourselves - our reputation would tatter, and we need your nobility to work in our favor,” the man spoke in a gruff voice pensively, his arms crossed as he took a couple wandering steps around. His steps were calculated and had a certain rigidness to them, his tone of speech exuding authority - everything about him screamed some sort of military training background, which made him a little more dangerous to the mission for any normal assassin, but not for someone in your caliber.
Pendleton would let out a sigh followed by a slight shrug, crossing his arms to match his companion. “We would need someone on the inside, someone to unlock his cell when the time is right. Martin would know who to bribe. The man has more connections than me and I am the noble one...” he would say, sounding somewhat willing to co-operate with the Admiral.
As a professional assassin, you could care less what crime your victim was trying to plot next, let it be a near impossible one of infiltrating Coldridge. You just needed to get him alone, slit his throat and get paid -
“Good call. Though I give Corvo a one out of five chance of escaping, it is worth our efforts.”
The silent breath got hitched in your throat.
The mention of his name stopped you dead in your tracks, your heart starting to beat faster and faster out of your chest. So that was who they were breaking out of prison, that explained the quick and straight to the point nature of the conversation as well - his life would cease in less than two months at the hands of the prison executioner. Every single plan needed to be made in utmost haste and total precision.
Your mind then would drift to the Royal Protector, him in those noble clothes that were no doubt tattered by then, defending the Empress moments before her death, sending your assassin friends to their demise with his pistol.
The man who had nothing to do with this conspiracy, thrown on a dishonorable road, probably tortured every single day in that hole for a crime he did not commit. Who had everything taken away from him. If given the opportunity, you knew he would make it, you knew he would live - he had always been strong, so very strong to beat any opponent.
It sparked a glimmer of hope inside you, knowing that there were men out there in high places, planning to restore the rightful order in the Empire and bring back the innocent.
It only was a big shame that you were sent to kill one of them.
Noticing the conversation ending for the time being with the Admiral parting his way from the noble, your trained senses came back into play as you furrowed your eyebrows in full concentration. Your mind worked at an impeccable pace, combinations of different plans and scenarios going in them as you settled on one. The eavesdropping had given you so much information, and you would be a fool not to use them to your advantage, so you took off your mask in a quick motion before strapping it onto your belt - you would not need to hide your identity for what you were about to do.
Following the Lord onto the street, you would see him walking into his apartment, hastily making your way to his bedroom balcony through your well-performed transversals. Like any other elite assassin, you took your time, waiting for the perfect moment to strike your target and fulfill your contract at once. There he was, without a clue of what was bound to come, of what was lurking in the shadows for him - with his back turned to you, his hands rummaging through his vast chestnut dresser in search of something.
Perfect.
With your hand on your trusted blade, your quick yet quiet feet thanks to your padded boots would carry you over through the richly-decorated master bedroom, to be positioned right behind him, sneaking up on him with such ease. A swift and expertly controlled movement later, you would feel his breath get caught in his bulging throat as your cold steel rested against his unshaven skin.
This is something I had planned around?? Chapter 3 I think.
This one is extra long to make up for the hiatus I’ve been on! Hope you enjoy it!
These three months felt like three years.
You’d been fired from your previous occupation with only the money you had in your account and no decent recommendations. You had attempted to approach the Armstrongs, but had been turned away before you entered the gate. Evidently, the shame you had brought upon them was everlasting.
Even after this, you had gone from household to household in Aventa, trying desperately to acquire occupation. But the Armstrongs had spread news about you to all of their wealthy friends. No one wanted to have you on staff.
You then tried to apply for jobs that suited your brief experience with business. No sensible shop owner or profiteer would hire you without a solid recommendation. And contacting Kirin Jindosh for one was out of the question.
The only other practical option was odd jobs, but none of them paid enough to provide you with a place to stay. As your choices thinned, you considered moving back to the worse parts of Karnaca that you had hoped to leave in your past. Surely some of your older households would take you in. The conditions had never been ideal; the living wage was barely acceptable and none of your previous employers had been particularly kind. At this point, though, what else could you do?
Three weeks passed and you were growing short on money. You had to sell your apartment to afford a ferry ticket to sail across Karnaca, landing yourself in the middle of the Batista District, near the mines. This part of town was somewhat familiar to you; you’d been careful not to linger in the past, preferring to move uptown. But now, you had nowhere else to go.
As predicted, within the first four days Paolo found you. Perhaps he’d known where you were all along. Word traveled fast in Karnaca—faster than the ferry. You had nothing to your name, only a handful of coin and nowhere to stay. So when Paolo offered you a room, you were forced to either accept or sleep in rat infested streets. The Howlers were not kind to you; most of them were rude and whispered spiteful insults under their breath as Paolo lead you into the apartment building that his gang had taken residence in. You had been uncomfortable at first; after all, even the smallest signs of impoliteness or violence typically set you on edge. But as Paolo had eloquently put it—
“Where you gonna go? I’m willing to let you be one of us if you can tell me all there is to know about Delilah Copperspoon and what Jindosh is cookin’ up there in that mansion of his. If not, we can kill you quick to save you the trouble of starvin’ on the streets.”
Needless to say, you complied.
It wasn’t even that he had threatened you or that he was tempting you with place to stay—you had no reason to remain loyal to Kirin Jindosh.
Within the first week, you told Paolo as much as you knew. To his disappointment, you didn’t know nearly as much as he expected you to. There were some accusations about you hiding intel, all of them from Mindy Blanchard who offered more than once to “squeeze the life out of you” to get more information. Paolo almost took her up on the offer, but you were insistent on your honesty.
“Why would I hide anything from you? I have nothing to gain by keeping Jindosh’s secrets anymore. He’s thrown me away, just like you said he would.”
“Yea, but I thought he’d kill you. Either way, this is useless.”
Week two involved you explaining every financial trade Jindosh made, the clockworks he was designing, his work and sleep patterns, his communications with the Duke and Breanna Ashworth. Paolo seemed pleased with this and from that point on, had spread word to the rest of the Howlers that you had proven yourself useful.
That didn’t make assimilation any easier for you.
The Howlers seemed to absolutely despise you. Then again, you were posh in your mannerisms. You’d come from nothing, true, but you’d lived most of your life in well-to-do households for nobility and high-born employers. You knew proper etiquette, hygiene, and mannerisms, which evidently infuriated them. On top of all that, if you were sent on any sort of “errand” with them, you were always the weakest link.
Some of these “errands” involved robbery, bribery, and most often assault. Paolo had Mindy send you with her best men and women so that he could both test you and toughen you up. The fourth week of the first month was when you first took part in a murder. Two veteran howlers—Samwell and Kingsly—had been ordered to bring you along on a simple mission to retrieve debt money for Mindy. The man was of nobility, not unlike someone you would see yourself working for. He had hired Mindy’s main crew to harass a rival of his into giving up a slice of a business deal and they had delivered, leaving threatening messages at his offices or beating up his serving staff. The rival had succumbed and now the hirer owed a hefty amount of money to Mindy. He had not delivered and was now denying any sort of relation whatsoever.
So Samwell and Kingsly, with you in tow, had showed up at the place of business and had dragged the buyer into a back ally. Their intentions were to just rough him up when they had placed a metal bar in your hands. You watched as they kicked and hit the nobleman, watched as he shrank into a ball on the dirty cobblestone street.
“Hit him!” yelled Kingsly, “You’re a fuckin’ gutless coward; Mindy will be more than happy to put a bit of silver between your eyes!”
Your fingers were so tightly wound around the cold metal that your knuckles ached. Heart pounding hard enough that you could feel it in your ears, you lifted the bar above your head.
You had only hit one person before.
At the memory, rage had filled your chest and you let out a snarl, bringing the bar down hard against the man’s ribs. He let out a painful scream. You were breathing hard, your eyes burning. You hadn’t wanted to hurt him, but you were so, so angry. Almost instantaneously the fury had subsided and you had spiraled into a sort of panic.
Kingsly and Samwell, impressed by your display, had been reignited and turned on the nobleman with more fervor than before. It had only been a minute or so of violence, but you noticed before they did that the buyer was dead. Bile filled throat, but you forced it down, stumbling until your back hit the wall behind you. Samwell reached into the nobleman’s pocket and pulled out a coin purse.
“This isn’t nearly enough coin,” he commented before rummaging around in the corpse’s waistcoat. “Ah, found a key. I’ll go back in and see if I can sneak my way into his office. Bet there’s a safe up there. You two wait out here. If I’m not back in fifteen minutes, leave without me.”
Then he disappeared. Kingsley had lit a cigarette, put it between his lips, and bent down to lift up the body.
“I’m gonna go dump this in a gutter. You stay here and wait for Sammy.”
Then he, too, disappeared.
Alone, you took the opportunity to vomit into a nearby bin. Your knees shook.
The second month went by much faster. After the death of the buyer, you had hardened considerably. When the other Howlers looked at you, they saw that the tender naivety had begun to fade, replaced by something much sharper. As for you, you acknowledged that this was happening and faced it indifferently. This was how it had to be and it was not the first time that you had been forced to adapt to a new way of living. Mindy took a particular shine to you and had appointed you as one of her top crewmembers. You went on several more “errands” during the second month—many more of them ended with violence in one way or another. The Howlers called you by your last name, a friendly gesture, and they had begun to really welcome you with open arms. Paolo seemed pleased by your quick progress and often came to you with new information about the upcoming coup.
“I’ve heard that the empress is having a commemoration to honor her late mother in the Month of Earth. I don’t know about you, but I imagine the more notable members of her court will be there. Sounds like the best time for the witch to strike, wouldn’t you agree?”
“I guess. Jindosh never told me any dates or specifics. But it makes sense.”
“That’s what I’m thinking. Aside from that, you said Jindosh is currently shacking up with Breanna Ashworth? Working on some sort of device?”
“He told me once that the only device he had been prototyping for Ashworth was for some form of communication. I saw a smaller version of it myself. It’s powerful. Don’t know what it’s going to be used for.”
“I’d like to get eyes on that little project of theirs, but every group of Howlers I’ve sent hasn’t made it back. Can’t risk it again.”
Little meetings like this were routine. The less you spoke about Kirin, the better. The information you gave to Paolo didn’t feel like betrayal—but even if it was, why should it bother you? He had said it himself that he’d never actually felt anything for you, even during the best of times. Part of you wondered if he’d been bluffing as he banished you from the mansion, but the seed of doubt, long ago planted by the Howlers, had grown too large. He was a sociopath. You’d been mesmerized by him, tricked, played with until you’d developed emotions. It was cruelty.
Any lingering thought the grand inventor had to be ignored. You were at fault for letting him control you, but not again.
It was near the end of the third month when Paolo pulled you, Kingsley, and Samwell into the foyer of the hideout. He was behind the glossy bar, polishing a tumbler absentmindedly. This particular scene was nothing new. Samwell and Kingsley were often your partners for Paolo’s “errands” and the three of you had managed to form a sort of comradery.
Paolo sat the glass down and leaned on wooden bar, fixing you with a squinty stare. “He’s coming back home today.”
You didn’t need to ask who. You’d been keeping your ears open for news and counting the days down. Jindosh had finished his work at the conservatory.
“I’m sure he’s eager to get back to his workshop,” you retorted, not flinching under his gaze.
Paolo grinned and said, “I don’t know. If I got to shack up with Ashworth every night, that’d take my mind off of things.”
Keeping a straight face, you responded, “It’s getting closer and closer to time. If he perfected the device, I can only imagine that the coup is gaining traction.”
“Yea, yea,” Paolo waved the rag in the air, to-and-fro, before tossing it under the counter. “That I know. It’s old news, you get me? We’ve got people just about everywhere. We’ve got servants working in the Duke’s fancy estate, we’ve got eyes on Breanna, we’ve got a few guardsmen in Jindosh’s mansion . . . but we’ve got almost no information.” Paolo flips the tumbler over and slams it onto the counter, hard enough to make a startling noise but not rough enough to shatter it. He grits his teeth silently, frustrated. “Really woulda’ worked out for us if you’d joined the team earlier, while you and Jindosh were still pillow talking. Jindosh was the only real connection we had to the witch. My men don’t come back from Ashworths, Stilton’s fucking useless, and the Duke’s too much of a fool to really credit. Fuck.”
You bristled at his words, but gradually worked yourself down.
Kingsley interjected the silence by saying, “Something’s on your mind, boss. Just give the order.”
You watched Paolo’s jaw work back and forth, his eyes darting across an invisible map laid out before him. It reminded you of Kirin’s deep thinking. You closed your eyes and tried to focus.
“He trusts you,” Paolo pointed a boney finger in your direction. “More than he trusts any of my men I’ve got stationed up there. I need you to do something for me, and you’re not gonna like it, but tough shit. This is big picture, my friend, very big. If we don’t have all our cards ready by the time this coup goes underway, we might not wind up on top when Karnaca goes to shit. Understand me?”
All eyes are on you. Sweat dampens your palms and you feel something dreadful setting in your throat.
“Yes, sir,” you mutter.
Paolo slaps a hand down on the counter and continues, “Good. I’m gonna need you to go back to that mansion and do whatever it takes to get him to tell you specifics. I wanna know what that communication device is for. I wanna know what happened to Stilton. I wanna know about the witch—where her power comes from, who she really is. Kingsly and Samwell will go with you.”
You lurch forward in your chair, brows knit together with a sort of pleading frustration, “Boss, listen to me. Those clockworks will cut us down on the spot if we even get close to Ki—Mr. Jindosh. There’s no way—,”
“Then don’t rough him up. Say you’ve got a new job down here in the Batista disctrict. Tell him you’re boss wants a clockwork and he’s sent you. Kingsley and Sam haven’t ever been to the mansion, so tell him they’re hired hands. Sound familiar? Why wouldn’t he believe your story?”
There aren’t any words coming out of you; your mouth opens then closes as you nearly squirm in your seat. Paolo’s face darkens at your hesitation and he slowly leans back, tipping his chin up to look down upon you. “What, you’re not up to it? You gonna say no to Paolo?”
What were your options here? Go to the clockwork mansion and face the man you loved or be carved up by the Howlers and pitched into the streets?
“. . . no, boss. I’d never.”
The air lightened as Paolo seemed to relax, a smirk tugging at the corners of his leathery face. He clasped his hands together. “Good. Now, do you still got that maid’s uniform?”
It felt like you were trapped in a never ending part of the void, doomed to relive the morning your entire world changed. You smoothed your sleeve cuffs and ran a finger over a button you had had to re-sew that morning. The white bits of your maid uniform were faintly stained from neglect and lint had gathered on the black.
Beside you say Kingsley and Samwell, out of their typical drab Howler wear and work clothes they had beat off of someone. You could tell they had jumped different men; their undershirts were different colors and where Kingsley wore a miner’s shoes, Samwell had stolen his off of a shop owner.
You had a terrible feeling this wouldn’t work. Kirin Jindosh was far too keen on details to not notice something like this.
Aside from that, Paolo had given you a money sack full of coin. You found it incredibly irritating that he had always made it a game to haggle over the clockwork price, yet he managed to scrounge up enough money for one within an hour. With the money bag came a handwritten note from Mindy who had gone under the alias of a wealthy aristocrat who owed her a favor. Her handwriting was decent, actually, which is likely why Paolo didn’t volunteer to do it himself. It could almost be passable if it weren’t for the wax seal, which they had stamped with the cork of a whiskey bottle. Anyone with the smallest bit of noble-know-how knew that even smaller households had their own personalized wax stamper.
All this aside, you tried your best to steel yourself for what awaited you just a mile or so ahead. You were a different person now; even such a small amount of time had really altered you. Would Kirin notice it instantly? Could he look into your eyes and know that you had hardened? You knew how astute he was when it came to reading people and knew that he was particularly good at reading you.
It didn’t really matter, though, did it? Here you were, either way, and there was no going back now. Doom awaited you at the mansion and doom awaited you if you returned to Paolo empty handed.
Letting out a sigh to calm your nerves, you look to your left and inhale the sweet smell of the redvines that climbed up the structures of Aventa. You had missed the fragrance from going into work each morning. It touched a part of you that had been buried for a while now.
As you bask in the aroma, you notice where you are. The carriage began to rattle past your old apartment building. It was early enough in the morning that you could see two of Jindosh’s maids waiting by the carriage station. Your heart sank as the vehicle started to slow, stopping to let them in.
They recognized you before the carriage even docked, their mouths moving in hushed whispers that you couldn’t hear. When the door opened, they seemed to hesitate for a moment before shuffling into the carriage and taking their seats.
The silence was breathtaking, dense enough that you could hear your heart in your ears. It was only disrupted as Samwell leaned against a knee, putting on a flirtatious smirk as he began to chat the two women up. They seemed to at least be a little distracted by him, but their eyes flickered to you as they conversed.
They said nothing in your direction.
The mansion’s sparkling glass windows came into few, blinding with the morning light. The waterfall roared as it always had, new water every day though it looked the same as it had that first time you’d arrived.
The two maids disembarked from the carriage first, making it a point to hustle up the stairs while you, Kingsley, and Samwell took your time.
A hand caught your wrist before you could make it up the first flight of steps. Samwell held you back, peaking over your shoulder until he was certain the maids were inside the building.
“Let’s go over the plan one more time,” he said, scratching at his collar. “I need a refresher.”
Kingsley sighed, obviously on edge, “Look, get all your questions out now before we get in there. I want this to be over with quickly and we can’t do that if you’re pissin’ off to fuck the help.”
They exchanged tense looks, so you snapped your fingers to clear the air. “Alright, alright. That’s enough. Look, I’ve been in this building more times that I can count. I know it inside and out, better than most of the staff here. I’ve been in rooms that only Jindosh himself has stepped foot in. So if anyone is going to guide us around this mansion, who’s it going to be?”
They grunted, together, “You.”
“Very good. Now, the two of you don’t actually have to say a word. I’ll speak to Jindosh about buying the clockwork, he’ll ask for the money, I’ll have to stay behind and fill out paperwork, and he’ll send the two of you to the loading dock.”
Samwell interrupted, “Yea, see, that’s the part I got an issue with. The last poor fucker who did this routine with you got butchered all up to hell. Now, I’m not afraid of any hunk of junk, but—,”
“Don’t be ridiculous,” you sighed. “You won’t actually be dealing with a clockwork. You’ll go to the elevator and take it to the upper floors. Make your way to Jindosh’s office while I’m distracting him. There’ll be a desk where he keeps all his personal letters between him and members of the coup. Grab whatever you can.”
Kingsley nodded, but his face was so white that he looked ill. “I know I’ve already asked you, but . . . you say he can hear when people are in certain parts of the house, right? He can tell where we are?”
You shake your head. “He can only monitor that sort of thing from inside the office. I’ll make sure to keep him in the assessment chamber. There are grand guard personnel guarding that floor, but Paolo said he’s taken care of it. They should be our guys. One of them has rewired the wall of light. From there, it’s a little tricky, but you have the rough drawing of the layout I gave you. Remember that the only way to get to his office is by using the rotating center pallet. Alright? Are we clear?”
They glanced between one another and seemed to regain their confidence. Just from explaining it again, you felt your nerve reassert itself.
You could face him. You would. And you’d pull the rug right out from underneath his lying ass.
The guardsman who greeted you in the front lobby was not a Howler, but it was a good sign. The downstairs appeared to be full of genuine grand guardsmen, which implied to you that the upper floor had to be equipped with Paolo’s imposters. The guardsman took a look at your letter, but only seemed to glance at it, fortunately. “The 9 o’clock appointment will be a little delayed,” he notified you on your way to the waiting room. Ah, how it was so similar to back then. “The grand inventor has only recently returned home from a long reprieve.”
You knew Kirin fairly well. So you knew that right now, he had to be completely exhausted. Three months away from home, working night and day the entire time, hardly eating, making it home last night, burying himself in his own work, then forcing himself out of bed this morning to meet with buyers. If it had been any other circumstance, Kirin would have needed a few days of alone-time to recuperate. Unfortunately for him, he had to make money to spend money—and clockworks consumed quite a great deal of money.
You hadn’t spoken a word yet. Kingsley and Samwell sort of shuffled about the waiting room, pulling books off of shelves, but not really reading them. They eventually plopped themselves onto one of the striped couches and had their fill of fruit.
Ten minutes went by. Maids and servants passed through the waiting room from time to time, offering more refreshments. Each time, it was a different member of the serving staff and their eyes were almost glued to you. It seemed that they were taking turns gawking.
Fifteen minutes went by and you were just getting comfortable. If you knew Kirin, you knew you’d all be here another thirty minutes before you even heard from him. And as tired as he was, you half expected him to cancel and postpone the meeting altogether.
Thirty minutes. Samwell was sitting upright, but his eyes were closed and a line of drool was forming down his chin. Kingsley had taken to tossing peach pits into an empty wine glass he’d stationed a couple of feet away. You sat with your legs crossed, working hard to conceal the storm inside your mind. The longer you sat in silence, the more anxiety you built up until—
The long forgotten sound of the speaker system whirring to life nearly jostled the two Howlers out of their seats. You braced yourself for the sound of his voice. “My apologies for your extensive wait. While I can imagine you’re growing quite restless, I can only hope that you understand how busy of a man I am. It should only take me another ten minutes and I’ll be there. I do hope you’ll forgive my tardiness.”
You let the sound of it fill you up, felt the emotions stir, then smirked as you conquered them.
“Why, of course we understand,” you reply, “The grand inventor should take his time.”
Silence over the intercoms. If you didn’t know any better, you would have thought he hadn’t heard you. But the speakers had not made the high-pitched burst that signaled the end of a transmission. He had heard you.
The silence lasted for no more than a few seconds before the intercom finally shut down, the abrupt screech of static ringing in your ears like a forgotten song. He had most certainly heard you.
Though Jindosh had said it would take him ten minutes, the man arrived in nearly two.
You had imagined that you’d see him the same way you’d first met. That he’d lower the guest room into the assessment chamber and you’d see him in his familiar scrappy brown over shirt and starched green trousers, a clipboard in his hands. But, instead, he surprised the entire foyer by arriving down the elevator in a his white undershirt with suspenders and his hair all a mess around his sharp features. Smudges of oil and grease were smeared across his face and arms. He’d been in the middle of working and likely—had it been any other house guest—wouldn’t have actually arrived to the meeting for another thirty minutes as predicted.
And yet, here he was, his long legs carrying him across the glass floor so quickly that you barely had enough time to stand and greet him before he was in the waiting room. His face was flushed with anger, his grip tight as he grasped your shoulders and shook you in place.
“Why are you here?” he demanded, enunciating each word. “You need to leave this instant. Didn’t I make it clear the last time we spoke that there’s no place for you here?”
You were moderately alarmed by his actions, but even more so by Kingsley and Samwell who had fully stood up and seemed to be itching to come to your aid.
The physical contact was enough to set off all of your alarms, so you made short work of swatting his hands away and distancing yourself. He let go rather easily; his hands seemed to tremble.
“Mr. Jindosh,” you began, clearing your throat to be rid of the cracks in your voice. “As you know, I’m a servant with useful skills that set me above most others. As it so happens, I’m in a similar predicament as I was in before. I have a new employer now and they’ve entrusted me to come and negotiate the pricing of a clockwo—,”
Kirin stepped towards you, his hands up as if to caution or plead. He lowers his voice and whispers your name in such a gentle way that it jolts you right out of your façade. “Listen to me. We don’t need to negotiate. Just give me however much you were told to offer and I’ll take it. Return to lower Aventa and await your colleagues at the station—I’ll send them with the clockwork. But you must understand. You cannot be here.”
Something was wrong. Kingsley and Samwell were already cracking under the tension. You could see them shifting their weight from foot to foot. The plan wasn’t working the way you’d structured it and they were getting antsy.
But that was the least of your worries. Something caught Kirin’s eye and he glanced over your shoulder into the glass foyer. Turning, you tried to follow his gaze. In the corner of the smoking room, shrouded partially in shadow, you saw the pale skin of one of Delilah’s witches just before she had a chance to fade out of sight. Your chest clenched.
Kirin said your name again, desperate this time, his hand grabbing your wrist. “Let’s go, I’ll take you to the front door.”
You were so alarmed by the witch’s presence and what it implied that you limply followed him. He almost had you out of the foyer before Samwell stepped between the inventor and the exit. “Hold on there. We came here to talk to you, and we ain’t leavin’ until we do.”
Jindosh snapped, like a thin sheet of glass, “Step aside, you inbred fool, or I’ll have you gutted.”
You saw in Samwell’s eyes the same look he gave before he killed a man. You couldn’t see, but you felt Kingsley’s presence begin to close in from behind. The guardsmen in the foyer began to shout and you could hear their boots slapping against the floor.
The chain of events happened so quickly that it seemed to only register in short sequences.
Samwell pulled a cleaver out from the back of his trousers.
Kingsley was rushed by guardsmen first and blocked their path to the other Howler.
And you grabbed Kirin’s shoulders and yanked him backwards, placing yourself between him and Samwell.
It was then that the clockwork stepped out from behind the corner, looming a good two feet taller than Sam even with the cleaver raised high. The Howler hesitated, seeming to become aware of the clockwork’s presence just behind him.
Kirin’s fingers tangled in your blouse as he stumbled to the floor, taken off-guard by the chaos yet still desperately attempting to pull you into his arms.
Everything seemed to move at half-speed.
Samwell began to lower the cleaver, but the clockwork was much faster. One sharp blade of an arm reared back, then in the blink of an eye, time reasserted itself.
There was a sharp pain in your lower stomach. Warm liquid had splattered against your face.
Several maids screamed, Samwell had yelped pitifully, and someone had shouted your name. But you stood there, wordlessly, trying to process the long metal arm that had passed completely through Samwell’s chest and had buried itself almost five inches into your abdomen.
The clockwork clicked methodically before it withdrew its appendage, pulling out of you so fast that you hardly felt it. Samwell was still alive, though he fell limply to the ground without the support of the arm. The cleaver clattered to the glass floor beside him.
The clockwork wasn’t done, though. It had a job to do. You were still standing.
In shock, you could only stare blankly as the mechanical soldier reared back for another attack, it’s wooden face speckled with blood.
Just as it began to swing, Kirin grabbed you by your waist and pulled you to floor, covering you with his own body, shouting a sequence of seemingly meaningless numbers and letters. The clicking sound stopped. The footsteps retreated. And Kirin removed himself from atop you.
You stared at the beautiful glass ceiling as the inventor frantically ripped the buttons off of your blouse and exposed your wound. He was muttering rapidly to himself, but would stop every few seconds and bark commands at the serving staff. They brought him rags to stop the bleeding until a stretcher arrived.
Your eyes drifted from the ceiling to Kirin, observing his troubled face as his mind diagnosed the severity of the injury. You could feel a puddle begin to form under you; it was coming out so fast even with the pressure he was applying.
You couldn’t really sort anything out in your head.
What was clear, however, was that you were slipping into unconsciousness with every passing second. Your eyes wondered from Kirin to the foyer around you. Perhaps it was a hallucination, but you could have sworn you saw Delilah’s witch leaning against the smoking room entrance, a small smile gracing her lips.
Then you fell under.
The process of regaining consciousness was far more arduous that losing it. You slipped in and out of sleep, muttering incoherently to yourself. Your dreams became plagued with reality as you were made more and more aware of the pain you were in. Someone was picking at your wound; it felt like a vulture nibbling at your flesh. The thought consumed your nightmares until you finally shook yourself awake, sweating and panting, completely disoriented.
You were unsure of how much time must have passed between the incident and your current predicament. The glass foyer was gone. Samwell was gone, and Kingsley too. This room radiated with warm, golden light. Above you was a chandelier; beyond that, the ceiling was a pitch-black dome.
You were in his office. Or, no. You were in his laboratory.
Everything ached, your spine included. You had been laid across a metal examination table with only a rolled up rag as a pillow. Summing up the strength, you lifted your head from the table and glanced down at yourself. Your breasts were covered by a thin piece of cloth, spotted with flecks of dried blood. Below, you could only catch a glimpse at the sutured mess that was your abdomen. Whoever had stitched it back together had done a very good job of it; regardless, the wound was not a pretty one.
“I told you didn’t I? I’m quite proficient at closing wounds. I’ve had plenty of practice on cadavers.”
Hazily, you turned your head to see Kirin sitting on a stool, his arm propped against his knee, his chin in his hand.
His white under shirt was stained black and red from where he’d thrown himself on top of you, pressing against your wound. His hands were still stained, though it appeared that he’d tried to wash them vigorously. If you thought he had looked disheveled earlier . . .
Your mouth felt so dry, you could hardly wet it enough to reply, “How bad was it?”
He just stares at you for a second, his eyes closing before he moves to stand. “I’m not a surgeon. I know the theory, and that’s all. You got lucky; none of your internal organs had been severely damaged. Otherwise, I wouldn’t have been able to save you.”
Got lucky? He would think that, wouldn’t he?
You lift a heavy hand to try and touch the stitching, but Jindosh quickly reprimands you, “Don’t touch it. Your hands aren’t clean. You’ll need at least three weeks to fully recuperate, by my rough estimates. I’ve considered calling upon Dr. Hypatia, though she’s not in any fit state of mind to offer aid.” He lets out a sigh and sweeps his hair back.
“I’m guessing Samwell’s dead?” you ask, a bitter taste on the back of your tongue.
Kirin gives you a quizzical look, “Who—? Oh, yes, you mean the Howler my clockwork skewered. Yes, he was dead before we even got you on the gurney. The other one is being held in the assessment chamber, though I fear it’s getting a tad crowded in there.” He goes over to one of his work desks and retrieves his familiar brown overcoat. “I never would have imagined that you’d join their ranks. Not in my wildest imaginations. Truly, you never cease to surprise me.”
Jindosh carefully drapes the article of clothing over your chest.
At this point, you’re able to collect your thoughts better. You retort, “I didn’t have very many options, did I? You practically tossed me into the street.”
He scoffs, coldly. “Don’t be so dramatic. You were let go. It was a rational decision on my part.”
“The cruelty wasn’t necessary,” you spat, “All those things you said. You didn’t have to go that far.”
Kirin rubs at his forehead, his lips curling in an annoyed scowl. “I meant what I said. There was no place for you here, not then and not now.”
You fix him with a glare that seems to tame his attitude, if only for a moment. He continues, exasperated, “The pieces of Delilah’s plan were being set into motion—there was no longer any time for folly. Though it may enrage you, I chose my own personal gain over whatever we had together.”
You squint at him, doubtful. In that instant, you were suddenly aware of the whirring hum of that device he’d shown you months ago. Looking around, you spotted it on a workbench, activated and playing such a low frequency sound that it was just barely noticeable. “They’re after me, aren’t they?” You attempted to sit up, only to have him place a calloused hand on your bare shoulder. “Delilah knew about me. Knows about me. That witch in the foyer—she’s been sent to—,”
He shushes you, doing what he can to calm you down. “None of them can get in here with that device whirring. On a larger scale, and with similar improper lenses, it could completely sever their connection with Delilah. They won’t risk it. You’re safe for the time being.”
“I never saw any witches during my time away,” you explain, trying to sort it out in your own mind, “Even when I was out in the open, in the Batista district, I never saw so much as a shadow. You said Delilah would kill me instantly if she found out I was distracting you. What was stopping her when I was so vulnerable?”
Kirin doesn’t respond. His eyes linger for a moment before moving away. He’s quiet.
Realization began to dawn on you the longer he took to speak. “You weren’t just firing me to get me out of your way. What did you do, Kirin?”
Jindosh pushes himself away from the examination table, making his way towards the humming device. “You’re overestimating me, my dear. A rare occurrence, I assure you.” he speaks over his shoulder. You can hear him adjusting the knobs and switches. “I did indeed terminate you to get you out of my way. It just so happened that in doing so, I saved you from being terminated in a much more literal sense.”
While he wasn’t watching, you stiffly swung your legs over the side, gritting your teeth at the pain it took to sit up. Holding the overcoat to your chest, you adjusted until you were upright. “So she was planning on killing me.”
“Only if you came back to the mansion. I was confident that my words had driven you away for good, but you’re always finding new ways to astonish me.” He stops what he’s doing and turns to face you again, his expression twisting with discontent when he sees that you’ve moved. “Really, is it so hard for you to listen to me, every now and again? You shouldn’t be moving so much. Lie back down—,”
“That thing runs on whale oil, right?” You motion towards the disrupting device. “That means its power source is limited. It could eventually stop working.”
“Inevitably,” he admits, a little surprised by the abruptness of your query. “But I can keep sustaining it.”
“It’s only a prototype. Prototypes aren’t meant to last forever.” You close your eyes and exhale shakily. “They’ll come for me eventually. That thing can’t go forever—it’s so small and if it runs on whale oil then its power isn’t indefinite—”
Kirin shakes his head, trying to reassure you, or rather, himself, “I can always repair it. Or create another.”
“How long would that take? It took you three months to perfect one. And what it’s doing right now—that’s not even its intended function.”
“What in the void do you know about this sort of thing? What expertise are you drawing upon here? Dammit, just . . . be quiet. Let me think.” His brow crinkles with an odd combination of vexation and panic. Jindosh starts to pace, murmuring quietly to himself. He bites his lip and fixates upon the device, crunching numbers and probabilities faster than you could ever hope to. Yet, for perhaps the first time, you knew the outcome of a problem before the inventor.
“Jindosh, listen—,” you begin in a whisper. He raises a hand to hush you, his mind still racing.
“I need absolute silence, I’m thinking.”
“Kirin.” Your voice is solid and heavy, enough to echo around the room. “Stop, just stop.”
The inventor throws his hands up and scoffs, “What would you have me do, then? Sit and wait for Delilah’s witches to seize their moment?”
“Paolo knows I’m here. He’s got guardsmen planted in your home who know what has happened. If we can get one of them to deliver a message, we might have a solution.” You attempt to put weight on your legs, but your system is still foggy with sedatives. Kirin is close enough that he can catch you just before you collapse. With your face pressed into the crook of his neck and his arms on either side of you, it’s easy to forget what he’s done and what he’s said.
He pulls you up, but doesn’t back away. For a fraction of a second, it’s an embrace.
Then, you muster up the willpower to push away from him. “There’s no time for us to sort everything out. For now, call upon the guardsmen on the second floor. They’re all Paolo’s.”
“How do you know they’re where you say they are?” He raises a brow at you. “What were you really doing here today?”
You shake your head, “There’s really no time to discuss it. I’ll explain everything if this works and I’m not murdered, deal?” Jindosh’s face contorts with a suspicious look, but he shakes it away and helps you get back onto the examination table.
“I should know better by now than to enter into deals with you,” he chuckles, though it’s tense with stress. He leans back to look at you, likely beholding your pain stricken eyes and drained face. You’re surprised to feel his hand cup your cheek, his ceramic thumb brushing the cheekbone. You’re still angry with him and likely would always harbor some sort of contempt for the way he discarded you all those months ago. But for now, when your life was on the line, it was comforting to feel his touch again—to have him so close and to hear him say your name. “Let’s just hope this one isn’t our last.”
This one was so long and dramatic that I felt like I was cramming two chapters into one. We’re getting so close to the end! Ah!!
