Fic Update -- Wolfbann
Chapter 8 - With Wealth of Knowledge
Fandom: Dishonored Ship: Corvo/Daud, Past Jessamine/Corvo Rated: Mature Chapter Synopsis: Corvo learns things and, predictably, jumps to conclusions.
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Corvo wanted to say later that the boat ride back to the Hound Pits Pub had been quiet and uneventful. That he was left unbothered; that he, Sam and Geoff had all kept to themselves and that he had gotten plenty of rest along the way.
He wanted to say that, but Geoff Curnow was a Watch Officer to the bone. And that meant Corvo had to endure an interrogation before enjoying any amount of shut-eye.
“So Callista is still at the pub?”
“Yes.”
“And you met her there?”
“Yes.”
“How long ago, exactly?”
“I don't know. A few days now.”
“She was the one who said to come get me?”
“No Geoff, a little sparrow told me.”
Geoff frowned at Corvo's reply; Corvo simply folded his arms in tighter and tilted his head at Geoff. He was so tired. He wanted to ignore the itchy thrum of his limbs and the annoying questions of a Watch Captain and instead go to sleep. But if the look on Geoff’s face was anything to go by, he wasn't ready to let Corvo go just yet.
And so, the Lord Protector sighed.
“Anything else, officer?”
Geoff shifted, self conscious, but kept his frown in place and his eyes on Corvo.
“Just a few questions. Who did you speak to before we left the Abbey?”
“Oh, you were awake for that?” Corvo's eyebrows shot up in light surprise. He cleared his ruined throat before continuing, ”He’s an Overseer named Teague Martin. He'll be joining us later at the pub.”
“Any reason why?”
“I helped him, so hopefully he'll help me. Besides, I have something he wants.”
Corvo fished out a small black book from his belt satchel, holding it up between his fingers.
“Isn't that Campbell's?” Geoff inquired, eyes narrowing on the worn leather and yellowed pages. Corvo nodded before lazily twirling the book and storing it away on his belt again. “And just what has become of its original owner?”
“Campbell’s alive, if that's what you're asking. He probably isn't too happy about the state of his belongings right about now, though.” The ghost of a smile crept over Corvo's face; he may have left Campbell in one piece but he certainly hadn't been kind about it.
And with the evidence Corvo had, the High Overseer’s days in power were numbered.
“So it’s true, then? He planned on being rid of me?”
Corvo nodded, eyes sharp in spite of his weariness.
“I discovered a glass of poisoned wine in your intended meeting room and an audiograph that incriminated his actions. I have it, if you'd like to take a listen later.” Corvo let his lips pull further into a wicked grin. “For a High Overseer, that man certainly has a lot of skeletons.”
“Well, when you're close to someone like Hiram Burrows…” Geoff muttered, clearly agreeing even without the evidence. His eyes then widened and he jerked back to Corvo.
“Burrows... Corvo!” he gasped, a finger pointed the Royal Protector. Sam looked between them, surprised by the action. “I know -- it wasn't your fault the Empress died. I know that it was Hiram, he set up the hit on Jessamine. I overheard his plans while traveling the Isles with him; you were falsely framed. You're as much a victim as Jess was.”
Geoff made the statement like a revelation; as if the puzzle pieces had finally fallen into place, like he finally remembered why Campbell was trying to kill him in the first place.
Corvo, of course, knew he was innocent. Sam and Callista did too, or at least believed it well enough to not inquire. But there was a huge difference in personally knowing his own innocence and hearing it aloud as fact from a third party. Corvo felt himself sag, letting go of the air in his lungs like a deflating balloon.
“Thank you,” Corvo rasped out softly, his damaged throat catching painfully on the words. He didn't know what he was thanking Geoff for; Curnow didn't seem to know either,blinking in astonishment at Corvo's response. But Corvo didn't care.
It was nice to simply be reminded he was innocent.
There was a beat between the three of them. Corvo could feel himself drifting from relief, the whisper of the Void already strong in his sleep-deprived ears.
“Ah,” Geoff started, his voice keeping Corvo above the surface. “You're welcome, I think. But I always knew that Hiram was lying about you, because I caught him mentioning the real assassin to the High Overseer months ago.”
A giant, scarred, shadowed wolf. A pack of smoking dogs that scattered like ghosts. A river of red, running hot down Corvo's arms to pool collectively with the blood of a dying Empress.
Corvo was up so fast Geoff jumped in his seat. His jaw clenched, his whole being tightening like a spring as his body fought for control against the beast under his skin. His expression darkened; Geoff leaned back, worry coloring his features.
“That assassin,” Corvo growled out. “Who is he? Who did Hiram hire?”
“I--” Geoff stuttered and swallowed, eyes glancing to Sam for backup. “You didn't know?”
“A name,” Corvo snarled. “I need a name.”
“He's known simply as Daud,” Geoff obliged. “The Knife of Dunwall and head of the Whalers group.”
Daud.
The name crashed down on Corvo like a wave. He felt his chest heave, felt the wolf lunge and fight for release. He remembered now; Hiram uttered the name just once in Corvo's presence, back when he was fever-wracked and newly turned and his life was a blur of pain. Of course he hadn't realized then the significance of the name, couldn't put two and two together when he could hardly remember who or what he was.
But now…
The assassin's title consumed Corvo’s mind in a way he didn't understand as he committed it to memory, saying the name over and over again like a horrible prayer. As he did something else, someone else answered, reaching out to Corvo's thoughts, coming as if called to him, to his very mindspace --
“Lord Corvo.”
Corvo managed to look up at the gentle pull of his name. Sam was there, offering him a hand, blocking Geoff from any possible backlash. Corvo's eyes flicked from Sam to Geoff; the Watch Officer’s face was pale in the moonlight, his hand defensively resting on the hilt of his sword.
“Corvo,” Sam softly repeated.
Corvo breathed. He swallowed and stilled his racing thoughts. He flexed the claws clutching deep at the fabric of his old Protector coat. He didn't recall letting them grow out.
“I'm here, Sam,” he muttered out. “Apologies, Curnow.”
“No need, Lord Corvo,” Geoff replied, but his broken voice betrayed him. Corvo swallowed again, evening out his breath. Claws and fur burned away and disappeared: Geoff eased off his weapon as well.
“Daud,” Corvo parroted out, the only thing still on his racing and confused mind. Again, the whisper of a consciousness brushed against his thoughts at the name, followed by a bone-deep ache that had nothing to do with weariness. Corvo shivered before meeting Geoff's face once again.
“Yes, Daud,” Geoff carefully added. “he's got quite the reputation with the Abbey and the Watch. Some eyewitnesses once reported him as a Wolf of Men. Didn't ever think that description would turn out to be so… literal.”
Corvo snorted and shook his head.
“At least I have something to look for,” Corvo said, bemused. “Thank you.”
Geoff nodded, his face still holding a hint of unease as he looked Corvo over. “Of course, Lord Protector.”
“And--” Corvo choked out, finally attending the one question he most feared the answer to. “Do you know -- have you heard -- anything on Emily?”
Geoff’s face fell into a look of near pity, the sadness there cinching tight around Corvo's heart.
“I'm sorry, Corvo,” Geoff said, his sincerity causing Corvo's throat to painfully squeeze shut. “I have no idea what happened to the Empress’s daughter. And whatever Burrows planned for her, I never learned.”
Corvo looked down and away, only managing a nod as he settled back into the boat. He expected that sort of response, but knowing he was still no closer to Emily left him more drained than ever.
They fell into silence. Despite needing to rest, Corvo's body was too wired from the discussion to sleep. His limbs itched to be used and he fidgeted the whole ride back, unable to stay still. Before the boat was even tied down he was leaping free of it, his shaking legs carrying him to the building and up a flight of stairs before their pitying looks could even hope to stop him.
He wasn't present for the Curnow family reunion. He didn't want to be; instead he settled for listening to hear their muffled voices, watching them through the Void from the second story landing. Callista had stayed up late waiting for them to return; she broke into hysterics as she saw her uncle, throwing herself into his arms upon seeing him whole and healthy.
Corvo huffed and looked away, letting the Void leak out of his vision. From down the hall, a door jostled and creaked open.
Corvo froze.
A groggy servant poked their head out from behind the door; Callista's cries must have been loud enough to rouse them, even at this witching hour. Corvo eased; the worker was a young woman with disheveled brown hair and heavy eyes. Her angry grumbles morphed into a nervous squeak she caught sight of Corvo on the landing, leaning against the railing. Immediately she flushed and muttered out an apology, trying to pull herself back into her room as quickly as possible. Corvo blinked, his stomach going cold.
“Wait,” he whispered out. She jerked and didn't meet his eye, but she did as she was told. He licked his lips, choosing his words carefully has he strode over.
“Can I ask what your name is?” He tried to sound as gentle as possible, but his ragged voice made that goal next to impossible. The girl's eyes darted up to him before looking away again.
“Cecelia, sir,” she muttered. “Please, I don't be meaning no trouble--”
Before she could continue, Corvo pulled a heavy purse out of his coat and held it out to her. She looked at it warily and didn't move to take it -- not until he shook the bag slightly, the soft jangle of coin making the contents obvious and unmistakable.
“There will be a few more people staying at the pub soon,” he whispered to her, gently setting the purse in her outstretched palm. “This should be enough to cover any inconveniences or amenities during their stay.”
Cecelia gaped at the weight of the coin suddenly resting her right hand, her left furiously wiping the sleep from her eyes. She tested the weight and checked the money inside, looking back at Corvo in a sort of bewildered awe.
“Sir--” she croaked out. “Sir, I can't accept this--”
“Get it to your boss, then,” Corvo shrugged. “And make sure it's distributed to the other workers. Just consider it compensation for -- for dealing with me.”
“Thank you, Lord--” but he was gone before she even finished the sentence.
Stopping time was still a new sensation for him -- incredibly draining and empowering in one fell swoop -- but he used the power to get away regardless. He didn't need to hear her sincerity and frankly he didn't really want it. He just wanted to sleep. His brain still spun with what he'd learned on the way back from the Abbey; he needed time to digest, to be alone.
And he needed to get rid of the insistent pressure at the back of his skull that felt entirely foreign and not his own.
He closed the door to the attic and resumed time; color returned to the world and from somewhere a few flights down he heard a surprised gasp, no doubt Cecelia processing the fact that Corvo had -- to her perception -- suddenly disappeared. He huffed out a small laugh and turned to the room proper; as soon as he found the rickety old mattress he fell on it, fast asleep and unaware of the gracious mutters lingering in the hallway just outside.
------
Karnaca spread out below Corvo, just as he remembered it.
He knew this had to be a dream; he hadn't seen the city in near two decades, even if he knew the feel of it all the same. The sun burning on cobbled stone, the dust billowing on the horizon, the sticky smell of bloodfly amber -- this was the Karnaca he memorized long ago, able to pull it perfectly out of his memories even as the Void curled at the edges of the city and his wolfen body gave him a new perspective.
His memory served him well; all the same paths and winding alleys were exactly as he recalled, all the secrets only he and his sister were ever able to find. He leapt from hard stone to choking vines to winding wood, the trees at Karnca’s edge encroaching like they never had in real life, unruly and wild and overpowering. The warmth of the wood under his claws resonated with him; he was alive as the city slept, the city where he was born and raised and became the man he was today.
Corvo wound through the branches like a furred snake, all confidence and deadly elegance. But he wasn't careful; even his mind had a way of pulling tricks on him. He took a too-sharp corner and stopped dead in his tracks the air suddenly shifted.
He was no longer in Karnaca. The scents throttling his nose were nothing like the hot sand he recalled of his youth. This was heavy industry and smoke; sea and salt and the bitter tang of processed whale oil. In the distant sky -- obscured by cloud and high above the city line -- a whale keened, the sound shifting between high and low, between sadness and anger. The song of it made the fur of his neck bristle, his very soul shaking under the weight of it.
He was in Dunwall. But unlike Karnaca it was twisted, warped by the very capriciousness of his dreams.
Corvo.
His chest lurched as something hooked deep into his very core; pulling and yearning for him, calling him by name. His claws dug painfully into the wood as he tested the air, his mind reeling. His body shuddered and shook before he was off again, leaping from the rooftops to whatever pulled so powerfully on his soul.
It was long before he found his answer.
A huge, hulking form. Black fur and blazing blue eyes. A long scar marred the right side of his face as he turned to face Corvo.
Their gazes locked. Rage boiled up. Lips curled back and fangs flashed and Corvo screamed.
The force of his howl shook the very fabric of his dreamscape, rippling through the air like disturbed water. Still, the assassin wolf didn't move, didn't react, just stared Corvo down as he leapt, racing to where that other wolf was, to where he stood and --
The world shifted. Rocks shot up. The path changed.
And the wolf of Daud was gone.
Corvo panicked. The ache of his chest worsened with his rage and he clawed forward, searching for a way past his new blockade. The world tilted dangerously, warping under his very feet and throwing him off-balance. Dunwall was quickly changing into something dark and terrifying, the wind whipping up and chilling him to the bone. Yet the powerful tether maintained it's connection. Daud still called to him, but from where, he couldn't tell.
Corvo clawed his way over stone and concrete, finally reaching the surface only to find the world dark, the songs of the whales morphing into distant rumbles of thunder. The scent of rain on the wind overwhelmed him and he turned, trying to get his bearings.
“Corvo?”
The voice was soft and small, barely audible.over the whipping wind. But still Corvo's sensitive ears caught the word, and his throat choked on a stifled reply. It was too good to be true -- and yet, he couldn't mistake that voice, her voice, like the whisper of springtime bells, like innocence lost to a bygone age.
He jerked and turned, ears swiveling, focusing on the sound.
“Corvo!”
And then he saw her; she turned to him and she shone like a star, beckoning him to her.
Emily.
She beamed, and it felt too perfect to be real -- yet there she was, whole and well and waiting for Corvo with outstretched arms.
A shadow passed between them.
Like a ghost, the wolf smoked back into his vision, eyes burning like whale oil in the night. Corvo stopped, his gut going cold as Emily smiled and reached up to run a hand over the giant hound’s gnarled muzzle.
Emily! No!
But she wasn't listening anymore. She wasn't even looking at him, too busy petting the snout of the monster that had killed her mother, fangs so close to snapping her up too --
Corvo lurched forward but stumbled, stuck in place. Vines had crept up around him, long and thick and twisted, their thorns piercing his skin and fur. He yelled and cried; the weeds just wound tighter around his legs and dragged him down, away from the one thing that mattered above everything else.
No, nonono EMILY!
His claws left gouges in the wood as he dug at those inky vines trying to wake him. He fought desperately to stay in the dream, as if he could somehow get to Emily, even while asleep. But the vines were insistent, intent on dragging him back to the waking world.
All the while those cold, scarred eyes never left him.
I will find you, Corvo snarled threateningly back, praying for a reaction and getting none. I will find you and I will find her, that is a promise!
Good, was the single reply, so deep and loud it shook Corvo to the core.
His concentration faltered.
The thunder rumbled.
And the vines dragged him away, and Emily and the Knife of Dunwall were gone.
------
Corvo shot up in his bed, panting and shaking, his entire body screeching at him. It soon became apparent why; at some point in his sleep he had started turning, his limbs burning and smoking as hot fur covered his arms and shoulders. He breathed in and his ribs painfully cracked as they expanded; his face was stretched and his teeth too large and his fingers too long and it was all too much and wrong, so wrong.
It hurt like it did back in prison, back when he had no idea what was happening and it took all his energy to not return to that near-panic state. Not in Coldridge he reminded himself over and over -- on the back of his clawed left hand the Outsider's Mark still burned bright, backing up the logic of his thoughts. He took a few breaths, stilling his shaking limbs and willing his body back to normal. It took a few tense seconds but finally the fur billowed away, his joints realigned and the magic returned him back to fully human again.
He twitched and shook, more now from residual adrenaline in his veins than from any panicked exertion. Corvo’s jaw clenched; he thought he was past this. Apparently, that was just wishful thinking; this was only his second day with the mark, after all. But that mark was supposed to afford him some control over his mess of a being -- if he couldn't have that, what was the point?
Corvo growled, clenching his fist and calling to the Void. His mark flared, tingling against his skin as his black claws reemerged-- he immediately willed the claws away and his hand obediently returned to human once again.
He flexed his fingers and sighed, repeating the process until he was satisfied. Whatever had happened in his sleep didn't seem to affect him while awake. As long as he was conscious, Corvo could still pretend to be normal.
He got up and dressed as silently and as quickly as he could. He had no idea how long he had been asleep or what time it was; nobody had come to collect him this morning, and outside the sky was overcast, threatening an afternoon rain. He opened the window and sniffed; the air certainly was heavy with a humidity just waiting to be broken. Corvo frowned, closed the window until just crack remained open, and then left the stuffy attic to join the rest of the residents downstairs.
As soon as he entered the pub, every face turned to him. Corvo stopped in his tracks, alarm rising in his chest -- but then he caught Callista smiling at him over coffee, Cecelia’s flushed cheeks as she caught sight of him from behind the bar, Geoff's warm and encouraging nod. The atmosphere was anything but threatening; instead it was welcoming, as if requesting Corvo's presence instead of rejecting it. It was different. It was nice.
It made Corvo want to run away all the same.
He swallowed the urge, entering the pub proper. He caught Sam sitting in a booth reading the Courier; he made for him, hoping to join him for his quiet familiarity -- but the booth across from him was already occupied. Another man took up the seat, a man with dark hair, a sabre at his side, and robed in black and silver.
“Ah, Corvo, good to see you awake.”
Teague Martin leaned back in the pub booth, eyeing Corvo as he neared. Unease crawled up Corvo's spine at seeing Teague in the daylight but he nodded back just the same, sending a brief smile to Sam who beamed goodnaturedly back.
“Glad to see you made it here in one piece, Martin” Corvo offered. “Was it much trouble for you?”
“Hardly,” Martin said with a wave of his hand. “Overseers are allowed into quarantined areas with little question; in these chaotic times we've been offered more power than most.”
“I see,” Corvo said darkly, trying to not think of the implications of Martin's words. “Sam, is it alright if I sit with you?”
Sam smiled gently and folded the newspaper up in his hands. “Take my seat; I'm heading out to visit Piero anyway.”
Corvo shifted, uncomfortable. “Are you sure? I don't want to intrude or--”
Sam stood up and simply patted Corvo's shoulder before moving past him and outside. Corvo watched him go, unsteady from Sam's show of easy solidarity.
“Are you just going to stand there all day or are you going to sit down?”
Corvo jerked back to Martin, who watched him quizzically. Corvo’s frown returned and he sat across from Teague, studying the man carefully. He smelled clean, but in that sort of way that left no discernible scent behind. The back of Corvo's neck itched.
He pulled the small black book out of his jacket regardless, sliding it across the booth to the Overseer. Martin's eyes lit up at the sight of it, intact even after everything Corvo went through to get it. His eyes flicked briefly to Corvo's face before reaching out and taking the journal, gloved hands running across the corver before opening it and idly flicking through the pages.
“Outsider's eyes, you really retrieved it.”
Corvo hadn't shown Martin the book before they parted at the Abbey, opting to make sure the Overseer would actually show at the pub and stay true to his word. Now, Corvo leaned back in the booth, arms crossed as he kept a suspicious eye on the man across from him.
“After everything you witnessed last night, you really doubted my ability?” Corvo asked, incredulous.
“Honest men are hard to come by in this city, Corvo,” Teague replied smoothly, raising an eyebrow while scanning the journal’s pages. “You know this well, seeing how you tested me to see if I was worth the trouble.”
“You came for the book, Teague -- which means you're predictable, not honest.” Corvo growled back. “But you're here now. So now I get to ask; are you willing to help me?”
Teague scoffed and smiled a small smile. “What does a heretic like you expect from a man of the Abbey like me?”
Corvo tilted his head, eyes narrowing as his leg bounced under the table.
“Campbell works very closely with Burrows. He always has; they've been close for years, but since my priority was the Empress and her daughter, I paid no attention to it. Maybe if I had, well...” Corvo trailed off rolling his tongue over his teeth. Martin’s eyes followed the action, gaze going back to his eyes as Corvo sneered, and continued. “Either way, Burrows is the reason Jessamine is dead. He hired the assassin Daud to do the job, a fact he mentioned to Campbell. You have incrimination on Campbell and I'm looking for all the evidence I can get. What can you offer me?”
Martin's grin flashed wide but he said nothing, idly flipping through the book. Eventually, he came across an interesting page; he dog-eared it, bookmarking the placement for later.
“Campbell has many secrets, all of them damning and most of them of little interest to you,” Martin started cooly. “As shocking as it sounds, the religious elite love cavorting with devils.” He laid the book flat, his hands neatly over it.
“Campbell has been looking into heretical artifacts and individuals for years while systematically killing those who pose no real threat to the population.”
Corvo's jaw worked as he tried not to be surprised by this information.
“So he's been killing people falsely accused of witchcraft to keep heat off of himself?”
“More like keep the heat off his own pets, ” Martin corrected smoothly, “But yes. He's a big fan of the Royal Executioner -- who, despite being a rumored heretic wolf himself, has never been accosted or arrested. That's just one example of many; he picks and chooses his allies carefully and avoids those who could cause him consternation. Clearly he wasn't careful this time, not if Daud is involved.”
Corvo bristled at the name but did his best to keep his expression neutral.
“Daud; what do you know about him?”
Martin laughed.
“More like, what don't I know about him? The Overseers have been doing undercover investigation on the man for years, but he's so elusive most consider him a myth. Campbell destroys topics on him like he’s avoiding the plague; whenever he discovers an Overseer has made a personal project of trying to capture Daud, he burns any evidence. There are not many surviving documents in the Abbey on Daud. I've not met the assassin personally but whoever he is, he's not someone Campbell wants to get on the bad side of.”
“Do you think Campbell is working with him -- burning evidence that points to previous business transactions?”
Martin shook his head, flipping through the book again. “No, no, I'm certain Campbell does it out of fear -- or, to protect Burrows. Campbell is interested in the occult so in a twisted way, Daud is a competitor and not to be trusted.”
“A competitor?” Corvo asked, his head tilting curiously. Martin just gestured nonchalantly to Corvo's left hand.
“Yes, for the Outsider's favor,” Martin told him. “Campbell's been obsessed for years. I'm hoping his journal will confirm what I've already suspected; that Campbell met the Outsider once but walked away from the encounter with no favor. Since then, he's collected quite the collection of charms and runes in a bid to understand the god of the Void better.”
“I did find more than one artifact in his chambers while I was gathering information,” Corvo mused, thinking of the locked vault he had snuck into and ransacked for his own devices. “So this does add up. And it's plenty to incriminate Campbell when the time comes.”
“Oh it's only the waterspout of the whale, Corvo,” Martin drawled easily, his grin still eager and triumphant. “Such as how he enjoys slipping away to the Golden Cat every Tuesday to practice his wandering gaze and wanton flesh.” He laughed as Corvo grimaced at the thought.
“How do you know all of this, anyway?” Corvo growled out, apprehensive of the answer. Martin just shrugged and smiled.
“I wasn't always an Overseer, and I didn't join via the conventional means of being hand picked as a good boy candidate.” He flipped to a page idly, scanning the contents. “I have so many reasons to want to see Campbell kicked off his high horse, most of them my own. Perhaps one day I'll tell you why but for now, just know it gives me great pleasure to be able to bring about the High.Overseer’s downfall.”
Corvo went silent, chewing over all that Martin had provided. He didn't know how much of it he could believe, or what was even worth remembering. He didn't care about Campbell, not like Martin did. With or without the knowledge of his occult obsession, Campbell was now a dead man walking. But what Martin had said about Daud, how even Campbell seemed to fear his wrath… those were facts worth remembering.
“Speaking of the Golden Cat…” Martin added, almost as an afterthought. He trailed off, prompting Corvo’s attention again. “They say half the girls who end up there are dropped off by nobles who need to cover up getting a pretty tramp pregnant on Fugue and soiling the family blood with unwanted heirs. Nobody believes a whore when she's forced to work in prostitution.”
Corvo's brow furrowed. “That is a popular rumor, yes, but I'm not sure what it has to do with anythi--”
“There's also a rumor that Burrows has strong connections with the Golden Cat--” Martin said, a little more forcefully. “--and that he's visited the establishment more frequently than usual since the Empress died. Some say it's for stress relief, with the young Emily missing, and all.”
Corvo stared at him, his mouth snapping shut.
“It's just a rumor, of course,” Martin finished, casually shrugging. “Could be nothing.”
Martin raised his eyebrows at Corvo and the gravity of his words finally hit him like a brick.
Luckily, the Lord Protector didn't need explaining to twice. With a heavy swish of his coat Corvo was gone from both the booth and the pub, searching out his loyal boatman even as the distant thunder rolled the rain threatened overhead.