The Waste Land
Redux
Such Sweet Destruction We Have Wrought, Such Regret
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In which Daud:
Buys a vineyard
Adopts a street kid
Finds peace with himself
And somehow ends up Royal Spymaster
~'*'~
1837
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6th Day, Month of Seeds, 1837
I thought leaving Dunwall and my old life behind would be easy. Initially it was, laughably so.
Slipped out in the dead of night, taking to the shadows as an old friend, transversing past Whalers at their posts like a ghost, like Corvo had earlier that very same day.
Back then I had been confident that the Whalers would be fine with my second, Thomas, taking over leadership, so I packed quickly and light, taking only a few precious books and enough money to buy passage to Serkonos and a vineyard there, as I had always foolishly dreamed. I left Thomas with every penny of Burrow's cursed coin that to do with as he saw fit, I still have no doubt he will put it to better use than I ever could.
I left my gear too, arrogantly; foolishly, taking only the knife I had arrived with as homage to my former title, what was the Knife of Dunwall without a blade but a target? Did I really think it could be that easy to leave a life of death behind?
It is only now, halfway across the sea to the only other place I have ever called home, that dark thoughts are sinking their wretched claws deeper into me. Not because I left, that fate had been sealed the moment Corvo stupidly spared me; no, for leaving without saying a proper farewell. For as much as I tried to remain detached and aloof, the older I got the more I realised that in a way the Whalers had become more to me than subordinates, Outsider knows many of them, especially the young ones, in some bizarre and twisted fashion, considered me a father.
It was the last thing I had expected when I picked the first strays up off the streets, but the Whalers became a family of sorts, held together with discipline and luck, yes, but also trust, and I have just betrayed them, abandoned them.
Now my impending arrival in Serkonos has a bitter taste.
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9th Day, Month of Seeds, 1837
The first step onto the solid land of Serkonos should have been a relief, a lifting of the weight.
It isn't.
The port of Cullero is bustling with life. It's overwhelming after weeks at sea with only the company of a few sailors. The heat is overwhelming too, under the mid-day sun as Serkonos approaches the hottest period of the year, sweat breaks out immediately.
Slowly he shuffles into the crowd on the dock, eyes scanning for an escape route into a quieter area. Off to the side, he spots a promising looking alleyway and immediately starts heading towards it, moving through groups of people with an ease brought on by years of stealth.
The alley is blessedly calm and cool compared to the docks and at the other end he can see that it thankfully opens onto a quiet street.
Unfortunately the alleyway is also home to an unlucky street rat who tries their luck at snagging his money pouch. Muscle memory kicks in before he has time to think and the kid finds themselves on the ground with his knife at their throat in seconds. In the moments it takes to pull himself out of the instinct to kill he has seen the monster that is the Knife of Dunwall reflected in the kid's terrified eyes.
Horrified, he pulls himself away and staggers to the end of the alleyway to throw up, leaving the kid gasping in relief behind him. He hadn't killed another human being since the Empress, but now he knows that the urge and the will to murder are still there, engrained in him just under the skin.
And it's taken him less than an hour to spectacularly mess up.
"Are you alright mister?"
Turning in surprise he spots the street kid, a girl, barely ten years old by the looks of her, clothes ragged and filthy, her hair messily tucked up into a cap, sleeves of a jacket too long for her covering fragile wrists. If it weren't for the feminine bone structure of her face he could have easily mistaken her for a boy, which was probably the point, being a boy was the likely best protection she would have on the streets.
"Am I alright?" He chokes out under his breath in disbelief. What in the Void is the kid doing? She should have been running from terror, but there she was, stood a cautious distance away, observing him with a tilted head. "What the fuck kid?"
"Language." The chastisement is exactly the last thing he expected her to say. A moment passes then she nods to herself and to his bemusement offers a hand to shake. "I'm Amelia." He finds himself taking the proffered hand in his confusion.
"Daud," he offers in reply, not quite knowing why he gives her his name.
"Are you alright Mr. Daud?" He doesn't correct her assumption that Daud is his last name, it was a mistake to give his name in the first place, but maybe having it as a surname will convince anyone looking for him that they have the wrong man.
"I'm fine," he bites out if only to get her off his back. He desperately wants to be alone.
"If you say so Mr. Daud sir," the kid replies sounding utterly unconvinced, "if you're wanting a place to stay, the King's Keys 'round the corner's pretty cheap, and the owner ain't a crook like others are."
Daud nods, still trying to process the events of the last few minutes and leaves the alley, shaken and confused. The kid doesn't try to follow him.
He ends up staying at the King's Keys anyway.
~'*'~
18th Day, Month of Timber, 1837
It's taken longer than I expected but I've finally found a vineyard and someone willing to sell it. Cullero isn't as bad as Dunwall but it's got its fair share of corruption and most of my subtle enquiries have hit dead ends.
This man though, Higgins, actually is selling. The vineyard was his father's from what I can gather, and it's been empty since the man died nearly ten years ago. Higgins has no interest in it in any case but I can understand him not wanting it left to fall into ruin.
We've arranged a meeting in three days' time to hash out the final details, but it looks as though I'm going to have coin to spare.
Which is good because I keep spending it on that Void damned street kid.
I don't know if she's following me or if it's just the Outsider playing an elaborate practical joke but I keep spotting her at the side of the street hungrily eyeing up the market sellers and I keep ending up buying her food just to get that desperate look off her face.
But then she stopped eating them straight away, instead tucking them away and running off. I followed her once all the way out to a ruined farmstead in the countryside outside Cullero only to find her sharing it with another kid who must be her brother because there's an uncanny resemblance there.
It doesn't take a Natural Philosopher to see that the boy's sick.
I approached loudly, stepping deliberately on a twig to announce my presence. The girl was immediately defensive until she spotted me and relaxed just as quickly as she had bristled.
"Oh, it's just you Mr. Daud."
Not an inch of fear in her. Astonishing.
Somehow I ended up correcting her form, and then going back again the next week and teaching her more. I always did enjoy teaching and Void knows she needs to be able to defend herself because one day it won't be me stalking towards them. She's too trusting.
I still don't understand how anyone can look at me without fear.
Next time I see her, I'll make sure to buy her enough food for two.
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22nd Day, Month of Timber, 1837
He's just making his way back to the inn with the deeds to the vineyard tucked safely away in his pocket when he hears the quiet sobbing coming from the alleyway.
He debates about ignoring it but in the end curiosity wins out and he ducks between the houses, lets his eyes take a moment to adjust to the light.
It's the kid, the one that tried to steal his money pouch he arrived, his little shadow.
She's tucked herself into a corner, curled into a ball, head buried in her sleeves, trying desperately to muffle her tears. For a moment he thinks that she's been hurt, or even taken advantage off, and an unholy rage builds up inside him. It takes another moment for him to spot the tiny body laid beside her, still and stiff in death's embrace.
He doesn't need to move closer to know whose body it is, he recognises the clothes her brother was wearing.
Fuck.
She sniffles and glances up; freezing when she spots him in the mouth of alley, then hurriedly wipes away her tears with her cuff, succeeding only in smearing more dirt across her cheeks, as she lifts her knife.
"Stay back!" Her small voice trembles, even as she drops into the defensive stance he taught her. He's quietly impressed.
"It's just me," he fumbles for a moment as he tries to remember her name, was it Cecelia, Millie, no wait, "Amelia." A frown graces her tearstained face.
"Mr. Daud?" The knife drops a little with her stance and he takes advantage of the distraction even as he makes a note to talk to her about the dangers of letting down your guard. In a heartbeat he has twisted the blade out of her hand and lifted her easily into his arms.
For a moment she squirms as she tries to work out what happened, then she is melting into his embrace, burying her head in his coat, taking whatever comfort she can.
It isn't until he starts to walk back towards the road that she realises his intent. Then she's kicking and screaming, fighting to get away, but his grip is firm, he's used to restraining people much stronger than her.
"No! Let me go you pig! Please, no, Sebastien!"
He manages to detangle an arm to press her head back into his coat to stifle her choked cries as they emerge back into the street. They get a few cautious glances from passers-by but no one dares to approach which suits him just fine.
By the time they get back to the inn the sun is setting and Amelia has fallen into a troubled sleep, he had let her make as much fuss as she wanted, beating his chest with fists hard enough to leave bruises, working herself into exhaustion. Entering the inn he is faced with more suspicious glances but his dangerous glare is enough to convince the barkeep against commenting and the other patrons of the pub give him a wide berth as he makes for the stairs.
Amelia is settled amongst the blankets on the bed, the room secured, and then he is vanishing back out into the night.
Sebastien's body is thankfully untouched and far too light when he lifts the boy in his arms just as he had done his sister. He carries the tiny form out into the countryside, down to the river where he had taught Amelia to defend herself. He finds a small barn at the end of a nearby field that looks sturdy enough to keep out the wolves and lays the body down gently onto the straw, reaching out and tendering closing unseeing eyes.
The moon is high when he silently slips back into his room at the inn; Amelia is still laid in his bed.
He sits in the small armchair in the corner of the room and falls into an uneasy sleep.
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25th Day, Month of Timber, 1837
How in the Void do I keep picking up strays?
Amelia woke angry and shouting as I had expected, but what took her hours the day before only took minutes that morning and soon her screaming merged into crying. I let her get it out and when she was in a state to think rationally again explained that I had taken her brother somewhere safe.
I would have burned the boy's body had I known that that was what Amelia's family did, but I know that different people like to do different things and I didn't want to be disrespectful. The Whalers had burned the dead, but I know that some people prefer to bury them, or take them out into the wild and let nature take its course.
The decision was Amelia's to make.
When she had calmed down I took her out to the barn. She hesitating upon seeing her brother's body again, but quietly requested that he be buried after only a few minutes of silent mourning.
We dug the grave together, at the base of the oak tree.
I wonder if everything good I touch is doomed to die.
When we had arrived back into Cullero I had expected her to vanish into the crowd, but when I glanced back she was there a few steps behind me. Catching my gaze she had sheepishly rubbed the back of her neck before quietly murmuring:
"I ain't got anywhere else to go Mr. Daud."
The next thing I know I'm offering a traitorous hand out to her and she's taking it and now I seem to be stuck with her. I can practically hear the black-eyed bastard laughing.
Why is it always me?
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1st Day, Month of Songs, 1837
It is on the sixth day of trudging across the Serkonan countryside towards the vineyard he now owns that Daud spots it and comes to an abrupt halt. Behind him, he hears Amelia do the same. The kid's been subdued since they left Cullero but still doesn't seem inclined to leave him so he's resigned himself to scavenging and hunting fresh food for two. He might be able to cope with dried fruit and crackers but the kid needs a proper diet.
The hare bounces happily across the road in front of them. Deciding that it would make a few good meals and at least put a bit of weight on Amelia's bones because the kid was still way too skinny he dropped effortlessly into a hunting stance, twirling the blade in his hands. He stalked soundlessly towards the unaware hare, Amelia wisely choses to stay where she is, completely still.
The knife slides easily into the creatures neck, life ended fast and clean, just as Daud had always preferred. Hot blood spatters across his hand.
Then suddenly he is looking into the wide eyes of the Empress as her hands claw at his biceps, trying to push him away. His sword glides between ribs and the Empresses blood stains his gloves, some of it splashes onto his face. It's a brutal, messy kill, completely unlike him. He tastes iron in his mouth, feels her accusing eyes on him, and suddenly he is drowning in a river of blood.
YOU KILLED ME. YOU KILLED ME. YOU KILLED ME.
A cold chill rushes over him, his breath catches, heart stutters.
The dead eyes of the hare reflect his own and he promptly turns away and loses the contents of his stomach in retching sobs.
"Mr. Daud? Are you alright?" Amelia is kneeling beside him, a hand on his shoulder, her small form obscures the sight of dead animal.
"I'm fine," he croaks out as his stomach finally settles and his throat stings. He moves back to the hare but the feeling returns the moment his eyes fall upon the lifeless creature and he has to turn away again.
"Shit," he gasps as he tries to hold himself together.
"Language," Amelia's scolds seems almost automatic and he finds himself weakly chuckling, "what're you gonna do with it?" Daud hesitates but he already knows.
"You have it all, kid." She looks doubtful. "You need it more than me."
Amelia gives him another long hard look before shrugging apathetically and moving to deal with the carcass. He's inordinately glad that her life on the streets has taught her how to prepare food like this. Shaking hands clean his knife for what he knows will be the last time, he won't, can't, kill anymore. He'll have to teach Amelia to hunt instead.
He never eats meat again.
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12th Day, Month of Songs, 1837
Well, it turns out Higgins wasn't exaggerating when he said this place was a mess. No wonder he couldn't find another buyer.
The main house seems stable enough, and it has a roof at least, which already makes it better that the flooded district of Dunwall. Amelia has claimed the attic room for her own, says that she likes the views. I can't bring myself to argue.
As for the vineyard, it'll take a lot of work to get it running again. The grape plants are overgrown with weeds, I'll be lucky to get a harvest of even a couple of bunches this year. The orchard and walled garden are in slightly better shape, but for now we're going to have to buy or scavenge food. It's a good thing this place was so cheap after all, I've got plenty of coin to last us the season.
At least the village nearby seems pleasant enough. Maybe I'll head there tomorrow and make some enquiries about books on agriculture; it wouldn't hurt to start building up a library here.
Time to put my restless hands to good use for once.