/!\ /!\ /!\ THAT CHAPTER WASN'T BETA-READED. /!\ /!\ /!\
I'm a French native/speaker/writer, I always translate my fic myself then ask for a beta-reading. I wrote two more chapters in French and my beta-reader is a bit busy nowadays (as I should be but oh well, ahah, writing a fic instead of my thesis, I'll burn in Hell or whatever) and I never push the nice people who agreed to correct my mistakes.
I give you the unbeta-readed (?) chapter 3 but read at your own risk or wait a bit~
(I guess it's still better than reading the French version with google translate, ahah)
CHAPTER 3
Billie had never seen so much luxury with her own eyes. The room was, however, a small smoking room that housed two armchairs and a coffee table. Paintings adorned the walls while the details of the blue wallpaper were already very rich. A wall mural, cut in amaranth, extended in a long line, representing a scene of aquatic life: wooden whales, fishes and octopuses were frozen between seaweed and shells. The work was so neat that the animals seemed alive, ready to move to the bottom of this purple sea.
Billie did not belong in this frame, nor did Claudia or Adela. The latter was holding a glass that was more valuable than all the meals she had eaten in her life. An abused teenage girl who had fled the orphanage, her porcelain face still bore a few scars and, when she opened her mouth, a gaping hole appeared in place of the canine that fell last year.
"Ready?"
Her arm was shaking. All three were novices, but it was Adela who felt the less confident. Billie glanced at Claudia: she was breathing with difficulty, her breasts crushed by her corset with every nervous and quick inspiration. Billie, meanwhile, felt the adrenaline mingle with ease with her blood: used to the fights, her veins already knew this particular heart rate.
"For Delilah", murmured Claudia.
And the glass burst against the tiles.
The remains brushed their ankles and scratched the floor. The witches watched the debris shine under the flame of the lamp, waiting for the slightest sound. They heard only their breathing. Billie licked her lips and the three of them suddenly tensed: there was finally some agitation in the corridor.
"Damn! How you're clumsy, Adela! Your mother fucked with a bear or what?"
"You can shut up: your unsightly voice will attract all the guard!"
"That's enough!"
And the door opened on four armed men.
"Don't move."
Billie saw Blanche's venomous shadow behind them and was not surprised when one of the guards collapsed, pierced by a plant cone. The witch laughed at them, returning the order. The spilled blood gave the novices confidence: Claudia was jubilant and Billie could admire the hole in Adela's teeth.
The redhead released the hand of her love and seized an enemy to gag him. As for Billie, she approached the Royal Protector whom she had recognized. In spite of his age, his completely unveiled stature left no doubt: Corvo was a though opponent. That did not frighten Billie because she had already proven herself in combat, even against elite guards.
Anyway, it was only necessary to immobilize them.
Corvo felt a hand rest on his mouth as one arm held his neck. The witch in front of him paid no attention to the other guards: her poisonous green eyes pierced him. Her whole body quivered with hatred. Corvo was the one who had locked Delilah in the painting and Blanche would have liked to open his trachea.
"Well, well, Royal Protector, a little sound of glass and here you are, out of bed and barely dressed. We had planned to destroy the wall, I dare not imagine in which outfit you would have arrived then."
The enchantress laughed ferociously. Corvo did not move his jaws: if the witches intended to destroy the wall, it was because they did not know how to open the trunk that contained Delilah's painting. A chest that opened only when the mural was correctly handled: this padlock disguised as a decorative element was designed by Sokolov himself. A complex and neat work. The combination, difficult to memorize, had been reproduced on a bracelet where the order of algae and animals had been carved on ivory pearls. And this bracelet was near the bed of the Empress.
The guard Claudia was gaging screamed and his knees dropped. Billie had not seen what had happened: she thought at first that Claudia, in her enthusiasm, had hurt the man, not respecting the original plan. Blanche had exactly the same thought and gave her disciple a death stare.
Corvo took advantage of the moment of confusion to swing forward, taking Billie with him. The woman was propelled but managed to recover. She planted her nails in Corvo's neck and landed on her lap, causing him to lose his balance for a short while. He managed to push her away with the handle of his sword. The one marked by the Outsider never demonstrated his gifts, but the thought of Jessamine confirmed that urgency was more important than discretion. Stunned, Billie felt the body of the man evaporate in her hands: Corvo had just teleported to the end of the corridor, escaping the witches.
Adela and Claudia were overwhelmed by the guards. The hostage of Claudia, who had simulated a pain to destabilize the assailants, struck the tip of the barrel of his revolver against the forehead of her jailer. As for the youngest apprentice, she had fallen after a trip.
Always quick to react, Billie took again her knife and began to attack the two adversaries like a furious cat: she wanted to recover Claudia and Adela, to save the woman she loved and this girl who seemed lost. The blade sank into the forearm of the first opponent, releasing the teenager who took the opportunity to flee. Then, the tip of the weapon aimed the eye of the second enemy, sliding on the cheekbone. Billie grabbed Claudia's hand and dragged her into the race. They had fulfilled their part of the contract: to make diversion while the witches searched for the code of the safe. She had no regrets to let Blanche fend for herself.
In front of the door of the room, Bertram was on the ground strangled by ivy that seemed to act by itself, his face began to turn blue and his tongue protruded from his lips. Sitting in the bed, Jessamine had armed herself with the revolver she kept in her bedside table. Since the attack of Delilah, the Empress had become her own bodyguard, following Corvo's training.
Three witches were there, trying to blend into the shadows of the night while apprehending the actions of their opponent. When Jessamine saw Corvo, she pointed the gun at him, called him in a loud voice and pulled the trigger. Quick, as if time was slower in his situation, Corvo's arm rose and the sword struck the bullet. The marble of lead went through the temples of a first witch and stopped its race only when it got stuck at the bottom of the skull of a second, tearing the folds of the brain, burning her last thoughts.
The remaining sorcerer screamed and rushed at the Empress, her nails ready to burst her eyes. Corvo teleported to the enemy and grabbed her throat, squeezing her neck in the crook of his elbow. Despite the dim light, Jessamine could see the witch's eyes bulging with rage. Then the eyelids became heavy and hid this gulf of hatred. Unceremoniously, Corvo threw the unconscious woman to the ground and took Jessamine in his arms. She responded to his embrace.
"I'm fine, Corvo. I'm fine."
"I know. I just need to hold you against me."
"The painting is—?"
"Still safe. But obviously, secrets never stay hidden long in Dunwall—"
The guards who had accompanied Corvo arrived, making sure that the Empress was safe. One was compressing the wound of his forearm with his hand, the other concealing his eye. They informed their superior that the intruders had fled. The news was bad but Corvo tried to relativize. First of all, the three women in the room were not witches, they were certainly novices, bait paid and, returning with failure, they would be removed from the projects or even eliminated. As for the witch who had killed one of their comrades, although she had fled too, Corvo was planning to have the one he knocked out talk to him to get some names. They would see each other again.
"Nice initiative, Weldon." Corvo congratulated the guard who had had the brilliant idea of making a diversion. Corvo was sincere; otherwise the night would have been worse without the improvisation of his colleague. He carefully noted this act of bravery and, if the matter were to reach the editor of the newspaper, Corvo would ensure that the name of Weldon would not only occupy an unfortunate line in a column, and he would not forget the one who died in battle.
Jessamine thought the night very long: sleep was repulsed by the questions and worries that were lurking in her mind. Her insomnia was shared by Corvo, who slowly approached her. They were hidden under the sheets like two children who dreaded witches, seeking shelter in the arms of the fabric.
"You never told me why you refused me to kill Delilah."
"I've a heart too tender." She was trying to hide her embarrassment with a little humor. Yet even in the dark, Corvo knew he would have to dig deeper to know the truth. Except for the family bond that tied his wife to this horrible witch, he knew nothing.
'There could be a fire in this room. A painting burns much faster than a body. Wood, canvas, products in painting—"
"No, Corvo. Please. You must know what I mean since you have a sister too."
"Who has never sent mercenaries to kill me."
Jessamine turned her back with a tired sigh. She did not resist when Corvo slid his hand between hers, leaning in those hot palms.
"Delilah's your sister and she wants to take your place on the throne. I can understand that you refuse to have her executed, but you're showing too much leniency for her."
The Empress tightened her fingers on Corvo's ones.
"Is there anything you would like to tell me?"
"When I was a child, I was cruel with Delilah."
He did not press her with questions: if Jessamine agreed to open one of the corners of this tender heart, he would let the wind of words push the door for him.
"It's quite stupid— Delilah and I played very often together without disturbing anyone. Until the day I wanted to play with crystal figurines that belonged to my grandmother. Delilah was less enthusiastic but she agreed to take part: I had chosen a beautiful ship and she had taken an octopus. We imagined that the octopus wanted to get on board." Jessamine explained nostalgically. She remembered how the rays had illuminated these transparent forms. Delilah and she had been fascinated by the rainbows dancing on the carpet that afternoon. "Then I decided that the octopus couldn't be part of the crew, I snatched the figurine from her hands and I knocked the boat down on it. Everything broke with a horrible noise and a servant entered. I didn't think: I knew they were valuables and I was so scared. I cowardly accused Delilah. Nobody put my word in doubt even if I cut my thumb a little. I didn't see Delilah again, but I knew that the punishment had been severe."
"And that's why you feel responsible?"
"That's silly, I know. But I was a liar and this memory still hurts me, Corvo. We always raised Emily to be honest and brave, if she knew that her own mother had been an odious little—
"Jessamine, all the kids do bad things."
"There's a difference between stealing an apple before the meal and accusing someone who gets beaten."
"You might not have lied if you knew the consequences."
"I don't see how it alleviates my fault."
"Okay, Delilah was unjustly punished with your charge, but your finger was hurt. How is it that no one has noticed? Adults must act with maturity with children."
Corvo remembered one time Emily had thrown a lesson book through her balcony. The eleven-years-old girl pretended she did not know where it had been, but lie was a mask that was too difficult to wear. Insecure, Emily had not held more than fifteen minutes when her father questioned her and finally confessed with a shameful face.
"And what did the great Royal Protector do in his life to know both children and their vices?" Jessamine asked, finally turning to him.
"You would be surprised. At fourteen, I drank in the glass of a drunkard. He was too blind to notice me, but we don't deceive a drunk man about alcohol: he saw that his glass was less full. I managed to make him believe that cider evaporated faster than water and that he had to drink the rest quickly."
They burst out laughing together: they had shared a thousand memories, a thousand confessions, a thousand thoughts, but some still remained to be discovered. Corvo put his lips on Jessamine's forehead.
"We all did some nonsense, Jessamine. It doesn't make you a horrible or vile person. You don't have to blame yourself too harshly: those who hurt Delilah are the ones who exiled her and punished her severely."
"Still, promise me that you will not touch the painting. Whether I feel guilty or not doesn't change anything: don't kill Delilah, Corvo, please."
He promised not to fire the canvas since his love asked him.
The morning mail added some balm to the heart: Kirin Jindosh told them that their daughter was now at home, in good health. Without the events of the night, Jessamine would have taken a boat to Karnaca, accompanied by Corvo. But the witches' attack kept them from seeing Emily even for a few days.
The Empress took the pen and answered Jindosh's financial requests. In a small suitcase, she put on some necessities, some shirts, some underwear and, confident in the abilities of the Inventor, added two trousers. With a tender gesture, she added hairpins belonging to the heiress. These ivory stems would soon touch Emily's hair. The mother laid a kiss on it, hoping that this contact would reach her daughter's locks.
Before she could find a more appropriate accessory, Emily stuck a pen to hold her bun. As long as it did not fall into the water, Jindosh would not tell her anything. Or rather, he will not know. She had hesitated with other tools that were on his desk but she preferred not to touch it. At dawn, the Inventor had warned her that he would be away for the day and that he would not be home until nightfall. He had also repeated his warning that the heiress should not venture into the mansion. It had been three days since the mermaid had bathed in the underground lake and the owner wanted to make sure that she would be less adventurous in the future.
For the moment, her only daring act was to sit at Jindosh's desk. Hands crossed in front of her, her back straight, Emily looked at the clockwork soldier who was standing to the left of the office, static.
"Soldier. Bring me some tea." Emily jumped when the bird's head turned to her. "Forget what I just said, I was joking. Besides you can't even carry a cup."
Taking care to not disrupt the order of this universe of papers, screws and magnifying glasses, Emily explored the place of work of her host. Leaves were covered with calculations that seemed to combine impossible measures, from the infinitely small to the infinitely large. There were symbols that Emily did not recognize and the results went beyond her understanding. Luckily, Jindosh did not just speak the language of the numbers and she found some correspondence. There were answers for customers wishing to buy his creations and to-do lists. Jindosh had noticed somewhere that he had to adjust the temperature of the water robot in the kitchen, finding his coffee or tea still too hot.
Emily found documents tied with a strap, a message on top of it. Sokolov's signature at the bottom of the page immediately caught his eye.
"My dear Jindosh,
Several years have passed since your expulsion from the Academy of Natural Philosophy, yet I have never forgotten your talent. That is why I spoke about you to our Empress and I think that with the bases that I could gather and your skills, you will be able to help the heiress.
You have never followed the advice of others, but I want to warn you anyway: please, Jindosh, respect the limits of common sense and ethics. This is our future Empress.
Anton Sokolov"
It was a rather short letter, but it allowed the reader to know two things: that Jindosh was a former student of the Tyvian teacher and that he had been expelled from the Academy of Natural Philosophy. Emily would have liked to know why, but judging by the old professor's tone, there was certainly a connection withJindosh's questionable morality. She understood better why the scientist had so easily abandoned the idea of mechanical legs for a transplant. It only remained for her to hope that he would keep his commitments regarding her only wish: a perfectly willing donor.
Emily then found a drawing. Even if it was only a sketch, it was enough to see that Jindosh did not have the talent of Sokolov. The Tyvian professor was very expressive in his art: his portraits reflected an angular view of the world while marrying the colors with a unique harmony. If Sokolov favored hard angles, Jindosh seemed to prefer curves and precise details. The pencil had danced a waltz on the paper, printing a tail of fish traced with lead. Each shell was a small bridge and they dressed all the space, reaching a woman's stomach. The portrait was incomplete, content with the subject of study, but Emily had recognized herself, although she did not think herself so thin.
Through being measured, weighed, silvergraphied, and analyzed, Emily had come to the conclusion that Jindosh knew her body better than the men with whom she had shared her bed. Absorbed in his work, Jindosh touched Emily as a phrenologist fumbles the skull of a criminal. He analyzed her as a zoologist who would have discovered a new animal. All his contacts were mechanical but were still marked with a certain respect. She appreciated how he asked her each time the authorization to lift her, to carry her. This study prolonged Emily's pleasure of being a mystical creature. She who had always dreamed of monstrous tales, of fantastic myths, her hybrid body composed her own legend.
However the mermaid had begun to be bored of her condition: the chimeras were deceiving the men's eyes for about fifty pages; Emily had had fun playing the naiad for sixteen long months. Even the most mischievous fairy would have been bored. Long exiled from the human world, the creature took pleasure in becoming Emily Kaldwin, the heir to the throne of the Empire of the Islands again. She often discussed with Jindosh, had got back to human gestures and daily habits again. The modified part of her body became more bearable and soon her siren condition would be reduced to memory.
The scientist and the heiress shared meals as well as conversations, and if Emily had noticed that her host was rather talkative, he was mostly narcissistic and showed only the best of himself. The guest knew few details about Jindosh and she wanted to analyze this eccentric being at her turn.
Raising the sketch, the siren noticed that a text was written on the back.
"Dear Kirin," was the first line. The sender could only be a relative or an intimate person to use the first name of the Inventor. Emily hesitated but the missive was so short that her eyes had already read everything.
"Dear Kirin,
There was a demonstration of your clockwork soldiers near our home, I wanted to take our mother there but she refused. I attended it alone and was very impressed. It may be too late to tell you, but I'm proud of you.
Emil Jindosh"
The date was recent: Kirin Jindosh had received these compliments a month ago. The young woman put the letter down carefully, the face with the sketch turned towards her. She understood that it was the brother, elder or younger, of the Inventor. The distant tone of the missive did not reflect a brotherly love. And if Jindosh had used it as draft paper, it was unlikely that these compliments would really make him happy. With his pronounced tendency to work, Emily had almost forgotten that Jindosh could have a family and the worries that go with it usually.
"My dear Jindosh!"
Jindosh smirked a smile: he hated that one precedes his name of this 'dear' so exuberant. Few people really thought that the Inventor was dear to them. At least the smile of Baroness Finch's nephew seemed sincere.
"My dear Finch."
The little man, round as a carboy, walked towards his guest. Jindosh almost had to lean over to shake Amos Finch's chubby hand. When a guard closed the big portal, the iron began to whine, interrupting the birds' song and the buzzing of the insects. The many flowers in the garden imitated the palette of colors of a painter, brightening the horizon of the hospital that stood above.
"You arrive at a quiet hour, Jindosh: the pills have been administered and all the patients are quiet, adorably quiet."
Far from being a doctor, Amos Finch was rather the benefactor of the Asylum of Karnaca. Vaguely curious about the sciences of the mind, Finch was especially attracted by the prestige of the position of director. Whenever he was called doctor Finch, pride crowned him like an emperor. Jindosh felt a certain disdain for this valuable title bought like a property, but he had no resentment against Finch in particular. He knew it: money was a god who fascinated as much as the Outsider. And precisely: Finch quickly noticed the briefcase Jindosh was holding.
"You came with some gifts?"
"I never come empty-handed, Finch."
"Always so courteous, Jindosh, so courteous, a real model that I should follow! Look at us: we started chatting while we're still in the gardens! Come, we will enjoy the splendid view from my office. A beautifully splendid view."
Finch had this verbal tic that made him to repeat and amplify every sentence just so he could kill silence. The absence of noise seemed to be a phobia.
Before reaching the top floor of the building and gazing at Karnaca, the two men had to cross the asylum. Inside, the large windows were concealed by curtains so the bright light of the region does not scare the most sensitive patients. Few furniture filled the void of this immense hall: security was getting along with reserved simplicity.
In one corner there was a coffin-shaped cage. During Jindosh's last visit, the Inventor had seen a man who seemed as strong as an ox locked up in that prison. The insane man had continually tapped his forehead against the bars until marks were printed on his head and he had sung obscene songs Jindosh had heard from the upper floor. But everything was for the safety of the patient, the precious safety of the patient according to the director. Whenever a patient behaved badly, horribly badly, Finch's face turned red and he began to stammer, stifled with shame. Jindosh had an irresistible desire to laugh every time he saw the baroness' nephew annihilated by embarrassment.
When the elevator arrived, a nurse with an elderly patient freed the place. The nurse greeted them respectfully and asked the patient to do the same. The old woman, her eyes bright, nodded but only in the direction of Jindosh, totally ignoring the director of the establishment.
Amos Finch did not lie when he praised the beauty of his office and the landscape. The room had been set up in a veranda where the stained glass windows replaced the paintings and, under the pieces of colored glass, Karnaca shone. The sea became sometimes green, sometimes violet or sometimes orange. The buildings, with red or cream facades, played with hues, dressing with varied lights. It was scarcely noon and the sun made the swells shine. A pleasant breeze was spinning on the balcony, inviting the two men to savor its fresh hugs. Jindosh settled into one of the red leather armchairs that were protected under an awning. He kept the briefcase close to him, making it clear to his potential seller that the business was not yet concluded. Finch poured whiskey into two glasses and they clinked them.
"You must know, Finch, that it's not just for courtesy that I brought back a little something. As I said in my message, I have a service to ask you."
"Do you have a new experience going on, Jindosh?"
"Effectively. You will forgive me for not being able to tell you about it at the moment: to be in my secret would expose you to danger."
"To danger? What danger?"
"Because if the experiment goes wrong, you will know that I failed and I can't stand that my bruised ego has witnesses."
Finch laughed with his guest.
"Oh yes, it would be a real danger! But well, you must tell me what you need?"
"I need a patient. Anonymous if possible or a person who no longer has any family."
"But you will return him to me?"
"I hope, that's my goal anyway. But the experience may be quite long and no family could endure an absence of two weeks without asking questions."
Pensive, Finch raised his face. The spots of color slipped on his skin and scrambled his expression, making it puzzled. Many of the patients were dropouts or exiled members, and if they were not orphans, their family did not seek to see them again. However, relatives paid internment and some paid astronomical sums: when they could not love with the heart, they loved with coins. In addition, like any good noble, Amos Finch was allergic to scandal, but he could trust Jindosh on this point: all the rumors about the Inventor had never been proven. Himself he had never dared to ask the concerned who were true and which ones were false.
"You surely need a deposit." Jindosh remarked, finally handing the briefcase over to Finch. The director was now allowed to open the folder and inspect the inside: there was a lot of money. But in addition to the fascinating color of the ingots, there was an opportunity to the key.
"That said, my failure would be a profit for you, Finch, because it would make me come back for another subject and it would take only two more sums like this one to be able to offer you one of my clockwork soldiers."
This precision filled the director with joy. The Karnaca Asylum did not really need a clockwork soldier, especially since the machine could scare a few residents, but the pleasure of owning one of these killer birds was a way to expose its wealth. The soldier would be sublime in a corner of the office: inactive, it would be an original decorative element, the olive wood would be painted by the colored rays, the metal would be brightened. And in case of intrusion, the robot would defend Finch.
The little man got up from his chair and approached Jindosh, grabbing his hand to squeeze it.
"Deal, my dear Jindosh, it's a deal!"
Still this 'dear'. The amount paid would be mostly reimbursed by Jessamine Kaldwin, but as for his patience, it would be exhausted. Jindosh hoped his time would not be lost.
"Come, tell me which patient corresponds to your projects."
Emily rolled the wheelchair to the elevator. She had grown tired of doing several laps on the top floor of this laboratory and there was nothing left to explore. Moreover, noon approached and she was planning to serve herself in the kitchen.
The young woman was impressed by the silence: when Jindosh was present, his monologues were the signs of life in the house. Now she only heard belts, gears and cables. All the organs of the manor, formerly discreet, resounded under the floors and behind the walls.
Despite the warnings, Emily wanted to take advantage of Jindosh's absence to discover more places. She stopped on the floor of the guest area. The gates of the elevator opened on a living room with a glass floor, the famous glass floor under which she had swum. The mermaid perceived the place better now: a harp, a piano, chairs, tables ready to welcome a buffet. Much smaller than Dunwall's reception hall, certainly, but the room was brighter. There was a charm in this house that seduced Emily. She moved the wheels of her chair when a clockwork soldier appeared just in front of her, spreading its blades as a threatening gesture.
"Profile identified: Emily Kaldwin. You do not have permission to go further. Only the laboratory and the kitchen are accessible to you."
The blades dissuaded Emily from insisting. With legs, she would have slipped under the machine or flew over, but with her fishtail, the siren would be operated before time. She sighed and returned to the elevator, sticking her tongue out.
"You've forgotten the title of nobility, it's Lady Emily Kaldwin."
In her mind, she was already planning to go explore Jindosh's room: this place was not forbidden to her and there was a mechanism she would have liked to learn to handle, just for the sake of refuting him about her intellectual abilities.
'This one's from Tyvia, she came to Karnaca twenty years ago to rest, but her condition worsened and she never returned home."
The patient was the one who had greeted Jindosh in the lobby. Again, her stoic profile was solely for the Inventor. She had the white complexion of Tyvian natives whom the climate of Serkonos had not succeeded in modifying. Just as her eyes had the color of icy seas and this lucidity did not accord with any neurosis. The old woman stared at all the visitors in the hope that one day someone would notice that she was sane, but if Jindosh was an excellent observer, he was not altruistic. He knew that sane people were locked up here among lunatics, just as he knew that orphans were being mistreated in refuges, as he knew that hospitalized young women were raped by the doctors. The misery of the world left him indifferent.
"But I guess that a young subject would be better?"
"A young subject is more likely to survive the experiment, yes."
It was time for manual work at the hospital, deepening the appetite before lunch. Young skinny girls were sewing, their faces expressionless but soothed. Drugged with laudanum, the patients were allowed to use pointed or sharp tools, but when the effects would finished, everything would be neatly stored in padlocked compartments. An old man was painting on a wooden board. He tried to put the tip of the brush in his mouth but a nurse prevented him every time, telling him he would eat later. The artist was floating in his shirt and Jindosh was not sure he was eating enough.
The Inventor saw a patient with morphology close to Emily's: a tall blonde who was threading beads on a string. She had a soft look, and from time to time she raised her collar under her nose to mimic a mustache and made her neighbors and the staff laugh.
"This one would be perfect."
"I can't remember her name, though. Agnes or Irene? I can't tell—"
"No matter what her identity is, Finch, as long her family, if there's still one, don't ask about her every week."
"That, on the other hand, I'm sure: she has only an aunt who lives in the north of the island. She is over fifty and moves little."
The girl looked at Jindosh and began to mimic a mustache with a big smile. Her totally faded irises did not reflect any emotion. She was not aware of what she was doing. Abandoned and dizzy, yes, she would be perfect.
"Nurses will bring her to you tomorrow morning. We'll see each other the next day at Breanna Ashworth's reception anyway, then you'll give me some news, won't you?"
"Of course. By the way, mind to give a little something to the nurses, just to pay their silence."
"Yes, yes, indeed, we must pay their silence."
Emily operated the lever a first time. The center of the room turned, furniture was replaced by other, adapting to the new function of the place. She moved the mechanism again and eventually, she recognized a bedroom, a bathroom or an office. However she did not recognize the usefulness of this carousel.
"How many afternoons of boredom before inventing that?"
The soldier behind her looked like it was put to sleep but Emily did not care: active or not, the automatons never answered her. She still had fun talking to them.
"Didn't you ever tell him it wasn't practical to take a pee during the night?"
Emily manipulated the lever several times to memorize what was changing. If the apparent walls were changing, the recesses too and the young woman suspected the presence of some secret passages. Handicapped by her legs, Emily had to postpone further exploration for later.
Her wheelchair advanced to a gallery of silvergraphs. She knew the invention but she had never seen so many shots in the same place. The heiress had only visited the wide of Serkonos and its sea currents; there she discovered streets, faces, houses, slices of life. Emily hoped to be as close to her people as her mother was, and she watched the pictures carefully. In order to better see those hung higher, the siren left her chair to sit on the edge of the desk. By leaning, she inadvertently activated the audiograph.
"Lady Kaldwin is a very interesting subject." The named one jumped, almost persuaded that Jindosh had come back and had just called her. When she realized that a recording had just begun, she expired at length to calm her distraught heart.
"I'd never studied a fish woman and I regret having to operate instead of dissecting her: it's a rare and I would have liked to keep her as she's now. But I have commitments to keep— She explained to me that she felt abandoned in the sea, but Lady Kaldwin seems to forget that she has her family to support her. A young nobleman like her certainly did not imagine living such a situation where there's neither luxury nor etiquette." Emily felt upset. Jindosh seemed to feel some rancor against the well-born. Now, the more she pondered, the more she realized that Jindosh's name did not recall her anything: there were such gold names as the Boyle or the Bunting; then there were more discreet families like the Ramsey. She tried to remember all her lessons and the surname Jindosh never emerged. The manor, the ease of life, the acquaintances, the Academy, all of this was accessible because Kirin Jindosh had surpassed his contemporaries just with his mind. "I thought her case would tire me, but it was before I was inspired for another idea about it: instead of mechanical prosthesis, a transplant would be possible. I've already managed to bring together both parts of a dead body. I would have to try on a living subject to be sure that the experience with Lady Kaldwin could be successful since The Royal Protector was unequivocal: the death of his daughter would provoke mine. Anyway, I'm confident and Lady Kaldwin has become a fascinating subject again."
The young woman remained pensive: she thought that Jindosh was an inventor, an engineer who only took care of gears or bolts; obviously, he improvised himself as a surgeon too. She wondered how far this man could be amoral. And when he had gathered the two parts of a corpse?
Breanna Ashworth was an elegant woman. Billie did not know if this grace was an appearance modeled by spells, but despite the bad news reported, the curator remained dignified. Her face was leaning over the guest list for her next reception, betraying no expression. The three novices and Blanche were standing in a row in front of the director, just under an imposing chandelier. Among the paintings, a stuffed owl watched them with its eyes that looked like two yellow moons. A smell of flowers, subtle blend of jasmine and honeysuckle, perfumed the air, but Billie could not see any plant. Maybe it was Breanna's perfume.
"What happened?"
"Claudia injured a guard while we only had to immobilize them for our sisters could recover the code on the bracelet."
Claudia was suffocated but did not dare to contradict her superior in front of Breanna. Already white, her face was now livid.
"If you allow me to give you my version, Lady Ashworth?"
Despite the polite tone, Billie took a step forward, leaving no choice to the curator. Breanna gave her the permission.
"Claudia did nothing. The guard pretended to be hurt to destabilize us. The Royal Protector, whom I held, took the opportunity to escape. We had to fight with the two remaining guards and even though they were inferior in numbers, we were overwhelmed. Claudia and Adela never had to face guards."
"And how did you get out of it?"
"I always have a knife on me. Not much and that can't compete with a sword but used well, it is an effective weapon. By attacking the two guards, I opened the way for Claudia and Adela to escape. It was an unequal fight and I didn't want them to be killed stupidly."
Breanna raised her eyebrows and looked at Blanche. The witch nodded with confirmation: she had been surprised by Billie's reactivity as she was usually so dull and quiet.
"You protected your sisters. Tell me your name."
"Billie Lurk."
"Blanche, what about our other sisters?"
The witch stopped biting her lower lip to answer:
"I don't know. I also preferred to follow Billie because I suspected they would need help leaving the Dunwall Tower. I was the only one with powers and we were able to flee all four. I don't know if the Royal Protector executed our sisters or if they are held captive."
An displeasing silence passed. Billie listened to the visitors of the Royal Conservatory who expressed how delighted they were by the wonders they observed. She loved the place herself and the director's office was a real museum. But the moment was ill chosen to admire the silvergraphs and the multitude of encyclopedias preserved behind Breanna.
"I'm very disappointed, Blanche." Her voice was cold and a breakup would have been less painful for Blanche. The young witch lowered her head, her shoulders slumped: the weight of guilt replaced the pressure of the chandelier above her head.
"I am, too, Lady Ashworth. And I'm waiting for the first opportunity to redeem myself."
The curator dismissed them but asked Billie to stay a little longer. Claudia was annoyed: the young woman cast a look of jealousy to her superior, a look that escaped her and she turned away very quickly, hiding her feelings. She wanted to be Breanna and Delilah's favorite with Billie. It was out of the question that her lover would receive favors without her.
Billie approached the office. Breanna had never noticed her before: too discreet, too retiring, this novice had never looked to be involved in anything. The curator noted rigidity in the features of this woman who did not seem to know fear. How was it that she had never spotted this apprentice?
"Why did you help your associates?" Breanna used the word 'associates' and not 'sisters' just like before. Billie suspected that there was an intention behind it: to look detached so she could not influence her answer.
"I didn't want Adela to lose her life that night, it would have been unfair as she left a life of misery behind her to move on."
"And for Claudia?"
"Because I love her."
Breanna noted how Billie justified herself for saving Adela, while for Claudia the reason was brief: love. The curator was born into a family rich in fortune but poor in affection. Belonging to the fair sex, Breanna Ashworth was only a candidate to marry, a womb to produce heirs, a living decoration of worldly salons. She had never regretted having fled this golden world, discovering more intense joys in Delilah's arms. One day, Delilah had told her how much she loved that romantic side, a side that Breanna was trying to hide by social habit, but she knew how sentimental she was.
Billie's answer pleased her and the lady even smiled, surprising the novice.
"I see. You must understand why I want to release Delilah then."
Billie had imagined the witches were trying to free their mistress to place her on the throne, but Breanna was visibly motivated by more powerful feelings. Billie would kill anyone who would attack Claudia; Breanna would do the same for Delilah. But the novice was less romantic than her superior: she was more passionate, more ardent and especially more mutilated. Past disappointments and Claudia's changes had disillusioned her about the subject of love.
If the witch had wanted to give her more importance in her plans, Billie would have refused. Luckily, Breanna offered her nothing and allowed her to leave.
Claudia was waiting at the corner of the corridor, her lips stretched into a smile: she was relieved that the interview was so short finally. She wrapped her arms around Billie's shoulders and kissed her under the ear. The black hair still bore some traces of salt, memories of the boat trip to return to Karnaca.
"What did she tell you?"
"She asked me why I protected you."
"And what did you answer?"
"That I love you."
For a brief instant, Billie found the old Claudia again. Freckles, signs of innocence, red hair, proof of passion. They kissed each other by tying their fingers together.
"I thought for a moment that she was going to make you a witch, a favorite.
"I thought it too, but I would have refused."
Claudia broke the embrace, taken aback.
"Why?"
"It's not my fight, Claudia. What Breanna feels for Delilah, I can understand, but I won't love them. If I'm here, it's because you wanted to follow them. But there's only you who counts."
It was not enough for Claudia. She admired Billie's gesture of saving her for love. But if her involvement did not go further, then it made no sense.
"Billie. If I become a witch, if I become a favorite, will you still love me?"
The two women crossed their arms at the same time, unconsciously.
"I hope I will." It was her only answer. Without waiting for a reaction, Billie turned on her heels.
Jindosh was leaning on the inside balcony: he suspected that Emily would be in the underground lake again and he was right. The mermaid seemed to enjoy this corner with the waterfalls and the closeness to nature.
"Would you like to come over, Lady Kaldwin? I have something for you."
The creature approached the edge, sprouted her hair and wiped herself before putting on her shirt. Just using her arms, she climbed the stones and went over the guardrail. Back in her wheelchair, Emily saw a suitcase near Jindosh. A suitcase that belonged to her.
"What is it?"
"Some of your belongings we've received today."
With a sudden joy, Emily opened the box and observed the objects inside. They were only clothes, care products, trivia, but the siren felt she found a little more of her lost humanity day after day. She brandishes one of the trousers.
"You were pretentious enough to tell my mother to send trousers?"
"No." Replied the inventor, surprised. "It's on her own, but I'm very flattered."
Emily delved deeper into business and laughed: now she could brush her teeth, take care of her nails, perfume and wax. Decidedly her mother had thought of all the details. An heiress had an image to look after and the Empress took care of her daughter's appearance.
"Now that you have something to occupy, will you stop coming here?"
"No I won't. I love swimming in this pool and there's no danger, I respect your instructions. But perhaps you're afraid that I understand the mechanisms of the manor and that I explore it more?"
"I'm not afraid of the impossible."
She laughed and was surprised to see that it was without malice.
"I'm likely using your bathroom now. Don't worry, I'm not frivolous, I never spend two hours in there. I may be a noble but I know how to adapt myself to situations." Jindosh did not notice, not understanding the intention in this precision. Accustomed to cultivating an image, the Inventor's opinion counted and Emily wanted to prove that she was neither fragile nor delicate. She despised the indolent and apathetic bourgeois enough, so it was out of the question to look like them.
Emily found a hair pike and removed the pen that served as her attachment.
"By the way, I can give you this back. It still works, promised."
"It seemed to me that I had forgotten to tell you to do like home, but maybe I told you finally?"
"The next time you're away, you'll have to order your soldiers that the Emily Kaldwin profile should not touch the pens!"
Emily had just finished combing her hair. She would have liked to have a mirror, just to recognize her profile.
"I'm going to stop borrowing your shirts too. Even if this one suits me pretty well, black is my color."
"Black's the color of all Dunwall's nobles. Although you are less austere."
Jindosh recognized that Emily was far from the imagined heiress: she was daring and had a lot of humor, maybe too much for a future empress. Finally, she was certainly mischievous enough to understand the riddles of his field.
"I don't want to be called Emily the Morose. But tell me your day: you inquired to find me a donor?"
"You'll certainly be called Emily the Curious." Jindosh replied, carrying the suitcase while Emily rolled her chair. He agreed to leave the effects of the heiress in his bathroom: it would take too much space in the laboratory and when Emily had legs, the recovery period would be long, forcing her to live in the mansion for a while. He must get used now to this presence which invaded him little by little.
"It concerns me after all."
"True. But every thing in its time: before finding a potential donor, I've to train and try the experience on another subject."
At least the scientist was honest. She was afraid to drag him on this subject of conversation, knowing that she was incapable of playing the convincing ignorant.
"You mean you're going to cut a body in half and stitch it up?"
"Absolutely."
"Do you have a lot of knowledge of anatomy?"
"More than you imagine."
"Your sex life doesn't count, Jindosh."
Jindosh stopped, surprised, not expecting this answer.
"I beg your pardon?"
"I'm joking! You were also a pupil of Anton Sokolov, weren't you? The difference between us is that you have retained your lessons while I mostly remembered his bawdy humor. It has also a little rub off on mine—"
"I could have recognized the register, yes. I didn't think our future Empress was so—"
"Free?"
"Yes."
"You're so serious all the time, there's no better victim than you for this kind of humor. But perhaps, in your opinion, the nobles are only entitled to subtle jokes and silent laughter?"
"Your humor doesn't bother me, it just— surprised me."
"Then I'm sorry. It's because I need to laugh nowadays, otherwise I'll go crazy thinking about this operation."
"You don't have to feel so bad about it: if the first attempt succeeds, everything will be fine for you."
"Did you find someone then? Why is she not here?"
"She'll arrive tomorrow."
"And if the experiment works, when do you think you'll operate me?"
"As soon as we find a donor. For now, I'll try the experiment tomorrow. Then I could visit some hospitals or dispensaries. The director of the Royal Conservatory gives a little evening the day after tomorrow, I'm unfortunately obliged to go, which shifts a little, but the next day, I'll find a pair of legs to replace your fishtail."
"It's so charming, said like that."
Once in the room, Emily activated the lever herself to access the bathroom. Jindosh suspected that she had already explored this part but was disappointed that she made no comment. Not the shadow of a compliment.
"It's curious: you seem to despise me because I was born in the highest social class, yet I don't really look like women of the nobility, while you, you behave like a noble to be always so stilted. I thought about it during your absence: Jindosh, it's not a name that has often marked the luxurious parties in history, is it?"
"That's right, I come from a rather modest family."
"And yet, you're invited to the Royal Conservatory for a private party. In your place, I will be already thinking about a contagious disease to avoid going there." She smiled, her fist under her chin. "Take a look at the spectacle we make: the modest man who seeks to integrate the higher spheres of society and the heiress of the throne who is delighted to flee the mundane evenings. What a contrast."
"You are completely mistaken, Lady Kaldwin. What do you think of this mansion?"
"I wanted to visit it but, you know, your soldier prevented me."
Jindosh pushed back the wheelchair and decided to show Emily the parts that visitors could see. His home was above his social conditions: never could a family member have lived in such an area without the work that had helped him to establish himself among the wealthiest.
The young woman could finally discover the guest room and the atrium which was a kind of personal museum. She noted how the place could be huge and yet so empty at a time. Jindosh explained that he had already organized auctions and receptions here, each time for the sole purpose of presenting his machines.
"I don't seek to integrate the higher spheres of society, as you say; I try to dominate them, to put them in front of a fact: material wealth is something that can be obtained or lost in a short time, intellectual wealth, on the other hand, remains an essential tool in the world. Why did I build such a mansion, in your opinion?"
"Because you're a twisted person, Jindosh." The Inventor laughed. He was used to this remark, but Emily did not have the horrified look the detractors often adopted.
"Apart from this obvious fact?"
"If you only wanted to expose your wealth, you wouldn't have made a mechanical maze. It was for the pleasure of building something complex, to show an intellectual wealth at the same time."
"A tribute to engineering, yes. To be absolutely frank with you, I don't care at all about politics and who's running it from Dunwall. Whether you're the next Empress or not, I don't care."
"I understood that you don't help me by social duty but for the challenge, yes."
"At least you don't delude yourself."
She observed the pieces of the old models of the clockwork soldiers: the metal organs were scattered in display cases.
"Societies aren't eternal and I hope the next generations will be led by scientists. It would be a totally different world then."
"Despite the ethics?"
"Despite the ethics."
Emily had to admit that she adhered to Jindosh's vision: the industry was invading even the most remote countryside, whale oil was a resource that was starting to fail and the empire would soon need minds capable of find a substitute. The face of the world was changing and a new era was beginning. The Industrial Revolution. On the other hand, she was against putting science above humanity.
"I understand what you mean. But there's a contradiction in your reasoning: your creations require significant funding, without material fortunes, they wouldn't exist. Even the greatest genius is invisible without the tools he needs. You may despise the richer classes, without them you would never have come so far, your mechanical soldiers wouldn't exist. You can't deny that you need financial wealth to access intellectual wealth."
"Of course. Money isn't an evil thing, Lady Kaldwin, it's about what it brings people to do or how it's spent. For example, I went to see the director of the asylum in Karnaca, this idiot doesn't even know what a fixed idea, and he's unable to locate the parietal lobe or the frontal lobe. He'll never advance the sciences that affect the brain and yet he is director."
Emily turned over, her arm on the back of her wheelchair. She was tempted to tell him that he was right: the power must be earned and not bought. She herself was haunted by her title, which she wanted to honor. But to confess it so frankly would be ridiculous. She put her hand on his wrist and tried another approach.
"I know you don't care if I'm the future Empress or not, but maybe you'll be glad to know that I share your point of view. If you succeed in the experiment, I'll remember this conversation on the throne and perhaps at last you'll enjoy a bit Dunwall's policy."
"Are you trying to rally a first subject, Lady Kaldwin?"
"Oh you know what it is, with these nobles: we're never sure of anything about their words."
He smiled, wanting to thank her but narrowly restraining himself: he did not want to flatter the future Empress too much.
Sitting cross-legged on the greasy floor, the witch hummed in a strange tongue. Her eyes were closed, her face reflected a great serenity.
"Hey. Shut up."
The guard was flipping through the newspaper. His chin almost touched his chest, making his voice even more gruff than usual. He was still hearing the woman's melody through the bars of the cell.
"Are you going to shut the fuck up?"
Rolling the newspaper, he hit the edge of the table with it, but the sorceress did not listen, stubbornly pursuing her song. The man groaned.
"I can't wait for the Royal Protector to arrive to question you. You won't sing the song anymore."
But when Corvo arrived, the guard showed up to him with a pale, even waxy face.
"Lord Corvo, I— I don't know how to explain it—"
Corvo looked over the jailer's shoulder and froze. In the middle of the cell, the witch's body was hanging. It was impossible to commit suicide in these prisons: there was no hook or beam and no material allowed this gesture. But there, a rose tree from outside had spread its branches into the cell, the bars at the window representing no obstacle. The leaves and thorns completely covered two walls and the ceiling, twisting on the cold stone. The dead woman's throat was wrapped in a beautiful necklace where blue roses had opened, concealing how the skin had been pierced by the plant darts. But the plants could not hide the blood that had flowed to the ground, soaking the witch's clothes: the trachea had been torn by the weight of the body too heavy for the embrace.
"I didn't even know they could do that, these witches." Said the guard in a plaintive voice, unable to look at the dead behind him. "I didn't even know."
"How is it possible?!"
But Corvo's surprise increased as he approached the cell. Behind the corpse, the flowers had opened and he did not know if he was going crazy or if it was real, the blue dots seemed to write 'AH AH AH'. He wanted to punch in one of the bars to express his anger, but his astonishment was far too great.
"How is it possible—"
The Royal Protector would have liked to get names, information, but the only answer he could get from this witch was the curious laugh that had appeared on the wall.
It seemed as if the sun had rushed to the horizon to hide in the Royal Conservatory. The stars in the sky were eclipsed by all the lights that escaped the huge windows, casting monstrous shadows in the streets and accentuating the height of the redwoods. Claudia was waiting for Billie to finish dressing. They had reconciled, as usual, waiting for the next storm. Claudia had tied her hair under a little top hat covered with clusters of wisteria. A puffy black blouse, transparent on the shoulders fell on white trousers. Billie, meanwhile, had opted for a shirt that imitated the shades of the sea at night and plain black trousers. She was finishing applying blue on her eyelids.
"I love when you wear bright colors. Blue and green suits you complexion."
"Thank you."
Claudia handed a chain necklace to her lover. A silver necklace, simple yet Billie considered it too bright.
"We don't have to do so much: we won't even be allowed to go past the hall anyway."
"I know, but this necklace would look beautiful on you."
Billie agreed to let the jewel pass around her neck. Claudia slid her hands over her strong shoulders and kissed that clenched mouth. Rancor still left a bitter taste on the lips.
"Let's go."
Claudia turned away and Billie noticed that the ivy branch bar was starting to come off her hair, slipping down to the neck covered with freckles. She held Claudia and with a clever gesture, enhancing the accessory. The two witches left their apartment and walked silently towards the museum. The nights when the Conservatoire was entertained were never quiet: they could hear the guests chirping like sparrows, the laughter bursting like little bells. Their ears even heard the music played by audiographs. The violin led the silhouettes to dance in the street, the feet preferring the cobblestones rather than the grass that surrounded the museum. Billie tried to sneak up the stairs but a busty woman hit her and pushed her away. Stumbling, Billie bumped into a tall man.
"Sorry."
He helped her to get on her feet.
"No harm meant."
He had almond eyes that gave him a feline look, confirmed by his fine mustache. Billie felt like a rat in front of a cat with a metallic look, so she moved away quickly.
"Damn, you just jostle the Grand Inventor of Duke Abele!"
"I didn't jostle anyone, I was pushed. I don't have fun stumbling over people."
"I know but this man has a strange reputation."
"I think I remember some rumors, but frankly, Claudia, it doesn't matter. If he tries to kill me just because of an accident, then it's just an asshole that's no better than the drunkards in the taverns."
The two women entered the museum. The statues, covered with wreaths of flowers, riveted in phlegm with waiters who held free cups of champagne. The guests were numerous, wearing their finery: rich fabrics adorned the body, supporting brilliant jewelry. Billie and Claudia, although pretty, preferred to keep low in this crowd. Some people took advantage of the event to improvise as a guide, others preferred to take a walk at night to enjoy the fresh air.
Breanna Ashworth went from group to group: the perfect hostess ensured that the evening was to everyone's taste. A service to ask? She listened. A compliment to receive? She smiled modestly. Her gloved fingers brushed those who saluted her, both available and inaccessible. The director of the Conservatoire was really a fascinating woman. Her eyes met Billie's, and the witch tilted her head for a discreet but respectful reverence. Billie had drawn her good graces unintentionally. Then the curator went to a duet where Billie recognized the man she had accidentally hit. Obviously, the Chief Inventor did not seem angry at all, at most thoughtful, a smirk on his lips.
"I don't feel that the Grand Inventor will try to kill me. He must rather have fun criticizing those around him. Look at the air he has."
"I understand him: look at the hat of the woman on his right? It looks like a hen stuck in a tube. And that color— what is this mixture of pink and green?"
Billie pressed her hand to her lips, choking a laugh she tried to turn into a coughing.
If Jindosh could see most of the guests, Amos Finch had more trouble on his side. The asylum director was hoping to get closer to one of the stairs to climb a few steps and get a better view. Breanna thought at first that the Inventor was alone and just caught up and extended her hand to both.
"It's a real pleasure to see you tonight."
"And it's a real pleasure to be welcomed by someone of your quality, Lady Ashworth."
Breanna called a waiter and offered her guests something to drink.
"While I think about it, doctor Finch, you know I still have this Millay painting you want to buy."
"Oh yes, that's right, that's right, Lady Ashworth. I'm sorry; I think I'll push back the purchase again. Do not hesitate to sell it to someone else if you find a better offer, you know I won't take it badly."
"Nonsense, I keep it until you have the sum, the painting will not change for a few more weeks."
"What I mean is that I started saving for another masterpiece. You see, our friend Jindosh here has made me a fairly large purchase lately and I just need a few more ingots in my pocket so I could finally afford one of these marvelous clockwork soldiers."
"Oh all this technology. This madness of the machines exceeds me." Breanna said, gulping down some sparkling wine.
"I'd be curious to know what you can do without technology, Lady Ashworth." Jindosh asked, staring at her. The director was not intimidated by this surgeon's gaze and her lips curved to draw a provoking smile.
"I could do everything, Jindosh. Absolutely everything."
A discreet verbal joust took place between the two: the first rejected the utility of the machines; the second vaunted the merits of the technology. They were too far away for Claudia and Billie to hear.
"Do you think Breanna is flirting with the Grand Inventor? I've never seen her like that in front of a man."
"I doubt." Replied Billie. "We can perfectly see that he's a man. Even if his cut looks vaguely like Delilah's, well, it's true. Oh shit, maybe you're right, she might invite him for a private interview."
Concealed in one corner, the two women laughed again. The groups around joked so much and spoke so loudly that they were finally rather discreet. But to their surprise, Breanna walked away with the little man, leaving Jindosh alone.
"Really, you're too generous, Lady Ashworth! Really too generous, too charitable. How can I accept your offer?"
"It's fine, doctor Finch and you know it. Your patients take you so much time, I can make a gesture to give you this picture and offer you some comfort. Especially since it will be beautiful in your home."
"I was thinking to find a system to hang paintings in my asylum office, it's very beautiful, as you know, but it lacks a little decoration."
"Don't do it! The sun's rays would damage the painting."
"Really?"
They had just arrived on the second floor and the noise of the guests was cut off, yet Amos Finch continued to speak loudly.
"A painting is a work of art to be cared for, doctor Finch: that's why the Conservatory is so dark, you have to protect the treasures from the sun's rays. I'll give you the indications to preserve this marvel of 1848."
"And I'll follow all your instructions to the letter. Absolutely all."
Breanna closed the door of her office behind her, letting her guest walk in the middle of the carpet. He admired this huge library and thought he should have the same. The witch scratched a match and lit a long purple candle. Strange symbols were engraved in the wax. A strange smell came out.
"What is this funny perfume?"
"Oh sorry, it's a candle that a friend brought me back from Pandyssia. It's the smell of a bay or something like that, I don't remember. It's a very relaxing fragrance, you don't think so?"
The witch was waiting for the scent to captivate the guest. Amos Finch tried to sit down but finding no seats, he fell back on the carpet. Breanna approached, supporting him.
"Do you feel ill, doctor Finch? The champagne was maybe too strong, and then all these steps have exhausted you—"
"I feel dizzy." His voice was plaintive.
The candle did not come from the distant continent but had been concocted by Breanna herself. In the wax had been mixed a magic decoction that managed to untie the tongue of the most sensitive, causing them to confess any crime. The witch liked to hear secrets, monitoring everything that was happening in Karnaca to better plant her claws in this region. Assuring her authority to Serkonos was to maintain a safe place for the return of her queen.
In addition, her intuition led her to discover what Jindosh was preparing: the Grand Inventor always jealously guarded his creations and sold them at a staggering price, Jessamine Kaldwin herself could not have bought more than three clockwork soldiers. What could Jindosh have bought from this so-called alienist? What asylum did the scientist lacked?
"Inhale deeply, doctor Finch, it's a little dizziness that will go away. Does your stomach hurt?"
"No."
"It isn't the champagne then, it's certainly the steps. Go ahead, inhale, inhale. Good. Breathe calmly, your dizziness will fade. Do you have clear ideas?"
"Yes."
"Who am I?"
"Breanna Ashworth, curator of the Royal Conservatory." His answers were pronounced on a monotone flow. The victim was hypnotized.
"And who are you?"
"Amos Finch, director of Karnaca asylum."
"And what did Kirin Jindosh buy you?"
"A patient. He wanted a young woman with no close family."
"For what purpose?"
"He didn't want to tell me, he's afraid that a failure is revealed."
"Is the patient at his home?"
"Yes, the operation is a success. But he didn't want to give me more details, just that my patient will return to my asylum in three days."
Breanna patted Finch's cheek.
"You're perfectly well, doctor Finch. Keep breathing, the spell will pass."
She left the man lying on the carpet, blew out the candle and opened the window for the scent to dissipate. The enchanted would be released in a few minutes once his lungs breathed a purer air.
"I'm so sorry, Lady Ashworth, I don't know what I have."
"Don't apologize, doctor Finch, a discomfort can happen to anyone. Stay here as much as you want. As soon as you feel better, join us in the lobby. And I promise you to do not tell anyone about sleeping on my carpet."
Breanna left her office and tried to master a quiet rhythm. Returning to her guests, she saw Jindosh talking to some people. But it was Billie she was looking for. She found her adept near the entrance who shared a cigarette with Claudia. The director asked her to follow her apart.
"Billie, I need you tonight. Do you know where the Grand Inventor's mansion is?"
"Yes. Difficult to miss seeing how it's visible."
"Go right now, I trust you for an investigation. I don't know how long he plans to stay this evening but it's a real night bird and unless he's bored, he won't leave before two in the morning. You have more than five hours to discover what he's hiding: his friend Finch told me that the Inventor had bought him a young lunatic for an experiment."
"Is it really surprising when you know the reputation of the guy?"
"Not really, it's the sum paid which is surprising: it's a project that must be really important to him, but he usually works on mechanical subjects and not alive. And when he touches a human body, he doesn't worry about the survival. There's something very weird about it, so find out what's going on."
"I beg your pardon, Lady Ashworth, but why me? And alone?"
"You know how to fight and you're smart. The mechanical manor has some pitfalls so be very careful. First, aim for his laboratory in the solarium and extend your search if you can't find anything. Unfortunately, this part of his home is kept away from the eyes of others and I've no more information. I want you to come back to me safe and sound. I trust you."
Billie saw Claudia's annoyed face pulling nervously on the cigarette.
"I'm going right now."
Billie knew a few stories that had been made around the Inventor's twisted mind, but she knew it all too well: rumors were always woven by bad tongues and they did not always reflect the truth. Only a small part most of the time.
Armed with her knife and other accessories to facilitate her infiltration, Billie decided to go through the roof of the house, making a tour of the property from the top. The solarium looked like a round cliff, hiding among the trees. Focusing on balance rather than speed, Billie took care where she put her feet, otherwise the fall in the wooded valleys would be fatal. Lamps were lit, indices of activity. She turned to the dark areas, the sleeping parts of the mansion.
Billie discovered a wide open balcony and slipped into it. Tables, chairs— everything was present to bask in front of a landscape that was to be beautiful. Either this comfort area was for the guests or Jindosh kept it for him. Metal shutters prevented Billie from seeing the next room and confirming her suspicions. Leaning over the guardrail, she saw the solarium.
"Perfect."
Climbing on a pipe, Billie reached the building she was aiming for. A rusty hatch resisted for a few moments, but as she persevered, the spy spun the iron panel and slid inside, finding an elevator in front of a locked door. The wooden shutter would not have resisted two powerful kicks, but as long as she did not know if she was alone, Billie did not risk it.
Rather than going in the elevator, the intruder took the risk of climbing through the cables. She heard nothing, except the sound of machines. Sentinels or household robots? Billie was hoping for the second option. Through the fence, she saw a place where the facilities were side by side: the intruder could deduce that she had arrived in the heart of the laboratory. Without a sound, Billie passed her head but a clockwork soldier was on patrol. Above, there was a balcony that she could access by resuming her way with the lift cable. She decided to reach this last floor.
Her hands full of grease, the shirt and the pants ruined, Billie really hoped to be alone to use the elevator for leaving after. Walking along the walls, she discovered the balcony. And a silhouette in a wheelchair. A brunette woman with her head bent over something. Billie swallowed a grunt of disappointment. Her knife in hand, she moved slowly towards the woman. It was certainly the insane and, for having already fought with a paranoid, Billie was suspicious of unstable minds, preferring to approach with caution.
As she went further, she noticed that the young woman was reading a book, caught in her reading, elbows on a fishtail. A fishtail? Billie froze when she realized that in the wheelchair was Emily Kaldwin, the heiress metamorphosed by Delilah.
She tried to remember what Claudia had told her. Yes, she remembered now: humiliation and beauty together. A pattern that the witch loved, destroying to build even more beautiful. And for once, Billie shared Claudia's fascination: she judged the heiress magnificent.
Fascinated by this siren, the intruder was unable to approach or hurt her.