both rise from the darkness, the only difference is that one of them escapes into the light
Timothy Brisby ran frantically between rooms. He'd dismissed the servants years ago, and things had fallen into disarray, dust covering the fine dishware, grim crusted on the crystal wine glasses. He'd been gone for so long, on his extended vacation with his beloved Waverly… ah! Waverly, Waverly, Waverly! He'd nearly forgotten.
As far as the City Watch knew, the Brisby Mansion did not have a basement, only a small boat dock. However, like at the Boyle home, there was another chamber beneath. Opened by the turn of a fake mounted hagfish, the secret room's door clicked open.
Striding onward into the somewhat larger antechamber, he admired the sight of Waverly Boyle, her slender form laying on the bed he'd had set up for her. The room had everything necessary to live comfortably, with an extra flare of purple fabrics and drapes covering the cold, damp walls. Waverly lay on her stomach, her thin, delicate arm hanging off the side. Her eyes were locked on the little hand mirror in her hands.
It had taken about year before he'd been able to let her out of her shackles, and then another year after that for him to be able to get close to her without using force. Eventually, she began to get used to it, accepting his touch quietly and without resistance. Now, she'd even speak to him occasionally, asking him things about what happened outside. Maybe they'd be able to form a friendship eventually. Maybe someday, she'd love him.
She looked up at him, then back to the charm. A moment passed before she spoke. "I can hear the announcements. They'll be coming, won't they? The Overseers?"
Timothy hesitated. Oh, no, she'd not be attempting any escape plan, not when he'd definitely have the Abbey coming to investigate him. "Yes, darling, they likely will be," he answered, unlocking the door to her gilded cage and closing it behind him.
He stepped lightly to her bedside, a hand reaching into his pocket and closing his hand around the cool, glass and metal tube. Brisby caressed the side of her smooth face.
Her face remained indifferent and her eyes remained on the hand mirror. "I suppose you'd like me to be quiet?" she assumed, a bit of bite in her tone.
Brisby bit his lip. That was the reason why he couldn't trust her yet, that bite, that little bit of fight still left in her. Taking the sleep dart from his pocket, he pushed her hair aside. He almost winced at the number of little red scars where he'd done this before. Waverly didn't even make an attempt to move or fight back at this, knowing that either way, with the condition she was in, he'd be able to overpower her, anyways.
He didn't even get to press the needle to her skin before he heard a chime-like scrape. Her arm shot up and the glass mercilessly jammed into his throat. The empty silver hand mirror hit the stone with a resounding ring, the remaining shards clattering out onto the floor.
Waverly exhaled loudly as blood began to pour out of Timothy Brisby's neck. She pushed him aside, letting the shocked and dying nobleman collapse to bleed out on the bed as she reached for a bread roll from that day's untouched lunch and munched lightly. How lovely it felt to eat again without feeling like a caged animal. How lovely it felt to have fought for the food in her hands, really. She'd much rather take than have things given to her, after all.
"Good riddance, you disgusting rat waste," Waverly hissed to her former captor and left him there, heading for the small boat dock along the Wrenhaven.
She'd never piloted a boat before, but she damned well did her best. The Estate District remained as she remembered, except a little less in shambles and a little more the splendor it was before the plague. It took a good few hours to maneuver Brisby's little motorboat as close to the Boyle Mansion as she could.
The walk home was slow. Her legs refused to respond the way they should, muscles weakened from six painful years of captivity. Waverly stumbled and fell a few times, cursing her legs and cursing Brisby and cursing Hiram for not looking for her. What had she done to deserve this? What god, what entity decided that Lady Waverly Boyle would barely be able to stand on her feet as she returned home?
Reaching the gate to the Mansion, she rattled the chains holding the gate shut. Of course, there was a City Watch post just down the street, but she didn't care, she just wanted home. Waverly called out to the doorman, knowing that he'd still be standing out there, just in case some urchin managed to sneak in, he'd be the last line of defense there to turn them back. When her reasonable shouts were ignored, she wailed.
That got the doorman's attention. He came running, looking about to shoo her off or threaten to call the City Watch and have her arrested. Figured, most of the outdoor staff hadn't even seen their faces.
"I'm Waverly Boyle, you bumbling, daft oaf!" she barked. "Let me in!"
He hastily unlocked the gate and when she stumbled to walk forward, he helped support her. She didn't like needing assistance on her walk home. She'd dreamt of it for ages, the day she'd manage to get Brisby off guard and escape, walking confidently along the cobblestone to reach home.
Shrugging off the doorman's help, she limped forward on her own. She'd accept help from two people, and those were her sisters.
As they reached the second gate, the doorman called for the other servants to get Lady Esma, that Lady Waverly was home. Lydia wasn't mentioned.
Esma ran out the front doors before Waverly even managed to reach the steps. Her sister sobbed, arms wrapping around Waverly's diminutive shoulders. "Thank the Void, Waverly, I thought I'd never see you again," she whimpered, wiping at her eyes. "I thought I'd be lonely all my life but you've returned to me and I'm thankful for that…"
Waverly felt warm in her sister's arms, a feeling she'd never admit to before, but something else chilled her, a curiosity that tainted this reunion with its looming presence. "Where's Lydia? She didn't run off with some man, did she?"
"No, no, she…" Esma held Waverly tighter. "Come inside. Let's get some tea and relax by the fire."
"Esma, where's Lydia?" she asked again, urgent in tone.
"…They said she was a witch. They took her."
As they approached the Brimsley manor, Lord Brimsley was getting on his boat, accompanied by none. He frowned as they docked. "I expected you hours ago, Samuel," he said.
Samuel shrugged. "Not much we can do now. I've brought your guests."
Corvo carefully lifted the tarp and stepped off the boat onto the stone outcropping. He offered a hand to Emily. She did not take it; in fact, she didn't even seem to realize that he'd offered to help her. She looked lost in thought, a worrying concept. Emily got out on her own and stood beside him on the impromptu dock.
Brimsley started his boat's motor. "I've got an important meeting to attend this evening and I'm already late," he said, speaking mostly to Corvo. "Go inside. My wife will make sure the two of you are well hidden and well cared for." The nobleman pushed off without so much as a goodbye and proceeded down the Wrenhaven in the direction of Dunwall Tower.
It came as no surprise that Brimsley had business at the tower. He'd gained an unprecedented amount of support and from what Corvo had seen of the man's wits and nerve in the Flooded District, well, when Emily announced she was looking for a new Royal Spymaster, Corvo pointed her in Brimsley's direction. Brimsley was perfect for the job and without the disdain for the poor that Burrows had, as he'd demonstrated back then. The family preferred an upper middle-class lifestyle, and remained in their home just outside the Estate District despite the boost in status.
Corvo stared out over the Wrenhaven. Surely there had to be a bigger plan here. There had to be more than just hiding in Brimsley's house like a pair of rats. Corvo beckoned Emily to follow him, still concerned by her lack of voice.
The Brimsleys had no servants. Lady Brimsley did most of the housework herself. The house wasn't all too large, either, nothing like the size of the Boyle Mansion. They owned a large gated-in house, a little larger than was common, but only a house nonetheless, and it had all the amenities of a townhouse. However, for all their obscurity, the interior of their home did nothing to mask their wealth. Fine carpets made with Pandyssian fibers lined the floors, and artifacts from the great continent lined the shelves. The Brimsleys weren't adventurers; all those goods had been procured from those who were of more curious and reckless stock.
Lady Brimsley didn't smile when she saw the two of them enter her kitchen. "That fool… I knew he was up to something that would get us killed," she threw down a dishtowel and removed her apron. "Come on, then, we've got a cot in the room where we keep the good stuff," she paused as she passed them, "If you touch anything , Corvo Attano, if anything is missing, my husband won't be happy," she warned him before continuing towards the stairs.
Corvo instinctively put a hand to the heart against his chest. It thudded harder than usual. It was a given that charms were somewhere in the house and Corvo didn't expect any different. Perhaps the bone charms were the 'good stuff' that Lady Brimsley had referred towards, hidden away in a secret room.
Lady Brimsley made sure they were situated and went back downstairs, leaving the two of them in the musty, cobweb-filled room. Corvo had been correct. There were several bone charms in the room, and a shrine set up at the far wall.
Emily sat cross-legged on the bare cot. She still had her cape, at least, her clothes all remained intact, if not somewhat soiled from her being thrown into a cell. She adored that cape, the thick silk and brocade fabric added to her stature, emphasizing her superiority with its fur lining and shining gold embroidery. It had been Corvo's gift to her on her fifteenth birthday, bought with the money he'd saved from his salary. Capes recently came into style, the Boyle sisters promenading around in frocks and capes, and he'd seen Emily gazing a little too long at some of the noblewomen's lovely outfits. Even the men began wearing cloaks and capes, just as much as the women, and he'd seen dresses – dresses! – out among the people now that one didn't have to worry about a rat climbing up into one's underwear.
The young Empress wrapped herself in her cape, a welcome alternative to the threadbare sheets on the cot. Her eyes locked on the rune that sang not too far from her. When she spoke, her voice had its usual inquisitiveness, if not a little softened and hoarse. "…What's so bad about The Outsider, anyways?" she asked. "He's the man with the dark eyes, right?"
Corvo exhaled in relief. She hadn't gone mute. However, her questions were troubling. These were not thoughts an empress should have, but he could not stop Emily from thinking them. What should he say to her? Should he feed her the same drivel that the Abbey spewed? He'd seen some truth in the Strictures and the Litany, but a good handful of it was rat shit. Having met The Outsider and relied heavily on his powers, Corvo would feel like a hypocrite if he even tried to recite the words of the Abbey to Emily. As far as he knew, the Abbey didn't know The Outsider, not the ways he did.
He paused, and considered. "…It is not that the Outsider is bad. The Void and its powers aren't made to be harnessed by the common person, and when they try, it drives them insane. Most people are too weak to use the Void. It takes one of these," he held up his left hand, "To be able to use the powers of the Void without damaging the self," he explained, surprised by how easy the words came.
Emily leaned forward a bit, taking a closer look at the mark. "How did you get it?"
"The Outsider decided I was interesting," he answered.
A quiet knock came at the door and Lady Brimsley slipped in and locked the mechanism behind her. "We have a problem."
Lagunov advanced into the meeting room, followed by two Overseers from her personal guard. They stopped at the door, while she continued towards the seat at the head of the slowly filling table, the seat usually occupied by the Empress –
Anton Sokolov pushed the seat in as she approached it. "I don't think you sit here, High Overseer," the Royal Physician scolded.
Her face pinched in disdain. "I sat there last meeting we had, I don't see there being any reason for me to return to my usual seat."
He scoffed. "That's because everyone was too startled by you convicting the Empress and Lord Protector for heresy that everyone was too scared to call you out on your schemes. Then you go and take aggressive action without approval from the crown and taking control of the broadcast station without authorization."
The room full of officials and dignitaries had slowly trickled to a silence as people realized the Royal Physician's gall. Lagunov sparred them all a glance, leaning back.
"What's curious enough is that you started this malarkey before Corvo ran off with the girl. However that brings to question is how they were treated. Corvo is a smart man, and if you had them under temporary house arrest while you confiscated their illegal goods, he'd wait it out, but apparently, the situation seemed so dire to him that fleeing was necessary?"
Lagunov shrunk away, her posture falling and confidence fading rapidly.
"So, as I'm sure everyone in this room is begging to know, what possessed you to become such a treasonous slug?"
What possessed her, indeed. Lagunov sighed and tugged at her gloves. "Preemptive action felt necessary to maintain order. The Outsider has his tendrils wound tight into our society-"
She was saved by a knock at the door. Exhaling hard, she turned away from Sokolov and to the door to see Lord Mace Brimsley walk softly into the room.
Lagunov put on a smile. "Spymaster! We've been awaiting your presence so we could get started," she side-stepped Sokolov and went to shake Brimsley's hand. Disgusting. She'd wash that hand later. Several times.
Brimsley offered her neither smile nor cheerful tone. "I apologize for my tardiness. I did not intend to keep you all waiting." The Spymaster walked past her to his seat.
Realizing that she was the only one still standing, she gave one last longing glance to the Empress's chair and settled on her usual one.
The appointed speaker – Sokolov this time, of course – began in his gruff voice. "As you all know, the method of choosing a Lord Regent has changed after the disaster with Burrows."
There was a collective mutter of agreement. Yelena tapped her big toe inside her shoe.
"We will vote on the candidates, which are now chosen by the Empress prior to death or disappearance, those candidates were…" He pulled a pile of papers from the official envelope in front of him. His eyes barely skimmed the first one before crumpling it up and throwing it behind him, "No, no, the Lord Protector won't do," he growled.
Yelena drummed her fingers on the tabletop, acknowledging the glare that Brimsley gave her with a scowl.
After shuffling through the candidates in the file, Sokolov had three profiles in front of him. "All right, you've got three choices. You've got Governor Pendleton – whom I would like to remind isn't actually a Pendleton because they're all dead."
Yelena didn't bother correcting him on that, that Morgan and Custis were very much alive.
"You've got Royal Spymaster Mace Brimsley, and by some work of the Outsider, the Empress trusted her enough that she also nominated High Overseer Yelena Lagunov as potential Lord Regent," he seemed ready to boil over.
Another dignitary raised an eyebrow. "What does a High Overseer know about matters of state?" he presented.
She stopped drumming her fingers. "Apparently enough that the Empress saw me fit," Yelena shot back.
Sokolov scoffed and Lagunov made mental note to have his laboratory raided sometime that week. "Anyways, the vote," he started. "All in favor of Governor Pendleton?" he asked.
Nothing. Not a single person. Lagunov knew that the votes would be divided between her and Brimsley, but Brimsley would almost definitely win it.
Except for the commotion she heard outside the door.
Lagunov looked Brimsley in the eyes and grinned like some crazed beast. Brimsley must've realized what was about to happen, because he stood and made an attempt to dismiss himself, but it was already too late. A group of Overseers burst through the door and were upon him in moments. There were no music boxes played. Lagunov had ordered no music boxes at this meeting. They knew dissonant tones had always given the High Overseer headaches due to sensitive ears, and she didn't have any whiskey to dull the pain at the meeting.
The High Overseer folded her hands and leaned forward as one of her Overseers twisted the Spymaster's arm behind his back. "Heresy. Not much digging needed for this one. Accounts of Outsider worship hosted by the Brimsleys were acquired from many sources. You keep quiet, Brimsley, but you don't keep yourself in the dark, that's for sure," she said happily; glad to have Brimsley off the playing board. "We have a dispatch also en route to your home to recover any further proof of your heresy."
She didn't get to see the panic on Brimsley's face, as Sokolov and various other officials stood in consternation, drawing her attention away. "High Overseer, that is quite enough! Your power-hungry actions are inexcusable."
Lagunov scowled. "Neither are the blood sacrifices you do in your spare time, Sokolov, but you've skated by clean so far. Not for long, though."
The natural philosopher's eyes narrowed and he backed down.
As the Overseers took Brimsley away, Lagunov stood, her personal guard coming in from outside. "It seems as though you have no choice, now," she said, pacing around to stand at the head of the table, pulling out the Empress's chair.
Yelena smirked and ran a hand over the velvet coverings before easing into the plush chair. "This is my seat, now."