Chapter 7

Katherine...

In the dawn of the city, mist descended upon the cobbled streets like wildfire, but there was neither warmth nor glow like the promise of fire brought. The chill of the air became more prominent and nipped at the flesh with little resistance. The sun had yet to appear over the ravaged houses, but remnants of the light, shown in thick streams, was cast on the many pools of water that had overflowed the street's drains and sewers. Further down, the water had joined with other pools to create a vast lake that covered the stone path and left the water murky and poisoned. Even the light wave of rain wasn't enough to purge its filth.

Our boots were heavy in the mud and a swift glance to my side showed the little care the Overseer had for his clothing, especially in such conditions.

His glare back was not a surprise, but it was not as intense and as full of hatred as when we first met.

"You know, some would consider cutting a captive's bonds foolish," he said with a hint of amusement. His lips tugged into a one sided smirk that seemed forced and fiendish and was enough to send a chill through the bones and to deter my gaze from his.

"Some people should learn to mind their own business," I replied.

His glare had not faltered and I had to wonder what his intention was.

"If you wish to kill me then go right ahead," I said. "Not only would you have a very angry hound to deal with but you'd also never know if you murdered an innocent or not."

The Overseer's laugh was faint, almost like a chuckle, but there was an underline meaning to it. "I don't think your death would rest too heavily on my conscience."

"Maybe," I said. "But you seem like the type of man that would care whether what he did was right or not. That if there was something you left behind, maybe a question left unanswered, that it would gnaw at you until you have no choice but to go back and find out what the answer was."

"And how would you know that?"

"I'm quite good at reading people."

I halted by the nearest wall and peered around the corner. The mist had cleared slightly and wasn't as thick as it was. There was no movement and I heard no sound other than the distant echo of broken glass and a fierce shout. We were close to one of the street gang's known hideouts and had to be cautious.

"May I?" I asked as I rounded the corner.

"Hah, be my guest."

I halted in my stride and turned to face him. At first all he responded with was an arched eyebrow, but then his posture straightened and he lifted his head in his imitation of a soldier's stance.

This man really is bigheaded, I thought and raised my head in return.

"You're prideful, definitely stubborn natured and I suppose that you're quite skilled at combat since you've made it to where I live without much trouble, though I haven't seen much of your skills yet."

"You got all that from one look?" he asked. "I'm so surprised. You can see my fingers tremble. Really."

"I wasn't finished, Overseer," I said and folded my arms. "You're hateful to the Outsider, more so than others in your order. You seemed to hold more force with me when you thought I was a worshipper, so I'm going to guess that something traumatic happened to you in your past that led you to hate such people, not that I blame you."

His arched eyebrow rose slightly higher, but apart from that he kept his impassive expression.

Were all Overseers that emotionless?

"And? That's it?"

I shrugged and returned to walk. "I'm still trying to figure you out. Give me a while and I'll tell you something else."

"If it gets you to shut up then fine," he muttered.

"Hmm. You're also impatient."

"I'm not impatient."

"Impatient when with company then?"

The Overseer's angular jaw clenched and he rubbed his brow with a gloved hand. "By the Void-"

"I was just making a joke. Something to pass the time, Overseer."

"Time would pass much faster if you were dead."

"Okay, now it's your turn to shut up."

As we wandered through the many deserted streets, my nerves began to take control. I could feel them gather and crawl through the pit of my stomach. The feeling was enough to make me feel uneasy.

"So, are you going to tell me who we are looking for?" the Overseer asked.

I took my map from out of my jacket pocket and spread it across an iron gate. It was not the only piece of paper there though. The webbed bars were scattered with many wanted posters; some of an assassin, others of leaders of street gangs and suspected witches. It was strange that my face was not one of them. What caught my attention was the poster of a cloaked gentleman who wore an outlandish and dark mask. Similar to an Overseer's mask, the eyes were hidden under a layer of glass and the mouth had no lip carvings, but instead stitches that ran over the top and lower edges. He did not look like a man I wished to cross paths with.

"Huh," the Overseer uttered. "I thought they would have found him by now."

"Who?"

He raised a finger to the masked man's face and then dragged it down to his name. "Corvo Attano. The Empress' bodyguard, or the Lord Protector. Not so lordly now though."

"I've heard of him," I said. "He killed her, did he not?"

"That's pretty obvious. Last time I checked, the price for his head was lower than that. It's doubled. I wonder how my brothers are doing in the search for him."

"If they're having as much luck as you are then not that much," I smirked and pointed to a place on the map. "We're here. The family we're looking for is called Leighton. Their part of the aristocracy and, if I'm correct, live in the better parts of Dunwall. They have a mansion in the estate district, but it'll be too difficult to get there."

"Then why are we in this part of the Distillery District?"

"They owned another mansion here that they used to smuggle Tyvian wine and, interestingly, strange objects made out of ice seal tusks. I managed to obtain information from a survivor who worked at the docks that the objects had an unusual marking on them."

"So, we're hunting this highly important family who may or may not have given my order false information because they imported fancy wine and rocks?" he asked.

I sighed and re-folded the map. "I know that the Leighton family were the ones who told your order about my family. I also know that they gave your order the evidence they needed to have them killed. Their activities may not be suspicious to you, but there's something about their operation that's peculiar. I don't know why. I guess you could call it a gut instinct."

"Or paranoia," he whispered.

"Why did I not kill you when I had the chance?" I groaned.

"Ironic considering I've been thinking the same thing," the Overseer added.

Through the darker alleyways, the occasional shadow of a person leaked across the ground. The silence was disrupted with rhythmic patters, splashes, the sharp creaks of wooden boards as the wind knocked them back from window panes and rattles inside sealed dumpsters. Though the sounds concerned me, the illusion of the shadows was consumed by my calmness. I did not fear the dark, for the dark was my only savior. In times, the darkness was the only thing that separated me from a sharpened blade. It consumed. It protected. It fooled those who sought me out. It was a place that I could be at peace and not have to worry about pursuers, dangers or Overseers.

"You really do need to calm down," I suggested.

The Overseer kept his attention fixed on our surroundings, like a hawk does with a potential meal. His hand skimmed the side of his waist and it was only when it met empty space that he looked my way.

He looked down at my waist and frowned. "Was it really necessary to keep my sword?"

"It was you who said that it was foolish to cut your bindings. I'm not stupid enough to give you a weapon," I replied.

He rolled his shoulders back and took a step closer. "If I wanted you killed, I would not need a sword to do it."

I, too, took a step forward until we were only a foot away from each other. "Then you won't need your weapon now, will you?"

His empty hands curled into fists by his sides. "I won't ask again."

"Neither will I hand it over."

"Oh, trust me. You'll want to."

I raised an eyebrow. "And why is that?"

A pained groan struck the air like lightening splits the fabric of the sky. Slow, almost clumsy movements faded out of the darkness and away from the swarm of dead rats by its feet. Tattered rags slid across the ground; dragged by the ghostly pale body they were attached to. Milky eyes; emotionless, without life and covered with crimson tears focused on our forms. Our appearance seemed to spire some sort of eagerness or excitement within the husk of the man as his pace doubled. His disfigured foot dragged closely behind. Black tar dripped from his mouth like saliva and a trail of flies clung to the deep wounds in his chest. He was a weeper. A man who had succumbed to the effects of the rat plague and was in the final stage before death.

"Shit!" I cursed and madly fumbled with my belt.

The Overseer gritted his teeth and grabbed my arm. "Give me the sword."

"Get off me," I yelled and shoved him back.

The cries of the weeper became louder as did his heavy steps. I could see his hand out of the corner of my eye and took several steps back.

"You should have brought the damned mutt," the Overseer said.

"Now is not the time for this!"

As I got the sword free, the weeper had ghosted my arm with its hand. I stumbled back and raised the sword.

The Overseer had found himself a metal pole from one of the nearby dumpsters and, with a grunt, smashed the side over the weeper's head. The weeper gave out another cry and reached to touch the newly formed gash within its skull.

I noticed the Overseer's frown deepen and eyes widen. I followed his gaze to a shadow that moved towards me. More moans joined the weeper like a battle chant and it was difficult to break free from the shock of its appearance.

"Witch," the Overseer called. "Move. You're going to die if you don't!"

I shook my head. As the stiffness faded from my body, my grip on the sword tightened. The weeper woman used her arm as a spear and as she veered from one slash to another, her gaunt face twisted into a feral scowl. Both arms were thrown forward. The large limbs were only deflected by my blade's vertical slant.

Behind, the Overseer twisted the iron spike across his body in keen, straight movements. As the weeper lunged for his throat, the Overseer waited. When the creature was but a foot away, he stepped to the side and struck a heavy blow to its spine. He slapped the end of his pole against its face, chest and back, over and over again. The ground was painted with each blow.

The woman's hands wound round my sword like rope and yanked it through her opened arm. My legs stumbled to gain balance. The weeper's mouth opened and she readied to bite my shoulder.

"No," I cried.

The woman jumped back with an ungodly wail. Her nails scraped her neck and jaw. I let out a heavy breath, rubbed my elbow and steadied the shaking of my hands. My fingers curled around the hilt and were raised above my shoulders.

The woman blinked twice; confused about the object in its chest. As her knees buckled I kept a firm yet steady grip on the blade. The sword left her body and she slumped forward.

"About bloody time," I sighed and gripped my ached knees.

Behind, I felt the growing presence of a man and could see their blurry reflection through the pools beneath my feet. With a held breath, I brought the sword past my chest and span round. Steel clanked against iron.

"Overseer?" I stuttered.

"Witch," was his reply.

Slowly, we released the hold on our weapons and stood before each other in silence.

"There's blood on you," I said.

"And you," he replied and tapped the side of his unshaven face.

With a grimace, I wiped away at my cheek with my sleeve and re-attached the sword to my belt.

"Don't you think it would be wise to give me my weapon back?" he asked.

I shook my head. "You can handle yourself without it. You just proved that now."

"Great."

The Overseer wandered over to the weeper corpses and gently kicked the male with the tip of his boot. He pushed the chin up and forced the body to lie on its back.

"What are you doing?" I asked.

"Trying to determine how long these were here for and if there are more," he explained.

"And?"

"See his stomach? Our friend here is too well fed to be part of a large group. No, these were stragglers. Perhaps married before the plague took them. Well, they're dead now. Good riddance."

"That's a bit of a cruel way of thinking, isn't it?"

He shrugged. "Maybe, but they attacked first. As far as I see it, they deserved it."

Sorrow and pity tugged at my heart strings at the sight of them. They may have been weepers, but they were once like us.

"We should get going, unless you wish to stay here," I said.

"If I must," the Overseer replied before we walked further through the narrow alleyway and away from the soon to be rat's meal.

It was several hours before we had managed to find the place I believed the Leighton family owned. My eyes roamed the many windows and doorways. The tiles on the worn roof were jagged and uneven. Some lay on the ground in shattered piles for the rats to bury through. The window panes held no glass, only empty space were the moth-ridden curtains flowed gently in the breeze. The bricks were also in no better condition, for some were missing while others left large scars and cracks that branched from one large stem to another; comparable to a charcoal tree's design.

It was difficult to believe that the place used to be different, perhaps better, but then I remembered who owned the property and all the surprise and disappointment disappeared.

As we stepped through the doorway, the walls peeled from the dampness and insects thrived within the oak floor.

"We're here," the Overseer said. "Now I suppose you want me to search this place for anything that could relate to your family's death?"

"You read me like a book."

"Don't go too far, Witch. If this proves to be a waste of time-"

"I'll die, I got it. Now get looking," I said and then left him to wander up the uneven staircase to one of the rooms.

It appeared to be a study. There were no beds, only a desk and chair. Long forgotten papers and parchments scattered the floor and even more were left carelessly on the desk.

So, where to begin? I wondered.

My fingers gently ghosted the many letters the lord of the Leighton family once wrote. Some were even written before the rat plague had found its way to Dunwall and some were addressed to the empress Jessamine Kaldwin herself, though it seemed that he never got a reply. After a while it seemed that none of the documents held any information about my family, nor the Outsider. Just as I was about to leave the room, the painting hung above the desk caught my attention. Gauzy, translucent webbing clung to the rest of the room, furniture and all like a life line, but the painting of Tyvia was not. In fact, a part from the fine layer of dust on the bronze frame, it looked relatively untouched. How interesting.

With a grunt, I removed the painting from the wall and lowered it carefully to the floor. In its place was a safe fitted into a hole in the wall and, luckily, the combination was written in large letters on the back of the painting.

1~5~3

The safe clicked and opened.

A strange sound filled my ears. It was a low humming, like the song of crickets in the night but somehow much more enchanting. It reminded me of happier times and brought such memories to the surface. I could hear the faint whisper of my father's voice. I could almost see his face look down at me and then to my sister and mother on the docks. They were smiling. They were happy. They were... alive.

"Witch?"

"Huh?" I looked up. The Overseer was stood by the doorway with a confused expression. When I looked down, I noticed that a stone rested in my palm. It's tune had not ceased, but it was quiet enough to almost miss.

"What have you got there?" he asked cautiously. It seemed that perhaps holding a stone like it was some magical object was not the best thing to do in front of an Overseer.

Carefully, as if the stone was fragile and could crack with the slightest touch, I placed it in his hand. The Overseer glanced down. All colour visibly trained from his cheeks and his mouth went slack.

"Err... Overseer?"

"Where did you get this?" he demanded in a harsh growl. The anger he had when we first met was back and in more force.

"I found it in the safe," I said and held my hands up. "I swear I had nothing to do with it."

Without a care, he shoved me out of the way and pressed his hand firmly against the safe. "Here? You found it here?"

"Yes?"

As the Overseer turned the stone about in his hand, I caught a glimpse of the marking carved into the center and felt my heart skip a beat. "I've read about that symbol, but that's not possible. That is unless I was right."

He did not reply.

"It's true, isn't it? What is that thing? Tell me what it is!"

"It's a rune, understand?" the Overseer shouted back. "It's... it's a rune..." his fingers curled around the stone protectively and he pressed his head against the safe's steel, "and it belongs to the Outsider."