A/N: Bet you all thought I'd forgotten this, heh.But seriously.
Thank you all so much for your patience. University happened. But hey, I got some super awesome grades on my essays, took a some exams, and worked out a dissertation topic.
But I do apologise for the long wait for this chapter. I hope it's worth it.
EXTRA SPECIAL THANKS FOR THIS CHAPTER GO TO TUMBLR USER SNEAKY-TAFFER. PLEASE GO SEND THEM LOVE, WITHOUT THEM THIS CHAPTER WOULD HAVE BEEN IMPOSSIBLE.
Today was not his day.
Truth be told, it hadn't exactly been Garrett's week. He'd planned on doing a few jobs for Basso, a few jobs for himself, and perhaps paying the Queen of Beggars a visit.
He'd not even finished the first job for Basso.
"It's simple," the man had sniffed, poring over a map of Dayport. "The painting's in the front room of the house. Only just finished, apparently, but word is he ain't gonna sell it."
"So you're going to sell it for him," Garrett had surmised. Basso had grinned from underneath his hat.
"Exactly. I just need you to get the merchandise."
"Fine. Don't wait up."
Don't wait up. The words seemed oddly ironic now, as Garrett heaved himself over the lip of a building, fixing the Claw back onto his hip as he did so.
He wondered if Basso had noticed his absence. He wondered if there even was an absence to notice. Was there another Garrett in his city, doing the jobs he was supposed to do? Was time even progressing in his city?
The way the Outsider had spoken about events in Dunwall had put forth the notion that, yes, both places existed in the same state. Six months had passed since the events of the Graven Dawn, but the Gloom was still prevalent. All because another city was staring down a series of calamitous events and the stone shard on this side of the Void was reacting and reverberating back to his home.
He'd wondered how the shard of Primal had found its way into Dunwall. A weakness in the Void? The Outsider probably knew, but Garrett knew he wasn't exactly going to share. Garrett knew he wouldn't have, in the same position. It had apparently taken the Outsider six months to work up the effort – or the perhaps the courage – to summon Garrett's aid in the first place.
He stood on the roof, looking at the expanse of city before him. It wasn't home, but he felt at home. Above the streets and on the Thieves Highway, where only the birds could disturb him. He was almost glad to be free of Corvo – his supernatural abilities were useful, but also confining. Garrett liked the way his job enabled him to use his mind to its full potential. Corvo provided a faster means to an end, but not a challenging one.
Corvo. He wouldn't admit it, not willingly, but he was worried.
"Garrett, I don't have time to explain," Samuel had said when the pair of them had been the only ones left outside the bar. Samuel had pulled him away, away from the sounds of celebration that had echoed out from the building. Garrett had never seen the appeal of such events – he took pride in his work as he did it, not afterwards.
"You need to get out of this place," Samuel's voice had been worried, urgent. "Right now. Havelock and the others are fixin' to kill ya and I'm not gonna let that happen."
Garrett hadn't been surprised. Corvo had been too trusting of the men who'd called themselves 'The Loyalists'. They were loyal to each other, yes, but neither he nor Corvo truly fit into their group. Corvo was their tool, their instrument in waging their private war against Burrows and his regime. He was also a foreigner, apparently. Like Sokolov was. Like Garrett, in a sense. Garrett knew little of Dunwall's hierarchy, but it was always the same wherever you went. No matter how noble you appeared, how good your heart or your motives, a foreigner was never considered to be equal to those who were born in the city. It was probably the same reason they'd never liked Garrett. They were just better at hiding their feelings concerning the Lord Protector.
He wondered what they would have said if they'd realised just how foreign Garrett was.
So when Samuel had told him that they were being betrayed, he'd almost laughed.
"Gettin' Corvo out's gonna be more difficult," Samuel had begun.
"He's not going to leave Emily behind."
"No," Samuel had agreed. "I'll make sure he gets out. I'll send him out on a raft. You'll need to look out for it."
"Where am I supposed to go?" Garrett had asked.
Samuel had shoved a crumpled piece of paper into his hands; a map. "That way." He'd pointed to a high wall. "The raft'll end up somewhere around the Flooded District," he'd said, indicating the place on the map. "Make sure you find him, all sorts of bad folk live in that place. Hurry," he'd said, and shoved Garrett. "They'll come lookin' for you soon. It's too late for you to get Corvo now."
Garrett had known better than to disagree. Samuel was a good man – better than him, anyway. So, he'd made his way to one of the high walls surrounding their district, and made his escape.
Now he was stood on a rooftop, overlooking what had to be the most desolate place he'd seen yet. It had taken him hours to navigate his way through ramshackle buildings and empty streets to this point. Strangely, he'd found he'd missed Corvo's companionship.
Not that his travels had been entirely silent.
They bring the bodies here. With rough hands. Rough hands and cages. Some of them are still breathing. The water is so cold and it is the last thing they feel.
"This place just keeps getting better," he said aloud – or to the voice of Erin that filtered through his mind. He wasn't sure.
The first time he'd heard Erin's voice speak to him had been the morning after he'd met the Outsider. He'd faced Havelock, and something had told him to look. Look into the man who was sending them out to work.
And so he had. The Outsider's gift to him – the eye of the Sneak Thief – had revealed layers of the man he'd carefully hidden from the world.
Look at him, a voice he recognised had said. Admiral Havelock grows restless on land.
It had taken a lot of self-control for him to remain impassive, the first time he'd heard Erin speaking to him. And her words had sometimes proven useful – she helped him make sense of a world he could barely comprehend. Where people burned the flesh of whales to power their city, and where a deity with eyes as black as obsidian watched them do it.
"You're not really Erin, are you?" he'd asked it once, when Corvo had been asleep in their shared room. He'd not expected it to reply.
No, the voice had agreed. I am not. But I am enough of her to bring you comfort, am I not? A soft laugh. Or as much comfort as Erin ever did bring you.
Garrett had smiled at that. "Gave me more trouble than you're worth."
It had been better, to know it wasn't truly Erin. He could pretend the real Erin was far away from him, hopefully living a better life than the one she'd been given by both him and the city. Truthfully, he didn't know where she was or even if she was alive, but he'd found it better to not know. She wouldn't have wanted him to anyway.
I was always better on my own.
"Probably," Garrett agreed, surveying the place before him. Without a doubt, it had to be the Flooded District. He wondered what its previous name was – surely it wasn't flooded all the time. Especially considering this district looked as though it hadn't been surrounded by quarantine walls at one point.
Erin's words had troubled him, however. This was a repository for the dead; a necropolis. And plague-ridden bodies were still likely to carry the contagion. Garrett had been immune to the Gloom because it was created as a side-effect of the stone embedded in his eye. This plague, however, was not caused by that same thing. It had been borne by rats from Pandyssia – wherever that was – and Garrett had noticed the place had a reputation for producing some nasty things. Still, he now had the issue in that he needed to go into what was perhaps the most dangerous place within the city with little-to-no protection.
He crossed onto another rooftop, still attempting to work out a solution, when the sound of conversation made him halt. He'd learned back home that by listening to conversations, new opportunities could present themselves. He remembered the time he'd overheard some people speak about how the Baron's Bust kept in the Watch Station near the Clock Tower Plaza had been too heavily guarded. Garrett had found it to be somewhat lacking in guards, but he was glad of the tip anyway.
The people within his earshot currently were discussing the general plight of the city, it seemed. Garrett spotted them through a hole in the roof he was stood on; three of them gathered around a fire made from the remnants of the building's framework.
Normally Garrett wouldn't be prone to such dramatics, but he needed more information about the place he was about to enter, and he didn't have Basso, Corvo, or Samuel. He wasn't that foolish to go in blind. So, he dropped through the gap in the roof, landing with a soft thud on the floor nearby, ensuring he was deliberately louder than he needed to be.
The group consisted of two men and a woman; all of them were justifiably frightened when they spotted him. Clearly they'd seen the wanted posters. Garrett raised his hands in a gesture of goodwill – something he wasn't prone to either, but things hadn't exactly gone his way lately. He needed a new approach.
"I'm not going to hurt you," he said – a good start, he reckoned.
"You're the one from those posters," one of the men said. "The one who escaped the Overseers."
"What do you want?" the woman challenged. She seemed to be the most dominant of the trio, so Garrett turned his attention to her.
The fabric of the city is made of such stuff as she, Erin supplied. She almost sounded like she admired the woman. He wondered what else the Eye saw in her.
"I want information," he said, stepping forward, towards them.
Before he could continue, the now-familiar sound of a city-wide announcement rang out nearby.
"Attention Dunwall Citizens: Hiram Burrows, once known as the Lord Regent, is no longer in power. His corrupt and illegitimate regime has come to a close. Long live the Empress!"
So, while Garrett had been moving through the ruined city, the Loyalists had done some moving of their own. It appeared they'd finally taken control of the Tower.
At the announcement, the three people before him looked to one another, momentarily forgetting him.
"Is it over?" one of the men asked.
"No," Garrett cut in. "Trust me, it'll only get worse. Unless you help me."
Okay, so he wasn't exactly the most charismatic of people, but he didn't have to time to sugar-coat things. He'd seen power struggles like this in his own city, and with the added threat of the Primal shard looming over him, he knew things were bound to get worse. But he couldn't cross into the Flooded District without information on what he was getting into.
"What do you want?" the woman repeated.
"Like I said, information," Garrett said. "About the place you people call the Flooded District." He nodded his head in the direction of the quarantine wall.
"What do you want to know?" one of the men rasped, a cough rising on his lungs.
"What do you know about it? What did it used to be? Does anyone live there besides the dead and the dying?"
Samuel had mentioned bad people living in the Flooded District. Who they were and how they lived there, he hadn't specified.
The woman sniffed, settling down by their makeshift fire again. She clearly thought Garrett wasn't a threat. He didn't know whether he was proud or offended by that. Still, she motioned for him and her compatriots to join her; while the others settled down on the floor, Garrett remained standing. He wasn't going to stay for long.
"Place used to be the Rudshore Financial District," the woman informed him. "Until the dams broke and the place was flooded. People had to flee as the water came in."
"Used to be pretty posh, too," her companion interjected. "Before the place turned to shit and water, Rudshore was filled with barristers and money men. But then people were gettin' sick and there was nobody to manage the dams, so the river came and washed it all away. Chamber o' Commerce is in there somewhere, as is the Greaves' Refinery."
"For whale oil?" Garrett clarified.
"Right," the man said. "Probably still some in there, but people don't wanna risk gettin' the plague to go get it. Between that and Daud's people, you'd be mad to do it."
Garrett frowned at the mention of Daud. He was the assassin who'd murdered the previous Empress, Jessamine. And she was someone Corvo had borne strong feelings for.
He loved her, and she him, but they could never give themselves freely to one another, Erin said, sadly. Their duty came before their personal attachment. Do you think he regrets that?
Garrett mused that Erin probably knew the answer to that one better than he did anyway.
"Nothing there now but gangs and rats and weepers," the woman said.
"What can you tell me about Daud?" Garrett asked.
The three shared fearful looks at mention of Daud. His reputation was far-reaching indeed, if nobodies such as these three worried about him.
"We don't know much," one of the men said. "His people appear from nowhere, kill you quick, and leave. We only know he lives in the Flooded District 'coz the Overseers knew it."
"The Overseers?" Garrett asked, recalling the masked figures he'd seen when he'd first awoken. They had appeared to be religious-based guard force, enforcing against the influence of the Outsider. Not that it appeared to be working – Garrett had heard almost every curse in Dunwall refer to the deity who had been outlawed. It was like the Old Gods of his own city. People weren't allowed to worship them anymore, but that didn't mean they weren't still venerated somehow. He'd opened many a locked cupboard to find a secret shrine in the older parts of the City before.
Garrett still wasn't sure of the Overseers exact function, but they held a significant amount of power, considering the High Overseer had needed to be eliminated in order to gain more leverage for the Loyalists.
The Abbey is dark – its doors are locked, and no more the great sermons. The Overseers have taken to the streets.
"They came by here the other day," the other man said. "Headed into the district. I got close enough to hear they were headin' for Daud's base. Gonna drive out the heretic and his followers."
"Did it work?" Garrett asked.
"Not all of them came out again, if that's what you mean," the woman said. "The Whalers left them alive, though."
"The Whalers are Daud's people," the man said. "Wearin' those outfits the people on the ships wear. That's how they survive that place. Wear those masks so they don't catch plague off the corpses. Probably got a supply of elixir, too."
"Do you have any elixir?" Garrett asked, some sort of plan forming in his mind.
The three looked to each other at his question. Garrett realised they weren't exactly going to give it up easily, especially so close to what was probably the most plague-ridden location in the entire city. He reached into the small pouch on the small of his back, drawing out a coin purse he'd liberated the night before. He tossed it onto the floor – he hadn't exactly needed to purchase anything of note and he certainly wouldn't have to in the foreseeable future. He needed elixirs if he had any hope of staying safe from the plague.
"150 gold," he said. "Is that enough to buy some from you?"
Garrett only really liked to buy things if it were absolutely necessary, or if he depended upon a certain level of craftsmanship his thievery would not afford him. Merchants around the Plaza who sold components for his arrows (he didn't buy them whole, but would buy different parts in different places so as to not arouse suspicion) were generally the only people he would buy from. Food and other less important supplies he could take as he pleased.
Elixir in Dunwall was in very short supply, he'd heard as much over various announcements and the way people scuffled over the smallest amount. He'd seen a bootleg still in Slackjaw's distillery; he'd seen how the guards of the tower were paid in amounts of elixir and gold.
The three had apparently not seen such a large concentration of gold before, they looked at it like was an explosive. Garrett dealt in large amounts of money on a regular basis, but he could appreciate that this amount was a lot to people such as this.
"If you're truly offering this I'll make you elixir," the woman said, as the two men fumbled in their pockets for the vials Garrett needed. He ended up with three, two red and one blue – he passed one of the red ones back.
"I only need one of each," he mumbled- was one of the men crying? It was only gold. Garrett might trade in it, but he didn't do it for the gold, he did it for the process involved in gaining the gold. And getting this amount of gold hadn't taken him any effort at all. Sometimes it was easy to forget that the obtaining of money such as this wasn't such a simple task for most people.
He stepped back from the three as they distributed the gold amongst themselves. They didn't argue about it, something that Garrett was surprised by. Often when faced with large amounts of money a group would quickly devolve into something much baser, but clearly these three had been through so much together that they didn't even think of trying to double-cross one another. It was refreshing, somewhat.
All that they had was lost in the flood, Erin whispered to him. All that they have now is each other. They find solace in the warmth of each other's bodies.
Garrett struggled to keep his face straight at the final comment, and appraised the three again. He noticed it, now, how their touches lingered just a fraction too long on another, the slightly furtive yet loving glances all three shared.
Well, each to their own, he guessed.
He'd gotten what he needed, so he stepped into the next room, a bathroom. Stopping up the sink was an easy task, and he unstopped the vials of elixir. The red one, he recalled, was made by Sokolov, a health tonic of some sort. The blue declared itself as 'Piero's Spiritual Remedy'. From what Garrett could tell, they did the same sort of thing, just worked on different areas. While Sokolov's was more befitting of his position as the Royal Physician, Piero's was more reflective of a man who spent his time brooding over the machinations of a mind.
Garrett had broken into what Piero had used as a workshop (well, the door was open, so it wasn't technically breaking in) while Corvo had been asleep once. It was the first morning he'd been at the Hound Pits, after the Outsider had drawn them into the Void. Inside he'd found a cutting from a newspaper, a discourse by Piero himself on the nature of his elixir. My own has properties, it had said, not fully understood, that relate to the mind itself, and the spirit.
To Garrett, it had been suspicious – Piero created his remedies but he wasn't sure how they worked. But, they did work, and at the moment he wasn't going to dwell on it.
He emptied both the remedies into the sink, reaching into a pocket and drawing out the now truly-crumpled poppy he'd kept. He tore up the petals, immersing them in the mixture.
Truly? He had no idea what he was doing, but he figured that combining the remedies was a good thing to do. They both worked, after all. The poppy was just an added insurance, something he knew worked.
When the two substances were mixed sufficiently, he removed his scarf, immersing the cloth in the substance, now purple. Thankfully, the elixirs didn't smell, so he wouldn't have to breathe in the fumes of what would likely be fish or whale. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out the elixirs contained parts of whales inside them. He shivered slightly at that thought, pushing it out of his mind for a moment.
When the cloth was soaked through, he filled up the empty vials with the newly mixed elixir, instantly drinking one. He almost threw it up again a moment later, and retched, gripping the sink with both hands.
Sputtering, he managed to keep the substance down, regretting that he didn't take a test sip or something. The elixir might not smell of anything, but it certainly tasted of things he didn't want to name.
"People consume this willingly?" he muttered to himself, stowing the other vial away, just in case.
He stepped back out into the main room, holding his sodden facemask in his hand, before stepping over to the fire and holding it over it in an effort to dry it.
"You're going into the district," it was the woman who spoke, not a question, but a direct statement. Garrett nodded his assent.
"Why?"
Garrett looked up at the three people in front of him. Was that worry? He didn't know these people, and all he'd done was trade money with them.
But, the answer was simple.
"To find a friend."
The cloth had dried sufficiently; he arranged it over the lower half of his face, thankful it didn't smell as horrific as the elixir had tasted.
"I would leave here," he advised the three. "Find some other place to spend your money."
Climbing the wall into the Flooded District was far easier than Garrett expected. He supposed people weren't concerned with who went into the place, only who came out.
Atop the wall, he quickly scouted for the tallest building, so he could get a better look around the area. The map Samuel had given him was basic, but it was better than nothing. Once he'd found a decent place to take a look around, he could attempt to start marking the map up with relevant locations.
Or, he would have, if he hadn't found his goal almost immediately.
Crouched on a rooftop, he watched as a masked man piloted a boat with another figure lying inside it. Even from a distance, Garrett could tell it was Corvo.
His usefulness was spent. They long for news of his death, Erin informed him.
"What about mine?" Garrett muttered, affronted.
They think you are dead. They also do not think you are competent enough to challenge them. A thief, no matter how skilled, is no threat to a government.
"Tell that to Baron Northcrest."
He crept forward on his rooftop, laying himself flat to minimise his silhouette – a break in a skyline's symmetry often gave away lesser thieves.
He recognised the masks and coats. These men were Whalers.
He'd felt Corvo's fear when they'd faced them in the Distillery District. It wasn't noticeable, not as such, but Erin had caused him to look into the man's heart.
They stopped him from defending the Empress. They robbed him of his ability to fight, and then they robbed him of her life, Erin had whispered. At the time, Garrett had felt something like sympathy for Corvo. He had some experience in losing someone to forces beyond your control, after all.
Facing the Whalers head on would be tantamount to suicide. Garrett was no warrior, and these men were assassins. And, as he watched, they were gifted with similar powers to Corvo – one flickered out of existence for a moment, to reappear on a nearby bridge.
That was going to be a problem. For now, he ignored it. It was unlikely the Whalers knew of his existence, or his presence in the district, at least. Corvo had provided both a problem and a distraction.
Following the boat was easy enough, the buildings were still close enough together for him to leap between them easily. The water below worried him slightly, but as long as he kept to high ground he was safe.
Eventually they came to a place that reeked of things that should have died in the deep ocean. Garrett had never seen a whale oil refinery before, but he didn't need to be told that was what he was looking at. A large poster on the wall declared it as part of the Greaves Lightning Oil Company. For a long moment, he gazed at the poster, or more importantly, the name Greaves. His mind was drawn back the rotting Vale Street Ironworks, filled with equally rotting corpses and a dead man with an important ring. It was probably a coincidence, right?
He wondered how many of these refineries there were in the city. Samuel had mentioned a slaughterhouse before, but he had implied there were many more such places.
As abysmal as it was, Garrett couldn't help but be curious as to how oil was extracted from a whale. As far as he could tell, the whales that resided in this place were nothing like the ones in his own world. Not that he'd seen one of those, either – the City wasn't exactly the best place for a sea creature.
While Garrett had been ruminating on the hows and whys of whale oil production, the Whalers had been busy, transferring Corvo into some cage. Now he was out of the boat, he looked even worse, hanging loosely over the side rail, listless and barely moving.
Can you see his rage? He wishes to fight.
Garrett blinked a few times, focusing on the man, and saw that Erin's words were true. While he was immobile to a certain degree, subtle movements hinted that there was far more going on in Corvo's mind. Garrett could see the seething rage simmering below the surface of Corvo's skin, the broiling torment directed outwards. Physically, though, he barely twitched. Whatever the other Loyalists had done to him, it was enough to sap Corvo's strength enough that he didn't have a choice in whether he would fight or not. He was pale, sweating, and if Garrett were an expert, he would have suggested poison.
He remembered, once, in the past, he'd been hidden in a closet in a dining room at some noble's in Greystone – stupid mistake, too eager for loot – when they'd held a dinner party. Except this dinner party had ended with four nobles dead and a fifth entirely bemused by the fact that almost everyone there had apparently double-crossed and poisoned each other. The resulting confusion had given him enough time to slip out unnoticed. He hadn't looted the bodies; he'd taken enough from the house as it was, and it had just seemed wrong, to steal from a body that had not grown cold.
The cage had moved, placed to a walkway outside the refinery. Garrett could see a man, dressed in a coat similar to the Whalers, except it was a deep red in colour. He was also unmasked – dark hair and a face with a scar cutting across its right side.
Daud. Paid assassin, Erin whispered to him, not that Garrett needed telling. His hands do violence, yes, but there is a different dream in his heart.
"Is that supposed to make me feel sorry for him?"
It is supposed to help you understand him. See the man who killed the Empress.
Garrett was too far to hear the conversation between Daud and Corvo – well, the speech made by the former. Corvo's rage was evident, though, considering who Daud was and what he represented. While the former Lord Regent had been the one who'd brought Corvo's world crashing down around him, Daud had been his instrument, his tool. No matter how much he reasoned it was the man's job, Garrett knew Corvo would always harbour a deep hatred of the man.
Daud was holding a box – it had been in the boat with Corvo – and Garrett saw him unfold a sword. He recognised the blade: it was the one Corvo had held to his throat when he'd first awoken in Dunwall, strapped to the chair in the Overseer compound. Corvo hadn't had the need to use it since. While Garrett abhorred carrying lethal weapons – his arrows were a last resort, and the small knife he had strapped to his ankle was for cutting rope more than flesh – he reasoned that in this District, it would likely benefit them if they had weapons. Garrett was good at evading others, but if all the Whalers had powers akin to Corvo's, it would be far more problematic.
Plus, he didn't think Corvo would want to go unarmed up against the man who had killed a woman he had loved.
Corvo had been knocked out – a rather savage blow to the back of the head – and the cage was being hauled away. Garrett was left with a dilemma. He could either follow the cage and recover Corvo, or stay at the refinery and recover his weapons, and then hopefully find the man afterward.
For the moment, he settled himself with watching the movements of the Whalers and the cage containing his ally – it moved further into the district. Daud didn't follow, he simply vanished from existence. If all the Whalers were going to do that, Garrett was going to have to be much more careful where he trod.
And he was probably going to find Corvo's crossbow and its sleep darts more useful than his blackjack.
Decision made, he held his position, lying flat on the rooftop, watching the cage disappear into the distance. Likely, Corvo wouldn't be housed very far from it – and Garrett doubted that Daud or his men would kill the man, not if there was to be coin made from it.
Soon enough, the area around the refinery was clear, aside from a crowd of Weepers patrolling the partially-flooded street nearby. As long as he was careful, Garrett reasoned, they were not likely going to cause a problem for him.
At the moment, his main problem was getting off this rooftop and into the refinery. Scanning the roofs around him, Garrett found he was most likely going to have to climb down to street level to make any headway. Checking to make sure there were no Whalers lurking to spot him, he rose, shaking loose his limbs and moving to the edge of the roof.
From here, it was a sheer, precipitous drop to the ground. As far as he could tell, Garrett was going to have to skirt his way around the refinery in a circle, until he could use a way to get down. His rope arrows wouldn't reach that far, and neither would the rope coiled onto the end of the claw. So, skirt he did, carefully leaping across alleyways until he was near what looked like the entrance to the refinery grounds. In the courtyard below, the Weepers roamed; three, by his count.
He bought the finest elixirs, Erin's voice commented as Garrett gazed down at one of them, perhaps he didn't take them in time.
Garrett huffed out a breath at her words, suddenly feeling not at all confident in his impromptu remedy.
A drainpipe allowed him to shimmy down to a balcony, and soon enough he was crossing a slightly disintegrated walkway to a ventilation duct that would allow him over the wall and into the refinery proper. The Weepers didn't notice him, thankfully, although he wasn't entirely sure how much they were able to perceive in their current state.
Pity them, but from a distance, Erin advised. Garrett decided to heed that piece of advice, turning and climbing onto the duct and over the wall. From what he could tell, a stairway would provide him access to the refinery – the only open entrance was near the roof – but it was closed off, folded away by some mechanism. Most likely, it was to deter oil thieves during a time when the place lived under its former name of the Rudshore Financial District.
Upon dropping down into what had formerly been an office, Garrett found the stairs were actually powered by a tankard of whale oil. Of course. A note pinned to the table described a backup power supply in case of failure.
He knew what the tanks looked like, and he could see the receptacle where it was placed. He just hoped the people working the refinery had left as quickly as the other residents of the district. Carefully pushing open the door, he crept onto the stairs outside, wary of anything nearby.
He blinked a few times, focusing his Eye – he'd taken to not contemplating how it worked; it made more sense than Corvo's Heart at least – and scanning for threats. All he could see were the Weepers on the other side of the wall; the refinery itself was decidedly empty. Or its walls were too thick for Garrett's vision to penetrate. It wasn't like the Outsider had been specific, after all.
He found a tank dispenser nearby, and a filling station. Thankfully, everything was labelled. Garrett was also glad of the fact that Dunwall had the same language as his home.
Upon lifting the now-filled tank, he suddenly recalled Corvo's words about the volatility of the oil. Grimacing, he slowly made his way up the stairs – the tank was heavy, and his added worry about the stability of the substance inside was making him move slower than he would have liked.
This close to the oil, he was more repulsed than ever. He could feel it on his fingertips, slick and gelatinous. He shuddered, remembering the source of the substance.
When the last leviathan is gone, darkness will fall.
Garrett made a face, heaving the tank into the designated receptacle, before reaching into his quiver and pulling out one of his mainly defunct water arrows. He unscrewed the head – it was a glass projectile, filled with water – and poured it over his hands. He didn't want to be covered in the oil forever (certainly not with the way it smelled) but he didn't exactly trust the stinking mire that was the floodwater outside. Plus, right next to the refinery, he couldn't be sure that it wasn't contaminated with the substance. He placed the headless arrow back into his quiver – it would work in the same way as a blunt arrow, now.
When he pulled the lever that operated the stairs, Garrett cringed, as a cacophony of shrieking metal and moving machinery echoed through the area. Hopefully there was nobody around to hear it – nobody aware enough to care, anyway. With a final rattle, the stairs settled. Garrett climbed them quickly, lest the noise had attracted attention, before he came to some broken catwalks that would take him around the outside of the building.
When he was on the far side, he halted, alerted by a sound. He blinked a few times, focusing his vision, until he saw, through the wall, three Whalers stood on a balcony around the corner.
Crouched on the piping, Garrett strained to hear their conversation, praying they would move on.
"Do you think his friend will come here?"
Well, shit. Garrett's main advantage had been the notion that the Whalers wouldn't know he was there.
"Difficult to tell," one of the Whalers answered, voice muffled by his mask. "We don't know who he is or what his relation to the Protector is. We don't even know where he is now. We should watch the streets – we'll see him from the rooftops."
"If nothing else, we can cut him off at the market," the third supplied. "He can't get through the rail station without a key."
"They're both resourceful. They'll find a way."
The three blinked out of existence, and Garrett waited a full minute before he dared to move. He'd been given some information at least: the Whalers weren't too concerned with movement on the rooftops (a mistake), and a way out of this district was through a rail station of some sort. He consulted the map Samuel gave him, but the place wasn't marked.
He would have to hope that Corvo knew where he was going.
Not like you to leave an exit strategy to hope, Erin whispered in his ear, as he mounted a chain.
"It's been a trying day," Garrett muttered in response.
The refinery had some sort of drawbridge contraption preventing access, and it wasn't powered. Once more, Garrett had to set about retrieving a tank of whale oil to gain access – this time he covered his hands with a rag he found nearby.
He flinched at the second cacophony of noise that erupted with the drawbridge's powering – now he knew the Whalers were around he was even more wary of someone hearing and coming to investigate.
The box of gear was at the very bottom of the refinery: Garrett could see it when he crouched on the edge of the drawbridge. He grasped a nearby chain – it would bring him about halfway down, but it was a fairly easy climb from there on out.
Halfway down the chain, he froze, gripping the metal links with hands and thighs. He cast a glance below him, ears and eyes straining to pick out the source of the noise that had caused him to halt.
Weepers.
Of course, it had been too much to hope that maybe there weren't any inside the building. Garrett moved much more slowly after that, attempting to keep the chain from rattling too much. He lightly dropped to the metal platform, aware of the Weeper that was leaning over the long-dead campfire nearby. The guttural moans echoed about him, alerting him to more than one of the former people in the building.
Scanning around (with the help of the Eye), he picked out three or four forms – one of them he wasn't sure of, it was hunched in the corner and not moving; it could be dead. He backed out onto the catwalk, crouching down and grabbing the chain that hung from the metal – in the middle of the room, the Weepers couldn't get to him. Especially not when he was suspended from a chain.
He climbed swiftly down, the stench of whale – what else? – assaulting his senses; smell and taste both. It was a miracle the Weepers hadn't perished from the stench alone. Maybe they didn't have their sense of smell left to them.
His prize was below him; he quickly shimmied down the last few feet of chain and dropped to the floor, landing directly beside the box.
Crouching, he checked the equipment over, picking up the crossbow and the belt of bolts that came with it. He strapped the latter around his waist, above his own belt. The crossbow seemed to be in working order, the mechanism worked fine and the string wasn't damaged from its fall.
The sword was another issue – Garrett had only seen the blade in action once, and he'd been too preoccupied at the time to study its motions. It had mostly hung on Corvo's hip, folded away. Looking at the pommel and the grip, he couldn't see any button that triggered it's unfolding, and was thus unable to see if it were still usable.
A heavy wheeze made him start, and he spun to see a blur of red and black come hurtling towards him; the Weeper he'd discounted before was very much alive. He acted on instinct, bringing his arms up before him in some sort of defensive pose as the mass of plague-ridden human barrelled into him.
He wasn't sure what he registered first: the faint metallic snick of the sword unfolding or the feeling of warm blood spilling onto his hands. The sudden weight leaning on him caused Garrett to topple backwards, the Weeper landing on top of him, sword still implanted somewhere within its ribcage. He heaved the body off him as it writhed and gurgled in its last throes, blood staining the floor and Garrett's arms further.
He took a breath, immediately regretting it as the iron and copper scent of blood hit him. He stepped back from the body, attempting to calm his emotions.
Focus, his mind told him. He couldn't tell if it was his own voice or Erin's. Check for other Weepers.
A quick scan above and around him showed there was nobody else in the vicinity that could surprise him. Crouched in the filth of the refinery floor, Garrett closed his eyes, breathing slowly to calm his pounding heart.
The Weeper was dead. He didn't need his gifts to tell him that. He'd felt the sword pierce its lung, maybe even its heart.
They live in constant misery, until death finally releases them, Erin's voice filtered through his mind. Garrett's eyes snapped open, and he stared at the huddled and still form of the Weeper.
"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" he snapped to the empty air.
You always did have a soft heart, the voice told him.
He needed to get the sword out. Corvo would want it back, and as much as it pained him, he didn't want to go through Daud's territory armed with just his Blackjack and a few meagre arrows. His tiny knife wasn't going to help them, not here.
He held his breath as he rolled the body over, leaning away slightly as more blood leaked onto the floor.
What he didn't expect was to recognise it.
Garrett had never met High Overseer Campbell. The first time he'd seen the man, he'd been strapped to a chair. But there was no mistaking the harsh, diagonal lines that cut across his eye – the brand Corvo had used on him. The man had been cast out of the Abbey, Corvo had said. Garrett hadn't known what that had entailed then, but looking down upon the dead man, he wondered if Corvo had known this would have been Campbell's eventual fate.
He almost laughed. Corvo had been so against killing people directly because of the former Empress. Garrett had just finished the job for him. In the same way he'd been the one to fully condemn the Pendletons to end their days in a silver mine, the same way he'd caused a distraction to enable Corvo to get Esma Boyle to the basement of her manor, the same way he'd played the audio card that ended Burrow's reign over the city.
Garrett had distanced himself from the events as he saw fit. Focused on his own mission: the retrieval of the stone shard. The other parts were important, yes, but distractions. He helped because, realistically, he'd had no other choice. It was only now he realised that his supposed distancing had only embroiled him further into the mess Dunwall was in.
You did better here than you did in our home. Or did you do worse?
Garrett ignored the voice of Erin, ignored the slight tremor in his hand as he gingerly pulled the sword out, blade slick with blood. He twisted his hand; the blade folded away, mechanism reacting to the motion.
He stood up, trying to ignore the corpse in front of him, placing the folded sword on the belt that had the crossbow bolts strapped to it. He needed to focus. Corvo was still somewhere in the district, and he still had a stone shard to find somewhere else in this damned city. It was going to be a lot more difficult now the Loyalists had taken power.
Getting out of the refinery was impossible at this level, so Garrett mounted one of the chains and hauled himself up; blood still sticky on his palms. He'd had nothing to clean them with. The fetid water outside was looking more appealing by the second. The first catwalk he came to had a door next to it, a wheel nearby allowed him to open it.
He was glad to be assaulted with the stench of the river. It seemed fresher than the cloying atmosphere in the refinery. He quickly leapt down onto a pile of crates, moving towards the water's edge. The river wasn't exactly the cleanest, but it was enough for Garrett to clean his hands and remove the blood.
Turning back towards the district proper, he spotted a patch of River Krusts grouped at the base of the wall.
They send orphan boys into the water to find pearls hidden in the Krusts, Erin whispered. The pearls last forever, not so the poor boys.
Garrett ignored her words, instead mentally plotting his route back to where he'd last seen Corvo. He hoped it wasn't far.
On the far side of the courtyard were some metal struts that climbed all the way to the rooftop; Garrett nimbly scaled them, so he would be able to avoid the Weepers and Krusts.
On the rooftop, he quickly moved in the general direction he'd last seen the Whalers take Corvo, careful to look out for the assassins who would likely be patrolling. Up here, at least, he could avoid the water and the Weepers.
He almost missed it, from his position high on the rooftop. A glint of gold, spotted in the periphery. Gold was enough to draw Garrett's eye any day. In a place like this, it was more than enough.
The source, however, was altogether more grim. Before Garrett's feet lay a veritable pile of Overseers. The gold he'd spotted had been the light glinting off their masks. One of them, he noticed, was still alive. Just. The man crawled towards him, heaving out his final, grating breaths, before he shuddered and fell still; face down on the concrete floor.
They were left as a warning to those the assassins left alive, Erin told him. Probably better for you, less of them means less people to hinder people like us.
"People like us?" Garrett muttered, scanning the other bodies for signs of life.
A piece of paper fluttered in the dead man's clutches, bloodied and hastily scrawled on. Garrett crouched, plucking it from the man's grip.
The assassins sprung their traps as we tried to cross the narrow bridge, he made out, the writing barely legible. It was probably the Overseer's final words. At that choke point they were able to pick us off one by one.
Now I'm the only one left alive- Garrett paused to spare a quick glance at the Overseer. He didn't feel sorry for the man, not as such. The man had made his choice in life, he'd joined the Overseers for a reason, after all. But Garrett did get an overwhelming sense of waste. They'd been no match for the assassins of this district.
Please, the note continued, if a second group attempts to come through this way, beware of that bridge. They are listening for the sound of the door opening. Keep an eye on the rooftops. Even a small number of them is more than a match.
Garrett crumpled the note in his hand, gazing down at the dead Overseers. Looking at them – and the note – he learned several things. The Whalers were fast and quiet. Only one of the corpses even had his sword drawn. They were aware of threats coming to their base, and were listening out for it. They were watching both the streets and the rooftops.
But most of all, he learned the Whalers were very, very, deadly.
Garrett had learned to avoid assassins in his time. He'd considered joining the profession, briefly, during his younger years, but found killing for coin to his distaste. He was much better taking things and leaving the people alive, if only to hear their reactions upon finding their valuables missing. Death was the last resort. When Erin had moved on from being just a thief, he'd avoided her too, unless the necessity of a job had brought them together.
Look how that worked out, he thought to himself.
But here, in this district, he had to do more than just avoid the assassins. He had to make sure they didn't see him at all. He had more than enough sense to know he would not win a fight against the Whalers. Being spotted would most likely lead to his death.
Or his capture, he reasoned, which could bring him closer to Corvo.
He couldn't leave it to chance, though. He'd already taken enough chances in this district alone. So, he passed through the door the dead Overseers were arrayed around, still no clearer on his plan.
More dead Overseers awaited him inside, but he passed them by, coming to another metal door that was opened by a wheel. He didn't open it, instead looking for another way out of the room that wouldn't draw the attention of the likely patrolling Whalers.
A broken skylight – a quick throw of the claw enabled him to climb to the rooftop. Up there, he had an unrestrained view of an entirely flooded street. He couldn't see any Whalers, but he knew better than to hope they weren't around. He was getting closer to Daud's base – the makeshift bridge in front of the building he was stood on hadn't built itself, after all.
A building further away drew his attention. From here, he could see a wide-open doorway and a broken catwalk. Seemingly no access from ground level – the floodwater was too high.
So why then, was the door open?
Garrett moved to the edge of his rooftop, peering at the aforementioned building. There- a flicker on the edge of his vision. A Whaler materialised on the catwalk – Garrett could see the subtle warp of the air around him. He'd often felt the sensation of the disturbed air when Corvo had transported them both.
There was no reason for the Whalers to be over there – not if Daud's main complex was across the bridge. Not unless they were guarding someone.
Of course, Garrett's only problem now was the large expanse of water that prohibited him from getting to the building. He could tell it was deep, too deep for him to wade through. From here, his only solution would be to walk along a precarious-looking wall to the base of the building.
The only issue was that it was completely in the open. If he were spotted, he wouldn't stand a chance.
He'd made it this far. He wasn't going to be able to go much further, anyway, not without help. Garrett slowly made his way down the side of the building, quickly crossing the bridge to reach the wall.
Down at water level, the smell of the river was even worse – it was more than an open sewer, reeking of filth and excrement. It mingled with years' worth of decay and death – rotting wood and masonry, blood and slaughter. The wall was another problem – changing water levels over a period of time had left it slippery and precarious. Speed was not going to aid him here.
He gritted his teeth, moving slowly along the wall, careful not to disturb the water either side of it. He kept a careful eye on the building he was aiming for, using his supernaturally enhanced vision to do so. There were four bodies in the building. Two moving, two not. Considering his previous experience in the refinery, he wasn't about to discount the unmoving bodies as threats.
At one point, he slipped, lichen and wet stone working against him. His left leg fell halfway into the water, crouched position jarring it painfully. Garrett froze, eyes closing for a moment, listening for any sign that he had been noticed.
Ten seconds, nothing.
He slowly pulled his leg out of the water, wincing with the movement, before looking up at the building once more. The Whalers apparently hadn't noticed. Garrett continued, moving slowly, ignoring the stabbing pain in his thigh.
He finally reached the end of the wall, and slowly unfolding his bow, acutely aware of the creaking of the mechanism. From here, he could fire a rope arrow that would reach to the water level; he would just have to jump to catch it. An easy enough task, if it were not for the water.
He fired the arrow. It lodged on the edge of the catwalk, and Garrett quickly placed his bow on his back, drawing Corvo's crossbow instead.
As anticipated, one of the Whalers materialised, investigating the clang of metal on metal. Garrett wasted no time in firing one of the sleep darts, thankful that it penetrated the thick material of the Whaler's coat. The Whaler crumpled, hitting the railing, and Garrett saw, with his enhanced vision, the second guard turning, drawing a sword.
The Whaler advanced upon his fallen friend, moving slowly, searching. Garrett was patient, however, and waited. Soon, the Whaler stepped out onto the catwalk. He too fell to a sleep dart.
Certain that he wasn't about to be caught mid-climb, Garrett stowed the crossbow away, slowly rising and shimmying along the wall.
"It's only water," he muttered to himself, before setting his jaw and leaping for the rope, hands outstretched to catch it, like any other time.
It wasn't his best jump – the pain in his leg hindered him – and neither was it his most elegant, but he caught the rope, swinging precariously towards the wall. The metal catwalk above him groaned, and Garrett held himself still, legs and cloak dangling into the water. When he was sure that the creaking had stopped, he climbed, slowly, hauling himself with his arm muscles alone.
He finally made it over the railing, finding himself in a warehouse of sorts. Below him, were cells of some sort – he slowly crept down some stairs towards his target.
A retching sound made him freeze, and he held still for a few moments, trying to place the noise. It had come from one of the cells. He squinted towards them, his Eye showing him one of the figures was stirring, leaning over.
The first cell he came to – the one with the unmoving figure – revealed a dead Overseer, legs cruelly broken. Garrett moved on, to the next one, which was closed.
When he opened it, he wasn't sure who looked worse: Corvo, or the unfortunate rat the man had just thrown up on.
"You look like you're having a worse day than me," he commented, causing Corvo to look up at him.
Corvo, if Garrett were honest with himself, looked like shit. The distance between them at the refinery had hidden the worst of the man's condition. He was pale, sweaty, and the skin around his mouth was tinged a blue colour. All symptoms of a barely-survived poisoning. His eyes, however, were sharp and aware.
"Garrett?" the man croaked, and the thief allowed himself a small smile, before he pulled his scarf down.
"Who else would it be?" he said, leaning down and offering his hand to Corvo, hauling him out of his makeshift prison. "All your other friends betrayed you, remember?"
He wouldn't admit it, but Garrett felt a certain amount of weight lift off his heart upon finding Corvo. He was, Garrett supposed, the only friend he had in this place. Possibly the only friend he had at all – it wasn't like he particularly counted Basso or the Queen of Beggars as friends of his.
Corvo clearly wasn't at one hundred percent – he leaned against Garrett after being pulled out of the cell, so Garrett sat him down on one of the crates. He moved to a nearby table, picking up a tankard of water – clearly used by the Whalers – and some bread that was surprisingly not stale.
"Here," he said, handing them both to Corvo. "You need to clean out your system."
While Corvo ate, Garrett searched the nearby table, coming up with Corvo's mask and a bounty letter. Garrett wasn't on it, he noted, not sure whether to be proud or irritated by that fact.
"I'm sure I don't need to tell you how bad this is," he began, as he moved to the unconscious Whalers and began to haul them towards Corvo's empty cell. It wouldn't do for them to be spotted, after all.
"You don't," Corvo answered him, voice soft.
"I'm going to tell you anyway," Garrett replied. "Your so-called allies have turned on you – well, except Samuel – and we're in a district inhabited by Assassins, Weepers, and dead Overseers. While you were out, Havelock and his people have taken control of Dunwall Tower. No, I don't know where Emily is, I barely know where we are, aside from being close to Daud's hideout."
He stood up, looking down at the two Whalers now lying in the cell. It would have to do, he supposed, and he turned back to Corvo.
"I did manage to get your things," he said, pulling out the sword and crossbow, handing them both over to the man.
The blade unfolded as Corvo inspected the weaponry, and Garrett felt a twinge in his gut when he saw the dried blood staining the metal.
"What happened?" Corvo asked him, raising an eyebrow.
Garrett huffed out a breath. "An incident in the refinery," he said, "with the former High Overseer."
Corvo apparently didn't need further explanation, for he nodded, folding the blade away. He stood, walking past Garrett and out onto the catwalk, looking down onto the ruined district.
"How did you get through the floodwater?" he asked, as Garrett followed him onto the metal structure.
"With difficulty," he replied. "The way to Daud's base is over there," he added, pointing to the makeshift bridge.
In his periphery, he saw the glance Corvo cast him, so he turned to face the man properly. "I don't need you to tell me that we're going to go after him. I worked that out when I saw you two at the refinery. And, plus, he must know of a way out of the district that doesn't involve going over the wall. Now Havelock and the others have taken control of the city, they're going to be watching this district closely. If the Admiral's worth his rank he's astute enough to work out where you'd end up. And plus, Martin is another man I wouldn't be so quick to cast aside, especially now he's High Overseer."
The people he'd met outside the district had made no mention of the Whalers scaling the wall. And while they were adept men, Garrett could tell they didn't have the capabilities to climb said wall often, supernaturally enhanced or no.
"Daud controls this territory, it would make sense he controls the ways in and out," Garrett added, folding his arms. "His men mentioned something about a rail station, too."
"You've been busy," Corvo commented.
"Not all of us got to sleep our way into this place," Garrett replied.
"I was poisoned."
Garrett snuffed a laugh. "I guessed as much," he said. "Not that they did it very well," he added. "You're still alive."
"Samuel only gave me half," was the reply.
"Of course," Garrett said. "That's how he knew where you were going."
"What happened to you?" Corvo asked him. "Samuel made the others believe he'd shot you and thrown you in the river."
"And they fell for it?" Garrett asked. The earlier credit he'd given Havelock and Martin dissipated somewhat. He was even less impressed with them now. He hadn't even been sure if that had been possible. In response to Corvo, he shrugged. "Samuel told me to get out. I wasn't surprised they'd turned on us. They hate me and you were only ever a means to an end. And, of course, bringing me into your club only made them more wary of you."
Even now, it surprises him to hear that, Erin whispered to him.
Garrett wondered whether it was naivety or some sort of false hope Corvo had kept, to be surprised by that statement. Maybe Garrett was just more cynical.
"We need to move," he said. "Staying in one place too long isn't a good thing to do."
"How do we get down?" Corvo asked him, peering over the catwalk.
"I'm taking the rope," Garrett said. "I would advise you to do the same," he added. "I don't know how deep the water is."
Corvo peered at the murky water. "Probably full of hagfish anyway," he sniffed.
"Don't tell me, they want to kill me too," Garrett surmised, causing Corvo to laugh – a laugh that turned into a cough.
"You're learning fast," the man said, as Garrett leaned over the catwalk and grabbed the rope.
Climbing down was far easier than climbing up, aside from the fact he had to make a somewhat precarious jump onto the wall. He almost slipped off the other side upon landing, but a quick-timed grab with his hands saved him from ending up in the water.
Corvo, he grudgingly admitted, handled the rope better. He was probably aided by the fact he could swim, so he had no need to actively avoid landing in the water.
The wall as the same as before: several feet of slime-encrusted stone that they had to be careful to step across. At least Garrett didn't slip this time. He didn't think his leg would hold up so well a second time.
Making their way to the bridge was simple, and they were soon stood in front of the door that would take them further into the district proper; closer to Daud.
"Don't open it," Garrett said, suddenly remembering the dead Overseer's note. "The Whalers watch the door."
Corvo was looking back at the corpses of the Overseers that littered the bridge, mouth twisting into an unhappy expression. Even though the men had caused them both significant trouble, Garrett could tell Corvo was unsettled by their deaths.
"Apparently they weren't all killed," he said. "Daud let some of them go."
"Why?" Corvo asked. Garrett shrugged in response.
"A warning, maybe?" he asked. "I'll admit, an assassin choosing not to kill is... unusual. But then again, it's also a sign of mercy – one that may not be extended if the Overseers decide to return."
"How do you know they watch the door?" Corvo asked, after a moment's silence.
"One of the Overseers left a note," Garrett replied. "There are more that way-" he pointed in the direction of the Refinery. "-and we'll probably find more when we get closer."
"Noted," Corvo replied, pulling his mask onto his face. Once more, Garrett gazed at the sightless golden eyes and yawning chasm that was the mouth. Piero had truly created a masterwork – the golden wire that resembled threads holding the piece together had caught Garrett's eye from the moment he'd first seen Corvo. On more than one occasion he'd considered asking Corvo for the mask when this whole endeavour was over. To ask for it, though, was not entirely his way. Then again, Corvo probably wouldn't mind if Garrett took the item – the man was unlikely to need it again.
If they got through this, that was.
Garrett pulled his scarf up over his features again, and the pair climbed onto the semi-destroyed roof of the walkway and moved onto the low rooftop, avoiding the door.
Almost immediately, they had to stop.
There were three Whalers patrolling the area in front of them. Well, two, but then, somewhat ostentatiously, another Whaler had decided to descend to a lower rooftop by a backflip. Garrett raised an eyebrow. The impact should have at least sprained something, if not broken a bone, but the Whaler stood and walked to the edge of the rooftop like he'd simply hopped off a step. Garrett, meanwhile, still had a painful twinge in his thigh every time he moved. He scowled at the Whaler, who was now crouched on the edge of the rooftop, scanning the area below.
Next to him, Corvo was silent. After a long moment, Garrett realised that the man was waiting for his assessment. He supposed he was the expert here, after all.
He turned his attention back to the Whalers. They were following a somewhat routine patrol route, albeit on rooftops and interspersed with supernaturally-enhanced transversals to other rooftops. They were, however, still somewhat predictable, but not ideal. A bright light set into the middle of the courtyard cast the entire doorway of the Rail Station – their destination – in a white light that wouldn't hide anyone well, especially not a man of Corvo's stature. Or appearance.
"It's not promising," he said eventually. "They're assassins. They're trained to use the routes a guard wouldn't look for, which then means they know where to look for incoming threats. And plus, there's you," he turned to face Corvo, properly.
"How are you feeling?" he asked. Even behind the mask, Garrett saw Corvo start at his question.
"Fine," was the short, clipped reply.
"You're a worse liar than the guards I've heard tell their superiors they weren't asleep when something went missing," Garrett told him. "A few hours ago, you were poisoned. No, it's never happened to me, but I've seen it happen to enough people to have a pretty good guess."
"What's your point?" Corvo asked him. "You think I shouldn't go in there? Five minutes ago you said you expected us to go there."
"No," Garrett said. "I don't think we should go in together. You-" he cut himself off. "You're still weak, even if you don't show it. I can see it. If the Whalers catch you, they'll cut you down in a second. You're having trouble standing up straight, let alone sneaking your way through the most dangerous part of this city."
"Garrett-" Corvo began, something softer in his tone, but the thief waved a hand, cutting him off.
"Listen," he began. "I have a plan. Something that might work and give you enough time to get to Daud. It's a long shot, but right now it's probably the only thing that will work."
He reached behind him, pulling his bow and quiver off his back, before loosening the straps of his cloak.
"Give me your mask," he said. "And your coat."
He pulled his cloak off, over his head, instantly feeling somewhat less without it. He couldn't afford sentimentality, though, not here.
"If this plan is what I think it is," Corvo said, removing his mask and coat, casting a glance at the still-patrolling Whalers. "Your cloak isn't going to fit. Or disguise me."
"No," Garrett agreed, rolling up the cloak. "Which is why you're going back to your cell and stripping one of those Whalers. You're going to put on one of their masks and coats, and then make your way through the district as one of them. You're powered like them, they're unlikely to pay you a second glance, as long as you're careful and note their movements enough."
He pulled the coat over his shoulders, getting used to the weight. He had to roll up the sleeves – they were almost double the size of his arms.
"Me? I don't have anything like you have. Just vision, which is helpful, but not useful. Not in a place like this. Together, we're more noticeable, easy to spot. But on our own? We have a good chance, especially if one of us is able to blend in with the enemy. I can move without being seen – you know I can, but if something goes wrong, it'll be better for them to think they've simply caught a prisoner than someone else, if only for a short while. You'll get your chance with Daud, and I'll find us a way out of this place."
His cloak, he was going to have to leave behind. It pained him somewhat – it hadn't been an easy thing to create; hours of locating the right fabric, and then sewing the damned thing. But he couldn't bring it with him, and neither could Corvo, not if their disguises were going to work.
"Take this back to the cells, too," he said, handing the bundled roll of fabric to Corvo. "Hide it in the cell with the dead Overseer. They'll be less likely to find it there. One of our only advantages at the moment is that they'll be looking for you. Well – me."
He pulled his scarf down, leaving it coiled around his neck, before picking up the mask and putting it on. It fit reasonably well, although Garrett immediately disliked the restrictions to his smell and peripheral vision. The optical sight was handy, though, he admitted inwardly.
"How do I look?" he asked Corvo, who's expression looked far too amused than was necessary for the situation.
"Like the Masked Felon himself," Corvo said, his tone suggesting otherwise. His face went serious for a moment. "At a distance, you'll be fine. Closer, maybe not. Try not to pick anyone's pocket."
"Trust me, I wasn't considering it," Garrett replied.
Now he was wearing the outfit, his plan seemed even more ridiculous. Maybe he should have spent some more time trying to think of something better.
"We make it to Daud," he said, almost as a reassurance of himself. "You do whatever it is you're going to do. I'll find out how he gets out of the district. I'll find you when I locate it," he added.
"How are you going to do that?" Corvo asked him. Garrett smirked, tapping the right side of the mask, just below the eye socket.
"I'll see you. This Eye is actually somewhat useful in certain circumstances."
Garrett wasn't sure if he could explain it, how he could tell the difference between the people he looked at with his Eye. Each of the Whalers he'd passed had been separate, distinct, even if outwardly they'd looked the same. He was confident he'd be able to spot Corvo.
Corvo isn't so certain, Erin whispered. About this, or your plan. Neither am I. Neither are you.
"Trust me, Corvo," Garrett said, echoing the words the man had said to him upon their first meeting, in Holger Square. "We'll get through this. We'll have to, to get back to Emily, right?"
Upon his mentioning of the soon-to-be Empress, Corvo straightened a little, mouth settling in a hard line. He nodded.
"I'll see you on the other side," he said, turning back towards the bridge, and the building beyond it. After a second, he vanished, leaving nothing but a faint warping of the air in his wake.
"I'm glad one of us is now more confident," Garrett muttered, strapping his bow to his back. It was incongruous, with the coat, but he would just have to hope the Whalers wouldn't pay it much attention if he were spotted. He couldn't leave it behind, it had been even more painstaking to make than the cloak.
He moved to the edge of the rooftop once more, crouching behind a ventilation duct so he could survey the area once more. His most immediate problem was the Whaler who'd backflipped onto the rooftop: he was constantly flitting between two rooftops in his patrol. If Garrett happened to be on the rooftop the Whaler transported himself too, it likely wouldn't spell good news for him.
He spent a minute watching the Whaler, working out his pattern, before he dropped onto a lower section of ventilation duct. Hugging the wall, he slowly made his way left, acutely aware of another Whaler on the courtyard floor, and a third that was changing between another two rooftops.
When he reached the corner, he stopped, before looking up. There was a catwalk with an open doorway above him – a quick check with the Eye revealed nobody in the building, living or dead. The only problem he had now was getting into the building without attracting any nearby assassins. Using a rope arrow or the claw was out of the question; both would make a noise and likely attract the Whaler who was currently patrolling below him.
Instead, Garrett opted to use the wall on his immediate left, scrambling upwards and then leaping back – catching the catwalk as he twisted in the air. It wasn't perfect, and the angle jarred his wrist slightly, but it was quiet; exactly what Garrett needed. Using only his arms, he heaved himself upward and onto the catwalk, ghosting into the building before the Whaler made his return trip.
Inside, the room was empty. A door on the far side had been bricked up, most likely as a former preventative measure for plague. Interestingly, beside the bricked-up door there was a line of hooks – a key dangled from one of them, dull brass gleaming in the pale light. He reached out, touching the cold metal for a moment.
"He can't get through the rail station without a key."
That was what one of the Whalers had said, at the refinery. Glancing out of the window, Garrett saw the sign proclaiming the doorway the Whalers were guarding to lead to the Central Rudshore rail station.
Well, that made his life simpler. The door was bathed in bright white light. Picking it unnoticed would have been a challenge, at best, and considering the way Garrett's week had been going, it probably wasn't going to be an 'at best' type situation.
He crossed to the window, crouching and peering out at the Whaler who was patrolling between two rooftops on the left side of the courtyard. Thankfully, the ventilation ducts snaked their way around to the left of the building. Garrett moved quickly, clambering down and moving so he was behind the Whaler. He was actually surprised it had been this easy – they were assassins, after all.
They were complacent, Garrett had noticed. Too secure in their environment, riding the high of their repelling of the Overseer attack, most likely. He wasn't going to complain. It made his job easier.
He couldn't reach the rooftop nearest to the door – not without attracting attention, anyway. Instead, Garrett opted to hook the Claw into the vent grating, and abseil down the side of the building into a small alleyway, coming to land silently behind the Whaler who patrolled the ground area. He waited, holding his breath, until the man moved away, before unhooking the Claw and crossing to a covered area that was submerged in water. Thankfully, it was only ankle deep, and Garrett managed to navigate it so that he was beside the door. Using the key he'd previously retrieved, he slipped through the doorway, leaving it unlocked so Corvo could get through. He doubted the Whalers would check.
The door opened into a building that had once probably been bustling with hundreds of people who'd travelled by rail. Now, it was desolate, empty, and full of rats. Garrett climbed a set of stairs, and found that the left side of the building opened out onto a wide open space that looked as though it had once been a street, if not for the water that was now several feet deep at the bottom. Garrett wrinkled his nose as the putrid scent of the water hit him. Apparently Corvo's mask didn't filter out all that much.
In the distance, Garrett picked out what had probably once been the focal point of the district in its heyday – a towering white statue of a woman. He was under no illusion that it was likely Jessamine, the former Empress. She looked nice, he supposed, although he didn't know how accurate the depiction was.
Her father had golden hair. Her mother hair like ash, Erin supplied.
"Not very useful when looking at a marble statue," Garrett muttered.
A ramshackle path made of rotting wood and metal stretched out before him, leading directly to the base of the statue, where Garrett could see further wood and metal reaching high above. He also saw what appeared to be several potential lookout points, but at this distance he couldn't identify any Whalers.
The path was obviously a trap, bait to the unwary wanderer who somehow made it this far into the district. Garrett wondered if the Overseers had taken this path, thinking victory to be close at hand.
Garrett, instead, made his way right, leaping the short distance from the path to the adjacent roof, before climbing onto the ventilation duct on top. The duct led around a corner to an alcove, but it didn't provide Garrett with an alternate route. What it did give him was a vantage point to scout the location ahead of him in relative safely.
It took him a moment to figure out the optical sight on Corvo's mask, but once he did, he scanned the area. He saw three, maybe four Whalers. It didn't look good. One was crouched at the end of a ramshackle path, scanning the area below him. As soon as Garrett stepped into the light, he would be spotted. That wasn't even accounting for the Whalers he couldn't see – this close to Daud's base, there were bound to be more. Plus, some of them were bound to be moving between locations in their patrol. Garrett didn't have the best vantage point; this time he couldn't accurately map their paths.
The building with the statue of the Empress had an open window, he saw. Considering the amount of Whalers, and their position, it was highly likely that was the entrance to Daud's base, and probably lead to the only way out of the district. Garrett hadn't seen any other routes, and couldn't see any now.
They were watching the high areas, he noticed. The high areas and the obvious paths. Paths that an untrained or simply stupid person would take. Garrett, however, prided himself on being the kind of person who could spot the unobvious path.
The only problem was that here it was also one of the most reckless paths. The Whalers were watching the high paths. But, on the left, behind the pathway, Garrett could see a set of stairs rising out of the stone water. They led into what looked like a secluded alley, one that wasn't patrolled. The only issue was getting there.
You should have learned to swim, Erin whispered in his ear, causing him to start slightly, concentration lapsing for a moment.
"You're not helping," he replied, unfolding his bow and picking out a rope arrow. He took careful aim, wary of the patrolling Whalers, before loosing an arrow that connected to one of the support beams under the makeshift gangway. It unspooled, leaving the rope dangling somewhat precariously over the water.
This was probably the worst idea Garrett had had in a long while. Worse than breaking into a burning Keep via an overheating steam vent to rescue Basso.
He backtracked slightly, moving back onto the catwalk, careful to not attract the attention of the Whaler still watching.
He could see no other way forward. Not without attracting some form of attention. And while he was dressed as Corvo, he was going to draw more attention. He didn't have his cloak to hide his form and the Whalers would likely be on the lookout for an escaping prisoner. Especially one who'd escaped a high-security prison, like Corvo had. Garrett hadn't been to Coldridge, but the way Corvo's escape had been spoken of, it was clear he'd been the first to do so.
Well, this was one more thing that could be added to Corvo's list of daring endeavours. Especially if it failed, Garrett decided.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself, before bolting down the gangway, careful to keep his tread light as he did so. If he were going to be spotted, let it be for an instant, a trick of the light in the corner of an assassin's eye.
When Garrett reached the end of the shadows, he leapt, sailing through the air to catch the rope underneath the gangway. He managed to snag it with relative ease; his momentum then carried him forward, and he leapt off, onto the stairway. He kept moving, not stopping until he was in the shadows of the alleyway.
He turned his head, quickly looking up at the patrolling Whalers. As far as he could tell, none of them had spotted his daring leap. The rope arrow wouldn't go unnoticed for long, however.
Still, for the moment, he was safe.
He barely made it a metre into the alley before a Whaler materialised in front of him.
Oh fu-
The Whaler was facing him; both he and Garrett stared at each other for a moment in sheer dumb surprise, before Garrett bolted into action. Drawing his blackjack, he launched himself at the assassin, who was still apparently processing Garrett being in the previously empty alley. The weapon crashed down onto the Whaler's head, causing him to stumble backward. Garrett brought the blackjack around again, hitting the Whaler a second time for good measure.
He bolted, knowing that the more time he spent here, the more likely he would be caught. Racing up the alley steps, he searched around for a place to hide, only to find an overturned trash bin. Next to the bin was a pair of very angry and vicious-looking hounds. They'd clearly been alerted by the commotion in the alley.
"Seriously?" He hissed to himself, dodging aside as one of the hounds leapt for him, the second unleashing a very loud bark. Garrett looked for any way out, finding a ledge to his immediate right. He scrambled up, into a crumbling building, finding himself on the other side of the catwalk the stationary Whaler had been positioned on. He wasn't there now – a quick check with the Eye revealed him to be in the alleyway with his fallen friend.
The catwalks were empty.
Garrett knew he wouldn't get another chance, so he ran, sprinting onto the catwalk and heading for the open window he knew lead into Daud's base. He briefly wondered if Corvo was getting along better than him.
The crossbow bolt that hit his left leg didn't register for a moment; not until Garrett went to take another step and found a searing pain rising from his calf, one that made him drop to his knees. He immediately scrambled to the side, teeth grit in an attempt to keep the pain down, but he didn't stop moving. If he stayed on the open space of the catwalks, he was going to get caught or killed. Neither looked appealing.
He forced himself upright again, limping, but still moving quickly. As he moved, he tried to search for the source of the bolt, but the mask was impeding his vision. He moved right, towards the end of the catwalk, some sort of half-baked plan forming in his mind; get out of sight, get to safety, get back to Corvo.
He should have expected the Whaler to appear in front of him, blocking his path. The man had a sword raised, and Garrett twisted to the side, attempting to avoid the blade while keeping his forward momentum going, hoping to push the Whaler off the ledge. The movement jarred his leg further, and he suppressed a shout of pain as the crossbow bolt embedded in his calf tore at his flesh some more. He stumbled, and instead of twisting fully away from the blade, he fell into it, sword piercing the flesh of his left shoulder.
He thankfully fell onto his right side, attempted to roll away, but found that the catwalk ended very suddenly.
The next thing Garrett saw was the Whaler's mask peering over the side of the catwalk as he fell, plunging into the fetid depths of the floodwater.
It filled the mask, overpowered his senses, and Garrett flailed, the weight of Corvo's coat pulling him under. He tried to call out, instead inhaled water, and choked as his vision swam and hearing clouded over.
He did hear one thing, though. A voice, ringing out in his mind:
These waters are greedy. They will never give back what they have taken.
has six months between chapter updates
leaves chapter on worse cliffhanger than the previous one
This chapter was an exercise on how to get through the Flooded District without powers. Essentially, once you get to Central Rudshore, you can't do it without being spotted.
Or without being able to swim. Poor Garrett. It really wasn't his day.
I hope Garrett's route wasn't too confusing. Send me a message if you need clarification, or post here or something. If a lot of you are confused I'll work out an explanatory post on tumblr, perhaps.
Still, it was fun to write from his point of view this time around. I hope you all liked the change as much as I did. I had the most fun writing his interactions with Erin/The Eye.
And, seriously, Garrett in Corvo's clothes? It's gotta be like a kid who dresses in their parents', right?
