Wawnet Inn, Crossroads
It was a gloomy sort of day. The atmosphere was loaded with humidity, almost as if the weather itself couldn't be bothered to go all the way to rain yet, and it hung heavily over the inn like a lead shroud.
Or a conscience, thought Lachance, before remembering himself and smothering the irreverent little idea with another sip of Cyrodilic brandy. The innkeeper had fished it out of a cupboard at his specific request and made a point of being seen blowing the dust off the bottle. It was the worst thing he had ever drunk outside of the Bruma sanctuary – where Havilsten Hoar-blood sat unchallenged as the uncrowned king of apprentice brewers (1) – and so he drank it both as an exercise in liquors and as a measure of practical punishment.
The second measure of punishment was currently sitting next to him.
"I swear on Sithis, it took a Speaker to get Nerussa to get the good stuff out," Rowley said. "Twenty years I've sat the steps in this Voidforsaken place, and the witch never got me anything stronger than lake water. Always with that Shadowbanish of hers. Now that might be alright for some, but I just cannot sustain a healthy murder habit on it!"
The hierarchy inside the Brotherhood, between the opposing poles of the Black Hand and the rank-and-file, could be peculiarly fluid. Rowley's peculiar position was the result of the former Black Hand taking notice of his peculiar knack of being the last surviving member of any Sanctuary he took shelter in. This wasn't unheard of in the Brotherhood: it was getting harder and harder to recruit replacements, and casualties were common enough even when no one decided to, as J'Ghasta had began to put it, pull a Mathieu on their Dark Siblings. So, the first time, the Black Hand simply assigned Rowley to the welcoming embrace of another Sanctuary and were done with it.
This they did two more times.
When the Dune Sanctuary was wiped out by a freak flood, the Hand decided to take action, making sure Rowley stayed as distant from any active Sanctuaries as it was geographically possible. Thus, he had been appointed Head of the Wawnet Sanctuary, currently consisting of himself and the inn's cat, and had spent some years acting as a liaison between the Cyrodiil Sanctuaries, lending a hand to Brotherhood members passing through, and enthusiastically waiting his first acolytes who, the Black Hand assured, were due to be incoming any day (2).
"No, indeed." Lucien said. Drinking with Rowley was good in the sense that it was like drinking alone, but without the immediate repercussions of being that one gloomy hooded sod suspiciously drinking alone in the corner, Imperial Officer sir.
Lucien had not slept well, at all. Now that the excitement and the adrenaline were over, he had started to realise that he had been so very close to having his life rearranged like a home left in the care of psychotic Altmer decorators. Hadn't it been for his improvised plan, for J'ghasta and D'Eath's help, and for a substantial dose of his eponymous luck, he could have very well been ended up like Rowley. Or dead. Dead should have been worse, but the idea of life without the twins, Telaendril, Vicente – each time he thought about that, a cold chill settled into his bones.
There was another matter. Ever since that breakfast with D'Eath in Skingrad he hadn't been feeling like his old self. He found himself thinking about what other people felt whenever he made use of them in his machinations. This had never happened to him before; the strain turned over some barely-used emotional muscles and he didn't like it. Say, what would he be doing, in D'Eath's place and situation?
The answer came to him immediately: he would be awaiting rescue. J'Ghasta would break him out. Vicente would break him out. Hell, Gogron would definitely break something – femurs, for instance.
An annoying voice in the back of his head insisted that D'Eath, who didn't even know him that much and didn't possess one tenth of the worth he had to the Brotherhood, hadn't hesitated to come to his aid when Uvani and Arquen were discussing his disembowelment. Sure, her attempt had sucked, but it had existed. And now he, who was by all accounts – at least, all those immediately available in his head – the best assassin the Brotherhood had to offer, was making his merry way back to Cheydinhal while D'Eath –one of his charges, now officially a Dark Sister and Silencer- was held captive.
This sort of unpleasant train of thought was all D'Eath's fault. And the worst part was, he couldn't even berate her on it, because she wasn't there, and that was obviously part of the problem.
There was no alternative, Lucien thought. He was going to go back and get D'Eath. Once the recovery mission was over, he could enjoy the ride to Cheydinhal, made all the more pleasant by the opportunity to exact revenge upon D'Eath for inflicting upon him some fifteen years of backlog emotional toil.
He could almost taste the verbal barbs.
He had rose from his chair when the door of the inn opened and D'Eath came in.
Helena had read somewhere that moments like this had to be "savoured like a fine wine", so savouring it she was. Not even Nerussa in her wildest sommelier dreams could achieve such savouring.
"So," she started. "Fancy seeing you here! Do you visit often? You sort of look familiar…"
Lachance said nothing. How like the egotistical bastard to deprive her of all the fun, when she finally had the moral higher ground. "Visit often?", she tried again. She took up a spare glass and poured some brandy.
"Oh for Sithis's sak-What happened? What was that thing you had? And most importantly, how did you get out?"
"Why, same way I got in." Helena said, flourishing a grin. "By the front door."
Lachance slapped his hand on his mouth, biting the palm of his leather glove and then covering his eyes for a second, then regaining enough control to say "Tell me everything that happened in that priory at once or so help me the gods, I will go spare", thus making Rowley subtly tense in his chair and immediately regret the illustrious visit.
Helena sighed. "Well, it turns the recipient was, uh, highly worried about his package, so he was understandably relieved by my arrival. So much relieved, in fact, that he insisted upon my staying at dinner and then some."
Lucien made an impatient gesture. "Spare me the vagueness. I actually tried to come in after you, you know? I saw the arms. That place is a Blade outpost. This got anything to do with your break-out?"
"Not just any outpost." Helena winced. "I spoke with the Grandmaster," she admitted. Lachance was starting to turn a very inauspicious shade of grey, so she decided to just come out with it. "That thing I had in my backpack, it was the Amulet of Kings. The Emperor gave it to me, but I swear I didn't know it would be the Blades, he just sai-"
At this point, Rowley's glass loudly fell on the floor, metaphorically signifying the span of his jaw, at which Lachance ordered him to his rooms with no more than a glance.
"Right," he said. "Then what?"
Helena fidgeted in her seat. "Well, the mighty arm of the Empire will root me out from any vile lair I shall take refuge in, you know how it goes. Unless…" She paused to check Lachance's reactions, but he remained blank. "Unless…I go to Kvatch to do a thing for them."
"Do what?"
Helena shrugged. "It's not important, it's pretty simple. I just need to tell someone they're expected at Weynon Priory to enjoy the warm hospitality of the monks. Then I'm free to go." She passed her finger on the rim of the glass. "I've actually hitched passage with a group of Dibella pilgrims, but I'm sure we could ditch them somewhere off-"
"We? "We could"? What we? I refuse to take part in this insanity. I've been through enough." Lachance was putting all of himself in the effort of conducting an angry reproach at whisper-level, and the results were impressive. You could tell he did it all the time, Helena thought. "Sithis himself must know why you're here, because I sure don't. I had my doubts before, but now I cannot honestly comprehend the reason they made me recruit you. It boggles my mind. Phillida, the Emperor, and then the Blades? What's next, the Elder Council itself? Your involvements are a walking liability to the whole Brotherhood!" Lachance paused for breath, barely taking notice that Helena had been holding empty air instead of a glass for the past two minutes. "My responsibilities lie with the Sanctuary. I cannot put its members at risk because-"
"Because of what?" It looked like D'Eath had reached her standing ground. "It wasn't me the one that nearly got everyone killed because of slipping up on the job some ten years ago, was it? It wasn't me that Bellamont was looking for!" she angrily retailed. "Which is funny, because it seems it was me you sent to spend some choice time with the psychopath! You didn't even meet him! You didn't even know!"
Lachance said nothing.
"I'm going to Kvatch. Good day." Then, Helena got up and left.
Talos Plaza, Imperial City
"Is this necessary, sir?"
"Civello, I am your superior officer. By virtue of this very fact, anything you see me do is justified and necessary."
"Only, sir, I think this technically counts as breaking and entering, and since I'm a Guard I think-"
"You're thinking too much. Only think when I tell you to. Is it midnight yet?"
"Should be, any moment now, sir."
Adamus Phillida, retired Commander of the Imperial Legion, was standing in the dark of an alley a few steps from the door of a house. Civello's keen Guard senses were already tingling at the sheer criminality of it all.
"Sir, if I may ask, why midnight?"
Phillida smiled. "When else to contact the Night Mother? You have to think theatrically when dealing with the Brotherhood, Civello. They relish the stuff, and they use it to their advantage. What would you do if you were suddenly confronted by a black-clad masked idiot screaming Sithis wants your soul?"
Civello didn't have to think too much about it. "Arrest them, sir. Unauthorized weapon, threat, and disturbance of the Emperor's peace, mayAkatoshresthissoul."
"You might very well make it to my age, lad," the Commander conceded. "But most folks would just about shit their pants. Thus, the assassin has an easier job." The moonlight was reminding Phillida of his younger days in the Legion, and the chase, and his first brushes with the Brotherhood. It was quite sentimental. "Now me, I know they want it. So in the time they take to utter their nonsense, I'm already on my guard."
"How many assassins did you kill, sir?"
"Four. A record, I believe, although I consider it a loss that they all died in the attempt. There's nothing I wouldn't give for a living Dark Brother to question."
Civello nodded. Suddenly, the air resonated with the heavy tolls of the Temple District bells.
"It's time", Phillida said.
They moved out.
Claudius Arcadia's basement, Talos Plaza, Imperial City.
Claudius had trying crouching, then kneeling – he felt it was possibly the most beneficial position for the look of the thing – but then his joints had protested too much for him to do anything else than sit on his butt on the cold basement floor. And so he did, although he did keep a care to stay out of the chalk and most importantly, the blood.
He was feeling most disconcerted, but not for the reasons anyone might have thought upon seeing him laying next to a makeshift image of a human corpse made out of pig parts and various scribblings with the childhood relics of his daughter's crayons. That was just the Black Sacrament, the very thing he had set out to do. And had been doing for the past three nights.
Maybe it was the pig's heart, Claudius thought. Sure, by all the accounts he had been able to collect and by everything he could divine from the white noise of his assorted background knowledge, the Dark Brotherhood wanted a real human heart. But how on Nirn was he supposed to get one without raising suspicion? By murdering someone? That was the whole point! Besides, the man he had in mind was better suited to a pig's heart.
Discomforted, he stared at the chalk outline he had drawn around the heart: he couldn't see the need for any modifications and he couldn't think of any improvements on the design. He rearranged the nightshade flowers – by far the most difficult ingredient to collect: they had cost him a good row with the hellish Mrs. Maccarius when he had plucked them from her garden – before realizing he was making a sort of flower crown for the "corpse", at which he stopped.
What if the ritual had to be repeated a certain number of times? he thought. Well, three's the charm, they said, so tonight he was bound to see something. Unless the Brotherhood had another number. He seemed to recall seven being a favourite of the wizards – certainly it couldn't be Nine, that would have been sacrilegious. Unless that was the intent? Either way, the heart was starting to go, so it better work, and soon.
Maybe they were just busy. Go figure…
There was a noise from upstairs and Claudius perked up. It sounded like someone had knocked over the expensive embalmed Daedroth foot he used as an umbrella stand. His dear Alessia had loathed the thing, but now that she was gone he couldn't bear himself to get rid of it.
The basement door creaked open. Claudius braced himself: the moment had finally come. He couldn't afford any mistakes: he needed to be as clear-minded and cold-blooded as when he had decided to make use of the Dark Brotherhood's service, as he had been when hunting down the components for the ritual. He owed it to his daughter. He closed his eyes.
"Claudius Arcadia?" said a rough, gruff voice.
"Yes…?" He dared to pry open an eyelid.
"I'm Commander Adamus Phillida of the Imperial Legion. You're under arrest for performing a ritual meant to contact the criminal organisation known as the Dark Brotherhood."
Phillida would have remembered the next few seconds for the rest of his career. Arcadia staggered up, right into Civello's steely grasp, but not before looking at him with eyes wide in shock and gulping out. "T-they didn't even come! It didn't work! Why didn't it work?"
Talos Plaza, Imperial District
There was always a lot of dillydallying going on in Talos Plaza; indeed, one could argue that Talos Plaza was all about being seen artflly dillydallying in one of the social and political hotbeds of the Empire. In the midst of all this artful coming and going, swishing of robes and clicking of boots, greetings and introductions carefully administered or withdrawn, the robed figure sitting on the bench could have effectively passed as part of the scenery: an addendum to the dragon statue that roared behind.
Unless, of course, one is expected. Vicente Valtieri, heavily cloaked in accordance with the morning sun, spotted his protégé as he passed under one of the archways, and gave as cheery a wave as any grandfather could hope for. "Hey Lulu! This way!" Lachance crossed the square and sat next to the vampire.
"You know I hate-"
"Oh, Lucien, don't pull that face. When you get to three hundred and forty-five, you, too, shall know that anyone is just an embarrassing nickname waiting to be used."
"I don't object to that. Just remind me again to skin J'Ghasta for coming up with it in the first place…"
"I'm afraid that is outside the realm of possibilities. I got your note. Fortuitous timing, isn't it?"
"'Fortuitous timing' might just be the phrase to describe the whole affair. I'm still not entirely sure how we managed to get out of that mudcrab pit with everyone's hide intact. Especially mine."
"I was referring more to our coincidental presence in the City, but if it that's how you start explaining things…Good thing I can't grow any more grey hairs."
Lucien gave Vicente an abridged, but exhaustive account of the latest developments with the Black Hand, from the arrival in Anvil to the meeting with the Night Mother, and J'Ghasta's new position as Listener.
"By Sithis," said Vicente at last. "I remember Bellamont's visits to the Sanctuary. I would have never imagined… To hold a grudge for so long, with that level of determination…As a fellow Breton, I'm impressed. As a Dark Brother, well…"
"He was picking off my Silencers so that the Black Hand would call for an emergency meeting. On his way to Anvil, he stopped by to eliminate Ungolim." Lucien held the bridge of his nose between index and thumb. "Arquen and Uvani were about to do me in as an additional favour. All he had left to do was take them both out, and I think he could have managed it. He was Arquen's Silencer, so…"
"The fearsome Dark Brotherhood, taken out by a deadly combination of revenge, idiocy and downright shit luck, if you'll pardon my Breton. Bellamont taking out J'Ghasta? On the road? What did the kitten do to piss off Nocturnal this much? Desecrate her temple?"
Lucien waved it off. "And it doesn't stop here. From the beginning, Uvani was dead set on summoning the Night Mother: if they had taken Bellamont along, then…"
"Well, good thing it didn't come to that." Vicente slapped his gloved hand on Lachance's shoulder. "Cheer up! We're not dead! Or at least, you are. I'm feeling a bit under the weather… "
Lucien's face said it all he thought about vampire jokes at this time.
"Oh, come on. Think of Phillida's face if he knew what he has missed…"
That almost worked. "Anyway. What are you doing out of the crypt?"
"Aaah, chaperon duty. Now that I think of it, it's the last contract poor Ungolim had the chance to send us. Altmer, named Faelian. Habitually resides -" Vicente pointed at the Talos Plaza Hotel. "Over there."
"Ah, yes, I remember it now. Who's out accounting?"
"Teeinawa. He's on observation right now."
Lucien stared at the assorted crates and furniture that littered the walkway next to the hotel entrance; it seemed it was clean out day for the staff. "I can't say I see him."
"Exactly. His best impression of a barrel yet. A work of art, clearly showing the tutelage of an unparalleled master of stealth and deception." Vicente swept some non-existent dust off his left shoulder. "But enough about myself. What about your charming assistant? I can't see her either. Out on the prowl, hmmm?"
"Ah, yes. Well. You might say…we had a disagreement on the long term perspectives of her contribution to the organisation as a whole. I'd say our prospects were largely incompatible. Currently, for example, she's facing Kvatch."
"Lucien. You can't hide behind your vocabulary with me, I'm not Gogron. Out with it."
Lucien went out with it.
Waterfront District, Imperial City
Several hours and a dead Altmer later, Vicente and Teinaawa celebrated a job well done over a pint of Argonian ale, in a corner of the Bloated Float.
"To nobility," said Teinaawa. "May they always have more skooma than sense."
"To the family," answered Vicente more seriously. "May we always have each other."
They clinked tankards.
"So, what about Lucien's visit?" the Argonian asked. The Speaker had already left when he had returned from the contract.
"Indeed. Exciting news. We can be the first to rush home and congratulate ourselves with Speaker Ocheeva, of the Bruma Sanctuary."
It could be hard for the uninitiated to distinguish emotion on Argonian faces, but Teinaawa's was certainly pleasantly surprised. "Wow! It's wonderful! But then…Who we will be Mistress of Cheydinhal?" The mental shifting on the Cheydinhal roster lasted a couple of seconds. "…Antoniette?" he added with a certain nervous anticipation.
"In the immortal words of Lucien himself, "not until I move to Solstheim." Vicente grinned. "Joking aside, Lucien and I both think Antoniette still needs some experience on the field before moving up. Which is why I'll be forced to come out of retirement, at least for a little while." He set down his tankard dramatically; the ale inside was untouched. "The Brotherhood calls, and once again the bottomless pits of my experience are at the disposal of you young people."
Teinaawa flashed the sort of grin that was unnerving to all those that weren't familiar with the set of sharp teeth it showed. "I'm sure we can still get something out of your cranky old bones."
"Hhmph!"
"So, when will be Lucien and Sister D'Eath coming home?" Teinaawa asked. "I trusted that, ah, special assignment went well…"
"It did. But some… circumstances came up, and D'Eath is still so frightfully new to the ways of the family. I had to remind Lucien of the obligations we owe each other, when we join…And some he owes, himself."
Teinaawa's face went in the careful, nonchalant stillness of someone who knows they might be overhearing a particular confidence about a superior which must never, ever be mentioned in said superior's face, lest that someone wants their face rearranged, so they were going to forget it as soon as it had been uttered, sir, thankyou sir (such an attitude was a valuable skill not only in the Brotherhood, but in any hierarchy). Besides, he, and the rest of the Cheydinhal Sanctuary, genuinely cared for and respected Lucien… which meant that any shred of gossip about the carefully-staged, tightly-wrapped mystery of their Speaker was more precious than Ayleid stones.
Since Vicente appeared to be on a sentimental bent, Teinaawa decided to push his luck. "It's about the murders, isn't it?"
"Mmmh. Yes and no. I gather the stories leaked?"
"Two murders in the inner circle? Of course they leaked." The junior assassin smiled in excitement. "So, what has been going on?"
"Far from me to deprive you and your siblings of the precious lesson that lies here. I'm sure you will all enjoy piecing it together from the grapevine in the next few weeks…" Vicente stopped the protest he saw budding on Teinaawa's lips. "No, it's better discussed at home. Do you want my ale?"
The Argonian considered this a satisfactory temporary settlement. "Sure. Pass here."
It was when they were making their way through the Waterfront that Vicente spoke again. "Listen, did Lucien ever mention his first contract?"
"Was it the one about the Earl's daughter's betrothed? I love that one. Did he really get stuck in the window?"
"No, that was J'Ghasta, but he always tells it the other way… No, I'm thinking about something in High Rock. Ring any bells?"
Teinaawa thought for a minute. "Oh, the one with that beheading! I know which one. Once we managed to get him drunk enough to demonstrate the technique on a melon. It was great!" Teinaawa make a chopping motion. "Swoosh! Just like that, he said."
"Indeed. Do you remember the mark's name?"
Teinaawa shrugged. "He never said. Or maybe I forgot. Sorry."
"Was it anything like Bellamont, by chance?"
"I don't think so. No, it was definitely something different."
But of course, Vicente thought. We would have used her maiden name.
Three days later, somewhere on the Gold Road, nearing Kvatch
"…and that's how I ended up in Dibella's service."
"Wow," said Helena. "That's…not something I get to hear every day. Definitely."
Trevaia smirked. "I know. Yourself, though? Any interesting stories to share?"
"Only been in Cyrodiil for the past three months, got off the ship from High Rock. Fresh start, independence, making my way up, carving my niche in the Imperial Province, you know how it goes."
"Ooooh. Fresh meat." said Trevaia. "How has it been going so far?"
"I can honestly say things could definitely be worse. It's just that I'm having some trouble figuring out exactly how …" Helena thought for a moment. "No, nothing comes up."
Trevaia laughed. "That's the spirit!"
Unchallenged by virtue of his size, his axe, and the fact that prospective assailants generally had trouble standing up after tasting his work.
The Black Hand had of course considered arranging an accidental accounting, but that course of action had been stopped by a sudden revelation: what, had said one Speaker, if it were possible to harness Rowley's power for good? Thus a plan was hatched, to infiltrate Rowley into the Imperial Legion and see if he could work his magic on the Empire's Finest. The proceedings were halted by a sudden reshuffling of positions inside the Hand and Rowley's case had been slotted into the back rows, then forgotten.
1) Unchallenged by virtue of his size, his axe, and the fact that prospective assailants generally had trouble standing up after tasting his work.
2) The Black Hand had of course considered arranging an accidental accounting, but that course of action had been stopped by a sudden revelation: what, had said one Speaker, if it were possible to harness Rowley's power for good? Thus a plan was hatched, to infiltrate Rowley into the Imperial Legion and see if he could work his magic on the Empire's Finest. The proceedings were halted by a sudden reshuffling of positions inside the Hand and Rowley's case had been slotted into the back rows, then forgotten.
hello :D
