Once Soap and Corvo crossed that final gap—Soap's stomach lurching violently just as it had the first time around—the trip to Holger Square was nearly complete, the two men traversing the remaining expanse of rooftop on foot. Corvo led the way, picking the safest route to their destination across shallow-sloped shingles and flat concrete. Their journey ended on the sloped roof of a house beside a much taller building ten or so meters away from their target, Soap taking care on the rain-slick shingles as he followed Corvo up to the wall of the neighboring building. He gave Corvo a wide berth, crouching down on the roof as Corvo peered around the wall and surveyed the street below. Soap looked downward as well, examining the scene before him.
From his position three stories above street level, Soap could see that this wall housed a tunnel, this being the only obvious route to Holger Square. Metal rails, most likely for some sort of railcar, cut through the cobblestone street and disappeared into the tunnel, at the mouth of which patrolled a lone guard in front of some piles of boxes and metal scraps. The guard's head was angled downward; Soap couldn't tell what he was doing from this distance, but he was clearly not paying attention to the job at hand. Light spilled from the tunnel behind him, bathing the mouth of the tunnel in an orange glow.
"That tunnel is the only way into Holger Square," Corvo explained, his voice low enough that Soap had to strain to hear him. "It was built decades ago to separate Holger Square from the rest of the district. Since the worsening of the plague, from what I hear, fortifications have been made."
"The leader of the Empire's dominant religion strengthens a wall separating him from his people during their hour of need?" Soap scoffed. "Why am I not surprised."
"The strongest walls in the world won't save him."
"That's nice, but this guard might. Getting around him would be easy if we weren't"—Soap looked straight downwards and scowled—"three stories up and ten meters away. How the hell are we gonna get down there?"
"I'll find a way," Corvo muttered, his voice muffled by his mask. He angled his head downwards, then clicked his tongue to get Soap's attention. Soap looked up to see that Corvo was pointing; following his finger, Soap spotted a pipe like the one they'd used to get to the rooftops. It wouldn't be a straight jump; it was a full two stories down and it wasn't even directly below them, only starting where the tall building before them started.
Soap felt his stomach twist. But...
Wordlessly, Corvo stood back and waved Soap in front of him. After a moment of hesitation, Soap relented and stepped forward, feeling Corvo's hand grip his shoulder. Closing his eyes, Soap reluctantly reached up and rested his hand over Corvo's. An instant of simultaneous weightlessness and crushing weight came and passed, and Soap opened his eyes and found himself in front of Corvo on the piping, crouching with his shoulder pressed up against the wall. He released Corvo's hand from where he'd been holding it against his shoulder, and after a wordless urge to go, Soap started down the piping with Corvo close behind, the two of them creeping as far down as the piping extended until they were directly above the patrolling guard and his "checkpoint" of discarded boxes.
Corvo's head turned to and fro, looking for some sort of way down. "You think we can jump down there?"
"From this height, on that stone? Probably, but we could easily break our ankles."
"Figured." Corvo reached out with his right hand expectantly.
Soap pursed his lips, taking Corvo's hand and squeezing his eyes shut as Corvo lifted his left hand. The inexplicable heaviness and weightlessness returned briefly before Soap opened his eyes and found himself on the street below, behind the boxes that the guard was patrolling in front of. The guard's back was to them, and without a moment of hesitation Corvo shot upright and sprinted into the tunnel. Soap swallowed his nausea and ran after him, his footfalls light on the cobblestone.
Soap blinked in the light of the tunnel, spotting a metal wall farther down the tunnel once his eyes adjusted; it was clearly new, the relatively clean metal further fortified with metal sheeting and plastered with City Watch notices and various other posters and advertisements. A door in the center was the only thing separating Soap and Corvo from the way forward. Thankfully, when Corvo approached the door and tried it, the handle swung freely. He pulled the door open just enough to fit one person and waved Soap forward. Soap passed through the doorway, Corvo slipping after him and pulling the door closed behind them.
Now Soap's eyes had to adjust to darkness, the tunnel this side of the door submersed in shadow as the lights overhead had been left off. The tunnel extended for less than ten meters before opening into a small square, the windows of the surrounding buildings dark as pitch. At the center of the square stood another tall statue; a bust situated on a tall pillar, constructed of marble, depicting the same man whose likeness graced the wall that separated Holger Square from the rest of the district. The pillar stood atop a wide foundation, upon which Soap could make out a dark form; a man, detained in metal stocks that forced him to sit on his knees, illuminated by the floodlights placed at the statue's base. Below the stocks, at the bottom of a short set of stairs, stood another man, his back to the tunnel as he addressed the prisoner. Both were wearing blueish-grey uniforms, darkened by the rain that steadily fell. He couldn't tell, but from this distance, Soap thought he saw that the standing man was wearing some sort of head covering.
"That must be Martin," Corvo growled, stepping forward and pulling something from his belt; a crossbow, Soap realized, the contraption small enough to be held in one hand like a sidearm. "Let me take care of this." He crept forward as he pulled a dart from his coat, loading it into the saddle of his crossbow. The dart glowed dimly, the light a pale green—sleep poison, Soap noticed, the same stuff that Corvo stuck that guard on the riverbank with. Soap watched as Corvo levelled the crossbow at the standing man and pulled the trigger, dart flying free. The target jolted as the dart hit its mark, and there was a split second where Soap was afraid that the poison wasn't working before the man collapsed. The man in the stocks looked up, leaning into his restraints.
"Let's go." Corvo holstered his crossbow and ran down the tunnel, Soap following close behind. The man in the stocks was, indeed, Martin, his face pale and dark bags like bruises hanging under his eyes. He looked exhausted, as though he'd been there for hours.
"I was wondering when you would show up," Martin rasped as Soap and Corvo drew close enough to hear, shooting them a weak smile. The Overseer looked worse up close than he did at a distance; Soap frowned at the sickly pallor Martin's skin had taken on, his smile never reaching his eyes. His hair was plastered to the top of his head, dark brown strands glued to his glistening forehead. His uniform clung wetly to his body, and Soap could see that Martin was trembling, his fingers slowly flexing as he waited to be freed.
"MacTavish," he said. "What a surprise to see you."
Soap couldn't help the words that came out of his mouth. "You look like shite."
Martin chuckled dryly. "Thanks."
Corvo kneeled at the body of the neutralized Overseer at the foot of the steps, while Soap stepped over him, walking up the stone steps to where Martin was restrained. Beside the stocks, to Soap's left, there was a lever that came up to about waist height. Soap's first instinct was to grab it and pull, and he scowled when the lever didn't budge—locked. Of course, why the hell wouldn't it be locked?
"Our friend Jasper has the key," Martin muttered, nodding in Corvo's direction. Soap turned expectantly to face him. "Front pocket." When Corvo shoved his hand into the downed Overseer's front pocket and found nothing, Martin sighed and added, "Other front pocket."
Corvo quickly found the key, pulling it from Jasper's coat and tossing it up at Soap, who caught it with both hands. The key was bronze, just slightly too big to fit in the palm of his hand. Soap turned back to face the lever and, finding a slot at its base, inserted the key and unlocked it before trying the lever once more. It moved freely this time, sliding into the open position with a creak. Not a moment later, Soap saw the stocks come loose and Martin fall to his hands and knees, the Overseer letting out a long, drawn-out groan. Soap abandoned the lever, helping Martin to his feet as Corvo started to drag the downed Overseer's body off towards some alley.
"Would you mind grabbing his mask for me?" Martin called after him, Corvo's only response being a curt nod. Soap gave Martin some space as he groaned and rolled his head back, struggling to work out the stiffness in his neck and shoulders. "It feels good to stand up straight again," he grumbled, tugging on his uniform. "I can't thank you two enough."
"Aye, well, save it for when I get you to safety," Soap said. Corvo returned from stashing the Overseer's body, mask in hand, and handed it to Martin, who took it and turned it over in his gloved hands carefully. Soap took the opportunity to get a good look at the thing; the mask was meant to cover the entire head down to the base of the neck, made of the same blue-grey cloth as the rest of the Overseer uniform. The face of the mask was bronze and featured the bastardization of a man's face, the expression twisted into a grimace with a symbol reminiscent of a pitchfork carved into the forehead. The Abbey takes its fear-mongering seriously.
"So, the Admiral sent you to be my babysitter, then. Where did Samuel leave the two of you? At the end of Clavering Boulevard?"
"Yes, at the riverbank," Corvo confirmed with a curt nod. "MacTavish will take you there—"
Martin held up one hand, cutting Corvo off mid-sentence. "There's no need," he replied, Soap's brows furrowing in confusion and Corvo physically recoiling at the statement. "We'll all be better off if MacTavish goes to the Office with you."
"Sir, with all due respect, you need my help," Soap pointed out just as Corvo drew a breath to speak. Corvo fell silent and allowed him to continue; "If someone catches you, you have no way of defending yourself."
"Nothing will happen to me," Martin insisted as he slipped on the mask taken from the downed Overseer, taking a moment to adjust it. "I don't know what Havelock was thinking by sending you, but if you come with me you'll only slow me down. And besides, Corvo, you're going to need all the help you can get in the Abbey."
"How long have you been in the stocks?" Corvo demanded.
There was a pause. "Worry about yourself," Martin finally said, voice muffled from behind the stolen mask. "Corvo, the Office is under very tight security tonight, tighter than usual, and Curnow brought a well-sized patrol with him to tonight's meeting. When they passed through here I counted somewhere between ten and fifteen men."
"Between ten and fifteen?" Soap whistled lowly, crossing his arms. "Curnow couldn't make his distrust clearer."
"And rightfully so," Corvo mumbled.
"Campbell has been trying to weasel his influence into the City Watch so that his Overseers have freedom in enforcing Abbey law," Martin explained, sharing the information that the Admiral and Corvo had neglected to share with Soap earlier. "Even more than they already have, I should say. With the Lord Regent supporting him, and with the backing of his edicts, the High Overseer has largely managed to 'persuade' captains in the City Watch to allow the Abbey more leverage in their jurisdictions—except Curnow, who insists that law enforcement lay solely in the hands of the City Watch. Campbell doesn't like that."
"Curnow and Campbell have been at it for weeks," Corvo stated, "and at this point, it's either come to a peaceful resolution or fight it out. They've arranged this meeting of their own volition to discuss a compromise." Corvo scoffed, adding, "Problem is, I know them both; Curnow personally, Campbell professionally. They're both stubborn as mules. Curnow won't bend to the High Overseer's will."
"And we both know Campbell doesn't compromise," Martin put in. "He never has, and never will."
Soap called to memory the mention of Miss Curnow's concerns about the meeting, the suspicion of some plot against Captain Curnow passed along to Soap and Corvo through the Admiral. "Miss Curnow was right to be concerned, then," he murmured, Martin tilting his head slightly at him. Soap tried to ignore the mask's uncomfortable stare. "She believes there's some sort of plot against Captain Curnow's life."
"She may be right," Martin responded. "Before my capture, an informant managed to notify me of a suspicious shipment that arrived from Tyvia about a week before my return. Its contents haven't been confirmed, but there's reason to believe that Campbell has had poison delivered to him."
"Tyvian poison?" Corvo shook his head. "Campbell really wants Curnow dead."
"The deadliest poison available," Martin explained, "almost undetectable in alcohol. I'm sure you know this, Corvo."
"All too well. One sip of that and Curnow is gone, and Campbell will have the Office locked down to 'investigate' the assassination."
"Then you need to get going, Corvo," Soap urged. "If you're a second too late then Campbell will slip through your fingers."
"Agreed." Corvo paused, then turned to Martin. "Martin, please allow MacTavish to accompany you—"
Martin waved his hand dismissively. "I'll be fine, Corvo," he insisted. "With the security at the Office, you need Soap much more than I do, and it'll be less suspicious if I travel alone. When I find Samuel, I'll tell him to take his boat to the backyard docks behind the Office."
"Martin—"
"I insist." Martin turned on his heel, starting to walk off. "And I strongly advise you not to follow me." With that, Martin promptly turned and walked off, heading down the steps. He paused a moment, then glanced over his shoulder at his liberators. "May all the spirits guide you," he said in farewell, "and may our enemy's head it the floor without you taking a scratch."
Soap huffed, unimpressed, as he watched Martin depart. "How much do you wanna bet Martin gets in trouble and the Admiral kicks my sorry arse?" he grumbled at Corvo, who laughed dryly in response.
"He has a point about being less suspicious on his own, I suppose," Corvo pointed out, but judging from the tone of his voice, Soap gathered he wasn't too happy about it. They both knew that even if Martin did have a point, if something happened, it would be on both of their heads—and Soap didn't know who'd get into more shit, him or Corvo. "Besides," he added, "I suppose it'll be good to have someone watch my back in the Office." With that, Corvo waved his hand in the direction of the opposite end of the square. "Let's go."
The Office of the High Overseer was impressive.
It wasn't impressive in the sense of the Vatican or some other grand church or temple, but it was still impressive in its own right. The Office was tall, and what it lacked in ornate grandeur it made up for in its brightly colored banners bearing the mark of the Abbey and its white marble walls, looming before a sprawling courtyard where multiple Overseers and City Watchmen patrolled. The center of the courtyard boasted yet another marble bust on a tall white pillar. The Office was illuminated by lights hanging from its walls and the courtyard was lit up by floodlights hanging from the second floor, the brightness starkly contrasting the black sky from which rain now poured. Golden light filtered through some of the open windows on the second level, while the windows on the lower level—along with the doors, of course—were closed.
It was either kick down the front door and take on an Abbey full of Overseers and guardsmen or slip in through the second floor, and neither Soap nor Corvo had a death wish. The two men had returned to the rooftops, utilizing Corvo's strange ability to transport them to the roof of a checkpoint constructed at one of the gates a stone's throw from the steps leading up to the Office courtyard. It was obvious that the only way into the Abbey without being seen would be through the second floor windows, and while he still wasn't used to Corvo's freaky tattoo whatever, Soap knew that the only way to get there was to use that.
"When we get inside," Corvo stated, "We'll head straight for the meeting chambers. We can get in through the second floor windows, and if Campbell and Curnow aren't already there, we can slip right into the chambers. Chances are, they'll be in the sitting room just a door over." Corvo paused, thinking a moment, before continuing. "When we get inside, I'll switch their glasses so that Campbell has the poison. When Campbell goes down, I'll neutralize Curnow before he can ring the alarm and make it looked like a failed assassination attempt on both of them. If it looks like he's the victim as well, it's likely he'll be spared. You'll grab Campbell's journal off his body, and we'll get the hell out of there."
"Aye, that's a good plan and all, but how will you know which glass is Campbell's?" Soap demanded, giving Corvo a pointed stare. "It's not like you can just stick your tongue in each glass, swirl it around a bit, and tell which one's poisoned."
"...Campbell will have the glasses situated so that Curnow's is closest to the window," Corvo responded. "Campbell never liked being near windows."
"Why do I think that sounds like a bunch of bullshit?"
Corvo snorted. "And why do I think that you need to worry about what's in your own goblet?"
Soap stared at Corvo blankly. "...Was that supposed to be a joke?"
"Was it?" Corvo shrugged. "He's going to kill Curnow either way, or at least attempt to."
"Yeah, well, let's just make sure his little plan bites him in the arse tonight," Soap muttered, taking Corvo's hand as it was offered to him. He tightened his grip as Corvo extended his left hand, his tattoo bursting to life once more. The ledge that wrapped around the entirety of the Office was their destination, and a moment later the two men were there, Soap's stomach thankfully not lurching as much as the first few times Corvo used this...ability. Soap didn't like the strange feelings it gave him, but Corvo's magic tattoo-or-whatever had proven itself useful.
The ledge was just barely wide enough for one to be able to stand up and walk along it with enough caution, shoulders perpendicular to the Office; however, Soap and Corvo both remained crouched, Corvo taking the lead to the nearest open window. Soap followed close behind, casting wary glances to the courtyard far below. His memory of the fall from the church tower in Prague began to surface, and the hair on the back of his neck began to stand on end. Soap had never been particularly afraid of heights, but now he found that was something Prague had changed. He could still smell the smoke from the explosion, feel the fire at his back, the burning pain that ripped through his chest as he hit the scaffolding on his way down—
Get a hold of yourself. Soap forced the memories of Prague down. He had no time to dwell on them now, instead choosing to focus on Corvo's back as he stopped in front of the nearest window. Corvo paused, seemingly staring into space, before quietly slipping inside through the open window. Soap followed, leaving the rain—and Prague—out on the windowsill.
The two men had entered a long corridor void of any Overseers or guards, stretching a little less than ten meters to Soap's right before making a sharp turn. A red rug ran down the length of the corridor, and the walls further down were lined with shelves. A little more than a meter from where Soap and Corvo entered was a door, left haphazardly open; Corvo went for it without hesitation, stepping silently into the room. Scowling under his scarf at Corvo's carelessness, Soap took a moment to listen for any approaching Overseers or guards before following.
"Christ, mate, watch where you're going," Soap muttered, his voice low yet harsh as he closed the door behind them, his back to the center of the room.
Corvo didn't answer, the sound of his boots on stone the only answer Soap received. Irritated, Soap turned his head, wondering what was keeping his response, and stopped when he realized just what they'd walked into.
The room was lit brightly by a single light dangling from the ceiling, white and nearly blinding compared to the soft golden light in the hallway. The room was largely empty, save for a metal chair bolted to the floor, wrist cuffs on the armrests, and a table upon which several bloody instruments—pliers, a knife, and the like—laid. The floor and the chair were splattered with old blood, the dark brown spatters covering the stone floor and a rusted drain just a foot from the legs of the metal chair. Massive double doors were separated from the chair by iron bars, a barred door left carelessly open, as if someone had left with the last victim with no intention of returning.
Corvo slowly approached the chair, running his fingers along the dried blood. He rubbed his fingers together, staring at his hand before turning and facing Soap. Soap couldn't imagine the expression under Corvo's mask.
"It's Martin's." There wasn't a doubt in Soap's mind.
"This blood is old, but not that old," Corvo murmured. "We should've made him accept your help."
"What's done is done," Soap growled through the nervousness that crept in through the back of his mind. He tugged at his wet scarf, which had begun to hinder his breathing, before adding, "Let's find Campbell and make him bleed."
Corvo turned his back on Soap, walking slowly up to the barred door, head turning to and fro as though he were looking around in the otherwise empty room. He approached the doors on the opposite side of the room, pausing a moment as he seemed to just stare at the wood. Soap pressed his lips tightly together; Corvo had a habit of stopping and staring randomly before recklessly diving headfirst into wherever it was he needed—or wanted—to go. There was going to be a moment where Corvo bumped blindly into some guard or Overseer, Soap thought bitterly, although thankfully that moment hadn't come yet.
"This way," Corvo muttered, pushing the double doors open. Soap winced as they creaked, then followed Corvo out of the interrogation room, relieved to leave the bloody mess behind. Across from the interrogation room was another set of double doors, but Corvo didn't enter them; instead, he stepped back into the corridor and strode down its length before peering around the corner, Soap staying a few paces behind. Corvo reached into his coat as he rounded the corner and sprinted off, his footfalls silent on the rug, and Soap looked around the corner just in time to see Corvo jump a lone Overseer, sticking a dart into his shoulder with one hand and pressing his mask into his face with the other. The Overseer went limp and as Corvo dragged the body off to stash it, Soap rounded the corner and ran after him, coming up another set of doors at the end of the hall.
Returning from where he'd stashed the Overseer, Corvo nodded at the tall doors before them; this was it. He approached them and paused, seemingly staring into space again before pushing the doors open just enough to slip through, stepping inside first. Soap followed, allowing Corvo to close the door behind him.
This was the meeting room, Soap was sure of it. A long dining table, made of dark, polished wood, stood in the center of the room atop a fine red rug. Upon the table sat a bottle of red wine and two glasses, both filled with wine; one of then, Soap knew, was poisoned. It was just a matter of figuring out which one.
As Corvo approached the wine glasses, Soap took a moment to look around. On the far side of the room was another set of doors, this one closed, and through them wafted the rise and lull of voices as two men were engaged in conversation. It was safe to assume that the men were Campbell and Curnow, their meeting already started. A fireplace was nestled in the far corner of the room, the crackling of burning logs just loud enough to obscure most of the conversation in the other room. By the open windows leaning back out to the ledge stood a bookshelf, offering Soap and Corvo a place to hide. They wouldn't be able to lean around and watch Campbell and Curnow if they entered the room without being seen, but as it was the only available hiding spot in the room, it would have to do. The windows offered a route back out to the rooftops, from where Soap and Corvo could make their way to the backyard, where Martin said he'd direct Samuel.
Soap turned his attention to Corvo, who lifted his glass on the left-hand side, closest to the window, and held it up in the air, letting the light thrown from the chandelier hanging above shine through the wine. He seemed to stare at it, as if looking for traces of poison; a stupid idea, considering the nature of the suspected poison.
"Oi mate," Soap mumbled, casting wary glances towards the double doors on the far side of the room. If there's something you're going to do, do it now."
A moment passed before Corvo reached for the glass to his right and switched it to the left side, setting the glass he'd been looking at down on the right. He then waved Soap over to the bookshelves, slipping quietly behind them. Soap took a moment to glance at the glasses before joining Corvo behind the bookcase, crouching down beside him.
"I was right," Corvo muttered, voice barely audible.
"Come again?"
"I was right. About the window thing."
Soap squinted at Corvo, whose mask stared straight ahead. "You're really something, you know that?"
"Aren't you going to ask me how I knew which one was poisoned?"
"Didn't you tell me to worry about what's in my own goblet?"
Corvo's head turned to face Soap. His mask didn't look particularly impressed.
There was the chime of a bell, and Corvo held his finger up in a gesture of silence before staring straight ahead again, his hand coming to rest on the handle of his crossbow. Rolling his eyes, Soap shook his head and reached for his own pistol, gripping it tightly. Corvo might've been sure he'd gotten the glasses right, but Soap wasn't, and he wasn't looking forward to dealing with the mess that would inevitably occur if Corvo was wrong. Hoping that Corvo had enough stupid luck to go around, Soap simply listened, waiting for Campbell and Curnow to enter the meeting room.
The bell marked the hour; nine, thirty minutes after the meeting would've begun. We were late. Soap thanked the stars that the wine went untouched before then and gripped his M1911 tighter as he heard voices draw closer and closer to the doors separating the meeting room and what he assumed to be the sitting room. He pulled the gun from his holster, finger hovering over the trigger.
Four bullets. Make them count.
"Time for drinks!" Soap heard a rough voice from the other side of the doors; by the way Corvo tensed up, muscles all going taut, Soap assumed that the voice belonged to Campbell. "I hope you won't refuse. It'll make all this business pass all the quicker."
Soap lifted his gun when he heard someone try the door handle, then grunt in frustration when the door wouldn't budge. "Locked? One of the servants must've been in here. Let me see..." The words were followed by the jingling of keys, a few mutters of irritation wafting through the door before Campbell managed to find the right key. There was a creak as the doors swung open, Soap and Corvo simultaneously pressing closer to the bookshelf. Corvo pulled the crossbow from his belt and reached in his coat, no doubt holding onto another sleep dart.
"If something goes wrong," Soap heard Corvo whisper, barely audible from behind his mask, "Campbell's the one in red."
"Men, we'll come get you when we're finished," Soap heard the voice say dismissively, footsteps passing through the threshold between rooms. "Keep each other entertained in the meantime." There was another creak, then a soft thud as the doors were pulled closed, the sound followed by two sets of footsteps rounding the dining table, walking to where the wine had been placed.
"I don't understand how this got so unpleasant." Another voice, younger, smoother. If the first was Campbell, then this had to be Curnow.
"Oh, I agree, I agree!" Campbell exclaimed. "A whore dies, and suddenly, this!" The footsteps stopped. "Will you have wine? It's a Tyvian red!"
Tyvian poison in Tyvian wine? How appropriate.
There was a pause, the sound of glasses slowly clinking as they were lifted from the table. The moment of truth. Soap levelled his breathing, forcing himself to stay calm and prepared in case something went wrong, in case Corvo was wrong. "Thank you," Soap heard Curnow say, and he stretched his fingers before tightly gripping onto the pistol again.
"Now, to business. What would you say happened last night?"
"To be honest, I'm not even sure." A clink as two glasses met in toast. "My men, your Overseers, a few whores, maybe a little too much ale." A scoff. "One harmless prank with a runaway chicken and ten minutes later, Treaver's Alley is a sea of blood and teeth."
Christ, what did happen last night?
There was a chuckle, the sound deep and void of amusement. "I almost wish I'd been there," Campbell remarked. There was another pause—were they drinking yet?
Be right, Corvo. Please be right.
A jolt passed through Soap's body as the hallway-facing doors suddenly swung open, slamming against the wall as they were opened with zeal. There was the sound of panting and boots on tiled stone as the intruder stepped past the threshold.
"High Overseer Campbell!" A third voice, this one younger than Curnow's, rang though the room. Its owner sounded shaky and out of breath, voice laced with panic.
"Outsider's eyes, Jasper, calm yourself! What's happened? What happened to your mask?"
Jasper?! Soap's stomach twisted into a knot as he cast an alarmed glance in Corvo's direction. Corvo's head jerked, as if he were holding back a shout, and he fumbled in his coat before pulling something out and loading it into the saddle of his crossbow. Not a sleep dart, like Soap thought it would be, but a bolt.
"High Overseer!—I—Martin—Martin's escaped!"
There was the sound of glass slamming against wood, and Soap squeezed his eyes shut as he mouthed profanity under his scarf. "What do you mean, Martin's escaped?!" Campbell bellowed. Soap thought he heard a twinge of fear in those words.
"I don't— Sir, I don't know what happened! I was watching him in the stocks and next thing I know, he and my mask are gone and I'm lying in an alley!"
So much for that sleep poison. You should've fucking put him down.
"What's going on?" Curnow demanded, his firm voice followed by the clunk of a glass as it was set down on the table. Had he drunk any of his wine? Had Campbell? Unless one of them suddenly dropped dead, there was no way of knowing. "Campbell—"
"Silence!" Campbell's voice had twisted into a snarl. Corvo turned his head, leaning ever so slightly from behind the bookshelf. Soap wanted to scream; he'd have shot them all and gotten that damn book by now. "Jasper, ring the alarm and put the Office under lockdown! No one's getting in or out!"
There was a flash of movement as Corvo finally jumped into action, rounding the edge of the bookshelf and springing to his feet. Soap mirrored the act, standing straight up and whipping around, aiming his pistol forward. The one in red, the one in red. Corvo's words echoed in Soap's ear as a red uniform caught his eye, its wearer turning when he saw movement; a bald man, or perhaps his head was shaved, face heavily aged and eyes as dark as the night outside. His and Soap's gazes momentarily met, Campbell's face going slack as he gaped.
He squeezed the trigger.
Time slowed, and the gunshot rang over the blood beating a war drum in Soap's ears. He watched Campbell's head snap back, blood and grey matter exploding in a cloud from the back of his head. Campbell fell back, hitting the dining table with his arm and sending the wine glasses and bottle toppling as he crumpled to the ground, hitting the red rug with a dull thud. There was a moment of silence, and time sped up again as Curnow let out a cry of surprise, reaching for the gun strapped to his chest.
Jasper shouted profanity, and he barely had time to reach for his sword before there was a snap and Corvo's bolt embedded itself in his throat. The Overseer gurgled, falling to his knees as he clawed desperately at his neck before falling face first to the floor, drowning in his own blood.
"Guards! To me!" Curnow shouted, and the meeting room doors swung open. A group of men entered the room—Overseers and guards, five all together. Corvo swore loudly, crossbow clattering to the floor. He reached for his gun, stepping further into the room. Soap pivoted to face the first man who entered. Three bullets.
The first to go down was another Overseer, Soap's bullet tearing through his shoulder. One of Corvo's bullets took down the second, blood blossoming from the hole in his chest. Corvo reached for his sword and Soap vaulted over the bookcase. Two bullets. He crossed the room, rushing to meet Curnow.
Curnow whipped around wildly, aiming his pistol at the closest person; Soap, who promptly knocked the gun from his hand. "Stand down!" Soap commanded, and when Curnow reached for his sword, Soap simply kicked him to the ground. He turned and fired at a guardsman while Curnow was stunned. The guard collapsed when the bullet passed through his chest. His head snapped back as another—Corvo's—tore through his skull. Two men. One bullet.
Corvo's sword was drawn in time to parry the attack of the remaining Overseer. He deflected the Overseer's sword and thrust his blade forward. It pierced his neck, and Corvo wrenched the blade free, tearing through the fabric of his mask—and his throat. As the Overseer fell Corvo freed his weapon and rushed the remaining guardsman, blade plunging into his stomach.
Corvo pulled his sword from the guardsman's stomach and the chaos that had gripped the meeting room dissolved, the room heavy with the man's dying groans as Corvo abandoned him where he'd fallen. Soap looked down at Curnow, who was still on the floor and very much at the mercy of the men who'd saved him. He stared back up at Soap, eyes wide and bright with anger and jaw taut.
"At least be thankful I didn't just shoot you."
Curnow recoiled at the the statement, gaping up at Soap as he holstered his pistol and extended a hand down at the guard captain, who simply stared at the hand offered to him. "Are you alright?"
"Outsider's eyes, don't feign worry for me!" Curnow spat as he slapped away Soap's hand, making a disgusted sound. He was lying not far from where the body of Campbell lay, the front of his blue Watch uniform stained with blood that wasn't his own. "Whatever it is you're going to do, just do it now!"
"If we wanted to kill you then you'd already be dead," Corvo's voice stated from somewhere behind Soap, voice stilted as though he was trying to alter his voice. That's right. Corvo had mentioned knowing Curnow personally. The sound of his voice was followed by the sound of the hallway-facing doors being slammed shut, hinges letting out a high-pitched whine. Corvo stepped beside Soap a moment later; his gun was holstered and his sword was gone, no doubt retracted back into the hilt and stashed in his coat. His crossbow had returned to its spot on his belt. "In fact," he added, "you're lucky that we're here."
"Lucky?! You murdered the High Overseer and three of my men are dead—"
"And if it weren't for us, you'd be dead in his place," Corvo said coldly, Curnow falling silent and glancing between him and Soap. "Campbell was planning to poison you tonight, and without our intervention you'd be dead by now."
There was a pause as Curnow digested this information, glancing to where the bottle and glasses had fallen, dark wine staining the red rug. Soap could see a shudder pass through Curnow's body as his breath hitched, no doubt realizing how close he'd been to the bullet he'd just dodged.
"Are you really surprised?" Soap grumbled, extending his hand to Curnow again. "You should've known something like this would happen sooner or later." Curnow turned to face Soap, looking at his hand before gripping it firmly, allowing Soap to help him to his feet. Corvo stepped past the two men and kneeled beside Campbell's body, digging through his pockets. He procured a small journal from Campbell's jacket; the Black Book that Havelock had requested.
"Did you—"
"Come to save you? No." Soap released Curnow's hand. "Killing Campbell was our objective." Curnow's face had gone pale; Soap almost felt sorry for him. "Your meeting with him just turned out to be an advantage."
"I suppose that means we have to thank you, as well," Corvo remarked dryly. Curnow frowned.
"But then—"
Soap's heart leapt into his throat as the sharp blaring of an alarm cut through the deathly quiet that had fallen over the second floor of the Office, Soap and Corvo both reaching for their guns. There was the clang of shifting metal and Soap whipped around in time to see shutters closing rapidly over the windows, the path to the ledge now sealed as the shutters slammed shut. There was a harsh ring of an activated intercom, followed by a deep voice:
"ATTENTION! THIS FACILITY IS NOW ON HIGH ALERT. LOCKDOWN IS NOW IN EFFECT. REPORT TO YOUR STATIONS AND EXECUTE ANY INTRUDERS ON SIGHT."
"Fucking hell—oi, mate, you've got the journal, now let's get the hell out of here!" Soap spat, gripping his pistol tightly with his finger hovering over the trigger. They'd done enough lollygagging with Curnow; they needed to get out, now, before the whole Office descended upon them.
"There's a door to the backyard downstairs," Corvo replied sharply, loading his pistol before drawing his sword, the blade sliding back out from the hilt. He hadn't bothered to clean the blood off it, and now red was smeared across the blade, illuminated in the golden light thrown from the ornate chandelier above them. "I know the way. We can slip out through there and find our own way to the docks. Captain, your best bet is to regroup with your men and tell the Overseer's you've been attacked. Throw them off our trail."
"After all that's happened with Campbell, do you think they'll believe me?!" Captain Curnow snapped, gesturing wildly in the direction of the hallway. "Between my quarrel with Campbell and what happened in Treaver's Alley—"
"If they choose to turn on you, you have your men to back you up," Corvo put in coldly. He strode up to the hallway facing doors and stopped suddenly—doing his stupid staring thing again— before turning to Soap. "Ammo?"
"One bullet left, and then it's my knife."
"Then I'll take the lead. You watch our tail." Corvo shoved open the doors, letting them swing wide as he stepped into the hallway and started sprinting, veering to the left without checking for any oncoming guards or Overseers. That's gonna get our arses killed sooner or later. Curnow quickly retrieved his weapons and ran after Corvo, with Soap following close behind, not bothering to close the door behind him. It was better to let someone else deal with the carnage in the meeting chambers.
The hallway was, thankfully, empty save for the three men escaping from the meeting room, the harsh blaring of the alarm echoing through the Office's halls. Corvo ran up to another door, this one made of glass, and pushed it open; the door led to a broad, dimly lit stairwell that winded around another, smaller version of the bust standing in the Office courtyard, light shining from the lower level. The stairwell was also void of any guards or Overseers, and Corvo led Soap and their charge down the steps, boots lightly thumping against the red carpet. As the three men approached the bottom of the stairs, an arch leading into a large main hall came into view; in the hall were a handful of Overseers and City Watchmen, weapons drawn as they patrolled the ground floor. Corvo waved Curnow and Soap over to a near wall, just to the right of the archway and out of sight of the men in the other room.
"The door to the backyard is just a few meters away, around this wall," Corvo stated once he and the others were hidden, his muffled voice barely above a whisper. "If we try to go out that way now, we'll be heard." Corvo carefully peered around the corner, presumably trying to get a glimpse of the door he was speaking of. Apparently finding it, he turned back to Soap and Curnow. "There's three Overseers and two Watchmen. We won't be able to fight them without attracting attention."
"We need a distraction." Soap glanced at Curnow at the same time Corvo shifted to fully face the guard captain, the two men staring expectantly. "You've got men out there, Curnow. Distract them."
"That much I can do," Curnow grumbled. His gun was tightly clutched in his hand as he stood. "I'll draw them out to the courtyard; you two, get the hell out of here." He started to step towards the doorway, but was stopped when Corvo uttered his name.
"Thank you, Curnow."
Curnow paused for a moment, tilting his head as he looked down at Corvo. There was a dull sort of recognition on his face, as if he knew the voice behind the mask but couldn't place where from. In the end, he waved Corvo away. "I have you to thank for saving my life, stranger," he responded, hesitating a moment on the last word. "This is the least I can do to repay you." Without further ado, Curnow stepped past Corvo, running into the main hall and calling out to the guardsmen patrolling the floor.
"Men!" Curnow's voice rang with firm authority. "The intruders have escaped! They're making for Holger Square!"
Soap sent silent thanks to any and all gods when the Overseers and Watchmen didn't seem to question Curnow's statement, the sound of departing footsteps moving swiftly away from the near end of the hall. Curnow could take care of himself and take that opportunity to escape with his men; in the meantime, Soap and Corvo had the chance to make their own escape. Wasting no time, Corvo slipped through the archway with Soap close on his tail, rounding the corner and running up to a door on the near wall. A sign marked it as the door to the backyard, and Corvo pulled it open just enough for a man to slip through. Soap went through first, Corvo following close behind.
On the other side of the door was an open corridor leading right to the backyard; the far end of the hall had no wall, exposing the inside to the open air. Low rooftops, level with the hall's floor, were visible through the sheet of rain that poured from the heavens. Soap assumed there were stairs somewhere that led down to ground level.
"It's a straight shot to the docks from here," Corvo mumbled, walking past Soap. "We'll take to the rooftops and find our way down from there."
"Let's haul arse, then," Soap replied, holstering his pistol. Sheathing his own weapons, Corvo took off without another word, with Soap sprinting after him. At the far end of the corridor, Corvo jumped the space between the ledge and the nearest rooftop, landing on the flat concrete roof with a grunt. Much to Soap's relief, the gap wasn't wide at all and he was able to mirror the action with ease.
The rain had gotten worse since the two men entered the Office, and the cold downpour sent an icy jolt through Soap's body as soon as he'd left the shelter of the hallway; he'd gotten used to the dryness and relative warmth indoors. Soap gritted his teeth, refusing to slow at the sudden change; after all, Corvo seemed barely affected in the slightest, sprinting across the roof and leaping to the next without hesitation. Soap followed, landing beside Corvo moments later.
There was a pause as the two men surveyed their surroundings, peering through the darkness and the rain, the lanterns erected below doing little to cut through the night. The nearest rooftop was on the other side of a wide walkway, the gap too far to jump across. Corvo wordlessly reached for Soap with his right hand, and Soap took it, closing his eyes and waiting for the familiar feeling of Corvo's ability taking effect. The weightless yet heavy feeling came and passed, and Soap found himself on the far roof again, his stomach twisted into a tight knot. He didn't think he'd ever really get used to Corvo's ability, but at least his reaction was becoming less and less severe.
"The docks are far below us," Corvo stated, striding across the flat concrete roof that he and Soap had landed upon, stopping at the far edge and glancing down. Beyond the building, Soap could see nothing but the dark river stretching into the distance, the rain and darkness obscuring the distant riverbank and the lights of the city beyond. Approaching the space next to Corvo, Soap could see that there was no slope or staircase leading down to the river; just a few meters of land beyond the building he stood upon, and then a nauseating drop several stories down. Through the nearly impenetrable darkness, Soap could make out the faint glow of lantern light, illuminating a concrete landing—the docks—and a riverboat docked right beside it. The faint outline of a man was visible if Soap strained hard enough—Samuel, presumably, awaiting Soap and Corvo's return. So, Martin had reached him after all. The Overseer, however, was nowhere to be seen; perhaps he was in the riverboat itself, the inside of which was wreathed in shadow.
"I can see Samuel down there," Soap stated, eyes locked on the docks below. "I don't see Martin. Or a way down."
"Martin's there." Corvo's accented voice was certain, as if he could see the man clear as day. Soap peered at him curiously, deciding against asking him the questions that swirled around in his mind as he watched Corvo glance from right to left, searching for a possible way down. After all, there had to be; it wasn't like the Overseers could just teleport down to the docks—
"Oi, what about your ability?" Soap asked, wondering why Corvo hadn't already suggested it. It was then the realization that the ability might not be able to take them that far hit him; this suspicion was confirmed by the shake of Corvo's head, the slow, deliberate movement making it clear that his powers had limits. Great. The one time Soap actually wanted Corvo to use that weird power, and the distance was too far for him to use it.
"Over here." Corvo waved his hand over to the left, walking to that side of the roof and jumping down onto solid ground. Soap hesitated a moment before following; the drop down was higher than it seemed, and he landed with a low grunt. As Soap gathered his bearings, he watched as Corvo approached a pulley that projected about a meter out from the ledge, a chain dangling from it. The chain was long, reaching far below the ledge; as Soap strode up to it, he could see that it dangled all the way to the docks below. A lucky find; Soap couldn't see it providing any use other than the transport of heavy objects from the docks up to the Abbey, and he thanked God that it was there.
"You go down first," Corvo ordered, taking a step back from the chain to give Soap some room. "I'll be right behind you."
Soap responded with a slight nod as he approached the pulley, stopping a few paces away. He checked over his gear, making sure that everything was secure, and drew a deep breath before running and leaping from the ledge, grabbing onto the chain and hanging on tight as it swung, his stomach lurching with its movements. Images of plummeting several stories to his death momentarily crossed Soap's mind before he pushed them out, breathing in deeply before starting to inch his way down, moving slowly as the chain still swung slightly. Once he was a safe distance down, Soap could feel the chain shudder above him as Corvo joined him and started climbing down. Becoming more comfortable on the chain and with the added pressure of Corvo above him, Soap quickened the pace, climbing down faster as the concrete below became closer and closer. Once the distance was safe enough to jump, Soap let go of the chain, dropping down with a dull thud of his boots and a low grunt before quickly stepping away from the chain, giving Corvo space to jump down after him.
"Corvo? Mr. MacTavish? Is that you?" a gravelly voice called out softly—Samuel, Soap immediately recognized. Soap turned to face the source of the voice just as Corvo leapt down beside him, making out Samuel's form in the light thrown from the lanterns placed on the concrete landing. Now that the riverboat was closer, Soap could make out the outline of a man, the shape stirring at the sound of Samuel's voice. Martin. Corvo, once again, had been right.
"Sorry we took so long," Soap mumbled, approaching Samuel and his boat, the boatman studying him with tired, yet alert eyes. "We had some unexpected trouble. Is Overseer Martin alright?"
"I'm fine," a low voice rasped from the riverboat. Martin had been huddled on the floor of the boat and now sat upright at the mention of his name; in the light thrown from the lantern, Soap could see Martin blinking sleep from his eyes, his stolen mask missing. "I could hear the alarm. Is it done? Is Campbell dead?"
"Campbell is a corpse and Curnow still breathes," Corvo confirmed, climbing into the riverboat and taking a seat on one of the benches, taking care not to step on Martin, who remained on the floor. At Samuel's gesture, Soap took a seat across from Corvo, the boatman climbing in after him.
"And the Black Book?"
"Ours."
"Thank the stars." Martin slumped back to the floor, as Samuel started the boat's engine, silently piloting the Amaranth away from the dock. "Good riddance, Campbell, you old bastard."
Soap pulled his scarf away from his nose and mouth, his eyes fluttering shut as he drew in a deep lungful of air. The scarf, when wet, had hindered his breathing and clung uncomfortably to his skin, and it felt good to finally be rid of it, each breath coming easier as the cold, rainy river air kissed his cheeks and the tip of his nose. He let out the breath with a low groan, letting his head hang as he felt his energy leave his body, seeping from every muscle; Soap hadn't allowed himself to feel tired, and now the exhaustion was catching up with him, every part of his body screaming for rest.
"Well, gentlemen, as long as the rain doesn't pick up more, it's straight to the Hound Pits now," Samuel announced, speaking over the rumble of the riverboat's engine. "You all can rest easy from here on out."
Soap slowly lifted his head at the words, watching as Corvo—who'd removed his mask sometime while Soap wasn't looking—took off his coat and draped it over Martin, who mumbled his thanks before curling up on the floor of the boat, trying his best to get some much needed rest. Soap then turned his gaze on the Office of the High Overseer, the massive building becoming more and more distant as the Amaranth sailed away. Soap's lip curled into a sneer, happy to leave behind the Office, to leave behind the man in red whose cold corpse lay on the floor, his blood staining the rug and stone.
Good riddance.
