Author's Note: Hello, peeps. Always nice to update.
Ch 9
Something's been brewing
Burrows had gone silent. Everything had gone silent. The door remained wide open, but no one was standing there anymore. For a while, he sat right in his seat, in a state of total shock. He heard the sound of running footsteps in the distance.
Martin came upon the scene with a shout, and Burrows came back to earth. His eyes went wide, and he stood up from his desk, breathing irregularly.
"Mr. Burrows!" Martin cried out. "Are you alright?"
Burrows didn't know what to feel. Fear? Bewilderment? Relief?
Thaddeus Campbell's body lay sprawled on the floor, keeping the door wedged open. His blood seeped into the carpet.
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Nevertheless, over twenty floors up, the party continued on. The hors d'oeuvres quickly became sweets and pastries.
Eventually, Callista had led a begrudging Emily to bed. Jessamine had stayed behind to enjoy herself a little bit longer.
As the night drew on, the Boyle sisters could no longer tolerate being a part of the crowd. Lydia and Waverly walked over their instruments and prepared themselves. Esma found the CD player and slowly turned down the volume. Eventually, the crowd stopped, realizing that they no longer had a tune to dance to. And that was exactly the way the sisters wanted it.
Esma joined her sisters on their small, makeshift stage. Swinging her bow seductively, she gave them an insincere apology—which no one really minded at all—explaining that it was time to unwind for the evening. Some of the audience laughed in agreement. Others pushed against each other, trying to claim a nearby seat.
"Let's not waste time with pretty speech and tomfoolery," Esma said. "Shall we?"
The crowd cheered and whistled. As soon as the room quieted down, the sisters grinned at each other and began in full gusto. Bowed and submitted to their craft, the ladies manipulated their strings with ease. They embraced their instruments as if they were singing a lullaby to babies.
And for once, Lydia was smiling brightly.
Corvo looked on from the near front of the crowd and smiled in delight. Granted, he was no admirer of the ladies, and he didn't much care for them as people. But one thing was certain, and he refused to deny it: good lord could the Boyle Sisters play!
"They seem a tad too glamorous for an intimate cocktail party," Jessamine said, standing right beside him. And she was right; their dresses glittered and flashed in the light.
"God help us all," Corvo replied wryly. "You should see them when they wear their printed corsets and those big, ruffled skirts…."
"Acquaintances?" she assumed with a snicker.
"In passing," he said. "I join them now and then for a quartet or some charity concert. Once, they forced me to wear a minty green suit with red stripes. I looked like a disgusting candy cane." He shuddered visibly. "I never liked candy canes growing up."
She nodded with a grim look. "They give me sore throats."
Corvo suddenly felt a tap on his shoulder and turned his head. Anton Sokolov stood right behind him with an eager and hungry look.
"Hello, Mr. Attano," he greeted. "Might I have—?"
"Ah, Mr. Sokolov," Jessamine interrupted (deliberately). "What a lovely surprise. How is Emily's portrait?"
"It's nearly finished, Ms. Kaldwin," he said brusquely, and he turned back to Corvo. "Listen, might I have a word with you. Say… tomorrow afternoon? I have a proposition I would like to discuss with you."
Corvo frowned. And you are, sir?
"Well, I…"
Anton smiled and produced two business cards. Corvo took them and glanced over them. His attitude softened somewhat: the man was a professor and an artist.
"And what would this proposition be?" he asked.
"Just an artist's whim and nothing more," Anton replied.
Corvo shrugged cluelessly. "Alright. Why not?"
Anton smiled all teeth, bowed his head and walked away without another word. Jessamine sighed.
"He's procrastinating on Emily's portrait," she muttered. "And he's probably going to ask you to model for his piece."
Corvo blushed beet red. "M-model!?"
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Detective Samuel Beechworth knew this was going to be a very irritating case. And he had scarcely seen the body.
Many years ago, after leaving a part time job as a bellboy and becoming a taxi driver instead, he had hoped that he would never have to take a case in any hotel above three stars. This was the third time his wish had been denied. The smell of the buildings always turned him off. The employees always seemed to be either skittish or snooty.
At the least the security was helpful… this time around.
From his first glance, Samuel decided that Thaddeus Campbell was a horribly ugly man. And the fact that he was a suspected blackmailer wasn't helping any. Though, it did provide plenty of motives.
As the victim was photographed and examined, the hapless detective took Martin aside to hear his account of the murder. Mr. Burrows, the closest witness he had, was twitching against his desk, but he didn't seem all that sad to have lost an employee. He seemed more preoccupied urging the police to get the corpse out of his office.
Samuel supposed that that might've been natural.
"I definitely heard someone running away from the scene," Martin declared firmly. "Unfortunately, I only got a glimpse of the bloke's coat as he turned the corner."
"You think it was a man?" Samuel asked.
"Could've been a woman for all I know. But I've never seen a woman wearing bulky, brown coats in this hotel."
"That's assuming that the murderer's a guest."
"It has to be."
Samuel glared at him with a raised eyebrow. "Why so sure of that?"
"Because I have security guards posted at every exit in this building. If this perpetrator tried to escape this hotel, they would've caught him by now."
"He might've ducked into a restaurant."
"The Golden Cat and the Abbey are closed. The Pandyssia Café is filled up for some comedian. And the barmaid of the Hound Pits hasn't seen anyone suspicious."
"They could've ditched the coat."
Martin frowned but nodded in agreement. "Perhaps, but—"
Burrows walked up to them, his face pale and cold.
"If you can't remove Mr. Campbell out of my office right now," he said in a solemn voice, "can we at least contact Ms. Kaldwin? And can I get a bloody drink?"
"Already taken care of, sir," Martin informed him. "I've sent someone after her. "
"You can go get yer drink," Samuel said. "Hound Pits, right? I'll come after you later."
Burrows waved them off without another word and trudged out of his office. They watched him slowly retreat down the hall and exchanged looks.
"The consumption of alcohol has been higher than usual around here," Martin said.
Samuel allowed himself a lopsided grin. "I'll bet it has."
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Callista stared blankly into the mirror with half-closed eyes as she gently brushed her hair. She breathed in deep, smelling the chamomile candle that was burning on her nightstand. Emily had long been put to bed.
It was all over, she believed. By now, Mr. Campbell should've been arrested, and she would finally be free from his grasp. Though, the task of having to explain herself to Ms. Kaldwin made her rather anxious. Even if she understood that her employer wouldn't be cold enough to fire her. And the thought of having her past catch up with her in such a way—it disgusted her to no end.
Perhaps, I'll ask for a day off, Callista mused. Not tomorrow. Maybe next week. When Ms. Kaldwin has no meetings. I'll go with my uncle somewhere. Perhaps, a nice walk in the park and lunch on other side of town. I need to get my head on straight.
She forced herself to smile and put away her brush. She walked towards her bed and pulled back the sheets to get in.
And the telephone rang.
Callista frowned but sat down to answer it.
"Hello?" she murmured. "…Speaking?"
The person on the other end spoke with so much force that her senses were jolted. She straightened up right away.
"Wait," she interrupted. "What's with all the fuss? What's going on?"
As she listened, her face paled. She squeezed the receiver with both hands.
"Dead…" she said weakly. "Murdered!? Why—!?"
Callista swallowed hard and tried to compose herself.
"No. I don't know where my uncle is. Perhaps… in his suite? Alright… I un…I understand. I'll talk to Martin when he comes. G-goodnight."
Callista slowly hung up the receiver and buried her face in her hands.
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By then, the Boyle sisters had played at least six pieces for the guests. Some had become drowsy from the lulling affect of the music—and the previous dancing—and quietly left the suite. Others stood to get a good view, and the rest had found a good place to just sit and listen. Many were having their last drinks for the night. An elderly woman had dozed off on the couch.
From Vera's point of view, Corvo had hardly paid attention to the trio. He was more engrossed in talking to Jessamine, who was currently eating small éclairs and chuckling at something he said. Vera was somewhat relieved that he was able to be friendly with an attractive woman. It was good for him, she believed. The sooner he recovered from his ex—no, his former wife—the better. Though, from what she could see, Corvo was maintaining a very controlled distance.
I suppose that's going to take a while, she mused.
As soon as they had finished off their latest song, the Boyle sisters briefly conversed amongst themselves. After coming to a decision, Esma and Waverly set their instruments aside and marched towards him with indignation on their lips. Waverly grappled his arm, pulling him towards the piano. As he protested, Esma slipped behind him and pushed him forward with all might. She cooed and deliberately pressed her chest against his back. He hissed and arched his back away from her.
Jessamine watched in shock. Vera raised an eyebrow at the scene.
Corvo was roughly deposited onto the bench. Waverly lifted up the cover and went back to her viola.
He looked Vera's way, possibly for some sympathy, but she merely shrugged. Esma whispered something in his ear, making counting gestures with her fingers. He rolled his eyes and nodded. She patted him on the chest and returned to her post.
Waverly raised her bow dramatically, giggling in triumph. Jessamine smiled eagerly, finishing her sweets. Corvo sighed, cursing his fate. Vera leaned back into an armchair, sipping on a glass of champagne she had snuck.
She liked variety.
As the concert restarted with a melancholy tune, someone tapped on the back of her chair. Vera looked up and opened her mouth in surprise. And then, she took another sip from her glass without looking away.
A man leaned against her chair and gave her a wink. Vera simpered and turned back to the concert.
The man might've been decidedly plain if he hadn't had the eyes of a shark—deep, dark, and vast. His brunette hair was cut in a nondescript style. His brown suede blazer had no fancy buttons or useless pockets. He was tall, but not imposingly so. His presence was understated; no one nearby paid him any mind. He was the type of person that no one would really notice.
"I wasn't entirely sure you'd come, Outsider," Vera said quietly.
"Ah, Granny Rags," The Outsider replied, "you know I can't a resist a party. The cream puffs are nice. Shall we have a private chat?"
Vera shook her head, keeping her eyes on Corvo. "Wait a bit, please. This piece that they're playing—it's somewhat short. Let me listen for a while."
So, he waited.
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A few minutes later, The Outsider opened the door, letting her go first. Vera stepped out into the hall, still holding her glass.
"Speaking of parties," he said, "how is dear Corvo fairing?"
"I think he's beginning to dislike you," she answered. "After all, you are being rather rough with him."
"Well, at least I'm occupying his mind on other things."
"Is that what we're calling it now?"
The Outsider chuckled darkly.
"How's Daud these days?" she asked with morbid curiosity.
"Stewing at one of his late father's vineyards," he revealed. "I'm sure he'll be comfortable for the rest of his miserable life."
"I think that'll cheer Corvo up a little."
"I don't think that'll be necessary."
Vera sighed tiredly and finished her champagne.
"I have a question for you," she said.
"Ask away," he replied.
"Why on earth did you ask Piero to do… that?"
"What? Are you talking about the 'graffiti'? I only thought it would be convenient to get the facts out into the open."
"Facts?"
The Outsider smiled softly and leaned against the wall. He crossed his arms, looking deeply into space.
"I have a feeling," he said, "a gut instinct… that a catastrophe is about to happen."
"Catastrophe?" Vera asked.
He wiggled his eyebrows. "Oh, yes. I've been observing the hotel staff ever since I took up residence here. Something's been brewing in this hotel for a quite a while now. And I think… it'll all come tumbling down very soon."
"Can you be a tad more specific?"
"Hmmm. Let's just say that the management in this hotel—they aren't the best of friends with each other. Of course, that may very well have nothing to do with it."
Vera grinned and shook her head. "I'll have to take your word for it. Your instincts are usually correct."
The Outsider glanced to the side and stared down the hall. Vera turned her head, wondering what had gotten his attention. Two men, clad in black suits, marched towards them with severe frowns on their faces. They were obviously hotel security.
"Oh my!" The Outsider said with glee. "I think it's happened already…"
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Jessamine Kaldwin had sat down to a vacant seat, completely unawares. The Boyle sisters were still holding Corvo captive at the piano. Apparently, he had spent too much time talking to her and not enough time listening to their private performance. He had twice attempted to rise from the bench, but he had quickly been brought down by the sisters' poisonous glares. Jessamine felt somewhat sorry for him, but her desire to enjoy his performance far outweighed her need to rescue him.
So, Corvo gave the performance of his life—literally—playing "From the Tops of Morley Cliffs Second Suite". Despite the forced performance, he still retained that almost absentminded air. But unlike last time she had seen him play, he was much more reserved, giving off the illusion that he was half-asleep.
And yet, as much as she delighted in the music, Jessamine couldn't help but frown.
Corvo Attano. A new resident of the Pandyssia. The more time she spent around him, the less she understood about him.
Sure, he was clearly a good man, quiet and well-spoken, and he seemed to have a genuine concern for her daughter. Not only that, he was very private; he didn't speak a word of his personal life. And yet, according to the papers, this was also the same man who dropped his inheritance, thereby abandoning his own half-brother to the wolves and turning Salazar Law on its head. From what her Serkonian lawyers told her, many of the higher ups were getting sacked left and right… and it had barely been weeks since "The Whale" had laid claim to the company!
To be fair, judging that they were both the late Salazar's sons but with completely different surnames, their relationship was most likely dysfunctional. But what would cause Corvo to despise his brother so much that he would be willing to give up (possibly) millions to see him ruined?
And from some sources, Corvo had recently ended his marriage, but he behaved like a bachelor more than anything else. And if he liked children so much, why did he have none of his own?
The newspapers in Gristol weren't all that helpful. The more she tried to examine the facts, the more she felt like a nosy wretch, and she was too proud to lower herself to gossip. Corvo Attano remained a mystery to her. And she always felt daunted by things she couldn't figure out.
That's probably for the best, Jess, she told herself. Stop thinking about it. It's not your problem.
She forced herself to relax and considered getting another drink. It wouldn't hurt her much.
"Ms. Kaldwin," a voice spoke above her.
Jessamine turned her head to a see a security guard standing behind her.
How did he get in here? she thought.
"Yes?" she asked.
The guard leaned over and whispered in her ear. "I beg your pardon for disturbing your evening, but we have an emergency. The police are here."
Upon hearing the word "police", Jessamine nearly forgot to breathe. She sprang to her feet and walked out of the living room, the guard following close behind.
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"So, Thaddeus Campbell… is dead," Jessamine said in quiet horror.
The guards followed her through the lobby, barely keeping her up with her pace.
"I'm afraid so," one of them replied. "Shot to the chest. Apparently, he was walking out of Mr. Burrows' office, and someone took a pot shot at him."
Jessamine shook her head. "I never liked the man, but he was one of my best employees…"
"That's not the only issue, m'am," he replied. "The police were already on their way before the shooting."
She stopped in her tracks and turned to face them. They froze nervously.
"What?" she asked.
The other guard cleared his throat. "Well, the police were coming to arrest… Thaddeus Campbell. For blackmail and assault."
Jessamine stared wide-eyed and her jaw opened wide. The security guards stepped forward.
"Uh, m'am—"
"Bloody hell!" she snarled.
She spun on her heels, going faster than before. She puffed through her nose and squeezed her forehead hard.
Why!? she thought in outrage. Why did this have to happen now of all times? We're already hanging by a thread!
Jessamine already knew she wouldn't get any sleep that night.
Please don't kill me for making Samuel a detective...
