Chapter 12

They crossed the great bridge to Coldridge on foot. The guards hadn't let the railcar come any closer, and Martin's pace, which began as a stately, heavy walk, changed to a near run when he realized that no messages were being sent ahead of them, no guards alerted, no effort made to slow or halt the execution until their arrival.

Callista checked the pocket watch tucked into her jacket.

It was nearly noon.

Gulls were screaming above them, but Coldridge itself was silent, hulking, looming above the rocks and water beneath it. The Regent's banners flapped and boomed against the side of the building as the wind picked up in sharp gusts, and she bent forward against it as they crossed the drawbridge. They reached the other side of the bridge just as a call went up and the great winches went to work, separating Coldridge from the rest of the city.

She watched the tension crawl up the side of Martin's jaw. They had no way out, now, and she glanced back at the raising metal of the bridge. She felt alone, exposed, and she edged closer to Martin before she could stop herself.

"The Lord Regent is waiting for you," a man in the brilliant red livery of the army said, crossing the brief space of yard between the end of the bridge and the main door. "In the viewing box above the execution yard."

"Of course," Martin said, holding back the growl she knew was in him. He moved stiffly to follow the soldier, and Callista remained at his heels.

The viewing box, such as it was, was a simple platform with a waist-high wall around it. It was accessible from both ends by flights of stairs, and it was open to the elements. She felt less safe on it than she imagined she would have felt down below. Burrows stood by the low wall, hands clasped behind his back, accompanied by (from his uniform) a general, and a few other high-ranking officials.

"The High Overseer," their escort announced. Burrows turned his head.

His smile was thin. "I see you finally received my invitation, High Overseer. I was beginning to worry."

"We had other matters to attend to- I apologize for my tardiness."

"My messenger said he didn't think you were in residence at Holger this morning."

Martin shrugged, this time able to hide his grimace. "I was taking a tour of some of the lower districts," he said. "Unannounced, you understand, and unnoticed. It seemed prudent to get a first hand look at the state of things."

"That's very dangerous these days, High Overseer. I recommend you take a few of your fellows with you, just in case something untoward happens."

Martin's eyes narrowed slightly, and Callista inspected Burrows. He seemed easy. Confident. Not panicked at all.

Something untoward. Was he offering a polite suggestion, or did he know what had happened the night before? Her stomach twisted, thinking of the state of Martin's back. Any earlier consideration of pushing him to seek a proper doctor faded.

Burrows would find out for sure, then.

There was shouting from the yard below, and all attention turned back to it. The yard was brilliantly illuminated with floodlights, and she saw in perfect detail as Corvo Attano was dragged before them, manacled and beaten. His hair, though, was neatly pulled back, and his jaw had been shaved. The illusion of dignity was shattered by his swollen cheek and blackened eyes. He fought like a caged, frightened beast.

They kicked him to his knees in the center of the platform, and three guards remained by him, holding the bars that were connected to his throat and his bound wrists and ankles. With a few quick pulls or pushes of those bars, they could easily unsteady him, or stretch him between the two of them.

He was helpless.

Burrows waved his cohort back - except for Martin, whom he beckoned forward with a small motion of his hand. Martin's upper lip curled for just a breath, and then he had his smile in place and moved to stand beside the Regent.

Callista clasped her hands tightly and hoped that he had a trick up his sleeve left. Perhaps it hadn't been Windham who let slip the plan at all - perhaps it had been Havelock, or Pendleton. Perhaps they'd set something in motion. Perhaps Havelock had his navy men ready to take the prison.

But she'd seen no ships, not even out on the horizon.

"Corvo Attano," Burrows said, and his voice boomed unnaturally out across the yard. She shifted and caught sight of the microphone bolted to the inside of the wall. "I will give you one last chance to confess to your crimes against the Empire and against the Empress you were sworn and raised to protect. Should you confess, your death will be merciful - and we will be able to set this Empire to rights again. Cast aside your selfishness, your shame."

Attano lifted his chin defiantly, glaring up at the box. His gaze came to rest on Martin.

Martin's hands curled around the edge of the wall, and he leaned forward.

"I do not condemn you for your lying tongue, Corvo Attano," he called, his voice amplified only by his lungs. "But I reflect to you your errant mind. Two contrary thoughts cannot abide in the same mind, and it is that contradiction within you that, I have no doubt, led you to murder, and now to heretical, pointless suffering. Confess what happened that day, and your mind will be at ease. You will eject the heretical, and be at peace in your last moments."

Attano's eyes seemed filled with fire, even from a distance.

And then he spoke.

"On that day, I attempted to protect Jessamine from assassins who appeared from nothingness. That is who you should be pursuing, Overseer. They came from nothing, and took Em- the heir, and when they had done their deeds, the Lord Regent came to me and told me I had killed the Empress. But where did the girl go? I was there the whole-"

The bar attached to his collar was hauled back, and his speech was cut off. His back was arched, and Burrows watched on, face red with anger. "Heresy," he spat. "You had your accomplices. Captain Curnow was there with you that day, and there might have been others. I know what I saw; the whole Empire knows."

Attano couldn't respond, his eyes rolling back in his head.

Burrows leaned farther out of the box. "If you will continue on in your fractious, treasonous rantings, if you refuse to admit the truth of your crimes, then there can be no forgiveness, no salvation. If you have anything left in you that is good, you will tell us where the Lady Emily is!"

The guard loosened his hold on the bar. Corvo gasped, trembling and spasming until the bar attached to his wrists was pulled back, and he was allowed to straighten, to hunch forward.

"I don't know," he swore.

"Was it Captain Curnow who took her?" Burrows pressed.

Callista held her breath. It would be easy for Corvo to say yes, to blame her uncle, and for Burrows to turn on her. She would be tortured, as Corvo had been, until she broke and 'confessed' to where the heir was being kept, until she admitted her guilt. She thought of the Golden Cat and the little girl who was trapped there, and her knees grew weak.

But Corvo's eyes passed blindly over her.

He'd never heard her name.

"No," Corvo said at last. "Because you ordered him away from the Tower, just like you ordered-"

The bar jerked again, and Corvo sputtered.

"You've run out of chances, Attano," Burrows said, nostrils flared, lips pressed to a thin line. "I have been more generous with you than I have had any right to be with anybody. But this ends today.

"For your crimes against the Empire, you are sentenced to death."

Corvo let out a strangled howl as the two-man firing squad lifted their rifles and the three guards moved to either side of him, pulling their bars and presenting his breast to his executioners.

"Ready!"

Callista glanced around one last, desperate time, hoping to see something else, somebody else. They'd been so close-

"Aim!"

They'd been so close and Callista's heart thundered in her chest, unbelieving, unsure of how they could have lost-

"Fire!"

The report of the twin shots boomed out across the yard, picked up and amplified by Burrows' microphone, and Attano's body jerked with the impact. There was a brief silence as the executioners chambered new rounds, and then the crack of their guns as they fired once more. They emptied ten shots total into Attano, but he was still long before then.

The yard fell silent.

The army general was the first to speak, clearing his throat. "Well. That was certainly- bracing. Those accusations of his-"

"Are the rantings of a depraved mind," Martin said, smoothly. "It's been my suspicion since meeting the man that something on his diplomatic trip broke his psyche; it turned his loyalty to his charges into something much darker. I've see it happen before. Once, a mother drowned her three children so as to save them from the Outsider's influence - because if they were dead, they couldn't be led astray." He shook his head. "Tragic, but not unexpected, given the nature of the job."

"General Turnbull," Burrows said, turning at last from the sight of Corvo's crumpled body, "may I introduce High Overseer Teague Martin. He's a wickedly sharp mind - sharper than Campbell, I suspect."

"A pleasure to meet you," Turnbull said. He humphed deep in his chest. "And the woman?"

"My assistant," Martin said, beckoning her forward. Callista responded leadenly. "Miss Curnow. After she denounced her uncle and gave us insight into his possible whereabouts, I sought leave to hire her on as my aide."

Callista bowed shallowly. That seemed to satisfy Turnbull and the other assembled officials who were looking on.

"It's a shame we couldn't get a confession," one of the officials said, as she glanced back to where they were wrapping up Attano's body. "It would have been helpful for public relations. Not to mention knowing where Lady Emily might be. I do worry for her, poor girl."

"We'll find her," Burrows said. "He's let certain things slip in our interviews. I'm working with a few members of the military," he said, with a nod to Turnbull, "to check in the most likely areas."

"Glad to hear it," Martin said. "As for the lack of confession - the only people who know he didn't confess are here right now. For the good of the city-"

"The Empire," corrected Burrows.

"For the good of the Empire," Martin said, nodding, "we can always tell a little white lie."

The woman official who'd spoken up laughed. "And what of Strictures, High Overseer?"

"A smart man knows when to bend the rules a little. I'm willing to take the risk to the safety of my mind, if you all are. Surely you have enough self-control that you have nothing to fear?" His smile was feline, pleased. "But we don't need to decide now. My schedule is clear for the next hour or so. Would anybody be interested in whiskey and cigars?"


Callista left behind the merry, treacherous group once they were all settled in one of the sitting rooms of Dunwall Tower, making her way down to the railcar that would take her back to the office. A thousand thoughts danced in her mind, of things to do and people to speak with, potential leaks to check, and through it all, Corvo's motionless body continued to float to the surface like the bloated corpse it would soon be.

He was, she'd learned, being dumped in Rudshore, with all the other plague victims - part of a new initiative to reduce the strain on the city's crematoria furnaces.

She was halfway across the plaza to the railcar when she caught sight of Treavor Pendleton lingering by the car's doors. Her pace slowed. She approached warily.

He was fiddling with a half-burned cigarette, and only noticed her when she came to a stop a few feet away.

"Ah, Miss Curnow," he said, tapping off a long post of ash. "I was- hoping to find you here. Might I give you a ride back to Holger?"

"Is this your personal car, Lord Pendleton?" she asked, glancing around for the guards stationed nearby. There were quite a few; at least one had to be listening in.

"It is. I had originally come hoping to see the Lord Regent - to congratulate him on extracting Attano's confession - but-"

"The confession hasn't been broadcast yet," she said, eyes narrowing.

He cleared his throat. "Well, I assumed that Attano wouldn't have been executed had he not confessed."

Callista considered him. "The Lord Regent is tied up for the next few hours, to my understanding."

"Mine as well. I'm afraid I have other appointments, and can't wait it out. But Holger is on my way. May I?" He tapped his knuckles on the door, and it opened with a hydraulic hiss.

Inside, everything was lavish - more lavish than even Martin's private car. Its plush seats and finely decorated metal made her deeply uncomfortable.

But she needed to know if Havelock's small conspiracy had been involved in today's utter failure.

"Thank you, your offer is very kind," she said, and stepped into the car.

Pendleton followed, then lifted the metal panel that separated passengers from driver. "The pub, if you would." He let it fall shut

Callista frowned, and reached to catch Treavor's wrist. He jumped at her touch, and stared down at her hand, stunned that she would not only touch him, but grab him. Then he said, softly, "I thought you might be able to use a drink, Miss Curnow." His eyes danced over her face, and he even bit his lip, faintly.

Ah.

At least she'd be able to get Havelock's read on things, too.

"... It would be appreciated, but the guards who overhead..."

Treavor lifted the panel again. "By way of Holger."

"Yes, m'lord," came the response.

Treavor shut and locked the panel, then eased away from Callista. She settled back into the opposite seat, back rigid. "Nasty business," Pendleton said at last. "The first we heard of it was when the announcement went out."

Callista nodded. "As did we."

He wrinkled his nose as the car jolted into motion. "That's less reassuring than I had hoped for."

There was a chance, of course, that there was a letter sitting on Martin's office desk summoning them to the execution that she'd missed in the rush of the morning, but she made the decision then and there that Pendleton didn't need to know.

"Burrows' circle is widening," she said instead. "General Turnbull was at the execution, as were several other officials. I didn't recognize them, though."

"Describe them?"

She did, and he named each one; chancellor of the exchequer, one of the formal representatives of the large slaughterhouses, and the Lady Lydia Boyle.

"My uncle mentioned that name before."

"Unsurprising. The Boyles own the second largest set of mines of anybody in the city. I'm very familiar with them," he said, trying to sound nonchalant. He was failing, though.

Why?

"No," she said, "no, he wasn't talking about wealth. Something about them being responsible for a schism in the upper levels of the Watch. Do they channel money that way?"

"... Yes, I think I heard something of that recently," he said, drumming his fingers on the side console. "And it would explain Lydia's presence, though really I would have thought Waverly would have gone. Then again..."

She quirked a brow.

He sighed and fished out a glass and a decanter of brandy. He didn't ask her if she'd like a drink this time, only pouring enough for himself. "One of the Boyles - I've never been sure which one - has been rumored to be sleeping with Burrows. I always assumed Esma, but Lydia... I suppose it's possible."

"But not Waverly?" she asked, setting up a small chart in her head.

"Of course not," he said, snorting. "She likes power, but she likes control more. Not to mention the fact that she and Burrows are both so paranoid that they'd assume the other was trying to poison them. No, definitely not Waverly." His voice shook and grew shrill.

She noted it for later.

There were no windows to watch their progression through the city, but the car did slow down at several points - no doubt hitting checkpoints. She frowned at Pendleton, who was scowling into his brandy between gulps.

"It might soon be safer to visit the pub by river," she said. "So there aren't records of your car going there. It's a little below your level, Pendleton. People will notice."

He humphed. "There's been an uptick of river piracy too, you know. I'd prefer not to have my throat slit over open water."

"Then perhaps find a different place to meet. I'd hate for your cowardice to compromise our privacy."

He flushed, and knocked back the rest of the brandy, then curtly put away the whole assembly. "Watch your tongue, Miss Curnow. We may all have the same goals, but-"

The car rattled to a halt, and Callista opened the door and stepped out before he could collect himself.

There was bad weather rolling in, and the pub would get some of the worst of it, on the banks of the Wrenhaven like it was. She walked down the cobblestone streets, shrugging her arms closer around her, and tried not to think about rain sheeting down on the transport cars full of corpses, or of Martin slipping on rain-slicked steps and revealing his injury to the wolves he dined with. She hurried to the entrance to the pub, Pendleton behind her muttering to himself.

"Your driver," she said as they reached the door. "Does he suspect?"

"He's loyal," Pendleton returned, knocking on the door in a precise sequence. "He's my man and mine only. Name is Higgins."

The door swung open, and Callista quickly stepped into the warm, golden interior. There were a few people tucked in booths or at the bar, but nobody looked up as they crossed into a hallway and mounted the steps up towards the room she'd stayed in. They bypassed that door and instead went to the reinforced metal one at the end of the hall, which hung ajar.

Pendleton preceded her, knocking in a quick, fluttery staccato rap before striding in with a return of his earlier confidence. Callista followed. Havelock was sitting at a desk, looking at a large ledger book. He had small reading glasses balanced on his nose, and he looked up with a large, full-bodied sigh. He put down his pen and spread his hands out on his thighs, sitting back.

"He's dead, then?"

"And dumped in Rudshore," Callista confirmed, grimacing. "We didn't know it was happening either. There was no hint."

"Something must have spooked him." Havelock tapped a finger against his knee. "Did you make a move? Based on your conversation with Pendleton?"

Callista closed the door behind her. "Yes. We stationed an Overseer we know to be wholly loyal to us in Coldridge - but we didn't tell him any details."

"An update would have been nice," Havelock growled, then rose from his chair, which seemed too small for his hulking frame, and went to pour himself a cup of-

Tea.

She hadn't expected that. Her unease increased. He clearly intended to be fully alert for the meeting. Was he armed?

"We wanted to better understand the situation - on our own terms," she said. "Overseers are usually posted in Coldridge. We just rotated who was on duty."

"Five to one says Burrows had all the Overseers already there paid off," Havelock said.

"Yes, the addition of a new element - especially if it's the first rotation of staff since Martin got made High Overseer - probably made him panic," Pendleton drawled. He had his voice under control once more, she noticed.

Callista looked between the two men. "We didn't think he was so easily spooked."

"The man is a paranoid wreck, and always has been. If he hadn't gotten so bloody powerful as a young man, he would have torn himself to pieces by now," Havelock grunted, stirring sugar into his cup and then sipping loudly.

"Yes, you would have done much better to check with us. I have far more experience with him than anybody else in our conspiracy."

Our conspiracy. Oh, Martin wouldn't like that. His advice would be to cut them loose, she was sure. They could handle the next step on their own. In fact, it would be safer all around.

She turned for the door.

"Miss Curnow," Havelock said, and she glanced back. His expression had softened somewhat, and he'd removed his glasses. "I forgot to- say that I'm glad you're in one piece. After the Abbey took you-"

"It was a formality. I needed to be evaluated before the Oracles could lend their support to Martin's candidacy."

"Your position is a dangerous one."

"No more so than yours," she said, turning. "I've... been able to reclaim my uncle's home, using the clout I now apparently have. I'm doing as you suggested - exercising the extent of my power."

He nodded, satisfied.

"Miss Curnow- did Attano actually confess?" Treavor asked, from where he'd taken up station by a window. Rain was beginning to spot against the glass. Soon it would be pelting down.

She chewed at her lip, then took the seat Havelock offered her. "No," she said, "he didn't. Quite the opposite. I was worried Burrows might have most of us in attendance silenced. He had the drawbridge up the prison up, and Attano's rantings... it would be difficult to pay off everybody who heard."

Havelock scowled. "But he didn't."

"No. He seemed... angry at Attano, but was pleasant with the rest. They must have already suspected."

"Or they bought Burrows' explanation."

"Martin's explanation," she corrected. "He wove a convincing story about Attano being delusional. They lapped it up."

"Smart move, on Martin's part," Pendleton chimed in. "Very smart. Burrows is obviously spooked by him, so while we figure out where Burrows has hidden the heir, Martin needs to gain his trust and slow his agenda."

Havelock nodded, thoughtfully. "If he's killed Attano, he'll reveal the heir soon. There's no reason not to, and the longer he keeps her in hiding, the greater the chance of somebody seeing her."

"Or of her catching the plague," Pendleton added.

"We're following leads," Callista said.

We're preparing a raid. It didn't feel safe to let them know how close Martin was to succeeding. After, they might still have use of Pendleton and Havelock, and with their position strengthened, it would be less risky. They would be angry at her deception, of course.

But Martin had made that singular request. They would work around it. She cleared her throat. "Lord Pendleton?"

"Treavor," Havelock interrupted. "We're all equals here."

Treavor waved a dismissive hand.

"Of course. Treavor- is there any way for you to ensure your brothers will be at Parliamentary meetings the next few days?"

He frowned. "I suppose so. Why?"

She folded her hands primly in her lap. "Martin suspects they're working closely with Burrows," she said, thinking as she spoke. "We can't find evidence of where they meet outside of their regular duties, but if you could listen in on their interactions at Parliament, we might gain some insight into who is paying off whom, or what their specific duties are."

Treavor grimaced. "I suppose you haven't heard of how they're running the family name into the ground, then?"

Callista frowned. "No, I hadn't."

"He's assuredly paying them. I'll keep an ear out for you, Miss Curnow."

"Thank you."

"And in return," Havelock said, looming over her, "I would appreciate more regular reports. And a meeting with Martin myself."

"I'll see what I can arrange, Admiral," she said. "The meeting may be easiest to arrange. I'm... hesitant to set up channels of contact, in case they're found out. We don't have much reason to be in this part of town, nor you in ours. Once, we can excuse. Twice, or ten times..."

He waved a hand. "I understand."

She rose from her seat. "... Do you have much contact with the gangs in this area?"

He shook his head. "I stay out of the mess. They like my booze and dog fights, and they don't bring their wars into these streets. Why?"

"No reason - we simply don't have ears out here," she said, offering a small smile. "And how is Blacky doing? The hound?"

He shrugged. "Won't fight again, at least not in the ranks he used to. Once he's healed up a bit more I'm going to see if he takes to life in the house. If not, he'll have to be put down."

"I am sorry," she said. "I understand that without him, the pub has been-"

"Has been doing fine," he said, shooting a glare at Pendleton. "May I escort you out, Miss Curnow?"

She nodded, and let him lead her into the hall. He walked her down to the back entrance. When they were by the door, he put his hand on the knob. She waited for the threat.

Instead, he only asked, "Have you heard from your uncle?"

She shook her head.

"A shame. I hope he's safe."

"Thank you," she said, smiling unevenly. "I... haven't given him much thought as of late. It's easier not to."

"I'm familiar with that approach," he said. "Maybe, if we bring down Burrows, we can find a way to pardon him. Bring him home, safe and sound. I could use a man like him in the Watch - I think we all could."

Ah. There it was. He was trying to give her a personal investment in his scheme. She nodded, and thanked him, and smiled with what she hoped looked like tears in her eyes.

And then she left his pub, found a public car, and took it back to Holger, wringing her hands.

It was a nice thought.

But it was small, in comparison with what they had left to do.