Chapter 12
Silent Vows
Her fingers twisted delicately, slowly and achingly.
"J...E...S...S...A...M... I-I find it difficult to even shape the letters."
"It's only because your fingers are not used to having to be so flexible, Majesty. It is much like playing an instrument that way."
It had taken Secretary Cromwell only a handful of days before he procured Jessamine a tutor.
Madame Jeanine Bonet was not from the Academy, nor any high standing school or trade house. The elderly woman with her prim grey hair tied sharply at her neck explained that she had learned sign as a nurse when she was young. She had attended the deaf and the disabled veterans from the war before becoming a translator at the Dunwall Asylum. She was a widow of ten years now, adorned in a matronly dress that cut her neck tightly. When introduced to the Empress, she did not small talk or babble. The Madame has simply bowed and asked how much the Empress already knew, all the while signing quickly along with her own spoken words. Jessamine knew immediately that she liked her.
It was only their second lesson, but the arrangement had been clear. Jessamine had drawn up the contract herself. Madame Bonet was to live in quarters made for her at the Tower, while she tutored the Empress every morning for a few hours. It was tentative, but it was also intended for the Madame to be on hand as the official teacher to any Royal who sought to learn sign.
After Jessamine mastered it first, of course.
Her fingers were already straining under the motions. The skill was a much harder one to learn than she originally imagined. And while the alphabet at times seemed easy; changing letters as quickly as she watched Madame Bonet doing so was challenging. Especially with letters like K or M; Which made her own name much too difficult for a beginner. They sat across from each other in Jessamine's parlor, the tea before had been forgotten in the light of their exchange.
To begin their lessons, Madame Bonet had given the Empress a simple pamphlet of etchings depicting the hand shapes for each letter and they would practice them all to memory.
Her brow furrowed, watching her fingers jerk strangely at her forceful use of them.
"Remember Empress, it is my understanding that you need only be able read the motions. Not make them." Madame Bonet reassured. She repeated Jessamine's name a few times for the Empress to watch. Her fingers moved deliberately slowly. They were precise, transforming into different shaped fists before tracing some elegant gesture in the air.
It was true. Corvo was mute, not deaf. She didn't actually have to learn or even use the articulated motions. But she was stubborn and intrigued. Not to mention she had a new appreciation for her Lord Protector. She recalled all the conversations she had seen him sign, his deft fingers quick and agile, flipping through the language like another blade in his hands.
Thoughtfully, she glanced at the chart of symbols and letters Bonet had given her. Her eyes found C, O, R and V quickly, and she realized with a huff of unfairness that Corvo's name was actually very easy to sign.
"Isn't there something done about names that are much too long? It seems such a hassle to spell out each letter in casual conversation."
Bonet considered her question as she lowered her hands, opting to take a break and have a sip of her tea. The morning light streamed through the window, highlighting the woman's taut features. "Short abbreviations are used for times like that. Nicknames, if you will. A symbol is used to represent a person." The elder woman carefully drank her cup, before raising only one of her hands. She then began signing her own long name. Jeanine Bonet. "Instead of all this, I am called Jeanine in this way." Her pointer finger lifted sharply before tapping straight on her chin. "It is the Sign for 'serious.'"
Jessamine watched in earnest fascination. "You mean to say that another word is your nickname?" She queried. The Madame nodded. "How does one go about choosing a sign?"
"You do not choose a sign. It has to be given to you by another. Declaring yourself a sign is not... grammatically correct. It needs to make conversational sense." The Madame sniffed her nose. "The symbol has to have meaning. It's almost personal."
She deflated a bit at the explanation. In some way it made sense. After all, one did not choose their own name either. But the charming idea of choosing a symbol she liked was dashed away. "I see."
"It should be of no issue to you Majesty, because no one would call you by your first name. They would only address you as Your Majesty or Empress. No?"
That was true, but not any less disappointing. The rest of her quiet fascination with names slithered away. She wouldn't need one. "Of course." She reaffirmed, brushing aside her own dissatisfaction. Quirking a brow, she asked, "What exactly is that motion? My title?"
Madame Bonet's fingers measured her heart, before crossing over to her hip. And suddenly, all the times that Corvo had done that very gesture came to her mind.
Your Majesty.
It was almost as if she were filling in his voice from the gaps of his silence in her memories. As if he had been whispering before, and now he was loud and clear. He had been hailing her each time. It made obvious sense…so much sense that she felt a bit ridiculous for not realizing it before.
"We should continue with the alphabet. As convenient as signing is, everything is based on finger spelling the letters. So long as you can read that, you should be able to communicate. Very slowly of course, but that's still something." The Madame explained.
Jessamine nodded. "Yes, please continue."
"Dear heavens, your handwriting is atrocious."
Corvo didn't look very pleased at the comment.
Cromwell glanced up from the paper he had slid toward him on the table and frowned at his dour expression. "I am only remarking on it because it will be another thing we have to work on." He chided.
The Serkonan didn't seem to like that either, if the heavy furrow in his brow was any indication.
"The Secretary is right; you can't turn in reports like that." Commander Dalen commented, leaning over Cromwell's shoulder and chair to review the accused script. Cromwell resisted the urge to roll eyes childishly, but allowed himself a hopeless puff of air through his lips. The Commander continued to peer rudely over his shoulder and the Secretary sunk a little away from him.
Corvo's hands rose, briskly moving even though the two men weren't watching.
"He says... it's because he writes better in Serkonan."
Cromwell and Dalen looked up to Captain Morris, who translated Corvo's sign from the seat next to him.
When it came time for Cromwell to begin training Corvo after they moved him from the barracks to his new Tower quarters (which, considering the previous circumstances, had to be done so immediately), a translator was one of the first things that had to be recruited. Cromwell had thought to find someone in Court to suit the job, but as it turns out, nobility isn't really skilled in such things. His second thought had been to use the same tutor he had found for Her Majesty. But that would monopolize the time the Empress wanted for herself. So when the Secretary had conferred the issue with Corvo himself, the Serkonan had written out a note that there had been one Captain in the Watch who could read his sign. The arrangements had been made and the said Captain had been reassigned.
Morris leaned back in the lacquered chair, pushing up his cap to look down toward the Commander and the Secretary. "That is a crock of shit by the way, because they have the same letters."
Corvo signed with an irritated expression, but Morris waved him off. "Just admit that you have piss-all writing Corvo."
"Captain Morris, some propriety, please." Cromwell scoffed, reviewing the written hand again as he continued with a grumble. "At this rate he will be no closer to a proper Lord than I will to a vacation."
The preparations were going... slow. Cromwell had arranged everything for Her Majesty's own requests easily enough, but carrying out the circumstances needed for tutoring Corvo was much more difficult. Not only because the job was a little out of Cromwell's expertise (and interest), but also because of Corvo's own setbacks. The incident at the barracks seemed to have set the tone for Corvo's continued behavior. The men he had fought with had been reprimanded and put on leave... but Corvo couldn't actually be reprimanded. He was Lord Protector now; He held a higher station than the Commander...and the Secretary.
Not that Corvo really knew that.
Whatever the Serkonan's thoughts were on the sudden promotion, Cromwell didn't know for sure. He had yet to protest, or at least Cromwell hadn't seen any sort of fit from the man's hands on the issue. And while he seemed frustrated and confused with all the new duties that had been assigned for him to learn, he was actually trying to achieve them.
Cromwell was finding it difficult to compromise with the mute man. While he respected Corvo for trying, Corvo wasn't making his job at molding him into the appearance of a well-to-do Lord Protector any easier. He had been trying thus far to reassure Corvo that a ceremony was needed before he could actually attain the job. (Not true, by all means the man already had the job.) And that he needed to know and do all these things for appearances sake in order to appease the Empress. (Half true.)
So he had complied with Corvo's request for Captain Morris' presence, as unpleasant as it was turning out to be.
And in a turn of events, Cromwell was pleasantly surprised at the aid of Commander Dalen.
After the unseemly brawl at the barracks, Dalen had offered his full responsibility for preparing Corvo alongside the Secretary, who hadn't expected it of the Commander at all. Especially with Corvo being the surprise choice for a job Dalen had been most likely to get. Cromwell wasn't sure if the Commander was doing it because he wanted to save face from the new Lord Protector, or because he was actually concerned for the newcomer... but either way it worked out for everyone.
Dalen had only mentioned he wanted the Tower in good hands.
Good, signing hands, Cromwell reminded himself.
So they spent the mornings reviewing court formalities until the early afternoon where Corvo attended Commander Dalen's side to watch him carry out his duties. The latter was the more successful of the two.
Corvo had proved himself more than capable of understanding exits, entrances, posts, and patrols better than any that Cromwell would compare to. Even Commander Dalen had lightened toward the Serkonan when the two conferred with each other on their patrols. Corvo had shed light on weakness on patrol. And Commander Dalen had explained certain formations that had to be taken do to protocols.
He could obviously fight too, being the former Gallows man that he was... However, understanding the legal garb of a report letter, why it's not proper to ask a woman her age, or attain cease and desist warrant before breaking a bone was a much more difficult concept for the Serkonan to grasp.
Every lesson in introduction was proven moot by Corvo's handicap. Demonstrations in escorting a lady by the arm were laughable, and always ended in an argument with Corvo not understanding why he couldn't just do his job in security. They had sat through dinner together to teach the Serkonan proper meal arrangement, which seemed to go well until the middle courses, where the silverware began changing. Cromwell could only imagine with a cringe what soiree's with the Protector would be like.
Not to mention...
"It's Restless Hands and Roaming Feet Corvo, not Restless Feet." Cromwell sighed, sliding the paper back to the Serkonan.
"Roaming Hands." Morris chuckled from the far end, earning a glare from the Commander and the Secretary.
"I do hope you will reign in your amusement during Corvo's vows next week. You will, after all, be translating his confession." Cromwell chided. The Captain sobered at that and the Commander had his own laugh.
Corvo's hands made new words in the air and Morris sighed at his side, "Because the Empress orders it Corvo." He replied, not bothering to translate for the others.
"Do you mind Captain?"
"He's asking why he needs to be sworn into the religion of the Everyman."
Cromwell turned his attention back on Corvo, whose expression seemed more than a little frustrated. Black, unamused eyes stared back at the Secretary, who rubbed his temples. "The Abbey wants to be assured that the Royal Protector's...moral standing is aligned with their...teachings." Cromwell explained hesitantly, not exactly wanting to spell out the Abbey's prejudice of Serkonos people. He understood the concern, anyway. Not that he believed that all Serkonan's were witches and dark worshippers... but having a non-religious foreign man in a Royal position was controversial at best. Even he himself attended mass, if only for the benefits of not being questioned. "And the Empress has commanded it of you, so you will do it for her too."
Corvo's annoyed expression eased somewhat. He pulled the practiced written scriptures back, eyeing them carefully.
The tanned hands lifted again, signing slowly as Corvo's eyes reviewed the books of Strictures laid open before him. The three of them watched quietly, waiting for the end of his words so Morris could translate. The Captain's face seemed to draw in confusion as he began, "Corvo asks why hands that kill are considered restless."
The question wasn't one Cromwell expected. And the Secretary exchanged baffled looks with Commander Dalen, whose own usually stoic face seemed lost.
Morris cringed. "Can't we just send him to Morning school with the children?" He drawled, looking toward Corvo and catching him with a dubious eye. "It doesn't matter what the Strictures truly mean. You just have to know them. Everyone's supposed to just... figure them out on their own anyway. Slef-Enlightenment."
Cromwell gave Morris a deadpanned look at the not-true-at-all statement.
Corvo's hair fell across his face as he reread the Stricture in front of him. He continued to sign.
"He says... 'why does the Stricture say that farm labor is more productive than killing?'" Morris sighed. "Really Corvo?"
Commander Dalen's hand brushed against his chin. "I always interpreted it as; being restless could lead one to kill." He said quietly, considering the question honestly.
Corvo continued to gesture his thoughts to Morris' displeasure. "He asks, 'Then what about those who do not kill but do not work.'"
Cromwell groaned, his fingers pushing at his temples. Were they all really delving into the theology of the Strictures? They would be here all day! His voice snapped between all of them at the large desk, "I think perhaps that is enough of the Everyman for today." He clipped. "We still have plenty of time to remember the Strictures and teachings, but we don't have time to go over your all actions within court."
At the mention of court etiquette, Corvo's expression turned impossibly darker.
Since finally deciding on a Lord Protector, Jessamine felt much more at ease.
While the morning lessons were new, her ritual more or less returned to what it was before her trip to Serkonos. She was able to focus on the dire issues…issues of her city, her Empire and her people.
The Empire of Isles had been prosperous under her father. He had been tenacious, resourceful, and ambitious. Emperor Euhorn Kaldwin the II had employed countless work on building within Gristol itself. Kaldwin's Bridge, Coldridge Prison, and the Clock tower had all been commissioned and overseen by him. Even the Waterlock to Dunwall Tower had been his renovation. They had given the Gristol people pride, unity, and strength as the center of the Isles. It had worked to maintain their glory after the Insurrection, and reassure the Isles the fortitude that was the center of the government. He had been personable, close to his citizens, and fair. Even court had adored him.
Jessamine was fighting hard to maintain inklings of him. But... very simply, there was no more money for such things.
The Insurrection had been long. And while Gristol had come out in all its glory when Morley finally fell back, Morley and the other Isles had no such wealth. The others had struggled in their own Depression. And her father had sought to cut them off, fearful that resourcing anything from Gristol would amount to Morley regrouping, and fighting once more. It was a reasonable decision at the time. But now they were paying for it. Depression even for one Isle would mean it for the others. And prices on imports rose enough to make the poor in Gristol poorer. Soon they were being dragged under without the balance of the others. Especially after the immense spending beneath her father.
But Jessamine couldn't let it happen. She had to remain strong, even in appearance; for her people and for all the Empire. They could not risk another Insurrection. Or worse, a civil war within Gristol itself.
She was trying to uphold her fairness to her people, the connection with them that her father had. But she felt like she was losing her inner government in the process. Her people loved her, but her court was turning sour.
She stared down at bill on her desk that Hiram Burrows had written in junction with the other council members. Her fingers scratched another blank page beside it, as she considered her decree to refute the bill.
The office door opened, and her matron came in, bowing slowly with a tray of dinner in her hands. "Majesty."
"Set it here, Clara. I will have no time to move to the table."
Clara frowned knowingly from across the room, but approached and did as she was told. She carefully moved the tea before Jessamine, before setting out the smaller dishes of soup and cut bread.
"Tonight it is… em... C..a...u...-Cauliflower, ma'am." Clara said and Jessamine looked up in time to watch the matron spell out the words on her fingers. Her hand was shaky, but there was a smile on her face that Jessamine met.
"Ah- the 'F' to the 'L' looks difficult." She chuckled beneath her breath.
Clara nodded. "I have not learned it all as quick as you, Majesty. And I'm afraid there is no sign for Cauliflower that I know of but..." She paused, both hands raising and motioning before the Empress.
Dinner is soup, tea, bread, and salt.
"Salt?" Jessamine questioned.
"I just wanted to show that I knew the word, ma'am."
"Well I guess it shows that I know it too."
They shared pleased smiles with each other before Clara bowed herself out. The office door closed quietly and the silence was suddenly overbearing.
The ease that came with having settled on a Lord Protector seemed to fly away at the sight of Burrow's bill. She frowned once more, lying down her quill on the desk to lean back in her chair with a sigh.
From her window, she could see Wrenhaven river, glittering in the dying sunset of the evening. And quietly her hands signed the letters. W-R-E-N-H-A-V-E-N. She had to pause to remember the word for river, but it came, and then boat. Whale. Whale Oil. Window. Curtain. Desk. Quill.
She tried to imagine Corvo doing the words instead, because eventually, she would only be reading his words. Not making them.
He would be inaugurated at the end of the week. Her speech for the ceremony was already written.
She had not seen him since the night of the party weeks ago, before she had ever decided on him. She had also seen very little of her Secretary or Commander Dalen for that matter. And when Cromwell did show his face, it was usually haggard and tired during Privy Council sessions. So she could only guess that Corvo's guidance and training was doing well.
While there had been many countless letters of protest and inquiry since Corvo's announcement, she still had not changed her mind. And Cromwell had made no mention of failure.
He was appointed to take his vows at the Abbey tomorrow.
Her mind drifted to imagining the ordeal. Corvo would be in his roughed attire, standing in the pristine Abbey before the High Overseer's pursed and distasteful face. It would be utterly silent as Corvo signed, explaining his sins against the Strictures before his rebirth as an Everyman. Cromwell would be there, looking bored but also nervous, shifting on his feet and coughing each time Corvo looked to make a mistake.
Jessamine wondered if he would confess of the men's murders back in Serkonos. Of the ones she had seen him kill. She closed her eyes, remembering his rigid face as he brought a pistol to an assassin's head and blew his skull outward in a shower of red.
It reminded her that he was first and foremost, a Gallows Assassin. An effective one from what she had experienced.
Swallowing, Jessamine realized she was not quite at ease as she had first thought.
And glancing at Burrow's bill and her dinner, she realized she was also not hungry.
"...'I have killed people for others.'" Morris translated.
His throat felt heavy. He didn't really want to do this. Before Serkonos he had been a simple Captain with a decent squad of men. They had been on their way up. Recognized and selected by the Royal Protector himself to accompany the Empress on a Diplomatic trip to Serkonos as security detail.
Morris liked drinking after a long night. He liked hearing a good joke over a brew with some of his men at a pub. He enjoyed a fresh uniform and sleeping early.
He didn't like sign translating... and he didn't like talking about religion.
High Overseer Wolsey's brows curved inward, staring down at Corvo's hunched form.
The Serkonan was kneeling on a velvet pad in the center of the Abbey's sermon podium, the pews behind him empty but for Cromwell and Commander Dalen. The latter was at the doors, stationed like a true soldier ready to excuse any from interrupting the private affair. Cromwell was seated stiffly at the front pew, his face looking upset and fretful. The wiry Secretary had his long legs jittering on the tiles of the abbey, his heels clapping on the floor and echoing through the high ceilings.
Morris was standing between Corvo and the High Overseer, staring down at the kneeling Serk and feeling very, very uncomfortable. Normally, confession was done privately in isolated boxes, before reciting the Strictures and being accepted into the Abbey. But seeing as that would be impossible with Corvo's addled tongue, here they all were; waiting to hear the man's dirty secrets.
They had all known this wasn't going to go as well as it could. After the first few days of trying to tutor Corvo, that much had been certain.
But this was more than a little awkward.
The High Overseer seemed to wait for the would-be Lord Protector to continue and breathed loudly when he didn't. Corvo's face was unflinching and his dark eyes stared back at Wolsey unrelentingly. Wolsey huffed, turning in his ornate robes and shaking the Stricture book in his hands as he glared at Morris. "Is that all he will confess?!" He asked, aghast.
"No- he, he has more!" Cromwell called from his spot, looking like he wanted to run over and shake Corvo senseless. Morris felt similar.
"Corvo... you have to explain." Morris tried with clenched teeth and the Serk seemed to consider this.
They all breathed a sigh of relief as he began signing again.
But Morris didn't like the words he had to say.
"... 'I don't know how many I have killed. Or who they were.'" That's just fucking great, Morris mused.
Wolsey's face contorted at the short and direct answer. Morris couldn't tell if he didn't like it because it was so vile, or because it was said so plainly. "Why don't we make this more... organized." He suggested, a hand lifting to adjust his red velvet hat. "I will recite each Stricture, and you will confess actions you have taken against the practice up until this time of your life. Hm?" He tittered.
Corvo said nothing. Morris wished he knew how to curse at him in sign.
"I think that would be best!" Cromwell called from his pew.
"Good. Now..." Wolsey's wrinkles eased, his hands crossing upon his book as he considered the Serkonan carefully. "An Everyman knows to restrict his Wandering Gaze. What have you to confess?"
There was a pause. Corvo said nothing. Morris slowly turned wide eyes over the Serk's head at Cromwell who seemed to cringe and sink in the pew, while it became apparent that Corvo would not say anything at all.
Wolsey's face began to redden. "The Wandering Gaze is akin to greed and superficial wants. What have you to confess of wanting?"
Corvo hesitated before raising his hands once more. This time his expression was unsure and his steady gaze was instead staring at his own hands as they moved.
"...'A bed, clothes...'"
Wolsey sighed, his brows lifting and emphasizing the lines in his forehead. "I don't think you quite understand Corvo." He shook his head, looking frustrated.
Cromwell stood quickly, his hands clapping together to call attention from the High Overseer. "Might I suggest we have him simply recite the Strictures? Isn't it already unfair that this is all so public for our new Lord Protector?"
Wolsey turned a displeased expression on Cromwell. "I will not bend the Strictures for you Secretary."
Cromwell glared back, his thin face challenging the Overseer's round one. "I am not asking you to, but-"
"Ah- Corvo says-" Morris interrupted, watching the tanned hands move quickly.
"... 'I feel regret for not trying to live. To let live.'" Morris paused, and both Wolsey and Cromwell turned to watch the Serkonan's tight features and softened eyes. He looked at his own signing as he continued, "'I killed many without knowing why or who, for no coin, but because I was told to. I regret not stopping the new children. I regret accepting what was ordered of me because I was hungry.'"
Corvo's hands slowed as he seemed to consider his next words. The Abbey seemed immensely quiet now and Morris looked up briefly, catching Cromwell and Wolsey glancing at each other warily.
"...'my gaze did not wander at all. I did not question. I did not care. My tongue did not lie but it did not speak. My hands were not restless but they did not resist. My feet roved under command. I had no want for flesh but took it anyway. My errant mind was blank and my hunger fed so I could keep living without any want to. I regret.'"
The Abby stilled as Morris ended his translation, and Corvo's hands lowered to his sides, running his thumbs over his fingers. Morris swallowed, watching the Serkonan in the weight of the silence. He had known that Corvo was an assassin, of course, but...
"The Abbey accepts... all lost children into its doors so that these... discrepancies can be repented." Wolsey nodded. But his normal tone seemed shaky and he looked toward Morris in affirmation, not Corvo.
The rest of the small ordeal went smoothly enough. Captain Morris did not have to translate any further, and the Overseer recited all the Strictures in his sermon accepting the new soul into the Abbey. Cromwell coughed a few times during the speech as if to speed up the entire process.
They left the Abbey as quickly as they had come, and told Corvo that he would have the rest of the day off from training. He attended Commander Dalen's side anyway.
This was nearly it; one of the last things in Corvo's preparations before he was inducted as the new Royal Protector.
And not for the first time since the three had taken on the tutoring, Morris wondered on what it was that had led the Empress to such a decision with a man such as Corvo Attano.
Note: Sorry for the late update! I was super busy last week! But I'm back on track with lengthier chapters.
I've been contemplating writing a companion piece to this story about my mute!Corvo during the actual gameplay. And his interactions with the Outsider and his memories. But I'm not sure if anyone would be interested.
Anyway, more to come! And don't worry - Corvo won't be using a translator much longer. He and Jessamine will get to have their own conversations soon enough, and we can all hear what's going on in that head of his!