Chapter 21
Officiates
...
Seven Months Later
...
The shrouded black creature fluttered onto the fence, clattering the metal with its claws and stirring the morning air.
It cocked its head, wings snapping at its side before letting out a sharp piercing caw.
Morris frowned up at the damned crow, glaring at its noisy behavior. He reached up to pull off his officer's cap. "Foul pest," He grumbled, reaching up to swipe the air at the crow's feet below the fence and shoo the thing away.
"Get outta here! Get!" His hand whipped the cap about.
The crow's feet shifted, wings rising once more to intimidate the intruder. The cawing persisted, small black eyes staring at the City Watch captain indifferently.
Morris snarled, finally tossing his hat completely at the bird. It smacked against the metal fence and the crow lifted into the air squawking in protest before shooting past him down the alleyway to land safely in a corner of trash and filth.
"Nothing but a rat with wings, you are." He called after it.
The crow fluffed in offense, its neck elongating to shoot a nasty caw back at him.
"Captain."
Morris turned at the call of his title and was more than surprised to see Commander Dalen standing in the entrance to the back alley.
"Dalen, you bastard, what are you doing here?" He asked, a smile appearing on his face despite himself.
"I could ask you the same; what am I doing here?"
They both quieted at the prompt.
The morning sun had yet to roll in, leaving Dunwall's skies grey and pale. It smelled like shit. At least Morris thought so. But Peckham was never really a savory place to be, especially not in the rank corner of some old decaying laundry building. Even if Drapers Ward was close by.
Then again, things like this never happened in the nicer parts of town. Not often anyway.
Morris tried to delay the inevitable. "Still, to send you down here… I thought you were busy up at court?"
Dalen shook his head with an unamused expression. "No, no. There's no need for me when all that's happening is a bunch of old men pushing papers back and forth."
They quieted again and Morris sighed, nearing the metal fence to retrieve his cap. "Alright, better show you the poor fuck then."
He led the Commander down the alley, past the large bins of garbage and stepping over some broken planks from the boarded up windows of the building they rounded.
"Some woman found him when she came scrounging around for who knows what." He explained. "She made a lot of noise to some of the officers before they called me."
When they turned the corner again, Morris didn't exactly have to point it out to the Commander.
"By the Outsiders Eyes—"
The body was a looming shadow above them, eclipsing what little of the morning light there was. Morris figured the sod must have been huge. Tall and burly, given the sight he made now.
Dalen's arms rose, crossing his chest before restlessly grabbing his chin, a vision of discomfort.
The man was strung up from the clothing lines above them, arms dropped down to his side and his neck twisted awkwardly. At first Morris had thought he had been rigged up there by his coat, until he had seen the giant metal hook lodged in the man's back, curving wickedly and tied neatly on the lines. He would have thought it a case of drunkard's buddies getting a laugh out of him if it weren't for that.
Or if it weren't for the man's large top hat, tacked to his head with enough nails that the blood was pooling on the stones at their feet.
"They hung him out to dry." Dalen murmured, stepping around when he spotted the vile metal hanging above him. "Is that a whaler's hook?"
Morris sighed, "Yeah looks like it, they ones they use to drag the fins with."
"Bloody hell."
Morris shoved his hands in his pockets. "Obviously, it was intentional."
Dalen glanced at him with wary eyes of agreement.
A sharp piercing caw startled them both and alerting them to the swooping black form of a crow. It landed above them on the other line of the body, calling shrill noises and shaking the unsteady rope as it fluttered toward the body in a frenzy of wings.
Morris curled his lips in disgust as the bird made to claim the dead man for its breakfast.
"It's a message then."
Morris turned his attention back to the Commander. "Eh?"
"A message." Dalen eyed the body, stepping carefully around the seeping blood as he circled it. "Why put forth the effort of hammering the hat down if they already killed him? Why string him?"
"Because it's fuckin' terrifying?"
Dalen shook his head. "Not just terrifying. Terrifying enough to mean something. To warn something."
"What, against us?"
The Commander was quiet. "Us? We are the City Watch." He corrected. "It would be a warning to our government."
"You mean treason?" Morris asked, glancing at the horrific body with a bit of skepticism. "Someone strung up a dead man with a whalers hook and a nailed hat to speak against Her Majesty?
The crow cawed loudly above them, somewhere on the body's shoulder and Morris tried not to cringe.
"I don't know." The Commander said. "We need to find out who he is first."
Morris crinkled his expression, peering at the man's face and trying to see past the trails of dried and fresh blood streaking his face like rain.
"Cut him down."
He could taste the metal from the rim of his flask as he swallowed the bittersweet last gulp of his King Street brandy.
He had been saving it for the sight of something else, in the depths of Pandyssia.
But he supposed he would need it now, upon the sight of the Tower of Dunwall.
Perhaps he should be thankful for being back. It was preferable to being in Tyvia, where everyone asked him questions he had no patience to answer.
They were pretentious, frivolous and banal people in Gristol. But they left him alone.
It was hot. Too hot for a coat, which unfortunately he wore and Wrenhaven was weak compared to the winds of the ocean and snow of Tyvia.
So it was a reminder of his own cool and private quarters that motivated him off the Waterlock. The quicker he saw to his official return to Her Majesty the quicker he could leave to his estate. And the quicker he could finally be alone.
"I have not seen you this excited since we found you, Lord Sokolov, what a surprise."
Anton ground his teeth without restraint to show it.
Waiting upon an Empress had never been his strong suit, but after having experience waiting on a Count these past months, he found himself longing for Regent Kaldwin's quiet and reasonable requests.
He waited without word and much frustration as the Count of Tamarak and his entourage began their preparation for the welcoming procession no doubt waiting for them at the entrance to the Tower.
They had adorned themselves in more jewels and silks than any occasion deemed necessary and he almost couldn't wait to see the Count's dissatisfied face when he released that almost everyone in Gristol dressed in simple black garb per their fashion.
It would have been more of a satisfying had it not been for the fact that he still had to wait.
They made their way from the Waterlock to the bridge dreadfully slowly, made all the more excruciating by the Count's insistence to point out the visions of the Tower with amusement. He compared the Tower's weak parapets to those made from Tyvian design and the entourage laughed.
Anton scuffled faster ahead of them.
He almost couldn't muster the sigh of relief at the sight of a familiar face as they entered the gardens.
Secretary Cromwell greeted him, the rest of the procession and Her Majesty waiting in the distance on the entrance to the Tower. "Anton, it's been long."
On another day, Sokolov would have contemplated seeing the normally flustered Secretary smile for once, a sight worthy enough for a sketched study, but today he had not the eye nor the wistfulness. "Not nearly as long as I planned, Secretary."
Cromwell chuckled anyway, glancing behind Anton even as he continued walking, lowering his voice. "This is… the Count you've—"
"Count Tamir Moiseev from Tamarak." He said. Giving mercy to the Secretary and knowing full well he hadn't given them the proper amount of their pathetic societal information beforehand.
"Yes thank you-" And with that he watched Cromwell rush back to the procession to properly announce their arrival.
It was all a ridiculous parade and he felt like the ringleader bringing in a herd of show ponies.
They stamped their feet behind him as the neared and the court of her Majesty came into view.
Jessamine looked radiant.
And different, his wary eyes registered. She was in dark purples, the white of her collar a drop of paint on the muddy canvas of one of his pieces. Her eyes lifted with her smile at the sight of him, but it did not resemble the ones of his memory, the ones he could so easily compare to the child he remembered, wandering the halls outside of Parliament listening to her father speak.
She seemed to have a shadow looming beside her.
And Sokolov realized that she quite literally did, as his eyes found the roughly cut features of the stranger beside her, dressed as darkly as her and the same look in his eyes.
He frowned.
Cromwell announced him first, and Jessamine's advisers, matrons and servants parted for him to approach her, bowing curtly as she lifted her hands to grasp his.
"I can't say how grateful I am to have you back, Lord Physician."
He clenched her gloved fingers, nodding. "Yes, yes. And you, and you."
"I trust the seas faired you well?"
He scoffed with no reply.
"And your expedition?" She inquired further.
Anton appreciated her showmanship. She was full of grace and skilled in the ways of court. But he had no want to speak idle chatter with her. Not when he knew they both could have more intelligent talks without the fools watching their every gesture.
"Yes-yes—"
She smiled thinly, their eyes meeting with quiet arrangements to talk privately.
Her eyes shifted then, hands releasing him to stand with the straight back of her father and the quiet authority of her own. "Please then Anton, introduce the Count to me."
He nearly hacked. Not at all pleased with the responsibility. Thankfully, and yet irritatingly enough, he did not have to.
"Your Majesty – I am Tamir Moiseev, second family to the reign of Tyvia and Count of Tamarak." Tamir stepped forward, a blinding sight in a white silken suit wrapped in scarlet reds across his breast and waist. He was what most noble men were in Tyvia, sharp and lean, with a large nose and a thin smile. His hair was slick to his skull and his eyes were alright in utter amusement of his own very existence. Anton had grown to hate him.
Tamir moved from his entourage toward her Majesty, his fingers flaying in the air as he spoke again, cutting off the potential words from her parted mouth. "Might I say, Empress; that Dunwall commits utter treason against you by keeping your face locked away in a place such as this. I would have any man arrested in my own city for even suggesting an idea."
The quiet that settled over the Count's flourish was pronounced by Jessamine's slight raise in her eyebrows.
Anton stared at the Count with unreserved judgment and disgust, not that he had expected any less behavior than this. He only looked away to watch Jessamine reply, gracious and polite as always.
"I don't think I have ever been complimented so impressively, Lord Moiseev, I'm more than flattered."
"Oh no, no, no, my Queen, not flattery!" Moiseev hurried, stepping quickly up the stairs to snatch up her gloved hand.
Jessamine's shoulder's tensed in anticipation at the sudden and surprising advancement, almost as quickly as the sudden hand on her shoulder. Anton's brows rose in confusion as the tall uniform clad man at her side grabbed at her, looking down upon Moiseev from behind her. The count continued obliviously, no doubt unaware of the actions happening just behind Her Majesty's back.
A glint from the corner of Sokolov's eye drew his attention and he watched the man finger the silver hilt of a gun in his belt.
"I mean only to bring fact into conversation. No beauty in Tyvia ever goes un-praised."
Sokolov ignored him, and the kiss he pressed on Jessamine knuckles, much more interested in the hesitating hand of the stranger and the potential of a pistol bullet being shot into Moiseev's head.
But the moment passed when Jessamine gave a chaste laugh, shoulders dropping in a relaxation that the quiet stranger followed. His protective hand falling to his side.
Sokolov crossed his arms, strangely disappointed and equally intrigued.
There was talk of a dinner held in the Count's honor and the honor of Sokolov's return. Jessamine ordered her house, to of course, tend to all her guests needs. She spoke of alliances and hospitality before dismissing herself to matters and duties that needed her attention.
Moiseev called after her with hope for a long stay and much more conversation.
Sokolov watched her walk up the stairs alone, save for the dark shadow of a man just one step behind her.
And when the procession dispersed, his wary eyes locked onto Cromwell's retreating form.
"Not so fast Secretary—I think there is much in the Tower I seem to not remember and I seek enlightenment."
"No-no—do not let him—"
The door clicked open despite his near shout at the servant to stop it.
The pathetic boy looked back at him in fear and anxiety, even as he continued to announce the guest. "L-Lord Protector to see you… "
Hiram Burrows tried not to snarl, watching as the tall form of the Serkonan entered his office with quiet steps.
The servant wasted no time in escaping from his dire mistake, slipping out of the door and leaving the Spymaster alone with Corvo Attano.
It was a situation he had taken painstaking time to avoid.
"Corvo!" He greeted, straightening his back and clasping his hands behind him. He circled around his desk despite the irritation of having to leave his more important work to… engage an addled fool. "A pleasure."
Security measures needed his full attention, especially now that the Lord Physician was back. He had plans to make for Dunwall's own good and efficiency. Plans that needed extended thought and privacy. And Sokolov was his key.
The woman was refusing to see him. The Empress had declared it best not to take audiences with him just after his second bill had been denied.
Parliament was well under way with her damnable whaling factory. He had given that fight up months ago, even though she obviously thought him childish enough to still be hurt about it.
But now she was not seeing him at all. She denied his requests for compromise and any proposals for new ideas. He had not even gotten an audience with her in over a month. Worse, he had lost all favor from the other representatives. They all feared he would try and put a stop to the factory, in which they would all profit.
He had no leverage in court at the moment and while it seethed him, he could work around it.
There were other things he had control of, other things he could ensure. So long as they were under the guise of his own department of security, he could do as he wished.
So help him if the damned Protector was here to try and put a stop to that too—
The Serkonan eyed him with something akin to exasperation, but said nothing as he offered him a rolled parchment.
"Oh? Only a delivery boy today Corvo?" He questioned, not bothering to stop his amused smile at the thought. "No conversation to entertain me with?"
Corvo said nothing, and his dark eyes did not show reaction to the jibe.
"On the table, please." He directed. "If that is all I will insist on my immediate privacy as there is much that calls my attention."
Corvo shifted, as if considering the act of being stubborn and insisting the parchment upon him.
But he simply stepped forward to the large desk and placed the roll down quietly.
"Thank you, now please—"
Burrows nearly spit in repulsion at the sudden sight of Corvo's hands rising, words curling about his fingers and dark eyes looking at him intently. There was purpose there and almost immediately, Burrows turned his back on him.
No—he was not a peasant and he would not submit himself to a situation beneath him.
"As I said, Lord Protector, I am busy with matters—"
He heard Corvo's footsteps begin to interrupt him and took precaution against the man rounding on him by crossing the room to his shelf of brandy. From the corner of his eye, he watched the Serkonan continue to sign. "—matters that supersede anything else."
It didn't matter. The fool could gesture dumbly all day.
For so long as he didn't look at him, Corvo had no voice.
And no choice but to stay silent. As he should.
Hiram listened to the heavy silence as he poured himself a small tumbler of strong alcohol. The glasses clinked and he clenched the glass until finally, gruelingly, there were footsteps of the Protector leaving.
The door slammed with the bang of a gunshot, the wood rattling with unspoken rage.
The Spymaster sighed, turning to the now empty room.
"Damned mute."
"Oh—forgive me—"
"Sorry—"
"Just—sorry—"
Jessamine looked up at the scene, watching her matron Clara nearly run into her Secretary at the door of her foyer.
Cromwell flustered, his hands full of papers waving almost comically as he tried to move around the matron without touching her.
Clara's small mousy face flushed a harsh red, fingers curling tightly around the silver tray full of lunch dishes and silverware.
"Ah—" Cromwell tried, the strangest and sheepish smile coming about his face as he tried moving out of the doorway to give way for the woman.
Clara left, watching him watch her go.
Jessamine stared unabashedly.
It wasn't the first encounter she had witnessed between the two.
Her small and petite matron seemed to be having several such happenings each time her Secretary came calling. And Cromwell himself seemed more and more stressed when arrived and the woman happened to be present.
It had begun after Fugue Feast.
Once she had noticed, it didn't take long to narrow down the obvious. If she recalled correctly (and she did) she had sent Clara to Cromwell with news on Fugue Feast.
And that's why she did not ask.
Not that it was her business anyway.
So when Cromwell tittered into her foyer, she simply glanced away and addressed him indifferently. "You are here with word from Mr. Hamish?"
"Y-Yes I am."
She slid open another ledger on her small writing table, raising the one she had finished reviewing next to her head.
Corvo retrieved it without question, handing her another that she placed gently at her side, ready when she was done with the current one. A constant presence she need not question at her side.
"Everything checks out, Your Majesty—every last number." Cromwell strode in front of her, taking a seat in the chaise across from her. He glanced up at the Lord Protector at Jessamine's side. "Good day Corvo."
She didn't have to look up from the records of her treasury to know that Corvo signed in return.
"No deficiencies? Not in their lumber or their transportation?" She questioned, finally directing her harsh analyzing gaze on the man.
Cromwell gave her a helpless expression of puzzlement, reaching across the space to hand her his own stack of financial records. "Nothing –everything seems accounted for."
She huffed, eyes searching the papers for some answer she couldn't seem to find for weeks. "That's impossible – it is not this expensive to build a factory."
"Perhaps it is, Majesty?"
Jessamine dropped the papers to the table, her hand massaging her temples.
The bill had been approved, ratified, and set into motion. She had all of Parliament riding on her coat tails. Everything had gone smoothly in the funding and projected plan for her government whaling factory. She had been hopeful, excited even, to finally have something reliable to give her people and her nobles. Work, profit, a raise from debt.
And now she was seemingly making debt.
"They've been in construction for four months—they are milking my treasury dry." She stated, staring at the ink with contempt. "At this rate this project is going to cost more than it could turn a profit. I will owe funds—"
"I understand—"
"I will not sit by while I am cheated, Secretary."
"No, no of course not." Cromwell flustered, leaning forward to point at the records. "But- perhaps this is a small setback. The funds over a few years of business should cover the expenses."
Jessamine shook her head in frustration. "I will run out of the budget to finish construction long before that is possible."
The Secretary seemed to deflate and Jessamine took a moment to close her eyes.
Stressful.
The months had been stressful. Perhaps not as stressful as the search for a Lord Protector and the circumstances after finding one… but the near year seemed to present new challenges to her. Ones more political and complicated. She had to become a businesswoman now, and quickly.
"Perhaps… This matter would best settled after the dinner for the Count and Lord Sokolov. Tomorrow maybe?"
It wasn't a reminder Jessamine appreciated, though she understood Cromwell's want for a different topic.
The Count of Tamarak was an entire matter Jessamine couldn't seem to wrap her head around just yet. She had doubts of the man's intentions to visit Gristol and too many questions for her Lord Physician to make a sound judgment on the whole situation.
Tamir Moiseev had taken her completely off guard this morning, with his presence and his strong advances.
No – before she dealt with him, she had to deal with this.
"Summon Mr. Hamish for an audience."
"He has already come twice to explain to you the details of his expenses on building."
Jessamine glared at Cromwell and his exasperated tone… but he was right. Hamish was curt and unamused by her pushing. And his last visit to seemingly 'reassure' her worries had left her angry and dissatisfied.
She could demand to go to the site herself.
She dismissed the thought almost as soon as she conjured it. Doing something like that would require informing Hamish she was to be making rounds. He would simply coddle her on his territory instead of hers.
Something was wrong though. The entire amount the construction was spending was shady and suspicious, and Hamish was too quick with his words and excuses for her to believe him. Her funds were running dry and he seemed to have every reason to convince her that it was necessary.
No. She would have to visit the factory site unannounced.
Which was impossible, really. There was no such thing as a Royal going anywhere as a surprise. Not even with the smallest entourage possible.
And even if she somehow did end up in front of Hamish without warning, demanding explanation – he would have the same scripted excuses ready. And what did she know of running a construction site to call him wrong?
She would have to go unannounced and not as the High Regent.
"I could summon him again if that is your wish." Cromwell called to her through her thoughts.
Jessamine glanced up at him and shook her head, an idea forming quickly in her mind. "No-…no your right. That won't be necessary."
"Majesty?"
She turned in her seat, eyes looking up to pin Corvo's eyes with her own.
The Protector met her look with furrowed brows, having been quietly listening as he stood at her side, a stack of ledgers in his hand. But now he stared at her attention equally, jaw tensing in anticipation for whatever order she was about to give him.
"I have a better idea." She whispered.
Merry Christmas and Happy New Year! Well wishes all around. Accept my late apologies with a raw update - excuse the typos! I published right away instead of after my editors copy. (will replace soon!)
May I just say, by the way, that this story has the most amazing, intelligent, wonderful, gracious, and absolute darling reviewers and readers ever? I could not be more blessed with the amount of amazing and detailed feedback I have gotten for this story!