Part II continued
"A Long Day in Dunwall"
Chapter 21
I landed on the third-story balcony of the Dunwall Courier, the purple vestiges of Far Reach disintegrating behind me. The building proudly faced Horseferry Boulevard, making it one of the Palace District's most recognizable addresses. The newspaper was highly lauded throughout the Empire, not just in the capital.
I was closer than ever to the Black Pony Pub––I could see its roof from where I stood––but I wasn't ready to leave just yet.
Unfinished business, I thought. Paying a visit to the Dunwall Courier was long overdue. I should have dealt with the paper sooner, long before Delilah's coup.
A soft, drizzling rain began to fall as I crossed the steel-railed balcony to a large glass door. It was locked. I pulled two silver pins from my hair and knelt, inspecting the lock. Simple. I picked it and entered the building, a rumble of thunder behind me as I closed the door.
It was quiet inside.
Organized chaos came to mind. The space was crowded with several wooden desks, loose papers and books everywhere. I saw inkpots and stamps, newspaper clippings and half-eaten apples, ashtrays and cigars. Scissors and twine were left on top of four-foot stacks of today's edition, the edges crisp and clean. Older stacks rotted in the corners, the newspapers browned and wrinkled.
The space had a feeling of being recently occupied, like someone had just stepped out for a moment to get some fresh air. Delilah's coup, however, told a different story. Family men have run home to their wives and children, I thought. Businesses and residences all over the city would be shuttering their windows and doors, locking tight for the riots to come. The only ones risking the streets would be looters and gangsters.
Without Ramsey, I wondered how long before Delilah and the Duke lost control of the City Watch.
The city will descend into anarchy. How easily we fall off the edge…
To my left was a luxurious couch, and beyond a small private office for the editor-in-chief. The desk was large and elegant, something I'd easily see in the palace. Expensive, in other words. I rummaged through various letters, scanning for anything related to what I'd already found at Boyle Industries.
A bowl of apples caught my eye. I took a red one from the bowl, thinking of Wyman and his long hair, of threading my fingers through his fiery mane.
My Morley Red.
Sadness and guilt engulfed me.
Two days ago, I could have imagined myself married to the man, that our love would have been strong enough to withstand the objections from Parliament and every highborn toady with an outspoken opinion about his lowborn status.
But now…
Now, it was difficult to believe how much things had changed, and so quickly! Two days ago, I had been Empress. Two days ago, I had ne'er before seen the Outsider.
I put back the red apple, and instead picked a green one. I bit into the fruit, slowly chewing as I flipped through paper after papers. I had little appetite, but the sour taste helped me concentrate.
"Nothing," I growled.
I tossed the apple's core in a trash bin beside the desk. My gaze lingered, noticing a crumpled letter beneath the core. I fished it out, smoothing the wrinkles against my thigh.
It was old––dated nearly six weeks ago––but when I spotted the words 'Crown Killer' I caught my breath. I read, 'Kent, Don't take it personally, but I'm not publishing your story about clockwork soldiers down in Karnaca. I'm not questioning your sources or your writing, but some moonstruck maestro making marionettes in his basement isn't exactly news.
I've done some research on this Kirin Jindosh fellow, and apparently he's a laughingstock among his peers. He was driven out of the Academy of Natural Philosophy years ago, so he's hardly a credible threat. Until one of his inventions actually kills someone, he's not worthy of our ink.
You should focus on the Crown Killer instead. If the Imperial family really is ordering those murders, I want us to be the ones who expose it.' It was signed, Simon, Editor-in-Chief.
"Well, Simon," I said, "that moonstruck maestro has actually killed someone with his inventions. A whole lot of someones."
The Duke of Serkonos had brought two of Kirin's clockwork soldiers into my throne room, slaughtering my allies. It didn't escape my notice that perhaps this Grand Inventor was far more dangerous than he seemed. He has clear ties to the Abele family, I thought as Lord Cosimo's prosthetic feet also came to mind.
As for the mention of the Crown Killer in the letter… I was surprised to find how innocuous it all sounded, as if the Courier's lead editor had every intention of finding out the truth instead of smearing my father's name without proof.
Could it be I had misjudged?
Suddenly, I heard a door bang open, followed by disgruntled male voices. I dropped the letter and slid along the office wall to stay quiet and out of sight.
They had entered from the back. Two of them, from the sound of it.
My hand hovered over my crossbow. I had three sleep darts left.
"I'm not leaving until you print it, Printer," a man spat, followed by what sounded like a vicious shove. Hands slapping furniture. A chair being dragged out.
"That's not how the Courier works," came the trembling reply. "You can't expect me––"
"Enough mouth. Start typing. Special Edition. Empress Delilah Kaldwin, rightful heir to the throne, has taken power in Dunwall. The usurper, Emily Attano, and her murderous Protector have been arrested."
His dictation dripped in smug authority.
"I'm not printing that. Get. Out."
"Emily Attano, is it?" I growled under my breath. History is written by the victors, Callista Curnow once taught me.
I peeked the corner. The bully wore a City Watch uniform––not surprising. One of Ramsey's men, I figured. He was brawny with muscular arms and a square jaw, his thin lips set in a sneer. In contrast, the threatened Courier man was thin and soft around the jaw, his lower lip quivering. He wore a stylish suit, but it looked dirty, as if he'd stumbled into a dark alley and found himself set upon by brutes.
His spectacles were broken; I could see the crack in the lens from where I crouched, watching from the shadows.
The guard had forced him into a chair, a menacing hand on his shoulder. "You have until tomorrow to print it," he said. "You better get started, Simon."
Simon, the Editor-in-Chief?!
He flinched as the guard picked up a typewriter and slammed it down in front of him, violently rattling the mechanical parts. The printer winced.
The man cares more about his typewriter than his life, I thought in bewilderment.
After a heavy pause, I heard typing, but it sounded half-hearted. The guard meandered away from the desk, picking up one of the many cigars strewn about. The office was littered with them, as if the Courier moonlighted as an upper class saloon.
The printer made a show of typing, but his eyes betrayed him. He watched the City Watchman like a cornered animal.
"Don't make a pig's ear out of this, Printer," the guard muttered. He sniffed the cigar, long and slow, the roll pressed under his nose. He used a bloodied gold lighter from his pocket. Yes, gold. Looter. He took a drag, staring up at the ceiling as he blew out smoke. "It's business as usual. No different than the time I gave you the scoop on the Crown Killer."
That caught my attention.
The printer stopped typing, his face turning red. "Half of which couldn't be verified," he snapped, clearly against his better judgement. His eyes widened in fear as the guard stepped closer, glaring down at him.
"You got something to say, fancy pants?" he goaded, blowing smoke into Simon's face.
The printer coughed, waving a hand in front of his face as the guard just laughed. Simon said, "There's no proof that the sadistic butcher has any connection to the royal family. I never should have printed that name. Crown Killer is a lie!"
His angry bravado faltered as the guard snatched a handful of his hair and yanked his head back to the side, exposing his cheek to a fast approaching cigar, the tip smoldering.
I leapt forward out of my hiding place, but neither man saw me, absorbed as they were.
"Never took you for a fool, Simon," the guard hissed into the man's ear as the printer screamed in his grasp, the cigar tip burning his flesh. "Do I need to explain how this works?"
"Let him go!" I shouted, raising my crossbow. I was sickened by how quickly the guard had resorted to torture. I could have intervened sooner, but a part of me couldn't help but feel as though Simon deserved such harsh treatment, as if his small role in Delilah's coup meant I owed him nothing, not even human compassion.
What kind of monstrous thinking is that, Emily? If the man had been coerced, how was that his fault?
The guard's eyes snapped to mine. He made an animalistic, growling noise, then shoved the whimpering man towards the desk. Simon smacked his head against the typewriter as he fell forward. I let loose a dart, but it missed, careening off the ashtray the guard had raised. Good reflexes, I thought, my eyes widening. I wasn't dealing with an ordinary City Watchman. Ex-Navy, I guessed. He carried himself like a veteran soldier. He didn't charge me mindlessly with sword raised. Instead his eyes charted a thorough course over my body and face, dawning with recognition.
He grabbed the printer from behind, withdrawing a concealed dagger and putting it to Simon's throat.
"Surrender to arrest or he dies," he said. "That is what you care about, isn't it, Your Royal Highness? The precious lives of your loyal citizens? Hu-huh."
His laugh was mocking.
"Loyal?" I said with a sarcastic laugh of my own. "I can't say the Dunwall Courier has been especially loyal. It's been a thorn in my side I'd rather pluck out."
After it had accused my father of being the Crown Killer, I'd wanted to feed the paper to the flames, to watch the entire edifice burn in revenge for the lies the Dunwall Courier had planted in the hearts of my citizens…
But how can I pin that all on Simon? I wondered, sparing a glance for the terrified man beneath the dagger.
"Forgive me, my Empress!" Simon cried. "I allowed myself to be coerced."
"Shut up, Printer," the guard snapped, pressing the flat of his dagger deeper against his throat. "The people of Gristol have a new Empress, and in the morning, they'll have to find a new printer, too."
He's going to do it, I realized. He's going to slit the man's throat right in front of me.
I lashed out with my magic, wrapping my arcane tether around the dagger. It flung towards me in a flurry of purple light and flashing silver, the dagger flipping end over end until it landed seamlessly in my hand.
"Outsider's crooked cock!" the guard swore, unsheathing his long sword and pointing it at me.
The tip wavered. He looked shocked and appalled, but I had no time to second guess my decision to use my powers in front of him. His eyes hardened and his hand stilled. He held the sword with true aim, at my heart. "You should know I've killed a witch before," he said, low and menacing. "I caught her down by the river, performing dark rituals over a cat's corpse."
"I'm not a witch," I said.
A heretic fighting a heretic, filled my ears, the Blind Sister's voice mocking my lie.
I threw the dagger at his sword arm––to disable, not kill. The point sunk into the bulging meat of his bicep, but he pulled the dagger out and grinned like a maniac. I exchanged my crossbow for my sword as he lunged at me, his greater reach slicing into my defending arc with alarming ease.
He hissed, "I cut out the witch's eyes and threw her into the river, but you… you I'll just deliver to the new Empress."
I parried his strikes, our swords flashing as we danced around a maze of desks and chairs. Papers went flying, shredded midair as they caught in the path of his angry swings. Simon scrambled for cover, cowering beneath the desk.
"Empress Delilah will make me Captain of the City Watch when I throw your corpse at her feet!"
"The position is certainly open," I said. "Ramsey didn't get very far. I made sure of that."
Confidence swelled in my blood. How easy to disarm him… It felt like child's play, this magic the Outsider had given me. I caught his sword as it hurled towards me, wrapped in purple tendrils that faded to black as the magic expired.
It was exhilarating, this kind of power at my fingertips. Thus disarmed, the guard fell over himself backing away, fear raging in his eyes. I liked the feel of two swords in my hands. I was naturally left-handed, a fact I didn't always get to enjoy.
I crisscrossed the swords in front of me in a furious dance of metal, an outright display of prowess. Intimidation cuts like a sword if you do it right, Corvo had once said. Make them piss their pants and run like hell, and your battle's won. But I had caught the guard before he could run, locking my two swords in a cross beneath his chin. One slice and his neck would be severed.
"Run back to Delilah if you so wish," I growled. "I will not stop you. But if you ever threaten Simon again, I will have your eyes and throw you into the river."
I let him slowly back away, lowering my swords as I saw surrender surface in his eyes. "Cursed witch!" he snarled, barging out of the room. I watched him go in puzzlement.
Does he not know that Delilah is a witch?
Clearly, not many had met her in person. They've fallen for her lies, I thought, and somehow, I must bring them the truth.
Simon peeked out from beneath the desk, his eyes shining with fear. "Stand up," I commanded with a heavy sigh, sheathing my father's folding sword while discarding the guard's, resting it tip-down against a desk. It felt good knowing I had Corvo's blade to protect me. In a way, he will always be with me, no matter what, I thought. By teaching me how to protect myself, he's protected me for life.
Simon trembled as he stood, grasping the desk as though it were a crutch. His cheek was badly burned, a single red crater that would leave a nasty scar.
"I will not hurt you," I said, softening my voice. "Are you the Courier's lead editor?"
He pushed his broken spectacles up his nose. "I meant what I said," he nervously insisted. "Please forgive me, Your Majesty. It was irresponsible of me to invent the name 'Crown Killer' without evidence. I allowed myself to be coerced."
"What's done is done," I said, "but you should know my father had nothing to do with the killings, nor did I order them."
"I see that now. Forgive me, please! I was coerced!"
He thinks I will slice off his head for treason, I realized. Vengeful Empress, indeed. I couldn't deny he'd been most likely coerced, given what I had just witnessed, but the fact remained I still felt incredible, vindictive anger about how easily Delilah had used the Dunwall Courier against me.
But his eyes were desperate, and I believed he felt truly remorseful.
"I forgive you, Simon. You weren't the only one fooled."
I moved to the couch and sat down in an attempt to diffuse the tension. Simon let out a long-winded sigh.
"But forgiveness is not my father's specialty," I said sharply, watching his eyes shoot towards my face. I crossed my legs, looking up at him expectantly.
"What can I do?" Simon asked, his face paling. "Allow me to prove my loyalty, Empress," he pleaded, falling to his knees. "Please, I will do anything!"
"Your willingness to do anything for anyone that threatens you is part of the problem," I said in annoyance. "Where is your integrity? You are the Dunwall Courier. Your loyalty should be to the people of the Empire! To be an objective voice of truth and reason."
"I know," he said, sounding miserable and shaking his head.
"Get up, Simon."
"I will make it right," he promised, rising to his feet. "The people of the Empire are loyal to you, and I'm going to publish an essay every day to make sure they remember it. Not one more criticism will be leveled against your Crown, Empress."
"I appreciate the support, but that's not what I meant. It's okay to criticize the Crown, even foment a rebellion if that's what the people need––in order to be heard. I will defend the people's freedom of speech."
He looked marveled. "You are your mother's daughter."
I smiled sadly. "Yes, and like Empress Jessamine, I want the people to feel they have a voice, even if I don't always agree with what they have to say. The point is, the Courier is a way I can listen."
I stood up, approaching him with stern eyes.
"But what's not okay is falsely accusing my father, Corvo Attano, of being the Crown Killer. The Opinions section of your paper is not due process. If there is compelling evidence, he should be put to trial by the laws of our land, not convicted in a court of public opinion."
Simon looked tearful. "I'm sorry. I was too hasty in condemning him." And his condemnation had cracked open the door for Delilah to 'lawfully' arrest my father and I for the Crown Killer murders.
"Yes," I sighed. "And secondly, if you feel threatened to publish things against your will, you should have gone to the authorities."
"But he was the Watch!" Simon cried, pointing at the door, the guard long gone. "I had no one else to turn to. And I heard Ramsey was killing people in the streets for defying him and his men. I was afraid."
The Drapers Ward murders, I realized, my heart sinking.
"Which is why I forgive you, Simon," I admitted uncomfortably. "The Watch was corrupted from the inside thanks to Ramsey. I… that was partly my fault, and I apologize."
I thought of the Outsider, then. You were right. I should have taken more responsibility for his betrayal. The people of the Empire depended on me for their safety and security, to ensure law and order was there when they needed it the most.
"When I take back my throne, I promise you things will be different," I said, a gentle hand on his shoulder. "You'll be able to rely on the City Watch once more."
"Thank you, Your Highness," Simon breathed. "You can count on me. Know that the Dunwall Courier stands behind you. I won't ask you what your plans are, but for the sake of our great city and the Empire itself, I hope you succeed."
Me, too. "As for what else you might have seen…" I said, glancing at him knowingly. My magic. "I ask only that you keep it to yourself, Simon. For the Empire's sake."
I didn't need the Dunwall Courier accusing me of witchcraft. If anything, I needed Delilah accused!
"Of course, Your Majesty," Simon bowed. "You have my utmost discretion."
What else could I do? If I didn't take his word, I'd have to kill him and that I was unwilling to do.
I nodded. "Good, and stay safe, Simon."
I returned to the balcony, a crack of lightning splitting the sky as thunder rumbled like the belly of a hungry beast. Rain began to fall in heavy sheets as my eyes found the Black Pony Pub, a dark, two-story brick building shrouded in mists along the river's edge.
I picked my way from rooftop to rooftop, relying on the Outsider's arcane gift of Far Reach to safely carry me through the storm. The Outsider had told me to get to the Pub. For what, I had no idea, though I suspected his plan involved a ship to take me to Karnaca, the birthplace of Delilah's treachery, for it was there the Crown Killer murders had first begun.
But what ship?
Along the watery horizon, I spotted the USS Jessamine Kaldwin, a lone ship as far as the eye could see. A blockade, I feared. Which meant Delilah had corrupted the Royal Fleet as surely as she had the City Watch. But Delilah had corrupted the City Watch using the Duke's connections to Mortimer Ramsey. What inside man could she possibly have in the Navy?
"Please don't let it be Sir Edward Slattery," I prayed as rain drenched my hair and my clothes. Like tears, I thought. The Throne Room Massacre was never far from my thoughts.
Nor the Outsider's kiss.
The rain reminded me of his lips against mine, of salt and ocean and thunder. The Blind Sister had foretold his death. He will die before this night is through. I looked to the waves, dark beneath the stormy sky, and dreamed of his eyes, black pools of shadowy night drawing me closer and closer until I felt carried beneath the waves, drowning in the Deep.
"Where are you?" I whispered.
I heard no answer but thunder rolling across the sky as lightening flooded Dunwall in eerie light, flashing so brightly I saw vivid red streaks of blood far below, the streets pouring their burden into the river.