Chapter 37: A Whalebone Bucket

The fallout from the assassination lingered very heavily all week; anything otherwise would not be expected. The newspapers were expectedly mournful, and very harsh on Captain Otte and Billie. They were far kinder to her and the Outsider. As for her opinion on the matter, Billie and the Outsider gambled and lost, paying a price that was frankly not worth it. Seamus might have been old, but his wits were still sharp and he was a strong ally. His eldest son, Dáire, was wary of her, and if anything was in favor of Morley's independence. What a headache.

The Outsider did not see it as a loss. Emily could not fathom what he saw it as, since he did acknowledge it as a sort of setback, a setback for Emily alone. Even when she angrily demanded he justify his thoughts he remained stubbornly mute, simply saying "This is the best path". Fuck, it was as if she had lost her grandfather. What on earth made this the best path?

The society sections were also rather melancholy, the only cheer coming from the frankly unbelievable report that Sinjean DeLuc and Marius Silva were seen making out. But it was not the public opinion that was placing a damper on her week. No, it was the fact that Wyman and Lydia refused to go to their townhouse and stayed with Gracie in the Tower. They spouted some nonsense about wanting to comfort their aunt. Gracie had two days after Seamus' death sat with her, and confessed she wished she was given more space to grieve. She was comforting the weeping Lydia far more than dealing with her own grief.

On top of that, instead of having breakfast and lunch in her rooms with the Outsider, she now was forced to have every meal with the three. Gracie was silent as a grave, Lydia either over-enthusiastic or close to weeping. Wyman talked about the most mundane things, seeking out her opinion far too often for her tastes. Merida and her lady friend Arabel DeLuc, cousin of Sinjean, mercifully attended dinners, but otherwise the meals were a terrible affair. The Outsider refused to eat with them, and in the mess during the ball she had lost the bonecharm that kept the worst of the nausea at bay.

So it was a massive relief to Emily when Gracie announced at breakfast that they were to leave the very afternoon. After all, Seamus' wished to be buried like a traditional Morlean King, the flesh stripped from his bones by nature, then the bones interred when every last scrap of flesh was gone. Gracie and a few nobles would depart with the iced body. The Fitzpatricks were relocating to the townhouse, thank goodness.

Emily left the breakfast table, having only been able to swallow a cup of tea and two slices of buttered toast. She did not have to attend to them until midday, when they would make their formal departure. How did it get to this, where she was looking forward to departure of the O'Conner Dons? How strange was life that she would rather face tariff legislation than talk one second longer with Wyman? In any case, her office was now her sanctuary.

An hour in, now sipping water while writing comments on MP Emerson's proposal to expand railcar service throughout Gristol, Emily heard a knock on the door.

"Come in," she said distractedly.

The hinges creaked, and light footsteps echoed against the floor. Emily finally looked up, and saw Lydia standing before her desk.

"Empress, may we talk?" he tone was nervous, and she was fiddling with a ribbon on her coat

Emily put down her pen and gestured to a chair placed to her right. "Sure, have a seat."

Flashing an uneasy smile, Lydia made her way around the desk to the chair, and carefully sat down.

"So, what was it that you would like to talk about?" Emily asked, trying to keep her tone light.

The young woman before her seemed to steel herself. "I hope you do not think me presumptuous, but Empress, if I may ask you, are you perhaps… pregnant?"

That was not what Emily was expecting Lydia would come to her to talk about. She could not help but give a short laugh.

"Pregnant? I do not think so."

Lydia looked utterly baffled at her response. "Begging your pardon your majesty, but since I have arrived I have not seen you drink one drop of alcohol, you did not eat puffer fish during the masquerade, at every meal you eat the blandest of things. As someone who suffered terribly from morning sickness I did the same things. Even now alcohol turns my stomach."

That gave Emily pause. The fickle nausea that came and went from day to day, week to week, only came about after she started to bed the Outsider. But…

"It's impossible," she murmured aloud.

Lydia let out an awkward little laugh. "That is what I believed when I first let Wyman into my bed. He was stunned too, but how else could it have happened? I will let it go if you could tell me when your last monthly was."

Shit. Emily found herself gripping the armrests of her chair tightly. She had always bled reliably, and yet… How could she not have noticed that it failed to come two months in a row?

"Empress, are you alright?" Lydia was leaning forward, a hand offered as comfort. Emily stared at it, not knowing quite what to do with it. Lydia took it back, an earnest look in her dark blue eyes. "I swear Empress, I will not breathe a word of this to anyone."

There was a beat of silence as Emily tried to calm the monsoon of emotions clouding her mind.

"Good." She internally winced at the menace in her tone. Lydia paled and shrunk back in her seat.

"Well, I will not take up more of your time," she squeaked, slowly standing up. "If you want to talk, you know where to find me. Pregnancy is hard, do not make it harder by keeping it all to yourself. See you around lunchtime!"

The young woman practically fled from the room, leaving the door open and Corvo peering in curiously. After a moment he came in, concern growing in his dark eyes.

"What did she want to talk about?" he asked, approaching her desk.

"Wyman," Emily lied easily. Now was not the time to tell Corvo, not when she was still having doubts herself. What she needed was to have a nice long chat with a friend.

Emily took the note she jotted down and put it in an envelope, sealing it with a strip of colored tape. "Would you be so kind as to send this to Greta? I am requesting her presence at tea today."

This was the seventh shrine he had visited today, and the third boasting a human presence. The first were the lovely Tuniits who procured narwhal tusks for him. They knew nothing of memory wiping bonecharms, and kindly requested two hound puppies in exchange for a narwhal tusk in the upcoming trade. The second was one of the tattooed peoples of Lvste Owv, who proceeded to utterly lose composure at his appearance, and would not calm down until he was forced to freeze him in time to hear out what he was asking. As it turned out bonecharms were not a form of magic practiced in the swamplands, but he learned of a trickster that stole memories from those who were inhospitable. The less he could say about his encounter with the Pandyssian automata at the next shrine, the better. Turning back to the Isles he was mostly greeted with corrupted bonecharms and scraps of paper confessing ignorance of any memory wiping magic. The cursed bonecharms he crushed, throwing them into the heated barrier that still remained between him and the Void. On the papers he wrote his thanks and encouraged the strangers to keep looking. He was truly expecting all of his shrines to be devoid of human form.

So imagine how much it shocked him to appear at one of his many sewer shrines and find Roger kneeling there deep in prayer.

"Please Outsider, I don't know if you're there, but there's this gal I like and I need your help."

The Outsider could not help but laugh, causing Roger to look up, dazed for a moment.

"I think you should turn elsewhere for love advice," the Outsider could not help himself, trying as best as he could to put the void into his voice.

"Oh my Empress it's the Outsider!" Roger's voice came out as a high pitched wheeze.

The Outsider offered a strained smile before examining the offerings at this shrine. There were a couple empty spools, another corrupted bonecharm, and three pieces of paper in different handwritings all pleading ignorance to the question he had posed. He sighed as he crushed the bonecharm. Yet another dead end.

"Roger Henderson," he turned to the awestruck man. "What do you know about memory loss?"

Roger scratched behind his ears. "Like when you get hit upside the head or drink too much?"

The Outsider rolled his eyes, a meaningless gesture since they were pure black, yet done out of sheer habit. "Yes, but the cause is through magic, like a bonecharm or spell."

He listened to rats squeak and water trickle through the pipes as Roger's face screwed up in deep thought.

"I don't know about bonecharms, perhaps if you end up with a corrupted one maybe. But spells? My best mate Todd can do that with his flute. He doesn't do it often, too much wipes a person's mind for good. Funny person Todd. Hates the Void more than anythin' but can do magic. Perhaps that's why he gets on so well with High Overseer Chopin. The fella makes bonecharms on the regular, which is funny for an Overseer."

The Outsider blinked. "Todd Haricort is meeting with the High Overseer?"

Roger nodded eagerly. "Yeah the fella comes to the Boiling Mermaid pretty regularly now, I guess one of his sisters told him about it. Todd and he been talkin' real often too, sometimes a lady dressed all old-fashioned joins them. Been ditchin' me and Fergus and Louie far too often too. Not to mention none of us have seen Owen since his fish went on a rampage. Did ya know my friend Owen is fucking the Empress?"

It took all he could to not pinch the bridge of his nose. "Yes, I know that your friend Owen is 'fucking the Empress' as you have put it."

A lightbulb seemed to go off above Roger's head. "Hey, can you tell Owen to get his ass back to the Boiling Mermaid? He owes us some gossip, not to mention we miss him."

A genuine smile forced its way to the Outsider's face. "I will pass on the message."

Perhaps after visiting ten more shrines he would stop by the Boiling Mermaid.

As he pulled himself into the space by the Void, he felt a tug.

Greta struggled with the oversized sack of stuff Emily requested for her to bring to tea. Sneaking the stuff out of Storage and out of the Chapel itself was utterly nerve-wracking. After all, removing magical items from Storage outside of all but the most specific of circumstances was grounds for branding and expulsion. Getting expulsed from the Oracular Order was literally the last thing Greta wanted to happen to her. But Emily's note… Just the tone alongside its contents almost scared her. Obtaining the stuff was worth the risk, if it could ease a friend's mind.

Corvo looked at her and the sack slung over her shoulder very strangely, but other than that he was mercifully polite. He led her to Emily's office, opening the door while taking his place just by the threshold. The door closed behind Greta with a soft click, the Sister feeling a little frozen in place as she gazed at her friend.

Emily was seated not behind her desk as she expected, but on a couch, twisted so she could stare out the blue grey window overlooking the Wrenhaven. Eulalia was perched in her cage, fluffed up and clearly asleep.

"When the coup occurred I was locked in here to await my future transport to Coldridge," she murmured, eyes fixed on the world outside. "Luckily for me they left my bedroom window open. It was easy to escape from there."

Greta finally approached her, sliding the cumbersome sack off her shoulder and carefully placing it on the floor between her and Emily.

"I cannot imagine how painful it must be, to have to flee from a place once safe," Greta murmured.

Emily finally turned away from the window, a wry smile appearing on her face. "Safety is an illusion. A very important one, but an illusion none the less."

Greta found herself kneeling on the floor before her sack, worried. "What is prompting this Emily?"

Emily's lips parted and her eyes darted down to the sack. "I… you'll see. Thank you for bringing what I asked."

Greta shrugged. "You sounded deeply troubled and bringing these could ease your mind. It was the least I could do."

Reaching out, the Sister opened the sack and peeled it down. The burlap a circle on the floor, it revealed a book and a small bag of things stashed inside a whalebone bucket. Emily stared curiously at the bucket, even joining Greta on the ground to examine it.

"Is that a bucket, made out of bone?"

Greta nodded. "This book here recommended using a bucket carved out of whalebone, so I brought it just in case. Let me tell you, that bucket is heavy!"

Emily chuckled a bit as Greta took the book out and flipped to a bookmarked page. Ah, there it was.

"So we need dried mandrake leaves, crushed oyster shells, seawater, and either your blood or urine," Greta summed up as her eyes skated over the recipe.

"Wait you need what?!" Emily sounded truly taken aback.

"Mandrake leaves, oyster shells, seawater, your blood or urine whichever you prefer," Greta repeated calmly.

Emily stared at her for a moment. "You want me to pee in that bucket?"

Greta put down the book with a slap. "Do you or do you not want confirm that you aren't pregnant?" her whisper came out as an irritated hiss. She was risking her hide here, the least Emily could do was follow her directions! Since when was Emily afraid of magic?

A long silence stretched out. Emily almost immediately broke eye contact with her, staring down into the bucket. The room felt a touch colder, even with the radiators working hard to warm the large space. Greta swallowed, watching her friend reach into the bucket and pick up the bag. She felt ashamed for snapping at her friend.

"Emily-"

"You came really prepared didn't you?" She spoke with quiet admiration as she opened the small bag and poured the mandrake leaves and oyster shells into the bucket, giving the bag a shake as it emptied.

Greta closed her slightly opened mouth, deciding not to push Emily. "Well, all we need is seawater, but I do not have any flask big enough to hold the amount, nor have I been able to actually get to the sea."

Emily nodded in agreement. "Getting that would indeed be difficult. But perhaps we can simulate it?"

The book would have an answer for that. Greta eagerly picked it up again and flipped back to the page.

"We can substitute seawater for any water if we add salt, the brains of a crab and the eggs of a fish into the mixture."

Emily got to her feet, an aloof and determined expression on her face. "Take the bucket to my bathroom. I will go to the kitchens to get the other ingredients, and then meet you there."

"Alright," Greta got to her feet. "Should I use the door or the window?"

A small smile crossed Emily's face. "The door, though I appreciate your train of thought. Follow me out, and there should be no problems."

Greta inhaled deeply, then picked up a bucket. Emily's nerves were beginning to rub off on her. But the whole matter will be resolved soon enough.

The tug the Outsider felt same sort of magnetic tug that he felt when he tried to cast the Rateater's riverboat out to sea. The tug of a star's power.

What an utter inconvenience.

"Leave me alone!" He was not sure if shouting would do anything, but it did not hurt to try. Unfortunately, the tug continued.

Irritated, he pulled against it, wanting to just get to the bloody shrine. But that simply made the tug stronger. So much stronger, that he snapped backwards into utter blackness. He could see nothing, feel nothing. It was hard to breathe.

"There you are!"

The Outsider blinked, his vision adjusting. The bright blur standing in front of him slowly came into focus.

"What in the blue Void do you want Elanor?" he growled.

The star looked different than usual. No longer was the dark-skinned blonde human, but a vaguely hominoid shape of flame. He was strongly reminded of some depictions of guardian spirits in the confederation of Iga. Perhaps this was where they got the inspiration.

The star folded her arms, making her look even more like a tongue of fire. "I recently had a talk with Greta. A talk about Gods. I did not do it justice with her and you need to know it more so than her, so I thought it would be a good idea for me to bring you to an expert."

That threw the Outsider for a loop. "What do you mean that you talked with Greta about Gods?"

"You aren't supposed to survive that poison," Elanor declared.

Now that was off topic. Well, it was clearly not. Obviously that was what sparked her talk with Greta. But still, it was such a confusing statement. What on earth did Elanor mean?

"Clarify," he said aloud, folding his arms too.

"You are not a god," Elanor began to pace. "At least, you are not supposed to be a god. This body is meant to be mortal, precisely like your first body. You could be injured, you could die. Your spirit is simply enhanced to fulfill the duties of the Void, to be a good representative and do whatever it wants you to do."

The Outsider began to shake his head. "What do you mean I am not a god? You know when you found me on that boat in Lady Boyle's wall? My injuries were being healed by no outside force, before I was on the boat I got strength from the shrine I fought in front of? I lived for thousands of years-"

Elanor rolled her eyes. "Do not kid yourself Outsider. That was not living, that was merely existing, watching."

"I chose not to interfere! I did interfere, do you not know of my Marked?"

Elanor lifted up her hands in placating surrender. "Fair enough, but know this. Gods cannot be killed by mortals, and they cannot be unmade. Before the incident I was summoned into, both applied to you."

"I know of that timeline," he said blandly. Elanor, lighting up the inky blackness, flickered in surprise.

"Timeline? What the hydrogen trioxide do you mean?"

The Outsider shrugged. "It was what could have been. I see many of those sorts of things. It does not matter."

Elanor nodded, a strange look on her face. The Outsider scanned the blackness. It seemed infinite, hollow. Elanor remained quiet, a pensive expression on her face. The Outsider just wanted to go home.

"So what is your point?" he grumbled. "Why drag me out here?"

"You were expressly constructed to not be a god," stated Elanor with a wave. "I double checked, I read about it, asked about it. You were a concession to the Void, a reward for its compliance and aid. It took ages to find you, a thousand years to be exact, but make no mistake you were a mortal hand-picked for this role. You had the right spirit for it."

The Outsider wanted to scream. It took all his control to only shout. "What do you mean I am a concession?! What happened, I do not understand!"

Elanor stared at him with a touch of wonder, then understanding. "Of course, the Void would never tell you of what happened."

The Outsider took a step forward, feeling the head radiate off the star. "What. Happened?"

Elanor opened her mouth, but her eyes shifted, looking behind him. Fear bloomed on her face.

Almost as if he was shoved the Outsider felt his body slam through the darkness, past the strange heat by the Void, then reality reform around him.

It was then he noticed he was in Emily's bathroom, with Greta and Emily sitting on the tile floor, a whalebone bucket between them. Inside the bucket was bright pink water.