RECIPE FOR DISASTER
"Cicero is dead?" Astrid's posture is confident but the dark circles under her eyes betray the façade.
"You could say that." There's no way she would be able to detect the lie. I still had my mask on after riding Shadowmere through the wind. Wolf guy took a carriage.
Astrid sighs, "Excellent. Once again, you've proven yourself a born assassin. Thank you for saving my husband. Keep Shadowmere for a little while, he hasn't gotten out in some time."
I nod to that. I tried to use him, tried to steer us east, north, anywhere but back to the Sanctuary. Voice was having none of it. The getaway horse was no good for my intentions.
"Now that this Cicero mess has been mopped up, we can get back to the matter at hand, hmm?"
I pull off the mask, it was getting too hot in here anyways. "What's the next task?"
"One more target before we strike out at the Emperor." Her smile was devilish. "Have you by chance heard of the 'Gourmet'? Read his cookbook? It's become quite a phenomenon."
"I don't cook, so no."
She laughs, "The Gourmet is scheduled to cook for the Emperor at a special dinner. You'll kill him, steal his Writ of Passage, and assume the roll of master chef. Festus has been spearheading this part of the assassination plan. He's close to uncovering the identity of the Gourmet. You should report to him."
Sounds complicated, but what could go wrong?
I'm not sure where Festus went off to, so I follow his scent…all the way to his bedroom. The man is asleep in a sorry excuse for a bed in the corner. Not that many beds I've slept in have been much better. However, Proudspire Manor had been spoiling me again. A shimmery opaque collection of soul gems draws my attention across the way. They glitter in what little light is left in the room. They remind me of Potema. Her tyranny was ended by such a small, seeming insignificant rock. Could I use it once again?
"There you are. Took your sweet time dealing with Cicero, hmph? Now let's get down to business. Astrid told you about the Gourmet, I hope?" The man sits up in bed, his face is weathered but eyes are sharp as ever.
"Yep. Need to kill him and take on his identity. She just didn't tell me whether I need to remove his face and stitch it on mine or not. You know, for extra cover."
Festus laughs, "No, no, we aren't that macabre here as much as you might think. Taking on his identity is imperative though. But first you'll need to learn who he is. Assuming, of course, that the Gourmet actually is a 'he'. Could be a woman for all we know."
I make myself comfortable and lean against the rock-hard wall. "Hm, interesting. No one's seen this person? Why so secretive?"
Festus waves my statement away, "Gives an aura of mystery. Product placement. Or, I guess you could say word of mouth. Makes the Gourmet more interesting and more likely for the customer to buy their book."
"Makes sense, but do you know who he is?"
Festus huffs, "With my investigation I came upon this." He holds out a fairly new copy of the cookbook. "It's a copy of the Gourmet's cookbook. Ah, but not just any copy. It's signed you see!" He flips open the cover and sure enough there's an indecipherable scribble of black marker. Anyone could've done that.
He continues, "Seems to be a message from the Gourmet to one Anton Virane. I've tracked Virane to the keep in Markarth. It would seem he's the cook."
"So, this Wanton Versace guy knows the Gourmet's identity?"
"I believe so. Therefore, you are to obtain that information from Virane: who the Gourmet really is, and where he can be found. Oh, and when you're done with Virane, kill him. Loose ends and all that. Next you'll have to…Are you still paying attention?"
I blink, "Yeah, was thinking about the face switching thing." That's a lie. Voice was showing me exactly where this guy was and what he was doing. Making a mean lamb stew from the looks of it.
"As I was saying… You'll need to kill the Gourmet, of course. But what's more, you'll need to get his Writ of Passage, so you can take his place. Oh, and if you can, hide his body. The longer it takes for anyone else to determine his real identity, the better. Now off with you!"
Weird way to dismiss someone, must be a character quirk. I will say, I am a little apprehensive to visit Markarth, yet again. Especially seeing that the cook was in the Keep. Right where most of the guards were. But I'll do what needs to be done.
This part of Skyrim never seems to get a break from the rain. It coated my armor the whole way there and poor driver told me he was used to getting drenched. At least it wasn't a monsoon. With my mask securely on, I traversed the city streets all the way up to the Keep. Past Silver Blood Inn, past the House of Horrors, past every bad memory in this city. I kept my eyes securely on the path ahead and my mind clear. As much as I could.
Kill him with a stab in the back and throw him into the stew. She suggests.
"Ew, I don't think they want to be cannibals."
Easiest way out.
I remember her words when I enter the Keep. It's way the hell up here and is crumbling more than any other part of the city. I wonder why they put the Jarl up there? One hit to one of these stones and they might fall loose and squish him.
You would know.
"Shut up." I whisper.
"Hey! No lollygagin!" One of the guards yells at me. Two are stationed at the front and more up above in the throne room. I salute that request and keep following the scent of lamb stew.
"Always another big meal to cook. Figures." Grumbles a grumpy old man. At first, I think Festus Krex beat me to the punch but when I turn the corner, I find a man dressed to the nines in a white cook uniform. Just like the vision.
He turns and sees me. Before I can ask, he tells me this, "Yes, yes, for the hundredth time, I am a Brenton. I was born in High Rock. And then I came here. I am not a Reachman!"
Doesn't even see the black mask shielding my face. Doesn't question why I'm there. Must be distracted. "I know. Got that info from a little birdy. I'm looking for the Gourmet. Who is he? Where is he?"
The cooks surrounding us, in various stages of baking and cutting glance my way. But they don't say a word.
"The…the Gourmet?" The main cook's mouth is agape.
"I don't think I stuttered."
"Never! I don't know what led you here, but nothing will betray my trust. I'll take the secret of the Gourmet's identity to my grave." He crosses his arms.
"Funny you say that. The Dark Brotherhood can have that arranged."
Fury melts into fear. The flimsiest charade. "Now…now wait a minute. Let's not get hasty. I mean, surely my friend wouldn't want me to endanger my own life. Right?" He sees no change in my posture and has no way to read my facial expression.
"Look, his name is Balagog gro-Nolob. He's an Orc! The Gourmet's an Orc! He's staying at the Nightgate Inn. That's all I know! Now, you'll let me go right?"
I check my gloves, nice and secured. "Sure. Thanks for the tip."
He smiles but it looks more like a grimace, "Of course. Wonderful. You are welcome! I'll just be on my way now…"
The room is too busy. Cooks keep looking my way so that's a no go for an invisibility spell. I back out. I can kill some time at Silver Blood Inn. Just as I'm passing the guard who yelled at me, he grabs my arm.
"You!" He sneers.
I'm ready to light up with power when he lets me go. "Sorry, sorry, thought you were someone else. You don't have that red stone at your neck."
"Come again?" I can't help my shaken response. Even though I escaped the Cidhna Mines before, I might not be able to again.
"Looked just like you. Butchered five women last night, all with children. Had the same sword. Although, one woman was burned alive…from the inside." He shudders.
This rings a bell. The Imposter. Whispers Voice.
I want to kill this person who's framing me, if that's what's happening. But as Voice reminds me, we have bigger problems. Even though the guard is a little slow he might realize I could have easily removed that red gem and entered the Keep.
End Virane now.
My heart is startled into a gallop. His heartbeat sounds with the seven others in the room. I ignore the guard's continued solitary conversation and enter the kitchen. The cooks are chopping more vegetables and slicing more meat. Some get near the pot of stew, but the grumpy man just waves them away. Yells at some that get too close. Protective chef that one is. I hide in the corner and wait for my opportunity.
It comes at the best moment. Five cooks leave the kitchen to gather more supplies. A woman ends up fixated with cleaning knives in the corner. Someone to watch out for. The last cook begins to argue with the target. Sounds like the rest of the lamb has gone bad.
"Go get it yourself! I don't care if you have to walk out into the plains of Skryim and kill a fresh one! Just get the meat!" The older man explodes.
The young cook tucks tail and sulks in the corner right next to the stew. Damn. I was hoping he'd follow orders.
Now. Before the guards gain some sense.
Shadows surround me, a relic from my time in the Thieves Guild. I tiptoe around the kitchen island, the man is right before me, staring into the stew and trying to find out what's wrong with it.
"Meat? Spices? What does it need?"
I ready an ice spike. The Ebony Blade is too large for such a confined space. The man to my right peeks over at his chef master. I hold my breath.
"Oregano?" He asks. His eyes glance right over me.
"Maybe. Go get some basil."
Sulky cook bounces out of the room. I glance back and find the woman cleaning the knives looking my way with fire in her gaze. "I hate you." She spits.
My brow furrows. I've never seen her before in my life.
"What did you just say?" The chef turns and seems to stare right through me. I'm frozen for a moment. I can't believe the shadows concealed me so well. I sink the ground to keep the illusion going.
"I said I hate you! Measly pay, no good place to sleep, no showers, and mediocre food!" The woman snaps. I resist the urge to laugh.
The chef turns red as a tomato. "How dare you! How dare you speak to me like that!" He storms across the way and squeals. I peek over the edge of the shiny kitchen island. The woman stabbed him right though the heart. Her hands where now clamped over her own mouth, her own horror was imminent.
"I, you, I" The chef mumbles, his white coat was soaking red.
"I, I'll get help!" Screams the woman. She runs out of the room. "Guards! A medic! He needs help!"
Whoever said opportunities don't fall into your lap? I leap over the island and grab the chef from behind. He yelps but I just twist the blade further. His heartbeat stops. Dead as a doornail. I look around frantically for where to put the body. Below the island? There aren't cabinets big enough. Anywhere else? It's all too easy to see. A bleeding man larger than me.
Footsteps race down the hallway. I hear them getting closer and closer. No way to plead innocence with this.
Allow me. She whispers.
Electric power races from my heart down my body. I shake with the intensity of it. As the guards enter, I find ash in my hands. The bloody knife on the ground by my feet.
"What in Oblivion do you think you're doing? Where's the chef?" One guard raises his sword.
"I, uh," I pick up as many of the ashes as I can. "Just found some oregano. Here we go." I dump the ashes in the stew, the black specks meld with the rest of the liquid. "Chef needed to sit down, looks like he had a nasty cut." I point to the doors leading to a smaller room. The guards fall for it and begin to crowd the room. I use the shadows once again to sneak out behind them. No one is the wiser when I leave the Keep. Right as I'm going down the steps the younger chef races past me. "Sorry! Urgent run for some spices! The stew will finally be complete!"
"Think it already is." He doesn't hear me, just races into the Keep. I hope the basil at least gives it a good kick.
Nightgate Inn was frozen shut. Literally. The cellar door right outside the Inn was caked with ice. I guess that's what happens when you build your Inn out in a frozen wasteland. I eventually have to jump on it. After a few hits, the wood gives away with as sharp creak and I fall through.
"Oof!" Yelps an Orc. I land right on the target. I stand and ready my Blade but he's already dead.
Impressive. Voice sounds amused.
"Eh, lot's of velocity…or gravity going on." I sheath the Ebony Blade once more and search the body. Avoiding his broken neck, I search his clothing thoroughly. Bingo. Writ of Passage in his left pocket. I make sure to hide the body behind the barrels and get out of there before the door freezes shut again.
"So, the prodigal murderer returns. And the Gourmet?" Festus asks still in bed. His arms were tucked behind his head. A knowing smile on his face.
"Dead."
"So, I gathered. It seems a certain Orc has disappeared. Which means you not only killed the Gourmet but disposed of the body as well."
Maybe not as well as I should have but, "Yes."
"You've got the Writ of Passage too, I see. Splendid, splendid…Ah, and word has come in from Markarth that the keep's cook has met an untimely demise. You performed your duties to the letter." He smiles again and for some reason I feel…proud. It's like I impressed a long lost relative.
"Just doing what I'm told. But in a weird way, it was fun." I admit.
"Hm. I was wrong about you. I see that now. Maybe we all were. Well, here's your payment." He hands over a pouch of gold and some sort of ring. "Here's your payment. And…a little something else, as well. From me. Consider it my way of apologizing. For being so damned curmudgeonly!"
"No worries." I pocket both the coin and the ring. Don't think I need to wear any more of them. The one on my ring finger still burns.
"That ring. It's called the Nightweaver's Band. I wore this for years. I want you to have it now. It'll give your magic and sneakiness some much needed 'oomph'." He cackles.
Huh, food for though. Still might end up selling it.
"You sure you don't want it?" I give him a second chance.
"Not at all, I don't need it now. It's been feeling too heavy."
I think back to the ring Voice gave me. "I know the feeling."
"Now, you'd better get a move on and see Astrid. It's time! Time for the final stage of this grand and glorious operation."
The Emperor. Ruler of Tamriel and Voice's current obsession. Something pulls at me again. I leave Festus Krex to his sleeping and enter my little room. It's not a good mattress like the others but underneath I find the crown wrapped up tightly.
Bring it to me. She whispers.
Under a trance, I unwrap it. The glittering ruby gems frame it and embed it to create a gorgeous crown fit for the Night Queen. I follow her orders and soon I am entering the coffin room. Her gnarled form is resting in the open coffin as usual.
With Cicero gone for the time being, no one is here to obsess over my cleanliness.
I nearly gag at the thought of having to bathe her.
Do not fret, child. Bring the crown to me. I wish to wear it…if only for a few moments.
My hands shake but I do as I am told. Her head is tilted to the side, so it is hard to place the crown to her liking. However, the ebony glorified piece of jewelry sits on her head like it was meant to be. Once it's on, she sighs in relief. Like the weight of the world was a little lighter on her shoulders. At least for a moment.
I back up and take in the picture. It's gorgeous. The corpse and her crown. The little red gems fall onto her face and frame it. If she still had skin, I'd call her beautiful.
Ah, but not meant to be for so long. Take it off and take it back to its resting place. I don't want to risk any…thefts.
I remove it. To my disgust some skin comes off with it, but I can clean it from the crown in no time. When it's finally back and tightly wound up underneath my bed, I'm set free. The ring still burns. I clutch the covers and allow myself to sob, just for a few moments, into the comfort of a warming bed. I'm so close to the end. I can feel it. When the Emperor is dead, some sort of reckoning will occur and all I can do is stand and witness it.
Cicero's Journal Entry
30th of Morning Star, 4E 202
Dawnstar is just the place for us! Mother, I miss you so…but I know Astrid will want to kill me when she sees me. Oh, how wonderful it would be to topple her pretty head off her shoulders…but I cannot interfere with the contract. When the Emperor is dead, and Listener has done her job will I come find you again.