Chapter VI
8th day, Month of Rain, 1854
Within days, the news of Emily Kaldwin's engagement was screamed from every corner and plastered across every news board in Dunwall: EMPRESS EMILY KALDWIN TO MARRY FIRST LEAGUE PROTECTOR. By the end of the week it would have reached Morley, and even further corners of the Empire.
Billie was hardly surprised. From what little the young empress had shared with her when they travelled together, her match with Wyman was always meant to be. Billie could just imagine the first league protector; loyal, steadfast. Raised a soldier, before finding themselves unexpectedly a society personality, with Dunwall's noble sons and daughters clamouring for their attention. Whenever their photograph appeared in the papers they always looked faintly bewildered, but still happy to be in the midst of it all.
Far more intriguing was the second-page story. LORD ATTANO STEPS DOWN AS ROYAL PROTECTOR? It was phrased as a question, but there was value in rumours. It made sense for Corvo to step back, and hand the mantle over to the Empress' spouse. Hope the poor bugger knows what they're getting into, she thought.
Ames, on the other hand, seemed caught between relief that news of the Guildhouse Row riot hadn't spread further, and fury that no one was paying any attention to the striking workers. The tension among the crew thickened. Ted Langley's sister, Monty, was still missing. Ames had kept her promise to help him search, sending the Tyvian twins with him into the city, where they searched Monty's usual haunts to no avail.
The Boy ventured out too, skirting the ragged edges of the neighbouring districts on errands Billie could only guess at. Each night he returned long after midnight, sometimes with information for Ames, but more often in a dark mood. On those nights it was impossible to draw anything out of him other than one-word answers. Even when Billie spoke to him, his attention was elsewhere. Not that she often had the chance, as Ames kept her busy with a constant stream of jobs; dropping off bribes to select watchmen, intercepting shipments of expensive paper and ink at the docks, and transporting supplies along the Wrenhaven. They gave her a skiff for the latter, small enough to pass between the roving lights of Kaldwin's Bridge without stirring up the river krusts. Giving the patrol boats a wide berth, she slipped the tiny vessel into disused tunnels, where Ames' crew waited to unload their haul.
The days bled into each other, long nights giving way to late mornings. Billie snatched what sleep she could in the low cot she'd lugged over from her ship. Then, one morning, she went downstairs to find out what Ames needed from her that day, and instead walked straight into an argument.
"Scoff all you like, we know what we heard." The twins were facing off against Dubosc and Ames, arms crossed, their spines ramrod-straight and their feet precisely angled. Billie hadn't had much cause to get to know them, but she knew acrobats when she saw them. How they'd found their way from a Tyvian circus troupe to Ames' little gang was a mystery to her.
"He was flashing around a sketch, asking if anyone knew who she was. It was hardly a Sokolov portrait, but it was definitely Monty."
Ames frowned, and Dubosc shook his head scornfully. Between them and the twins was Ted, unshaven and wild-eyed. He'd been possessed with a frantic energy the past few days, but it was clearly taking a toll on him.
"Then he knows what's happened to her," he said. "I have to find him!"
"You want to walk into an obvious trap." Dubosc said flatly. His face twisted in a sneer. "Watchmen don't care about a missing girl from the Cracked Bowl any more than they care about the mudlarks. He's dangling her like bait to draw us out. We'll be raided next, mark my words."
"It's been a week." Ted's voice cracked. He was a big man, but under Dubosc's stare he'd drawn into himself, cowed. "A week with no word. Like she's vanished without a trace."
"Well, it would be hard to reach you from a prison cell," said Dubosc. Billie rolled her eye. Ever the epitome of tact. Ted groaned and pressed his palms to his temples, nearly doubling over in frustration. One of the twins patted him gingerly between his shoulders.
"If she's in jail, then she's counting on me to get her out!" Billie caught Ames' eye across the room and raised an eyebrow. Are you really going to leave one of your own in the hands of the City Watch?
"Dubosc isn't wrong, Ted. They could be looking for an excuse to raid us," Ames said gently. She held up a hand when the big man opened his mouth to argue. "But our biggest priority should be finding Monty. Which is why Dubosc and Ms. Foster here will go with you." This was news to Billie, and from the look on the former overseer's face it was to him as well. That's what I get for getting involved, she thought.
"If you can find out where she is, we'll work things out from there," continued Ames. "And if it is a trap, well…" she trailed off, letting the others fill in the blanks with their imaginations.
"Then we shall come also," said one of the twins. Ted nodded gratefully and clasped their shoulder.
"I'll go too," said The Boy, and Billie started as she realised he had been present the whole time, leaning against the wall beside the shrouded window. In the shadows he looked ghostly, and from the others' expressions it was clear they, too, had forgotten he was there. She recalled The Outsider melting out of the darkness, flitting about in the Void as he goaded her, and shivered despite the flames crackling in the stove.
"We don't need you." Dubosc snapped. "Mind your own business." The Boy barely spared him a glance.
"I didn't ask," he said. He exchanged a curt nod with Ted, and made for the door. The others followed, and after Billie had gathered herself she did so too, checking her weapons and wondering just what she was letting herself in for this time.
She caught a glimpse of Ames as she shut the door behind her. The woman's gaze was fixed on the spot where The Boy had been standing, where the sheets over the windows made shadows pool across the floorboards.
"How very strange," she murmured, barely loud enough to reach Billie's ears.
•:•:•:•:•:•
Tracking down a watchman in the Cracked Bowl was like spotting a Whale on Clavering Boulevard. Everywhere they went, someone seemed to be muttering darkly about lawmen barging their way into places they didn't belong. The twins had sworn blind the man walked with a limp, to which Dubosc scowled and ground his teeth, convinced they were leading the crew straight into an ambush. His wolfhound padded along at his side, tongue lolling from its mouth. Overhead, the twins hurried effortlessly across the rooftops. Billie watched them out of the corner of her eye, jealousy curdling in the pit of her stomach.
Truthfully, she wasn't sure she felt any better about this idea than Dubosc did, but since Ames had volunteered her, she kept her mouth shut. Besides, she thought as she fingered one of her knives, even an uncooperative watchman could be persuaded to share what he knew, given the right incentives.
They arrived at Halyard Street, the arterial road connecting the district to the rest of the city. The storefronts that lined it were shabby, and the road was scarred by a disused rail carriage track. Beneath a faded sign outside a tobacconist's shop was a man in the distinctive blue uniform of a Watch captain. He thrust a crumpled piece of paper under the noses of anyone who passed him by. Billie grabbed Ted and pulled him into an alley before he forgot himself and went rushing in.
"Do you remember the plan?" Ted nodded, patting the pocket of his coat where he kept a curved knife hidden away. It was meant for cutting leather rather than people, but if he had any reason to use it, the others would not be far away.
"If I get a bad feeling, I give the signal and run. The twins will come find me."
"And the signal is?" prompted Dubosc.
"Stab him in the leg."
As Ted hurried away, Dubosc followed at a distance, giving his best approximation of a man out for an afternoon walk with his dog. He couldn't have looked more sinister if he tried. Still, without the hound nearby Billie found she could breathe easier. That left her and The Boy to bide their time, keeping an eye on both ends of the street.
"Interesting disappearing act you did earlier," Billie said, as soon as Dubosc was out of earshot. The Boy sat atop a stack of empty pallets, looking down at her with his chin propped in his hand. "Don't bullshit me, Boy," Billie added, when he cocked his head curiously to one side. "No one saw you lurking in that room until you spoke up. I spent years mastering that shit back when I ran with the Whalers."
"I know, Billie Lurk," said The Boy, stretching his narrow shoulders. "I was watching." Billie stuck out her hand and gave his ankle a sharp tug, and he clutched at the pallets to keep from toppling over.
"Right, and we both know that even Daud couldn't disappear into thin air without your help, you cocky little bastard." Billie fought the smirk that threatened to worm its way onto her face. "Whatever it is you're doing, try not to be so obvious. I'd rather not be chased halfway across another city on suspicion of witchcraft. I'm running out of arms."
"People in Dunwall are more concerned with hoarding Coin and Whale oil than hunting bruja. Hardly anyone notices what goes on in the dark corners."
"Well, Ames noticed, and I don't trust her any more than I'd trust Sokolov with a key to a wine cellar. Did you know she's paying us out of Cora Rothwild's pockets?"
To her surprise, The Boy didn't answer at first. "Does that ...bother you?" he asked. Billie considered this.
"S'pose not," she said eventually. "Her money's as good as anyone else's." The Boy went quiet after that, but the tiny crease in his brow made her wonder if she'd said the wrong thing.
She turned back to the street in time to see Ted and the Watch captain disappear around the corner. " Shit," she hissed, leaping from the alleyway and barrelling after them. It was always like this; she got distracted worrying about The Boy, like a mother hen that couldn't stop pecking. One of these days it was going to get her into real trouble.
"Billie," said The Boy urgently, keeping pace behind her. "I've heard things. Whispers about a murder on Hearthstone Way."
Billie shot him an incredulous look over her shoulder. "And you're bringing this up now?"
"The Watch have been trying to keep it quiet - something about it has them scared…" he trailed off as they reached the corner and skidded to a halt.
Dubosc and his hound had gotten to the end of the street before they did. "Took you long enough," he snarled. "I thought the plan was to keep him in our sights."
"Which way did they go?" Billie cast around, half-expecting to see Ted being loaded into a rail carriage in handcuffs. Dubosc pointed, thin-lipped, to a pub a few doors along, on the opposite side of the street. With a flick of a lever, Billie primed the voltaic gun nestled under her sleeve and hurried down the road, slipping under a shop awning that gave her a good view into the pub through the wide front window.
Ted's familiar figure appeared first, and then the watchman joined him at a small table. Ted was pale, his jaw slack. Billie couldn't make out what the uniformed stranger was saying through the glass, but his expression was solemn as he slid the dog-eared portrait across the table, and said something else. Ted made no reach for his knife, but his face filled with horror, then crumpled entirely as the watchman shook his head regretfully.
"Damn," Dubosc muttered as he and The Boy caught up. Billie lowered her voltaic gun and slumped against the wall. Ted's shoulders were heaving with sobs. The watchman leaned backward in his seat now, not saying anything. His head was bowed respectfully, his hands folded on the table in front of him.
Beside Billie, The Boy's gaze was fixed on the two men, his expression inscrutable. Something about what he'd said before snagged on her memory, and she cast her mind back to earlier that morning, when he'd been so insistent on coming along. Realisation hit her like a punch in the gut.
You knew, she thought, sinking her teeth into her lip to stop herself from saying it aloud. You knew, or at least suspected that Monty was dead.
Dubosc let out a sigh that might have meant anything, his hound trailing after him like a shadow as he went off to find the twins and fill them in. Neither Billie nor her Boy moved.
"Boy," she said, her voice low, dangerous. "When we get back to the safehouse, you're going to tell me everything you know about this."
•:•:•:•:•:•
The air inside the Bryton Forgeworks was like a furnace in itself, and the sheer wall of noise the machines produced rivalled the screams of all the lost souls in the Void. Little Ashby Cooper had taken to fashioning ear plugs out of candle wax, to stave off the inevitable ringing in his ears that plagued his da, and his granda before him. Without them, the clanging and screeching of machinery made him want to curl up in a corner somewhere and cry. The softened balls of wax dimmed the noise to a dull roar, still teeth-rattlingly loud, but tolerable. They also blocked out the snide remarks the others made about him whenever he was nearby. That lad's got a good working brain somewhere in there. Too bad the rest of his head's filled with sawdust.
Ashby was what the other workmen referred to as a 'clever-clogs', and they didn't always mean it kindly. He didn't understand why his da and the rest of them didn't ask for proper earmuffs, like the kind Lord Bryton wore whenever he came to inspect the foundry. He also didn't understand why they had laughed at him when he brought it up, but he was used to the grown-ups laughing at him. Little clever-clogs Cooper.
They'd sent him to the cellar to fetch more candles. The factory's lights had been switched off to conserve Whale oil, so during the night shift the only light came from the crucibles with the red-hot metal they contained, and the lanterns the workmen had placed here and there to avoid a repeat of what had happened to poor Johnnie. When he wasn't sweeping up iron shavings, oiling cart wheels or mending tools, Ashby was on candle duty.
He hated going to the cellar, descending the narrow, unlit stairs where the shadowy passage and hot air from the boilers made him feel as if he was walking right into the belly of a Whale. To make matters worse, the candles were stacked in boxes at the farthest side of the cellar, away from the boiler so they wouldn't melt. In the cellar he felt the vibrations of the foundry machines through the walls. The Whale's heartbeat.
Ashby couldn't wait for the end of his shift. Tomorrow he would stand proudly beside his Da as they linked arms in front of the Forgeworks gate. They would be part of a grand human chain, stopping the scabs Lord Bryton had shipped in from Morley from getting in and stealing their jobs. No more work until their demands were heard. No more double shifts without extra pay. No more wages docked for broken tools that had needed replacing. No more accidents like Johnnie's.
He grinned as he imagined the look on the scabs' faces when they realised they'd never get past. Serve 'em right! The foundry floor would fall silent, the furnaces growing colder and colder with no one tending to them. According to Ashby's Da, Lord Bryton would be in big trouble with his stakeholders (that was a funny word, it always made Ashby think of old rich men chasing Lord Bryton with wooden stakes) if the foundry couldn't put out enough iron to make all the things people needed in Dunwall.
Ashby gathered up an armful of boxes. Perhaps he should make some demands of his own. Until he got some proper earmuffs just like Lord Bryton's, the workmen could fetch their own candles. He chuckled to himself, imagining what they'd say when he turned up wearing them.
It was a shame Ashby Cooper had those little wax balls in his ears, as he began to climb the narrow stairs back up to the foundry floor. What he couldn't have known, daydreaming down there in the Whale's belly, was that, at that moment, it was the safest place he could have been. As it was, beneath the dull roar of the machines, he couldn't hear the clatter of tools being flung aside as if they were matchsticks. He couldn't hear bodies being rent like paper, or the hiss of blood spattering the red-hot crucibles.
He couldn't hear the screams of the workmen, cut short as their throats were torn open.