In Spaces Between Chapter 2: Dark Deeds and Darker Dreamings, a dishonored fanfic

Corvo meets the Outsider, receives a proper introduction to the Loyalists, and gets some idea of what he's in for in the coming days.

(Takes place between Coldridge and The High Overseer)

--/

Spark and lark and dark desire

fill my heart with leaping fire

and should I fall before I wake

below, down deep, the nameless take

--/

Maybe someone had heard Corvo's prayer. Or maybe it was the position he was in that attracted attention. That very rare opportunity he'd been placed in, though he didn't fully know it, to act as the sole fulcrum point around which this part of the world would turn. For good or ill.

It wasn't the carved wood and fishbone gods from his grandmother's altar that met him, but someone else. Or maybe they were one and the same, just wearing different faces.

Corvo climbed up over what looked and felt like the white stone steps and pathways from the better parts of Dunwall, but suspended and floating over unthinkable blue abyss.

At the top a man appeared from thin air, haloed in black smoke. No, not a man. Something else.

"I am the Outsider, and this is my mark."

Heat and pain flared under the skin of his left hand, like a brand from the inside that somehow crawled unpleasantly.

Then the pain was gone as quickly as it had come, leaving a black mark. Not like a charred burn, but like a tattoo.

The Outsider spoke of magic, that he'd been chosen. Then he was gone.

Corvo flexed his left hand, watching the mark ripple on his skin when his fingers moved. Didn't even ask did you.

The next tilted section of the street was far away, much too far to jump.

"Come find you? How am I supposed to...?"

Half familiar words tumbled through his mind, like they were potent, ringing with power. "Sah ftah." An inhale and exhale, and he crossed the span of space without walking or jumping, quick as death. He stepped back from the slanted edge of the stone paving, opening over who knew what emptiness. He'd have to be careful with this.

"Sah... ftah." The next ledge. One of the words sounded uncannily like "blink" in old Karnacan.

Objects hung suspended in the void, tumbling. A streetlamp. A chest of drawers. A bowl of petunias. Seemingly random things without cause or reason.

Scenes did too, people and places and moments frozen in time. Though these seemed to have a very real and chilling reasoning to them.

The first was all too terribly familiar. A stone gazebo, a fallen form. Blood.

So much blood.

He couldn't even try to look away.

A fallen letter, there. Jessamine had been dictating a letter, just before she'd been murdered.

He picked it up, longing for something of her. Her words, her voice, even if it was through a dull diplomatic-

Instead it was a single sentence, written over and over in an accusatory, angry hand. His own.

YOU COULD NOT SAVE HER

He half crumpled the letter and threw it away, shaken.

"Who's stealing my thoughts?" He muttered into the emptiness. No one answered him.

More scenes. Of Emily, stilled, unreachable, unreal. Of the former royal spymaster, brooding over a strategy board like a bird of prey. Of strange stilt-walking war machines and frozen bolts like lightning.

At the end, he remembered on waking, the Outsider again. Telling him something. It had been important, what was it? He had to find something, had to remember...

--/

Corvo woke in a world that was normally shaped. That didn't have floating rocks tumbling past the windows. Ordinary sunlight shone through them instead.

Damned dream. He thought, raising a hand to his face. He stopped.

The mark was still there.

That was... harder to explain.

He got up and looked at the far side of the room. Raising his hand just the way he had in the dream. Not expecting much.

"Sah ftah."

His understanding of the world spun badly for a moment.

San dam. Its real. Behind his shut eyes, a darker thought came to him. As real as the sorcery the assassins used, that day.

That set things into perspective, hard.

And what about them? Did the Outsider give them this power too? He opened his eyes and tried to forget that one. Dwelling on it didn't seem at all like a good idea.

--/

Corvo went downstairs and had enough breakfast for three people ("Told em you needed it." Samuel had said on his way through the common room. Corvo mumbled a thanks through a third peice of toast) and a bath, and found fresh clothes waiting in his room.

A jacket, several shirts, pants, underthings, soft boots. All in black and shades of dark grey, good for blending into shadows.

He dressed, thankful for the tape and bandages over the still unhealed burns, and mussed his hair in the mirror. He'd certainly looked better but at least he was dressed and felt reasonably human again.

And he wasn't in that bad a shape, considering. Six months in Coldridge might have taken all the comfortable padding off his body but he still had a swordmaster's build, all lean muscle built for speed and power.

The clothes fit well enough, with one unfortunate exception, since it was the only pair of pants. They were striped vertically in matte black and a dark silvery black sheen, and were honestly a bit garish. He wondered if they'd previously belonged to someone in a performing troupe.

Those fit but not entirely enjoyably. Sy vien, these are tighter than a miser's purse strings. He sighed and headed downstairs to Piero's workshop.

--/

Callista was there, handing Piero a cup of tea. For a moment it seemed like they shared a small, knowing glance. Then Callista smiled, in a way that spoke of things past, more than present. Her eyes slid over to Corvo, who was waiting by the doorway and not quite looking their direction, trying to give them some privacy.

Piero watched her leave with distant eyes. Corvo couldn't be sure but there might have been sadness in them.

"Samuel said to come find you."

"I have something for you, yes." Piero said, turning away and walking back into his shop. He crouched down to look levelly at something held in the vice of a huge milling machine. "Its not quite finished, but since you're here I could use some help..."

Without looking up Piero requested a tank of whale oil, and then a number of tools, the last of which was somewhere high in a rack of bins across from him.

Corvo happened to glance aside as he felt for something called a serpentine bit driver in the upper shelves, better able to concentrate by feel alone, and noticed Piero was giving him quite an eye from under a downcast gaze. Specifically those damnably tight pants. Corvo tilted his head so as not to make it apparent he could have noticed. He wasn't terribly in the mood for anything like that at the moment, but wasn't above enjoying being seen and appreciated by someone who knew what they liked. He typically found that vanity was a fine enough thing if kept in check.

Huh. Wouldn't have thought, the way him and Callista seem to have eyes for each other. Hmm.

He brought the requested item to Piero, who gave no indication that he had the slightest interest in Corvo or his tight pants.

Corvo filed it away for later, maybe, if there was a later, and certainly for after he'd known Piero for longer than half an hour.

The mask Piero finally pulled off the milling press fit so closely it set his nerves on edge at first.

But after a while and a few adjustments to the lens focus, it felt comfortable, even comforting. Secure was perhaps a better word. It was built as solidly as an overseer's steel mask and likely looked more frightening, depending on your experience with overseers.

Fitting done, he thanked Piero and left, tucking the mask into one of the big pockets of his jacket.

--/

The next item on the list was heading inside and getting a thorough explanation from the Loyalists, but he avoided that for a moment.

Instead he walked out into the empty street and looked upward, noting the balconies and ledges, hand and footholds. He raised his hand and whispered.

A few moments later he sat down on a rooftop, the street a dizzying distance below.

He stayed there a while, thinking. Closing his eyes and turning his face into the steady, salt-scented wind.

Last night the thought of setting out to rescue Emily and topple the current most powerful man in the Empire had seemed like a noble suicide mission. One he would have taken gladly, but wouldn't have given any odds on surviving.

Now...

What could he do with this, given the chance?

What couldn't he do?

--/

The Loyalists were principally a broad man in an admiral's uniform, who spoke and acted like someone used to giving hard orders and being obeyed. Havelock? Yes, that was it.

And an unpleasant, sharply dressed man who introduced himself as Lord Pendleton.

"You understand the state of things, as they currently are?" Pendleton asked.

"They weren't exactly giving me political briefings in prison, no."

Lord Pendleton sighed, and began to fill him in on the events of the last six months, leading up to the present.

Havelock occasionally interjected information regarding the military and city watch.

"And of course that spymaster calls himself the Lord Regent now, as you might know. He holds near absolute authority over every part of the empire."

Lord Regent. That title sounded terribly permanent. Cold, black fear for what might become of his daughter if they didn't intend to use her as a puppet ruler threaded through him.

"He has a number of prominent supporters, allies." Havelock said. "Those need to be eliminated. His position needs to be weakened before we act."

"So that's what you brought me here for? To be your assassin?" Corvo asked, not sounding at all happy about it.

"Need I remind you that we spent a considerable sum and risk getting you-" Pendleton began.

"You need time to think on it, sure" Havelock cut him off, putting a hand on Pendleton's shoulder. "But you're not going to find a better deal out there, I can guarantee it."

Corvo thought about it anyway. About slipping out the back door and setting off to solve things on his own. He didn't like this. Didn't like the thought of what unknown plans and ends they wanted to use him for. Conspiracies like this often turned to twisted motives, or turned on each other. He knew they were holding a number of cards close to the chest already.

He looked down at nothing in particular and drew circles with spilled water on the polished bar top.

And how far would you get? You'll still need gear, support, intel. Who else can you be any more sure you can trust?

He sighed.

If there's any chance they can help me find Emily, help me keep her safe, well. I can pay the cost when it comes to that.

"I'll help you." He said. Havelock's heavy footsteps paused behind him. "Provided restoring Emily to the throne is truly your aim."

"And may the Outsider strike us down if it isn't!" Havelock exclaimed, slapping him on the back. "Excellent! We'll begin in a few days, give you time to rest. Let Samuel get the boat ready. In fact... Where is he..."

Corvo flexed his left hand, feeling the faint prickle of power in the mark there. The Outsider's power may hold you to that oath more dearly than you know.