Chapter 7: Trust
27th of Month of High Cold, 1837
1:16 AM
Curnow leans forward as he replaces Campbell's glass on the table. "Interesting companions," he says.
"They came with the escape; I hardly picked them," the assassin remarks with knowing sarcasm. "If I had, they would have been significantly more experienced."
The officer scratches an itch at his cheek. "And with fewer names I recognize. You're not the only one who reads, Attano."
"I would never insult your intelligence, Captain. Or forget the impressive collection you brought on our trip."
The bastard was right about that much. He borrowed enough of Curnow's novels to know them better than he did. He couldn't believe he didn't catch it at the fisherman named Ishmael. Corvo was picking through his favorites and using their names as replacements. Though his descriptions were wrong. Elizabeth and Riley were hardly maids in Left Behind. No, Corvo was using the names to make it obvious he was lying. He was telling a story, loosely based on truth.
But the lies still helped. He was getting a clearer picture of the Loyalists. A conspiracy had freed the Lord Protector, not one mad Overseer like the Abbey claimed. It was a group, with members and an objective. Corvo's story gave him a rough picture that lined up with his own suspicions. A soldier handled the tactics, a noble provided the funding, an engineer ensured he was well-armed, all hidden in a quarantined district where they could plan in peace. Assuming that wasn't a lie. Curnow wasn't convinced he had nailed all of Attano's tells.
The only way to find more was to keep digging. A part of Curnow was enjoying this competition. Most of the criminals he interrogated were easy prey. Corvo is anything but. "Did you find out who the rest of your targets would be?" he asks. "The Regent has a lot of supporters. Hard to pick who specifically needs to die for him to lose power."
Corvo leans back in his chair, crossing his arms defensively. "I was told vague details about them the next morning. He needs to lose the Abbey, the Academy, his finances, and Parliament. Only a handful of people support him in each group. Removing them should cause enough chaos for Burrows to lose influence. Even if the successors are loyal to him, it will take time to transfer power. I will not give it to them."
"Or, if the replacement is loyal to you, he can give you a clear shot at the others. Removing Overseers from their post at a mansion, perhaps?"
"The more people who know a secret, the less it is one. Anderson understood that when he formed the group." Corvo's response was quick, but not practiced. That at least implies truth. Small conspiracy, then. That makes it difficult to find a weak link, or drive a wedge between them. Damn.
"Does Anderson know who killed the Empress, then?" Curnow says, going for the emotional angle. "Who held the blade, not just who paid for it?"
"No," he says with a sigh. "You're the first to give me a name. I searched in Coldridge, broke a lot of bones for answers. The most I got was a nickname: The Knife of Dunwall. Most didn't know who he was, and those who did were more afraid of him than me. It's hard to compete with an assassin known to teleport."
Curnow rolls a spare coin between his fingers, quietly thinking to himself. Giving his hands something to do always helped his mind work. A habit he picked up from a former lover, oddly enough. The lack of information is hardly surprising. Even his men had little more than Daud's name and description. Those who walked in his world would hear more, be terrified of him. The only others who would know about him would be his targets or his employers. That limits who the noble might be: he's clean enough to not know local assassins. There's an angle worth investigating.
He flips the coin into the air, and catches it at shoulder level. He thinks about the dangers that come with overestimating yourself. People who think they're smart connect the information themselves. It helps them see what others don't, but it also makes them easier to lie to. A clever storyteller will give just enough misinformation, letting their subject reach conclusions on their own. This gives them less to explain, and less ways to get caught. Another reason to stay humble.
"What about Leonardo?" Curnow asks through closed eyes. "What kind of mechanic can create tools like yours?"
Attano takes he crossbow and sets it on his lap. The loaded bolt pointing to the wall, of course. "The kind who works for the Academy. A laborer, not a scholar. He does the rough jobs: carrying supplies, holding machines for entitled geniuses to work on, cleaning. But he remembers anything he reads. He's spent enough time watching the gifted work, he's picked up a few things. If his family had more money, I imagine he'd give Sokolov competition."
For all their posturing, the Academy has more politics than the Estate District. The ranking members decided to make initiates buy their own supplies, hoping to keep the blood blue. It wouldn't take more than a month for a common family to lose their savings if they tried to give their gifted child a chance at greatness. Likely still works in the Academy to support himself, then. He might stick out from the rest of the staff, if he keeps disappearing to meet with the Loyalists.
Maybe a sentimental question will get another lead… "Why don't you trust these Loyalists? They saved you, fed you. What's keeping you from trusting them?"
"I'd hardly call it distrust. When's the last time you slept near someone you don't know, even if they saved your life?" His sarcasm is forced, as is the cynical smile on his face. There's the nerve.
"True. But I don't keep my hand at my sword around them."
Corvo sits upright and sets his hands in his lap. His body language changes from defensive to resigned. And the smirk fades away. "I've been used enough to recognize it," he admits quietly. "I am a means to an end. Because they need me, they treat me properly. But I have no assurance that will continue. And call me a pessimist, but losing Jessamine has darkened my outlook on trust."
Curnow catches guilt creeping up on him. He was enjoying beating Attano, having the advantage on the legendary Lord Protector in a game of wits. Interrogations were competitions to him, and he liked winning. That didn't apply here. Through all the games Corvo was playing, this was more akin to a confession. He wanted to tell someone what happened to him. The man was hurting, and he was using Curnow as a kind of medication. He trusted him enough to tell him almost everything, only lying to keep them both safe. And the Captain was using that.
Curnow takes another sip of his wine, trying to drown the remorse and think of something else to ask. Corvo looks at him, then grows a concerned expression. He closes his eyes and holds a hand for silence. After a few seconds, he flicks his wrist and stares at the door to the library. Curnow would swear that tattoo of his glowed, at least for a moment. "Damn it," Corvo mutters. "Your men are about to come in. They're worried negotiations are taking too long."
Curnow stands immediately. If the Guard sees this, they're both in trouble. "Shit. Ideas?"
Attano purses his lips, then bends down to the High Overseer. He undoes the coat buttons in a blur. "I need to get you out of here and deal with him before they realize I'm here. They find Campbell before you leave, you'll take the blame. I didn't save you from poison to just see you executed."
"I can stall my men," Curnow thinks aloud. "Send them on an errand to the station, or to drive me back. Not that it'll help with the Overseers."
"Too many variables. I can keep an eye on them in the library. I don't need much longer." The assassin throws the red cloak on over his. It hardly fits, but the blue of his outfit is hidden.
"My men take me home, you hide Campbell. I'll be escorted out, you keep your target. Everybody wins." Geoff looks towards the door, pleading for a few more seconds.
Corvo grabs the sleeping Campbell and tosses him over his shoulder with practiced ease. "Leaving the Overseers panicked about where their leader is. No, we do this my way. It gives me time to fix this. All of it." He stashes the body behind the privacy wall, tucked cozily under the desk. Hidden enough to miss him at a first glance.
Curnow realizes that Corvo has something other than escape in mind. Whatever he plans to do to Campbell can't take long. He could stall his men and the Overseers, then be escorted out quietly. The assassin would have his target branded, and no one would be the wiser. Almost perfect. But that would keep Corvo from finishing his story.
He really is being used as a confessional. Attano needs to tell everything that happened to him, if only to get it off his chest. Even with the meatiest part done, he needs to finish it. But impatient soldiers and Overseers are getting in the way. He needs more time for the story, not the branding. If that's the case…
"What do you need?" Geoff asks, ready to leap into action.
"Pour the wine back into the bottle, then hand it to me."
While the Captain does that, Corvo arranges the chairs to show two men facing each other. He picks up the few things that fell from Campbell's pockets when he was shot. It only takes seconds for it to appear as if it never happened. "Tell your men the meeting will take another hour. Campbell left to get another bottle of wine. The Overseers will follow me: don't stop them," Attano orders, wearing his mask again.
Geoff nods, then takes a seat in the chair closest to him. He runs his fingers across the rim of his empty glass. A part of his mind wonders if he knows Corvo as well as he thinks he does. "Understood. Don't forget the bottle."
Attano looks to both doors, watching quietly for a moment, before deciding on the one closest. He opens the door and half steps out, leaving his rear leg and coat tail showing. Clever.
"Thank you, Geoff," he says quietly. His face is hidden behind the wood and metal, but Curnow can guess the look.
"Just don't make a habit of it," he jokes, raising his glass.
It only takes a few seconds for the library door to open. As Private Howards enters, Corvo leaves and shuts the door behind him. Curnow leans back in his chair, laughing enthusiastically. "Hurry back: my throat's dry!" he shouts after the masquerading assassin.
Levine is right behind Howards, as well as two Overseers. Body language says it was Levine's idea to check in and use Howards as sacrifice. The zealots are angry, not that they have other outward emotions.
"Are you all right, sir?" Howards asks sheepishly. He joined not long after the plague started, the green on him still showing. Reports say he's good on the street, but needs experience with diplomatic situations. Curnow thought bringing him along tonight would help. And Corporal Levine could teach him as needed.
"Just thirsty, Private," Curnow answers with renewed seriousness. He doesn't bother pretending to be drunk. Less of a lie to get caught in. "Do you have any idea how hard it is to get that idiot to compromise? He wants our men in Coldridge, and his Overseers surrendered to him for 'internal discipline.' Fucking ass."
"Watch your tone, officer," one of the Overseers remarks with open resentment. The zealots see themselves as above the law, and their leader completely untouchable. This is not the first time the organizations have butted heads.
"I'll keep trying for another hour. If we can't get anywhere, I'll reschedule for neutral territory. I should at least be home when Jameson wakes up in the morning." Curnow relaxes back into his chair, wishing he still had the wine. Not that the bottle was good anymore. The poison was mixed with the rest of it now.
The Corporal steps forward, brooding. "Are you sure, Captain? We can take you home now, if you'd like. I know how much you hate being away from your home at night."
Curnow gets the message. Levine has been vocal about his distrust of the High Overseer. The Abbey as an institution, really, but specifically Campbell. Levine has informants, knows almost every rumor there is in Dunwall. What he hears about the man of the cloth makes him uncomfortable. And he has no problem expressing that opinion.
Even with Corvo's plan, Curnow has the urge to take Levine up on the offer. It would make his life much simpler. The assassin could manage on his own, deal with the Overseers and Campbell easily. He could go home to Jameson and Amelia, spend the night in relative comfort. When the sun comes up, he'd receive a message about Campbell being excommunicated, and that would be the end of it. He could even investigate the Whalers and Loyalists on his own.
But… Corvo needs to finish his confession. The man needs some way to heal. The least he can do is give him a chance.
"I appreciate it, Corporal, but no. If we're not done in an hour, I'll tell him he can talk somewhere I prefer," Geoff says calmly. "Until then, I will drink his expensive wine and try to make some progress."
"Is that where he's gone?" an Overseers asks. "To fetch another bottle from the cellar?"
He can't pass up the chance to be petty. "Yes, he said he was tired of trusting you, quote, 'incompetent fools.'"
The masked men look to each other and nod. They walk around the table, keeping a healthy distance from Geoff as they leave through the same door as Corvo.
"I expect Campbell will assign them somewhere else when he returns: don't bother waiting," Curnow quickly lies. "Relax in the library, enjoy the books. We'll go home as soon as the wine's gone."
"Only if you're sure, sir." Howards is still concerned, same as Levine.
The Captain smiles. "If something happens, you'll be the first to know. At ease, Private. I have no intention of letting this bureaucrat get the better of us."
With a nod, his men surrender. They turn back to the library and walk with slight restlessness. If they can see through the facade, they don't show it.
As they shut the door, Curnow hears a hushed assault behind him. Nothing more than two quick thuds, like cats dropping down from a shelf. He waits, and a minute later, Corvo returns. He has the first Overseer over his shoulder, and is dragging the second by his collar. His own mask is still on, but none of his weapons are on display.
"Good work," Curnow admits while shutting the door for him.
Corvo lays them both next to Campbell silently. He can't fit them under the table as well, and doesn't bother trying. But he drags his target back out to clothe him again. Attano checks the pockets first, keeping a black book and a small coin purse for himself. He stashes them somewhere on his outfit, but Curnow can't tell where.
"You too," the assassin finally says. He slips his mask back off and sets it on the table. Then he pulls out a jeweled wine bottle, not the same one he took with him. "I found it on my way in. Campbell has a secret room, where he breaks the Strictures privately. And I poured the poisoned wine out the window. The rain will wash it away soon."
Curnow laughs under his breath, filling his glass with the miniature bottle. It smells better than what he was drinking before. He smiles with the first sip. Whether it's from the red or relishing in his victory, he's not sure. "I believe you have a story to continue."
Corvo nods. "Yes. Hopefully, that is the last interruption."
"With any luck."
Short chapter today, minions. Didn't stat it with that intention, but I ended up getting what I wanted done with it in less words than I figured. Hope that doesn't affect the quality of it. Guess we'll see what you think.
And I told you the discrepancies would be explained. Curnow isn't a total idiot, after all, and Corvo can't tell him everything. Where's the fun in that. I'll do my best to get to the more meaty chapter soon. Between trying to find a new job, getting ready for a wedding, working long days, and getting dragged into two different D&D campaigns, I don't exactly have a lot of time to sleep and do this. BUT I AM WORKING ON IT. I promise. ~MGA