Chapter 16: The Urchin Prince

27th of Month of High Cold, 1837

9:23 AM

To call me nervous on the ride to Clavering would be an understatement. At least on the earlier trips, we had a setting sun or darkness to cover us. In morning light like this, there's nothing to hide in. My face is recognizable still, and the mask doesn't match the guise of fisherman's apprentice. Samuel's old eyes show some cleverness behind them as they scan the water's edge for boats. He's good, never getting close without making it obvious we're avoiding the other ships. But that paranoia is hard to turn off. Probably not the worst thing, but it makes the ride tense and uncomfortable.

"Have you heard anything about the Golden Cat?" I ask on a deserted stretch of river, somewhere I'm not worried about our voices reaching curious ears.

"A few things," he admits with a nod. "Slackjaw is back at the distillery. He and his gang hole up in the old Dunwall Whiskey factory. They sell the elixir that folk use to fight off the Plague."

"Selling low enough to get the last residents to buy, high enough to make a profit." A few gangs in Serkonos would run the same scheme, using homemade repellents to keep the Bloodflies from infesting a house. It worked just as well there.

Samuel adjusts a nob on the engine, and the rattle it had disappears. "This here's his territory. If he don't kill ya, he might have some ideas on helping you get into the Golden Cat. His help won't be coming for free, though."

"Especially considering one of his men probably can't walk right after last night," I mutter to no one in particular. "Is Clavering still the best way to the bathhouse?"

"If you can get past half of the City Watch, the Wall of Light checkpoints, and a Watch Tower. A river-hand I know pulled up alongside me last night and said there's one of those on Clavering now. I guess you getting rid of Campbell shook up the Lord Regent."

"Don't I feel special." For the sixth time this morning, I check everything is in the proper holster. Piero's darts are strapped to the small of my back with the bandoleer, easy to reach and load with one hand, a few vials of elixir and spiritual remedy right above them. My spare bullets and standard bolts are stashed in a pouch on my other hip. The sword, crossbow, and pistol are all where they should be. And a few bonecharms that seem to be helpful are secured to my chest. Everything a magic assassin needs to kill his target. "Where will you be set up?"

"The river is too heavily guarded by the Golden Cat for me to get close. I'll be waiting off of Clavering, where I dropped you last night. The main thing is to make sure that little girl gets back all safe and sure."

I make eye contact with the sailor through the mask. "I'll get her back. If she isn't at the Cat, the Pendletons better know. For their sake."

"You plan on killing them?" Samuel's actually glaring back at me. The old man has a fire in him.

His resistance only makes me pause for a second. "The same rules apply to them as Campbell. I want something worse than death for the bastards. If I can't make that happen, I won't lose any sleep."

He looks me over, checking my body before attempting to read me through the mask. Trying to tell if I'm bluffing, or if I don't have what it takes to kill Morgan and Custis. It takes him a full minute to decide while our boat continues down the river. Eventually, his face lightens. Whatever answer he was looking for, he found it.

"I doubt these twins know what's coming for them," he says with a small chuckle. "Hope they got their money's worth at the Golden Cat."

"I'm sure they did. Neither of us want to know how."

His laugh gives a slight echo on the empty river. I shake my head and turn to keep watch. This stretch of river is still empty: no docks for ships to come in for, too close to shore to fish. It makes us stand out, but our small craft helps us stay forgettable.

After another fifteen minutes without spotting a soul, my tension has gotten out of hand again. It's just nerves, the ones that always come before a mission. I used to get them worse when I started spying for Jessamine. Slinking along the supports of ceilings when I could, or finding shadows when that wasn't an option, I gave her no small advantage in negotiations. But the waiting always killed me, before I could slip in and start working. There were only two things that really calmed me in those times. Since I don't have a book...

"What will we do with a drunken whaler?" I sing in a whisper. "What will we do with a drunken whaler? What will we do with a drunken whaler early in the morning? Way, hey, and up she rises. Way, hey, and up she rises. Way, hey-"

"You'll be swimming the rest of the way if you make that mistake again," Samuel says in a half-serious, half-gruff chuckle. "When's the last time you were on a proper whaling ship?"

"Years. Everything we rode on our tour of the Isles were military vessels." I adjust to face the sailor again, slightly smiling under the mask. "What crime am I committing against your beloved song?"

"Put an accent on 'up,' give it some room. 'Way, hey, and UP... she rises. Way, hey, and UP... she rises.'"

The memory of the song comes back a little stronger now. "It helps keep the beat, makes it clear what the rhythm is, where the crew is in the song."

"Gotta keep the bastards organized somehow. My old captain whipped a man's tongue for making that mistake, had to prove a point to the rest of us."

"Navy or fishing?"

"The Tyvia was a whaling ship, one of the best."

"That explains it. Military captains aren't creative enough for that punishment."

"We'd have to ask the Admiral, but he would probably agree."

We're both chuckling as our craft rounds a corner of the shore and encounters life again. A whaling vessel is coming in with a fresh catch suspended from its side. They're a ways off and don't seem to notice us, but we stay silent all the same. I busy myself tying knots into the fishing nets, keeping my head down while Samuel gives them space. The distraction is enough to end any further conversation. Though I do indulge in some quiet, corrected humming when I can.

Almost two hours after leaving the Hound Pits, we reach Clavering Boulevard. Samuel swings our boat into the same small patch of land as before. I hear a siren closer than I'd like, making me duck down behind the large sewer drain. It's the Watch Tower Samuel mentioned, almost on the end of the street. A dozen Weepers are trying to escape across the bridge. A barrage of explosives rain down on them, and the lucky ones die there. Some fall off the side, crashing into the water with a sickening crack. Plague control at its finest.

"I said you shook him up," Samuel jokes nervously, watching the tower's search light to ensure it doesn't get too close. "I'll lay low, but keep an eye out for you and that little lady you're bringing back. I know Emily must mean a lot to you."

"Just stay hidden, and be ready to go. No telling how long this will take," I say, already forming ideas in my head. No one knows what side streets I took to reach Holger's Square, meaning there's no reason for them to be reinforced. Following a similar path should keep me away from prying eyes. It takes me close to the distillery, but maybe I can use that. Surprising Slackjaw with a visit may get something useful.

Keeping the crossbow loose in my left hand, I slink to the wall of the dock and press forward. Nothing alive on the bridge above, no need to waste time being as cautious as last night. Reaching the second level of the small dock, I spot my first Watch officer. He doesn't notice me duck behind the stone bannister of the stairs. As he passes, I sink a choke around his neck and put him to sleep. He naps comfortably between the fish stands, his belt now missing a pouch with coin.

On the lower street level, I keep one eye firmly on the Watch Tower's search pattern. It stays on Clavering itself, not missing an inch but ignoring the side paths. No reason to worry me or Samuel, then. I listen for any sign of Granny Rags as I press on towards her home, but find nothing of the old witch. Hopefully she's moved on... The Outsider's warning seemed real, and hearing her teleport once was enough for me.

The city's speakers come on with their usual static and warning klaxon. "Attention Dunwall Citizens. Thaddeus Campbell, formerly High Overseer, is no longer a citizen of Dunwall. He now bears the Heretic's Brand, and by one of the oldest traditions of the Abbey of the Everyman, it is now a minor criminal offense to offer this man aid or housing."

I smile in a bit of silent pride. Why shouldn't I: it's not often I can turn an entire country against someone in one night.

The ending buzzer of the PA sounds, drowning out the approaching footsteps until it's too late. A man coming through the archway nearly runs into me, and briefly tries to draw his blade. My crossbow is pointed at his chest when he raises his hands up. His look of happy surprise makes me stop before shooting him.

"Hey. You're just the man I's looking for. Slackjaw's wanting to talk to you," he says with a slight laugh.

"About what?" I ask, not letting my crossbow leave my target.

"Didn't say. All I know's we're supposed to take you to him friendly-like. Don't even get to hit ya for what you did to Bugs."

The hairs on the back of my neck are standing. Slackjaw was a crime boss well before the Plague, ruthless and smart. It wouldn't be above him to set a trap like this, let me get comfortable in the middle of his base before cutting me down. It would be the smart play for him. He might only be curious, though. I left his men injured, not dead. Trying to get a read on what might be competition...

I lower my crossbow, letting it hang snugly in my grip. "Lead the way."

The thick thug gives me a rotted tooth smile. "Right this way," he says, motioning me to follow. He walks with an amusing arrogance. Probably hoping for a bonus for bringing me back to the boss. I keep my right hand near my sword, in case this bounty turns out to be dead or alive.

We walk one block down the alleyway with the arch, through a large storefront, and into the courtyard of the distillery. The escort stays directly in front of me with his ridiculous swagger while the other members pay me no mind. After I'm done counting them and spotting the best escape route, seven guards and a drainage pipe respectively, I start listening. Rumors about elixir being more sugar water than medicine, debating how strong the Watch really is, one trying to exploit the other's bad math for a bigger payout in Nancy. Nothing particularly useful.

Entering the distillery, we walk through a narrow hallway with several shelves for ledgers and books. One has a misplaced key sitting on top, which finds its way into my pocket. After the hallways and one control room on the right, we enter the main floor of the distillery. Large, open area with three pumps spread across the center, a catwalk in the middle creating its own second floor. Lots of places to hide in the pipes above, too exposed on the floor. Another five guards in here, no escape other than the way we came.

We pass through the factory floor without interruption, coming to the room where they store the whiskey to age. Another guard here, then one on the bottom floor. I'm led to the office under the stairs, the boss sitting behind a factory manager's desk. Slackjaw's not all that intimidating in person. He looks average: fit, but average. The blade at his hip and two bottles of exploding whiskey on his chest don't look big or small on him. His handlebar mustache and beard are bushy for his features, but that's it. You can only read how deadly he is in his brown eyes. You can tell when he looks at you, he's sizing you up as a threat, an ally, or a victim.

"Found 'im, boss," my escort says, almost licking his lips. "Just like I promised."

"Don't recall you making that promise. In fact, I don't recall you telling me anything," Slackjaw says calmly. His accent isn't from Gristol, but it's not from Morley either. Almost a hybrid between the two. "Why don't you let the grown-ups talk, hmm? We'll discuss your reward when we're done."

Disappointed, the thug leaves with a long face. Clearly not how he was expecting this to go.

"My men were right. You do look like a man out for murder," the boss says as he looks me over again. He doesn't linger on the mask or Mark, more on my folding sword and crossbow. "Can't say I appreciate what you did to 'em last night, but I have to give you credit for taking three of them like that."

He pauses, waiting for my response. I nod in acknowledgment.

"Way I figure it, ain't no one round here worth killin' except for those two Pendletons over at the Golden Cat. I'm right, ain't I? There's a lot of security at the Golden Cat tonight, though. Special guests and the like. But you're gonna walk in there, dressed like that, and kill the Pendleton brothers? Maybe I got a better way to take care of them two. If you do something for me first. Understand?"

"Name your price," I say calmly. The special guests will make things complicated. Personal guards on top of the Watch, more occupied rooms to have to sort through.

Slackjaw smiles politely. No malice to it, respect. "Someone, I don't know who, is killing my men, taking my territory, stealing my goods. Might be a fellow name of Galvani. I sent my best man to investigate, but he went missing, and, well, now I need someone to find what happened to him. Go to this Galvani's place. You do that for me, and I'll getcha a better way into the Golden Cat."

It's not the worst deal. I still need a route into the building itself as well as the area. Whatever he's offering is more than I had before. And Galvani used to live off of Clavering, not far from here. If Slackjaw backs out of our deal, I'll have probably found another way to the bathouse in the process.

I give a nod in agreement. "As soon as I know what happened to your man, I want payment. It shouldn't take long."

The leader smiles, the way a hagfish does when a house cat falls into the water. "Don't worry: Slackjaw knows how to honor a deal. You need directions to Galvani's?"

"Across Clavering, between the two Walls of Light. He sleeps on the second floor, researches on the third." Jessamine was invited to his home almost six years ago now. The doctor presented his argument for introducing foreign predators to deal with our snake infestation at the time. Some Morley owl that hated the creatures, hunted them over other prey. Jessamine almost agreed simply to have more owls in the area. She loved the birds, called them "gracefully adorable."

"The man knows what he's doing. I'll leave you to it then. You're welcome to two vials of elixir: can't have him dropping dead of Plague." He points to the brewing machine beside him, as well as a pile of empty glass containers. I may have to get a few when I come back.

With a final nod, I leave the office. The man who brought me in goes inside to talk about his reward. I keep walking back towards the exit, quietly looking for treasures or anything else useful. In the end, an extra springrazor, two exploding crossbow bolts, and thirty coin are now mine. None of the interior or perimeter guards notice.

Finally arriving back at the alleyway I was last alone in, I plot my course. With Blink, I can reach the rooftop of the building Griff was trapped in. From there, I can use other buildings or street lights to get inside Galvani's. Hopefully Crowley will be inside, and that will be the end of it.

As I prepare a Blink to the top of the archway, the hairs on my neck stand up again. I blamed it on Slackjaw's thug before, but my paranoia is now in command. I slip behind an old market stand to hide, close my eyes, and listen. Nothing out of the ordinary: echoes of the Watch down the block, even fainter whispers from the distillery. Some rats in Granny Rags' old building, maybe birds too. The buildings themselves settling...

Wait, there. Vacuum, then pop. Like something sucking the air out of existence, in the apartments above me. Always in pairs, one immediately after the other. It's either one doing that teleportation trick very quickly, or two trying to scout the area. Bouncing between the abandoned rooms I used last night to surprise the men attacking Griff. Daud's men. It has to be.

Casting Dark Vision, then immediately Blinking to the top of the archway, I'm close enough to get a clear view of both of them. The one in the old storage room is watching from the shaky balcony and the open window facing Clavering. His companion is in the apartment with Weeper corpses, guarding two separate balconies. They're both Blinking between their vantage points, minimizing the gaps in coverage. Smart for an ambush, but doesn't help if you're not the hunter.

I can feel myself shaking as I watch them, waiting for an opening. Answers. Sweet, wonderful fucking answers. Forget the Loyalists and that black book: if I can get one of them, I'll get Daud, I'll get his employer, and every one of them who helped kill Jessamine. They'll be begging for the gallows before I'm done with them.

They get out a sync in their Blinks. The one across from me is at the window, while the other is checking Griff's shop. Sword drawn, I Blink into the storage room. He hears my boots on the creaking floor and tries to draw his blade. I rush his back, slamming him into the windowsill. I hear a female grunt as I deliver two punches into the assassin's kidneys. She abandons her knife and tries to aim her wrist at my leg. My foot slides back to avoid the bolt that pierces the floor. Off balance, she has the chance to elbow at my head and leap away.

Her mistake is squaring up to me and drawing her blade. I Blink into her, knocking her off her feet and making stars appear in my vision. Prone, she can't stop my boot from crushing her blade hand and several ribs. The partner from the Weeper room appears beside me with a swinging sword. I parry the blade, leaving their chest open for a kick. My heel is a second too late, and passes through a murky cloud.

I hear him appear behind me, and I roll forward. His knife narrowly misses my head. I find my feet in a crouch, facing him with too much ground to cover. As he tries to rush me, my poisoned bolt lands in his chest. He wastes his last second of consciousness staring at the dart, then falls.

"In here!" the first assassin shouts, scrambling to her feet.

Must've missed one. The third target appears beside her, hand out stretched towards me. My feet leave the ground, the same magic from when they killed Jessamine pulling me towards him. I focus and Blink behind him, the dancing lights in my eyes getting worse. My sword catches his arm instead of his neck. He swings his blade high in a panic. I duck under, then counter with a jab to his throat. He drops his blade and tries to grab it mid-fall. I catch the loose limb, wrap an arm around his elbow, and snap it with the other. He screams.

"Got him! Go!" My eyes catch the end of the cloud as the one with a broken hand Blinks her friend away. The remaining assassin knees my stomach while I'm distracted. I drop him, and he has enough time to disappear before I can cut him again.

I shout, and try to cast Dark Vision again. My Mark glows, and the stars in my eyes flare up. But the yellow tint and outlined people don't come. I try again, then a third time before exhaustion makes me fall to my knees. Finally taking one of Piero's solutions from my back, I lift my mask to drink it and toss the vial to the side. My vision clears, and the spell answers my command. I look to every rooftop out the window, scanning the walls for any trail of them running. Nothing. Shit.

Something like a growl and a shout escapes my throat as I collapse against the wall. I caught them off guard, isolated from the guild, out here where no one will care about the screams. It was too perfect. Just what I needed to find Daud. Instead, I get to nurse more bruised ribs.

Sloppy. Didn't look for reinforcements, didn't take one out quick so I could interrogate the other, didn't just kill the first to be done with it. If they had been halfway competent, they would've cut me down. Just like before, I'm left with nothing. No proof, no leads, not even a corpse of one of these bastards to feel like I've accomplished something. Just like last time, they got away with scratches. And Jessamine... I can't even claim I got the ones who helped kill her.

I open my coat pocket and pull her out again. She's barely pulsing, sensing some charm I don't care about. Her warmth and movement are comforting, at least. I set my mask on the ground, then lean my head into her. If I close my eyes, I can almost pretend the rest of her is here. That this is her forehead, heated by a fireplace. I remember the winter I caught pneumonia and could hardly leave my room. She clung to me every chance she had, trying to keep me warm. All I could do was hold her when the doctors weren't at my side, trying to make her stop worrying. It never did work, but we were both happier when in the same room.

Listen. I can hear their every thought.

I shudder. I didn't mean to squeeze her, to make her search for something to help me. I wanted...

"I'm sorry, Jessamine," I whisper. Rage, sorrow, nervous energy: I don't know. Something too intense to keep bottled up. Something that makes me sit there for however long it takes to quit shaking.

Eventually, I get control of myself again. Angry fists at the gods or tears won't solve anything. They won't bring Emily or Jessamine back, won't put a knife in Daud's throat. Those will have to come first. I loosen my grip, and Jessamine fades away. With a final shuddering breath, I slide my mask back on. Time to work. There's a crime lord waiting on me.

Stepping back out onto the balcony, I take the safest path to Griff's rooftop. By Blinking into the Weeper apartment, making a short climb out the other side's fire escape, and a final Blink from there, I make it without complication. I stay in a crouch and approach Clavering for quick reconnaissance. Three guards below, slightly more alert than usual. More inspection ready than anything: there must be a senior officer coming around soon. The only one with a chance of spotting me is the guard on the second floor balcony of Galvani's building. He's not doing much, leaned over the railing and watching the men below. The boulevard is too wide to Blink across, but a vent from this building runs to an archway that will make a passable bridge. Keeping a close eye on the guard in the balcony, I quietly make my way there.

Galvani's building has the same security flaw as Griff's, the massive air vent running from the archway to his balcony. The metal stays silent as I approach the guard looking down. This one is easy to carry when asleep, thankfully. And he even left the door unlocked for me. How kind.

Coming into a waiting room with a fireplace, I find a small bathroom to the left and stash the guard inside. A quick listen shows a few voices upstairs, but no one below. There's nothing of interest in this room other than replica pistols on a mount and overpriced chairs for guests. I keep my freshly loaded crossbow handy as I approach the main staircase of the building outside of the room. Dark Vision confirms what I heard as I climb: two guards above in the laboratory, talking over a body stretched across a table. They're debating the odds of catching Plague if they touch him. While they're distracted, I climb onto one of the large cabinets beside the door to the laboratory.

One guard makes his way towards me, while his partner stays to examine paintings in the lab. Neither one makes a sound as I choke them to sleep, or when they join their friend in the bathroom one floor below.

It's not much of a leap to assume the body in the laboratory is Crowley. Shaved head, rough stubble, fighting scars on the face. There's no bottle of Dunwall Whiskey on his belt, but his sword is a close math to the gang's swords. No obvious cause of death, though: no blood to show Plague, no injuries to his body, no strange effects in his eyes from poison. Just a look of terror on his cold face.

The nerves I feel are the same I had in Coldridge when I suspected someone had caught Plague, but couldn't know for sure. Taking a pair of gloves from Galvani's table, I don them to check Crowley's pockets. A purse of twenty coins, two loose bullets, and a sheet for an audiograph. If he left any clues to his demise, this was it. Hopefully whatever killed him isn't contagious or from Galvani. Sokolov has the fame, but Galvani is more than intelligent enough to create something foul.

Curiosity makes me browse the lab for anything interesting. The gloves stay on while I look, but I mostly keep my hands to myself. All of the chemical notes I spot might as well be in Tyvian for what I can understand. The good doctor didn't leave much out, meaning he's likely at the Academy for an extended trip. But there are a few vials of something... ripening that are either an attempted cure or a concentrated version of the Plague.

Finding a small journal off in the corner, I skim through its pages. The one interesting entry is a theory Galvani's been keeping quiet. The "hot spots" for an imported disease like the Plague, such as docks and traders' markets, have only young rats, none of the original carriers. The oldest specimens seem to come from poor districts in the center of Dunwall. That doesn't make sense for anything that would get here by accident: how would these rats appear in the center of a city? He discredits this thought almost immediately, saying his method is likely flawed and the test needs to be improved.

Galvani lacks the creativity to see the implications of his theory. The age differences point to outside forces trying to kill Dunwall with this Plague. If Morley decided to attack with sickness rather than ships, it would be best to loose the rats in the center, get most of the city sick before we realized we had a plague on our hands. That doesn't make much sense either, though. Gristol isn't at war, especially with anyone who could pull this off, and no one seems to be profiting from our problems. Galvani is probably right and he needs to work on his tests. If the next run has the same results, that's when it should be taken seriously.

On the way to the balcony, I spot scuffs on the floor. They seem to originate from the book case in the corner, the decorative wheels to be precise. Swinging wide and out... Galvani is taller than me by almost a foot. So a shelf within easy reach for him would be one higher than I'm used to. Carefully pulling each book on the shelf, the fourth lets out a resounding click. I step away from the bookshelf as it swings back towards me, revealing a hidden room.

"Hmm." Looking over the room, I see a dissection table with tools, all recently cleaned except for the waste basket. Inside is a tail, long and belonging to a rodent. Galvani was looking at the rats themselves for a cure, not the patients. There's nothing else of value or interest in the room, so I pull the lever on the opposite side of the door. The faux shelf starts to swing towards me, but I'm well out of its path before it closes. Tossing my gloves into his trash bin, dousing my hands in vinegar, and then again in water, I feel sterile enough I won't infect the district any further. The balcony door unlocks to my request, and I find myself on Clavering once again. Two stories above it, actually.

With another Blink and some careful navigation of the rooftops, I get back into the distillery easily enough. The guards nod, then go back to their distractions. Complacency comes with bases like this. A collective "no one is stupid enough to attack us here" is what always leads to its downfall. By the time they put up their cards and wake up from their naps, it's too late to stop what's coming. Have to remember that, give Curnow the layout after this is all over.

Slackjaw is waiting in the control room just inside the distillery entrance this time, rather than the back office. He's watching a crane being used to move a large vat, somewhere it's obvious his men can't hide from him.

"Did Crowley shave his head, like bow ties to go with his leather vest?" I ask, already knowing the answer.

The boss doesn't jump, but seems surprised I'm behind him. "Take it that means you found his body?"

I nod.

"Too bad. He was one of my best men," he sighs. "Did you find out who killed him?"

He almost snatches the sheet from my hand when I pull it from my coat. Not sure if he's more excited for answers for business, or who killed a friend. The crime boss plugs the note in, then taps the play button.

A voice crackles through the weathered speakers. "Slackjaw, it's me, Crowley. I'm making this in case I don't make it back. You was right, there is someone wants you dead. Wants to take over the district, the distillery, the whole Bottle Street gang. You'll never believe who it is neither. At first, I didn't. That's why it's taken me so long. I wanted to be sure and..."

The calm, rough voice of Crowley's voice is ruined almost instantly by shouts. He sounds like he's seen a ghost, and then like the ghost is eating him alive.

I only get a brief look at Slackjaw's face when it's apparent we're listening to Crowley's death. There's a flash of sadness, guilt. Crowley was obviously an old friend, probably Slackjaw's right hand man. He's not happy he's dead, definitely not on an errand he sent him on. Whoever killed the man had better hope he doesn't live in this district.

And just like that, the boss is back in charge. "You and I had a deal, and Slackjaw never goes back on a deal." He has the same charming tone to his voice as he did before, the kind hiding a cleaver meant for your neck. "Take this key. It ain't for the Golden Cat, no. This key's for the Captain's Chair, a hotel abandoned since the Plague gutted this part o' town. Take the stairs to the top. You can use the roof to get into the Golden Cat brothel. See that? Slackjaw keeps a bargain, just as good as the men that run this city. Maybe a little better. You think about that."

I stash the key in my hip pocket, then motion towards the other side of the distillery, where the empty vials for elixir were. "I'll take two elixir with me, then be on my way. You should tell your men I was never here. Safer for everyone."

His predator smile flashes again. "It was a pleasure not seeing you."

In the office, I make three vials of elixir. Their fault for leaving me unattended. The first I drink before the second is filled, in case Galvani's gloves still had something in them. This version is noticeably sweeter than the "official" stuff the Watch carries. The guards weren't kidding when they mentioned the sugar water.

My only exit is beyond Slackjaw and his control room. As I walk past, he waves. "Out of personal curiosity, what are you planning for those Pendletons?"

"They're my business," I reply calmly, watching him through the mask. The businessman wheels in his mind are obviously turning. "But after today, they won't bother anyone."

"I'm wondering if we can help each other out again. I can take care of them, quiet-like and without killin' 'em. But they'll be wishin' I had."

I pause halfway up the steps, weighing the options. If Slackjaw can arrange for something to happen to them, something they deserve, it's better than I can manage on my own. I'll hear him out and see what he wants. I can always slit their throats myself if it comes to that.

Feeling dramatic, I lean in the doorway of the control room, staring down the man in charge.

He takes the hint. "The Cat's having a big reopening tonight, lot of money clients. Including an arts dealer name of Bunting. Got some pretty fancy stuff locked away at his place. And the only thing preventing me from nabbing all that loot is the combination to his safe. Of course, the Pendleton's have been camped out there for months too. So that means lots of the City Watch and other soldier types. Bring me that combination, my masked friend, and then I take care of the Pendleton brothers."

"Just like that?" I ask. "No extra favors or coin?"

"Just like that." The snap of his fingers adds emphasis. "You ain't never even gotta touch 'em. And I promise, I won't kill them and no one will ever see them again. Now if that ain't a deal, Slackjaw don't know what is."

Letting my mind examine and reject other options, I realize this is the best one where the brats get to suffer. The thought of that makes me smile. But first...

I step up to Slackjaw. "Three conditions. Wherever you stash them, they had better be miserable every moment they're still drawing breath."

He nods with a smile.

"Everyone walks away after this: Bunting, the Watch, courtesans. More bodies mean problems for both of us. I'll leave a nice hole in them for you. All your men have to do is show up, scare the girls, and carry the Pendletons off."

"No reason to be killin' when I don't have to," he says. The callousness behind his eyes says he's not lying. He doesn't get anything out of killing Bunting if he has the vault, or the guards if they're already sleeping.

"And you get the Pendletons this afternoon. I'll sleep better when I see you drag them away myself."

Another cool, charming smile from the urchin prince. He offers his jeweled hand for a shake. "Keep your end of the deal, I'll keep mine."

I accept the gesture with some formality. He says nothing else as I leave for the Golden Cat.

Me: Cool, my job now gives me time to write on the clock. Means I can work on this more and get chapters out faster! Also Me: Make a chapter double the length of anything before so it still takes a damn month to post.

Yeah, that was not planned. I knew everything I wanted to get done in this chapter, give or take, and this is the length it ended up being. Believe it or not, I ended up cutting it down a bit. We'll see how long the next one ends up being. Both in characters and how long it takes me to actually get it written. Wish me luck, and hope my caffeine tolerance doesn't get too strong again.

Anyway, I had to say goodbye to my tiny Corvo last week, at least temporarily. We voted, and we're going to a different campaign where it is literally impossible for my spider rogue to be in unless he was like 200 years old. BUT, and here's the good news, I did convince my DM to send me the notes of what he had planned for the campaign if we kept going. So we might get some more writings out of that, at least as breaks from this one every other chapter or so. (I swear if that thing takes a life of its own like this did, I might just burn my laptop for the sake of my sanity.) At the very least, I'll have to make something as a doodle to explain why tiny Corvo had a prosthetic arm cannon, why a season's big bad hated him even worse than usual, and what happened when the gun arm was used. Let's just say the ending of our campaign of spectacular, ridiculous, and involved a ton of fire.

Back to my caffeine addiction. Enjoy the results of that and obsessive reading of Dishonored lore! ~MGA

EDIT: I mispelled Griff's name. I'm just as disappointed in myself as you are.