Chapter 19: Like Old Times
27th of Month of High Cold, 1837
11:04 AM
Slackjaw's men all have the same look of confusion as I pass the front gate again. "When did he get back?" one mutters to his partner. It's a nice confirmation they didn't see me with Emily.
I ignore them while walking the same path as before to Griff, taking a detour to the apartments closest to Clavering. The rear access door near the merchant is locked, but it opens to the key from the mugged woman. Satisfied, I lock it back and continue past Griff's shop, across the rooftop, and down to the side street.
My loaded crossbow searches for a target. I keep it and my sword ready as I slip into the sewers, ears listening for the humming from before. The silence is more concerning than comforting. But when I reach Granny Rags' alcove, I only find her things, including that questionable stew.
I almost humor the idea of poisoning it before she gets back. If I thought it would actually kill her, I might. But some part of me knows it would be a waste of time. Her magic allows her to travel more freely than I can: I doubt a little poison in her lunch will slow her down. Better to drive a knife through her neck, watch the lights go out in her eyes to be sure. I continue through the tunnel, and emerge at the Golden Cat's VIP entrance five minutes later.
Looking at the historic bathhouse, I debate my plan. I need to get to Bunting, deal with as many guards as possible, give Slackjaw the combination, watch him take the Pendletons, and get back to Samuel. All of that without witnesses, so the blame falls on Slackjaw's crew and not a masked assassin. And before 2, in case one of the VIPs arrives early. Not easy, but not impossible if I'm careful.
Better to deal with the interior guards and whores before I interrogate the art dealer. The outside patrols can stay where they are if the gang uses the VIP entrance. I can clear the staircase rooms and dorms, then work my way across. The second floor connects the two halves of the building like the bridge of an H, and gives me a vantage point on the lower lobby... I'll make an N-shape: bottom to top, across and down, then up again. Reaching the top floor on the far side will be tricky, but the ledges outside seem climbable. Either that, or I'll get creative with Blink.
I collapse my sword into its handle and store it. My crossbow hangs in my left hand while I crouch walk into the bathhouse. Neither the floorboards nor my boots make a sound as I creep in. Hopefully the rest of this building is just as well cared for. I'd hate to get caught because of squeaky flooring.
The first room to deal with is the courtesans' bathroom. Two girls in there, same as before. One is sitting in a chair smoking while the other fusses with her hair. I slink into the wall near the door frame and peer in. No windows or other access outside, no guards near by to notice anything. There's too much open space between me and the women to get them quietly, not without wasting my darts.
A quick glance shows the door hinge works in my favor: it pulls into the bathroom. I smile as I remember the cleaning supplies under the staircase, complete with a mop and broom. Slowly, I reach for the door handle and pull it towards me. The girls ignore me and discuss their "special" clients and endless requests. It takes fifteen slow heartbeats for me to get the door shut without them noticing. I then Blink to the base of the stairs, grab the mop and broom, and Blink back. The dizziness makes me miss the first jab at the handle, but I get it on the second try. Both rods slide through and form an improvised barricade against opening from the inside. With luck, the metal door will keep their voices from escaping as well.
I skip the second floor to check the dorms for anyone I missed. Once I'm satisfied it's empty, I double back to the connecting bridge of the building.
"Tenebrae expulsae," I whisper, channeling Void energy through my fist. The closest guard lights up in my sight, the one who was talking to the Madam before I stashed her in her office. He's still pacing the floor with brief pauses to admire the cheap art on the walls. The magic shows no one close enough to be a witness.
As my vision starts to fade, I cast the spell again. A slight headache, but there's no dizziness this time. After twenty seconds of silence, the guard turns to look at a vase opposite the stairwell door. I open it silently, cover the seven meters between us, and choke him without a sound. He only lasts two seconds before going still. I check that he's still alive, then stash him in the office with the Madam. The room will be as good as any for body storage.
I check the lobby from the safety of the upper floor. No snoring or idle chatter down there, and the magic doesn't highlight anyone. Satisfied, I move across my level. There's a trio of rooms before the domed tower, separated by ornate walls with wooden panels for windows. I hear at least two voices on the other side as I approach the door, staying just under their view.
The room to the left has a window without a panel and no guards. I move silently through the opening, then take cover under the next windows. "You realize you're at the Golden Cat, right?" asks officer one.
"This one's different. She really likes me," says the second. Poor fool.
I hug the wall until I reach the far side of the room. There's a door that leads into the tower, but not one into the room with the guards. "She likes your money is what she likes." First one again. He's not wrong.
The pair separates. The romantic goes into the other room, while the other walks towards the one I came from. He's first, before he realizes the other patrol is gone. I double back across my room in a low crouch until I reach the open window. As the officer walks past it, he exposes his back. One of my hands grabs his throat to stop the scream, the other punches the back of his head. I slow his fall enough he doesn't slam into the floor, while I check to make sure I didn't just break his spine. He'll wake up, likely with the worst stiff neck of his life.
I slip into the room the last guard went to. He's not alone: the lounge has two people napping on its circular couch. Both seem sufficiently out for me not to bother with them. The officer, however, is awake and smoking on a small balcony. He's looking over the open water with no one to notice him. After I knock him out, I drag him and his partner into my designated dumping room.
The still sleeping civilians, a courtesan and noble customer, are completely lost to the world. I take a small smell from the hookah beside their couch. Almost citrus, but smoother, and with a touch of mint. I have to stop myself from laughing when my memory catches up with my nose. White leaf tobacco: originally from Morley, known for calming users, causing hallucinations, and being illegal in Gristol. While smoking it is no more dangerous than traditional tobacco, the hallucinations cause problems. The lucky users fall asleep where they are, while others lick walls or chase specks of dust.
The scent brings back a few memories. Serkonos never bothered to outlaw it, and it grows reasonably well in the warm sun. When I robbed the homes that could afford a central heater in the winter, I would hide bags of it in the fireplace. The whole house would either be asleep or too lost in their own minds to notice the child slinking through the halls, filling his pockets with the valuables and gold left unattended. Those were the easy jobs, even though the price of the plants took up half of my earnings.
"If only this place had a central heater," I mutter wishfully. Then things really would be just like old times. As if sneaking through a house full of guards for a crime boss isn't nostalgic enough.
I walk back into the left room and stop before the door to the tower. Transom arches above make for a more practical entrance than the door, even if I have to climb up to them and almost crawl through the window. But it gives me a shadow to hide in while I observe the tower's sentries.
The center of the circular tower is a concave full of couches and potted plants, with two courtesans slow dancing while a guard watches. An alcove to the left, currently with one escort trying to rouse a sleeping officer. Continuing clockwise there's the Silver Room, a balcony towards the street with another sentry, the Ivory Room, a staircase going down to the Steam Room, and another going up. Circling the lowered section of the room is a waist-high barrier, and hanging above is a large chandelier-like decoration. It's almost too easy.
I drop down onto the floor, putting the barrier between me and the central three. It only takes a half crouch for me to stay out of sight as I sneak towards the balcony. The sentry there falls asleep silently, and I see no reason to move her. When I reenter the building, the voyeur guard is patrolling on my side of the barrier. I quickly duck back onto the balcony and give myself Dark Vision again. The guard, dancing courtesans, and the guests of the Smoking Room are now golden silhouettes.
If the ledger is correct, it's Custis Pendleton sitting on a bed next to the escort. She's massaging his hand, and the body language seems conversational. It must disappoint the guard when he tries to spy on them through the keyhole. He gives up and continues his walk. As he passes the entrance to the balcony, I ambush his back. It takes fifteen seconds to put him down and hide both bodies behind a planter.
All that's left are the escorts. I decide to risk the dancing pair first and Blink onto the chandelier. The reek of cheap perfume here is insufferable, compounding my magic-induced headache. I sip another vial of Spiritual Remedy while debating how to tackle the problem. Anything with my hands will give at least one of them enough time to scream. I could choke one from behind and stick the other with a dart, if I had a shot at anything other than the face... Or I can distract them.
I load a standard bolt into my crossbow, then aim for the barrier. It makes a soft thud as it hits the plaster, barely noticeable over the ambient music. But it's enough to make the dancers stop. The one closest separates from her partner and moves to investigate with quiet curiosity. I drop behind the stationary girl and knock her out with another choke. As she falls, I Blink to the curious one to repeat the process. Both are peacefully snoring before they know what's happening. They'll be comfortable enough on the couches, and will draw less suspicion than a napping guard.
"Dunstan! You're supposed to be on duty!" the final escort whispers desperately. I hear her shaking her boyfriend on the other side of the facade wall. "Come on! You said you weren't even drunk!"
I cast Dark Vision one last time to see which way she's facing. She's almost straddling her sentry while she shakes him by his collar. If he can sleep through that, I have nothing to worry about.
"Wake up! I can't believe this," she mutters with a hand to her forehead.
I step around the facade and slip a choke around her neck. One of her legs kicks his shin before she passes out, but he doesn't notice. I sit her up in a chair beside him, and lean her head on his shoulder. They seem comfortable, and should be fine for the afternoon.
I feel a small wave of nostalgia and pride wash over me. Five guards and five civilians, all asleep without a witness. It's been years since I had to do something like this. Nothing is as scary as realizing your enemy reached you in your own home and chose to spare you. Leave some kind of calling card behind, and it's just as effective as killing them, but without the complications. It was a skill I used as Jessamine's spy, but perfected in Karnaca years before. I never liked working for the gangs back home, but it put food on the table before the Blade of Verbena.
Still, only halfway there. I'll enjoy my pride when it's done. Keeping one casual eye towards the other staircase, I make sure no one will interrupt me while I head down to the Steam Room.
The difference between the areas is immediately apparent. Polished hardwood and lush carpet is now only warm concrete. Well painted and maintained, but not half as pretty as what's above. The humidity in the air is thick and makes me worried I'll cough. I lower into a silent crouch as I approach the end of the staircase. Only one man down here, circling a small water fountain and hot tub. Surprisingly clean, considering how disgusting the river is.
I wait at the corner of the stairs and let the guard come to me. He listlessly scratches the back of his neck as he passes my hiding spot. It's over before his hand even returns to his side. There's a maintenance room next to the fountain, likely for the private Steam Room. The master key opens it, and his sleeping form fits snugly into a corner.
There's also a window into the private room. A quick glance shows a consort and guest, this one a Watch Lieutenant. Must be the commander for this group, the one tasked with guarding the Pendletons. The shoulder rub would look almost innocent if they weren't both topless. On the positive side, it's two less people to deal with. The basement is isolated enough they won't notice anything short of a war upstairs. I'll leave them be.
Cautiously coming back upstairs, I make sure the floor is still empty before checking the side rooms through their keyholes. The ledger was right: Custis Pendleton is in the Ivory Room with female company, and a man, presumably Bunting, is tied to a chair in the Silver Room... Not sure how I feel about the latter. Regardless, that's two of my three targets not going anywhere. Now to clear the top floor and find Morgan.
Wanting to avoid the stairs, I step out onto the balcony of this level and look up. The same style of ledges that let me in through the window run along this side of the building, complete with more balconies and doors. The jumps are out of my reach, but Blink can make it easily. I teleport to the ledge above me and land in a silent crouch, crossbow ready. There's one guard on a neighboring balcony, maybe thirty meters away, and completely unaware of my presence. It's a smaller perch, one attached to a side room rather than the center. Morgan's personal guard?
After using Dark Vision to ensure no one is looking my way, I Blink behind the guard. There's barely enough room for the both of us after I knock her out, but I make sure she doesn't fall off. With that done, I press my eye to a corner of the barred windows. And inside paces Morgan Pendleton, a full glass of wine almost spilling in his hand and as he complains about the Boyle sisters. Drunk before lunch: that sounds like the Pendleton I remember.
I find myself extending the sword in my hand. He's drunk, there's only the girl with him, the door's unlocked. It would be over in seconds A dart to her torso while his back is to me, Blink in. Left hand pulls his head back and exposes that pale throat of his. As sharp as my blade is, he would barely feel it. That's too painless for what he deserves.
Maybe I should stick his kidney, make him linger. If I barricade the door, the Watch would be locked out. I could even sit inside and watch him suffer. Still no witnesses, no one to tie it back to me. And one of the worthless bastards who took Emily from me, who helped Burrows kill Jessamine, would leave this world crying and shitting himself... It's what he deserves.
No. That's still not good enough. Forget morality, the petty arguments about killing or becoming a monster like them. They ruined our lives for at least six months. They're going to suffer twice that long before they're allowed to die. Every one involved is going to wish I had just killed them.
Slackjaw better keep his end of the bargain. If his punishment isn't enough, I'll come back and kill both of them myself. But not if I can make them suffer first. Collapsing my blade back into my pocket, I take a slow breath to steady myself. Back to the job, focus on what needs to happen. Slackjaw's men still need a path to these two, and there's an art dealer waiting for his interrogation.
I Blink back to the previous balcony and stick my head in to see the layout. One guard in front of the smoking room, more plants and couches across the floor. The lush carpets are the only thing keeping this place from being a veritable greenhouse. There's two metal awnings here used to create their own covered patios. They look study enough to hold a man.
As the lone guard in front of the door bends down to tie his boot, I hear footsteps to my left. Two guards circling from the other side of the floor, one coming up the staircase. I Blink behind the solider at the door and choke him faster than usual. The approaching guards make the time feel like forever, even if it's only a few rushed heartbeats. As soon as he goes limp, I teleport us both to the top of the nearest metal cover. It creaks under the combined weight, but holds silently after the first protest. The others don't seem to notice.
I set my hostage down and watch the remaining guards below. Their movements are casual, even by Watch standards. They know the bosses are busy with the girls. The one who came up the stairs starts pacing back down them, explaining how I missed her before. Sentry number two walks back towards a balcony on the far side. And the final guard follows the circle towards my awning. I check one last time to ensure the others can't see him before dropping onto his shoulders. This one at least grunts before his face hits the hardwood. I don't need to hit him a second time for him to stay down. The closest planter is plenty big enough to stash him in.
As the staircase guard paces, I slink along the floor. I keep my eyes and ears open for more guards. The building is almost silent now, other than the sounds of the water pipes and ambient music. If these men actually paid attention, they would notice how they quit hearing their back-up. Even if they didn't find the bodies, they would realize no one is where they should be anymore. A shame they can't make it a challenge for me.
I position myself beside the banister of the staircase and listen. My target is pacing up now. When she's roughly three-quarters of the way up, I hurdle the barrier and drop in a prepared crouch. The guard doesn't notice the muted thud of my feet hitting the ground behind her. I follow her silently until she reaches the top of the staircase. As she stops to stretch her arms, I kick her knees out and secure a choke on her. Three, two, one... I lower her to the ground, minding she doesn't hit her head too hard.
The final sentry is easy picking. Completely oblivious of his friends' fates, I slowly sneak behind him. He falls to the choke faster than the previous guard and barely even kicks back. A part of me misses the extra challenge, but my shins are happy. I slowly lower him to the steel balcony and leave him to nap. There. That should be the end of it.
I keep my Dark Vision active as I pace every floor of the brothel. Only seven people are still conscious inside: the Pendletons, Bunting, the officer, and the three escorts. Perfect. I stick my head out a window to see the guards on the street to ensure none of them heard anything. They look just as bored as the men I left unconscious.
Onto Bunting then. He's still in the Silver Room on the second floor of the tower. I check his room with both magic and my eye through the keyhole, and find only the art dealer in a very... compromising chair. He's tied to it with at least five different leather straps, and some kind of machine is plugged into it. At least I don't have to worry about him going anywhere.
I walk into the room and lock the door behind me. Bunting perks up, trying to turn towards me. "Finally, I've been like this for twenty minutes," he grumbles.
In addition to the restraints, a blindfold covers his eyes. It's one of two pieces of fabric on him: thankfully the other is underwear. I unfolded twirl my blade as I approach.
"Your footsteps sound a little loud. Have you gained some weight, honey?"
I'm not sure if he's intentionally being condescending, or if he thinks he's being sweet. My hand absently spins the sword while I debate on how to get my answers. Torture is almost useless for gathering information, but the threat of it is usually enough for civilians. Just have to establish how serious I am... The tops of his hands are a good place to start.
"Just like last time, understand? Slowly, and only trigger the shocks at my command." The dealer is fidgeting excitedly in his chair, his anxious grin growing. "Get it? And the safe word tonight will be... retribution, let's say. You hear that, you stop. One shock out of line, and you're out of a job."
That explains the machine. To each their own, I suppose. But the aged art dealer doesn't look very durable. I wonder how many shocks he will last after his safe word. I shrug and decide to give it a shot. It will keep his blood off my blade if it works.
He nods and grits his teeth through a grin. Who am I to deny him what he wants? The only controls to the device is a single lever. I lower it, and electricity flows through the metal chair. Static tingles in my mask as Bunting convulses. He groans in pain, but the smile never leaves his face.
"Oh, that's good," he moans as the shock dies down. "I deserved that one. Shall I tell you why? The Pendletons are here, right? I've cheated them! Robbed them of thousands!"
I play into my new role and zap him again. He shouts this time, surprised by the quick follow up. But judging by the slight raising in his underwear, it's not unappreciated.
He coughs and smiles. "You're ruthless, don't hold back. The Pendleton's inheritance was worth hundreds of thousands at least. Told them it was junk!"
The next bolt hits him on the last word. A part of me wants to speed the process up and just hold the lever down. But I pace myself. The payoff is coming soon, the look on his face when he realizes this isn't a game.
"Retribution! Retribution!" he gasps, shivering. "That was perfect, but that's all I can take. Call my servants. We-"
I try to keep my eyes above the stain in his underwear as I throw the switch again. His whole body lurches from the chair, trying to escape the shock. The guilty pleasure smile on his face is gone.
"Retribution, I said! Now let me out! I'll have you whipped, you bitch!" He's shaking now, out of rage, pain, and his body's natural reaction.
I lean over him, hovering my mask inches from his ear. "Not the first time I've been called that, won't be the last." I whisper before hitting him with another shock.
He screams much louder this time. Rather than just a convulsion across his body, he's trying to pull away from the chair. But the restraints are too solid for the old art dealer to escape. I twirl my sword again while waiting for him to come back down.
"What the-" he asks through another coughing fit. What was indignant rage before is now fear saturating his voice. "What do you want? Please, what?!"
If this was Pendleton or Burrows in here, I would be enjoying myself. A shame it isn't. Bunting is just another entitled brat in a city full of them. He didn't plot against us; I don't want to kill him. But I won't lose any sleep over shocking the piss out of him to get what I need.
"Safe, your apartment. What's the code?" I ask with minimal emotion.
"The safe? Yes, of course," he says, nodding madly. "The combination is 879. Take anything you find, please! I think I felt my heart skip."
There's no point in putting him to sleep or letting him out. I leave the door closed, but unlocked. Someone will get him eventually. And if he gave me the wrong numbers, I can always shock him again.
There's no extra sounds in the central chamber of the tower. Some music from a machine, faint echoes of lust and feigned romance, but nothing else. It's a quarter to noon, if the clock on the wall is correct. I promised Emily I would be back in an hour. If I move quickly and Slackjaw has his men ready, I should make it back comfortably in that time. As long as the guard's shift change doesn't occur before mid-afternoon, there shouldn't be any complications.
After exiting through the VIP door again, I decide to test Bunting's code personally. If the crime boss wants to confirm the combination, it'll waste time or give him a chance to back out of the deal. It's easier for me to do it on the way back with my key. The detour shouldn't take more than a few minutes.
I jog through the sewer at a moderate pace while keeping my weapons close at hand. Granny Rag's alcove is still empty, and the lower side street shows no new Weepers. Only a climb separates me from the art dealer's apartment, and Blink deals with that easily. Griff nods as I pass by and enter the building beside him.
How Bunting lives in this hole is beyond me. Coldridge actually seems like an improvement, at least structurally to the crumbling building. The walls are all rotting away, floors show the supports and piping that runs beneath them, and at least four small rats scurry away when I walk into the lobby. There's potential here, what used to be a wonderful building, all but gone now. A complete lack of management or care given to the building has taken its toll.
I walk across the floor with a practiced silence, listening for signs of life. A few voices are coming from above in bored discussion. Bending into a crouch with weapons ready, I slip up towards the sounds.
Second floor, art gallery. It's mostly frames and plaques now, but a few paintings remain. One of them is a self-portrait of Sokolov in his distinct style. Two thugs are discussing its worth in front of it, comparing it to a cheap replica one of their grandmothers owns. Of course Slackjaw has men here: he's been trying to get into that vault. Why would he not take the other valuables while he's at it. But there's no obvious safe here, so I continue up.
The third and final floor is for more personal use than the one below it. An aged office is to the right, and I can only assume the bedroom ahead of me is for Bunting. But in the far corner of the room is a large safe, the kind you walk into rather than simply reach in. Two more brutes are trying to open it under a whale oil light with "tools." I use the term lightly, since all they have are crowbars and a hammer. They're discussing further ideas on how to get it open, as well as what could be hiding inside.
I whistle as I approach, weapons hanging casually at my side. Better not to surprise them.
They both jump, and the one in front reaches towards his blade. "What d'ya want? Slackjaw has claim on this safe, no one else."
"He hired me to do what you couldn't. I'm here to open it," I explain casually. My eyes watch both men, reading them for aggression. They're not happy to see me.
"I look like an idiot, choffer?" he says indignantly. His friend starts to draw his own cleaver. "Slackjaw doesn't hire out jobs. 'Specially not to freaks like you."
I keep approaching until the distance is healthy, but short. "Move, unless you want to end up like Bugs."
The threat fails. His anger flares rather than scaring him. "That was you!? You've got it com-"
I Blink behind the one quietly getting ready. He yelps as I choke him and aim my crossbow. The first thug turns, trying to yell. My sleep dart catches him in the stomach. The poison takes too long to kick in, and he gets the chance to call out. I finish choking the one in my grip as the other falls to the ground. Boots below stomp towards the stairs. Damn it.
I Blink to the door frame and crouch beside it. Two slow, calming breaths later, and my targets appear. I sweep the legs out from under the first as she sprints in. She trips, and the other falls onto her. Grabbing the top one's head, I slam his face into his comrade's skull. Both groan in a daze. One quick jab to each of their temples, and they're out cold.
"Idiots," I grumble, checking their pockets for valuables. Consider it payment for the migraine and wasted dart. Forty extra coin weigh my pocket down as I walk over to the safe. The crowbars fall out easily enough, and I toss them to the side. Another thing that hasn't changed from the old days. Everyone thinks they can hire an amateur to do a professional's job, and all they do is make my job harder.
I turn the three number dials to read 879, then give the handle a spin. The wonderful sound of locks releasing greets my ears. I pull the steel door towards me and open the well-maintained vault. Slackjaw wasn't kidding when he said Bunting had real treasure stored away. The dealer's rainy day fund includes three different paintings, one of which is by Sokolov of the Pendleton children. Collectors will pay a lot of coin for that after the elder two children disappear. There's also several vases, a desk of papers, and a collection of books filling out the rest of the walk-in vault.
I allow a small whistle to appreciate what Bunting had hidden away. If he had left the district a week ago, he would be sitting comfortably anywhere he wanted in the Isles. A shame it's now going to be picked clean by a crime lord and myself. I do a brief search of the room for anything I can use that Slackjaw won't mind missing. In the desk, buried under a few dozen letters and receipts, sits a pouch heavy with gold. It finds its way into a pocket on my bandoleer.
In another drawer is something particularly interesting: an invitation to Lady Boyle's annual gala. The noblewoman is known for her elegant parties, culminating in a yearly celebration with fireworks, a competition with prizes, and more food than even the nobles are accustomed to seeing. This year's ball will be tomorrow night, at their overdecorated estate.
Jessamine received an invitation to the party every year, and she declined each time. For whatever reason, it was a tradition even during Euhorn's reign for the royal family to avoid the party. It was one of those practices that was respected without question. Jessamine was always curious to see what they would do if she accepted, but she never did. Not officially, anyway. She masqueraded her way in twice, once in her teens, and once the year after Emily was born. The first was childish rebellion, while the other was a needed break from being the Empress and new mother. Both times she was surprised to find me there as well, a masked man waiting with a drink for her.
I fold the invitation into a breast pocket. Even if I can't use it, Slackjaw doesn't need an easy way into a party of drunk nobles. I push myself to move again, to make sure I'm running ahead of schedule. I carefully remove the Pendleton painting from its frame and stash it inside of a carrying container. It should be proof enough I got in. I secure the strap across my chest so that the painting lays across my back, then leave the building the same way I came.
None of the gang members stop me as I walk through the alley and across distillery's courtyard. Slackjaw has hardly moved from his place, still watching over his men like an owl. I tap the container to his shoulder and make him turn to me. A shark's grin comes across his face when he sees me.
"Code's 879. Already opened the vault to check," I explain with minimal inflection. I don't want him to have any emotional angle to use on me. "A painting by Sokolov of the Pendletons. Figured that would be proof enough."
The boss unscrews the cap, then takes a quick peek at the painting inside. His predator smile only grows. "I've been after the combination for months! If you ever need steady work, you come see me."
"I left your men at the safe, still breathing. They didn't know about our agreement." Better he finds that out now rather than later.
"Of course they didn't. Why are good couriers so hard to find?" he sighs. "Thank you for leaving them alive, and for checking the combination. Slackjaw knows a good man when he sees one. It's only natural you'd be curious what I intend to do with the Pendletons. Am I right?"
I nod.
"See, them Pendletons got these rock mines. Have hundreds of souls down there, half a mile deep below ground. So I'm gonna shave their heads and cut out their tongues and put 'em in one of their own stinking mines! Then they gonna see life from a different angle."
It's no longer the domineering, political smile on his face. No, this is full of honesty and malice. He's been waiting for a chance to snag them and make them suffer. All he needed was an excuse... I wonder if it's the Pendletons he hates, or if he wants to do the same with any noble he can get his hands on.
But a personal motivation works for me. It gives him a reason to do this other than owing me. And it gives the bastards a proper, suffering fate. "The guards are dealt with, and the replacements should be an hour away. All you need is the men to carry them out."
"We've got plenty o' that, don't worry," he laughs. "You wanting us to make a big show of it, let everyone know it was Bottle Street that got them?"
I shake my head. "No, use the VIP exit quietly. The door will be open. Only thing slowing them down will be the courtesans. Remind them not to kill anyone."
"They can manage that. I'll gather them up, have them there in ten minutes. That quick enough for you?" The smugness is gone from his features, but not his enthusiasm. He almost seems honest, as if he's starting to trust me. I can't say for certain how I feel about that.
"Fine. One in the Ivory Room, other in the Smoking Room. Second and third floors. I'll be watching."
As I turn to walk away, Slackjaw whistles. I face him again with a cautious glance to make sure none of his guards are behind me.
He waggles the painting in his hand, softly smiling behind the rough mustache. "We're even, but Slackjaw don't forget an honest man. Thank you."
Fighting my quiet empathy, I nod. "Thank you for the help," I say softly. Then I fully commit to exiting the distillery.
I make short work of the jog back to the Golden Cat. My eyes continue to scan for any suddenly observant guards, but none are watching the side streets as I run back. There's still no sign of Granny Rags, thankfully. It gives me plenty of time to slip back into the bathhouse and find another perch to wait. The chandelier on the second floor proves to be the best option again. I find a darkened corner of it partially hidden by the plants to crouch on. Not the greatest position to attack from, but it puts me where I can help with the kidnappings, or hear an alarm and prepare for reinforcements.
One minute slowly drifts by, then two, then five. I try to steady my nerves by tapping my fingers to a rhythm. They'll be here soon. Slackjaw wouldn't lie about something like this.
I catch myself on that thought. Why wouldn't he? He's a gang leader, a professional thief, killer, and thug. What would stop him from lying after he got what he wanted? Nothing, other than maybe fear of my retribution. But a voice in my head keeps saying to trust him.
And I already know where the voice is coming from. Nostalgia, of all things. Slackjaw hardly looks the part, but his personality is almost a copy of Carter from Karnaca. The small time crime boss barely controlled a block, but she had connections. There was no one she couldn't reach in the city, either directly or indirectly, and she had dirt on almost every one of them. She was the best kind of friend to have as a fledgling thief: one who could get schematics to the house, ensure a guard called in sick, or find a buyer for the unique merchandise.
Michelle Carter had a way about her. No one who negotiated with her ever felt like they had the upper hand. It wasn't overbearing, but she had this way of subtly letting you know you needed her more than she needed you. She was friendly enough, and anyone who earned her respect realized she had a soft side. But this was a woman who replaced her missing canine teeth with porcelain fangs. When she smiled, you knew she would have no problems ripping your throat out.
She kept me alive for a few years, got me my start as a thief after my father died. Her advice and connections made sure I made enough coin to keep food on our table. She took a risk on me, for her own selfish reasons, but it was still more than anyone had done for me. That's a debt I didn't finish paying back before she died. Slackjaw reminds me of her. And that is not something I can afford right now. Temporary partners are one thing; I don't need my head trying to make friends while there's a bounty on it.
Finally, Slackjaw's thugs appear in the tower. Four of them stroll in, each armed with a blackjack rather than the usual cleaver. They move slowly as a group, but their observation skills need work. I slow my breathing to ensure none of them hear me. They break off into two pairs: one moves towards the stairs, while the other walks around the outside of the lounge. Slackjaw trains his help well, it seems. What they lack in professionalism and caution, they make up for in complete silence.
The pair on my floor waits at the door to the Ivory Room. Once they're both ready, one looks through the keyhole. The spy then nods to her companion and counts down with her fingers. When she reaches zero, she opens the door and they both rush in.
Pendleton number one makes only the briefest cry before he's cut off. The courtesan stays silent, likely dealt with already. In ten seconds, the infiltrators reappear with the twin slung over a shoulder. They shut the door behind them, then head to the exit silently. The one carrying Pendleton pats his hostage on the head with a muted laugh.
A few moments later, I spot movement coming down the staircase. The other group carrying the remaining brother meets their comrades at the door. They take a moment to reorganize and keep the hostages in the center, then leave in the same casual stroll they entered with. A part of me is slightly impressed. Not that I didn't lay the groundwork for them, but they did their job without a sound.
And that's the end of it, then... The instant gratification that would've come with slitting their throats would've been nice. But I know how badly they're going to suffer soon. The rest of their miserable little lives are going to be hard labor, cruel bosses, and the suffocating heat of mines. If they were in Serkonos, it might be a different story, with its unions and worker's rights groups. But not here. No, they're going to one of the few places in the Isles worse than Coldridge. And they won't be able to tell others about the terrible irony they're enduring. Poetic justice is truly one of the best.
Emily smiles and waves as I approach her small campfire. Two skewers of fish and vegetables roast over the flames, smelling disgusting. My stomach turns when it remembers the only meat it had for six months was a weekly dose of fish swimming in salt. At least it helps me forget my craving for lunch.
"Samuel was showing me some old sailor recipes, Corvo. Want one?" she asks excitedly, waving a skewer before me. The old man shrugs.
I smile and bend down to hug her again. She doesn't seem to notice me putting the food back over the fire. "You'll have to teach it to me. But can we do that somewhere else? I want to take you somewhere more fun, somewhere you don't have to hide. How does that sound?"
She nods vigorously. "You're coming with us, right?"
"Of course I am." I pull my mask up enough to kiss her cheek. "I promised, didn't I?"
Her grip around my neck tightens immensely. "Good. Samuel needs to tell his Kraken story again! He can do it while we ride in his boat!"
"Happily, Lady Emily," the sailor chuckles. "Why don't you get buckled in? Corvo will help me get us untied and on our way."
"Ok!" She hugs me again, then rushes off to her seat. It doesn't take her but a moment to figure out the safety strap and get it secured over her lap.
Samuel points me to the rope that ties the boat to an old post in the dirt. I bend over one end and work on the knot while Samuel leans closer to my ear. "Is it done?" he asks quietly.
Working on the rope as slowly as possible, I glance over to make sure Emily isn't listening. She's busy eating the other skewer. "They'll be working in their own rock mines, tongues cut and heads shaved. Slackjaw honored the deal."
"What did that cost you?"
"The code for an art dealer's safe. He needs new pants, but he'll live."
Samuel laughs. "You worked wonders out there in the city, Corvo. I don't believe it."
"Believe it when we get to the Hound Pits," I say as I finish unhooking the boat. "Sooner or later, someone's going to notice the brothel of sleeping guards."
"No need to tell me twice." The boatman takes his seat at the back of the craft as I climb into the front. His motor barely makes a sound as it pulls us away from the shore and out onto the river.
Yay, I'm still alive! I debated for a while before I started this one if I wanted to do this mission in two small parts or one slightly-larger-than-usual one... Guess what won. On the positive side, I got to have fun playing more with stealthy Corvo this time around.
And, in case anyone notices, I did throw in a few female guards into this one. I'd have to find it again, but I saw an interview with Harvey Smith about things he was upset they had to cut from Dishonored 1, and there were two big things I saw: female enemies, and a voice for Corvo. Both of those were present in early concepts for the game, and by the time they got the details figured out on exactly what they wanted to do, it was too late in development to add that in. Since I don't have to worry about creating new character models and hiring extra voice actors, I figured I had no reason not to. Not that it changes anything: Corvo is an equal opportunity knock-out provider.
Anyway, hope all the minions enjoy! And I'm going to try to get one more good chapter knocked out before I move next month. Because I can already tell that's going to eat more time than I'd like. But it gets me out of the current scrap heap of a house, so whoo! Appreciate this chapter in the meantime! ~MGA