Chapter 22: Rumor Has It

27th of Month of High Cold, 1837

3:19 PM

We finish lunch at a leisurely pace, catching up in between bites. I give her a censored version of what I've been through that omits things like my fresh scars from the Royal Interrogator. Emily's own recounting is hindered by all of the time she spent blindfolded or left in a closet without windows. But she makes her memories vivid all the same with descriptions of the Flooded District's moldy smells and the fabulous coats in some mansion attic. We both keep things cheerful enough that neither of us dwells on how terrible those days really were.

After our meal, Callista takes Emily off for her first lesson, and I go to the dock to meet Samuel. The boatman is waiting with my requested supplies. He doesn't say much this time, only handing me the map as he sets his vessel in motion. I use the paper to start refreshing my memory of where I'm sneaking into.

The buildings around Kaldwin Bridge were apartments or high-end shops before the Plague. I didn't visit Sokolov's apartment much or ever take the Bridge while it was being built, but I remember where the inventor's home is. Placing an ink dot on the building, I search the area around it for weaknesses. Unfortunately, nothing jumps out at me from the map.

How many destroyed buildings I'll have to navigate remains to be seen. Burrows wouldn't waste resources keeping a non-critical part of the city maintained. Add in the Weepers that would've sprang up from the apartments, and I doubt half of these buildings are fit to live in. That leaves more hiding places for me, Plague victims, and anyone else trying to get by.

"How close can you get me to Sokolov's side of the bridge?" I ask Samuel.

"I hate to say it, but you'll have to start on the far end," he replies with genuine disappointment. "We'll be spotted for sure with all them lights on the water if we try getting any closer."

Burrows will have ensured the docks near his precious inventor are heavily guarded. The Bridge will give me room to work with, making it the only practical option. "I'll need to turn those off before you can pick me up then."

"The generators running the lights are somewhere near the center of the bridge." He reaches over and points to a small dock on my map, one spitting distance from my target. "You take out the lights and the guards around here, and I'll be waiting there for you to bring back Sokolov."

I grunt an acknowledgment. Not the most efficient plan, but you have to play the hand you're dealt. Burrows' curfew should be coming into effect when we get to the Bridge: only guards will be out in the street. The rooftops and alleys should give me a way around them, or an angle to ambush from.

"You said you left the Pendletons alive, right?" Samuel sounds more hopeful than usual, or desperate.

"Everyone is still breathing, including the twins. I emptied an art dealer's safe to get Slackjaw's help hiding them in their own silver mines," I say.

He nods approvingly. "Good. This city's buried enough dead lately. We shouldn't have to dig more graves to help it heal."

I look his way, trying to appear apathetic as I watch him through my mask. "Did you expect otherwise when you pulled me out of Coldridge?"

"I'm... I'm not sure what I was expecting," he admits. "Maybe to kill just enough to get the job done. Or maybe 'hoping' is a better word for it. Dunwall's sick, and sometimes, you have to cut out that sickness before you tend to the rest of it. But some people forget you don't have take off the whole arm because of one rotten finger."

"That's what you were afraid of at the Abbey," I observe. "That all of the blood on my sword was from the Overseers that got in my way."

"You can't blame me for assuming the worst that night. Can I ask you a personal question, Corvo?" Now there's a new tone in his voice. Curiosity, maybe? Or just a desperate change of topic.

I nod for him to continue.

"I heard the rumors about you and the Empress, about her daughter. Was that just the nobles blowing hot air like always? Or was there some truth to that one?" he asks with forced friendliness. Like he's not actually sticking his nose it doesn't belong.

I sigh under my breath. At least he's kinder than the animals at Coldridge, asking rather sneering the question. I won't have to break his knees for running his mouth.

"I'm as close to a father as Emily was ever going to get," I say slowly, trying to pick my words without sounding like I am. "When we realized Jessamine was pregnant, we all decided it was best if no names were given. It was easier that way, to let the nobles talk without giving them any real ammunition against us. And as for Emily, I would always be there. There was no point in making it complicated for her."

Samuel starts to speak. I interrupt him. "It was best for everyone involved. And we all promised that we wouldn't say another word about it. Even if Jessamine is dead, I'm keeping my vow to her."

The boatman stays silent for several moments, watching me as I ensure my equipment is ready for Sokolov's guards. Eventually, he nods.

"I understand," he says. "And judging by how that little girl looks at you, I'd say she thinks of you as her father. It's probably the best thing for her."

I allow a small, relieved smile. "Thank you."

"I don't want to regret saying that. So you'd best keep setting a good example for her."

I yawn, then look over my crossbow. A part of me is thankful the mask hides my face: it's easier to think when you're not worried about people watching you.

Is it really worth keeping that vow anymore? Is it best for Emily? She knows her mother is gone. If she hasn't figured out I'm her father yet, she might try searching for him. I wouldn't blame her for looking for any family she has left. But it would make things complicated if I have to pretend I don't know she's looking in all the wrong places. Would it be that bad? To tell her that her father has always been by her side?

Maybe I'm not giving her enough credit. Emily's proven time and again that she's smarter than anyone's thought. She might already know her mother and I were in love, even if we took care to not show it. Enough of the servants figured it out on their own: it would be stupid to assume our own daughter couldn't do the same. Or maybe she sees me as enough of a father figure she doesn't need anyone else.

Is this why Jessamine and I agreed not to tell Emily? Were we just dodging how complicated it was, how there would be a dozen questions, each with a dozen answers to consider? Maybe we just didn't want to deal with it unless we had to. Maybe we just hoped it would work out on its own, and we could continue be our happy, strange family.

I check the trigger of the crossbow for any jams, then attach it back to my belt. It's not worth dwelling on now. No answer I can come up with will change the fact I have to kidnap a well protected "genius" this evening. How, and if, I tell Emily about her father can wait until I'm riding away from the Watch.

"If you can't discuss Lady Emily..." Samuel says, looking ahead on the river. "Mind if I ask you about the Empress? I've always been a little curious about her, and I never expected to be sitting next to the man who could answer my questions."

I pause for a breath, and I swear I can feel Jessamine's heartbeat in my coat. Is she trying to comfort me, or does she just know I'm thinking about her? I run a finger over the pocket and make sure she isn't truly in there, conjured by some Void magic. "You may," I answer eventually.

Samuel turns to face me while I scan the water for witnesses. "I heard she had a dozen tattoos hidden under those fancy suits she wore. A friend of mine swears that he saw her getting one at a port in Morley, and that she had one for every city she visited."

"She had nothing that fantastic," I say through a small laugh. "She had a single tattoo from a Tyvian master. It was a raven on the back of her left shoulder, placed so only a wing was visible when she wore a dress. She wanted to stir up a little gossip from the nobles, but it was as beautiful as any painting from the Academy."

Samuel chuckles as well. "I knew he was full of it. Zadok was one of those bastards who always talked about the giant fish he missed, never the ones he actually brought in."

"You need to choose your friends better," I nod, battling another burst of fatigue. "Someone other than fishermen and fugitives."

"What about those fancy concerts she always went to? There was a rumor she had a balcony reserved for her at the opera, the kind that cost more than this boat." He seems genuinely interested in this. It almost makes me wonder if he's not a music man himself.

I shake my head. "If the Tower told them that Jessamine wanted to see a show, they set aside a balcony for her and any company she brought. But they were seats that someone else could've bought if they paid before she requested it."

"What about performers? Did any of them ever send her an invitation?"

"It happened once a month, easily. There was always some musician or play director who wanted to brag about how the Empress answered their call. Jessamine turned all but her favorites down. She only met with the ones she planned seeing anyway, and had chosen to invite her. She had a fondness for singers, especially the ones who sang ballads from Morley."

He grins. "One of the perks of royalty, huh? You get that kind of special treatment?"

"My predecessors did, but not me," I admit. "The 'Serkonan dog of a Lord Protector' was never loved by Dunwall's upper class. But it meant anyone I removed from Jessamine's presence personally was shunned for months by their friends. That part, I enjoyed."

"Is that why Lord Pendleton was all squirrelly when the Admiral picked you to join us? You dragged him out of some fancy dinner in front of everyone?" The sailor is laughing quietly at the memory while still looking to me with expectation.

"No, that was his brother, Custis. He thought his family was better than the Kaldwins because they had been nobles longer. He asked her how long it would take for 'the last of the mutt traits to work themselves out of her bloodline.' He broke his nose on our steps when I threw him out." I have no problem smiling while remembering that particular evening.

Samuel stops holding in his laughter and belts it out in full force. I check the area again, if only to settle my paranoia. The deserted streets remain empty.

"I wish I could've seen that," he says through another chuckle. "Did the Empress order that?"

I shake my head. "That was my choice. He needed to learn his place, and I was not about to let Jessamine weather that insult without some retribution."

He continues to snicker, but a look starts to settle on his features, something stronger than the glee from my joke. "It sounds like it. If you don't mind me asking, did you care for her as more than an Empress?"

Do I even feel like lying this time? My own heart quickly decides it doesn't.

"Jessamine was my friend, a wonderful one," I say softly, letting my mind drift further into memory than I should. The nights of shared whiskey and cigars, the quiet talks we held during breakfast, the jokes only we understood to make the days pass faster. "I suppose it was bound to happen: we spent more time together than most husbands and wives. Either we would grow close, or we would hate each other. We were the former."

Samuel becomes quiet for a few seconds, watching me as I stretch in my seat. The urge to nap is only growing stronger as my exhaustion settles in.

He finally says, "In case no one else has told you yet, I'm sorry she's gone. It sounds like we lost a great woman, and you lost a better friend."

I want to laugh at the irony. He's right: not one person has given me any kind of condolence since Jessamine died. They were too busy blaming me for it, or pointing me towards someone I needed to kill. But I don't laugh. I doubt I could even muster a chuckle if I tried.

"Thank you, Samuel."

The boatman nods, and returns to piloting. I scan the area one last time before settling into my seat. Maybe if I adjust a little, the fatigue will quit bothering me.

It doesn't work. I catch myself yawing twice within a minute. I should've gotten another cup of coffee before I left. The short, restless sleep from last night and heavy lunch are catching up with me.

"We have almost an hour before we reach Kaldwin's Bridge," Samuel says without looking back. "I can wake you up if we run into trouble."

"Is it that obvious?" I ask.

"Very," he chuckles. "I keep a spare coat behind the rope next to you. It makes for a great pillow. Grab a little sleep while you can: better here than while you're trying to catch Sokolov."

The jacket in question is soft and lined with fur, obviously made for keeping bitter winters on the sea at bay. And it can be adjusted into a decent cushion with a bit of folding. I lay down across the craft, using the seat's cushioned back to keep me off the cold metal hull. It requires tucking my knees in, almost curling into a ball to make sure nothing is hanging off the side, but it's manageable. I've certainly slept in worse places.

My body accepts what's coming and relaxes. I can already feel exhaustion trying to drag me to sleep. It's a welcome feeling, surprisingly.

"I'll trade you one personal question for another, Samuel," I say. It's an odd thought to say aloud, but I can't blame my head for coming up with it.

"Name it," he responds without turning to me.

"Do you believe in the Outsider? In those things the Abbey teaches, like souls and the Void?"

He stays silent for a dozen heartbeats. But eventually, he says, "I think there's things we'll never understand. Not until our time's come and we have to find out for ourselves. The Outsider's one of them, so are our souls and the Void. I believe the Abbey isn't wrong, thinking it's out there, just like magic and monsters. But I'd bet they're missing more of those details then they think they are. And I'd bet the Outsider is laughing at every mistake they're preaching."

I laugh a little. "I believe you're smarter than anyone gives you credit for, yourself included."

"How about you?" he asks with a smirking head shake.

"Ask me when this is all over. I get the feeling my answer will have changed by then," I say honestly. Considering how skeptical I was before I escaped Coldridge, there's no telling what I'll believe in the end. Or if this change is a good thing.

The boatman chuckles. "There's nothing like dodging a death sentence to change your view of the world, huh?"

"Something like that."

As sleep starts to take hold, I notice two things. The first is a slow beating against my chest. Not my heart, though it's to the same rhythm. No, it's Jessamine's heartbeat. Just like when Samuel asked about her. I decide it's her trying to comfort me. I don't care if it's true or not: the thought helps in more ways than I can count. To know that she's still trying to care for me.

The other thing is Samuel's voice. It's muffled with his back turned, but his knuckles tapping the beat helps makes the song easier to place.

Oh, well honor for all, all the big and the small. Well, the taller they stand, well the harder they fall. We live for today but we die for the next. With blood in our veins and the air in our chest...

He's a better singer than he looks. And combined with Jessamine's presence, I fall asleep quickly.

Yes, short chapter that took longer than it should've. I can't really say much other than "sorry it took so long, try my best not to have that happen again." I'm not upset it's short: it got just about everything I wanted done. It just took a few too many weeks than it should've. Blame a combination of life, other commitments, and writer's block deciding it's fun to watch me suffer. Here's hoping I can get the next one out a little faster. Until then, enjoy everyone! ~MGA