From a very young age, you must learn to be a lady. A lady's way of thinking, of doing, of speaking-all of these things, you must learn. This city is able to run so smoothly and so prosperously because there are ladies taking care of things. Yes, the Emperor may well be in charge, but behind every great man is a great woman. Promise me you'll strive to be a lady in all things, Callista.

And she had promised, that grey and rainy day she had been held back in the schoolroom. Dressed in her stockings and blouse the colour of rainwater, she had resisted the urge to swing her legs that still did not touch the ground from her chair and tried to simultaneously avoid and meet the gaze of her matron. Madame Elvira Strongbow was fifty-eight years old, Gristol born and bred, and ruled her classroom firmly but fairly. She had set her sights on Callista as a legacy, and she may well have succeeded, if it had not been for that one summer day when she and her parents had gone down to the docks.

"Why are we here, Papa?" she asked timidly, grasping his hand tightly, watching the dockworkers go by, yelling and swearing and spitting, slick with sweat and oil. Her mother's face had already stiffened, lips pursed, but her father seemed almost excited.

Callista had never seen him excited. Wendell Curnow was a sober man at the best of times, but the corners of his mouth continued to jut upwards, and he wasn't able to pull his eyes from the horizon, shrouded in fog but clearing. "Just wait and see, sweetheart." His hand had gone down to grasp hers, and she wondered at that touch. He had never much been one for affection, either. We didn't become the greatest city in the world by coddling our young, he'd once barked at Callista's mother, with Callista huddled down the other end of the dinner table, and that had been the one time he'd ever raised his voice.

Today is a day of firsts, she'd thought to herself, and she'd been right. Just how right, she was about to find out.

She felt her father's hand tense, and his other hand unfurl, to point at a brown blob on the horizon. "There!" Callista craned her neck, trying to see past the clutter of fishing boats and whaling transports, to catch a glimpse of this thing that had captured her father's attention.

It was a ship. But no ship like she'd ever seen, gazing out the window of their house at that triangle of blue-grey between the buildings that marked the end of Dunwall and the beginning of the oceans. This one looked almost…ornate. The wood was a rich brown, and was decorated with many carvings. The ship's figurehead was a woman with both hands clapsed to her breast, but between those hands was a carving of a harpoon. The tip glimmered in the morning sun. Callista's mouth dropped open, and she ignored the heat, the noise and the flies that seemed to gather wherever there was whale meat. This ship was the most wonderful thing she'd ever seen. Even the storybooks from her younger years didn't compare. The name emblazoned on the side only added to her excitement: PRIMEVAL. It sounded…fierce.

Her father made a whistling noise through his teeth, and shook his head in amazement. Her mother sniffed and muttered something about a "damned Serk barque", whatever that meant. Callista didn't care, even if it sounded bad. How could a ship this grand have anything bad on it? It glided elegantly between the ugly Dunwall craft and came to rest about thirty metres away. It bobbed violently as men with tanned skin tossed ropes onto the mooring beams and secured their vessel. Hoarse shouts and oaths from the crew added to the general din. As they ventured closer, Callista wrinkled her nose. The ship smelled pungent, not unpleasant, but very strong. "What is that?"

Her father chuckled quietly, a noise not unlike the noisy pigeons that crowded their roof. "Spices, tar, naphtha. It's all from far across the seas. From Serkonos-"

A bellow split the air. "BROTHER!"

Callista would always remember that moment, even as she worked her hands to the bone scrubbing down the floor of the Hounds Pits. At that moment, the sunlight scythed through the last of the cloud cover, and dazzling blue sky revealed itself. Gazing upwards, squinting against the sudden glare, Callista watched as a figure leaped from the railing to land on the cobbles next to them. Gasping, she stumbled backwards.

She had seen many men come in and out of their home on business, and in the streets of their city, but she had never seen a man like this. Clad from head to toe in a riot of colours, from the dark blue that the Gristol navy wore to gaudy gold and green stripes. A bandanna that had once been red but was now deep purple did little to conceal the unwashed locks of hair that cascaded down the back of his head. They looked like the ropes the merchants used to make sure their wheels of cheese didn't roll away when they clattered down hills in their carts. Callista's eyes bugged as she took in the sight of this strange, incredible man who had called her father-

Brother. Father has a brother? She was shocked by this revelation, but it was nothing compared to the next. If he is father's brother, then that means…

She did not have time to ponder this line of thought, because in the space of a few moments, the colourful man had clapped her father on the back, bowed low to her mother and then sprang towards her. She cried out as he lifted her bodily into the air and spun her around, laughing gaily. It sounded like the tolling of some great bell, and she couldn't help but feel exhilarated. Who is this man?

"Look at her! So big! What have you been feeding her, giant's blood and whale meat? A wonderful, strong girl!" He whirled one more time and abruptly placed her back down on the ground. As Callista shook her head, trying to get her bearings, the man knelt down and grinned at her. Something in between his teeth sparkled back at her. He spoke softly now.

"Forgive me. My joy runs away with me. Geoff Curnow, most humbly at your service. And you would be…?"

She found her voice. "Callista. Callista Curnow."

Geoff laughed heartily and slapped his knee. "Callista, my dear, it is very nice to meet you."

That day was just one amazing memory after another. When they had returned to their house that day, he'd carried her on his shoulders, asking her all the things about her that no-one else had time for. School, her hobbies, her friends, her trips to the countryside, everything. His jovial mood seemed inexhaustible, even at dinner.

"My most awe-struck compliments to your cooking, Doris!" Geoff tucked into their usual fare of chicken-and-mushroom soup with gusto. Splatters of cooking fat decorated his place at the table, but he didn't seem to notice. He was like a living whirlwind. Even as one hand scooped the warm liquid into his mouth, the other would be pointing, gesticulating, everything. He barely waited to swallow before launching into another tangent. "Every day at sea was another torturous venture into the culinary realm. This is excellent fare indeed!"

Callista's mother offered him a cool smile that didn't reach her eyes. Callista had learned very early on in her life exactly when her mother disliked someone, and Geoff (Uncle Geoff, as he'd insisted on being called) certainly qualified. "Thank you, Geoffrey."

Uncle Geoff slapped one hand down on the oak table they used for dinner with an exclamation. "Please, Doris, call me Geoff. When someone calls me Geoffrey I start looking about for my old schoolteacher!" He side-eyed Callista and grinned conspiratorially. "I wager you would agree with me on that score, no?" Callista grinned back. He liked how he didn't treat her like some small-brained child. She was twelve, and no fool.

Father made a humming noise of gentle disagreement. "Callista's a very good student, actually. Easily top of her class. Madame Strongbow has recommended her for several of Dunwall's best tutors-"

"Excellent. But we must bear in mind one thing in all of this." Geoff raised one finger. "Does Callista enjoy her schooling?"

The relaxed atmosphere at the dinner table suddenly stiffened. Her mother sniffed. "She is learning everything that a lady requires. I rather think that's all that-"

"Oh no, no, no! I mean, beg pardon lady-" Geoff clasped his hands together in sudden apology-"I do not mean to question your parenting, but I have seen too many children forced into lives they never wanted and those poor wretches have paid dearly, in body, soul and mind. Surely there is something you've always wanted to do, or to be, Callista?"

All eyes were on her now, and she flushed with embarrassment. "Um…" Never say 'um', my dear, it is an uncouth expression. She could almost hear Madame Strongbow's scolding tone in her ear, and she knew what the matron would have wanted her to say. What her mother and father would have wanted her to say.

But then she looked at Uncle Geoff, and thought of seapsray and laughter and wild-haired men from across oceans, and she blurted out, "Whaling. Like in the stories. I want to be on a whaling ship."

While her parents reacted with exclaimed sounds of disbelief, Geoff's eyes sparkled and he slapped a hand across his right thigh. "Hah! A real adventurer we have here! Whaling is fearsome work, no doubt about it. Going after the beasts of the sea…" He whistled through his golden teeth. "Not for the faint-hearted." Then he smiled. "I have no doubt you'd be up for it."

He was the only person, other than her parents, who she ever told that secret to. And he was the only one who did not laugh.

When she'd gone to bed, after a hefty tongue-lashing by her parents, Geoff had snuck into her room, given her one final hug, and said he looked forward to the rest of their time spent together. He made her feel brave. Feel strong.

And when the plague swept in and killed both her parents like wildfire, it was he who stepped in to fill the void and pluck her from a sea of sorrow and despair. He'd resigned from his post aboard the Primeval and settled in as a member of the City Watch, and they'd lived together in a small apartment. He'd gone off to his first day on the job dressed in his rogue's colours, and he'd come home that night dressed in drab grey and with his hair shorn. Giving Callista a wry shrug, he said, "The City Watch doesn't have a sense of humour. Who'd have thought?"

As the years had passed, and the city sunk into lower depths of sickness, Callista had been forced to endure times of misery and hardship. They all had to, the men and women of Dunwall, but there were times when she had been tempted to wander off to the docks one night, hope that the rats or Bottle Street gang members wouldn't get her and simply cut her throat. A quick slash across the throat and she would be free, free of the filth and disease and….and all of it. She knew she wasn't the only one. It seemed almost everyone she'd met had a death wish to one degree or another.

Even Geoff, mercurial Geoff, grew grimmer as the years passed. He no longer spoke of his hectic days at sea, in the opulent cities of Serkonos, in the snow-bitten wilds of Tyvia. Every day was work, and more work. Patrolling filth-ridden streets, crushing rats bigger than his fists under heel and dodging crossbow bolts from high windows, courtesy of citizens who had gone mad with fear and sickness. It wore him down to a nub, and some nights Callista wept at the thought of all those stories, all that life, being erased by a city in its death throes.

Just one more thing to weep over.

She'd become a maid, and a tutor. Necessity demanded it. She'd long since put away her childish dreams of taking to the water, and gliding upon the gales in search of whales to hunt. Those belonged to another time, another life. She was Callista Curnow, one half of the Curnow bloodline. She was to be studious and diligent. She was to be seen and not heard. She was to be a lady.

So when the smooth-tongued and mysterious Overseer Martin came to her door one night, months after the Empress had been murdered and Hiram Burrows ushered into power, she leapt at the chance. She often did think if he hadn't turned up when he did, she would have killed herself that night. Before Geoff came back from his rounds.

When they'd finished their daring, secret flight, out towards the Distillery District and the Hounds Pits Pub, she'd learned of her role in the conspiracy. She would groom the Empress-to-be, Lady Emily. Tutor her in her studies and prepare her for the day when she would ascend to the throne, after the Lord Regent and his orgulous assembly were done away with. Even as she navigated the dusty rooms of the pub, trying to marshal the paltry number of servants that had put under her management, she fed that flame, kept it burning through the cold nights when the moaning of the weepers echoed along the Wrenhaven. She had purpose. She had direction.

And then Uncle Geoff had-

It was strange. She'd spent the better part of her life with the man, held a thousand conversations with him, shared a thousand laughs. She had all manner of memories to remember him by. But whenever she tried to picture Geoff-laughing, eating, drinking, telling jokes, whistling through the gap in his front teeth, even yelling at her-all she could see were two green eyes, like ocean pools. And a voice, low and rough like a blade scraping along Tyvian ice:

"I make no promises."

Damn Corvo. Damn fucking Corvo and his insane quest for vengeance. Upon his return from the assassination of the High Overseer (though rampage would have been a better term, Samuel told her before heading back to the boat), he'd barely spared her a glance. She'd broken down and wept, right there in the yard. The morning sun had slanted across her eyes, blinding her. Until he moved and bathed her in shadow. Stared down at her.

Gave her one, impassive shrug.

She'd moved as a ghost then. The fire in her had died, never to return. Even when Lady Emily arrived and her true work began, she'd done so like it was all a waking dream. The constant questions, queries and eventually insults had sloughed off her like dirt.

More of a nightmare.

Days slipped by, became weeks. She became almost glad of the cramped spaces, the confined nature of the pub and its environs. It meant not having to travel far. It meant not having to remember there was a world beyond their little spot by the river. Where Corvo Attano pillaged and murdered, killing dozens and sowing more wrong than he did right. Where Uncle Geoff had-

Callista straightened, pulled herself out of her own head and cleared her throat. A limp rag was clenched in one hand, but it was a flimsy thing and her nails had torn through it to dig into the soft skin of her palm. A few red spots now decorated the fabric. One drop fell to the floor, marring the work of the past half hour.

Ignoring it, she ambled towards the main stairwell. She had bigger things to worry about than a messy floor. There were pots and pans to scrub, whiskey to fetch from the cellar, a bath to draw for Overseer Martin (the sanctimonious prick), lessons to prepare for Emily (she'd been found stabbing at hagfish in the river with the kitchen knife the other day), rooms to tidy, floors to sweep…

Be a lady, Callista. Be a lady and it all goes away.

"Callista!"

She fought the urge to scream. What was it now? Couldn't they see she had a hundred and one other things to do? That she was sick of being treated like some parlour whore, at everyone's beck and call? That her only family, the last good man she'd known in the world, had-

"Callista!" Lydia, the pub's former patroness, stuck her head around the doorframe, features laced with irritation. "Come out the front. We're all being called by the Admiral and his boot-licking brigade. Lickety-spit and all that."

A full meeting of the staff? That was unusual. They hadn't had one since Callista had arrived, and that had been…how long ago had that been? How many times had the sun risen and set? Shaking her head, she asked, "Why?"

Lydia blew her cheeks out. "Damned if I know. Something about 'due compensation', whatever that means. Come on, we're the last ones out."

"Isn't Cecelia upstairs?" The quiet red-headed girl had been sent to the third floor to try and prise open the door, in hopes of finding more closet space for Lord Pendleton. Callista wished her luck; the third floor had been bricked up years ago.

"Never mind her. Come on." Lydia flounced out the door. Sighing, Callista followed.

The overcast morning had cleared, and the sun was out and the sky a brilliant blue. Such glorious weather rarely came to Dunwall anymore. She was glad she could at least enjoy this, the feel of the sunlight on her skin. She had doubted very much that she would feel anything ever again.

The yard was already filled with the various occupants of the Hounds Pits. Admiral Havelock, weathered face set in a habitual frown. Overseer Martin, the barest hint of a smirk on his features. Lord Pendleton, looking paler and more awkward than usual. And of course, his loyal servant and ass-kisser, Wallace. The heads of the conspiracy stood in a rough line, while Wallace stood before them, hands clasped. Looking for all the world as though he'd soon join them as a glorious foursome.

Little chance of that. Havelock and the others had made it very clear as to where they all stood. Callista went to stand next to Wallace, and Lydia stood beside her.

There was a silence, except for the slight breaking of waves upon the shore and the cawing of the gulls.

Lydia scowled. "Where the hell's Samuel? Or Piero? Or Sokolov, even?"

Havelock spoke in his usual booming voice. "Mr Beechworth has been released from service. Piero and Sokolov are currently in the workshop, working on…developments." He sniffed, and looked to one side. "This is all of you?"

"Yes, "Lydia sniffed right back. "Now what's this all about?"

Martin took up the slack and launched into a droning monologue about services to the Empire, but Callista knew something was not quite right. Samuel had been released? The old sailor had been a ubiquitous presence, nigh-indispensable. Without him or his boat, how would they be able to leave? Not to mention Lady Emily was nowhere to be seen. A tremor of unease crept up her spine. She knew this feeling. She'd felt it the night Corvo had left for the Abbey. She'd felt it the other night when Corvo had gone missing. She'd felt it when Uncle Geoff had-

On a sudden impulse, she blurted out, "Where is Lady Emily? I should see to her." Right now she would have happily gone back to scrubbing the floors. Anything to escape this feeling of danger, sidling up beside her-

Martin's eyes slid over to her, and she almost recoiled at that dead-eyed gaze. Hadn't someone told her he'd once laughed in the face of the Outsider? She could almost believe it, staring into those implacable eyes now. "Afraid not, Miss Curnow. You are required here." His mouth curved upwards into a grin that was almost malevolent. "We'll take good care of her."

Callista shot a glance to to Lydia, who stepped forward. Even Wallace was looking a good deal less smug. "What do you mean, you'll take good care of her?" Lydia barked. "What are you playing at, Martin?"

But before anyone could answer, Lord Pendleton emitted a weird sort of squeal and spoke in a rush. "Wallace I am so sorry-"

A flash of light, a ringing noise. Calista staggered backwards, hands clapped over her ears. The world swam, then refocused. She saw Wallace lying on the ground, a fist-sized hole blown through his head. Dead eyes stared up at her accusingly, and she tore her gaze away to stare at the Admiral, a smoking pistol in his brawny hand. He looked straight ahead, not at her.

"That, "Martin said calmly, "is what I am getting at." Taking out a cigarette, he clamped it between his teeth. "Apologies, ladies, but you are loose ends, and a new empire has no room or need for those. A clean slate is what we're after." Havelock smiled thinly, not a hint of mercy on his features. Pendleton simply gazed at the body of his former servant in shock.

So much made sense now. "Is that why you killed Corvo?" Callista found herself snarling. "Because he was a loose end?"

"Yes, actually, that's exactly the reason!" Martin smiled with amusement. "How astute of you to guess, Miss Curnow. Don't tell me you're grieving over that particular loss? The man was a brute. A skilled one, but a more barbarous man would be hard to find."

"There's always you, "she returned icily.

"Mmm. Perhaps." Martin turned to the admiral. "Shall we end this?"

"Gladly." The admiral cocked his pistol and aimed it at Lydia, who almost spat with fury. "Go screw yourself, you son of a –"

BLAM! Another cacophony of noise, and the former patroness joined Wallace in death.

Callista had stood firm this entire time. For some reason she was not afraid. Of Martin, of Havelock, not even of death. She had spent all her life being afraid, only to be fearless now? What a sick joke. The Outsider's, no doubt. No. These are the designs of men, not monsters. It comforted her to know that. When the gun turned toward her, she felt calm. I will see you soon, Uncle Geoff.

They were only men. They would get theirs.

And she was a lady.