He waited before replying, letting Daud's words sink in, letting Daud stare at him with that hard-edged reproach, that you brought this on yourself, Corvo kind of expression that made him long for Hawk's prosaic bearing and patronizing smile. At least with Hawk, he knew where he stood. He knew what Hawk wanted and knew how to manipulate the High Overseer - to a point. But Daud's motivations eluded him. Always had. This so-called rescue was a front for something else, but like Arella, Daud wasn't revealing the plan - only pieces of the puzzle. And whatever endgame Daud had in mind seemed less and less like something he wanted to see.

The growing silence made Daud's slash of a mouth tightened even more, and Billie alternated between clandestine glances at the stairs and baleful sneering. What did she expect? Gratitude? They were kidnapping him from his kidnappers for Void's sake.

Listen to him. Trust him, the Outsider had said. But the Outsider had said many things - revelations better left in the darker corners of his mind, moldering, collecting dust. And those toxic hands, both thrilling and terrifying. His bones ached and his head swam. What did that black-eyed bastard do to him? And then Granny...was she still alive? Better for her if she had died in the dream. Her little plague rats had tried to eat him - well, his soul anyway. Had Granny gotten what she wanted in the end? One final waltz with her black-eyed groom.

Doubt remained over her fate, a shifting in his mind like a movement under a shroud - a corpse not quite dead.

"So what's it going to be?" Daud tapped the bars and flicked two fingers at Billie - an impatient "go ahead" gesture. She aimed with grinning enthusiasm, the promise of a long, dark nap ready to fly from her wrist if he didn't agree to play hostage. Things had been so much simpler in Dunwall. It had been murder or mercy. Spare or kill. Not this mess of ulterior motives, and bounties collected by the people who issued them.

"How much did you ask for me?" Delaying now and being obvious about it. Still, Daud might bite. There had to be a way out of this without being darted or trussed up like an ox calf. It would be a repeat of the courtyard again, unable to transverse or stop time. Helpless and at Daud's mercy - until Hawk caught them, and then it would be another slaughter - his own, probably, since half the Overseers couldn't wait for a chance to burn the "heresy" out of him.

"Ten thousand coin, alive."

"That's it?"

Daud chuckled, his duel-colored face shimmering, the dark half disappearing entirely into shadow. "Insulted? I raised it twice when that Morleyan hound was barking at the entire city about me assassinating Armas and his son — which you know I had nothing to do with — " tension flickered across Daud's features like a flash of a blade, voice deepening, growing defensive — "Announcement after announcement. Day after day. The Duchess weeping about the monster that killed her boy. And that High Oracle, riling up the commons with all her talk of heavenly doom and how the Void would devour Karnaca piece by piece unless some righteous soul turned me in. Damn that mud lark. And her handler, too. Hawk keeps sending fools into the catacombs. Pulling them off the street: mercenaries, dock boys, even gang members - Black Squids, most of them, but recruiting some Devil Tails from the East side, promising them a fortune in coin if they can find me - coin he never has to pay."

"I can't see Marcus allowing his Devils to commit suicide - no matter how much the coin". The image of the pirate's lean, weathered face rose in his mind, skin so black it shone indigo, and unnatural green eyes - said to be taken straight from the skull of some unfortunate sea serpent. An exaggerated fairy tale, but one repeated so often that Marcus himself probably believed it by now.

"He's thinning out his ranks," Daud said. "Letting this High Overseer do the job for him. That failed coup last year...his crew turning on each other. Those who rode the fence looked as bad as the ones rebelling. Loyalty does tend to improve life expectancy."

"Depends on who you're loyal to," he said, remembering the Duke's order that left seven Devils gurgling their lifeblood on the deck, and Marcus's solemn promise of revenge — a promise that would be sadly unfulfilled considering his current circumstances.

"Right." The noise Daud made seemed part grunt, part laugh. "If I ever earn yours, I'll be dead by morning."

That barb stung more than it should have. Shame welled like blood. "I'd sell my soul to the Outsider before I'd pledge myself to you."

"You already have sold your soul, Corvo. Now enough stalling and answer my question. Or should I have Lurk answer it for you."

"Fine. Say I come along willingly. What then? Do you have another pit waiting for me? A cage? Whatever it is, I hope you clear it of rats and make it deep. Wouldn't want a repeat of that culling I gave your Whalers back in Dunwall, would we?"

"If I can't knock him out, let me muzzle him," Billie spat. "Or cut out his tongue."

"Billie, enough. He knows he has one choice. He just doesn't like it."

"All the more reason to gag him."

A sharp chirp at the top of the stairs, a kingsparrow calling to its mate. Without looking behind him, Daud said: "Time's up. In five minutes the guards will rotate, and then it's another ten to fifteen till morning rounds. Corvo, you had your chance. Billie, knock him out."

"Wait!" He flinched in anticipation of the dart. Daud motioned for Billie to hold - much to her obvious annoyance — and during the warring exchange of doubtful looks between his would-be rescuers, he said with more conviction, "I'll do what you want. And you're right, it's the only choice I have. Don't toss me over your shoulder like a sack of meat."

"I'd rather not carry you at all," Daud said. "But this sudden change of heart? Really, Corvo? I'm many things, but not an idiot."

"Allow me some dignity. Please."

"He'll slow us down less if he's conscious, but it's your call, Daud," Billie said, and lowered her arm, reached for something in one of her many hip pouches. "I'll respect what you decide."

For now hung unsaid between them, and Daud cast Billie a wary glance before saying, "I'll hold you to your word, Corvo, but if you break it..." Daud's warning joined Billie's for now, the air growing heavy between them as if burdened. Billie unlocked the cell door, silky cloak fluttering and fading, her entry like a wrathful spirit - and then she was at his side in a blink, the cut-blade sound of her transversal startling a yelp of dismay from his throat. Calculated move, maybe trying to impress him, or intimidate him. Either way, she wouldn't get the satisfaction that reaction again.

The cross on Billie forehead crinkled. "By the Void you stink."

"Fuck you," he said, offended. "I was bathed —" he stammered, cheeks flushing hot— "I mean, I bathed this morning. Last night. Recently...anyway. The mud was an accident."

"I bet it was, Mr. Mud Lark."

"Billie, just tie him up," Daud rubbed the bridge of his nose, the paint flaking. If enough paint wore away, would that part of Daud stay visible while the rest of him disappeared? Would the Overseers flee in terror from a disembodied nose floating down the hall?

"What are you smiling at?" Billie released his chains and kicked him in the back, pitching him face-first into the mud. Stunned and sputtering, mud snorting up his nose, his arms yanked behind his back and wrists tied. Gritty sludge dripped into his eyes. Tiny pins began throbbing in his fingertips. Daud made it a point to stand in the narrow gap of the cell door, arms crossed and pensive as if admiring one of Sokolov's paintings.

He spat brown and struggled onto his aching knees. "Ms Lurk, I'm starting to think you don't like me."

"Whatever gave you that idea?"

"All right, oil him up," Daud said. "Just enough to cover what the cloak can't."

"What?" His attempts to escape made Billie laugh - scooting away while his pants went in the opposite direction - but then she snagged him by the nape of his neck and dragged him back.

"Stay, boy," she said and slathered a thick smear of something cold and smelling heavy of brine and sand onto his face and neck. When she released him, her gloves shimmered as if she'd crushed a handful of butterflies. Blood pulsed under his skin and the hazy scent of the sun-warmed ocean flooded his nose.

"What the Void is this shit?"

"Wraith Krust powder and whale oil," Daud said. "What we use to disappear." A ragged cloak appeared in Daud's hands, taken from the back of the chair Hawk used for his tales of Pandyssia hour. Billie caught it with one hand as Daud said, "And that is what's going to hide the rest of you. I want this extraction to be painless and easy. No one else has to die."

"You mean like the Duke's son?" Yes, it was stupid, but he couldn't resist. Daud let out another patient sigh and turned away. A heavy cloth flopped over his head, Billie's way of trying to shut him up. Wood and musty old linen replaced the scent of sand and waves, and brought along the neglect of years of being buried in a chest, forgotten in the darkness. The smell of something unloved, potent and sad. His vision returned when the hood eased back, the tattered threads hanging in his eyes.

From the top of the stairs, another series of chirps and trills that only Daud seemed to understand. "Two Warfares guarding the dungeon, three in the courtyard," Daud said. "And two patrolling the gates. The Grand Guard are still changing over. We have time. Seven minutes, maybe less. Is he ready?"

Billie shoved him out the cell door. Up until now this rescue had a surreal, dream-like quality: painted savages carrying off stolen treasure. Where was Arella and her entourage of mace-wielding Handmaidens? Why weren't Daud and Billie writhing before an orchestra of Holger devices? Arella had to have foreseen this in some manner - whether by dream or vision - but hadn't acted. Was she waiting for the right moment? Waiting for Daud to make a mistake, waiting for the Wraiths to be in the right place at the right time?

"Daud, you know Arella is —" he stopped when Billie swatted the back of his head.

"The High Oracle isn't a problem. She's having tea with the Duchess in the Palace arboretum," Daud said. "So much for divining the future. No change in guard. No change in rotation. And Handmaidens all accounted for. Our Most Holy must have missed her daily dose of nightshade. She's a fraud, Corvo, just like the rest."

"No, Arella's nothing—" Another swat. If she did that one more fucking time…

Daud vanished up the stairwell, his voice settling like the dust he had disturbed. "Lurk, time to move."

Fingers clamped onto his neck like iron teeth. A sickening sway of space around him and he was at the top of the stairs. Then in the hallway, stone walls spinning around them. Then under the stone archway that rolled in an endless circle. His stomach gave a dangerous lurch. Transversing was considerably less pleasant as a passenger. His leg twinged in complaint, then started burning. Maybe they would have to carry him after all. Daud paused. A hand signal. Hold. A Warefare walked by, murmuring strictures. Maybe he should let his stomach go, use it as a distraction, or at the very least, get this Lurk bitch away from him.

The thought must have betrayed him somehow. The iron teeth bit down. "Give me an excuse, Lord Protector," Billie hissed in his ear. Daud made a growling noise and glared at her. Stop it, Billie, said the shake of Daud's head. The iron teeth eased their hold - but then dug in twice as deep, cutting off his air. "I would let you run, you bastard. Let the Overseers catch you and beat the living Void out of you. Let you bleed like you let our boys bleed. When we get back to the caves, you and I, we're going to have a discussion. We're going to settle things the Wraith way."

"Lurk." Daud snarled the word and Billie retreated — but not her hand. Beyond his low cowl, he had a sense of them locking gazes, measuring each other. So, there was a history there, and a turbulent one. It didn't take a Piero Joplin level of genius to guess that Billie Lurk had been a Whaler. No doubt she had been with Daud on those rooftops back at Dunwall Tower — she might have even been the one pinning him to the wall as Daud plunged his blade into Jessamine's stomach. And if that was true...

Yes, they would be having a discussion, and yes they would be settling things.

His way.

"You finished?" Daud's tone demanded one answer, and Billie gave it with the same lethal chill. For several heartbeats, neither of his captors moved, and then a shrill squawk from a kingsparrow sent them transversing again, a dizzying, frantic, stop-and-go flight through the lower levels of the Palace, pass temples and prayer alters. And with every yank of motion, the knots at his wrists loosened a little more. Seems Billie needed a lesson in knot tying.

After the stench of his cell, the fragrant humid air drifting in through the unglazed windows seemed sweeter, lush with familiar scents of sea and earth. Little time to enjoy it though, as the outer gardens rushed into his vision in splotches of greenery and flowers. Palm leaves waved in front of his face, scratchy and moist. More chips and trills. All clear. A beautiful morning and no aristocrat strolling the gardens? No servant dallying before their shift? Desperation gnawed its way into his belly. One hand. Just one hand. Do something, you idiot. Knots slick with blood. Two fingers free. Then the rest. The outer gardens led to the main gates, but also the narrow servants entrance hidden along the high wall. And beyond that, Daud's cave and an uncertain fate. Void only knew when he would get another chance.

The pressure of air shifted. Another transversal beginning. One free bloody hand under his cloak and the pygmy palm tree caressing his cheek. A small and elegant trunk, but strong — stronger than Billie's now slackened grip on his neck. The iron teeth had weakened, finally. Cooperation did have its rewards.

Billie dashed forward — then back with a crack of sound, whiplash taking her balance and surprised cry. She landed on her back, half his cloak still in her hands, torn edges flapping. Daud spun around, his wrist turning up, already reacting. A dart grazed his neck, leaving behind a little trail of fire and blood. Quick bastard, but he had proved back in Dunwall that he had been the faster one.

Go, go, go, don 't stop.

His transversals were that of an drunken ox, one stumbling to pasture and hitting every fence post along the way. A stone wall almost collided with his nose. A row of fire lilies would have been breakfast had he not changed direction at the last second. Unpredictable paths. Keep Daud guessing. Make him work for it.

Through an archway, down the row, over the hedges. And a shadow behind, never wavering. He had dreamed something like this once, time dancing in slow motion and black eyes watching in delight. Sluggish colors matched his sluggish movements. How had his shadow not caught him? He paused against a wall. Sweat in his eyes, stinging. He shook and the ground swirled like water.

"Corvo, damn you!"

Another dart sang, and another transversal up and over the wall. He laughed, euphoria bubbling, playful and poisonous. Daud cursed somewhere to his left. Where was he going again? It all had been so clear a moment ago. And where was the woman? Billie…something. Ah, wait. He careened and launched himself down a long arched hall. Oil paintings and wall lamps and winding stairs. Inside the lower palace now…somewhere. The shadow had stopped following and that was fine. So much transversing, like a muscle overused. Never had it bothered him back in Dunwall. He must be getting old. Slick marble, cool and hard under his bare feet. Be careful now, no transversing in the Palace. He laughed again, like the boy he had been before the Verbena festival, before it all went wrong. Why were the walls so many colors? So garish and bright, like one of Delilah's paintings. Where was his shadow? The woman? What was her name again? Billie…Lurk. Yes, that was her name. Maybe she had broken her neck. His rats would like that. They would be hungry.

"Attano!"

Not Daud. A Warfare. Fresh from the bathhouse, hair still damp. Young, shoulders wide, mouth gaping like a startled bovine. Behind the Warfare, colors stopped spinning and decided to form the gilded archways of the Palace arboretum, the golden gates of the Cosmos itself. The Warfare snorted in panic, fumbling too long for his pistol. Off guard…vulnerable. Instinct shone in his clouded mind like a stray ray of sunlight. Hot. Blinding.

The Warfare was dead before he hit the ground.

A small shriek jerked his eyes from the bulging gaze of his latest victim, to meet another gaze of similar vacancy, this pair attached to a familiar woman in a mauve gown. The delicate layers of sea silk seemed to freeze with her, a floral teacup halfway to her parted lips and a clinking saucer underneath. Years had eroded some of her beauty, but what remained could still charm a man half her age. Nothing charming about her now, though. She gawked at him like a flustered old hen, her chair scraping against the stone with an unpleasant screech. She rose in a flourish of silk and alarm, her teacup and saucer shattering.

"Sit down, your grace." On the other side of the wrought metal table, clad in her usual attire of blood and shadow, Arella sipped her tea, her saucer and cup silent. A medium-sized box of polished wood shared a spot at her feet. Embellished symbols of the Everyman and three complex locks adorned the lid and body. Jessamine's heart whispered inside.

He made a noise like a wounded animal and moved toward her, hot tears welling. To hear her now, after all the horror and torture, to be within a hairbreadth of touching her again. It was like a prayer answered, a dying man's wish. Tears spilled over and he reached out, arm and hand shaking.

Jessamine, Jessamine, his thoughts cried, can you hear me?

"Even if you claimed it before I restrained you, even if you managed to unlock it without my keys, and even if you broke all those strong fingers prying it open — she would die before you held her again." Arella nibbled on a tart, the cream as soft as her voice. "This is a special box, one I had made specifically for her. There's a small pressure plate on the bottom, a spring razor." The innocence in her eyes, her voice. It was perverse. "Poor Jessamine. To be torn apart twice. Will you be that cruel to her?"

"What manner of hell birthed you, woman?" Red tinged his vision, a throbbing veil that matched the throbbing in his hand. How satisfying it would be to break this creature's neck, shake her until her eyes bled and that satisfying crack echoed through the Palace. His hands clenched, convulsive, already performing the deed.

Arella stood, a delicate hiss of metal against stone. Duchess Katrina sat mute in her chair like an over-dressed doll, arms stiff and folded. Eyes empty. A remote part of him murmured concern, but the Duchess didn't matter. Only Jessamine mattered. And then after Jessamine, killing Arella. And then Hawk, the Overseers, the Handmaidens — and then maybe Billie and Daud if they kept trying to leash him. The black-eyed bastard would love that wouldn't he?

His stomach clenched a warning, then dropped. He staggered and vomited. The Duchess covered her nose with an embroidered napkin and looked properly disgusted. Arella poured another cup of tea, humming what sounded like an old Serkonan folk song. What was the title? Hands on his knees, he coughed and spat. The red haze dissipated and a fog replaced it, one that muddled his thoughts and dimmed his anger. Son-of-a-bitch…Daud. One scratch and he was this addled? What kind of darts were those?

"Do you care?" Arella pushed the saucer toward him. A teacup full of sunset, a melting swirl of honey lazy on the bottom. "Drink, it will clear your head."

He didn't move. Oh now she wanted to be courteous? Fuck her. Fuck her and her damn freakish—

"I said…DRINK."

He lurched forward, groaning, compelled to obey by the sudden verbal blow to his head. The fog cleared, but it was not a blessing. Fear gripped him, shoved him forward. He crashed into the table, both he and it teetering, and the Duchess made a hasty retreat to a large palm tree, hands clasped to her chest and her blank wide eyes fixed on him.

Arella came close — not touching, thank the Cosmos, he couldn't bear that — but near enough to feel the unnatural heat radiating from her, the electric buzzing in his ears. This was her displeasure. A rebuke. But then the feeling eased and something akin to an apology attempted to sooth him. A nameless sensation joined Arella in stroking his arm. He jumped and shied away like a skittish horse. The tea…focus on the tea. He sipped cautiously. Bitter, but the honey helped. Her fingers found him again. No escape.

"Better?" Arella said, stroking down and up. There, there, will you forgive me? Gentle. Dangerous.

"Yes." He sipped again. The Duchess had her palm tree to hide behind. He had his tea. Another nudge in his head. So disquieting. What do you say? He stammered, mouth forming the words before they left his brain. "Thank you, Arella."

"You're very welcome, Corvo." But her pleased smile faded as she stared at something over his shoulder, her face darkening. Monsters clawed from their prison behind her eyes. And he was trapped there with them, held by something he had no words for, had no understanding of. "And when your head clears, I have a favor to ask of you. A small kindness to repay my own."

He should have left with Daud and Billie. They were the lesser of the two evils. Why hadn't he listened? If pride was a noose he would have hung himself multiple times.

A gravelly sigh somewhere to his right. Then another sigh as a blade unsheathed. The sounds of more blades followed. Seemed all the Wraiths were crashing the party.

"Corvo." It wasn't a question, but another apology. This time it came from Daud, but he didn't deserve it. He had really mucked things up this time. Jessamine had always been a weakness for him, a soft spot in his armor. Her voice and soul had long since melded to his own. She was as part of him as his own bones and blood. Once he had wanted Daud to suffer for her death, and anyone else associated - but hate was inconvenient. Right now, he needed allies. And it seemed Daud had finally realized that no, Arella wasn't a fraud like the rest, and yes, she was very very much a threat - and Daud had, despite his clever scheme falling through- come back for him. Was he wrong to assume this? Maybe.

Or perhaps there was a shred of honor left in them both.

"Take him if you can, Knife of Dunwall." Arella sat back down and poured herself another cup of tea. The Duchess tried to make herself one with the palm tree. From the pathways of the arboretum, Overseers emerged, masks grimacing and swords in hand. Warfares appeared on the upper walkway, Holger devices ready to play. And Hawk himself, the picture of piety and grace in his battle uniform, strode toward the table with a tight, triumphant smile.

Daud chuckled, "I'm really getting too old for this."

"Yes," Arella said and set her cup back on the saucer. "You are." She paused for effect, then flicked her wrist, the gesture as airy as her command.

"Kill them all."