A/N: I decided to include horses as there is trace evidence that they exist in the Dishonored universe, even though they are never encountered directly in the game or its DLC. The motorized coach is an idea I got from the Dishonored Wiki.
Also, I'm apologizing in advance for the way Erin speaks - I gave her a slight Irish/Scottish accent mixed with a dash of English cockney and some of my own colloquialisms to mimic a street urchin hailing from northern Morley.
NOTE: This chapter was updated January 7, 2019.
Favors
Chapter 2
Gathering the Undertakers
The Twenty-Sixth Day of the Third Month, the Month of Nets, 1837
Fhavre Square
The Next Day, Early Morning
…
…
Erin Brannigan
The marketplace was abuzz with activity. Merchants were plying their trade as the greengrocers and fishmongers offered their latest goods. Customers, common and noble alike, perused the stalls, the shops, and the stationary carts.
Fhavre Square was ideally located just east of the Tailors' District. It was able to draw on a variety of customers ranging from the common folk of the Schauke Dockyards to the north, the middle class from the Tailors' District to the west, the wealthy gentry journeying in from the nearby Old Patrician Estates, and even the odd aristocrat from the Legal District far to the west.
On the east end, near Priory Road, business was particularly active. Among the bustling throngs, an older woman holding a large basket was examining the fresh produce offered by an assortment of suppliers.
"Good morning, Mrs. Benson," a stout man of about forty greeted from behind one of the stands.
"Mr. Odderman," she replied with a smile and a polite nod. She looked his cart over. "Anything good today?"
"Yup," he said with a grin. "Fresh apples from the hills south of Redmoor, and Tyvian pears brought in only last night."
Neither Odderman nor his customer noticed the slow, measured movement approaching in the shadows beneath the abandoned stall next to them.
"How much fer your apples?" the woman asked.
"A single coin'll nab you three of them. Same goes for the pears."
A pealing, mechanical signal emanated from the nearby loudspeaker above the crowd.
"Attention Dunwall citizens," the speaker began.
Odderman and Benson, along with several others, glanced up to the technological device. As they did so, a thin, pale hand darted out from under the abandoned stall and snatched away a pair of bright red apples.
"The Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over two months past at the moment of her mother's terrible murder. Anyone with information leading to the location or return of the daughter of our beloved, late Empress is required to speak to the City Watch at once."
"That's become routine now," Odderman said with a shake of his head. "Still no word of the girl."
His customer nodded in agreement. "There hasn't even been talk of ransom or anything," she said.
Another mechanical signal sounded a moment later.
"Citizens and visitors of our fair city, the following announcement has just taken effect today," the speaker began anew. "The unidentified murderer known as the Beast of Whitecliff is no longer believed to be contained solely to that region. The City Watch now suspects he has become active in Dunwall itself."
Many surprised folk glanced about at each other, some even starting up conversations about the news. Once more, the slight hand grabbed a pair of apples from Odderman's cart.
"All citizens are asked to immediately report any suspicious individuals or behavior to your local branch of the City Watch."
A final clang followed the end of the morning announcements.
"Gives me the shudders, all that nasty murder business," Mrs. Benson said, tightly clutching her basket. "And to think he's supposed to be here now. In the city!"
"Agreed," the cart owner said with a nod. "But this is Dunwall we're talking about. The City Watch here is far bettered trained."
Two pears vanished from the bottom row as they talked.
"Maybe," Mrs. Benson continued. "But if they can't even protect Empress Jessamine and her young one, how are they gonna protect the likes of you and me?"
The slim appendage tentatively poked out again, but this time was grabbed by the greengrocer.
"Hey now, what's this?" Odderman said in a stern voice as he gave a solid tug yanking the hand - and the rest of the person attached to it - up from beneath the empty stall.
The revealed figure was a short, young individual dressed in worn grey striped pants, a faded and oversized yellow button-down shirt, and a dark grey jacket that had seen better days. The green eyes, pale skin, freckles, and tufts of unkempt red hair poking out from under a black flat cap spoke of the individual's Morley ancestry.
"'ere, lemme go!" the youth balked, trying to wrest free of Odderman's grip. "I ain't done nuthin'!"
"Trying to steal from me?" The proprietor pulled the individual close. "I better call the Watch, eh boy?"
"Boy? Boy, 'e says?" An angry frown crossed the freckled face. "I'll 'ave ye know I'ma girl, and a grown one at that! Erin's me name, given right from me mum and da'."
Odderman chuckled as he kept a tight grip on her. "They'll still throw ya in jail regardless, girl or not."
"Wot fer?" the redhead asked. "I ain't done nuthin', like I says. I was jus' 'spectin' yer wares. Look, me grubbers are clean!" She held up her empty hands.
The greengrocer stared hard at Erin, trying to gauge the truth of her words. He glanced at his cart as she watched nervously then turned back to her.
"I'm warnin' you, girl," he said, "I find any evidence of you snitching my goods, it's the Watch for you, ya hear me?"
"Yessir, I unnerstan'," she muttered with a quick nod. "Thank ye, sir."
He released her with a backwards shove, away from his cart. The motion jostled her and suddenly a bright red apple fell out from under her oversized shirt, struck the toe of her shoe with a low -thump- and rolled right over to the grocer. The merchant, his lady customer, and the girl all stared at the conspicuous fruit for a moment, then they looked up at each other.
Erin blinked, gave a half-hearted chuckle, and watched as the grocer's face turn a shade of red that matched the apple.
"Crap."
"Come here!" he growled as he lunged forward.
"YEEP!" Erin ducked outside of the man's reach; sometimes being a mere five-feet-tall came in handy. She took off at a quick sprint into the crowd, her pursuer calling from behind.
"Get over here, ya thief!"
"By the Void I will," she groused under her breath dodging past a man carrying a pair of chickens. She rushed onward, leaping over a small wheelbarrow and then twisting around a large woman who was examining a supply of cabbages. All the while, she heard Odderman's angry shouting.
"Ye need ta move yer arse, Erin, ye numpty prat," she scolded herself.
A young man carrying a wooden tray of freshly baked tarts passed in front of the girl, the enticing smell washing over her.
"Cor," she said with a happy sigh. "Fresh pastries!" She slowed, inhaling the pleasant aroma, and glanced at the tray. "Now that's wot I be needin' next time I… OOOF!"
She slammed into, and rebounded off of, a solid figure dressed in the dark blue uniform of a Watch Officer. Two more apples and a pear fell from under her shirt.
"Stop her, she's a thief!" Odderman cried out.
"Crap," she muttered while dropping to the ground and rolling under a table near a stall entrance. "Crap, crap, crap."
She got back to her feet and brushed past some of the attendants stationed at the stall.
"Move yer arses!" she yelled.
"Stop there!" ordered the man in the uniform.
"Nope, nope, nope!" she called back, then focused her attention on a tightly packed group of workers in front of her. "Make a hole!"
She forced her way through and cleared some short crates in her path with a quick hop, then dodged around a big barrel. She scrambled onto a large table, dashed atop it to the edge, and leapt off, trying to clear the top of a wooden fence in the back. She made it… almost.
"SHIT!"
-CR-RASH-
She busted through the barrier and landed hard, facedown amidst splintered wood and a small cloud of dust. The last two pieces of stolen fruit, an apple and a pear, popped out of the top of her shirt and rolled away. She scrambled on all fours as quick as she could, attempting to snatch them back, when a well polished shoe stepped in front of the rolling apple impeding its progress. She tried to see the face of the newcomer when she was grabbed by the scruff of the neck and hauled off the ground by a second individual.
"Och!" she yelped as she squirmed to free herself from her unknown assailant. "Nae please, I dinna mean ta do it. They was all for me ol' mum! Suff'rin' from the cough, she is. I dinna wan'er catchin' the plague! Please, 'ave mercy!"
She was held fast, feet kicking off the ground as her captor spoke.
"Erin Brannigan, I know better," the familiar voice stated calmly. "Both of your parents are deceased."
Recognizing the voice, she ceased her struggling and turned to look at the dark-haired man holding her aloft. To her surprise, it was James Dartley, and with him, retrieving the apple from the ground, was a well-dressed Albert Tuddleston.
"Oh, 'ello there, boss. How's fings wit' you?"
The Watch Officer and an exasperated Odderman arrived a moment later, the latter panting heavily.
"I owe you a debt, my man," the merchant said as he leaned forward gasping for breath. "That girl stole my goods."
James eased her to the ground, took in the situation quickly, and snatched up the fallen pear.
"I believe it is I who owe you an apology," he said. He indicated Erin with a nod. "I sent my young ward to gather something to eat for my associate and me and failed to provide her with the appropriate coin. I can be something of a taskmaster and I'm sure she didn't want to come back empty-handed."
He reached into his pocket, withdrew two silver coins worth five each, and handed them to the merchant.
"Ten should cover your troubles, correct?" He polished the pear on his vest then took a quick bite.
The merchant stared at the money then looked at the officer who awaited a reply.
"I… yes, that'll be fine." He hesitated. "Um, I… Hm, okay then."
The officer glanced at the merchant then looked at James.
"That matter may be settled, but what about this fence?" He pointed to the splintered wall. "Who's going to take care of that?"
Tuddleston stepped forward.
"I shall speak to the property owner immediately, my dear fellow," he said with a disarming smile. "All will be made right, I assure you."
The watchman looked around the area, shrugged his shoulders and finally relented.
"Alright then. You gentlemen have a good day. Just keep her out of the market."
After the Watch Officer and the grocer left, James eyed Erin, a scowl upon his face.
"That ten o' coin be comin' outta me pocket, ain't it?" she inquired.
He nodded slowly.
She shook her head and gave a resigned sigh.
"Crap."
…
…
At an overgrown site away from the residential areas, Erin reached behind a tangled bush, and grabbed a rusty metal pole. She braced the pole against a large rock and applied all of her weight to it.
"So, gots a job lined up for us now, do ye?" she muttered through grit teeth as she slowly slid the heavy stone aside. "Good ta know. Been a while, it has. Be needin' a bit o' coin after that jiggered mess this mornin'."
Under the rock was a recessed area, hidden from prying eyes. In the shallow cavity were a burlap sack, a small belt pouch, and a club with etchings burnt into it. Retrieving the items, she set the pole to the other side of the rock and began pushing.
"Little help 'ere, eh?"
With a shake of his head, James grabbed the pole and shifted the rock back over the secret area, hiding it once again from view.
"So, wot's the score then, boss? Wot ye need me ta do?"
James smirked at the girl.
"I need you to take me to Rollo."
Rollo Septner
On the opposite side of the District, at a seemingly random abandoned building, three rough-looking men gathered close.
"Be prepared, boys. This bastard's supposed to be clever. Let me do the talking, but stay at the ready."
"You're da boss, Mr. Sharp."
A cruel man of Serkonan birth with black hair and dark eyes, the criminal Arturo Sharp had recently removed a local rival and was quick to capitalize on it, spreading his reach a bit further. Soon, he planned on expanding his little empire into Fhavre Square – the area was a hotbed of contention for various criminal factions: The Bottle Street Gang, The Barrel Boys led by Steely Thews, and even Gibbons' Trump Cards. But first he'd have to deal with an arbiter of sorts, and he brought along a pair of his thugs to help him with that.
He'd hired a local snitch by the name of Squeak to make contact with this particular nuisance that went by the name of Rollo, and set up a meet. The man had agreed and was awaiting him within a disused bloodox slaughterhouse on Dellar Avenue.
Ascending a set of metal stairs leading to one of the large offices of the abandoned facility, Sharp and his two men entered cautiously.
"You're late," grumbled the small man lounging haphazardly in the office manager's chair.
"Is your name Rollo?" Sharp asked.
"Aye, it is indeed."
The individual named Rollo was a small, thin, dark-haired man who appeared in his early forties. He had several days' growth of stubble which he scratched nonchalantly as he examined his nails. He had on a frayed, brown overcoat, a black bowler that sat cocked at an angle on his head and fingerless cloth gloves. His oddest article of clothing was a large pair of brass goggles which appeared akin to something worn by that a watchmaker. The goggles sported a hinged attachment with a second pair of darkly tinted spectacles.
The unusual attire and overall appearance of the man stunned Sharp to say the least.
After a brief interlude of silence, the short man looked up from his nails, and flipped the tinted spectacles up, revealing dark, rat-like eyes distorted by the lens.
"Somethin' wrong?" the man asked his trio of guests. He stood and stretched, not even topping five-and-half feet.
"You're…" Sharp began after a moment's hesitation. "You're not quite what I expected. I was expecting someone more… impressive."
"And I was expectin' to have this business wrapped up half an hour ago, and myself well on my way to a pub." He smirked humorlessly. "Guess we're both disappointed then."
A slight rattle came from one of the lockers near the back of the room drawing everyone's attention.
"What is that?" Sharp asked.
Rollo grinned with a gesture to the battered locker. "Oh that there's Squeak. All trussed up and waitin' for this meet to come to its conclusion. He said he wanted to be here when it all played out."
The short man paused for a moment to scratch his dark stubble.
"Or was it 'Please sir, don't kill me!'" He chuckled then pointed to his own head. "Heh. I forget sometimes. A bit addled in the ol' brainpan before my afternoon imbibement."
He gestured to a small desk in the far corner upon which sat several bottles of various shapes and sizes.
"Speakin' a which, would you care for a drink?" he asked, heading to the assembled glassware.
"No, you dullard!" the taller man yelled. "We're here to settle matters between us. Or rather I'm here to settle matters with those that hold your chain."
The short man stopped and turned to look Sharp straight in the eyes.
"Sure nuff then, bucko," he growled with a curl of his lip. "We'll be settlin' right quick. But a word of clarity for you to think about before we get this meet underway." He took a measured step forward. "The name's Rollo Septner and nobody… NOBODY holds me on a chain. Ya got that?"
This time it was Sharp who smirked.
"Fine." He cleared his throat. "I'll make it plain: I intend for Fhavre Square to come under my purview. I've got the funds. And soon I'll have the muscle."
Rollo raised an eyebrow.
"Lickety split and all that, eh?" The short man shook his head. "There's rules and such, plus considerations to figure in."
"Considerations?" Sharp narrowed his eyes. "What considerations?"
"First off, others got their shiny eyes on the prize. I was paid by Slathersby Crumb to represent his interests in this matter, and he of course answers to Slackjaw. What'll the Bottle Streeters get out of this?"
Confusion crossed the face of the tall Serkonan.
"Get?" He scoffed. "They get nothing. They're not doing the work. They're not setting up the deals. I am. They're too embroiled in their little ongoing feuds with Steely Thews as well as the Hatters."
Rollo twisted his lip. "And it's true you plan on trading noxom leaf in the area once you 'take over'?"
Sharp grinned maliciously.
"Of course! It's one of my main sources of income. I'll sell it to whoever is able to pay. Crumb and the Bottle Street Gang have their distillery. I have my growers. I'm not cutting in on either their whiskey or their bootleg elixir."
"True," the odd little man admitted. "But noxom leaf without moderation? People'd be forgetting to take their elixir. Plague'd be worse than ever. Your customers will start dying off, bucko."
"Dying off?" the Serkonan seemed perplexed. "What do I care? I'll always get more."
"Mm, now there's the rub, chum." Rollo scratched his chin again. "This whole city's dying. And somethin' like noxom leaf unchecked? No sir, that'd kick it into the Void for certain. You want to make money. And then keep making it, see? A dead cluck won't bring in the coin anymore, bucko."
Sharp blinked in surprise.
"Sure I can't offer you a drink?" The short man headed towards the desk with the various bottles once again. "Talk ya into doin' something else?"
"Are you a criminal, or a philosopher?" the Serkonan finally asked. "Are you trying to save the city, or reap what you can from it? For myself I intend to squeeze it until its dead and dry."
"I'm a businessman first and foremost," the small man explained. He drew a long knife out of a belt sheath. "I'm also a killer when I have to be."
The two thugs with of Arturo put their hands onto the pommels of their blades. Their host seemed unimpressed despite being outnumbered as he finally reached the desk and grabbed the largest glass container.
"But what I am currently," the short man said as he flipped his tinted spectacles back into place. "…is regretful that ya didn't agree to that drink." He turned towards them, shaking the bottle in his hand and a bright glow emanated from within the smoky glass.
Arturo Sharp realized too late what was in the bottle as the shorter man hurled it towards his men.
"Whale oil!" he warned as the unstable liquid exploded.
KA-WHOOM!
Blinded by the sudden blast of light, Sharp could do nothing but stumble about the unfamiliar room. He heard a scream and the sound of a steel blade piercing flesh. The sound repeated itself, then there was silence.
"W-wait!" the Serkonan yelled. "W-we can talk this over!"
A low voice echoed out of the grayish haze that was his vision.
"Sorry, bucko. The time for niceties is over."
…
…
"Dellar Avenue's 'bout shut down," Erin stated as she led James and Albert to Rollo's newest 'place of business'. "Shops closed. Homes empty. Rollie likes it like that. Quiet an' such, ye know?"
Tuddleston nodded.
"I certainly know I wouldn't come calling here for him," the large man said as he glanced around the rundown area of the District.
"Doubt ye'd call on'im anyhows, Mr. Fancy Tuddles," the girl said back with a wink.
"Hm, true."
Their guide suddenly pointed at an abandoned bloodox slaughterhouse at the end of the street.
"There it is, alright." The girl took off at a trot. "C'mon then."
They reached the main stairway and James grabbed her arm.
"Let me go on first," he said. "Rollo sometimes has surprises in place if he isn't expecting company."
"As ye say, boss," the girl relented, shifting her burlap sack to the other shoulder.
James ascended the stairs alone, mindful not to let his footfalls echo upon the metal steps too loudly. About halfway up he noted the acrid stench of freshly ignited whale oil mixed with another pungent smell. Burnt human flesh? With a frown he carefully drew his sword and reached the top of the stairs. Easing the door aside as quietly as he could, he glanced inside the darkened room.
thwip-thwip-thwip-thwip-THUNK!
A long knife was thrown and buried itself into the wooden frame of the door mere inches from his head. With a half-muttered curse, James leapt into the dark room, tucking and rolling as he landed. He came up to a knee and made to move just as the barrel of a pistol was pressed firmly against the middle of his forehead.
"Greetings to ya, James," a voice said from the gloom. "It's polite ta knock, y'know. The blade was just a warning. You do realize if I wanted you dead, well, then you'd be dead."
"Yes, Rollo," he said calmly. It was true. Rollo had more skill with his throwing knives than the majority of the navy officers from the Academy had with their pistols. "I just noticed the smell of burning oil in the air. Thought you might need help."
He waited as the man rolled that around in his head. Rollo was an excellent ally to have at your side, but there were moments the sanity of the short, dangerous individual could be called into question.
"Fair nuff." He pulled the gun's barrel away from James' head and slowly slid the weapon back into place on his belt. "You're just in time to help me."
"Oh?"
"My goggles help with the dark but let's get you some light."
He heard the smaller man shuffle about in the blackness for a moment and then a small candelabrum was lit, giving the area a vague illumination. His host pointed to a large clay jug sitting next to what appeared to be dark blood stains across the floor.
"Whiskey," the man explained, concerning the contents of the jug. "Whale oil's too expensive and volatile for what I need done."
James glanced at the man and briefly considered not assisting him. However, it always seemed prudent to just give aid to Rollo rather than argue; after all he did need the man's help in return. He finally shrugged, then picked up the jug and hoisted it over his shoulder.
"And what is it that you need done?"
Rollo flipped up the tinted spectacles and then gave him a twisted grin.
"We're burning the place down, of course."
James raised an eyebrow.
"Oh. Of course."
Rollo gave him a friendly rap on the arm then went back to gathering up some smaller supplies laying about the large office.
James shook his head then started pouring the whiskey liberally about the room until he got to a large locker near the back. A sudden rattling from within the locker made the navy man jump.
"Rollo! What in the Void?"
The short man blinked then glanced at the locker.
"Oh shit! That's Squeak!"
He rushed to the metal container and opened it. Within lay a bruised young man, gagged and bound tightly with rope.
"Sorry, chum, sorry," Rollo apologized quickly as he cut the ropes.
He helped the young man to his feet.
"There we are now!" he exclaimed with a merry grin. "Almost left ya here to cook didn't I?"
The young man was shaking and caught James' gaze.
"H-he killed them," the young man stuttered. "All three. I-in seconds."
"Pah!" Rollo said with a smirk. "Took almost a minute honestly. That bastard, Sharp, kept trying to crawl away."
James grabbed the young man by his rumpled shirt.
"I'd just leave if I were you."
He nodded as James released him, and then bolted out of the exit.
"Well now," the man with the goggles said. "Let's light'er up!"
…
…
As the slaughterhouse office burned, the short man turned towards the others.
"Now then, I'm not the sharpest tack, but I'm supposin' this isn't a social call," he said looking up at the navy man. "What do ya need?"
"A new gang is in the Tailors' District. They're operating in the Schauke Dockyards area near Copton Lane."
Rollo's eyes narrowed behind his goggles.
"Yeah. So?"
"You've heard of them, then?" James wasn't actually surprised. His associate did have vast knowledge of the criminal world.
"Run by a fancy chap named Murlyn?" the small man asked. "Dresses up nice, usually in burgundy attire?"
"That'd be the one," Tuddleston admitted with a nod.
The short man sighed and pulled off his goggles so he could pinch the bridge of his nose.
"And let me guess, that's who ya promised someone ya'd deal with?"
He glanced up as James nodded.
"Of course ya did!" the short man exclaimed with a scowl. "The gang's called Murlyn's Merry Boyz. With a 'z'. I don't know why, but that's what they're called." He moved in close and squinted one eye at the navy man. "He's got near ta two dozen fellas with him, ya know that?"
Tuddleston and Erin exchanged worried glance, but James remained calm as he replied.
"Honestly no, I didn't."
Rollo threw up his arms.
"Course ya didn't!" He paced back and forth angrily stomping his feet along the path. "Never a 'Hey Rollo, we have a problem with Rosemary the Beautiful but Lonely Seamstress, could ya handle that?' or maybe a 'Hey Rollo ya need ta wrestle with Beatrice the Buxom Barmaid'."
He stopped and poked James in the chest.
"Ya need to quit picking shit jobs, bucko."
James cocked an eyebrow then asked, "Do you want in?"
He finally harrumphed.
"How much does it pay?"
Erin snickered. "How much ya be thinkin'?"
"One of your damnable favors? Again?" The short criminal shook his head. "You navy types never were bright on economics, were ya?"
"If something is salvaged and traded off to Faulhaber, you'll get a fair share," James reminded him. "This type of gang usually has a decent stockpile saved up. Could be worth quite a lot."
"Hm, true," he said, scratching his whiskers.
"There's also the time constraint," Tuddleston added.
"Time constraint?" Rollo's left eye twitched. "We got ta do this right away, don't we?"
James's smirk was answer enough.
"Urg!" he balked. "And lemme guess, it's just us so far?"
"Yep," Erin said.
Rollo rubbed the back of his neck for a moment.
"A might shame we won't have the Tyvian with us."
"Though his aid would most assuredly be desired," Tuddleston interjected, "it usually takes a while for him to answer a summons, once up to four days as I recall."
The small man grumbled.
"You'll need some heavies for this," he glanced at Tuddleston. "Ya bringin' your blunderbuss?"
"If necessary, yes," the large man said with a nod.
"It'll be necessary, believe me," he replied then looked at James. "Guess you're expectin' you and me to do the knife work then. However, it wouldn't hurt to bring the Overseer."
"He prefers ex-Overseer," Tuddleston reminded him. "The Abbey did try to brand him remember?"
"Yes, he was my next stop," admitted James. "If this gang is as numerous as you say then we'll need his sword skills."
Erin gasped as a wide grin broke out across her face.
"We be off ta seein' Addie?" she asked, the enthusiasm in her voice obvious.
"Who ya think we're talkin' about?" the short man asked.
"Void take me," the girl remarked as she started dusting off her pants, and straightening her jacket. "Ye dinna think to be tellin' me we was gonna see'im afore now? I look a frightful mess, I do!"
"We ain't goin' to see'im for social niceties so's ya can get all giggly and sticky-eyed."
"I dinna get 'sticky-eyed', ya rat-faced chuffer!" she retorted, balling her fists in anger.
"That's ENOUGH!" James interjected as he moved between them, his patience wearing thin. He glanced at Rollo. "Are you through with your nonsense? There's work to do and we need to get started as soon as possible. You can either come with us or not. Your choice."
The short man narrowed his eyes as he stared up at him, then surprisingly he relented.
"Ya know I'll hold up my end," Rollo replied matter-of-factly with a wave of his hand.
"And you?" The navy man looked at Erin.
She nodded sullenly as she shifted her burlap sack.
"Good," James said. "Now let's go fetch Ademar."
Ademar Creed
Normally they would be travelling by a horse-drawn wagon. As speed was essential, however, James had instructed Tuddleston to prepare the motorized coach instead. A horseless vehicle, the open-top Derius Model Motorized Coach was neither as fast nor as solidly built as the typical rail car. However, unlike the more famous vehicle of the wealthy, the Derius was not restricted to travel merely along the rails of the city. Plus it was quicker than any horse-drawn carriage, and more maneuverable.
As the quartet passed along Mason Road heading into the Old Port District, James noted the changes taking place. Sections of the district were being walled up, heavy plates of iron and steel closing off whole streets. He wouldn't be surprised if in a couple of months the area would be shut down completely. The fact that it butted up against the quarantined Flooded District didn't help matters.
At a small sidestreet near a barber shop, Tuddleston adjusted the throttle lever, and turned the handle, steering the vehicle towards the river's tributary. The uneven cobblestone path jostled the lightweight coach somewhat, but otherwise didn't impede its progress, and soon Hamblin's Boathouse and Repair Station came into view.
With the trade to this part of the city slowly shifting to Slaughterhouse Row, lesser docks and boathouses such as this were sold, abandoned, or confiscated by agents and barristers of the Empire. As the property being acquired soon outgrew the government's ability to maintain it, small businesses such as Hamblin's sometimes fell through the cracks. Thus, the unused business became an ideal training ground and domicile for one Ademar Creed.
As their coach came to a stop, the muted whirl of machinery coupled with the sounds of thick ropes and pulleys moving within Hamblin's signaled that the young man was busy at his daily routine.
"Oy, 'e's trainin'!" Erin yelped, a smile splitting her face. "C'mon then! Ye ken be gettin' a better look at'im up at the metal platform attached onna east side." The young girl took off at a run, her precious burlap sack forgotten in the carriage.
Not even bothering to wonder how she knew the perfect spot to 'spy' upon the young warrior, James just shook his head as they followed her to the designated spot: a raised gantry attached to the building's eastern wall near some windows. She plopped on her stomach, and propped her head up on her hands, while James crouched low and looked through some open slats.
"Cor, how 'ansome 'e is," she mused to herself with a dreamy sigh.
James chuckled lightly to himself as he looked upon the object of the girl's affection.
The figure within the building was a clean-shaven young man with sharp, chiseled features in his mid to late twenties. Just topping six feet, he was lean yet well muscled with an athlete's build. His most distinguishing features were his shock white hair and ice blue eyes whose piercing gaze seemed to miss nothing.
The young man was currently making a run through a hand-crafted 'obstacle course' he had built himself. Heavy gears powered by whale oil tanks moved the various hazards at odd patterns as he pressed onward. He ran across a metal catwalk, dodging metal shards beaten to resemble enemy blades, ducking beneath wooden spikes carved to deadly points, and eluding heavy chains set with vicious metal hooks to catch prey unaware. The navy man nodded in approval; the young warrior was quick and sure on his feet.
At one point, Ademar stopped, turned, and fired the pistol he held in his offhand. The bullet traveled unerringly to shatter a small jug tied to a rope affixed to a rotating pulley in the ceiling – a difficult shot in the best of circumstances. A smug look crossed the man's face as he prepared to dodge a wide log swinging crossways at his chest.
"Yay, Addie!" Erin funneled her hands around her mouth and shouted her approval. "Ye showed it wot fer!"
The young man was startled by the sudden exclamation and looked around for its source, momentarily forgetting the log.
-WHUMP!-
He was slammed sideways and tumbled off the catwalk, landing heavily on the packed dirt some eight feet below.
The girl squeaked in dismay.
"Och! I kilt 'im!" She scrambled to her feet and ran towards the front of the boathouse, followed quickly by the others. By the time they arrived, the door had been opened by a bruised and disgruntled Ademar.
"It seems you have shown me some weaknesses in the defenses of my home," he said with a glare at the girl. "For that I thank you. Now, how may I be of assistance?"
Noting the disparaging look, Erin jerked a thumb at James who stood behind her.
"Uh, I brought the boss ta see ye," she muttered as a half-explanation then quickly got out of the way.
Ademar's gaze flicked up to James and his lips twisted into a low smile.
"It's good to see you again, Master James," he said, pulling off his glove and offering his hand in greeting. "Has there been word then? Proof of your cousin's innocence?"
"Not yet, Ademar," James returned, firmly clasping the proffered hand.
Disappointment played briefly upon the younger man's features before his eyes narrowed.
"But you are here anyway, which could only mean-"
"Someone else needs our help," the navy man nodded. "Someone wronged by those who seek to prey on those weaker than themselves. Someone in desperate straits."
Ademar nodded.
"I wasn't expecting company, but it matters not. As Overseer Ackerman said 'Be prepared always, for it is in times of negligence that the Outsider's influence will sneak through.' Give me a few moments to properly clean up, and then my blade is at your service."
James smirked.
"I was hoping you'd say that."
…
…
After a quick bath, Ademar stood in front of the mirror in the makeshift bathroom he crafted from an old storage room. He'd brushed his wet hair back and stared at his reflection in the cracked surface of the borrowed mirror. How had it all come to this?
O-O-O-O-O
He'd been born to a well-off family who held one of the nicer homes in the Estate District. Proud of and a bit doting to their only child, his parents had sent him off to the best tutors, both intellectual and physical. While he was intelligent and learned his studies well, it was the athletic lessons he excelled at, swordsmanship in particular.
He longed to serve the people in some way, to give to others some of the joys he'd experienced in his childhood, free of oppression. The military looked at him with favor and his mastery of the blade made him an ideal candidate. However, over the concerns of his family and friends, he instead chose to petition for entry into the Abbey of the Everyman, seeing the institution as epitomizing everything he hoped to stand for.
How wrong he was.
The Abbey eagerly accepted him into its fold, after all a son of a prominent family voluntarily seeking admission to the Abbey was always good for the Order's reputation. His intelligence and quick grasp of engineering helped him become apprenticed to High Artificer Bartholomew, but it was his sword skills that impressed his superiors the most. He soon surpassed most of his teachers and by his twenty-fourth birthday he had easily obtained the rank of one of the Head Instructors of the Abbey's martial division. No small feat.
However, he had one glaring deficiency. He had a conscience.
When a young woman, an assistant to the director of an almshouse, was suddenly accused of heresy by one of the Vice Overseers without a shred of evidence, he made inquiries… and was promptly reprimanded. When the girl somehow escaped her captors, and was then later found murdered near an alley in the Tailors' District, Ademar knew something was woefully wrong.
The girl's cousin, a decorated naval officer, made similar inquiries, and Ademar knew it was time to take steps. Unfortunately, his actions led to his ostracism and him very nearly receiving the Heretic's Brand for being a traitor were it not for the timely actions of the valiant naval officer. Ademar had disgraced his name and his faith; he tarnished the image of his beloved parents, and sent all he had worked for screaming into the Void.
O-O-O-O-O
Steam from the hot water fogged up the mirror and brought him back to the present. He sighed then cast away his doubt and despair. Such would not aid him for the task ahead. He finished dressing then exited to the main chamber where his fellow Undertakers were awaiting him.
At the far end he saw Tuddleson in quiet conversation with James. The always merry scribe was a decent enough fellow. His bookish knowledge and organizational skills were useful, but the man was ill-suited for combat. Still, Ademar enjoyed his conversation and advice.
Near the back entry facing the tributary was the man named Rollo. A disagreeable lout, Ademar often wondered how an honorable military man like James would ever get involved with his sort. However, the short man's criminal connections to the underworld served the group well on more than one occasion. More importantly, he was good in a fight being equally skilled in both blade and pistol. Despite their different outlooks on life, Ademar knew Rollo could hold up his end in any confrontation.
Finally, there was the street urchin Erin, who was currently paying particular attention to one of the pulley systems on his obstacle course. She, more than anyone else, perplexed the young man. When he had first met the girl some fourteen months ago, he found her bothersome at best; a chaotic child playing amongst the adults in a very dangerous game. Nevertheless, her knowledge of the streets and ability to blend in unseen at times were impressive assets when the job required such.
His unspoken praise of her skills vanished almost immediately as she began poking one of the pulleys with a stick. He moved quickly toward her.
"What are you doing? Please don't touch th-"
"Pig fat," she stated flatly.
He paused, uncertain if he heard her correctly.
"I'm sorry, what?"
"Pig fat," she repeated, turning to look at him. "That pulley be wearin' the leather and could get jiggered if not properly cared fer. Pig fat'd loosen 'er up. Me da' 'splained these fings ta me. Helped'im in 'is workshop when I was just a wee lass, I did. Learnt a lot from'im."
The ex-Overseer examined the area. The girl was correct; the strap was starting to show signs of wear.
"Hm, thank you for pointing that out."
The girl smiled broadly.
"Oh, anytime, Addie! I ken be helpin' out if'n ye ever needed me ta. Anytime at all."
Before he could respond, James called out across the open chamber.
"Ready then? We need to discuss the situation at hand."
Ademar nodded and took his guests to a side area where a table and chairs were set up near some cabinets.
"As I said I wasn't expecting anyone, so my fare is rather lacking." He gathered some tins of brined hagfish and Dabokva-brand whale meat.
"Its fine," James said with a wave of his hand. "We've actually come to retrieve you before it becomes too dark."
The young man nodded.
"And there'll be action no doubt, seeing as how you've trekked all the way here."
"Indeed," Tuddleston interjected. "A copious amount, I'm afraid."
A slight frown creased the young man's lips.
"Is it safe then," he began with a glance in Erin's direction, "for all of the members of our band? Even the younger ones?"
"Wot?" the Morlish girl piped in as she noted his look. "Callin' me a child? Seen eighteen winters now, I 'ave!"
"That's not what I meant," he explained quickly. "I just don't think you're best suited for the situation in case we should come into physical conflict."
"Cor, lissen ta you!" she exclaimed, crossing her arms with a pout. "Gon' give me guff jus' cuz yer such a crispy pickle! Ken 'andle meself in a tuss, I ken."
Ademar glanced at James and mouthed the words Crispy pickle?
James just shrugged with a shake of his head.
"Despite your concerns, I think we'll need everyone assembled here for the job at hand."
"As you wish," the young man relented. "What do you need from me precisely? Sword and pistol only? Or something more noteworthy?"
"I think your old uniform may come in handy. Bring it along with an additional set of common clothes."
Ademar nodded in reply.
"Jus' what is it we're doin' then?" Rollo cut in. "What's the plan?"
James glanced around the table, catching the gaze of each of them in turn.
"My friends," he said in a low voice, "we're going into the greengrocer business."
A/N: In case you're wondering, Fhavre Square and the Schauke Dockyards are my creations, and appear in a few of my Dishonored fics. They are not, however, canon sites in the world of Dishonored.
Pronunciation:
Fhavre: FHAV-ray
Schauke: SHOCK-ee
Thanks for reading!