A/N: This part of the story expanded a bit more than I originally intended, and thus the following chapter was written. Initially, I wasn't quite sure about it, but after some consults with two of my friends who beta'd parts of this, I am now more certain of its inclusion.

Thanks, therefore, go to PikovajaDama and High Lady Caitlyn Hawkmoon for listening to my late night rants. I appreciate it very much. :)

UPDATE: This chapter has been updated as of April 6, 2019.

Favors

Chapter 9

Watch Station 14

The Twenty-fifth Day of the Fourth Month, the Month of Rain, 1837

Fhavre Square

The chiming of the 10'o'Clock morning hour

…

…

As the Clocktower rang in the hour, Tuddleston clicked open his pocket watch with a frown. "I seem to be off by nearly six seconds," he muttered. "That will never do. Never."

"Mind the road if you please, Mr. Tuddleston," James called over, concern evident in his voice as their motorized carriage hurried along the path.

"Ah, yes, yes," he replied, clamping his watch shut and replacing it within his pocket before looking up. He placed his hand upon the throttle as they started to drift to the side. "My apologies."

The red-haired scribe regained control of the Derius and steered it expertly along a wide bend.

"I'd like to arrive at the Watch Station alive, if you don't mind," James quipped. He'd almost fallen asleep in a bathtub and possibly drowned this morning and now his friend seemed intent on plowing their vehicle into one of the brownstones lining the road. The Outsider surely sought his death in as ignoble a way as possible.

"If you find my habits so unsettling, you could learn to drive the carriage yourself."

"I've tried," the navy man said. "Stalled the blasted engine four times in less than a block, remember?"

"That's because you handle the mechanisms like some thuggish brute pawing at the skirt of a passing girl." He twisted the throttle ever so slightly while simultaneously easing his weight off the floor pedal. "Unlike your naval vessels, it needs to be moved gently, smoothly, like one is caressing a beautiful woman. You would do well to learn how to behave around both."

The seaman turned to him, eyebrows raised.

"I'm sorry, what? The confirmed bachelor is offering me advice on how to treat women?"

"Simply because I have no foreseeable plans to marry should not immediately allude that I am a stranger to a woman's touch. I am not a corpse rotting in some back-alley, you know."

James blinked, thunderstruck at Albert's open remark. "I-" he began but couldn't honestly find an appropriate response.

"However, we will not gossip like school children dithering about," his friend went on. "It would dishonor the women who showed me their affections, and I have no wish to disrespect them so."

"Women?" James asked, confirming he heard correctly.

"Besides," Tuddleston said in a tone indicating the matter was closed, "we have arrived at our destination."

…

…

The sign read simply: City Watch Station 14. Fhavre Square.

Near the Wrenhaven, upon a solid slab of exposed bedrock sat a long, squat building of metal and stone. The front was black brick, with a solid dim-colored iron door set in the middle. Two manned towers were placed nearby, each housing a pair of City Watchmen and a large spotlight. Nearby, the base and steel supports of one of the new mechanized Watchtowers were being set into the ground. It seemed that soon the watch station would have automated defenses as well.

A smaller wooden building was nearby, holding the wagons, carriages, and horses used by the men here. It faced the road, a lone path connecting the station to the rest of the city.

Tuddleston eased the motorized carriage next to the watch station and they disembarked. Two short metal steps led up to the unwelcoming entryway next to which stood a lone guardsman. The solid, severe-looking brute watched the pair approach with his beady eyes peeking just below the rim of his helmet.

"Can I help you?" he inquired in a quiet, disinterested tone.

James was about to speak when the warning signal of a loudspeaker pealed just above them.

"Aw, dammit," the man muttered against the loud noise.

A message blared loudly:

"Attention Dunwall citizens. The Lady Emily Kaldwin was abducted over three 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."

Another peal sounded the end of the message.

"Every few minutes," the guardsman groused, his face scrunched against the receding sound. He looked back over at the two men as his expression relaxed. "Sorry, why are you here?"

"Roger Landon is posted here," the dark-haired man quickly answered before another announcement was blasted over the speaker. "I would like to speak with him, if at all possible."

"Your names?"

"James Dartley and Albert Tuddleston. We know him, and have information that might assist an older case of his."

The guardsman eyed them over before rapping once upon the metal door.

A grate-covered peephole fixed within the door slid open.

"Yarp?" came a muffled query.

"Two to see Captain Landon. On official business apparently."

A face pressed up to the grate to examine the visitors before the peephole slid shut and the door was opened.

"Welcome to Watch Station 14," the brutish guardsman said as the pair passed through.

…

…

"I had thought all watch stations to be industrial prefabricated affairs," Tuddleston commented as they followed an aging watchman down a long corridor. His passing gaze noted the older, repainted stonework that made up the base of the facility, as well as several of the inner walls. "But this does not appear to be the case here."

"Ol' Gudderson's," their large escort called back over his shoulder. Despite his advanced years, the guard was still a solid man. "Built 1773 it was. Only stone, brick, and mortar back den. Before da Morley Insurrection. Before da Watch were formed. Before da Kaldwins even come ta power. Yarp."

"Gudderson?" the scribe inquired.

"Frank Gudderson," James explained. "Before the City Watch was formed in 1809, the districts were watched over by Wardens. Like a military sheriff. Frank Gudderson was posted here." He looked around the interior of the corridor. "He oversaw a lot of the plans for the construction of this place. Limestone walls, expert engineers, reinforced prison cells. Not as impenetrable as Coldridge Prison, but formidable nonetheless. He was known to be a hard man in his pursuit for justice, but not an unfair one, I am told."

"Yarp," the large watchman replied with a sharp nod. "Good ta know ya younglins got some r'spect for da history about ya. Now, here ya be."

They arrived at a steel door at the far end. The placard on the adjacent wall read: Office of Watch Captain Roger Landon. The guard rapped upon it loudly.

"Yes?" a voice called from within.

"Hate ta bother ya, Cap'n. Got two gent'elmen ta see ya. 'Bout some older case or sumpin'? Dartley and Tuddleston are they names."

"Ah, indeed!" came the muffled reply, then a moment later the door was opening. "Gentleman, please come in. Thank you, Sergeant Maece." The watchman nodded once then turned back down the corridor as James and Albert entered the room.

The office was arranged in an orderly fashion; cabinets lined the west wall with the current bounties for wanted criminals tacked on the wall above them. A large poster map of the city proper dominated the back wall and several pins of various colors were pressed into it. In front of it sat a large wooden desk of practical design with three empty chairs facing it for visitors. Landon closed the door then moved behind the desk with a familiar smile.

"Well met, sirs. Please have a seat."

The pair nodded then settled in. Landon hadn't changed much since James had first met him nearly a year-and-a-half ago. The sideburns were shaved down, the curly hair was cut shorter, and double gold bars adorned his wrists now, revealing his new rank, but his appearance was overall the same. The fiery drive was still there, as were the certain movements and respectful mannerisms.

"I heard you were made Watch Captain recently," James said with a nod. "Moving up quickly."

"Indeed," Tuddleston added. "Congratulations are in order."

The watch captain's smile lessened somewhat.

"Yes, well thank you," he replied. "May I offer you some brandy? Whiskey perhaps?"

"None for us," James said with a wave of his hand. "It's a bit early."

"Let's not be too hasty," Tuddleston interjected quickly. "Maybe just a pinch of the old pale if you would."

James shot him a withering look as Landon nodded then opened the top drawer of the left-most cabinet. The watch captain retrieved a short bottle of brandy and a snifter covered with a small cloth to keep dust from settling in it.

Tuddleston's eyes widened at the label and he leaned forward.

"Moslon's Gold?" he smiled in appreciation. "My good sir, your quality has gone up even more in my eyes."

Landon grinned as he poured the amber liquid into the glass. Tuddleston licked his lips as the brandy sloshed gently along the sides of the glass and then reached out an eager hand as it was offered to him. The scribe inhaled the fumes lightly and held the snifter in his hand, allowing his own body heat to warm the contents.

Finally, Landon took his seat behind the desk.

"Now then, my friends, how is it I may assist you?" He looked at James first. "I am sorry to say that I still have no new information about your cousin's murder. Let me assure you, I keep the case open and devote the assets I can to it, but this damned Rat Plague has taken its toll on both men and resources."

James nodded.

"It's fine. You've always been true to your word. Pushed harder and further than anyone else would have. For that, I can't thank you enough."

The watch captain looked a bit embarrassed at the praise. "You award me more admiration than I have earned, I fear."

"Nonsense," the navy man retorted. "But this time it's we who may have a clue. A lead."

"Oh?" He seemed surprised but recovered quickly. He retrieved a stub of a pencil and a crisp sheet of paper from a side drawer and then leaned forward. "Tell me."

"A name associated with the mark. The blue rose on the silver field. It's apparently a business. The Azure Bloom Outfitters."

Landon wrote the information down.

"I will see what I can find out. It will take some time, but I believe this may be is the best lead we have had in a while."

"Yes," James said simply. "As you seek out the information your way, I'm going to check sources of my own."

The watch officer looked up. "Oh? And what are they?"

The visitors exchanged a quick glance with each other.

"Come now, gentlemen," Landon said smoothly as he leaned back in his chair again. "Do give me some credit. I'm not completely ignorant of your other activities as, how are you called? The Undertakers, correct?"

"My, my," Tuddleston remarked under his breath before taking a sip of the brandy. With a pensive look he continued. "Will there be any… legal ramifications from your knowledge of the activities of our little band?"

"Why should there be?" Landon returned with a wave of his hand. "As I stated, the Rat Plague has ravaged the city. Watchmen are hard to come by. I've heard rumors that the Lord Regent has even begun to turn out some of the lesser dregs from Coldridge Prison itself to fill the ranks of the Lower Watch in exchange for food and elixir rations. These are indeed hard times. At least with your Undertakers someone is making an effort to aid folk that we cannot."

James visibly relaxed at his words. He liked Landon; the watch officer was a rarity in the city, and he was glad he didn't have to deceive him. "Vivianna was always impressed by your intellect."

"High praise then if it comes from Lady Grey. I've learned much by studying her methods. How fares our lady?"

James hesitated. "She is well," he said a moment later, settling back in his own chair. "As for the symbol, it was seen by someone we aided. It has ties with a smuggler we think, perhaps associated with Lucretia Dent. We plan on questioning her to gain the information."

"Lucretia Dent?" The watch officer shook his head. "Beware with that one. Even south of the Wrenhaven we are aware of her dealings."

"That dangerous, eh?" Tuddleston asked with a frown.

"Mm, more complex than dangerous, I would say," Landon admitted. "Among the underworld, she is known as the Harlot Queen of North Side. A title she has earned and maintained quite ruthlessly. Lady Eckhart's brothel, her closest competition, is a pale second to hers, and Madame Dent seeks to keep it that way. She has set a deep web of intrigue and trades in information and favors." He turned to James. "Something you two seem to have in common."

A humorless smirk twisted the navy man's lips. "Sounds like a woman to be wary of. Any advice, then?"

The watch officer pondered for a moment. Finally he leaned forward, placing his elbows on the desk and steepled his fingers.

"Most of what is known about her is hearsay. Vague rumors and whispers. From what I have gathered, she is no friend to the Hatters, and seems to have some rivalry with a criminal known as Stavros." He shrugged. "I have also heard she was involved with the theatre at one time, though I am unsure in what capacity."

"Rumors always abound of young understudies seeking fame," Tuddleston interjected. "When they fail to find success as an actress, they turn to other, less fortunate, pursuits."

"Maybe," Landon replied, "but I'm not sure that was the case here. I do know she was engaged to a nobleman at one time. Lord Pinsten I think."

"Pinsten?" the scribe asked with a whistle. "He's on the Approvals Board of the Trade Commission. He's moved rather high up now that Rudshore has flooded."

"You know him, then?"

"I know of him," Tuddleston admitted. "Philanderer and womanizer would be generous understatements. He became particularly gauche after his position was elevated following the tragic loss of Lord Estermont. If Madame Dent evaded her marriage, then I say she escaped an unpleasant situation."

A quick knock on the door interrupted the conversation.

"Excuse me, sirs," Landon apologized, then in a louder voice he called, "Come in, please."

The door opened and a young officer entered.

"Ah, Pryce, excellent," Landon said as he stood. "You have news for me then?"

The officer, whom the two visitors realized was a woman, nodded quickly. She was five-and-a-half feet tall and thin, but not unduly so. She had light hazel eyes, a bright, pretty, somewhat roundish face, and chestnut hair cut in a short yet sensible bob. Subdued freckles and the tint of her hair hinted at some Morlish ancestry.

The young woman handed him a folded piece of paper.

"The reply has just arrived, sir," she said.

"Very good. Gentlemen, allow me to introduce my second, First Lieutenant Bronwyn Pryce."

The two visitors rose and offered their greetings which she returned politely. She then focused her attention on Captain Landon, and stood with her hands clasped behind her back, awaiting his orders.

"Any honor you may bestow upon me," Landon continued as he opened the note, "should be shared with Lieutenant Pryce. She has assisted me greatly in many of the cases I have explored. She's earned her rank and I admit I may be lost without her aid."

The girl said nothing, but her chin inclined ever so slightly and the corner of her mouth bent just a bit into a smile at the praise of her commanding officer.

"More warnings?" the captain said after reading the message, his voice rising. "Still no curfews, no extra patrols? This is ridiculous." He rubbed his forehead. "I think I'll join you in that morning repast of brandy, Mr. Tuddleston."

"What is this?" James asked as the watch officer poured himself a small quantity of the alcohol. "Some new problem has arisen?"

"A continued one, I fear. You have, no doubt, heard of the recent spate of killings taking place in this and adjoining districts. By this man… this-this murderer called the Beast of Whitecliff?"

"Indeed," Tuddleston said with a slow nod. "Announcements of his activities have been going on for some time now. News of his dreadful business circles the local gazettes and journals."

"Yes," Landon replied with a heavy sigh of exasperation, looking for all the world a beaten man, something James did not think possible. "It's not bad enough that the gangs exist and the Rat Plague spreads unchecked. There have been five murders now by this madman. The newest just this morning. A poor woman was found on a rooftop by a chimney sweep."

"Killed like the others?"

"Yes. Posed as if a doll. Though their clothing still bears the horrible evidence of his crimes, he cleans the blood off their skin and hides the wounds."

"Hides them?" James asked.

"Yes, with sculptor's clay of all things."

"Captain?" the young lieutenant queried, looking at her commander's guests with doubt.

Landon realized her apprehension at revealing such facts but he shook his head.

"Don't worry, Pryce," he said then glanced at the two men. "They can be trusted. More so than others I would wager, present company excluded of course."

She nodded then. "As you say, sir."

"Sculptor's clay?" Tuddleston asked, making sure he heard correctly.

"Indeed. Fills the wounds in expertly. He even does a respectable job of coloring the clay to match the pallor of their corpses. In all other respects, a true artist, but the looks of terror upon the faces of these poor girls are not so easily hidden."

He took a swallow of the brandy and pinched the bridge of his nose before continuing.

"Unfortunately, the victims are all low born and some of ill-repute. Ladies of the evening, though the second was a typist attacked on her way home from work, and the third a domestic servant assaulted the same. Had they been noble born, or people of higher standing, then surely stronger measures would be enforced."

"Do you need help then?" James offered.

"I have some leads I'm looking into at the moment," Landon admitted then looked over to the young lieutenant. "And I'm awaiting a reply from Whitecliff."

"The inquiry has been sent, sir," she returned.

"Good," he said in a low tone, then focused on the city-map behind him. He was quiet for a few seconds, then turned back to his guests. "But no, you gentlemen have mysteries of your own to solve. I will look into the matter you have brought to my attention, while you delve into your own investigations."

"Very well," James said as he offered his hand. "Good luck to you then. May we all succeed in our endeavors."

Landon gripped his hand firmly. "May we all succeed," he echoed back.

The Tailors' District, southeastern corner

Half past noon

...

...

"Our poor captain is burdened with situations beyond his control," Tuddleston said as he piloted the motorized carriage into a large stablehouse.

"Yes," James replied as he exited and paid the stableman three copper coins. "Should he need us, though, he has but to ask. The man's done more than I can ever repay."

The stableman grabbed the bill of his hat and nodded with thanks as the pair continued on their way along the street and then turned down a back-alley.

"Indeed," his companion agreed. "Such attention to duty and willingness to be of assistance are sadly the exception in the Watch these days, rather than the rule."

As the two men moved past a dumpster and around some broken workshelves, a lone shadow broke free from an overhang above them. Neither of the two men noticed as the figure crept quickly but quietly, following them along a wide gutter pipe that lined the edge of the building's rooftop.

"That is a sad truth."

"Is it me," the large scribe asked, "Or is the city becoming progressively worse? Women attacked, an Empress slain, the Rat Plague unchecked, and vile creatures lurking about the dark shadows of the streets?"

They passed below an iron fire escape attached to one of the buildings. The figure clambered over the edge of the roof and onto the metal stairway. With practiced precision, he descended quickly, making very little noise until he was a mere eight feet above them.

"It's a grave time when a man sees the world that way, Mr. Tuddleston," James admitted. "I, too, had hope at one time. Thought I could make a difference. But lately it seems that nothing will ever be good enough. That light, despite the teachings of the Abbey, does not dispel the darkness as it should."

The figure gripped the metal railing before him, then vaulted over it and hurled himself down at the pair.

"I say, when you describe it like that- James, Look out!"

James wheeled around and, to his credit, was able to draw his blade and parry the first swing of his attacker. A streak of silver flashed and steel rang against steel. The shadowed figure withdrew upon itself then momentarily then exploded outward as the silver streak flashed again. James' blade was caught low, near the pommel of the sword, and with an expert twist his attacker dislodged the weapon from his grasp.

The navy man's sword clattered against the cobblestones some feet away, and the enemy's blade was leveled at his throat. James and Tuddleston carefully backed away from the figure, out from the obscuring shadows of the alley and into the sunlight. The blade followed, reflecting brilliant rays of the sun upon its silver surface, and finally the tall figure came after, his amber eyes narrowing in the bright light.

It was the Tyvian.

"Outsider's Teeth!" Tuddleston groused upon recognizing him. "That was quite a start, I daresay!"

The tall foreigner ignored him, keeping his eyes and sword leveled at James. After a moment, his offhand shot forward, holding a small parchment within.

James looked at the note. It was the missive he sent to the Tyvian only yesterday. He was surprised at how quickly the man responded.

"Yes, that is my message."

The Tyvian shoved it forward again, his index finger tapping the line about the flower's discovery.

James squinted to see what he was indicating then nodded.

"Yes, it may have been found."

Obdurately, he shoved the note towards him again, his eyes glowering with near madness.

"It'll do us little good with you holding us at swordpoint in an alley," James grumbled at him. "We're on our way to Ma Nettles' place to discuss the situation. Put the weapon away and come with us, otherwise we'll just be standing here getting nothing accomplished."

The Tyvian blinked then took a half-step back. His eyes shifted as if he were pondering the situation or perhaps listening to some voice that they couldn't quite hear. Finally he nodded once, sheathed his silver blade, looked back at the men, and gave a crooked smirk. With a half-bow that seemed more mocking than sincere, the Tyvian waited until James retrieved his sword, then took up a position behind the pair.

They arrived at the hostel, Ma Nettle greeting them in her usual gruff fashion as they entered.

"I gathered the lot in the dining hall," the proprietress announced finally. "Best ta keep them corralled together I figured."

James smirked. "They're not cattle, Ms. Nettles."

"Tell that ta the brat, she eats like one," she replied, cocking an eyebrow. "Anyhow, I got more biscuits on the way. Some light ale if ya want. No fresh milk I'm afraid. These lasses gobble it down quick."

"That'll be fine, thank you."

They moved to the dining hall where the others had gathered. Etiennette and Adrienne were in the middle of a hushed conversation in a far corner. Otto was watching as Rollo carved a piece of wood with one of his knives. Ademar sat alone inspecting his sword edge with a clinical eye while Mr. Jasper was near the fireplace with a stack of plates and some pints in front of him. Erin was seated near the front with a large pad of paper she had spread out on a long table. She was furiously etching something with bits of charcoal.

"Inventing something new?" James asked the urchin as he approached.

"Oh, 'ello there, boss," she said, looking up, charcoal stains evident on her cheeks. "Nae, jus' a bit o' drawin'." The urchin was surprisingly skilled at ropes and pulley systems, having learned a good deal from her father, and had designed the bucket system on the side of the hostel to help Ma gather water easier. "Nae chance ta be tinkerin'. Ma dinna 'preciate it when I mess wit' 'er fings."

"Best ta remember that," Ma grumbled as she entered, managing to balance three trays of biscuits at once. She set them down and then called out. "Get'em while they're hot!"

Erin slammed her pad shut with a wide grin and moved first.

"All save you, ya brat. Ya need ta wash off your filth."

"Oh, but Ma," the tiny girl started but she was cut off.

"'But Ma' me, nothing. No food until you clean up."

Erin muttered something under breath.

"What was that?" the old woman asked, cocking an eyebrow.

"Said, 'yes ma'am', I did," Erin moaned, hanging her head low as she sullenly left the room to clean up.

"Bulls' teats ya did." Ma signaled to Mr. Jasper to bring the plates and started divvying up the food. "Ale'll be 'round in a moment."

Tuddleston took a nearby seat but James stood at the forefront and waited for the others to get their fare.

Ma placed some biscuits on a plate and moved to the dark corner where the Tyvian had sequestered himself, as far from the others as possible. He looked at her and shook his head 'no'.

"I don't care how mysterious ya want ta be. You're still human, and a human has ta eat. So eat." She set the plate down, turned, and left.

The Tyvian watched her with narrowed eyes for a moment, then looked down at the plate. With a resigned shrug, he silently ate the offered food.

Erin returned, grabbed her food, and sat with Etiennette and Adrienne. Once they had settled down James addressed the assembly.

"My friends, all your patience, all of your hard work has finally been rewarded. A glimmer of hope has been found. But there is still much to do, and we must be careful how we do it."

He looked over where the girls sat.

"Etiennette and Erin I need you to check the word on the streets. I want any and all information about a criminal named Stavros. Lucretia Dent may have a rivalry with him. Otto, I'll need you to do the same with your contacts."

They all nodded.

"Rollo, I'll need what you know of Lucretia Dent's strength, and the forces at her command. I also need anything you know about Lady Echhart."

"You'll have it, bucko."

James nodded then turned to the proprietress. "They'll be busy with what I need, so consider their own payments suspended. I'll take care of their expenses for the next two weeks at least."

"For all of them?" She glanced at the girl, Adrienne.

James nodded.

"As ya say, then," was Ma's reply.

He looked behind him where the Tyvian sat watching the proceedings.

"I'll need to be ready to strike, at a moment's notice perhaps. I know you prefer your own accommodations but can you stay at the hostel for the next week or so?"

The Tyvian merely nodded.

"And us?" Tuddleston inquired. "Are we to have an interview with Lucretia Dent then?"

"We won't see her just yet, my friend," James said with a humorless smirk. "But we are going to a brothel."