Warning, the very end of this chapter contains sexual content which some readers might find unappealing. If you don't want to read it, skip the last two paragraphs.
The Vileness of Man: Mission Four — Red Skies
When Corvo had awoken so rudely from his slumber, the sun had not yet peaked over its vast horizon. Yet as time passed, and he continued to scrawl in his book, its golden rays began to peer through the open port-side window behind him. The warm light radiated off of his back, like a woman's close embrace, and for a moment the stalwart man felt his troubled mind soothe and relax. Hypnotized by the pleasant heat, his fountain pen sluggishly fell from his loose grasp and he turned to look out the window. From what he could see beyond the mostly submerged glass-protected hole, the sun was nearing completion of its rise, casting an array of passionate reds and oranges along the immense horizon.
"I should go get some fresh air," he muttered to himself. The chair's wooden legs screeched at the flooring as Corvo stood from the desk, pushing the chair behind him. He threw on his navy frock coat, adjusted his matching vest underneath, latched on his heavy neck piece, and laced up his thick leather boots. If he was going to meet the public's eye, he was at least going to appear presentable. Sure, he had recused himself from Emily's service, but he still represented her empire, even unofficially. He was the face of a Lord Protector, past or present, and with his title came certain expectations. His manner of speech, his apparel, the way of his stride, they were all intended to symbolize the graceful power of the empress, as one of her chosen few. He walked over to the small sink/mirror combination attached to the far wall and cleaned his face with the hazy, metallic water. Perhaps he should have shaved, a thought that passed his mind as he examined the thickening stubble accumulating along his jaw line, as reflected in the silver glass. However he decided against it for time's sake, and quickly just finger-combed his hair before exiting the small cabin.
From down the long wooden hallway, Corvo could hear the chanting of the sailors from above him on the upper deck. It was far too early for these boisterous shenanigans, and the pounding of their heels stamping onto the flooring hammered in his ears. Dirt and other various specks of grim trickled from between the wooden planks' cracks, obscuring the drowsy man's vision as he tread further down the hall. The closer he warily paced towards the thundering stairway, the louder and clearer the sailor's chants became. The tune seemed familiar to Corvo, and already the sheer intrigue to rediscover their mantra pulled him up from the dank hull.
"What shall we do with a drunken whaler? What shall we do with a drunken whaler? What shall we do with a drunken whaler, early in the morning?" the seamen sang as they attended to the vessel. Their actions accompanied with the beating of the chilly morning waves against the bow caused the ship's metal exterior to echo, which resonated their sound far into the vast and barren sea. When Corvo took his first step on deck, the first thing he saw was nothing. His eyesight blanked out from the intensity of the waking sun, which contrasted so starkly with the dim lighting of the hull that for moments his vision was completely white. Slowly, figures began to force themselves into view, melding with the sheet of light until it became obsolete, and faded into the background. Suddenly, a strong and salty voice beckoned for his response and the nobleman rubbed his eyes to further adjust them to his bright surroundings.
"Mornin', milord! What brings yer' topside?" the voice called in a deep and throaty tone. Its owner was an older man with an olive complexion, whose years at sea had dried out his wrinkled skin. Coils of gray hair stuck unkemptly out from his chin and morphed into his thick sideburns, which made his jaw line seemingly disappear under the web of hair. Corvo could not tell if the man had hair atop his head as well though, for it was covered by a Serkonos-styled fisherman's cap, with its large bill and puffy top hiding the entirety of his crown. For an older man, his posture was rather dignified, though the heavy black coat he wore could have been obscuring some flaw within his stance. From the way he was standing about, inattentive to the ship's maintenance and interested instead in its unusual passenger, Corvo determined that this man, this scruffy, salty, old dog, was probably the captain.
The moments it took to observe the captain's features had caused the Lord Protector to almost completely forget he had been asked a question and he quickly remedied that, clearing his throat and pointing one finger to the sky, "I wished to see the sunrise," he said simply, looking back towards the vibrant horizon.
"Ah, red skies at mornin', sailor's warnin'. Thar be a storm blowin' in from the west. Best take caution, milord."
A storm? That seemed improbable, for there were no clouds in the sky to carry the rain a storm would bring. But Corvo kept this thought to himself as he continued to stare at the shocking hue of red bleeding out onto an endless sky. As he continued to watch in silence, the captain eventually left the nobleman to himself and the sailors sustained their catchy tune.
"…Way, hay and up she rises! Way, hay and up she rises! Way, hay and up she rises, early in the morning…"
After moments of listening to the sailor's endless banter, it suddenly dawned on him just where he had heard that song before. Besides all the guards he had heard whistling the rather catchy tune (a notion that now made him realize how silly he was to have forgotten it in the first place), Corvo had distinctly remembered Emily singing the song's disturbing lyrics on more than one occasion. As he continued to dwell on this note, his mind began to drift into the past and reminisce on those seemingly better times, forcing the lone noble away from the blissful moment of solitude.
The time was yesterday evening, before I had set sail away from my charge. After my little talk with Parrish, he had conducted his business with my empress, which I painfully had to endure. For the entirety of their meeting I stood diligently just outside of the room, praying that he would do something so outwardly vile to allow me to cut his throat. Periodically throughout their conference, Parrish would peer through the glass doors that halted my path and cast a cheap smile. That horrid toothy grin—how I wished to knock out all his jagged teeth, so he may never smile again. Out of spite, he stayed for dinner. I could never understand that crazed priest's mind. It didn't make it any better that Emily hadn't talked to me since I failed to discover her early that day when we were playing hide-and-seek. I couldn't tell if she was angry with me, or if she had just been so busy dealing with our rabid guest that I was not at the forefront of her thoughts.
The sun was beginning to set when the High Overseer finally left Dunwall Tower. Emily retired for the evening with the most disturbing look I had seen cross her face in a very long time. It made me wonder just what exactly Parrish had been discussing with her for those many passing hours, for frequently I would see her scrunch up her button of a nose and force herself not to yell at the extremist monk. I was curious, yes, but not enough to allow me to forget the threat I had been given in the courtyard earlier that day. I had opted to leave Dunwall, a decision hastily made as Emily began to approach our company. I wished for her to stay ignorant about my ordeal, for her sake, and Parrish had all too enthusiastically agreed. And yet, the look on her face when they had talked made me think he had intentionally divulged the situation to my Lady, a thought that was prevalent in my mind for the rest of that evening.
Emily went to take a bath, which allowed me enough time to retire to my bedroom for a short while. The washroom was on the second floor and my quarters were on the third, just behind General Tobias' chambers. It was one of those rare moments I was unable to keep track of my empress' movements, but at least I was aware of her location. That would have to suffice. I went to my desk area and pulled out some stationary. My fireplace was crackling softly in the background, warming the area and protecting me from the harsh elements outside. Wind rattled the outside hallway's window panes, and already it felt like the dead of autumn. I began to quickly scrawl a letter onto the parchment, a letter I would leave for Emily before my departure. My thoughts were wild and rampant, my handwriting near illegible. There was so much I wished to say, but the right words to truly express the weight of my emotions eluded my grasp. Once I felt satisfied with the cluster of words I dared to call a letter, I sealed its contents with a drop of wax and imprinted the molten goo with the imperial crest of the Royal Protector. It seemed ironic now, writing a letter of resignation so informally and yet sealing it with my crest.
Just as I finished sealing my letter, there was a knock at the door. It was a servant, I could tell from the informal "milord" she sounded as her tiny fist rasped onto the heavy oak, and she popped her head into my chambers when I responded. I didn't bother looking at her, (instead my gaze was fixated on the folded parchment held firmly in my hands) for whatever her purpose was for disturbing my solitary moment would soon roll off her tongue and she'd be off again.
"Milord, the empress desires your presence within milady's chambers," she informed me—a remark that shouldn't have startled me as much as it did. It was typical for Emily to wish for my company, even this late into the evening. However, she would typically fetch me herself and the thought of Parrish enlightening her on my ordeal reluctantly re-entered my thoughts. How would I explain to her the severity of Parrish's accusation? Could I prevent her from going out on a tirade against the Abbey? The last thing her empire needed was a religious revolution because of me. I would have liked to assure myself that Emily was far more mature than my concerns described, but her stubbornness and temper left me anxious.
I shoved my letter into my inside coat pocket and hastily paced down the hallway. Once I reached Emily's chamber, which was positioned at the far end of the third floor, I hesitantly tapped on the door. Under the weight of my rasp, the heavy wood pushed itself partially open, expecting my arrival no doubt. Still, it bothered me greatly that she would leave her room not only unlocked, but cracked ajar, even if it was for me. It was completely reckless and almost an insult to the labor I had put forth in safeguarding her wellbeing. My nerves were on end, no doubt from the stress bequeathed upon me by Parrish, and my mind was longing for a scapegoat to release the pent up anger. I could not, I would not allow myself to discharge my frustration because of a petty misstep, though. So with a heavy sigh, I calmed myself and advanced into her quarters.
Following Burrow's stay in the Tower, the empress's chambers had gone through some…redecoration. It was no longer such a drab and piercing white, but instead filled with vivid colors and furniture more suitable for a young, female ruler. Everything was themed cerulean blue and gold, the colors of the monarchy, and yet given such a lavish and feminine touch. The furniture was a dark mahogany, contrasting eloquently with the light-heartedness of the blue. In front of her vanity, I could see Emily singing softly to herself as she brushed out her shoulder-length hair, which had been taken down from their curls. Her voice echoed quietly throughout the large space with such graceful blithe for the morbid lyrics she sang, and I could tell she had not yet noticed my presence within the room.
"Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver. Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver. Slice his throat with a rusty cleaver—Oh, Corvo! I didn't hear you come in," Emily jumped as she spotted me from the reflection of her mirror and instantly whirled around to greet me, brush still in hand.
"Your door was open," my voice was dull as I attempted to hide my aggravation. Emily perked her head to the side with curiosity, as if she had no idea what I was talking about. This only disturbed me further. If it hadn't been she who had purposefully left the door open, then that meant the latch was going bad. Normally I would have had this problem fixed the next day, but then again, I wouldn't be there by tomorrow's sunrise. I would have to leave a note with one of the servants before I left, yet another thing pleasantly impeding my departure. She didn't respond to my inquiry, so I changed the subject, "Is there something I can help you with, my Lady?"
Her face instantly scrunched and I mentally kicked myself for my lapse in speech. We were alone, meaning there was no need to address her using formalities. I had derived that all from a simple face scrunch; I was getting far too good at reading her emotions.
"I need...advice," she droned, her words dragging as she slowly set her brush back onto the desk. She was wearing what would have been considered to be a nightgown, a cream colored satin slip dress with a high collar and flowing sleeves. She had made it look slightly more decent by draping a delicately knitted shawl over her shoulders, yet I could still feel the heat gathering in my cheeks as I stared at her thin ensemble.
Lost in my thoughts, I had nearly forgotten she had spoken to me, and quickly formed a response, "What's troubling you?"
For some reason, that made her laugh, though her chuckle was not a pleasant one. She stood and walked in front of her roaring fireplace and I watched as the flames silhouetted her form, "You'll never imagine what Parrish has said now. He's on some sort of "holy" inquisition. He says he's goings to root out all the blasphemous scourge and purify them, whatever that means. I'm worried. I spent all afternoon trying to calm him down. He wants to make the possession of whale bone charms and runes a punishable offense. I mean, they're already considered contraband, but the way he said it makes me think he wants to set up checkpoints or enact random search and seizures against innocent civilians! When conditions are as grim as they are now, people tend to turn towards the unknown to alleviate their troubles, it's just natural. The old aristocracy has already taken their families, homes, possessions…am I suppose to take away their faith as well? And it's not just the commoners Parrish is after. He's even targeting members of the court! And you'll never imagine who he's currently gunning for. Go on, guess!"
I felt my heart sink into my stomach, its acids slowly corroding the tender tissue. So the High Overseer had told her, despite his promise not to. What could I really expect though? He was slug, no, worse than that. He was the slime in which the slug excreted, "Me?" I felt my voice shake and my hands trembled as I imagined the sadness that would undoubtedly fill her words. My secret letter had all been for naught, and now I would have to see her tears instead of slink away from them in the cover of the dark.
And yet, she never failed to surprise me, "What? No. No, no, no. Parrish is an extremist loon, but he's not stupid. He knows I wouldn't let him lay a hand on you." Shocking, the priest had actually kept his word. This was almost too cruel to bear, but the indigestion swirling my stomach subsided as I reassured myself of her ignorance, "It's Sokolov he's after. He says that the painting he constructed of the Outsider all those years ago is proof of him consorting black magic. Sokolov is eccentric, yes, and he might be trying to contact the Outsider for all I know, but he shouldn't be hanged for it! Don't forget it was he and Piero who cured the Rat Plague!"
"It will be alright. I know you'll work something out," my words were only half-hearted. I was concerned for Emily's struggle, but there nothing I could do and my feelings towards the drunken Royal Physician were neutral at best. The Outsider had once told me that he didn't find Anton interesting enough to be worthy of being graced with his presence. Perhaps there was still truth to those words.
"Thank you, Corvo," she walked up to me and wrapped her delicate arms around my waist in a tight hug. Her stature was fairly short, and the top of her head nestled perfectly under my chin. The warmth of her embrace typically soothed me, but I only felt regret and remorse, for I knew this would be the last hug I received from her for a long time.
"Emily, we need to talk about the inevitability of my presence here."
I could hear the agitation in her voice as her head lay softly on my chest, listening to my beating heart, "Please, Corvo, not tonight. I've heard this speech a thousand times. You're not dying tomorrow so it can wait, can't it? I've already dealt with so much today; I don't think I can handle anymore of this dreariness."
What I had to say was important, however, I had already restated most of it in my letter. I didn't want to upset her, especially not tonight, and so I gave into her demand, wrapping my arms around her tightly, "Alright."
She pulled me in closely, and I could feel the warmth of her breath tickling across my ear, "Thank you," she whispered seductively, as her hands slowly slunk up my sides and onto the crevice of my neck, her icy fingers sending sharp shivers down my spine. She pulled me forcefully onto her soft, plump lips, and I could feel the rush of passion course through my veins. Feverishly, I tightened our embrace and began to caress her shoulders, deepening the kiss. It would be the last time I feel her body against my own for a while, and I would make sure to make every second count. Right then, she was no longer Empress Emily Kaldwin I, daughter of the late Empress Jessamine Kaldwin, my best friend, but just simply Emily, lovely little Emily and all of her sensuality.
I hoisted her up onto my hips and tossed her on the bed beside us, watching her delicate body bounce with the waves of the mattress. In a crazed state I leapt on top of her and tore open the front of her gown anxiously groping her luscious breasts as our passion ensued. In that moment, I didn't quite know if the full gravity of my situation had truly sank it, because of all the twisting and turmoil of emotions I should have been feeling, my mind was finally at peace.
Phew, long chapter. Finally we get to see some Corvo x Emily, a little at least. So, I'm guessing this caliber of content requires an M-rating, so I gave it one for safety, and leeway if I decide to go more…explicit. The trip to Serkonos is a full-day journey for all of you who are like, "Is he ever going to get off this ship!?" The answer is yes, I just write really slowly. There's a lot of background information that needs to be built up before the plot can progress (i.e, him getting off the boat). So, REVIEW, as always, or the creepy little kid that sings "The Drunken Whaler" will haunt you in your sleep tonight. Mwhaha…