The Vileness of Man: Mission Nine – Chip on the Shoulder

Emily's day in Dunwall Tower had passed excruciatingly slow without her protector by her side. After her run-in with General Tobias that morning, she had decided she would attempt to act as normal as possible, as to not alert anyone to her bodyguard's sudden, unexplained disappearance. She repressed her anger felt towards High Overseer Parrish and forced it deep inside, promising herself she would not allow her temper to boil over in front of her subjects, lest one of the Overseers prowling her Tower's grounds spot her discomfort and send word back to their Abbey, like a wolfhound retrieving a wounded hare for its master's pleasure. The young monarch had continued her day as she would any other, allowing her chambermaids to dress her and eating breakfast alone in the large dining room. Periodically her gaze would wander over to Corvo's empty chair, causing her to force back tears as they reluctantly began to well from her silent sorrow. However, her calm and seemingly rational demeanor did not cease her servant's inquiry, and as they attended to their Lady's service few would ask the dreaded question and Emily would immediately distract their thoughts through the assignment of some trivial task to preoccupy their wandering minds.

By midday the weather had turned out to be fairly clear and pleasantly cool, despite the dark clouds hovering far off in the horizon, an ironic notion that had soured the empress' expression while she pretended to enjoy her brunch in the courtyard. Of all the days to have fair weather, why couldn't today have stormed so that the sky may have personified her tears and thundered her malice? After brunch, Emily attended her geography lessons with Mrs. Borichevskiy, which she could never pronounce right. It seemed like every time the young woman attempted to speak the Tyvian tutor's surname, the old hag would decline her effort, and the explanation for its pronunciation would change with the seasons. Today she learned about each of her Isles, though she had explored this topic a thousand times in a thousand different lessons. There were four holds that made up her thalassocracy, a key word her teacher had persisted she memorize. They were: Tyvia, Morley, Serkonos, and at the center of its all, Gristol. Each Isle had their own monarchy, consisting of a king and queen, and was fairly autonomous. Dunwall was the capital of the entire empire, and in it resided its emperor or empress, who ruled over all their territory under discretion of a parliament and within the perimeters of a constitution. It seemed like more of a political lesson than a geographical one, and yet Mrs. Borichevskiy had insisted that a thorough understanding of the government of each Isle was directly attributed to the features of the landmass itself.

After her lessons, Emily had retreated down to the middle plaza of her courtyard, a wooden waster held firmly in her hand and her custom smallsword attached at her waist. Corvo would not wish her to become negligent in her training, and so she would practice by herself and repeat his constant suggestions a hundred times in her head, or mutter them softly under her breath in a deep and throaty tone, as if her Royal Protector stood just over her shoulder, diligently guiding her movements and correcting her mishaps. She had elected to take her real blade along with her faux one purely because of this solitary practice. The weight difference between the two weapons was astonishing, and rarely did she get to feel the cold metal of her court sword's hilt, or listen to the eloquent whisk as the deadly edge nimbly sliced through the air. Corvo had presented the blade to her on her sixteenth birthday, a sight which had made her eyes grow as wide as saucers, while all the other party-guests had grumbled under their breaths with jealousy, as the best gifts they could come up with were impersonal or seemingly drab for a growing young woman. "Of course he would get her the perfect gift," they had quietly scoffed, "he is her father, after all." Emily had known for a few years about her father's true identity, and still she played along with the nobleman's antics, under entreated advisement from Corvo. She did not fully understand why his rumor's integrity mattered so much to him now that she rightfully ruled her empire, and yet she indulged his plea, if not simply because of the butterflies that danced in her stomach whenever he was around.

The sword was beautiful, precision tailored to be perfectly balanced in her grasp. Its blade was slender and a feminine leaf-shape just thick enough to pronounce it a true sword and not one of its rapier cousins. The hilt was crowned with a silver sweeping guard, its ricasso was etched with the Kaldwin royal crest, and a cerulean blue and gold tassel was attached to its egg-shaped pommel. Its shape, size, weight, fluidity, even its aesthetics were all tailored just for her, and it was perfect in every way. Well…almost. For there was one feature that had caused her brow to lift in curiosity and cheeks pucker as she quietly grasped the blacksmith's daring cleverness. In addition to the brilliant colored fibers that made up her pommel's tassel, a small ornament hung and dangled loosely from its clasp. It was a cast of a rat, mischievously perched on its hindquarters and paws fiendishly cleaning its snout. The shrewd blacksmith had ingeniously voiced his disapproval for the "Rat Queen" as he crafted her gift, and Emily had never seen Corvo's face turn such a brilliant shade of red when they had discovered the tiny decoration later that day. He had raved about running the swordsmith out of business for being so brash as to insult his empress, and yet Emily applauded his ingenuity, pleasantly shocked at the weight the silver trinket bore. Not everyone agreed with parliament's political policies, and many saw the persistence of the Rat Plague as evidence of Emily's unwillingness to properly lead. She had vowed at the moment to leave the vile ornament dangling from her beautiful sword for as long as there were rats to be feared of—a silent oath to herself and her empire.

Diligently, she practiced her extension and riposte, constantly checking the angle of her feet and width of her arm. Next was a fleche, in which she made sure not to start too far from her invisible opponent, else he anticipate her movements and parry her daring leap. Her blade danced through the wind, conducting it as would a composer orchestrating his master symphony. "Lead with your heart, for it sees through the folly of the mind," Corvo's words pulsated throughout her soul as her imaginary villain lunged forward, forcing her to quickly counter and jab her blade through his gut, twisting the hilt and finishing off the assassin with fiendish delight. All of her contempt, her malice, and her woe was exerted onto the invisible entity, one which she had aptly named to further release the silent hatred ravaging her soul. Parrish.

Suddenly, light applause echoed through the air, causing Emily to jump and spin around, sword at ready, "Whoa! Forgive me, I didn't mean to startle you, Empress," the onlooker shrieked as he stumbled away from the armed woman, grasping onto his pounding chest. The man was Haddon Mercer, Royal Spymaster to the crown, and former Master of Coin in Parliament. He was lanky man originating from Baleton, with square features and dark brown hair combed over to one side. The sides of his head were streaked gray, despite his youthful features, and his eyes were the color of steel, like the glint given off from her brandished sword. He wore the traditional Spymaster's garb, with all of its opulent decor, but the most interesting feature was a golden brooch in the shape of a cat looking curiously over its shoulder that was pinned to his collar. He was a calm and calculating man, and his facial features never really divulged his true feelings on any matter. He was also the current purveyor of the Golden Cat, whose title he had discreetly procured after the establishment was nearly shut down by the city for concealing traces of the plague. Perhaps that's what made him an astounding businessman and agent to the Empress.

Upon realization of who had interrupted her private moment, Emily quickly sheathed her smallsword and composed herself. She had been so lost in her training that she had almost completely forgotten calling upon her loyal subject, and aimed to remedy her negligence by repressing her emotions once more, "You didn't scare me. I was just practicing," she sharply muttered, motioning for Mercer to follow as she began to trek up towards the gazebo.

"Of course, my Lady. I didn't mean to offend. I suspect you've called me on account of Lord Attano's disappearance?" the Spymaster humbly asked, hands clenching onto his signature leather-bound book that was tightly compressed to his chest. Besides Haddon himself, only the Outsider truly knew what names and terrifying accusations were scribbled in his little black book, and he never left his harem without it.

At Haddon's words Emily came to a lurching stop halfway up her courtyard steps, and her shoulders began to reluctantly quake. She hadn't informed anyone of Corvo's absence, and when her servants had questioned her she had redirected their curiosity with menial tasks. How could tale of her Royal Protector's desertion have already extended past John Clavering Boulevard? "Where did you hear this? I haven't made that information public knowledge yet," Emily snapped, perhaps harsher than she should have, for at her distress the posh gentleman gave an awkwardly sincere smile and continued to climb the stone steps.

"Never underestimate the speed at which good gossip travels through the air, lest you always be shocked at what rolls off the tongue of man. My kittens told tale of a ship sailing under the fog late last night. My heart aches to think of how you're fairing without your clandestine lover calming your spirits."

Emily did not move from her spot, petrified from the tellings of her subject. His words set her heart to pounding and her thoughts flew into a rapid tailspin of despair. Knowledge of her and Corvo's relationship was not known amongst the commoner's ears. In fact, it was not known anywhere outside the party involved. How many agents did Mercer have snooping about her Tower? And what brash motive could he have to throw her secrets to the wind? "How did you—"

"Information is my trade, my Lady. Information and discretion. It would be inattentive of me to be unaware of anything that happens within my Empress' Tower," his smile widened as he extended one hand in aid to his sovereign, which her trembling fingers warily grasped, "You need not worry about me, though. Far too many demons lurch from the shadows for you to fear the light of day."

"I pray you're right. For your sake," Emily warned, her tone dripping with lethal implication. They soon reached the gazebo and the young empress leaned rigidly over the railing next to her mother's grave, her perturbed gaze fixated on the tempest forming far into the distant sea. The wind gently howled as it was sucked towards the ominous waves, decaying leaves dancing along its path. If only she were a leaf, how easily she could be carried with Nature's decree. There would be no secrecy, no treacherous plots, no formalities, or anxiety her title bore, only the shifting of the wind and the changing of the seasons. "I need you to keep an eye on the Abbey for me. I fear they're conspiring against the crown, though I don't know their motivations. They've already succeeded in luring away my shield. I will not have them take my crown as well. Parrish is a fool if he thinks I will bow my head to his Order's ravings so easily."

"Yes, Empress. Anything else you would have of me?"

"Only your discretion."

"As always."

Why was the world so cruel? Couldn't men be happy with their position in life, do their duties, and aptly serve without disobedience? Perhaps if she were born a farmer's daughter things would have been simpler. The very worst that could come of that life would be the false promise of a factory worker's pension, and the reality of a whore. Even then it would have been a better life, for all that was demanded of those women were to lie on their backs and dream of faraway lands. Their actions, however distasteful, were not under constant crippling scrutiny or plagued with the terrifying realities of revolution and treason. Maybe if she were blessed a boy, life would have been easier. For men could satisfy their urges with whomever they desired and never be called into question by anyone other than nagging wives or selfish children. If she were a boy Mercer would have not felt as familiar as to indiscriminately outlay her heart's transgressions as if she were kin, or Parrish think her so harmless without Corvo by her side.

"My Lady, Lord Banister approaches," Mercer called, gaining Emily's attention as she turned to meet the newest company. She wasn't expecting a visit from her ex-regent today, but it wasn't necessarily an unwanted surprise. Her thoughts on Lord Lucius Banister changed with the tides, for one day she could hate his presence and the next desire his treasured council. Her wavering opinion typically hung on the first words that spilled from his lips and whether perceptions of his arrogance wedged their way through the cracks. He was rather pompous in the way he strode, with a smug smirk torquing his devilishly handsome façade. Nimble fingers twisted themselves in his wavy golden locks and his rosy cheeks reflected the warmth of the midday sun. He was only a year or two older than Corvo, but the two were polar opposites. Whereas Corvo's rugged, olive complexion was paramount to the rustic romance surrounding him, Lucius' pristine, ivory tone and posh exterior caused other woman to swoon. While Corvo was quiet and reserved, Lucius was loud and brash. And just as her Lord Protector was deadly with his sword, her cherished advisor could kill a man with his words.

As Banister leisurely strolled from the direction of the barracks, a tall guardsman walked attentively at his heels, shoulders back in a rigid and disciplined manner. Despite them being rather far away, Emily could tell the watchman was one of her Elite Royal Guard, handpicked by General Tobias. Although there were many men who were considered part of her protection, only few were considered "elite", marked by a dark blue armband with Tobias' crest—a crowned falcon encircled by golden laurel leaves. This guard was definitely one of those few.

"I came as soon as I heard the news! My sincerest apologizes, your Highness," Banister yelled as he scuttled up the courtyard to the gazebo where Emily and Haddon were standing, "If only I had been in court yesterday, perhaps I could have prevented this atrocity."

Yes, this was certainly one of those days Emily detested the noble lord, "It's not an atrocity. I'm the one that let Corvo go. He served my family well, but it was time for him to settle down and enjoy the rest of his life. I just…forgot his resignation went into effect today. That's what all this fuss is about," she nimbly lied, gaining a clever grin from her Spymaster. This gossip had gone far enough and with any luck it would cease there with her alleged proclamation.

"Of course. There would be no other way to pry Corvo from your side without my Lady's decree," Lucius eagerly agreed, false sincerity curtailing his pleasantries, "Nevertheless, he is gone and you are in need of a new Royal Protector to safeguard your wellbeing. May I present, Lt. Charles Anders!" He excitedly shouted, showing off the young sentry as if he were a new rail car for Emily's enjoyment.

"E'eryone calls me, Chip, ma'am," the watchman spoke as he bowed his head and removed his cap. It was clear he wasn't of high birth from the dialect in which he spoke, for it slurred together as from the mouth of a drunkard, but with enough respect to attest his sobriety. His hair was the color of rust, and freckles adorned his puffy cheeks. He was incredibly tall and towered over everyone present, but was as skinny as a fishbone, so the daunting aspect of his size was instantly subdued. The boy couldn't be a day over twenty, and his sword and pistol hung loosely from his emaciated waist.

"That's "your Highness" you nitwit!" Banister growled, delivering a humiliating slap to the back of the guard's head.

Emily sighed and crossed her arms, lightly shaking her head at the nobleman's outburst, "Correct me if I'm wrong, Lord Banister, but am I not the one who chooses my Lord Protector? I'm sure…Chip, was it, is a fine solider, but I will elect my own bodyguard when I see fit."

"I understand your hesitance, my Lady, I do, and certainly you are entitled to choose your own protector. However, until you do decide on whom that man or woman may be, I urge you to allow the lieutenant to preserve your safety, if not only to ease my troubles. He can be like…a Protector-Regent!"

The empress' gaze lingered on her guardsman as she pondered Banister's proposition. Certainly she wouldn't gift this man the title of Royal Protector, for in her mind Corvo still possessed it, and he would return to her eventually. She only needed to hold out until then, and despite her love urging her to move on, she would wait until she could no longer, and only then would that title dissolve from his name. Until then, this solider would do for appearances, as to not alert the aristocracy of her weak heart, "Very well. Come along, Chip," she mumbled and turned from the two esteemed lords, retreating to her palace with Chip peering over her shoulder.

Lucius and Haddon patiently waited until the young empress was out of earshot before they turned to each other and began a conversation. Though their personalities were not as conflicting as Banister's and Corvo's, the two shared a bitter rivalry, and often exerted their hatred of each other through devious verbal duels with the twisting of words, enjoying the shock and disgust they would arise from the other's heart. Silence persisted as the posh men stared into each other's eyes, silver into gold, ice into fire.

"Lord Banister," Mercer finally broke, his unnaturally pleasant smile plastered so keenly onto his façade, "How have you faired since we last saw each other?"

Lucius gave out a small laugh as he folded his hands behind his back, his piercing blue eyes never wandering from his target, "That depends. Since you last saw me or since I last saw you?" That was the thing with spymasters, no one really knew where their agents lingered, or how easily one's words could be carried with the wind.

"The last time I saw you, you were discussing some concerning matter with the High Overseer. Just what could have been so important that you need converse so far from Parliament's ears?"

"What sins I confess to our righteous Overseers are of no interest to you, Royal Spymaster."

This time it was Haddon who laughed, shaking his finger in front of his foe, "Our Lady's temper burns hot without your counsel to quell her flames. I believe she suspects Parrish has much to do with her dearest protector's sudden absence. A single word of confirmation in her suspicions could bring your whispered conferences to an undesirable end..."

"Was it your own eyes which saw me or was it through the purrs of one of your little kittens?" Banister scoffed, crossing his arms brashly across his chest. He knew his counterpart all too well. Mercer would not get his hands dirty if he could avoid it, and instead used the assistance of his golden kitties or other stray alley cats to assist in the procuring of intelligence.

"It matters not."

"I disagree. The words of whores and degenerates lose their weight when their hands mingle in the Outsider's favors. Certainly her Highness would keep that in mind when speaking on such grave a matter. Now that I think of it, I distinctly recall seeing you even sooner than you claim to have seen me. Yes, I could have sworn to have spotted you snooping around Lord Attano's chambers only a few nights ago. I wonder how her Highness would react to allegations of planted evidence against the loyal lord."

The tension with thick with blood and electricity sparked between the two entities. Allegation against allegation, information against information, it was enough to keep the other quiet, while continuing to play the game. "You really should stop by the Golden Cat sometime soon so we can finish this discussion," Mercer continued his smile widening like a Cheshire cat, "Tell me! Is it true that you still can't sleep with a pillow for fear of that prudish Trinci woman smothering you in your sleep? It is shocking how you've managed to hide your heritage from every tongue in Parliament. Everyone but one."

Banister's eye twitched as his deranged smirk intensified, his teeth grinding themselves in glorious fury, "You know, I hear that even a pious man might indulge his ravaging curiosities under your roof for the right amount of coin. Pray tell, how much do you pay the orphanages to peruse their finest specimens?"

"Strictly speaking, such a thing would not be in accordance with the Empress' law."

"Strictly speaking."

"What are you two conspiring about?" a deep voice boomed, instantly turning the heads of both noblemen. General Tobias loomed over them with lip curled and brows furrowed, glaring fiercely at the Tower's guests, "Unless the empress has invited you two to dinner, then you should leave. Your deceptive tongues aren't welcome in front of the late Empress Jessamine's tomb." In synchrony, both lords glanced behind them to the marble grave marker, and were immediately filled with disgust. In the midst of their verbal battle, they had completely forgotten where they stood and the thought of the dead woman listening on their conversation from the Void turned their stomachs. Tobias huffed angrily to regain the esteemed visitor's attention. He had no tolerance for gossip, especially when it came from men. Women have all day to laze about and converse, but men had to secure the weight of the world, or at least that was his philosophy. Under the general's watchful eye, Haddon and Lucius quickly said their goodbyes and left Dunwall Tower, continuing to mutter hateful insults and allegations to the other's satisfaction. As the aristocrats disappeared to the main gate leading out to their rail cars, Tobias sighed and shook his head in disgust. "…Nobles."

Some fans of the TV/book series "Game of Thrones" might recognize bits of conversation this chapter from its Season 1. I found it fit rather well with the tension I was trying to convey, and so I adopted some quotes to fit my needs. I made some fairly major changes, but I still though I'd give credit where it's due.

Also, there will be another flashback in the next chapter, so don't worry about not getting your fill XD. So very slowly the plot unfolds, mwhaha… I hope many suspenseful questions have arisen from this chapter. REVIEW! ^_^