The Vileness of Man: Mission Sixteen — Blood is Thicker than Water
It was the third day since Corvo left Dunwall Tower. For three days Emily had wallowed in endless silent mourning, and for three days had she dealt with the incompetency of one Lieutenant Charles Anders. Her temporary bodyguard (or Protector-Regent as Lord Banister had informally dubbed him) actually made the solitary monarch miss her lost lover that much more, as she realized how both complicated his job was and how difficult she was to please. The skinny, red-headed solider was constantly screwing up on the littlest things which the intricate training to become a Royal Protector would have abolished. For example, when they walked together and the empress suddenly stopped or turned a corner "Chip" would either step painfully on her heels, or get lost from view altogether. He was supposed to walk five steps behind her at all times. Not three, not seven, but five. It was incredibly annoying and far from the grace a Lord Protector was expected to emulate in their every action.
Another thing that irritated her was how he continuously called her ma'am. Never did she actually think she would have wanted to be referred to formally or desire Corvo's accidental "my Lady's". Chip was also clumsy; his bootlaces always came untied and his massive height threw him off balance quite often. When he ate, he was a shameless scoffer gobbling his meals like he'd never experienced a quality one in his life. At night she had made him sleep outside of her chambers, claiming it to be a test of his tenacity when in truth she just didn't want her true protector's room being defiled. The only good quality she could actually point out in Chip was his relentless nature towards her security. He was always somewhere near her—despite his varying gate—and followed her everywhere without too much complaint. In fact, the only time she got a moment to herself was when she retreated into the restroom to let out built up tears held back in front of her subjects, before cramming all of her lament deep into her soul and facing the world once more with a false smile.
Chip wasn't even good at swordplay, which made her wonder why General Tobias had even indicted him into her elite unit. After their breakfast, Emily had dodged her math tutor in order to get an extra hour in at sparring practice. It was the only time in which she could feel close to Corvo, as if he was there beside her, guiding her hands. Whenever that metal hilt fell into her grasp, all reality ceased to be and only the two clandestine lovers were left at its core. Of course when sparing against her awkward bodyguard she had used a wooden waster, but even still he couldn't land a single point against her and had been utterly incapable of defending himself against her graceful maneuverability. Perhaps she had been too aggressive against her new training partner, as for the entirety of their duel she had envisioned him as the crazed priest who had stolen away the key to her heart.
Already had she dispatched her dearest Spymaster to listen to the Abbey's walls, and if there was one thing the empress knew for certain about Haddon Mercer was that when he caught a whiff of something even remotely scandalous, he never let go until he knew everything about it and then held it hostage against your conscious. After training the two had retreated back into the castle so that Emily could change into something suitable for brunch and listen to her stuttering steward prattle about imminent court appearances, Parliament dates, letters from other Isles, and any other menial secretarial tasks being a sovereign of a grand empire typically consisted of. A sweaty blouse and disheveled hair was not an appearance suitable for royalty, her chambermaids and governesses had told her a thousand times, despite the fact that none of her court was on agenda to been heard today. As they entered the Grand Foyer and began up the marble staircase, a young woman dressed in a maid's outfit was descending the stairwell and stopped directly in front of them. She gave a small curtsy, whispered a polite "milady", and handed her empress a wax-sealed parchment, which Emily took after mulling over her appearance.
She couldn't have been much older that Emily was, despite how gaunt her features were, caked in thick layers of vividly colored makeup. A primly pressed white apron which looked like it hadn't seen a day's labor was secured around the waist of her black servant's garb, pristine ivory gloves adorned her very pallid, Gristolian skin, and a golden brooch in the shape of a curious cat was pinned clearly to her blouses' collar. The young woman seemed both out of place and yet eerily disguised as she patiently awaited the monarch to read her message and if it wasn't for that brooch placed so openly on her person, she might have thought her an inquiring nature that of an assassin. But there it was—that golden cat—practically screaming who the message was from, and eagerly she tore its seal and scoured the cryptic letter, yearning for any news which could melt the icy prison around her heart in which she had restrained herself.
"Your Imperial Majesty,
As per your request, I've looked into that feral cat you were contemplating on putting down. Though I haven't been able to determine the exact cause of its ailment, my numerous kittens in that area have told me how it cries all night, wracked in distress and delusion. It purrs about a "purifying flame" and hisses about your Grace's hound. And though I cannot say for certain, I do believe a nasty snake bite to be the origins for its anxiety. Given time, it may simply succumb to its poison and die, however not before becoming far more aggressive. Take caution, your Grace, and check under your mattress for this slithering cretin, lest it too strike at your heels while you dream.
PS: Mr. Holger whispers rumors about an improved music box his tenants are making for him. Should your lost pup find its way home it should be wary of this news, as sensitive ears might not enjoy the sound the newer instrument is intended to produce."
"Why must he always speak in riddles?" Emily snapped as she finished the letter and folded it into her back pocket. What good were riddles anyways when the messenger was so clearly one of his agents? It would have been much easier on them both if Mercer had just set his poetic ingenuity aside and simply told her he had nothing but random babbling from a lunatic and prattle about a music box to fuel her tirade. His obsession with cats was overwhelming at times, as not only did he use the word to describe the stable of whores "employed" at his bathhouse, but also his agents, his enemies, and even his actual cats which he owned many of.
The palace's front door suddenly creaked open and the thunderous sound of feet stepping in synchrony echoed off the walls and shook the chandeliers. When Emily turned to investigate the sound, she was greeted with the sight of nearly a dozen members of her Elite Guard, all wearing their signature armbands, and a few Warfare Overseers standing at attention behind her two favorite court members—Lucius Banister and Gregor Parrish. Whatever boisterous charade they were scheming had gone far enough. Selecting a guard out of concern for her safety was one thing, but coming unannounced (again) to her home and parading all of her highest ranking officers around her foyer was too much for one day, especially after receiving such unenthusiastic news and watching as her High Overseer's jagged teeth turned up in a sickening smile.
"Lord Banister, High Overseer," Emily strained to keep as calm, despite her flaring temper against the priest's mere presence, "these unannounced visits are growing tiresome. You two really should make an appointment with my steward beforehand if you wish to see me."
Banister stepped in front of the crowd and gave a quick half bow in moderate respect before clearing his throat and loudly boasted with sarcastic sympathy, "We apologize, your Majesty, and swear this will be the last," a gleaming smile stretched from ear to ear as he slicked back a stray lock of golden hair. With fluid grace, he reached into his coat and brandished a wooden-handled revolver. Cocking back the steel hammer, he aimed the firearm at the trio and pulled the trigger.
A bloodcurdling shriek pierced the air as a plume of gunpowder and smoke obscured the scene. A pink mist painted the marble stairs and crimson blood tricked down the empress' cheeks like tears as she pushed herself against a nearby wall. Wracked in terror, she choked for air and her quivering gaze locked onto the warm pool spilling out of the meaty pulp that remained of the agent's left eye. Her ears rang with an incessant buzzing from the gun's explosion, blocking out Parrish's and Banister's cruel laughter and the sound of her own screams. Her body yearned to run, to bolt up the West Tower and seal herself safely away in her rooftop panic room as she had practiced so many times—yet she could not move. Her limbs were petrified, like the bark from an ancient tree, and only her pounding chest and uneven breaths held testimony that she was still alive.
"What have you done!" Emily screamed as her panicked cries turned coherent, "You—you've killed her! Have you lost your mind!?"
Banister aloofly tucked his gun back into his jacket and shook his finger at the frightened empress as one would a child, "Oh no, your Grace, I assure you that my mind has been accounted for," he chided. He then turned to Chip, who for the entire time had stood at near attention at the sight of his comrade's formation behind the two court officials, and authoritatively commanded, "Lieutenant! Be a gentleman and restrain the empress."
"What! Get your hands off of me!" Emily screeched, shirking away from Chip as he tried to grab onto her shoulder. Frantically, she grasped onto her sword's hilt and jerked it out of its sheath, pointing it at her disloyal bodyguard, "Guards, are you just going to stand there and let them get away with murder? Arrest them, now!"
Yet none of the soldiers moved from their positions or batted an eye at the blatant usurping, and the lone monarch was left with only a single blade to act as her shield, "I'm sorry, Empress, but they're not going to listen to you," the insidious nobleman said with faked sincerity, "You see, their loyalty lies far beyond the constraints of an ill-placed title. They're loyal only to their General, and he has kindly lent me them to achieve this astounding feat."
The High Overseer stepped forward, his crooked teeth gleaming as he proudly boasted, "My Overseers have already secured the exterior and taken care of the rest of the Royal Guard. No one is coming to save you."
"This is treason!" she yelled, raising her sword to Chip's throat. Her mind raced with thoughts of how to escape the small army rising against her. If only Corvo were there, he could easily have dispatched all of these traitors and swept her away to safety all in the blink of an eye. She was sure she could at the very least dispatch the lanky red-head looming over her, and from there could make an attempt to reach the roof if not for the numerous armed men in her foyer that would surely fill her with holes before she even made it up the steps.
"It's only treason if we intend you harm or remove you from power, which I for one do not. Well…mostly. I only wish to see the throne restored its rightful name, a name your mother stole from my family seventeen years ago," Lucius cockily corrected, taking another small step closer to his sword-wielding empress.
"…and to see someone with a clear mind idolize the Abbey's teachings," Parrish added, keeping at the ex-regent's heels like a loyal dog.
"Don't interrupt me, Parrish," he snapped before turning back to Emily and softening his tone, "Now where was I. Oh yes! You see, Empress, I may be a Banister, but it is not just Banister blood that courses these veins. No, my heart bleeds a proud and royal lineage, one which you share. It was my brother's sacred right as your father to rule the Isles, and your fiendish mother and her lapdog stole both that and him away from the Trinci family, from our family."
The Trinci's? She knew that family name. Corvo had used it a thousand times to argue her desires to be more open with their relationship, or when she had first learned about her father's secret identity. Yet no one except for her mother, Corvo, and her was supposed to know about her hidden heritage, lest the Serkonan monarchy rise against them in retaliation—which seemed to be exactly what was happening. But Banister couldn't be a Trinci. He was from Potterstead, not Karnaca. And if he were a prince, then why wait until now to make such a bold move, without the support of his country or alleged family? "I-I don't understand. My father is —"
"—your father is the late Prince Aeton Trinci V," Banister cut off, "And I'm Lucius Banister Trinci, bastard child to King Aeton IV and Marie Banister, named heir to the Serkonan throne before your father came into this world, and your uncle," a proud smirk peeled open his lips, and he brashly crossed his arms over his chest in an arrogant stance. Menacing chortles churned from Banister's throat as he glared at the young monarch with fiery eyes, "The emperor's title is my family's by blood, and I will be the one to bear its name! Do not fret though, my sweet niece, for I'm not going to kill you…yet. No, there will be a royal wedding first, and I will merge our family names like they were meant to be—with the Abbey's blessing and a grand coronation. Then, you will give me beautiful babies, beautiful Trinci babies, and my father will rue the day he revoked my birthright."
"You're absolutely insane," Emily breathed, the grasp of her blade loosening as she mulled over the impossibility of her situation. Had it all been a deadly ruse? First her Lord Protector and lover disappears because of some jagged toothed priest, then an incompetent bodyguard gets tossed her way, her Spymaster has nothing serious to report despite him constantly knowing everyone else's business, and suddenly her former regent who had been all too reluctant to step down from his ruling position is actually a power-greedy, disowned family member lurking about her court? Her head was spinning and the metallic stench of blood from the deceased woman at her feet was making her nauseous. The only thing still preventing her from completely breaking down was sheer adrenaline, and even still her legs were too weak and fear too thick to run for cover.
"No, your Majesty," Banister cockily bowed, raising his head up to meet her petrified gaze, "Just ambitious."
The scraping of metal against leather tore Emily's attention towards Chip, who had finally drawn his sword as a challenge against her. This was it, the moment of true bravery. She could either drop her weapon and become a prisoner, or fight for her freedom and nation by risking her own life. Her amber eyes narrowed and her sword's hilt creaked as her grip tightened. Without even waiting for his response, she lunged, watching the clumsy soldier nearly trip up the steps as he stumbled backwards to evade her strike. At least she had an advantage, for as she had mentioned before, Chip wasn't good at swordplay. His movements were too elongated and far too easy to read and then riposte, from which he could barely recover. He swung and slashed against the air as if he wielded an axe, and Banister cursed at him to just disarm her, else he accidentally wound with all his mindless flailing. But Corvo had taught her well, and she was just nimble enough to elude his sporadic advances. Ducking, parrying, dodging—when their blades met again they were halfway up the marble stairs, and Emily quickly dipped her sword under his and pulled, sending his weapon over the railing. Reflexively she seized the opening and struck, sinking the blade into her guard's stomach and twisting the handle in glorious victory, listening to Chip scream in agony.
It was in that moment that Emily remembered it was not a mere training sword she had buried into Chip's gut. For bright red blood channeled along the sword's fuller and dripped onto the stone steps. As he weakly coughed and choked on his own fluids, the crimson liquid seeped down the corners of his mouth and he stared down at his tiny attacker with a look of immeasurable pain and confusion. Panicking, she let go of the sword and he fell to his knees, continuing to gruesomely gurgle and spew up his blood. He locked gazes with the terrified female until his eyes turned cold and the light slowly began to fade away. When he finally tumbled backwards down the stairs, sword still erect in his abdomen and the small rat charm dangling off her bloodstained tassel, Emily's composure completely shattered. She had taken a life, and though death was no stranger to her, the fact that this time it had been she who had delivered the soul to the Outsider's doorstep had thrown her over the edge.
In an instant, she bolted up towards the West Tower, oblivious to Banister cries and his lackey's footsteps as they chased after their fleeing empress. She flew down the hall, tore open the tower's door, and jolted up the metal spiraling stairwell, her boots echoing up the high walls. Tears stung her eyes and blurred her vision, and her panting breath fueled her burst of speed as she quickly reached the rooftop access, and flung open the door. If only she could get to her saferoom, her impenetrable saferoom, then she could hide away until Corvo came to the rescue as he always had. As the brightness from the midday sun washed out of her view, strong arms constricted around her body and pulled her into the white light, preventing her from running to the bunker only yards away. She kicked in flailed in her captor's grasp, flinging her head back and biting the air in a desperate attempt at freedom.
"Good…job…Tobias," Banister panted as he made it onto the roof. The stalwart general only gave a small nod and low grunt in response as he tightened his hammerlock on Emily's arm and watched to her writhe in pain. As she squirmed in Tobias' grasp, staring at her bunker that was so close yet so far away, she realized how truly helpless she really was without Corvo by her side and naïve it was to believe that history would never repeat its darkest of days.
So…school started back. And my schedule is CRAZY BUSY. T_T Which unfortunately gives me even less time to write than I already had. So expect intervals like this one, or even longer between chapters from now until Spring Break, simply because I have no time to do anything I want to. Am I ignoring you all? Not in the bit, I just have a busy busy schedule and I don't know when I'll be able to do any writing besides in between classes (which I'm going to abuse). You're just going to have to bear with me.
ANWAYS! It's finally all revealed, everyone's a douchebag! As if you didn't see that coming already. It wouldn't be called "The Vileness of Man" if all men weren't somewhat well…vile. REVIEW, of course, because I need much loving on this one. I've waited so long to be able to bring this chapter to you all. I hope you enjoyed it. :)