The Vileness of Man: Mission Seventeen —Two-Headed Giant
Dunwall Tower was completely locked down in less than an hour following the Empress' capture, and yet no one outside its walls would have looked upon the seized palace with any more suspicion than usual. In fact, the strangest sight a passerby may have acknowledged was the pair of Overseers standing erect at the Tower's main gate in place of her Majesty's typical guard. However, any qualms raised at this seemingly minute change were either overlooked by the simple commoner or quelled with the looping announcements from the Broadcast Tower of a royal wedding between their beloved sovereign and parliament member Lucius Banister that would be held later that month, ended with a reassuring "Long live the Empress." The courtyard patrols had been interchanged with mindlessly loyal Overseers, their wolfhound companions snarling at their sides, and Tobias' few dozen Elites roaming the Tower's interior kept the panicking servants in place. Dunwall Tower had become a secret prison to all those unfortunate enough to be inside its walls during the raid, which besides Emily had included numerous servants, a full kitchen staff, a skeleton maintenance crew for the hydraulic waterlock, the groundskeeper, Royal Interrogator Morris Sullivan, the Empress' stuttering steward, and her former governess and current etiquette teacher—Callista Curnow.
What was left of the massacred Royal Guard was tossed into the sea, left as chum for the hagfish to pick at. Of course there were a couple escape attempts on part of the staff, but their participants were met with the same watery fate. After the incident on the roof, the empress had been locked in her room, guarded by a few of the general's men at both entryways and one stationed out on her balcony, in case their captive decided to chance her fate. Bleakly, Emily sat on the edge of her bed in a disturbed silence, staring at the wooden floor with pink misted bangs hiding swollen eyes. Her ivory blouse was dyed with pleated patterns of deep crimson and crusted brown, and her signature white bow had fallen from her hair, reluctantly allowing her pinned-up curls to cascade over her shoulders. It had happened again. Once more it had been proven that the only stability the Kaldwin family held was secured in their protector's name and that he was the first and only obstacle that could keep the demons at bay.
Their entire family's dynasty had been riddled with trials of treachery even as far back as her grandfather, the first Emperor Kaldwin, whose health had declined so suddenly that rumors of foul play were muttered only slightly louder than the scandal of Jessamine' pregnancy. Then her mother had been assassinated in front of her eyes, and despite how white the pavilion's marble floor shined, Emily could still spot the stains. Now it was her turn. For how long would this macabre pattern continue given an endless supply of heirs, or would their eventual demise be prevented before they took breath in this vile world? If only Corvo was there…
TCHIKT. The sound of the chamber cell's lock clicking out of place distracted the disheveled empress from her dreadful thoughts as she watched a friendly face appear through her doorway, the first one she had seen since Corvo's disappearance.
"Callista!" Emily gasped as she charged her former governess, wrapping her arms around the woman's waist in bountiful glee. It had been too long since she had seen a genuinely kind face, and yet as her mentor smiled down upon her, a water jug and basin preventing the frightened girl's embrace from being returned, her faint expression seemed to be filled with more pity than joy. But before Emily could inquire about her anxious nature, the hulking mass of muscle that made up General Tobias shadowed their reunion. Reflexively, Emily's nose crinkled and a low, unmannerly grumble repressed the roar that dared to leap from her throat at her general's presence, though his tiny black eyes reflected no evident malice or any emotion other than mild amusement that barely furrowed his sharp widow's peak. If only she still had her sword, she would have ran it through this traitor as she had her lanky guardsman. But Lucius Banister had claimed it as his trophy while it rocked side to side in Chip's eviscerated stomach—its hilt's tassel waving the Empress' colors like a battle standard and its small rat pendant clanging against the stained steel.
"Let's get you cleaned up," Callista's voice softly sang, her soft auburn hair falling from its messy bun. The two women and their intimidating chaperone retreated across the room until Emily resumed her place at the end of her bed and her beloved mentor began to wash away the remnants of the gory encounter. She brushed out the dried blood soiled her majesty's mid-length hair, cleaned her salty cheeks, and Tobias actually had enough dignity left to turn his back long enough to allow his prisoner to be changed into a clean corset, as the stains had seeped that deep.
"How's the staff?" Emily grunted as her new girdle's laces were pulled tight, her solemn inquiry muted with discomfort.
"Frightened, but they'll endure," Callista assured, slipping a freshly pressed blouse over the young woman's arms, "As long as they know that their empress is safe."
A sarcastic sneer pierced the air as Tobias rolled his eyes at the women's touching exchange, just loud enough to pull Emily's attention away from the guilt she felt for her imprisoned subjects and repress the fear that strangled her heart long enough to remember the reason that Lucius' coup had succeeded in the first place. It was all her general's doing. It was his guards that had lent their strength to the banished prince and his arms that had stopped her from reaching her bunker. Why, though? Tobias had served her mother diligently until her death and of course the traitor Burrows afterwards, but that was only because he was the "rightfully" declared Regent, right? Tobias was even the one that arrested Hiram once his crimes were unveiled. Why turn against the crown now, after so many years of service?
"Of all the people who've turned against me today, General Tobias," Emily started sternly, feeling the anger inside begin to grow once more, "you were by far one of the last I expected. Explain it to me. You've served this dynasty since nearly its beginning. So what in the Void have I done to you to turn your allegiance?" her voice threatened to shake as her fire evaporated the sorrow, and her knuckles turned white with pressure as she strained to maintain an even head.
And yet the officer's sarcastic demeanor did not cease with his sovereign's hot-tempered inquiry. In fact, it actually grew as he dismissed her petty attempts to make him shutter, because for once the hierarchy of power was overruled, "My allegiance hasn't been turned, Empress, in fact it's never been stronger," he cryptically answered, crossing his tree trunk arms over an inflated chest as he declared, "Lord Banister told me everything. He told me about how after the last dynasty died out your menial family was thrust into the limelight only because your granddaddy spoke loud enough in Parliament. He told me how the emperor's title was taken from his family by your cunt mother and how she covered it all up with her lies."
"Don't speak of my mother that way! Have you no respect for the dead?" Emily screeched, jumping up from her bed in fury. Callista instantly grasped onto the teenager's shoulders, restricting her from any reckless thoughts that could get herself killed.
Tobias' nostrils flared and his upper lip pulled up over his teeth as he seethed, "You stupid little girl, you have no idea of how deeply I despise you Kaldwin women. You're all weak and lazy. You lack the skills to properly lead and yet you're so shocked when people suddenly hate you. When was the last time you've been past John Clavering Blvd, or out of this tower at all? Have you even gone down to Rudshore, in which you've thrown all the capital's money into, and witnessed the throngs of Weepers and rats that you claim don't exist?"
"I never said they don't exist! I said the plague is mostly harmless. We have the cure and it's free now…I made certain of that."
"Watch as a man's face gets chewed off by one of those walking corpses or a group of guards devoured by some wandering rats and then tell me how harmless this plague is. I wasn't even appointed general until Hiram's reign, and even then the paranoid bastard treated me with more respect and authority. You Kaldwin women have ruined this throne, tossed it into debt and disease."
Rage swallowed her words as she thrashed against her tutor's protective hold, "You ignorant fool! It was Burrows who brought the plague! Not my mother, not me!"
"Yeah, and when I found that out I arrested him myself. But what did your mother do to fix his mistake? Nothing. At least he realized the severity of the mess he created and opted for the more extreme measures. Your mother's heart was too sensitive, and it bled too much for those already lost. That's what killed her. You've done no better. You enlisted the help of foreigners to resurrect the dead, when we should have just drowned them all."
"You—"
The squealing of the chamber door's hinges cut into her words as her self-declared fiancé whisked himself into their heated quarrel, golden locks billowing with the door's opening gust and a small silver sword bobbing at his hip. An eerie silence befell amongst those present, all who stared at the newcomer with individualized feelings. Tobias ceased his demeaning mockery to bounce into attention and look over his new commander's head with a prideful salute. Emily's face scrunched with malice and her fierce eyes sparked as she stared into her usurper's soft blue orbs, a gentle smirk and boasted contentedness reflected within. And Callista, poor Callista, merely gazed toward the traitorous lord's feet, for that was all that she could do.
"Her Imperial Majesty, Emily Kaldwin I, Queen of Gristol, Empress of the United Empire of the Isles and all of its Realms, Defender of the Faith, and Vanquisher of the Rat Plague. You have such a long title," Banister gibed, Serkonan steel singing as it slid from its hilt, "And this is a nice sword. Balanced, sleek, fashionable. A bit on the small side, but it does the job, obviously. You must introduce me to your blacksmith. I need one of these to wear at my coronation." With an aloof flick of the sword's blade, Lucuis ended Tobias' salute and the general moved into action, grabbing onto Callista's arm and forcefully jerking her away from her wrathful queen. This immediately spurred another fit of outbursts, as the frightened empress screamed for her beloved tutor and bellowed obscenities and empty threats to both her captors, to which Lucius responded by greeting her neck with her own blade to keep her from charging the defiant general.
Her chamber's door slammed shut as Callista was dragged away, leaving only the pair of half-Trinici's staring heatedly at one another, one with a sword to the other's throat. Yet for as livid her exterior fumed, a deep anxiety had been cut in her heart as she worried over her teacher's fate. What would happen to her now? Callista was the niece of the City Watch's chief constable. Would her usurpers take a chance and release her as an act of good faith, or take the other risk of worrying Geoff until he came to inquire about his kin's disappearance, only to run right into the middle of their conspiracy? Lucius wasn't the type to gamble unless he knew everyone else's hands, just like Mercer, who had seemed like he was only catching whiff of Banister's ruse by the time it had been set into action. Mercer…where was he? Certainly he was an even larger threat than mere Callista, if he was a threat at all. For Haddon always knew everything in advance, and yet he had overlooked such a massive plot? It didn't seem right, and Emily didn't know who to trust anymore, not that she really knew in the first place.
As Lucius withdrew the sword, he began to shadow spar in the middle of the room. Swinging the metal with fluid grace, he imitated Emily's graceful maneuvers from earlier, and at the same time boasted his apparent skills at swordplay. Certainly he wasn't as refined as Corvo, but his royal and noble lineage had clearly allowed for some substantial training. This only made him a larger threat than Emily had originally believed. For not only was he an amazing politic and a good shot, but now also a decent swordsman.
"I didn't actually think you'd kill him but you were like, OOF, right in the gut!" he jested, pressing the pommel into his stomach and letting his head fall forward and blonde hair cascade over his visage as he faked death. A cocky grin peered from his shadowed façade as he whispered, "I guess Corvo's 'late night sparring lessons' really did pay off. Then again his sword probably doesn't even equal the hilt of this one, hm?" Emily's eyes grew wide with his snickering remark, and before she could conjure a retort, he cut her short, "Oh don't look so surprised, dear niece. I knew he wasn't your father and how obsessed with him you were. It was only logic from there. Your mother turned him down and so he just settled for you, is that how it worked?"
"Shut up! They were just friends! You of all people should know that," Emily hissed, clenching her teeth. He didn't know what he was talking about. Of course her mother's death had hurt them all deeply, but that didn't mean that Corvo had loved her. If he had, he would have told Emily and certainly she knew him well enough by now to know his feelings with or without his acknowledgement. Then again, she didn't even know if he even loved her. It wasn't as if he had ever outwardly said such, or even attempted to foster the words. Why did it even matter? Her mother was gone, and even if Corvo had felt something for Jessamine when he was Emily's age surely it was too long ago for those emotions to still be there. Besides, he was with her and she still loved him dearly, despite how complicated their relationship was. "Where is Corvo? What did you do to him?!"
Banister rolled his eyes as he plopped down in a nearby chair and dropped his boots shamelessly on top the accompanying table. He then took hold of her sword and forcefully drove it tip-first into the wooden flooring. A small gasp pierced the air as Emily slapped her hands over her agape mouth, a look of sheer horror and disgust petrifying her gaze at her swaying blade stuck in her floorboard. That was Serkonan steel! It wasn't made for piercing wood. He was going to dull it, or worse, break the tip. This was torture. What was he going to do next? Trim the hedges with it? Use it as a kitchen knife? That was her most prized possession and he was treating it like it was a mere toy. She had to get it back before he did some real damage.
Lucuis ran his hands aloofly through his golden locks, flicking his wrist nonchalantly as he answered, "Hopefully he's dead in a ditch somewhere by now. Parrish was the one responsible for taking care of him, I only told him about his tattoo."
His tattoo? He knew about that? Corvo always wore gloves ever since she found out about his gift years ago. The only time he ever took them off was if he was taking a bath, sleeping, or alone with her, and Banister hadn't seen him in any of those situations. Even if by some off chance he had spotted it, surely he wouldn't have known what the brand symbolized. Only few people outside of worshipers of the mark's owner and Abbey members could recognize the symbol for what it was, and certainly this pompous prince wasn't one of them.
Noticing the dumb stare his prisoner was giving, Lucius scoffed and added, "Don't play dumb, girly. You forget, I did live here at one point. The first time I saw it, I thought it was a memento from his prison days, but then I remembered the Masked Felon had a similar brand. I shrugged it off as mere coincidence, seeing as they were both criminals, until your little charity ball last spring, when you tried to sicc him on me. So I went and asked Haddon about the mark and he rather begrudgingly told me how it was the symbol of the Outsider. I knew Parrish would jump on the chance to annihilate such a high standing court official, and that was all proof I needed to make up some farce about black magic and spoon-feed it to our beloved Overseer."
Mercer knew about the Outsider? Wait, of course he did, he knew everything—everything except the fact that his "lifelong rival" had been plotting against his empress for who knows how long. What a coincidence. Hadn't Lucius become incredibly drunk and wreck the banquet table before passing out at her charity ball? Was that the reason for his hatred and consequential treason, because in his inebriated state he thought that she had ordered Corvo to assassinate him? "I never tried to kill you! If this is why you hate me than it's all just a mistake. You can stop this now and I'll pardon your treason and—"
"Enough!" Banister barked, slamming his feet on the ground as he abruptly stood, "I'm doing this for myself and my brother. I'm going to right the wrong your mother did, to avenge his murder and claim his lost title."
"Then you shouldn't have waited this long to do something! If you had spoken out when you were still my regent then your family would have actual had a legitimate claim." Now what was he bantering on about? Her father wasn't murdered. He died on a voyage to Pandyssia, Corvo had told her such and he had never lied to her that she knew of. How well did she really know the man she loved, a man who supposedly loved her mother before her and had killed her father? Surely he had his reasons, but that fact didn't help alleviate the headache spurring from this endless anxiety.
Emily could feel the bed springs creaking as her fury begged for her to leap off her bed and charge her foe. If only she could reach her sword, then maybe she would stand a chance. A small chance, but a chance nonetheless, more of one she would have if she just sat there and did nothing. Besides, Banister had explicitly stated that he didn't plan to kill her, so perhaps in his hesitance she could gain the upper hand. Though she wasn't a fighter, she wouldn't allow herself to become a puppet to someone else's hand. Not again. The grandfather clock chimed loudly as it began its hourly song, booming thrice to greet the midday air. Silence persisted between the two figures while they waited for the clock's mantra to end. Lucius stared at the barren fireplace, backed turned to Emily whose gaze was locked on to the upright blade.
"You're right, for once," he laughed as he walked closer the furnace. The cold coals blackened the hearth and ashes grayed the frigid stone. A lack of fire had made the chamber rather chilly, and if it wasn't for the anger consuming the empress' disposition, she probably would have been feeling its effects. Grabbing a matchbox from the mantle, Lucius bent down, struck one against the heel of his boot, and flicked the flaming stick into the bed of coals. They began to smolder as he gently breathed life into the tiny embers, and when the fire had finally been birthed he began to speak once more. "I could have approached Parliament while you were still a minor, revealed my heritage, and demanded blood rights for my family, but then it wouldn't have been me that would have been emperor. No, not the bastard child. Besides that, I was actually content with being your regent. Surprising, I know, but I was honored to serve the crown in a way I would have never been able to do even if my father hadn't disowned me. I even understood that my position was only temporary, and that once you became of age my services would no longer be required. Yet I held out hope that when I resigned you would have at least kept me as personal advisor or elite consul and not just throw me to the wind and call upon me whenever you needed a breeze to cool the sweat off your brow.
"You spat in my face. All the hard labor I've done and you repay me by kicking me out of the Tower, revoking my tax plans, and sending your assassin to silence me? And you wonder why Parliament never backs your plans. You've done all this to yourself. You're a poor politic. Some of your braver citizens might worship you for this 'Rudshore Taskforce' you've dangled like a golden carrot before their noses, but you've completely abandoned the class that's financing all your costly endeavors. First you beg for our support, and then you cut the commoner's taxes and pile the difference onto us nobles. Here's a quick school lesson for you. Politics 101: You never overtax the ruling class." Despite the malice intended in Banister's words, his voice was unnervingly soft. A weak chuckle passed his lips as he mulled over his words, outstretching his hands to bask over the newborn flame. He was getting tired. Tired of yelling and fighting, and tired of trying to make a stubborn teenage girl understand his motives. If wasn't worth the effort. In the end it was he who had won, and whether or not the young monarch realized her defeat was not his problem.
Yet that didn't stop her from contesting his supposed reasoning, tempers flaring as she yelled, "You didn't inform me about the raised tax!"
"You were twelve. What did you want me to do? Outlay the complexities of percentiles and income rates to a spoiled royal brat? All you needed to do was dream and play your childish games with that Attano mutt, and leave everything else to me." Lucius groaned as he rubbed his temples. Emily's incessant shouting was giving him a headache, and he had about given up on even trying to combat her relentlessness. How did Corvo put up with this woman? She never shut up or backed down even when she knew she was outmatched. It almost made him want the Serkonan dog back here, for at least he would be able to make her be quiet.
Now was her chance. His back was turned and he had exhausted himself through arguing. He had dropped his guard, and she was ready to seize this precious moment, "They're not childish!" she screamed as she sprang from the bed and charged her foe. As she jerked her sword out of the floor, Banister whirled his head around to catch glimpse of the raised steel before falling backwards into the fireplace. A plume of ashes intercepted Emily's blow as she swung downwards through the cloud, accidentally crashing her blade against the marble mantle. Lucius burst out in a fit of hacking coughs, his throat aggravated by the thick screen of soot, which was just loud enough to overpower the slew of obscenities Emily spouted as she stumbled away from the blinding haze. The commotion must have signaled the balcony guard, for as she backed away from the billowing hearth, muscular arms constricted around her form like a vice grip and her sword clanged onto the ground as she lost her grip. "Let go! Let go!" she cried, wriggling around like a freshly caught flounder.
Suddenly her head jerked to the side and her cheek began to burn as the echo of her skin filled the room. Her shouts ceased instantly as the smoke cleared enough for Banister's form to come into view directly before her, hand raised into the air as he panted and gagged for clean air. He…hit her? No one had ever hit her, and the unpleasant tingling sensation muted any attempts to formulate a halfway coherent response. His black suit and golden hair were masked a dusty grey, and he looked like a chimney sweeper that had just excavated the interior of her furnace. His blue eyes were swollen and red, and a vindictive scrunched his features as he chided, "You wretched woman, don't you understand! I've won. This is my Tower and no one is coming to save you. I don't know how to make you realize that, but at least I know how to shut you up now. So I'm going to leave now to start planning my coronation. And from this moment onwards, you'll be a good girl and act the blushing bride or I'll make you wish I had handled you like your mother. Are we clear?"
Pain immobilized Emily's defiance as she stared down at the ash-covered prince's boots, her mind focused on the foreign tingling sensation traveling up her jaw line. It was such a strange feeling, an unpleasant ache, and such a demeaning and humiliating act that it had completely shattered her willpower. After re-confiscating her sword—which now had a large chip in it due to its impact on the marble hearth—Banister stormed from the room, leaving soft white footprints wherever he stepped. When the guard released her and resumed his post, Emily couldn't help but fall to her knees and begin to softly weep. The tears turned her ashy cheeks a muddy grey, and as she stared down at the soot covering her floor, she began to draw.
"Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner…" she started to softly sing as her fingers traced the outline of a small rat, with a crown for an added touch, "Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner." Where was Corvo? How long would it be before he came back for her? As the image of a dead snake with crooked fangs hanging from the crowned rat's mouth took form, a small smile pulled at the edges of its creator's lips, "Feed him to the hungry rats for dinner, early in the morning."
O.O Holy hell. Two months? TWO MONTHS!? What kind of computer store makes me wait an entire month for a part, only to make me get blasted with midterms right as it comes in? Ugh…anyways, without further ado...TA-DA! A really really long chapter, all for you. For those who thought that this chapter would be all about Corvo, don't worry that one's next. I had to go into depth on the reasons behind both Tobias' and Banister's plot first, and as always, I got carried away with the detail and dialogue. Oopsy? Well, I hope you enjoyed, and as usual…REVIEW!