Chapter 2

The torturer giggles as the iron sizzles against his flesh. He can’t identify this one-only that she is female, but then, most of his torturers have been.

They wear masks, so David can’t distinguish one from the other. He only knows most of them were women from their voices. From their squeals and laughs. Their taunts.

‘Was her blood still warm against your flesh? Could you feel her trying to breathe around your sword?'

‘Was she still alive when you threw her into the sea? Or did you wait and watch the light leave her eyes?’

‘Did she cry out for you? She trusted you, you know. More than anyone.’

They were cruel. But David deserved cruelty.

The six months since the Empress’s death had seen him a prisoner in Coldridge, a place that truly lived up to its name. The bitter Dunwall winter somehow seemed even stronger within the cold walls of the prison. The only warmth he felt now was from this.

Another sizzle. Another line on his arm. He grits his teeth and stares daggers at the woman in the mask.

The tortures have stayed relatively the same since the beginning, but the hot irons are new. He understands why: he only has so much skin to burn. But he supposed the same was true for the whipping. They could, however, hold him upside-down for hours on end as many times at they wanted. They could nearly drown him, deprive him of sleep, half-starve him a million times and it would still be as potent as the last. He supposed they could have kept pulling out his teeth, but for some reason they stopped after three. David suspected the Spymaster-sorry, the Lady Regent-wanted to ensure he could still talk. To confess.

He might as well, the logical part of his head told him. It wasn’t as if it would change anything. They would still execute him. Anthony was still unreachable. Sabrina was still dead.

It took days for them to find her, he was told. Days of braving the winds and the tides, searching the shallows near the palace wall and sending divers down to check the deeper waters. But they had found her. Eventually.

The torturers had gleefully relayed the details to him, how her body was so bloated that she was only identified by her signet ring. How her fine clothing had been worn ragged, seaweed choking out her hair, her limbs so swollen they had to cut her outfit off in strips to examine what was left of her. Fish had laid eggs in the hollow of her stomach. Her funeral had been a short affair, casket nailed closed as they carted it through the city, to the Imperial Crypt. Sealed her in the vault that had bore her name since she was a girl.

“You may take your leave now,” The Lady Regent waves her hand. “Give him some time to think it over. Men often open up when they are close to death.”

The torturer sets her iron back into the fire and bows. She departs without a word, and the second the door is closed, the Lady Regent rounds on him.

“Oh, David …” She smiles and runs her fingers down his face. “Won’t it be a relief to sign the confession? To admit? The Abbey can perform your last rites then, and you can die with honor.”

David glares. He hasn’t spoken a word since Sabrina drew her last breath. It was the only source of pride he was allowed in here, and he wasn’t about to lose it.

Delilah sighs and moves away. “I would say I’m sorry for doing this to you, but I’m really not. You were always...in the way.” She turns around with a flourish, resting her butt on a nearby table. “I thought you could be useful to me, at first. So close to the Empress. But you spurned my advances, ignored my sisters. We wondered if maybe you weren’t into women, or just liked them young, so I sent boys instead. I even tried to convince my brother-in-law to seduce you, if you can imagine.”

Her grin is like a hyena’s. Staring at him like she expects him to find it funny.

“But it was all in vain. You ignored them all. Just my luck that you were defective, that my charm wouldn’t work on you.”

Did she flirt with him? David can’t remember. He was focused on other things.

“But,” Delilah claps her hands together. “Just my luck, the Empress was blossoming into a woman, and she was more than receptive to my affections.”

David strains against his bindings, itching to put his hands around Delilah’s throat. She stalks forward, staring down at him with a smile.

“We were young, beautiful, and the Empress was in need of someone who could help her relax.” She muses, running one finger down David ’s cheek. “Oh, but you don’t want to hear about that, no? How I defiled your Empress? How I snuck into her quarters at night, made her sing my praises. How she all but worshipped me for it?”

He had never cared who she was seeing. He didn’t want to know any more than what was necessary. It just wasn’t his place to intervene. And it wasn’t Delilah’s to tell him all this.

“She told me everything,” She coos, rubbing her hand down David ’s arm and irritating his burns. “The nights we spent together, she would lay by my side and tell me all her secrets. And all of yours as well.” She smiles then, showing off all her teeth. “She was always good at discovering things she shouldn’t, which had the side effect of making my job harder. She would have made an excellent Spymaster on her own. A pity our roles weren’t reversed, but I’m fixing that.

“She sang like a whale on those nights. Spilling out her most private thoughts. My little songbird.”

David chokes as Delilah opens one of his fragile, healing burns with her finger and drips blood down his arm. She pulls her hand back, looking at the blood on her nails in displeasure.

“But, like everything else, it all came to ruin when the plague came,” She sighs, turning away from David . “How the plague started in the first place is already suspicious, and it made the Empress distrustful. She knew someone was at fault for it. I looked into it, despite having infinitely more important matters on my hands, but the damage was done. She already didn’t trust me.”

Delilah picks up a cloth from the torturer’s cart, meticulously cleaning her nails as she speaks. “But she also wasn’t sure whether to trust you. And that’s where I found my opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Win back her trust...and get rid of you.

“You were always around the Empress. I was limited in my time alone with her. And no matter what I told her, what ideas I planted in her head, she would always run off to tell you or that brat of yours. And then she would change her mind again.”

She’s back to looking at David , but this time she keeps her distance. Her hand resting atop a table, standing with her legs crossed at the ankle. “Your little cruise around the Isles was our last chance. Without you around, I might win her back. She might see reason. I could always arrange a little accident for you, but her faith in me had to be absolute before that. I couldn’t have her blaming me for your death.”

Delilah has her gaze set on a wall, her features narrowing as she begins to pace, gesturing angrily. “And it was fine at first! Things were almost normal between us. But then she started missing you. She wanted your comfort, wanted to confide in you. She started getting angry with me whenever I tried to sow the seeds of doubt between you two, and it became clear. She would never be mine. She sealed her own fate by being too weak to weasel out of your hold on her.”

She rounds on David then, her voice sickeningly sweet. “You see, David , I had no choice. She had to die. Sabrina Stark had to die.”

David stares. He knew Delilah had to have ordered the hit. He knew it could have only been her. But hearing it out loud enraged him.

Delilah stalks forward, clasping her hands together and smiling sweetly down at him. “So now we’re in the endgame. I will take care of this...plague nonsense. The people might weep now for their beautiful, dead Empress, but she will be a footnote in the history books. They will remember Delilah Kaldwin, who worked through her grief to single-handedly save a city. Who took on her Empress’s job by day and mourned her lover by night. Who enacted vengeance on her killer.”

She kneels down to his height, grabbing his bound, scarred hand and rubbing her fingers over his. Her hands are soft, unmarred, and his skin flakes upon contact. She leans in close and almost whispers the next bit. “And when Anthony takes the throne, I will be the one beside him. The only one. I will be the one he trusts. The one he tells all his secrets to. And in time, he will come to love me.” She stands up then, beaming at him. “I will have what I deserve. And tomorrow, you will get yours.”

She turns away, saunters off with a dance in her step. She barely pauses as she tosses over her shoulder. “Goodbye, David .”

He doesn’t bother to fight when the guards bring him back to his cell, chain his hands and feet back up. What was the point? He had long since lost.

David lays down on the stone ledge that serves as his bed. The stone never warms with his body heat. Coldridge sucks the warmth from his skin, from his bones. From the very air.

He closes his eyes, not really sure if he wants to sleep or not. There is no respite from the pain. There’s pain in the interrogation room, pain of the body. That, at least, is a tangible thing. He can focus on it, lose himself in it.

Here in his cell, there is a different pain to accompany his cold misery. Grief. The woman he practically raised, whom he accompanied for twelve long years, is dead.

Part of him wishes to cry, but he never does. It’s pointless. His tears will never bring her back. They won’t make Anthony any safer. He hasn’t cried since he was first taken from his mother, since he was beaten for showing weakness. Here, in Coldridge, a place that sought out the chinks in your armor and used those cracks to slip inside you, he could not show weakness. Not one bit.

Maybe he wasn’t truly grieving Sabrina then, but he couldn’t find it in him to care.

Even in his sleep, the punishment never lessened. In the beginning, he hoped to revisit happier times in his dreams. See Sabrina and Anthony again. And sometimes, his wish was granted. But things would quickly take a turn for the worst.

David doesn’t know how many times he’s seen her die. They’ve had a number of near-misses throughout the years, and David would be lying if he said that those incidents haven’t haunted his nightmares before. But that was when they had all failed. Now, he watches Billie’s head explode as a sniper’s bolt hits the back of her skull, watches her cough and choke and finally slump over dead as her poisoned wine spills over the floor, and it feels familiar. Because he knows what that pain is like now.

The assassination itself is also a common dream. It replays in startling detail almost every night, so vivid David can smell the blend of sea water, roses, and blood in the air.

“You should eat, David .” There’s a guard at the bars, motioning to the ground. “This meal comes from a friend. You need to keep your strength up.”

David raises his head to watch the guard turn on his heel and walk away, but then lets it thunk back down. He probably should eat, he knows. But the space where they leave his food seems so far away, eating seems like so much effort.

Why bother? He’s going to die tomorrow. They’ll take him out of his cell and parade him, chained and filthy, in front of hundreds of nobles who paid through the nose for tickets to his execution. All he had to do is stand there as they tie the noose around his neck.

He’s not eager to die like that, but he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t looking forward to death.

Maybe that was selfish. He failed at his job. He should have to deal with the consequences. But he was so, so tired.

He wanted to see Sabrina again.

Anthony was still alive, but there was nothing David could do to protect him now. Delilah would keep him...safe, at the very least. David wasn’t satisfied with that, but he would have to be. Anthony would live. Maybe he’d unveil the truth, worm out of Delilah’s hold. On his own. David couldn’t help him.

He wouldn’t eat. Maybe hunger would finally overtake his brittle bones, death would take him in the night. Then he could be with Sabrina again. Maybe his mother would be there too. He’d remember her face when he saw it, he was sure. He could tell her he was sorry. Tell both of them.

He was ready to die.

“David .”

It’s not the guard again. He doesn’t recognize the voice.

He pushes himself up, focusing on the figure in front of his cell. Something was wrong. There were shadows where the light normally fell, darkness where there was supposed to be a face.

The figure spreads his arms. “What a sad hand fate has dealt you. At the end of your rope, nearly thirteen years ago, you took in two children and swore to teach them how to survive in this harsh, untenable world. You didn’t expect to love them as you did. And almost as if the universe was rewarding you for your charity, one of those children turned out to be a little girl with more power than you could have dreamed of.”

Where were the guards? The other inmates on Death Row? No one was responding to this shadowy figure, who turns his dark face to the ground and begins to pace.

“You stuck around to take care of her, even though she didn’t need you anymore. You watched her grow from a mischievous little girl to a strong and intelligent young woman, glowing with pride the entire way. You knew she could be great. You would have stopped at nothing to make her so.” He holds up one hand, one finger, and stops in his tracks. “But this wretched city had other plans. Plague marred her rule, and then a jealous witch decided she needed to die. And now, everyone thinks you killed your beloved Empress.”

David keeps his eye on the figure, but he doesn’t see him disappear. There’s just shadows, the light shining the entirely wrong way, and suddenly the voice is coming from a completely different angle.

“But we both know the truth,” David nearly gasps. The figure is in his cell with him, on his other side, still cloaked in darkness despite the light shining directly on him. “Don’t we? We know what really happened that day, how enemies you didn’t even know you had scrambled to hide their tracks. You don’t want to see their plans succeed, let the truth die as idiots cheer to the sound of your neck snapping. Do you?”

“Go away.” David ’s voice is rough, dry. Barely there after six months of disuse.

The figure raises his hands, as if in a shrug. “It just seems like a waste, that’s all. You, with so much talent. So much you could do. And Anthony.”

Whatever protests David had forming in his mind dissipate.

“Anthony is still out there, isn’t he David ? He’s wondering where you are. Why you didn’t save him or his sister. Why you aren’t coming to his aid now. And you and I both know he needs it.”

David knows that. He knows that Anthony will be manipulated as Emperor, knows Delilah will take advantage of him. But David can’t stop her. Not like this.

He looks up again, but the figure is gone. There’s just the light falling on the slimy, dirty wall.

“We don’t want to keep him waiting do we?” The voice is everywhere, and nowhere. David can’t see him. It’s as if he’s in David ’s head. “Your story doesn’t need to end at the end of a rope in the Coldridge gallows. Let’s see if we can do...better.”

And then the figure is by his side. Sitting on the stone bench with him, so close their legs almost touch, but David can feel no body heat from him. The figure waves his hand. “And to make things interesting…”

David gasps in surprise, and pain. A thousand hot knives are pushed into his hand, his flesh burning from the inside out. Dark symbols rise to the surface. Like they had always been there, right under his skin, waiting for someone to coax them out. Like they belonged there.

“My Mark.” David looks up then. The figure obscures the light shining through the bars, but David can see his face. Lips that seem to smile without moving the corners of his mouth, teeth that are far too white. Eyes a fathomless black that had no end. “Consider it a gift.”

And then he’s gone.

David sits for a moment, turning it over in his mind. He hadn’t had contact with anyone besides the interrogators for months. He was tired, cold, starved. Hallucinations were not impossible. Had that...really happened?

He checked the back of his hand. The Mark was still there, emblazoned in black across his flesh.

David clenches his hand, and there’s a tingle in his veins. Like his very blood gained new life. Some primal, unknown part of him recognizes it as power.

Could he use this? Could he escape Coldridge with this? Could he…

He could save Anthony.

He failed Billie. Failed Anthony once. He had to try.

Getting to his feet, David shoos the rats away and moves to the bars of his cell. He falls to his knees in front of the wooden tray with his morsel of bread, his allotment of water. He picks up the bread first, knowing he’d need the water to help swallow. It usually takes David three or four bites to choke down a heel of prison bread, but today, he swallows it in one. He stares at his empty hand in surprise, but chalks it up to hunger. He needs all his strength, now that he’s going to escape.

He goes to grab his mug of water and is surprised to see a ripped piece of paper stuck to the plate. He carefully pries it free and unfolds it slowly, to avoid tearing where it is damp, and a golden key tumbles out.

David shakes, and tries to read the runny, wet letters. It couldn’t be what he thought it was.

David -

We know you didn’t kill the Empress. We aim to expose her killers and put the rightful heir on the throne.

This is the key to your cell. Once you’ve freed yourself, make your way to the interrogation room. There will be a container of explosives hidden beneath a table. Take it, and use it to blow the front gate. Once you’re out, jump into the river and lose yourself in the sewers.

Good luck. -Friends of the Empress

David ’s hands tremble as he reads the words. Then, taking a deep breath, he folds the paper until it’s the size of his thumbnail and swallows it.

His chains clank as he walks, so he has to wind them around his fists and hold the one connecting to his ankles taunt-but not too taunt, as he needs to be able to travel fast. He slides his arm out of his cell and mashes the key around where he thinks the lock is.

He hits it. He twists, and the lock clicks. The door slides open.

David is free.

He has no time to dwell on the thought. He creeps out, his eyes scanning the room. There’s one guard at the other end, posted at the door. Looking the other way.

David steps forward, but the jangle of his chains causes him to pause. He looks around, but there is no key close by. He’d bet that the guard had them, but getting over to him without causing a ruckus would be the challenge.

What was it he felt, back in his cell with the Mark flooding through his veins? David clenches his hand, focuses on a spot, and the Mark flares to life.

Suddenly he’s twenty feet forward. Moved there in the blink of an eye. He slaps his hand over his mouth to stifle his surprise.

Right. He can do that now, apparently. Wasn’t sure how, he realized, he just sort of...knew.

He would have time to mull it over later. He still had to escape the prison proper, and the guard was right in front of him now. It was time to act.

There was no one in the hallway that David could see, so he took his chances and pounced. Wrapped one arm around his neck, the other around his midsection, and pulled him back as he choked him out. The guard thrashed and fought, and if he was just up against David , he might have been a challenge.

But David had magic on his side. He was stronger now, faster. More alert. He didn’t know how. He didn’t know why. But he knew he shouldn’t question it.

The guard shudders, and David knows he’s unconscious. For now. No telling how long that would last. But David doesn’t release his grip. Not as the guard begins convulsing. Not as the choking sounds pewter out. It’s only when the guard is completely blue that David releases his grip.

The other inmates of Death Row have noticed him, and most are standing up, quietly cheering him on as David raids the guard’s supplies. Keys, keys were good. David takes his sword, and the pistol with a measly two bullets loaded. His cuffs come off, and David shoves the pistol in the waistband of his pants.

“Hey man, let us out too,” One prisoner says, gripping the bars. “I only got a few days left. Even if they just drag me back in here, at least I’ll be able to make them pay.”

The others chime in agreement, and David considers. When he met Billie, he was a thief. He thrived on stealth, lived in the shadows. Most of his targets were never aware of his presence, and David liked it that way. It was less complicated.

But he hadn’t snuck around like a mouse in a decade. He hadn’t needed to. He’s out of practice, low on stamina, and, as much as he hates to admit it, he’s older now. He couldn’t count on the Mark to outweigh all those factors. Not with so much at stake.

A wave of inmates escaping Death Row would attract attention, of course. But it didn’t have to be attention to him.

He begins unlocking doors.

The prisoners nod in thanks, and one distributes shivs they had managed to either make or smuggle in. Another rocks on the balls of his feet, staring daggers at the empty hallway.

“I’m gonna kill them all.”

“Same, man. Gonna make ‘em suffer for it, nice and slow.”

“Are you two crazy?” Another inmate stares at them, shaking his head. “This is our chance to get outta here! Don’t you want to be free?”

“Free to die of the plague, or get eaten alive by rats?” He sniffs. “No thanks. I’d rather have a soldier’s death.”

The inmate shakes his head and turns away. “My wife and son are still out there. Fled to her mom’s, in Cullero, when this all started. There’s gotta be some way to break through quarantine. I need to see them again.”

When no one is looking, David moves to the pipes that run across the ceilings. He can’t feel guilt for using these men as a distraction, practically as bait. He can’t. He doesn’t have it in him.

“Man, you got a point. I have a daughter. My girl and my parents were all gone with the first wave of plague. Little girl just has me. I could find her. Get her out of this damn city.”

“I’ll help you find her, when we’re out. Then you can come with us to Cullero. ‘Long as you don’t mind helping out with picking grapes.” He turns his head. “Alice, don’t you have a kid brother?”

The only female prisoner on Death Row spits. “Yeah. I ought to find him too. Guess it’ll be a party.”

David surveys the hallway in front of him, keeping half an ear trained on the other prisoners. It would be a straight shot to the interrogation room, but then he’d either have to cross the prison yard or go around, through the other cell blocks. His new transversing power would make it easier, but…

“Well, I’m going to knock some skulls. Let out some of these other turds. We can take back Coldridge.”

“You know what, fine. Just don’t bring the fight to us. We’re not wasting our lives on your revenge. We’re getting out.”

“How you gonna get past the gate, huh? Face it. They’ve got us trapped like rats. Only way out is through the Void.”

Taking a deep breathe, David clenches his left hand and blinks. And suddenly he’s on a pipe on the other side of the room.

He’s already crouched, but he practically has to crawl to fit between the pipe and the ceiling. For the first time in his life, David is thankful he’s short. This would have been torture if he was any taller.

The interrogation room is right ahead of him, but so are a few guards. Milling about, chatting. One’s wife is a laundress who’s out of work, the other just lost his mother. David looks around for something to distract them with. There’s a collection of empty bottles further down the corridor, waiting to be collected. If he had his crossbow, he could just shoot one and dart inside while they investigated. Now, he’d have to physically go over there.

He reaches out, intending on Blinking there and back before the guards spotted him, but his hand doesn’t quite make the right movement. He focuses on one bottle, and he feels a sort of...wind whip through his mark. And the bottle rises to meet him.

David yanks his hand away, pressing his other against his mouth to hide his surprise. The bottle falls from his unworldly grip and shatters, breaking two others in the process.

“What the hell?”

One of the guards runs over to investigate. The other follows, at a much more leisurely pace. “Probably just rats. Into everything, now.”

David swallows. Right. It’s now or never. He clenches his hand again.

He falls about five feet short of his intended goal, right in the middle of the damn hallway. Fortunately, the guards are still preoccupied with the phantom bottle-breaker. David scurries to the door to the interrogation room and pulls on the door.

Locked. He curses. Why would it be locked? Of course it would be locked. This was a prison.

David grabs the key ring he lifted off the officer he strangled, praying one of them was for the right door. His hands are shaking, bad enough that he should have trouble getting the keys in the door, but he doesn’t. The lock turns on the fourth key he tries, and David slips inside before the guards notice anything.

He wants to breathe, feel the relief, but that’s not what wells up when he’s inside this room. Ignoring the way his heart pounds, David drops to his knees and begins looking under tables.

He checks every table twice before panic truly starts to well up. They forgot to plant the explosives. Or they couldn’t. Or maybe the damn note was from the guards, trying to catch him in the act of escaping.

No. He can’t think like this. Anthony needs him. David closes his eyes and allows himself five seconds. He breathes. And then he opens his eyes.

Everything is...black. But not dark. He can see perfectly, can see better. He can see shapes through the surfaces, see the movement beyond the walls.

An oddly shaped bottle catches his attention. David blinks, and the dark vision is gone when he opens his eyes again. He waves his hand in front of his face, but he can’t see through it anymore.

Shaking his head, David drops to his belly and wedges himself under the table. He pulls out a fat bottle with the word ‘astrolite’ written on the side, which sounds vaguely more like explosives to David than anything else in this room he’s found so far. There’s also a wire and a clock attached to it, further supporting the theory that this was, in fact, a bomb.

David does a quick check over the room for anything that could be of use to him, but comes up lacking. If he had pockets, he could justify nabbing a few tools and such, but he doesn’t. He ends up shoving a vial of elixir into his waistband and and setting off with his new explosive toy in hand.

He can’t figure out how to reactivate his strange vision power, but the guards that were outside previously had disappeared. David notices that Death Row is completely empty now. He tries not to think about it too much, and Blinks to a window overlooking the prison yard.

There were four guards in the yard, each one staying within at least one other’s line of sight. It would be a nightmare to cross, for an ordinary man. David is learning that he is far, far from ordinary. He Blinks to the top of the watchtower, taking extra care not to upset his bottle of exploding death. If he can just control his own damn powers, he’ll be able to escape undetected. He Blinks to the other side of the yard, through a window, and he’s home free.

Or not. There’s no high ground he can Blink to in the direction he’s going. There’s a space above the main door that he can use to get over without drawing attention, but it’s too far to Blink over from where he stands. He’ll need to use the floor.

David Blinks down, and immediately feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He’s exhausted. A different kind of exhaustion than he’s used to. He needs a moment to breathe. To regain his energy.

He hears guards chattering, footsteps coming his way. David curses and makes for the door to the control station.

Inside, he ducks underneath the counter and prays they don’t come in. He could always throw his astrolite at them, shoot it if it refuses to explode right away. But then he’d be sort of fucked.

“-fucking many rich folk, coming out to see the Royal Protector get strung up?” One of the guards says. Another hacks and spits before responding.

“Yeah, it’s fine entertainment for the wealthy and powerful.” He sounds young, maybe as young as Anthony. “Revenge for killing one of their own. Made them feel vulnerable.”

“The Empress wasn’t one of their own.” A third guard says. “Don’t you remember all the scandal when she was declared heir?” A grumble. “Guess you were too young. She wasn’t raised in nobility. She was a damn mudlark before she sat her skinny ass on the throne.”

No, she wasn’t. David had ensured that hadn’t happened. He made sure she didn’t have to resort to that. He tightens his grip on his blade.

“What, you glad to see her gone?”

“Oh, don’t be saying that. Some people didn’t, but I really liked the Empress. She was a smart girl. Good heart. Gone too soon.”

“Damn David .” The youngest chirps in.

David is fairly certain they aren’t coming into the control booth, but he starts rifling through drawers just in case. He finds enough bullets to fully load his pistol, thank the Void.

“What I just don’t understand,” The first guard chimes in. “The guy knew her since she was practically a babe. How can you hurt someone like that?”

“Who knows? They say he hasn’t said a damn word since he killed her.”

“Guilt’s probably eating him up. Or maybe he’s hiding something. Stayin’ quiet so he doesn’t let anything slip.”

“I’ll tell you something.” The first guard sounds despondent, almost sad. David can hear him blowing smoke from something tobacco-related. “Marcus and I, we got three daughters between the two of us. Camilla and Tillie ain’t mine by blood, but I been with their father a good decade now. I’ve watched ‘em grow up. I’ve got no less love for them than my Meg.”

“You wouldn’t hurt them.” A guard sympathizes.

“Couldn’t imagine even laying a hand on any one of them. Outsider himself couldn’t possess me to do what David did to that poor girl. Just no damn way.”

There’s copper wiring, and a jar of refined whale oil too. Useful stuff. But again, pockets. David is starting to empathize with Billie’s complaints. He finds a stun mine, of all damn things, and he turns it over in his hands. There’s bound to be guards at the gate. He could use this to knock them out. Quiet. Without bloodshed.

There’s a scuffle. Then a yell. And David knows the other prisoners on Death Row have made their rounds.

A full-fledged riot will break out, David has no doubt. A few were planning to free the other prisoners before they left. If they’ve done that, things will get bloody. The inmates might very well take over the prison.

The group of guards outside his door get up to investigate. David knows he should let them. Isn’t this why he freed the others? This is his distraction. His chance to slip away without detection.

They’d get killed if they went to confront the inmates.

Not his damn problem. He didn’t have time to waste on these guys. Anthony was his priority. Had to be his only priority.

One of them was a dad with three little girls. One liked Billie. One was just too damn young to be here.

Quickly, so he can’t dwell on it too much, David activates the stun mine. He opens the door and slides the mine across the floor, coming to rest at one guard’s boot.

There’s a zap, and all three guards fall to the floor. Completely unconscious.

David hauls their bodies into the control station and stashes them under the same counter where he had been hiding. Hopefully they’ll wake up after the fight is over and order had been restored. Or at least have the brains to get the hell out if everything’s gone to shit. David barricades the door and sneaks out through the window.

He climbs over the door easy enough, ignoring the sounds of the brewing riot behind him. The main gate is just ahead. Thirty feet, if even.

Two guards are patrolling the entryway.

They can’t hear the commotion from here, and David can’t count on the riot lasting long enough for them to take notice. Does he have the strength to knock them out? He doesn’t think he can choke out another person without his arm muscles giving out. He might only put them out for a few seconds. He might lose his grip. They might be able to fight back.

David does not have it in him to fight right now. Even with the Outsider’s magic flowing through his veins, he’s weak with hunger. He’s tired. And the fifteen minutes or so of crouching he’s been doing has been the most exercise he’s gotten in months.

He will lose. He will die. David cannot die.

One of the guards passes right in front of David ’s perch. The other is turned away. David steps into the air.

The guard stares at him in surprise as he’s forced to the ground, one hand over his mouth. David ’s done this before, knows exactly how to land to not make a sound. How to take them by surprise. How to shove his sword through their chin and kill them fast.

He doesn’t even get blood on his hands. The kill was clean. Silent. The blood on his blade mocks it.

David creeps up behind the other guard and has his throat slit before he can even turn his head. He vaults over the railing, positioning his bottle of astrolite and rigging it to explode.

There’s no good cover in the room, and David doesn’t want to return to his perch in case the force sends him flying back. So he just retreats to the farthest corner of the room, slaps his hands over his ears, and waits.

The explosion rattles his teeth. Alarms start blaring immediately. There’s yelling from the other side of the canal, and the drawbridge starts retreating.

Fine with David . He hadn’t counted on the bridge. He runs, ignoring the gunshots that are surely aimed at him. He doesn’t slow down as he nears the edge. He doesn’t stop to ponder the fall. He just runs until he’s out of ground, and then he’s falling.

More gunshots. Panicked voices, disbelief coloring their words. David seems able to take it all in, notice everything and understand it all in that moment. As he falls from Coldridge Prison.

And then he’s in the water. It’s cold, biting cold, the kind of cold that feels sharp upon contact. David barely notices. He swims until he hits concrete.

There’s the sound of bullets on water, but David is practically right under the watchtower now. They can’t even see him. He doesn’t give Coldridge a last look as he makes for the sewer entrance.

It’s been more than a decade since David last had to trudge through the sewers. Not since Sabrina came into his life. Saved him, in more ways than one. The smell has somehow gotten worse.

He’d think it was just time dulling the memory, but he knows for a fact there weren’t corpses scattered about back then. The occasional dead squatter, sure. But nothing like this.

David didn’t know if he was under the impression that the plague was waning, but he hadn't expected what he was seeing. Bodies with bloody eyes and torn clothing. Bodies wrapped in shrouds and piled high. Bodies just dumped wherever there was room.

This hadn’t happened under Billie. They couldn’t give every plague victim a full service, of course, both because of the time and resources it would involve and the need to dispose of the bodies quickly. Not to mention their cemeteries weren’t meant to handle so many dead at once. She had given the okay to utilize mass graves in a few designated areas, with the intention of building memorials over the land after the plague was cured.

The Lady Regent, however, didn’t seem to see it the same way. David just shook his head. Allowing the people to dispose of the bodies wherever they wanted would only contribute to the spread of the plague. Anthony had emphasized that quite a few times when they were first planning out where they were going to put the graves. There needed to be a buffer zone between them and the living. This was when the death toll had only hit a hundred thousand. It had tripled by the time David had left for the other Isles, but they had planned for many more deaths. And the same rules would still apply. The rats wouldn’t care how many were dead, the plague wouldn’t care how difficult it was to move the bodies. Delilah probably wasn’t listening.

David has to keep moving.

He pulls his shirt up over his nose, trying to cover the stench, though his own smell isn’t much better. If Sabrina could see him now, she’d tease him. For getting too used to palace life. For getting soft. Can’t even handle the smell of the sewer. Maybe she’s laughing at him right now, from the Void.

A locked gate. David looks around for another way around, something to use as a pick, anything. A glitter catches his eye, and David finds a piece of paper attached to a post with a golden key hanging by its nail.

David -

If you’ve come this far, then our plan has succeeded and you’ve escaped Coldridge. Well done.

Like we said in our last note, we are a group loyal to Empress Sabrina Stark, and reject Delilah Kaldwin’s rule. We aim to clear your name, find the Empress’s brother and put him in his rightful place on the throne.

When you take this passage, you will come out to an open-air cistern where several tunnels join up. Take the west tunnel. Our friend will meet you where it lets out, and she will take you to us. We look forward to meeting you.

Find Anthony. Clear David ’s name. Perfect.

David unlocks the gate and runs along the narrow passageway. He’s careful to stay light on his feet to avoid attracting any attention-not that there’s much down in the sewers, but sound could very well carry above to the streets. He spies a few rat swarms and steers clear, both because he knows they can literally eat him alive and because he doesn’t know if his Mark will protect him from the plague. He’s heard, through the Abbey’s ramblings, of the Mark giving its users a resistance to poison, so he assumes it would. But best not to test that now, when he still has so much to do.

He’s still tired, drained from so much magic use, so he uses his new powers sparingly. The metal grates and dirt walkways covered with moss are starting to look like a good spot for a nap. David resists the urge to sit down, to rest. He needed to keep moving, knowing it would be harder to get back up again than if he just went on.

David can hear the river when the voices of several guards echo off the walls. David curses and pulls himself on top of a pipe.

“He should come this way. Either here or he took a turn at Bowling.”

“Rupaul’s boys are set up over there; one of us will nab him.”

David stays crouching, sneaking forward with his hand on his sword and pistol out. Just in case.

Two of the guards are in view now. One spits, and uses his shoe to grind it into the dirt. “Can’t wait to make him pay. My brother was stationed at Coldridge today. I still don’t know if he’s alright.”

“We won’t know shit until the riot dies down. Just that a lot of people are dead.”

“I guess after you’ve killed an Empress, a few guards don’t matter.” The guard twists around and starts yelling to someone outside David ’s field of view. “You see him, call us over right away!”

“And let you take the glory? Fuck you, I’ll bring his head back myself!” An unseen voice calls back.

“It’s your funeral!”

“You really afraid of him?” Another guard rounds the corner, his voice different from the one just speaking. “He’s just some Serkonan street dog. Heard his father was a pirate and his mother was a whore.”

David ’s hand tightens around his sword. There’s no question now.

“You think you’ll be less dead when he finds you ‘cause his blood ain’t noble? Have you seen him fight? He’s faster than shit, and quiet too. You won’t have time to fight back before your throat is slit.”

“Well, what happens if he shows up and you’re not around?”

“Then try to make a lot of noise as you die.”

The guard turns away, leaving the other to curse under his breath. David unsheathes his blade.

It’s easy, easier than David even remembers. Land on one guy’s back and force him to the ground, pull him back by his hair and insert his sword through the guard's chin. The other guard doesn’t even pause in his steps, making it easy for David to creep up on him. He shoves his sword through the man’s back, pulling it free and walking away without a glance.

Two more guards. One’s walked away to relieve himself. David gets behind his partner and kicks out his knee, turns the guard around and plants his sword in his heart before he even has time to open his mouth. He walks right up to the other one, waits for him to zip his pants then grabs him by the shoulder, whips him around and has his sword through his chest.

It all feels much easier than it really should.

David still doesn’t have pockets, so he resists the old urge to loot the bodies. He puts his sword back in it’s sheath and moves on, trying not to dwell too much on things.

He gets to the exchange. Rats swarm the ground, thankfully a good five feet or so down from where David is standing, feasting on corpses. There’s a pile of plague dead in the middle of the room, blood staining the concrete.

David surveys the room. The note said to take the west tunnel, but now that he’s here he can’t help but notice that none of the tunnels were labeled. And he had no fucking clue which way was west.

He wants to get down on the floor and groan. Of all damn things to lay him up, not knowing his directions was what did him in. Of course.

No. He just had to think. The sun rose in the east, right? He could just look to the sun for the answer. But of course, he looks up at the sun is right overhead. It’s noon. Of course it is.

He could sit here and wait an hour or so, just long enough for the sun to move. And then he's had to take the tunnel in...that direction? A compass. He needed to remember what a compass looked like. It was the damn symbol of the Isles, and he’s been guarding the ruler of the Empire for a decade, so he of all people should remember what one looks like.

This entire problem could have been avoided if they'd given him a damn compass.

David slumps to the floor and puts his head in his hands. What else was the world going to throw at him? More puzzles he had to solve? More people he would have to kill? How was he going to do this? He was so very, very tired.

The guards would catch him, or the rats would eat him. He’d die here.

Anthony would be left alone. Waiting for no one. Stuck with Delilah for the rest of his life.

David rubs the skin on his face, then pushes himself up.

Right. He needed to think back to Coldridge. The prison’s drawbridge connected it to Dunwall Tower property. He’s gone between the two buildings a thousand times. He can visualize it on the map of Dunwall that hangs in Billie’s study, and knows that the Tower is north of the prison. He didn’t cross the bridge, but the entrance to the sewers was right below it.

There had been a few twists, but David doesn’t think he’s made any full 45-degree turns. (and if he had, he’s hopelessly lost because he’ll never untangle that path) He has to assume he’s been traveling north this entire time.

That would mean...he doesn’t fucking know. He’s not a sailor. He can’t be fucked to remember directions.

A compass. The symbol of the Empire, just with the names of the islands instead of directions. It was stamped on practically every piece of paper David has had shoved in front of his face for the last eleven years or so. It was on Billie’s throne. On her necklace. She wore that necklace all the damn time, if he can just visualize it, if he can just remember…

If he’s facing north, and needs to go west, he’d need to take a left.

David turns to the left tunnel.

It’s closed, but there’s a crank wheel right next to it. Right where a swarm of rats milled about.

These people better have a damn good idea where Anthony is.

David Blinks to the center of the cistern, where the mountain of corpses lay. He grabs two right away and throws them off, watches the rats swarm around them. He heaves another over his shoulder and Blinks to the crank wheel, turning and shoving the body away from him to attract any rats that might still consider him a tasty meal.

Gritting his teeth, David turns the wheel. It gives, little by little, accompanied by a grinding noise that could wake the horde of dead behind him. The door is heavier than fuck, but David has stubbornness on his side.

He feels something furry at his feet. David cranks harder. Then there’s little teeth, nibbling on his heel. Little paws at his pants. The rats have found him.

There’s enough space for David to slip under the door. He abandons the crank wheel, shakes the rats off as he runs and Blinks right before going into a slide.

He slides under the door with hardly a second to spare. The door slams down behind him.

David lays in the mud for a moment, on his back, peering up at the mossy ceiling. Then he gets back up.

He smells the river before he sees it. All dead fish and shit, some oils and whatever else the factories dump in. The sight of the soft waves and murky water is still a welcome one, accompanied by the sun glinting off the surface.

David stands there for a minute, his bare feet sinking into the wet sand. The heat of the sun of his face, and the breeze on his skin.

He’s free.

“Hey. Hey, David , is that you?”

David looks around, but sees no one. He wonders if maybe he was hearing things when the whispering starts up again.

“Over here. I’m a friend!”

A woman steps out of the bushes, motioning him to follow her. Normally David wouldn’t trust strange women hiding in foliage, but it’s been a very, very weird day.

David rounds the bush, where the woman is waiting next to a skiff. Her dark hair is shaved off on one side of her head, and the surviving strands of hair are pushed behind her right ear. She holds out her hand. “David . Now that I see you up close, there’s no mistaking it.” David tentatively takes her hand, which makes her grin, showing off a mouthful of half-rotten, half gold-capped teeth. “I’m Elizabeth Stride. But you’ll call me Lizzy if you want to keep your tongue.”

Elizabeth Stride. That name sounds familiar to David , though he can’t place it. He drops her hand, and Lizzy’s face goes pale. “Oh, fuck. They cut your tongue out, didn’t they?”

David maintains eye contact and spits blood onto the sand. “No.”

“Oh. Good. Wouldn’t want us to start off on the wrong foot. Because I had it in my mouth.”

Lizzy turns to her skiff, small and rusted in places with Melusine written across the side. “There’s a group of people who want to meet you. I can take you to them, if you’re ready.”

David looks out at the water. He has no idea where he is, where he should go. Doesn’t know where to begin looking for Anthony. He can’t even see the Tower from here. “Yeah. I’m ready.”

Elizabeth Stride, David found out, was in the Navy. Women weren’t uncommon Dunwall’s military structure, though they were usually relegated to nurses and record keepers. By title, anyway. David knows that plenty of women fight without the recognition or protection their male cohorts enjoy, all off the books. He knows it’s different in Serkonos and Morley, but Gristol is still seeped in sexism.

Not that that impeded one Elizabeth Stride. She was a soldier. Would have been a captain, if it weren’t for what she had between her legs.

“Captain Edgar Wakefield is my best friend,” she told him, as she steered the skiff between rocks and floating bodies. “We worked together on just about everything, but because he has a dick he ended up getting credit for everything I accomplished too. Bull-fucking-shit, if you ask me.”

“Complete,” David agrees, staring at his reflection in the water.

Lizzy scoffs and turns back to the water.

Elizabeth was an accomplished member of the Navy who was biding her time, trying to prove herself before the push for equality that she was sure was right around the corner, when she could strike out and finally receive the recognition she rightfully deserved. That was, until Sabrina was killed.

She hated Delilah. She was, in Lizzy’s words, a prissy bitch who thought she was a god and wouldn’t know a good idea if it came up and jumped down her throat. Her words, not David 's.

So, Officer Elizabeth Stride took her dishonorable discharge and walked, throwing the middle finger up at her superiors that chose to stay and sail under Delilah Kaldwin. And Lizzy strode out of Dunwall Tower and right into a conspiracy to take down their new, esteemed Lady Regent.

“I’m not going to fucking lie to you, David .” Lizzy says as they near their destination. “I’m not going to say I loved the Empress or anything. I didn’t really care who sat on the throne. I didn’t think it mattered.” She slams her hand down on the wheel. “But that was before Lady Fuckwin showed up. And everything’s gone to shit in just a few months with her. A bad leader makes a hell of a difference.”

“Appreciate Sabrina more?” It hurts David to talk, but he ignores the pain. Nobody had ever seemed to understand how tough Billie’s job really was. She could never please her people. She had stopped caring so much about her approval ratings, in the last few years of her life, but David could tell it still bothered her.

But Lizzy just shrugs. “I told you, I didn’t really care one way or another when she was on the throne. But I guess that’s the mark of a good leader, when your people can afford to not care. Sucks, but that’s probably the best you can hope for.”

David leans back. He’s not happy. But he can’t argue with that.

“But if Anthony is anything like Billie,” Lizzie continues. “If you raised him like you did her, I think he’ll do just fine. Anything’s better than this.” She grumbles, almost under her breath.

David doesn’t want ‘fine’. He wants Anthony to be popular. He wanted Sabrina to be loved, for people to recognize the sacrifices she made for them.

All he ever wanted was a better life for them.

“So where are we?” David asks as Lizzy starts turning the skiff to shore. “Draper’s Ward?”

“Better believe it, baby.” Lizzy flashes him a grin over her shoulder.

“Are we going shopping? Why the fuck?”

Lizzy rolls her eyes and cranks some lever-David doesn’t know shit about boats. “Guess you wouldn’t of heard. Draper’s Ward fell to plague, just a few months back. All the shops closed. Most of the owners are dead or packed up and left while they still had the sense to. Now it’s just gang territory.”

David grimaces. “The conspiracy team is a gang.”

“Oh, fuck off. We got a real good team assembled, and yeah, some of them were gangsters.” She cranks the lever back again. “A bunch of us who jumped ship with the Navy got together and formed the Dead Eels, but we’re mostly scattered now.”

“Short-lived.”

“You said it. It was nice for a couple months, but then Overseers fucking stormed us and killed half my men. The other half up and left after that, so me and Edgar joined up with this outfit.”

David looks up at the colorful, happy signs and billboards that surround Draper’s Ward. “The Hatters are based here.”

Lizzy waves her hand. “Their leader died not too long ago. They’ve fallen apart. Now it’s just a few different groups on the fringe, fighting each other. They won’t bother us none.”

She steers them towards a metal gate. David almost wants to warn her that she’s going to crash, but he refrains, and at the last second Lizzy pushes aside some reeds to reveal an opening in the gate.

A hidden door into the canal. “Smart.” David notes. Lizzy nods.

“Yeah, but the canal water isn’t flowing anymore. It’s bound to dry up. If that happens, we’ll have to park it and hike a mile or so.”

She guides them through the canal, her skiff cutting through the green water and leaving loud ripples behind. David stares up at the algae covered walls and tries to rectify this place with the Draper’s Ward he once knew. He hadn’t been there a lot-Sabrina and Anthony didn’t really enjoy shopping. They had personal tailors and servants that did their shopping for them, so there was rarely a reason to go other than pleasure. He’s chaperoned maybe a handful of outings, came here a few times for birthday presents and the like. Draper’s Ward wasn’t a place he was familiar with.

If he hadn’t seen the sign announcing the district for what it was, David might have never recognized it. Draper’s Ward is silent. Still as the water in the canal.

Lizzy brings the skiff to a stop right in front of the indoor plaza. “We’ve sectioned off the mall for our own use, and most of us are based out of the old textile mill now.” She gets up and jumps up onto the pavement. “Come on. I’ll introduce you to everyone.”

David pulls himself up and forces himself not to hurry after Lizzy. “Mill owners dead too?”

Lizzy doesn’t bother turning around. “Mill’s mine. My father left it to me.”

Well, there was apparently room for more surprises today.

David skips steps to keep up with Lizzy, holding in the urge to Blink. It was probably a good idea to wait on revealing his arcane powers, just in care there was an Overseer-wannabe in the crowd. That, and he still felt drained.

Lizzy presses a button, tapping her foot as she waits. David catches up to her and gives her the side-eye when the intercom crackles to life. “What’s the password?”

It’s a child’s voice, a boy’s. Lizzy rolls her eyes. “It’s me. Let me in.”

“What’s the password?” The voices repeats.

Lizzy pressed the intercom button a little more forcefully. “Reed, it’s fucking Lizzy. You know it’s me. Open the damn door.”

“Zhukov said not to let anyone in without the password!”

“Zhukov doesn’t own the damn building! I do! Now let us in, I have David with me!”

There’s a silence on the other end. David wonders if the boy has run off to this ‘Zhukov’ when Lizzy punches the door. “Outsider’s balls, it’s whalebone. Fine? Open the fucking door.”

She aggressively releases the button, and there’s a three second pause before David hears the clicking of the lock turning.

He turns his head. “You could have just...given him the password.” He mutters.

Lizzy scoffs. “That’s not...it’s the principle of things.”

The door opens, revealing a boy about ten. He’s wearing a man’s shirt he practically swims in and a tophat David thinks looks ridiculous. Both David and Lizzy tower over him.

“David , this is Reed. One of the servants here.” She fixes a glare at him. “Actually, his sister is the one who works here. Reed’s a kid.”

Reed looks down at the ground. “I’m old enough to have a job. My sister’s not that much older than me.”

“Yeah, but she knows how to follow orders.” Lizzy pinches his cheek as she passes him by, leaving behind a red mark. “Oh, don’t be so serious. Hey, this is David . The guy whose ass I had to go pick up.”

“I know who you are,” Reed mumbles, and thrusts out his hand in David ’s direction without ever looking up from the ground. “Nice to meet you, Mr. David . Mr. Royal Protector, sir.”

David takes his hand. “Likewise, Mr. Reed.”

Reed peeks up through his eyelashes, a small smile playing on his lips. Lizzy grabs hold of David ’s arm. “Well, we have to hit up the rest of these assholes before David drops of exhaustion. You go back to cleaning dirt, or whatever it is you do.”

“I was sweeping!” Reed picks up the broom he had set against the wall.

David leans in as soon as Reed is out of earshot. “He always like that?” He whispers.

Lizzy nods, rolling her eyes. “He’s a weird fucking kid. Not bad weird, there’s just something...off about him, you know? We probably wouldn’t have taken him on if his sister hadn’t insisted he come with her.”

“Who?”

“Rose. She’s a bit odd too, but you can’t be too choosy when it comes to jobs like this.” Lizzy shrugs. “You’ll meet her soon enough. I’ll introduce you to the bigwigs, then you can go say hi to the crew. We got some interesting characters here.”

“Joy.”

Lizzy grins. “Hey, it beats rotting away in Coldridge.”

David certainly can’t argue with that.

They’ve blocked off the street the mill sits on-now, the only way to enter is through the derelict mall. Good for staying hidden. Bad if they need to evacuate.

If they were going to keep Anthony here, David and whoever was it was in charge were going to need to have some words about security.

“S’where Edgar and I sleep,” Lizzy says as they make their way down slimy steps, pointing out a crumbling building that was probably once a guard house. “We got some good liquor and a deck of cards, if you want to have some fun some night.”

“I’m not a big drinker.” That’s an understatement. The last time David drank was at Billie’s coronation, both because people expected him to drink and because he was just coming to terms with the entire situation. There was the time that she and Anthony secretly spiked his drink at some fancy luncheon, but that didn’t count.

Lizzy shrugs and turns back. “Your loss. You can still play Bridge with us, ‘long as you leave your sour attitude at the door.”

At that, David pushes her off the last step.

At first, the mill seems the same type of eerie as the rest of Draper’s Ward. Walkways and footbridges meant for many now empty, places meant for industrial and commercial use now serving something else. The quiet where he should have heard machines going, the din of dozens of workers at the job. The water wheel gone still.

But there’s subtle signs of life here. Fresh footprints in the dirt. The dead leaves swept back from the walkway. If he craned his neck, he could see laundry hung out to dry down the side of the building.

“Everyone’s probably upstairs.” Lizzy notes as they pass through the wide docking station. “They’ll have a hot meal ready for you. Well, maybe not ready, but they’ll heat it up once we get up there.”

Something hot would sound heavenly, but David hasn’t really tasted his food in months. Still, he’s probably only on his feet through a mixture of adrenaline and black magic. He needs to eat.

“-and if he manages to find Lizzy, and she hasn’t gotten herself killed already.” A cool female voice sputters out as they ascend the steps. “That’s a lot of ‘ifs’, Edgar.”

“Well, if anyone can do it, David ’s our man,” a deep-throated man replies. “I’ve seen him spar. And he’s always had this sort of...determination to him. Like he could do anything if he set his mind to it.”

“Except protect the Empress,” The voice says detachedly.

David stops dead on the steps. Lizzy doesn’t look back.

“If an assassin made it past David , nothing was going to save her.” The man sighs. “He’ll be here soon, if he gets here at all. I hope he does.”

“I do as well. I’m looking forward to meeting him.”

“Well, your wait is over!” Lizzy jumps up onto the last step and strides out of David ’s view. He hurries up the last of the steps.

“Lizzy! You’re alive!”

“Lady and Gentlesir, may I present to you-” Lizzy, ignoring her friend, steps to the side and motions to David in an absolutely ridiculous manner, complete with an exaggerated bow. “Lord David , the Royal Protector!”

There’s one set of unimpressed clapping, and David makes a mental note to strangle Lizzy later.

A woman approaches him from across the room, wearing a fancy purple pantsuit and wrist-length white gloves. Her hair is not entirely unlike how Sabrina often wore hers, though Billie’s hair was usually pulled farther to the back to keep it out of her face.

“David . It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.” Her nose is oddly crooked, as if it had been violently broken at some point and was never set. She holds out her hand. “Thalia Timsh.”

He’s never heard of her. David takes her hand, unsure under these circumstances if he’s supposed to kiss it or shake it. Now that he looks down and sees his calloused, filthy hands against Thalia’s pristine gloves, he just feels out of place. He drops his hand.

If Thalia minds his filthiness, she doesn’t mention it. Instead she just clasps her hands behind her back and stands tall. “You must be famished. I’ll have my manservant prepare you something.”

David ’s thank-you is stuck to the roof of his mouth, so he just stands there and watches her walk away.

“Nice to finally meet you, bodyguard.” A bear of a man having seemingly burst from the confines of his shirt sleeves comes barreling over, picking up David ’s hand from his side and shaking it vigorously. “Edgar Wakefield. I’ve met with the Empress before, but you were busy doing protecting things.”

“Yes, that...was my job.” David is unsure what to say.

Edgar steps back and turns to Lizzy, grabbing her around the waist and lifting her up. “You did it, Liz! You got our ace in the hole!”

“Did you really fucking doubt me?” Lizzy spits, but she smiles and pats Edgar’s back as he sets her down. “Yeah, yeah, enough with that. Let’s get business out of the way so we can throw David in the bathtub.”

Normally, David would have something snarky to say back, but he’s becoming aware of his own smell. Everyone is too polite to say anything, but he doubts anyone’s breathing through their noses.

“Right, right. Just step this way, Royal Protector.” Edgar attempts to straighten up, motioning for David to follow him.

Most of the machinery on the factory floor has been dismantled and pulled away-to where, David doesn’t know. Tables of varying sizes take their place, scattered with papers and books and random trinkets. Chairs pushed haphazardly wherever there’s room.

David takes a seat near the end of the longest table. The others fill in around him-Lizzy to his left, Edgar across from her. Thalia comes back and seats herself at the head of the table. “That’s Gerald, over there.” She motions to a makeshift kitchen behind a countertop, where a man in a tailcoat is working over a stove. Gerald turns and bows deeply before resuming his work. “He’s my butler, but he’ll serve anyone here with grace. If you need anything to eat, he’d be happy to prepare it for you.”

Judging by his sour face, David doesn’t think Gerald is happy to do much of anything, but he keeps that to himself. “Thank you.”

Satisfied, Thalia turns to Edgar. “I sent Paul to gather the others. They should be here shortly.”

“Excellent.” Edgar slaps his hands on the table, causing it to shake. “We can finally get down to business. It’s about damn time.”

Thalia has her hand on her heart, seemingly startled by Edgar’s display, but she recovers soon enough. “Yes, well, we’ll have to track down Zhukov to officially begin briefing David . He has details we’re not privy to, and nobody’s seen him all morning.”

“David needs to rest before we do anything,” Lizzy cuts in. “I’m surprised the old man hasn’t dropped to the floor already.”

“Really? Old man?” David ’s barely offended. But it feels normal, familiar, to bite back.

Wakefield laughs. “You’re old enough to be our dad, David .”

“A scary thought,” David responds. Lizzy scoffs and rolls her eyes.

“You’re telling me.”

A door at the corner of the room bursts open, and David jumps in his seat, head on a pivot trying to locate the source of the noise. When his eyes settle on it, however, he relaxes.

“David !”

Galia Fleet, an Officer of the City Watch, bounds forward. David gets to his feet to greet her, holding his hand out, but she bypasses it and throws her arms around him instead.

David makes a sound of surprise and barely reigns in the instinct to push her away. Galia quickly jumps back, smoothing her shirt and looking embarrassed with herself. “Sorry, I...know you don’t like hugs. I’m just so relieved to see you!”

“It’s nice to see you too, Galia.”

David means it. Galia was someone he appointed to her position personally, and she was good friends with Anthony. Sabrina hadn’t liked her, but Sabrina often had trouble getting along with other women, unless she was romantically attracted to them.

Galia looks perfect as always, her almost silver blonde hair cut neatly and her outfit fitting her like a glove. She’s always had a way of looking good. David once teased Sabrina that she should take fashion tips from Galia. Perhaps her dislike of Galia stemmed from that.

“I couldn’t stay at the Tower anymore,” Galia explains, her pretty face turning to distress. “Not under Kaldwin. I knew you wouldn’t kill Billie, but nobody would believe me.”

“You’re lucky to still be alive.” David tells her. Galia nods, meekly.

“I know. I was careful about it, but it didn’t make any difference. The only people who would have believed me were the ones who already doubted you killed the Empress.”

David stops to ponder that. There were others? Obviously, since this conspiracy existed. But these people didn’t know him. They couldn’t know the real story. Why were they rallying behind him?

People who knew him, who saw him interact with Billie, they were quick to believe he had murdered her in cold blood. For no reason.

He opens his mouth to ask Galia more, but Thalia clears her throat. “Lady Boyle has also graciously decided to join us.”

David quickly sits back down, Galia taking the seat to his right, as a slim, blonde woman dressed in black comes into view. She extends her hand over the table. “Lydia Boyle. You’ve met both my sisters before. It’s nice to finally meet you myself.” David rises slightly to shake.

“Lydia will be assuming the role of Anthony’s tutor, once his safety is secured.” Thalia says as Lydia takes the seat on the other side of Wakefield.

David turns to her. “Your sisters have mentioned you.” He coughs. “I didn’t know you were a teacher.”

“I’m not.” Lydia shares a small smile. “I’ve instructed my niece, who’s quite a bit younger than Anthony, but I’ve studied a wide variety of subjects extensively. I’m confident that Anthony-.”

“She’s the closest thing we could find,” Thalia says, boredly. David catches how Lydia’s face falls.

The table shakes once again as a tall, gangly man plops down in the chair across from David . His hair is a dark brown, almost black, and David can see tattoos peeking out from under his sleeves. “And this,” Thalia says, tiredly. “Is Paul Blanchard. My bodyguard. He’s very good at his job.” She adds the last part like a justification.

Paul raises his eyebrows. “Hey.” He arcs his hand through the air before meeting David ’s. David shakes it, confused. “You can call me Paulie. I’ve tried convincing Tails to, but no dice.”

He’s chewing something, probably tobacco. He has a Karnacan accent, so that's pretty likely. David resists the urge to wrinkle his nose as he sits back. “Nice to meet you.”

Paul jerks his head up then leans back, folding one arm behind his head. “Same.”

“Well, now that everyone’s present,” Thalia says, staring down her lap, ignoring Lizzy’s protests that the servants were all absent. “I’d like to ask. Have any of you seen Zhukov?”

“He was talking to Rose out in the yard this morning.” Edgar supplies. Galia whips her head to him.

“Why would he talk to her?”

Edgar shrugs. “I dunno, asking about laundry soap? I don’t know what goes on in his head. But he left the building after that. Haven’t seen him since.”

“Little Reed probably saw him go.” Lydia says as Gerald makes his way over to the table. “Servants often know the going-ons better than you’d think. Ask one of the Copper siblings, or Ricardo.”

A steaming bowl is placed down in front of David , and David doesn’t even have time to sputter out a thanks before Gerald has turned his back and returned to the kitchen. So he just picks up his fork. It’s a simple dish-rice, a few chunks of some kind of meat. Not a lot of food, but David ’s last full meal was on a ship. He pays the contents of the dish little mind as he digs in.

“I still gotta show David around,” Lizzy says, putting her feet up on the table. David glares at her and moves his bowl farther away. “I’ll ask the sprouts where that son of a bitch said he was going.”

“Well, this was a complete waste of everyone’s time,” Thalia mutters to her lap.

Lydia Boyle gets to her feet. “Not necessarily. We got to meet David .” She flashes him a smile. David swallows and looks down at his food.

“Not like we were busy, Tails, we’ve just been sitting around with our thumbs up our asses.” Paul cuts in. Thalia looks up at him, indignant.

“I was hoping Zhukov could clue us in on his grand plan, now that we’re all assembled. But I suppose we’ll just twiddle away for a bit longer, waiting for him.” She sighs dramatically.

Paul rolls his eyes. Lydia passes behind him. “Well, I’m going to retire for the evening, if you don’t mind. Call on me if Zhukov bursts in with pressing matters that can’t wait until breakfast.”

“I should probably…” Galia stands, pausing. “I should go too. There’s things Zhukov is having me work on. I need to...go.” She looks down at David , smiling. “I’m so happy you’re back, David .”

David chews slowly as he looks after her. Back where? This isn’t Dunwall Tower. Might as well be a world away.

“Gerald,” Thalia calls over her shoulder. “Draw a bath, would you? I’m sure David would like to get clean before bedding down.”

That he would, actually. David was almost looking forward to not smelling like a sewer rat anymore.

Gerald bows once more, then departs. David leans over to Lizzy. “Can he speak?”

Lizzy nods, her eyes wide with horror. “Oooooh, yeah. When he gets into it with one of the other servants, you will hear ringing in your ears for a week. He’s terrifying. I almost felt bad for Reed the other day.”

“He’s like his mistress in that regard,” Edgar whispers, leaning into the two. “Quiet, but explosive.”

Thalia turns to them and fixes all three with a glare. “Well, if no one else requires anything, I believe I will retire for the night as well.” She gets to her feet, Paul standing up a half-second after her. “If Zhukov returns by morning, we’ll converge then.”

“And if he isn’t back by then?” It’s Lizzy speaking now, as Edgar is hiding his giggles behind his hands.

“Then I will deal with him,” Thalia replies curtly. She turns her back then and flounces off, Paul following after her while making what David can only describe as a colloquial gesture of farewell.

The door slams behind them, and Edgar turns back to David and Lizzy. “She’s a bitch. No getting around that.”

“A bitch we need,” Lizzy replies. “The Timsh’s have a lot of pull in Parliament, and Thalia’s uncle is close with the Big Bitch herself. Plus she’s financing, like, this entire thing.”

“What the hell is there to finance? We’re not getting paid for this shit.”

“Living costs money, Edgar. We need food, elixir, fancy murderous trinkets; Thalia’s paying for all that.”

“Murderous trinkets?” David says in between bites.

Edgar nods. “Hasn’t he seen the shit Jerome’s made for him yet?” He asks Lizzy.

“Not yet.” She says, annoyed. “I still need to show him where he sleeps, introduce him to the other servants. I thought he’d like to smell like a human being first.”

David scrapes the bottom of his bowl. Lizzy slaps Edgar’s arm and turns back to David .

“Go take your bath, rat-man. I’ll be here when you’re done.”