Corporal Tilley, member of the Royal Dunwall Marines, stood at attention, gazing blankly down the road leading from the Hound Pits Pub. Like many others in the Marines, Tilley learned that the best way to put up with guard duty was to notice the little things in life: The smells, the sounds, things that are generally overlooked in the daily bustle of life. To Corporal Tilley, the cobblestones of the street were exquisite testaments to civilization. The aged and empty buildings ranging down the street, paint peeling and dulled, were aged tapestries; if only those once-prestigious business firms and homes could talk of the people who once dwelled in them! The night was calm. Tilley could hear the lapping of Wrenhaven River, as the wind brushed the waves against the docks of the Hound Pits like the stroke of an artist’s paintbrush. He could smell the aromas of civilization as they wafted in from the canal, Tilley inhaled it deeply. To most, the mixed stench of excrement and decay that blew in from the river on some days was unbearable, but Tilley had served aboard an Ironclad during the Morley Insurrection. The smell of War: of sweat, blood, and death mingling with the metallic scent of whale oil, made anything else seem like a perfume in comparison.
Tilley’s mood was interrupted by a bottle cap colliding with the base of his neck. Up until this point he had been able to ignore the thug who had been sitting curled up under a streetlight with a book. Corporal Tilley didn’t really understand why the Imperialists openly associated with Dunwall’s criminals. Apparently a gang boss was in residence, and whoever it was, their input was valuable enough that the marines were ordered to tolerate the boorish ruffians in their midst. Tilley was trained to follow orders, though, not to question them. His eyes swivelled to glare at the insolent brute who threw the bottle cap, and the gangster merely let out a bout of laughter before returning to his novel. Tilley knew that many of the lower-class citizens were illiterate, and concluded that the burly gangster was trying to teach himself to read. The marine wondered whether or not he should mention that the thug would have an easier time discerning the letters if he wasn’t holding the book upside-down. The sound of a rail car approaching demanded the marine’s attention, and he had to make do with giving an irritated sigh in the gangster’s direction before straightening his posture to receive the oncoming vehicle.
As the rail car slid to a halt, Tilley saw the driver very nearly kick his door open, and extract himself from the compartment with haste. Tilley became suspicious.
“Who goes there?” He called to the unknown man.
“The Lord Protector,” the man snarled back, as he threw open the door on the other side of the vehicle, “now one of you get over here and help me!”
Tilley was still wary of the man; the blood smears on the self-proclaimed ‘Lord Protector’s’ jacket didn’t help garner the Royal Marine’s trust. The thug immediately ran over to help him when he saw the injured Watch Officer, though. The other doors of the rail car opened, and Tilley’s eyes widened when he recognized a young girl in a white dress as she hopped down from the steel-plated vehicle.
“Are you done gawking?” the gangster yelled to the marine, “Or are you just going to sit there with your thumb up your-”
The thug was silenced by a sudden glare from Corvo. The Lord Protector wasn’t going to suffer to hear profanities in front of the Empress. Surprisingly, it was Emily who spoke next.
“Umm, maybe you should get a stretcher.” She suggested, her voice was quiet, but clear, “It would be good if you could let people know we’re here.”
Tilley complied; he was more comfortable when he had orders to follow. He snapped out a salute and a quick “Yes, your majesty.” before he rushed off in the direction of the pub.
With the marine hurrying off down the road and the thug busily helping Corvo, Twilight and Spike hopped down from the rail car. Like the others, they were both tired and not looking forward to introducing themselves to the entire compound’s worth of humans.
“Do you think we can skip the greetings and just get some rest?” Twilight asked exhaustedly.
Emily tapped her chin, seeming thoughtful for a moment.
“Do you see that tower?” the child empress asked, pointing to a lonely structure, standing apart from the silhouette of the Hound Pits pub. It looked like it was once part of some larger, grand structure, but the tower was the only part left standing- the last testament to an age long since passed. Twilight could see it.
“I used to have a room up there when… the last time I stayed here.” Emily said, seeming to hide something in her words.
“Oh, no problem.” Twilight said with relief. Her horn shone momentarily, and in a blink of light she and Spike disappeared, and a similar blink of light could be seen in the windows of the single room at the tower’s top.
“I think,” Callista sighed, “that I am never going to get used to that.”
To Corporal Tilley’s credit, the medics from the Royal Marines arrived punctually, helping to get Hutchins onto a stretcher before running off in the direction of the yard, and the maze of tents pitched there. The gangster who had been helping Corvo dusted his hands.
“The boss’ll probably want t’ see you. That prick leading the marines’ll probably want to talk to you, too.” The thug said to Corvo. The Lord Protector was about to cite his duty to his Empress, but Emily pre-empted him.
“Callista will help me settle in,” she cut in, “you go on.”
Corvo sulked as Emily and Callista moved off towards the Tower. Piero excused himself to check if his old workshop was still in good condition. By this time a few red-coated marines jogged by to dismantle the rail car and clear up the road.
“Alright,” Corvo sighed, turning to the thug, “but first things first. I just fought through a swarm of Overseers, I’m tired, and I need a drink.”
The gangster gave a knowing laugh.
“The most important need of ‘em all, that one.” He joked, “Well, the pub is still stocked. They pack a good whiskey, of course it ain’t got spit on the Distillery, but it’s still worth the coin.”
The corporal from earlier jogged up to them.
“Captain Calhoun will probably want to see you straight away.” Tilley started.
“Hey,” the thug replied, “this man,” he said, clapping Corvo on the back with a hand, “just fought through a horde of Overseers, no thanks t’ your guys. We’re going into the pub for a round of whiskeys. And if memory serves me right, Corvo had to come out here all the way from Dunwall Tower. If your boss can’t be bothered to haul his fat ass out of wherever he’s stuffed himself for the walk over, I’m sure it can wait.”
Corvo was beginning to respect the burly gangster. The marine seemed taken aback. His eyes flicked to Corvo, awaiting his input.
“Well, you heard the man.” Corvo said, “Tell the Captain we’ll be at the bar.”
Tilley saluted with a wretched expression on his face, and jogged back towards the docks. Corvo made towards the pub, but turned back towards the gangster.
“Wait, the Distillery? You’re from the Bottle Street gang?”
“Guilty as charged,” the gangster held up his hands with a chuckle, “Slackjaw wanted me out here so I could keep him in the loop about the local gangs. Th’ bosses have started working together now, what with the Overseers busily cleaning up their end of the city.” The thug itched at his jaw with a heavy hand, seeming to consider something, “Th’ name’s Baxter, I think we’ve met before.” Baxter held out his hand. Corvo grasped the outstretched palm.
“Corvo.” The Bodyguard identified himself, “I think you’ll have to refresh my memory.”
“A few swigs of whiskey’ll help with that.” Baxter said, “C’mon, let’s get indoors.”
The bar of the Hound Pits pub was in a large ‘L’ shape, with booths lining the outer edge and the bar wrapped around the inner edge. It was a later hour than Corvo anticipated- the pub was empty. Baxter simply vaulted the counter and Corvo could hear the sound of glass clinking as he rummaged around under the counter for the bottled malt beverages. Baxter poked up with a pair of the bottles clutched in one hand, and the other rummaging in a pocket. To the bodyguard’s immense surprise, the thug produced a handful of coins and left them on the bar. Baxter noticed the strange look Corvo was giving him.
“What?” He asked, “The way I figure it, once Emily gets back on the throne laws’ll get a lot tighter around here. I might as well polish up my act now… Well, if it makes you feel any better, I stole that coin during a heist job, so it ain’t like I’m paying with my own money, anyway.”
With their partially illicit liquor in hand, Corvo and Baxter seated themselves at one of the round tables in the middle of the pub. Corvo poured some of his whiskey into a tumbler glass, while Baxter just took swigs straight from his bottle.
“So, humour me,” Corvo started, “where should I remember you from?”
“The Dunwall sewers, if I remember it right.” Baxter said, “If I recall, Slackjaw was leadin’ us after that pack of rats that swarmed the Distillery.”
“I remember now,” Corvo said, incredulously, “you got torn up pretty bad. I’ll be honest, I thought the rats had gotten to you by the time I came back.”
“Hah, it’ll take more than a few rodents to put down someone like me.” Baxter said with a chuckle, “Of course, it was a lot more than just a few rats... Still, I managed to survive. People like us always do.”
“Hmph, I’ll drink to that.” Corvo concurred, clinking his tumbler glass against the gangster’s whiskey bottle.
***
Emily and Callista weaved their way through the maze of tents toward the back entrance to the Hound Pits’ main building. As part of the way the tower had been designed, it could only be accessed by a bridge of corrugated steel sheets and wooden planks that extended from a room in the Pub’s attic. Incidentally, the attic room was also Corvo’s living quarters, meaning that anyone wanting to access the Empresses’ quarters would have to go through the room of her own bodyguard. It had made Emily feel safe, but now, with her eyes drooping from exhaustion, the idea of mounting the three flights of stairs to the attic combined with the long trek across the makeshift bridge was daunting to the young Empress.
Callista looked around her. She had heard that soldiers were rowdy and uninhibited, but to her surprise everything had an eerily organised look to it. Almost every tent was occupied by a soldier, and the only ones who were awake seemed to be busy, or patrolling to make sure everyone else was resting properly. The only other signs of life were the occasional heavy-built thug, enjoying a quiet cigarette.
“I leave Dunwall Tower for one day, and look what happens.” Called an irritatingly familiar voice.
Captain Calhoun stood in front of them, no doubt believing it necessary to extend a proper greeting to the Empress. He looked much more comfortable in his Royal Marine uniform- a red felt jacket with a neat row of brass buttons up the middle, and a pair of white sashes crossing over the chest. The jacket ended just below the belt, where they gave way to a pair of black pants tucked into white half-chaps with even more buttons lining the sides. As an officer, Calhoun’s uniform differed from the others only by a few lengths of gold braid looping from a pocket on one side of his uniform back over his left shoulder, and by a trio of iron diamonds in place of where his chevrons would be. Lower-ranking marines wore red flat-topped caps with an anchor insignia stitched into them, but Calhoun was an officer, and his modest black bicorne was tucked under an arm.
Callista wasn’t impressed in the least with the captain’s uniform. Especially not with the way he was set on tarnishing her uncle’s name. Calhoun blundered on, addressing Emily.
“I see that one again Curnow has displayed his overwhelming incompetence.” He said with a self-entitled air, not noticing Callista’s rising anger.
“Well at least there’s an upside to this: we can say that Curnow’s failure to defend Dunwall’s greatest bastion will be the last mistake he ever makes-”
“Not another word out of you!” Callista spat in fury, storming towards the captain. If she weren’t tired, grieving, and angry, she would have never dreamed of stepping so far beyond her station- but she was.
“My uncle was a great man. Don’t you dare say otherwise. He and his men gave their lives to protect us.” She snarled, the captain opened his mouth to reply, but Callista cut him off again.
“Did you know we were attacked on the way here? If the Bottle Street gang hadn’t helped us, we would be dead right now. The people of Dunwall have bled for us, which is more than can be said for you.”
Calhoun sharply raised his free hand, obviously intending to strike the insolent governess. Luckily, he had the good sense to stop himself before his hand raised past his shoulder. Everyone in the yard was staring at him- including young Emily. Instead, Calhoun brushed off the front of his uniform, and adjusted his gold braid, as if that was what he had intended to do all along.
“I would watch my tongue, if I were you.” He hissed in a barely guarded tone, “You’re giving the Empress the wrong ideas about how one should treat those above their station.”
“On the contrary, I believe her actions were entirely justified.” Emily chimed in, before walking past him and towards the main building of the Hound Pits.
“Let’s go, Callista.”
Callista quickly followed the Empress indoors, leaving the captain standing awkwardly by himself. Corporal Tilley came jogging up.
“Sir.”
“What is it?” Calhoun sighed.
“The Empress and her entourage have-”
“I. Know. That.” Calhoun forced out, the last drops of his civility being tested.
“The Lord Protector is in the bar, sir.” Tilley seemed to be getting antsy.
“I’m sure Corvo can settle himself in.” Calhoun said dismissively.
“I thought you’d want to speak with him, sir. You said you didn’t want to get shown by-”
“Yes, I get it, fine.” Calhoun said, turning toward the Pub. “Oh, and corporal?”
“Yessir?”
“Could I ask you to show a little more discretion when speaking about such matters?”
“Yessir.”
***
“So what’s the word on the local gang?” Corvo asked.
“Yeah, I recognize a few of the guys around here.” Baxter said, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial whisper, “They’re from Black Sally’s old gang.”
“The name rings a bell. I can’t say I remember where, though.”
“Never heard of Black Sally? She led the biggest outfit in Dunwall up until a while back. I mean, some of the gangs were tough, but they still had to remind everyone of it every now and then. Shit, until the plague wiped out the other gangs even us up at Bottle Street had to fight for our territory. Black Sally, though? Pssht. You’d have to be dumb as a hagfish to try and put the moves on her operation. Her gang had coin rollin’ in from every scene in Dunwall: robbery, slavery, shipping, you name it. If one of the bosses tried to pick a fight with her gang, his own gang would get bribed to shank him to death, and then the rest of his gang would probably all end up dead from convenient ‘accidents’.”
“You’re speaking in the past tense.” Corvo noted, “What happened?”
“The Watch finally got their shit together.” Baxter said with a shrug, “Smoked the gang out of their hideout and threw these great big fishing nets down from the rooftops before stabbing and gunning them all to death. Poor bastards never stood a chance. Of course, they didn’t get all of ‘em, because during the plague they bought lots of bootleg elixir from us. Slackjaw gave ‘em a discount in memory of their leader, considering she was practically the whole reason the Bottle Street gang got so powerful in the first place. ”
“Has it occurred to you that Black Sally may have been one of the escapees?” Corvo suggested.
“Maybe, she was a slippery one…” Baxter agreed.
Their attention was caught by the sound of the door opening. Corvo noted that Captain Calhoun had a somewhat deflated look to him as he strode over.
“Ah, I see you’ve elected to grace us with your presence, Captain.” The Lord Protector jibed.
“Yeah, it ain’t like we were waiting for you or nothin’.” Baxter added in.
“I’m honored that you believe I have the ability to come running like a lapdog the moment I’m called.” Calhoun shot back, “At least I’m here, which is more than I can say for your employer, Baxter.”
“My employer?” The gangster replied, pointing a finger at his own chest, “Slackjaw’s busy making sure the Overseers don’t come sneaking up here to shiv you in your sleep. But I know you were talkin’ about the local boss, so I’ll let it slide.”
“Who is the local boss, anyway?” Corvo cut in, hoping to defuse an argument.
“The party in question has elected to remain incognito.” The Marine Captain informed the table, “Very cloak-and-dagger for people who apparently claim to be our allies. Wouldn’t you agree, Corvo?”
“I’m on your side with this one.” Baxter said ominously, “I’ve asked about who’s running this outfit, anyone I ask just threatens to dump me in the river.”
“Well I do hope the ringleader of this mob shows up.” Calhoun sighed, “I hoped she would have realised that this is well beyond ‘fashionably late’.”
“Hold on a minute,” Baxter cut in, “She? You don’t mean-?”
“Aye,” Said a female voice from behind them, “you heard it right.”
All three heads swivelled towards the newcomer. Corvo noted with a mixture of apprehension and admiration that he didn’t hear the woman enter.
“Ah, yes.” Calhoun said indifferently, “May I introduce Sorcha Moray, melodramatic, like always.”
The first thing that was immediately noticeable about Sorcha was her stature. Not necessarily in her shape- although an hourglass figure has a timeless distinctiveness, too- but more the way she carried herself. Her movements had a calculated grace to them, giving an impression not unlike that of some sort of venomous snake. This image was reinforced by her piercing green eyes, which had an unsettling depravity more suited to a weasel or a coyote, and stood out against her almost cadaverously pale skin. Her hair, to say the least, was black- almost unnaturally so. Corvo noticed that it almost seemed to have a darkness of its own- only barely reflecting any light caught in the curls. She was wearing a close-fitting leather fencing vest with a high collar, polished to a gleaming black. Her arms were covered by a pair of white sleeves made from a lacy material, ending at the wrists. A belt at the woman’s waist had an assortment of wicked-looking daggers of varying shapes and sizes complemented by a pistol. Contrasting with her elegant vest and shirt, she was wearing a pair of simple worker’s pants tucked into a pair of worn leather boots at the knee.
“Sorcha…?” Baxter uttered with a mixture of reverence and fear, “Wait, Black Sally? You’re the Black Sally?!”
“Ah, that’s just m’ street name. Or it was, before I was supposedly killed.” She said coyly. Corvo noticed she had a distinctive Morley accent- her tongue trilling the ‘r’s and her voice seeming to dance over the vowels.
“Corvo,” Sally continued, “I see you got ‘ere in one piece. I hope Slackjaw found ‘ye alright?”
“Ah, yes.” Corvo said in a pleasant tone, “I can safely say I’m not sure I’d be here if he hadn’t shown up.”
“Good. Mind if I join you gents?” Sally asked, seating herself at the table before waiting for an answer.
“I’m glad Slackjaw finally took my advice for once.” Black Sally continued, helping herself to a sip from Corvo’s whiskey bottle, “The lad’s got a good head for this business, but ‘e can be awful high-strung at times.”
“Slackjaw knows you?” Baxter blurted out, his confusion obviously mounting.
“Aye, that he does. So you don’t have to worry about whether or not you’ll get out ‘a here with your tongue still in your mouth.” Sally assured him.
The gang boss produced a tarot deck from a pouch on her belt.
“Any of you gents up for a game of Nancy?”
***
“Getting comfortable, Twilight?” Asked the Outsider.
“What do you want?” The purple mare muttered sullenly. She had been asleep for less than a minute, and the Outsider had already drawn her into the Void.
“Do I hear hostility?” The Outsider mused, “Shame, perhaps? Regret? Are the secrets you have learned not what you wanted?”
The purple unicorn didn’t humor him with a reply. She merely sat with her head tucked close to her body.
“Or perhaps it’s not what you have done, but what you didn’t do?”
A black mist rose from the ground, and when it dissipated Twilight was standing in the interior of the room of the apartment. The corpse of the Overseer still laid face-down on the ground, his uniform covered in blood.
“Why are you showing me this?” Twilight choked out.
“Because this was not your fault, though you may believe so.” The Outsider consoled her.
“How?!” Twilight suddenly burst out, “He’s dead! I could’ve stopped it; I could’ve done something but now… now…”
Twilight trailed off. She was afraid that she would start crying if she said anymore, and she knew that if the tears started, they wouldn’t stop.
“You may think your actions cost a life, though I doubt others would agree with you. What of Corvo? Wounded and dying from wounds dealt from curved sabres and dogs’ teeth?”
The edges of the floor began crawling with smoke again, bleeding outwards to reveal more of the room, and Corvo’s emaciated form.
“Indeed, if you had not been there, the Overseer may still be alive, but Corvo would be dead.”
The Outsider’s words didn’t make Twilight feel much better. Either way the scenario went, a death would be on her conscience. Now she wasn’t sure which version of events she preferred: The idea that she could have done something, that a death was avoidable, or that she shouldn’t care too much, because there would have been a death either way.
“Knowledge is destructive in its very application.” The Outsider declared, “And what terrifying power it must be, to decide who lives and who dies. But time is forgetful, and such weapons fade in time, along with the wounds they’ve caused. The Lord Protector lives, because of your actions, but a time will come again when he is in grave danger. Will you be there if he lies once again, broken and bleeding? Or will you trade his life for someone else, like the Overseer’s was traded for his?”
Twilight began panicking as her dream started to dissolve.
“W-Wait!” She yelled desperately, “What’s going to happen to him? What do I have to do?”
“Go to the bar of the pub. Listen, and learn.”
Twilight snapped awake in a cold sweat. Her eyes swivelled to take in the room. Twilight desperately, selfishly wished that the Outsider hadn’t told her about what was going to happen- she wished that the choice wasn’t in her hooves. The purple unicorn tried to close her eyes again, but she couldn’t fall asleep, and she knew that if she didn’t act tonight, her moral conscience would never let her sleep well again. Making sure not to make a sound, she slipped from the room on the tower, stealing across the rough bridge toward the main building of the Hound Pits.
To Twilight’s immense surprise, she descended the winding, empty staircase to find the Empress at the bottom of the stairwell, already eavesdropping on the meeting in the bar. Emily almost jumped when she thought she had been discovered, but relaxed when she saw Twilight. After a moment they both sat in the bottom of the stairwell, looking out into the bar where the adults were deep in discussion over a game of cards.
***
“So, Sorcha,” Corvo wondered as the green eyed crime boss deftly passed everyone the next hand of cards, “you said you ‘died’? That must’ve been quite an experience.”
“Aye, you’d know about coming back from the dead, wouldn’t you?” Sally joked, leaning back to examine her cards, “The Watch made a wonderful account of it: ‘The Eradication of Black Sally’, by Jules Roebin. Bloody shame someone knifed him before he could see it published.” She gave an unsettling giggle at this.
Before she could go on, a commotion began rising outside. The door opened, and a private from the Royal Marines poked his head in.
“Sir, I think you’ll want to see this.”
“Very well, then.” Calhoun said, casually placing his cards onto the table and moving to follow the Marine. In a unanimous agreement the rest of the card players got up to follow him. Emily and Twilight moved to the window, peeking outside to see what the newest development was.
As they got closer to the docks, Corvo could clearly see that there was a raft with a corpse in it, slowly bumping against the concrete dock as the tide carried it. The body seemed to have been a member of one of the gangs. A letter was pinned to a nail driven squarely between the man’s shoulder blades, and a small pool of blood had collected in the bottom of the wooden craft.
“One of yours, I presume?” Calhoun offered, turning to Sally.
“Aye, that it would be.” The gang boss sauntered over, ignoring the looks she was attracting from the marines on duty at that hour, either speculating on who she was, or merely staring at her body.
The gang boss crouched to one knee to remove the spike from the corpse, casually retrieving the spattered envelope and reading the fine calligraphy on the front. In a swift motion, she selected one of the knives from her belt and slit the envelope open, placing the dagger back in her belt. The double-folded letter fell into her waiting hand, and she nonchalantly snapped it open with a flick of her wrist. Corvo noticed that there was no visible change to her features as her eyes looked over the red-stained letter.
“Well?” Baxter asked, “What’s it say?”
“I think we ought to head back inside.” Sally said flatly.
“Well, yes, but what about…?” Calhoun started, looking at the corpse.
“What about him?” Sally said, “I’m sure someone’ll clean up the mess.”
There was certain anticipation to the air as everyone filtered back inside and took their seats.
“Alright, I think you’ve kept us waiting long enough.” The Marine Captain decreed, “Let’s hear it.”
The gang boss cleared her throat before reciting the small piece of paper aloud.
To you, Queen of Criminals.
We do not know how you discovered our possession of the Royal Physician, but know that you cannot prise him from us with such ease. If your cause wishes to bear audience with us, send us one with the Mark of Leviathan. Send them alone, and we will listen, if we deem them worthy. Do not insult us by sending such lowly men to die for you.
Ego homin… homi..? homini..?
“That’s probably ‘Ego Homini Lupus’, right?” Corvo cut in.
“Aye, that’s the ticket.” Sally said, grateful for being spared needing to stumble over the ambiguous words, “So what’s it mean?”
“Well, in modern speech it translates to ‘I am wolf to man’.” Corvo said, “As for what it means… that was Daud’s motto.”
“So this came from the Whalers, then.” Sorcha speculated, examining the letter.
“I’m sorry, this is a bit over my head.” Calhoun admitted, “Who, pray tell, is Daud? What do whalers have anything to do with this?”
“Daud was… he was the assassin who killed the Empress.” Corvo couldn’t hide the shame in his voice, “The Whalers are the name given to the group of murderers who followed him.”
“Wait, you mean the man who killed the Empress is still at large?” The captain exclaimed.
“Despite your belief that you are the only competent man in the world,” Corvo retorted, “no. Daud paid for his crimes in full.”
“But his gang’s still alive and kicking.” Sally finished.
“And what’s this business with the ‘Mark of the Leviathan’? It sounded like they were trying to make their letter sound a load of rubbish on purpose…”
“Well, that one’s simple.” Corvo said, “I have it right here.”
The Lord Protector held up his left hand, with the palm facing inwards, displaying the black insignia on his backhand for everyone to see.
“Well then,” the Captain said uncomfortably, “moving along, there was mention of the Royal Physician, correct?”
“Anton Sokolov.” Corvo said, “He insisted on staying at his safehouse on Kaldwin’s Bridge. I haven’t heard a word from him since the attack on Dunwall Tower. Personally, I thought the Overseers got him.”
“Sounds like the Whalers want something to bargain with.” The gang boss decided, throwing another card onto the pile and winning the trick, “Trust me, people get awfully good at listenin’ when you’re about to slit someone’s ricker.”
“Well, I guess it’s settled then.” Calhoun said, deciding he had lost his last handful of coins, “It seems you’re the right man for the job, Corvo. Now if you’ll excuse me, I think I’ve had quite enough excitement for one night.”
There was a moment of silence as Calhoun left.
“I don’t blame him; he just paid for our drinks.” Baxter joked.
“Should we start again?” Sally inquired.
After a unanimous agreement, she gathered everyone’s cards.
“It sounds like the Whalers have a score to settle.” Sally observed, riffle shuffling the deck before passing it to Baxter, “But you’re not too keen on goin, are you?”
“It’s not my call to make.” Corvo stated.
“Aye, the Kaldwin lass. She’ll make the right choice, you can bet on it.” Sally said knowingly.
“Well, whatever happens tomorrow, I need to get some rest.” Corvo waved away the protest of the other two.
“I’ll stay to the end of this game, but any longer and I think I’ll end up falling asleep right here.”
The young Empress and the purple unicorn decided that they had learned all they could, and quietly ascended the stairs before Corvo came up and found them. Twilight mulled over what she had heard.
“ Emily?” Twilight asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you going to let Corvo go meet with the Whalers? If you don’t mind me asking?”
Emily’s reply was a strange one, something Twilight had never expected to hear from the clear-headed young girl.
“I don’t know.”