The Masked evidence

      To live under the constant scrutiny of the guard without a single chance to be alone with his thoughts, to be free from that accursed sense of pressure, never be able to leave his bed without a whole retinue at his back, dress with the musical accompaniment, to exist as an object, cut off from the outside world within his own chambers – is humiliating. Corvo tries to fill most of this so-called free time with reading and reflection, with rough sketches, sitting more and appearing perfectly relaxed, breaking up the confinement with short conversations with Nesbit and by eavesdropping on discussions in the study. Sometimes she passes on something worthwhile about what is happening in the tower, listens in on the lords’ conversations at the Royal Protector’s request; more often, however, she complains about the League’s boorish behaviour, and the guards imitating them, having felt the leash loosen. No matter how they mock him, Corvo takes note of everything, and carefully studies the position of every person on the balcony and in the study. The maid is of no small help in this.       They rarely move. The music box remains fixed on the balcony; only the Overseers change every four hours, brazenly marching the full length of the lord’s chambers. This is the closest point from which the influence can be exerted on the titled heretic – that is how Wyman’s agents contemptuously refer to him when they are alone in the study. Despite all their vile treatment of the servants, the tower guards sometimes arrive at cautious reflections on the situation as a whole and on loyalty, for it is well known that it is unwise to play against the Lord Protector. They are confused, and all that remains to them is to listen to Captain Burley’s orders and carry them out. Thinking is not their job. The captains are loyal to Her Majesty, but they have no desire to quarrel with the League either. Surely they consult Emily before making any changes. On the one hand, allowing the ordinary guard to think before acting and to choose could significantly reduce the number of accidental victims and increase humanity. On the other hand, they would ask more questions, poke their noses into matters and perhaps show more cruelty without existing restraints. It is better to leave everything as it is.       Today, handing a cup of tea straight into Corvo’s hands (to his slight surprise) Nesbit managed to inform him of the arrival of all the council members in the tower, and also told him that the Empress had taken his weapons with a scandal and hidden them away herself. They have done nothing but argue all this time; Emily is desperately defending her protector’s honour, yet despite the resistance Wyman refuses to postpone the meeting, waving his “irrefutable evidence” everywhere. Apparently, the murders stopped as soon as the “criminal” was arrested. Something here is not right.       The Tower of Dunwall has been his home for over twenty years; it hides nothing from Attano’s eyes, and its layout favours the one who knows it by heart. For a long while, the man listens to the conversations on the balcony. It is the only open window to freedom and a safe one (if only he has his abilities). If the main doors are flung open agents and guards stand on both sides; most of them are now on this floor, ensuring the safety of the peers and the Empress, while on the lower floor at least two guards patrol the corridors, meeting several more on the stairs. That was the case before the League arrived, and Corvo hopes it has remained so. Beyond the doors the footsteps of two intersecting patrols can be heard. The side staircases leading up are located in the two front towers and are most likely guarded no worse than the main doors. He cannot escape by the usual route. Only the balcony door remains. Corvo behaves naturally, pacing the room, judging the placement of shadows on the glass out of the corner of his eye. Outside the enormous chandeliers are hunged, perfectly capable of bearing a human’s weight. A fall promises nothing but broken bones, so Corvo must act with care.       For a while he stands by the clock, hands clasped behind his back, drowning out the Overseers' music with the measured ticking of the pendulum and putting his thoughts in order as best he can. He is certain that many of the hidden compartments in the study and chambers will remain undiscovered when he leaves the tower. He needs focus and discipline, his strength clenched into a fist, to overcome the physical pain inflicted by the Abbey device. And then – the dash.       The glass doors fly open with such force that they smash into the music box and shatter, showering the agents with shards. The music cuts off, and while they grasp what is happening, Corvo leaps onto the railing and immediately throws himself from it, plunging the guards into shock. For a moment they simply freeze, staring downwards, before the siren is triggered and they rush after the fugitive. Corvo lands heavily on the chandelier; the chain rattles and by inertia sets the creaking frame swaying. A moment earlier he had planned to jump onto the cornice above the main entrance, but the crack sounding overhead changes his plans in a second, forcing him to descend straight to the floor. The roll barely softens the brutal landing; the impact hits his knees and elbow, but he has to get up quickly. The blare of the siren summons the guards to the centre of the tower, and before their eyes the enormous crystal chandelier finally tears free from the ceiling, miraculously missing Lord Attano. The glittering ornaments shatter into fragments and scatter across the floor, and the frame warps badly from the impact. Corvo manages with difficulty to outwit his pursuers long enough to cross the hall under the crunch of glass beneath his boots and burst into a side corridor. They do not hurry to shoot, they do not dare, perhaps because he is the Lord Protector or perhaps because there was no such order. Picking up good speed, frightening the maids into shrill screams he slides and knocks a guard off his feet, narrowly avoiding a sudden stray bullet. Covering the distance swiftly, he vaults over the railing and springs upward, where Wyman’s reinforcements are already hurrying towards him. Grabbing the arm holding a pistol, Corvo twists it and wrenches the weapon away, strikes one man in the face with his elbow and kicks the other in the side. Shots fired by his hand shatter the light fixtures; then the pistol flies squarely into the face of the agent climbing the stairs, sending him crashing down to the floor below. In the near-total darkness, the advantage now belongs solely to the Lord Protector and so the next guard nearly loses a pair of healthy vertebrae when Corvo jumps onto a cabinet, grabs him by the neck and hurls into his comrade. Slipping around the corner, hoping these seconds will suffice, the lord opens a secret passage and slides inside, quickly closes it behind him.       He manages to reach the treasury room with only a few bruises, but Captain Burley’s squad is now somewhat battered and will almost certainly lose half their pay over the incident – just for show. From inside his coat he takes out a folded sheet of paper – a small note for Emily, for she will undoubtedly come here upon learning of the escape. This place holds not only jewels, but also some equipment and the most important documents; it is also a small, concealed refuge for the true treasure of these lands. Emily surely hid the weapons here; it only takes a little searching. Through the thick walls the silhouettes are hard to see, but it is enough to spot the flustered guards unaware of this passage, the captain and a figure far too familiar, repellent to any desire to have dealings with him – and another, running swiftly towards the royal chambers. To them Corvo Attano has vanished without a trace, by a magical means dangerous to himself and others, a means bestowed by the Outsider.       Before leaving Corvo grabs the pouch of coins by the small, cosy bed, prepared for their spontaneous night excursions onto the roofs. To the right, just beyond Sokolov’s door, painstakingly restored after the witches stayed here Corvo notices movement. However, it would be better for them not to meet until the end of the investigation. Pulling up his hood, the lord hastily leaves the room and steps out onto the roof, from where he calmly moves much higher. Here the whole city lies spread before him, every roof and every house, which in the near future will be surrounded by yet another security invention and crowds of patrols and not only those, for the League cooperates with anyone who takes gold for their services, unlike the Spymaster Office. “Continue the official investigation, even if it leads to me. I will obtain the evidence and it will come into your hands of its own accord. Be careful,” the note left in the treasury with an intricate drawing of a Gristol raven on the reverse. "Be careful, Emily," in the strong wind the words quite literally dissolve, as though Corvo's lips are not whispering at all, but silently imitating. "You be careful too, Corvo," the Empress whispers, watching as the drawn raven quickly burns away in the fireplace of her bedchamber.

***

"And you still believe your father is innocent?" Wyman begins at once, bursting into the Empress’s study as though it were his own. Another conversation with him promises only a new quarrel. "Subjects usually begin by greeting their Empress, Alex," Emily cuts him off immediately, hissing the name like the snake she is speaking to. "You seem to have forgotten whom you are addressing." "The most august Empress of these Isles, for whose good I labour so diligently. My apologies, I was in such haste. If only Lord Attano had not escaped, we would have seen the investigation through to the end, since this matter is so personal to you." "Liar," his false words make her look up from the letter and meet her former lover’s gaze. "I beg your pardon?" Wyman asks confused, rising onto his toes, though he heard perfectly well what was said to him. "And what exactly do you have?" she gives in to the provocation and starts the argument first. "A single mask? You would have me believe that the finest swordsman in the Empire, my Lord Protector, who has proven his flawless loyalty to me and to the Empire simply began murdering people in my country for amusement? And then casually left his mask at the scene of the crime and allowed it to be taken? Especially if, as you claim, he possessed some kind of magic. It is nonsense. Or do you wish to accuse me of complicity as well? In that case, you will follow my aunt and Duke Abele." "By escaping, your Lord Protector has only proven his involvement in the murders. No one else has such a mask, you know that perfectly well, and the mythical Masked Phantom was him. The agents acted swiftly and gave him no chance to cover his tracks." "Even the finest inventions can be copied and improved. There are many brilliant scholars in the Empire, and instead of sentencing Corvo to prison, you would do better to contact the Academy. Since when do I need to teach you how to do your job?" "Corvo Attano purchased weapons on the black market and tomorrow the vendor will be brought here to testify."       Doubting him and his competence is tantamount to striking at his inflated ego, and Emily lifts the corner of her lips slyly. "When you have more in your hands than a mask that can be forged and an illegal black-market trader willing to point at anyone for a coin, then you may call Corvo a murderer. Until then he is merely a suspect,"       Wyman’s stubbornness angers her as does the supposed immovability of his evidence, though it is of dubious quality. "A fugitive from custody," the young man repeats, clenching his fists. "To avoid yet another imprisonment and, no doubt, to find the real killer," Emily steps out from behind the desk and approaches Alastair, "Which is what you and your people should have been doing while he was locked away. Instead, you turned his study and papers upside down, where you have no access. And you will answer for it." "I do this for the Empire," he finally yields and draws a deep breath. "I do this for you, Emily. You will understand everything later." "My father has been falsely accused too often for me to believe everything without question," Kaldwin remains firm. "And now, if you are finished giving me a headache, I have work to do."       After this conversation she had no desire to write to anyone else. In such a mood she would achieve nothing from other people. It could wait until tomorrow. She leans back in her chair and looks out of the window: somewhere out there is Corvo, among rooftops and cold walls, alone once more. Perhaps she will be able to find him or find the shop he visited and pick up the trail.