The Return of Daud Read online

  And then something had gone wrong, something with the Oraculum. It had stripped Breanna of her powers, leaving her helpless as a babe. Now she was hiding somewhere in the city—maybe Lucinda knew where, although if she did, she hadn’t said yet.

  But… was she speaking the truth? Was there hope yet? Did some vestige of Breanna’s power still exist—and had some of it entered Lucinda? And was she able to wield it?

  If so…

  Caitlin turned to Lucinda, who nodded.

  “It makes the mind reel with the possibilities, doesn’t it, sister?”

  Lucinda laughed, and Caitlin laughed with her, their voices echoing over the dockyard.

  Then Lucinda stood and held her hand out to Caitlin. She took it and the two witches balanced on the top edge of the billboard.

  “The final pieces?” asked Caitlin.

  Lucinda nodded. “They are still in the Royal Conservatory. Come, let us go back to the hideout. I have called the others to join us. It is only a matter of time.”

  Hand in hand, the two witches of Karnaca tiptoed along the billboard, before jumping down to the roof of the building behind.

  And as they headed for their hideout, Caitlin’s mind sang with anticipation. The plan was going ahead. The plan was going to work. Daud would be theirs, along with the secrets of his magic.

  And with him in their grasp—and his powers now theirs—the coven would rise once more.

  24

  THE ROYAL CONSERVATORY, KARNACA

  23rd Day, Month of Harvest, 1852

  “Investigations continue into the ongoing closure of the Royal Conservatory, which had already been shut to the public for some time before the Grand Serkonan Guard closed off the area last week. Although the Office of Grand Guard Command has stated repeatedly that an official statement is forthcoming, no such proclamation has yet been received by this publication.

  Meanwhile, rumors continue to circulate that the closure of Karnaca’s premier cultural and natural philosophy establishments—the Royal Conservatory and the Addermire Institute—are connected with the actions of a masked criminal, reports of whom have reached this reporter despite attempts by the Grand Guard to issue a classified notice. Speaking on a condition of anonymity, one inside source said that something unusual had happened to Breanna Ashworth, Curator of the Royal Conservatory, who has not been seen in some time, and that her private chambers within the institute are now an active crime scene.

  The Office of the Grand Guard Command declined our invitation to comment.

  —GRAND GUARD PRESENCE AT THE ROYAL CONSERVATORY: UNEXPLAINED CLOSURE BECOMES “OFFICIAL INVESTIGATION”

  Newspaper report from the Karnaca Gazette

  It took Daud just one day to get word to his contact in Karnaca; he could have done it faster, but he needed to play it safe, moving only at night, sticking to the darkness and the rooftops. He needed to be master of the situation and have every aspect of his mission under his control. The Twin-bladed Knife had been brought to Karnaca by the strange gang who had managed to infiltrate Norcross’s collection and steal the artifact from under Daud’s nose. But to find the gang, he needed to know more about them.

  And to know more about them, he went to a woman who, he hoped, would be able to furnish him with all the information he needed.

  Sierra Esquivel. Or, to be more specific, Officer Sierra Esquivel. Daughter of one of Daud’s former—now deceased—lieutenants in the Whalers, Sierra had been born in Dunwall and smuggled out with her mother during the inter-gang war that had cost her father his life. In the years that had followed, Daud had kept an eye on Sierra herself, watching as the child became a woman and the woman became an officer of the Grand Serkonan Guard. Daud knew that having a contact in her position would be useful one day, and the trust Sierra’s father had had in Daud had been passed down to his daughter.

  While he waited for their meeting—arranged for the next night in a place they were guaranteed not to be disturbed—Daud caught up with local news, reading about recent mysterious events in the Karnaca Gazette. While the affairs of the world were not his concern, Daud had much still to do in the city, and felt it wise to at least be as informed as the rest of the populace. He had to admit the reports—if in any way accurate—were strange. Disappearances of prominent citizens, sightings of a masked criminal, and rumors that the Grand Serkonan Guard had sustained heavy losses in fights with this miscreant; losses they were denying to the press.

  Daud wondered if it had anything to do with Luca Abele’s coup in Dunwall. It couldn’t be a coincidence. Daud thought back to his sighting of the Empress, Emily Kaldwin, as she fled Dunwall Tower.

  Not for the first time, Daud wondered if the Outsider had been watching too.

  At the appointed time, Daud made his way across Karnaca to the rendezvous, stopping first to visit another of his caches, hidden in a small cave in the rocky cliff face of Shindaerey Peak, the mouth of which could only be accessed by the most foolhardy of climbers—or by the power of transversal. Kneeling in the cave, Daud unwrapped a long object—a short sword with a black-and-gold grip and a blade with a flat, straight spine and a cutting edge, which tapered to a wicked point. It was his sword from his days with the Whalers, crafted from Tyvian meteorite metal. He hadn’t thought he would ever wield it again, yet something had compelled him, years ago, to keep it rather than throw it into the sea.

  He slid it into its scabbard, hung it from his belt, and continued on his journey.

  The Royal Conservatory was traditionally open to the public, the complex consisting of a cluster of connecting buildings, within which were housed rooms for public performances, lectures and exhibitions, smaller spaces where academics conducted private tuition or research, and an extensive library—the largest outside of Dunwall—available to all.

  At least, that had been the case. Daud had learned that over the last few months, the Royal Conservatory had been closed to the public on the orders of the institute’s curator, Breanna Ashworth—much to the disconcertment of the academic aristocracy of the city, as they had been promised an exhibition of items from the Roseburrow Collection, taken from the personal collection of renowned natural philosopher Esmond Roseburrow.

  Breanna Ashworth. The name rang a bell, but there had been so many names, so many faces, over the decades. Most were underground now, so if Daud had known her, she was either lucky or tough. He narrowed his eyes, looking out across the moonlit city as he thought about how much was lost to memory and to time. The building certainly looked like it had been closed for months. The library was in the worst shape, the shelves covered with dust and some of the precious volumes already sagging in the humid air of the city as they were left with no air circulation by the building’s apparent lack of power. The fans were off and most of the windows were closed.

  Daud admired Sierra’s choice of meeting place. The Royal Conservatory was huge, accessible only, at the moment, to senior members of the Grand Guard. Here, in the heart of Karnaca, the echoing halls were the most secluded and secret place in the whole city.

  He made his way to the mezzanine floor, an extension of the library that wrapped around a large central atrium. Here, the debris was even worse; there were books thrown onto the floor in great heaps, and some of the shelves had collapsed. Moving around the left-hand side of the mezzanine, the bright Serkonan moonlight streaming through the high windows lit a wide, empty space, highlighting gouges in the woodwork that suggested something large and heavy had once occupied the spot before being torn out.

  Daud was early. He had gained access through an upper level, expecting guard patrols inside as well as on the street. He’d been wrong. So now he had reached the rendezvous, all he could do was wait.

  He moved to the railing and looked down at the floor below. A great ironwork chandelier had fallen from the ceiling, crushing several work desks below. Whatever had gone on in here, it had been quite some accident.

  “You have two minutes,” said the voice from the other end
of the room, “starting… now.”

  Daud turned as Sierra walked in. She was dressed in the red jacket of a guard captain. The distinctive white helmet of the Grand Guard was tucked under one arm, her long black hair braided into cornrows that vanished against her equally dark skin in the gloomy interior of the Royal Conservatory. In one hand she held a pocket fob, her thumb hovering over the watch’s crown.

  “I knew the Guard was corrupt,” he said, “but I didn’t expect it to charge by the hour.”

  “One minute, fifty-five seconds.”

  Daud rubbed his chin, surprised for a moment to find the skin clean-shaven. “I’m looking for a group—a gang. Don’t know who they are but they might be identifiable by a tattoo.”

  Sierra pulled a pencil from her jacket. She turned to the nearby shelf and tore out the blank front page of a book, scrawled something on it, and handed it over.

  “Like this?”

  Daud cast his eye over the page. Sierra had drawn a symbol on it—a hollow triangle and a cross. It was the same symbol he had seen tattooed onto the intruder’s chest back at Norcross’s castle.

  “That’s it.”

  Sierra nodded. “The Eyeless.”

  “Never heard of them.”

  Sierra pursed her lips. “They’re relatively quiet. Local to some parts of the Empire. Got stronger in Karnaca about a year ago. The Grand Guard got word from a couple of informants in the Butcher Brothers and the Howlers. Seems the Eyeless had appeared in their territory, but when challenged, they cleared out, set up somewhere in one of the outer districts. Didn’t bother them again. One minute fifteen seconds.”

  Daud frowned. “And the other gangs just accepted that?”

  “Accepted isn’t the right word. Tolerated, maybe. At least for now.”

  “Interesting,” said Daud, and then he paused, considering.

  “One minute.”

  “Base of operations?”

  “Unclear.”

  “I need more than that.”

  “The Howlers think the Eyeless have some kind of fortified facility, hidden in plain sight, but we haven’t been able to confirm that. The Grand Guard has been a little… preoccupied, lately.” Her eyes returned to the fob. “Forty seconds.”

  “Leader?”

  “Don’t know. Thirty-five seconds.”

  “Numbers?”

  “Small. We’ve counted a few dozen individuals, but it’s hard to tell. Could be a lot more. They’re bigger than the Sly Eyes. Smaller than the Howlers. We haven’t crossed swords with them yet, so official reports are hazy at best.”

  “Okay.”

  “Ten seconds.” Sierra sighed and thumbed the crown on the fob watch. “Piece of advice. I’m not going to ask what you’re planning to do, but you’re on your own with this one. The Grand Guard has enough on its plate at the moment. You get yourself in trouble, you get yourself out of it. If you’re planning on taking out the Eyeless, you do that on your own. I can’t help you, and once I walk out of this building, you don’t see me again. Understand?”

  Daud nodded. Sierra held his gaze for a moment, then left.

  Daud leaned back against the bookcase and listened to her heavy-booted footsteps as they faded away. So, they were called the Eyeless. He still didn’t know what they wanted with the Knife, but that didn’t matter. The Twin-bladed Knife was here, in Karnaca.

  He was one small step closer.

  Daud waited in the shadows, counting time in his head to allow Sierra to exit the building, then he pushed off the bookcase and prepared to make his own departure.

  That was when he heard the sound of a book falling. Daud stopped and looked over his shoulder, but the case against which he had been leaning had not been disturbed by his movement. As he examined the tomes, he heard more sounds—shuffling, like someone going through papers, then another thud as a second book was pulled off a shelf and tossed to the floor.

  The sounds continued as Daud moved over to the atrium and peered down into the depths of the Royal Conservatory library. The noise echoed up from somewhere far below, and it was too loud for rats. Daud doubted it was the Grand Guard either—they may have had the place under lockdown, but Daud had seen no evidence that they were actually working inside the building.

  No, someone else was here. And Daud wanted to find out who.

  * * *

  Daud made his way down to the lower floors of the Royal Conservatory, gliding silently across the polished floorboards as he followed the sounds of the mystery intruders. Away from the library atrium it was darker, the windows smaller, the moonlight dimmer.

  The rooms on this level were less ornate, more functional, than the rest of the building, and consisted mostly of offices, storerooms, and workshops. Daud crept forward, the sounds growing in volume as he got closer. If he had been able to hear them up in the library, echoing through the cavernous space of the building, then the intruders must have been listening in to his conversation with Sierra. And if they were the Eyeless, they would report back to their leader. That they’d been at Norcross’s castle was a coincidence. That they were here, at the Royal Conservatory, was too much. They must have been following him.

  Perfect. Now was the chance to grab one and extract the information he needed.

  Daud turned a corner, his fists clenched, ready to confront the intruders. There was another thump as a heavy book hit the floor.

  The room beyond was a large office, acres of carpet leading up to a huge desk in front of a wide bookcase. Stairs curved up around either side of the bookcase, leading up to another railed mezzanine. The desk was covered with papers, as was the floor around it, along with a good many books that had been pulled off the case.

  Two women were searching for something. Their hair was shaved to the scalp, their skin pale, almost translucent, covered with a tracery of black veins. As one half-turned to deposit another book on the desk, Daud could see there were arcane marks across her face and the exposed skin of her arms.

  Witches!

  Daud backed away, adrenaline rising, as he decided what to do—fight or flight were his options, and the latter seemed most prudent. Whatever they were doing here, it had nothing to do with him. More than that, witches were a complication he did not wish to get involved with. Not now.

  He turned. Behind him was a third witch, heading toward the office, a cloth-wrapped bundle held under one arm. Daud froze—as did the witch. The two stared at each other for a moment, then the witch turned on her heel and vanished in a puff of inky black nothing.

  Daud spun around. Flight was no longer an option.

  The first two witches, disturbed by their sister, had now seen him. They stalked around either side of the desk, slowly, one foot carefully placed in front of the other, their eyes fixed on Daud.

  He felt the Mark of the Outsider burn on his hand. Unsure of what magic they had access to, he might well need to use his own now. Two witches against one of him wasn’t bad odds—he’d faced far worse, although right now that time at Brigmore Manor felt like a lifetime ago—but even a single witch was a formidable opponent.

  Then the witches shrieked in unison, and vanished from the end of the office, reappearing almost within touching distance.

  Daud lunged forward, his whaling knife already slicing toward the closest witch. She snarled, her eyes glowing fiercely as thick black ichor began to run from them, coursing down her face. She vanished in a puff of sticky smoke, Daud’s blade sweeping through thin air.

  But he was prepared. He knew what witches could do—and he knew how to fight them. Allowing his momentum to carry him forward, he curled his knife arm around, ducking the outstretched grasp of the other witch and, aiming low, he swiped the blade across her leg. The witch screamed and fell backward, then in a swirl of black fog she was gone, her sister switching positions with her.

  The witch reached forward, screeching, her razor-sharp fingernails an inch away from Daud’s face. The Mark of the Outsider blazed and he transversed away, materializing on
top of one of the bookcases. Below, the two witches turned to look before vanishing from the floor and appearing on the top of the bookcase opposite. In unison, the pair threw their hands out, from which grew twisting, writhing black-and-green tendrils of vegetation, the blood briars magically soaring outward to ensnare the assassin.

  Daud reacted, transversing up to their bookcase and appearing behind them. His blade sank into the first witch’s back, piercing her squarely between the shoulder blades. Screaming in agony, she groped behind her, but Daud twisted the knife and yanked it out, before moving away, kicking as he did so. The witch toppled to the ground, dead. Burning lines began to run along her skin, blackening her clothing—the remains of some occult tattoo that Daud did not quite understand, though he’d seen other sorcerers employ similar tricks.

  Her sister stared up at Daud as he crouched on the black iron chandelier that swung high from the ceiling. He saw her tense, ready to make an impossible leap, ready to ensnare the light fitting in more blood briars.

  That was when the shot rang out. The witch jerked to one side, a spray of black-red blood erupting from her shoulder. She howled and dematerialized, the sooty black residue of her power quickly evaporating as two newcomers entered the room.

  They were not Grand Guards, but a man and a woman, dressed in matching khaki-green suits and elaborate cravats held in place with jeweled pins. She had blonde hair that rose in a pompadour, while the man’s hair and moustache were black, his bangs falling over his face as he ducked for cover by a low, glass-topped cabinet of curios.

  Daud was exposed on the chandelier; but he wasn’t sure the newcomers had seen him yet, their attention now on the remaining witch who was zig-zagging around the room, her shrieks bouncing from the walls. Daud glanced up—at the far end of the office, over the main doors, was a large stained-glass window, the ledge large enough to stand on. Summoning his power, Daud moved onto it, then flattened himself against the narrow space and crawled forward, looking over the edge and directly down on the newcomers.