Under the noontime sun, a little boat cruised along the Wrenhaven River, carrying four people further inland from the sea. Here, the salty air has been replaced by something else, the stench of city refuse and plague-ridden bodies thrown into the water without care for which was which. Neither Jaune nor Tattletale were faring well during the journey, swaying with nausea as they listened to Corvo hammer into their heads the mission goals of this little jaunt.
"The priority is to rescue the princess. The elimination of the Pendleton brothers is secondary to that, do you understand? The safety of Emily Kaldwin is paramount."
Jaune groaned a long, low note of exasperation, and replied, "Yes, yes, we got the message the first five times already. I find it odd that you are being so insistent about this. It's not as if I'm some berserker type baying for the blood of my enemies or anything...am I?"
Because how would he know, if he was? Nobody ever considers
themselves the ax-crazy type.
"He's worried out of more than simple loyalty," Tattletale piped up from beside him. Even seasick, she strove for a look of superiority, turning this way and that to make sure everyone was paying attention to her. "There's an undercurrent of familial affection whenever he talks about her. She…is his daughter."
The boatman nearly sent them all into the drink at that revelation, and had to execute a few harrowing maneuvers in order to get the boat back on course. He, along with Jaune, stared at the third man present, the bodyguard to the former queen. The former queen who was mother to princess Kaldwin. Princess Kaldwin who was Corvo's daughter. Round and round the hamster wheels in their heads spun.
"Daaamn," Jaune summarized his thoughts.
"Daaamn," The boatman echoed.
What else can they say about the man who carried on a relationship with an actual queen? The sole title Jaune heard people refer to Corvo as was a 'Sir', otherwise calling him by his first name outright. He was not
Lord Corvo, and certainly not
King Corvo. Add in the layer of obfuscation and they had the story of a forbidden, whirlwind romance between commoner and royalty.
Tattletale held up a finger before her lips in a shushing gesture. "Shhh, it's a secret."
She then devolved into cackles, unrepentant in the face of Corvo's blank stare. The laughter went on and on and on and on and on and then died with a whimper as the assassin just continued to look at her. Tattletale shifted in place, growing distinctly uncomfortable under the scrutiny.
"...I have the same protections as my partner, so you have nothing that can kill me," she blurted out in a hurry.
Corvo thought on it for a bit, then peered overboard. In a casual tone, as if speaking of the weather, he said, "Do you still need to breathe?"
Tattletale scooted closer to Jaune.
If they needed further proof of how dangerous the man could be, that was it. He had already conceived of a way to kill people with Aura. In the interest of defusing tension, Jaune raised a hand to draw the others' notice.
"Hey, I get it. Anybody abducted my family, I'll get
very stabby until they're safe again. We're going to do our best. And don't worry, nobody's hearing a thing from us about your private affairs."
A long beat of hesitation, and Corvo sighed. "Thank you for your discretion. It is not a well-kept secret in truth. Half the court suspects, they merely lack proof. Jessamine and I had hoped for an opportunity to announce it before…well, before." Before the murder of the queen, the imprisonment of the bodyguard, and the abduction of their child. The story Jaune had heard was not a happy one, riddled by unfortunate events. "I'd rather that such news does not receive confirmation and become public knowledge in a time of turmoil. Aristocrats like Custis and Morgan Pendleton already adhere to the belief that Jessamine's reign was hopelessly tainted due to 'too many riffraffs' sneaking their way into the palace."
"The more I hear of those two, the less I like them." Jaune scrunched his nose in distaste. "Greedy, cruel,
and see people as less than dirt? Some guys have it all. I almost feel sorry for the Pendleton on your side…you know, if he didn't just stone cold ask us to kill his own brothers."
Corvo shrugged his shoulders. "Such is the politics of Dunwall, I'm afraid. Oftentimes, a rift would grow wide to the point that words could not reach the other side, and the knives come out. Their voting bloc is the driving force behind recent laws passed by Burrows's regime, and hundreds of the queen's subjects are dead as a result. We need to either fracture or take the reins of that bloc if we are to mitigate the damage that they've done. Treavor Pendleton can be difficult, but he understands that."
"Ha!" Tattletale interrupted. "And the influence, along with the inheritance, he stands to gain has nothing to do with it, I'm sure." Her voice dripped with poison. "He resents it, you know. Living in the shabbier mansion… unable to drink the very best wine…barred from the most exclusive clubs. I saw all his little peeves, plain as day. That man envies his brothers, and he'll follow in their footsteps if given the chance."
In apprehensive silence, the rest of the people in the boat considered the possibility of this being a spat over money. Their mission to rescue a princess took on new implications, an incidental byplay to the real conflict at hand. Jaune did not enjoy the thought of himself as a patsy, and neither did Corvo from the look of it.
"I will keep your counsel in mind. Either way, however," the assassin's voice hardened, "for what Custis and Morgan have done to my family, I would not shed a tear for their fate. Get ready, we are here."
He looked ahead to where a rocky stretch of the shore sat below the city, overgrown with weeds and littered with detritus. Sewer pipes dotted the area, discharging filth into the water. For good or ill, Dunwall was a city in its industrial heyday, and factories lined the river, fumes billowing from their tall chimneys. The sound of heavy machinery filtered beyond the brick walls to set the water under them rumbling with vibrations. The signs of troubles were there, though. Inert smoke stacks marked where the plague had swept through and shut down production.
The group set to preparing their equipment, with Jaune and Tattletale readjusting their fine clothes to ensure they presented the right image. They were banking on the outer disguises to make up for the shortcomings in their behavior, since the half-hour course given to them back at the pub on the proper way to walk and talk only touched on a few surface things. Crocea Mors went on Jaune's hip as part of his 'fancy guard' ensemble, swords being a standard weapon carried by city guards and soldiers everywhere in the Isles, while Tattletale hiked up her voluminous skirt a couple of inches to strap a roll of sleeping darts to one leg, and the rewire tool to the other. To finish off, she slipped two of the needles under her sleeves.
Corvo checked over his gear in a well-practiced routine. He ran a hand over the various devices stored about his person to ensure their placements, then drew and holstered his pistol before moving on to the crossbow. With a twirl, the sword unsheathed, segments snapping into place to form a blade longer than the handle in which it rested. To Jaune, who knew of hammers that can transform to grenade launchers and sword-javelin-gun hybrids, the weapon Piero Joplin created would be considered rudimentary mechashift at best, a relic akin to his own Crocea Mors and barely even worth selling in the Marketplace. In this world, however, nothing of its like existed yet, making the sword less 'antique' and more 'precursor' to signal the coming revolution in armaments. A genius's work.
Did Corvo understand what he held in his hands? Who can tell, for the mask he put on obscured all traces of the man beneath to leave a cold, steel skull peering out at the world from under a dark hood. The misshapen form engendered a sense of wrongness, crisscrossing wires lending it the impression of a mouth sewn shut. Little gears clicked and whirled in one eye-socket to manipulate the embedded spyglass.
A second later, he cursed as the magnified lens allowed him to catch sight of a scene in the distance. Following the direction of his gaze, Jaune shaded his eyes and watched as figures ran away from the city to a bridge tower extending over the water. It's a dead end, the actual bridge dismantled, but that did not stop them. They had nowhere else to go.
The first projectile screamed through the air, fired from a boxy contraption erected atop steel scaffolding three stories tall. It struck near a pair of runners, and exploded on contact. The next shot landed amidst a different group, and a third followed soon after. One burst upon another, the turret lit the bridge aglow with fire, leaving no survivors once it was done.
The boatman murmured in the stillness that followed. "A river-hand I met yesterday mentioned a Watchtower going up. I never imagined…"
"The people in charge are the ones doing this? Your city is
fucked," Jaune offered his succinct opinion, and Tattletale nodded in agreement.
"Jessamine vetoed the deployment of those infernal things," Corvo replied. The skull mask distorted his voice with an echo that grated on Jaune's ears. "It appears the Lord Regent Burrows has different ideas on quarantine measures."
"You mean those people were victims of the Rat Plague?"
Kill the infected? What, were they in a zombie movie?
"Yes, they showed signs of it from what I saw. It appears the City Watch has increased security efforts around the gate to Clavering Boulevard in fear of the disease spreading." The boat touched land, and Corvo hopped out first. "That is the most direct route to the district housing the Golden Cat," he added for the benefit of Jaune and Tattletale.
"I'm guessing that we'll have to find a path around it to the boulevard, then. Or do you think me and her can talk our way past them?"
"Let us see," was the noncommittal answer.
Hugging the wall, they sneaked up the dock. A man in a uniform, sword on a hip, strolled into view as they passed the bend and, before Jaune could react, Corvo vanished then appeared behind the man to choke him unconscious. As he laid the body down in a dark corner, Jaune padded over to ask a question.
"What did you do that for?"
"I
am a wanted man, masked and otherwise. He would have shouted for aid from his fellow guardsmen had he seen us. Best they think he was simply mugged in the backstreet for his money pouch than that I was here. Now, this way."
A flight of steps put them at a street that ran below the bridge. Curious as to the defenses protecting Clavering Boulevard, the group sneaked up the second set of steps, reaching the bridge proper where they peeked around a low wall to observe the surroundings. Jaune grimaced, for it was not a pretty sight.
Past signs which stated 'No Citizens Allowed / Lethal force has been authorized', the bodies of people who had not taken the warning littered the area, their blood filling the cracks of the cobblestone road. Guards, faces covered by balaclavas to protect from contracting an infection, were dragging the bodies to a nearby dumpster for disposal, making sure to search their pockets for valuables before throwing them in. Further along, the gate that once spanned an avenue was now barricaded with thick steel, leaving a much smaller access door, currently shut tight. Above, the Watchtower swiveled to and fro, sweeping the area with a floodlight. A rat scurrying across the ground was caught under its light, and blasted to smithereens. They would allow nothing through.
"The backstreets?" Corvo asked Jaune and Tattletale.
"Agreed."
"A fine idea."
Taking the lower road, they headed into a shabby neighborhood. Doors were barred, often from the outside. Boarded up windows showed signs of attempts to break out. Rotten produce and fish festered in abandoned shop stalls.
"Things are getting worse," Corvo remarked. "Just days ago, some of the stores were still open for business. And the homes…"
According to him, the red 'X's painted on the walls denoted buildings ravaged by the plague, put there to be a warning for people to stay away. Yet, it looked as if every wall carried that mark, and very few people were around. These locals stuck to the nooks and corners, wary eyes not dissimilar to cornered animals, and they shrank further into the shadows as Corvo passed by. The well-dressed pair received a different sort of gaze, calculating and covetous. Jaune kept a hand on his sword to deter anyone feeling particularly brave.
As the party approached a turn in the road, they noticed a man barring the path, who perked up when he spotted them. An odd reaction considering the mask worn by one among their number, though it was that same person that the man addressed.
"Hey, you're just the man I's lookin' for. Slackjaw's wanting to talk to you. At the distillery." The man waved them forward, and pointed to a building at the end of the alley manned by a couple of burly toughs.
Corvo took a few steps, but Jaune stopped him to point out the obvious. "This sounds like a trap." Beside him, Tattletale tapped a finger to her chin in thought whilst studying the men's postures.
"Hmmm, not really? They have orders to stay polite—as polite as street thugs can be, at any rate. That's why they've put those cleavers just barely within reach, to signal they won't attack unless we do. It's the closest to an olive branch in these places."
"A good observation, thank you for that," said a visibly less tense Corvo. "I believe it would be a good idea. Slackjaw, too, is opposed to Burrows's rule, and his Bottle Street Gang would know the goings-on in the area. They may have useful information. Perhaps an unguarded route I can take to our destination."
As they made for the distillery's door, one of the thugs stretched out an arm to bar the way.
"Meetin's for one," he said.
"They are with me."
"And you and them add up to more than one," the man insisted.
"Holy shit, they can do math," whispered Tattletale to Jaune, hand covering her mouth in faux shock.
Jaune snickered, and murmured in her ear, "It's a miracle!"
Their comments were overheard and drew a glare from the thug. It also brought his full attention to Tattletale. He looked her up and down, and annoyance was soon replaced by a smirk. The man might have thought it dashing, but the crooked, yellowed teeth did him no favors.
"Not to worry, tho'. They can wait here with us 'til you come back. We'll keep the pretty little thing entertained with a good time. How 'bout it, doll?" The man tried to slip an arm around Tattletale's shoulder, but stumbled when she ducked under the limb and skipped out of grabbing distance. She then stuck out her tongue.
"Pft. Big boast for somebody who can't satisfy his wife." To drive home the point, she held up a pinkie, immediately setting the man off in a rage. The uproarious laughter of his two companions incensed him all the more and, snarling, he advanced on Tattletale.
"What did you say, you bi—!" Two hands clamped on his shoulders with crushing grips.
"Now, now," Jaune said. "She didn't mean anything by it."
Yeah, right. She totally did.
"Do forgive the young for their mischief," Corvo offered his 'advice'. The cold mask brooked no disagreement and, cowed, the man retreated at speed to the wall, sweat beading on his brow. A shaking hand went for a bottle, which he gulped down.
Still, Jaune caught the furtive glances the man gave towards Tattletale—towards him, too—and knew the matter was far from settled. He, and his buddies, might well find their bravery once Corvo leaves, and decide that a lesson on respect needed teaching via knifepoint. Nah, hanging around here would only invite a fight.
Pulling Corvo and Tattletale aside, he said, "Since we're splitting up the group anyhow, why don't she and I continue ahead to Clavering in the meantime, and get started on our own mission? We can scope out the interior of the Golden Cat before your arrival."
Credits to him, Corvo weighed the merits of Jaune's suggestion instead of dismissing it out of hand. That one quality made him miles better than the likes of Armsmaster.
…No offense to the blue bastard, of course. RIP.
Coming to a decision, Corvo pointed to a gap between the nearby buildings. "At the far end of Bloodox Alley is a wall that you might be able to climb over. Clavering Boulevard lies on the other side, and from there you can head up to a fork in the road. Taking the right will eventually bring you to the Golden Cat. The City Watch will have posted checkpoints along the street, however. If you run into trouble, regroup here and wait for me to return."
Tattletale scoffed as she sauntered off towards Bloodox Alley.
"We'll handle it easy peasy. Watch me."
Her words engendered no credibility, and a suddenly uncertain Corvo looked at Jaune. "Can I trust you two?"
"Of course! We're consummate professionals!" he assured the other man. As Jaune left to join Tattletale, he tried for a bit of bravado, throwing a debonair salute over his shoulder. "When next you see us, it'd be in the Golden Cat. Good luck."
"He has failed every person who stands by his side. Again and again. Will this time be any different?"
Ignoring that. He won't try to figure out what the whispers say, because there were no whispers. Only crazy people hear voices from thin air, or see beating hearts in other people's hands. And Jaune Arc was not crazy. Yup.
Tattletale noticed his ashen white face, and commented on it.
"You look scared."
"It's nothing."
"There's something about Corvo that freaks you out. What is it?"
"You don't wanna know."
"Tell meeeee—!"
The back and forth continued as they walked along, the conversation distracting them from their surroundings. Bloodox Alley was an unpleasant place, stinking to high heavens. From what he could tell, it used to play host to a few butcheries, all shut down now with nobody removing the piles of discarded scraps meant for the trash heap. The refuse laid along the alley, and baked in the sun.
The bodies, too. Wrapped in rough sheets, they were stacked in corners, ostensibly for later disposal. How long they had laid there, Jaune shuddered to think, and he instead focused his gaze straight ahead at the wall separating the alley from Clavering Boulevard. It was hardly a barrier by his standards, though he can see it stymieing a person without Aura. A dumpster resting against the bricks provided a foothold that rendered the matter trivial for the pair.
Honestly, the biggest concern facing them would be how to keep their clothes clean while climbing over the wall. After Leviathan, this was a cakewalk.
From one instant to the next, a dark-clad figure appeared before Jaune to disabuse of that hopeful notion, their knife at his throat. Corvo's name was halfway out of his mouth when he noted the differences in their attire. His assailant donned a gas mask, and their clothes sported a rougher, cobbled together look. They did not come alone, either, with another attacker behind Tattletale to hold her in place and a third standing a little further off.
The person nearest Jaune was the one to speak, a male voice filtering through the mask to take on a breathy rasp.
"Well, well, well. What fine company you two keep. Now, you're going to tell us what we want to know, or—" *
Crack!*
The alternative he proposes will forever remain a mystery as Jaune ignored the blade digging into his throat in favor of headbutting the man. The leather mask provided less protection than Corvo's did, allowing the force of the blow to transfer in full to the face beneath. His adversary sank to the ground, unconscious, while Jaune unsheathed his sword.
"Don't move, or the girl gets it!" shouted the person who had seized Tattletale. He roughly maneuvered her between himself and Jaune…and then keeled over to lay in a heap at her feet, a sleep dart sticking out of his side. Tattletale gave him a swift kick to the head as additional punishment, followed by a "Hmph!" to convey her disdain. In one hand, she held a second dart at the ready.
The last assailant spun between him and Tattletale, thrown by the unexpected development, and ultimately chose to attack what seemed the easier target in their eyes. Despite a brief burst of panic, Tattletale dodged to the side before they even swung their knife, the blade missing by a wide margin. They twisted to avoid her sleep dart before retaliating with another slash of their knife, but—too late!—the wasted seconds meant Jaune was there to intervene. His sword swept a horizontal line across the alley, slicing through empty air.
"Teleporters." He spat the word as if it were a vile insult, and searched the alleyway for the person.
Tattletale shouted, "Up there!"
He turned to where her hand indicated, in time for an arrow to ping off his chest. The person he sought was crouched atop an awning, frozen in shock with their arm pointed at Jaune. He spied a device of some kind attached to their wrist, presumably the method by which they fired on him. They shook off the terror at seeing Jaune survive lethal blows twice over—haha, Aura for the win!—and pulled another vanishing act to now appear on a nearby balcony above, grabbing the edge of the building to swing themselves onto the rooftop.
Jaune's triumphant cheer faded. The dirty sneak was going to get away!
Forgoing a chase, he chambered his left fist, and punched. A long, shadowy arm zipped across the distance, fingers spread to clasp around the runner's leg and pull. He succeeded in making them lose their grip on the bricks, the dark figure slipping to hit the railings with an audible "Oof!" before falling off of that as well, flipping end over end to land inside a dumpster below, the impact sending up a spray of trash.
An old man leaning on the wall in that corner, heretofore unnoticed as he watched the entire altercation, grabbed the lid and pulled it shut, moving the bar to lock the container. With a cool nod to the pair, he went back to his previous spot.
Peace returned to Bloodox Alley.
"...Well, that happened. Are you injured, Tattletale?"
"Uh-uh. It hurt a bit when I was grabbed, but the pain's already gone. You?"
"Not even a scratch." He nudged one of the bodies with his foot. "Who do you suppose they are?"
"Assassins. Here for Corvo. They spotted us with him and wanted to squeeze out information about his capabilities before setting another ambush."
"Oh, damn. Should we warn him?"
Tattletale shook her head. "It's only these three. The last one ran because she wasn't getting any backup." A gleeful smile crept onto her face, and she rubbed her hands together. "Now, what goodies do we have here?"
She moved in on the bodies, and began rifling through their clothes. Coins clinked as she gathered them in a pouch. Lockpick sets were handed to Jaune to hide in his pockets, with sheaves of arrows set aside on the ground next to the swords, which Tattletale deemed to be of low quality. She eyed a couple of suspicious vials found in one of the utility belts for a while, then shook her head and placed it with the arrows. Assorted other knick-knacks were likewise discarded.
Pulling up the sleeves revealed the assassins' means of shooting arrows. Each person wore a metal half-brace on their arm, secured by straps. Each brace supported a crossbow-like gadget, slimmed down and reliant on a clockwork spring to launch its projectiles. Jaune put on the one that was still loaded, and turned his wrist to different positions in the hope that it would activate the mechanism. After a few attempts, he tried a finger snap.
Fwip!
The two of them followed the trajectory of the bolt, wincing at the same time as it flew into a third-floor window, breaking the glass.
"It's probably abandoned."
"Y-yeah. If not, we'll just blame these guys."
The two wheels at the front of the device had revved up at the moment of firing to increase the projectile's speed, imparting a stronger momentum than one would expect. Along one side, a thin shaft spun to wind the spring back in position, the process automatic and powered by a viscous fuel that glowed blue.
"I think—hahaha, I knew it!" Tattletale crowed, showing off how one of her sleep darts can nestle comfortably in the chamber.
The elation faded once she realized that there was no way to hide it under the sleeve of her dress like Jaune did for his overcoat. With great reluctance, she handed the gadget to Jaune for safekeeping on his other arm, though she was adamant that she would get one back for her own use.
"What do we do with them now?" Jaune asked as they finished looting the assassins of their choicest valuables.
"That old man there is waiting for us to get first pickings before he moves in. He'll take care of it once we're gone." Tattletale met the man's eyes, and gestured at the pile of rejected items. He, in turn, nodded his head. "And now he saw nothing, and will say nothing."
Bargain struck, they left the unconscious bodies in place, and marched onwards. At the end of the alley, Jaune boosted Tattletale onto the dumpster there, and they poked their heads over the wall to observe Clavering Boulevard.
It was a glimpse of a different world standing in stark contrast to life on this side of the brick wall. A raised road swept so clean the cobblestone almost sparkled in the sun. Massive estates that could host a party for hundreds. Tall, glass windows showcased the lifestyle within, rooms decorated in fine furniture and beautiful artworks. Festooned on the houses and lampposts, the flags of Dunwall flew proudly in the wind. Not one home on the entire street had their entryways obstructed, though the City Watch can be seen coming and going in one residence, their captain oh so apologetic to the owners as the couple waited on the front steps.
They've also barricaded every possible access to the area from the poorer neighborhoods, steel walls rising behind the buildings. An open gate rested on the west end of the street fitted with strange contraptions on either side that bounced crackling electricity back and forth to prevent free entry. A guard outpost was stationed there, an officer manning the booth.
"What do you reckon are the odds we have to get through that electric wall?" Jaune remarked.
"No bet."
"I figured as much." He placed both hands on the top surface of the wall. "Welp, showtime."
Confirming the coast was clear, they hopped the barrier to land on a lower level that ran parallel to the street. Vale had places like it, where new roads were built on top of old ones, putting them above the first floor of houses. The feature permitted them a spot of privacy as they waited for the perfect moment, ascending the stone steps right as a group of people their age walked by.
From there, it was a matter of copying the correct way to behave so as to not draw scrutiny from the many,
many guards patrolling the area. The City Watch was out in force, and regularly stopped passersby for questioning. The grubbier-dressed among the crowd received the worst of it, but even the wealthy folks traveled with a brisk pace, never dithering to converse.
Some, though, strode with aplomb. These people, the guards formed a wide berth around. The Watch's men might not always recognize their faces, but the attitude belied their station. Bothering them was how one got reassigned to the midnight shift.
Those were the examples to imitate. Jaune offered his arm, which Tattletale took. Back straight, noses in the air, they faked an enthusiastic pep in their steps as they advanced along the boulevard. They would chat about inconsequential things like the weather when within the guards' earshot, whispering 'jokes' in each other's ears and laughing obnoxiously about it. The key, to put a trite expression on it, was to have fun. To show a sense of untroubled optimism, as if the plague cannot
possibly bother one so rich, let alone the pesky lawmen.
The healthy glow helped. They did not live with the months and months of rationing that was even starting to take its toll on the bottom rungs of the upper class. Clothes sat a little looser on people's frames than it should. Some of the kids had that sickly pallor of poor nutrition. Things were headed in a bad direction for Dunwall, and Jaune's and Tattletale's laughter rang hollow for it.
Still, they smiled when others would not, or could not, and that sold the story.
Few dared to approach the gate. Tattletale marched right up to it as if this was the entrance to her house and the officer her doorman. Or a squatter.
"You can turn that horrid thing off, my good fellow. I have an appointment to be fashionably late for."
The officer seemed caught between his standard spiel and deference, uncertain of the consequences should he reject her order out of hand. The two men with him likewise took a pause.
"Ah, we can't just, that is, the Lord Regent's decree says it's not so simple, miss." The officer's gaze flicked to Jaune, noting the cut of his ensemble and the sword at his hip, the sheath of Crocea Mors fancier than his own. No mere guardsman, was Jaune Arc. "And sir. We would need to record where you're going and who you're meeting, and get your information jotted down."
A most offended scoff left Tattletale's lips. "Am I a common
criminal? Oh Jaune," she spun to him, swooning in his arms as if overcome by emotion, "did you hear what this man said? Kill him for me."
Jaune and the guards all squawked as one. "Do
what!?"
He then recovered, and grasped the handle of his sword, striving to play the part of a gentleman who was angered on the lady's behalf. The position of Tattletale's head, buried in the crook of his neck, concealed from everyone but him the evil smirk that she wore.
"Why, he has besmirched my name! Frankly, it is a much lighter fate than what uncles Custis and Morgan would do if they heard about this."
"C-Custis and—you mean the Lords Pendleton?" stammered one of the subordinates.
His buddy chimed in. "But they're at—"
"The Golden Cat, yes. I am to meet them there for tea."
The incongruity was easy to spot for all present, and the officer seized on it like a lifeline. Confidence returned to his voice.
"Ah, ha! I was almost fooled, miss, but that's where you've made your mistake. The Golden Cat is a—"
Tattletale turned towards the man, the grin transforming to a face filled with wrath in a heartbeat.
"A
tea shop," she hissed. "Where. People. Drink. Tea. Nothing else."
Realization dawned on the guards' faces, the switch flipping so starkly that Jaune can almost read the thoughts in their heads.
Ahhhh. Yes, a tea shop. It was obviously a euphemism, meaning that this young lady in fact knew what services the Golden Cat provided, and had been trying to act as propriety demanded in that prudish way only the other nobles would understand. The reluctance to have her destination recorded, the anger, the overreaction, they came from a place of
embarrassment. He and his fellow guards had not caught her guilty of trespassing, but guilty of being randy. Slowly and surely, the pieces of the story slotted into proper order, weaving a narrative which happened to affirm all their views of the aristocracy
and amused them to no end. The men relaxed.
"They keep going on and on about the establishment just yonder, and I thought I would stop by for a visit. So please, be a dear? I would
hate to have to explain why I was delayed," her eyes narrowed, "and who was responsible."
Yet, hilarious as the story will be to tell at the pub after their shift, the wrong move here could also cost them their heads. This was a real noble before them, no doubt about it, and a relative of some famous people to boot. It prodded them to action.
"Y-yes, miss! Just let us remove the oil tank. It won't be but a moment, and you can be on your way!"
"Your
very merry way—Ow!"
"Please ignore him. Dropped on his head as a kid, he was."
The electric wall went down to allow Jaune and Tattletale entry beyond. The officer even bowed.
Jaune said nothing as they entered through the gate. He maintained a face of utmost impassiveness as they took a right turn at the fork, walking by guardsmen who were much more polite on this side of Clavering Boulevard because any civilians allowed passage could well earn a hundred times their income and carry the clout to match.
The pair ducked into a bakery,
then Jaune fell over laughing without a care of how the customers inside thought. All the while, Tattletale stood over him, looking smug.
That mouth of hers could get them out of trouble as much as it lands them into trouble.
Author's Notes: In the same vein as last chapter, a five-minute segment turned into 5500 words. Had to stop here or it'd be days before update. Next week, they enter the Golden Cat proper. It's a tighter space with fewer elements, so one chapter should go from beginning to end.
Then again, it's a chapter about setting foot inside a brothel, and Jaune's not exactly a man of focus, commitment, and sheer fucking will or anything close. Distractions abound.
.
Upcoming story rotation…eh, let's say
Sneaking Into the Multiverse - Yakuza Arc - Sneaking Into the Multiverse - Honey Starbright - Conquered Menagerie - then who knows.
I would also appreciate it if anyone call tell me the easiest way to put pictures into the story on this site.
An unintended ship!
Yes, yes there will. No spoilers, though, since it will spoil certain developments. 
