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The hour was late, and Farley Havelock was frowning ever more grimly into his long-since warm beer. He and his co-conspirators had been talking since the last of the servants went to bed—even the lamp in Piero's window was long dark—and none of them had any more ideas than they'd had at the beginning of the evening. It was undeniable: the tools they used were becoming a liability.
Corvo had always been a disposable implement. His destiny was always an unmarked grave. But Samuel? Havelock had assumed the boatman would be there until the end of the conspiracy, carrying out the Loyalists' orders (Havelock's orders) until he could be replaced with other, more useful lackeys. There was no denying it, though. Samuel's loyalty was shifting inexorably toward Corvo. He was becoming, yes, a liability, and Martin and Pendleton were no help in changing this.
Martin had stayed largely silent during this conversation. It was Pendleton who had all the ideas—mostly useless ideas, all about hiring Samuel for more money or promising him more influence or outright killing him, and Havelock had to put a stop to it.
"What difference does it make if it's Beechworth or any other boatman?" Pendleton complained. The late hour and his repeated glasses of port seemed to be grating on him; they were certainly grating on Havelock. "He's not irreplaceable."
"Two reasons," Havelock snapped. "In the first place, getting rid of Beechworth sours the deal with Corvo—the man will get suspicious if he's replaced. In the second, how many reliable, loyal sailors do you know offhand? Because we will need a boatman."
Pendleton's face fell somewhat. He muttered something about Wallace knowing sailors, but Havelock very much doubted it.
"There's only one thing to do," Martin said. "We have to find a wedge to place between them. Any kind of wedge."
Easier said than done.
"Well," Pendleton said, "I think—"
Havelock shushed him. In the still of the night, it wasn't hard to hear the boat pull up out on the river. The three men sat glaring at each other in various configurations until the pub door burst open.
Havelock was on his feet in an instant, and the air filled with the scent of burned flesh. Pendleton immediately began to gag. Corvo Attano strode into the pub, and in his arms was the singed, shaking mass of the boatman. Beechworth's eyes were glassy and distant. He clung with one hand to the front of Corvo's coat.
"What happened?" Havelock demanded.
"Tallboys were out." Corvo spoke through gritted teeth. "Get Piero."
Havelock nodded. "Take him to the attic, Corvo. No sense in waking the others."
"I'll send Wallace," Pendleton said as Corvo vanished up the stairs. He made to follow, but Havelock grabbed him by the arm and pulled him sharply back. "What?"
"We're not calling anyone," Havelock said grimly.
"What do you mean? Corvo clearly asked—"
"This is exactly the chance we've been waiting for."
Pendleton shook his head. "Farley, you're talking nonsense."
"No," Martin interrupted. His eyes met Havelock's. "Farley's right. If we want to stop what's happening, we have to do something now." He jerked his head at the stairs. "Go on. I'll explain it to him."
"Explain what?" Pendleton demanded as Havelock climbed to the second floor. For not the first time and not the last, Havelock wished he'd listened to his instincts and left the two of them out of the conspiracy. He could have handled the nobles himself, and the overseers could have been brought into line. Ah, the road not taken.
As he rounded the corner on the upper landing he saw that the door to Corvo's loft was open. Inside, Corvo was lighting the bedside lamp with shaking hands, and it gave Havelock a good view of the damage done. Samuel the boatman lay with his eyes squeezed closed, his hands pressed to a blackened, bloody hole in his gut. He didn't make a sound, even as Corvo pressed his balled-up coat to it.
"Hold this," Corvo told him. Samuel nodded, and the royal protector squeezed his hand before turning away.
Havelock stepped back into the darkness of the stairwell, and Corvo nearly slammed into him as he rounded the corner.
"Piero?" he demanded, but Havelock shook his head.
"He betrayed us, Corvo," he told him quietly.
"What are you talking about?"
Havelock shushed him. "Beechworth's been in contact with Burrows' men. He's planning to meet—"
"How could you possibly know that?" Corvo demanded before shaking his head. "It doesn't matter. He's hurt. We have to—"
"Don't you understand? He's sold you out, you and Lady Emily, both."
"I'll look at any evidence you have later." Corvo's teeth were gritted tightly, but his voice was calm. "Right now, he's hurt."
Damn Corvo and his insistence on useless nobility! Havelock longed to bust him in the mouth, wanted to more than anything. Instead he stood his ground and met the man's eye. He started to say something, anything, and heard his voice say, "Then I will signal Martin, and young Lady Emily will have her head blown off."
"What?" Corvo looked stunned. "What did you just say?"
You idiot, he thought. You've ruined everything. But there was nothing for it but to plunge ahead. "This is what's going to happen. You are going to go in there, and you are going to make that man hate you. It's an easy trade, don't you think? Your friendship with that old man for the life of your most prized possession." Corvo shook his head. "If you want her to live, then you must do what I say. Go in there, and..." His mind scrambled to come up with something that would make the boatman hate him more than anything. "...and fuck him."
Corvo glared at him, and Havelock drew his pistol.
"The choice is yours, Corvo. You can't have qualms about saving our young empress now, can you? You fuck the boatman, make him hate you, and I allow Emily to live. Go on, now." The anger in Corvo's eyes was to be expected, but the despair surprised even him. "And if I even suspect you're trying to comfort him, I'll have her killed. Understand?"
Corvo nodded, his movements stiff and uneven.
"Good." He gestured with the gun. "Go on. Time is wasting."
Corvo plainly wanted to speak, but he turned his back on him and went back to his attic room.
Samuel was limp against the bed when Corvo returned to his side, still conscious (the soft, pained noises he made with each breath gave that away) but barely hanging on. As Corvo sat down on the mattress, he gave him a shaky smile, but there must have been some expression on Corvo's face, because the smile faded, and he asked, "...Corvo?"
And Corvo took him roughly by the jaw and drew him up in a kiss.
Samuel made a choked noise in his throat but didn't pull away, and Corvo kissed him until he was gasping for breath.
"Corvo," the boatman repeated, panting in pain, "I-I'm flattered, but now's not... not a good..."
Corvo let him fall back against the bed and grasped him roughly between the legs. Samuel gave a strangled yelp, and Corvo pressed a hand to his mouth.
"Quiet," he said. "I don't want anyone to get hurt."
Was that comforting him? Havelock wondered nervously. He didn't want to actually go through with his threat, especially not when Martin was not actually aware of the deal... But Samuel didn't look very comforted. He writhed against Corvo's bed, unblinking eyes wide as saucers. He tried to speak something that sounded like Corvo's name.
Corvo ignored him. His hand massaged Samuel's groin for a moment or two, then moved to the boatman's belt.
"Corvo," Samuel said. "Corvo, I don't... I can't..."
He was flaccid when Corvo yanked his pants down to his knees. Of course he was, he was in pain and afraid and uncertain what Corvo wanted, but he didn't struggle, just held onto fistfuls of bedcovers and Corvo's coat as the former royal protector took him carefully in hand. His body shuddered, and as the wound in his belly jolted he groaned. His breathing came hard and fast, as if he were about to lose consciousness. And as Corvo carefully took him in his mouth he cried out, "Please!"
Corvo reached up to smother his words again, and Havelock could only stare in disbelief as the one man fellated the other. He'd known that something like this was coming, but as Samuel brought his hands to pull at Corvo's he still couldn't believe he was watching it happen. It wasn't that he begrudged inverts their little pleasures, but to see the late empress' pet with a man's cock down his throat...
...in theory, at least, because even after a few minutes of Samuel's begging and Corvo's ministrations, Samuel was still limp when Corvo pulled off. Again, not entirely a surprise, what with the boatman's age and the surrounding conditions, but Corvo hesitated for a moment, just long enough for Samuel to tug his hand down.
"I'm sorry," he gasped, his voice breaking. "Corvo, I can't—"
But Corvo looked to the window, and whatever he saw must have steeled his resolve, because he took his coat and pressed the bulk of it to Samuel's face, then jerked with his free hand at his own belt. Samuel must have heard the jingle of the buckle, because he sobbed.
"I said, quiet." Corvo had the dubious benefit of being half hard already. He tugged at his cock, almost an unconscious movement, as he considered the boatman's unaroused body. He hesitated again, then reached for his sword.
Havelock stiffened in panic. He'd only asked Corvo to fuck him, not mutilate him. But Corvo drew the blade over his own palm and squeezed until the blood flowed through his fingers. He began again to stroke his cock.
Samuel tried to pull the coat from his face, but Corvo returned to holding it in place. He grew erect even as Samuel struggled to speak to him.
"Corvo," he appeared to be saying. "Corvo. Corvo." If there was anything else he wanted to say, if he were even cognizant enough to say anything else, he gave no sign.
Corvo pushed Samuel's legs until they folded, until his knees were at his neck, for all intents and purposes ignoring the way the boatman's body stiffened in pain. Samuel's cries were muted now, not only from the coat over his face but from the pressure on his body as Corvo lay atop him. His hands pressed weakly against Corvo's chest. He might as well not have bothered, for all the good it did him. Corvo adjusted his bloody cock, thrust a few times against resisting flesh, then sank into Samuel's body like a knife.
Whatever air remained in Samuel's lungs was punched out of him in that one forceful movement. He pressed against Corvo one last time before his hands fell back to the mattress and gripped the bedcovers as best they could. Corvo ignored him. He pressed in deep, drew back for a moment, held that position as he struggled to catch his breath, then reversed course again. He fucked Samuel slowly and thoroughly. Havelock couldn't have asked for more.
There were no more cries from the boatman. If his panicked breathing was anything to go by, he was trying to endure, rather than trying to stop the assault. His grip tightened suddenly on the blankets beneath him. His head moved as if he were shaking it.
"There?" Corvo asked quietly, and before Havelock had a chance to wonder he adjusted the way his body lay against Samuel's, thrusting deeper and deeper into what seemed to be a very specific spot. Havelock remembered the spy reports he'd had about Pendleton's brothers, how they seemed to enjoy being fucked in the ass by their female companions. At the time the detail had seemed unnecessary, one perversion layered atop another, but he knew enough now to know that certain pressures inside could push a man to orgasm.
Was that comforting him? Allowing him to climax? Havelock decided it didn't matter. In the first place, Samuel was still flaccid, and Havelock wasn't sure he could climax like that. In the second, even if he could, he suspected that would be—
Samuel's voice was thin as he tried again to speak. He wasn't saying anything sensible, either, nothing more than a few words, "Don't," "please," and "I can't" being the most clear. He tried once more to tug down the coat, but as he did Corvo leaned in and captured his mouth in a kiss, muffling his crying just as much as the hand. He moaned aloud and shuddered, a breath of resistance surfacing in him and just as quickly dying back. Corvo took him by the wrists and pinned his arms above his head, fucking harder now, more violently. He pounded him into the mattress, and when he released Samuel's mouth the boatman gritted out, "Stop—"
And his body buckled in a way that Havelock recognized. There was no erection, there was no ejaculation, but it was undeniably an orgasm.
Corvo kept thrusting for a little while, even as Samuel's body spasmed in protest, until the boatman's eyes went foggy and his body stopped responding beyond an occasional shudder. Corvo gently slapped his face and received no response, and he quickly pulled back, uncoupling their bodies and shoving his still painfully aroused cock back into his clothes. He hesitated another moment, then pulled the coat down over Samuel's wounded belly and exposed body. The boatman didn't seem to notice, and Havelock decided to let that kindness go. Corvo turned away and walked to the door. He paused beside Havelock.
"She's in the tower," Havelock told him stiffly.
Corvo didn't even look at him. "Get Piero. Now."
And just like that, he was gone.
Havelock stumbled into the attic bedroom, suddenly, painfully aware that he, too, was aroused. He seated himself on the mattress and discreetly fondled himself through his clothes.
Beside him, Samuel stirred. His lips started to form a word, a name, and then the last of his strength left him, and his head sagged to lean against Havelock's thigh.
Havelock tightened his jaw and roughly patted the boatman on the cheek.
"It's alright, sailor," he said. "You’re safe now."
There was no answer. All that could be heard was heavy breathing, the rustle of clothes, and a single gasp. That was all.