The streets of the Eternal City are a bit different than Dunwall's. The streets here are narrow and winding, where Dunwall's are wider and easier to navigate. At the very least, Dunwall's streets are easier to tell apart. This city's streets and alleys look remarkably similar no matter what part of it he's in. It's a wonder Corvo isn't more lost as he Blinks up to the rooftops to try and get his bearings again. To think, all this because that locksmith doesn't have the good sense to lock up his merchandise.

The lenses in his mask allow him a better look over the City's semi-permanent gloom and jagged skyline. The night sky always seem to be a weave of gray and blue instead of just one shade of black. Even the nights here are strange. His bad feeling only grows. Something like a weight on the back of his neck that began when he arrived here and grew once he took on this mission. It was easily ignored at first, but now it reminds him of a yoked blood ox. He'd abandon the whole thing if he had any other options. But he needs to get into that Watch Station and to do that, he needs the key that was stolen four days ago.

So here he is, climbing around in what has to be one of the worst districts of the city, searching for a couple of thieves who might not even exist for all he knows. 'Not normal' the locksmith called them. Sure. Right. Probably his way of saying 'made up'.

He makes his way back down to street level, keeping an eye out for the Watch patrols that are out and about. He learned the hard way to give them a wide berth. The trail is bringing him almost all the way across the district, he realizes as he crosses a clutch of platforms above a canal, until he's overlooking an empty marketplace. The only ones here now are Watchmen and their dogs. He notes the Watch here keep their dogs in cages, which is something of a relief. The dogs are smaller too.

It's easy to spot the rope dangling from the side of one of the buildings leading to the marketplace. Amateur work. What was the locksmith so worried about?

He Blinks up to the bridge-like platform lining the edge of the building, and with a better view of the market, he understands why the thieves picked this way.

The Watch patrol in the market is close together. Any kind of alarm would set them all off. Corvo's good with a sword, but even he can't fight five men at once. He takes the thieves' way, along one platform and across to the next, into the open window of a building the thieves have clearly gotten into. A Watch office, if the red banners emblazoned with their symbol hanging from the building mean anything.

A big hatch sits wide open in the middle of the floor, empty. Whatever was inside must have been very valuable if the owner tried so hard to hide it. But there are no thieves hiding here. A quick scan of the building confirms it. The weight on his shoulders grows, like something massive is perched there. He won't pretend to understand it, but somehow he knows this has to be related to those thieves. Maybe that locksmith was telling the truth.

He looks out another window, this one overlooking the market, and sees an alcove on the opposite side, another shop. The square isn't that big, and there doesn't look to be too many hiding spots, but he'd rather be thorough before moving on. The only real trouble will be getting across, but he's faced worse.

He drops down from the window, landing behind a couple of crates outside. He stays crouched there, watching the guards and learning their routine. There are only a few precious seconds where the guards walking around all have their backs turned.

He takes the opening and makes it halfway across the square before a Watchman shouts. He raises his left hand towards the alcove and Blinks the rest of the distance.

Tucked into the relative safety of the shop's shadows, he takes a moment to gather himself. It sounded like only one man saw him. He might have even gotten away with that, disappearing like he did. That tends to throw people off.

Except for the dog barking like mad in its cage.

He watches from the shadows of the alcove, relieved the men don't let it out to come find him. Instead, it barks and howls and sticks its nose through the bars of its cage, kicking the men into a frenzy so they start combing the square, torches and crossbows at the ready. Two of them head for the alcove.

He moves further back, recognizing the need for a hiding spot when it arises. The only place left is the counter.

He climbs over it and sits on the floor, slouching as much as he can to avoid the torchlight as it creeps, flickering, closer. He ducks his head and watches the light sputtering on the floorboards and listens to the Watchmen mutter to each other before moving on.

He sits up straight and listens as the barking finally quiets down while he tries to think of his next move. That weight is still with him, so they have to be nearby. They might be in any of the surrounding buildings in the square or the streets leading to it, but it will take time to search, especially if he wants to avoid the Watch's attention. Not to mention they would have heard that commotion. Any thief would run from that, even the amateurs.

He tilts his head back against the counter, weighing the pros and cons of just finding someone with a copy of the damn key, when he turns his head to the right and sees a button in the wall.

He picks his head up and reaches out to press it. A whole section of the wall slides aside to reveal a safe. If nothing else, it's a good way to keep an eye on your money, he supposes. Curious if the thieves managed to find this too, he tries to open it. Surprisingly, it does. There are no valuables inside, only a single button built into the back of the safe. He presses this too. This time the door behind the counter slides open, although by now the novelty has worn off. A single, dark stairwell descends into what looks like an empty but well-lit room. He readies his crossbow and checks it's loaded with sleep darts anyway.

The wooden stairs creak as he moves down them. He can't tell if that means they're used very often or hardly at all. He makes it all the way down the stairs in one piece, so the stairs weren't trapped. But it would make sense to have such a well-hidden room laden with a little extra security. He checks the doorway for tripwires and pressure plates. Finding none, he steps through.

The room is surprisingly large for something hidden behind a counter at the marketplace. The left side of the room has a table covered in various objects: crates, dishes, cups. Several stools are tucked away underneath it. The right side of the room is much the same. Directly across from him is a door, shut, and he's willing to bet, locked. There's another door tucked into a corner of the room, probably also locked. One lone lamp hangs from the ceiling, illuminating it all with a dull yellow light.

Broken glass glints dimly at his feet. He steps over most of it. A few, near invisible pieces crackle underfoot. The place looks empty, but as he steps closer to the counter on the right, he sees a small pile of shiny objects sitting on top of it. There are countless coins, a pair of earrings, a silver pocket watch, a letter opener, and, thankfully, the key he's been looking for. He swipes it off the counter and pockets it. This was entirely too much trouble.

He feels the presence behind him an instant later.

He turns in time to see a small, black-clad figure lunging at him. He sidesteps the first swing and narrowly dodges the second, one of the knives landing in the counter with a thunk, before he finally gets a good look at his attacker: a woman, much shorter than him, dressed entirely in black. Everything about her seems dark; her hair, her clothes, her makeup. Everything except for her eyes - those are a piercing shade of blue.

She pulls her knife out of the table with a grunt and turns to face him. His crossbow is useless in such close quarters, and Corvo has seen that look enough times to know there's no point in trying to negotiate. Instead, he turns and runs.

He takes the stairs, intending to take the fight to a more open area to give himself a fighting chance, when he hears two sets of footsteps behind him. He vaults over the counter and leaves the safety of the alcove, startling the dog outside. He Blinks up to one of the platforms he used earlier, earning some confused shouts from the men below, and crosses the rooftops to get back to the canal, and the small maze of platforms and railings built above it. He glances back. That woman is right behind him. He fires a dart at her and misses.

He's so busy watching her, he forgets about her partner. He doesn't notice the shadow crouched in the corner, the rope pulled taut at his feet, until he trips over it. He falls and lands on a lower level on his back. Pain radiates through his back, momentarily stealing his breath away. He doesn't have time to catch it. The woman comes bearing down on him with one of her knives. He fires another dart at her and rolls out of the way and pulls himself up with the help of one of the railings.

She lands where he was, a thin red line running just under her eye, rolls into a crouch, and launches the knife in his direction. He Blinks further down, cutting the fall in half, and hears the whoosh of the knife as it passes overhead. He lands at the bottom with a splash and folds his crossbow away. The water barely goes past his ankles.

Why are they so determined to chase him down? Because he stole from them or because he saw their hideout? Probably both. The real question is how far they're willing to chase him. He doesn't want to find out.

He scans the canal, looking for a tunnel or vent, but all he finds are grates. He turns away again, ready to face the woman as she makes her way down. Then he realizes. Grates. Abruptly, he turns, Mark glowing, and uses that energy to find what he's looking for, deep, deep underground. And he does: beady little eyes, twitching whiskers, long pink tails. He clenches his fist and pulls them up towards him and the thief.

Nothing happens.

He checks again, searching out that writhing mass and honing in on it. It's there. They're there, and real, and alive. But this time, when he pulls, something on the other end pulls back. The rats don't listen to him. They belong to someone else. The attempt drains his energy all the same. Low on energy now and cornered, he unfolds his sword.

An arrow flies through the air and rips open the arm of his coat. He's unhurt and suddenly very grateful for all the platforms overhead blocking a clear shot.

She lands with a splash and brandishes two daggers from a sheath at each hip. The cut under her eye is gone now. She charges at him, takes a couple swipes at his throat. He blocks them, easily. She tries for his abdomen instead. Her swings come almost as one, they're so fast. Right, left, right. He blocks one swipe, then two, and misses another. The swing barely cuts through the thick fabric of his coat.

He forces her back with his sword. She charges at him again, with new vigor. This time she goes for his legs, and when he tries to block that, his hands. Each swing she makes is closely followed by a second and third. He meets each slice with his own blade and retreats right after to avoid being hit, but it's a close thing. Avoiding the arrows dropping down on him is another thing entirely.

He doesn't want to hurt her, but with her speed and energy, he isn't sure the choice is his to make. Despite his longer reach, he still only has one blade, and she makes a small target. He feels a quick sting in his left upper thigh. Focus, he chides himself.

He swipes at her stomach, pushing her to retreat. He presses the advantage, keeping up a steady flurry of swipes to keep her back. Her back hits the wall of the canal as she blocks one of his strikes. He can see the effort it takes her in the way she grits her teeth. Her eyes seem to glow in the shadows falling over her face. He maneuvers his blade beneath hers and whirls it counterclockwise. She drops her dagger somewhere into the water. He raises his sword.

A stinging pain cuts across his shoulder as a many-toothed arrow, embeds itself in the wall in front of him.

He looks up to see a shadow up above him just as it fires another arrow and crosses from one platform to another. He blocks it, but it costs him.

He sees movement out of the corner of his eye and slashes out. It's instinct, clumsy. She ducks and advances, slicing his uninjured leg with one blade and deepening the wound on his shoulder with the other. He makes some strangled, pained noise.

Exhausted and bleeding, he raises his left hand and Blinks up as high as he can. She isn't letting him go so easily. As soon as he grabs the railing to pull himself back up onto the street, he feels himself being yanked back down by the edge of his coat. Still clinging to the railing with one hand, he swipes below him with his sword. He hears a thud and a grunt. He keeps climbing.

This was supposed to be simple. He hauls himself over the railing, everything aching, and makes to go right, but the Watch patrol ahead is coming his way, clueless as ever. He takes the left, into a narrow alley. At least here he can keep the number of opponents to one at a time.

Almost on cue, footsteps come rushing up behind him. He turns just in time to meet a downward swing from the woman. Does she ever get tired? His hands are shaking so badly he needs both hands to keep his sword steady. His shoulder screams at him.

Her youthful face, the strength behind her swing, the cruelty in the curve of her smile, none of these surprise him as much as the intense blue of her eyes. Out here, in the dark, they glow. He shoves her back, and turns and continues down the alley. He's not looking to kill someone tonight. If he can make it out of this district, maybe they'll finally stop chasing him. Maybe he can lose them altogether. He knows he came from somewhere up ahead. He's almost--

A weight crashes down on him. Another dark figure, hooded and masked, and only a little bigger than the woman. Her partner, he realizes as the second thief raises a blackjack. The fall knocked the sword from his hand, but he doesn't need it to stop his arm in midair. It's too easy, even with his shaking hands. Clearly, this one isn't a fighter. Try as he might, he can't stop Corvo from steadily pushing his arm back.

That weight settles over him again, so quickly and so completely, he jolts as if he really has been struck. The thief's right eye is glowing blue. They both have it. The thief takes advantage of his stunned state. The last thing he sees is that one blue eye.

----

Corvo wakes up in that same alley, head aching so bad he can't focus on anything else. He lays there, focusing on breathing slowly as more pain makes itself known in his shoulder, his back, until it all fades to a more manageable level. His sword is still lying on the ground nearby. He collects it and folds it away into the safety of his coat again.

The key is gone, but he expected as much. Going back is definitely not worth it. He didn't even make it out of the district with those two after him. He turns to leave, ready to pay that locksmith a visit, when two posters on the wall catch his eye. The thieves who were after him. The man, Garrett, has been dubbed the Master Thief and the woman, Erin, is known for working with him. They're both wanted for larceny. Their bounties are five thousand gold each. Now he understands why. He'll have to look out for those two for the rest of his time here. As for the Watch Station, he'll have to do things the old fashioned way. For now, though, he's going to have to find an apothecary.