Clock Tower Plaza is empty. From the sound of it, everyone is inside the Crippled Burrick pub drinking tonight. Corvo is waiting in the alley beside it, between the pub and the Watch office to its left. Suddenly he understands why the Watchmen leave the pub alone. If any angry patrons were looking to retaliate, they wouldn't have to look far. He doesn't mind it so much, the waiting. It's nice to be able to watch the city for a while. He doesn't know what it used to be like before the plague and the riots, but it might've been something close to this. The sounds of revelry inside, the cawing of the birds, the chime of the Clock Tower.

That tower is something else. The clock face overlooks the plaza, glowing a dim, bone white. It's made a little of stone but mostly of scaffolding. Layers of scaffolding, leading all the way up to the clock face. He doesn't know for sure if the scaffolding came before or after the riots, but judging by the state of some of it, it's been a while. It reminds him of a skeleton. Call him biased, but he likes the one in Dunwall better. He notices the front entrance is blocked off too. How do people get in and out to maintain it? Who do they pay to maintain it?

"Someone up there you know?"

He looks up. Garrett is crouched on the second level of the Watch office building. He didn't hear him up there.

"That is a sad tower."

"People say it's haunted."

He looks back up at it as if he's examining it. "Ours is better." That makes him sound like a petulant child. He doesn't care.

He smirks. "I doubt it."

He looks up at him. "And why's that?"

"It's got no spirit."

He smiles despite himself. "Get down here."

He drops down onto a stack of crates and from there onto the ground. "Ready to go?"

He stands up straight and gestures with one hand. "Lead the way."

He breezes past him further into the alley and towards the back of the Burrick.

He follows him through the small yard behind the pub where a trio of people are standing in a circle and loudly talking to each other. A back door leading inside is wide open. The trio doesn't even spare them a glance as they move past them into another alley on the opposite side of the building.

"Where are we going?" He finally asks.

Garrett ignores the man in a ratty brown trenchcoat trying to sell something and towards a big wooden gate. He gestures to the sign on the wall of the alley as they pass by. Mourningside.

"I mean why?" He clarifies, moving closer. "I thought this place was all graveyards."

He stops and turns around fully. "It's not all graveyards."

"I don't like the way you said that." The way he phrases it lights up some part of his brain. Working with Garrett thus far has taught him he's very intentional with his words. This sounds like one of those times.

"You've never been in Mourningside?"

"Aside from that time at the factory, no." He pauses, suspicion rising. "Why?"

He turns his back to him and strolls right through the gate. "You'll see."

Why does he still bother trying to get a straight answer out of him?

The walk isn't long. All they really do is follow the only unobstructed path they're already on. Everything else is blocked off by a locked gate. Like the rest of the City, the buildings here seem to crowd in and tower over them. Not for the first time Corvo wonders about the architecture of the City and whether it was planned like this from the start or if something went horribly wrong along the way. He's not an architect but he'd like to have a look at those blueprints. Along the way they pass one or two lit braziers, the flames in them casting a circle of light around the men warming themselves by the fire. Dressed in well worn rags, the men hardly spare them a glance.

The path winds past more cramped buildings and some market stalls before taking them to a larger, more open street. It's empty of people but there are things that suggest it isn't always like this. Immediately to their left, an empty cart sits by a scraggly tree, waiting for its owner to come back the next day and the few graves he can see have small bunches of flowers on them. Voices carry over to them from somewhere close by.

They go left. For one heartstopping moment, he thinks Garrett is going to stop at one of the graves. He's relieved when he doesn't. But, he notices, for all their tidy little rows, the tombstones are all unreadable. Their letters are all faded beyond recognition.

"Why are we here?" He murmurs.

"I need to talk to someone," he replies as they walk past the graves.

"Who?" Who hangs around an empty graveyard? He's seen some strange characters in his time but this person--whoever they are--is steadily climbing the ranks. It better not be a ghost. Considering his own experiences with the supernatural and the quirks of this city, he doesn't want to discount any possibilities.

He stops before the crumbling stone steps only long enough to shoot him a brief glare. He sighs the sigh of someone indulging a child's many questions and turns back to the stairs. "You'll see."

The knowledge that Garrett would absolutely bring him somewhere without giving him any details just to get a reaction out of him does nothing to reassure him. That, and the voices are getting louder.

The steps lead up to an old church that's mostly rubble. The roof is gone and so are the upper parts of the walls. And it's not empty. Men and women sit scattered around on benches, the ones that are still here and usable, and others just sit on the stone floor. Candles sit in little clusters everywhere. Some of them talk amongst themselves, some follow them with their eyes as they walk towards the altar at the front of the church. They all wear the same ragged clothing as the men around the fires. Their eyes and faces hold no malice, at least none he can see, but mild interest. Garrett's steps never falter.

Ahead of them at the altar, an old woman sits in a chair. Her fur coat, almost too big for her, does a good job of hiding most of her form and clothing, which seems in better condition than everyone else's, but only just. For an instant, the combination of how she's put herself in the place of honor in the church and the sheer amount of jewelry she's wearing, Corvo is reminded of the nobility in Dunwall and the way they flaunt their wealth heedless of the people suffering around them. He glances at Garrett again. If he notices, he doesn't return it.

A man stands beside her, seemingly talking to her. His head is bent towards her and his mouth is moving but he can't hear any sound. At their approach the man stands up straight and steps back.

The woman smiles at them. "Ah, Garrett," she says, "so nice to see you again."

Again? How does Garrett know someone like her?

She turns towards Corvo. "And you brought your friend." Despite them being strangers, she sounds like she's happy to see Corvo too. Despite the warmth of the evening, chills race up his arms as he's reminded of another old woman from Dunwall who was happy to see him. He promises himself right now that whatever she asks for, he's not doing it.

Garrett's reply comes almost automatically. "Not a friend."

He looks at him surprised. "You told her about me?"

"No."

He's pretty sure he's known Garrett long enough to be able to tell when he's joking or being sarcastic. This doesn't sound like one of those times.

"Aren't you going to introduce us?" The woman asks.

"I didn't think I needed to," he says. At her pointed look, he sighs. "Corvo, this is the Queen of Beggars. She knows a lot about what goes on in the City."

"Like Basso?" He ventures.

"Sort of."

She smiles at Corvo, nods. "Pleased to make your acquaintance."

Stunned, all he can do is nod back.

As she turns back to Garrett, he realizes, as the candlelight hits her eyes right, she's blind. She can't possibly know which one of them she's looking at or talking to. Unless maybe the man, who's still standing nearby, told her as they were coming. He's suddenly very cold despite his coat.

Garrett's attention is solely on her. That's unnerving. He tries to process all this as their conversation flows right past him.

"It's about the Primal," Garrett is saying.

She turns somber. "Oh. I see."

"Corvo has something like it. When we use them near each other, it..." He looks to Corvo for help. Seeing he's not going to be any, he turns his attention back to her. "Hurts. The longer we use it, the worse it gets."

"Hm." She fixes her blank gaze back on Corvo and holds out her hand. "If I may?"

He looks down at her hand, just barely trembling, then at Garrett.

He nods for him to go ahead, a knowing smile on his face.

He scowls. "You're enjoying this, aren't you?"

"A little."

That really doesn't make him feel any better about this. He reaches out with his Marked hand and settles it in hers. Her hand is cold.

Her hold tightens, though not painfully, as she traces his Mark with her other hand. "Ah."

For some reason, it tingles. He resists the urge to pull his hand away.

"Where are you from, Corvo?"

"The Isles." Mentally kicking himself, he adds, "I'm from Serkonos but I've lived in Dunwall for years."

She nods. "That explains it," she mutters. "Is that also where you met the Leviathan? In Dunwall?"

His blood runs cold. He looks to Garrett for a nod, a shrug, a way out, something, anything, only to find he's already looking on with open curiosity, like a child watching a parent work. He hasn't told him about the Outsider or anything else about Dunwall. He hasn't told anyone here, certainly not enough for any information to find its way back to her. So how does she know about him?

"Corvo," Garrett goads, "if you want help, this is how we get it."

He blinks once. Twice. He realizes how rude he's been to someone who's trying to help him. Someone Garrett clearly holds in high regard. His manners kick in. "I'm sorry. Yes."

"That's alright. You're one of his?"

"I..." He wants to refute that but he bites his tongue. "Suppose so."

"The Primal," she says, "exists to record. To remember. The Void wants to consume."

She stops tracing his hand and lets go. He curls his hand into a fist and puts both hands in his pockets.

"They have both existed long before any of us but they've never been so close together before. When they meet, they come to a standstill."

"That's it?" Garrett asks, his curiosity replaced with displeasure.

She frowns. "Unless you start listening, yes."

If he wasn't so daunted, he might have smiled at the scolding. Who is this woman to Garrett that he lets her speak to him like this?

"But is it dangerous?" He presses. "Should we avoid using them at the same time?"

"You already know the answer to that. It might cause discomfort, but it won't affect the balance. They only need time." She glances at each of them. "As I suspect you two do as well."

"Discomfort." He scoffs but doesn't argue like Corvo thought he would.

"Is there something else you wish to discuss?" The way she asks suggests she already knows the answer.

For once, he seems to actually hesitate, clasping his hands together and squeezing before crossing his arms to hide them. "Erin?" He says, a quiet strain in his voice.

A smile, softer than the others, settles on her lips. For an instant, she could be somebody's grandmother. "She is much changed, like you, but she's doing well for herself."

His shoulders sag and he sighs. Then to Corvo's shock, he hands her quite a bit of gold.

"Until next time, Garrett. Farewell."

Corvo follows him back the way they came. All of his questions get tangled together in his mouth and get caught just behind his teeth. They get past the gate to Mourningside and back in Stonemarket before he finally settles on a question, possibly the most useless one of all.

"Who is that?"

"The Queen of Beggars." He says it like it's obvious.

He gives him a warning look before asking his next question. "And you go to her for... Advice?" Even saying it out loud feels odd. He seldom sees Garrett ask for anything.

"No. I go to her with questions and she gives me riddles. I never ask for advice."

"Is she..." He presses his lips together, trying to find the right way to ask this. "Does she have the same thing you have?"

"You make it sound like a disease." He chuckles. "I don't know. No one does. And she's not keen on telling."

"Have you ever tried asking?"

"I haven't. But I've asked her enough questions to know all her answers sound like the ones she just gave us."

Despite his casual tone and apparent irritation with the information he was given, Corvo notices he let her talk. Moreover, he listened and didn't argue or interrupt or dismiss her. The Queen of Beggars, whoever she really is, is someone Garrett respects. And that is no small thing. He'll have to keep her in mind.