Chapter Text
The stone wall was cold and damp under John’s fingers as he walked through the secret tunnels, his hand pressed against the rough surface.
The tunnels were pitch black. John had either lost his torch somewhere in the tunnel or had never ignited it. He couldn’t remember for sure.
Luckily, he had studied the maps of the Kuttenberg tunnels sufficiently to find his way through the underground back to the King Solomon’s basement even in total darkness.
He suspected he would not have been able to see much even with a light. The last glimpses he had seen of the moonlit Kuttenberg streets before he had jumped into the tunnel had been blurry and dotted with black spots anyway.
John pressed his free hand against his waist as he dragged himself through the darkness. Just like his hand on the wall, it was wet.
He clenched his jaw and pressed on. Soon, he would be back in the basement, and everything would be all right.
He wasn’t entirely sure why everything would be alright, but his mind was a bit too preoccupied to consider that question thoroughly.
His hand on the wall bumped against a cavity, and John stopped. His breathing was the only sound in the tunnel, echoing back at him.
Carefully, he moved away from the wall to the opposite side of the tunnel, and his outstretched hand collided with a wooden surface.
John sighed a breath of relief, feeling faint for a moment.
Then he pushed the door to the basement open, the movement pulling at his wound, but he barely noticed.
Now that he could actually see, there was some sort of haze blurring his surroundings.
The basement was lit by soft candlelight as usual, but for some reason, it was brighter than normal. The flames of the candles left bright spots in his vision as he looked around.
There was a figure sitting at the table, and the person got up as soon as John entered the room.
The person said something, but it sounded muffled.
"Excuse me?" John asked and took a step forward, only for his knees to buckle.
Then everything went black.
When John blinked awake again, Samuel was leaning over him.
John hissed in pain, his head pounding. He must have stumbled and hit his head.
He tried to blink the hazy blurriness away, and something red caught his eye.
Samuel's pourpoint was stained with blood, bright red and still wet.
John gasped and tried sitting up, but pressure on his abdomen kept him down.
"Sam," he managed to get out. "Are you hurt?"
What if that bastard from earlier hadn't been working on his own? What if they had figured out that Samuel was helping him? What if they had attacked the Jewish quarter?
John reached out, trying to see where Samuel was hurt, but fell short for some reason.
"We have to get help," he said, with an odd quality to his voice that he couldn't quite identify. He tried to sit up again, but the walls and floor started moving, spinning around him.
"Will you just- stay still," Samuel said, his voice unbelievably tense.
John frowned, focusing on Samuel's face. He looked stricken, his eyes panicked.
John tried to smile reassuringly at him as small black dots encroached on his vision.
"Don't worry, it's going to be alright."
Then everything went black again.