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The wind off the water brought a High Cold chill across Samuel’s idling boat, and he turned his collar up and shifted positions to face away, settling in for an uncomfortable wait. Long winter days on the Wrenhaven were harder now than when he was a young man, and his joints were already beginning to protest, but he kept his eyes on the tunnel he was meant to watch, however doubtfully.
He had joined up with the Loyalists because he believed in the cause, because he had mourned the death of the Empress and the loss of Lady Emily and the city Dunwall had been, and he wanted to see it set right. He wouldn’t think to question the men who lead it - educated folk who surely knew much more about the necessary politicking than he did. But the idea of resting so much on the talents of one man, even a man so infamously skilled as Corvo Attano… well, Samuel wasn’t quite convinced of the wisdom of that.
Even if he managed to make it out of that prison with a little help on the inside, the waterways of Dunwall had their own guards to get through, human and otherwise, and he would be on his own for those.
But sudden noise from the tunnel entrance made Samuel sit up straight to listen - the unmistakable scraping and crunching of boots across crumbling concrete. “Corvo?” he called out uncertainly.
The footsteps stopped immediately.
Samuel stood up and stepped out onto land. “It’s Samuel,” he continued. “I’m a friend.”
Silence held for a moment longer, then the footsteps resumed, and Corvo emerged out into the open.
Samuel had only ever seen the Empress’s Royal Protector from a distance before, but he wasn’t sure he’d recognize him any better if he had known him personally. The man before him now was a man beaten and half-starved, dirty clothes hanging loose from hunched shoulders, face sunken and bruised. But his eyes were sharp and bright, and the hand wielding Piero’s fine blade - gleaming silver and clean - was steady.
Corvo studied Samuel for a long, uneasy moment before finally folding the blade away and drawing closer, nodding a greeting. “Good to meet you,” he said in a voice that creaked and rasped, from disuse or worse in those months spent locked away.
Samuel frowned and turned back to his boat, reaching for the canteen he kept under the seat. “Just water,” he said as he offered it to Corvo. “Though I’m sure you wouldn’t mind something stronger after all you’ve been through.”
He watched as Corvo gratefully gulped down several swallows of water before splashing a little across his face to try and wash away the layers of dirt and old blood that had settled in there, and he shook his head in wonder at the sight. “They said you’d come out here, but I can still hardly believe it.”
Corvo paused, frowning. “The… friends you work with?” he asked warily. His voice was still rough, but the drink had clearly done some good. “The ones who have plans, who wanted me freed from Coldridge.”
That wariness was fair enough. Samuel had never fully believed Corvo would make it this far, so he never considered how suspicious the whole thing might be to him. “I know it’s all a lot of secrets and shadows right now, but these are good people with good ideas,” he assured him, “and I think you’ll like what they have to say. I can take you to meet them, just down the river from here.”
He started to turn toward his boat again, but Corvo suddenly reached out and grasped his shoulder, grip just short of painful. “Can they find Emily?” he asked urgently. His eyes were wide with desperation, almost pleading.
Samuel blinked, startled by the intensity of that look. He’d heard the same rumors about the Empress and her bodyguard over the years as everyone else in Dunwall, but he never figured it was his place to judge the truth of it one way or the other. He still didn’t, but whatever that truth might be, it was clear that Emily was more than just a duty-bound responsibility to Corvo. And this was a man who would go through the Void and beyond to get her back where she belonged.
He met Corvo’s eye and nodded firmly. “With your help, I truly believe they can.”