Chapter Text
Kuttenberg is, surprisingly, not that much of a miserable city. The markets are lively, the townhouses colourful, the fountain impressive and people are everywhere, seemingly always in a rush.
The weather is spring-fresh, which John did not expect. He realizes that in retrospect, it was a bit stupid to think it would be cloudy and gloomy all the time. Sigismund can do many things, but controlling the weather is not among them.
When forced to interact, he tells everyone he is from a minor noble family from Linz, but he grew up in Vienna. He will undoubtedly encounter the German population of the city, and it wouldn’t be a stretch for some of them to recognize his Viennese accent.
He still wants to appear well-off, money opens many doors, after all, and is a key to many mouths. But he also doesn’t want to look as well-off as his family actually is, lest he attract some very unwanted attention. So, he leaves his favourite blue pourpoint that has the insides of the sleeves dyed red at home, at takes other, less expensive but still nice-looking clothes instead. Only when he was packing to go, did it hit him how many blue pourpoints and other clothes he actually has. Well, a person likes what a person likes. But when his wretched mission ends, he will have to remedy that. Maybe red would be nice.
After a week’s worth of hard work he finally chances upon someone who knows someone else who, if John pays him enough, will come and meet him to tell him what the council was discussing last week. The man insists on meeting alone, in the middle of the night, and John is not an idiot, recognizes the inherent danger, but he also has no other leads. So he simply prays everything will work out.
When midnight strikes, he sneaks out of the inn where he has been staying and takes the most complicated route he can think of to get to the meeting point, just on the outskirts of Kuttenberg and makes sure nobody is following him.
He gets to the agreed upon place, a cluster of trees near a field of wheat, and finds that the man is not alone, rather, he is with another person. Bells start ringing alarm in his head, but before he can back away and leave, he is spotted and it is too late.
The men come toward him, one standing behind him, one in front, and John fights to keep his eyes from darting around for an escape opportunity.
“Now sir,” the man starts, boredom dripping from his voice, “I’m sorry to disappoint you, but I don’t have any info on the damned council’s plans. And they won’t interest you for much longer as well.”
That’s when the man behind him loops an arm around John’s neck and puts his other hand over his mouth. Before John’s hand can touch his dagger, the man in front of him tears off the pouch of groschen at his hip and stabs a knife into his side in one movement. John grunts into the man’s hand and tries his hardest not to scream, wanting to preserve some of his dignity. Then both of them, without word, take off.
John’s hand flies to his waist where blood is starting to seep through, and he leans against the nearby tree before sliding down to the damp grass, taking wheezing breaths through his teeth.
The wound is strangely tingling.
How unbecoming, John thinks, that he’s not even taken out by Sigismund’s men. Just common thieves. If he survives this, Jobst is going to have a laugh. Well, he’ll probably laugh at John’s death as well, undignified as it is.
He looks at his side again and decides that if he’s going to have the chance to buy another pourpoint in his life, it definitely won’t be red.
He should probably try and get up, and at least get to the nearby road, where there’s a chance somebody could see him, but his side feels really, really hot, and his legs really, really weak. So he stays sitting there, trying to breathe in such a way that hurts the least, and thinks of what to do.
His thinking is not very productive, because he doesn’t get up, doesn’t do anything, and starts getting progressively colder, as if pure frost was radiating from his injury.
He curls up on himself and tries to breathe.
***
Samuel was just returning home from an errand his grandfather sent him on- a building in the quarter was needing some repairs, and mason Pešek, though a goy, was trusted, since he has done some odd jobs for them in the past.
He lived on the outskirts of Kuttenberg, and Samuel set out on his jurney just after noon. But Pešek was a talkative man, as was his wife Marie, and both of them loved company and good alcohol in equal parts. Pešek was, also, a proud new father, and spent an hour showing off his darling new girl and telling Samuel all about how wonderful and smart she was. Samuel wondered how one measures smartness in an infant.
The conversation wasn’t all that interesting, but Samuel also didn’t want to offend and lose a person willing to work for them, so he bore it as best as he could. When he managed to say his goodbyes, it was almost midnight. He decided to take the longer route home, which lead along the outskirts of the city before plunging into the proverbial mouth of the beast- Kuttenberg proper. Less likely to chance upon danger that way, as opposed to if he were to go the whole way through dingy alleys.
It seems he was unlucky either way, because danger managed to find him whether he took precautions or not. It was in a distance, so the picture wasn’t exactly clear, but he thought there were three men talking, and then two were briskly walking away, towards him, while the third sort of slid down to the ground. Samuel hid behind an old decrepit shed and waited for them to be gone, before taking the scene in again.
Yes, the third man still appeared to be sitting there.
Well, his route took him around that cluster of trees anyway, so he might as well check out what was going on. The man was most likely just drunk, would yell at Samuel to mind his own business, Samuel would yell back, and both would be satisfied.
But as he got closer, he stopped being so confident. The man was hunched over, and his breathing had a strange quality to it, like he didn’t have enough air but also couldn’t take a full breath. He was most likely a nobleman, or at least very rich, as far as his clothes went.
He didn’t appear to notice him, so Samuel stepped closer, and noticed the blood. Ah, that answered his questions. It was pouring from the man’s side, staining his fine blue pourpoint red.
Samuel debated with himself for a moment. On one hand, this didn’t concern him. Who knows what the man had done to deserve such a fate. On the other hand, could he just leave him here? There probably won’t be anyone else coming this way for a few more hours, so if Samuel leaves now, he might as well be signing off on this person’s death.
Samuel sighed and decided that if the man becomes a problem later, he will deal with it on the go.
He crouched down next to the man and shook his shoulder to get his attention, which prompted a pained whimper out of him. He was probably still conscious, which was good, made Samuel’s job easier.
“Hey, can you hear me?” he asked, just to be sure. The man lifted his head with what looked like a mountain’s worth of effort, eyes staring uncomprehending at Samuel.
Noticing that he was only keeping his hand on the wound, and nothing else, Samuel took of his blue cap and pressed it there, “I can help you, but you won’t cause any problems for me or give me trouble. Deal?”
Getting the general gist, the man nodded, and Samuel took his hand and pressed it to his cap, now at his side, so he would hold it instead of Samuel. Samuel then started the arduous task of getting him to his feet. He looked like he didn’t lose a dangerous amount of blood yet, so there was a possibility Samuel wouldn’t have to carry him, just support him.
Samuel slung the man’s arm around his shoulder, then finally stood up, the man’s face scrunched up in pain.
Hm. Walking through Kuttenberg with a bloodied probably-noble won’t go down well. They’ll have to go through the tunnels.
Hopefully his Mame won’t kill him when he shows up.