Chapter Text
"Snuffer! Snuffer!"
In New Newgate, prisoners often woke to shouting. But today, John woke to screaming. He'd barely a moment to open his eyes before his cell door clanged open and he was rudely yanked out of his bed.
"Doctor Watson!" the gaoler barked, addressing him with the most respect she had ever deigned to use. "A prisoner's been injured."
John blinked groggily. He may have been conscious, but he could barely think straight. "Yes. So? Don't you have a doctor to deal with injuries?"
The Ill-Tempered Gaoler scowled. "Him? Ptah! That lily-livered greenhorn passed out at the sight of the victim." She marched off, pulling John with her. "Never you mind. You're coming anyway. We haven't the time or resources to deal with a dead inmate. Not when we're tracking down that beast."
After a thankfully brief walk--or for John, stumble--through the rocky corridors, they finally came across the victim. His hands covered his face and he let out raw screams of pain. Blood trickled from between his fingers, and John could see faint traces of unctuous smears beneath. It was all red and gold, red and gold. Red and gold.
John felt his skin itch. He ignored it. "What happened to him?”
The Ill-Tempered Gaoler scowled again, but failed to hide her fear entirely. “The Snuffer. It got him.”
John sighed. There wasn't much he could do about a Snuffer victim. "It's not my specialty, but I'll try my best." He knelt next to the now whimpering man. "Sir?" he said, gently. "Hold on. I'm here to help."
He spent at least two hours with the man, using copious amounts of tincture, bandages, and alcohol. The whole time John focused on his patient and his wounds. The crowd of prisoners who came to watch completely slipped his mind.
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After the ordeal with the Snuffer victim was dealt with, the gaolers hauled him back to the work lines. What thanks for his labours. The Ill-Tempered Gaoler did promise a lessened sentence in return for his service, but who knew how much shorter his stay would be? New Newgate was infamous for the length of the inmates' detentions.
All in a day's work, he thought. Then he picked up his pickaxe and began swinging.
"Would you like to escape with me?"
The unexpected question stopped John short. "What?" He turned around to find the asker, who was chained immediately behind him.
The man scowled. "You heard me. And keep your voice down! The gaolers aren't deaf, though they may as well be."
John stared. Did he know this man from somewhere? Really, they'd only met now, tied together in a chain gang digging tunnels in prison. Hardly a place to meet trustworthy people. Still, the offer felt somewhat appealing. John had been pondering escape for some time. Short of convincing the guards that he truly didn't belong here, escape would be the only way out. But he didn't know what to make of this tall, intimidating stranger. The standard issue prison uniform sat on his shoulders like an ill-fitting costume. And nobody with such well-groomed hair could actually belong here.
"Right. Like I'd trust an escape offer," John replied, testily. "I wasn't born yesterday. You're probably some constable, trying to catch escapees with that ruse."
The man scoffed. "Really? You put too much stock in the constables. As if they'd be capable of such a complex scheme."
John did not have much of a reply to that. "How would we escape, anyway? You'd have to get off the stalactite and somehow cross the Unterzee without getting caught or dying."
"Or becoming a drownie. But there is a way," the man said. "No prison is inescapable."
John turned back to his pickaxe and began chipping away at the rocks. "Do tell," he said, in sarcastic skepticism.
"Simple. New Newgate is built on a stalactite. This means that it needs to get supplies from London. You've seen the dirigible making its daily delivery, I hope. Otherwise I would second guess taking you along."
John put down the pickaxe again. "Hang on, when did I say I was coming along?"
The man stared at him. "Of course you're coming along. You want to get out, and you deserve to be out."
John's planned retorts and objections fell apart. "What?"
"Most of the people who end up here are thieves," the man said. "Lowly crooks or high stakes thieves. They band together during meal times, in their little gangs. But you've stayed out and away. And you seem to believe the Constables are capable and good people--not entirely sure why, but that's very obviously a pedestrian citizen's opinion. But you're no ordinary civilian. Take, for example, your habit of standing at parade rest in the presence of gaolers. Bad idea by the way; mustn't let them get swelled heads. Or your impressive display of medical knowledge earlier with the Snuffer victim. But you’re not just a doctor. Look at how you hold your pickaxe--your hands are used to swinging, but not an axe. A sword. And your skin..." Here the man frowned. "Most peculiar, the way it is tinted. Most Neathy persons are homogenous in skin tone, with little variance. But you have odd patches of darkened skin. Pinker skin, like those who've been in Hell. An army doctor then, who went on that doomed invasion of Hell and was forced onto the streets after his return. Then arrested for loitering and not having a residence."
John stared. "How...?"
"I told you already. Observation."
If John hadn't known the man before, he certainly wanted to now. He was the most singular figure John had met in a long while. "That was brilliant," he said. "Absolutely brilliant."
The man arched an eyebrow in surprise. "Really?"
"Of course! What is your escape plan? I'd gladly go along with it."
The man blinked, squinting in confusion for a moment. "That's the first time someone's ever said yes."
Now it was John's turn to be surprised. "Really? But why? Don't they want to get out?"
The man frowned. "It's not that they don't want to get out. It's that they...dislike me." This admission seemed to physically pain him. He went back to his haughty air almost immediately, though. "And they do it in such colourful language! My god, the ruffians in this place. I am glad that I've got you as an accomplice instead."
"Yes. Well." John felt surprisingly pleased by that. "About that plan of yours, what exactly does it entail?"