#udurgh

-

John woke up in a bed that wasn’t his own with his head throbbing and his leg aching. He lay there for a long moment waiting for the fog in his mind to clear when he heard someone humming in the other room. Right, that was Martin. Which meant he must have fallen asleep. Did he carry him into Gertrude Robinson’s room? 

He felt a flash of embarrassment that he quickly redirected to annoyance as he sat up and located his pants and shoes on the bedside table. He would have preferred Martin just left him at the desk and been on his way. What was he even still doing there? 

John had that flash of concern again, worried Martin might have taken advantage of his unconscious state to find the documents that would incriminate him and he felt like an idiot for letting his guard down. He’d just have to watch him more carefully from now on. 

Limping into the main room, he found Martin on his keeps scrubbing the floor. Most of the blood had been cleaned up and John was actually impressed that he’d managed to salvage the couch. Martin wiped the sweat from his brow as he glanced over at his approach. 

“Ah, you’re awake,” Martin said. “Feeling any better?” 

“Fine,” John said quickly. “Why are you still here?”

“I told you,” Martin said, and John was once again surprised when he failed to look annoyed at his tone. He was used to annoying most people with his too blunt words. “I volunteered to help clean up. But I think I’ve done enough for today if you’d like me to take you to the town hall.”

“I can get there on my own.”

“I know, but I need to see Peter as well,” Martin said. “Besides, after last night, he’d probably be incredibly unhappy with me if I didn’t make sure you made it there in one piece. I promise, our town is usually a peaceful and welcoming one.”

“Right,” John said, grudgingly. “Okay, fine.”

While Martin dumped out the bucket and put away the cleaning supplies, John found a shoulder bag in Gertrude’s closet and shoved as many documents on her desk that he could manage. He didn’t want to leave them out of his sight again. He felt a little better when it looked like everything was where he’d left it. Maybe Martin hadn’t stolen anything after all. Maybe.

By the time he made it to the foyer, Martin was already waiting for him. He was wearing a well-patched coat and boots that looked much more suited to the mud and cobblestone streets of this town. John made a mental note to get himself a better coat since fall was setting in. Maybe some new shoes as well, before he ruined his only good pair. 

“Here,” Martin said, catching his attention as he finished pulling on his coat. He was holding out a cane like a peace offering. 

“What’s this?” John asked, confused. 

“I-it’s a cane,” Martin said, looking uncertain.  

“No, yes, I can see that,” John snapped. “But why?”

“Oh! It was Gertrude’s, and I thought it might help keep pressure off of your injured leg,” Martin said, smiling and looking very pleased with himself. 

John could feel himself blushing at the sight, and even though he thought it was ridiculous and unnecessary, he took the cane with a muttered thanks. Martin turned and led the way out the front door, that smile lingering. But John couldn’t help but pause at the doorway. 

For a moment, he expected the entire town to be waiting for him, with torches and pitchforks, the whole deal. And there were a few people out on the street, but they were focused on where they were going and no one looked over at them. Martin turned back to look at him quizzically, and John took a deep breath. He didn’t want to admit to the deep anxiety he felt, so he pushed down the fear and followed. 

He found himself more grateful for the cane than he was willing to admit. It was still slow going, but it was no longer the agonizing scramble getting around had been the night before. And the farther they walked, the more relaxed he became. There were a few times when they’d come around a corner and see a crowd of people gathered for one reason or another, and he’d flinch, expecting them to all descend on him, but they never did. 

He couldn’t help but wonder what Martin would do if it did happen, though. It seemed unlikely he’d turn on him. He’d had him unconscious and bleeding out, there was no point in leading him into a trap. So would he step aside? Or would he try to stand between John and the angry townspeople? 

Honestly, he hated that thought the most. Martin had been kind when he didn’t have to be, it would be cruel if his repayment was to get injured or killed alongside him. He reassured himself that, once he met with Peter Lukas, they could go their separate ways. Maybe he could even go home. 

John was so preoccupied with his own thoughts that when he looked up to see a building with no walls just across the street that he’d nearly walked right past, he had to do a double take. It was impossible. It was like a staircase to nowhere, with no supports, climbing a few stories into the sky. It should collapse, but it looked like it had been there for years. 

“Oh, right,” Martin said when he noticed his gaze. “That’s been here so long, sometimes I forget it’s not normal.”

“What— how?” John asked.

“I don’t know how any of it works, I don’t know anything about Architecture. You could ask Simon Fairchild about it? There’s no guarantee he will give you a straight answer, but he funded a lot of it. Well, a lot of people did, including the Magnus Institute, but he was the most vocal about it.”

“Oh,” was all John could say. He had no idea this existed let alone that the Institute had been involved with it. He’d never encountered anything like it in his research of the city, but maybe the books he’d referenced were too old. 

“My understanding is that it was made as practice for the Polyhedron.”

Martin pointed into the distance and John could just see the top of a hive-like spire. It had been too dark to see last night, but it stood out now between the buildings, giving the sense that it was looming over everything. 

“Can we—“ John began, suddenly gripped by the urge to glance around and ensure no one was watching them, as if he wasn’t allowed. “Can we go up?”

“Yeah, no one will stop us,” Martin said. “There’s no railings, though, so people don’t usually. I’ve never really done it. The Polyhedron is closed off, so this is the best way to experience it, I guess.”

“You’ve never been up? John repeated. “Why? Aren’t you curious?”

“I guess?” Martin said, stretching his chin as he looked up at the impossible staircase. “I don’t know, it’s just a lot of stairs for a view you can get elsewhere.”

“I suppose,” John said, but he was in no way dissuaded. 

John could feel an eager itching under his skin as he climbed. Martin followed more slowly, looking incredibly nervous and taking each step carefully. John knew he probably should have been nervous too, but all he could feel was a strange anticipation. He reached the top, only three floors up, and while the view was nice, the cool wind was pleasant after the climb, it didn’t exactly hold any revelations. 

He found his eyes drawn to the Polyhedron and he wondered what it would be like to climb it. It stretched into the sky, high above all other buildings, and he could feel some sort of draw towards it, curiosity and a desire to understand why it was built, what its purpose was, and how any of it was possible.  

But this was a distraction, this wasn’t why he was here, he needed to focus. He needed to find Gertrude’s killer. There was every chance they would come for him next, and he needed to focus. 

He realized Martin was staring at him instead of the surrounding view and he turned to look at him with a spark of annoyance and suspicion, suddenly realizing how easy it would be for him to push him off if he wanted John dead. Martin looked surprised when their eyes met, and was that a flash of guilt in his expression? But then he was looking away, a pleasant blush creeping up his cheeks to the tip of his ears.