Seeing the Signs

Martel did not appreciate this Solday morning. As soon as they had returned last night, he had cleaned his cut and gone to bed; he had barely fallen asleep, it felt like, before the first bell rang. At least his few hours of rest had not been disturbed by the ill memories of yestereve. He continued to doze off in bed, nearly missing breakfast. He had to drag his feet as he worked for two hours in the washery; to his luck, Master Jerome did not supervise his labours, being busy elsewhere in the workshop.

No such fortune followed him to the apothecary. Both Nora and Mistress Rana were present. As the latter began explaining Martel's task, he struggled to even keep his eyes open.

"Boy, if you are wasting my time, you better leave my workshop right now," she told him sharply.

"I'm sorry," Martel mumbled in apology. "I barely slept last night."

"That is no excuse! If you wish to spend your nights carousing, you will not spend your days in my apothecary!"

"No, not at all!" Although Martel had decided to keep last night's events a secret, he did not want to lose this opportunity of working in the apothecary. "I try to help some kids, and then these street thugs – though I guess they were really veterans – kidnapped me. They were going to sell me to Khiva or to Cathai, wherever they could. So Maximilian, the son of Count Marche, he burst in and attacked them. They used gold on a necklace to take away my magic, but I got free, and we chased them off."

Rana stared at him. "That sounds so eminently foolish, it must be true. Nobody would come up with a lie that incoherent and idiotic."

"Is that how you got that?" Nora pointed at the scratch on his throat.

"Yeah. They tied this string with gold really tightly around my neck, so when we cut it, I got nicked." Martel figured he best avoid mentioning Weasel, the ten-year-old criminal mastermind. The story was ridiculous enough already. "It still stings a bit. Probably doesn't help that the blade was rusty." Despite how tired he had felt, he had cleaned the superficial wound again this morning.

Rana gave a deep sigh. "Nora, fetch me a bandage from the infirmary." That seemed a bit unnecessary to Martel, but he was not going to start an argument. As the apprentice hurried away, the alchemist opened a cabinet to take out a jar. "Blood salve," she explained curtly. With two fingers, she scraped out some of the paste and ran it across Martel's wound. "That should keep it from getting infected. Assuming the damage is not already done."

"Has a sweet smell to it."

"The main ingredient is honey." As the door opened, Rana extended her hand to receive a bandage from Nora. She began dressing up the treated wound on Martel's neck. "Understand, boy, this does not excuse you. I don't care about the reason why you are inattentive or tired. You are at the Lyceum to learn, not get involved in fights in the city. You have made a commitment to my apothecary, and if you do not uphold it, nothing will excuse you."

"I understand," Martel mumbled.

"Now pay attention. Either Nora has been going easy on you, or maybe you are a slow learner, but your knife work with these herbs is sloppy. Let me see you try with these, so I can correct your pitiful technique."

~

When Martel had finished his work at the apothecary, he was sorely tempted to sleep. But that would make him miss his chance to spend time with Shadi, and he would have to wait another fiveday. So he dozed a little while until lunch was ready, quickly ate something, and went into the city.

He kept to the wide streets. Just looking down the narrow alleyways made him feel unpleasant, especially if he saw any movement. He would have saved time by going straight through the marketplace, but he did not feel safe in the crowds either. Nor did the sight of city guards calm him; the short swords by their side, the spears in their hands, and their military bearing served as uncomfortable reminders. So he stuck to the open streets that went around the busy places of bartering to reach the statue of the rider dominating a square in the district.

Shadi stood there, waiting for him. She gave him a quick hug, but her smile disappeared seeing the bandage around his neck. "What happened?"

"I tried to help some kids," Martel began to explain, wanting that bit to be said first. "These thugs thought I was messing with them, so they jumped me." Though perhaps it was best to downplay the severity of the danger. "Luckily, Maximilian was with me. Together, we made short work of them. I got a small graze. The bandage makes it look much bigger than it is."

"Are you sure?" She regarded him sceptically. "You're not just putting on a brave face, right? Because if you faint from blood loss or something, I won't catch you."

Martel laughed. "I promise. I didn't even notice it myself. One of my teachers did all this." He gestured at the bandage.

"Alright, if you're sure."

"That reminds me. I have a job of sorts. Well, I'm not being paid, at least not yet. Except in knowledge."

"Knowledge is great, right until you need to eat. Speaking of that, I'm starving. Can we go get lunch from somewhere?"

"I just ate." Martel also did not have any coins. "But you go ahead, and I'll keep you company."

"And you can tell me about your trip. But first, that impossible question of what to eat."

Martel looked around the square, which lay lined with shops, most of them serving food. He tried to suppress how uncomfortable the sight of the homeless beggars made him, especially those looking to have scars and old war wounds. Doing his best to ignore them, Martel began walking towards one of the small taverns. "You should try this one! Maximilian showed it to me the other day. They make really delicious chicken."

Shadi followed him, but her friendly expression soon faltered. "I can't," she said hesitantly. "They don't serve Khivans." She pointed at sign painted on the wall of the tavern. Three interlocked rings with a cross over them. "That's the symbol of Khiva. Crossed over."

Martel realised he had seen this symbol elsewhere in the city, without paying attention to it. As it did not apply to him, he had never needed to know what it meant.

He looked up at a wooden sign, showing a chicken to advertise the tavern's specialty. It hung on a rope tied to small pole, making it stick out to be more prominent. Glancing through the open wall at the owner inside, Martel thought he looked like a veteran of the legions. It would certainly explain his opinion on Khivans.

"I'll go elsewhere. Come on," Shadi said.

"One moment." Martel stared at the rope. It had the same temperature as its surroundings, making it hard for him to sense, since he normally used heat for that. But being more solid, he managed to separate it from the air around and form an attachment to the rope through his magic. He felt a little short of breath, but the most difficult part was done. Now, he simply used his connection to increase the heat. A small flame burst out, burning through the rope. "Now we can go." In front of them, the sign fell clattering to the ground.