Not Quite an Alchemist Yet

Martel spent most of Glunday digesting the events of the previous day. Without more red clover, Eleanor would not be able to make another attempt at the elixir, and he saw no reason to reveal her attempts to anyone. He had been involved in a few troublesome matters himself, which others had overlooked; he certainly was not going to tell on one of his only friends.

But Eleanor's illicit labours made him think. He had acquired some basic understanding of alchemy and the works of an apothecary by now, and he greatly enjoyed the act of creating even the simplest of salves; there was satisfaction in making something, especially when it would help others.

Yet while Eleanor had put her mind to work creating something as complex as the strange potion, Martel had not used his skills in alchemy except as instructed by Mistress Rana. He was not allowed to create anything to sell it, but people existed in Morcaster who would never have the coin to afford even the smallest of remedies; did they not deserve any? If Martel did not charge any payment, he could not be considered in breach of the rules. At least, so he assumed.

With these thoughts churning in his head, Martel went to sleep.

~

Malday offered an opportunity that Martel was unsure whether to grasp. He was dreadfully curious about the strange name 'Phoenik' from the title of Master Fenrick's book. The only obstacle was that for all such questions concerning arcane knowledge, he would always go to Master Fenrick. The teacher might not take kindly to Martel's intrusion into his private chambers, should he guess where Martel had encountered the name. On the other hand, Martel had not done anything he could be punished for, and surely the odd name appeared in other connections and places as well.

So, when his lesson in magical theory began, the novice decided to chance it and raised his hand.

"Yes? You have a question?"

"Master Fenrick, what is Phoenik?" Martel put on his most innocent expression.

The teacher narrowed his eyes. "Where did you learn that name?"

"I came across it in a book, but it did not explain further." All true, just a few key details omitted.

"Hm. Phoenik was an ancient civilisation, already little more than folklore by the time of the Aquilan Empire," Master Fenrick began to explain. Regardless of any suspicions or misgivings about the reason for Martel's inquiry, it was clear he enjoyed sharing his knowledge too much to be tight-lipped. "Supposedly they possessed magic that would make even Archeans envious. But such is always the claim for the wizards of old. Easy to make such claims when they can never be disproven."

"Where did they live?"

"Apparently all across the continent. Remnants from the civilisation have been found in the strangest places. On the other hand, nobody has ever located anything that could resemble a capital or just a major city of theirs. Too long ago, I suppose. We have a sparse knowledge of the language thanks to a few fragmented pieces of writing, and a few artefacts have also been discovered, all of them potent and dangerous." Master Fenrick gave Martel a piercing look. "Anyone who ever comes across anything to do with Phoenik would be well advised to run in the other direction."

~

Afterwards, Martel considered his ethical conundrum from yesterday. The more he thought about it, the more he leaned towards feeling obligated to help. Even if only in a small way. His mind made up, Martel did not waste any further time, since he had class later in the afternoon. In his pocket, he had his entire hoard, consisting of five pennies. His letter to his mother would have to wait a day or two; for now, it was time to visit the market.

Morcaster had its share of herbalists and alchemists, the latter of dubious quality; any old man or woman with warts could set up shop and claim to sell cures for every ailment, Martel assumed, but who knew the contents of their offered bottles? The situation was better when trading with herbalists, at least for customers who knew what they were doing. One could inspect the herbs, ensure you had the right ones, and that the quality was good.

Fortunately, Martel knew where to go. Mistress Rana had once sent him to market for herbs. Even better, this particular peddler had his stall in a small alley rather than the crowded squares; after last Solday, Martel was not keen on entering crowds.

"Ah, it's the young alchemist!" The herbalist was an old man with tufts of white hair above his ears and hands with brown spots all over them.

"Not quite yet," Martel corrected him, though he knew the old man spoke in good nature. "Not even an apprentice yet, just a helper."

"Mistress Rana need anything special?"

Martel did not see a reason to correct the man about his teacher's involvement or lack thereof; it gave him a little more authority to haggle with. "Nothing special, some ordinary items." He rattled off the list of ingredients for skin salve.

"Not a problem." The herbalist began gathering the items. "Though, just one of each? The good mistress usually buys them by the bundle. In fact, I could have sworn I sold some of these just the other day to her apprentice."

"Oh, I, err, ruined some of them. Didn't dry them properly." Martel gave an anxious smile. In his experience, people did not question your story if it made you look a fool.

"Not quite an alchemist indeed. That'll be nine pennies." Herbs in one hand, the old man extended the other in anticipation of payment.

Martel made a show of rummaging through his pockets before withdrawing his five coppers. "That's all my teacher gave me. Can I owe you the rest?"

The herbalist squinted. "I suppose your school's good for it. I'll get it next time your mistress buys something from me." They exchanged plants for pennies, bid each other a fair day, and Martel left.

Returning to the Lyceum, he quickly stashed his purchases in the apothecary and hurried to his lesson on practical magic in the gymnasium.

~

In terms of his interest, Martel's two lessons on Mandays were at opposing ends. The early class dealing with pure knowledge fascinated him every time; he felt completely the opposite practising how to keep spell effects lasting. There were only so many ways he could raise the earth into strange shapes and force it to stay that way before he ran out of ideas. Yet it yielded results; little by little, Martel felt the strain less, and he maintained his magic longer and longer. He had a long way to go still, from what Master Fenrick told him, but every fiveday, he took another step forward.

~

Setting aside thoughts of magic, Martel returned to the apothecary for more practical work. A few of the nurses glanced at him as he passed through the infirmary at this unusual hour, but nobody questioned him; since he had a key, obviously Martel had permission to enter the small workshop. He gathered his ingredients newly purchased. A few of them could be used straight away, some of them needed a little processing, and the remainder required to be dried out for days; Martel solved that problem by exchanging his fresh specimens for their equivalents from the apothecary's storages. Everything ready, Martel went to work using the first recipe he had ever learned.