The Iron Coin

Eleanor's words about the executed alchemist rumbled around Martel's mind for the rest of the day. When he woke the next morning, the thought soon returned. Given that he studied alchemy himself, everything about it felt disconcerting. Hoping to learn more, he took the opportunity to make inquiries during his first lesson. "Master Alastair, is it true the inquisitors executed an alchemist?"

His teacher regarded him carefully. "That is the short of it, though there is more to the story. The man was Sindhian, which made it easy for him to claim to be a trained alchemist when in reality, his elixirs were harmless at best, harmful at worst."

"How do you know? I thought only clergymen witnessed the trial."

"Mistress Rana was summoned as a witness, and she shared a few details," Master Alastair explained. "She questioned the man and searched his workshop, revealing him to be a fraud. She also testified that given the fate some of his customers suffered, it was likely his potions had made them feel worse if not outright caused their death."

That was more information than Martel had hoped to gain, but it also left him confused. He did not know what to think of the inquisitors anymore. "So it wasn't just because they wanted to make an example of him? Or because being Sindhian, he was an easy target?"

Master Alastair slowly shook his head. "I would not say so, no. He worked in the copper lanes, exploiting those too desperate to go elsewhere and too powerless to seek restitution. And in a strange turn of events, his misdeeds only came to light because the inquisitors scoured the district looking for the maleficar."

"That's good, I guess." Truthfully, Martel did not know how to feel about this.

"I think that's enough of a break. Come, show me how far you got in Master Basil's challenges."

~

Back in his room later that day, Martel continued his exercises on his own as usual. This time, he focused on the water lying in the bowl on his drawer, raising all of it into the air to practice manipulating an entire mass of liquid. He had moved his Khivan clock to his writing desk, just in case he lost control.

A knock on the door interrupted him, making the water sway dangerously in the air, though he kept his concentration and returned the liquid to the bowl. Opening the door, he was a little surprised to see Eleanor outside. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to sound casual and indifferent only to regret it, fearing that he sounded curt.

"I was wondering if you might be willing to help me with something. It should be pretty simple and not take much of your time."

How he remembered it, Martel did not owe her any favours. But he could not reject a direct plea for help. "What do you need?"

"Do you happen to speak Tyrian? Just enough to know how it should be pronounced."

"I don't really speak it, no, but I guess I know how it sounds. I can say a couple of phrases and such," he clarified.

"Better than me. I have been looking into Tyrian runes, but since they require you to speak Tyrian words, I'm having trouble with them. I thought maybe you could be of assistance." She looked up at him with her brown eyes, and even if Martel doubted that he could help, he would at least try.

"Alright. When should we do it? Now?"

"Oh no, I only have scattered notes. I do not wish to waste your time. I need to go to the library and copy down all the runes I am interested in along with their explanations."

"Couldn't I just go with you to the library? If it's in a book, we can look at it together," Martel suggested.

She gave an apprehensive smile. "It is on the upper floor."

Where only acolytes had access. Martel was really looking forward to his examination; every time he was reminded of his status as a novice, he felt juvenile. "Alright. We'll do it another day. Let me know when."

"I shall. Thank you." A cautious smile followed her previous one.

"Don't mention it."

~

A man wearing a bright patchwork of clothes, missing only the hat to look the part of a court jester, made his way through The Copper Drum. He drew some stares, but given the amount of people in the common room, including many others likewise dressed in an odd manner, nobody accosted him. He reached the flight of stairs leading deeper into the building and ascended. When a guard stopped him, he pulled out a strange-looking coin made of iron, granting him passage.

Soon, clearly knowing the way, he reached Kerra's study. As he was admitted, she looked up from her desk and immediately had a calculating expression upon seeing him. "I can guess what brings the Keeper of the Pact around."

Her visitor gave a flourishing bow. "The Nine Lords are summoned in nine days."

"By whose will?"

He placed the coin upon her desk. Picking it up, Kerra gave it a closer look. On one side, it had the symbol of a X with a vertical line straight through; on the other, a ship with unfurled sails.

She returned the iron coin. "What is the reason?"

"He has levied an accusation of attempted murder against you, my lady. To that end, he demands you bring the Copper Mage with you as witness."

"Expect to see me there."

The Keeper gave another bow with more intricate hand gestures than necessary. "The only expectation I would ever have." He left.

Waiting until the sounds of footsteps had disappeared, Kerra stuck her head out of her study. "Get me Vernon," she told the guard outside.

As he went off to carry out her order, Kerra paced around her office.

Eventually, a short man with a thin beard running along his jawline entered. "You have need of me?"

"The Nine Lords meet. Tibert is making his next move. Given his demand, I think I have his plan figured out," she explained.

"Any way we can be sure?"

"The Night Knives do not accept contracts on the Nine Lords," Kerra considered. "If any of them arrive or have arrived from Aquila to act as his muscle, my suspicions concerning our Copper Mage should be confirmed. Get in touch with our spies at the docks."

"I will."

"Also, we must arrange matters within his fold. Who is the most ambitious of his lieutenants?"

"The one called Vitus, from what our spies tell. He is the most likely candidate amenable to our suggestions," Vernon said.

"Get in touch. Let's get our pieces into position." Kerra smiled. "Nine days."