The Shape of Things

Martel hardly felt rested as he woke the next day, even if little sleep was better than none. His leg still hurt, but if he walked slowly, he could disguise his limp. None of the gashes were deep, thankfully, but it would take a few days to heal at least. Although he had not planned for it, he was lucky that today was Solday. While he had his work in the apothecary and the workshops, he would not be required to do any spellcasting, as he had no classes. With much of his spellpower still drained because of his insufficient rest, Martel did not feel like much of a mage.

He would have to make sure that he got proper sleep tonight, so he was ready for the sparring group the following night. While Martel did not currently feel up for something like that, he would not give himself an excuse to skip. Clearly, he needed the practice, and potential assailants could not be expected to delay until he felt up for being ambushed.

He looked at his robe, hanging on the dummy. It was still damp. Martel opened his window and pushed some wind through his chamber, helping the cloth to dry a little. Better than nothing.

Today, Martel did not ask Master Jerome for any extra work. Besides having plans with Shadi this afternoon, he did not feel in much of a state to work long hours. He was just glad that the artificer sent him to the small laboratory to make ingredients for ink, which he could do sitting down some of the time, sparing his leg.

Strangely, he felt a little guilty about his nightly endeavours. Even if he had caused no harm to anything in the workshops, going through the place to access the sewers and afterwards using the laundry to hide his tracks could seem like a betrayal of the trust shown to him by Master Jerome. All in all, Martel was happy to be done with his chore and leave the workshops as soon as he could.

Nora teased him in her usual manner as he pulled up a stool to sit down for his chores in the apothecary. Knowing her good nature and that she meant nothing by it, Martel let it pass, even if he was not in the mood to jest with her.

He could not forget that first sight of the animated skeleton. So far, hearing about necromancy and other dark arts from Master Fenrick had been abstract, intangible. While he had not doubted his teacher, it had not felt real to him. Standing face to face with such a being had seemed like a nightmare appearing before him in the flesh, so to say. Martel had been too exhausted to dream after the ordeal, but he feared restless nights ahead with memories of the dark catacombs intruding on his sleep.

Perhaps he had also had some notion that a creature consisting only of bones would be weak and feeble. Yet Martel's magic, strong enough to injure and drive back even hardened warriors, had barely made the skeleton blink – so to say. Its fingers had been as sharp as the knife Martel used for chopping up roots. Unhappy at the memory, the novice finished his tasks and left the apothecary once the bell had rung, signalling the end of his shift.

~

At least he had something pleasant to look forward to afterwards. He left early, giving him the option of resting at times and breaking up the journey to the Khivan enclave into smaller bits. His wounds did not hinder his movement other than causing some pain, so he took pauses as needed and gritted his teeth the rest of the time.

Pulling his cloak tighter around him, Martel finished the last stretch and reached the watchmaker's workshop. After knocking, he only waited a brief while before Shadi appeared outside, all bundled up.

She gave him a smile in greeting. "Want to go look at the glassblower’s work?"

A capital idea, since that cost nothing, and Martel only had the five gold coins on him marked for a specific purpose. "Let's go."

They walked down the street while chatting idly; mostly Shadi, talking about her friends in the quarter and their mischief. Martel had decided against telling her of his exploits in the catacombs last night. It would only upset her to know.

Soon, they reached the workshop where a glass blower and his apprentices worked. One wall was removed, allowing the intense heat of the furnace to seep away, also providing a good vantage point for anyone to view their labours.

Some of the apprentices nodded and smiled at Shadi, apparently on friendly footing, while they studiously ignored Martel.

"I love seeing them at work," she related. "Just their skill and how the most amazing shapes can come from a simple rod of glass."

"It's very impressive," Martel agreed. "A kind of magic of its own."

"Hah, that's a good way of putting it."

"How about your father, is he busy with work?"

Her response came dragged out. "Not right now, but he'll get some soon."

"Definitely. In fact, I got this." Martel gave her a small bundle of cloth.

Shadi unwrapped it to see five golden crowns, and she quickly wrapped them up again. "Martel, I can't accept this!"

"Of course not. It's from Max. He's envious of my little clock and wants one for himself. Is that enough?" he asked, suddenly worried that he had misjudged the price.

She smiled. "It should be. Hah, you should show your clock to more people at your fancy school!"

Martel watched as the glass blower work his material, slowly taking shape. "I will."

"This is good." She exhaled. "I didn't want to say too much, but rent keeps rising across the district. And it's weird."

"What is?"

"Lots of people have been forced to move out, but no other Khivans can afford such high rent, and Asterians don't want to live here. So those houses just stand empty, meaning the landlords lose money. Where's the sense in that?"

Martel could not say, but some of his experiences had shown him what people would do for greed, regardless of who got hurt. Inside the workshop, the glass began to take the shape of a beautiful cup. "I wish I knew."