New Routines

The next morning, after working an awkward shift in the apothecary, where Nora said little more than necessary, Martel made his way to the workshops. As he arrived, gathering with the few other students also reporting for work, he noticed that they all kept their distance. He also found that he did not care.

Master Jerome made his appearance soon after, quickly directing his new workers to various positions and tasks, with Martel the lone exception. "Finally an acolyte," he remarked with a look towards Martel's new robes. "Good thing I made your belt black. Since every colour goes well with black."

Martel quickly glanced down at his leather belt with the pin shaped as a lightning bolt in the buckle. It did suit his red garb well. "Always a step ahead, Master Jerome."

The artificer gave a quick laugh, and Martel was glad to see the big man's jovial behaviour had not changed; he did not care how random students at the Lyceum treated him, but Master Jerome was another matter.

"As an acolyte, you will be spared the more menial tasks. I got plenty of novices for that. For now, with all your experience from the apothecary, I imagine you'll do well preparing ingredients and making ink. And while fire acolytes don't need to learn enchantment, I'll talk with your teachers. If there's time in your schedule for it, maybe we can find something useful for you to learn."

Martel's ears pricked up at that. Using fire to create rather than destroy sounded enticing. "I look forward to it, master."

The artificer placed a heavy hand on his shoulder. "There's a good lad. Come along, your work is waiting."

***

Passing through the entrance hall in the afternoon, Martel stopped to check for messages. He had a feeling he could no longer expect Henry to track him down or get his attention if anything waited for him, so it seemed best to take a more active role.

He approached the air acolyte's desk. "Any letters?"

"I'll check." Avoiding eye contact, Henry got up and walked to the cabinets by the wall, quickly perusing them until he pulled out a small note. Wordlessly, he handed it over to Martel and sat down again.

Continuing on his walk, Martel quickly read the brief message.

Master Martel,

Unusual developments in our parts of the city

which pertain to you. Please pay us a visit

when convenient.

Kerra

Martel almost scowled seeing the name. He had not entertained any dealings with that woman since their trip to the Undercroft, and he had no desire to do so now. She had never been straight with him from the moment they met, always acting with ulterior motives, often putting him in harm's way.

No, Martel would not fall into her snare yet again. Whatever vague events she referred to had nothing to do with him; he had not been to the copper lanes for months. She would have to find another pawn.

***

Setting aside such thoughts about the copper lanes and its devious mistress, Martel spent the remainder of the lunch bell relaxing until it was time for his third and final task of this Solday. Unsure what to expect, Martel entered the library. Its caretaker sent him a glance with a gruff expression; it seemed any goodwill obtained by a shared interest in the subterranean architecture of Morcaster had expired. No matter, as Martel had no need of him. Holding his writing tools and notes from yesterday's class, he looked around in search of his tutor.

She arrived moments later, carrying her own stack of parchment. With a quick smile as their eyes met, Eleanor approached Martel. "You are here as well. Great."

"Can we study here?" Martel spoke quietly; even with his back turned, he could practically feel the librarian's eyes on him. "I think talking is frowned upon."

"Certainly, if we stay on the lower floor. Follow me." Eleanor walked past him to approach the librarian, who regarded them with little affection.

Of course, Martel realised, he was an acolyte now. The upper floor of the library was accessible to him.

"We should like entry to the above," Eleanor explained. With a huff, the man got up and placed his hand on the rune carved into the door by his desk. It glowed briefly and allowed him to open the door. The pair of acolytes quickly passed through to reach a spiral staircase, which they followed up to the next floor.

Ever since he learned of the forbidden section of the library, Martel had been envious of those allowed to go there. He had imagined all manner of tomes and volumes of arcane lore, detailing amazing spells. He had never really given much thought as to how it might look. As he finally stood upon the upper floor, he realised that it looked pretty much like the lower. Long rows of bookshelves filled as intended. No doubt containing vast amounts of precious knowledge, though Martel could not readily see what set these apart from those accessible to novices.

"Come with me. There is a table over here we can use." Eleanor walked over to her declared destination, slapping down her pile of parchment. As Martel joined her, she reached out and grabbed a heavy book from a shelf. "A dictionary of the Archean language. That should come in useful."

Martel had not heard of this type of book before, but he could assume its purpose. "You brought notes as well?"

She nodded. "Everything I have written down so far in this class. I suppose it is unnecessary, since I was taught Archean as a child."

Martel looked at her, confused. "If you already know the language, why do you take notes?"

"Habits die hard. And given you are about to enjoy the fruits of my diligence, I do not expect to hear any complaints out of you."

He raised his hands to a surrendering pose. "Perish the thought."

"Good. Let us begin from the start, with learning the letters…"