Chasing Pearls

After a good night's sleep, Martel shook any thoughts of the woman at the Drum from his mind. He had his own troubles. Inquisitors stalking him and dukes investigating his past. Tonight, he would see Lady Pearl about this, but first, he had another long day of schoolwork ahead of him.

At least it was Manday, which always felt like a holiday after the gruelling lessons of the three prior days. No classes in combat or fire, just Archean and elemental magic. While Martel found the former a challenge, especially starting behind schedule, Eleanor's aid had remedied the worst of it; as for the latter, taking instructions from Master Alastair felt like a breeze compared to Moira or Reynard. Being back in the Hall of Elements reminded Martel of his early time at the Lyceum, back when magic had been new and exciting, promising him a bright future. Now, Martel felt less optimistic about what lay ahead, but he enjoyed those moments with the Master of Elements, making him forget his future life in the Empire.

"Martel? You seem distracted," Master Alastair chided him.

"Sorry, master." The acolyte smiled. "Just enjoying being here, in the Hall of Elements."

"Well, I won't chastise you for that, I suppose. Show me your progress."

Martel drew water from the air until his hand overflowed, drops falling to the ground. "I'm better, but I still don't see how to turn this into an attack. Compared with fire, where I barely have to think."

Master Alastair gave a knowing smile. "That is perhaps the trouble. You never had to learn how to draw upon fire, so you've yet to understand this lesson. It's not really about the water, or any element." The wizard gathered water into his own hand, freezing it cold before hurling it across the room. "The element is just a vessel, a way for you to steer your magic into an attack. Once you understand this – once you see magic as the primary force and the element as mere clothing, rather than reverse – it opens up for more advanced spells."

Such as lightning, Martel considered. "You never taught me this last year, even when I tried to master advanced elemental magic."

"I didn't want you to understand magic this way," Master Alastair admitted. "Once you frame magic as a weapon, regardless of the shape it takes, it becomes difficult to think of it as anything else." He cleared his throat. "There's a reason mageknights end up being useless for any other kinds of magic. When you only ever use weapons, any tool begins to look like a weapon as well."

***

For his evening errand, Martel for once missed his brown robes. The dull colour made him unworthy of note, resembling one of the countless clerks working across the city. The bold red of his current clothes, including the embroidered flames, drew attention and made him stand out.

He could borrow a surcoat from the Night Knives, but since the aim of his outing was to distance himself from them, that seemed contrary to purpose. At least his cloak looked ordinary and would help to make his robes less noticeable. A good scarf around his head also hid his face.

Lastly, he put on his gloves. Not that he felt any need to disguise his hands, but the weather promised to be wicked. Once outside on the street, Martel had confirmation. Howling winds threw snow into his face, making him bend his neck. As the sun had already set, the streetlamps struggled to illuminate against the snowfall; between that and his posture, Martel walked into other people and even a dog at one point. The River Pearl lay about an hour away, but the journey felt many times longer this evening.

Martel breathed with relief as he heard rather than saw the tavern. Rowdy singing, loud enough to be heard through walls and doors, issued from within. Despite the cold weather, the shutters had not been closed, allowing the brightness from within to shine through the glass windows.

For once, no guards stood outside, and Martel pushed the doors open to enter directly. Someone immediately closed them behind him. Untensing his shoulders, Martel took a deep breath, happy to be out of the gale.

A young woman approached, extending her hands to take his outerwear. Looking at her own garb, or lack thereof, Martel judged her to be among the staff of the Pearl, and he felt sorry that she had to work with arms, legs, and more uncovered; even indoors, it was still a cold night. "No thanks," Martel told her as his cloak dripped melting snow onto the floor. "I'm just here to speak with Lady Pearl." He removed his cap but kept the scarf around the lower half of his face.

"Who's here to see her?"

"Tell her it's a friend of Flora's. She knows me," Martel declared. Best to avoid saying his own name or invoke the Night Knives outright.

The servant girl gave him a quizzical look but turned around and left, leaving Martel to stand around.

The boisterous music and song continued, along with the constant slinging of ale and spirits, from what he could tell. A few sent him idle glances, their interest quickly wandering on; the common room was full of people, many of them stranger than him. Probably only the harbour saw a greater gathering of different travellers from across the continents compared to the bridge district.

"She'll see you," the waitress informed Martel as she returned.

With a nod, he left the young woman and made his way through the crowded chamber, full of drunks. His cloak weathered a few more storms as tankards were spilt in every direction until he could reach the back rooms.

Outside Lady Pearl's study, a guard gave a pointed look at his dagger. Relinquishing the weapon, Martel stepped inside.

The bald woman greeted him, sitting not behind, but on her desk. "It really is the littlest of the Night Knives, without either big sister or big brother. I'm surprised."

"This is a personal matter," Martel explained. "Though it does relate to the Night Knives. There are some people digging through my past, looking for connections they might use against me. If they were to ask around at the Pearl, I don't want them to learn about my affiliation with the Knives."

"I'm the sort who is happy to sell everything, including information. If you want me to remove that from my shelves, I'll need compensation." She gave him a bright smile.

"How much do you want?"

"More than a student at the Lyceum can afford, even with your nightly activities," Lady Pearl declared. "But I'll make you a deal."

Martel suspected the mentioning of his school was a veiled threat of sorts; proof that she knew about him and could use it against him. "What kind of deal?"

"I'll let everyone in the bridge district know to keep quiet about you. My girls, my boys, anyone I work with – none of them have heard of you."

"And in return?"

"A wizard who owes me a favour is always welcome. I can be a good friend, my little mageling, if you want me to be."

That sounded uncomfortably vague. Martel could not be sure how valuable Lady Pearl's help actually would be, and he could not imagine that she would ever ask for his help with anything benign. "I can do you a favour, within limits. I'm not a murderer or torturer or anything of the sort."

She gave the laugh that always reminded Martel of her name. "Goodness, what an imagination in one so young. Don't fret, that would be a dreadful waste. I would never use something so rare as magic on something so mundane."

It unnerved Martel a little that she apparently considered murder to be mundane. "I can do the same kind of help that you received from the Night Knives, or if you need my knowledge when it comes to spells or alchemy. I'm happy to provide those."

Lady Pearl gave him a long look. "Agreed. I won't ask you to do anything distasteful. We have a deal?"

He hesitated briefly before he spoke. "Agreed."