Unexpected Light

"Since the hours seem to fit us both, I decided to make our switch of lessons on Mandays permanent," Mistress Rana told him. "You will need to practice alchemy regularly, after all, so we might as well have a fixed day for it."

Martel inclined his head in agreement. "Sounds good, mistress." He definitely agreed that regular practice would be needed. He still felt far from any hope of actually brewing an elixir on his own.

His teacher left, and Martel resumed his work in the apothecary. Next to him, Nora glanced in his direction. They had not returned to the easy manner of their first months together, but at least they were on speaking terms. "How's your efforts with the reagents?"

He figured she did not ask about the batch of seeds he currently ground into powder. "Same as last, I guess. It's like reading a sentence in the book where I understand the words, yet I can't make meaning of it. It just escapes me."

"It's difficult to change how your mind sees something. Like finding out someone is fire-touched, and you have always been told they are dangerous people without control over their magic," Nora remarked lightly. "Sometimes, it takes time spent in their company to see them differently. And there's no grand revelation. It's just moment after moment, hours of them, that slowly fill up like drops in the water clock until it's full."

"What's a water clock got to do with alchemy?" Martel asked, making sure to sound confused.

As Nora turned to look at him and saw the laughter on his face, she jabbed her elbow into his arm and resumed her work.

***

In between meals and fire magic, Martel considered the question of earning money. The more he thought about it, the more he liked the idea of having his own little workshop where he could try recipes and practise his alchemy. As long as he stuck to what Mistress Rana taught him, he anticipated no danger. He could make potions of warmth for Julia every night while winter lasted.

He should probably ask his teacher whether there was such a thing as potion poisoning before convincing Julia to drink them daily.

But first, he needed silver, obtained through means that did not conflict with the laws of the city or the rules of the Lyceum. Martel made a mental list of all the ways he had made money so far.

Working for Master Jerome. Always an option, though the work seemed sporadic, especially in winter, and only paid one silver per bell. A last resort, but unlikely to yield enough for his purposes.

Using magic to cheat at gambling. No.

Using magic to win prize fights in the city. No.

Working as a mercenary with the Night Knives. Not always illegal tasks, but definitely something that would get him in trouble with the Lyceum. And given he nearly got caught by inquisitors the last time, the prospect was simply too dangerous regardless of legalities.

While he had not made money from it as such, his knowledge of herbal remedies could earn him an income as an apothecary. Unfortunately, against the law and his promise to Mistress Rana. He doubted she would defend him a second time in front of the Apothecary Guild.

Martel needed to think of new ways. He was by now rather skilled at preparing ingredients and the like. If he simply sold the labour of his hands rather than the fruits of his knowledge to any apothecary or alchemist short on apprentices, that might not ruffle any feathers. Of course, Martel already did this for a full bell just about every day working at the Lyceum's apothecary, plus another bell on Soldays working for Master Jerome; the thought of doing it during his spare afternoons or evenings felt gruelling.

Perhaps he simply needed inspiration. Possibly a walk among the workshops and craftsmen of Morcaster would give him ideas where his magic could provide a shortcut and be worth him selling his services.

He could do that on Solday when he had the afternoon off. For now, he grabbed the nearby coltsfoot to do his Sindhian exercise. No use having an alchemy workshop unless he could do alchemy.

***

Looking at his Khivan clock showing the hour to be ten in the evening, Martel gave up on the exercise. It was time for sleep, and he had not made much progress regardless. He hoped that Nora's explanation proved true; that if he simply invested enough time, continued to try and try, it would eventually work out. Still, a little confirmation that he was improving would do much to bolster his confidence and motivation.

Giving it one last go, Martel closed his fingers around the herb. By now, he was so accustomed to how it felt in the palm of his hand, he barely noticed it. Which might even help; rather than his physical sense of touch, Martel focused on feeling the plant with his magic. Not looking for fire or heat, not water or the lack thereof, not its connection to earth. Only the magic within, dormant but awaiting.

Martel let his magic flow into the herb. He could do anything to it now. Raise it into the air and float it around. Ignite it and burn it to a crisp. Instead, he slowly pulled his sensation of magic back into himself, trying to drag what force lay inside this dry twig along with it.

As he opened his hand, Martel saw the faint glow surround the plant, as much an effect of his own power as whatever lay inside. Once again, it struck him as strange how ordinary people could not see this. In some ways, they lacked a sense as if deaf or blind compared to him. The healing elixir stolen from Cheval, so expensive and so potent, had brimmed with power to Martel's touch. Yet to Weasel, it must have looked like swamp water or something.

Thinking about that, Martel suddenly felt bothered. Not about Weasel, but the vial with the healing liquid. Martel had not seen it used, but he had asked the urchins about it. It had worked as it should, yet a thought nagged him; something he had overlooked. Who had told him about it? Sparrow, the little girl who was taken by the maleficar last year. She had described it to him. Mentioned how the potion had glowed. Something that should have been invisible to her – unless she had magic.