The Power of a Potion

The next day saw Martel back in Mistress Rana's laboratory. Stepping inside and looking at the shelves lined with ingredients, he felt a little envious that she had the knowledge, skills, and equipment to pursue her alchemy while he lacked all three. And although every bell spent in this place ostensibly helped to remedy that, they remained outside his grasp; the last in particular, unless he could think of ways to earn more coin. Though before he went down that path, it might be wise to ask Mistress Rana first for any aid; she was his teacher, after all.

First, the little ritual of Martel failing to awaken the magic in the reagents. Mistress Rana made no remark but simply did the task herself, making every ingredient light up with power. Quietly, Martel set to work, lighting a fire and starting the brewing process.

While stirring, he glanced at the alchemist. She seemed to do rather basic tasks such as preparing reagents, except she used strange tools, and she did not work on plants or herbs, but rather what looked like pieces of animals. For a while, she stood grating a horn into powder, and later, he watched her wield a black knife to cut a stone into bits. He wondered why she did this herself rather than have her apprentice attend to such labours; perhaps the rarity of the ingredients or the tools meant she would not allow others to do it.

Waiting until the alchemist paused between tasks, Martel decided to ask. "Mistress Rana, I was wondering…"

"What?"

"I think the more time I spend working, the quicker I'll learn. I wondered if I might borrow a pot and some herbs, so I can practise more often."

"No. You are not anywhere near ready to attempt to make an elixir on your own," she replied sharply. "A small misstep can turn a potion into poison, and you are not even aware of the possible pitfalls. You will only work under my direct supervision, is that clear?"

"Yes, mistress." Even as he said it, Martel saw no harm in working on his own, as long as he only did exactly as he had been taught. If in doubt, he could always throw the results of his brewing away. His main intention was to improve his skills, after all.

"Keep stirring."

Martel swirled the ladle swiftly.

***

Mistress Rana walked over to look at his progress. The boiling and brewing were done; now came the hardest part. "Connect with the power in the cauldron," she told him. "Guide it to where you want it to be." She grabbed the pot from the fireplace while he attempted to do as told.

Letting his magical senses extend, he felt the magic broiling around easily enough. But trying to contain it went the same way as before, as it slipped through the tendrils of his power.

Mistress Rana began to pour. Rather than directly control the magic in the water, Martel imagined his own power like a pair of hands pushing the glowing liquid where he wanted it to go. Drops of it followed, but not nearly enough.

Suddenly, the rest of it followed. Martel stood surprised for a moment until he realised his teacher had stepped in.

"No reason to let your hours go to waste. Did you use the last one I gave you?" she asked.

Martel nodded. While he had not drunk the potion personally, he had found a use for it. And he had purpose for this as well.

"Very well." She handed it over. "Your wages for this fiveday are on the table over there. I will see you next Manday."

***

Potion in his pocket, Martel walked towards the copper lanes. His money lay in the drawer in his room; he probably had enough to buy the necessities for this kind of basic alchemy, but he was reluctant to spend it straight away. He needed fifteen silvers by the end of the month to pay for Julia's room. While that was still several fivedays away, Martel had learned that emergencies could easily occur and require all of his available coin. He would feel more comfortable spending what little he had if he knew how to replace it swiftly.

Reaching the home of the urchins, Martel went inside. He noted with satisfaction that a fire burned from the fuel he had bought for them. The children greeted him happily as always.

"I am happy to see you as well." The mage looked around, especially towards the stairs leading up. Usually, Weasel appeared as soon as he entered. "Where is your fearless leader this evening?"

Some of the children laughed. "Weasel is on a job. Stalking a mark," Badger informed him.

That probably made this easier. "What about Sparrow? Is she home?"

"She always is. What do you want with her?"

"I just have a simple question for her. Could one of you fetch her for me?"

Someone ran off, scurrying upstairs, while Martel sat down by the table. Using the waiting time, he pulled out the potion from his robes. Holding it between his thumb and index finger, he showed the small glass bottle to the children. "What colour is this?"

They had all looked with interest as he pulled it out, but their attention quickly waned. "Just looks like dirty water."

"Gray?"

"Sort of brown."

One of the children returned with Sparrow. "What's going on?"

Martel held out the vial towards her. "What colour is this?"

The little girl gave it a curious look. "Kind of yellow. Looks a bit like the fire." She glanced at the flames burning in the cooking hearth.

"Why does it look different to her?" asked Mouse. "What does it mean?"

Possibly many things, though Martel could not say what exactly. And he needed to be certain before filling the girl's head with ideas. Find a more reliable way to test if Sparrow had magic. He realised that he should have looked more into this topic, prepared himself better before rushing down here. "It means I'll be coming back." Martel gave what he hoped was a reassuring smile.