Brotherly Business

Martel spent Solday morning wondering whether he was making a mistake. Given his previous involvement with the Sisters of the Sun, walking into their compound might be considered the height of naivety. Yet the Friar had promised him free leave again, and he had made good on that promise last time. Besides, you needed bait for a trap; the letter had contained nothing of the sort. Just a vague appeal to Martel's decency, so to say. Which seemed very unlike one of the Nine Lords and made the acolyte inclined to trust the old monk had no ill intentions.

Which could be the very reason, of course, and perhaps the Friar was masterfully manipulating Martel.

He would find out soon enough. Ignoring the subtle voice in the back of his mind telling him to stay home, Martel finished his chores and his lunch before setting out towards the temple district.

***

Unlike his first visit, the gate to the convent stood closed. The building suddenly seemed foreboding, as if telling him to stay away. Perhaps that was the intention with the walls and sturdy-looking doors; the nuns inside probably preferred to avoid visitors.

Yet Martel had been invited, and with no other obvious action to take, he banged his fist against the gate.

It took a little while before a small hatch was slid open, allowing someone from the inside to spy on the street. "What do you want?"

"I'm Martel of the Lyceum." He almost regretted saying it; these religious people did not seem fond of magic. But he had to introduce himself to gain entry, after all, and they could probably tell he was a wizard by his red robes. "I've been invited." He left out the name of the Friar, not sure if saying it out loud would cause trouble.

"Wait here." The hatch was closed again.

Not like Martel had much choice; he doubted even Eleanor or Maximilian could have jumped over those walls, no matter how strong their empowering magic.

A smaller entry built into the large gate opened. "Come inside."

Hoping his instincts had not led him astray, Martel walked past the threshold to enter the convent.

***

If it was a trap, it could be worse. Martel was seated on a bench in the sun, surrounded by the fruit trees of the outer garden, giving a pleasant scent. Although the sight of the yellow-clad nuns made him a little nervous at first, they all ignored him, going about their business. One of them approached and gave him a cup of diluted wine to drink while he waited.

The old monk appeared. Curiously, unlike his more public appearances, he did not wear the velvet robe as before, but one made of undyed wool. "Master Martel of the Lyceum. I appreciate that you would accept my invitation."

Martel got on his feet, bowing his head in greeting. "You're welcome," he muttered, not sure what else to say.

"I shall be honest with you and tell you what I know. If this reflects ill or well on me in your opinion, so be it. I see no point in playing coy," the old monk declared, sitting down on the bench.

A refreshing change, assuming it was true. Martel returned to his seat.

"After our first meeting, I became intrigued. I've had my people look into you. They told me of an enterprising young mage, involved in many affairs. To be expected from someone who would appear in the Undercroft before the Nine Lords, of course, but other things surprised me. The people of the copper lanes think of you as their champion. The Khivans consider you the only good mage in a world they see as corrupted by magic. And I hear you even pay your respects at the Basilica. Not many young people do these days."

Martel sat, trying to digest this. The monk just admitted to spying on him, which explained why he thought the acolyte might become angry.

"When I meet people in my capacity as the Friar, they are nearly always motivated by either power or money – which often equate to the same thing, of course. You seem to be one of the few exceptions."

Martel considered that. He was unsure whether this was true. All of his involvement with the Nine Lords had been because he needed coin; though to be fair to himself, he needed that money for others rather than his own gain. Still, it seemed wise to let the old man talk as much as possible, learning what he could.

"I do have my suspicions how that thief was able to escape my otherwise capable sisters of the yellow cloth," the Friar continued, "on the night of our first meeting. But as no serious harm was done to them, I am inclined to let that matter rest."

So he did suspect Martel's hand in Ruby's escape. But either he meant what he said, or lack of evidence kept him from pursuing it.

"All of this is to say that I require help, and I believe you are in a unique position to offer it. Furthermore, I believe you may even be willing to aid me simply because it would be the right thing to do – though of course, your help would be received by my gratitude and friendship. While boasting does not become a man of vows, I dare say that I am a good friend to have."

He had a lot of faith in Martel; a necessary attribute to possess as a monk, perhaps.

The Friar smiled. "All this time, you've kept quiet, letting me talk. You truly are a child of Glund. Without knowing, I would guess that to be your star." Martel's expression must have given away the truth, for the old man began to laugh. "The riddle of three proves true once again."

Becoming a little impatient with all the cryptic talk, Martel figured he could speed things along. "What kind of help do you need?"

"Yes, to the heart of the matter. A holy relic was stolen from a shrine in the city. But to understand this, I must first ask – you are aware of the Pact of the Nine Lords, yes?"

Martel nodded.

"That oath has helped stem the violence that so easily overflows in this city. Of course, part of it is practical. Step out of line, the other Lords will destroy you. But still, an oath must be sworn by something holy. Or better yet, upon something holy." The Friar gave Martel a knowing look.

"The stolen relic – it's the one you used when you swore the Pact?"

He nodded. "Now, its disappearance does not invalidate the oath. But as you should know, the harbour has a new master. At summer solstice, we must renew the oath to include him. Another relic could be used, perhaps, but I fear these events are connected. Stealing the one we used last might be a pretext for someone to question the oath itself, delay the proceedings, and in the end, overturn the Pact."

"So, you want it found. But why me? You must have plenty of resources." Hard to imagine a man like the Friar could not call upon someone better.

"Yes, but as said, you may be uniquely qualified. This investigation requires magical talent, for reasons you'll discover, and any mage I might call upon is well known by the others. If the trail leads to the other Nine Lords, they would be seen as my agent, violating the Pact. You, however, are already known to have crossed the districts. You can appear as a neutral party."

Martel looked at the old man. He could refuse. In the end, he was not responsible for keeping the peace between these criminals. But he suddenly realised how the Friar's friendship might be useful to him. "I'll do it if you'll do a favour for me in turn."

"Which is?"

"In the catacombs underneath the city, by the sewers, I believe a maleficar hides. He is protected by a jinni, a spirit of the desert. Far too powerful for me to face. Can you get the inquisitors to scour the tombs and find him? They should arrive in force and send their very best." As much as Martel loathed depending on those zealots, their golden weapons might stand a chance against the jinni.

The Friar stared at him for a while. "Not at all what I expected. We are familiar with the catacombs, of course. They are a perennial thorn in the side of the Inquisition, unable to permanently quell the necromantic energies that plague the place. Very well. I have no qualms granting such a favour."

"In that case, I'll do what I can. But I can't guarantee success. I've never tried to investigate a crime before."

"Of course." The monk took out a scrap of parchment. "You will not be alone. I took the liberty of writing this down when I heard you had arrived for our meeting, anticipating a positive outcome. There's a time and place for you to meet someone who will assist you." He handed it over.

Martel accepted it. "Who is it? How will I know them?"

The Friar smiled. "He'll recognise you."