Chapter 258: Dreaming of Potions
Dreaming of Potions
Martel had limited experiences with the law. He knew not to steal or murder, but this was something else entirely. He was not even sure if this actually pertained to the law of the land. He did not understand what exactly he was accused of doing. He had never had dealings with guilds before and knew nothing of how they operated, nor how their charter, rights, or privileges worked. He needed advice.
As luck would have it, the next day was Solday when he would to receive payment from Mistress Rana. Considering she ran the apothecary at the Lyceum, Martel assumed she would have some idea of what this all meant.
So, as he entered the apothecary in the morning, Martel held up the folded letter and looked at Mistress Rana. "Can we speak in private?" Given how matters stood between him and Nora, he preferred that she did not hear.
The Mistress of Elixirs frowned before turning around and walking through the backdoor of the apothecary. Martel followed, having never been allowed past that threshold before. Not that anything of interest met his eye; they stood in a small room containing nothing but stairs that led to Mistress Rana's laboratory on the upper floor.
"What is it?"
Martel handed over the letter. "I have been summoned, but I don't understand why."
She quickly read the contents. "Strange. Why would they – right. You have been illegally competing with the licensed apothecaries of the city."
"How? I don't have a store. I haven't sold anything to anyone."
"You forget your young friends in the copper lanes. You remember when you contracted consumption from them."
Oh, that. "But what does that have to do with the Apothecary Guild?"
"You distributed remedies without permission from a guild member. I'm not sure how they found out, but they are within their rights to prosecute you."
Martel thought about the punishments mentioned in the letter. Ten crowns in fine for every time he had helped Weasel and his gang. Martel could never scrape together such a sum. He did not wish to think about the other options mentioned, working in the mines or becoming a galley slave. Surely the Empire would not do that to a prospective battlemage. "What do I do?"
Mistress Rana frowned. "Leave this with me. I'm busy for a few days, but I shall write to the guild and have them assemble the tribunal on Manday. Tell your teachers you will be absent that afternoon."
"Manday? Is that enough time?" That was in four days.
"I could handle this matter now if I had the time," she declared dryly. "But I don't. So we will have to wait."
"What should I do in the meantime?"
She gave him a stern look. "You have done more than enough. Have you gotten involved in anything like this ever since that whole affair with the consumption? Given out any other remedies?"
He quickly shook his head. "Not at all, mistress."
"In that case, do nothing and let me handle this. You have work waiting for you in the apothecary."
***
Despite Mistress Rana's assurances, Martel found it difficult to focus.
"You seem distracted. Does something trouble you?" Across the table, Eleanor looked at him.
Martel considered telling her, but there was nothing she could do. "Just a lot on my mind. Becoming an acolyte has changed so much."
She gathered together her notes as their tutoring session came to an end. "Perhaps this afternoon will provide a welcome distraction."
He felt confused for a moment until he remembered. The visit to her family. "Do I need to change clothes?" He looked down at his red robes. While suitable for most occasions, that did not include anything formal in the home of a legate.
Eleanor laughed a little. "My parents will not be home, so you should not worry about that."
"If they are not home, who exactly are we visiting?" From Martel's few encounters with Eleanor's family, he could not remember any prominent members besides her parents and herself, of course.
"You will see."
***
Late in the afternoon, they reached the stately home of Legate Fontaine. They entered through one of the smaller entrances, Martel simply following Eleanor's lead. Some servants and guards greeted them respectfully, always standing aside to let them pass. Eleanor nodded in return, sometimes giving a kind word, as they made their way through the servants' quarters to reach the upper floors of the family's chambers. Still wondering about Eleanor's intentions, Martel trudged along.
Eventually, they left the corridors and entered what had to be the private room belonging to a member of the Fontaine family. Inside a richly furnished chamber, Martel noticed two people. One, a servant woman seated on a chair. Next to her, a bed supporting a girl of maybe twelve to fourteen years of age. Martel immediately felt embarrassed, intruding on someone sleeping in their own room, and he assumed this was a mistake.
Yet Eleanor continued, nodding at the servant who quickly got up and left them alone. "Martel, this is my sister Genevieve."
He finally understood, as the sleeping girl did not stir despite their entrance. She would not wake regardless of what they did. "How long has she been like this?"
"Two years now. She fell from her horse and struck her head. The injury has since healed, but – nothing can wake her mind."
Martel remembered the potion that Eleanor had tried to make in secrecy. At last, he understood the purpose behind it. "I'm so sorry."
Eleanor took the seat by the bed. "As am I. My father spends a fortune in elixirs to keep her from wasting away, but he has given up on finding a cure for her condition."
"But you haven't," Martel said softly.
"No. Genevieve, I want you to meet my friend Martel. He is a wizard like me, and a hero." Eleanor looked at him as she spoke the last words, a sorrowful smile on her face. "He saved people from a dreadful fire. He is just like in those stories you love."
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Genevieve."
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