Chapter 277: Improvised Aid
Improvised Aid
Three people made their way on the crooked streets of Morcaster, leaving the harbour district to enter the copper lanes. One of them walked in front, moving with hasty steps yet constantly stopping to accommodate the slower pace of his companions, giving him a nervous aura. Behind him came a bulky man supporting a woman half-bent over, staggering her steps. Few people were about at this hour of the night, and any they encountered quickly looked away, minding their own business. All sorts of peculiar people moved about in the copper lanes, and the residents knew to keep to themselves.
Reaching a derelict house, Martel urgently knocked on the backdoor. It took a while until somebody answered; to Martel, it felt like an age. As the door swung open, it revealed a bundle of children, some of them armed with rusty knives.
"Martel!" The children quickly blathered to each other as the three wanderers crossed the threshold. "Tell Weasel!"
A litany of questions assaulted Martel, but he ignored them for a more pressing matter; Flora looked worse and worse. Marcus carefully laid her down on the ground, and some of the children offered up rags to use as a pillow.
"We need to treat the wound." Martel did his best to recall his hours working in the infirmary. Marcus was already ahead of him, removing Flora's armour and outer clothes; the movements made the earthmage groan repeatedly. Her eyes lacked focus, and she seemed unaware of her surroundings.
Martel crossed the room to where he knew the children kept their small storage of herbs and plants; the tiny apothecary that Martel had set up for them last year. He knew they would not have any blood salve, but perhaps some of it could still be useful. Rummaging through their sparse inventory, he recognised thistleroot. Better than nothing. "Get some water," he told Beaver. At least with the recent snow, water was abundant and easy to get.
Putting the root in his mouth, Martel began chewing to release its juice. A bitter taste washed over his tongue. Not the best way to make use of the herb, but they did not have time to boil the water and wait for the plant to suffuse the liquid.
Kneeling down next to Flora, he saw that Marcus had uncovered the wound; a stabbing injury on her stomach, which looked nasty. The warrior had used some of the water brought by the children to clean the gash.
"Let me." Martel tore some of Flora's clothes to use as rags, bundling them around the root from his mouth to transfer its juices onto the fabric. That accomplished, he pressed the cloth against the wound, hoping he remembered idle conversations with Nora in the apothecary correctly.
That should stem the bleeding; the question remained whether it was too late. Flora had lost all colour from her face, and even as Martel had treated her wound, she had made little sound or movement regardless of what had to be a painful experience.
"Nothing to do but wait," the acolyte considered. He leaned backwards against the nearest wall.
***
For a while, they watched Flora, listening to her shallow breathing. The children, their questions gone unanswered, dispersed again except for the few that also remained observing the wounded woman. As for Weasel, he made quiet discussions with Marcus, which ended with the man handing over a handful of coins to the little chief.
After that, Marcus walked over and sat down next to Martel. "How much do you trust these little people? When the guards don't find us, they'll post a reward."
"They're not the sort to trust the guards. More likely, they'd get slapped just for approaching anyone in the uniform."
The warrior snorted. "I hope you're right about them."
"What about Flora? She needs a physician."
"Wound like this – not much a physician could do. A highly skilled surgeon, perhaps, but they would only ask questions. Magical healing might save her, but even if we could find a healer, they'd likewise be suspicious."
Martel took a deep breath. "Alright. I can come back with some healing remedies, maybe, but I have to get back to the Lyceum. I'll be missed once second bell rings. If inquisitors look for anyone missing class, they'll be onto me, and you after that."
"Lad, they'll be patrolling all across the city. They could even be watching the Lyceum, suspecting any wounded mage might seek refuge there. Avoiding guards in the copper lanes is one thing, but you won't make it to the centre of the city unseen," Marcus warned him.
He had a point. Martel needed another way. Getting up, he crossed the room to reach Weasel, who sat on a stool.
The little chief looked at him. "Quite some trouble you bring to my doorstep, wizard."
"I noticed you got paid for it. Want to make some more coin?"
"I'm listening."
"How well do you know the sewers?"
"Well enough. Why?"
"Remember when you unlocked that grate door for me? Opening the passage between the sewers and the Lyceum. I need the same, only to go the other way, from the tunnels and into the castle."
Weasel's mouth curled upwards. "That's funny how it goes sometimes. Sure, I can get you there. I'm guessing that you'll need me to unlock the door for you too."
Martel exhaled. "That's great."
"For ten silvers."
"I figured. You'll get it."
"Now. Last time, it took you ages to pay."
"I get paid tomorrow, Solday, five eagles. You'll get them all. Next Solday, the other five. That's the best I can do," Martel declared.
"You're not exactly trustworthy, mageling."
"That's coming from you? Look, you'll make ten silvers guiding me through the sewers to unlock a door. You can't tell me you got better things to do this night than earn a full crown."
Weasel regarded him sceptically. "Curse my bleeding heart. Fine. Let me get my picks and some more clothes. But you better pay as promised, or your friends will get thrown out."
"Sure, sure."
While Weasel went upstairs to retrieve his belongings, Martel went back to Marcus and Flora.
"I'll come back when I can, with medicine. Keep her warm as best you can."
"Not my first time caring for a wounded comrade," Marcus retorted. "Just come back with something more useful than chewed roots."
Weasel returned. "Let's go, wizard."
With a final look at Flora's white face, praying to Sol he would show mercy on the earthmage, Martel followed the young chief out of the house.
This content is taken from (f)reewe(b)novel.𝗰𝗼𝐦