Chapter 302: A Fox in the Henhouse
A Fox in the Henhouse
While working in the apothecary Solday morning, Martel could not help but demonstrate his newest ability. Rather than chopping up the lungwort, Martel awakened the magic within the Sindhian way and showed the glowing result to Nora.
"Well, someone's come a long way."
Martel shrugged, trying to look casual about how satisfied he actually felt. "Just took some practice." In his hand, the herb slowly lost its light as the magic dwindled away.
"Still room for improvement, I see."
"Of course. I don't intend to stop."
"While I'm sure both your current achievement and your commitment to further excellence is a thrill to Mistress Rana, she'll be even happier if you get to work on chopping up that lungwort. All that whooping cough going around wiped out our stores."
***
Spending his shift in the workshop making ink, Martel experimented with the ingredients there as well. He quickly discovered that the origin of the material made a difference. Honey, coming from bees, was harder to awaken; he wondered for a moment if it affected the taste as well, but he restrained his curiosity. Charcoal, used to provide the black colour, did not respond at all to his Sindhian ways. As for cobalt, which gave a magnificent blue ink, Martel was unsure if he actually made much impact on it or not.
It made him speculate if an earthmage would have more luck with a metal, similar to how Mistress Rana had given him coltsfoot to practice on, since that herb was connected to heat and fire. On the other hand, one might consider charcoal to be nothing but the product of heat, and it seemed entirely dead to his attempts.
"Everything well in here?" Master Jerome's voice came boisterously across the mostly empty space of the laboratory.
"Yes, master!" Martel hurried to move the mortar and pestle around again.
"You got all you need? We haven't run out of resin yet, have we?"
"No, not yet."
The artificer nodded to himself. "Good, good. Finish up this round and clean up. Dinner is soon."
***
At the meal, Martel had the company of Eleanor for once. It was different than with Maximilian, who could keep the conversation going by himself. But Martel did not mind any silence between himself and her; it was the comfortable kind, born of familiarity.
Even so, a question occurred to him that she might be the right person to answer. "Do you know what a masquerade is?"
She looked up from her stew. "A specific kind of feast. Strictly speaking, it involves a play being performed by the guests at the party. They are given masks and a role to act out on the stage, usually under the directions of seasoned actors."
Martel hoped that Lady Pearl did not expect him to do any such thing. Ten silvers would not cover his discomfort. He had only been on a stage once, working with Regnar and Weasel's gang, which turned out to be nothing more than thievery. Being chased by an angry mob, discovering their money gone, had not endeared Martel to the life of an actor.
"Nowadays, some simply hold a feast giving everyone a mask, with no play involved, and call it a masquerade as well," Eleanor continued.
Martel felt a little better hearing that; in fact, wearing a mask at Lady Pearl’s party would keep him anonymous, which he greatly preferred. Though he wondered why anyone else wanted that; it would make it impossible to know who your friends were at the celebration. "Why does anyone want to have a party where you don't know who the others are?"
"For some, their name carries responsibilities. Expectations. Putting on a mask might let you escape all that for a night and be someone else. Which is perhaps the kind of freedom you want at a celebration."
That sounded like the thinking of rich people. Enough money that they never need worry about a thing, and they spent it trying to be somebody else.
"What makes you ask?" Eleanor looked at him with the hint of a smirk.
"Heard someone mention it, and it made me curious."
"Who would you be, if you could put on a mask?"
The question caught him off-guard. "I'm not sure. I'd have to think about it. What about you?"
"I will tell you when you tell me."
***
Thanks to Maximilian's generous donations, Martel did not lack for clothing. He chose one of the doublets without any insignia, just in case someone at The River Pearl had seen him elsewhere wearing those with the tree upon it. Since he would be walking, he kept his normal boots and brought his shoes with him in a bundle; he would have to change once he arrived. As the last thing, he used some of the oil given to him by Eleanor for his hair. Once the seventh bell rang, he left the Lyceum.
***
Even some distance away, Martel could tell that tonight was different at the Pearl. Besides the increased traffic leading towards it, he noticed carriages that actually stopped outside the establishment; usually, they simply drove past on their way in or out of the city. He did not steer towards the main entrance himself this time, but entered through one of the backdoors that led to the kitchens. A wave of heat met him from the ovens and stoves, all of them churning out food while cooks, kitchen girls, and servants hurried around.
Feeling a little lost, Martel glanced around. Lady Pearl had told him to come this way, but not what to do after. He did not wish to change his shoes yet, but he removed his cloak, already feeling hot.
One of the serving girls stopped abruptly, taking in his expensive clothes. "Are you the wizard?"
Her question made several others hold their activity to look at him with varying expressions. "Yes, I am."
She nodded. "Ruby said to leave your things in there. There's also a mask on a shelf for you."
Bowing his head in thanks, Martel followed her gesture and entered a small storage room. In between barrels and crates, he left his boots and cloak. Picking up a piece of cloth, Martel saw that it had straps to lock over his ears. It was dyed red and orange. Igniting a small flame to better see, Martel realised that it was in fact made to look like a fox. Not the worst thing to resemble. Placing it on, Martel left to join the party in the common room.
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