Chapter 416: Trading in Fear
Trading in Fear
Solday afternoon, Martel spent a bell with Eleanor in the library as usual. However, towards the end, he began copying her notes about all possible runes that might possess healing powers.
"You could just borrow my notes if you need them," Eleanor said, as she looked up and noticed what he was doing.
"This way is better," Martel just replied. He did not wish to tell her his intentions, should nothing come of it. When he was done, he made sure to use the library to confirm what he dimly recalled Master Fenrick had once told him about different gems and their magical powers. Lastly, he wrote a few words down in Archean, similar to how he had seen it on the wardstone that unlocked the chest guarding the relic of Saint Laurentius. With everything ready and the bell ringing in the distance, he helped Eleanor clear away the table they had used before they split up; she went to training, he left for the city.
***
Swiftly, with a sheet of parchment safely folded inside his robe, Martel went to the market district where he had met Mouse the other day. Unlike last, she was not hiding; she sat on a piece of debris, watching the surrounding crowd. As soon as Martel approached her, she jumped to her feet and walked towards him. "Your guy is in a tavern right now. Or at least, he was when I left him. He'll probably be there all day though, if yesterday's anything to go by. Mole is watching the place, he's real good at staying unseen."
"I have no doubt. Lead the way."
"Our money?"
Martel handed over ten silver pieces. While he did not trust Weasel, the other street children had always been honest in their dealings with him, however surprising that might seem.
Stuffing the coins into hidden pockets of her ragged clothing, Mouse set off, leaving Martel to catch up. They hurried through the winding roads of the city, the small girl using her knowledge of the streets and her small size to cut corners, squeeze through openings, and duck under the occasional scaffolding, sometimes with workmen shouting at her to stay out of their way. Despite his long legs, Martel almost struggled to keep up, forced to circumvent many of these obstacles. He was a little relieved when she suddenly stopped, and a small boy crawled out from a pile of trash.
"He's in there." Mole pointed across the street at the tavern.
"Very well. Thank you." Knowing that he might have a long wait ahead of him, Martel looked around and found a small alley, where he might stand around the corner and wait for his quarry to emerge. The children meanwhile, both of them laughing, ran away.
***
Using a small stone as seating, his back against the house wall, Martel waited. A bell rang in the distance, and still no sign of Ironside's lieutenant. He was tempted to practise his elemental magic, summoning fire and air in equal measure, but it would undoubtedly attract attention. He could try enchantment, which did not appear visible to ordinary people, but he was already hot from the sun; it felt unnecessary to begin heating up his surroundings. More importantly, he might become so engrossed in the spell that he missed his prey.
From time to time, he got up and glanced across the street, just to make sure he had not missed the bald man and his pointy ears leaving the place; no, still inside.
The bell rang again. If he had brought his Khivan clock, he could tell for sure how long he had waited; at least two hours, probably three.
Finally, the middle-aged man serving as the right hand of Ironside appeared on the street. His walk was slightly staggered, as could be expected from someone spending hours at a tavern, but he moved otherwise with determination, and Martel hurried to follow.
It would not do to strike here on the street. It would attract a lot of attention and be difficult for Martel to control. A little more patience was required.
Fortunately, his opportunity came soon after, as the rogue turned down an alley. Martel made his move. Across the opening from wall to wall, he raised his own obstacle made of fire. The inebriated, goblin-faced man suddenly stood face to face with flames taller than himself, burning hot. He turned around to face Martel blocking the other exits from the alley, and he seemed to quickly sober up.
"Please, master, don't hurt me! I have five kids to feed and a quarrelsome wife!"
"I am Martel of the Lyceum," the wizard responded, stepping forward. "You should know the name as your master tried to have me killed."
"I wouldn't know anything about that! I am a day-labourer, hauling crates around a warehouse."
Martel summoned a flame in his hand. "Don't lie to me again. I know who you are, and your master. He hired the Silver Serpents to kill me. They failed, and now they are dead."
The man fell to his and knees, clasping his hands together in supplication. "Please spare me! I told him not to do it! I swear on my mother's ashes!"
"Quiet. I'm not here for revenge. I require only two things from you. First, you will let your master know that I am aware of his attempts. If he ever tries to do anything else, I will burn everything he owns, leaving him as the last twig. Should I overlook anything, the Lyceum and the Pact will take care of the rest. Understood? Don't speak, just nod."
The man nodded vigorously.
"Good. As for the second thing. A merchant who trades in artefacts lives here in the market. I'm sure you're familiar with him. You will take me to his home now."
The rogue scrambled to get on his feet. "Right away, master, as you say!" Behind him, the wall of flames disappeared.
***
After a long walk, they stood in front of a familiar door. Martel recognised the house, though he would never have remembered the way back on his own. His guide stepped forward and gave a series of knocks. Soon after, the door opened to reveal the artefact trader. By his surprised look, he had not expected to see Martel on his doorstep.
"May I go?"
Martel made a throw with his head, and his temporary companion hastened away. Turning his attention towards the merchant, Martel stepped forward to enter the house, pushing the owner back inside. "You remember me, I'm sure."
"Of course. I'd never forget a customer. Or a wizard." He mumbled the last words.
"I want you to find an artefact for me. Something that contains a specific ability."
The trader bowed his head, hiding the relieved expression on his face. As he looked up again, his demeanour had become servile. "Happy to serve. Would this be Asterian, Archean, or Tyrian? Something more exotic?"
"Archean or Tyrian, either will do." Martel took out his parchment with his notes from the library and unfolded it. "If the latter, it may contain one of these runes. If the former, it will most likely bear a topaz or one of these words inscribed. You read Archean, I presume?" He handed over his writings.
"Of course. A necessity in my line of work." Accepting the parchment, the trader glanced over the runes and ancient words. "I must confess, I've never seen anything like this. But I may come across it, of course," he hurried to add.
"If you do, send a message to Martel at the Lyceum. You will be paid accordingly for your service."
"More than happy to serve," the merchant reiterated with a bow.
Martel gave a nod in farewell and left. This time, he made sure to notice the location and the way to the nearest square, allowing him to find his way back.
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