Chapter 426: Help from the Hedge
Help from the Hedge
It was barely midnight when Martel left the Lyceum, accompanied by Weasel. He hurried south to the market district; with speed and a little luck, he would reach his destination before people had gone to bed. At some point, Weasel wanted to go left, but Martel continued straight ahead.
"Where are you going? The Hole is this way." Quickly, the boy returned to Martel's side.
"We're not going to the guards. If we are lucky, they don't know about Sparrow's secret, but a wizard of the Lyceum appearing in the night to inquire about her might alert them, in turn drawing the attention of the inquisitors. No, we are going to seek advice from someone who knows what to do, discreetly."
Continuing down the mostly deserted streets, Martel kept up the pace until they reached The Golden Goose.
Inside, a handful of patrons sat, making the most of the last few opening hours. The stage was empty with no performances this late, but some of the actors had joined the customers, sharing drinks and merriment. Martel swiftly crossed the room.
Noticing him, the performers raised hands in greeting along with smiles, which he did not reply to. "Where's Regnar?"
"Old man doesn't last late these days. He probably already crawled into bed," the storyteller answered.
"Where's his room?"
"Through the back, going left after that door." A finger gestured to give the direction.
Without further words, Martel hastened through the door to enter the living quarters of the people working at the Goose. "Regnar!"
He repeated the call a few times, walking up and down the corridor. Various heads poked out of the different rooms and doors; seeing a frustrated wizard, none of them remarked upon the disturbance of their sleep, retreating behind closed doors.
"What's this ruckus?" came the question from an old voice, soon followed by an equally aged face peering from one of the rooms. "Martel?"
The young wizard pushed into the chamber of the hedge mage, street child in tow. "I need your help. You remember Weasel?"
"I do."
"One of the kids from his gang has been arrested by the guards. Last year, when it happened to your troupe, you negotiated their release."
"With money we helped you gather, so it's only fair you help us out this time," Weasel inserted.
"Quiet. Regnar will help," Martel declared, giving his small companion an annoyed look. "The girl has magic," he added, turning his eyes on the hedge mage. "And the inquisitors may have guessed as much, or they will if given time. You can guess what will happen to her if they take her into custody."
The old man released a sigh, sitting down on his bed in the sparsely furnished chamber. "Poor thing. Yes, I'll ask my contact in the administration. But I don't know how much coin I have to get her released." He got up again and pulled out a drawer.
Martel threw his purse on top of the furniture, heavy with silver. "All I have."
"That should be enough. If I can get her out of the Hole, I will. That's the promise of a hedge mage to a hedgeling. But if the inquisitors have already taken her… If I try to approach them, they'll strangle us both."
"I know. If that's the case, I have my own way to handle it."
Regnar looked at him with respect. "If so, I'll be impressed. Regardless, time is of the essence. I'll leave now and send word as soon as I know something."
"Good. I'll wait to hear more." Martel looked at Weasel. "Go home. Nothing further you can do."
The young chief looked at the two adults. "Alright. Just - please get her out."
Martel exhaled. "That's the plan."
***
Martel returned to the castle and did his best to sleep the remaining hours of the night, though concern for Sparrow kept him from rest. The girl had to be frightened out of her wits, cold and starved on a dungeon floor. And that was probably the best he could hope for; in the worst case, the inquisitors had already seized her and begun planning her execution. Martel did not know the laws regarding unlawful use of magic and the specific punishments for different wrongdoings, but he suspected the inquisitors happily gave the harshest sentences where possible.
These thoughts continued to disturb him through his first lesson, which seemed to drag on endlessly. As soon as the bell rang, Martel swiftly left the gymnasium. He did not even bother removing the chain shirt from weapons practice, drawing odd looks as he strode to the entrance hall to check for messages. Martel did not notice, his mind solely on the scrap of parchment in his hand.
Sorry, lad. Too late.
Those in blue got
her first. I'll hold
your coin until
you collect it.
All of Martel's fears concerning Sparrow's fate seemed confirmed in that moment, and his hand shook. This was his fault. He had shown Sparrow how to improve her magic; he should have known that she would eventually use it to steal, or rather that Weasel would make her do so, drawing the attention of the mage hunters. If that girl died with a golden chain around her neck… Martel's conscience would never be pure again.
But he was not beaten yet. He had one card left to play. After a trip to the armoury, removing his superfluous iron, he ran up the stairs to reach his room. Quickly, he scribbled a message on a torn piece of parchment.
Please find out if inquisitors
have a small girl, six or eight
years old, in their custody.
Street child, goes by Sparrow.
Have her released if possible.
Thank you. Martel.
After setting his quill aside and picking up his message, his fingers smudged the ink as he ran down the staircase again. He pushed his way through some of the other students, attracting angry yells and glares without paying them any heed.
***
Leaving the castle, Martel hurried towards the shrine attended by the Grey Brothers. "A message for the Friar. The matter is urgent," he stressed, approaching the nearest monk. "Please see it delivered to him at once."
The Grey Brother accepted the message with a nod of his head before he turned around and walked away. Martel stood, watching his back and suppressing the desire to shout at him to walk faster. He had done what he could, for now, at least.
Leaving, Martel set a course back for the Lyceum. He had another lesson today, and he needed sleep; at the same time, he could not care about either. He had endangered a small child with his behaviour; he could only pray that he was not too late to save her.
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