Chapter 483: Plagued Ship
Plagued Ship
Martel had his first lesson in combat the next day as usual. Compared to the various events of the previous days, it felt almost mundane. The only thing notable would be that Martel noticed the other acolytes catching up to him when it came to staff fighting. His earlier advantage from having practised and fought in Tibert's ring had become eroded, and Martel had to focus on the fights if he wanted to avoid a beating.
As he arrived at the apothecary for his regular shift, another break in routine occurred. Both Mistress Rana and Nora were present; the former stood with two large cases on the table, bound in leather and with a strap to help carry them. Martel recognised them as much larger versions of the potion container he had used when bringing consumption elixirs to the urchins of the copper lanes. The vials were small, allowing each of these big cases to contain probably a score or so.
"Martel, good. I need someone to carry this." She pushed one of the cases towards him. "Nora has plenty of work to catch up on, so I thought it best you accompany me." The alchemist slung the other case over her shoulder, and it looked almost big enough to break her spine. Grabbing hold of his, Martel followed her out the door.
***
They walked at a brisk pace directly south, cutting through the marketplace towards the harbour. The bulky burden made navigating the crowds a little difficult, but most people recognised an alchemist and a wizard, making them quick to step out of the way.
The smell of salt in the air told Martel of their destination even before he could see any of the tall masts against the horizon. He had not been back at the harbour since his clash with Vitus, but he assumed himself to be in no danger; should he be wrong, he felt more than capable of handling it. Still, he could not help but glance to either side and occasionally over his shoulder as well.
Mistress Rana did not speak a single word during their journey; not until the piers came into sight. "Over there," she told him, nodding in one particular direction. Martel dutifully followed.
A good number of ships lay moored in the harbour; while the winter season was near enough to close the sea between Aster and the Western Isles except perhaps for a few straggling ships, the Emerald Sea was more forgiving and could still be traversed by vessels going to and from Sindhu. At least for this month, though probably not the next. Still, one had managed to reach Morcaster only to be declared a plague ship.
Approaching the pier, Martel noticed no other vessels lay moored nearby, taking advantage of the available capacity to avoid the troubled ship. Furthermore, a patrol of five guards kept watch at the end of the pier, preventing passage. Tellingly, they were armed with spears rather than staffs. As Martel and Mistress Rana approached, their princeps stood up from a crate. "You're the alchemist, yeah? Sindhian woman."
"One of them to clear up the others' mess," another guard muttered, and Martel sent him a withering look.
If Mistress Rana heard him, she made no show of it. "I am. We brought the elixirs as you can see." She reached a hand around to pat the case on her back.
"We'll all be glad to know this is over," the princeps remarked. "Stand aside, boys. Let her through."
The guards had built a small obstacle, mostly from crates and such, leaving only a narrow passage between. They did as commanded, getting out of the way to allow Mistress Rana and Martel to walk through.
***
As they walked down the pier, Martel wondered how far they would go. Were they to board the ship and administer the cures directly? While he trusted Mistress Rana, he was not particularly eager to step aboard a ship touched by pestilence.
They had nearly reached the plank that connected the ship with the pier when a face appeared above. He looked as expected; darker in skin and eyes than most Asterians, and dressed in the colourful garb of most Sindhian sailors. Seeing Mistress Rana, he called out in his own tongue, to which she replied.
A quick conversation followed, of which Martel understood nothing. Feeling a little awkward, he glanced around the harbour while trying not to let it show.
At length, Mistress Rana placed her case on the pier. "Martel, you may leave yours here as well. I have informed the helmsman what to do, and our work here is done."
A little relieved, Martel quickly did as told. Even outside the ship, the occasional moan and other sounds of pain or discomfort from within could reach them. The hull and perhaps the salt in the air prevented the smell from likewise troubling them, but Martel could only imagine. If up to forty people lay below deck, all of them sick and sweating, unable to move fast to relieve themselves or perhaps throw up – the infirmary at the Lyceum would be a rose garden in comparison.
"Come along." Mistress Rana quickly left, and Martel hurried to follow her.
***
Once they had left the docks, Martel dared to ask the questions on his mind. "Is it over?"
"For the men aboard that ship, it should be. There is always a slight risk that a patient is too weakened to survive the elixir that would otherwise heal them, especially if other remedies have already taxed their bodies. But we have done everything we could."
"How did they know to come to you?" Martel asked without even knowing who he referred to. "Was it the harbourmaster or some magistrate in charge of these affairs?"
"A physician inspects every ship that arrives," Mistress Rana explained. "In this case, he identified some of the sailors as being ill and placed the ship under prolonged quarantine."
"And then they ask you to produce the cures?"
"Yes. After I had done my own investigations, of course. I wasn't going to produce forty elixirs only to discover it was the wrong disease."
A sensible precaution, though Martel admired her decision to go aboard that ship and carry out an examination herself. "What would have happened if you weren't in the city?"
"The Asterians would have tried their own remedies, I suppose. Perhaps some would even have been successful. Luckily for the sailors, we don't have to find out."
The pride in her words could not be mistaken, but Martel did not begrudge her the feeling; he had seen how hard she had laboured over the last few days.
"Of course, some of the honour goes to you as well. Several of those elixirs were made by your hand, after all."
Martel smiled to himself; he already knew this, of course, but it was nice to hear it spoken aloud.
"I'm glad I took a chance on you, Martel. Even if you gave me reason to doubt a few times, I have not regretted it."
In almost two years, that had to be the kindest words she had spoken to him. Martel straightened his back a little as they continued their journey back to the Lyceum.
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