Chapter 486: An Intellectual Debate
An Intellectual Debate
Once Martel woke up, he wasted little time. As soon as he could grab food from the kitchens, he took a plate with him to Mistress Rana's laboratory. He found the alchemist asleep and Nora at work; the latter greeted him with a tired nod and worn expression.
"Have you already eaten?" he asked quietly. He could not imagine how she had been faster than him.
"No, I woke up a while back, before the bell rang. So I went here and got started. I'll eat when this potion is done." The cauldron in front of her simmered with the occasional bubble bursting up from the liquid inside.
"What about her?" Martel glanced at Mistress Rana. "Should we grab something for her? You think she'll wake up soon?"
"She'll take care of herself. Judging by the coals when I got here, she had only just gone to bed, so I don't think she'll wake up any time soon."
Martel devoured his porridge and set the plate aside. "I can't be here all day, unfortunately. I have to leave this afternoon."
"That's fine. I don't think Mistress Rana expects you to work a specific number of hours, and you have your classes, of course. Just help as you can."
He began gathering the familiar ingredients to start his own round of alchemy by the second fireplace, set up to accommodate an extra alchemist at work. "I'll try."
"That in mind, I think I'll sleep a bit earlier tonight, so I can wake up early tomorrow as well. So if you can, one fireplace will be available tonight."
"Alright. I should be back by then. I guess I can do one round before I go to bed."
She glanced at him briefly. "Back? I thought you had class this afternoon. Where are you going?"
Knowing that Nora worked every waking hour, Martel felt guilty about the answer. "I've been told – summoned, you might say – to attend the celebration at the Imperial palace tonight. I don't want to go," he hastened to add, "but they want their battlemage to make an appearance, I guess, and I had to follow orders."
"Oh. A celebration, that sounds nice. I didn't realise that was going on. They don't really send invitations to the apothecary at the Lyceum."
Unsure whether she had made a jest, Martel gave a half-hearted laughter and turned his attention towards his cauldron.
***
When time no longer permitted Martel to remain in the laboratory, he returned to his chamber and changed clothes. He did not dress up as he had the other day, tired of playing the role of a courtier. The only concession he made was to change into his spare robe, which did not have the smell of boiling alchemy infused into the fabric. Martel was a wizard, and he would attend this function as one. If that raised eyebrows, hopefully that meant he would never be invited again.
Maximilian did give him a pointed look as they met up, but the viscount made no remarks. Maximilian was affected in different ways when an evening like tonight lay ahead; it seemed that specifically a meeting with the prince caused the subdued effect. Martel felt much the same way, and they stood in silence until the carriage arrived.
The drive through the city to the palace district passed by quickly, though Martel could not help but think of the copper lanes, where such movement was made impossible. He wondered if the containment failed and the pestilence spread to the other quarters; would the city guard wall up every district, one after the other, until Morcaster had become nine cities?
He supposed that if it went that far, and the disease could be found in every neighbourhood, there would be no point in walling anything off. Perhaps the people of the copper lanes would be best served with the illness making its escape, Martel thought with grim humour.
***
They had not been long in the palace before summoned. Unlike last time, the servant did not take them to an outdoor garden, but deeper into the complex; presumably, the private chambers of the prince.
As they arrived, Martel noticed that the young prince had a small gathering of other nobles around his age, like last year. If they were the same, he could not tell, as he did not know them, except for Cheval. Martel should have expected as much, and he knew to expect the worst from him; well, it had been a while since Martel last humiliated him, so perhaps it was overdue.
Prince Flavius, pale and dark-haired with large eyes that seemed devoid of expression, turned towards the newcomers. "Viscount Maximilian and his elemental mage."
Martel watched his friend give an elegant bow and made one himself, albeit a shorter and simpler version.
"You are dressed for war, master wizard," the prince remarked.
Martel glanced down at his red robe. "I am a battlemage, or soon to be, anyway. I prefer to dress as what I am."
"Better than borrowing feathers. And Maximilian here claims that you study alchemy and that you are involved in our efforts to restrain the plague."
"That's true, Your Highness," Martel replied, trying not to sound surprised. He had not guessed this to be the reason for the summons, nor did he realise that Maximilian knew about his recent efforts in alchemy. Perhaps he had underestimated how observant his friend could be.
"But the Master of Alchemy at the Lyceum is a foreigner, is he not?"
"She is, Your Highness," Martel replied, trying to be as subtle as possible about the correction. "From Sindhu, where the knowledge of alchemy exceeds ours. Hence why she has the position."
"Of course the half-breed would claim that," Cheval interjected, and Martel wondered what had taken him so long before he began spewing his bile. "Always undermining Asterian magic and our belief in ourselves."
"Should the pestilence reach your home, I will remember your opinion when you are at death's door begging for a cure," Martel replied coldly.
"As if I would ever accept anything from you or that Sindhian poisoner!"
Anger burned through Martel's mind. "She is the best alchemist in this city and my teacher, possessing invaluable knowledge. You will not speak of her in that manner, or I will put you in your place."
"Perhaps take a moment to calm yourself," Maximilian mumbled.
"You would never dare," Cheval sneered. "A Tyrian peasant laying his hands on me? Preposterous!"
"I do not think it is." The prince, his expression strangely placid in comparison to the others, looked from the young nobleman to the fire acolyte. "Please elaborate, master wizard. How exactly would you put Guillaume in his place?"
"Never mind what I said. Beat him up," Maximilian whispered.
"I'll burn his ears right off." Martel raised a hand and let sparks of lightning jump between his fingertips. "That'll remind him to listen to me next time he sees me."
"I doubt that will improve his hearing, but very well." Prince Flavius turned his eyes on Cheval. "You have heard his threat. Will you rescind your words?"
The young nobleman looked around the room and saw nobody willing to come to his aid. His eyes rested on the inkling of a spell taking shape around Martel's hand. "I do."
"Because you were wrong or out of fear from having your ears burned right off your scalp?"
Cheval swallowed. "I was wrong."
"Interesting. I suppose we should be glad to have such a talented alchemist at the Lyceum, given the challenge our city faces." The prince spoke devoid of emotion, as if concluding an intellectual debate on an abstract matter. "Master wizard, tell me more about the advantages of Sindhian alchemy."
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