Chapter 492: Wizard's Work
Wizard's Work
Another ten days passed without any sign that the pestilence would abate. Mistress Rana returned from isolation, confirming that her helpers had done right in her absence to refuse relinquishing any of the elixirs they had made; as for the household guards, they did not return nor make any claims or complaints. Possibly, the guard outside the warehouse helped dissuade further attempts.
After a brief conversation with the legionary on duty, upon her return to the warehouse, Mistress Rana approached Martel. "Did you pretend to be an officer of the legions in order to command the city guard to stand watch outside?"
"I never made any such claims," Martel responded truthfully. "I simply requested they posted someone by the doors, given recent events. If the soldiers assumed something, simply because they saw me use fire spells, I don't think I am to blame for that."
She wore an expression as if she could not decide whether to scold or complement him; in the end, she did neither. "I suppose there's no harm."
"Fire!"
The call was repeated until it lost all meaning and became only discordant noise in Martel's ears. Along with everyone else, he ran onto the street, looking in every direction.
A column of smoke rising upwards quickly showed them the afflicted location. Somewhere deep within the copper lanes.
This was not an unusual sight; they burned the corpses of the pestilent inside the district, having no other means of disposing them. But the smoke that rose came thick and black, accompanied by incoherent yet anguished cries.
"Get off the street!" Mistress Rana commanded. "Don't block the road!"
She was right; the fire patrol might pass this way. Even as Martel thought this, he did not really take note of her words, let alone adhere to them. His mind was already far away, fearing the worst. As if in a daze, he broke into a run towards the copper lanes.
***
At the gate, the guards were in a panic trying to open the enormous lock and chains that kept the construction closed. While an optio fumbled with the key, Martel could not wait that long. Without slowing down, he made an empowered leap that allowed him to land clumsily on top of the gate; he lowered himself down on the other side, fell the last few feet to the ground, and continued running towards the fire.
Already, smoke filled his nostrils. While the street itself was empty, he saw people sticking their heads out of doors and windows, looking in the same direction as him. All of them looked terrified; as far as they knew, they were trapped inside the district. If the blaze spread, consuming its way through the old wooden houses of the copper lanes, how far could they run? Would the rest of the city allow them to flee the district and save their lives if that meant putting everyone else at risk of catching the disease?
Running with empowered speed, Martel finally reached the place of the conflagration. Several regular houses had caught on fire, and the flames would only spread further. A handful of people had gathered, trying to organise a human chain to carry water, but they lacked the numbers and the discipline to make a difference. Fear of contagion, presumably, kept the locals away, or maybe they were already looking for ways to escape the district. The fire patrol could be of great help, but who knew how many guards would dare to enter the district and put themselves at risk of falling ill; in any case, there was no point in waiting for them to arrive. Martel knew what to do.
Last time he had done something like this, the exertion had knocked him unconscious, and he had been forced to do it in a clumsy way, finding a vantage point and pulling all the flames towards himself as it was easier to move fire than extinguish it. Now, he was more or less a fully trained wizard of the Lyceum, and fire was his willing servant and familiar companion. Closing his eyes, he let his sense of magic stretch out before him to engage with the intense heat.
With a single burst of spellpower, he quelled the entire blaze.
Gasping for air, he tried to catch his breath. He felt himself tired, but not exhausted; no headache nor nausea plagued him. Around him, people stared in awe and fear. "The Copper Mage," many whispered.
"He saved us."
"He came when we needed him."
"Didn't save us from the pestilence, did he?"
"You can't expect everything."
"He's a hero!"
"My wife and youngest are dead. The others are so thin, I can count their ribs. What magic is going to help me with that?"
Too tired to care about their discussions, Martel walked away. People gave him a wide berth as he walked the slow march back towards the gate. But before he came that far, he stopped to look in another direction.
He thought about Sparrow, Mouse, Badger, and everyone else living in that derelict house, even Weasel. Martel knew the right thing was to go and check on them in case they needed his help, but part of him did not wish to do so. If some of them had died, what good would it do for him to show up now? He had stayed out of the copper lanes to respect the quarantine, but he also felt like he had abandoned the children to their fate. He was not sure if he had the courage to go and find out the price of his neglect.
At the same time, whatever guilt he felt now would only increase if he simply left. Pulling himself together, he walked in the direction of Weasel's home.
***
Staring down a familiar alleyway, Martel called out, "Children! It's Martel!"
He believed he heard the sound of something shuffling before the door opened, and various heads stuck out of the building.
"Keep your distance," he warned them with a raised hand.
"We know," someone replied almost with indignation. "Weasel told us to stay indoors at all times. It gets really boring, but we know it's not safe outside."
"What about food? You got enough to eat?" Martel asked.
"He and Sparrow go out to get some. There wasn't much at first, though it's been better lately."
"Martel!" The aforementioned girl pressed her head out as well. "How did you get here? They let you in?"
The young wizard looked at his former pupil with a faint smile. "Of sorts. But I have to go back out. I'm needed to make medicine that helps those who are sick. I just wanted to see you all. Any of you sick?"
"No, we've avoided it so far," came the answer from someone else. "But how much longer? We can't stay in here forever!"
"I don't know how long," Martel admitted. He wished he could tell them. Winter was almost upon the city, and kept confined, the children had no opportunity to collect firewood or fuel; nor could Martel have any brought to them as he did once before.
But there was one thing he could do to alleviate that particular need. It would take him a while, but this might be his only opportunity to do it; to his shame, he had thought about doing this for the children long ago, but never actually got it done. He would rectify that now.
"Alright. Give me a little while, children. Don't disturb me. I'll need some quiet." Martel grabbed a large stone from a nearby house half in ruins. Placing both hands upon it, he began his enchanting.
***
It took him maybe half an hour to create the heating stone; the material was coarse and unsuited for it, but it would provide some warmth for the children at least. Better than nothing. Bidding them all goodbye, Martel walked back to the gate.
Along the way, he passed one of the infirmaries. A nun stood outside, washing sheets in a barrel of water. From inside, moans could be heard from the many patients, and even from a distance, Martel felt that he could smell the very sickness emanating from within. He hurried on.
Reaching the gate, he found Mistress Rana waiting, pacing back and forth in a restless manner. "There you are," she spoke as he approached. "Everyone, stay back!" she added to the guards. "The gate is not locked yet. You may go through."
As the soldiers dispersed, keeping a healthy distance, Martel placed his hand on one half of the gate and pushed it open. "I'm sorry I ran in," he told the alchemist. "But there was a fire, and I was best suited for handling it."
"You did right," she simply declared. From her belt, she withdrew a small vial and a piece of cloth, emptying the former into the latter. "Put this on. You know where the house for isolation is. Nora has seen to it that it's stocked with supplies."
Martel placed the cloth mask around his face, smelling a strange concoction. "I do. I'll see you in five days."
As he walked past the rows of soldiers, all of them staying plenty of paces away, one of them saluted with his fist against his chest. The others followed, creating a disharmonious rhythm. "Well done, sir!"
"Glad to have you with us, sir!"
"That was real wizard's work!"
As with the people of the copper lanes, Martel felt too weary to respond. Doing the enchantment had left him drained, and his head pounded. So he walked on, making his way to the small house that would be his home for the next fiveday.
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