Hooked

Manday saw Martel returning to his efforts in enchantment. He did not feel like he had made much progress, but Master Jerome had told him to practise on Soldays as well; he would ask Master Alastair for advice during the elemental magic lesson later today and apply that counsel tomorrow.

Until then, he continued to practise, pouring a small spoonful of the black substance from the big pot into the jar and letting his magic reach out. Trying to apply what other magical traditions had taught him, Martel did not force the connection or use pressure. Instead, he imagined it like the ebb and flow of tide, his magic moving gently like waves to wash over the oil and become entangled.

It worked, a little too well; a flame shot up from the jar, consuming the liquid within. He had lost count of how many times this had happened. With a sigh, Martel used his tenuous connection to extinguish the fire. This done, he grabbed the ladle in the bigger pot to pour a new spoonful of oil into the small jar.

***

The bell had yet to ring when the door to the small laboratory opened. Figuring it was Master Jerome come to check on his progress, Martel looked over to be surprised by the presence of Mistress Juliana. "Come with me."

Abandoning his enchantment, Martel followed the overseer out of the workshops. He guessed that this had to do with the inquisitors, unless something else had happened. He did wonder why it was so urgent that she came straight to collect him; usually, she would simply send a message for him to appear in her chambers. She did not enlighten him as to her reasons, walking with swift steps across the castle.

Once inside the room that served as her study, Mistress Juliana sat down. Martel did the same opposite her. "I have received a rather odd request," she revealed.

"Oh?" Even if Martel knew what this was about, he figured it best to say as little as possible. Who knew how she would react if she learned that he had volunteered to enter the catacombs with a handful of mage-hunting zealots.

"The office of the Inquisition has requested your aid. Now, since they did not simply march in here and grab you, I assume they do not intend to put you on trial and strangle you with a golden chain. I must take it on faith that this request is genuine, which begs the question of why they specifically want the aid of an acolyte." Her piercing eyes set to work on Martel.

He met her gaze. "I've had some close brushes with the maleficar in the copper lanes. I've told them as much. They must think I can help track him down."

If possible, her eyes became even narrower. "That is not a suitable task for a student of the Lyceum. Your work is to learn, not get your hands dirty on behalf of inquisitors."

Some tiny part of Martel hoped that she might forbid this and give him an excuse to back out; he could not make himself reject the request of his own volition. It felt too cowardly.

"I could simply deny the inquisitors' call for aid, but since you have made it clear how you do not value my counsel, I will not get involved. You may do as you please."

Hooked by his own bait. "Fine. I'll help them as they need."

"As you wish. They will meet you by the square beyond the gates. I will not let a band of inquisitors trample all over our school if it can be avoided."

They had done so in the past, regardless of objections from the faculty; Martel wondered if this was for his sake, so the other students did not see Martel in their company. It was bound to spark all kinds of rumours. "Very well. When?"

"Now."

"What?" Martel was almost shocked. He did not feel nearly ready for the descent into the catacombs, filled with undead, jinn, and maleficars.

"They wish to leave before noon. Something about doing this while the sun is at its strongest, whatever 'this' is." The overseer stared at him once again. "They did not explain the nature of their need nor what aid you are meant to provide."

The sun weakened magic and monsters. That made sense – except they would be underground. Martel doubted it made a difference, but the hour had clearly been chosen already. Nothing he could do but comply. "I'll go out and meet them." After a quick trip to his room.

"Go by the kitchens. You will miss dinner, and I doubt the inquisitors will care about fetching food for you. Get the matron to supply you with something to bring along."

Matters might be cold between them, but it seemed that the habits of an overseer died slowly. "Yes, mistress."

***

Martel swung past the kitchens after leaving the overseer's chambers, receiving some bread, a pear, and some slices of meat to take with him. Eating the fruit straight away, he packed the rest into some cloth once back in his room. He quickly disrobed as well to put on his leather armour before placing his wizardly garments back on. His belt returned to his waist with Master Jerome's knife in its sheath by one side, his golden dagger nestled by the other.

Did he need anything else? None of his few potions would be of help here. If he had mastered enchanting the fire pots, those might have been useful, but that would have to wait for another time. A staff would be his usual weapon of choice, but if he needed to fight with arms rather than magic, the second blade in his belt would serve better.

No more preparations could be made. Martel slaked his thirst as best he could from his pitcher of water; picking up his provisions, he left his room and the Lyceum soon after.