Firebrand

Menial Behaviour

Martel's lesson in elemental magic was not until third bell, giving him lots of time every Glunday morning. With a debt to pay, he needed to put it to good use, so he went to the only place where he could imagine earning coin. After breakfast, Martel sought out Master Jerome.

The artificer was already at work, directing his labourers for the second bell. He frowned as he saw Martel. "Either you've mistaken the day, or I have."

"Oh no, I'm not scheduled for duty today. I came to ask if maybe there'd be extra work I could do. Like, I can do an extra turn in the washery."

Jerome regarded him with a glint. "Your need of coin that great? More trips to the city?"

"Oh, no, not this time. Another student bought something for me, and I want to pay them back."

"Well, as good a reason as any." The artificer crossed his great arms. "But most of the workload is handled by the regular servants. And the more intricate kind is done by acolytes with the necessary magical skills."

"I'll help with anything."

"Well, I do have leathers that need to be tanned. The others just left for the task. If you go out the door, you can catch them down the street." Jerome pointed at the exit. "They're led by an airmage. Tell him I sent you to help out."

"Yes, master!" Eager to prove his words true, Martel hurried out the door.

~

Tanning, as it turned out, was smelly work. For that reason, it was not done at the Lyceum, but at a building in the poorer part of town, where the complaints of neighbours mattered less. In addition, an airmage was deployed to deal with the worst of the stench, sending it straight and far up into the air. For Martel, who worked with his hands to prepare the leather, no amount of air magic could help. Once his work was done, he reeked. He had removed his robe beforehand, but his remaining garments and body needed an expert watermage to stand a chance of being cleansed. Failing that, an old-fashioned scrub with soap.

Returning to the Lyceum and aware of his effect on his surroundings, Martel hurried to the basement of his dormitory tower. Here lay the communal baths that he had already made good use of since his arrival. The thought of entire basins of water, readily available for nothing but washing, seemed like an emperor's luxury. No need to fetch bucket after bucket of water.

In addition, stones enchanted with heat lay in one of the pools, providing further blessing. Even a northerner like Martel shivered as he removed his clothes, standing in the basement in the dead of winter; as soon as he entered the hot water, his entire body shook before relaxing. He let himself sink until only his head remained above, closing his eyes in bliss.

He wondered how difficult it was to enchant the stones that provided the heat; it could not be simple, or every room in the school would be heated by them. Or perhaps the issue was that they would only be needed in winter, causing an issue during summertime where their heat would not be welcome. Still, one such stone might work very well to substitute a cooking fire, Martel considered, thereby alleviating the smoke that inevitably filled his mother's house.

"Even here, I cannot escape my own personal scarecrow," a loathsome voice spoke. "Or its violent stench, more pungent than usual."

Martel looked up to see Cheval enter the warm pool on the opposite side. "That's why I'm bathing."

"Chasing away the rest."

"The baths are open to everyone."

"Everyone who deserves to be at the Lyceum," Cheval retorted.

"Which I do. The overseer tested me. She gave me a spot immediately."

"I'm sure." The disdainful smile contradicted the young mageknight's words. "Her delusions will cost you both."

"Is that why you lied about me to the inquisitors? Think you could get rid of me?"

Cheval shrugged. "I told no lies. I simply pointed them in the right direction of someone who has no place here."

"But I do!"

"Listen here," Cheval spoke menacingly. He stood up in the pool, looking agitated as water dripped down his body. "I have been here since I was ten, scarecrow. Years and years as a novice before becoming an acolyte. Tutors before that, as a child. And you think you can saunter in here, half-blood," he inserted with a sneer, "and pretend to become a mage."

Martel stared at him, beginning to realise the pebble in Cheval's boot. He kept it to himself, rather than escalate the argument. With a final sneer, the young nobleman left.

Martel watched him walk away, a smile forming on his lips. He had seen Cheval during lessons. Much of being a mageknight was skill with weaponry, which did not require magical gifts; it helped mask someone whose ability to do empowerment was poor. Even the first time they had met, Martel had pushed him to the ground.

Cheval had spent his childhood trying to learn magic, and he had only come this far. In comparison, they had bent the rules to allow Martel to attend the Lyceum despite his advanced age. Cheval was not disdainful of Martel; he was envious.

Martel let his head sink under the hot water before he emerged again, enjoying the sensation and the revelation alike.

~

"What do you think of this vintage?"

Alastair made a show of tasting the wine slowly. "It's not bad."

"You heathen. It is barely adequate. That Sindhian rascal fooled me."

"Maybe he didn't know."

"Oh, he knew. I'll give him a piece of my mind next time I see him," Juliana threatened.

Alastair laughed a little. "I'm sure you'll make him regret."

"Anyway, what's on your mind?"

"I'm worried. About Reynard."

"What of him?"

"You said he was training Martel with the acolytes, despite what is customary."

"It is his decision," Juliana admitted.

"I learned from Jerome that he never had armour commissioned for Martel. Poor boy's been taking a beating for at least a lesson or two."

The overseer frowned. "You think it was an intentional oversight?"

"Yesterday, the inquisitors came to investigate. They pulled Martel from Reynard's class, though we all know the disappearances started long before the boy arrived. He could have cleared it up, or at least provided Martel some counsel rather than leave him to be interrogated on his own."

"You're building up to a conclusion, I sense."

Alastair exhaled. "I think Reynard intends to have Martel fail his course."

"Martel is to be a weathermage. Passing the course is a formality," Juliana countered. "Reynard would not make himself look so foolish, unless..."

"Unless he has the headmaster's tacit approval. Who, with the right manoeuvring, will make Martel's expulsion reflect on you, giving him the chance to replace you with one of his cronies."

"I didn't think he'd dare," Juliana admitted. "Use the opportunity against me, should it arise, that I expected. Not that he would create it. Ensuring that students fail could cost him his own position."

"You served it to him, advocating that a Tyrian-blooded boy be admitted against the normal rules." Alastair scratched his forehead. "The war against Khiva has dragged on for too long, and the dislike against Khivans is spilling over to anyone who does not look Asterian."

Juliana sighed. "I'll find a solution."

Alastair emptied his glass. "Let me know if there's anything I can do."