Firebrand

Service for Hire

"Father Andrew, could we delve deeper into the history of Morcaster?" Martel said as soon as he sat down, trying to seize the initiative before the old priest might start on another topic. "I think it might be important for me to understand the city where I live, capital of the Asterian Empire. And I was fascinated by what you told me last fiveday on the beginnings of its rise to glory."

Eyes surrounded by wrinkles beheld the novice for a while. "I suppose we can, though I'm not sure how much more there is to say. The records of the Aquilan Empire mostly deal with Aquila. That was already a large city back when Morcaster was a small fishing town, which they are happy to remind us of."

That sounded a bit like how some people from Morcaster delighted in reminding Martel he came from a small town in Nordmark. "But isn't Morcaster really old? Considering it has the Undercroft."

The priest gave him a sharp look, rather in contrast with his usual slow mannerisms. "How do you know of this place?"

"I think Master Fenrick mentioned it." He did, after Martel had asked about it.

"He should stick to his magic. Regardless, we know nothing about the Undercroft, making it pointless to discuss. It might be older than Aquila, it might not."

"What about the catacombs? Master Fenrick said they existed before the Archeans came."

"I suppose he got that right," Father Andrew grumbled. "The old Asterians buried everyone until the Archeans convinced them to burn the dead. Over the centuries, kings and queens, nobility, and commoners alike were placed in the catacombs, often with lavish gifts."

"What kind of gifts?"

"For ordinary people, probably ordinary items. Tools associated with their trade, combs, or jars of perfume. For the powerful, no doubt wealth in the form of gold or gems, probably weapons, and maybe even artefacts of magical nature."

Martel had no idea. He had only ever experienced cremation as funeral, and his mind boggled at the idea of leaving useful items behind in a tomb, let alone vast riches or something as important as an artefact.

"Don't get any ideas," Father Andrew warned him; perhaps Martel's expression had given him away. "Sol's curse is upon any who would break the peace of the dead. And if that doesn't scare you off, the traps should."

~

Martel needed to get through the padlock on the grate door to the sewer. He had no idea how people got through locks, but since thieves existed, he assumed it could be done. Deciding to consult an expert, Martel set out for the copper lanes. He had no doubt that Kerra would know someone skilled with opening what others wanted closed, but both pride and caution prevented him from going to The Copper Drum. He had no desire to become indebted to that woman for any reason or otherwise ask for her assistance. Instead, he steered towards his other friends in low places.

Martel received his usual welcome from Weasel and his gang; the latter were happy to see him, chattering away, while the former regarded him with a wary look. "You come empty-handed, which suggests you expect to leave here with something instead," the little chief said.

"To start with, some advice. There is a door with a padlock upon it at the Lyceum. I need to get through it."

"Well, advice won't do that. You need a good pair of hands and some lockpicks," Weasel told him.

"Is that difficult to learn?" Martel asked, making the children laugh.

"We certainly can't teach you. Besides the time it would take, we don't just hand out secrets of the trade like that. Why can't you use your magic on it? Not powerful enough to break a simple lock?" The small boy gave him a challenging look.

"Breaking the lock would make it rather obvious what had happened. I prefer getting in and out without anyone noticing."

"There's a simple solution," Weasel said. "I'll show up, pick the lock for you, and you do whatever you need. When you are done, you just place the padlock back and lock it again."

That did sound simple. "You can do that?"

"Of course. For ten birds."

Martel gave him a look. "You're mad. Ten silvers for what I expect will take you a moment to do?"

"You're paying me for my skill, not my time."

"What about all the herbs I've given you and your people? All the free consultations. Being an apothecary is a skill too, you know."

Weasel smiled. "Then you should have charged us."

"Come on, Weasel, be nice." The plea came from Mouse.

"Yeah, Master Martel has been good to us," Badger joined in. Several other children voiced their agreement as well.

"Fine." Their little chief gave a loud sigh. "Five birds."

"That's still robbery," Martel protested.

"I happen to be well acquainted with the art of robbery, and this is not it," Weasel lectured him. "If you think you can find another lockpick willing to enter the Lyceum and do this job for you, for less than five silvers, you're welcome to do so."

Martel gave the small boy a defeated look. "Fine. But I don't have that coin at present. I'll have to owe you until I can get it."

"You're a mage. Can't you just wave your hand about?"

"No."

Weasel gave another sigh. "Very well. But you better be good for it. I know where you live."

"Speaking of that, are you able to enter the castle without detection? I'm pretty sure if you try through the front gate, it'll set off all kinds of bells."

Weasel waved his hand about. "Don't worry, I know how to get in. Where do we meet?"

"The southern hallway, just to the right of the entrance hall. Assuming you entered the normal way," Martel specified. "That's the entrance to the workshops."

"Fine. We going tonight?"

"No, I need to buy some things first."

"So when?"

"Tomorrow night," Martel replied. He was about to suggest they meet at two past midnight when he realised Weasel probably did not have a Khivan clock in the house. "We need to wait until everyone is asleep. The moon settles early, so let's say once it's past the horizon, we meet up."

Weasel gave him a sly smile. "See you then."