Firebrand

Good Things Come in Small Sizes

Martel ended up spending his afternoon in the apothecary as well, churning out the strange alchemical liquid that Master Kelsos needed. It was not a potion, rather the reverse; a person spat into the liquid, and if they were ill, it changed colour. Martel did not observe that part of the process, though, busy grinding ingredients and preparing reagents.

Next day in the morning, when he returned to the workshop, he found Mistress Rana already present and working. He stood, waiting for his assignment, until she turned around to look at him.

"You may be pleased to know that so far, Master Kelsos have not found any others who are sick. Though he will continue testing tomorrow, in case anyone was infected too soon for it to show. So you may continue with the same work as yesterday," she told him.

Nodding, Martel grabbed tools and material.

"Fortunately, the lack of more patients means that we have no immediate need for the elixirs I made last night."

"There is a potion that heals consumption?"

"Of sorts. Specifically, it strengthens the body that it might survive the disease. Not quite as impressive as Master Kelsos' performance, but it does leave the recipient with immunity, having beaten the infection via more natural means. Alchemy has its advantages." It almost looked as if the usually stern alchemist had a wry smile playing around her lips.

A potion to cure diseases. Exactly the kind of remedy Martel had hoped to learn when he first began working in the apothecary. "Can you teach me how to make it?"

"All in good time. It is not merely apothecary work, but involves actual alchemy, so it requires magic unlike our more mundane recipes. But you mentioned the children that infected you. How many of them suffer from the consumption?"

Martel did a quick count. "Three of them have persistent coughs, including mild symptoms of fever or chills."

Mistress Rana opened a drawer and took out three vials. "You may deliver these to your little friends."

If Martel had not been so intimidated by her, he could have hugged his teacher. "Thank you!"

"But Martel, this is the end of your work in the copper lanes. Besides the danger it poses, which I hope is now obvious to you, it is also against the law to run an apothecary without licence from the guild. You don't want that kind of trouble. If you wish to continue studying under me, you're done with this venture."

He had forgotten about that. His hometown had no guilds of any kind, being too small. "I promise." Tonight would be his last act as apothecary to Weasel and his gang.

~

As Martel walked towards the slums, he did not carry any bundles of plants or jars of salve in his hands or pockets; this time, instead, he had a bag slung over his shoulder, made from good leather. Inside it had been lined with soft wool, protecting the precious glass bottles carried within.

There was a light drizzle of rare summer rain, and Martel hurried on his way to his young friends. In his haste, he did not notice as three men emerged from an alley ahead. He only realised something was amiss as they fanned out in front of him, clearly blocking his path. Two of them held small knives. The third, in the middle, had greasy skin and a permanent sneer on his face. Martel finally recognised him as the man who had accosted him before, wanting to take over the apothecary.

"What you got in that bag, boy?"

"Nothing that concerns you. Get out of my way."

The leader of the thugs stretched his neck. "I told ya to work with us. Hand it over and come along. We'll be taking over Weasel's work, starting with you."

Under different circumstances, perhaps Martel would have been scared. But out on the open street, his enemies all in front of him, and none of them wielding magic, he had no reason to fear. He quickly glanced over his shoulder just to check nobody would ambush him from behind. Nothing but cobblestone met his eyes; the locals, smelling trouble, had scattered.

Martel stood with the elements within easy reach. Air and water surrounded him, he felt the earth beneath his feet, and he could draw on fire from within himself. "Get out of my way, or I'll crush all of you."

The bandits laughed. "What are you going to do, make us tea? Bandage us to death?"

Martel slowly extended his arms. As he did so, he raised the wind behind him until the thugs began to stagger backwards. "I will burn you to a crisp and scatter your ashes across the copper lanes."

They turned to flee. Quickly stamping his foot into the ground, Martel pushed one of the cobblestones up to make the greasy man stumble and fall down. He turned around and tried to crawl backwards, fear evident on his face.

"If I ever see you again, or if you ever harm Weasel and his people, you shall feel the full wrath of a wizard."

The thug finally got on his feet again and ran for his life.

~

The children greeted Martel as usual, accompanying him the rest of the way. They stared with wide eyes at the bag hanging by his waist and inundated him with questions. Laughing, he bade them tame their curiosity just a few moments longer and also to gather everyone.

"I have sad news," he told them. "I can't keep visiting here." Outbursts of disappointment met his words. "I need to finish my studies, so I can be a proper alchemist and mage. Also, my teacher doesn't want me doing this, at least not until I know more. So I have to stop."

"But we do what we want! Why can't you?"

"You do what Weasel tells you, don't you? It's the same for me," Martel explained. "But I did bring something. Where is Squirrel, Fox, and Beetle?"

Two of the small boys and one girl eagerly stepped forward, coughing.

Martel pulled out the vials from his bag and handed one to each. "Go ahead, drink them. It will do you good," he assured them.

Trusting in the apothecary, the children did so. They immediately made faces, much like biting into a lemon. "It's bitter," one of them complained.

Martel smiled. "That's how you know it works."

Weasel approached, jumping down from his spot on the stairs. "That's it, then? I guess you stuck around longer than I thought."

"Sorry it's not longer. I'm not in the Apothecary Guild, so it's against the law for me to do this work." Martel pulled out a piece of parchment. "But I imagine that wouldn't stop you. After all, you do what you want."

A few of the children laughed and made noises of agreement.

"This is everything I know of herbs and what they can help with. Maybe it will be useful for you." Martel frowned. "Wait, can any of you read?"

"Give it here," Weasel growled, snatching the parchment from Martel's hands.