Chapter 189: Late Appointments
Late Appointments
Martel had survived plenty of classes with only a few hours of nightly rest. He discovered there was a vast gulf between functioning on little sleep and doing so on no sleep. Every thought moved slowly through his head. When someone spoke to him, he felt like it took ages until he had comprehended their meaning, let alone formulated a coherent response. Nora simply laughed at him, warning him that he was fortunate Mistress Rana did not catch him in such a state.
Master Alastair was less forgiving, at least once he ensured that Martel did not suffer from another case of consumption. To him, lack of sleep was not an acceptable excuse for slacking or doing poorly. "While I'm sure you could pass the examination, you only have a year afterwards to finish your studies," he chastised Martel. "You need all the practice you can get. An expert weathermage can summon rainclouds within moments, but that requires absolute control over water and air. As someone mainly drawn to fire, do not expect such grasp of water to come easily to you."
"Yes, master," Martel mumbled after a few moments, trying once more to summon an actual cloud between his hands. He failed miserably. Since he had not slept, his spellpower had not replenished itself since the fight, and trying to do any kind of magic more complicated than igniting magelight felt impossible. But he could hardly explain why he had no reserves of magical energy left in him, since that would lead to questions about why he had not slept all night. Trying his best to focus, Martel made another attempt. Same result.
~
As soon as the bell rang, Martel mumbled his goodbyes to Master Alastair and left the Hall of Elements. He knew that if he went to sleep now, he would miss lunch, but it did not matter. Besides the physical exhaustion, being without spellpower made him feel vulnerable and ill at ease. He went straight to his chamber and fell down on his bed, sleeping for two hours until the bell rang again.
As it did, Martel woke with a jolt. He still felt awful; clearly, his body needed more rest. But living nearly a year in the Lyceum had conditioned him to be alert whenever the bell rang, including waking up. And he did have a second lesson with Master Alastair at sixth bell; missing that would be embarrassing, considering his teacher already grumbled about his performance.
He looked at his Khivan clock, which showed a hand pointing at the number two. Only fifth bell. Martel had plenty of time before his next class. Yet try as he might, even though he knew that he needed it, he could not fall back asleep. He tossed and turned, drank all the water in his small pitcher, and kept rearranging his pillow and blanket. Nothing helped. fre(e)webnov(l).com
Eventually, he admitted defeat and got out of bed. Picking up his pitcher, he shuffled out into the hallway and filled it from the tap. Returning to his room while slaking his thirst, he finally had time and enough presence of mind to digest what had happened in the Undercroft. The more he thought about it, the more he became convinced that the whole affair was rotten.
It was the fact that Kerra had Tibert's men waiting to take custody of the man, betraying him. She could only have done that if she had known beforehand that a fight would develop, giving her the chance to take Tibert back to The Copper Drum. That meant she had not only willingly walked into an ambush, but she had lied to Martel by claiming it would not be dangerous for him.
More than that, she had used Martel as bait; after all, Kerra had not been the target of the ambush, given how it had unfolded. Kerra had deliberately dangled the novice in front of Tibert to spring the trap. Stars, maybe she had planned this all the way back when Martel trained her guards on how to fight magic, figuring that Tibert would bring a mage in order to kill a mage.
Tired or not, Martel had enough strength left in him to feel infuriated. The desire for revenge flared up inside of him. He ought to set her precious tavern on fire and watch her burn inside of it.
He enjoyed the thought of that for a while until reason prevailed. If he did anything like that in the copper lanes with its old, wooden houses, countless innocents would be caught in the blaze and die. And his face was well-known in those parts of the city by now; if he used his magic to attack Kerra, witnesses would report him to the Inquisition. Making any move against her would endanger him. And in the end, however much he delighted in the idea of vengeance, he could not quite stomach the idea of actually going through with it.
But this was the third time now that Kerra had used him as a pawn, lying about her true intentions and luring him into danger with callous disregard for his life. No more. He would never trust the Copper Lady again. And if the chance to get even on his own terms presented itself, he promised himself that he would seize it with both hands.
~
Martel's second class of the day went marginally better, even if he still felt tired. Having skipped dinner, he made sure to stay awake for supper. He would just have an early night, and hopefully by morning, he would feel back to his old self.
He was busy cutting a sausage into pieces when he suddenly remembered Julia. He had told the girl that he would fetch her this night and bring her to Weasel and his gang, providing her with a proper home – better than her current residence in the sewers, anyway.
There was no way around it. He had no method of contacting her. He had to go and find her tonight, even if it meant two hours' journey to the copper lanes and back, after nightfall.
He grumbled a little to himself, feeling tempted to just stay home, but he knew that he could never do that. In the end, as tiresome as walking across the city felt in his current state, if it provided a warm and safe place for a malnourished, freezing girl who currently lived where no human should be forced to dwell, it was a small sacrifice.
Saving the rest of his meal, Martel returned to his chamber and waited. Once darkness had fallen and the moon could be seen rising in the distance, he made his way towards the square of Emperor Lucius. He went to the same corner as he had two nights previously, waiting by the alley where Julia had appeared. An unpleasant wind blew past him on occasion, making him pull his cloak around himself as he sat on the ground.
It was difficult to keep track of time. Last bell had already rung, so he had no external markers to tell him how long he waited other than the slow movement of stars above. It proved irrelevant; Julia never showed.
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