Chapter 212: Silver Letters
Silver Letters
At breakfast, Martel was among the first as usual, allowing him to choose an empty table. As he was nearly done, he was joined by not only one, but two mageknights. Maximilian was no surprise, but he had not expected to see Alain there, even if they did have a good sparring session last night. He wondered what Cheval would say if he saw his companion now sharing Martel's company.
"Nordmark, you work in the apothecary, correct?" Maximilian asked.
"Yes, what of it?"
"You know the balms that we use, do you not?" Alain asked. "After the fights in the chamber," he added with a conspiratorial whisper.
"I got that," Martel assured him. He had made use of it himself for a few bruises, making them ache less and heal faster.
"We usually buy them from that girl, Mistress Rana's apprentice," Maximilian explained. "Any chance you can make it for less than ten silvers?"
"Sure!" The ingredients cost maybe two or three silvers, depending on season. "In fact, if I had any money, I'd just buy the herbs and bring some for next time. Maybe when I can earn some coin." Martel had not considered where the salves had come from. They had just been passed around to whoever needed them. But obviously, someone would have paid for them. Martel felt a little mortified that he had taken advantage of others' generosity without giving a thought towards contributing.
"No need just yet," Maximilian told him. "We have more, so there should be enough for at least a fiveday or two. Just the price made us wonder if you were a better bet than the alchemist girl."
"Definitely." Martel nodded eagerly. "Just let me know when the time comes."
***
Working his two hours in the apothecary alongside Nora, Martel started to think more about the conversation from earlier. Both blood and skin salves were sold at fourteen pieces of silver, so unless the mageknights had some kind of agreement to buy them cheaper, he did not understand why Nora would charge ten eagles a jar. If she made them on behalf of the acolytes, she should only charge the cost of the ingredients, which would be a few silvers. Glancing at the apprentice next to him as she mixed powders and liquids, the answer came to him. She did it for the same reason that Martel had tried to cheat at gambling and now worked with the Night Knives.
Nora was using her knowledge of alchemy to make money by selling products cheaper than the apothecary. Since she was presumably selling quite a lot to a group of people who wanted to avoid attention, keeping their gatherings restricted to the few, both parties had an interest in protecting the other's secrecy.
That answer led to the next question; why did Nora need money that she would defy Mistress Rana's ban on her helpers setting up their own little shop? Thinking about his conversation with the apprentice the other day, Martel could guess. He was not the only one with family who needed money, most likely. ๐๐ง๐ฎ๐ฎ๐ฌ๐ฎ๐๐๐ธ๐๐ฎ๐ก.๐ฌ๐ธ๐ถ
Giving Nora another glance as she quietly hummed to herself while working, Martel saw no reason to pursue the matter. He had his own reasons for everything he did, and he would dislike anyone questioning him about it. He decided to afford Nora the same respect.
***
After receiving directions from Henry, Martel set out to find the nearest office of the Imperial post. He had all his wealth in a purse by his belt, one hand constantly clutching it. If anyone tried anything, Martel was ready to burst into flames and roast them.
Luckily, he would not have to go far. One such office lay in the market district, allowing merchants and peddlers to conduct their business as needed by a post, including silver letters.
The building looked like any made for the purposes of Imperial bureaucracy. Perfectly hewn white stones with banners showing the Imperial eagle. In addition, a sign showing parchment with letters declared its purpose. His hand still on his purse, Martel entered.
He was met with a busy scene. A member of the city guard stood just inside the entrance, and several desks with clerks arranged large piles of letters or scribbled in ledgers. Martel could also hear activity from the inner rooms, though he could not see the cause of the noise.
Unsure how to proceed, Martel simply approached the nearest scribe. "I need to send a silver letter."
"Speak to my colleague." Without looking up, the clerk pointed towards the desk on his right.
Walking over there, Martel repeated his request.
With experienced motions, this scribe pulled out a form from a drawer and slapped it on the desk in front of him. Grabbing a quill, he began to write. "Name of the recipient?"
"Hilda of Engby."
"Never heard of that," the clerk remarked with an overbearing voice. "Which province?"
"Nordmark."
"Region or fief or such?"
"Farill."
He dutifully wrote everything down. "I assume this Engby is not so big that a specific address is needed."
"I guess not."
"Alright. What is the sum to be sent?"
Martel opened his purse and emptied out one golden coin and twenty-five made of silver. "Thirty-five eagles."
The sound of metal rushing out onto the desk attracted a few looks. "You must get paid a lot better than me," the clerk remarked with a mutter as he began stacking the money and counting it. contemporary romance
He probably figured that Martel was a scribe like him. And while he could let the remark pass, something made Martel speak. "I'm a mage."
The clerk swallowed as he looked up briefly, quickly resuming his counting of the coins. "Thirty-five pieces of silver, all in order, good master." He quickly wrote down the sum on the letter before turning it around and pushing it towards Martel. Offering his quill, he spoke with a respectful voice, "Your signature at the bottom, good master."
Grabbing the feather pen, Martel signed his name. "Anything else?"
"Just your receipt, good master." He quickly scribbled down the details of the transaction on another scrap of parchment, including names, sums, and today's date. Grabbing a small seal, he stamped both the letter and the receipt with a red ring of ink and finally handed the smaller piece of parchment to Martel.
"Thanks." Taking his receipt, Martel left.
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