Chapter 488: Copper Lock
Copper Lock
Martel did not feel particularly rested when he woke up the next morning. While his mattress was fine, the warehouse was cold, and his blanket could not shield him sufficiently. He would have lit a fire, but any fuel had to be reserved for the alchemy.
Therefore dreary-eyed, Martel got up and saw that Mistress Rana had already risen and returned to work; Nora lay nearby, still asleep. Their improvised beds, consisting of cloth stuffed with hay, lay scattered around the corner, where the other people working to make remedies also took rest.
Besides the small contingent from the Lyceum, more than a score of alchemists and apothecaries worked here as well. Given the size of the city, Martel assumed more people of these professions were gathered elsewhere to likewise help meet the mounting need for anything that would abate the pestilence and save lives.
A table held piles of food, mostly bread – a day or two old – some cold cuts of pork, and a small assortment of fruit. There was no strict routine like at the Lyceum. People worked, slept, and ate according to their own decisions; some worked even a few hours at night, and it was typical to see a handful sleeping during the day.
Martel supplied himself from the table of food and quickly ate before he walked over to help Mistress Rana stuff potions into a case.
"Time for me to leave, but you and Nora shall be fine on your own until I can return. If you do have any questions, now's your chance to ask them," she told Martel.
"How long will you isolate yourself before returning?"
"Five days is sufficient for the first symptoms to appear. Coughing, inklings of fever or a light sweat. In which case, I'll take an elixir, so nothing to worry about."
"Where will you stay?"
"I suppose I might as well show you, since it's about time I get going." The alchemist walked out of the warehouse with Martel following her. Close by on their right, they had the improvised gate into the copper lanes. A handful of guards stood there as usual, rubbing their hands together and complaining about the cold. Mistress Rana pointed at a small, unassuming house on the other side of the street. "We have prepared that, complete with a small fireplace and everything needed for alchemy."
Martel looked at the building; even if it would be more than adequate for a single person to live in, Martel imagined how small it would feel if you could not leave it. He did not envy Mistress Rana her task.
Next to him, she took out a cloth mask and a vial, pouring the contents of the latter onto the former. A strange odour reached Martel, and he could not guess what manner of concoction it might be. After taking a deep breath, Mistress Rana tied the cloth around her face to cover her mouth and nostrils. "See you in a fiveday."
***
Martel remained outside the warehouse for a little while, watching his teacher walk down to the gate and join up with a small convoy. More guards had appeared along with numerous carts. Martel could not tell from this distance what they contained, but he assumed food and other essentials to be delivered.
He wondered a little at how it was all organised. As far as he knew, the guards did not quarantine themselves after escorting the carts into the copper lanes, so presumably, they avoided all contact with the people inside and simply left the supplies inside the district. But if so, they could not keep watch that the food was distributed fairly; Martel could easily imagine people fighting over it or hoarding it while their neighbours starved. Even in a small town like Engby, where people knew and helped each other often, people had soon stopped sharing food during the winter of famine some ten years ago. contemporary romance
Martel thought about Sparrow and the rest of Weasel's gang, and how they fared. He could only hope that matters had been thought through better than he imagined, and that the children got all the food they needed to get through this.
But he had no way of knowing, nor could he venture inside and make certain; while he did not fear contracting the disease as such, given that he could make a cure for himself, it seemed irresponsible to enter and leave the district on the slight chance that he brought the pestilence back and allowed it to spread to the rest of the city. No matter how minuscule the risk, given the precautions they took, Martel was not prepared to roll those dice.
He felt admiration for the monks and nuns who had volunteered to enter the copper lanes, trying to help as many sick people as possible. It seemed certain that sooner or later, they would contract the disease themselves. If so, their best hope of survival rested with the potions made in the warehouse behind him. While perhaps not as dedicated as those working inside the district, Martel had his own role to play, saving lives. With a final glance at the copper lanes, Martel returned to his task.
***
Late in the evening, Martel finished a potion and had to consider when to leave, as he had lessons in fire magic the next day, requiring him to be back at the Lyceum. He might start work on another elixir; it would be finished around midnight, and with some two hours to walk home, it would leave him tired the next morning.
Looking at the corner for sleeping in the cold warehouse, another thought came to him. While perhaps a little frivolous, since he could spend those hours doing alchemy, Martel decided to use his remaining time doing enchantment. He found a large stone tile, perhaps left behind or brought here for some unknown purpose by another working in the warehouse; regardless, Martel claimed it as his.
It took him a while, but when he was done, he felt certain the enchantment would last a few months. Hopefully long enough for the pestilence to end. As Martel moved the stone tile to the sleeping corner, the other alchemists and apothecaries nearby noticed the emanating heat. All of them looking as weary as Martel felt, they simply mumbled their gratitude or nodded to him briefly before resuming their work or lying down to seek rest. His work done, the fire acolyte left them and the warehouse, returning to the Lyceum.
