Chapter 63: A Cunning Plan
A Cunning Plan
A few questions to the regular peddlers at the theatre square revealed the truth. The city guard had appeared and rounded up the actors, arresting them and confiscating most of their property. Beyond that, nobody knew anything. Martel went back towards the Lyceum unsure what to do. He had no influence personally, but maybe he could convince Maximilian or another of importance to intercede on their behalf. But once returned to the school, he discovered that his plan would have to wait. Both Maximilian and Eleanor were away, attending another solstice celebration with their peers. In the end, Martel went to sleep, hoping that the morrow would bring an opportunity to help his incarcerated friends.
As he woke, once he had washed and dressed, he noticed a small note pushed under his door. He quickly grabbed it to read the shaky letters written upon the small scrap of parchment.
I'm with our small
friends in their
house. Regnar
Martel frowned, trying to understand. Apparently, Regnar had avoided arrest, which was obviously good. The small friends had to be the street children, who had lent a hand back when Regnar was kidnapped by the berserker. He must have made contact with them again, seeking safe harbour. And the house would be where the Broken Blades had been before, which the children now occupied. This was an invitation, but it would have to wait; first, his regular duties awaited.
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Mistress Rana stirred the jar with a wooden spoon three times before she examined the contents. "It runs thin. How much water did you use?" Her stern eyes turned on Martel.
"Two spoonfuls, filled to the edge," he quickly replied.
"Then you either did not add enough bark, or you did not grind the redbell sufficiently. Throw this out and start over. Nora, pay close attention this time to his work. His failure also reflects on you." After dropping the spoon back into the jar, Mistress Rana left the workshop through the backdoor, retreating to her own laboratory.
"Sorry," Martel mumbled. He disliked how Nora was made responsible for him; it only added to the pressure of having to succeed.
"It's fine," she reassured him. At least she was nice about it. "Nobody gets it right on the first try. And these are all simple, cheap ingredients. Mistress Rana would not risk wasting anything rare on your first attempts. Just be careful with the measurements. A little off, it will ruin the whole thing." contemporary romance
"Got it." Martel did not need the reminder, as Mistress Rana had told him this a dozen times, but he needed Nora's help. Not to mention, he had greater concerns on his mind. "I will start with grinding the redbell."
~
Both empowerment lessons passed without Martel putting much effort into either; another three Maldays, and the course would be complete, to be replaced by another subject. It could only be an improvement.
As soon as the bell rang, announcing the end of his afternoon lesson, Martel left in haste. Maximilian and Eleanor shot him a glance or two as he strode out, but neither intercepted him; given his distaste for Reynard, which was reciprocated, none had reason to find it odd that Martel would depart so quickly.
Finally making his way into the city, Martel considered if he should still have tried to enlist the aid of his higher-born friends. He had abandoned the idea after reading Regnar's note, and after further contemplation, he stuck to his decision. Before he dragged anyone else into more trouble, Martel wanted to know the situation first. It would also be a lot easier to ask for help, should it be needed, once he knew what manner of help to ask for.
After a long walk, he reached the house in the slums taken over by Weasel and his gang. The front door was still missing after Maximilian turned it into splinters; a large piece of cloth hung on the inside of the frame in its place. Pushing it aside, Martel stepped into the building.
The main room looked about as derelict as before, with various rags serving as bedrolls along the wall. An empty pot rested on the unlit kitchen fire, and a few pieces of old furniture remained, having survived the fight those months ago. In particular, a table and some chairs, one of which was occupied by Weasel.
The young leader sat with his feet up, staring at Martel as the latter entered, clearly not surprised. "There you are. I had my doubts, but the old pipe-puffer insisted you'd show up."
Martel looked around. Besides recognising a few of the children, he saw the faint glow from a lit pipe in a dark corner of the room. "Knew you'd be here," Regnar declared through lips clenched around his favourite tool.
"Regnar, what happened? At the square, they said your troupe had been arrested."
"Aye, that's the short of it. That play we did last time in Morcaster – well, we should have waited a while longer before returning. One of the prefects sent his hounds on us," the hedge mage explained. "Took the others. I'm a bit wilier though."
"You did get captured by the berserker," Martel pointed out.
"Alright, no need to rub it in," Regnar replied. "What matters is that remaining free, I've been able to ask around a bit. I know what sort of pickle we're in."
"What kind?"
"Fortunately, the prefect who got us arrested isn't the zealous kind. If so, my poor troupe wouldn't see daylight anytime soon. No, this one is a worldly man who appreciates its pleasures."
Seeing Martel's confused look, Weasel snorted. "He wants a bribe." The other kids giggled; the novice noticed Mouse's head peeking out from under a blanket, laughing.
"Our young cutpurse is correct. He's made use of our little overstep to shake my friends for some coin. Failing that, a fate as galley slaves await them. Now, I had the clear mind to take the troupe's shared funds with me as I made my escape," Regnar revealed. "But it's not enough. I'll need more."
"I don't have any coin." Martel turned towards Weasel.
"Don't look at us. This ain't my minstrel to pay for," the little chief said.
"I have a cunning plan," Regnar declared.
"This won't involve fighting, will it?" Martel asked. "I'm done with that sort of trouble."
The hedge mage shook his head. "Perish the thought. No, we'll earn the needed coin the way that a travelling troupe does best." He glanced over Martel in his brown robe. "Do you have any other clothes besides that?"
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