Firebrand

Chapter 72: Who Watches the Watch

Who Watches the Watch

Another fiveday nearing its end, Martel reported for duty in the workshop of Master Jerome. He smiled as always seeing the jovial artificer, whose many skills and supervision kept the Lyceum running. "Master Martel, it must be Solday! Did you see our new watch?" .c(o)m

"I did! It looks amazing! All the things it can predict and keep track of, it's a marvel."

The artificer smiled. "Indeed! Master Fenrick has been busy ensuring the astronomical calculations are correct, but even he is satisfied. And thanks to a little bit of enchanting in the cabinet, the pendulum inside will keep precise measurement for decades to come. Let those old hats in Aquila polish their meridian line all they want!"

Martel frowned. "What line?"

"Right, you've probably not been taught about it. In the great temple in Aquila, a meridian line runs across the floor. Every day, the sun shines to hit the line in one exact spot, which tells the date of the year. It's how we make sure our calendars keep track of the days right, though I suspect with these new Khivan clocks, that will never be an issue again."

Martel tried to imagine what kind of magic would be involved in such a meridian line, but it was beyond him. Maybe Master Fenrick could explain it at some point.

"Anyway, to work! I have an easy task for you today." Master Jerome led the novice deeper into the workshop, where the familiar work of scraping ink to reuse parchment awaited him.

~

Besides being a simple task, Martel could also set his own pace, working alone. He knew it did not particularly matter how far he made it into the stack of used parchment; he could not imagine Master Jerome berating him. At the same time, he did not wish to abuse the artificer's goodwill, so he only took short breaks and otherwise worked at a steady pace. Even so, he could not help but pause each time to read the message he was about to erase.

Nearly always, it regarded something mundane or trivial, and most of the notes did not bear any names, preventing him from identifying the writing hand. He imagined that anything of importance, such as letters or private notes would not be disposed into the barrels collecting parchment for reuse. Certainly he would never let his letters from his mother suffer this fate.

Thus, he mostly came across various notes from class or written reminders to perform one or the other task. He learned who had been summoned to the overseer's office in the last few fivedays, and occasionally he recognised a list of simple herbs and plants to be bought at market, written in Nora's hand.

Halfway through the bell, Martel stumbled upon something that piqued his curiosity.

R, found the recipe. Translation looks accurate,

I'll go through it again just in case. You can

collect reagents, Perel is ascendant, so right

time for red clover. Looks worth a try.

Nothing else has worked. -F

At first, Martel wondered if the mention of a translated recipe was a coincidence, but given that this also called for red clover, there could not be any doubt. This had to be one of the countless little missives that members of the faculty sent each other. He could easily guess that R stood for Rana, and that she had consulted someone else about the recipe Martel had shown her. As for who might speak Archean and know about the ascendancy of a star, Martel guessed that F stood for Fenrick.

Martel felt a small tinge of excitement. Besides the fact that this elixir might save someone's life – Martel did not particularly like the fellow lying in the infirmary, but he did not want for him to waste away until death – the youth would be an important witness. He would be able to explain who or what attacked him. This might solve a mystery and remove a dangerous threat from the streets of Morcaster. Smiling to himself, Martel began the process of erasing the message, leaving the parchment clean and ready to be used again.

~

Although he could use the coin that working an extra bell or two for Master Jerome provided, it would have to be another day. Martel's afternoon was spoken for. So once he had finished his duty in the workshop and the apothecary, he ventured into town.

They met at their usual gathering spot underneath the statue of some legate. Martel had never bothered to read the inscription.

"What do you want to do?" Shadi asked him.

"I didn't bring any coin with me," Martel admitted. Not that he had any to bring in the first place.

"Let's just take a stroll down the harbour," she suggested. "Lots of ships coming in from Sindhu or the Western Isles at this time of year."

"Sounds good."

They walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the pleasant weather. Summer not yet over, Morcaster was filled with life. Harvest was brought in from the surrounding farmlands, and ships filled the port bringing goods and people from across the seas.

"What's kept you busy? Does your dad have a lot of orders to make?"

"I wish," Shadi expressed. "The clock for your school is the only one in a while. But it's also been a big one, keeping him in work for months. No, I do work for the different tradesmen in the quarter. Delivering their work to customers and such."

"That sounds nice. Better than working inside some smelly workshop." Martel thought about the few times he had helped out in the tanneries, enduring a dreadful stench for the sake of one silver piece.

"Yeah. I just hope it's enough." contemporary romance

"Enough for what?"

Shadi bit her lower lip. "Our landlord keeps raising the rent. We have enough for this month, maybe next, but if dad doesn't get more orders soon, the roof over our heads will depend a lot on what I can bring home."

"If he can't sell clocks, isn't there other work your father could do?"

She shook her head. "He is too old for hard labour. Not used to it. He might be able to do some repair work on machinery and the like, but there's not much of that in Morcaster. Would be different if he were back in Khiva."

They reached the harbour and sat down next by a peer, feet dangling over the edge. "A ship from my home." Martel pointed at the small vessel gliding into port.

"How can you tell?"

"It's a cog. Used mostly for the rivers up in Nordmark and its shallow coast. It's come a long way," he considered. "Probably bringing furs and amber, maybe whale ivory."

She leaned her head against his shoulder. "Tell me more of Nordmark."