Firebrand

Chapter 81: Alliterative Argumentation

Chapter 81: Alliterative Argumentation

Alliterative Argumentation

Walking into the apothecary, Martel was pleased to find Nora there as well. Always a talker, she happily answered Martel's questions.

"What herb helps with colds and runny noses?"

"You'll want hound's tongue," Nora helpfully explained. "Just the roots, mind you, and best crushed into a pill. But just chewing them works as well. The leaves are good against bites from mad dogs, hence the name."

"What about if someone has lice?"

Nora cast him a glance and took a step away.

"Not me," Martel exclaimed indignantly while crushing a chicken's claw into powder.

She laughed. "Larkspur, also known as knight's spur. A tincture with that should kill lice and fleas, whether on dogs or humans. I better not catch you scratching yourself!"

"You won't," the novice declared irritably. "What about a fever?"

"Ash bark." She grinned. "This is fun! Hit me with another."

~

As soon as the fourth bell rang and his lesson ended, Martel bid Master Alastair farewell and hurried from the Hall of Elements into town. He paid a visit to his herbalist, acquiring as much as he could for his remaining coins, few as they were. Prize in hand, the novice raced back to the Lyceum just in time to catch the end of lunch. After stuffing his mouth with little dignity, Martel continued to the apothecary. He knew Nora had a lesson on most afternoons, providing him the opportunity to use the space without prying eyes.

Not that he did anything against the rules. But his presence in the apothecary in the afternoon would lead to awkward questions if found by Mistress Rana or her apprentice; easiest if he avoided those questions being raised in the first place. So he swiftly did his work, preparing a blood salve. As it would not be ready until tomorrow, he deposited his newly made version and grabbed an already finished jar from the cupboard.

This completed, he had another lesson with Master Alastair; after that, he ate a quick supper and could finally head towards the slums with all his spoils.

~

Wise from experience, Martel approached the derelict house from the back; his shoulder still smarted from yesterday. Some of the children spotted him from a distance, either because they had been expecting him or due to a general watch kept on the area. They ran up to him, making inquisitive glances and remarks at the bundle he carried in his hands. Brushing them off, Martel refused to divulge his remedies, laughing and teasing his small entourage.

"Right, time to boil some water! We'll need lots of it. Badger, can you get more? I'll start the fire," Martel told them, letting a flame appear at the tip of his finger. The children stared at his small display of magic with shrieks of delight before they finally hopped to, carrying out his commands.

Quickly, the room bustled with activity, and before long, Martel could distribute all his medicines. Half a dozen kids received tea with lungwort, easing their coughing. Several of the children, including Sparrow, had wounds well served by a good layer of blood salve and the remainder of Martel's sleeve for bandages. Martel wondered how much a bolt of linen would cost; a lot more expensive than herbs, he feared. But he would have a free afternoon to work for Master Jerome tomorrow, so the sleeve would only have to last until then. Good thing he had such long arms.

"Master wizard, can you help my arm?"

Sitting down on a stool, Martel cautiously examined the small boy's wrist. It had swollen, and the skin was red. "Does it hurt?" His fingertips barely touched the arm before the patient flinched.

"Yeah, I can't use it, or the pain gets bad."

"How did it happen?" Martel did his best to remember the questions asked by the nurses when someone came to the infirmary with an injury.

"I fell on the street, used it to break my fall, but it got bent."

"Is the pain sharp, or more like a dull throb?"

"Dull, I guess. Unless I touch it. Can you make it go away?" The boy looked up at Martel with pitiful eyes.

"I think you have a sprain." Martel really hoped that was the case; he had no idea how to treat a broken bone. "We will have to bind it to give it support, and then you let it rest."

"I was already doing that," he declared with a determined look, though his expression turned to discomfort and wincing as Martel wrapped cloth around the wrist.

"There we are. All right, who else needs help?" Martel looked around as other children pushed forward to get help. His eyes briefly crossed with Weasel's, as the latter sat on the stairs, watching the scene unfold. The young chief had a calculating look in his eyes, but before Martel could wonder at the reasons why, he had to help the next of his little patients.

~

The sun had long since set by the time Martel was done; it had already been evening when he first had arrived. The streets of the slums were empty for the most part after nightfall, as decent folk were asleep by now, and others went to the harbour or market district. The few characters outside in this part of the city seemed unsavoury, and Martel noticed that some of them eyed him. But he walked with empty hands, carrying nothing of value nor wearing clothes of particular expense, and he was generally left alone. And should someone accost him, the prospect did not frighten him; he felt confident in his magic to handle a thug or two.

Besides confidence, Martel also felt pleased. He could already tell the difference he had made for several of the children, and it had not cost him much in terms of coin or time. Much as he had hoped when he originally set out to join the Lyceum, he was gaining knowledge and skills that he could use to make a difference.

It did make him ponder Weasel's words from yesterday about how his motivation to help was not born out of empathy, but rather to satisfy his own need to feel good about himself. Did his current state of mind simply prove the young boy's verdict? Were all of Martel's good deeds actually selfish in nature? Could be. But at the same time, Martel had alleviated suffering for a handful of people, who had no other way of seeking amelioration for their afflictions. Perhaps that was all that mattered.