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57. Plays in Motion
🕑 Added 2022-07-28 07:00:03 +0000 UTCWhen Martel woke, the events of yesterday felt more like a dream, but a pair of black shoes next to his own boots dispelled any such notion. He opened the drawer to look at his borrowed garments. Inside his commode, the clothes lay neatly folded together. The value of the silk shirt alone made him uncomfortable. Martel pushed the drawer shut and got ready for breakfast and kitchen duty.
~
Since he spent breakfast helping, Martel only saw Maximilian at lunch. "Hullo. Last night was fun."
Martel grunted in reply. He still felt sore about how his own part had played out. He had not spoken much either when the carriage drove them back to the Lyceum after the feast, though Maximilian had been too exuberant to notice. "I still have your clothes. I can give them back after we've eaten."
"Keep them, mate. They do not fit me anymore, and I hardly need them anyway."
Martel disliked receiving such an expensive gift; then again, this had all been for Maximilian's sake, and if he did not want the clothes back, so be it.
~
His lesson in empowerment passed as usual, though at the end, as Martel was leaving, a familiar voice called out to him. He turned around to look at Eleanor. "Martel, do you have plans tomorrow night?"
"Not as such, why?"
"My family has their summer celebration then. I have been asked to invite you," she explained.
"Asked?"
"My father saw you perform, and it is his custom to invite all mageknights and battlemages," Eleanor elaborated. "Anyone who will serve in the legions."
"But I'm not a battlemage," Martel stressed. He knew this whole thing had been a bad idea.
"I told my father as much," she quickly assured him. "But since we are friends, he told me to invite you regardless. He probably wants to convince you to become one." She laughed a little, but her mirth disappeared seeing Martel's alarmed expression. "Only a jest. He will probably be too busy with other guests."
"I don't think I quite fit in at your family's celebration."
"You fit in with me."
Martel did not wish to argue against that. "I suppose I'd be happy to go." At least he already had the clothes for it.
"Great." Eleanor smiled. "I will let Maximilian know. You can drive with him."
~
With all his duties done for the day, finally, Martel went into the city to experience the festivities. The summer festival had begun, much like the spring faire, only this promised to be greater. For the Faith of the Sun, no day held greater importance than summer solstice, and pilgrims would arrive from all over the Empire to bring offerings at the holy sites. Naturally, this attracted traders and peddlers in equal droves, whether they sold goods or entertainment. If Martel thought the city had been full during spring, he nearly fell backwards at the sight of the crowds that filled the market district.
Every street and lane burst with people. Martel regretted going here, but he became swept up with the throng and had to move along. At least his purse barely held silver, so did not have to worry much about cutpurses, but every time he saw a grizzled beggar who looked like he had been in the wars, Martel flinched a little and tried to push in a direction away.
At length, he saw an opportunity to slip down an alleyway. He leaned against a wall, making use of his breathing room. An old crone, selling buttons, combs, and the like carved from bones, grinned at him. "Not used to the big city, lad?"
"I live here," Martel defended himself. Even if he had only done so for half a year. "I just don't like crowds."
"How about a comb for your sweetheart? Every girl always has need of those." She held up a few examples of her wares.
"No thanks." Neither Shadi's short hair nor his thin purse recommended such a purchase.
"Don't have a sweetheart, do you? No wonder, being such a miser."
Martel continued down the alleyway with the crone's laughter in his ears.
~
Once away, Martel slowed his pace. He had no particular aim; usually, he would have gone with Maximilian, who knew the places to visit, but Martel did not feel up for his company just yet. So he ended up simply following familiar paths. He passed by The Golden Goose, but did not enter; even though he had a few pennies to afford a mug of ale, Martel did not feel thirsty, and the place was packed anyway.
As he reached a square, the mass of people kept him from noticing a familiar sight at first. Pushing through, Martel had nearly crossed before he saw the brightly coloured canvas hanging over a cart. Making his way towards it, a happy expression crossed his face upon recognising several actors preparing a stage next to an old man puffing on his pipe.
"Regnar!"
"I wondered when I might see you," the hedge mage laughed. "Faster than I thought. We only arrived today."
"Where you've been?"
"Touring the provinces," Regnar explained. "But solstice in Morcaster is when we make the most. We'll be here for over a fiveday before it's off north. The only months when those lands are tolerable."
"You're like birds, flying south for the winter and back again for summer."
"Indeed, and just about as free, except we travel by cart, not wings."
"Do you ever travel beyond Aster?"
"Certainly! When winter beckons, you'll find us in Sindhu. But that's in the future," the hedge mage laughed. "Those who travel, we don't make plans far in advance."
"I'll be sure to come and see your plays while you are in town," Martel promised. "Is it Roland and his trials?" he asked hopefully.
"While I'm sure my compatriots are happy that you appreciate their past work, I think the crowd requires a new spectacle." Regnar's eyes twinkled. "In fact, we have a brand new play, written by our own storyteller, never performed before in Morcaster."
"That's exciting. Do I know the story?"
"You do, but I won't reveal anything. Come see it when you can, and bring your friends!"
~
Regnar watched as Martel left, smiling while he puffed on his pipe.
"Old man, you could lend a hand!" came the reproach from the storyteller of the troupe.
"Yes, yes, hold your horses. Just seeing the boy off. I owe him quite a debt, after all."
"True. Almost a pity they rescued you – else we might have been so lucky to have him take your place," the actor remarked. "Come on. We could use a magic hand to hoist the scenery."
"I'm coming, I'm coming," the old hedge mage declared. "Where's Ian? I need to let him know our new play will have special guests who should have free seats."
"Boy's out fetching food. Don't worry, the play will be a success, and your new friends suitably impressed! I wrote it myself, after all."
"With liberties," Regnar added, smiling slyly.
The storyteller gave a shrug. "Every good story improves with embellishment."
~~
Martel's character sheet (no change).
Comments
Quill
Definition of commode: 1a : a low chest of drawers
RepossessedSoul
Why are his clothes stored in a toilet that is also magicked into a drawer?Inside his commode, the clothes lay neatly folded together
Beeees!
Excited to see how the rescue story was changed for the big stage
