192. The Fellowship of Feathers (Patreon)

Before Martel began running all over the sewers, which would include somehow getting through the locked grate door, it seemed prudent to make sure Julia had not already been picked up by the inquisitors. He knew that the Inquisition had a building in the temple district, and he assumed any prisoners would be in that place. It seemed a simple matter of simply going there and inquire, but he figured that a little support from a high-ranking member of society would not hurt.

"No." Maximilian's reply came as resolutely as it was curt.

"But you're a viscount," Martel argued. "They won't refuse you anything."

"That works with the city guard," the mageknight countered. "The Inquisition does not care about my title. Even if they did, the fact that I am also a mage makes it absolutely certain they would never tell me anything."

"Just come with me and give it a try," the novice pleaded. "It can't hurt to ask."

Maximilian slowly broke his bread into pieces while giving Martel an overbearing look. "It most definitely can hurt. You go to the office of the Inquisition and inquire about a prisoner in their charge, and you can be certain they will consider you an accomplice, whatever the crime. Doing so as a mage is doubly foolish, as they will only be waiting for an excuse to slap golden manacles around your wrists. Be sensible for once, Nordmark, and stay out of whatever this is."

"Surely they wouldn't do that just because we ask a simple question."

"My father took me to see a heretic being burned at the stake when I was ten," Maximilian told him. "I remember his words. 'That will happen to you if you give the inquisitors any reason to accuse you. They want nothing more than a highborn culprit to prove that none are above their authority.' Excuse me if I do not like it as hot as you."

With a sigh, Martel abandoned his attempt to persuade his friend. He would have to go at it alone.

~

It took Martel a while to reach the temple district. With every step, he felt less and less certain of his decision to go to the office of the Inquisition. At first, he had believed his own words to Maximilian, that it seemed preposterous asking a simple question would cause any trouble for him. As much as the inquisitors had pestered him, Martel had not actually suffered anything other than inconvenience at their hands. For all their authority, they had yet to use any of it on him.

Yet the fear that his fellow mages felt regarding the Inquisition slowly began to infect Martel the more he thought about it. Eleanor's story about the alchemist, executed and strung up for all to see. Now Maximilian's tale of the heretic burned at the stake, a dreadful fate that seemed too cruel to be true. And while he did not know what had happened to Julia's parents, her predicament did not speak well of the inquisitors either.

Perhaps most troubling to Martel, if he drew the scrutiny of these zealots, they could easily find incriminating evidence against him. Just the company he had kept of late, technically being in the employ of one of the Nine Lords, or participating in illegal prize fighting, all of it could bode ill for him. It might not be acts of maleficus or heresy, but he doubted that the inquisitors were particular as long as they could accuse a mage of breaking the law.

Trying to steel his resolve, Martel continued as the Basilica rose before his eyes at the end of the road.

~

It took Martel a while to get directions – several people simply gave him a look and hurried away – but finally he stood before the office of the Inquisition. Compared to the beautiful and almost delicate buildings nearby such as the Basilica, it looked plain and unassuming, built in regular stone and at most a few stories high. It lay almost hidden behind smaller temples and living quarters for the clergy that filled the district.

Seeing the occasional inquisitor or two entering and leaving the small compound almost made Martel turn around and leave. Walking past, though he kept to the other side of the street, he cast a glance through the entrance to see what he assumed was a clerk sitting behind a desk. That made sense; probably the inquisitors themselves did not handle mundane matters such as simple administration.

It also gave him an idea. Martel had no desire to walk in and declare himself a mage, but people had often assumed him to be a clerk or scribe, thanks to his boring, brown robe. Heart pounding, sweat beginning to form on his palms, Martel prepared himself for deception and crossed the street to enter the office of the Inquisition.

Trying to look calm and collected, Martel walked up to the desk and cleared his throat. The clerk, looking at most a few years older, looked up. "Yes? What can I do for you?"

"Hullo, I work for Father – Andrew at the Basilica. He was asked to come here and pray with a prisoner of yours, name of Julia. He sent me to confirm whether she is here already," Martel said.

The clerk pushed some pieces of parchment around and opened a large book on his desk. "Any other names for this one, or designations?"

"Her family name is unknown, or at least they didn't tell me. She's a young girl, I think, like twelve or fourteen years old. You know how it is, they don't tell me much," the novice said with a strained smile, repeating a complaint he had heard on occasion in the taverns of Morcaster.

"Don't I know it," came the reply. "Well, no prisoner by that name or description." He closed the large book.

"You're sure?"

"Of course," the clerk replied sounding almost indignant. "This ain't the salt mines. We rarely got more than one or two prisoners at a time. I don't know who spoke to you, but we don't have her."

"I guess Father Andrew will be glad he sent me, saved himself an unnecessary trip. Thanks for your help," Martel said and tried to keep himself from running out rather than walk at a normal pace.

"Any time."

~

Returning to the Lyceum, Martel knew his next course of action. He needed a way to get through the locked grate door that separated the castle from the sewers, unless he wanted to run around the city trying to find an entrance elsewhere, which might leave him far from where Julia most likely hid. But Martel had an idea for handling that; he would do so tomorrow, feeling too tired for more excursions. Instead, he turned his attention towards the other thing he needed. Information.

Entering the library, Martel saw the librarian at his desk and smiled. "I should like a book."

"Consider me surprised. Would any do, or must it be a specific title?"

"I should like one that delves into the waterways of Morcaster. The sewer system and so on," Martel explained.

The librarian's expression, hitherto showing mild annoyance, slowly turned friendly, and when he spoke, it was without any hint of mockery. "You like subterranean engineering?"

"Oh yes, I find it fascinating. I'm really curious how they connected all the districts of Morcaster with the sewer system."

The custodian of the library laughed heartily. "Oh, it only extends to the northern and eastern districts. Those in the south, they have to throw their garbage onto the street and wait for the rain to wash away."

Sadly, that sounded all too likely. "Does the library have a map or some kind of plan over the tunnels?"

The librarian beamed. "It certainly does! Come, I will show you."

~~

Martel's character sheet (no change).