The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 33
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
Lamps were lit and the smoke thinned as cool night air blew in through the broken window. People filtered into the room to help, or gawk, or gossip. A cluster of amazed onlookers gathered around Ambrose’s staved-in door, and I idly wondered what sort of rumors might spring out of tonight’s performance.
Once the room was properly lit, I marveled at the damage the fire had done. The chest of drawers was little more than a collection of charred sticks, and the plaster wall behind it was cracked and blistered from the heat. The white ceiling was painted with a wide fan of black soot.
I caught my reflection in the dressing-room mirror and was pleased to see my eyebrows were more or less intact. I was mightily disheveled, my hair in disarray and my face smudged with sweat and dark ash. The whites of my eyes looked very bright against the black of my face.
Wilem joined me and helped bandage up my left hand. It wasn’t really burned, but I knew it would look odd if I walked away entirely unscathed. Aside from a little lost hair, my worst injury was actually the holes charred in my long sleeves. Another shirt ruined. If this kept up I’d be naked by the end of the term.
I sat on the edge of the bed and watched as people brought more water to splash on the bureau. I pointed out a charred ceiling beam, and they doused it too, sending up a sharp hiss and a cloud of steam and smoke. People continued to wander in and out, looking at the wreckage and muttering to each other while shaking their heads.
Just as Wil was finishing my bandage, the sound of galloping hooves on cobblestones came through the broken window, temporarily overwhelming the noise of fiercely stomping hobnailed boots.
Less than a minute later, I heard Ambrose in the hallway. “What in the name of God is going on here? Get out! Out!”
Cursing and shoving people aside, Ambrose made his entrance. When he saw me sitting on his bed he pulled up short. “What are you doing in my rooms?” he demanded.
“What?” I asked, then looked around. “These are your rooms?” Keeping the proper amount of dismay in my tone wasn’t easy, as my voice was rough with smoke. “I just burned myself saving your things?”
Ambrose’s eyes narrowed, then went to the charred wreckage of his bureau. His eyes flicked back to me, then went wide with sudden realization. I fought the urge to grin.
“Get out of here you filthy, thieving Ruh,” he spat venomously. “I swear if anything’s missing, I’ll bring the constable down on you. I’ll have you on the iron law and see you hanged.”
I drew a breath to respond, then started to cough uncontrollably and had to settle for glaring at him.
“Good job, Ambrose,” Wilem said sarcastically. “You caught him. He stole your fire.”
One of the onlookers chimed in, “Yeah, make him put it back!”
“Get out!” Ambrose shouted, red-faced and furious. “And take that filthy shim with you or I’ll give you both the thrashing you deserve.” I watched the bystanders stare at Ambrose, appalled by his behavior.
I gave him a long, proud look, playing the scene for all it was worth. “You’re welcome,” I said with injured dignity, and shouldered past him, jostling him roughly out of the way.
As I was leaving, a fat, florid man in a waistcoat staggered through the ruined door to Ambrose’s rooms. I recognized him as the owner of the Golden Pony.
“What the devil’s been going on here?” he demanded.
“Candles are dangerous things,” I said. I looked over my shoulder and met Ambrose’s eye. “Honestly boy,” I said to him. “I don’t know what you were thinking. You’d think a member of the Arcanum would have more sense.”
Wil, Mola, Devi, and I were sitting around what was left of the bonfire when we heard the crackle of footsteps coming through the trees. Fela was still dressed elegantly, but her hair was unpinned. Sim was making his way carefully alongside her, absentmindedly holding branches out of her way as they moved through the undergrowth.
“And just where have you two been?” Devi asked.
“I had to walk back from Imre,” Fela explained. “Sim came to meet me halfway. Don’t worry mother, he was a perfect gentleman.”
“I hope it wasn’t too bad for you,” I said.
“Dinner was about what you would expect,” Fela admitted. “But the second part made it all worthwhile.”
“Second part?” Mola asked.
“On our way back, Sim took me to see the wreckage at the Pony. I stopped to have a word with Ambrose. I’ve never had so much fun.” Fela’s smile was wicked. “I was perfectly huffy.”
“She was,” Simmon said. “It was brilliant.”
Fela faced Sim and set her hands on her hips. “Run off on me, will you?”
Sim screwed his face up into an exaggerated scowl and gestured wildly. “Listen to me, you daft bint!” he said in a fair imitation of Ambrose’s Vintish accent. “My rooms were on fire!”
Fela turned away, throwing up her hands. “Don’t lie to me! You ran off to be with some whore. I’ve never been so humiliated in my life! I never want to see you again!”
We applauded. Fela and Sim linked arms and took a bow.
“In the interest of pure accuracy,” Fela said in an offhand way, “Ambrose didn’t use the words ‘daft bint.’ ” She didn’t let go of Sim’s arm.
Simmon looked a little embarrassed. “Yes, well. There are some things you don’t call a lady, even in fun.” He reluctantly let go of Fela and sat on the trunk of the fallen tree. Fela sat next to him.
Fela leaned close to him and whispered something. Sim laughed, shaking his head. “Please?” Fela asked, laying her hand on his arm. “Kvothe doesn’t have his lute. Someone has to entertain us.”
“Okay, Okay.” Simmon said, obviously a little flustered. He closed his eyes for a moment, then spoke in a sonorous voice:
Fast came our Fela fiery eyes flashing,
Crossing the cobbles strength in her stride.
Came she to Ambrose all ashes around him
Grim was his gazing fearsome his frown.
Still Fela feared not brave was her bo—
Simmon came to an abrupt stop before saying the word “bosom” and blushed red as a beet. Devi gave an earthy chuckle from where she sat on the other side of the fire.
Ever the good friend, Wilem stepped in with a distracting question. “What is that pause you keep doing?” he asked. “It’s like you can’t catch your breath.”
“I asked that too,” Fela said, smiling.
“It’s something they use in Eld Vintic verse,” Sim explained. “It’s a break in the line called a caesura.”
“You are dangerously well informed about poetry, Sim,” I said. “I’m close to losing respect for you.”
“Hush,” Fela said. “I think it’s lovely. You’re just jealous he can do it off the cuff.”
“Poetry is a song without music,” I said loftily. “A song without music is like a body without a soul.”
Wilem raised his hand before Simmon could respond. “Before we become mired in philosophical talk, I have a confession to make,” Wilem said somberly. “I dropped a poem in the hallway outside Ambrose’s rooms. It was an acrostic that spoke of his powerful affection for Master Hemme.”
We all laughed, but Simmon seemed to find it particularly funny. It took him a long while to catch his breath. “It couldn’t be more perfect if we planned it,” he said. “I bought a few pieces of women’s clothing and scattered them in with what was out on the street. Red satin. Lacy bits. A whalebone corset.”
There was more laughter. Then they turned their eyes to me.
“And what did you do?” Devi prompted.
“Only what I set out to,” I said somberly. “Only what was necessary to destroy the mommet so I could sleep safe at night.”
“You kicked over his chamber pot,” Wilem said.
“True,” I admitted. “And I found this.” I held up a piece of paper.
“If that’s one of his poems,” Devi said, “I’d suggest you burn it quickly and wash your hands.”
I unfolded the slip of paper and read it aloud. “Ledger mark 4535: Ring. White gold. Blue smokestone. Remount setting and polish.” I folded it carefully and put it in a pocket. “To me,” I said, “This is better than a poem.”
Sim sat upright. “Is that a pawnslip for your lady’s ring?”
“It’s a claim slip for a jeweler, if I don’t miss my guess. But yes, it’s for her ring,” I said. “And she’s not my lady, by the by.”
“I’m lost,” Devi said.
“That’s how all this started,” Wilem said. “Kvothe was trying to reclaim a bit of property for a girl he fancies.”
“Someone should fill me in,” Devi said. “I seem to have come in halfway through the story.”
I leaned back against a piece of fieldstone, content to let my friends tell the story.
The slip of paper hadn’t been in Ambrose’s chest of drawers. It hadn’t been on the hearth or his bedside table. It hadn’t been on his jewelry tray or his writing desk.
It had, in fact, been in Ambrose’s purse. I’d lifted it off him in a fit of pique half a minute after he called me a filthy, thieving Ruh. It had almost been a reflex action as I’d brushed roughly past him on my way out of his rooms at the Pony.
By strange coincidence, the purse also contained money. Almost six talents. Not a great deal of coin as far as Ambrose was concerned. Enough for an extravagant night out with a lady. But for me it was a great deal of money, so much I almost felt guilty for taking it. Almost.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
Baubles
There was no note for me from Denna when I returned to Anker’s that night. Nor was there one waiting in the morning. I wondered if the boy had ever found her with my message, or if he had simply given up, or dropped it in the river, or eaten it.
The next morning I decided my mood was too good to spoil it with the inevitable madness of Elodin’s class. So I shouldered my lute and headed over the river to look for Denna. It had taken longer than I’d planned, but I was eager to see the look on her face when I finally returned her ring.
I walked into the jeweler’s and smiled at the small man standing behind a low display case. “Are you finished with the ring?”
His forehead creased. “I . . . I beg your pardon, sir?”
I sighed and dug around in my pocket, eventually producing the slip of paper.
He peered at it, then his face lit with understanding. “Ah, yes. Of course. Just a moment.” He made his way through a door into the back of the shop.
I relaxed a bit. This was the third shop I’d visited. The other conversations hadn’t worked out nearly this well.
The tiny man bustled out of the back room. “Here we are, sir.” He held up the ring. “Right as rain again. Lovely stone too, if you don’t mind my saying.”
I held it to the light. It was Denna’s ring. “You do good work,” I said.
He smiled at this. “Thank you, sir. All told, the work came to forty-five pennies.”
I gave a small, silent sigh. It had been too much to hope that Ambrose had paid for the work in advance. I juggled numbers in my head and counted a talent and six jots onto the glass top of the display case. As I did, I noticed it had the slightly oily texture of twice-tough glass. I ran my hand over it, wondering idly if it was one of the pieces I had made at the Fishery.
As the jeweler gathered up the coins, I noticed something else. Something inside the case.
“A bauble caught your eye?” he asked smoothly.
I pointed at a necklace in the center of the case.
“You have excellent taste,” he said, pulling out a key and unlocking a panel in the back of the case. “This is quite an exceptional piece. Not only is the setting elegant, but the stone itself is remarkably fine. You don’t often see an emerald of this quality cut in a long drop.”
“Is it your work?” I asked.
The jeweler gave a dramatic sigh. “Alas, I cannot claim that distinction. A young woman brought it in several span ago. She had more need of money than adornment it seems, and we came to an arrangement.”
“How much would you like for it?” I asked as casually as possible.
He told me. It was a staggering amount of money. More money than I had ever seen in one place. Enough money that a woman might live comfortably in Imre for several years. Enough money for a fine new harp. Enough for a lute of solid silver, or, if she desired, a case for such a lute.
The jeweler sighed again, shaking his head at the sad state of the world. “It is a shame,” he said. “Who can tell what drives young women to such things.” Then he looked up and smiled, holding the teardrop emerald to the light with an expectant expression. “Still, her loss is your gain.”
Since Denna had mentioned the Barrel and Boar in her note, I decided to start looking for her there. My lute case hung heavier on my shoulder now that I knew what she’d given up to pay for it. Still, one good turn deserves another, and I hoped the return of her ring would help balance things between us.
But the Barrel and Boar wasn’t an inn, merely a restaurant. Without any real hope, I asked the host if someone might have left a message for me. Nobody had. I asked if he remembered a woman who had been there the night before? Dark-haired? Lovely?
He nodded at that. “She waited for a long while,” he said. “I remember thinking, ‘Who would keep a woman like that waiting?’ ”
You would be amazed at how many inns and boarding houses there are, even in a smallish city like Imre.
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
Secrets
Two days later I was heading off to the Fishery, hoping some honest work would clear my head and make me better able to tolerate two hours of Elodin’s jackassery. I was three steps from the door, when I saw a young girl in a blue cloak hurrying across the courtyard toward me. Underneath the hood, her face was a startling mix of excitement and anxiety.
We made eye contact and she stopped moving toward me. Then, still eyeing me, she made a motion so furtive and stiff I couldn’t understand what she meant until she repeated it: she wanted me to follow her.
Puzzled, I nodded. She turned and walked out of the courtyard, moving with the awkward stiffness of someone trying desperately to be nonchalant.
I followed her. Under other circumstances I would have thought she was a shill luring me into a dark alley where thugs would kick out my teeth and take my purse. But there weren’t any decently dangerous alleys this close to the University, and it was a sunny afternoon besides.
Eventually she stepped into a deserted piece of road behind a glassblower and a clocksmith’s shop. She looked around nervously, then turned, her face beaming under the shelter of her hood. “I finally found you!” she said breathlessly.
She was younger than I’d thought, no more than fourteen. Curls of mousy brown hair framed her pale face and fought to escape the hood. Still, I couldn’t place her. . . .
“I’ve had a drummer of a time tracking you down,” she said. “I spend so much time here my ma thinks I have a beau at the University,” she said the last almost shyly, her mouth making a tiny curve.
I opened my mouth to admit I didn’t have the slightest idea who she was. But before I could get a word out, she spoke again. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I hain’t let anyone know I was coming to see you.” Her bright eyes went dark with anxiety, like a pool when the sun goes behind a cloud. “I know it’s safer that way.”
It was only when her face went dark with worry that I recognized her. She was the young girl I’d met in Trebon when I’d gone to investigate rumors of the Chandrian.
“Nina,” I said. “What are you doing here?”
“Looking for you.” She thrust out her chin proudly. “I knew you must be from here cause you knew all sorts of magic.” She looked around. “But it’s bigger than I thought it would be. I know you didn’t give anyone in Trebon your name because then they’d have power over you, but I have to say it makes you terribly hard to find.”
Had I not told anyone my name in Trebon? Some of my memories of that time were vague, as I’d had a bit of a concussion. It was probably for the best I’d kept myself anonymous, given that I’d been responsible for burning down a sizable portion of the town.
“I’m sorry to put you to so much work,” I said, still not sure what this was all about.
Nina took a step closer. “I had dreams after you left,” she said, her voice low and confidential. “Bad dreams. I thought they were coming for me because of what I told you.” She gave me a meaningful look. “But then I started sleeping with the amulet you gave me. I made my prayers every night, and the dreams went away.” One of her hands absentmindedly fingered a piece of bright metal that hung around her neck on a leather cord.
I realized with sudden guilt that I’d inadvertently lied to Master Kilvin. I hadn’t sold anyone a charm, or even made anything that would look like one. But I had given Nina an engraved piece of metal and told her it was an amulet to set her mind at ease. Before that she’d been on the edge of nervous hysteria, worried that demons were going to kill her.
“So it’s been working then?” I asked, trying not to sound guilty.
She nodded. “As soon as I had it under my pillow and said my prayers, I slept like a babe at the tit. Then I started having my special dream,” she said, and smiled up at me. “I dreamed about the big pot Jimmy showed me before those folks were kilt up at the Mauthen farm.”
I felt hope rise in my chest. Nina was the only person alive who had seen the ancient piece of pottery. It had been covered with pictures of the Chandrian, and they are jealous of their secrets.
“You remembered something about the pot with the seven people painted on it?” I asked excitedly.
