The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 39
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
Devi gave me a long, dispassionate looking over. I could see a fire crackling in the grate on the other side of the room near her desk, but she made no indication that I should come any farther into the room. So I remained where I was, dripping and shivering.
“You never do things the easy way, do you?” she said.
“There’s an easy way?” I asked.
She didn’t laugh. “If you think showing up here half-frozen and looking like a kicked dog is going to improve my disposition toward you, you’re terribly . . .” She trailed off and looked at me thoughtfully for another long moment. “I’ll be damned,” she said, sounding surprised. “I actually do like seeing you like this. It’s lifting my spirits to an almost irritating degree.”
“It wasn’t really my intention,” I said. “But I’ll take it. Would it help if I caught a terrible cold?”
Devi considered it. “It might,” she admitted. “Penance does involve a certain amount of suffering.”
I nodded, not having to work to look miserable. I dug into my purse with clumsy fingers and brought out a small bronze coin I’d won off Sim playing low-stakes breath several nights ago.
Devi took it. “A penance piece,” she said, unimpressed. “Is this supposed to be symbolic?”
I shrugged, causing more slush to spatter to the floor. “Somewhat,” I said. “I thought of going to a moneychanger and settling my entire debt with you in penance coin.”
“What stopped you?” she asked.
“I realized it would just irritate you,” I said. “And I wasn’t looking forward to paying the moneychanger’s fee.” I fought the urge to looking longingly at the fireplace. “I’ve spent a lot of time trying to think of some gesture that might make a suitable apology to you.”
“You decided it would be best to walk here during the worst weather of the year?”
“I decided it would be best if we talked,” I said. “The weather was just a happy accident.”
Devi scowled and turned toward the fireplace. “Come in then.” She walked over to a chest of drawers near her bed and brought out a thick blue cotton robe. She handed it to me and motioned to a closed door. “Go change out of your wet clothes. Wring them out in the basin or they’ll take forever to dry.”
I did as she said, then brought the clothes out and hung them on the pegs in front of the fire. It felt wonderful to stand so close to the fireplace. In the light of the fire I could see that the skin under my fingernails was actually a little blue.
As much as I wanted to linger and warm myself, I joined Devi at her desk. I noticed that the top of it had been sanded down and revarnished, though it still bore a coal-black ring where the poor-boy had charred the wood.
I felt rather vulnerable sitting there wearing nothing but the robe she’d given me, but there was nothing to be done about it. “After our previous . . . meeting.” I fought to avoid looking at the charred ring on her desk. “You informed me that the full amount of my loan would be due at the end of the term. Are you willing to renegotiate that?”
“Unlikely,” Devi said crisply. “But rest assured that if you are unable to settle accounts in coin, I’m still in the market for certain pieces of information.” She gave a sharp, hungry smile.
I nodded, she still wanted access to the Archives. “I was hoping you might be willing to reconsider, as you now know the whole story,” I said. “Someone was performing malfeasance against me. I needed to know that my blood was safe.”
I gave her a questioning look. Devi shrugged without taking her elbows off the desk, her expression one of vast indifference.
“What’s more,” I said, meeting her eye. “It is entirely possible that my irrational behavior might have been partially due to the lingering effect of an alchemical poison I was subjected to earlier this term.”
Devi’s expression went stiff. “What?”
She hadn’t known then. That was something of a relief. “Ambrose arranged to have me dosed with the plum bob about an hour before my admissions interview,” I said. “And you sold him the formula.”
“You have a lot of gall!” Devi’s pixie face was outraged and indignant, but it wasn’t convincing. She was off balance and trying too hard.
“What I have,” I said calmly, “is the lingering taste of plum and nutmeg in my mouth, and the occasional irrational desire to choke people for doing nothing more offensive than jostling me on the street.”
Her false outrage fell away. “You can’t prove anything,” she said.
“I don’t need to prove anything,” I said. “I have no desire to see you in trouble with the masters or up against the iron law.” I looked at her. “I just thought you might be interested in the fact that I was poisoned.”
Devi sat very still. She fought to maintain her composure, but guilt was creeping onto her expression. “Was it bad?”
“It was,” I said quietly.
Devi looked away and crossed her arms in front of her chest. “I didn’t know it was for Ambrose,” she said. “Some rich tosh came around. Made a stunningly good offer. . . .”
She looked back at me. Now that the chilly anger had left her, she looked surprisingly small. “I’d never do business with Ambrose,” she said. “And I didn’t know it was for you. I swear.”
“You knew it was for someone,” I said.
There was a long moment of silence broken only by the occasional crackling of the fire.
“Here’s how I see it,” I said. “Recently, we’ve both done something rather foolish. Something we regret.” I pulled the robe more closely around my shoulders. “And while these two things certainly don’t cancel each other out, it does seem to me that they establish some sort of equilibrium.” I held out my hands like they were the balancing plates on a scale.
Devi gave me a small, embarrassed smile. “Perhaps I was hasty in demanding full repayment.”
I returned the smile and felt myself relax. “How would you feel about sticking to the original terms of our loan?”
“That seems fair.” Devi held out her hand over the desk and I shook it. The last of the tension in the room evaporated and I felt a long-standing piece of worry unknot itself in my chest.
“Your hand is freezing,” Devi said. “Let’s go sit by the fire.”
We relocated ourselves and sat quietly for several minutes.
“Gods below,” Devi said with an explosive sigh. “I was so angry with you.” She shook her head. “I don’t know if I’ve ever been that angry with anyone in my whole life.”
I nodded. “I didn’t really believe you’d stoop to malfeasance,” I said. “I was so sure it couldn’t be you. But everyone kept talking about how dangerous you were. Telling stories. Then when you wouldn’t let me see my blood . . .” I trailed off, shrugging.
“Are you really still getting after-echoes from the plum bob?” she asked.
“Little flashes,” I said. “And I seem to be losing my temper more easily. But that might just be the stress. Simmon says I probably have unbound principles in my system. Whatever that means.”
Devi scowled. “I’m working with less than ideal equipment here,” she said, gesturing to a closed door. “And I am sorry. But the fellow offered me a full set of the Vautium Tegnostae.” She waved to the bookshelves. “Normally I’d never make something like that, but unexpurgated copies are just impossible to find.”
I turned to look at her, surprised. “You made it for him?”
“It’s better than handing over the formula,” Devi said defensively.
Part of me felt like I should be angry, but the majority of me was simply happy that I was warm and dry, with no threat of death hanging over me. I shrugged it off. “Simmon says you can’t factor worth half a damn,” I said conversationally.
Devi looked down at her hands. “I’m not proud of selling it,” she admitted. Then after a moment, she looked up again, grinning. “But the Tegnostae has gorgeous illustrations.”
I laughed. “Show me.”
Hours later my clothes were dry and the sleet had changed to a gentle snow. Stonebridge would be a solid sheet of ice, but other than that, the walk home would be much more pleasant.
When I emerged from the washroom I saw Devi was sitting back at her desk. I made my way over and handed her the robe. “I won’t impugn your honor by asking why you own a robe much longer and broader in the shoulder than anything a delicate young lady of your size could ever wear.”
Devi snorted indelicately and rolled her eyes.
I sat down and tugged on my boots. They were delightfully warm from sitting near the fire. Then I brought out my purse and lay three heavy silver talents on the desk, pushing them toward her. Devi looked at them curiously.
“I’ve recently come into a little money,” I said. “Not enough to settle my whole debt. But I can pay this term’s interest early.” I waved a hand at the coins. “A gesture of good faith.”
Devi smiled and pushed the coins back across the table. “You’ve still got two span before the end of the term,” she said. “Like I said, let’s stick to our original deal. I’d feel bad about taking your money early.”
Though I’d offered Devi the money as an honest peace offering, I was glad to keep my three talents for now. There is a vast difference between having some coin and no coin. There is a feeling of helplessness that comes from having an empty purse.
It’s like seed grain. At the end of a long winter, if you have some grain left, you can use it for seed. You have control over your life. You can use that grain and make plans for the future. But if you have no grain for seed in the spring, you are helpless. No amount of hard work or good intention will make crops grow if you don’t have the seed to start with.
So I bought clothes: three shirts, a new pair of pants, and thick woolen socks. I bought a hat and gloves and scarf to keep away the winter’s chill. For Auri I bought a pouch of sea salt, a sack of dried peas, two jars of peach preserves, and a pair of warm slippers. I bought a set of lute strings, ink, and a half-dozen sheets of paper.
I also bought a sturdy brass drop-bar and screwed it to the window frame in my tiny garret room. I could circumvent it fairly easily, but it would keep my few possessions safe from even the most well-intentioned thieves.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
Without Word or Warning
I stared out the front window of Anker’s, looking at the falling snow and idly turning Denna’s ring over in my fingers. Winter lay heavy over the University, and Denna had been gone for more than a month. I had three hours before class with Elodin, and I was trying to decide if the slim chance of finding Denna was worth the long, cold walk to Imre.
As I stood at the window, a Cealdish man came through the door, stomping the powdery snow from his boots and looking around curiously. It was still early in the day, and I was the only person in the common room.
He walked over to me, snowflakes melting in his beard until they were bright beads of water. “Sorry to bother you. I’m looking for a fellow,” he said, surprising me with his utter lack of anything resembling a Cealdish accent. He reached inside his long coat and pulled out a thick envelope with a blood-red seal. “Ka-voth-ee.” He read slowly, then turned the envelope toward me so I could see the front.
Kvothe—Anker’s Inn.
University. (Two miles west of Imre.)
Belenay-Barren
Central Commonwealth.
It was Denna’s handwriting. “It’s Kvothe, actually,” I said absentmindedly. “The e is silent.”
He shrugged. “You him?”
“I am,” I said.
He nodded, satisfied. “Well, I got this down in Tarbean about a span back. Bought it off a fellow for a hard penny. He said he bought it off a sailor in Junpui for a Vintish silver bit. He couldn’t remember the name of the town where the sailor had got it from, but it was inland a ways.”
The man met my eye. “I’m tellin’ you this so you don’t think I’m trying to shim you on the deal. I paid a full hard penny, then came over myself from Imre though it was out of my way.” He looked around the common room. “Though I’m guessing a fellow with a fine inn such as this won’t quibble about giving a fellow his due.”
I laughed. “This isn’t my inn,” I said. “I just have a room here.”
“Oh,” he said, obviously a little disappointed. “You looked kinda proprietorial standing there. Still, I’m sure you see I need to make my money off this.”
“I do,” I said. “How much do you think is fair?”
He looked me up and down, eyeing my clothes. “I suppose I’d be happy making my hard penny back and a soft penny besides.”
I brought out my purse and fished around in it. Luckily, I’d been playing cards a few nights before, and had some Aturan currency. “Seems fair,” I said as I handed over the money.
He started to go, then turned back. “Out of curiosity,” he asked. “Would you have paid two hard pennies to get it?”
“Probably,” I admitted.
“Kist,” he swore, then headed back outside, the door banging behind him.
The envelope was heavy parchment, wrinkled and smudged with much handling. The seal showed a stag rampant standing before a barrel and a harp. I pressed it hard between my fingers, shattering it as I sat down.
The letter read:
Kvothe,
I’m sorry to leave Imre without word or warning. I sent You a message the night of my departure, but I expect you never received it.
I have gone abroad looking for greener pasture and better Opportunity. I am fond of Imre, and enjoy the pleasure of your Occasional, though Sporadic, company, but it is an expensive city in which to live, and my prospects have grown slender of late.
Yll is lovely, all rolling hills. I find the weather quite to my liking, it is warmer and the air smells of the sea. It seems I might pass an entire winter without being brought to bed by my lungs. My first in years.
I have spent some time in the Small Kingdoms and saw a skirmish between two bands of mounted men. Such a crashing and Screaming of Horses you have never heard. I have spent some time afloat as well, and learned all manner of sailor’s knots, and how to spit properly. Also, my Cussing has been greatly broadened.
If you ask politely when we next meet, I may demonstrate my newfound skills.
I have seen my first Adem Mercenary. (They call them blood-shirts here.) She is hardly bigger than me, with quite the most remarkable grey eyes. She is pretty, but strange and quiet, endlessly twitching. I have not seen her fight and am not sure I wish to. Though I am curious.
I am still enamoured of the harp. And am currently housing with a skilled gentleman (whom I shall not name) for the furthurinse of my study in this.
I have drunk some wine while Writing this letter. I mention this to excuse my above spelling of the word Furtherence. Furtherance. Kist. You know what I mean.
I apologize for not writing sooner, but I have been a great deal traveling and not until now have I had Means to write a Letter. Now that I have done, I expect it might be a while longer before I find a traveler I trust to start this missive on its long road back to you.
I think of you often and fondly.
Yours,
D.
Pstscrpt. I hope your lute case is serving you well.
Elodin’s class began strangely that day.
For one, Elodin was actually on time. This caught us unprepared as the six remaining students had taken to spending the first twenty or thirty minutes of the class gossiping, playing cards, and griping about how little we were learning. We didn’t even notice Master Namer until he was halfway down the steps of the lecture hall, clapping his hands to get our attention.
The second odd thing was that Elodin was dressed in his formal robes. I’d seen him wear them before when occasion demanded, but always grudgingly. Even during admissions interviews they were usually rumpled and unkempt.
Today he wore them as if he meant it. They looked sharp and freshly laundered. His hair wasn’t in its normal state of dishevel, either. It looked like it had been trimmed and combed.
Reaching the front of the lecture hall, he climbed onto the dais and moved to stand behind the lectern. This more than anything made everyone sit up and take notice. Elodin never used the lectern.
“Long ago,” he said without any preamble, “this was a place where people came to learn secret things. Men and women came to the University to study the shape of the world.”
Elodin looked out at us. “In this ancient University, there was no skill more sought after than naming. All else was base metal. Namers walked these streets like tiny Gods. They did terrible, wonderful things, and all others envied them.
“Only through skill in naming did students move through the ranks. An alchemist without any skill in naming was regarded as a sad thing, no more respected than a cook. Sympathy was invented here, but a sympathist without any naming might as well be a carriage driver. An artificer with no names behind his work was little more than a cobbler or a smith.
“They all came to learn the names of things,” Elodin said, his dark eyes intense, his voice resonant and stirring. “But naming cannot be taught by rule or rote. Teaching someone to be a namer is like teaching someone to fall in love. It is hopeless. It cannot be done.”
Master Namer smiled a bit then, for the first time looking like his familiar self. “Still, students tried to learn. And teachers tried to teach. And sometimes they succeeded.”
Elodin pointed. “Fela!” He motioned for her to approach. “Come.”
Fela stood, looking nervous as she climbed up to join him on the lecturer’s dais.
“You have all chosen the name you hope to learn,” Elodin said, his eyes sweeping over us. “And you have all pursued your studies with varying degrees of dedication and success.”
I fought the urge to look away shamefacedly, knowing that my efforts had been halfhearted at best.
“Where you have failed, Fela has succeeded,” Elodin said. “She has found the name of stone. . . .” He turned sideways to look at her. “How many times?”
