The Wise Man's Fear tkc-2, page 71
part #2 of The Kingkiller Chronicle Series
Tempi made a low noise in his throat and shook his head. Hespe smiled and nodded. Apparently even the Adem know it’s bad luck to be rude to a tinker.
So Jax settled the hat on his head, took the stick in his hand, and gathered up the tinker’s packs. When he found the third one, still unopened, he asked, “What’s in here?”
“Something for you to choke on,” the tinker spat.
“No need to get tetchy over a hat,” the boy said. “I have greater need of it than you. I have a long way to walk if I’m to find the moon and make her mine.”
“But for the taking of my hat, you could have had my help in catching her,” the tinker said.
“I will leave you with the broken house,” Jax said. “That is something. Though it will be up to you to mend it.”
Jax put the spectacles on his face and started walking down the road in the direction of the moon. He walked all night, only stopping when she went out of sight behind the mountains.
So Jax walked day after day, endlessly searching—
Dedan snorted. “Doesn’t that sound just a little too familiar?” he muttered loud enough for everyone to hear. “I wonder if he was pissing his time up a tree like we are?”
Hespe glared at him, the muscles in her jaw clenching.
I gave a quiet sigh.
“Are you done?” Hespe asked pointedly, glaring at Dedan for a long moment.
“What?” Dedan asked.
“Shut up while I’m telling my story is what,” Hespe said.
“Everyone else had their say!” Dedan climbed to his feet, indignant. “Even the mute chimed in.” He waved a hand at Tempi. “How come I’m the only one you get hissy at?”
Hespe seethed for a moment, then said. “You’re trying to pick a fight halfway through my story is why.”
“Tellin’ the truth isn’t picking a fight,” Dedan grumbled. “Someone needs to speak some sense around here.”
Hespe threw her hands up in the air, “You’re still doing it! Can’t you set it down for one evening? Every chance you get you have to bitch and minge on!”
“At least when I don’t agree I speak my mind,” Dedan said. “I don’t take the coward’s way out.”
Hespe’s eyes flashed, and despite my better judgment, I decided to jump in. “Fine,” I interrupted, looking at Dedan. “If you’ve got a better idea for finding these folk, let’s hear it. Let’s talk it over like adults.”
My interjection didn’t slow Dedan down the least bit. It just pointed him in my direction. “What would you know about adults?” he said. “I’m sick and tired of being talked down to by some boy who probably doesn’t even have hair on his balls yet.”
“I’m sure if the Maer had known how hairy your balls were, he would have put you in charge,” I said with what I hoped was infuriating calmness. “Unfortunately, it seems he missed that fact and decided on me instead.”
Dedan drew a breath, but Tempi broke in before he could start. “Balls,” the Adem said curiously. “What is balls?”
All the air went out of Dedan in a rush, and he turned to look at Tempi, half irritated, half amused. The big mercenary chuckled and made a very clear motion between his legs with a cupped hand. “You know. Balls,” he said without a trace of self-consciousness.
Behind his back, Hespe rolled her eyes, shaking her head.
“Ah,” Tempi said, nodding to show his understanding. “Why is the Maer looking at hairy balls?”
A pause, then a storm of laughter rolled through our camp, exploding with all the force of the pent-up tension that had been ready to boil into a fight. Hespe laughed herself breathless, clutching at her stomach. Marten wiped tears from his eyes. Dedan laughed so hard he couldn’t stand upright and ended up crouching with one hand on the ground to steady himself.
By the end of it, everyone was sitting around the fire, breathing hard and grinning like silly idiots. The tension that had been thick as winter fog was gone for the first time in days. It was only then that Tempi briefly caught my eye. His thumb and forefinger rubbed together gently. Gladness? No. Satisfaction. Realization dawned on me as I met his eye again, his expression was blank as always. Studiously blank. So blank it was almost smug.
“Can we get back to your story, love?” Dedan asked Hespe. “I’d like to know how this boy gets the moon into bed.”
Hespe smiled at him, the first honest smile I’d seen her give Dedan in a handful of days. “I’ve lost my place,” she said. “There’s a rhythm to it, like a song. I can tell it from the beginning, but if I start halfway through I’ll get it all tangled up in my head.”
“Will you start over tomorrow if I promise to keep my mouth shut?”
“I will,” she agreed, “if you promise.”
CHAPTER EIGHTY-SEVEN
The Lethani
The next day Tempi and I went to Crosson for supplies. It meant a long day of walking, but not having to look for trail sign every step of the way made it feel like we were flying down the road.
As we walked, Tempi and I traded words back and forth. I learned the word for dream, and smell, and bone. I learned there were different words in Ademic for iron and sword-iron.
Then we had a long hour’s worth of fruitless conversation as he tried to help me understand what it meant when he rubbed his fingers over his eyebrow. It almost seemed to be the same thing as a shrug, but he made it clear it wasn’t the same. Was it indifference? Ambiguity?
“Is it the feeling you have when someone offers you a choice?” I tried again. “Someone offers you an apple or a plum?” I held up both hands in front of myself. “But you like both the same.” I pressed my fingers together and smoothed them over my eyebrow twice. “This feeling?”
Tempi shook his head. “No.” He stopped walking for a moment, then resumed. At his side, his left hand said: Dishonesty. “What is plum?” Attentive.
Confused, I looked at him. “What?”
“What does plum mean?” He gestured again: Profoundly serious. Attentive.
I turned my attention to the trees and immediately heard it: movement in the undergrowth.
The noise came from the south side of the road. The side we hadn’t searched yet. The bandits. Excitement and fear swelled in my chest. Would they attack us? In my tatty cloak I doubted I looked like much of a target, but I was carrying my lute in its dark, expensive case.
Tempi had changed back to his tight mercenary reds for the trip into town. Would that discourage a man with a longbow? Or would it seem I was a minstrel rich enough to hire an Adem bodyguard? We might look like fruit ripe for the picking.
I thought longingly of the arrowcatch I’d sold to Kilvin, and realized he’d been right. People would pay dearly for them. I’d give every penny in my pocket for one right now.
I gestured to Tempi: Acceptance. Dishonesty. Agreement. “A plum is a sweet fruit,” I said, straining my ears for telltale sounds from the surrounding trees.
Should we run to the trees for cover, or would it be better to pretend we were unaware of them? What could I do if they attacked? I had the knife I’d bought from the tinker on my belt, but I had no idea how to use it. I was suddenly aware of how terribly unprepared I was. What in God’s name was I doing out here? I didn’t belong in this situation. Why had the Maer sent me?
Just as I was starting to sweat in earnest, I heard a sudden snap and rustle in the underbrush. A horned hart burst from the trees and was across the road in three easy bounds. A moment later, two hinds followed. One paused in the center of the road and turned to look at us curiously, her long ear twitching. Then she was off and lost among the trees.
My heart was racing, and I let out a low, nervous laugh. I turned to look at Tempi, only to find him with his sword drawn. The fingers of his left hand curled into embarrassment, then made several quick gestures I couldn’t identify.
He sheathed the sword without a flourish of any sort. A gesture as casual as putting your hand in your pocket. Frustration.
I nodded. Glad as I was to not be sprouting arrows from my back, an ambush would at least have given us a clue as to where the bandits were. Agreement. Understatement.
We silently continued our walk toward Crosson.
Crosson wasn’t much as far as towns go. Twenty or thirty buildings with thick forest on every side. If it hadn’t been on the king’s highway, it probably wouldn’t even have warranted a name.
But since it was on the king’s highway, there was a reasonably stocked general goods store that supplied travelers and the scattering of nearby farms. There was a small post station that was also a livery and a farrier, and a small church that was also a brewery.
And an inn, of course. While the Laughing Moon was barely a third the size of the Pennysworth, it was still several steps above what you’d expect for a town like this. It was two stories tall, with three private rooms and a bathhouse. A large handpainted sign showed a gibbous moon wearing a waistcoat, holding its belly while it rocked with laughter.
I’d brought my lute that morning, hoping I might be able to play in exchange for a bit of lunch. But that was just an excuse. I was desperate for any excuse to play. My enforced silence was wearing on me as much as Dedan’s muttering. I hadn’t gone so long without my music since I’d been homeless on the streets of Tarbean.
Tempi and I dropped off our list of supplies with the elderly woman who ran the store. Four large loaves of trail bread, a half-pound of butter, quarterpound of salt, flour, dried apple, sausages, a side of bacon, a sack of turnips, six eggs, two buttons, feathers for refletching Marten’s hunting arrows, bootlaces, soap, and a new whetstone to replace one Dedan had broken. All told, it would come to eight silver bits from the Maer’s rapidly thinning purse.
Tempi and I made our way over to the inn for lunch, knowing it would be an hour or two before our order was ready. Surprisingly, I could hear noise from the taproom from across the street. Places like this were usually busy in the evening when travelers stopped for the night, not in the middle of the day when everyone was in the fields or on the road.
The room quieted when we opened the door. At first I hoped the customers were glad to see a musician, then I saw their eyes were all for Tempi in his tight mercenary reds.
There were fifteen or twenty people idling in the taproom. Some hunched at the bar, others clustered around tables. It wasn’t so crowded we couldn’t find a table to sit, but it did take a couple minutes before the single harassed-looking serving girl came to our table.
“What’ll it be then?” she asked, brushing a sweaty strand of hair away from her face. “We’ve got pea soup with bacon in, and a bread pudding.”
“Sounds lovely,” I said. “Can we get some apples and cheese too?”
“Drink?”
“Soft cider for me,” I said.
“Beer,” Tempi said, then made a gesture with two fingers on the tabletop. “Small whiskey. Good whiskey.”
She nodded. “I’ll need to see your money.”
I raised an eyebrow. “You’ve had trouble lately?”
She sighed and rolled her eyes.
I handed her three halfpennies, and she hurried off. By then I was sure I wasn’t imagining it: the men in the room were giving Tempi dark looks.
I turned to a man at the table next to us, quietly eating his bowl of soup. “Is this a market day or something?”
He looked at me like I was an idiot, and I saw he had a bruise going purple on his jaw. “There’s no market day in Crosson. There’s no market.”
“I came through here a while back and things were quiet. What’s everyone doing here?”
“Same thing as always,” he said. “Looking for work. Crosson is the last stop before the Eld gets good and thick. A smart caravan’ll pick up an extra guard or two.” He took a drink. “But too many folk been gettin’ feathered off in the trees lately. Caravans aren’t coming through so often.”
I looked around the room. They weren’t wearing any armor, but now that I was looking I could see the marks of mercenary life on most of them. They were rougher looking than ordinary townsfolk. More scars, more broken noses, more knives, more swagger.
The man dropped his spoon into his empty bowl and got to his feet. “You can have the place for all I care,” he said, “I’ve been here six days and only seen four wagons come through. Besides, only an idiot would head north as a pay-a-day.”
He picked up a large pack and slipped it over his shoulders. “And with all the folk gone missing, only an idiot would take on extra help in a place like this. I’ll tell you this for free, half of these reeking bastards would probably cut your throat the first night on the road.”
A broad-shouldered man with a wild black beard let loose a mocking laugh from where he stood at the bar. “Just because yeh can’t roll dice dinna make me a criminal, souee,” he said with a thick northern accent. “Yeh say sommat like that agin and I’ll give’e twice as much as yeh got last night. Plus intrest.”
The fellow I’d been talking to made a gesture you didn’t have to be Adem to understand and headed out the door. The bearded man laughed.
Our drinks showed up just then. Tempi drank off half his whiskey in a single swallow and let out a long, satisfied sigh, slouching down in his seat. I sipped my cider. I’d been hoping to play for an hour or two in exchange for our meal. But I wasn’t fool enough to play to a room composed entirely of frustrated mercenaries.
I could have done it, mind you. In an hour, I could have them laughing and singing. In two hours I could have them crying into their beer and apologizing to the serving girl. But not for the price of a meal. Not unless I had no better options. This room reeked of trouble. It was a fight waiting to happen. No trouper worth his salt could fail to recognize that.
The broad-shouldered man picked up a wooden mug and sauntered with theatrical casualness over to our table where he pulled out a chair for himself. He smiled a wide, insincere smile through his thick black beard and stuck his hand out in Tempi’s direction. “Hullo there,” he said loud enough for everyone in the bar to hear. “M’ name’s Tam. Yussef?”
Tempi reached out and shook, his own hand looking small and pale gripped in the other man’s huge hairy one. “Tempi.”
Tam grinned at him. “And what’re yeh doin’ in town?”
“We’re just passing through,” I said. “We met up on the road and he was nice enough to walk with me.”
Tam looked me up and down dismissively. “I wan’t talkin’ to you, boy,” he growled. “Mind yer betters.”
Tempi remained silent, watching the big man with the same placid, attentive expression he always wore. I watched his left hand come up to his ear in a gesture I didn’t recognize.
Tam took a drink, watching Tempi all the while. When he lowered his mug, the dark hair around his mouth was wet, and he wiped his forearm across his face to dry it. “I’ve always wonnert,” he said, loud enough for it to carry through the whole room. “Yeh Adem. How much does one of yeh fancy lads make?”
Tempi turned to look at me, his head tilted slightly to one side. I realized he probably couldn’t understand the man’s thick accent.
“He wants to know how much money you earn,” I explained.
Tempi made a wavering motion with one hand. “Complicated.”
Tam leaned over the table. “Wha if yeh were hired to guard a caravan? How much would’ee charge a day?”
“Two jots.” Tempi shrugged. “Three.”
Tam gave a showy laugh, loud enough that I could smell his breath. I’d expected it to stink, but it didn’t. It smelled like cider, sweet with mulling spices. “Yeh hear that boys?” He shouted over his shoulder. “Three jots a day. And he canna hardly talk!”
Most everyone was already watching and listening, and this piece of information brought a low, irritated murmur from the room.
Tam turned back to the table. “Most of us get penny a day, when we get work at all. I get two, ’cause I’m good with horses and can lift up the back of a wagon if I need to.” He rolled his broad shoulders. “Are yeh worth twenny men in a fight?”
I don’t know how much of it Tempi understood, but he seemed to follow the last question fairly well. “Twenty?” he looked around appraisingly. “No. Four.” He wavered his spread hand back and forth uncertainly. “Five.”
This did nothing to improve the atmosphere in the room. Tam shook his head in exaggerated bemusement. “Even if I believed yeh for a second,” he said, “that means yeh should make four or five pennies a day. Not twenny. Wh—”
I put on my most ingratiating smile and leaned into the conversation. “Listen, I—”
Tam’s mug knocked hard against the tabletop, sending a splash of cider leaping up into the air. He gave me a dangerous look that didn’t hold any of the false playfulness he’d been showing Tempi. “Boy,” he said. “Yeh innerupt me again, and I’ll knock yer teeth right out.” He said it without any particular emphasis, as if he were letting me know that if I jumped into the river, I was bound to get wet.
Tam turned back to Tempi. “What makes you think you’re worth three jots a day?”
“Who buys me, buys this.” Tempi held up his hand. “And this.” He pointed to the hilt of his sword. “And this.” He tapped a leather strap that bound his distinctive Adem reds tightly to his chest.
The big man slapped the table hard with the flat of his hand. “So tha’s the secret!” he said. “I need to get me a red shirt!” This brought a chuckle from the room.
Tempi shook his head. “No.”
Tam leaned forward, and flicked at one of the straps near Tempi’s shoulder with a thick finger. “Are yeh saying I’m not good enough to wear a fancy red shirt like yours?” He flicked the strap again.
Tempi nodded easily. “Yes. You are not good enough.”
Tam grinned madly. “What if I said yer mother was a whore?”
The room grew quiet. Tempi turned to look at me. Curiosity. “What is whore?”
Unsurprisingly, that hadn’t been one of the words we had shared over the last span of days. For half a moment I considered lying, but there was no way I could manage it. “He says your mother is a person men pay money to have sex with.”
