The Name of the Wind

  At those times I felt a tension building between us, something almost tangible. When she looked sideways at me with her secret smile, the tilt of her head, the way she almost faced me made me think she must be hoping for me to do…something. Put my arm around her? Kiss her? How did one know? How could I be certain?

  I couldn’t. So I resisted the pull of her. I did not want to presume too much, did not want to offend her or embarrass myself. What’s more, Deoch’s warning had made me uncertain. Perhaps what I felt was nothing more than Denna’s natural charm, her charisma.

  Like all boys of my age, I was an idiot when it came to women. The difference between me and the others is that I was painfully aware of my ignorance, while others like Simmon bumbled around, making asses of themselves with their clumsy courting. I could think of nothing worse than making some unwelcome advance toward Denna and having her laugh at the awkwardness of my attempt. I hate nothing more than doing things badly.

  So I made my good-byes and watched her enter the side door of the Oaken Oar. I took a deep breath and could hardly keep from laughing or dancing about. I was so full of her, the smell of the wind through her hair, the sound of her voice, the way the moonlight cast shadows across her face.

  Then, slowly, my feet settled to the ground. Before I had taken six steps I sagged like a sail when the wind fades. As I walked back through the town, past sleeping houses and dark inns, my mood swung from elation to doubt in the space of three brief breaths.

  I had ruined everything. All the things I had said, things that seemed so clever at the time, were in fact the worst things a fool could say. Even now she was inside, breathing a sigh of relief to finally be rid of me.

  But she had smiled. Had laughed.

  She hadn’t remembered our first meeting on the road from Tarbean. I couldn’t have made that much of an impression on her.

  Steal me, she had said.

  I should have been bolder and kissed her at the end. I should have been more cautious. I had talked too much. I had said too little.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-THREE

  Walking and Talking

  WILEM AND SIMMON WERE already well into their lunches when I arrived at our usual spot in the courtyard. “Sorry,” I said as I set my lute on the cobblestones near the bench. “Got caught up haggling.”

  I had been on the other side of the river buying a dram of quicksilver and a pouch of sea salt. The last had cost me dearly, but for once I wasn’t concerned about money. If fortune smiled on me, I would be moving up the ranks in the Fishery soon, and that meant my money troubles would soon be over.

  While shopping in Imre, I had also, quite by coincidence, wandered past the inn where Denna was staying, but she hadn’t been there, or at the Eolian, or in the park where we’d stopped to talk last night. All the same, I was in a fine mood.

  I tipped my lute case onto its side and flipped it open so the sun could warm the new strings, helping them stretch. Then I settled onto the stone bench under the pennant pole next to my two friends.

  “So where were you last night?” Simmon asked too casually.

  It was only then I remembered that the three of us had planned to meet up with Fenton and play corners last night. Seeing Denna had completely driven the plan from my mind. “Oh God, I’m sorry Sim. How long did you wait for me?”

  He gave me a look.

  “I’m sorry,” I repeated, hoping I looked as guilty as I felt. “I forgot.”

  Sim grinned, shrugging it off. “It’s not a big deal. When we figured out you weren’t going to show, we went to the Library to drink and look at girls.”

  “Was Fenton mad?”

  “Furious,” Wilem said calmly, finally entering the conversation. “Said he was going to box your ears next time he saw you.”

  Sim’s grin widened. “He called you a fluff-headed E’lir with no respect for his betters.”

  “Made claims about your parentage and sexual tendency toward animals,” Wilem said with a straight face.

  “‘…in the Tehlin’s cassock!’” Simmon sang with his mouth full. Then he laughed and started to choke. I pounded him on the back.

  “Where were you?” Wilem asked while Sim tried to get his breath back. “Anker said you left early.”

  For some reason, I found myself reluctant to talk about Denna. “I met someone.”

  “Someone more important than us?” Wilem asked in a flat tone that could be taken for dry humor or criticism.

  “A girl,” I admitted.

  One of his eyebrows went up. “The one you’ve been chasing around?”

  “I haven’t been chasing anyone,” I protested. “She found me, at Anker’s.”

  “Good sign,” Wilem said.

  Simmon nodded wisely then looked up with a playful glint in his eye. “So did you make any music?” He nudged me with an elbow and wagged his eyebrows up and down. “A little duet?”

  He looked too ridiculous for me to be offended. “No music. She just wanted someone to walk her home.”

  “Walk her home?” He said suggestively, wagging his eyebrows again.

  I found it less amusing this time. “It was dark out,” I said seriously. “I just escorted her back to Imre.”

  “Oh,” Sim said, disappointed.

  “You left Anker’s early,” Wil said slowly. “And we waited for an hour. Does it take you two hours to walk to Imre and back?”

  “It was a long walk,” I admitted.

  “How long is long?” Simmon asked.

  “A few hours.” I looked away. “Six.”

  “Six hours?” Sim asked. “Come on, I think I’m entitled to a few details after listening to you ramble on about her for the last two span.”

  I began to bristle. “I don’t ramble. We just walked,” I said. “Talked.”

  Sim looked doubtful. “Oh come on. For six hours?”

  Wilem tapped Simmon’s shoulder. “He’s telling the truth.”

  Simmon glanced over at him. “Why do you say that?”

  “He sounds more sincere than that when he lies.”

  “If the two of you will be quiet for a minute or so I’ll tell you the whole of it. Fair?” They nodded. I looked down at my hands, trying to collect my thoughts, but they wouldn’t fall into any sort of orderly pattern. “We took the long way back to Imre, stopped on Stonebridge for a while. Went to a park outside town. Sat by the river. We talked about…nothing really. Places we’ve been. Songs…” I realized I was rambling and shut my mouth. I picked my next words carefully. “I thought about doing more than walking and talking but—” I stopped. I had no idea what to say.

  They were both silent for a moment. “I’ll be,” Wilem marveled. “The mighty Kvothe, brought low by a woman.”

  “If I didn’t know you, I’d think you were scared,” Simmon said not quite seriously.

  “You’re damn right I’m scared,” I said in a low voice, wiping my hands nervously against my pants. “You’d be too if you’d ever met her. It’s all I can do to sit here instead of running off to Imre, hoping to see her through a store window, or pass her crossing the street.” I gave a shaky smile.

  “Go then.” Simmon smiled and gave me a little push. “Godspeed. If I knew a woman like that I wouldn’t be here eating lunch with the likes of you two.” He brushed his hair away from his eyes and gave me another push with his free hand. “Go on.”

  I stayed where I was. “It’s not that easy.”

  “Nothing’s ever easy with you,” Wilem muttered.

  “Of course it’s that easy,” Simmon laughed. “Go tell her some of what you just told us.”

  “Right,” I said with dark sarcasm. “As if it were simple as singing. Besides, I don’t know if she would want to hear it. She’s something special…. What would she want with me?”

  Simmon gave me a frank stare, “She came looking for you. She obviously wants something.”

  There was a moment of silence and I hurried to change the subject while I had the chance. “Manet’s given me permi
ssion to start my journeyman project.”

  “Already?” Sim gave me an anxious look. “Will Kilvin go along with it? He’s not a big one for cutting corners.”

  “I didn’t cut any corners,” I said. “I just pick things up quickly.”

  Wilem gave an amused snort and Sim spoke up before the two of us started to bicker. “What are you doing for your project? Sympathy lamp?”

  “Everyone does a lamp,” Wilem said.

  I nodded. “I wanted to do something different, maybe a gearwin, but Manet told me to stick to the lamp.” The belling tower struck four. I got to my feet and gathered up my lute case, ready to head to class.

  “You should tell her,” Simmon said. “If you like a girl you have to let her know.”

  “How’s that working out for you so far?” I said, irritated that Sim of all people would presume to give me relationship advice. “Statistically speaking, how often has that strategy paid off, in your vast experience?”

  Wilem made a point of looking elsewhere while Sim and I glared at each other. I looked away first, feeling guilty.

  “Besides, there’s nothing to tell,” I muttered. “I like spending time with her, and now I know where she’s staying. That means I can find her when I go looking.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FOUR

  Nine in the Fire

  THE NEXT DAY, as luck would have it, I made a trip to Imre. Then, since I just happened to be in the neighborhood, I stopped by the Oaken Oar.

  The owner didn’t know the name “Denna” or “Dianne,” but a young, lovely dark-haired girl named “Dinnah” was renting a room there. She wasn’t in right now, but if I cared to leave a note…. I declined his offer, comforted by the fact that since I now knew where Denna was staying, finding her would be relatively easy.

  However, I had no luck catching Denna at the Oaken Oar over the next two days. On the third day, the owner informed me that Denna had left in the middle of the night, taking all her things and leaving her bill unpaid. After stopping by a few taverns at random and not finding her, I walked back to the University, not knowing if I should be worried or irritated.

  Three more days and five more fruitless trips to Imre. Neither Deoch nor Threpe had heard any news of her. Deoch told me that it was her nature to disappear like this, and that looking for her would serve about as much purpose as calling for a cat. I knew it to be good advice, and ignored it.

  I sat in Kilvin’s office trying to look calm as the great, shaggy master turned my sympathy lamp over in his huge hands. It was my first solo project as an artificer. I’d cast the plates and ground the lenses. I’d doped the emitter without giving myself arsenic poisoning. Most importantly, mine was the Alar and the intricate sygaldry that turned the individual pieces into a functioning handheld sympathy lamp.

  If Kilvin approved of the finished product, he would sell it and I would receive part of the money as a commission. More importantly, I would become an artificer in my own right, albeit a fledgling one. I would be trusted to pursue my own projects with a large degree of freedom. It was a big step forward in the ranks of the Fishery, a step toward gaining the rank of Re’lar, and more importantly, my financial freedom.

  Finally he looked up. “This is finely made, E’lir Kvothe,” he said. “But the design is not typical.”

  I nodded. “I made a few changes, sir. If you turn it on you’ll see—”

  Kilvin made a low sound that could have been an amused chuckle or an irritated grunt. He set the lamp down on the table and walked around the room, snuffing all the lamps but one. “Do you know how many sympathy lamps I have had explode in my hands over the years, E’lir Kvothe?”

  I swallowed and shook my head. “How many?”

  “None,” he said gravely. “Because I am always careful. I am always absolutely sure of what I hold in my hands. You must learn patience, E’lir Kvothe. A moment in the mind is worth nine in the fire.”

  I dropped my eyes and tried to look appropriately chastised.

  Kilvin reached out and extinguished the one remaining lamp, bringing the room to near total darkness. There was a pause, then a distinctive reddish light welled from the hand lamp to shine against a wall. The light was very dim, less than that of a single candle.

  “The action on the switch is graded,” I said quickly. “It’s more of a rheostat than a switch, really.”

  Kilvin nodded. “Cleverly done. That is not something most bother with on a small lamp such as this.” The light grew brighter, then dimmer, then brighter again. “The sygaldry itself seems quite good,” Kilvin said slowly as he set the lamp down on the table. “But the focus of your lens is flawed. There is very little diffusion.”

  It was true. Instead of lighting the whole room, as was typical, my lamp revealed a narrow slice of the room: the corner of the worktable and half of the large black slate that stood against the wall. The rest of the room remained dark.

  “It’s intentional.” I said. “There are lanterns like that, bull’s-eye lanterns.”

  Kilvin was little more than a dark shape across the table. “Such things are known to me, E’lir Kvothe,” his voice held a hint of reproach. “They are much used for unsavory business. Business arcanists should have no mingling with.”

  “I thought sailors used them,” I said.

  “Burglars use them,” Kilvin said seriously. “And spies, and other folk who do not wish to reveal their business during the dark hours of night.”

  My vague anxiety grew suddenly sharper. I had considered this meeting mostly a formality. I knew I was a skilled artificer, better than many who had worked much longer in Kilvin’s shop. Now I was suddenly worried that I might have made a mistake and wasted nearly thirty hours of work on the lamp, not to mention over a whole talent of my own money that I’d invested in materials.

  Kilvin made a noncommittal grunt and muttered under his breath. The half-dozen oil lamps around the room sputtered back into life, filling the room with natural light. I marveled at the master’s casual execution of a six-way binding. I couldn’t even guess where he had drawn the energy from.

  “It’s just that everyone makes a sympathy lamp for their first project,” I said to fill the silence. “Everyone always follows the same old schema. I wanted to do something different. I wanted to see if I could make something new.”

  “I expect what you wanted was to demonstrate your extreme cleverness,” Kilvin said matter-of-factly. “You wished to not only finish your apprenticeship in half the usual time, you wanted to bring me a lamp of your own improved design. Let us be frank, E’lir Kvothe. Your making this lamp is an attempt to show that you are better than the ordinary apprentice, is it not?” As he said this, Kilvin looked directly at me, and for a moment there was none of his characteristic distraction lurking behind his eyes.

  I felt my mouth go dry. Underneath his shaggy beard and heavily accented Aturan, Kilvin had a mind like a diamond. What had made me think I could lie to him and get away with it?

  “Of course I wanted to impress you, Master Kilvin,” I said, looking down. “I would think that that goes without saying.”

  “Do not grovel,” he said. “False modesty does not impress me.”

  I looked up and squared my shoulders. “In that case, Master Kilvin, I am better. I learn faster. I work harder. My hands are more nimble. My mind is more curious. However, I also expect you know this for yourself without my telling you.”

  Kilvin nodded. “That is better. And you are right, I do know these things.” He thumbed the lamp on and off while pointing it at different things around the room. “And in all fairness, I am duly impressed with your skill. The lamp is tidily made. The sygaldry is quite cunning. The engraving precise. It is clever work.”

  I flushed with pleasure at the compliments.

  “But there is more to artificing than simply skill,” Kilvin said as he lay the lamp down and spread his huge hands out flat on either side of it. “I cannot sell this lamp. It would gravitate to the wrong people. If a burglar were
caught with such a tool it would reflect badly on all arcanists. You have completed your apprenticeship, and distinguished yourself in terms of skill.” I relaxed a bit. “But your greater judgment is still somewhat in question. The lamp itself we will melt down for metals, I suppose.”

  “You’re going to melt down my lamp?” I had worked for a full span on the lamp and invested almost all the money I had on the purchase of raw materials. I had been counting on making a tidy profit once Kilvin sold it, but now….

  Kilvin’s expression was firm. “We are all responsible for maintaining the University’s reputation, E’lir Kvothe. An item like this in the wrong hands would reflect badly on all of us.”

  I was trying to think of some way to persuade him when he waved a hand at me, shooing me toward the door. “Go tell Manet your good news.”

  Disheartened, I made my way out into the workshop and was greeted by the sounds of a hundred hands busily chiseling wood, chipping stone, and hammering metal. The air was thick with the smell of etching acids, hot iron, and sweat. I spotted Manet off in the corner, loading tile into a kiln. I waited until he closed the door and backed away, mopping sweat off his forehead with the sleeve of his shirt.

  “How did it go?” he asked. “Did you pass or am I going to be stuck holding your hand for another term?”

  “I passed,” I said dismissively. “You were right about the modifications. He wasn’t impressed.”

  “Told you,” he said without any particular smugness. “You have to remember that I’ve been here longer than any ten students. When I tell you the masters are conservatives at heart, I’m not just making noise. I know.” Manet ran a hand idly over his wild, grey beard as he eyed the heat waves rolling off the brick kiln. “Any thoughts on what you’re going to do with yourself now that you’re a free agent?”

  “I was thinking of doping a batch of the blue-lamp emitters,” I said.

  “The money is good,” Manet said slowly. “Risky though.”