Kingkiller Chronicle [01] The Name of the Wind

by Patrick Rothfuss

  Thus it was that three students made their slightly erratic way back to the University. See them as they go, weaving only slightly. It is quiet, and when the belling tower strikes the late hour, it doesn’t break the silence so much as it underpins it. The crickets, too, respect the silence. Their calls are like careful stitches in its fabric, almost too small to be seen.

  The night is like warm velvet around them. The stars, burning diamonds in the cloudless sky, turn the road beneath their feet a silver grey. The University and Imre are the hearts of understanding and art, the strongest of the four corners of civilization. Here on the road between the two there is nothing but old trees and long grass bending to the wind. The night is perfect in a wild way, almost terrifyingly beautiful.

  The three boys, one dark, one light, and one—for lack of a better word—fiery, do not notice the night. Perhaps some part of them does, but they are young, and drunk, and busy knowing deep in their hearts that they will never grow old or die. They also know that they are friends, and they share a certain love that will never leave them. The boys know many other things, but none of them seem as important as this. Perhaps they are right.

  CHAPTER SIXTY

  Fortune

  THE NEXT DAY I went to the admissions lottery sporting my very first hangover. Weary and vaguely nauseous, I joined the shortest line and tried to ignore the din of hundreds of students milling about, buying, selling, trading, and generally complaining about the slots they’d drawn for their exams.

  “Kvothe, Arliden’s son,” I said when I finally arrived at the front of the line. The bored looking woman marked my name and I drew a tile out of the black velvet bag. It read “Hepten: Noon.” Five days from now, plenty of time to prepare.

  But as I turned back to the Mews, a thought occurred to me. How much preparation did I really need? More importantly, how much could I genuinely accomplish without access to the Archives?

  Thinking it over, I raised my hand over my head with my middle finger and thumb extended, signaling that I had a slot five days from now that I was willing to sell.

  It wasn’t long before an unfamiliar student wandered close. “Fourth day,” she said, holding up her own tile. “I’ll give you a jot to trade.” I shook my head. She shrugged and wandered away.

  Galven, a Re’lar from the Medica approached me. He held up his index finger, indicating he had a slot later this afternoon. From the circles under his eyes and his anxious expression, I didn’t think he was eager to go through testing that soon. “Will you take five jots?”

  “I’d like to get a whole talent….”

  He nodded, flipping his own tile over between his fingers. It was a fair price. No one wanted to go through admissions on the first day. “Maybe later. I’ll look around a little first.”

  As I watched him leave, I marveled at the difference a single day could make. Yesterday five jots would have seemed like all the money in the world. But today my purse was heavy….

  I was lost in vague musings about how much money I had actually earned last night when I saw Wilem and Simmon approaching. Wil looked a little pale under his dark Cealdish complexion. I guessed he was feeling the aftereffects of our night’s carousing too.

  Sim, on the other hand, was bright and sunny as ever. “Guess who drew slots this afternoon?” He nodded over my shoulder. “Ambrose and several of his friends. It’s enough to make me believe in a just universe.”

  Turning to search the crowd, I heard Ambrose’s voice before I saw him. “…from the same bag, that means they did a piss-poor job mixing. They should restart this whole mismanaged sham and…”

  Ambrose was walking with several well-dressed friends, their eyes sweeping over the crowd, looking for raised hands. Ambrose was a dozen feet away before he finally looked down and realized the hand he was heading toward was mine.

  He stopped short, scowling, then gave a sudden barking laugh. “You poor boy, all the time in the world and no way to spend it. Hasn’t Lorren let you back in yet?”

  “Hammer and horn,” Wil said wearily behind me.

  Ambrose smiled at me. “Tell you what. I’ll give you ha’penny and one of my old shirts for your slot. That way, you’ll have something to wear when you’re washing that one in the river.” A few of his friends chuckled behind him, looking me up and down.

  I kept my expression nonchalant, not wanting to give him any satisfaction. Truth was, I was all too aware of the fact that I only owned two shirts, and after two terms of constant wear they were getting shabby. Shabbier. What’s more, I did wash them in the river, as I’d never had money to spare for laundry.

  “I’ll pass,” I said lightly. “Your shirttails are a little richly dyed for my taste.” I tugged at the front of my own shirt to make my point clear. A few nearby students laughed.

  “I don’t get it,” I heard Sim say quietly to Wil.

  “He’s implying Ambrose has the…” Wil paused. “The Edamete tass, a disease you get from whores. There is a discharge—”

  “Okay, okay,” Sim said quickly. “I get it. Ick. Ambrose is wearing green too.”

  Meanwhile, Ambrose forced himself to chuckle along with the crowd at my joke. “I suppose I deserve that,” he said. “Very well, pennies for the poor.” He brought out his purse and shook it. “How much do you want?”

  “Five talents,” I said.

  He stared at me, frozen in the act of opening his purse. It was an outrageous price. A few of the spectators nudged each other with their elbows, obviously hoping I’d somehow swindle Ambrose into paying several times what my slot was actually worth.

  “I’m sorry,” I asked. “Do you need that converted?” It was a well-known fact that Ambrose had botched the arithmetic portion of his admissions last term.

  “Five is ridiculous,” he said. “You’d be lucky to get one this late in the day.”

  I forced a careless shrug. “I’d settle for four.”

  “You’ll settle for one,” Ambrose insisted. “I’m not an idiot.”

  I took a deep breath, let it out again, resigned. “I don’t suppose I could get you to go as high as…one and four?” I asked, disgusted by how plaintive my voice sounded.

  Ambrose smiled like a shark. “I tell you what,” he said magnanimously. “I’ll give you one and three. I’m not above a little charity now and again.”

  “Thank you sir,” I said meekly. “It’s much appreciated.” I could sense the crowd’s disappointment as I rolled over like a dog for Ambrose’s money.

  “Don’t mention it,” Ambrose said smugly. “Always a pleasure to help out the needy.”

  “In Vintish coin, that’ll be two nobles, six bits, two pennies, and four shims.”

  “I can do my own conversion,” he snapped. “I’ve traveled the world with my father’s retinue since I was a boy. I know how money spends.”

  “Of course you do.” I ducked my head. “Silly of me.” I looked up curiously. “You’ve been to Modeg then?”

  “Of course,” he said absentmindedly as he proceeded to dig through his purse, pulling out an assortment of coins. “I’ve actually been to high court in Cershaen. Twice.”

  “Is it true that the Modegan nobility regard haggling as a contemptible activity for those of any highborn station?” I asked innocently. “I heard that they consider it a sure sign that the person is either possessed of low blood or fallen on truly desperate times….”

  Ambrose looked up at me, frozen halfway through the act of digging coins out of his purse. His eyes narrowed.

  “Because if that’s true, it’s terribly kind of you to come down to my level just for the fun of a little bargain.” I grinned at him. “We Ruh love to dicker.” There was a murmur of laughter from the crowd around us. It had grown to several dozen people at this point.

  “That’s not it at all,” Ambrose said.

  My face became a mask of concern. “Oh, I’m sorry, m’lord. I had no idea you’d come on hard times….” I took several steps toward him, holding out my admis
sions tile. “Here, you can have it for just ha’penny. I’m not above a little charity myself.” I stood directly in front of him, holding out the tile. “Please, I insist, it’s always a pleasure to help the needy.”

  Ambrose glared furiously. “Keep it and choke,” he hissed at me in a low voice. “And remember this when you’re eating beans and washing in the river. I’ll still be here the day you leave with nothing but your hands in your pockets.” He turned and left, the very picture of affronted dignity.

  There was a smattering of applause from the surrounding crowd. I took flourishing bows in all directions.

  “How would you score that one?” Wil asked Sim.

  “Two for Ambrose. Three for Kvothe.” Sim looked at me. “Not your best work, really.”

  “I didn’t get much sleep last night,” I admitted.

  “Every time you do this it makes the eventual payback that much worse,” Wil said.

  “We can’t do anything but snap at each other,” I said. “The masters made sure of that. Anything too extreme would get us expelled for Conduct Unbecoming a Member of the Arcanum. Why do you think I haven’t made his life a hell?”

  “You’re lazy?” Wil suggested.

  “Laziness is one of my best characteristics,” I said easily. “If I weren’t lazy, I might go through the work of translating Edamete tass and grow terribly offended when I discover it means ‘the Edema Drip.’” I raised my hand again, thumb and middle finger extended. “Instead I’ll assume it translates directly into the name of the disease: ‘nemserria,’ thus preventing any unnecessary strain on our friendship.”

  I eventually sold my slot to a desperate Re’lar from the Fishery named Jaxim. I drove a hard bargain, trading him my slot for six jots and a favor to be named later.

  Admissions went about as well as could be expected, considering I couldn’t study. Hemme was still carrying his grudge. Lorren was cool. Elodin had his head down on the table and seemed to be asleep. My tuition was a full six talents, which put me in an interesting situation….

  The long road to Imre was mostly deserted. The sun brushed through the trees and the wind carried just a hint of the cool that fall would soon be bringing. I headed to the Eolian first to retrieve my lute. Stanchion had insisted that I leave it there last night, lest I break it on my long, inebriated walk home.

  As I approached the Eolian, I saw Deoch lounging against the doorpost, walking a coin across the back knuckles of his hand. He smiled when he saw me. “Ho there! Thought you and your friends would end up in the river by the way you were weaving when you left last night.”

  “We were swaying in different directions,” I explained. “So it balanced out.”

  Deoch laughed. “We’ve got your lady inside.”

  I fought down a flush and wondered how he had known I was hoping to find Denna here. “I don’t know if I would call her my lady exactly.” Sovoy was my friend, after all.

  He shrugged. “Whatever you call her, Stanchion’s got her behind the bar. I’d go grab her before he gets overly familiar and starts practicing his fingering.”

  I felt a flash of rage and barely managed to swallow a mouthful of hot words. My lute. He was talking about my lute. I ducked inside quickly, guessing the less Deoch saw of my expression the better it would be.

  I wandered through the three levels of the Eolian, but Denna was nowhere to be found. I did run into Count Threpe though, who enthusiastically invited me to have a seat.

  “I don’t suppose I might persuade you to pay me a visit at my house sometime?” Threpe asked bashfully. “I’m thinking of having a little dinner, and I know a few people who would love to meet you.” He winked. “Word about your performance is already getting around.”

  I felt a twinge of anxiety, but I knew rubbing elbows with the nobility was something of a necessary evil. “I’d be honored to, my lord.”

  Threpe grimaced. “Does it have to be my lord?”

  Diplomacy is a large part of being a trouper, and a large portion of diplomacy is adherence to title and rank. “Etiquette, my lord,” I said regretfully.

  “Piss on etiquette,” Threpe said petulantly. “Etiquette is a set of rules people use so they can be rude to each other in public. I was born Dennais first, Threpe second, and count last of all.” He looked imploringly up at me. “Denn for short?”

  I hesitated.

  “Here at least,” he pleaded. “It makes me feel like a weed in a flowerbed when someone starts ‘lording’ me here.”

  I relaxed. “If it makes you happy, Denn.”

  He flushed as if I’d flattered him. “Tell me a bit about yourself, then. Where are you lodging?”

  “On the other side of the river,” I said evasively. The bunks in Mews were not exactly glamorous. When Threpe gave me a puzzled look, I continued. “I attend the University.”

  “The University?” he asked, clearly puzzled. “Are they teaching music now?”

  I almost laughed at the thought. “No no. I’m in the Arcanum.”

  I immediately regretted my words. He leaned back in his seat and gave me an uncomfortable look. “You’re a warlock?”

  “Oh no,” I said, dismissively. “I’m just studying. You know, grammar, mathematics….” I picked two of the more innocent fields of study I could think of, and he seemed to relax a bit.

  “I guess I’d just thought that you were…” he trailed off and shook himself. “Why are you studying there?”

  The question caught me off guard. “I…I’ve always wanted to. There’s so much to learn.”

  “But you don’t need any of that. I mean—” he groped for words. “The way you play. Surely your patron is encouraging you to focus on your music….”

  “I don’t have a patron, Denn,” I said with a shy smile. “Not that I’m opposed to the idea, mind you.”

  His reaction was not what I expected. “Damn my blackened luck.” He slapped his hand on the table, hard. “I assumed someone was being coy, keeping you a secret.” He thumped the table with his fist. “Damn. Damn. Damn.”

  He recovered his composure a little and looked up at me. “I’m sorry. It’s just that…” He made a frustrated gesture and sighed. “Have you ever heard the saying: ‘One wife, you’re happy, two and you’re tired—”

  I nodded. “—three and they’ll hate each other—”

  “—four and they’ll hate you,” Threpe finished. “Well the same thing is doubly true for patrons and their musicians. I just picked up my third, a struggling flutist.” He sighed and shook his head. “They bicker like cats in a bag, worried they’re not getting enough attention. If only I’d known you were coming along, I would have waited.”

  “You flatter me, Denn.”

  “I’m kicking myself is what I’m doing,” he sighed and looked guilty. “That’s not fair. Sephran’s good at what he does. They’re all good musicians, and overprotective of me, just like real wives.” He gave me an apologetic look. “If I try to bring you in, there’ll be hell to pay. I’ve already had to lie about that little gift I gave you last night.”

  “So I’m your mistress then?” I grinned.

  Threpe chuckled. “Let’s not carry the analogy too far. I’ll be your match-maker instead. I’ll help you toward a proper patron. I know everyone with blood or money for fifty miles, so it shouldn’t be that hard.”

  “That would be a great help,” I said earnestly. “The social circles on this side of the river are a mystery to me.” A thought occurred to me. “Speaking of which, I met a young lady last night, and didn’t find out much about her. If you’re familiar with the town…” I trailed off hopefully.

  He gave me a knowing look. “Ahhh, I see.”

  “No no no,” I protested. “She’s the girl that sang along with me. My Aloine. I was just hoping to find her to pay my respects.”

  Threpe looked as if he didn’t believe me, but wasn’t going to make an issue of it. “Fair enough, what’s her name?”

  “Dianne.” Threpe seemed to be waitin
g for more. “That’s all I know.”

  Threpe snorted. “What did she look like? Sing it if you have to.”

  I felt the beginning of a flush on my cheeks. “She had dark hair to about here,” I gestured a little lower than my shoulder with one hand. “Young, fair skin.” Threpe watched me expectantly. “Pretty.”

  “I see,” Threpe mused, rubbing his lips. “Did she have her talent pipes?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe.”

  “Does she live in the city?”

  I shrugged my ignorance again, feeling more and more foolish.

  Threpe laughed. “You’re going to have to give me more than that.” He looked over my shoulder. “Wait, there’s Deoch. If anyone could spot a girl for you, it’d be him.” He raised his hand. “Deoch!”

  “It’s really not that important,” I said hurriedly. Threpe ignored me and waved the broad-shouldered man over to our table.

  Deoch strolled over and leaned against a table. “What can I do for you?”

  “Our young singer needs a little information about a lady that he met last night.”

  “Can’t say I’m surprised, there were quite a crop of lovelies out. One or two asked about you.” He winked at me. “Who caught your eye?”

  “It’s not like that,” I protested. “She was the one who sang my harmony last night. She had a lovely voice and I was hoping to find her so we could do a little singing.”

  “I think I know the tune you’re talking about.” He gave me a broad, knowing smile.

  I felt myself blushing furiously and began to protest again.

  “Oh settle down, I’ll keep this one between my tongue and teeth. I’ll even keep from telling Stanchion, which is as good as telling the whole town. He gossips like a schoolgirl when he’s had a cup.” He looked at me expectantly.

  “She was slender with deep, coffee-colored eyes,” I said before I thought about how it sounded. I hurried on before either Threpe or Deoch could make a joke. “Her name was Dianne.”

  “Ahhh.” Deoch nodded slowly to himself, his smile going a little wry. “I guess I should have known.”