The Name of the Wind tkc-1

by Patrick Rothfuss

  “The masters know about this?”

  She laughed. “God’s body, of course not. Neither does the constable, the bishop, or my mother.” She pointed to her chest, then to me. “I know and you know. That’s usually enough to ensure a good working relationship between the two of us.”

  “What about unusually?” I asked. “What if I don’t have your money at the end of the term? What then?”

  She spread her hands and shrugged carelessly. “Then we work something out between the two of us. Like rational people. Maybe you work for me. Tell me secrets. Do me favors.” She smiled and gave me a slow, lecherous looking over, laughing at my discomfiture. “If worse comes to worst, and you end up being extraordinarily uncooperative, I could probably sell your blood to someone to recover my loss. Everyone has enemies.” She shrugged easily.

  “But I’ve never had things descend to that level. The threat is usually enough to keep people in line.”

  She looked at the expression on my face and her shoulders slumped a little. “Come on now,” she said gently. “You came here expecting some thick-necked gaelet with scarred knuckles. You were ready to make a deal with someone ready to beat twelve distinct colors of hell out of you if you were a day late. My way is better. Simpler.”

  “This is insane,” I said, getting to my feet. “Absolutely not.”

  Devi’s cheerful expression faded. “Get ahold of yourself,” she said, plainly growing exasperated. “You’re acting like some farmer who thinks I’m trying to buy his soul. It’s just a little blood so I can keep tabs on you. It’s like collateral.” She made a calming gesture with both hands, as if smoothing the air. “Fine, I’ll tell you what. I’ll let you borrow half the minimum.” She looked at me expectantly. “Two talents. Does that make it easier?”

  “No,” I said. “I’m sorry to have wasted your time, but I can’t do it. Are there any other gaelets around?”

  “Of course,” she said coolly. “But I don’t feel particularly inclined to give out that sort of information.” She tilted her head quizzically. “By the way, today’s Cendling, isn’t it? Don’t you need your tuition by noon tomorrow?”

  “I’ll find them on my own then,” I snapped.

  “I’m sure you will, clever boy like you.” Devi waved me away with the back of her hand. “Feel free to let yourself out. Think fond thoughts of Devi in two months’ time, when some thug is kicking the teeth out of your pretty little head.”

  After leaving Devi’s I paced the streets of Imre, restless and irritated, trying to get my thoughts in order. Trying to think of a way around my problem.

  I had a decent chance of paying off the two-talent loan. I hoped to move up the ranks in the Fishery soon. Once I was allowed to pursue my own projects, I could start earning real money. All I needed was to stay in classes long enough. It was just a matter of time.

  That’s really what I was borrowing: time. One more term. Who knew what opportunities might present themselves in the next two months?

  But even as I tried to talk myself into it, I knew the truth. It was a bad idea. It was begging for trouble. I would swallow my pride and see if Wil or Sim or Sovoy could lend me the eight jots I needed. I sighed, resigning myself to a term of sleeping outside and scavenging meals where I could find them. At least it couldn’t be worse than my time in Tarbean.

  I was just about to head back to the University when my restless pacing took me by a pawnshop’s window. I felt the old ache in my fingers… .

  “How much for the seven-string lute?” I asked. To this day I do not remember actually entering the store.

  “Four talents even,” the owner said brightly. I guessed he was new to the job, or drunk. Pawnbrokers are never cheerful, not even in rich cities like Imre.

  “Ah,” I said, not bothering to hide my disappointment. “Could I take a look at it?”

  He handed it over. It wasn’t much to look at. The grain of the wood was uneven, the varnish rough and scratched. Its frets were made of gut and badly in need of replacing, but that was of little concern to me, as I typically played fretless anyway. The bowl was rosewood, so the sound of it wouldn’t be terribly subtle. But on the other hand, rosewood would carry better in a crowded taproom, cutting through the murmur of idle conversation. I tapped the bowl with a finger and it gave off a resonant hum. Solid, but not pretty. I began to tune it so I would have an excuse to hold it a while longer.

  “I might be able to go as low as three and five,” the man behind the counter said.

  My ears pricked up as I heard something in his tone: desperation. It occurred to me that an ugly, used lute might not sell very well in a city full of nobility and prosperous musicians. I shook my head. “The strings are old.” Actually they were fine, but I hoped he didn’t know that.

  “True,” he said, reassuring me of his ignorance, “but strings are cheap.”

  “I suppose,” I said doubtfully. With a deliberate plan, I set each of the strings just a hair out of tune with the others. I struck a chord and listened to the grating sound. I gave the lute’s neck a sour, speculative look. “I think the neck might be cracked.” I strummed a minor chord that sounded even less appealing. “Does that sound cracked to you?” I strummed it again, harder.

  “Three and two?” He asked hopefully.

  “It’s not for me,” I said, as if correcting him. “It’s for my little brother. The little bastard won’t leave mine alone.”

  I strummed again and grimaced. “I may not like the little sprit very much, but I’m not cruel enough to buy him a lute with a sour neck.” I paused significantly. When nothing was forthcoming, I prompted him. “Not for three and two.”

  “Three even?” he said hopefully.

  To all appearances I held the lute casually, carelessly. But in my heart I was clutching it with a white-knuckled fierceness. I cannot hope for you to understand this. When the Chandrian killed my troupe, they destroyed every piece of family and home I had ever known. But in some ways it had been worse when my father’s lute was broken in Tarbean. It had been like losing a limb, an eye, a vital organ. Without my music, I had wandered Tarbean for years, half-alive, like a crippled veteran or one of the walking dead.

  “Listen,” I said to him frankly. “I’ve got two and two for you.” I pulled out my purse. “You can take it, or this ugly thing can gather dust on a high shelf for the next ten years.”

  I met his eye, careful to keep my face from showing how badly I needed it. I would do anything to keep this lute. I would dance naked in the snow. I would clutch at his legs, shaking and frantic, promising him anything, anything… .

  I counted out two talents and two jots onto the counter between us, nearly all of the money I had saved for this term’s tuition. Each coin made a hard click as I pressed it to the table.

  He gave me a long look, measuring me. I clicked down one more jot and waited. And waited. When he finally reached out his hand for the money, his haggard expression was the same one I was used to seeing on pawnbroker’s faces.

  Devi opened the door and smiled. “Well now, I honestly didn’t think I’d see you again. Come in.” She bolted the door behind me and walked over to her desk. “I can’t say I’m disappointed, though.” She looked over her shoulder and flashed her impish smile. “I was looking forward to doing a little business with you.” She sat down. “So, two talents then?”

  “Four would be better, actually,” I said. Just enough for me to afford tuition and a bunk in the Mews. I could sleep outside in the wind and rain. My lute deserved better.

  “Wonderful,” she said as she pulled out the bottle and pin.

  I needed the tips of my fingers intact, so I pricked the back of my hand and let three drops of blood slowly gather and fall into the small brown bottle. I held it out to Devi.

  “Go ahead and drop the pin in there too.”

  I did.

  Devi swabbed the bottle’s stopper with a clear substance and slid it into the mouth of the bottle. “A clever little adhesive from y
our friends over the river,” she explained. “This way, I can’t open the bottle without breaking it. When you pay off your debt, you get it back intact and can sleep safe knowing I haven’t kept any for myself.”

  “Unless you have the solvent,” I pointed out.

  Devi gave me a pointed look. “You’re not big on trust, are you?” She rummaged around in a drawer, brought out some sealing wax, and began to warm it over the lamp on her desk. “I don’t suppose you have a seal, or ring or anything like that?” she asked as she smeared the wax across the top of the bottle’s stopper.

  “If I had jewelry to sell, I wouldn’t be here,” I said frankly and pressed my thumb into the wax. It left a recognizable print. “But that should do.”

  Devi etched a number on the side of the bottle with a diamond stylus, then brought out a slip of paper. She wrote for a moment then fanned it with a hand, waiting for it to dry. “You can take this to any moneylender on either side of the river,” she said cheerfully as she handed it to me. “Pleasure doing business with you. Don’t be a stranger.”

  I headed back to the University with money in my purse and the comforting weight of the lute strap hanging from my shoulder. It was secondhand, ugly, and had cost me dearly in money, blood, and peace of mind. I loved it like a child, like breathing, like my own right hand.

  CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE

  Tar and Tin

  At the beginning of my second term, Kilvin gave me permission to study sygaldry. This raised a few eyebrows, but none in the Fishery where I’d proven myself to be a hard worker and a dedicated student.

  Sygaldry, simply put, is a set of tools for channeling forces. Like sympathy made solid.

  For example, if you engraved one brick with the rune ule and another with the rune dock, the two runes would cause the bricks to cling to each other, as if mortared in place.

  But it’s not as simple as that. What really happens is the two runes tear the bricks apart with the strength of their attraction. To prevent this you have to add the rune am to each of the bricks. Am is the rune for clay, and it makes the two pieces of clay cling to each other, solving your problem.

  Except that am and dock don’t fit together. They’re the wrong shape. To get them to fit you have to add a few linking runes, gea and teh. Then, for balance, you have to add gea and teh to the other brick, too. Then the bricks cling to each other without breaking.

  But only if the bricks are made out of clay. Most bricks aren’t. So, generally, it is a better idea to mix iron into the ceramic of the brick before it is fired. Of course, that means you have to use fehr instead of am. Then you have to switch teh and gea so the ends come together properly …

  As you can see, mortar is a simpler and more reliable route for holding bricks together.

  I studied my sygaldry under Cammar. The scarred, one-eyed man was Kilvin’s gatekeeper. Only after you were able to prove your firm grasp of sygaldry to him could you move on to a loose apprenticeship with one of the more experienced artificers. You assisted them with their projects, and in return they showed you the finer points of the craft.

  There were one hundred ninety-seven runes. It was like learning a new language, except there were nearly two hundred unfamiliar letters, and you had to invent your own words a lot of the time. Most students took at least a month of study before Cammar judged them ready to move on. Some students took an entire term.

  Start to finish, it took me seven days.

  How?

  First, I was driven. Other students could afford to stroll through their studies. Their parents or patrons would cover the expense. I, on the other hand, needed to climb the ranks in the Fishery quickly so I could earn money working on my own projects. Tuition wasn’t even my first priority anymore, Devi was.

  Second, I was brilliant. Not just your run-of-the-mill brilliance either. I was extraordinarily brilliant.

  Lastly, I was lucky. Plain and simple.

  I stepped across the patchwork rooftops of Mains with my lute slung across my back. It was a dim, cloudy twilight, but I knew my way around by now. I kept to the tar and tin, knowing that red tiles or grey slate made for treacherous footing.

  At some point in the remodeling of Mains, one of the courtyards had become completely isolated. It could only be accessed by clambering through a high window in one of the lecture halls or by climbing down a gnarled apple tree, if you happened to be on the roof.

  I came here to practice my lute. My bunk in Mews was not convenient. Not only was music viewed as frivolous on this side of the river, but I would only make more enemies by playing while my bunkmates tried to sleep or study. So I came here. It was perfect, secluded, and practically on my doorstep.

  The hedges had gone wild and the lawn was a riot of weeds and flowering plants. But there was a bench under the apple tree that was perfectly suited to my needs. Usually I came late at night, when Mains was locked and abandoned. But today was Theden, that meant that if I ate dinner quickly, I had nearly an hour between Elxa Dai’s class and my work in the Fishery. Plenty of time for some practice.

  However, when I reached the courtyard tonight, I saw lights through the windows. Brandeur’s lecture was running late today.

  So I stayed on the rooftop. The windows to the lecture hall were shut, so there wasn’t much chance of my being overheard.

  I put my back to a nearby chimney and began to play. After about ten minutes the lights went out, but I decided to stay where I was rather than waste time climbing down.

  I was halfway through “Ten Tap Tim” when the sun slipped out from behind the clouds. Golden light covered the rooftop, spilling over the edge of the roof into a thin slice of the courtyard below.

  That’s when I heard the noise. A sudden rustling, like a startled animal down in the courtyard. But then there was something else, a noise unlike anything a squirrel or rabbit would make in the hedge. It was a hard noise, a vaguely metallic thud, as if someone had dropped a heavy bar of iron.

  I stopped playing, the half-finished melody still running through my head. Was another student down there, listening? I put my lute back in its case before I made my way over to the lip of the roof and looked down.

  I couldn’t see through the thick hedge that covered most of the eastern edge of the courtyard. Had a student climbed through the window?

  The sunset was fading quickly, and by the time I made it down the apple tree most of the courtyard lay in shadow. I could see from here that the high window was closed; no one had come in that way. Even though it was quickly growing dark, curiosity won over caution and I made my way into the hedge.

  There was quite a lot of space there. Portions of the hedge were nearly hollow, a green shell of living branches, leaving enough room to crouch comfortably. I made note of the place as a good space for sleeping if I didn’t have enough money for a bunk in the Mews next term.

  Even in the fading light I could see I was the only one there. There wasn’t room for anything bigger than a rabbit to hide. In the dim light I couldn’t spot anything that could have made the metallic noise, either.

  Humming the catchy chorus of “Ten Tap Tim,” I crawled through to the other end of the hedge. Only when I came through the other side did I notice the drainage grate. I’d seen similar ones scattered throughout the University, but this one was older and larger. In fact, the opening might be large enough for a person to fit through, if the grate were removed.

  Hesitantly, I curled a hand around one of the cool metal bars and pulled. The heavy grate pivoted on a hinge and came up about three inches before stopping. In the dim light I couldn’t tell why it wouldn’t go any farther. I pulled harder, but couldn’t budge it. Finally I gave up and dropped it back into place. It made a hard noise, vaguely metallic. Like someone had dropped a heavy bar of iron.

  Then my fingers felt something that my eyes missed: a maze of grooves etching the surface of the bars. I looked closer and recognized some of the runes I was learning under Cammar: ule and doch.

  Then someth
ing clicked in my head. The chorus of “Ten Tap Tim” suddenly fit together with the runes I’d been studying under Cammar for the last handful of days.

  Ule and doch are

  Both for binding

  Reh for seeking

  Kel for finding

  Gea key

  Teh lock

  Pesin water

  Resin rock

  Before I could go any further, sixth bell struck. The sound startled me from my reverie. But when I reached out to steady myself, my hand didn’t come to rest on leaves and dirt. It touched something round and hard and smooth: a green apple.

  I emerged from the hedge and made my way to the northwest corner where the apple tree stood. No apples were on the ground. It was too early in the year for that. What’s more, the iron grate was on the opposite side of the small courtyard. It couldn’t have rolled that far. It must have been carried.

  Unsure of what to think, but knowing I was late for my evening shift in the Fishery, I climbed the apple tree, gathered up my lute, and hurried to Kilvin’s shop.

  Later that night I fit the rest of the runes to music. It took a few hours, but when I was done it was like having a reference sheet in my head. The next day Cammar put me through an extensive two-hour examination, which I passed.

  For the next stage of my education in the Fishery, I was apprenticed to Manet, the old, wild-haired student I’d met during my first days at the University. Manet had been attending the University for nearly thirty years, and everyone knew him as the eternal E’lir. But despite the fact that we held the same rank, Manet had more hands-on experience in the Fishery than any dozen higher-ranking students combined.

  Manet was patient and considerate. In fact, he reminded me of my old teacher, Abenthy. Except Abenthy had wandered the world like a restless tinker, and it was common knowledge that Manet desired nothing more than to stay at the University for the rest of his life if he could manage it.

  Manet started small, teaching me simple formulae of the sort required for twice-tough glass and heat funnels. Under his tutelage, I learned artificing as quickly as I learned everything, and it wasn’t long before we worked our way up to more complex projects like heat-eaters and sympathy lamps.