The Wise Man's Fear Part 24

Basil shook his head. "She didn't come in," he said. "At least not that I know of. But I've seen her a couple times outside. She hangs around the courtyard." He jerked his head toward the southern exit of the Fishery.

"Did you tell anyone?" I asked.

Basil looked profoundly offended. "I wouldn't do that to you," he said. "But she might have talked to someone else. You should really get rid of her. Kilvin will spit nails if he thinks you've been selling charms."

"I haven't been," I said. "I've got no idea who she is. What does she look like?"

"Young," Basil said with a shrug. "Not Cealdish. I think she had light hair. She wears a blue cloak with the hood up. I tried to walk over and talk to her, but she just ran away."

I rubbed my forehead. "Wonderful."

Basil shrugged sympathetically. "Just thought I'd warn you. If she actually comes in here and asks for you, I'll have to tell Kilvin." He grimaced apologetically. "I'm sorry, but I'm in enough trouble as it is."

"I understand," I said. "Thanks for the warning."

When I walked into the workshop, I was immediately struck by a strange quality of the light in the room. The first thing I did was look up, checking to see if Kilvin had added a new lamp to the array of gla.s.s spheres hanging up among the rafters. I hoped the change in light was due to a new lamp. Kilvin's mood was always foul when one of his lamps went unexpectedly dark.

Scanning the rafters, I didn't see any dark lamps. It took me a long moment to realize the strange quality of the light was due to actual sunlight slanting in through the low windows on the eastern wall. Normally I didn't come to work until later in the day.

The workshop was almost eerily quiet this early in the morning. The huge room seemed hollow and lifeless with only a handful of students working on projects. That combined with the odd light and the unexpected summons from Kilvin, made me rather uneasy as I crossed the room heading toward Kilvin's office.

Despite the early hour, a small forge in the corner of Kilvin's office was already well-stoked. Heat billowed past me as I stood in the open doorway. It felt good after the early winter chill outside. Kilvin stood with his back to me, working the bellows with a relentless rhythm.

I knocked loudly on the frame of the door to get his attention. "Master Kilvin? I just tried to check some materials out of Stocks. Is anything the matter?"

Kilvin glanced over in my direction. "Re'lar Kvothe. I will be a moment. Come in."

I stepped into his office and swung the heavy door closed behind me. If I was in trouble, I'd rather not have anyone listening in.

Kilvin continued to work the bellows for a long moment. It was only when he drew out a long tube that I realized it wasn't a forge he was firing, it was a small gla.s.swork. Moving deftly, he drew out a blob of molten gla.s.s on the end of his tube, then proceeded to blow an increasingly large bubble of gla.s.s.

After a minute the gla.s.s lost its orange glow. "Bellows," Kilvin said without looking at me, putting the tube back into the mouth of the gla.s.swork.

I scrambled to obey, working the bellows in a steady rhythm until the gla.s.s was glowing orange again. Kilvin motioned me to stop, pulled it out, and puffed at the tube for another long moment, spinning the gla.s.s until the bubble was large as a sweetmelon.

He set it back in the gla.s.swork again, and I pumped the bellows without being asked. By the third time we repeated this, I was wringing with sweat. I wished I hadn't closed Kilvin's door, but I didn't want to leave the bellows for the time it would take for me to open it again.

Kilvin didn't seem to notice the heat. The gla.s.s bubble grew large as my head, then big as a pumpkin. But the fifth time he drew it from the heat and began to blow, it sagged on the end of the tube, deflating and falling to the floor.

"Kist, crayle, en kote," he swore furiously. He threw down the metal tube where it rang sharply against the stone floor. he swore furiously. He threw down the metal tube where it rang sharply against the stone floor. "Kraemet brevetan Aerin!" "Kraemet brevetan Aerin!"

I fought down the sudden urge to laugh. My Siaru wasn't perfect, but I was fairly certain Kilvin had said, s.h.i.+t in G.o.d's beard s.h.i.+t in G.o.d's beard.

The bearlike master stood for a long moment, looking down at the ruined gla.s.s on the floor. Then he let out a long, irritated breath through his nose, pulled off his goggles, and turned to look at me.

"Three sets of synchronized bells, bra.s.s," he said without preamble. "One tap and catch, iron. Four heat funnels, iron. Six siphons, tin. Twenty-two panes of twice-tough gla.s.s and other a.s.sorted piecework."

It was a list of all the work I had done this term in the Fishery. Simple things I could finish and sell back to Stocks for a quick profit.

Kilvin looked at me with his dark eyes. "Does this work please you, Re'lar Kvothe?"

"The projects are easy enough, Master Kilvin," I said.

"You are now a Re'lar," he said, his voice heavy with reproach. "Are you content to coast idly, making toys for the lazy rich?" he asked. "Is that what you desire from your time in the Fishery? Easy work?"

I could feel the sweat beading up in my hair and running down my back. "I am somewhat leery of venturing off on my own," I said. "You didn't particularly approve of the modifications I made to my hand lamp."

"Those are coward's words," Kilvin said. "Will you never leave the house because you were scolded once?" He looked at me. "I ask you again. Bells. Castings. Does this work please you, Re'lar Kvothe?"

"The thought of paying next term's tuition pleases me, Master Kilvin." Sweat was running down my face. I tried to wipe it away with my sleeve, but my s.h.i.+rt was already soaked through. I glanced at Kilvin's office door.

"And the work itself?" Kilvin prompted. There was sweat beading on the dark skin of his forehead, but he didn't seem otherwise bothered by the heat.

"Truthfully, Master Kilvin?" I asked, feeling a little light-headed.

He looked a bit offended. "I value truth in all things, Re'lar Kvothe."

"The truth is I've made eight deck lamps this last year, Master Kilvin. If I have to make another, I expect I might s.h.i.+t myself from pure boredom."

Kilvin huffed something that could have been a laugh, then smiled widely at me. "Good. That is how a Re'lar should feel." He pointed one thick finger at me. "You are clever, and you have good hands. I expect great things from you. Not drudgery. Make something clever and it will earn you more than a lamp. Certainly more than piecework. Leave that to the E'lir." He gestured dismissively at the window that looked out over the workshop.

"I'll do my best, Master Kilvin," I said. My voice sounded strange to my own ears, distant and tinny. "Do you mind if I open the door and get some fresh air in here?"

Kilvin grunted an agreement, and I took a step toward the door. But my legs felt loose and my head spun. I staggered and almost fell headlong onto the floor, but I managed to catch the edge of the worktable and merely went to my knees instead.

When my bruised knees. .h.i.t the stone floor it was excruciating. But I didn't shout or cry out. In fact, the pain seemed to be coming from a long way off.

I awoke confused, with a mouth as dry as sawdust. My eyes were gummy and my thoughts so sluggish it took me a long moment to recognize the distinctive antiseptic tang in the air. That, combined with the fact that I was lying naked under a sheet, let me know I was in the Medica.

I turned my head and saw short blond hair and the dark physicker's uniform. I relaxed back onto the pillow. "h.e.l.lo Mola," I croaked.

She turned and gave me a serious look. "Kvothe," she said formally. "How do you feel?"

Still bleary, I had to think about it. "Thick," I said. Then, "Thirsty."

Mola brought me a gla.s.s and helped me drink. It was sweet and gritty. It took me a long moment to finish it, but by the time I was done, I felt halfway human again.

"What happened?" I asked.

"You fainted in the Artificery," she said. "Kilvin carried you over here himself. It was rather touching, actually. I had to shoo him away."

I felt my entire body flush with shame at the thought of being carried through the streets of the University by the huge master. I must have looked like a rag doll in his arms. "I fainted?"

"Kilvin explained you were in a hot room," Mola said. "And you'd sweat through your clothes. You were dripping wet." She gestured to where my s.h.i.+rt and pants lay wadded on the table.

"Heat exhaustion?" I said.

Mola held up a hand to quiet me. "That was my first diagnosis," she said. "On further examination, I've decided you're actually suffering from an acute case of jumping out of a window last night." She gave me a pointed look.

I suddenly became self-conscious. Not of my near-nakedness, but of the obvious injuries I'd received when I'd fallen off the roof of the Golden Pony. I glanced at the door and was relieved to see it was closed. Mola stood watching me, her expression carefully blank.

"Has anyone else seen?" I asked.

Mola shook her head. "We've been busy today."

I relaxed a bit. "That's something then."

Her expression was grim. "This morning, Arwyl gave orders to report any suspicious injuries. It's no secret why. Ambrose himself has offered a sizable reward to whoever helps him catch a thief who broke into his rooms and stole several valuables, including a ring his mother gave him on her deathbed."

"That b.a.s.t.a.r.d," I said hotly. "I didn't steal anything."

Mola raised an eyebrow. "As easy as that? No denial? No ... anything?"

I exhaled through my nose, trying to get my temper under control. "I'm not going to insult your intelligence. It's pretty obvious I didn't fall down some stairs." I took a deep breath. "Look, Mola. If you tell anyone, they'll expel me. I didn't steal anything. I could have, but I didn't."

"Then why ..." She hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. "What were you doing?"

I sighed. "Would you believe I was doing a favor for a friend?"

Mola gave me a shrewd look, her green eyes searching mine. "Well, you do seem to be in the favor business lately."

"I ... what?" I asked, my thoughts moving too sluggishly to follow what she was saying.

"The last time you were here, I treated you for burns and smoke inhalation after pulling Fela out of a fire."

"Oh," I said. "That's not really a favor. Anyone would have done that."

Mola gave me a searching look. "You really believe that, don't you?" She shook her head a little, then picked up a hardback and made a few notes on it, no doubt filling out her treatment report. "Well, I consider it a favor. Fela and I bunked together back when we were both new here. Despite what you think, it's not something a lot of people would have done."

There was a knock and Sim's voice came from the hallway. "Can we come in?" Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and led an uncomfortable looking Wilem into the room.

"We heard ..." Sim paused and turned to look at Mola. "He's going to be okay, right?"

"He'll be fine," Mola said. "Provided his temperature levels out." She picked up a key-gauge and stuck it in my mouth. "I know this will be hard for you, but try to keep your mouth shut for a minute."

"In that case," Simmon said with a grin, "We heard Kilvin took you somewhere private and showed you something that made you faint like a little sissy girl."

I scowled at him, but kept my mouth shut.

Mola turned back to Wil and Sim. "His legs are going to hurt for a while, but there's no permanent damage. His elbow should be fine too, though the st.i.tching's a mess. What the h.e.l.l were you guys doing in Ambrose's rooms, anyway?"

Wilem simply looked at her, characteristically dark-eyed and stoic.

No such luck with Sim. "Kvothe needed to get a ring for his ladylove," he chirped cheerfully.

Mola turned to look at me, her expression furious. "You have a h.e.l.l of a lot of nerve to lie right to my face," she said, her eyes flat and angry as a cat's. "Thank goodness you didn't want to insult my intelligence or anything."

I took a deep breath and reached up to take the key-gauge out of my mouth. "G.o.ddammit Sim," I said crossly. "Some day I'm going to teach you to lie."

Sim looked back and forth between the two of us, flushed with panic and embarra.s.sment. "Kvothe has a thing for a girl over the river," he said defensively. "Ambrose took a ring of hers and won't give it back. We just-"

Mola cut him off with a sharp gesture. "Why didn't you just tell me that?" she demanded of me, irritated. "Everyone knows what Ambrose is like with women!"

"That's why I didn't tell you," I said. "It sounded like a very convenient lie. There's also the fact that it is not one whit of your G.o.dd.a.m.n business."

Her expression hardened. "You come off pretty high and mighty for-"

"Stop. Just stop," Wilem said, startling both of us out of our argument. He turned to Mola, "When Kvothe came here unconscious, what did you do first?"

"I checked his pupils for signs of head trauma," Mola said automatically. "What the h.e.l.l does that have to do with anything?"

Wilem gestured in my direction. "Look at his eyes now."

Mola looked at me. "They're dark," she said, sounding surprised. "Dark green. Like a pine bough."

Wil continued. "Don't argue with him when his eyes go dark like that. No good comes of it."

"It's like the noise a rattlesnake makes," Sim said.

"More like hackles on a dog, "Wilem corrected. "It shows when he's ready to bite."

"All of you can go straight to h.e.l.l," I said. "Or you can give me a mirror so I can see what you're talking about. I don't care which."

Wil ignored me. "Our little Kvothe has a flash-pan temper, but once he's had a minute to cool down, he will realize the truth." Wilem gave me a pointed look. "He's not upset because you didn't trust him, or that you tricked Sim. He's upset because you found out what asinine lengths he is willing to go to in order to impress a woman." He looked at me. "Is asinine asinine the right word?" the right word?"

I took a deep breath and let it out. "Pretty much," I admitted.

"I chose it because it sounded like a.s.s a.s.s," Wil said.

"I knew you two had to be involved," Mola said with a hint of apology in her voice. "Honestly, the three of you are thick as thieves, and I do do mean that in all its various clever implications." She walked around the side of the bed and looked critically at my wounded elbow. "Which one of you st.i.tched him up?" mean that in all its various clever implications." She walked around the side of the bed and looked critically at my wounded elbow. "Which one of you st.i.tched him up?"

"Me." Sim grimaced. "I know I made a mess of it."

"Mess would be generous." Mola said, looking it over critically. "It looks like you were trying to st.i.tch your name onto him and kept misspelling it." would be generous." Mola said, looking it over critically. "It looks like you were trying to st.i.tch your name onto him and kept misspelling it."

"I think he did quite well," Wil said, meeting her eye. "Considering his lack of training, and the fact that he was helping a friend under less than ideal circ.u.mstances."

Mola flushed. "I didn't mean it like that," she said quickly. "Working here, it's easy to forget that not everyone ..." She turned to Sim. "I'm sorry."

Sim ran his hand through his sandy hair. "I suppose you could make it up to me sometime," he said, grinning boyishly. "Like maybe tomorrow afternoon? When you let me buy you lunch?" He looked at her hopefully.

Mola rolled her eyes and sighed, somewhere between amus.e.m.e.nt and exasperation. "Fine."

"My work here is done,"Wil said gravely. "I'm leaving. I hate this place."