Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

Tags: #Mercenary troops, #Magicians, #Magic, #Attempted assassination, #Fairies, #Fiction, #Fantasy, #General, #Heroes, #Epic

The Wise Man's Fear (46 page)

The inside was soft velvet. I reached out to touch it and found the padding soft but resilient, like a sponge. The velvet’s nap was nearly half an inch thick and a deep burgundy color.

The man behind the counter gave a thin smile. “Your lady has good taste,” he said. “And a serious mind about what she desires.”

He lifted the lid. “The leather is oiled and waxed. There’s two layers with rock maple bows beneath.” He ran a finger along the bottom half of the case, then pointed at the corresponding groove on the lid. “It fits snugly enough that no air can get in or out. So you need not worry moving from a warm, wet room into an icy night.”

He began to snap shut the clasps around the edge of the case. “The lady objected to brass. So these are finesteel. And once they’re in place, the lid is held against a gasket. You could submerse it in a river and the velvet will stay dry inside.” He shrugged. “Eventually the water would permeate the leather, of course. But there’s only so much one can do.”

Flipping the case over, he rapped a knuckle hard on the rounded bottom. “I have kept the maple thin, so it is not bulky or heavy, and reinforced it with bands of Glantz steel.” He gestured to where Denna stood grinning. “The lady wanted Ramston steel, but I explained that while Ramston is strong, it’s also rather brittle. Glantz steel is lighter and retains its shape.”

He looked me up and down. “If the young master wishes, he could stand on the bowl of the case without crushing it.” His mouth pursed slightly and he looked down at my feet. “Though I would prefer if you did not.”

He turned the case right side up again. “I have to say, this is perhaps the finest case I have made in twenty years.” He slid it across the counter toward me. “I hope you find it to your satisfaction.”

I was driven speechless. A rarity. I reached out and ran a hand along the leather. It was warm and smooth. I touched the steel ring where the shoulder strap would attach. I looked at Denna, who was practically dancing with delight.

Denna stepped forward eagerly. “This is the best part,” she said, flipping open the clasps with such familiar ease I could tell she’d done it before. She pulled off the lid and prodded the inside with a finger. “The padding is designed to be moved and reset. So no matter what lute you have in the future, it will still fit.

“And look!” She pressed the velvet where the neck would rest, twisted her fingers, and a lid popped up, revealing a hidden space underneath. She grinned again. “This was my idea, too. It’s like a secret pocket.”

“God’s body, Denna,” I said. “This must have cost you a fortune.”

“Well, you know,” she said with an air of affected modesty. “I had a little set aside.”

I ran my hand along the inside, touching the velvet. “Denna, I’m serious. This case must be worth as much as my lute. . . .” I trailed off and my stomach made a nauseating twist. The lute I didn’t even have anymore.

“If you don’t mind my saying so, sir,” the man behind the counter said. “Unless you have a lute of solid silver, I’m guessing this case is worth a damn sight more than that.”

I ran my hands over the lid again, feeling increasingly sick to my stomach. I couldn’t think of a word to say. How could I tell her someone had stolen my lute after she’d gone through all the work of having this beautiful gift made for me?

Denna grinned excitedly. “Let’s see how your lute fits!”

She gestured, and the man behind the counter brought out my lute and set it in the case. It fit snugly as a glove.

I began to cry.

“God, I’m embarrassed,” I said, blowing my nose.

Denna touched my arm lightly. “I’m so sorry,” she repeated for the third time.

The two of us sat on the curb outside the small shop. It was bad enough bursting into tears in front of Denna. I’d wanted to compose myself without the shopkeeper staring at me too.

“I just wanted it to fit properly,” Denna said, her expression stricken. “I left a note. You were supposed to come to dinner so I could surprise you. You weren’t even supposed to know it was gone.”

“It’s okay,” I said.

“It’s obviously not,” Denna said, her eyes starting to brim with tears. “When you didn’t show up, I didn’t know what to do. I looked for you everywhere last night. I knocked on your door, but you didn’t answer.” She looked down at her feet. “I can never find you when I go looking.”

“Denna,” I said. “Everything’s fine.”

She shook her head vigorously, refusing to look at me as tears started to spill down her cheeks. “It’s not fine. I should have known. You hold it like it’s your baby. If anyone in my life had ever looked at me the way you look at that lute, I’d . . .”

Denna’s voice broke and she swallowed hard before words started pouring out of her again. “I knew it was the most important thing in your life. That’s why I wanted to get you somewhere safe to keep it. I just didn’t think it would be so . . .” She swallowed again, clenching her hands into fists. Her body was so tense she was almost trembling. “God. I’m so stupid! I never think. I always do this. I ruin everything.”

Denna’s hair had fallen around her face so I couldn’t see her expression. “What’s wrong with me?” she said, her voice low and angry. “Why am I such an idiot? Why can’t I do just one thing right in my whole life?”

“Denna.” I had to interrupt her, as she was barely pausing to breathe. I laid my hand on her arm and she grew stiff and still. “Denna, there’s no way you could have known,” I interrupted. “You’ve been playing for how long? A month? Have you ever even owned an instrument?”

She shook her head, her face still hidden by her hair. “I had that lyre,” she said softly. “But only for a few days before the fire.” She looked up at last, her expression pure misery. Her eyes and nose were red. “This happens all the time. I try to do something good, but it gets all tangled up.” She gave me a wretched look. “You don’t know what it’s like.”

I laughed. It felt amazingly good to laugh again. It boiled up from deep in my belly and burst out of my throat like notes from a golden horn. That laugh alone was worth three hot meals and twenty hours of sleep.

“I know exactly what it’s like,” I said, feeling the bruises on my knees and the pull of half-healed scars along my back. I considered telling her how much of a mess I’d made of retrieving her ring. Then decided it probably wouldn’t help her mood if I explained how Ambrose was trying to kill me. “Denna, I am the king of good ideas gone terribly wrong.”

She smiled at that, sniffing and rubbing at her eyes with a sleeve. “We’re a lovely couple of weepy idiots, aren’t we?”

“We are,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” she said again, her smile fading. “I just wanted to do something nice for you. But I’m no good at these things.”

I took hold of Denna’s hand in both of mine and kissed it. “Denna,” I said with perfect honesty, “this is the kindest thing anyone has ever done for me.”

She snorted indelicately.

“Pure truth,” I said. “You are my bright penny by the roadside. You are worth more than salt or the moon on a long night of walking.You are sweet wine in my mouth, a song in my throat, and laughter in my heart.”

Denna’s cheeks flushed, but I rolled on, unconcerned.

“You are too good for me,” I said. “You are a luxury I cannot afford. Despite this, I insist you come with me today. I will buy you dinner and spend hours waxing rhapsodic over the vast landscape of wonder that is you.”

I stood and pulled her to her feet. “I will play you music. I will sing you songs. For the rest of the afternoon, the rest of the world cannot touch us.” I cocked my head, making it a question.

Denna’s mouth curved. “That sounds nice,” she said. “I’d like to get away from the world for the space of an afternoon.”

Hours later I walked back to the University with a spring in my step. I whistled. I sang. My lute on my shoulder was light as a kiss. The sun was warm and soothing. The breeze was cool.

My luck was beginning to change.

CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

The Crucible

W
ITH MY LUTE BACK in my hands, the rest of my life slid easily back into balance. My work in the Fishery was easier. My classes breezed by. Elodin even seemed to make more sense.

It was with a light heart that I visited Simmon in the alchemy complex. He opened the door to my knocking and gestured me inside. “It worked,” he said excitedly.

I eased the door shut, and he led me to a table where a series of bottles, tubes, and coal-gas burners were arranged. Sim smiled proudly and held up a short, shallow jar of the sort you use to store face paint or rouge.

“Can you show me?” I asked.

Sim lit a small coal-gas burner and the flame fanned against the bottom of a shallow iron pan. We stood quietly for a moment, listening to it hiss.

“I got new boots,” Sim said conversationally, lifting up a foot so I could see.

“They’re nice,” I said automatically, then paused and looked closer. “Are those hobnails?” I asked incredulously.

He grinned viciously. I laughed.

The iron pan grew hot, and Sim unscrewed the jar, pressing the pad of his index finger into the translucent substance inside. Then, with a little flourish, he raised his hand and pressed the tip of his finger onto the surface of the hot iron pan.

I winced. Sim smiled smugly and stood there for the space of a long breath before pulling his finger away.

“Incredible,” I said. “You guys do some crazy things over here. A heat shield.”

“No,” Sim said seriously. “That’s absolutely the wrong way to think about it. It’s not a shield. It’s not an insulator. It’s like an extra layer of skin that burns away before your real skin gets hot.”

“Like having water on your hands,” I said.

Sim shook his head again. “No, water conducts heat. This doesn’t.”

“So it
is
an insulator.”

“Okay,” Sim said, exasperated. “You need to shut up and listen. This is alchemy. You know nothing about alchemy.”

I made a placating gesture. “I know. I know.”

“Say it, then. Say, ‘I know nothing about alchemy.’ ”

I glowered at him.

“Alchemy isn’t just chemistry with some extra bits,” he said. “That means if you don’t listen to me, you’ll jump to your own conclusions and be dead wrong. Dead
and
wrong.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Tell me.”

“You’ll have to spread it on quickly,” he said. “You’ll only have about ten seconds to get it spread evenly onto your hands and lower arms.” He made a gesture to his midforearm.

“It won’t rub away, but you will lose a bit if you chafe at your hands too much. Don’t touch your face at all. Don’t rub your eyes. Don’t pick your nose. Don’t bite your fingernails. It’s sort of poisonous.”

“Sort of?” I asked.

He ignored me, holding out the finger he’d pressed onto the hot iron pan. “It’s not like armor gloves. As soon as it’s exposed to heat, it begins to burn away.”

“Will there be any smell?” I asked. “Anything that will give it away?”

Other books

After Darkness Fell by David Berardelli

Frenzy (The Frenzy Series Book 1) by Casey L. Bond

A Brief History of Portable Literature by Enrique Vila-Matas

Dangerous Kiss by Avery Flynn

Bayou Nights by Julie Mulhern

Dodgers by Bill Beverly

Backshot by David Sherman, Dan Cragg

Wicked: Jade Butterfly [Wicked Series Book 3] by Lily Graison

Day of the Delphi by Jon Land

Holes for Faces by Campbell, Ramsey