Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (51 page)

The next morning I decided my mood was too good to spoil it with the inevitable madness of Elodin’s class. So I shouldered my lute and headed over the river to look for Denna. It had taken longer than I’d planned, but I was eager to see the look on her face when I finally returned her ring.

I walked into the jeweler’s and smiled at the small man standing behind a low display case. “Are you finished with the ring?”

His forehead creased. “I . . . I beg your pardon, sir?”

I sighed and dug around in my pocket, eventually producing the slip of paper.

He peered at it, then his face lit with understanding. “Ah, yes. Of course. Just a moment.” He made his way through a door into the back of the shop.

I relaxed a bit. This was the third shop I’d visited. The other conversations hadn’t worked out nearly this well.

The tiny man bustled out of the back room. “Here we are, sir.” He held up the ring. “Right as rain again. Lovely stone too, if you don’t mind my saying.”

I held it to the light. It was Denna’s ring. “You do good work,” I said.

He smiled at this. “Thank you, sir. All told, the work came to forty-five pennies.”

I gave a small, silent sigh. It had been too much to hope that Ambrose had paid for the work in advance. I juggled numbers in my head and counted a talent and six jots onto the glass top of the display case. As I did, I noticed it had the slightly oily texture of twice-tough glass. I ran my hand over it, wondering idly if it was one of the pieces I had made at the Fishery.

As the jeweler gathered up the coins, I noticed something else. Something inside the case.

“A bauble caught your eye?” he asked smoothly.

I pointed at a necklace in the center of the case.

“You have excellent taste,” he said, pulling out a key and unlocking a panel in the back of the case. “This is quite an exceptional piece. Not only is the setting elegant, but the stone itself is remarkably fine. You don’t often see an emerald of this quality cut in a long drop.”

“Is it your work?” I asked.

The jeweler gave a dramatic sigh. “Alas, I cannot claim that distinction. A young woman brought it in several span ago. She had more need of money than adornment it seems, and we came to an arrangement.”

“How much would you like for it?” I asked as casually as possible.

He told me. It was a staggering amount of money. More money than I had ever seen in one place. Enough money that a woman might live comfortably in Imre for several years. Enough money for a fine new harp. Enough for a lute of solid silver, or, if she desired, a case for such a lute.

The jeweler sighed again, shaking his head at the sad state of the world. “It is a shame,” he said. “Who can tell what drives young women to such things.” Then he looked up and smiled, holding the teardrop emerald to the light with an expectant expression. “Still, her loss is your gain.”

Since Denna had mentioned the Barrel and Boar in her note, I decided to start looking for her there. My lute case hung heavier on my shoulder now that I knew what she’d given up to pay for it. Still, one good turn deserves another, and I hoped the return of her ring would help balance things between us.

But the Barrel and Boar wasn’t an inn, merely a restaurant. Without any real hope, I asked the host if someone might have left a message for me. Nobody had. I asked if he remembered a woman who had been there the night before? Dark-haired? Lovely?

He nodded at that. “She waited for a long while,” he said. “I remember thinking, ‘Who would keep a woman like that waiting?’ ”

You would be amazed at how many inns and boarding houses there are, even in a smallish city like Imre.

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

Secrets

T
WO DAYS LATER I was heading off to the Fishery, hoping some honest work would clear my head and make me better able to tolerate two hours of Elodin’s jackassery. I was three steps from the door, when I saw a young girl in a blue cloak hurrying across the courtyard toward me. Underneath the hood, her face was a startling mix of excitement and anxiety.

We made eye contact and she stopped moving toward me. Then, still eyeing me, she made a motion so furtive and stiff I couldn’t understand what she meant until she repeated it: she wanted me to follow her.

Puzzled, I nodded. She turned and walked out of the courtyard, moving with the awkward stiffness of someone trying desperately to be nonchalant.

I followed her. Under other circumstances I would have thought she was a shill luring me into a dark alley where thugs would kick out my teeth and take my purse. But there weren’t any decently dangerous alleys this close to the University, and it was a sunny afternoon besides.

Eventually she stepped into a deserted piece of road behind a glassblower and a clocksmith’s shop. She looked around nervously, then turned, her face beaming under the shelter of her hood. “I finally found you!” she said breathlessly.

She was younger than I’d thought, no more than fourteen. Curls of mousy brown hair framed her pale face and fought to escape the hood. Still, I couldn’t place her. . . .

“I’ve had a drummer of a time tracking you down,” she said. “I spend so much time here my ma thinks I have a beau at the University,” she said the last almost shyly, her mouth making a tiny curve.

I opened my mouth to admit I didn’t have the slightest idea who she was. But before I could get a word out, she spoke again. “Don’t worry,” she said. “I hain’t let anyone know I was coming to see you.” Her bright eyes went dark with anxiety, like a pool when the sun goes behind a cloud. “I know it’s safer that way.”

It was only when her face went dark with worry that I recognized her. She was the young girl I’d met in Trebon when I’d gone to investigate rumors of the Chandrian.

“Nina,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

“Looking for you.” She thrust out her chin proudly. “I knew you must be from here cause you knew all sorts of magic.” She looked around. “But it’s bigger than I thought it would be. I know you didn’t give anyone in Trebon your name because then they’d have power over you, but I have to say it makes you terribly hard to find.”

Had I not told anyone my name in Trebon? Some of my memories of that time were vague, as I’d had a bit of a concussion. It was probably for the best I’d kept myself anonymous, given that I’d been responsible for burning down a sizable portion of the town.

“I’m sorry to put you to so much work,” I said, still not sure what this was all about.

Nina took a step closer. “I had dreams after you left,” she said, her voice low and confidential. “Bad dreams. I thought
they
were coming for me because of what I told you.” She gave me a meaningful look. “But then I started sleeping with the amulet you gave me. I made my prayers every night, and the dreams went away.” One of her hands absentmindedly fingered a piece of bright metal that hung around her neck on a leather cord.

I realized with sudden guilt that I’d inadvertently lied to Master Kilvin. I hadn’t sold anyone a charm, or even made anything that would look like one. But I had given Nina an engraved piece of metal and told her it was an amulet to set her mind at ease. Before that she’d been on the edge of nervous hysteria, worried that demons were going to kill her.

“So it’s been working then?” I asked, trying not to sound guilty.

She nodded. “As soon as I had it under my pillow and said my prayers, I slept like a babe at the tit. Then I started having my special dream,” she said, and smiled up at me. “I dreamed about the big pot Jimmy showed me before those folks were kilt up at the Mauthen farm.”

I felt hope rise in my chest. Nina was the only person alive who had seen the ancient piece of pottery. It had been covered with pictures of the Chandrian, and they are jealous of their secrets.

“You remembered something about the pot with the seven people painted on it?” I asked excitedly.

She hesitated for a moment, frowning. “There was eight of them,” she said. “Not seven.”

“Eight?” I asked. “Are you sure?”

She nodded earnestly. “I thought I told you before.”

The rising hope in my chest suddenly fell into the pit of my stomach where it lay heavy and sour. There were seven Chandrian. It was one of the few things I knew for certain about them. If there were eight people on the painted vase Nina had seen . . .

Nina continued to chatter away, unaware of my disappointment. “I dreamed about the pot for three nights in a row,” she said. “And it weren’t a bad dream at all. I woke up all rested and happy every night. I knew then what God was telling me to do.”

She began to root around in her pockets and brought out a length of polished horn more than a handspan long and big around as my thumb. “I remembered how you were so curious about the pot. But I couldn’t tell you anything cause I’d only seen it for a moment.” She handed me the piece of horn, proudly.

I looked down at the cylindrical piece of horn in my hands, not sure what I was supposed to do with it. I looked up at her, confused.

Nina gave an impatient sigh and took the horn back. She twisted it, removing the end like a cap. “My brother made this for me,” she said as she carefully drew a rolled piece of parchment from inside the horn. “Don’t worry. He doesn’t know what it was for.”

She handed me the parchment. “It’s not very good,” she said nervously. “My mum lets me help paint the pots, but this is different. It’s harder doing people than flowers and designs. And it’s hard getting something right that you can only see in your head.”

I was amazed my hands weren’t shaking. “This is what was painted on the vase?” I asked.

“It’s one side of it,” she said. “Something round like this, you can only see a third of it when you’re looking at it from one side.”

“So you dreamed of a different side each night?” I asked.

She shook her head. “Just this side. Three nights in a row.”

I slowly unrolled the piece of paper and instantly recognized the man she had painted. His eyes were pure black. In the background there was a bare tree, and he was standing on a circle of blue with a few wavy lines on it.

“That’s supposed to be water,” she said, pointing. “It’s hard to paint water though. And he’s supposed to be standing on it. There were drifts of snow around him too, and his hair was white. But I couldn’t get the white paint to work. Mixing paints for paper is harder than glazes for pots.”

I nodded, not trusting myself to speak. It was Cinder, the one who had killed my parents. I could see his face in my mind without even trying. Without even closing my eyes.

I unrolled the paper further. There was a second man, or rather the shape of a man in a great hooded robe. Inside the cowl of the robe was nothing but blackness. Over his head were three moons, a full moon, a half moon, and one that was just a crescent. Next to him were two candles. One was yellow with a bright orange flame. The other candle sat underneath his outstretched hand: it was grey with a black flame, and the space around it was smudged and darkened.

“That’s supposed to be shadow, I think,” Nina said, pointing to the area under his hand. “It was more obvious on the pot. I had to use charcoal for that. I couldn’t get it right with paint.”

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