The Wise Man's Fear (90 page)

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Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear
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“Out of curiosity,” Kvothe asked. “What would you do if something knocked back?”
Bast came to his feet, left the room, and returned a moment later with an assortment of tools. He got to one knee and, using a piece of bent wire, fiddled with the copper lock for several long minutes. Eventually he began to curse under his breath. When he shifted position to get a different angle, his hand brushed the dull iron faceplate of the lock and he jerked back, hissing and spitting.
Getting back to his feet, Bast threw down the wire and brought out a long prybar of bright metal. He tried to work the thin end of it under the lid, but couldn’t gain any purchase in the hair-thin seam. After a few minutes he abandoned this as well.
Next, Bast tried to tip the chest on its side to examine the bottom, but his best efforts only managed to slide it an inch or so across the floor. “How much does this weigh, Reshi?” Bast exclaimed, looking rather exasperated. “Three hundred pounds?”
“Over four hundred when it’s empty,” Kvothe said. “Remember the trouble we had getting it up the stairs?”
Sighing, Bast examined the chest for another long moment, his expression fierce. Then he extracted a hatchet from his bundle of tools. It wasn’t the rough, wedge-headed hatchet they used to cut kindling behind the inn. It was slender and menacing, all forged of a single piece of metal. The shape of its blade was vaguely reminiscent of a leaf.
He tossed the weapon lightly in his palm, as if testing its weight. “This is where I would go next, Reshi. If I were genuinely interested in getting inside.” He gave his teacher a curious look. “But if you’d rather I not. . . .”
Kvothe made a helpless gesture. “Don’t look to me, Bast. I’m dead. Do as you will.”
Bast grinned and brought the hatchet down on the rounded peak of the chest. There was a strange, soft, ringing noise, like a padded bell being struck in a distant room.
Bast paused, then rained a flurry of angry blows down on the top of the chest. First swinging wildly with one hand, then using both hands in great overhand chopping motions, as if he were splitting wood.
The bright, leaf-shaped blade refused to bite into the wood, each blow turning aside as if Bast were attempting to chop apart a great, seamless block of stone.
Eventually Bast stopped, breathing hard, and bent to look at the top of the chest, running his hand over the surface before turning his attention to the hatchet’s blade. He sighed. “You do good work, Reshi.”
Kvothe smiled and tipped an imaginary hat.
Bast gave the chest a long look. “I’d try to set fire to it, but I know Roah doesn’t burn. I’d have better luck getting it hot enough so the copper lock would melt. But to do that, I’d need to get the whole thing to sit face down in a forge fire.” He looked at the chest, large as a gentleman’s traveling trunk. “But it would have to be a bigger forge than the one we have here in town. And I don’t even know how hot copper needs to be in order to melt.”
“Information such as that,” Kvothe said, “would doubtless be the subject of a book lesson.”
“And I expect you’ve taken precautions against that sort of thing.”
“I have,” Kvothe admitted. “But it was a good idea. It shows lateral thinking.”
“And acid?” Bast said. “I know we have some potent stuff downstairs. . . .”
“Formic is useless against Roah.” Kvothe said. “As is the muriatic. You might have some luck with Aqua Regius. But the wood is quite thick, and we don’t have much on hand.”
“I wasn’t thinking of the wood, Reshi. I was thinking of the locks again. With enough acid I could eat clean through them.”
“You’re assuming they are copper and iron all the way through,” Kvothe said. “Even if they were, it would take a great deal of acid, and you would have to worry about the acid itself spilling into the chest, ruining whatever’s inside. The same is true with the fire, of course.”
Bast looked at the chest for another long moment, stroking his lips thoughtfully. “That’s all I have, Reshi. I’ll need to think on it some more.”
Kvothe nodded. Looking somewhat disheartened, Bast gathered up his tools and carried them away. When he returned, he pushed the chest from the other side, sliding it back a fraction of an inch until it was square with the foot of the bed again.
“It was a good attempt, Bast,” Kvothe reassured him. “Very methodical. You went about it just as I would have.”
“Hullo?” the mayor’s voice came hollowly up from the room below. “I’m finished.”
Bast hopped up and hurried to the door, pushing his chair back under the desk. The sudden motion disturbed one of the crumpled sheets of paper resting there, causing it to tumble to the floor where it bounced and rolled beneath the chair.
Bast paused, then bent to pick it up.
“No,” Kvothe said grimly. “Leave it.” Bast stopped with his hand outstretched, then stood and left the room.
Kvothe followed, closing the door behind them.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-TWO
 
Horses
 
S
EVERAL DAYS AFTER DENNA and I had our moonlit stroll in the garden, I finished a song for Meluan called “Nothing but Roses.” The Maer specifically requested it, and I had leapt to the project with a will, knowing that Denna would laugh herself sick when I played it for her.
I slid the Maer’s song into an envelope and looked at the clock. I’d thought I’d be busy the entire night finishing it, but it had come with surprising ease. Consequently, I had the rest of the evening free. It was late, but not terribly late. Not late for Cendling night in a lively city like Severen. Perhaps not too late to find Denna.
I threw on a set of fresh clothes and hurried out of the estates. Since the money in my purse came from selling pieces of Caudicus’ equipment and playing cards with nobles who knew more about fashion than statistics, I paid the full bit for the horse lifts, then jogged the half-mile to Newell Street. I slowed to a walk for the last several blocks. Enthusiasm is flattering, but I didn’t want to arrive at Denna’s inn panting and sweating like a lathered horse.
I wasn’t surprised when I didn’t find her at the Four Tapers. Denna wasn’t the sort to sit and twiddle her thumbs just because I was busy. But the two of us had spent the better part of a month exploring the city together, and I had a few good guesses as to where I might find her.
Five minutes later I spotted her. She was moving through the crowded street with a definite purpose, walking as if she had somewhere important to be.
I started to make my way toward her, then hesitated. Where would she be going so purposefully, alone, so late at night?
She was going to meet her patron.
I wish I could say I agonized before I decided to follow her, but I really didn’t. The temptation of finally learning the identity of her patron was simply too strong.
So I put up the hood of my cloak and began to ghost through the crowd behind Denna. It’s remarkably easy if you have a little practice. I used to make a game of it in Tarbean, seeing how far I could follow someone without being seen. It helped that Denna wasn’t a fool and stayed in the good parts of the city where the streets were busy, and in the dim light my cloak looked a nondescript black.
I followed her for half an hour. We passed cart vendors selling chestnuts and greasy meat pies. Guards mingled with the crowd, and the streets were bright with scattered streetlights and lanterns hung outside the doors of inns. An occasional out-at-the-heels musician played with his hat in front of him, and once we passed a troupe of mummers acting out a play in a small cobblestone square.
Then Denna turned and left the better streets behind. Soon there were fewer lights and tipsy revelers. The musicians gave way to beggars who called out or clutched at your clothes as you walked by. Lamplight still poured through the windows of nearby pubs and inns, but the street was no longer bustling. People clustered in twos or threes, women wearing corsets and men with hard eyes.
These streets weren’t dangerous, strictly speaking. Or rather, they were dangerous in a broken glass sort of way. Broken glass won’t go out of its way to hurt you. You can even touch it if you’re careful. Some streets are dangerous as frothing dogs, where no amount of care will keep you safe.
I was beginning to get nervous when I saw Denna stop suddenly at the mouth of a shadowed alley. She craned her neck for a moment, as if listening to something. Then, after peering into the dark, she darted inside.
Was
this
where she was meeting her patron? Was she taking a shortcut to a different street? Or was she simply following her paranoid patron’s instructions to make sure no one followed her?
I began to curse under my breath. If I followed her into the alley and she saw me, it would be obvious I’d been trailing her. But if I didn’t follow her, I’d lose her. And while this wasn’t a truly dangerous part of the city, I didn’t want to leave her walking alone so late at night.
So I scanned the nearby buildings and spotted one fronted with crumbling fieldstone. After a quick glance around, I climbed the face of it quick as a squirrel, another useful skill from my misspent youth.
Once I was on the roof, it was a simple matter to run over the tops of several other buildings, then slink into the shadow of a chimney before peering down into the alley. There was a sliver of moon overhead, and I expected to see Denna striding quickly along her shortcut, or having a hushed and hidden meeting with her dodgy patron.
But what I saw was nothing of the sort. Dim lamplight from an upstairs window showed a woman splayed out motionless on the ground. My heart thudded hard for several beats until I realized it wasn’t Denna. Denna was dressed in shirt and pants. This woman’s white dress was crumpled around her, her bare legs pale against the dark stone of the street.
My eyes darted around until I saw Denna outside the window’s light. She stood close to a broad-shouldered man with moonlight shining on his bald head. Was she embracing him? Was this her patron?
Finally my eyes adjusted enough that I could see the truth: the two were standing very close and still, but she wasn’t holding him. She had one hand hard against his neck, and I saw white moonlight glitter on metal there, like a distant star.
The woman on the ground started to stir, and Denna called out to her. The woman climbed unsteadily to her feet, staggering a bit as she stepped on her own dress, then edged slowly past them, keeping close to the wall as she made her way to the mouth of the alley.
Once the woman was behind her, Denna said something else. I was too far away to make out any of the words, but her voice was hard and angry enough to raise the hair on the back of my arms.
Denna stepped away from the man and he backed away, one hand going to the side of his throat. He began to curse her viciously, spitting and making grasping motions with his free hand. His voice was louder than hers, but slurred enough that I couldn’t make out much of what he said, though I did identify the word “whore” several times.
But for all his talk, he didn’t come anywhere close to within arm’s reach of her. Denna simply stood facing him, her feet set squarely on the ground. She held the knife low in front of her, tilted at an angle. Her posture was almost casual. Almost.
After cursing for a minute or so, the man took half a shuffling step forward, shaking a fist. Denna said something and made a short, sharp gesture with the knife towards the man’s groin. Silence filled the alley and the man’s shoulders shifted a bit. Denna made the gesture again, and the man began to curse more softly, turning away and walking down the alley, his hand still pressed to the side of his neck.
Denna watched him go, then relaxed and slid the knife carefully into her pocket. She turned and walked to the mouth of the alleyway.
I scurried to the front of the building. On the street below I saw Denna and the other woman standing under a streetlamp. In the better light I saw the woman was much younger than I’d thought, just a slip of a girl, her shoulders heaving with sobs. Denna rubbed her back in small circles, and the girl slowly calmed down. After a moment they began walking down the street.
I hurried back to the alley where I had spotted an old iron drainpipe, a relatively easy way to get back down onto the street. But even so it cost me two long minutes and most of the skin off my knuckles to get cobblestones back under my feet.
Only through a pure effort of will did I keep myself from running out of the alley to catch up with Denna and the girl. The last thing I wanted was for Denna to discover I’d been following her.
Luckily, they weren’t moving very fast, and I caught sight of them easily. Denna led the girl back to the nicer part of the city, then took her into a respectable-looking inn with a painted rooster on the sign.
I stood outside for a minute, peering at the layout of the inn through one of the windows. Then I settled my hood more firmly over my face, walked casually around the back portion of the inn, and slid into a seat on the other side of a dividing wall, just around the corner from Denna and the young girl. If I’d wanted to, I could have leaned forward to peer at their table, but as it was, neither one of us could see the other.

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