The Wise Man's Fear Part 122

"Stay out of my way," Bast said brusquely. "And keep him in this chair until I get back." He strode upstairs.

There was a moment of silence.

"So," Chronicler said. "Subjunctive mood."

"At best," Kvothe said, "it is a pointless thing. It needlessly complicates the language. It offends me."

"Oh come now," Chronicler said, sounding slightly offended. "The subjunctive is the heart of the hypothetical. In the right hands ..." He broke off as Bast stormed back into the room, scowling and carrying a small wooden box.

"Bring me water," Bast said imperiously to Chronicler. "Fresh from the rain barrel, not from the pump. Then I need milk from the icebox, some warmed honey, and a broad bowl. Then clean up this mess and stay out of my way."

Bast washed the cut on Kvothe's scalp, then threaded one of his own hairs through a bone needle and laced four tight st.i.tches through the innkeeper's skin more smoothly than a seamstress.

"Open your mouth," Bast said, then peered inside, frowning while he prodded one of the back teeth with a finger. He nodded to himself.

Bast handed Kvothe the gla.s.s of water. "Rinse out your mouth, Reshi. Do it a couple times and spit the water back into the cup."

Kvothe did. When he finished the water was red as wine.

Chronicler returned with a bottle of milk. Bast sniffed it, then poured a splash into a wide pottery bowl. He added a dollop of honey and swirled it around to mix it. Finally, he dipped his finger into the gla.s.s of b.l.o.o.d.y water, drew it out, and let a single drop fall into the bowl.

Bast swirled it again and handed Kvothe the bowl. "Take a mouthful of this," he said. "Don't swallow it. Hold it in your mouth until I tell you."

His expression curious, Kvothe tipped the bowl and took a mouthful of the milk.

Bast took a mouthful as well. Then he closed his eyes for a long moment, a look of intense concentration on his face. Then he opened his eyes. He brought the bowl close to Kvothe's mouth and pointed into it.

Kvothe spat out his mouthful of milk. It was a perfect, creamy white.

Bast brought the bowl to his own mouth and spat. It was a frothy pink.

Kvothe's eyes widened. "Bast," he said. "You shouldn't-"

Bast made a sharp gesture with one hand, his eyes still hard. "I did not ask for your opinion, Reshi."

The innkeeper looked down, uncomfortable. "It's more than you should do, Bast."

The dark young man reached out and laid a gentle hand on the side of his master's face. For a moment he looked tired, weary through to the bone. Bast shook his head slowly, wearing an expression of bemused dismay. "You are an idiot, Reshi."

Bast drew his hand back, and the weariness was gone. He pointed across the bar where Chronicler stood watching. "Bring the food." He pointed at Kvothe. "Tell the story."

Then he spun on his heel, walked back to his chair by the hearth, and lowered himself into it as if it were a throne. He clapped his hands twice, sharply. "Entertain me!" he said with a wide, mad smile. And even from where the others stood near the bar, they could see the blood on his teeth.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED THIRTY-SEVEN.

Questions WHILE THE MAYOR OF Levinshir seemed to approve of how I'd handled the false troupers, I knew matters weren't as simple as that. According to the iron law, I was guilty of at least three egregious crimes, any one of which would be enough to see me hanged.

Unfortunately, everyone in Levinshir knew my name and description, and I worried the story might run ahead of me on the road. If that happened, I could easily come to a town where the local constables would do their duty and lock me up until a traveling magistrate arrived to judge my case.

So I made my best speed toward Severen. I put in two days of hard walking, then paid for a seat on a coach heading south. Rumor travels fast, but you can keep ahead of it if you're willing to ride hard and lose a little sleep.

After three days of bone-jarring ride, I arrived in Severen. The coach entered the city by the eastern gate, and for the first time I saw the gibbet Bredon had told me about. The sight of the bleached bones in the iron cage did not ease my anxieties. The Maer had put a man in there for simple banditry. What might he do to someone who had slaughtered nine traveling players on the road?

I was sorely tempted to head straight to the Four Tapers, where I hoped to find Denna despite what the Cthaeh had said. But I was covered in several days of grime and sweat. I needed a bath and a brush before I spoke with anyone.

As soon as I was inside the Maer's estate I sent a ring and note to Stapes, knowing it would be the quickest way to get in touch with the Maer for a private conversation. I made it back to my room with little delay, though it meant brushing roughly past a few courtiers in the halls. I had just set down my travelsack and sent runners for hot water when Stapes appeared in the doorway.

"Young Master Kvothe!" he beamed, grabbing my hand to shake it. "It's good to have you back. Lord and lady, but I've been worried about you."

His enthusiasm wrung a tired smile from me. "It's good to be back, Stapes. Have I missed much?"

"Much?" He laughed. "The wedding for one."

"Wedding?" I asked, but I knew the answer as soon as I said it. "The Maer's wedding?"

Stapes nodded excitedly. "Oh, it was a grand thing. It's a shame you had to be gone for it, considering." He gave a knowing look, but didn't say anything else. Stapes was always very discreet.

"They didn't waste much time, did they?"

"It's been two months since the betrothal," Stapes said with a hint of reproach. "Not a bit less than proper." I saw him relax a bit, and he gave me a wink. "Which isn't to say they weren't both a bit eager."

I chuckled as runner boys came through the open door with buckets of steaming water. The splashing as they began to fill the bath was like sweet music.

The manservant watched them leave, then leaned close and said in a quieter voice, "You'll be glad to hear our other unresolved matter has been tended to properly."

I looked at him blankly, searching through my memory for what he might be referring to. So much had happened since I'd left....

Stapes saw my expression. "Caudicus," he said, his mouth twisting bitterly around the name. "Dagon brought him back only two days after you left. He'd gone to ground not ten miles from the city."

"So close?" I asked, surprised.

Stapes nodded grimly. "He was tucked away in a farmhouse like a badger in a burrow. He killed four of the Maer's personal guard and cost Dagon an eye. In the end they only caught him by setting fire to the place."

"And what happened then?" I asked. "Not a trial, certainly."

"The matter was tended to," Stapes repeated. "Properly." He said the last with a great weight of grim finality. His normally kind eyes were narrow with hate. In that moment the round-faced little man looked very little like a grocer at all.

I remembered Alveron calmly saying, "take off his thumbs." Given what I knew of Alveron's swift and decisive anger, I doubted anyone would ever see Caudicus again.

"Did the Maer manage to uncover why?" Even though I spoke softly, I left the rest unsaid, knowing Stapes would not approve of my mentioning the poisoning openly.

"It's not my place to say," Stapes said carefully. His tone was slightly offended, as if I should know better than to ask him such things.

I let the subject go, knowing that I wouldn't be able to get anything else out of Stapes. "You'd be doing me a favor if you could deliver something to the Maer for me," I said, walking to where I'd dropped my worn travelsack. I rooted through it until I found the Maer's lockbox down near the bottom.

I held it out to Stapes. "I'm not sure what's in it," I said. "But it's got his crest on the top. And it's heavy. I hope it might be some of the taxes that were stolen." I smiled. "Tell him it's a wedding present."

Stapes took hold of the box, smiling. "I'm sure he'll be delighted."

Three more runners appeared, but only two of them ran past with steaming buckets. The third went to Stapes and handed him a note. There was more splashing in the other room, and all three of the boys left again, stealing glances at me Stapes skimmed the note then looked up at me. "The Maer is hoping it would be convenient for you to meet him in the garden at fifth bell," he said.

The garden meant polite conversation. If the Maer had wanted a serious discussion he would have summoned me to his rooms, or paid me a call through the secret pa.s.sage that connected his rooms with mine.

I looked at the clock on the wall. It wasn't a sympathy clock of the sort I was used to at the University. This was a harmony clock, swinging pendulum and all. Beautiful machinery, but not nearly as accurate. Its hands showed a quarter to the hour.

"Is that clock fast, Stapes?" I asked hopefully. Fifteen minutes was barely enough time for me to strip out of my road clothes and lace myself into some sufficiently decorous court finery. But given the layers of dirt and sour sweat that covered me, that would be as pointless as tying a silk ribbon around a steaming cowpat.

Stapes looked over my shoulder, then checked a small gear watch he kept in his pocket. "It looks about five minutes slow, actually."

I rubbed my face, considering my options. I wasn't simply mussed from a day's travel. I was filthy. I had walked hard under the summer sun, then spent days trapped in a stifling-hot carriage. While the Maer was not one to judge things entirely by appearances, he did value propriety. I would not make a good impression if I showed up reeking and filthy.

Unbidden, the memory of the iron gibbet rose up in my mind, and I decided I couldn't risk making a bad impression. Not with the news I brought. "Stapes, I won't be ready for at least an hour. I could meet with him at sixth bell if he would like."

Stapes' expression turned stiff and affronted. Its message was clear. You simply didn't request a different meeting time with the Maer Alveron. He asked. You came. That was the way of things.

"Stapes," I said as gently as I could. "Look at me. Smell Smell me. I've come three hundred miles in the last span of days. I'm not going to go strolling in the garden covered in road dust and reeking like a barbarian." me. I've come three hundred miles in the last span of days. I'm not going to go strolling in the garden covered in road dust and reeking like a barbarian."

Stapes' mouth firmed into a frown. "I'll tell him you're otherwise occupied."

More steaming buckets arrived. "Tell him the truth, Stapes," I said as I began to unb.u.t.ton my shirt. "I'm sure he'll understand."

After I was scrubbed, brushed, and properly dressed, I sent the Maer my golden ring and a card that said, "Private conversation at your earliest convenience."

Within an hour a runner returned with a card from the Maer saying, "Await my summons."

I waited. I sent a runner to fetch dinner, then waited the rest of the evening. The following day pa.s.sed without any further message. And, because I didn't know when Alveron's summons might come, I was effectively trapped in my rooms again, waiting for his ring.

It was nice to have time to catch up on my sleep and have a second bath. But I was worried about the news from Levinshir catching up with me. The fact that I couldn't make my way down to Severen-Low to look for Denna was a vast irritation as well.

It was the sort of silent rebuke all too common in courtly settings. The Maer's message was clear: When I call, you come. My terms or not at all When I call, you come. My terms or not at all.

It was childish in the way only the n.o.bility can be. Still, there was nothing to be done. So I sent my silver ring to Bredon. He arrived in time to share supper with me and caught me up on the season's worth of gossip I'd missed. Court rumor can be terribly insipid stuff, but Bredon skimmed the cream off the top for me.

Most of it centered around the Maer's whirlwind courtship and marriage to the Lackless heir. They were besotted with each other, apparently. Many suspected a child might already be on the way. The royal court in Renere was busy too. The Prince Regent Alaitis had been killed in a duel, sending much of the southern farrel into chaos as various n.o.bility did their best to capitalize on the death of such a highly ranked member of the court.

There were rumors too. The Maer's men had taken care of some bandits off in a remote piece of the Eld. They'd been waylaying tax collectors, apparently. There was grumbling in the north, where folk had to suffer a second visit from the Maer's collectors. But at least the roads were clear again, and those responsible were dead.

Bredon also mentioned an interesting rumor of a young man who had gone to visit Felurian and come back more or less intact, though slightly fae around the edges. It wasn't a court rumor, exactly. More the sort of thing you heard in a taproom. A low sort of rumor no highborn person would ever deign to lend an ear to. His dark, owlish eyes glittered merrily as he spoke.

I agreed that such stories were indeed quite low, and beneath the notice of fine persons such as ourselves. My cloak? It was rather fine, was it not? I couldn't remember where exactly I'd had it tailored. Somewhere exotic. By the way, I'd heard quite an interesting song the other day on the subject of Felurian. Would he like to hear it?

We also played tak, of course. Despite the fact that I had spent a long time away from the board, Bredon said my playing was much improved. It seemed I was learning how to play a beautiful game.

Needless to say, when Alveron sent his next summons, I came. I was tempted to arrive a few minutes late, but I resisted, knowing no good could come of it.

The Maer was walking about on his own when I met him in the garden. He stood straight and tall, looking for all the world as if he'd never needed to lean on my arm or use a walking stick.

"Kvothe," he smiled warmly. "I'm glad you could find time to visit me."

"Always my pleasure, your grace."

"Shall we walk?" he asked. "The view is pleasant from the south bridge this time of day."

I fell into step beside him, and we began to wind our way among the carefully tended hedges.

"I could not help but notice that you are armed," he remarked, disapproval heavy on his voice.

My hand went unconsciously to Caesura. It was at my hip now, rather than over my shoulder. "Is there aught amiss with that, your grace? I have understood that all men keep the right to gird themselves in Vintas."

"It is hardly proper proper." He stressed the word.

"I understand that in the king's court in Renere, there's not a gentleman would dare be seen without a sword."

"Well-spoken as you are, you are no gentleman," Alveron pointed out coolly, "as you would do well to remember."

I said nothing.

"Besides, it is a barbarian custom, and one that will bring the king to grief in time. No matter what the custom in Renere, in my city, my house, and my garden, you will not come before me armed." He turned to look at me with hard eyes.

"I apologize if I have given any offense, your grace." I stopped and offered him a more earnest bow than the one I'd given before.

My show of submission seemed to appease him. He smiled and laid a hand on my shoulder. "There's no need for all that. Come, look at the mourningfire. The leaves will be turning soon."

We walked for a piece of an hour, chatting amiably about small nothings. I was unfailingly polite and Alveron's mood continued to improve. If catering to his ego kept me in his good graces, it was a small price to pay for his patronage.

"I must say that marriage suits your grace."

"Thank you." He nodded graciously. "I have found it much to my liking."

"And your health continues well?" I asked, pressing the boundaries of public conversation.

"Exceeding well," he said. "Another benefit of married life, no doubt." He gave me a look that told me he would not appreciate further inquiry, at least not in so public a place as this.

We continued our walk, nodding to the n.o.bles we pa.s.sed. The Maer chatted on about trivialities, rumors in the court. I played along, filling my part in the conversation. But the truth was, I needed to have done with this so we could have an earnest conversation in private.

But I also knew Alveron could not be rushed into a discussion. Our talks had a ritual pattern. If I violated that, I would do nothing but annoy him. So I bided my time, smelled the flowers, and pretended interest in the gossip of the court.

After a quarter hour, there was a characteristic pause in the conversation. Next we would engage in an argument. After that we could go somewhere private enough to speak of important matters.