The Wise Man's Fear Part 124

I made another bow and took my seat, eyeing the chest as casually as possible. It was about the size of a large drum, made of well-jointed birch and bound in bra.s.s.

I knew the proper thing to do was engage in polite small talk until the matter of the chest was broached by one of the two of them. However, my curiosity got the better of me. "I was told you were bringing a question with you. It must be a weighty one for you to keep it so tightly bound." I made a nod toward the chest.

Meluan looked at Alveron and laughed as if he had told a joke. "My husband said you weren't the type to let a puzzle sit for very long."

I gave a slightly shamefaced smile. "It goes against my nature, lady."

"I would not have you battle your nature on my account." She smiled. "Would you be so good as to bring it round in front of me?"

I managed to lift the chest without hurting myself, but if it weighed less than ten stone then I'm a poet.

Meluan sat forward in her chair, leaning over the chest. "Lerand has told me of the part you played in bringing us together. For that, my thanks. I hold myself in debt to you." Her dark brown eyes were gravely serious. "However, I also consider the greater piece of that debt repaid by what I am about to show you. I can count on both hands the people who have seen this. Debt or no, I would never have considered showing you had not my husband vouchsafed me your full discretion." She gave me a pointed look.

"By my hand, I will not speak of what I see to anyone," I a.s.sured her, trying not to seem as eager as I was.

Meluan nodded. Then, rather than drawing out a key as I'd expected, she pressed her hands to the sides of the chest and slid two panels slightly. There was a soft click and the lid sprang slightly ajar.

Lockless, I thought to myself. I thought to myself.

The open lid revealed another chest, smaller and flatter. It was the size of a bread box, and its flat bra.s.s lockplate held a keyhole that was not keyhole shaped, but a simple circle instead. Meluan drew something from a chain around her neck.

"May I see that?" I asked.

Meluan seemed surprised. "I beg your pardon?"

"That key. May I see it for a moment?"

"G.o.d's bother," Alveron exclaimed. "We haven't come to the interesting bit yet. I offer you the mystery of an age and you admire the wrapping paper!"

Meluan handed me the key, and I gave it a quick but thorough examination, turning it in my hands. "I like to take my mysteries layer by layer," I explained.

"Like an onion?" He snorted.

"Like a flower," I countered, handing the key back to Meluan. "Thank you."

Meluan fit the key and opened the lid of the inner chest. She slid the chain back around her neck, tucked it underneath her clothes, and rearranged her clothes and hair, repairing any damage done to her appearance. This seemed to take an hour or so.

Finally she reached forward and lifted something out of the chest with both hands. Holding it just out of my sight behind the open lid, she looked up at me and took a deep breath. "This has been ..." she began.

"Just let him see it, dear," Alveron interjected gently. "I'm curious to see what he thinks on his own." He chuckled. "Besides, I fear the boy will have a fit if you keep him waiting any longer."

Reverently, Meluan handed me a piece of dark wood the size of a thick book. I took it with both hands.

The box was unnaturally heavy for its size, the wood of it smooth as polished stone under my fingers. As I ran my hands over it, I found the sides were carved. Not dramatically enough to attract the attention of the eyes, but so subtly my fingers could barely feel a gentle pattern of risings and fallings in the wood. I brushed my hands over the top and felt a similar pattern.

"You were right," Meluan said softly. "He's like a child with a midwinter's gift."

"You haven't seen the best of it yet," Alveron replied. "Wait until he starts. The boy has a mind like an iron hammer."

"How do you open it?" I asked. I turned it in my hands and felt something shift inside. There were no obvious hinges or lid, not even a seam where a lid might be. It looked for all the world like a single piece of dark and weighty wood. But I knew it was a box of some sort. It felt felt like a box. It wanted to be opened. like a box. It wanted to be opened.

"We don't know," Meluan said. She might have continued, but her husband hushed her gently.

"What's inside?" I tilted it again, feeling the contents shift.

"We don't know," she repeated.

The wood itself was interesting. It was dark enough to be roah, but it had a deep red grain. What's more, it seemed to be a spicewood. It smelled faintly of ... something. A familiar smell I couldn't quite put my finger on. I lowered my face to its surface and breathed in deeply through my nose, something almost like lemon. It was maddeningly familiar. "What sort of wood is this?"

Their silence was answer enough.

I looked up and met their eyes. "You don't give a body much to work with, do you?" I smiled to soften any offense the words might bring.

Alveron sat forward in his chair. "You must admit," he said with thinly veiled excitement, "this is a most excellent question. You've shown me your gift at guessing before." His eyes glittered grey. "So what can you guess about this?"

"It's an heirloom," I said easily. "Very old-"

"How old would you think?" Alveron interjected hungrily.

"Perhaps three thousand years," I said. "Give or take." Meluan stiffened in surprise. "I am close to your own guesses I take it?"

She nodded mutely.

"The carving has no doubt been eroded over the long years of handling."

"Carving?" Alveron asked, leaning forward in his chair.

"It's very faint," I said, closing my eyes. "But I can feel it."

"I felt no such thing."

"Nor I," said Meluan. She seemed slightly offended.

"I have exceptionally sensitive hands," I said honestly. "They're necessary for my work."

"Your magic?" she asked with a well-hidden hint of childlike awe.

"And music," I said. "If you'll allow me?" She nodded. So I took her hand in my own, and pressed it to the top of the box. "There. Can you feel it?"

She furrowed her forehead in concentration. "Perhaps, just a bit." She took her hand away. "Are you sure it's a carving?"

"It's too regular to be an accident. How can it be you haven't noticed it before? Isn't it mentioned in any of your histories?"

Meluan was taken aback. "No one would think of writing down anything regarding the Loeclos Box. Haven't I said this is the most secret of secrets?"

"Show me," Alveron said. I guided his fingers over the pattern. He frowned. "Nothing. My fingers must be too old. Could it be letters?"

I shook my head. "It's a flowing pattern, like scrollwork. But it doesn't repeat, it changes ..." A thought struck me. "It might be a Yllish story knot."

"Can you read it?" Alveron asked.

I ran my fingers over it. "I don't know enough Yllish to read a simple knot if I had the string between my fingers." I shook my head. "Besides, the knots would have changed in the last three thousand years. I know a few people who might be able to translate it at the University."

Alveron looked to Meluan, but she shook her head firmly."I will not have this spoken of to strangers."

The Maer seemed disappointed by this answer, but didn't press the point. Instead he turned back to me. "Let me ask you your own questions back again. What sort of wood is it?"

"It's lasted three thousand years," I mused aloud. "It's heavy despite being hollow. So it has to be a slow wood, like hornbeam or rennel. Its color and weight make me think it has a good deal of metal in it too, like roah. Probably iron and copper." I shrugged. "That's the best I can do."

"What's inside it?"

I thought for a long moment before saying anything. "Something smaller than a saltbox... ." I began. Meluan smiled, but Alveron gave the barest of frowns so I hurried on. "Something metal, by the way the weight shifts when I tilt it." I closed my eyes and listened to the padded thump of its contents moving in the box. "No. By the weight of it, perhaps something made of gla.s.s or stone."

"Something precious," Alveron said.

I opened my eyes. "Not necessarily. It has become become precious because it is old, and because it has been with a family for so long. It is also precious because it is a mystery. But was it precious to begin with?" I shrugged. "Who can say?" precious because it is old, and because it has been with a family for so long. It is also precious because it is a mystery. But was it precious to begin with?" I shrugged. "Who can say?"

"But you lock up precious things," Alveron pointed out.

"Precisely." I held up the box, displaying its smooth face. "This isn't locked up. In fact, it might be locked away. It may be something dangerous."

"Why would you say that?" Alveron asked curiously.

"Why go through this trouble?" Meluan protested. "Why save something dangerous? If something is dangerous, you destroy it." She seemed to answer her own question as soon as she had voiced it. "Unless it was precious as well as dangerous."

"Perhaps it was too useful to destroy," Alveron suggested.

"Perhaps it couldn't be destroyed," I said.

"Last and best," Alveron said, leaning forward even further in his seat. "How do you open it?"

I gave the box a long look, turned it in my hands, pressed the sides. I ran my fingers over the patterns, feeling for a seam my eyes could not detect. I shook it gently, tasted the air around it, held it to the light.

"I have no idea," I admitted.

Alveron slumped a little. "It was too much to expect, I suppose. Perhaps some piece of magic?"

I hesitated to tell him that sort of magic only existed in stories. "None I have at my command."

"Have you ever considered simply cutting it open?" Alveron asked his wife.

Meluan looked every bit as horrified as I felt at the suggestion. "Never!" She said as soon as she caught her breath. "It is the very root of our family. I would sooner think of salting every acre of our lands."

"And hard as this wood is," I hurried to say, "you would most likely ruin whatever was inside. Especially if it is delicate."

"It was only a thought." Alveron rea.s.sured his wife.

"An ill-considered one," Meluan said sharply, then seemed to regret her words. "I'm sorry, but the very thought ..." She trailed off, obviously distraught.

He patted her hand. "I understand, my dear. You're right, it was ill-considered."

"Might I put it away now?" Meluan asked him.

I reluctantly handed the box back to Meluan. "If there were a lock I could attempt to circ.u.mvent it, but I can't even make a guess at where the hinge might be, or the seam for the lid." In a box, no lid or locks/ Lackless keeps her husband's rocks In a box, no lid or locks/ Lackless keeps her husband's rocks. The child's skipping rhyme ran madly through my head and I only barely managed to turn my laugh into a cough.

Alveron didn't seem to notice. "As always, I trust to your discretion." He got to his feet. "Unfortunately, I fear I have used up the better portion of our time. I'm certain you have other matters to attend to. Shall we meet tomorrow to discuss the Amyr? Second bell?"

I had risen to my feet with the Maer. "If it please your grace, I have another matter that warrants some discussion."

He gave me a serious look. "I trust this is an important matter."

"Most urgent, your grace," I said nervously. "It should not wait another day. I would have mentioned it sooner, had we both privacy and time."

"Very well," he sat back down. "What presses you so direly?"

"Lerand," Meluan said with slight reproach. "It is past the hour. Hayanis will be waiting."

"Let him wait," he said. "Kvothe has served me well in all regards. He does nothing lightly, and I ignore him only to my detriment."

"You flatter me, your grace. This matter is a grave one." I glanced at Meluan. "And somewhat delicate as well. If your lady desires to leave, it might be for the best."

"If the matter is important, should I not stay?" she asked archly.

I gave the Maer a questioning look.

"Anything you wish to say to me you can tell my lady wife," he said.

I hesitated. I needed to tell Alveron about the false troupers soon. I was sure if he heard my version of events first, I could present them in a way that cast me in a favorable light. If word came through official channels first he might not be willing to overlook the bald facts of the situation, that I had slaughtered nine travelers of my own free will.

Despite that, the last thing I wanted was Meluan present for the conversation. It couldn't help but complicate the situation. I tried one final time. "It is a matter most dark, your grace."

Alveron shook his head, frowning slightly. "We have no secrets."

I fought down a resigned sigh and drew a thick piece of folded parchment from an inner pocket of my shaed. "Is this one of the writs of patronage your grace has granted?"

His grey eyes flickered over it, showing some surprise. "Yes. How did you come by it?"

"Oh, Lerand," Meluan said. "I knew you let the beggars travel in your lands, but I never thought you would stoop to patronizing them as well."

"Only a handful of troupes," he said. "As befitting my rank. Every respectable household has at least a few players."

"Mine," Meluan said firmly, "does not."

"It is convenient to have one's own troupe," Alveron said gently. "And more convenient to have several. Then one can choose the proper entertainment to accompany whatever event you might be hosting. Where do you think the musicians at our wedding came from?"

When Meluan's expression did not soften, Alveron continued. "They're not permitted to perform anything bawdy or heathen, dear. I keep them under most close controlment. And rest a.s.sured, no town in my lands would let a troupe perform unless they had a n.o.ble's writ with them."

Alveron turned back to me. "Which brings us back to the matter at hand. How did you come to have their writ? The troupe must be doing poorly without it."