The Wise Man's Fear Part 43

"Kvothe is actually a Re'lar," Simmon said respectfully.

Puppet sniffed disparagingly. "Hardly," he said, looking at me closely. "You might be a see-er eventually, but not yet. Now you are a look-er. You'll be a true E'lir at some point. If you learn to relax." He held out the carved wooden face. "What do you see here?"

It was no longer an irregular piece of wood. My features, locked in serious contemplation, stared out of the wood grain. I leaned forward to get a closer look.

Puppet laughed and threw up his hands. "Too late!" he exclaimed, looking childlike for a moment. "You looked too hard and didn't see enough. Too much looking can get in the way of seeing, you see?"

Puppet set the carved face on the tabletop so it seemed to be staring at one of the rec.u.mbent puppets. "See little wooden Kvothe? See him looking? So intent. So dedicated. He'll look for a hundred years, but will he ever see see what is in front of him?" Puppet settled back in his seat, his eyes wandering the room in a contented way. what is in front of him?" Puppet settled back in his seat, his eyes wandering the room in a contented way.

"E'lir means see-er?" Simmon asked. "Do the other ranks mean things too?"

"As a student with full access to the Archives, I imagine you can find that out for yourself," Puppet said. His attention focused on a puppet on the table in front of him. He lowered it to the floor carefully to avoid tangling its strings. It was a perfect miniature of a grey-robed Tehlin priest.

"Would you have any advice as to where he could start looking?" I asked, playing a hunch.

"Renfalque's Dictum Dictum." Under Puppet's direction, the Tehlin puppet raised himself from the floor and moved each of his limbs as if he were stretching after a long sleep.

"I'm not familiar with that one."

Puppet responded in a distracted voice. "It's on the second floor in the southeast corner. Second row, second rack, third shelf, right-hand side, red leather binding." The miniature Tehlin priest walked slowly around Puppet's feet. Clutched tightly in one hand was a tiny replica of the Book of the Path, Book of the Path, perfectly fashioned, right down to the tiny spoked wheel painted on the cover. perfectly fashioned, right down to the tiny spoked wheel painted on the cover.

The three of us watched Puppet pull the strings of the little priest, making it walk back and forth before finally coming to sit on one of Puppet's stocking-clad feet.

Wilem cleared his throat respectfully. "Puppet?"

"Yes?" Puppet replied without looking up from his feet. "You have a question. Or rather, Kvothe has a question and you're thinking of asking it for him. He is sitting slightly forward in his seat. There is a furrow between his brows and a pursing of the lips that gives it away. Let him ask me. It might do him good."

I froze in place, catching myself doing each of the things he had mentioned. Puppet continued to work the strings of his little Tehlin. It made a careful, fearful search of the area around his feet, brandishing the book in front of itself before stepping around table legs and peering into Puppet's abandoned shoes. Its movements were uncanny, and it distracted me to the point where I forgot I was uncomfortable and felt myself relax.

"I was wondering about the Amyr, actually." My eyes remained on the scene unfolding at Puppet's feet. Another marionette had joined the show, a young girl in a peasant dress. She approached the Tehlin and held out a hand as if trying to give him something. No, she was asking him a question. The Tehlin turned his back on her. She laid a timid hand on his arm. He took a haughty step away. "I was wondering who disbanded them. Emperor Nalto or the church."

"Still looking," he admonished more gently then before. "You need to go chase the wind for a while, you are too serious. It will lead you into trouble." The Tehlin suddenly turned on the girl. Trembling with rage, it menaced her with the book. She took a startled step backward and stumbled to her knees. "The church disbanded them of course. Only an edict from the pontifex had the ability to affect them." The Tehlin struck the girl with the book. Once, twice, driving her to the ground, where she lay terribly still. "Nalto couldn't have told them to cross to the other side of the street."

Some slight motion drew Puppet's eye. "Oh dear me," he said, c.o.c.king his head toward Wilem. "See what I see. The head bows slightly. The jaw clenches, but the eyes aren't fixed on anything, aiming the irritation inward. If I were the sort of person who judged by looking, I'd guess Wilem had just lost a bet. Don't you know the church frowns on gambling?" At Puppet's feet, the priest brandished the book upward at Wilem.

The Tehlin brought its hands together and turned away from the crumpled woman. It took a stately step or two away and bowed its head as if praying.

I managed to pull my attention away from the tableau and look up at our host. "Puppet?" I asked, "Have you read the Lights of History Lights of History by Feltemi Reis?" by Feltemi Reis?"

I saw Simmon give Wilem an anxious look, but Puppet didn't seem to find anything odd about the question. The Tehlin at his feet stood and started to dance and caper about. "Yes."

"Why would Reis say the Apura Prolycia Amyr Apura Prolycia Amyr was Emperor Nalto's sixty-third decree?" was Emperor Nalto's sixty-third decree?"

"Reis wouldn't say any such thing," Puppet said without looking up from the marionette at his feet. "That's pure nonsense."

"But we found a copy of Lights Lights that said exactly that," I pointed out. that said exactly that," I pointed out.

Puppet shrugged, watching the Tehlin dance at his feet.

"It could be a transcription mistake," Wilem mused. "Depending on the edition of the book, the church itself might be responsible for changing that piece of information. Emperor Nalto is history's favorite whipping boy. It could be the church trying to distance itself from the Amyr. They did some terrible things toward the end."

"Clever clever," Puppet said. At his feet the Tehlin made a sweeping bow in Wilem's direction.

I was struck by a sudden idea. "Puppet," I asked. "Do you know what is behind the locked door on the floor above this one? The large stone door?"

The Tehlin stopped dancing and Puppet looked up. He gave me a long, stern look. His eyes were serious and clear. "I don't think the four-plate door should be of any concern to a student. Do you?"

I felt myself flush. "No sir." I looked away from his eyes.

The tension of the moment was broken by the distant sound of the belling tower. Simmon cursed softly. "I'm late," he said. "I'm sorry Puppet, I've got to go."

Puppet stood and hung the Tehlin on the wall. "It's time I got back to my reading, regardless," he said. He moved to the padded chair, sat, and opened a book. "Bring this one back some time." He gestured in my direction without looking up from his book. "I have some more work to do on him."

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE.

The Greater Good I LOOKED UP AT SIMMON and whispered, LOOKED UP AT SIMMON and whispered, "Ivare enim euge "Ivare enim euge."

Sim gave a despairing sigh. "You are supposed supposed to be studying your physiognomy." to be studying your physiognomy."

It had been a full span since we had set fire to Ambrose's rooms, and winter was finally showing its teeth, covering the University with knee-deep drifts of blowing snow. As was always the case when the weather turned inclement, the Archives were full to the brim with industrious students.

Since all the reading holes were occupied, Simmon and I had been forced to bring our books to Tomes. The high-ceilinged, windowless room was more than half full today, but still quiet as a crypt. All the dark stone and muted whispers made the place slightly eerie, making it obvious why students referred to it as Tombs.

"I am studying my physiognomy," I protested softly. "I was looking at some of Gibea's diagrams. Look what I found." I held out a book for him to see.

"Gibea?" Simmon whispered, horrified. "I swear the only reason you study with me is so you can interrupt." He pulled away from the book I was offering him.

"It's nothing grotesque," I protested. "Just ... here. Just look at what it says here." Simmon shoved the book away, and my temper flared. "Careful!" I hissed. "This is one of his originals. I found it behind some other books, buried in Dead Ledgers. Lorren will cut off my thumbs if anything happens to it."

Sim recoiled from the book as if it were red-hot. "An original? Merciful Tehlu, it's probably written on human skin. Get it away from me!"

I almost joked about how human skin probably wouldn't take ink, but decided against it when I saw the expression on Sim's face. Still, my expression must have given me away.

"You're perverse," he spat, his voice almost rising to unacceptable levels. "G.o.d's mother, don't you know he cut apart living men to watch their organs work? I refuse to look at anything that monster was responsible for."

I set the book down. "You might as well give up studying medicine then," I said as gently as possible. "Gibea's research on the human body was the most thorough ever done. His journals are the backbone of modern physic."

Simmon's face stayed hard and he leaned forward so he could speak softly and still be heard. "When the Amyr moved against the duke, they found the bones of twenty thousand people. Great pits of bones and ashes. Women and children. Twenty thousand!" Simmon sputtered a bit before he could continue. "And those are just the ones they found."

I let him calm himself a bit before I said, "Gibea wrote twenty-three volumes concerning the machinery of the body," I pointed out as gently as I could. "When the Amyr moved against him, part of his estate burned, four of those volumes and all his notes were lost. Ask Master Arwyl what he would give to have those volumes whole again."

Simmon brought his hand down hard on the tabletop, causing several students to look in our direction. "Dammit!" he hissed. "I grew up thirty miles from Gibea! From my father's hills you can see the ruins on a cloudless day!"

That stilled me. If Sim's family lands were that close, his ancestors must have been fealty-bound to Gibea. That meant they might have been forced to help him gather subjects for his experiments. Some of his family might have ended up in the pits of bone and ash themselves.

I waited a long while before I whispered again, "I didn't know."

He regained most of his composure. "We don't talk about it," he said stiffly, brushing the hair out of his eyes.

We bent to our studies, and it was an hour before Simmon spoke again. "What did you find?" he asked too casually, as if not wanting to admit his curiosity.

"Here on the inner leaf," I whispered excitedly. I opened the cover and Sim's face twisted unconsciously as he looked down at the page, as if the book smelled of death.

"... spilled it all over." I heard a voice as a pair of older students strolled into the hall. By their rich clothes I could tell they were both n.o.bility, and while they weren't shouting, they weren't making any effort to be quiet, either. "Anisat made him clear up the mess before he let him wash off. He'll smell like urea for a span of days."

"What's here to see?" Simmon asked, looking down at the page. "It's just his name and the dates."

"Not the middle, look up at the top. Around the edges of the page." I pointed at the decorative scrollwork. "Right there."

"I'd wager a drab the little pug poisons himself before the term's through," the other one said, "Were we ever that stupid?"

"I still don't see anything," Simmon said softly, making a baffled gesture with both his elbows on the table. "It's pretty enough if you like that sort of thing, but I've never been a great fan of illuminated texts."

"We could head to the Twopenny." The conversation continued several tables away, drawing annoyed looks from surrounding students. "They've got a girl there who plays the pipes, I swear you've never seen anything like her before. And Linten says if you've got a bit of silver she ..." His voice dropped conspiratorially.

"She what?" I asked, b.u.t.ting into their conversation as rudely as possible. I didn't need to shout. In the Tomes a normal speaking voice carries the whole room. "I'm afraid I didn't quite catch that last bit."

The two of them gave me affronted looks, but didn't reply.

"What are you doing?" Sim hissed at me, embarra.s.sed.

"I'm trying to shut them up," I said.

"Just ignore them," he said. "Here, I'm looking at your d.a.m.n book. Show me what you want me to see."

"Gibea sketched all his own journals," I said. "This is his original, so it makes sense that he did his own scrollwork too, right?" Sim nodded and brushed his hair back from his eyes. "What do you see there?" I slowly pointed from one piece of scrollwork to another. "Do you see it?"

Sim shook his head.

I pointed again, more precisely. "There," I said, "and there in the corner."

His eyes widened. "Letters! I I ... ... v v ..." he paused to puzzle them out," ..." he paused to puzzle them out,"Ivare enim euge. That's what you were rambling about." He pushed the book away. "So what's the point, aside from the fact that he was nearly illiterate in Temic?" That's what you were rambling about." He pushed the book away. "So what's the point, aside from the fact that he was nearly illiterate in Temic?"

"It's not Temic." I pointed out. "It's Tema. An archaic usage."

"What is it even supposed to say?" He looked up from his book, his brow creasing. "Toward great good?"

I shook my head. "For greater greater good," I corrected. "Sound familiar?" good," I corrected. "Sound familiar?"

"I don't know how long she'll be there," one of the loud pair continued. "If you miss her you'll regret it."

"I told you, I can't tonight. Maybe on Felling. I'll be free on Felling."

"You should go before then," I told him. "The Twopenny's crowded Felling night."

They gave me irritated looks. "Mind your own business, slipstick," the taller one said.

That got my back up even more. "I'm sorry, weren't you talking to me?"

"Did it look look like I was talking to you?" he said scathingly. like I was talking to you?" he said scathingly.

"It sounded sounded like it," I said. "If I can hear you three tables away you must want me to be part of your conversation." I cleared my throat. "The only alternative is that you're too thick to keep your voice down in the Tomes." like it," I said. "If I can hear you three tables away you must want me to be part of your conversation." I cleared my throat. "The only alternative is that you're too thick to keep your voice down in the Tomes."

His face flushed red and he probably would have replied, but his friend said something in his ear and they both gathered their books and left. There was a quiet scattering of applause as the door closed behind them. I gave my audience a smile and a wave.

"The scrivs would have taken care of that," Sim reproached softly as we leaned back over the table to talk.

"The scrivs weren't taking care of it," I pointed out. "Besides, it's quiet again, and that's what matters. Now, what does 'for greater good' remind you of?"

"The Amyr, of course," he said. "It's always the Amyr with you lately. What's your point?"

"The point," I whispered excitedly, "is that Gibea was a secret member of the order Amyr."

Sim gave me a skeptical look. "That's a bit of a stretch, but I suppose it fits. That was about fifty years before they were denounced by the church. They were pretty corrupt by then."

I wanted to point out that Gibea wasn't necessarily corrupt. He was pursuing the Amyr's purpose, the greater good. While his experiments had been horrifying, his work advanced medicine in ways it was almost impossible to comprehend. His work had probably saved ten times that many lives in the hundreds of years since.

However, I doubted Sim would appreciate my point. "Corrupt or not, he was a secret member of the Amyr. Why else would he hide their credo in the front cover of his journal?"

Simmon shrugged. "Fine, he was one of the Amyr. What does that have to do with the price of b.u.t.ter?"

I threw up my hands in frustration and struggled to keep my voice low. "That means the order had secret members before before the church denounced them! That means when the pontifex disbanded them, the Amyr had hidden allies. Allies that could keep them safe. That means the Amyr could still exist today, in secret, pursuing their work in subtle ways." the church denounced them! That means when the pontifex disbanded them, the Amyr had hidden allies. Allies that could keep them safe. That means the Amyr could still exist today, in secret, pursuing their work in subtle ways."

I noticed a change in Simmon's face. At first I thought he was about to agree with me. Then I felt a p.r.i.c.kle on the back of my neck and realized the truth. "h.e.l.lo Master Lorren," I greeted him respectfully without turning around.

"Speaking with students at other tables is not permitted," he said from behind me. "You are suspended for five days."

I nodded and the two of us came to our feet and gathered up our things. Expressionless, Master Lorren reached out a long hand toward me.

I handed Gibea's journal over without comment and a minute later we were blinking in the chill winter sunlight outside the Archive's doors. I pulled my cloak around me and stomped the snow off my feet.

"Suspended," Simmon said. "That was clever."

I shrugged, more embarra.s.sed than I cared to admit. I hoped one of the other students would explain I was actually trying to keep things quiet, rather than the other way around. "I was just trying to do the right thing."

Simmon laughed as we began to walk slowly in the direction of Anker's. He kicked playfully at a small drift of snow. "The world needs people like you," Simmon said in the tone of voice that let me know he was turning philosophical. "You get things done. Not always the best way, or the most sensible way, but it gets done nonetheless. You're a rare creature."

"How do you mean?" I asked, my curiosity piqued.

Sim shrugged. "Like today. Something bothers you, someone offends you, and suddenly you're off." He made a quick motion with a flat hand. "You know exactly what to do. You never hesitate, you just see and react." He was thoughtful for a moment. "I imagine that's the way the Amyr used to be. Small wonder folk were frightened of them."

"I'm not always so terribly sure of myself," I admitted.