The Wise Man's Fear Part 70

Enjoy the sunshine, But though you might feel fine, If you don't stop now, you'll be filled with regret.

It's better to simply pay, And prepare for a rainy day Than think of the tinker when you're dripping wet.

I laughed and applauded. Proper traveling tinkers are a rare breed of people, and I am always glad to see one. My mother told me they were lucky, and my father had valued them for their news. The fact that I was in desperate need of a few items made this meeting three times welcome.

"Ho, Tinker," Dedan said, smiling. "I need fire and a pint. How long before we hit an inn?"

The tinker pointed back the way he had come. "Not twenty minutes' walk." He eyed Dedan. "But you can't tell me there's nothing you need," he admonished. "Everyone needs something."

Dedan shook his head politely. "I beg your pardon, Tinker. My purse is too thin."

"How about you?" The tinker eyed me up and down. "You've the look of a lad who's wanting something."

"I do need a few things," I admitted. Seeing the others look longingly down the road, I motioned them on. "Go ahead," I told them. "I'll be a few minutes."

As they headed off, the tinker rubbed his hands together, grinning. "Well now, what is it you're looking for?"

"Some salt to begin with."

"And a box to put it in," he said as he began to rummage around in his donkey's packs.

"I could use a knife too, if you have one that's not too hard to come by."

"Especially if you're heading north," he said without missing a beat. "Dangerous road that way. Wouldn't do to be without a knife."

"Did you have any trouble?" I asked, hoping he might know something that could help us find the bandits.

"Oh no," he said as he dug through his packs. "Things aren't so bad that anyone would dream of laying hands on a tinker. Still, it's a bad stretch of road." He produced a long, narrow knife in a leather sheath and handed it to me. "Ramston steel."

I drew it out of its sheath, and gave the blade a close look. It was Ramston steel. "I don't need anything that fine," I said, handing it back. "I'll be putting it to everyday use, eating mostly."

"Ramston's fine for everyday use," the tinker said pushing it back into my hands. "You can use it to trim kindling, then shave with it if you like. Keeps an edge forever."

"I might have to put it to hard use," I clarified. "And Ramston's brittle."

"There is that," the tinker admitted easily. "As my father always used to say, 'the best knife you'll ever have until it breaks.' But the same could be said of any knife. And truth be told, that's the only knife I have."

I sighed. I know when I'm being skinned. "And a tinderbox."

He held one out almost before I finished saying it. "I couldn't help but notice you've got a little ink about the fingers." He gestured at my hands. "I've got some paper here, good quality. Pen and ink too. Nothing worse than having an idea for a song and not being able to write it down." He held out a leather parcel of paper, pens, and ink.

I shook my head, knowing that the Maer's purse would only stretch so far. "I think I'm done with song writing for a while, Tinker."

He shrugged, still holding it out. "Letter writing then. I know a fellow who had to open a vein once to write a note to his ladylove. Dramatic, true. Symbolic, certainly. But also painful, unsanitary, and more than slightly macabre. Now he carries pen and ink with him wherever he goes."

I felt the color drain from my face as the tinker's words reminded me of something else I'd forgotten in my rush to leave Severen: Denna. All thought of her had been forced out of my mind by the Maer's talk of bandits, two bottles of strong wine, and a night with no sleep. I had left without a word after our terrible fight. What would she think if I spoke so cruelly to her, then simply disappeared?

I was already a full day's journey from Severen. I couldn't go back just to tell her I was leaving, could I? I considered it for a moment. No. Besides, Denna herself had disappeared for days without a word of warning. Surely she would understand if I did the same... .

Stupid. Stupid. Stupid. My thoughts spun in circles as I tried to decide among my several unpleasant options.

The harsh hee haa hee haa of the tinker's donkey startled a thought into me. "Are you headed to Severen, Tinker?" of the tinker's donkey startled a thought into me. "Are you headed to Severen, Tinker?"

"More through than to," he said. "But yes."

"I just remembered a letter I need to send. If I gave it to you, could you deliver it to a certain inn?"

He nodded slowly. "I could," he said. "Given that you'll be needing paper and ink... ." He smiled, waving the package again.

I grimaced. "I will, Tinker. But how much will the lot of this cost me?"

He looked at the acc.u.mulated items. "Salt and box: four bits. Knife: fifteen bits. Paper, pens, and ink: eighteen bits. Tinderbox: three bits."

"And the delivery," I said.

"An urgent urgent delivery," the tinker said with a bit of a smile. "To a lady, unless I mistake the look on your face." delivery," the tinker said with a bit of a smile. "To a lady, unless I mistake the look on your face."

I nodded.

"Right," he rubbed his chin. "Ordinarily, I'd push for about thirty-five then have a nice leisurely d.i.c.ker where you bargain me down to thirty."

The price was reasonable, especially considering how hard it was to find good paper. Still, it was a full third of the money the Maer had given me. We would need that money for food, lodging, and other supplies.

But before I could say anything, the tinker continued. "Now I can tell that's too much for your comfort," he said. "And I hope you don't think me too forward in saying this, but that is a rather fine cloak you're wearing. I'm always willing to make a fellow a trade."

I pulled my lovely burgundy cloak around me self-consciously. "I suppose I'd be willing to give it up," I said, not having to fake the regret in my voice. "But that will leave me with no cloak at all. What will I do when it rains?"

"No trouble there," the tinker said. He pulled a bundle of cloth out of a pack and held it up for me to see. It had been black once upon a time, but long use and many washings had faded it to a dark greenish color.

"It's a little tatty," I said, reaching out to finger a fraying seam.

"It's just broken in, that's all," he said easily, spreading it across my shoulders. "Good fit. Good color for you, brings out your eyes. Besides, you don't want to be looking too well-off, what with those bandits on the road."

I sighed. "What will you give me in trade?" I asked, handing my beautiful cloak over to him. "That cloak's not a month old, mind you, and it's never even seen a drop of rain."

The tinker ran his hands over my beautiful cloak. "It's got all sorts of little pockets!" he said admiringly. "That's just lovely!"

I fingered the thinning cloth of the tinker's cloak. "If you'll throw in needle and thread, I'll trade you my cloak for the lot of it," I said with sudden inspiration. "Plus I'll give you an iron penny, a copper penny, and a silver penny."

I grinned. It was a pittance. But that's what tinkers in stories ask for when they trade some fabulous piece of magic to an unsuspecting widow's son when he's off to make his fortune in the world.

The tinker threw his head back and laughed. "I was about to suggest that very thing," he said. Then he tossed my cloak over his arm and shook my hand firmly.

I fished around in my purse and handed over an iron drab, two Vintish half-pennies, and, much to my pleasant surprise, an Aturan hard penny. The last was lucky for me as it was only worth a fraction of a Vintish silver round. I emptied the dozen pockets of my burgundy cloak into my travelsack and collected my new possessions from the tinker.

Then I wrote a quick letter to Denna, explaining that my patron had sent me away unexpectedly. I apologized for the rash things I'd said, and told her I would meet with her as soon as I was back in Severen. I would have liked more time to compose it. I would have liked to give a more subtle apology, a more detailed explanation, but the tinker had finished packing away my beautiful cloak and was obviously eager to be on his way again.

Not having any sealing wax to secure the letter, I used a trick I'd invented while writing notes on the Maer's behalf. I folded the piece of paper against itself, then tucked it together in such a way that it would be necessary to tear the paper in order to unfold it again.

I handed it to the tinker. "It goes to a pretty, dark-haired woman by the name of Denna. She's staying at the Four Tapers in Severen-Low."

"That reminds me," he exclaimed as he tucked my letter into a pocket. "Candles." He reached into a saddlebag and pulled out a handful of fat tallow tapers. "Everyone needs candles."

Funny thing was, I could could use some, though not for the reasons he thought. use some, though not for the reasons he thought.

"I've also got some rubbing wax for your boots," he continued, rooting through his bundles. "We get fierce rain this time of year."

I held up my hands, laughing. "I'll give you a bit for four candles, but I can't afford any more. If this keeps up I'll have to buy your donkey just to carry the lot with me."

"Suit yourself," he said with an easy shrug. "Pleasure doing business with you, young sir."

CHAPTER SEVENTY-SIX.

Tinder THE SUN WAS STARTING to set by the time we found a good place to camp on the second night. Dedan went foraging for firewood. Marten began cutting up carrots and potatoes and sent Hespe to fill the cookpot with water. I used Marten's small spade to dig a pit for our fire.

Without being asked, Tempi picked up a branch and used his sword to shave thin strips of dry wood to use for tinder. Unsheathed, his sword still didn't seem terribly impressive. But given how easily it was peeling away paper-thin strips of wood, it must have been sharp as a shaving razor.

I finished lining the pit with stones. Wordlessly, Tempi handed me a handful of tinder.

I nodded. "Would you like to use my knife?" I asked, hoping to draw him into a bit of a conversation. I'd barely shared a dozen words with him in the last two days.

Tempi's pale grey eyes looked at the knife on my belt, then back at his sword. He shook his head, fidgeting nervously.

"Isn't it bad for the edge?" I asked.

The mercenary shrugged, avoiding my eye.

I began to lay the fire, and that was when I made my first mistake.

As I've said, there was a chill in the air, and we were all of us tired. So rather than spend half an hour slowly nursing a spark into a decent campfire, I arranged twigs around Tempi's tinder, then stacked progressively bigger sticks around it, making a tightly packed cl.u.s.ter of wood.

Dedan returned with another armload of firewood just as I was finishing. "Lovely," he groused, quiet enough he could pretend he was just talking to himself, but loud enough so everyone could hear. "And you're in charge. Wonderful."

"What's stuck in your teeth now?" Marten asked, tiredly.

"Boy's making a little wooden fort, not a fire." Dedan sighed dramatically, then a.s.sumed a tone he probably thought was fatherly, but came across as profoundly condescending. "Here, I'll help you out. A spark will never catch on that. Do you have flint and steel? I'll show you how to use them."

No one enjoys being talked down to, but I have a particular aversion to it. Dedan had been making it clear for two days that he thought I was an idiot.

I gave a tired sigh. My oldest, most world-weary sigh. That was how I needed to play it. He thought of me as young and useless. I needed to drive home the point that I was nothing of the sort. "Dedan," I asked, "what do you know about me?"

He gave me a blank look.

"You know one thing about me," I said calmly. "You know the Maer put me in charge." I looked him in the eye. "Is the Maer an idiot?"

Dedan made a dismissive gesture. "Of course not, I was just sayin'..."

I stood up and regretted it, as it just brought into sharp contrast how much taller he was. "Would the Maer have put me in charge if I were an idiot?"

He gave an insincere smile, trying to pa.s.s off two days' worth of derogatory muttering as some sort of misunderstanding. "Now don't get all twisted up over-"

I held up my hand. "This isn't your fault. You just don't know anything about me. But let's not waste time on it tonight. We're all tired. For now, rest a.s.sured that I'm not some rich t.i.t's son, out for a lark."

I pinched a thin piece of Tempi's tinder between my fingers and concentrated. I pulled more heat than I needed and felt my arm go chilly all the way to the shoulder. "And rest a.s.sured I know how to start a fire."

The shaved pieces of wood caught fire, flaring up hot and sudden, catching the rest of the tinder and making flames leap up almost instantly.

I'd meant it to be a dramatic gesture so Dedan would stop thinking of me as some useless boy. But the time I spent at the University had made me jaded. Starting a fire like this was as simple as putting on your boots for a member of the Arcanum.

Dedan, on the other hand, had never met an arcanist, and probably hadn't ever been within five hundred miles of the University. Everything he knew about magic was from campfire stories.

So when the fire flared up, he went pale as a sheet and took several sudden steps back. He looked for all the world as if I'd suddenly called up a roaring sheet of fire like Taborlin the Great.

Then I saw Marten and Hespe wearing the same expression, native Vintish superst.i.tion written clearly on their faces. Their eyes went to the flickering fire, then back to me. I was one of those those. I meddled with dark powers. I summoned demons. I ate the entire little cheese, including the rind.

Looking at their stunned faces, I realized nothing I said would set them at ease. Not right now. So instead I sighed and began to set up my sleeping roll for the night.

While there wasn't much cheerful conversation around the fire that night, there wasn't any muttering from Dedan either. I'd like respect, but failing that, a little healthy fear can go a long way to making things run smoothly.

Two days with no further dramatics on my part helped everyone relax. Dedan was still all bluff and bravado, but he had quit calling me "boy" and was only complaining about half as much, so I considered it a victory.

Flushed with this lukewarm success, I decided to make an active attempt to draw Tempi into a conversation. If I was going to be in charge of this little group, I needed to know more about him. Most importantly, I needed to know if he could speak more than five words in a row.

So I approached the Adem mercenary when we stopped for our midday meal. He was sitting slightly apart from the rest of us. He wasn't standoffish. It's just that the rest of us would sit and talk while we ate. Tempi, on the other hand, simply ate.

But today I made a point of sitting down next to him with my lunch: a chunk of hard sausage and some cold potatoes. "h.e.l.lo, Tempi."

He looked up and nodded. For a second I caught a glimpse of his pale grey eyes. Then he looked away, shifting restlessly. He ran his hand through his hair, and for a second he reminded me of Simmon. They both had the same slender build and sandy hair. Simmon wasn't this quiet though. Sometimes I could barely get a word in edgewise with Sim.

I'd tried to talk to Tempi before, of course. Ordinary small talk: the weather, sore feet after a long day's walk, the food. These had all come to nothing. At best a word or two. More often a nod or a shrug. But most common was a blank look followed by fidgeting and a stubborn refusal to do so much as look me in the eye.

So today I had a conversational gambit. "I have heard stories about the Lethani," I said. "I would like to know more. Would you tell me about it?"

Tempi's pale eyes touched mine briefly, his expression still blank. Then he looked away again. He tugged one of the red leather straps that held his shirt close to his body and fidgeted with his sleeve. "No. I will not speak on Lethani. It is not for you. Do not ask."

He looked away from me again, down at the ground.

I counted in my head. Sixteen words. That answered one of my questions at least.