Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

The Wise Man's Fear (29 page)

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear

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“It disturbs the constables,” I said. “They don’t take kindly to that sort of thing over here.”

“The masters at the University don’t care for it much either,” Wil said. “They’re very mindful of the University’s reputation.”

“Oh come now,” Denna said. “I heard a story about how our man Kvothe called up some sort of demon wind.” She jerked her thumb at the door behind her. “Right in the courtyard outside.”

Had Ambrose told her that? “It was just a wind,” I said. “No demon involved.”

“They whipped him for it, too,”Wil said.

Denna looked at him as if she couldn’t tell if he were joking, then shrugged. “Well I wouldn’t want to get anyone in trouble,” she said with glaring insincerity. “But I am powerfully curious. And I have secrets I am willing to offer in trade.”

Sim perked up at this. “What sort of secrets?”

“All the vast and varied secrets of womankind,” she said with a smile. “I happen to know several things that can help improve your failing relations with the gentler sex.”

Sim leaned closer to Wil and asked in a stage whisper. “Did she say
failing
, or
flailing?
”

Wil pointed at his own chest, then Sim’s. “Me: failing. You: flailing.”

Denna raised one eyebrow and cocked her head to one side, looking at the three of us expectantly.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. “We’re discouraged from sharing Arcanum secrets. It’s not strictly against the laws of the University—”

“It is, actually,” Simmon interrupted, giving me an apologetic look. “Several laws.”

Denna gave a dramatic sigh, looking up at the high ceiling. “I thought as much,” she said. “You lot just talk a good game. Admit it, you can’t turn cream into butter.”

“I happen to know for a fact that Sim can turn cream into butter,” I said. “He just doesn’t like to because he’s lazy.”

“I’m not asking you to
teach
me magic,” Denna said. “I just need to know how it works.”

Sim looked at Wil. “That wouldn’t fall under Unsanctioned Divulgence, would it?”

“Illicit Revelation,” Wil said grimly.

Denna leaned forward conspiratorially, resting her elbows on the table. “In that case,” she said. “I am also willing to finance a night of extravagant drinking, far above and beyond the simple bottle you see before you.” She turned her gaze to Wil. “One of the bartenders here has recently discovered a dusty stone bottle in the basement. Not only is it fine old scutten, drink of the kings of Cealdim, it is a Merovani as well.”

Wilem’s expression didn’t change, but his dark eyes glittered.

I looked around the largely empty room. “Orden is a slow night. We shouldn’t have any trouble if we keep things quiet.” I looked at the other two.

Sim was grinning his boyish grin. “It seems reasonable. A secret for a secret.”

“If it is truly a Merovani,” Wilem said. “I am willing to risk offending the masters’ sensibilities somewhat.”

“Right then,” Denna said with a wide grin. “You first.”

Sim leaned forward in his chair. “Sympathy is probably the easiest to get a grip on,” he said, then paused as if uncertain how to proceed.

I stepped in. “You know how a block and tackle lets you lift something too heavy for you to lift by hand?”

Denna nodded.

“Sympathy lets us do things like that,” I said. “But without all the awkward rope and pulleys.”

Wilem dropped a pair of iron drabs onto the table and muttered a binding. He pushed the right-hand one with a finger, and the left-hand one slid across the table at the same time, mimicking the motion.

Denna’s eyes went at little wide at this, and while she didn’t gasp, she did draw a long breath through her nose. It only then occurred to me that she’d probably never seen anything like this before. Given my studies, it was easy to forget that someone could live mere miles from the University without ever having any exposure to even the most basic sympathy.

To her credit, Denna recovered from her surprise without missing a beat. With only the slightest hesitation, she reached out a finger to touch one of the drabs. “This is how the bell in my room worked,” she mused.

I nodded.

Wil slid his drab across the table, and Denna picked it up. The other drab rose off the table too, bobbing in midair. “It’s heavy,” she said, then nodded to herself. “Right, because it’s like a pulley. I’m lifting both of them.”

“Heat, light, and motion are all just energy,” I said. “We can’t create energy or make it disappear. But sympathy lets us move it around or change it from one type into another.”

She put the drab back down on the table and the other followed suit. “And this is useful how?”

Wil grunted with vague amusement. “Is a waterwheel useful?” he asked. “Is a windmill?”

I reached into the pocket of my cloak. “Have you ever seen a sympathy lamp?” I asked.

She nodded.

I slid my hand lamp across the table to her. “They work under the same principle. They take a little bit of heat and turn it into light. It converts one type of energy into another.”

“Like a moneychanger,” Wil said.

Denna turned the lamp over in her hands curiously. “Where does it get the heat?”

“The metal itself holds heat,” I explained. “If you leave it on, you’ll eventually feel the metal get chilly. If it gets too cold, it won’t work.” I pointed. “I made that one, so it’s pretty efficient. Just the heat from your hand should be enough to keep it working.”

Denna flicked the switch and dull red light shone out in a narrow arc. “I can see how heat and light are related,” she said thoughtfully. “The sun is bright and warm. Same with a candle.” She frowned. “But motion doesn’t fit into it. A fire can’t push something.”

“Think about friction,” Sim chimed in. “When you rub something it gets hot.” He demonstrated by running his hand back and forth vigorously across the fabric of his pants. “Like this.”

He continued rubbing his thigh enthusiastically, unaware of the fact that, since it was happening below the level of the table, it looked more than slightly obscene. “It’s all just energy. If you keep doing it, you’ll feel it get hot.”

Denna somehow kept a straight face. But Wilem started to laugh, covering his face with one hand, as if embarrassed to be sitting at the same table with Sim.

Simmon froze and flushed red with embarrassment.

I came to his rescue. “It’s a good example. The hub of a wagon wheel will be warm to the touch. That heat comes from the motion of the wheel. A sympathist can make the energy go the other way, from heat into motion.” I pointed to the lamp. “Or from heat into light.”

“Fine,” she said. “You’re energy moneychangers. But how do you make it happen?”

“There’s a special way of thinking called Alar,” Wilem said. “You believe something so strongly that it becomes so.” He lifted up one drab and the other followed it. “I believe these two drabs are connected, so they are.” Suddenly the other drab clattered to the tabletop. “If I stop believing, it stops being so.”

Denna picked up the drab. “So it’s like faith?” she said skeptically.

“More like strength of will,” Sim said.

She cocked her head. “Why don’t you call it strength of will, then?”

“Alar sounds better,”Wilem said.

I nodded. “If we didn’t have impressive sounding names for things, no one would take us seriously.”

Denna nodded appreciatively, a smile tugging at the corners of her lovely mouth. “And that’s it then? Energy and strength of will?”

“And the sympathetic link,” I said. “Wil’s waterwheel analogy is a good one. The link is like a pipe leading to the waterwheel. A bad link is like a pipe full of holes.”

“What makes a good link?” Denna asked.

“The more similar two objects are, the better the link. Like this.” I poured an inch of the pale wine into my cup and dipped my finger into it. “Here is a perfect link to the wine,” I said. “A drop of the wine itself.”

I stood and walked to the nearby hearth. I murmured a binding and let a drop fall from my finger onto the hot metal andiron holding the burning logs.

I sat back down just as the wine in my glass started to steam, then boil.

“And that,”Wilem said grimly, “is why you never want a sympathist to get a drop of your blood.”

Denna looked at Wilem, then back to the glass, her face going pale.

“Black hands, Wil,” Simmon said with a horrified look. “What a thing to say.” He looked at Denna. “No sympathist would ever do something like that,” he said earnestly. “It’s called malfeasance, and we don’t do it. Ever.”

Denna managed a smile, though it was a bit strained. “If no one ever does it, why is there a name for it?”

“They used to,” I said. “But not anymore. Not for a hundred years.”

I let the binding go and the wine stopped boiling. Denna reached out and touched the nearby bottle. “Why doesn’t this wine boil too?” she asked, puzzled. “It’s the same wine.”

I tapped my temple. “The Alar. My mind provides the focus and direction.”

“If that’s a good link,” she asked, “what’s a bad one?”

“Here, let me show you.” I pulled out my purse, guessing coins would seem less alarming after Wilem’s comment. “Sim, do you have a hard penny?”

He did, and I arranged two lines of coins on the table in front of Denna. I pointed to a pair of iron drabs and murmured a binding. “Lift it up,” I said.

She picked up one drab and the other followed it.

I pointed to the second pair: a drab and my single remaining silver talent. “Now that one.”

Denna picked up the second drab and the talent followed it into the air. She moved both hands up and down like the arms of a scale. “This second one’s heavier.”

I nodded. “Different metals. They’re less similar, so you have to put more energy into it.” I pointed to the drab and the silver penny and muttered a third binding.

Denna put the first two drabs into her left hand, and picked up the third in her right. The silver penny followed it into the air. She nodded to herself. “And this one’s heavier still because it’s a different shape
and
a different metal.”

“Exactly,” I said. I pointed to the fourth and final pair: a drab and a piece of chalk.

Denna almost couldn’t get her fingers underneath the drab to pick it up. “It’s heavier than all the others together,” she said. “It’s got to be three pounds!”

“Iron to chalk is a lousy link, ”Wilem said. “Bad transference.”

“But you said energy couldn’t be created or destroyed,” Denna said. “If I have to struggle to lift this tiny piece of chalk, where does the extra energy go?”

“Clever,” Wilem chuckled. “So clever. I went a year before I thought to ask that.” He eyed her in admiration. “Some energy is lost into the air.” He waved one hand. “Some goes into the objects themselves, and some goes into the body of the sympathist who is controlling the link.” He frowned. “That can get dangerful.”

“Danger
ous
,” Simmon corrected gently.

Denna looked at me. “So right now you’re believing each of these drabs is connected to each of these other things?”

I nodded.

She moved her hands around. The coins and chalk bobbed in the air. “Isn’t that . . . hard?”

“It is,” Wilem said. “But our Kvothe is a bit of a showoff.”

“That’s why I’ve been so quiet,” Sim said. “I didn’t know you could hold four bindings at once. That’s impressive as hell.”

“I can do five if I need to,” I said. “But that’s pretty much my limit.”

Sim smiled at Denna. “One more thing. Watch this!” He pointed at the floating piece of chalk.

Nothing happened.

“Come on,” Sim said plaintively. “I’m trying to show her something.”

“Then show her,” I said smugly, leaning back in my chair.

Sim took a deep breath and stared hard at the piece of chalk. It trembled.

Wil leaned close to Denna and explained. “One sympathist can oppose another’s Alar,” he said. “It is just a matter of firmly believing that a drab is
not
the same as a silver penny at all.”

Wil pointed, and the penny clattered to the tabletop.

“Foul,” I protested, laughing. “Two on one isn’t fair.”

“It is in this case,” Simmon said, and the chalk trembled again.

“Fine,” I said, taking a deep breath. “Do your worst.”

The chalk dropped to the table quickly, followed by the drab. But the silver talent stayed where it was.

Sim sat back in his chair. “You’re creepy,” he said, shaking his head. “Fine, you win. ”Wilem nodded and relaxed as well.

Denna looked at me. “So your Alar is stronger than theirs put together?”

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear

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