The Wise Man's Fear (49 page)

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Authors: Patrick Rothfuss

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

BOOK: The Wise Man's Fear
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“I didn’t think I could trust you,” I said. “I was wrong, and I regret it. It wasn’t the clearest thinking I’ve ever done.”
She eyed me for a long moment. “We’re not friends,” she said curtly, her expression still icy. “But if you’re still alive at the end of all this, we’ll talk.”
Devi looked past me and her expression softened. “Little Fela!” She brushed past me and gave Fela a hug. “You’re all grown up!” She stepped back and held Fela at arm’s length, looking her over appreciatively. “My lord, you look like a ten-stripe Modegan whore! He’ll love it.”
Fela smiled and spun a little so the bottom of her dress flared. “It is nice to have an excuse to dress up every once and a while.”
“You should be dressing up on your own,” Devi said. “And for better men than Ambrose.”
“I’ve been busy. I’m out of practice preening. It took me an hour to remember how to do my hair. Any advice?” She held her arms out to her sides and did a slow turn.
Devi looked her up and down with a calculating eye. “You’re already better than he deserves. But you’re all bare. Why don’t you have any sparkle on you?”
Fela looked down at her hands. “Rings won’t work with the gloves,” she said. “And I didn’t have anything nice enough to go with the dress.”
“Here then,” Devi tilted her head and reached up under her hair, first on one side then the other. Then she stepped closer to Fela. “Lord you’re tall, bend down.”
When Fela straightened up again, she was wearing a pair of earrings that swung and caught the light of the fire.
Devi stepped back and gave an exasperated sigh. “And they look better on you, of course.” She shook her head with irritation. “Good lord woman. If I had tits like yours I’d own half the world by now.”
“You and me both,” Sim said enthusiastically.
Wilem burst out laughing, then covered his face and stepped away from Sim, shaking his head and doing his best to look like he didn’t have the slightest idea who was standing next to him.
Devi looked at Sim’s unashamed, boyish grin, then back to Fela. “Who’s the idiot?”
I caught Mola’s eye and motioned her closer so we could talk. “You didn’t need to, but thanks. It’s a relief, knowing she’s not out there plotting against me.”
“Don’t assume,” Mola said grimly. “I’ve never seen her so angry. It just seemed a shame for the two of you to be at odds. You’re a lot alike.”
I darted a glance across the fire pit where Wil and Sim were cautiously approaching Devi and Fela. “I’ve heard a lot about you,” Wilem said, looking at Devi. “I thought you’d be taller.”
“How’s that working out for you?” Devi asked dryly. “Thinking, I mean.”
I waved my hands to get everyone’s attention. “It’s late,” I said. “We have to get into position.”
Fela nodded. “I want to be there early, just in case.” She straightened her gloves nervously. “Wish me luck.”
Mola walked over and gave her a quick hug. “It’ll be fine. Stay somewhere public with him. He’ll behave better if people are watching.”
“Keep asking him about his poetry,” Devi advised. “He’ll talk the time away.”
“If he gets impatient, compliment the wine,” Mola added. “Say things like, ‘Oh I’d love another glass, but I’m worried it’d go right to my head.’ He’ll buy a bottle and try and pour it into you.”
Devi nodded. “It’ll keep him off you for an extra half-hour at least.” She reached out and pulled up the top of Fela’s dress a bit. “Start conservative, then bring them out a little more toward the end of the dinner. Lean. Use your shoulders. If he keeps seeing more and more, he’ll think he’s getting somewhere. It’ll keep him from getting grabby.”
“This is the most terrifying thing I’ve ever seen,” Wilem said quietly.
“Do all the women in the world secretly know each other?” Sim asked. “Because that would explain a lot.”
“There’s barely a hundred of us in the Arcanum,” Devi said scathingly. “They confine us to a single wing of the Mews whether or not we actually want to live there. How can we
not
know each other?”
I walked over to Fela and handed her a slender oak twig. “I’ll signal you when we’re done. You signal me if he walks out on you.”
Fela arched an eyebrow. “A woman could take that slightingly,” she said, then smiled and slid the twig inside one of her long black gloves. Her earrings swung and caught the light again. They were emeralds. Smooth emerald teardrops.
“Those are lovely earrings,” I said to Devi. “Where did you come by them?”
Her eyes narrowed, as if she were trying to decide whether or not to take offense. “A pretty young boy used them to settle his debt,” she said. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
I shrugged. “Just curious.”
Fela waved and walked off, but before she made it ten feet Simmon caught up with her. He smiled awkwardly, talking and making a few emphatic gestures before handing her something. She smiled and tucked it into her long black glove.
I turned to Devi. “I assume you know the plan?”
She nodded. “How far is it to his room?”
“A little more than half a mile,” I said apologetically. “The slippage—”
Devi cut me off with a gesture. “I do my own calculations,” she said sharply.
“Right.” I gestured to where my travelsack lay near the edge of the fire pit. “There’s wax and clay in there.” I handed her a slim birch twig. “I’ll signal you when we’re in position. Start with the wax. Give it a hard half-hour, then signal and move onto the clay. Give the clay at least an hour.”
Devi snorted. “With a bonfire behind me? It’ll take me fifteen minutes, tops.”
“It might not be tucked into his sock drawer, you realize. It might be locked away without much air.”
Devi waved me away. “I know my business.”
I made a half bow. “I leave it in your capable hands.”
“That’s it?” Mola demanded indignantly. “You lectured me for an hour! You
quizzed
me!”
“There isn’t time,” I said simply. “And you’ll be here to coach her if need be. Besides, Devi happens to be one of the handful of people I suspect might be a better sympathist than me.”
Devi gave me a dark look. “Suspect? I beat you like a red-headed stepchild. You were my little sympathy hand puppet.”
“That was two span ago,” I said. “I’ve learned a lot since then.”
“Hand puppet?” Sim asked Wilem. Wil made an explanatory gesture and they both burst out laughing.
I motioned to Wilem. “Let’s go.”
Before we could head out, Sim handed me a small jar.
I gave it an odd look. I already had his alchemical concoction tucked away in my cloak. “What’s this?”
“It’s just ointment in case you get burned,” he explained. “But if you mix it with piss, it turns into candy.” Sim’s expression was deadpan. “Delicious candy.”
I nodded seriously. “Yes sir.”
Mola stared in confusion. Devi pointedly ignored us and began piling wood on the fire.
 
An hour later, Wilem and I were playing cards at the Golden Pony. The common room was nearly full, and a harpist was doing a passable version of “Sweet Winter Rye.” The room was full of murmured conversation as wealthy customers gambled, drank, and talked about whatever rich people talk about. How to properly beat the stable boy, I guessed. Or techniques for chasing the chambermaid around the estate.
The Golden Pony was not my sort of place. The clientele was too well-bred, the drinks too expensive, and the musicians more pleasing to the eye than the ear. Despite all this, I’d been coming here for nearly two span, making a show of trying to climb the social ladder. That way, no one could say it was odd I was here on this particular night.
Wilem took a drink and shuffled the cards. My own drink sat half-finished and warm. It was only a simple ale, but given the prices at the Pony I was now, quite literally, penniless.
Wil dealt another hand of breath. I picked up my cards carefully, as Simmon’s alchemical concoction made my fingers ever so slightly sticky. We might as well have been playing with blank cards. I drew and threw randomly, pretending to concentrate on the game when really I was waiting, listening.
I felt a slight tickle in the corner of my eye and reached to rub it away with my fingers, catching myself at the last second with my hand upraised. Wilem stared at me from across the table, his eyes alarmed, and gave his head a small, firm shake. I went motionless for a moment, then slowly lowered my hand.
I was so busy trying to appear nonchalant that when the cry came from outside I was actually startled. It cut through the low murmur of conversation as only a shrill voice filled with panic can. “Fire! Fire!”
Everyone in the Pony froze for a moment. This always happens when people are startled and confused. They take a second to look around, smell the air, and think things like, “Did he just say fire?” or “Fire? Where? Here?”
I didn’t hesitate. I leaped to my feet and made a show of looking around wildly, obviously trying to search out the fire. By the time everyone else in the common room started to move, I was already dashing for the stairs.
“Fire!” The cries continued from outside. “Oh God. Fire!”
I smiled as I listened to Basil overact his small part. I didn’t know him well enough to let him in on the whole plan, but it was vital that someone notice the fire early so I could spring into action. The last thing I wanted to do was accidentally burn down half the inn.
I reached the top of the steps and looked around the upper floor of the Golden Pony. There were already footsteps pounding up the stairs behind me. A few wealthy lodgers opened their doors, peering into the hallway.
There were faint wisps of smoke curling underneath the door to Ambrose’s rooms. Perfect.
“I think it’s over here!” I shouted, sliding a hand into one of my cloak’s pockets as I ran to the door.
In the long days we spent searching the Archives, I’d found reference to a great many interesting pieces of artificery. One of them was an elegant piece of artificery called a siege stone.
It worked on the most basic sympathetic principles. A crossbow stores energy and uses it to shoot a bolt a long distance at a great speed. A siege stone was an inscribed piece of lead that stores energy and uses it to move itself about six inches with the force of a battering ram.
Reaching the middle of the hallway, I braced myself and charged Ambrose’s door with my shoulder. I also struck it with the siege stone I held concealed against the flat of my hand.
The thick-timbered door staved in like a barrel struck by an anvil hammer. There were startled gasps and exclamations from everyone in the hallway. I rushed inside, trying desperately to keep the manic grin off my face.
Ambrose’s sitting room was dark, and made darker by a haze of smoke in the air. I saw flickering firelight inside, off to the left. From my previous visit I knew it was his bedroom.
“Hello?” I shouted. “Is everyone all right?” I pitched my voice carefully: Bold but concerned. No panic, of course. I was, after all, the hero of this scene.
Smoke was thick in the bedroom, catching the orange firelight and stinging my eyes. There was a massive wooden chest of drawers against the wall, big as a workbench in the Fishery. Flames licked and flickered around the edges of the drawers. Apparently Ambrose
had
been keeping the mommet in his sock drawer.
I picked up a nearby chair and used it to smash the window I’d climbed through several nights ago. “Clear the street!” I shouted down.
The bottommost left drawer seemed to be burning the hottest, and when I pulled it open the smoldering clothes inside caught the air hungrily and burst into flame. I smelled burning hair and hoped I hadn’t lost my eyebrows. I didn’t want to spend the next month looking constantly surprised.
After the initial flare up, I drew a deep breath, stepped forward, and pulled the heavy wooden drawer free of the bureau with my bare hands. It was full of smoldering, blackened cloth, but as I ran to the window, I could hear something hard in the bottom of the drawer rattling against the wood. It tumbled as I threw it out the window, clothes bursting into flame as the wind caught them.

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