The Name of the Wind

“It appears that Master Hemme wishes to resume your instruction at this point.” Laughter rippled through the room, louder this time. “I thank you all: students and friends. And thus my humble lecture ends.”

At this point I used one of the tricks of the stage. There is a certain inflection of voice and body language that signals a crowd to applaud. I cannot explain how exactly it is done, but it had its intended effect. I nodded my head to them and turned to face Hemme amidst applause which, though far from deafening, was probably more than any he had ever received.

As he took the last few steps toward me I almost backed away. His face was a fearsome red and a vein pulsed at his temple as if it were about to explode.

For my own part, my stage training helped me maintain my composure, I returned his gaze levelly and held out my hand for him to shake. It was with no small amount of satisfaction that I watched him give a quick glance to the still applauding class, swallow, and shake my hand.

His handshake was painfully tight. It might have gotten worse if I hadn’t made a slight gesture over the brazier with the wax doll. His face went from its livid red to an ashen white more quickly than I would have believed possible. His grip underwent a similar transformation and I regained my hand.

With another nod toward the seated students, I left the lecture hall without a backward glance.

CHAPTER FORTY On the Horns

After Hemme dismissed his class, news of what I had done spread through the University like wildfire. I guessed from the student’s reactions that Master Hemme was not particularly well loved. As I sat on a stone bench outside the Mews, passing students smiled in my direction. Others waved or gave laughing thumbs-up.

While I enjoyed the notoriety, a cold anxiety was slowly growing in my gut. I’d made an enemy of one of the nine masters. I needed to know how much trouble I was in.

Dinner in the Mess was brown bread with butter, stew, and beans. Manet was there, his wild hair making him look like a great white wolf. Simmon and Sovoy groused idly about the food, making grim speculations as to what manner of meat was in the stew. To me, less than a span away from the streets of Tarbean, it was a marvelous meal indeed.

Nevertheless, I was rapidly losing my appetite in the face of what I was hearing from my friends.

“Don’t get me wrong,” Sovoy said. “You’ve got a great weighty pair on you. I’ll never call that into question. But still...” he gestured with his spoon. “They’re going to string you up for this.”

“If he’s lucky,” Simmon said. “I mean, we are talking about malfeasance here, aren’t we?”

“It’s not a big deal,” I said with more assurance than I felt. “I gave him a little bit of a hotfoot, that’s all.”

“Any harmful sympathy falls under malfeasance.” Manet pointed at me with his piece of bread, his wild, grizzled eyebrows arching seriously over his nose. “You’ve got to pick your battles, boy. Keep your head down around the masters. They can make your life a real hell once you get into their bad books.”

“He started it,” I said sullenly though a mouthful of beans.

A young boy jogged up to the table, breathless. “You’re Kvothe?” He asked, looking me over.

I nodded, my stomach suddenly turning over.

“They want you in the Masters’ Hall.”

“Where is it?” I asked. “I’ve only been here a couple of days.”

“Can one of you show him?” the boy asked, looking around at the table. “I’ve got to go tell Jamison I found him.”

“I’ll do it,” Simmon said pushing away his bowl. “I’m not hungry anyway.”

Jamison’s runner boy took off, and Simmon started to get to his feet.

“Hold on,” I said, pointing to my tray with my spoon. “I’m not finished here.”

Simmon’s expression was anxious. “I can’t believe you’re eating,” he said. “J can’t eat. How can you eat?”

“I’m hungry,” I said. “I don’t know what’s waiting in the Masters’ Hall, but I’m guessing I’d rather have a full stomach for it.”

“You’re going on the horns,” Manet said. “It’s the only reason they’d call you there at this time of night.”

I didn’t know what he meant by that, but I didn’t want to advertise my ignorance to everyone in the room. “They can wait until I’m done.” I took another bite of stew.

Simmon returned to his seat and poked idly at his food. Truth be told, I wasn’t really hungry anymore, but it galled me to be pulled away from a meal after all the times I’d been hungry in Tarbean.

When Simmon and I finally got to our feet, the normal clamor in the Mess quieted as folk watched us leave. They knew where I was headed.

Outside, Simmon put his hands in his pockets and headed roughly in the direction of Hollows. “All kidding aside, you’re in a good bit of trouble, you know.”

“I was hoping Hemme would be embarrassed and keep quiet about it,” I admitted. “Do they expel many students?” I tried to make it sound like a joke.

“There hasn’t been anyone this term,” Sim said with his shy, blue-eyed smile. “But it’s only the second day of classes. You might set some sort of record.”