The Name of the Wind

The red light swelled and I saw two scrivs turn a corner. They paused, then one of them bolted to where I stood and snatched my candle away, spilling hot wax on my hand in the process of extinguishing it. His expression couldn’t have been more horrified if he had found me carrying a freshly severed head.

“What are you doing with an open flame in here?” he demanded in the loudest whisper I had ever heard. He lowered his voice and waved the now extinguished candle at me. “Charred body of God, what’s the matter with you?”

I rubbed at the hot wax on the back of my hand. Trying to think clearly through the fog of pain and exhaustion. Of course, I thought, remembering Ambrose’s smile as he pressed the candle into my hands and hurried me though the door. “Our little secret.” Of course. I should have known.

One of the scrivs led me out of the Stacks while the other ran to fetch Master Lorren. When we emerged into the entryway, Ambrose managed to look confused and shocked. He overacted the part, but it was convincing enough for the scriv accompanying me. “What’s he doing in here?”

“We found him wandering around,” the scriv explained. “With a candle.”

“What?” Ambrose’s expression was perfectly aghast. “Well I didn’t sign him in,” Ambrose said. He flipped open one of the ledger books. “Look. See for yourself.”

Before anything else could be said, Lorren stormed into the room. His normally placid expression was fierce and hard. I felt myself sweat cold and I thought of what Teccam wrote in his Theophany: There are three things all wise men fear: the sea in storm, a night with no moon, and the anger of a gentle man.

Lorren towered over the entry desk. “Explain,” he demanded of the nearby scriv. His voice was a tight coil of fury.

“Micah and I saw a flickering light in the stacks and we went to see if someone was having trouble with their lamp. We found him near the southeast stairwell with this.” The scriv held up the candle. His hand shook slightly under Lorren’s glare.

Lorren turned to the desk where Ambrose sat. “How did this happen, Re’lar?”

Ambrose raised his hands helplessly “He came in earlier and I wouldn’t admit him because he wasn’t in the book. We bickered for a while, Fela was here for most of it.” He looked at me. “Eventually I told him he’d have to leave. He must have snuck in when I went into the back room for more ink.” Ambrose shrugged. “Or maybe he slipped in past the desk in Tomes.”

I stood there, stupefied. What little part of my mind wasn’t leaden with fatigue was preoccupied with the screaming pain across my back. “That ... that’s not true.” I looked up at Lorren. “He let me in. He sent Fela away, then let me in.”

“What?” Ambrose gaped at me, momentarily speechless. For all that I didn’t like him, I must give him credit for a masterful performance. “Why in God’s name would I do that?”

“Because I embarrassed you in front of Fela,” I said. “He sold me the candle, too.” I shook my head trying to clear my head. “No, he gave it to me.”

Ambrose’s expression was amazed. “Look at him.” He laughed. “The little cocker is drunk or something.”

“I was just whipped!” I protested. My voice sounded shrill in my own ears.

“Enough!” Lorren shouted, looming over us like a pillar of anger. The scrivs went pale at the sound of him.

Lorren turned away from me, and made a brief, contemptuous gesture toward the desk. “Re’lar Ambrose is officially remanded for laxity in his duty.”

“What?” Ambrose’s indignant tone wasn’t feigned this time.

Lorren frowned at him, and Ambrose closed his mouth. Turning to me, he said, “E’lir Kvothe is banned from the Archives.” He made a sweeping gesture with the flat of his hand.

I tried to think of something I could say in my defense. “Master, I didn’t mean—”

Lorren rounded on me. His expression, always so calm before, was filled with such a cold, terrible anger that I took a step away from him without meaning to. “You mean?’” he said. “I care nothing for your intentions, E’lir Kvothe, deceived or otherwise. All that matters is the reality of your actions. Your hand held the fire. Yours is the blame. That is the lesson all adults must learn.”

I looked down at my feet, tried desperately to think of something I could say. Some proof I could offer. My leaden thoughts were still plodding along when Lorren strode out of the room.

“I don’t see why I should be punished for his stupidity,” Ambrose groused to the other scrivs as I made my way numbly to the door. I made the mistake of turning around and looking at him. His expression was serious, carefully controlled.

But his eyes were vastly amused, full of laughter. “Honestly boy,” he said to me. “I don’t know what you were thinking. You’d think a member of the Arcanum would have more sense.”