The Name of the Wind

Sovoy fought down a smile as he turned to face me. “Sim is right about one thing. You should concentrate your efforts on one subject. Otherwise you’ll end up like Manet, the eternal E’lir.” He stood and straightened his clothes. “Now, how do I look?”

Sovoy wasn’t fashionably dressed in the strictest sense, as he clung to the Modegan styles rather than the local ones. But there was no denying that he cut quite a figure in the muted colors of his fine silks and suedes.

“What does it matter?” Wilem asked. “Are you trying to set up a tryst with Sim?”

Sovoy smiled. “Unfortunately, I must leave you. I have an engagement with a lady, and I doubt our rounds win bring us to this side of town tonight.”

“You didn’t tell us you had a date,” Sim protested. “We can’t play corners with just three.”

It was something of a concession that Sovoy was here with us at all. He’d sniffed a bit at Wil and Sim’s choice of taverns. Anker’s was low-class enough so that the drinks were cheap, but high-class enough so that you didn’t have to worry about someone picking a fight or throwing up on you. I liked it.

“You are good friends and good company,” Sovoy said. “But none of you are female, nor, with the possible exception of Simmon, are you lovely.” Sovoy winked at him. “Honestly, who among you wouldn’t throw the others over if there was a lady waiting?”

We murmured a grudging agreement. Sovoy smiled; his teeth were very white and straight. “I’ll send the girl over with more drinks,” he said as he turned to go. “To ease the bitter sting of my departure.”

“He’s not a bad sort,” I mused after he left. “For nobility.”

Wilem nodded. “It’s like he knows he’s better than you, but doesn’t look down on you for it because he knows it’s not your fault.”

“So who are you going to cozy up to?” Sim asked, resting his elbows on the table. “I’m guessing not Hemme.”

“Or Lorren,” I said bitterly. “Damn Ambrose twelve ways. I would have loved to work in the Archives.”

“Brandeur’s out too,” Sim said. “If Hemme has a grudge, Brandeur helps him carry it.”

“How about the Chancellor?” Wilem asked. “Linguistics? You already speak Siaru, even if your accent is barbaric.”

I shook my head. “What about Mandrag? I’ve got a lot of experience with chemistry. It’d be a small step into alchemy.”

Simmon laughed. “Everyone thinks chemistry and alchemy are so similar, but they’re really not. They’re not even related. They just happen to live in the same house.”

Wilem gave a slow nod. “That’s a nice way of putting it.”

“Besides,” Simmon said. “Mandrag brought in about twenty new E’lir last term. I heard him complaining about how crowded things were.”

“You’ve got a long haul if you go through Medica,” Wilem said. “Arwyl is stubborn as pig iron. There is no bending him.” He made a gesture with his hand as if chopping something into sections while he spoke. “Six terms E’lir. Eight terms Re’lar. Ten terms El’the.”

“At least,” Simmon added. “Mola’s been a Re’lar with him for almost three years now.”

I tried to think of how I could come up with six years’ worth of tuition. “I might not have the patience for that,” I said.

The serving girl appeared with a tray of drinks. Anker’s was only half full, so she’d been running just enough to bring roses to her cheeks. “Your gentleman friend paid for this round and the next,” she said.

“I like Sovoy more and more,” Wilem said.

“However,” she held Wil’s drink out of his reach. “He didn’t pay for putting his hand on my ass,” she looked each of us in the eye. “I’ll trust the three of you to settle that debt before you leave.”

Sim stammered an apology. “He ... he doesn’t mean ... In his culture that sort of thing is more common.”

She rolled her eyes, her expression softening. “Well in this culture a healthy tip makes a fine apology.” She handed Wil his drink and turned to leave, resting her empty tray on one hip.

We watched her go, each of us thinking our own private thoughts.

“I noticed he had his rings back,” I mentioned eventually.

“He played a brilliant round of bassat last night,” Simmon said. “Made six doublings in a row and cracked the bank.”

“To Sovoy,” Wilem held up his tin mug. “May his luck keep him in classes and us in drinks.” We toasted and drank, then Wilem brought us back to the matter at hand. “That leaves you with Kilvin and Elxa Dal.” He held up two fingers.

“What about Elodin?” I interrupted.

They both gave me blank looks. “What about him?” Simmon asked.

“He seems nice enough,” I said. “Couldn’t I study under him?”

Simmon burst out laughing. Wilem gave a rare grin. “What?” I demanded.

“Elodin doesn’t teach anything,” Sim explained. “Except maybe advanced oddness.”

“He has to teach something,” I protested. “He’s a master, isn’t he?”

“Sim is right. Elodin is cramped.” Wil tapped the side of his head.

“Cracked,” Simmon corrected.

“Cracked,” Wil repeated.

“He does seem a little ... strange,” I said.

“You do pick things up quick,” Wilem said dryly. “No wonder you made it into the Arcanum at such a tender age.”