The Name of the Wind

I emerged from the hedge and made my way to the northwest corner where the apple tree stood. No apples were on the ground. It was too early in the year for that. What’s more, the iron grate was on the opposite side of the small courtyard. It couldn’t have rolled that far. It must have been carried.

Unsure of what to think, but knowing I was late for my evening shift in the Fishery, I climbed the apple tree, gathered up my lute, and hurried to Kilvin’s shop.

Later that night I fit the rest of the runes to music. It took a few hours, but when I was done it was like having a reference sheet in my head. The next day Cammar put me through an extensive two-hour examination, which I passed.

For the next stage of my education in the Fishery, I was apprenticed to Manet, the old, wild-haired student I’d met during my first days at the University. Manet had been attending the University for nearly thirty years, and everyone knew him as the eternal E’lir. But despite the fact that we held the same rank, Manet had more hands-on experience in the Fishery than any dozen higher-ranking students combined.

Manet was patient and considerate. In fact, he reminded me of my old teacher, Abenthy. Except Abenthy had wandered the world like a restless tinker, and it was common knowledge that Manet desired nothing more than to stay at the University for the rest of his life if he could manage it.

Manet started small, teaching me simple formulae of the sort required for twice-tough glass and heat funnels. Under his tutelage, I learned artificing as quickly as I learned everything, and it wasn’t long before we worked our way up to more complex projects like heat-eaters and sympathy lamps.

Truly high-level artificing such as sympathy clocks or gearwins were still beyond my reach, but I knew that it was just a matter of time. Unfortunately, time was proving to be in short supply.

CHAPTER FIFTY-TWO Burning

Owning a lute again meant I had my music back, but I quickly realized I was three years out of practice. My work in the Artificery over the last couple months had toughened and strengthened my hands, but not in entirely the right ways. It took several frustrating days before I could play comfortably for even an hour at a time.

I might have progressed more quickly had I not been so busy with my other studies. I had two hours of each day in the Medica, running or standing, an average of two hours of lecture and ciphering each day in Mathematics, and three hours of studying under Manet in the Fishery, learning the tricks of the trade.

And then there was advanced sympathy with Elxa Dal. Out of class, Elxa Dal was charming, soft-spoken, and even a little ridiculous when the mood was on him. But when he taught, his personality strode back and forth between mad prophet and galley-slave drummer. Every day in his class I burned another three hours of time and five hours worth of energy.

Combined with my paid work in Kilvin’s shop, this left me with barely enough time to eat, sleep, and study, let alone give my lute the time it deserved.

Music is a proud, temperamental mistress. Give her the time and attention she deserves, and she is yours. Slight her and there will come a day when you call and she will not answer. So I began sleeping less to give her the time she needed.

After a span of this schedule, I was tired. After three span I was still fine, but only through a grim, set-jaw type of determination. Somewhere around the fifth span I began to show definite signs of wear.

It was during that fifth span that I was enjoying a rare, shared lunch with Wilem and Simmon. They had their lunches from a nearby tavern. I couldn’t afford a drab for an apple and meat pie, so I had snuck some barley bread and a gristly sausage out of the Mess.

We sat on the stone bench beneath the pennant pole where I’d been whipped. The place had filled me with dread after my whipping, but I forced myself to spend time there to prove to myself that I could. After it no longer unnerved me, I sat there because the stares of the students amused me. Now I sat there because I was comfortable. It was my place.

And, because we spent a fair amount of time together, it had become Wilem and Simmon’s place too. If they thought my choice an odd one, they didn’t speak of it.

“You haven’t been around very much,” Wilem said around a mouthful of meat pie. “Been sick?”

“Right,” Simmon said sarcastically “He’s been sick a whole month.”

Wilem glared at him and grumbled, reminding me of Kilvin for a moment.

His expression made Simmon laugh. “Wil’s more polite than I am. I’m betting you’ve been spending all your free hours walking to Imre and back. Courting some fabulously attractive young bard.” He gestured at the lute case that lay at my side.

“He looks like he’s been sick.” Wilem looked at me with a critical eye. “Your woman hasn’t been taking care of you.”