The Name of the Wind

I looked down at the fallen man. I could see one of his pale hands against the cobblestones, but it was empty. I looked around, wondering if he had dropped it. It was more likely that he’d tucked it away. I moved closer still, holding my breath. I reached into his cloak, feeling for pockets, but his cloak was pinned under his body. I took gentle hold of his shoulder and eased him slowly ...

Just then, he let out a low moan and rolled the rest of the way onto his back under his own power. His arm flopped loosely onto the cobbles, bumping my leg.

I would like to say I simply took a step away, knowing that the tall man would be groggy and still half-blind. I’d like to tell you I remained calm and did my best to intimidate them further, or at the very least that I said something dramatic or witty before I left.

But that would not be the truth. The truth was, I ran like a frightened deer. I made it nearly a quarter mile before the darkness and my dazzled vision betrayed me and I ran headlong into a horse tether, crumpling to the ground in a painful heap. Bruised, bleeding, and half-blind, I lay there. Only then did I realize I wasn’t being chased at all.

I dragged myself to my feet, cursing myself for a fool. If I’d kept my wits about me, I could have taken their dowsing compass away, ensuring my safety. As it was, I’d have to take other precautions.

I made my way back to Anker’s, but when I arrived all the inn’s windows were dark and the door was locked. So, half drunk and wounded I made my way up to my window, tripped the latch and tugged ... but it wouldn’t open.

It had been at least a span of days since I’d come back to the inn so late that I’d been forced to use my window route. Had the hinges rusted?

Bracing myself against the wall, I drew out my hand lamp and thumbed it on to its dimmest setting. Only then did I see something lodged firmly into the crack of the windowframe. Had Anker’s wedged my window shut?

But when I touched it, I realized it wasn’t wood. It was a piece of paper, much folded over. I tugged it free and the window came open easily. I clambered inside.

My shirt was ruined, but when I stripped it off I was relieved by what I saw. The cut wasn’t particularly deep—painful and messy, but less serious than when I’d been whipped. Fela’s cloak was torn too, which was irritating. But, everything said, it would be easier to patch that than my kidney. I made a mental note to thank Fela for choosing a nice, thick fabric.

Stitching it up could wait. For all I knew the two men had recovered from the little scare I’d given them and were already dowsing for me again.

I left through the window, leaving my cloak behind so as not to get any blood on it. I hoped the lateness of the hour and my natural stealth would keep me from being seen. I couldn’t begin to guess what rumors would start if someone saw me running across the rooftops late at night, bloody and naked to the waist.

I gathered up a handful of leaves as I made my way to the roof of a livery overlooking the pennant courtyard near the Archives.

In the dim moonlight I could see the dark, shapeless shadows of leaves swirling over the grey of the cobblestones below. I ran my hand roughly through my hair, ending up with a few loose strands. Then I dug at a seam of tar on the roof with my fingernails and used some to stick the hair to a leaf. I repeated this a dozen times, dropping the leaves off the roof, watching as the wind took them away in a mad dance back and forth across the courtyard.

I smiled at the thought of anyone trying to dowse for me now, trying to make sense of the dozens of contradictory signals as the leaves swirled and spun in a dozen different directions.

I’d come to this particular courtyard because the wind moved oddly here. I’d only noticed it after the autumn leaves began to fall. They moved in a complex, chaotic dance across the cobblestones. First one way, then another, never falling into a predictable pattern.

Once you noticed the wind’s odd swirlings, it was hard to ignore. In fact, viewed from the roof like this, it was almost hypnotic. The same way flowing water or a campfire’s flames can catch your eye and hold it.

Watching it tonight, weary and wounded, it was rather relaxing. The more I watched it, the less chaotic it seemed. In fact, I began to sense a greater underlying pattern to the way the wind moved through the courtyard. It only looked chaotic because it was vastly, marvelously complex. What’s more, it seemed to be always changing. It was a pattern made of changing patterns. It was—

“You’re up studying awfully late,” said a quiet voice from behind me.

Startled out of my reverie, my body tensed, ready to bolt. How had someone managed to get up here without my noticing?

It was Elodin. Master Elodin. He was dressed in a patched set of pants and a loose shirt. He waved idly in my direction and crouched down to sit cross-legged on the edge of the roof as casually as if we were meeting for a drink in a pub.