The Name of the Wind

Bendy scurried away, and I threw myself back into the chair. A customer I hadn’t noticed until now made a hurried exit, stopping briefly to curtsy to me before she left.

I fought back the urge to laugh.

After that it was surprisingly easy. I kept him running about for half an hour, bringing me one piece of clothing or another. I mocked the material, the cut, and workmanship of everything he brought out. In short, I was the perfect little brat.

In truth I couldn’t have been more pleased. The clothing was plain but well made. Indeed, compared to what I had been wearing an hour before, a clean burlap sack would have been a great step up.

If you haven’t spent much time in court or in large cities, you won’t understand why this was so easy for me to accomplish. Let me explain.

Nobles’ sons are one of nature’s great destructive forces, like floods or tornadoes. When you’re struck with one of these catastrophes, the only thing an average man can do is grit his teeth and try to minimize the damage.

Bentley knew this. He marked the shirt and pants and helped me out of them. I got back into the robe he had given me, and he began sewing like the devil was breathing down his neck.

I flounced back into the chair. “You might as well ask. I can tell you’re dying of curiosity.”

He looked up briefly from his stitching. “Sir?”

“The circumstances surrounding my current state of undress.”

“Ah, yes.” He tied off the thread and began on the pants. “I will admit to a slight curiosity. No more than proper. I’m not one to pry into anyone’s business.”

“Ah,” I nodded, pretending disappointment. “A laudable attitude.”

There followed a long moment, the only sound was that of the thread being drawn through cloth. I fidgeted. Finally, I continued as if he had asked me, “A whore stole my clothes.”

“Really, sir?”

“Yes, she tried to get me to trade them for my purse, the bitch.”

Bentley looked up briefly, genuine curiosity on his face. “Wasn’t your purse with your clothes, sir?”

I looked shocked. “Certainly not! ‘A gentleman’s hand is never far away from his purse.’ So my father says.” I waved my purse at him to make my point.

I noticed him trying to suppress a laugh and it made me feel a little better. I’d made the man miserable for almost an hour, the least I could give him was a story to tell his friends.

“She told me if I wanted to keep my dignity, then I’d give her my purse and walk home wearing my clothes.” I shook my head scornfully. “ ‘Wanton,’ I said to her,’A gentleman’s dignity isn’t in his clothes. If I handed over my purse simply to save myself an embarrassment then I would be handing over my dignity.’ ”

I looked thoughtful for a second, then spoke softly as if thinking aloud. “It only follows that a gentleman’s dignity is in his purse then.” I looked at the purse in my hands, and gave a long pause. “I think I heard my father say something of the sort the other day.”

Bentley gave a laugh that he turned into a cough, then stood up and shook out the shirt and pants. “There you go, sir, fit you like a glove now.” A hint of a smile played around his lips as he handed them to me.

I slid out of the robe and pulled on the pants. “They’ll get me home, I suppose. How much for your trouble, Bentley?” I asked.

He thought for a second. “One and two.”

I began to lace up my shirt and said nothing.

“Sorry, sir,” he said quickly. “Forgot who I was dealing with.” He swallowed. “One even would do nicely”

Taking out my purse, I put one silver talent into his hand and looked him in the eye. “I will be needing some change.”

His mouth made a thin line, but he nodded and handed me back two jots.

I tucked the coins away and tied my purse firmly underneath my shirt, then gave him a meaningful look and patted it.

I saw the smile tug at his lips again. “Good-bye, sir.”

I picked up my towel, left the store, and started my altogether less conspicuous walk back to the inn where I had found breakfast and a bath.

“What can I get for you, young sir?” the innkeeper asked as I approached the bar. He smiled and wiped his hands on his apron.

“A stack of dirty dishes and a rag.”

He squinted at me, then smiled and laughed. “I’d thought you’d run off naked through the streets.”

“Not quite naked.” I laid his towel on the bar.

“There was more dirt than boy before. And I would have bet a solid mark your hair was black. You really don’t look the same.” He marveled mutely for a second. “Would you like your old clothes?”

I shook my head. “Throw them away—actually, burn them, and make sure no one accidentally breathes the smoke.” He laughed again. “I did have some other items though.” I reminded him.

He nodded and tapped the side of his nose. “Right enough. Just a second.” He turned and disappeared though a doorway behind the bar.

I let my attention wander around the room. It seemed different now that I wasn’t attracting hostile stares. The fieldstone fireplace with the black kettle simmering. The slightly sour smells of varnished wood and spilled beer. The low rumble of conversation....