Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

“I heard you finally got promoted to El’the,” I said. “Congratulations. Everyone knows you deserved it a long time ago.”

She looked up, her pale lips curving into a small smile. “The heat doesn’t seem to have damaged the gilding on your tongue.” She lay down her pen. “How does the rest of you feel?”

“My legs feel fine, but numb, so I’m guessing I got burned but you’ve already done something about it.” I lifted up the bedsheet, looked under it, then tucked it carefully back into place. “I also seem to be in an advanced state of undress.” I felt a momentary panic. “Is Fela alright?”

Mola nodded seriously and moved closer to stand by the side of the bed. “She has a bruise or two from when you dropped her, and is a little singed around the ankles. But she came out of it better than you did.”

“How is everyone else from the Fishery?”

“Surprisingly good, all things considered. A few burns from heat or acid. One case of metal poisoning, but it was minor. Smoke tends to be the real troublemaker with fires, but whatever was burning over there didn’t seem to give off any smoke.”

“It did give off a sort of ammonia fume.” I took a few deep, experimental breaths. “But my lungs don’t seem to be burned,” I said, relieved. “I only got about three breaths of it before I passed out.”

There was a knock on the door and Sim’s head popped in. “You’re not naked are you?”

“Mostly,” I said. “But the dangerous parts are covered up.”

Wilem followed in, looking distinctly uncomfortable. “You’re not nearly as pink as you were before,” he said. “I’m guessing that’s a good sign.”

“His legs are going to hurt for a while, but there’s no permanent damage,” she said.

“I brought fresh clothes,” Sim said cheerily. “The ones you were wearing were ruined.”

“I hope you chose something suitable from my vast wardrobe?” I said dryly to hide my embarrassment.

Sim shrugged off my comment. “You showed up without shoes, but I couldn’t find another pair in your room.”

“I don’t have a second pair,” I said as I took the bundle of clothes from Sim. “It’s fine. I’ve been barefoot before.”

I walked away from my little adventure without any permanent damage. However, right now there wasn’t a part of me that didn’t hurt. I had flash burn across the backs of my hands and neck and mild acid burns across my lower legs from where I’d waded through the fire-fog.

Despite all this, I made my limping way the long three miles across the river to Imre, hoping against hope that I might still find Denna waiting.

Deoch eyed me speculatively as I crossed the courtyard toward the Eolian. He looked me up and down pointedly. “Lord, boy. You look like you fell off a horse. Where are your shoes?”

“A good morning to you too,” I said sarcastically.

“A good afternoon,” he corrected, with a significant glance up at the sun. I began to brush past him, but he held up a hand to stop me. “She’s gone, I’m afraid.”

“Black . . . sodding damn.” I slumped, too weary to curse my luck properly.

Deoch gave me a sympathetic grimace. “She asked about you,” he said consolingly. “And waited for a good long while too, almost an hour. Longest I’ve ever seen that one sit still.”

“Did she leave with someone?”

Deoch looked down at his hands, where he was toying with a copper penny, rolling it back and forth over his knuckles. “She’s not really the sort of girl who spends a lot of time alone. . . .” He gave me a sympathetic look. “She turned a few away, but did eventually leave with a fellow. I don’t think she was really with him, if you catch my meaning. She’s been looking for a patron, and this fellow had that sort of look about him. White-haired, wealthy, you know the type.”

I sighed. “If you happen to see her, could you tell her . . .” I paused, trying to think of how I could describe what had happened. “Can you make ‘unavoidably detained’ sound a little more poetic?”

“I reckon I can. I’ll describe your hangdog look and shoeless state for her too. Lay you a good solid groundwork for some groveling.”

I smiled despite myself. “Thanks.”

“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked. “It’s a little early for me, but I can always make an exception for a friend.”

I shook my head. “I should be getting back. I’ve got things to do.”

I limped back to Anker’s and found the common room buzzing with excited folk talking about the fire in the Fishery. Not wanting to answer any questions, I slunk into an out-of-the-way table and got one of the serving girls to bring me a bowl of soup and some bread.

As I ate, my finely tuned eavesdropper’s ears picked out pieces of the stories people were telling. It was only then, hearing it from other people, that I realized what I had done.

I was used to people talking about me. As I’ve said, I had been actively building a reputation for myself. But this was different; this was real. People were already embroidering the details and confusing parts, but the heart of the story was still there. I had saved Fela, rushed into the fire and carried her to safety. Just like Prince Gallant out of some storybook.

It was my first taste of being a hero. I found it quite to my liking.

After lunch at Anker’s, I decided to return to the Fishery and see how much damage had been done. The stories I’d overheard implied that the fire had been brought under control fairly quickly. If that was the case, I might even be able to finish work on my blue emitters. If not, I might at least be able to reclaim my missing cloak.

Surprisingly, the majority of the Fishery made it through the fire without much damage at all, but the northeast quarter of the shop was practically destroyed. There was nothing left but a jumble of broken stone and glass and ash. Bright blurs of copper and silver spread over broken tabletops and portions of the floor where various metals had been melted by the heat of the fire.

More unsettling than the wreckage was the fact that the workshop was deserted. I’d never seen the place empty before. I knocked on Kilvin’s office door, then peered inside. Empty. That made a certain amount of sense. Without Kilvin, there was no one to organize the clean up.

Finishing the emitters took hours longer than I’d expected. My injuries distracted me, and my bandaged thumb made my hand slightly clumsy. As with most artificing, this job required two skilled hands. Even the minor encumbrance of a bandage was a serious inconvenience.

Still, I finished the project without incident and was just preparing to test the emitters when I heard Kilvin in the hallway, cursing in Siaru. I glanced over my shoulder just in time to see him stomp through the doorway toward his office, followed by one of Master Arwyl’s gillers.

I closed the fume hood and walked toward Kilvin’s office, mindful of where I set my bare feet. Through the window, I could see Kilvin waving his arms like a farmer shooing crows. His hands were swathed in white bandages nearly to the elbow. “Enough,” he said. “I will tend them myself.”

The man caught hold of one of Kilvin’s arms and made adjustments to the bandages. Kilvin pulled his hands away and held them high in the air, out of reach. “ Lhinsatva. Enough is enough.” The man said something too quiet for me to hear, but Kilvin continued to shake his head. “No. And no more of your drugs. I have slept long enough.”

Kilvin motioned me inside. “E’lir Kvothe. I need to speak to you.”

Not knowing what to expect, I stepped into his office. Kilvin gave me a dark look. “Do you see what I find after the fire is quenched?” He asked, gesturing toward a mass of dark cloth on his private worktable. Kilvin lifted one corner of it carefully with a bandaged hand and I recognized it as the charred remains of my cloak. Kilvin shook it once, sharply, and my hand lamp tumbled free, rolling awkwardly across the table.