Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

“There you go with seven words again,” she said with a smile. “You do realize you always do that?”

It took me a minute to realize what she was referring to, but before I could respond Denna had moved on. “I heard the seeds are supposed to be bad for you,” she said. “They have arsenic in them.”

“That’s just a wives’ tale,” I said. It was one of the ten thousand questions I’d asked Ben when he’d traveled with the troupe. “It’s not arsenic. It’s cyanide, and there’s not enough to hurt you unless you eat bucketsful.”

“Oh.” Denna gave the remains of her apple a speculative look, then began to eat it from the bottom up.

“You were telling me about what happened to Master Ash before I rudely interrupted,” I prompted gently as I could.

Denna shrugged. “There isn’t much left to tell. I saw the fire, came closer, heard more shouting and commotion. . . .”

“And the fire?”

She hesitated. “Blue.”

I felt a sort of dark anticipation rise up in me. Excitement at finally being close to answers about the Chandrian, fear at the thought of being close to them. “What did the ones look like who attacked you? How did you get away?”

She gave a bitter laugh. “Nobody attacked me. I saw shapes outlined against the fire and ran like billy-hell.” She lifted her bandaged arm and touched the side of her head. “I must have gone headfirst into a tree and knocked myself out. I woke up in town this morning.

“That’s the other reason I needed to come back,” she said. “I don’t know if Master Ash might still be out here. I didn’t hear anyone in town talking about finding an extra body, but I couldn’t ask without making everyone suspicious. . . .”

“And he wouldn’t like that,” I said.

Denna nodded. “I don’t doubt he’ll turn this into another test to see how well I can keep my mouth shut.” She gave me a significant look. “Speaking of which . . .”

“I’ll make a point of being terribly surprised if we find anyone,” I said. “Don’t worry.”

She smiled nervously. “Thanks. I just hope he’s alive. I’ve invested two whole span trying to win him over.” She took a final drink out of my water bottle and handed it back to me. “Let’s go have a look around, shall we?”

Denna came unsteadily to her feet, and I tucked my water bottle back into my travelsack, watching her out of the corner of my eye. I had worked in the Medica for the better part of a year. Denna had been struck on her left temple hard enough to blacken her eye and bruise her well past her ear into her hairline. Her right arm was bandaged, and from the way she carried herself, I guessed she had some serious bruises along her left side, if not a few broken ribs.

If she had run into a tree, it must have been an oddly shaped tree.

But still, I didn’t make a point of it. Didn’t press her.

How could I? I too knew what it was like to have secrets.

The farm was nowhere near as gruesome as it could have been. The barn was nothing but a jumble of ash and planking. To one side a water trough stood next to a charred windmill. The wind tried to spin the wheel, but it only had three fins left, and it simply swayed back and forth, back and forth.

There were no bodies. Only the deep ruts wagon wheels had cut into the turf when they had come to haul them away.

“How many people were at the wedding?” I asked.

“Twenty-six, counting the bride and groom.” Denna kicked idly at a charred timber half buried in ashes near the remains of the barn. “Good thing it usually rains in the evenings here, or this whole side of the mountain would be on fire by now. . . .”

“Any simmering feuds lurking around here?” I asked. “Rival families? Another suitor looking for revenge?”

“Of course,” Denna said easily. “Little town like this, that’s what keeps things on an even keel. These folk will carry a grudge for fifty years about what their Tom said about our Kari.” She shook her head. “But nothing of the killing sort. These were normal folks.”

Normal but wealthy, I thought to myself as I walked toward the farmhouse. This was the sort of house only a wealthy family could afford to build. The foundation and the lower walls were solid grey stone. The upper story was plaster and timber with stone reinforcing the corners.

Still, the walls sagged inward on the verge of collapse. The windows and door gaped with dark soot licking out around the edges. I peered through the doorway and saw the grey stone of the walls charred black. There was broken crockery scattered among the remains of furniture and charred floorboards.

“If your things were in there,” I said to Denna. “I think they’re as good as gone. I could go in for a look. . . .”

“Don’t be stupid,” she said. “This whole thing is about to come down.” She knocked a knuckle against the doorframe. It echoed hollowly.

Curious at the odd sound of it, I went over to look. I picked at the doorpost with a fingernail and a long splinter the size of my palm peeled away with little resistance. “This is more like driftwood than timber,” I said. “After spending all this money, why skimp on the doorframe?”

Denna shrugged. “Maybe the heat of the fire did it?”

I nodded absently and continued to wander around, looking things over. I bent to pick up a piece of charred shingle and muttered a binding under my breath. A brief chill spread up my arms and flame flickered to life along the rough edge of the wood.

“That’s something you don’t see every day,” Denna said. Her voice was calm, but it was a forced calm, as if she was trying hard to sound nonchalant.

It took me a moment to figure out what she was talking about. Simple sympathy like this was so commonplace in the University that I hadn’t even thought about how it would look to someone else.

“Just a little meddling with dark forces better left alone,” I said lightly, holding up the burning shingle. “The fire was blue last night?”

She nodded. “Like a coal-gas flame. Like the lamps they have in Anilen.”

The shingle was burning an ordinary, cheerful orange. No trace of blue about it, but it could have been blue last night. I dropped the shingle and crushed it out with my boot.

I circled the house again. Something was bothering me, but I couldn’t put my finger on it. I wanted to go inside for a look around. “The fire really wasn’t that bad,” I called out to Denna. “What did you end up leaving inside?”

“Not that bad?” she said incredulously, as she came around the corner. “The place is a husk.”

I pointed. “The roof isn’t burned through except right by the chimney. That means the fire probably didn’t damage the second story very much. What of yours was in there?”

“I had some clothes and a lyre Master Ash bought for me.”

“You play lyre?” I was surprised. “How many strings?”

“Seven. I’m just learning.” She gave a brief, humorless laugh. “I was learning. I’m good enough for a country wedding and that’s about it.”

“Don’t waste yourself on the lyre,” I said. “It’s an archaic instrument with no room for subtlety. Not to disparage your choice of instrument,” I said quickly. “It’s just that your voice deserves better accompaniment than a lyre can give you. If you’re looking for a straight-string instrument you can carry with you, go for a half-harp.”

“You’re sweet,” she said. “But I didn’t pick it. Mr. Ash did. I’ll push him for a harp next time.” She looked around aimlessly and sighed. “If he’s still alive.”

I peered in one of the gaping windows to look around, only to have a chunk of the windowsill snap off in my hands when I leaned on it. “This one’s rotten through too.” I said, crumbling it in my hands.