Patrick Rothfuss - The Name of the Wind

“What did you do with the demon’s body?” I asked and watched them relax. Until this point I had barely spoken a dozen words, responding to most of their tentative questions with grim silence.

“No worry about that, sir,” the constable said. “We knew what to do with it.”

My stomach knotted, and I knew before they told me: they’d burned and buried it. The creature was a scientific marvel, and they had burned and buried it like trash. I knew naturalist scrivs in the Archives who would have cut off their hands to study such a rare creature. I had even hoped, deep in my heart, that bringing such an opportunity to their attention might win me my way back into the Archives.

And the scales and bones. Hundreds of pounds of denatured iron that alchemists would have fought over. . . .

The mayor nodded eagerly and singsonged, “Dig a pit that’s ten by two. Ash and elm and rowan too.” He cleared his throat. “Though it had to be a bigger hole than that, of course. Everyone took a turn to get it done as quickly as possible.” He held up his hand, proudly displaying a set of fresh blisters.

I closed my eyes and fought down the urge to throw things around the room and curse them in eight languages. That explained why the town was still in such a sorry state. Everyone had been busy burning and burying a creature worth a king’s ransom.

Still, there was nothing to be done about it. I doubted my new reputation would be enough to protect me if they caught me trying to dig it up. “The girl that survived the Mauthen wedding,” I said. “Has anyone seen her today?”

The mayor looked at the constable questioningly. “Not that I’ve heard. Do you think she was connected to the beast in some way?”

“What?” the question was so absurd I didn’t understand it at first. “No! Don’t be ridiculous.” I scowled at them. The last thing I needed was to somehow implicate Denna in all this. “She was helping me in my work.” I said, careful to keep things ambiguous.

The mayor glared at the constable, then looked back to me. “Is your . . . work finished here?” He asked carefully, as if afraid of giving offense. “I certainly don’t mean to pry into your affairs . . . but . . .” He licked his lips nervously. “Why did this happen? Are we safe?”

“You’re as safe as I can make you,” I said ambiguously. It sounded like a heroic thing to say. If all I was going to gain from this was a bit of reputation, I might as well make sure it was the right sort.

Then I had an idea. “To be certain of your safety, I need one thing.” I leaned forward in my chair, lacing my fingers together. “I need to know what Mauthen dug up on Barrow Hill.”

I saw them look at each other, thinking: How does he know about that?

I leaned back in the chair, fighting the urge to smile like a tomcat in a dovecote. “If I know what Mauthen found up there, I can take steps to make sure that this sort of thing doesn’t happen again. I know it was a secret, but someone in town is bound to know more. Spread the word, and have anyone who knows anything come talk to me.”

I came to my feet smoothly. It took a conscious effort not to wince at the various twinges and aches. “But have them come quickly. I leave tomorrow evening. I have pressing business to the south.”

Then I swept out the door, my cloak trailing rather dramatically behind me. I am a trouper to my bones, and when the scene is set, I know how to make an exit.

I spent the next day eating good food and dozing in my soft bed. I took a bath, tended to my various wounds, and generally took a well-deserved rest. A few people stopped by to tell me what I already knew. Mauthen had dug up barrow stones and found something buried there. What was it? Just something. No one knew more than that.

I was sitting beside my bed toying with the idea of writing a song about the draccus when I heard a timid tapping at my door, so faint I almost missed it. “Come in.”

The door opened a crack, then wider. A young girl of thirteen or so looked around nervously and scurried inside, closing the door softly behind her. She had curling, mousy brown hair and a pale face with two spots of color high on each cheek. Her eyes were hollow and dark, as if she had been crying, or missing sleep, or both.

“You wanted to know what Mauthen dug up?” She looked at me, then away.

“What’s your name?” I asked gently.

“Verainia Greyflock,” she said dutifully. Then dropped a hurried curtsey, looking at the floor.

“That’s a lovely name,” I said. “A verian is a tiny red flower.” I smiled, trying to set her at her ease. “Have you ever seen one?” She shook her head, eyes still on the floor. “I’m guessing no one calls you Verainia though. Are you a Nina?”

She looked up at that. A faint smile showed itself on her stricken face. “That’s what my gran calls me.”

“Come sit, Nina.” I nodded to the bed, as it was the only other place to sit in the room.

She sat, her hands twisting nervously in her lap. “I seen it. The thing they got out of the barrow.” She looked up at me, then down at her hands again. “Jimmy, Mauthen’s youngest boy, he showed me.”

My heart beat faster. “What was it?”

“It was a big fancy pot,” she said softly. “About this high.” She held her hand about three feet off the ground. It was shaking. “It had all sorts of writings and pictures on it. Really fancy. I haven’t ever seen colors like that. And some of the paints were shiny like silver and gold.”

“Pictures of what?” I asked, fighting to keep my voice calm.

“People,” she said. “Mostly people. There was a woman holding a broken sword, and a man next to a dead tree, and another man with a dog biting his leg. . . .” she trailed off.

“Was there one with white hair and black eyes?”

She looked at me wide-eyed, nodded. “Gave me the all-overs.” She shivered.

The Chandrian. It was a vase showing the Chandrian and their signs.

“Can you remember anything else about the pictures?” I asked. “Take your time, think hard.”

She thought about it. “There was one with no face, just a hood with nothing inside. There was a mirror by his feet and there was a bunch of moons over him. You know, full moon, half moon, sliver moon.” She looked down, thinking. “And there was a woman. . . .” She blushed. “With some of her clothes off.”

“Can you remember anything else?” I asked. She shook her head. “What about the writing?”

Nina shook her head. “This was all foreign writing. It didn’t say anything.”

“Do you think you could draw any of the writing you saw on it?”

She shook her head again. “I only saw it for half a moment,” she said. “Me and Jimmy knew we’d catch a beating if his da caught us.” Her eyes welled up with sudden tears. “Are demons going to be coming for me too, cause I seen it?”

I shook my head reassuringly, but she burst into tears anyway. “I been so scared since what happened out at Mauthen’s,” she sobbed. “I keep having dreams. I know they’re going to come get me.”

I moved to sit next to her on the bed and put my arm around her, making comforting noises. Her sobbing slowly wound down. “Nothing is going to come and get you.”

She looked up at me. She was no longer crying, but I could see the truth of things in her eyes. Underneath it all she was still terrified. No amount of gentle words would be enough to reassure her.

I stood and went over to my cloak. “Let me give you something,” I said, reaching into one of the pockets. I brought a piece of the sympathy lamp I was working on in the Fishery, it was a disk of bright metal covered with intricate sygaldry on one side.

I brought it back to her. “I got this charm when I was in Veloran. Far away, across the Stormwal mountains. It is a most excellent charm against demons.” I took her hand and pressed it into her palm.