Being Treasured

M Y TUITION WAS SET at nine talents and five. Better than the ten talents Manet had predicted, but more than I had in my purse. I had until tomorrow noon to settle up with the bursar or I would be forced to miss an entire term.

Having to postpone my studies wouldn’t have been a tragedy. But only students are allowed access to University resources, such as the equipment in the Artificery. That meant if I couldn’t pay my tuition, I would be barred from my work in Kilvin’s shop, the only job where I could hope to earn enough money for my tuition.

I stopped at the Stocks and Jaxim smiled as I approached the open window. “Just sold your lamps this morning,” he said. “We squeezed them for a little extra because they were the last ones left.”

He leafed through the ledger until he found the appropriate page. “Your sixty percent comes out to four talents and eight jots. After the materials and piecework you used . . .” He ran his finger down a page. “You’re left with two talents, three jots, and eight drabs.”

Jaxim made a note in the ledger, then wrote me a receipt. I folded the paper carefully and tucked it into my purse. It didn’t have the satisfying weight of coins, but it brought my total up to more than six talents. So much money, but still not enough.

If I hadn’t lost my temper with Hemme my tuition might have been low enough. I could have studied more, or earned more money if I hadn’t been forced to hide in my room for almost two whole days, weeping and raging with the taste of plum in my mouth.

A thought occurred to me. “I should start something new, I guess,” I said casually. “I’ll need a small crucible. Three ounces of tin. Two ounces of bronze. Four ounces of silver. A spool of fine gold wire. A copper—”

“Hold on a second,” Jaxim interrupted me. He ran a finger back along my name in the ledger. “I don’t have you authorized for gold or silver.” He looked up at me. “Is that a mistake?”

I hesitated, not wanting to lie. “I didn’t know you needed authorization,” I said.

Jaxim gave me a knowing grin. “You’re not the first one to try something like that,” he said. “Rough tuition?”

I nodded.

He grimaced sympathetically. “Sorry. Kilvin knows Stocks could turn into a moneylender’s stall if he isn’t careful.” He closed the ledger. “You’ll have to hit the pawnshop like everyone else.”

I held up my hands, showing him the fronts and backs to make a point of my lack of jewelry.

Jaxim winced. “That’s rough. I know a decent moneylender on Silver Court, only charges ten percent a month. It’s still like having your teeth pulled, but better than most.”

I nodded and sighed. Silver Court was where the guild moneylenders had their shops. They wouldn’t give me the time of day. “It’s certainly better than I’ve gotten in the past,” I said.

* * *

I thought things over while I walked to Imre, the familiar weight of my lute resting on one shoulder.

I was in a tight spot, but not a terrible one. No guild moneylender would lend money to an orphan Edema Ruh with no collateral, but I could borrow the money from Devi. Still, I wish it hadn’t come to that. Not only was her rate of interest extortionate, but I worried what favors she might require of me if I ever defaulted my loan. I doubted they would be small. Or easy. Or entirely legal.

Such were the turnings of my thoughts as I made my way over Stonebridge. I stopped by an apothecary, then made my way to the Grey Man.

Opening the door, I saw the Grey Man was a boarding house. There was no common room where people could gather and drink. Instead there was a small, richly-appointed parlor, complete with a well-dressed porter who eyed me with an air of disapproval, if not outright distaste.

“Can I help you, young sir?” he asked as I came in the door.

“I’m calling on a young lady,” I said. “By the name of Dinael.”

He nodded. “I shall go and see if she is in.”

“Don’t trouble yourself,” I said, moving toward the stairs. “She’s expecting me.”

The man moved to block my way. “I’m afraid that isn’t possible,” he said. “But I will be glad to see if the lady is in.”

He held out his hand. I looked at it.

“Your calling card?” he asked. “That I might present it to the young lady?”

“How can you give her my card if you aren’t sure she is in?” I asked.

The porter gave me the smile again. It was gracious, polite, and so sharply unpleasant that I took special note of it, fixing it in my memory. A smile like that is a work of art. As someone who grew up on the stage, I could appreciate it on several levels. A smile like that is like a knife in certain social settings, and I might have need of it someday.

“Ah,” the porter said. “The lady is in ,” he said with a certain emphasis. “But that does not necessarily mean she is in for you .”

“You can tell her Kvothe has come calling,” I said, more amused than offended. “I’ll wait.”

I didn’t have to wait long. The porter came down the stairs wearing an irritated expression, as if he’d been looking forward to throwing me out. “This way,” he said.

I followed him upstairs. He opened a door, and I swept past him with what I hoped was an irritating amount of dismissive aplomb.

It was a sitting room with wide windows that let in the late afternoon sun, large enough to seem spacious despite the scattered chairs and couches. A hammer dulcimer sat against the far wall, and one corner of the room was entirely occupied by a massive Modegan great harp.

Denna stood in the center of the room wearing a green velvet dress. Her hair was arranged to display her elegant neck to good effect, revealing the emerald teardrop earrings and matching necklace at her throat.

She was talking to a young man who was . . . the best word I can think of is pretty. He had a sweet, clean-shaven face with wide, dark eyes.

He had the look of a young noble who had been down on his luck too long for it to be a temporary thing. His clothing was fine but rumpled. His dark hair was cut in a style obviously meant to be curled, but it hadn’t been tended to recently. His eyes were sunken, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well.

Denna held out her hands to me. “Kvothe,” she said. “Come meet Geoffrey.”

“Pleasure to meet you, Kvothe,” Geoffrey said. “Dinael has told me quite a bit about you. You’re a bit of a—what is it? Wizard?” His smile was open and utterly guileless.

“Arcanist actually,” I said as politely as possible. “Wizard brings too much storybook nonsense to mind. People expect us to wear dark robes and fling about the entrails of birds. And yourself?”

“Geoffrey is a poet,” Denna said. “And a good one, though he’ll deny it.”

“I will,” he admitted, then his smile faded. “I have to go. I have an appointment with folk who shouldn’t be kept waiting.” He gave Denna a kiss on the cheek, shook my hand warmly, and left.

Denna watched the door close behind him. “He’s a sweet boy.”

“You say that as if you regret it,” I said.

“If he were a little less sweet, he might be able to fit two thoughts in his head at the same time. Maybe they would rub together and make a spark. Even a little smoke would be nice, then at least it would look like something was happening in there.” She sighed.

“Is he really that thick?”

She shook her head. “No. He’s just trusting. Hasn’t got a calculating bone in his body, and he’s done nothing but make bad choices since he got here a month ago.”

I reached into my cloak and brought out a pair of small, cloth-wrapped bundles: one blue, one white. “I’ve brought you a present.”

Denna reached out to take them, looking slightly puzzled.

What had seemed like such a good idea a few hours ago now seemed rather foolish. “They’re for your lungs,” I said, suddenly embarrassed. “I know you have trouble sometimes.”

She tilted her head on one side. “And how do you know that, pray tell?”

“You mentioned it when we were in Trebon,” I said. “I did some research.” I pointed. “That one you can brew in a tea: featherbite, deadnettle, lohatm. . . .” I pointed to the other. “That one you boil the leaves in some water and breathe the vapor coming off the top.”

Denna looked back and forth between the packages.

“I’ve written instructions on slips of paper inside,” I said. “The blue one is the one you’re supposed to boil and breathe the vapor,” I said. “Blue for water, you see.”

She looked up at me. “Don’t you make a tea with water, too?”

I blinked at that, then flushed and started to say something, but Denna laughed and shook her head. “I’m teasing you,” she said gently. “Thank you. This is the sweetest thing anyone’s done for me in a long while.”

Denna walked over to a chest of drawers and tucked the two bundles carefully into an ornate wooden box.

“You seem to be doing fairly well for yourself,” I said, gesturing to the well-appointed room.

Denna shrugged, looking around the room indifferently. “Kellin is doing well for himself,” she said. “I merely stand in his reflected light.”

I nodded my understanding. “I’d thought perhaps you’d found yourself a patron.”

“Nothing so formal as that. Kellin and I are walking about together, as they say in Modeg, and he is showing me my way around the harp.” She nodded to where the instrument loomed hugely in the corner.

“Care to show me what you’ve learned?” I asked.

Denna shook her head, embarrassed. Her hair slid down around her shoulders as she did so. “I’m not very good yet.”

“I will restrain my natural urge to jeer and hiss,” I said graciously.

Denna laughed. “Fine. Just a bit.” She walked behind the harp and drew up a tall stool to lean against. Then she lifted her hands to the strings, paused for a long moment, and began to play.

The melody was a variant of “Bell-Wether.” I smiled.

Her playing was slow, almost stately. Too many people think speed is the hallmark of a good musician. It’s understandable. What Marie had done at the Eolian was amazing. But how quickly you can finger notes is the smallest part of music. The real key is timing.

It’s like telling a joke. Anyone can remember the words. Anyone can repeat it. But making someone laugh requires more than that. Telling a joke faster doesn’t make it funnier. As with many things, hesitation is better than hurry.

This is why there are so few true musicians. A lot of folks can sing or saw out a tune on a fiddle. A music box can play a song flawlessly, again and again. But knowing the notes isn’t enough. You have to know how to play them. Speed comes with time and practice, but timing you are born with. You have it or you don’t.

Denna had it. She moved slowly through the song, but she wasn’t plodding. She played it slow as a luxurious kiss. Not that I knew anything of kissing at that point in my life. But as she stood with her arms around the harp, her eyes half-lidded with concentration, her lips lightly pursed, I knew I someday wanted to be kissed with that amount of slow, deliberate care.

And she was beautiful. I suppose it should come as no surprise that I have a particular fondness for women with music running through them. But as she played I saw her for the first time that day. Before I had been distracted by the difference in her hair, the cut of her dress. But as she played, all that faded from view.

I ramble. Suffice to say she was impressive, though obviously still learning. She struck a few bad notes, but didn’t flinch or cringe away from them. As they say, a jeweler knows the uncut gem. And I am. And she was. And so.

“You’re a long way past ‘Squirrel in the Thatch,’ ” I said quietly after she’d struck the final notes.

She shrugged my compliment away, not meeting my eye. “I don’t have much to do but practice,” she said. “And Kellin says I have a bit of a knack.”

“How long have you been at it?” I asked.

“Three span?” She looked thoughtful, then nodded. “A little less than three span.”

“Mother of God,” I said, shaking my head. “Don’t ever tell anyone how quickly you’ve picked it up. Other musicians will hate you for it.”

“My fingers aren’t used to it yet,” she said, looking down at them. “I can’t practice nearly as long as I like.”

I reached out and took hold of one of her hands, turning it palm up so I could see her fingertips. There were fading blisters there. “You’ve . . .”

I looked up and realized how close she was standing. Her hand was cool in mine. She stared at me with huge, dark eyes. One eyebrow slightly raised. Not arch, or playful even, just gently curious. My stomach felt suddenly strange and weak.

“I’ve what?” she asked.

I realized I had no idea what I had been about to say. I thought of saying, I have no idea what I was going to say . Then I realized that would be a stupid thing to say. So I didn’t say anything.

Denna looked down and took hold of my hand, turning it over. “Your hands are soft,” she said, then touched my fingertips lightly. “I thought the calluses would be rough, but they’re not. They’re smooth.”

Once her eyes weren’t fixed on mine, I regained a small piece of my wits. “It just takes time,” I said.

Denna looked up and gave a shy smile. My mind went blank as fresh paper.

After a moment, Denna let go of my hand and moved past me to the center of the room. “Would you care for something to drink?” she asked as she settled gracefully into a chair.

“That would be very kind of you,” I said purely on reflex. I realized my hand was still hanging stupidly in midair, and I let it fall to my side.

She gestured to a nearby chair and I sat.

“Watch this.” She picked up a small silver bell from a nearby table and rang it softly. Then she held up one hand with all five fingers extended. She folded in her thumb, then her index finger, counting downward.

Before she folded in her smallest finger, there came a knock on the door.

“Come in,” Denna called, and the well-dressed porter opened the door. “I believe I would like some drinking chocolate,” she said. “And Kvothe . . .” She looked at me questioningly.

“Drinking chocolate sounds lovely,” I said.

The porter nodded and disappeared, closing the door behind him.

“Sometimes I do it just to make him run,” Denna admitted sheepishly, looking down at the bell. “I can’t imagine how he can hear it. For a while, I was convinced he was sitting in the hallway with his ear against my door.”

“Can I see the bell?” I asked.

She handed it over. It looked normal at first glance, but when I turned it upside down I saw some tiny sygaldry on the inner surface of the bell.

“He isn’t eavesdropping,” I said, handing it back. “There’s another bell downstairs that rings in time with this one.”

“How?” She asked, then answered her own question. “Magic?”

“You could call it that.”

“Is that the sort of thing you do over there?” She jerked her head in the direction of the river and the University beyond. “It seems a little . . . tawdry.”

“It’s the most frivolous use of sygaldry I’ve ever seen,” I said.

Denna burst out laughing. “You sound so offended,” she said. Then, “It’s called sygaldry?”

“Making something like that is called artificing,” I said. “Sygaldry is writing or carving the runes that make it work.”

Denna’s eyes lit up at this. “So it’s a magic where you write things down?” she asked, leaning forward in her chair. “How does it work?”

I hesitated. Not only because it was a huge question, but because the University has very specific rules about sharing Arcanum secrets. “It’s rather complicated,” I said.

Luckily, at that moment there was another knock on the door and our chocolate arrived in steaming cups. My mouth watered at the smell of it. The man set the tray on a nearby table and left without a word.

I sipped and smiled at the thick sweetness of it. “It’s been years since I’ve had chocolate,” I said.

Denna lifted her cup and looked around the room. “It’s strange to think some people live their whole lives like this,” she mused.

“It’s not to your liking?” I asked, surprised.

“I like the chocolate and the harp,” she said. “But I could do without the bell and a whole room just for sitting.” Her mouth curved into the beginning of a frown. “And I hate knowing someone is set to guard me, like I’m a treasure someone might try to steal.”

“You’re not to be treasured, then?”

She narrowed her eyes over the top of her cup, as if she wasn’t sure how serious I was. “I don’t fancy being under lock and key,” she clarified with a grim note in her voice. “I don’t mind being given rooms, but they aren’t really mine if I’m not free to come and go.”

I raised an eyebrow at that, but before I could say anything she waved her hand dismissively. “It’s not like that really,” she sighed. “But I don’t doubt Kellin is informed of my comings and goings. I know the porter tells him who comes calling. It rankles a bit is all.” She gave a crooked smile. “I suppose that seems terribly ungrateful, doesn’t it?”

“Not at all,” I said. “When I was younger, my troupe traveled everywhere. But every year we would spend a few span at our patron’s estate, performing for his family and his guests.”

I shook my head at the memory. “Baron Greyfallow was a gracious host. We sat at his own table. He gave us gifts . . .” I trailed off, remembering a regiment of tiny lead soldiers he’d given me. I shook my head clear of the thought. “But my father hated it. Climbed the walls. He couldn’t tolerate the feeling of being at someone’s beck and call.”

“Yes!” Denna said. “That’s exactly it! If Kellin says he might pay me a visit on such and such evening, suddenly I feel I’ve had one foot nailed to the floor. If I leave I’m being obstinate and rude, but if I stay I feel like a dog waiting by the door.”

We sat for a moment in silence. Denna twirled the ring on her finger absentmindedly, sunlight catching the pale blue stone.

“Still,” I said, looking around. “They are nice rooms.”

“They’re nice when you’re here,” she said.

* * *

Several hours later, I climbed a narrow flight of stairs behind a butcher’s shop. There was a faint, pervasive smell of rancid fat from the alley below, but I was smiling. An afternoon with Denna entirely to myself was a rare treat, and my step was surprisingly light for someone about to make a deal with a demon.

I knocked on the solid wooden door at the top of the steps and waited. No guild moneylender would trust me with a bent penny, but there are always folk willing to lend money. Poets and other romantics call them copper hawks, or sharps, but gaelet is the better term. They are dangerous people, and wise folk steer well clear of them.

The door opened a crack, then swung wide, revealing a young woman with a pixie face and strawberry-blonde hair. “Kvothe!” Devi exclaimed. “I worried I might not see you this term.”

I stepped inside, and Devi bolted the door behind me. The large, windowless room smelled pleasantly of cinnas fruit and honey, a refreshing change from the alley.

One side of the room was dominated by a huge canopy bed, its dark curtains drawn. On the other side was a fireplace, a large wooden desk, and a standing bookshelf three-quarters full. I wandered over to eye the titles while Devi locked and barred the door.

“Is this copy of Malcaf new?” I asked.

“It is,” she said walking over to stand beside me. “A young alchemist who couldn’t settle his debt let me pick through his library in order to square things between us.” Devi carefully pulled the book from the shelf, revealing Vision and Revision in gold leaf on the cover. She looked up at me, grinning impishly. “Have you read it?”

“I haven’t,” I said. I’d wanted to study it for admissions but hadn’t been able to find a copy in the Stacks. “Just heard about it.”

Devi looked thoughtful for a moment, then handed it to me. “When you’ve finished, come back and we’ll discuss it. I’m woefully devoid of interesting conversation these days. If we have a decent argument, I might let you borrow another.”

Once the book was in my hands, she tapped the cover lightly with a finger. “This book is worth more than you are.” She said without a hint of playfulness in her voice. “If it comes back damaged, there will be an accounting.”

“I’ll be very careful,” I said.

Devi nodded, then turned and walked past me toward the desk. “Right then, on to business.” She sat down. “Cutting it a little close, aren’t you?” she asked. “Tuition needs to be paid before noon tomorrow.”

“I live a dangerous and exciting life,” I said as I wandered over and took a seat across from her. “And delightful as I find your company, I was hoping to avoid your services this term.”

“How do you like tuition as a Re’lar?” she asked knowingly. “How hard did they hit you?”

“That’s a rather personal question,” I said.

Devi gave me a frank look. “We are about to enter into a rather personal arrangement,” she pointed out. “I hardly feel I’m overstepping myself.”

“Nine and a half,” I said.

She snorted derisively. “I thought you were supposed to be all manner of clever. I never got higher than seven when I was a Re’lar.”

“You had access to the Archives,” I pointed out.

“I had access to vast stores of intellect,” she said matter-of-factly. “Plus, I am cute as a button.” She gave a grin that brought out dimples in both her cheeks.

“You are shiny as a new penny,” I admitted. “No man can hope to stand against you.”

“Some women have trouble keeping their feet as well,” she said. Her grin changed slightly, moving from adorable to impish and then well past the border into wicked.

Not having the slightest idea how to respond to that, I moved in a safer direction. “I’m afraid I need to borrow four talents.” I said.

“Ah,” Devi said. Suddenly businesslike, she folded her hands atop the desk. “I’m afraid I’ve made a few changes to my business recently,” she said. “Currently, I am only extending loans of six talents or more.”

I didn’t bother trying to hide my dismay. “Six talents? Devi, that extra debt will be a millstone around my neck.”

She gave a sigh that sounded at least slightly apologetic. “Here’s the trouble. When I make a loan, I run certain risks. I risk losing my investment if my debtor dies or tries to run. I run the risk they’ll attempt to report me. I run the risk of being brought up against the iron law, or worse, the moneylender’s guild.”

“You know I’d never try something like that, Devi.”

“The fact remains,” Devi continued, “my risk is the same, no matter if the loan is small or large. Why should I take those risks for small loans?”

“Small?” I asked. “I could live for a year on four talents!”

She tapped the desk with a finger, pursing her mouth. “Collateral?”

“The usual,” I said, giving her my best smile. “My boundless charm.”

Devi snorted indelicately. “For boundless charm and three drops of blood you can borrow six talents at my standard rate. Fifty percent interest over a two-month term.”

“Devi,” I said ingratiatingly. “What am I going to do with the extra money?”

“Throw a party,” she suggested. “Spend a day in the Buckle. Find yourself a nice game of high-stakes faro.”

“Faro,” I said, “is a tax on people who can’t calculate probabilities.”

“Then run bank and collect the tax,” she said. “Buy yourself something pretty and wear it next time you come in to see me.” She looked me up and down with dangerous eyes. “Maybe then I’ll be willing to cut you a deal.”

“How about six talents for a month at twenty-five percent?” I asked.

Devi shook her head, not unkindly. “Kvothe, I respect the impulse to bargain, but you don’t have any leverage. You’re here because you’re over a barrel. I’m here to capitalize on that situation.” She spread her hands in a helpless gesture. “That’s how I make my living. The fact that you have a sweet face doesn’t really enter into it.”

Devi gave me a serious look. “Conversely, if a guild moneylender would give you the time of day, I wouldn’t expect you to come here simply because I’m pretty and you like the color of my hair.”

“It is a lovely color,” I said. “We fiery types should really stick together.”

“We should,” she agreed. “I propose we stick together at fifty percent interest over a two month term.”

“Fine.” I said, slumping back into my chair. “You win.”

Devi gave me a winsome smile, dimples showing again. “I can only win if we were both actually playing.” She opened a drawer in the desk, bringing out a small glass bottle and a long pin.

I reached out to take them, but instead of sliding them across the desk, she gave me a thoughtful look. “Now that I think of it, there might be another option.”

“I’d love another option,” I admitted.

“The last time we talked,” Devi said slowly, “you implied you had a way into the Archives.”

I hesitated. “I did imply that.”

“That information would be worth quite a bit to me,” she said overcasually. Though she tried to hide it, I could see a fierce, lean hunger in her eyes.

I looked down at my hands and didn’t say anything.

“I’ll give you ten talents right now,” Devi said bluntly. “Not a loan. I’ll buy the information outright. If I get caught in the Stacks, I never learned it from you.”

I thought of everything I could do with ten talents. New clothes. A lute case that wasn’t about to fall to pieces. Paper. Gloves for the coming winter.

I sighed and shook my head.

“Twenty talents,” Devi said. “And guild rates on any loans you want in the future.”

Twenty talents would mean half a year of worry-free tuition. I could pursue my own projects in the Fishery rather than slaving away at deck lamps. I could buy tailored clothes. Fresh fruit. I could use a laundry rather than wash my clothes myself.

I drew a reluctant breath. “I—”

“Forty talents,” Devi said hungrily. “Guild rates. And I will take you to bed.”

For forty talents I could buy Denna her own half-harp. I could . . .

I looked up and saw Devi staring at me from across the desk. Her lips were wet, her pale blue eyes intense. She shifted her shoulders back and forth in the slow, unconscious motion of a cat before it pounces.

I thought of Auri, safe and happy in the Underthing. What would she do if her tiny kingdom was invaded by a stranger?

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I can’t. Getting in is . . . complicated. It involves a friend, and I don’t think they’d be willing.” I decided to ignore the other part of her offer, as I hadn’t the slightest idea what to say about it.

There was a long, tense moment. “Goddamn you,” Devi said at last. “You sound like you’re telling the truth.”

“I am,” I said. “It’s unsettling, I know.”

“Goddamn.” She scowled as she pushed the bottle and pin across the desk.

I pricked the back of my hand and watched the blood well up and roll down my hand to fall into the bottle. After three drops I tipped the pin into the mouth of the bottle as well.

Devi swabbed some adhesive around the stopper and drove it angrily into the bottle. Then she reached into a drawer and pulled out a diamond stylus. “Do you trust me?” She asked as she etched a number into the glass. “Or do you want this sealed?”

“I trust you,” I said. “But I’d like it sealed all the same.”

She melted a daub of sealing wax onto the top of the bottle. I pressed my talent pipes into it, leaving a recognizable impression.

Reaching into another drawer, Devi brought out six talents and clattered them onto the desk. The motion might have seemed petulant if her eyes hadn’t been so hard and angry.

“I’m getting in there one way or another,” she said with a chill edge to her voice. “Talk to your friend. If you’re the one that helps me, I’ll make it worth your time.”

Date: 2015-02-03; view: 872