His scowl gave way to curiosity, and I lowered my voice a little more. “You’ve been here before, right?” He nodded, leaning a little closer. “Do you know what that girl’s name is?” I nodded my head in the redhead’s direction.
Dedan took an over-careful look over his shoulder that surely would have drawn her attention if she hadn’t been facing away from us. “The blonde one the Adem’s pawin’ at?” Dedan asked.
“Redhead.”
Dedan’s broad forehead wrinkled as he squinted the far side of the room into focus. “Losine?” He asked softly. He turned to me, still squinting. “Little Losi?”
I shrugged and began to regret my choice of diversionary tactic.
An explosive laugh burst out of the big man and he half fell, half slid onto the bench across from me.
“Losi,” he chuckled a little more loudly than I liked. “Kvothe, I had you all wrong.” He slapped the table with the flat of his hand and laughed again, nearly tipping himself over backward on the bench. “Ah, you’ve got a good eye, boy, but you haven’t got a damn chance.”
My battered pride pricked up at this. “Why not? Isn’t she, well—” I trailed off, making an inarticulate gesture.
He somehow managed to gather my meaning. “A whore?” he asked incredulously. “God boy, no. There’s a couple around.” He made a sweeping gesture over his head, then lowered his voice to a more private level. “Not really whores, mind you. Just girls who don’t mind a little extra at night.” He paused, blinked. “Money. Extra money.
“I just thought . . .” I began weakly.
“Ay, any man who ever had eyes and balls thought that.” He leaned a little closer. “She’s a lusty little one. She’ll trip a man who catches her eye, but she can’t be talked or bought into bed. If she could, she’d be rich as the king of Vint.” He looked in her direction. “How much’s a roll with that worth? I’d give—”
He squinted in her direction, his lips moving as if going through some silent, complex arithmetic. After a moment he shrugged. “More than I’ve got.” He looked back to me, shrugged again. “Still, it’s no good wishing. Save yourself the trouble. If ye want, I know a lady here who’s no shame to look at. Might be willing to brighten up your evening.” He started to look around the room.
“No!” I put my hand on his arm to stop him. “I was just curious, that’s all.” I sounded insincere and I knew it. “Thanks for filling me in.”
“Nothin’ to it.” He carefully got to his feet.
“Oh,” I said, as if a thought had just occurred to me. “Could you do me a favor?” He nodded and I gestured him closer. “I’m worried Hespe might end up talking about our job for the Maer. If the bandits hear we’re hunting them, things will get ten times harder.” A guilty look flashed across his face. “I’m pretty sure she wouldn’t mention it, but you know how women like to talk.”
“I understand,” he said quickly as he stood up. “I’ll talk to her. Better to be careful.”
The hawk-faced fiddler finished his jig, and everyone clapped and stomped and pounded empty mugs on their tables. I sighed and rubbed my face into my hands. When I looked up I saw Marten at the table next to mine. He touched his fingers to his forehead and nodded a small salute. I gave a slight, seated bow. It’s always nice to have an appreciative audience.
CHAPTER SEVENTY-EIGHT
Another Road, Another Forest
I took a certain dark pleasure in seeing a rather hungover Dedan on the road before the sun was fully in the sky the next morning. The large man carried himself delicately, but to give him due credit, he didn’t offer a word of complaint, unless the occasional low moan can be counted as a word.
Now that I was watching more closely, I spotted the marks of infatuation on Dedan. The way he said Hespe’s name. The coarse jokes he made when talking to her. Every few minutes he would find an excuse to glance in her direction. Always under some pretext: a stretch, an idle glance at the road, a gesture to the trees around us.
Despite this, Dedan remained oblivious to the sporadic courtship Hespe was paying him in return. At times it was amusing to watch, like a well-orchestrated Modegan tragedy. At times I wanted to strangle them both.
Tempi traveled wordlessly among us like a mute, well-behaved puppy. He watched everything: the trees, the road, the clouds. If it weren’t for the unquestionably intelligent look in his eyes, I’d have thought him a simpleton by this point. The few questions I put to him were still met with awkward fidgeting, nods, shrugs, or shakes of the head.
All the while my curiosity nagged at me. I knew the Lethani was just a piece of storybook nonsense, but part of me couldn’t help but wonder. Was he really saving his words? Could he really use his quiet like armor? Move fast as a snake? The truth was, after catching glimpses of what Elxa Dal and Fela could do by calling on the names of fire and stone, the thought of someone storing up words to burn as fuel didn’t seem nearly as foolish as it used to.
The five of us got to know each other in dribs and drabs, growing familiar with each other’s quirks. Dedan carefully groomed the ground where he lay his bedroll, not just removing twigs and stones, but stomping flat every tuft of grass or lump of dirt.
Hespe whistled tunelessly when she thought no one was listening and picked her teeth methodically after every meal. Marten wouldn’t eat meat that had the barest bit of pink to it or drink water that hadn’t been boiled or mixed with wine. He told the rest of us at least twice a day that we were fools for not doing the same.
But in terms of odd behavior, Tempi was the prize winner of the lot. He wouldn’t look me in the eye. Didn’t smile. Didn’t frown. Didn’t speak.
Since we left the Pennysworth, he had made only one comment of his own free will. “Rain would make this road another road, this forest another forest.” He said each word distinctly, as if he had been deliberating on the statement all day. For all I knew, he had.
He washed himself obsessively. The rest of us would take advantage of a bathhouse when we stopped at an inn, but Tempi bathed every day. If there was a stream handy, he would bathe both at night and then again when he woke. Otherwise, he would wash himself using a cloth and some of his drinking water.
And twice a day without fail, he performed an elaborate ritual stretch, his hands making careful shapes and patterns in the air. It reminded me of the slow court dances they perform in Modeg.
It obviously kept him limber, but it was strange to watch. Hespe made jokes about how if the bandits asked us to dance, our sweet-smelling mercenary would be a wonderful help. But she said it quietly, when Tempi was out of earshot.
In terms of quirks, I suppose I was in no position to throw stones. I played my lute most evenings, when I wasn’t too weary from walking. I daresay it didn’t improve the others’ opinion of me as a tactical leader or arcanist.
As we neared our destination, I grew increasingly anxious. Marten was the only one of us truly suited to this work. Dedan and Hespe would be good in a fight, but they were troublesome to work with. Dedan was argumentative and stubborn. Hespe was lazy. She rarely helped prepare meals or clean up afterward unless she was asked, and even then her help was so grudging it was barely any help at all.
And then there was Tempi, a hired killer who wouldn’t look me in the eye or hold a conversation. A mercenary I firmly believed could look forward to a decent career in the Modegan theater. . . .
Five days after leaving Severen, we came to the area where the attacks had been made. A twenty-mile stretch of twisting road that ran through the Eld: no towns, no inns, not even an abandoned farm. An utterly isolated stretch of the king’s highway in the middle of an endless ancient wood. The natural habitat of bears, mad hermits, and poachers. A highwayman’s paradise.
Marten went scouting while the rest of us set up camp. An hour later he emerged from the trees, winded but in good spirits. He reassured us he hadn’t found sign of anyone else nearby.
“I can’t believe I’m defending tax collectors,” Dedan muttered disgustedly. Hespe gave a throaty laugh.
