The Wise Man's Fear

I made my way out of the estates without anyone seeing me. My shaed was well suited to sneaking about in the dark. After an hour of searching I found a greasy bookbinder in Severen-Low.

He was an unsavory fellow with the morals of a feral dog, but he was interested in the stack of slanderous stories the nobility had been sending to my rooms. He offered me four reels for the lot of them, plus the promise of ten pennies for every volume of the book he sold after they were printed. I bargained him up to six reels and six pennies per copy and we shook hands. I left his shop, burned the contract, and washed my hands twice. I did keep the money, however.

After that I sold both suits of fine clothing and all of Caudicus’ books except for one. With the money I’d accumulated, I spent the next several hours on the docks and found a ship leaving the next day for Junpui.

As night settled onto the city, I wandered the high parts of Severen, hoping I might run into Denna. I didn’t, of course. I could tell she was long gone. A city feels different when Denna is somewhere inside it, and Severen felt as hollow as an empty egg.

At the end of several hours of fruitless searching, I stopped by a dockside brothel and spent some time drinking in the taproom. It was a slow night, and the ladies were bored. So I bought drinks for everyone, and we talked. I told a few stories and they listened. I played a few songs and they applauded. Then I asked a favor, and they laughed and laughed and laughed.

So I poured the sackful of rings into a bowl and left them on the bar. Soon the ladies were trying them on and arguing over who would get the silver ones. I bought another round of drinks and left, my mood somewhat improved.

I wandered aimlessly after that, eventually finding a small public garden near the lip of the Sheer looking out over Severen-Low. The lamps below were burning orange, while here or there a gaslight or sympathy lamp flickered greenish blue and crimson. It was as breathtaking as the first time I had seen it.

I had been watching for some time before I realized I wasn’t alone. An older man leaned against a tree several feet away, looking down at the lights much as I had been. A faint and not unpleasant aroma of beer wafted from him.

“She’s a pretty thing, innit she?” he said, his accent marking him as a dockworker.

I agreed. We watched the twinkling fires silently for a time. I unscrewed the wooden ring from my finger and considered throwing it off the cliff. Now that someone was watching, I couldn’t help but feel the gesture was somewhat childish.

“They say a nobleman can piss on half o’ Severen from up here,” the dockman said conversationally.

I tucked the ring into a pocket of my shaed. A memento then. “Those are the lazy ones,” I replied. “The ones I’ve met can piss a lot farther than that.”

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-ONE A Journey to Return

Fate favored me on the way back to the University. We had a good wind and everything was delightfully uneventful. The sailors had heard of my encounter with Felurian, so I enjoyed a modest fame for the duration of the trip. I played them the song I’d written about it, and told them the story about half as often as they asked me to.

I also told them about my trip to the Adem. They didn’t believe a piece of it at first, but then I showed them the sword and threw their best wrestler three times. They showed me a different sort of respect after that, and a rougher, more honest sort of friendship.

I learned a goodly bit from them on my journey home. They told me sea stories and the names of stars. They talked about wind and water and wimmin, sorry, women. They tried to teach me sailor’s knots, but I didn’t have a knack for it, though I proved to be a dab hand at untying them.

Altogether it was very pleasant. The friendship of the sailors, the song of the wind in the rigging, the smell of sweat and salt and tar. Over the long days, these things slowly eased the bitterness I felt toward my ill treatment at the hands of Maer Alveron and his loving lady wife.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED FORTY-TWO Home

Eventually we docked in Tarbean, where the sailors helped me find a cheap berth on a billow boat heading upstream toward Anilin. I got off two days later in Imre and walked to the University just as the first blue light of dawn was coloring the sky.

I’ve never in my life had anything like a home. As a young child I grew up on the road, endlessly traveling with my troupe. Home wasn’t a place. It was people and wagons. Later in Tarbean I had had a secret place where three roofs came together and gave me shelter from the rain. I slept there and hid a few precious things, but it wasn’t anything like a home.

Because of this, I’d never in my life enjoyed the feeling of coming home after a journey. I felt it for the first time that day as I crossed the Omethi, the stones of the bridge familiar underneath my feet. As I came to the tallest part of its broad arch I could see the grey shape of the Archives rising out of the trees ahead of me.

The streets of the University were comforting under my feet. I’d been gone for three-quarters of a year. In some ways it seemed much longer, but at the same time everything here felt so familiar that it felt like hardly any time at all had passed.

It was still early when I got to Anker’s, and the front door was locked. I briefly considered climbing up to my window, then thought better of it, given that I was carrying my lute case and travelsack, and wearing Caesura as well.

Instead I made my way to the Mews and knocked on Simmon’s door. It was early, and I knew I’d be waking him, but I was hungry for a familiar face. After waiting a short minute and hearing nothing, I knocked again, louder, and practiced my best jaunty smile.

Sim opened the door, his hair in disarray, his eyes red from too little sleep. He looked blearily out at me. For the space of a breath his expression was blank, then he hurled himself at me with a crushing hug.

“Blackened body of God,” he said, using stronger language than I’d ever heard from him before. “Kvothe. You’re alive.”

Sim had a bit of a cry, then shouted at me for a while, and then we laughed and sorted matters out. It seems Threpe had been keeping closer tabs on my travels than I’d thought. Consequently, when my ship had gone missing, he’d assumed the worst.

A letter would have cleared things up, but I’d never thought to send one. The thought of writing home was utterly alien to me.

“The ship was reported as all hands lost,” Sim said. “Word spread around the Eolian and guess who heard the news.”

“Stanchion?” I asked, knowing he was a terrible gossip.

Sim shook his head grimly. “Ambrose.”

“Oh lovely,” I observed dryly.

“It would have been bad coming from anyone,” Sim said. “But it was worst from him. I was half convinced he’d somehow arranged to sink your ship.” He gave a sickly smile. “He waited until right before admissions before he broke the news to me. Needless to say, I pissed all over myself during my exam and spent another term as an E’lir.”

“Spent?” I said. “You made Re’lar?”

He grinned. “Just yesterday. I was sleeping off the celebration when you woke me up this morning.”

“How’s Wil?” I asked. “Did he take the news hard?”