Moving gingerly, I pulled my shirt up over my head. The elbow of the shirt was torn and speckled with blood. I cursed bitterly. I only owned four shirts, and now this one was ruined.
I tried to get a look at my the injury, and quickly realized that you couldn’t get a look at the back of your own elbow, no matter how much you wanted to. Eventually I held it up for Simmon’s inspection.
“It’s not much,” he said, holding his fingers a little more than two inches apart. “There’s only one cut and it’s hardly bleeding. The rest of it’s just scraped up. It looks like you scuffed it hard against something.”
“Clay tile from the roof fell on me,” I said.
“Lucky,” Wilem grunted. “Who else could fall off a roof and end up with nothing more than a few scrapes?”
“I’ve got bruises on my knees the size of apples,” I said. “I’ll be lucky if I can walk tomorrow.” But deep down I knew he was right. The clay tile that had landed on my elbow could easily have broken my arm. The broken edges of the clay tiles were sometimes sharp as knives, so if it had hit me differently, it could have cut me down to the bone. I hate clay roofing tiles.
“Well, it could have been worse,” Simmon said briskly as he came to his feet. “Let’s go to the Medica and get you patched up.”
“
Simmon sat down again. “Of course,” he said, sounding vaguely disgusted with himself. “I knew that.” He looked me over. “At least you’re not hurt anywhere that people can see.”
I looked at Wilem. “You have a problem with blood, don’t you?”
His expression grew slightly offended. “I wouldn’t say . . .” His eyes darted to my elbow and his face grew a little pale despite his dark Cealdish complexion. His mouth made a thin line. “Yes.”
“Fair enough.” I started to cut my ruined shirt into strips of cloth. “Congratulations Sim. You’ve been promoted to field medic.” I opened a drawer and brought out hook needle and gut, iodine, and a small pot of goose grease.
Sim looked at the needle, then back at me, eyes wide.
I gave him my best smile. “It’s easy. I’ll talk you through it.”
I sat on the floor with my arm over my head while Simmon washed, stitched, and bandaged my elbow. He surprised me by being nowhere near as squeamish as I’d expected. His hands were more careful and confident than those of many students in the Medica who did this sort of thing all the time.
“So the three of us were here, playing breath all night?” Wil asked, pointedly avoiding looking in my direction.
“Sounds good,” Sim said. “Can we say I won?”
“No,” I said. “People must have seen Wil at the Pony. Lie and they’ll catch me for sure.”
“Oh,” Sim said. “What do we say then?”
“The truth.” I pointed at Wil. “You were at the Pony during the excitement, then came here to tell me about it.” I nodded to the small table, where a mass of gears, springs, and screws were spread in disarray. “I showed you the harmony clock I found, and you both gave me advice on how to fix it.”
Sim seemed disappointed. “Not very exciting.”
“Simple lies are best,” I said, getting to my feet. “Thanks again, both of you. This could have gone terribly wrong without the two of you looking out for me.”
Simmon got to his feet and opened the door. Wil stood as well, but didn’t turn to leave. “I heard a strange rumor the other night,” he said.
“Anything interesting?” I asked.
He nodded. “Very. I remember hearing that you were done antagonizing a certain powerful member of the nobility. I was surprised that you had finally decided to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Come on, Wil,” Simmon said. “Ambrose isn’t sleeping. He’s a dog with the froth that deserves to be put down.”
“He more resembles an angry bear,” Wilem said. “One you seem determined to prod with a burning stick.”
“How can you say that?” Sim said hotly. “In two years as a scriv has he ever called you anything other than a filthy shim? And what about that time he almost blinded me by mixing my salts? Kvothe will be working the plum bob out of his system for—”
Wil held up his hand and nodded to acknowledge Simmon’s point. “I know this to be true, which is why I let myself be drawn into such foolishness. I merely wish to make a point.” He looked at me. “You realize you have gone well over the hill concerning this Denna girl, don’t you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Piecework
The pain in my knees kept me from any sort of decent sleep that night. So when the sky outside my window started to show the first pale light of coming dawn I gave up, got dressed, and made my slow, painful way to the outskirts of town, looking for willow bark to chew. Along the way I discovered several new, exciting bruises I hadn’t been aware of the night before.
The walk was pure agony, but I was glad I was making it in the early morning dark, when the streets were empty. There was bound to be a lot of talk about last night’s excitement at the Golden Pony. If anyone saw me limping, it would be too easy for them to jump to the right conclusions.
Luckily, the trip loosened the stiffness in my legs and the willow bark took the edge off the pain. By the time the sun was fully up I felt well enough to appear in public. So I headed to the Fishery hoping to get in a few hours of piecework before Adept Sympathy. I needed to start earning money for next term’s tuition and Devi’s loan, not to mention bandages and a new shirt.
Jaxim wasn’t in the Stocks when I arrived, but I recognized the student there. We had entered the University at the same time and bunked close to each other for a little while in the Mews. I liked him. He wasn’t one of the nobility who drifted blithely through the school, carried by his family’s name and money. His parents were wool merchants, and he worked to pay his tuition.
“Basil,” I said. “I thought you made E’lir last term. What are you doing in the Stocks?”
He flushed a little, looking embarrassed. “Kilvin caught me adding water to acid.”
I shook my head, giving a stern scowl. “This is contrary to proper procedure, E’lir Basil,” I said dropping my voice an octave. “An artificer must move with perfect care in all things.”
Basil grinned. “You’ve got his accent.” He opened the ledger book. “What can I get you?”
“I’m not feeling up for anything more complicated than piecework right now,” I said. “How about—”
“Hold on,” Basil interrupted, frowning down at the ledger book.
“What?”
He spun the ledger around to face me and pointed. “There’s a note next to your name.”
I looked. Penciled in Kilvin’s strangely childlike scrawl was: “No materials or tools to Re’lar Kvothe. Send him to me. Klvn.”
Basil gave me a sympathetic look. “It’s acid to water,” he joked gently. “Did you forget, too?”
“I wish I had,” I said. “Then I’d know what was going on.”
Basil looked around nervously, then leaned forward and spoke in a low voice. “Listen, I saw that girl again.”
I blinked at him stupidly. “What?”
“The girl that came in here looking for you,” he prompted. “The young one that was looking for the redheaded wizard who sold her a charm?”
I closed my eyes and rubbed at my face. “She came back? This is the last thing I need right now.”
Basil shook his head. “She didn’t come in,” he said. “At least not that I know of. But I’ve seen her a couple
