The Wise Man's Fear

“Heat exhaustion?” I said.

Mola held up a hand to quiet me. “That was my first diagnosis,” she said. “On further examination, I’ve decided you’re actually suffering from an acute case of jumping out of a window last night.” She gave me a pointed look.

I suddenly became self-conscious. Not of my near-nakedness, but of the obvious injuries I’d received when I’d fallen off the roof of the Golden Pony. I glanced at the door and was relieved to see it was closed. Mola stood watching me, her expression carefully blank.

“Has anyone else seen?” I asked.

Mola shook her head. “We’ve been busy today.”

I relaxed a bit. “That’s something then.”

Her expression was grim. “This morning, Arwyl gave orders to report any suspicious injuries. It’s no secret why. Ambrose himself has offered a sizable reward to whoever helps him catch a thief who broke into his rooms and stole several valuables, including a ring his mother gave him on her deathbed.”

“That bastard,” I said hotly. “I didn’t steal anything.”

Mola raised an eyebrow. “As easy as that? No denial? No . . . anything?”

I exhaled through my nose, trying to get my temper under control. “I’m not going to insult your intelligence. It’s pretty obvious I didn’t fall down some stairs.” I took a deep breath. “Look, Mola. If you tell anyone, they’ll expel me. I didn’t steal anything. I could have, but I didn’t.”

“Then why . . .” She hesitated, obviously uncomfortable. “What were you doing?”

I sighed. “Would you believe I was doing a favor for a friend?”

Mola gave me a shrewd look, her green eyes searching mine. “Well, you do seem to be in the favor business lately.”

“I . . . what?” I asked, my thoughts moving too sluggishly to follow what she was saying.

“The last time you were here, I treated you for burns and smoke inhalation after pulling Fela out of a fire.”

“Oh,” I said. “That’s not really a favor. Anyone would have done that.”

Mola gave me a searching look. “You really believe that, don’t you?” She shook her head a little, then picked up a hardback and made a few notes on it, no doubt filling out her treatment report. “Well, I consider it a favor. Fela and I bunked together back when we were both new here. Despite what you think, it’s not something a lot of people would have done.”

There was a knock and Sim’s voice came from the hallway. “Can we come in?” Without waiting for an answer, he opened the door and led an uncomfortable looking Wilem into the room.

“We heard . . .” Sim paused and turned to look at Mola. “He’s going to be okay, right?”

“He’ll be fine,” Mola said. “Provided his temperature levels out.” She picked up a key-gauge and stuck it in my mouth. “I know this will be hard for you, but try to keep your mouth shut for a minute.”

“In that case,” Simmon said with a grin, “We heard Kilvin took you somewhere private and showed you something that made you faint like a little sissy girl.”

I scowled at him, but kept my mouth shut.

Mola turned back to Wil and Sim. “His legs are going to hurt for a while, but there’s no permanent damage. His elbow should be fine too, though the stitching’s a mess. What the hell were you guys doing in Ambrose’s rooms, anyway?”

Wilem simply looked at her, characteristically dark-eyed and stoic.

No such luck with Sim. “Kvothe needed to get a ring for his ladylove,” he chirped cheerfully.

Mola turned to look at me, her expression furious. “You have a hell of a lot of nerve to lie right to my face,” she said, her eyes flat and angry as a cat’s. “Thank goodness you didn’t want to insult my intelligence or anything.”

I took a deep breath and reached up to take the key-gauge out of my mouth. “Goddammit Sim,” I said crossly. “Some day I’m going to teach you to lie.”

Sim looked back and forth between the two of us, flushed with panic and embarrassment. “Kvothe has a thing for a girl over the river,” he said defensively. “Ambrose took a ring of hers and won’t give it back. We just —”

Mola cut him off with a sharp gesture. “Why didn’t you just tell me that?” she demanded of me, irritated. “Everyone knows what Ambrose is like with women!”

“That’s why I didn’t tell you,” I said. “It sounded like a very convenient lie. There’s also the fact that it is not one whit of your goddamn business.”

Her expression hardened. “You come off pretty high and mighty for—”

“Stop. Just stop,” Wilem said, startling both of us out of our argument. He turned to Mola, “When Kvothe came here unconscious, what did you do first?”

“I checked his pupils for signs of head trauma,” Mola said automatically. “What the hell does that have to do with anything?”

Wilem gestured in my direction. “Look at his eyes now.”

Mola looked at me. “They’re dark,” she said, sounding surprised. “Dark green. Like a pine bough.”

Wil continued. “Don’t argue with him when his eyes go dark like that. No good comes of it.”

“It’s like the noise a rattlesnake makes,” Sim said.

“More like hackles on a dog,” Wilem corrected. “It shows when he’s ready to bite.”

“All of you can go straight to hell,” I said. “Or you can give me a mirror so I can see what you’re talking about. I don’t care which.”

Wil ignored me. “Our little Kvothe has a flash-pan temper, but once he’s had a minute to cool down, he will realize the truth.” Wilem gave me a pointed look. “He’s not upset because you didn’t trust him, or that you tricked Sim. He’s upset because you found out what asinine lengths he is willing to go to in order to impress a woman.” He looked at me. “Is asinine the right word?”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Pretty much,” I admitted.

“I chose it because it sounded like ass,” Wil said.

“I knew you two had to be involved,” Mola said with a hint of apology in her voice. “Honestly, the three of you are thick as thieves, and I do mean that in all its various clever implications.” She walked around the side of the bed and looked critically at my wounded elbow. “Which one of you stitched him up?”

“Me.” Sim grimaced. “I know I made a mess of it.”

“Mess would be generous.” Mola said, looking it over critically. “It looks like you were trying to stitch your name onto him and kept misspelling it.”

“I think he did quite well,” Wil said, meeting her eye. “Considering his lack of training, and the fact that he was helping a friend under less than ideal circumstances.”

Mola flushed. “I didn’t mean it like that,” she said quickly. “Working here, it’s easy to forget that not everyone . . .” She turned to Sim. “I’m sorry.”

Sim ran his hand through his sandy hair. “I suppose you could make it up to me sometime,” he said, grinning boyishly. “Like maybe tomorrow afternoon? When you let me buy you lunch?” He looked at her hopefully.

Mola rolled her eyes and sighed, somewhere between amusement and exasperation. “Fine.”

“My work here is done,” Wil said gravely. “I’m leaving. I hate this place.”

“Thanks Wil,” I said.

He gave a perfunctory wave over one shoulder and closed the door behind him.

Mola agreed to leave mention of my suspicious injuries off her report and stuck to her original diagnosis of heat exhaustion. She also cut away Sim’s stitches, then recleaned, resewed, and rebandaged my arm. Not a pleasant experience, but I knew it would heal more quickly under her experienced care.

In closing, she advised me to drink more water, get some sleep, and suggested that in the future I refrain from strenuous physical activity in a hot room the day after falling off a roof.

CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO