“But it’s safe to say he knows a few.”
“Could you show me something with the name of fire?” I asked. “If that’s not inappropriate?”
Dal hesitated for a moment, then smiled. He looked intently into the brazier between us, closed his eyes, then gestured to the unlit brazier across the room. “Fire.” He spoke the word like a commandment and the distant brazier roared up in a pillar of flame.
“Fire?” I said puzzled. “That’s it? The name of fire is fire?”
Elxa Dal smiled and shook his head. “That’s not what I actually said. Some part of you just filled in a familiar word.”
“My sleeping mind translated it?”
“Sleeping mind?” He gave me a puzzled look.
“That’s what Elodin calls the part of us that knows names,” I explained.
Dal shrugged and ran a hand over his short black beard. “Call it what you will. The fact that you heard me say anything is probably a good sign.”
“I don’t know why I’m bothering with naming sometimes,” I groused. “I could have lit that brazier with sympathy.”
“Not without a link,” Dal pointed out. “Without a binding, a source of energy . . .”
“It still seems pointless,” I said. “I learn things every day in your class. Useful things. I don’t have a thing to show for all the time I’ve spent on naming. Yesterday you know what Elodin lectured about?”
Dal shook his head.
“The difference between being naked and being nude,” I said flatly. Dal burst into laughter. “I’m serious. I fought to be in his class, but now all I can do is think about all the time I’m wasting there, time I could be spending on more practical things.”
“There are things more practical than names,” Dal admitted. “But watch.” He focused on the brazier in front of us again, then his eyes grew distant. He spoke again, whispering this time, then slowly lowered his hand until it was inches above the hot coals.
Then, with an intent expression on his face, Dal pressed his hand deep into the heart of the fire, nestling his spread fingers into the orange coals as if they were nothing more than loose gravel.
I realized I was holding my breath and let it out softly, not wanting to break his concentration. “How?”
“Names,” Dal said firmly, and drew his hand back out of the fire. It was smudged with white ash, but perfectly unharmed. “Names reflect true understanding of a thing, and when you truly understand a thing you have power over it.”
“But fire isn’t a thing unto itself,” I protested. “It’s merely an exothermal chemical reaction. It . . .” I spluttered to a stop.
Dal drew in a breath, and for a moment it looked as if he would explain. Then he laughed instead, shrugging helplessly. “I don’t have the wit to explain it to you. Ask Elodin. He’s the one who claims to understand these things. I just work here.”
After Dal’s class, I made my way over the river to Imre. I didn’t find Denna at the inn where she was staying, so I headed to the Eolian despite the fact that I knew it was too early to find her there.
There were barely a dozen people inside, but I did see a familiar face at the far end of the bar, talking to Stanchion. Count Threpe waved, and I walked over to join them.
“Kvothe my boy!” Threpe said enthusiastically. “I haven’t seen you in a mortal age.”
“Things have been rather hectic on the other side of the river,” I said, setting down my lute case.
Stanchion looked me over. “You look it,” he said frankly. “You look pale. You should get more red meat. Or more sleep.” He pointed to a nearby stool. “Barring that, I’ll stand you a mug of metheglin.”
“I’ll thank you for that,” I said, climbing onto a stool. It felt wonderful to take the weight off my aching legs.
“If it’s meat and sleep you need,” Threpe said ingratiatingly. “You should come to dinner at my estate. I promise wonderful food and conversation so dull you can drowse straight through it and not worry about missing a thing.” He gave me an imploring look. “Come now. I’ll beg if I must. It won’t be more than ten people. I’ve been dying to show you off for months now.”
I picked up the mug of metheglin and looked at Threpe. His velvet jacket was a royal blue, and his suede boots were dyed to match. I couldn’t show up for a formal dinner at his home dressed in secondhand road clothes, which were the only sort I owned.
There was nothing ostentatious about Threpe, but he was a noble born and raised. It probably didn’t even occur to him that I didn’t have any fine clothes. I didn’t blame him for assuming that. The vast majority of the students at the University were at least modestly wealthy. How else could they afford tuition?
The truth was, I’d like nothing better than a fine dinner and the chance to interact with some of the local nobility. I’d love to banter over drinks, repair some of the damage Ambrose had done to my reputation, and maybe catch the eye of a potential patron.
But I simply couldn’t afford the price of admission. A suit of passably fine clothes would cost at least a talent and a half, even if I bought them from a fripperer. Clothes do not make the man, but you need the proper costume if you want to play the part.
Sitting behind Threpe, Stanchion made an exaggerated nodding motion with his head.
“I’d love to come to dinner,” I said to Threpe. “I promise. Just as soon as things settle down a bit over at the University.”
“Excellent,” Threpe said enthusiastically. “I’m going to hold you to it, too. No backing out. I’ll get you a patron, my boy. A proper one. I swear it.”
Behind him, Stanchion nodded approvingly.
I smiled at both of them and took another drink of metheglin. I glanced at the stairway to the second tier.
Stanchion saw my look. “She’s not here,” he said apologetically. “Haven’t seen her in a couple days, actually.”
A handful of people came through the door of the Eolian and shouted something in Yllish. Stanchion waved at them and got to his feet. “Duty calls,” he said, wandering off to greet them.
“Speaking of patrons,” I said to Threpe. “There’s something I’ve been wanting to ask your opinion about.” I lowered my voice. “Something I’d rather you kept between the two of us.”
Threpe’s eyes glittered curiously as he leaned close.
I took another drink of metheglin while I gathered my thoughts. The drink was hitting me more quickly than I’d expected. It was quite nice, actually, as it dulled the ache of my many injuries. “I’m guessing you know most every potential patron within a hundred miles of here.”
Threpe shrugged, not bothering with false modesty. “A fair number. Everyone who’s earnest about it. Everyone with money, anyway.”
“I have a friend,” I said. “A musician who is just starting out. She has natural talent but not much training. Someone has approached her with an offer of help and a promise of eventual patronage. . . .” I trailed off, not sure how to explain the rest.
Threpe nodded. “You want to know if he’s a legitimate sort,” he said. “Reasonable concern. Some folk feel a patron has a right to more than music.” He gestured to Stanchion. “If you want stories, ask him about the time Duchess Samista came here on holiday.” He gave a chuckle that was almost a moan, rubbing at his eyes. “Tiny gods help me, that woman was terrifying.”
“That’s my worry,” I said. “I don’t know if he’s trustworthy.”
“I can ask around if you like,” Threpe said. “What’s his name?”
“That’s part of the issue,” I said. “I don’t know his name. I don’t think she knows it either.”
Threpe frowned at this. “How can she not know his name?”
“He gave her a name,” I said. “But she doesn’t know if it’s real. Apparently he’s particular about his privacy and gave her strict instructions never to tell anyone about him,” I said. “They never meet in the same place twice. Never in public. He’s gone for months at a time.” I looked up at Threpe. “How does that sound to you?”
“Well it’s hardly ideal,” Threpe said, disapproval heavy in his voice. “There’s every chance this fellow isn’t a proper patron at all. It sounds like he might be taking advantage of your friend.”
