The Wise Man's Fear

didn’t buy the place and fire you. He had Baron Petre’s son-in-law do it. No connection to him at all.”

“No connection here either,” I said. “That’s the whole point of sympathy. It’s indirect.”

Wil shook his head again. “If you got knifed in an alley people would be shocked. But such things happen all the time all over the world. But if you fell down in public and started gushing blood from malfeasance? People would be horrified. The masters would suspend classes. Rich merchants and nobles would hear of it and pull their children from their studies. They’d bring the constables over from Imre.”

Simmon rubbed his forehead and looked up at the ceiling thoughtfully. Then he nodded to himself, first slowly, then with more certainty. “It makes sense,” he said. “If Ambrose had found some blood, he could have turned it over to Jamison and had him dowse out the thief. There wouldn’t have been any need to get folks in the Medica to look for suspicious injuries and such.”

“Ambrose likes his revenge,” I pointed out grimly. “He could have hidden the blood from Jamison. Kept it for himself.”

Wilem was shaking his head.

Sim sighed. “Wil’s right. There aren’t that many sympathists, and everyone knows Ambrose is carrying a grudge against you. He’s too careful to do something like this. It would point right to him.”

“Besides,” Wilem said. “How long has this been going on? Days and days. Do you honestly think Ambrose could go this long without rubbing your nose in it? Not even a little?”

“You have a point,” I admitted reluctantly. “That’s not like him.”

I knew it had to be Ambrose. I could feel it deep in my gut. In a strange way I almost wanted it to be him. It would make things so much simpler.

But wanting something doesn’t make it so. I took a deep breath and forced myself to think about it rationally.

“It would be reckless of him,” I admitted at last. “And he isn’t the sort to get his hands dirty.” I sighed. “Fine. Wonderful. As if one person trying to ruin my life wasn’t enough.”

“Who could it be?” Simmon asked. “Your average person can’t do this sort of thing with hair, am I right?”

“Dal could,” I said. “Or Kilvin.”

“It is probably safe to assume,” Wilem said dryly, “that none of the masters are trying to kill you.”

“Then it has to be someone with his blood,” Sim said.

I tried to ignore the sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach. “There is someone with my blood,” I said. “But I don’t think she could be responsible.”

Wil and Sim turned to look at me, and I immediately regretted saying anything. “Why would someone have your blood?” Sim asked.

I hesitated, then realized there was no way to avoid telling them at this point. “I borrowed money from Devi at the beginning of the term.”

Neither one of them reacted the way I expected. Which is to say, neither one reacted at all.

“Who’s Devi?” Sim asked.

I started to relax. Maybe they hadn’t heard of her. That would certainly make things easier. “She’s a gaelet who lives across the river,” I said.

“Okay,” Simmon said easily. “What’s a gaelet?”

“Remember when we went to see The Ghost and the Goosegirl?” I asked him. “Ketler was a gaelet.”

“Oh, a copper hawk,” Sim said, his face brightening with realization, then darkening again as he realized the implications. “I didn’t know there were any of those sort of people around here.”

“Those sort of people are everywhere,” I said. “The world wouldn’t work without them.”

“Wait,” Wilem said suddenly, holding up his hand. “Did you say, your . . .” He paused, struggling to remember the appropriate word in Aturan. “Your loaner, your gatessor was named Devi?” His Cealdish accent was thick around her name, so it sounded like “David.”

I nodded. This was the reaction I’d expected.

“Oh God,” Simmon said, aghast. “You mean Demon Devi, don’t you?”

I sighed. “So you’ve heard of her.”

“Heard of her?” Sim said, his voice going shrill. “She was expelled during my first term! It left a real impression.”

Wilem simply closed his eyes and shook his head, as if he couldn’t bear to look at someone as stupid as me.

Sim threw his hands into the air. “She was expelled for malfeasance! What were you thinking?”

“No,” Wilem said to Simmon. “She was expelled for Conduct Unbecoming. There was no proof of malfeasance.”

“I really don’t think it was her,” I said. “She’s quite nice, actually. Friendly. Besides, it’s only a six talent loan, and I’m not late paying her back. She doesn’t have any reason to do something like this.”

Wilem gave me a long, steady look. “Just to explore all possibilities,” he said slowly. “Would you do something for me?”

I nodded.

“Think back on your last few conversings with her,” Wilem said. “Take a moment and sift them piece by piece and see if you remember doing or saying something that might have offended or upset her.”

I thought back on our last conversation, playing it through in my head. “She was interested in a certain piece of information that I didn’t give her.”

“How interested?” Wilem’s voice was slow and patient, as if he were talking to a rather dimwitted child.

“Rather interested,” I said.

“Rather does not indicate a degree of intensity.”

I sighed. “Fine. Extremely interested. Interested enough to—” I stopped.

Wilem arched a knowing eyebrow at me. “Yes? What have you just remembered?”

I hesitated. “She might have also offered to sleep with me,” I said.

Wilem nodded calmly, as if he had expected something of the sort. “And you responded to this young woman’s generous offer in what way?”

I felt my cheeks get hot. “I . . . I sort of just ignored it.”

Wilem closed his eyes, his expression conveying a vast, weary dismay.

“This is so much worse than Ambrose,” Sim said, putting his head in his hands. “Devi doesn’t have to worry about the masters or anything. They say she could do an eight-part binding! Eight!”

“I was in a tight space,” I said a little testily. “I didn’t have anything to use as collateral. I’ll admit it wasn’t a great idea. After all this is done, we can have a symposium on how stupid I am. But for now can we just move on?” I gave them a pleading look.

Wilem rubbed at his eyes with one hand and gave a weary nod.

Simmon made an effort to get rid of his horrified expression with only marginal success. He swallowed. “Fair enough. What are we going to do?”

“Right now it doesn’t really matter who is responsible,” I said, cautiously checking to see if my arm had stopped bleeding. It had, and I peeled my bloody hand away. “I’m going to take some precautionary measures.” I made a shooing motion. “You two go get some sleep.”

Sim rubbed his forehead, chuckling to himself. “Body of God, you’re irritating sometimes. What if you’re attacked again?”

“It’s already happened twice while we’ve been sitting here,” I said easily. “It tingles a bit.” I grinned at his expression. “I’m fine, Sim. Honestly. There’s a reason I’m the top-ranked duelist in Dal’s class. I’m perfectly safe.”

“As long as you’re awake,” Wilem interjected, his dark eyes serious.

My grin grew stiff. “As long as I’m awake,” I repeated. “Of course.”

Wilem stood up and made a show of brushing himself off. “So. Clean yourself and take your precautionary measures.” He gave me a pointed look. “Shall young master Simmon and I expect Dal’s top-ranked duelist in my room tonight?”

I felt myself flush with embarrassment. “Why, yes. That would be greatly appreciated.”