The Wise Man's Fear

quietly for a moment, listening to it hiss.

“I got new boots,” Sim said conversationally, lifting up a foot so I could see.

“They’re nice,” I said automatically, then paused and looked closer. “Are those hobnails?” I asked incredulously.

He grinned viciously. I laughed.

The iron pan grew hot, and Sim unscrewed the jar, pressing the pad of his index finger into the translucent substance inside. Then, with a little flourish, he raised his hand and pressed the tip of his finger onto the surface of the hot iron pan.

I winced. Sim smiled smugly and stood there for the space of a long breath before pulling his finger away.

“Incredible,” I said. “You guys do some crazy things over here. A heat shield.”

“No,” Sim said seriously. “That’s absolutely the wrong way to think about it. It’s not a shield. It’s not an insulator. It’s like an extra layer of skin that burns away before your real skin gets hot.”

“Like having water on your hands,” I said.

Sim shook his head again. “No, water conducts heat. This doesn’t.”

“So it is an insulator.”

“Okay,” Sim said, exasperated. “You need to shut up and listen. This is alchemy. You know nothing about alchemy.”

I made a placating gesture. “I know. I know.”

“Say it, then. Say, ‘I know nothing about alchemy.’ ”

I glowered at him.

“Alchemy isn’t just chemistry with some extra bits,” he said. “That means if you don’t listen to me, you’ll jump to your own conclusions and be dead wrong. Dead and wrong.”

I took a deep breath and let it out. “Okay. Tell me.”

“You’ll have to spread it on quickly,” he said. “You’ll only have about ten seconds to get it spread evenly onto your hands and lower arms.” He made a gesture to his midforearm.

“It won’t rub away, but you will lose a bit if you chafe at your hands too much. Don’t touch your face at all. Don’t rub your eyes. Don’t pick your nose. Don’t bite your fingernails. It’s sort of poisonous.”

“Sort of?” I asked.

He ignored me, holding out the finger he’d pressed onto the hot iron pan. “It’s not like armor gloves. As soon as it’s exposed to heat, it begins to burn away.”

“Will there be any smell?” I asked. “Anything that will give it away?”

“No. It doesn’t really burn technically. It simply breaks down.”

“What does it break down into?”

“Things,” Simmon said testily. “It breaks down into complicated things you can’t understand because you don’t know anything about alchemy.”

“Is it safe to breathe?” I amended.

“Yes. I wouldn’t give it to you otherwise. This is an old formula. Tried and true. Now, because it doesn’t transmit heat, your hands will go straight from feeling cool to being pressed up hard against something burning hot.” He gave me a pointed look. “I advise you stop touching hot things before it’s all used up.”

“How can I tell when it’s about to be used up?”

“You can’t,” he said simply. “Which is why I advise using something other than your bare hands.”

“Wonderful.”

“If it mixes with alcohol it will turn acidic. Only mildly though. You’d have plenty of time to wash it off. If it mixes with a little water, like your sweat, that’s fine. But if it mixes with a lot of water, say a hundred parts to one, it will turn flammable.”

“And if I mix it with piss it turns into delicious candy, right?” I laughed. “Did you make a bet with Wilem about how much of this I’d swallow? Nothing becomes flammable when you mix it with water.”

Sim’s eyes narrowed. He picked up an empty crucible. “Fine,” he said. “Fill this up then.”

Still smiling, I moved to the water canister in the corner of the room. It was identical to the ones in the Fishery. Pure water is important for artificing too, especially when you’re mixing clays and quenching metals you don’t want contaminated.

I splashed some water into the crucible and brought it back to Sim. He dipped the tip of his finger into it, swirled it around, and poured it into the hot iron pan.

Thick orange flame roared up, burning three feet high until it flickered and died. Sim set down the empty crucible with a slight click and looked at me gravely. “Say it.”

I looked down at my feet. “I know nothing about alchemy.”

Sim nodded, seeming pleased. “Right,” he said, turning back to the worktable. “Let’s go over this again.”

CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO Blood and Ash

Leaves crunched underfoot as I made my way through the forest to the north of the University. The pale moonlight filtering through the bare trees wasn’t enough to see clearly, but I had made this trip several times in the last span and knew the way by heart. I smelled wood smoke long before I heard voices and glimpsed firelight through the trees.

It wasn’t really a clearing, just a quiet space hidden behind a rocky outcrop. A few pieces of fieldstone and the trunk of a fallen tree provided makeshift seats. I had dug the fire pit myself a few days ago. It was over a foot deep and six across, lined with stones. It dwarfed the small campfire currently burning there.

Everyone else was already there. Mola and Fela shared the log-bench. Wilem was hunkered down on a stone. Sim sat cross-legged on the ground, poking at the fire with a stick.

Wil looked up as I came out of the trees. In the flickering firelight his eyes looked dark and sunken. He and Sim had been watching over me for almost two whole span. “You’re late,” he said.

Sim looked up to see me, cheerful as always, but there were marks of exhaustion on his face too. “Is it finished?” he asked, excited.

I nodded. Unbuttoning my cuff, I rolled up my shirtsleeve to reveal an iron disk slightly larger than a commonwealth penny. It was covered in fine sygaldry and inlaid with gold. My newly finished gram. It was strapped flat against the inside of my forearm with a pair of leather cords.

A cheer went up from the group.

“Interesting way to wear it,” Mola said. “Fashionable in a sort of barbarian raider way.”

“It works best in contact with skin,” I explained. “And I need to keep it out of sight, since I’m not supposed to know how to make one.”

“Practical and stylish,” Mola said.

Simmon wandered over and peered at it, reaching out to touch it with a finger. “It seems so small—aaaahh!” Sim cried out as he jumped backward, wringing his hand. “Black damn,” he swore, embarrassed. “I’m sorry. It startled me is all.”

“Kist and crayle,” I said, my own heart racing. “What’s the matter?”

“Have you ever touched one of the Arcanum guilders?” he asked. “The ones they give you when you become a full arcanist?”

I nodded. “It sort of buzzed. Made my hand go numb, like it had fallen asleep.”

Sim nodded toward my gram, shaking his hand. “It feels like that. Surprised me.”

“I didn’t know the guilders acted as grams too,” I said. “Makes sense though.”

“Have you tested it?” Wilem asked.

I shook my head. “It seemed a little strange for me to test it myself,” I admitted.

“You want one of us to do it?” Simmon laughed. “You’re right, that’s perfectly normal.”