Kilvin was nodding along. “If it needs to be reset after each use, how did it stop my second bolt?”
I pointed to the central diagram. “This wouldn’t be of much use if it only stopped one arrow,” I said. “Or if it only stopped arrows coming from one direction. I designed it to have eight springs in a circle. It should be able to stop arrows from several directions at once.” I shrugged apologetically. “In theory. I haven’t been able to test that.”
Kilvin looked back at the straw man. “Both of my shots came from the same direction,” he said. “How was the second one stopped if that spring had already been triggered?”
I picked up the arrowcatch by the ring I’d set into the top and showed how it could rotate freely. “It hangs on a pivot ring,” I said. “The shock of the first arrow set it spinning slightly, which brought a new spring into alignment. Even if it hadn’t, the energy of the incoming arrow tends to swing it around to the nearest untriggered spring, like a weathervane points into the wind.”
I hadn’t actually planned the last. It had been a lucky accident, but I didn’t see any reason to tell Kilvin that.
I touched the red dots visible on two of the eight iron faces of the arrowcatch. “These show which springs have been triggered.”
Kilvin took it from me and turned it in his hands. “How do you reset the springs?”
I slid a metal device out from under the worktable, little more than a piece of iron with a long lever attached. Then I showed Kilvin the eight-sided hole in the bottom of the arrowcatch. I fit the arrowcatch onto the device and pressed down on the lever with my foot until I heard a sharp
Kilvin bent to pick it up and turned it over in his huge hands. “Heavy,” he commented.
“It needed to be sturdy,” I said. “A crossbow bolt can punch through a two-inch oak plank. I needed the spring to snap back with at least three times that much force to stop the arrow.”
Kilvin shook the arrowcatch idly, holding it to the side of his head. It didn’t make any noise. “And what if the arrowheads are not made of metal?” he asked. “Vi Sembi raiders are said to use arrows of flint or obsidian.”
I looked down at my hands and sighed. “Well . . .” I said slowly. “If the arrowheads aren’t some sort of iron, the arrowcatch wouldn’t trigger when they came within twenty feet.”
Kilvin gave a noncommittal grunt and set the arrowcatch back down on the table with a thump.
“But,” I said brightly. “When it came within fifteen feet, any piece of sharp stone or glass would trigger a different set of bindings.” I tapped my schema. I was proud of it, as I’d also had the foresight to inscribe the inset pieces of obsidian with the sygaldry for twice-tough glass. That way they wouldn’t shatter under the impact.
Kilvin glanced at the schema, then grinned proudly and chuckled deep in his chest. “Good. Good. What if the arrow has a head of bone or ivory?”
“The runes for bone aren’t trusted to a lowly Re’lar like myself,” I said.
“And if they were?” Kilvin asked.
“Then I still wouldn’t use them,” I said. “Lest some child doing a cartwheel trigger the arrowcatch with a thin, quickly moving piece of their skull.”
Kilvin nodded his approval. “I was thinking of a galloping horse,” he said. “But you show your wisdom in this. You show you have the careful mind of an artificer.”
I turned back to the schema and pointed. “That said, Master Kilvin, at ten feet a fast-moving cylindrical piece of wood will trigger the arrowcatch.” I sighed. “It’s not a good link, but it’s enough to stop the arrow, or at least deflect it.”
Kilvin bent to examine the schema more closely, his eyes wandering the crowded page for a long couple of minutes. “All iron?” he asked.
“Closer to steel, Master Kilvin. I worried iron would be too brittle in the long term.”
“And each of these eighteen bindings are inscribed on each of the springs?” he asked, gesturing.
I nodded.
“That is a great duplication of effort,” Kilvin said, his tone more conversational than accusatory. “Some might say such a thing is overbuilt.”
“I care very little what other people think, Master Kilvin,” I said. “Only what you think.”
He grunted, then looked up from the paper and turned to face me. “I have four questions.”
I nodded expectantly.
“First, of all things, why make this?” he asked.
“No one should ever die from ambush on the road,” I said firmly.
Kilvin waited, but I had nothing more to say on the matter. After a moment he shrugged and gestured to the other side of the room. “Second, where did you get the . . .” His brow furrowed slightly. “
My stomach clenched at the question. I’d held the vain hope that Kilvin, being Cealdish, wouldn’t know such things were illegal here in the Commonwealth. Barring that, I’d hoped he simply wouldn’t ask.
“I . . . procured it, Master Kilvin,” I said evasively. “I needed it to test the arrowcatch.”
“Why not use a simple hunter’s bow?” Kilvin said sternly. “And thereby avoid the need of illegal procurement?”
“It would be too weak, Master Kilvin. I needed to be sure my design would stop any arrow, and a crossbow fires a bolt harder than any other.”
“A Modegan longbow is equal of a flatbow,” Kilvin said.
“But the use of one is beyond my skill,” I said. “And the purchase of a Modegan bow is far beyond my means.”
Kilvin let out a deep sigh. “Before, when you made your thief ’s lamp, you made a bad thing in a good way. That I do not like.” He looked down at the schema. “This time you have made a good thing in a bad way. That is better, but not entirely. Best is to make a good thing in a good way. Agreed?”
I nodded.
He lay one massive hand on the crossbow. “Did anyone see you with it?”
I shook my head.
“Then we will say it is mine, and you procured it under my advisement. It will join the equipment in Stocks.” He gave me a hard look. “And in the future you will come to me if you need such things.”
That stung a bit, as I’d been planning on selling it back to Sleat. Still, it could have been worse. The last thing I wanted was to run afoul of the iron law.
“Third, I see no mention of gold wire or silver in your schema,” he said. “Nor can I imagine any use they could be put to in such a device as yours. Explain why you have checked these materials out of Stocks.”
I was suddenly pointedly aware of the cool metal of my gram against the inside of my arm. Its inlay was gold, but I could hardly tell him that. “I was short on money, Master Kilvin. And I needed materials I couldn’t get in Stocks.”
“Such as your flatbow.”
I nodded. “And the straw and the bear traps.”
“Wrong follows wrong,” Kilvin said disapprovingly. “The Stocks are not a moneylender’s stall and should not be used as such. I am rescinding your precious metals authorization.”
I bowed my head, hoping I looked appropriately chastised.
“You will also work twenty hours in Stocks as your punishment. If anyone asks, you will tell them what you did. And explain that as a punishment you were forced to repay the value of the metals plus an additional twenty percent. If you use Stocks as a moneylender, you will be charged interest like a moneylender.”
I winced at that. “Yes, Master Kilvin.”
“Last,” Kilvin said, turning to lay one huge hand on the arrowcatch. “What do you imagine such a thing would sell for, Re’lar Kvothe?”
My heart rose in my chest. “Does that mean you approve it for sale, Master Kilvin?”
The great bearlike artificer gave me a puzzled look. “Of course I approve it, Re’lar Kvothe. It is a wondrous thing. It is an improvement to the world. Every time a person sees such a thing, they will see how artificery is used to keep men safe. They will think well of all artificers for the making of such a thing.”
He looked down at the arrowcatch, frowning thoughtfully. “But if we are to sell it, it must have a price. What do you suggest?”
