The Name of the Wind

fact.”

“Fair enough.” The Chancellor looked down at the paper in front of him. He cleared his throat. “Re’lar Ambrose, are you a donkey?”

Ambrose went stiff. “No sir,” he said.

“Are you possessed of,” he cleared his throat and read directly off the page. “A pizzle bound to fizzle?” A few of the masters struggled to control smiles. Elodin grinned openly.

Ambrose flushed. “No sir.”

“Then I’m afraid I don’t see the problem,” the Chancellor said curtly, letting the paper settle to the table. “I move the charge of Conduct Unbecoming be replaced with Undignified Mischief.”

“Seconded,” Kilvin said.

“All in favor?” All hands went up except for Hemme’s and Brandeur’s. “Motion passed. Discipline will be set at a formal letter of apology tendered to—”

“For God’s sake, Arthur,” Hemme broke in. “At least make it a public letter.”

The Chancellor glared at Hemme, then shrugged. “... formal letter of apology posted publicly before the fall term. All in favor?” All hands were raised. “Motion passed.”

The Chancellor leaned forward onto his elbows and looked down at Ambrose. “Re’lar Ambrose, in the future you will refrain from wasting our time with spurious charges.”

I could feel the anger radiating off Ambrose. It was like standing near a fire. “Yes sir.”

Before I could feel smug, the Chancellor turned to me. “And you, E’lir Kvothe, will comport yourself with more decorum in the future.” His stern words were somewhat spoiled by the fact that Elodin had begun cheerfully humming the melody to “Jackass, Jackass” next to him.

I lowered my eyes and did my best to fight down a smile. “Yes, sir.”

“Dismissed.”

Ambrose turned on his heel and stormed off, but before he made it through the door, Elodin burst out singing:

“He’s a well-bred ass, you can see it in his stride!
And for a copper penny he will let you take a ride!”

The thought of writing a public apology was galling to me. But, as they say, the best revenge is living well. So I decided to ignore Ambrose and enjoy my new luxurious lifestyle at the Horse and Four.

But I only managed two days of revenge. On the third day the Horse and Four had a new owner. Short, jolly Caverin was replaced with a tall, thin man who informed me that my services were no longer required. I was told to vacate my rooms before nightfall.

It was irritating, but I knew of at least four or five inns of a similar quality on this side of the river that would jump at the chance to employ a musician with his talent pipes.

But the innkeeper at Hollybush refused to speak with me. The White Hart and Queen’s Crown were content with their current musicians. At the Golden Pony I waited for over an hour before I realized I was being politely ignored. By the time I was turned away by the Royal Oak I was fuming.

It was Ambrose. I didn’t know how he’d done it, but I knew it was him. Bribes perhaps, or a rumor that any inn employing a certain red-haired musician would be losing the business of a large number of wealthy noble customers.

So I began working my way through the rest of the inns this side of the river. I’d already been turned away by the upper-class ones, but there were many respectable places left. Over the next several hours, I tried the Shepherd’s Rest, the Boar’s Head, Dog in the Wall, Staves Inn, and The Tabard. Ambrose had been very thorough; none of them were interested.

It was early evening by the time I came to Anker’s, and by that time the only thing keeping me going was pure black temper. I was determined to try every single inn on this side of the river before I resorted to paying for a bunk and a meal chit again.

When I came to the inn, Anker himself was up on a ladder nailing a long piece of cedar siding back into place. He looked down at me as I came to stand near the foot of the ladder.

“So you’re the one,” he said.

“Beg your pardon?” I said, puzzled.

“Fellow stopped by and told me that hiring a young red-haired fellow would make for a great pile of unpleasantness.” He nodded at my lute. “You must be him.”

“Well then,” I said, adjusting the shoulder strap of my lute case. “I won’t waste your time,”

“You aren’t wasting it yet,” he said as he climbed down the ladder, wiping his hands on his shirt. “The place could use some music.”

I gave him a searching look. “Aren’t you worried?”

He spat. “Damn little gadflies think they can buy the sun out the sky, don’t they?”

“This particular one could probably afford it,” I said grimly. “And the moon too, if he wanted the matched set to use as bookends.”

He snorted derisively. “He can’t do a damn thing to me. I don’t cater to his sort of folk, so he can’t scare off my business. And I own this place my own self, so he can’t buy it and fire me off like he did to poor old Caverin....”

“Someone bought the Horse and Four?”

Anker gave me a speculative look. “Ye din’t know?”

I shook my head slowly, taking a moment to digest this piece of information. Ambrose had bought the Horse and Four just to spite me out of a job. No, he was too clever for that. He had probably loaned the money to a friend and passed it off as a business venture.

How much had it cost? A thousand talents? Five thousand? I couldn’t even guess how much an inn like the Horse and Four was worth. What was even more disturbing was how quickly he had managed it.

It put things in sharp perspective for me. I’d known Ambrose was rich, but honestly, everyone was rich compared to me. I’d never bothered thinking about how wealthy he was, or how he could use it against me. I was getting a lesson in the sort of influence a wealthy baron’s firstborn son could bring to bear.

For the first time I was glad for the University’s strict code of conduct. If Ambrose was willing to go to these lengths, I could only imagine what drastic measures he would take if he didn’t need to maintain a semblance of civility.

I was jolted out of my reverie by a young woman leaning out the front door of the inn, “Damn you, Anker!” she shouted. “I’m not going to pull and carry while you stand out here scratching your ass! Get in here!”

Anker muttered something under his breath as he picked up the ladder and he stowed it around the corner in the alleyway. “What’d you do to this fellow anyway? Tup his mum?”

“Wrote a song about him, actually.”

As Anker opened the door of the inn, a gentle welter of conversation poured out onto the street. “I’d be curious to hear a song like that.” He grinned. “Why don’t you come give it a play?”

“If you’re sure,” I said, not quite believing my luck. “There’s bound to be trouble.”

“Trouble,” he chuckled. “What does a boy like you know about trouble? I was in trouble afore you were born. I been in trouble you don’t even got words for.” He turned to face me, still standing in the doorway. “It’s been a while since we’ve had music in here regular. Can’t say as I like to go without. A proper tavern has music.”

I smiled. “I have to agree with you there.”

“Truth is, I’d have you in just to twist that rich tit’s nose,” Anker said. “But if you can play worth half a damn....” He pushed the door open farther, making it an invitation. I could smell sawdust and honest sweat and baking bread.

By the end of the night it was all arranged. In exchange for playing four nights a span, I earned a tiny room on the third floor and the assurance that if I was around at mealtimes I would be welcome to a bit of whatever