myself for my recent trip to the Archives and the bad impression it made on Lorren. If not for that he might have tipped things in my favor.
“Four and a half in favor of suspending punishment,” the Chancellor said after a pause. “The discipline stands: three lashes to be served tomorrow, the third of Equis, at noon.”
As I was deep into the Heart of Stone, all I felt was a slight analytical curiosity about what it would be like to be publicly whipped. All the masters showed signs of preparing to stand and leave, but before things could be called to a close I spoke up, “Chancellor?”
He took a deep breath and let it out in a gush. “Yes?”
“During my admission, you said that my admittance to the Arcanum was granted, contingent upon proof that I had mastered the basic principles of sympathy.” I quoted him nearly word for word. “Does this constitute proof?”
Both Hemme and the Chancellor opened their mouths to say something. Hemme was louder. “Look here, you little cocker!”
“Hemme!” the Chancellor snapped. Then he turned to me, “I’m afraid proof of mastery requires more than a simple sympathetic binding.”
“A double binding,” Kilvin corrected gruffly.
Elodin spoke, seeming to startle everyone at the table. “I can think of students currently enrolled in the Arcanum who would be hard pressed to complete a double binding, let alone draw enough heat to ‘blister a man’s foot to the knee.’ ” I had forgotten how Elodin’s light voice moved through the deep places in your chest when he spoke. He smiled happily at me again.
There was a moment of quiet reflection.
“True enough,” admitted Elxa Dal, giving me a close look.
The Chancellor looked down at the empty table for a minute. Then he shrugged, looked up, and gave a surprisingly jaunty smile. “All in favor of admitting first-term student Kvothe’s reckless use of sympathy as proof of mastery of the basic principles of sympathy vote by show of hands.”
Kilvin and Elxa Dal raised their hands together. Arwyl added his a moment later. Elodin waved. After a pause, the Chancellor raised his hand as well, saying “Five and a half in favor of Kvothe’s admission to the Arcanum.
Motion passed. Meeting dismissed. Tehlu shelter us, fools and children all.” He said the last very softly as he rested his forehead against the heel of his hand.
Hemme stormed out of the room with Brandeur in tow. Once they were through the door I heard Brandeur ask, “Weren’t you wearing a gram?”
“No, I wasn’t.” Hemme snapped. “And don’t take that tone with me, as if this were my fault. You might as well blame someone stabbed in an alley for not wearing armor.”
“We should all take precautions.” Brandeur said, placatingly “You know as well as—”Their voices were cut off with the sound of a door closing.
Kilvin stood and shrugged his shoulders, stretching. Looking over to where I stood, he scratched his bushy beard with both hands, a thoughtful look on his face, then strode over to where I stood. “Do you have your sygaldry yet, E’lir Kvothe?”
I looked at him blankly. “Do you mean runes, sir? I’m afraid not.”
Kilvin ran his hands through his beard, thoughtfully “Do not bother with the Basic Artificing class you have signed for. Instead you will come to my workroom tomorrow. Noon.”
“I’m afraid I have another appointment at noon, Master Kilvin.”
“Hmmm. Yes.” He frowned. “First bell, then.”
“I’m afraid the boy will be having an appointment with my folk shortly after the whipping, Kilvin,” Arwyl said with a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. “Have someone bring you to the Medica afterward, son. We’ll stitch you back together.”
“Thank you, sir.”
Arwyl nodded and made his way out of the room.
Kilvin watched him go, then turned to look at me. “My workshop. Day after tomorrow. Noon.” The tone of his voice implied that it wasn’t really a question.
“I would be honored, Master Kilvin.”
He grunted in response and left with Elxa Dal.
That left me alone with the still-seated Chancellor. We stared at each other while the sound of footsteps faded in the hallway. I brought myself back up out of the Heart of Stone and felt a tangle of anticipation and fear at everything that had just happened.
“I’m sorry to be so much trouble so soon, sir.” I offered hesitantly.
“Oh?” he said. His expression considerably less stern now that we were alone. “How long had you intended to wait?”
“At least a span, sir.” My brush with disaster had left me feeling giddy with relief. I felt an irrepressible grin bubble onto my face.
“At least a span,” he muttered. The Chancellor put his face into his hands and rubbed, then looked up and surprised me with a wry smile. I realized he wasn’t particularly old when his face wasn’t locked in a stern expression. Probably only on the far side of forty. “You don’t look like someone who knows he’s going to be whipped tomorrow,” he observed.
I pushed the thought aside. “I imagine I’ll heal, sir.” He gave me an odd look, it took me a while to recognize it as the one I’d grown accustomed to in the troupe. He opened his mouth to speak, but I jumped on the words before he could say them. “I’m not as young as I look, sir. I know it. I just wish other people knew it, too.”
“I imagine they will before too long.” He gave me a long look before pushing himself up from the table. He held out a hand. “Welcome to the Arcanum.”
I shook his hand solemnly and we parted ways. I worked my way outside and was surprised to see that it was full night. I breathed in a lungful of sweet spring air and felt my grin resurface.
Then someone touched me on the shoulder. I jumped fully two feet into the air and narrowly avoided falling on Simmon in the howling, scratching, biting blur that had been my only method of defense in Tarbean.
He took a step back, startled by the expression on my face.
I tried to slow my pounding heart. “Simmon. I’m sorry. I’m just ... try to make a little noise around me. I startle easily.”
“Me too,” he murmured shakily, wiping a hand across his forehead. “I can’t really blame you, though. Riding the horns will do that to the best of us. How did things go?”
“I’m to be whipped and admitted to the Arcanum.”
He looked at me curiously, trying to see if I was making a joke. “I’m sorry? Congratulations?” He made a shy smile at me. “Do I buy you a bandage or a beer?”
I smiled back. “Both.”
By the time I got back to the fourth floor of the Mews, rumor of my non-expulsion and admission into the Arcanum had spread ahead of me. I was greeted by a smattering of applause from my bunkmates. Hemme was not well loved. Some of my bunkmates offered awed congratulations while Basil made a special point of coming forward to shake my hand.
I had just climbed up to a sitting position on my bunk and was explaining to Basil the difference between a single whip and a six-tail when the third-floor steward came looking for me. He instructed me to pack up my things, explaining that Arcanum students were located in the west wing.
Everything I owned still fit neatly into my travelsack, so it was no great chore. As the steward led me away there was a chorus of good-byes from my fellow first-term students.
The west wing bunks were similar to those I had left behind. It was still rows of narrow beds, but here they weren’t stacked two high. Each bed had a small wardrobe and desk in addition to a trunk. Nothing fancy, but definitely a step up.
The biggest difference was in the attitudes of my bunkmates. There were scowls and glares, though for the most part I was pointedly ignored. It was a chilly reception, especially in light of the welcome I had just received from my non-Arcanum bunkmates.
