The Name of the Wind

tapped the bowl with a finger and it gave off a resonant hum. Solid, but not pretty. I began to tune it so I would have an excuse to hold it a while longer.

“I might be able to go as low as three and five,” the man behind the counter said.

My ears pricked up as I heard something in his tone: desperation. It occurred to me that an ugly, used lute might not sell very well in a city full of nobility and prosperous musicians. I shook my head. “The strings are old.” Actually they were fine, but I hoped he didn’t know that.

“True,” he said, reassuring me of his ignorance, “but strings are cheap.”

“I suppose,” I said doubtfully. With a deliberate plan, I set each of the strings just a hair out of tune with the others. I struck a chord and listened to the grating sound. I gave the lute’s neck a sour, speculative look. “I think the neck might be cracked.” I strummed a minor chord that sounded even less appealing. “Does that sound cracked to you?” I strummed it again, harder.

“Three and two?” He asked hopefully.

“It’s not for me,” I said, as if correcting him. “It’s for my little brother. The little bastard won’t leave mine alone.”

I strummed again and grimaced. “I may not like the little sprit very much, but I’m not cruel enough to buy him a lute with a sour neck.” I paused significantly When nothing was forthcoming, I prompted him. “Not for three and two.”

“Three even?” he said hopefully.

To all appearances I held the lute casually, carelessly. But in my heart I was clutching it with a white- knuckled fierceness. I cannot hope for you to understand this. When the Chandrian killed my troupe, they destroyed every piece of family and home I had ever known. But in some ways it had been worse when my father’s lute was broken in Tarbean. It had been like losing a limb, an eye, a vital organ. Without my music, I had wandered Tarbean for years, half-alive, like a crippled veteran or one of the walking dead.

“Listen,” I said to him frankly. “I’ve got two and two for you.” I pulled out my purse. “You can take it, or this ugly thing can gather dust on a high shelf for the next ten years.”

I met his eye, careful to keep my face from showing how badly I needed it. I would do anything to keep this lute. I would dance naked in the snow. I would clutch at his legs, shaking and frantic, promising him anything, anything....

I counted out two talents and two jots onto the counter between us, nearly all of the money I had saved for this term’s tuition. Each coin made a hard click as I pressed it to the table.

He gave me a long look, measuring me. I clicked down one more jot and waited. And waited. When he finally reached out his hand for the money, his haggard expression was the same one I was used to seeing on pawnbroker’s faces.

Devi opened the door and smiled. “Well now, I honestly didn’t think I’d see you again. Come in.” She bolted the door behind me and walked over to her desk. “I can’t say I’m disappointed, though.” She looked over her shoulder and flashed her impish smile. “I was looking forward to doing a little business with you.” She sat down. “So, two talents then?”

“Four would be better, actually,” I said. Just enough for me to afford tuition and a bunk in the Mews. I could sleep outside in the wind and rain. My lute deserved better.

“Wonderful,” she said as she pulled out the bottle and pin.

I needed the tips of my fingers intact, so I pricked the back of my hand and let three drops of blood slowly gather and fall into the small brown bottle. I held it out to Devi.

“Go ahead and drop the pin in there too.”

I did.

Devi swabbed the bottle’s stopper with a clear substance and slid it into the mouth of the bottle. “A clever little adhesive from your friends over the river,” she explained. “This way, I can’t open the bottle without breaking it. When you pay off your debt, you get it back intact and can sleep safe knowing I haven’t kept any for myself.”

“Unless you have the solvent,” I pointed out.

Devi gave me a pointed look. “You’re not big on trust, are you?” She rummaged around in a drawer, brought out some sealing wax, and began to warm it over the lamp on her desk. “I don’t suppose you have a seal, or ring or anything like that?” she asked as she smeared the wax across the top of the bottle’s stopper.

“If I had jewelry to sell, I wouldn’t be here,” I said frankly and pressed my thumb into the wax. It left a recognizable print. “But that should do.”

Devi etched a number on the side of the bottle with a diamond stylus, then brought out a slip of paper. She wrote for a moment then fanned it with a hand, waiting for it to dry “You can take this to any moneylender on either side of the river,” she said cheerfully as she handed it to me. “Pleasure doing business with you. Don’t be a stranger.”

I headed back to the University with money in my purse and the comforting weight of the lute strap hanging from my shoulder. It was secondhand, ugly, and had cost me dearly in money, blood, and peace of mind. I loved it like a child, like breathing, like my own right hand.

CHAPTER FIFTY-ONE Tar and Tin

At the beginning of my second term, Kilvin gave me permission to study sygaldry. This raised a few eyebrows, but none in the Fishery where I’d proven myself to be a hard worker and a dedicated student.

Sygaldry, simply put, is a set of tools for channeling forces. Like sympathy made solid.

For example, if you engraved one brick with the rune ule and another with the rune dock, the two runes would cause the bricks to cling to each other, as if mortared in place.

But it’s not as simple as that. What really happens is the two runes tear the bricks apart with the strength of their attraction. To prevent this you have to add the rune am to each of the bricks. Am is the rune for clay, and it makes the two pieces of clay cling to each other, solving your problem.

Except that am and dock don’t fit together. They’re the wrong shape. To get them to fit you have to add a few linking runes, gea and teh. Then, for balance, you have to add gea and teh to the other brick, too. Then the bricks cling to each other without breaking.

But only if the bricks are made out of clay. Most bricks aren’t. So, generally, it is a better idea to mix iron into the ceramic of the brick before it is fired. Of course, that means you have to use fehr instead of am. Then you have to switch teh and gea so the ends come together properly ...

As you can see, mortar is a simpler and more reliable route for holding bricks together.

I studied my sygaldry under Cammar. The scarred, one-eyed man was Kilvin’s gatekeeper. Only after you were able to prove your firm grasp of sygaldry to him could you move on to a loose apprenticeship with one of the more experienced artificers. You assisted them with their projects, and in return they showed you the finer points of the craft.

There were one hundred ninety-seven runes. It was like learning a new language, except there were nearly two hundred unfamiliar letters, and you had to invent your own words a lot of the time. Most students took at least a month of study before Cammar judged them ready to move on. Some students took an entire term.

Start to finish, it took me seven days.

How?

First, I was driven. Other students could afford to stroll through their studies. Their parents or patrons would cover the expense. I, on the other hand, needed to climb the ranks in the Fishery quickly so I could earn