The Name of the Wind

She smiled and thrust her hand forward. Something gleamed in the moonlight. “A key,” she said proudly, pressing it on me.

I took it. It had a pleasing weight in my hand. “It’s very nice,” I said. “What does it unlock?”

“The moon,” she said, her expression grave.

“That should be useful,” I said, looking it over.

“That’s what I thought,” she said. “That way, if there’s a door in the moon you can open it.” She sat cross- legged on the roof and grinned up at me. “Not that I would encourage that sort of reckless behavior.”

I squatted down and opened my lute case. “I brought you some bread.” I handed her the loaf of brown barley bread wrapped in a piece of cloth. “And a bottle of water.”

“This is very nice as well,” she said graciously The bottle seemed very large in her hands. “What’s in the water?” she asked as she pulled out the cork and peered down into it.

“Flowers,” I said. “And the part of the moon that isn’t in the sky tonight. I put that in there too.”

She looked back up. “I already said the moon,” she said with a hint of reproach.

“Just flowers then. And the shine off the back of a dragonfly. I wanted a piece of the moon, but blue- dragonfly-shine was as close as I could get.”

She tipped the bottle up and took a sip. “It’s lovely,” she said, brushing back several strands of hair that were drifting in front of her face.

Auri spread out the cloth and began to eat. She tore small pieces from the loaf and chewed them delicately, somehow making the whole process look genteel.

“I like white bread,” she said conversationally between mouthfuls.

“Me too,” I said as I lowered myself into a sitting position. “When I can get it.”

She nodded and looked around at the starry night sky and the crescent moon. “I like it when it’s cloudy, too. But this is okay It’s cozy. Like the Underthing.”

“Underthing?” I asked. She was rarely this talkative.

“I live in the Underthing,” Auri said easily. “It goes all over.”

“Do you like it down there?”

Auri’s eyes lit up. “Holy God yes, it’s marvelous. You can just look forever.” She turned to look at me. “I have news,” she said teasingly

“What’s that?” I asked.

She took another bite and finished chewing before she spoke. “I went out last night.” A sly smile. “On top of things.”

“Really?” I said, not bothering to hide my surprise. “How did you like it?”

“It was lovely. I went looking around,” she said, obviously pleased with herself. “I saw Elodin.”

“Master Elodin?” I asked. She nodded. “Was he on top of things, too?”

She nodded again, chewing.

“Did he see you?”

Her smile burst out again making her look closer to eight than eighteen. “Nobody sees me. Besides, he was busy listening to the wind.” She cupped her hands around her mouth and made a hooting noise. “There was good wind for listening last night,” she added confidentially.

While I was trying to make sense of what she’d said, Auri finished the last of her bread and clapped her hands excitedly. “Now play!” she said breathlessly. “Play! Play!”

Grinning, I pulled my lute out of its case. I couldn’t hope for a more enthusiastic audience than Auri.

CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR A Place to Burn

You look different today,” Simmon observed. Wilem grunted in agreement.

“I feel different,” I admitted. “Good, but different.”

The three of us were kicking up dust on the road to Imre. The day was warm and sunny, and we were in no particular hurry.

“You look ... calm,” Simmon continued, brushing his hand through his hair. “I wish I felt as calm as you look.”

“I wish I felt as calm as I looked,” I mumbled.

Simmon refused to give up. “You look more solid.” He grimaced. “No. You look ... tight.”

“Tight?” Tension forced laughter out of me, leaving me more relaxed. “How can someone look tight?”

“Just tight.” He shrugged. “Like a coiled spring.”

“It’s the way he’s holding himself,” Wilem said, breaking his usual thoughtful silence. “Standing straight, neck unbent, shoulders back.” He gestured vaguely to illustrate his points. “When he steps, his whole foot treads the ground. Not just the ball, as if he would run, or the heel, as if he would hesitate. He steps solidly down, claiming the piece of ground for his own.”

I felt a momentary awkwardness as I tried to watch myself, always a futile thing to attempt.

Simmon gave him a sideways look. “Someone’s been spending time with Puppet, haven’t they?”

Wilem shrugged a vague agreement and threw a stone into the trees by the side of the road.

“Who is this Puppet you two keep mentioning?” I asked, partly to draw the attention away from myself. “I’m about to die of terminal curiosity, you know.”

“If anyone could, it would be you,” Wilem said.

“He spends most of his time in the Archives,” Sim said hesitantly, knowing that he was touching on a sore subject. “It would be hard to introduce you since ... you know....”

We came to Stonebridge, the ancient arch of grey stone that spanned the Omethi River between the University and Imre. Over two hundred feet from one bank to another, and arching more than sixty feet at its peak, Stonebridge had more stories and legends surrounding it than any other University landmark.

“Spit for luck,” Wilem urged, as we began to climb one side, and followed his own advice. Simmon followed suit, spitting over the side with a childlike exuberance.

I almost said, “Luck has nothing to do with it.” Master Arwyl’s words, repeated sternly a thousand times in the Medica. I tasted them on the tip of my tongue for a minute, hesitated, then spat instead.

The Eolian lay at the heart of Imre, its front doors facing out onto the city’s central cobblestone courtyard. There were benches, a few flowering trees, and a marble fountain misting water over a statue of a satyr chasing a group of half-clothed nymphs whose attempt at flight seemed token at best. Well-dressed people milled around, nearly a third carrying some sort of musical instrument or another. I counted at least seven lutes.

As we approached the Eolian the doorman tugged at the front of a wide-brimmed hat and made a nodding bow. He was at least six and a half feet tall, deeply tanned and muscular. “That will be one jot, young master,” he smiled as Wilem handed over a coin.

He turned to me next with the same sunny smile. Looking at the lute case I carried he cocked an eyebrow at me. “Good to see a new face. You know the rules?”

I nodded and handed him a jot.

He turned to point inside. “You see the bar?” It was hard to miss fifty feet of winding mahogany that curved through the far end of the room. “See where the far end turns toward the stage?” I nodded. “See him on the stool? If you decide to try for your pipes, he’s the one you want to talk to. Name’s Stanchion.”

We both turned away from the room at the same time. I shrugged my lute higher onto my shoulder. “Thank you—” I paused, not knowing his name.

“Deoch.” He smiled again in his relaxed way.

A sudden impulse seized me, and I held out my hand. “Deoch means ‘to drink.’ Will you let me buy you one later?”

He looked at me for a long second before he laughed. It was an unrestrained, happy sound that came leaping straight from his chest. He shook my hand warmly. “I just might at that.”

Deoch released my hand, looking behind me. “Simmon, did you bring us this one?”