“There are two main parts,” I said. “The first is the sygaldry that automatically forms a sympathetic link with any thin, fast-moving piece of metal within twenty feet. I don’t mind telling you that took me a long couple of days to figure out.”
I tapped the appropriate runes on the piece of paper. “At first I thought that might be enough by itself. I hoped if I bound an incoming arrowhead to a stationary piece of iron, it would absorb the arrow’s momentum and make it harmless.”
Kilvin shook his head. “It has been tried before.”
“I should have realized before I even tried,” I said. “At best it only absorbs a third of the arrow’s momentum, and anyone two-thirds arrowshot is still going to be in a bad way.”
I gestured to a different diagram. “What I really needed was something that could push back against the arrow. And it had to push very fast and very hard. I ended up using the spring steel from a bear trap. Modified, of course.”
I picked up a spare arrowhead from the worktable and pretended it was moving toward the arrowcatch. “First, the arrow comes close and establishes the binding. Second, the incoming arrow’s momentum sets off the trigger, just like stepping on a trap.” I snapped my fingers sharply. “Then the spring’s stored energy pushes back at the arrow, stopping it or even knocking it backward.”
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 click. Then I rotated the arrowcatch and repeated the process.
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. “Tevetbem. The flatbow?”
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 inla
y 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?”
I’d been wondering on this question for six span. The simple truth was I hoped it would bring me enough money to pay for my tuition and my interest on Devi’s loan. Enough to keep me in the University for one more term.
“I honestly don’t know, Master Kilvin,” I said. “How much would you pay to avoid having a long yard of ash arrow shot through your lung?”
He chuckled. “My lung is quite valuable,” he said. “But let us think in other terms. Materials come to . . .” He glanced at the schema. “Roughly nine jots, am I correct?”
Uncannily correct. I nodded.
“How many hours did it take you to make?”
“About a hundred,” I said. “Maybe a hundred and twenty. But a lot of that was experimentation and testing. I could probably make another in fifty or sixty hours. Less if moldings are made.”
Kilvin nodded. “I suggest twenty-five talents. Does that seem reasonable to you?”
The sum took my breath away. Even after I repaid Stocks for materials and the workshop took its forty percent commission, it was six times more than I’d earn working on deck lamps. An almost ridiculous amount of money.
I began to agree enthusiastically, then a thought occurred to me. Though it pained me, I slowly shook my head. “Honestly, Master Kilvin. I’d prefer to sell them more cheaply than that.”
He raised an eyebrow. “They will pay it,” he reassured me. “I have seen people pay more for less useful things.”
I shrugged. “Twenty-five talents is a lot of money,” I said. “Safety and peace of mind shouldn’t only be available to those with heavy purses. I think eight would be a great plenty.”
Kilvin looked at me for a long moment, then nodded. “As you say. Eight talents.” He ran his hand over the top of the arrowcatch, almost petting it. “However, as this is the first and only one in existence, I will pay you twenty-five for it. It will go in my personal collection.” He cocked his head at me. “Lhinsatva?”
“Lhin,” I said gratefully, feeling a great weight of anxiety lifting off my shoulders.
Kilvin smiled and nodded toward the table. “I would also like to examine the schema at my leisure. Would you like to make me a copy?”
“For twenty-five talents,” I said, smiling as I slid the paper across the table, “you can have the original.”
Kilvin wrote me a receipt and left, clutching the arrowcatch like a child with a new favorite toy.
I hurried to Stocks with my slip of paper. I had to settle my debt for materials, including the gold wire and silver ingots. But even after the workshop took its commission I was left with almost eleven talents.
I went through the remainder of the day grinning and whistling like an idiot. It is as they say: a heavy purse makes for a light heart.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Consortation
I SAT ON THE HEARTH at Anker’s with my lute in my lap. The room was warm and quiet, full of people who had come to hear me play.
Felling was my regular night at Anker’s, and it was always busy. Even in the worst weather there weren’t enough chairs, and those who came late were forced to cluster around the bar and lean against walls. Lately, Anker had needed to bring in an extra girl on Felling night just to hurry drinks around the room.
Outside the inn, winter was still clutching at the University, but inside the air was warm and sweet with the smell of beer and bread and broth. Over the months I had slowly trained my audience to be properly attentive while I played, so the room was hushed as I fingered my way through the second verse of “Violet Bide.”
I was in fine form that night. My audience had bought me half a dozen drinks, and in a fit of generosity, a tipsy scriv had tossed a hard penny into my lute case where it lay shining among the dull iron and copper. I’d made Simmon cry twice, and Anker’s new serving girl was smiling and blushing at me with such frequency that even I couldn’t miss the signal. She had beautiful eyes.
For the first time I could remember, I actually felt like I had some control over my life. There was money in my purse. My studies were going well. I had access to the Archives, and despite the fact that I was forced to work in Stocks, everyone knew Kilvin was terribly pleased with me.
The only thing missing was Denna.
I looked down at my hands as I entered into the final chorus of “Violet Bide.” I’d had a few more drinks than I was used to, and I didn’t want to fumble. As I watched my fingers, I heard the door of the taproom open and felt a chill wind curl around the room. The fire swayed and danced beside me as I heard boots moving across the wooden floor.
The room was quiet as I sang:She sits by her window.
She sips at her tea.
She waits for her love,
To return from the sea.
Her suitors come calling.
She watches the tides,
And all the while Violet bides.
I hit the final chord but instead of the thunderous applause I expected, there was only an echoing quiet. I looked up and saw four tall men standing in front of the hearth. The shoulders of their heavy cloaks were wet with melted snow. Their faces were grim.
Three of them wore the dark round caps that marked them as constables. And if that weren’t clue enough as to their business, each of them carried a long oak cudgel bound in iron. They watched me like hard-eyed hawks.
The fourth man stood aside from the others. He didn’t wear a constable’s cap and wasn’t nearly so tall or broad across the shoulders. Despite that, he carried himself with undeniable authority. His face was lean and grim as he drew out a piece of heavy parchment decorated with several black, official-looking seals.
“Kvothe, Arliden’s son,” he read aloud to the room, his voice clear and strong. “In the sight of these witnesses I bind you to stand to your own account before the iron law. You are charged with Consortation with Demonic Powers, Malicious Use of Unnatural Arts, Unprovoked Assault, and Malfeasance.”
Needless to say, I was caught completely flat-footed. “What?” I said stupidly. As I said, I’d had more than a few drinks.
The grim man ignored me and turned to one of the constables. “Bind him.”
One of the constables drew out a length of clattering iron chain. Up until now I’d been too startled to be properly afraid, but the sight of this grim-faced man pulling a pair of dark iron manacles out of a sack filled me with a fear that turned my bones to water.
Simmon appeared next to the hearth, pushing his way past the constables to
stand in front of the fourth man.
“What exactly is going on here?” Sim demanded, his voice hard and angry. It was the only time I’d ever heard him sound like the son of a duke. “Explain yourself.”
The man holding the parchment eyed Simmon calmly, then reached inside his cloak and brought out a stout iron rod with a band of gold around each end. Sim paled a bit as the grim man held it up for everyone in the room to see. Not only was it every bit as threatening as the constable’s cudgels, the rod was an unmistakable symbol of his authority. The man was a sumner for the Commonwealth courts. Not just a regular sumner either, the gold bands meant he could order anyone to stand before the iron law: priests, government officials, even members of the nobility up to the rank of baron.
At this point Anker made his way through the crowd as well. He and Sim looked over the sumner’s document and found it to be very legitimate and official. It was signed and sealed by all manner of important people in Imre. There was nothing to be done. I was going to be brought up against the iron law.
Everyone at Anker’s watched as I was bound hand and foot in chains. Some of them looked shocked, some confused, but most of them simply looked frightened. When the constables dragged me through the crowd toward the door, barely a handful of my audience were willing to meet my eye.
They marched me the long way back to Imre. Over Stonebridge and down the flat expanse of the great stone road. All the way the winter wind chilled the iron around my hands and feet until it burned and bit and froze my skin.
The next morning Sim arrived with Elxa Dal and matters slowly became clear. It had been months since I had called the name of the wind in Imre after Ambrose broke my lute. The masters had brought me up on charges of malfeasance and had me publicly whipped at the University. It had been so long ago that the lash marks on my back were nothing more than pale silver scars. I had thought the matter resolved.
Apparently not. Since the incident had occurred in Imre, it fell under the jurisdiction of the Commonwealth courts.
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