The Wise Man's Fear

by Patrick Rothfuss

  My temper sputtered and went out like a snuffed candle, leaving me chilled. I realized then that I had misjudged my situation badly.

  When I was a child, homeless on the streets of Tarbean, I’d learned to deal with dangerous people: drunken dockworkers, guardsmen, even a homeless child with a bottle-glass knife can kill you.

  The key to staying safe was knowing the rules of the situation. A guard wouldn’t beat you in the middle of the street. A dockworker wouldn’t chase you if you ran.

  Now, with sudden clarity, I realized my mistake. The Maer was not bound by any rules. He could order me killed then hang my body over the city gates. He could throw me in jail and forget about me. He could leave me there while I grew starved and sickly. I had no position, no friends to intercede on my behalf. I was helpless as a child with a willow-switch sword.

  I realized this in a flash and felt a gnawing fear settle in my belly. I should have stayed in Severen-Low while I had the chance. I never should have come here in the first place and meddled in the affairs of powerful folk such as this.

  It was just then that Stapes bustled in from the Maer’s dressing room. Seeing us, his normally placid expression flickered briefly into panic and surprise. He recovered quickly. “I beg your pardon, sirs,” he said, and hurried back the way he came.

  “Stapes,” the Maer called out before he could leave. “Come here.”

  Stapes slunk back into the room. He wrung his hands nervously. His face had the stricken look of a guilty man, a man caught in the midst of something dishonest.

  Alveron’s voice was stern. “Stapes, what do you have there?” Looking closer, I saw the manservant wasn’t wringing his hands, he was clutching something.

  “It’s nothing—”

  “Stapes!” the Maer barked. “How dare you lie to me! Show me at once!”

  Numbly, the portly manservant opened his hands. A tiny gem-bright bird lay lifeless on his palm. His face had lost all hint of color.

  Never in the history of the world has the death of a lovely thing brought such relief and joy. I had been certain of Stapes’ betrayal for days now, and here was the unquestionable proof of it.

  Nevertheless, I kept quiet. The Maer had to see this with his own eyes.

  “What is the meaning of this?” the Maer asked slowly.

  “It’s not good to think of such things, sir,” the manservant said quickly, “and worse to dwell on them. I’ll just fetch another one. It’ll sing just as sweet.”

  There was a long pause. I could see Alveron struggling to contain the rage he’d been ready to unleash on me. The silence continued to stretch.

  “Stapes,” I said slowly. “How many birds have you replaced these last few days?”

  Stapes turned to me, his expression indignant.

  Before he could speak, the Maer broke in. “Answer him, Stapes.” His voice sounded almost choked. “Has there been more than this one?”

  Stapes gave the Maer a stricken look. “Oh Rand, I didn’t want to trouble you. You were so bad for a time. Then you asked for the birds and had that terrible night. Then the next day one of them died.”

  Looking down at the tiny bird in his hand, his words came faster and faster, almost tumbling over each other. Too clumsy to be anything but sincere. “I didn’t want to fill your head with talk of dying things. So I snuck it out and brought a new one in. Then you kept getting better and they started falling four or five a day. Every time I looked there would be another one lying in the bottom of the cage like a little cut flower. But you were doing so well. I didn’t want to mention it.”

  Stapes covered the dead sipquick with a cupped hand. “It’s like they were giving up their little souls to make you well again.” Something inside the man suddenly gave way, and he began to cry. The deep, hopeless sobs of an honest man who has been frightened and helpless for a long time, watching the slow death of a well-loved friend.

  Alveron stood motionless for a stunned moment, all the anger spilling out of him. Then he moved to put his arms gently around his manservant. “Oh Stapes,” he said softly. “They were, in a way. You haven’t done anything you can be blamed for.”

  I quietly left the room and busied myself removing the feeders from the gilded cage.

  An hour later the three of us were eating a quiet supper together in the Maer’s rooms. Alveron and I told Stapes what had been happening over the last several days. Stapes was almost giddy, both at his master’s health and at the knowledge it would continue to improve.

  As for myself, after suffering a few days under Alveron’s displeasure, being so suddenly in his good graces again was a relief. Nevertheless, I was shaken by how close to disaster I had been.

  I was honest with the Maer about my misguided suspicion of Stapes, and I offered the manservant my sincere apology. Stapes in turn admitted his doubts about me. In the end we shook hands and thought much better of each other.

  As we were chatting over the last bites of supper Stapes perked up, excused himself, and hurried out.

  “My outer door,” the Maer explained. “He has ears like a dog. It’s uncanny.”

  Stapes opened the door to admit the tall man with the shaven head who had been looking over maps with Alveron when I’d first arrived, Commander Dagon.

  As Dagon stepped into the room his eyes flicked to each of the corners, to the window, to the other door, briefly over me, then back to the Maer. When his eyes touched me, all the deep feral instincts that had kept me alive on the streets of Tarbean told me to run. Hide. Do anything so long as it took me far away from this man.

  “Ah, Dagon!” the Maer said cheerily. “Are you well this fine day?”

  “Yes, your grace.” He stood attentively, not quite meeting the Maer’s eye.

  “Would you be good enough to arrest Caudicus for treason?”

  There was a half-heartbeat pause. “Yes, your grace.”

  “Eight men should be sufficient, providing they’re not likely to panic in a complicated situation.”

  “Yes, your grace.” I began to sense subtle differences in Dagon’s responses.

  “Alive,” Alveron responded, as if answering a question. “But you needn’t be gentle.”

  “Yes, your grace.” With that, Dagon turned to leave.

  I spoke up quickly. “Your grace, if he’s truly an arcanist you ought to take certain precautions.” I regretted the word “ought” as soon as I had said it, “ought” was presumptuous. I should have said, You may wish to consider taking certain precautions.

  Alveron seemed to take no notice of my misstep. “Yes, of course. Set a thief to catch a thief. Dagon, before you settle him downstairs, bind him hand and foot with good iron chain. Pure iron, mind you. Gag and blindfold him. . . .” He thought for a brief moment, tapping his lips with a finger “And cut off his thumbs.”

  “Yes, your grace.”

  Alveron looked at me. “Do you think that should be sufficient?”

  I fought down a wave of nausea and forced myself not to wring my hands in my lap. I didn’t know which I found more unsettling, the cheerful tone with which Alveron delivered the commands, or the flat emotionless one with which Dagon accepted them. A full arcanist was nothing to trifle with, but I found the thought of crippling the man’s hands more horrifying than killing him outright.

  Dagon left, and after the door closed Stapes shuddered. “Good lord, Rand, he’s like cold water down the back of my neck. I wish you’d get rid of him.”

  The Maer laughed. “So someone else could have him? No, Stapes. I want him right here. My mad dog on a short leash.”

  Stapes frowned. But before he could make anything more of it, his eyes were drawn through the doorway into the sitting room. “Oh, there’s another one.” He walked to the cage and returned with another dead flit, holding its tiny body tenderly as he carried it out of the chambers. “I know you needed to test the medicine on something,” he said from the other room. “But it’s a little rough on the poor little calanthis.”

  �
�Beg pardon?” I asked.

  “Our Stapes is old-fashioned,” Alveron explained with a smile. “And more educated than he cares to admit. Calanthis is the Eld Vintic name for them.”

  “I could swear I’ve heard that word somewhere else.”

  “It’s also the surname of the royal line of Vintas,” Alveron said chidingly. “For someone who knows so much, you’re curiously blind in places.”

  Stapes craned his neck to look toward the cage again. “I know you had to do it,” he said, “But why not use mice, or Comptess DeFerre’s nasty little dog?”

  Before I could answer, there was a thump from the outer rooms and a guard burst through the inner door before Stapes could come to his feet.

  “Your grace,” the man said breathlessly as he jumped to the room’s only window and slammed the shutters. Next he ran to the sitting room and did the same with the window in there. There followed other, similar noises from rooms farther back I had never seen. There was a faint sound of furniture being moved.

  Stapes looked puzzled and half rose to his feet, but the Maer shook his head and motioned for him to sit down. “Lieutenant?” he called out, a tinge of irritation in his voice.

  “Beg pardon, your grace,” the guard said as he reentered the room, breathing heavily. “Dagon’s orders. I was to secure your rooms straightaway.”

  “I take it all is not well,” Alveron said dryly.

  “There was no answer from the tower when we knocked. Dagon had us force the door. There was . . . I know not what it was, your grace. Some malignant spirit. Anders is dead, your grace. Caudicus is nowhere in his rooms, but Dagon is after him.”

  Alveron’s expression darkened. “Damn!” he thundered, striking the arm of his chair with a fist. His brow furrowed and he let out an explosive sigh. “Very well.” He waved the guard away.

  The guard stood stiffly. “Sir. Dagon said I’m not to leave you unguarded.”

  Alveron gave him a dangerous look. “Very well, but stand over there.” He pointed to the corner of the room.

  The guard appeared perfectly happy to fade into the background. Alveron leaned forward, pressing the tips of his fingers to his forehead. “How in the name of God did he suspect?”

  The question seemed rhetorical, but it set the wheels of my mind spinning. “Did your grace pick up his medicine yesterday?”

  “Yes, yes. I did everything the same as I had done in days past.”

  Except you didn’t send me to get your medicine, I thought to myself. “Do you still have the vial?” I asked.

  He did. Stapes brought it to me. I uncorked it and ran a finger along the inside of the glass. “How does your grace’s medicine taste?”

  “I’ve told you. Brackish, bitter.” I watched the Maer’s eyes go wide as I brought my finger to my mouth and touched it lightly to the tip of my tongue. “Are you mad?” Alveron said incredulously.

  “Sweet,” I said simply. Then I rinsed my mouth with water and spat it as delicately as possible into an empty glass. I took a small folded packet of paper from a pocket in my vest, shook a small amount into my hand and ate it, grimacing.

  “What’s that?” Stapes asked.

  “Liguellen,” I lied, knowing the real answer, charcoal, would only provoke more questions. I took a mouthful of water and spat it out as well. This time it was black, and Alveron and Stapes stared at it, startled.

  I bulled ahead. “Something must have made him suspect you were not taking your medicine, your grace. If it suddenly tasted different, you would have asked him.”

  The Maer nodded. “I saw him yesterday evening. He asked after my health.” He beat his fist softly onto the arm of his chair. “All the cursed luck. If he has any wit, he’s been gone half a day. We’ll never catch him.”

  I thought about reminding him that if he had believed me from the first, none of this would have happened, then thought better of it. “I’d advise your men to stay out of his tower, your grace. He’s had time to prepare a great deal of mischief in there, traps and the like.”

  The Maer nodded and passed his hand in front of his eyes. “Yes. Of course. See to it, Stapes. I believe I’ll take a bit of rest. This business may take a while to sort out.”

  I gathered myself to leave. But the Maer gestured me back into my seat. “Kvothe, stay a moment and make me a pot of tea before you go.”

  Stapes rang for servants. While clearing the remains of our lunch away, they glanced at me curiously. Not only sitting in the Maer’s presence, I was sharing a meal with him in his private chambers. This news would be rumored through the estate in under ten minutes.

  After the servants left, I made the Maer another pot of tea. I was preparing to leave when he spoke over the top of his cup, too softly for the guard to overhear.

  “Kvothe, you have proved perfectly trustworthy and I regret any doubts I briefly entertained about you.” He sipped and swallowed before continuing. “Unfortunately, I cannot allow news of a poisoning to spread. Especially with the poisoner escaped.” He gave me a significant look. “It would interfere with the matter we discussed before.”

  I nodded. Widespread knowledge that his own arcanist had nearly killed him would hardly help Alveron win the hand of the woman he hoped to marry.

  He continued. “Unfortunately this need for silence also precludes my giving you a reward you all too richly deserve. Were the situation different, I would consider the gift of lands mere token thanks. I would grant you title too. This power my family still retains, free from the controlment of the king.”

  My head reeled at the implication of what the Maer was saying as he continued. “However, if I were to do such a thing, there would be need of explanation. And an explanation is the one thing I cannot afford.”

  Alveron extended his hand, and it took me a moment to realize he intended me to shake it. One does not typically shake hands with the Maer Alveron. I immediately regretted that the only person present to see it was the guard. I hoped he was a gossip.

  I took his hand solemnly, and Alveron continued, “I owe you a great debt. If you ever find yourself in need, you shall have at your command all the help a grateful lord can lend.”

  I nodded graciously, trying to keep a calm demeanor despite my excitement. This was exactly what I had been hoping for. With the Maer’s resources, I could make a concerted search for the Amyr. He could get me access to monastery archives, private libraries, places where important documents hadn’t been pruned and edited as they had in the University.

  But I knew this wasn’t the proper time to ask. Alveron had promised his help. I could simply bide my time and choose what type of help I wanted most.

  As I stepped outside the Maer’s rooms, Stapes surprised me with a sudden, wordless embrace. The expression on his face couldn’t have been more grateful if I’d pulled his family from a burning building. “Young sir, I doubt you understand how much I’m in your debt. If there’s anything you ever need, just make me wise of it.”

  He gripped my hand, pumping it up and down enthusiastically. At the same time I felt him press something into my palm.

  Then I was standing in the hallway. I opened my hand and saw a fine silver ring with Stapes’ name etched across the face. Alongside it was a second ring that wasn’t metal at all. It was smooth and white, and also had the manservant’s name carved in rough letters across the surface of it. I had no idea what such a thing might signify.

  I made my way back to my rooms, almost dizzy with my sudden fortune.

  CHAPTER SIXTY-FIVE

  A Beautiful Game

  THE NEXT DAY MY meager belongings were moved to rooms the Maer deemed more suitable for someone firmly in his favor. There were five of them in all, three with windows overlooking the garden.

  It was a nice gesture, but I couldn’t help but think that these rooms were even farther from the kitchens. My food would be cold as a stone by the time it made its way to me.

  I’d barely been there an hour before a runner arrived bearing Bredon’s silver
ring and a card that read: “Your glorious new rooms. When?”

  I turned the card over, wrote: “As soon as you like,” and sent the boy on his way.

  I placed his silver ring on a tray in my sitting room. The bowl next to it now had two silver rings glittering among the iron.

  I opened the door to see Bredon’s dark eyes peering owlishly out at me from the halo of his white beard and hair. He smiled and bowed, his walking stick tucked under one arm. I offered him a seat, then excused myself politely and left him alone in the sitting room for a moment, as was the gracious thing to do.

  I was barely through the doorway before I heard his rich laugh coming from the other room, “Ho ho!” he said. “Now there’s a thing!”

  When I returned, Bredon was sitting by the tak board holding the two rings I had recently received from Stapes. “This is certainly a turn for the books,” he said. “Apparently I misjudged things yesterday when my runner was turned away from your door by an altogether surly guard.”

  I grinned at him. “It’s been an exciting couple of days,” I said.

  Bredon tucked his chin and chuckled, looking even more owlish than usual. “I daresay,” he said, holding up the silver ring. “This tells quite a story. But this . . .” He gestured to the white ring with his walking stick. “This is something else entirely. . . .”

  I pulled up a seat across from him. “I’ll be frank with you,” I said. “I can only guess what it’s made of, let alone what it signifies.”

  Bredon raised an eyebrow. “That’s remarkably forthright of you.”

  I shrugged. “I feel somewhat more secure in my position here,” I admitted. “Enough that I can be a little less guarded with the people who have been kind to me.”

  He chuckled again as he lay the silver ring on the board. “Secure,” he said. “I daresay you are at that.” He picked up the white ring. “Still, it’s not odd that you wouldn’t know about this.”