That is how I felt, watching the musicians play. I couldn’t stand it. The everyday lack of my music was like a toothache I had grown used to. I could live with it. But having what I wanted dangled in front of me was more than I could bear.
So I avoided Imre until the problem of my second term’s tuition forced me back across the river. I had learned that Devi was the person anyone could ask for a loan, no matter how desperate the circumstances.
So I crossed the Omethi by Stonebridge and made my way to Imre. Devi’s place of business was through an alley and up a narrow balcony staircase behind a butcher’s shop. This part of Imre reminded me of Waterside in Tarbean. The cloying smell of rancid fat from the butcher shop below made me thankful for the cool autumn breeze.
I hesitated in front of the heavy door, looking down into the alley. I was about to become involved in dangerous business. A Cealdish moneylender could take you to court if you didn’t repay your loan. A gaelet would simply have you beaten, or robbed, or both. This was not smart. I was playing with fire.
But I didn’t have any better options. I took a deep breath, squared my shoulders, and knocked on the door.
I wiped my sweaty palms against my cloak, hoping to keep them reasonably dry for when I shook Devi’s hand. I had learned in Tarbean that the best way to deal with this type of man was to act with confidence and self-assurance. They were in the business of taking advantage of other people’s weakness.
I heard the sound of a heavy bolt being drawn back, then the door opened, revealing a young girl with straight, strawberry-blond hair framing a pixielike face. She smiled at me, cute as a new button. “Yes?”
“I’m looking for Devi,” I said.
“You’ve found her,” she said easily. “Come on in.”
I stepped inside and she closed the door behind her, sliding the iron bolt home. The room was windowless, but well-lit and filled with the scent of lavender, a welcome change from the smell of the alley. There were hangings on the walls, but the only real furniture was a small desk, a bookshelf, and a large canopy bed with the curtains drawn around it.
“Please,” she said, gesturing to the desk. “Have a seat.”
She settled herself behind the desk, folding her hands across the top. The way she carried herself made me rethink her age. I’d misjudged her because of her small size, but even so, she couldn’t be much older than her early twenties, hardly what I had expected to find.
Devi blinked prettily at me.
“I need a loan,” I said.
“How about your name, first?” She smiled. “You already know mine.”
“Kvothe.”
“Really?” She arched an eyebrow. “I’ve heard a thing or two about you.” She looked me up and down. “I thought you’d be taller.”
I could say the same. I was caught off balance by the situation. I’d been ready for a muscular thug and negotiations filled with thinly veiled threats and bravado. I didn’t know what to make of this smiling waif. “What have you heard?” I asked to fill the silence. “Nothing bad, I hope.”
“Good and bad.” She grinned. “But nothing boring.”
I folded my hands to keep from fidgeting. “So how exactly do we do this?”
“Not much for banter, are you?” she said, giving a brief, disappointed sigh. “Fair enough, straight to business. How much do you need?”
“Only about a talent,” I said. “Eight jots, actually.”
She shook her head seriously, her strawberry-blond hair swinging back and forth. “I can’t do that, I’m afraid. It’s not worth my while to make ha’penny loans.”
I frowned. “How much is worth your while?”
“Four talents,” she said. “That’s the minimum.”
“And the interest?”
“Fifty percent every two months. So if you’re looking to borrow as little as possible, it’ll be two talents at the end of the term. You can pay off the whole debt for six if you like. But until I get all the principle back, it’s two talents every term.”
I nodded, not terribly surprised. It was roughly four times what even the most avaricious moneylender would charge. “But I’m paying interest on money I don’t really need.”
“No,” she said, meeting my eyes seriously. “You’re paying interest on money you borrowed. That’s the deal.”
“How about two talents?” I said. “Then at the end—”
Devi waved her hands, cutting me off. “We aren’t bargaining here. I’m just informing you as to the conditions of the loan.” She smiled apologetically. “I’m sorry I didn’t make that clear from the beginning.”
I looked at her, the set of her shoulders, the way she met my eyes. “Okay,” I said, resigned. “Where do I sign?”
She gave me a slightly puzzled look, her forehead furrowing slightly. “No need to sign anything.” She opened a drawer and pulled out a small brown bottle with a glass stopper. She laid a long pin next to it on the desk. “Just a little blood.”
I sat frozen in my chair, my arms at my sides. “Don’t worry,” she reassured me. “The pin’s clean. I only need about three good drops.”
I finally found my voice. “You’ve got to be kidding.”
Devi cocked her head to one side, a tiny smile curling one edge of her mouth. “You didn’t know?” she said, surprised. “It’s rare that anyone comes here without knowing the whole story.”
“I can’t believe anyone actually…” I stalled, at a loss for words.
“Not everyone does,” she said. “I usually do business with students and ex-students. Folk on this side of the river would think I was some sort of witch or a demon or some nonsense like that. Members of the Arcanum know exactly why I want blood, and what I can do with it.”
“You’re a member of the Arcanum too?”
“Former,” she said, her smile fading a little. “I made Re’lar before I left. I know enough so that with a little blood, you can never hide from me. I can dowse you out anywhere.”
“Among other things,” I said, incredulously, thinking of the wax mommet I’d made of Hemme at the beginning of the term. That was just hair. Blood was much more effective at creating a link. “You could kill me.”
She gave me a frank look. “You’re awfully thick to be the Arcanum’s bright new star. Think it through. Would I stay in business if I made a habit of malfeasance?”
“The masters know about this?”
She laughed. “God’s body, of course not. Neither does the constable, the bishop, or my mother.” She pointed to her chest, then to me. “I know and you know. That’s usually enough to ensure a good working relationship between the two of us.”
“What about unusually?” I asked. “What if I don’t have your money at the end of the term? What then?”