Stitching it up could wait. For all I knew the two men had recovered from the little scare I’d given them and were already dowsing for me again.
I left through the window, leaving my cloak behind so as not to get any blood on it. I hoped the lateness of the hour and my natural stealth would keep me from being seen. I couldn’t begin to guess what rumors would start if someone saw me running across the rooftops late at night, bloody and naked to the waist.
I gathered up a handful of leaves as I made my way to the roof of a livery overlooking the pennant courtyard near the Archives.
In the dim moonlight I could see the dark, shapeless shadows of leaves swirling over the grey of the cobblestones below. I ran my hand roughly through my hair, ending up with a few loose strands. Then I dug at a seam of tar on the roof with my fingernails and used some to stick the hair to a leaf. I repeated this a dozen times, dropping the leaves off the roof, watching as the wind took them away in a mad dance back and forth across the courtyard.
I smiled at the thought of anyone trying to dowse for me now, trying to make sense of the dozens of contradictory signals as the leaves swirled and spun in a dozen different directions.
I’d come to this particular courtyard because the wind moved oddly here. I’d only noticed it after the autumn leaves began to fall. They moved in a complex, chaotic dance across the cobblestones. First one way, then another, never falling into a predictable pattern.
Once you noticed the wind’s odd swirlings, it was hard to ignore. In fact, viewed from the roof like this, it was almost hypnotic. The same way flowing water or a campfire’s flames can catch your eye and hold it.
Watching it tonight, weary and wounded, it was rather relaxing. The more I watched it, the less chaotic it seemed. In fact, I began to sense a greater underlying pattern to the way the wind moved through the courtyard. It only looked chaotic because it was vastly, marvelously complex. What’s more, it seemed to be always changing. It was a pattern made of changing patterns. It was—
“You’re up studying awfully late,” said a quiet voice from behind me.
Startled out of my reverie, my body tensed, ready to bolt. How had someone managed to get up here without my noticing?
It was Elodin. Master Elodin. He was dressed in a patched set of pants and a loose shirt. He waved idly in my direction and crouched down to sit cross-legged on the edge of the roof as casually as if we were meeting for a drink in a pub.
He looked down into the courtyard. “It’s particularly good tonight, isn’t it?”
I folded my arms, ineffectually trying to cover my bare, bloody chest. Only then did I notice the blood on my hands was dry. How long had I been sitting here, motionless, watching the wind?
“Master Elodin,” I said, then stopped. I had no idea what I could possibly say in a situation like this.
“Please, we’re all friends here. Feel free to call me by my first name: Master.” He gave a lazy grin and looked back down toward the courtyard.
Hadn’t he noticed the state I was in? Was he being polite? Maybe…I shook my head. There was no use guessing with him. I knew better than anyone that Elodin was cracked as the potter’s cobbles.
“Long ago,” Elodin said conversationally, not taking his eyes from the courtyard below. “When folk spoke differently, this used to be called the Quoyan Hayel. Later they called it the Questioning Hall, and students made a game of writing questions on slips of paper and letting them blow about. Rumor had it you could divine your answer by which way the paper left the square.” He pointed to the roads that left gaps between the grey buildings. “Yes. No. Maybe. Elsewhere. Soon.”
He shrugged. “It was all a mistake though. Bad translation. They thought Quoyan was an early root of quetentan: question. But it isn’t. Quoyan means ‘wind.’ This is rightly named ‘the House of the Wind.’”
I waited a moment to see if he intended to say any more. When nothing was forthcoming I got slowly to my feet. “That’s interesting, Master…” I hesitated, not sure how serious he had been before. “But I should be going.”
Elodin nodded absently and gave a wave that was half farewell, half dismissal. His eyes never left the courtyard below, following the ever-changing wind.
Back in my room at Anker’s, I sat on my bed for a long minute in the dark, trying to decide what to do. My thoughts were muddy. I was weary, wounded, and still a little drunk. The adrenaline that had kept me going earlier was slowly turning sour and my side burned and stung.
I took a deep breath and tried to focus my thoughts. I’d been moving on instinct so far, but now I needed to think things through carefully.
Could I go to the masters for help? For a moment hope rose in my chest, then fell. No. I had no proof that Ambrose was responsible. What’s more, if I told them the whole story, I would have to admit that I had used sympathy to blind and burn my attackers. Self-defense or no, what I’d done was unquestionably malfeasance. Students had been expelled for less than that just to preserve the University’s reputation.
No. I couldn’t risk being expelled over this. And if I went to the Medica, there would be too many questions. And word of my injury would get around if I went in to get stitched. That meant Ambrose would know how close he had come to succeeding. It would be better to give the impression that I had walked away unscathed.
I had no idea how long Ambrose’s hired killers had been following me. One of them had said, “We already lost him twice.” That means they could know I had a room here at Anker’s. I might not be safe here.
I locked the window and drew the curtain before turning on my hand lamp. The light revealed the forgotten piece of paper that had been wedged into my window. I unfolded it and read:
Kvothe,
Getting up here is every bit as much fun as you made it look. However, springing your window took some time. Finding you not at home, I hope you do not mind me borrowing paper and ink enough to leave this note. As you are not playing downstairs, or peacefully abed, a cynical person might wonder what you are doing at this late hour, and if you are up to no good. Alas, I shall have to walk back home tonight without the comfort of your escort or the pleasure of your company.
I missed you this Felling past at the Eolian, but though denied your company, I had the good fortune to meet someone quite interesting. He is a quite singular fellow, and I am eager to tell you what little I can of him. When next we meet.
I currently have rooms at the Swan and Swale (Swail?) in Imre. Please call on me, before the 23rd of this month, and we will have our lunch, belated. After that I will be about on my business.
Your friend and apprentice housebreaker,
Denna,
pstscrpt—Please rest assured that I did not notice the disgraceful condition of your bed linens, and did not judge your character thereby.