The Chancellor held up a hand and Jamison lifted his pen from the paper. “It is against the laws of the University for a student who is not a member of the Arcanum to use sympathy without permission from a master.”
His expression darkened. “And it is always, always, expressly forbidden to cause harm with sympathy, especially to a master. A few hundred years ago arcanists were hunted down and burned for things of that sort. We do not tolerate that sort of behavior here.”
I heard a hard edge creep into the Chancellor’s voice, only then did I sense how truly angry he was. He took a deep breath. “Now, do you understand?”
I nodded shakily.
He made another motion to Jamison, who set his pen back to the paper. “Do you, Kvothe, understand these grievances set against you?”
“Yes, sir.” I said, as steadily as I could. Everything seemed too bright, and my legs were trembling slightly. I tried to force them to be still, but it only seemed to make them shake all the more.
“Do you have anything to say in your defense?” the Chancellor asked curtly.
I just wanted to leave. I felt the stares of the masters bearing down on me. My hands were wet and cold. I probably would have shaken my head and slunk from the room had the Chancellor not spoken again.
“Well?” The Chancellor repeated testily. “No defense?”
The words struck a chord in me. They were the same words that Ben had used a hundred times as he drilled me endlessly in argument. His words came back, admonishing me: What? No defense? Any student of mine must be able to defend his ideas against an attack. No matter how you spend your life, your wit will defend you more often than a sword. Keep it sharp!
I took another deep breath, closed my eyes and concentrated. After a long moment, I felt the cool impassivity of the Heart of Stone surround me. My trembling stopped.
I opened my eyes and heard my own voice say, “I had permission for my use of sympathy, sir.”
The Chancellor gave me a long, hard look before saying, “What?”
I held the Heart of Stone around me like a calming mantle. “I had permission from Master Hemme, both express and implied.”
The masters stirred in their seats, puzzled.
The Chancellor looked far from pleased. “Explain yourself.”
“I approached Master Hemme after his first lecture and told him I was already familiar with the concepts he had discussed. He told me we would discuss it the next day.
“When he arrived for class the next day, he announced that I would be giving the lecture in order to demonstrate the principles of sympathy. After observing what materials were available, I gave the class the first demonstration my master gave me.” Not true, of course. As I’ve already mentioned, my first lesson involved a handful of iron drabs. It was a lie, but a plausible lie.
Judging by the masters’ expressions, this was news to them. Somewhere deep in the Heart of Stone, I relaxed, glad that the master’s irritation was based on Hemme’s angrily abridged version of the truth.
“You gave a demonstration before the class?” the Chancellor asked before I could continue. He glanced at Hemme, then back to me.
I played innocent. “Just a simple one. Is that unusual?”
“It is a little odd,” he said, looking at Hemme. I could sense his anger again, but this time it didn’t seem to be directed at me.
“I thought it might be the way you proved your knowledge of the material and moved to a more advanced class,” I said innocently. Another lie, but again, plausible.
Elxa Dal spoke up, “What did the demonstration involve?”
“A wax doll, a hair from Hemme’s head, and a candle. I would have picked a different example, but my materials were limited. I thought that might be another part of the test, making do with what you were given.” I shrugged again. “I couldn’t think of any other way to demonstrate all three laws with the materials on hand.”
The Chancellor looked at Hemme. “Is what the boy says true?”
Hemme opened his mouth as if he would deny it, then apparently remembered that an entire classroom full of students had witnessed the exchange. He said nothing.
“Damn it, Hemme,” Elxa Dal burst out. “You let the boy make a simulacra of you, then bring him here on malfeasance?” He spluttered. “You deserve worse than you got.”
“E’lir Kvothe could not have hurt him with just a candle,” Kilvin muttered. He gave his fingers a puzzled look, as if he were working something out in his head. “Not with hair and wax. Maybe blood and clay…”
“Order.” The Chancellor’s voice was too quiet to be called a shout, but it carried the same authority. He shot looks at Elxa Dal and Kilvin. “Kvothe, answer Master Kilvin’s question.”
“I made a second binding between the candle and a brazier to illustrate the Law of Conservation.”
Kilvin didn’t look up from his hands. “Wax and hair?” He grumbled as if not entirely satisfied with my explanation.
I gave a half-puzzled, half-embarrassed look and said, “I don’t understand it myself, sir. I should have gotten ten percent transference at best. It shouldn’t have been enough to blister Master Hemme, let alone burn him.”
I turned to Hemme. “I really didn’t mean any harm, sir,” I said in my best distraught voice. “It was just supposed to be a bit of a hotfoot to make you jump. The fire hadn’t been going more than five minutes, and I didn’t imagine that a fresh fire at ten percent could hurt you.” I even wrung my hands a little, every bit the distraught student. It was a good performance. My father would have been proud.
“Well it did,” Hemme said bitterly. “And where is the damn mommet anyway? I demand you return it at once!”
“I’m afraid I can’t, sir. I destroyed it. It was too dangerous to leave lying around.”
Hemme gave me a shrewd look. “It’s of no real concern,” he muttered.
The Chancellor took up the reins again. “This changes things considerably. Hemme, do you still set grievance against Kvothe?”
Hemme glared and said nothing.
“I move to strike both grievances,” Arwyl said. The physicker’s old voice coming as a bit of a surprise. “If Hemme set him in front of the class, he gave permission. And it isn’t malfeasance if you give him your hair and watch him stick it on the mommet’s head.”
“I expected him to have more control over what he was doing,” Hemme said, shooting a venomous look at me.
“It’s not malfeasance,” Arwyl said doggedly, glaring at Hemme from behind his spectacles, the grandfatherly lines on his face forming a fierce scowl.
“It would fall under reckless use of sympathy,” Lorren interjected coolly.
“Is that a motion to strike the previous two grievances and replace them with reckless use of sympathy?” asked the Chancellor, trying to regain a semblance of formality.
“Aye,” said Arwyl, still glaring fearsomely at Hemme through his spectacles.
“All for the motion?” The Chancellor said,
There was a chorus of ayes from everyone but Hemme.
“Against?”
Hemme remained silent.
“Master Archivist, what is the discipline for reckless use of sympathy?”