But since I’d moved into this small garret room, I’d begun gathering oddments and half-finished projects. I now had the luxury of two blankets. There were pages of notes, a circular piece of half-inscribed tin from the Fishery, a broken gear-clock I’d taken to pieces to see if I could put it back together again.
I finished loading my travelsack, then packed everything else into the trunk that sat at the foot of my bed. A few worn tools, a broken piece of slate I used for ciphering, a small wooden box with the handful of small treasures Auri had given me. . . .
Then I went downstairs and asked Anker if he would mind stowing my possessions in the basement until I returned. He admitted a little guiltily that before I’d started sleeping there, the tiny, slant-ceilinged room had been empty for years, and only used for storage. He was willing to leave it unrented if I promised to continue our current room-for-music arrangement after I returned. I gladly agreed, and swinging my lute case onto my shoulder I headed out the door.
I wasn’t entirely surprised to find Elodin on Stonebridge. Very little about the Master Namer surprised me these days. He sat on the waist-high stone lip of the bridge, swinging his bare feet over the hundred-foot drop to the river below.
“Hello Kvothe,” he said without turning his eyes from the churning water.
“Hello Master Elodin,” I said. “I’m afraid I’m going to be leaving the University for a term or two.”
“Are you really afraid?” I noticed a whisper of amusement in his quiet, resonant voice.
It took me a moment to realize what he was referring to. “It’s just a figure of speech.”
“The figures of our speaking are like pictures of names. Vague, weak names, but names nonetheless. Be mindful of them.” He looked up at me. “Sit with me for a moment.”
I started to excuse myself, then hesitated. He was my sponsor, after all. I set down my lute and travelsack on the flat stone of the bridge. A fond smile came over Elodin’s boyish face and he slapped the stone parapet next to himself with the flat of his hand, offering me a seat.
I looked over the edge with a hint of anxiety. “I’d rather not, Master Elodin.”
He gave me a reproachful look. “Caution suits an arcanist. Assurance suits a namer. Fear does not suit either. It does not suit you.” He slapped the stone again, more firmly this time.
I carefully climbed onto the parapet and swung my feet over the edge. The view was spectacular, exhilarating.
“Can you see the wind?”
I tried. For a moment it seemed as if . . . No. It was nothing. I shook my head.
Elodin shrugged nonchalantly, though I sensed a hint of disappointment. “This is a good place for a namer. Tell me why.”
I looked around. “Wide wind, strong water, old stone.”
“Good answer.” I heard genuine pleasure in his voice. “But there is another reason. Stone, water, and wind are other places too. What makes this different?”
I thought for a moment, looked around, shook my head. “I don’t know.”
“Another good answer. Remember it.”
I waited for him to continue. When he didn’t, I asked, “What makes this a good place?”
He looked out over the water for a long time before he answered. “It is an edge,” he said at last. “It is a high place with a chance of falling. Things are more easily seen from edges. Danger rouses the sleeping mind. It makes some things clear. Seeing things is a part of being a namer.”
“What about falling?” I asked.
“If you fall, you fall,” Elodin shrugged. “Sometimes falling teaches us things too. In dreams you often fall before you wake.”
We were both silent in our thoughts for a while. I closed my eyes and tried to listen for the name of the wind. I heard the water below, felt the stone of the bridge beneath my palms. Nothing.
“Do you know what they used to say when a student left the University for a term?” Elodin asked.
I shook my head.
“They said he was chasing the wind,” he chuckled.
“I’ve heard the expression.”
“Have you? What did it seem to mean?”
I took a moment to choose my words. “It had a frivolous flavor. As if students were running around to no good purpose.”
Elodin nodded. “Most students leave for frivolous reasons, or to pursue frivolous things.” He leaned forward to look straight down at the river below. “But that was not always the meaning of it.”
“No?”
“No.” He sat back up again. “Long ago, when all students aspired to be namers, things were different.” He licked a finger and held it to the air. “The name most fledgling namers were encouraged to find was that of the wind. After they found that name, their sleeping minds were roused and finding other names was easier.
“But some students had trouble finding the name of the wind. There were too few edges here, too little risk. So they would go off into the wild, uneducated lands. They would seek their fortunes, have adventures, hunt for secrets and treasure. . . .” He looked at me. “But they were really looking for the name of the wind.”
Our conversation paused as someone came onto the bridge. It was a man with dark hair and a pinched face. He watched us from the corner of his eye without turning his head, and as he walked behind us I tried not to think how easy it would be for him to push me off the bridge.
Then he was past us. Elodin gave a weary sigh and continued. “Things have changed. There are even fewer edges now than there were before. The world is less wild. There are fewer magics, more secrets, and only a handful of people who know the name of the wind.”
“You know it, don’t you?” I asked.
Elodin nodded. “It changes from place to place, but I know how to listen for its changing shape.” He laughed and clapped me on the shoulder. “You should go. Chase the wind. Do not be afraid of the occasional risk.” He smiled. “In moderation.”
I swung my legs around, hopped off the thick wall, and resettled my lute and travelsack over my shoulder. But as I started toward Imre, Elodin’s voice stopped me. “Kvothe.”
I turned and saw Elodin lean forward over the side of the bridge. He grinned like a schoolboy. “Spit for luck.”
Devi opened the door for me and widened her eyes in shock. “My goodness,” she said, pressing a piece of paper dramatically to her chest. I recognized it as one of the notes I left under her door. “It’s my secret admirer.”
“I was trying to pay off my loan,” I said. “I made four trips.”
“The walk is good for you,” she said with a cheerful lack of sympathy as she motioned me inside, bolting the door behind me. The room smelled of. . .
I sniffed. “What is that?” I asked.
Her expression went rueful. “It was supposed to be pear.”
I lay down my lute case and travelsack and took a seat at her desk. Despite my best intentions, my eyes were drawn to the charred black ring.
Devi tossed her strawberry-blonde hair and met my eye. “Care for a rematch?” she asked, her mouth curving. “I can still take you, gram or no gram. I can take you while I’m dead asleep.”
“I’ll admit to being curious,” I said. “But I should tend to business instead.”
“Very well,” she said. “Are you really going to pay me off entire? Have you finally found yourself a patron?”
I shook my head. “However, I have had a remarkable opportunity arise. The chance to get a fine patron indeed.” I paused. “In Vintas.”
She raised an eyebrow. “That’s a long ways off,” she said pointedly. “I’m glad you stopped to settle your debt before jaunting off to the other side of the world. Who knows when you’ll be back.”
“Indeed,” I said. “However. I find myself in a bit of an odd place, financially speaking.”
Devi was already shaking her head before I finished speaking. “Absolutely not. You’re already into me for nine talents. I am not loaning you more money the day you leave town.”
I held up my hands defensively. “You misunderstand,” I said. I opened my purse and spilled talents and jots onto the table. Denna’s ring tumbled out too, and I stopped it before it could roll off the edge of the table.