I bowed to his wisdom and spent the remainder of the day helping him. I pumped water and fetched bread. I made a quick examination of the children, then took a trip to an apothecary and brought back a few things that would help.
Lastly I tended to Trapis himself, at least as much as he would allow. I rubbed his poor, swollen feet with camphor and mother’s leaf, then made him a gift of tight-fitting stockings and a good pair of shoes so he wouldn’t have to go barefoot in the damp of the basement anymore.
As the afternoon faded into evening, ragged children began to arrive in the basement. They came looking for a bit of food, or because they were hurt or hoping for a safe place to sleep. They all eyed me suspiciously. My clothes were new and clean. I didn’t belong there. I wasn’t welcome.
If I stayed there would be trouble. At the very least, my presence would make some of the starveling children so uncomfortable they wouldn’t stay the night. So I said good-bye to Trapis and left. Sometimes leaving is the only thing you can do.
Since I had a few hours before the taverns started to fill up, I bought a single piece of creamy writing paper and a matching envelope of heavy parchment. They were extremely fine quality, much nicer than anything I’d ever owned before.
Next I found a quiet café and ordered drinking chocolate with a glass of water. I arranged the paper on the table and brought out pen and ink from my shaed. Then I wrote in an elegant, fluid script:
Ambrose,
The child is yours. You know it is true and so do I.
I fear my family will disown me. If you do not behave as a gentleman and see to your obligations, I will go to your father and tell him everything.
Do not test me in this, I am resolved.
I didn’t sign a name, merely wrote a single initial which could have been an ornate R or perhaps a shaky B.
Then, dipping my finger into my glass of water, I let several drops fall onto the page. They swelled the paper a bit and smeared the ink slightly before I blotted them away. They made a fair approximation of teardrops.
I let one final heavy drop fall onto the initial I’d signed, obscuring it even more. Now the letter looked as if it could also be an F or a P or an E. Perhaps even a K. It could be anything, really.
I folded the paper carefully, then walked over to one of the room’s lamps and melted a generous blob of sealing wax onto the fold. On the outside of the envelope I wrote:
Ambrose Jakis
University (Two miles west of Imre)
Belenay-Barren
Central Commonwealth
I paid for my drink and headed to Drover’s Lot. When I was just a few streets away I removed my shaed and tucked it into my travelsack. Then I dropped the letter in the street and stepped on it, scuffing it around with my foot a bit before picking it up and brushing it off.
I was almost to the square when I saw the final thing I needed. “Hoy there,” I said to an old, whiskery man sitting against a building. “I’ll give you ha’penny if you let me borrow your hat.”
The old man pulled the draggled thing off and looked at it. His head was very bald and very pale underneath. He squinted a bit in the late afternoon sunlight. “My hat?” he asked, his voice rough. “You can have it for a whole penny, and my blessing too.” He gave a hopeful grin as he held out a thin, shaky hand.
I gave him a penny. “Could you hold this for a second?” I passed him the envelope, then used both hands to screw the old, shapeless hat down over my ears. I used a nearby shop window to make sure every scrap of my red hair was tucked away underneath.
“Suits you,” the old man said, giving a phlegmy cough. I reclaimed the letter and eyed the smudgy fingerprints he’d left.
From there it was a quick step to Drover’s Square. I slouched a bit and narrowed my eyes as I wandered through the milling throng. After a couple minutes my ear caught the distinctive sound of a southern Vintish accent, and I walked over to a handful of men loading a wagon with burlap sacks.
“Hoy,” I said, putting on the same accent. “You folk heading up Imre-way?”
One of the men heaved his sack into the wagon and walked over, dusting off his hands. “Headin’ through there,” he said. “You looking for a ride?”
I shook my head and brought the letter out of my travelsack. “I’ve got a letter for up that way. I was going to take it myself but my ship sails tomorrow. I bought it from a sailor off in Gannery for a full quater bit,” I said. “He had it himself off some noble gel for a single bit.” I winked. “She was quite urgent that it get to him, I hear.”
“Yeh paid quater bit?” the man said, already shaking his head. “Yeh grummer. En’t nobody going to pay that much for a letter.”
“Heh,” I said, holding up a finger. “Yeh en’t seen who’s it for yet.” I held it up for him to see.
He squinted. “Jakis?” he said slowly, then his face lit with recognition. “Is that Baron Jakis’ boy, then?”
I nodded smugly. “The eldest himself. Boy rich as that should pay a fair piece for a letter from his lady. Much as whole noble, I figure.”
He eyed the letter. “Could be,” he said cautiously. “But look. It en’t got anything on it other than University. I been up that way. That en’t a small place.”
“Baron Jakis’ boy en’t going to sleep in a tin shack,” I said crossly. “Ask someone what the fanciest place is, that’s where he’ll be.”
The man nodded to himself, his hand creeping unconsciously toward his purse. “I suppose I could take it off your hands,” he said grudgingly. “But only at a quater bit. I’m taking a risk anyways at that.”
“Have a heart, now!” I protested pitifully. “I brought it eight hundred miles! That’s worth better’n nothing!”
“Fine,” he said, pulling coins out of his purse. “I’ll give you three bits then.”
“I’d take half a round,” I grumbled.
“You’ll take three bits,” he said, holding out a grubby hand.
I handed him the letter. “Remember to tell him it’s from a noble lady,” I said as I turned to leave. “Rich tosh. Get whatever yeh can off him, that’s what I say.”
I left the square, then straightened my shoulders and took off the hat. I pulled my shaed back out of my travelsack and swirled it easily around my shoulders. I started to whistle, and as I passed the bald old beggar, I returned his hat and gave him the three bits besides.
When I first heard the stories people were telling about me at the University, I’d expected them to be short-lived. I thought they would flare up, then die just as quickly, like a fire exhausting its fuel.
But that hadn’t been the case. The tales of Kvothe rescuing girls and bedding Felurian mixed and mingled with scraps of truth and the ridiculous lies I’d spread to bolster my reputation. There was fuel aplenty, so the stories swirled and spread like a brushfire with the wind blowing hard behind it.
Honestly, I didn’t know if I should be amused or alarmed. When I went to Imre, people would point at me and whisper to each other. My notoriety spread until it was impossible for me to casually cross the river and eavesdrop on the stories people told.
Tarbean, on the other hand, was forty miles away.
After I left Drover’s Lot behind, I returned to the room I’d rented in one of the nicer parts of Tarbean. In this part of the city, the wind off the ocean brushed away the stink and the dust, leaving the air feeling sharp and clear. I called up water for a bath, and in a fit of lavish spending that would have left my younger self dizzy, I paid three pennies to have the porter take my clothes to the nearest Cealdish laundry.