She eyed me coldly. “This is better than you deserve. I still have your blood. If you go to the masters at the University or the constable in Imre, it will end badly for you.”
Smoke was curling up from the desk now, and Devi moved her hand to hold the mommet over the creaking metal of the poor-boy. She murmured, and I felt a prickle of heat wash over my whole body. It felt exactly like the sudden fevers that had been plaguing me for days.
“When I release this binding, you will say, ‘I understand, Devi.’ Then you will leave. At the end of the term, you will send someone with the money you owe. You will not come yourself. I do not ever want to see you again.”
Devi looked at me with such contempt that I cringe to remember it. Then she spat on me, tiny flecks of saliva striking the poor-boy and hissing into steam. “If I glimpse you again, even out of the corner of my eye, it will end badly for you.”
She lifted the wax mommet over her head, then brought it down sharply on the desk with her hand flat on top of it. If I’d been able to flinch or cry out in panic, I would have.
The mommet shattered, arms and legs breaking away, the head skittering off to roll across the desk and onto the floor. I felt a sudden, jarring impact, as if I’d fallen several feet and landed flat on a stone floor. It was startling, but nowhere near as bad as it could have been. Through the terror, some small part of me marveled at her precision and control.
The binding that held me fell away, and I drew a deep breath. “I understand, Devi,” I said. “But can—”
“Get OUT!” she shouted.
I got out. I would like to say it was a dignified exit, but that would not be the truth.
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
Pressure
Wil and Sim were waiting for me in the back corner of Anker’s. I brought over two mugs of beer and a tray laden with fresh bread and butter, cheese and fruit, and bowls of hot soup, thick with beef and turnip.
Wilem rubbed one eye with the palm of his hand. He looked a little peaked under his dark Cealdish complexion, but other than that he didn’t seem much the worse for three nights of short sleep. “What’s the occasion?”
“I just want to help you two keep your energy up,” I said.
“Way ahead of you,” Sim said. “I had a refreshing nap during my sublimation lecture.” His eyes were a little dark around the edges, but he didn’t seem much the worse for wear either.
Wilem began to load up his plate. “You mentioned you had news. What sort of news?”
“It’s mixed,” I said. “Which do you want first, good or bad?”
“Bad news first,” Simmon said.
“Kilvin won’t give me the plans I need to make my own gram. It’s the sygaldry involved. Runes for blood and bone and such. He feels they’re too dangerous to be taught to Re’lar.”
Simmon looked curious. “Did he say why?”
“He didn’t,” I admitted. “But I can guess. I could use them to make all manner of unpleasant things. Like a little metal disk with a hole in it. Then, if you put a drop of someone’s blood in it, you could use it to burn them alive.”
“God, that’s awful,” Sim said, setting down his spoon. “Do you ever have any nice thoughts?”
“Anyone in the Arcanum could do the same thing with basic sympathy,” Wilem pointed out.
“There’s a big difference,” I said. “Once I made that device, anyone could use it. Again and again.”
“That’s insane,” Simmon said. “Why would anyone make anything like that?”
“Money,” Wilem said grimly. “People do stupid things for money all the time.” He gave me a significant look. “Such as borrowing from bloodthirsty gattesors.”
“Which brings me to my second piece of news,” I said uncomfortably. “I confronted Devi.”
“Alone?” Simmon said. “Are you stupid?”
“Yes,” I said. “But not for the reasons you think. Things got unpleasant, but now I know she wasn’t responsible for the attacks.”
Wilem frowned. “If not her, then who?”
“There’s only one thing that makes sense,” I said. “It’s Ambrose.”
Wil shook his head. “We’ve already gone through this. Ambrose would never risk it. He—”
I held up a hand to stop him. “He’d never risk malfeasance against me,” I agreed. “But I don’t think he knows who he’s attacking.”
Wilem closed his mouth and looked thoughtful.
I continued. “Think about it. If Ambrose suspected it was me, he’d bring me up on charges in front of the masters. He’s done it before.” I rubbed my wounded arm. “They’d discover my injuries and I’d be caught.”
Wil looked down at the tabletop. “Kraem,” he said. “It makes sense. He might suspect you of hiring a thief, but not that you’d break in yourself. He’d never do something like that.”
I nodded. “He’s probably trying to find the person who broke into his rooms. Or just get a little easy revenge. That explains why the attacks have been getting stronger. He probably thinks the thief ran off to Imre or Tarbean.”
“We’ve got to go to the masters with this,” Simmon said. “They can search his rooms tonight. He’ll be expelled for this, and whipped.” A wide, vicious grin spread over his face. “God, I’d pay ten talents if I got to hold the lash.”
I chuckled at his bloodthirsty tone. It took a lot to get on Sim’s bad side, but once you made it there was no going back. “We can’t, Sim.”
Sim gave me a look of sheer disbelief. “You can’t be serious. He can’t get away with this.”
“I’d get expelled for breaking into his rooms in the first place. Conduct Unbecoming.”
“They wouldn’t expel you for that,” Sim said, but his voice was far from certain.
“I’m not willing to take the risk,” I said. “Hemme hates me. Brandeur follows Hemme’s lead. I’m still in Lorren’s bad books.”
“And somehow he still finds the strength to pun,” Wilem muttered.
“That’s three votes against me right there.”
“I think you don’t give Lorren enough credit,” Wilem said. “But you’re right. They’d expel you. If for no other reason, they’d do it to smooth things over with Baron Jakis.”
Sim looked at Wilem. “You really think so?”
Wil nodded. “It’s possible they wouldn’t even expel Ambrose,” he said grimly. “He’s Hemme’s favorite, and the masters know the trouble his father could make for the University.” Wil snorted. “Think of the trouble Ambrose could make when he inherits.” Wilem lowered his eyes and shook his head. “I’m with Kvothe on this one, Sim.”
Simmon gave a great, weary sigh. “Wonderful,” he said. Then he looked up at me with narrow eyes. “I told you,” he said. “I told you to leave Ambrose alone from the very beginning. Getting into a fight with him is like stepping into a bear trap.”
“A bear trap?” I said thoughtfully.
He nodded firmly. “Your foot goes in easy enough, but you’re never getting it out again.”
“A bear trap,” I repeated. “That’s exactly what I need.”
Wilem chuckled darkly.
“I’m serious,” I said. “Where can I get a bear trap?”
Wil and Sim looked at me strangely, and I decided not to push my luck. “Just a joke,” I lied, not wanting to complicate things any further. I could find one on my own.
“We need to be sure it’s Ambrose,” Wilem said.
I nodded. “If he’s locked away in his rooms the next few times I’m attacked, that should be evidence enough.”
The conversation lapsed a bit, and for a couple of minutes we ate quietly, each of us tangled in our own thoughts.
“Okay,” Simmon said, seeming to have reached some conclusion. “Nothing’s really changed. You still need a gram. Right?” He looked at Wil, who nodded, then back to me. “Now hurry up with the good news before I kill myself.”