“This isn’t funny!” I shouted.
“It’s at the Eolian,” Wilem said. “You’ve asked about it four times since we left.”
“No I haven’t,” I said with more conviction than I really felt. I rubbed my head where I’d knocked it against the greystone.
“There is no reason to be ashamed.” Wilem waved a hand dismissively. “It is man’s nature to dwell on what sits close to his heart.”
“I heard Kilvin got a few in him at the Taps a couple months ago and wouldn’t shut up about his new cold-sulfur lamp,” Simmon said.
Wil snorted. “Lorren would rattle on about proper shelving behavior. Grasp by the spine. Grasp by the spine.” He growled and made clutching motions with both hands. “If I hear him say it again I will grasp his spine.”
A flash of memory came to me. “Merciful Tehlu,” I said, suddenly aghast. “Did I sing ‘Tinker Tanner’ at the Eolian tonight?”
“You did,” Simmon said. “I didn’t know it had so many verses.”
I wrinkled my forehead, trying desperately to remember. “Did I sing the verse about the Tehlin and the sheep?” It was not a good verse for polite company.
“Nia,” Wilem said.
“Thank God,” I said.
“It was a goat,” Wilem managed seriously before he bubbled up into laughter.
“ ‘. . . in the Tehlin’s cassock!’ ” Simmon sang, then joined Wilem in laughter.
“No, no,” I said miserably, resting my head in my hands. “My mother used to make my dad sleep under the wagon when he sang that in public. Stanchion will beat me with a stick and take away my pipes next time I see him.”
“They loved it,” Simmon reassured me.
“I saw Stanchion singing along,” Wilem added. “His nose was a little red by that time too.”
There was a long piece of comfortable quiet.
“Kvothe?” Simmon asked.
“Yes?”
“Are you really Edema Ruh?”
The question caught me unprepared. Normally it would have set me on edge, but at the moment I didn’t know how I felt about it. “Does it matter?”
“No. I was just wondering.”
“Oh.” I continued to watch the stars for a while. “Wondering what?”
“Nothing in particular,” he said. “Ambrose called you Ruh a couple times, but he’s called you other insulting things before.”
“It’s not an insult,” I said.
“I mean he’s called you things that weren’t true,” Sim said quickly. “You don’t talk about your family, but you’ve said things that made me wonder.” He shrugged, still flat on his back, looking up at the stars. “I’ve never known one of the Edema. Not well, anyway.”
“What you hear isn’t true,” I said. “We don’t steal children, or worship dark Gods or anything like that.”
“I never believed any of that,” he said dismissively, then added. “But some of the things they say must be true. I’ve never heard anyone play like you.”
“That doesn’t have anything to do with my being Edema Ruh,” I said, then reconsidered. “Maybe a little.”
“Do you dance?” Wilem asked, seemingly out of the blue.
If the comment had come from anyone else, or at a different time, it probably would have started a fight. “That’s just how people picture us. Playing pipes and fiddles. Dancing around our campfires. When we aren’t stealing everything that isn’t nailed down, of course.” A little bitterness crept into my tone when I said the last. “That’s not what being Edema Ruh is about.”
“What is it about?” Simmon asked.
I thought about it for a moment, but my sodden wit wasn’t up to the task. “We’re just people really,” I said eventually. “Except we don’t stay in one place very long, and everyone hates us.”
The three of us watched the stars quietly.
“Did she really make him sleep under the wagon?” Simmon asked.
“What?”
“You said your mom made your dad sleep under the wagon for singing the verse about the sheep. Did she really?”
“It’s mostly a figure of speech,” I said. “But once she really did.”
I didn’t often think of my early life in my troupe, back when my parents were alive. I avoided the subject the same way a cripple learns to keep the weight off an injured leg. But Sim’s question brought a memory bubbling to the surface of my mind.
“It wasn’t for singing ‘Tinker Tanner,’ ” I found myself saying. “It was a song he’d written about her. . . .”
I was quiet for a long moment. Then I said it. “Laurian.”
It was the first time I’d said my mother’s name in years. The first time since she’d been killed. It felt strange in my mouth.
Then, without really meaning to, I began to sing.
I felt oddly numb, disconnected from my own body. Strangely, while the memory was sharp, it wasn’t painful.
“I can see how that might earn a man a place under the wagon,” Wilem said gravely.
“It wasn’t that,” I heard myself saying. “She was beautiful, and they both knew it. They used to tease each other all the time. It was the meter. She hated the awful meter.”
I never talked about my parents, and referring to them in the past tense felt uncomfortable. Disloyal. Wil and Sim weren’t surprised by my revelation. Anyone who knew me could tell I had no family. I’d never said anything, but they were good friends. They knew.
“In Atur we sleep in the kennels when our wives are angry,” Simmon said, nudging the conversation back into safer territory.
“Melosi rehu eda Stiti,” Wilem muttered.
“Aturan!” Simmon shouted, his voice bubbling with amusement. “No more of your donkey talk!”
“Eda Stiti?” I repeated. “You sleep next to fire?”
Wilem nodded.
“I am officially protesting how quickly you picked up Siaru,” Sim said, holding up a finger. “I studied a year before I was any good. A year! You gobble it up in a single term.”
“I learned a lot growing up,” I said. “I was just getting the fine points this term.”
“Your accent is better,” Wil said to Sim. “Kvothe sounds like some southern trader. Very low. You sound much more refined.”
Sim seemed mollified by that. “Next to the fire,” he repeated. “Does it seem odd that it’s the men that always have to do their sleeping somewhere else?”
“It’s pretty obvious women control the bed,” I said.
“Not an unpleasant thought,” Sim said. “Depending on the woman.”
“Distrel is pretty,” Sim said.
“Keh,” Wil said. “Too pale. Fela.”
Simmon shook his head mournfully. “Out of our league.”
“She is Modegan,” Wilem said, his grin so wide it was almost demonic.
“She is?” Sim asked. Wil nodded, wearing the widest smile I’d ever seen on his face. Sim sighed wretchedly. “It figures. Bad enough that she’s the prettiest girl in the Commonwealth, I didn’t know she was Modegan, too.”
“I’ll grant you prettiest girl on her side of the river,” I corrected. “On this side, there’s—”
“You’ve already gone on about your Denna,” Wil interrupted. “Five times.”
“Listen,” Simmon said, his tone suddenly serious. “You just have to make your move. This Denna girl is obviously interested in you.”
“She hasn’t said anything along those lines.”
“They never say they’re interested.” Simmon laughed at the absurdity of it. “There are little games. It’s like a dance.” He held up two hands, making them talk to each other. “ ‘Oh, fancy meeting you here.’ ‘Why hello, I was just going to lunch.’ ‘What a happy coincidence, so was I. Can I carry your books?’ ”