“You might have a point,” he said, then asked, “did you do something anyway?”
“No,” I said. “I decided to be good. Did you find Fela?”
“I did. She’s here. But before we come in, you have to promise not to do anything without asking me first. Fair?”
I laughed. “Fair enough. Just don’t make me do stupid things in front of her.”
“I promise,” Sim said. “Why don’t you sit down? Just to be safe.”
“I’m already sitting,” I said.
Sim opened the door. I could see Fela peering over his shoulder.
“Hello Fela,” I said. “I need to trade slots with you.”
“First,” Sim said. “You should put your shirt back on. That’s about a two.”
“Oh,” I said. “Sorry. I was hot.”
“You could have opened the window.”
“I thought it would be safer if I limited my interactions with external objects,” I said.
Sim raised an eyebrow. “That’s actually a really good idea. It just steered you a little wrong in this case.”
“Wow.” I heard Fela’s voice from the hallway. “Is he serious?”
“Absolutely serious,” Sim said. “Honestly? I don’t think it’s safe for you to come in.”
I tugged my shirt on. “Dressed,” I said. “I’ll even sit on my hands if it will make you feel better.” I did just that, tucking them under my legs.
Sim let Fela inside, then closed the door behind her.
“Fela, you are just gorgeous,” I said. “I would give you all the money in my purse if I could just look at you naked for two minutes. I’d give everything I own. Except my lute.”
It’s hard to say which of them blushed a deeper red. I think it was Sim.
“I wasn’t supposed to say that, was I?” I said.
“No,” Sim said. “That’s about a five.”
“But that doesn’t make any sense,” I said. “Women are naked in paintings. People buy paintings, don’t they? Women pose for them.”
Sim nodded. “That’s true. But still. Just sit for a moment and don’t say or do anything? Okay?”
I nodded.
“I can’t quite believe this,” Fela said, the blush fading from her cheeks. “I can’t help but think the two of you are playing some sort of elaborate joke on me.”
“I wish we were,” Simmon said. “This stuff is terribly dangerous.”
“How can he remember naked paintings and not remember you’re supposed to keep your shirt on in public?” she asked Sim, her eyes never leaving me.
“It just didn’t seem very important,” I said. “I took my shirt off when I was whipped. That was public. It seems a strange thing to get in trouble for.”
“Do you know what would happen if you tried to knife Ambrose?” Simmon asked.
I thought for a second. It was like trying to remember what you’d eaten for breakfast a month ago. “There’d be a trial, I suppose,” I said slowly, “and people would buy me drinks.”
Fela muffled a laugh behind her hand.
“How about this?” Simmon asked me. “Which is worse, stealing a pie or killing Ambrose?”
I gave it a moment’s hard thought. “A meat pie, or a fruit pie?”
“Wow,” Fela said breathlessly. “That’s . . .” She shook her head. “It almost makes my skin crawl.”
Simmon nodded. “It’s a terrifying piece of alchemy. It’s a variation of a sedative called a plum bob. You don’t even have to ingest it. It’s absorbed straight through the skin.”
Fela looked at him. “How do you know so much about it?”
Sim gave a weak smile. “Mandrag lectures about it in every alchemy class he teaches. I’ve heard the story a dozen times by now. It’s his favorite example of how alchemy can be abused. An alchemist used it to ruin the lives of several government officials in Atur about fifty years ago. He only got caught because a countess ran amok in the middle of a wedding, killed a dozen folk and—”
Sim stopped, shaking his head. “Anyway. It was bad. Bad enough that the alchemist’s mistress turned him over to the guards.”
“I hope he got what he deserved.”
“And with some to spare,” Sim said grimly. “The point is, it hits everyone a little differently. It’s not a simple lowering of inhibition. There’s an amplification of emotion. A freeing up of hidden desire combined with a strange type of selective memory, almost like a moral amnesia.”
“I don’t feel bad,” I said. “I feel pretty good, actually. But I’m worried about admissions.”
Sim gestured. “See? He remembers admissions. It’s important to him. But other things are just . . . gone.”
“Is there a cure?” Fela asked nervously. “Shouldn’t we take him to the Medica?”
Simmon looked nervous. “I don’t think so. They might try a purgative, but it’s not as if there’s a drug working through him. Alchemy doesn’t work like that. He’s under the influence of unbound principles. You can’t flush those out the way you’d try to get rid of mercury or ophalum.”
“A purgative doesn’t sound like much fun,” I added. “If my vote counts for anything.”
“And there’s a chance they might think he’s cracked under admission stress,” Sim said to Fela. “That happens to a few students every term. They’d stick him in Haven until they were sure—”
I was on my feet, my hands clenched into fists. “I’ll be cut into pieces in hell before I let them stick me in Haven,” I said, furious. “Even for an hour. Even for a minute.”
Sim blanched and took a step back, raising his hands defensively, palms out. But his voice was firm and calm. “Kvothe, I am telling you three times. Stop.”
I stopped. Fela was watching me with wide, frightened eyes.
Simmon continued firmly. “Kvothe, I am telling you three times: sit down.”
I sat.
Standing behind him, Fela looked at Simmon, surprised.
“Thank you,” Simmon said graciously, lowering his hands. “I agree. The Medica isn’t the best place for you. We can just ride this out here.”
“That sounds better to me too,” I said.
“Even if things did go smoothly at the Medica,” Simmon added. “I expect you will be more inclined to speak your mind than usual.” He gave a small, wry smile. “Secrets are the cornerstone of civilization, and I know you have a few more than most folk.”
“I don’t think I have any secrets,” I said.
Sim and Fela both burst out laughing at the same time. “I’m afraid you just proved his point,” Fela said. “I know you have at least a few.”
“So do I,” Sim said.
“You’re my touchstone,” I shrugged. Then I smiled at Fela and pulled out my purse.
Sim shook his head at me. “No no no. I’ve already told you. Seeing her naked would be the worst thing in the world right now.”
Fela’s eyes narrowed a little at that.
“What’s the matter?” I asked. “Are you worried I’ll tackle her to the ground and ravage her?” I laughed.
Sim looked at me. “Wouldn’t you?”
“Of course not,” I said.
He looked at Fela, then back. “Can you say why?” he asked curiously.
I thought about it. “It’s because . . .” I trailed off, then shook my head. “It . . . I just can’t. I know I can’t eat a stone or walk through a wall. It’s like that.”
I concentrated on it for a second and began to get dizzy. I put one hand over my eyes and tried to ignore the sudden vertigo. “Please tell me I’m right about that,” I asked, suddenly scared. “I can’t eat a stone, can I?”
“You’re right,” Fela said quickly. “You can’t.”
I stopped trying to rummage around the inside of my mind for answers and the odd vertigo faded.
Sim was watching me intently. “I wish I knew what that signified,” he said.
“I have a fair idea,” Fela murmured softly.
I drew the ivory admissions tile out of my purse. “I was just looking to trade,” I said. “Unless you are willing to let me see you naked.” I hefted the purse with my other hand and met Fela’s eye. “Sim says it’s wrong, but he’s an idiot with women. My head might not be screwed on quite as tightly as I’d like, but I remember that clearly.”
It was four hours before my inhibitions began to filter back, and two more before they were firmly in place. Simmon spent the entire day with me, patient as a priest, explaining that no, I shouldn’t go buy us a bottle of brand. No, I shouldn’t go kick the dog that was barking across the street. No, I shouldn’t go to Imre and look for Denna. No. Three times no.