“Because she doesn’t have anyone else,” I said. “And neither do I. If we don’t look out for each other, who will?”
He shook his head. “No. Why did you pick that name for her?”
“Ah,” I said, embarrassed. “Because she’s so bright and sweet. She doesn’t have any reason to be, but she is. Auri means sunny.”
“In what language?” he asked.
I hesitated. “Siaru, I think.”
Elodin shook his head. “Sunny is leviriet in Siaru.”
I tried to think where I’d learned the word. Had I stumbled onto it in the Archives . . . ?
Before I could bring it to mind, Elodin spoke. “I am preparing to teach a class,” he said casually, “for those interested in the delicate and subtle art of naming.” He gave me a sideways look. “It occurs to me that it might not be a complete waste of your time.”
“I might be interested,” I said carefully.
He nodded. “You should read Teccam’s Underlying Principles to prepare. Not a long book, but thick, if you follow me.”
“If you lend me a copy, I’d like nothing better than to read it,” I said. “Otherwise, I’ll have to muddle through without.” He looked at me, uncomprehending. “I’ve been banned from the Archives.”
“What, still?” Elodin asked, surprised.
“Still.”
He seemed indignant. “It’s been what? Half a year?”
“Three quarters of a year in three days’ time,” I said. “Master Lorren has made his feelings clear on the issue of letting me back inside.”
“That,” Elodin said with a strange protectiveness in his voice, “is utter horseshit. You’re my Re’lar now.”
Elodin changed directions, heading over a piece of rooftop I usually avoided because it was covered in clay roofing tiles. From there we hopped a narrow alley, made our way across the sloping roof of an inn, and stepped onto a broad roof of finished stone.
Eventually we came to a wide window with the warm glow of candlelight behind it. Elodin knocked on a pane of glass as sharply as if it were a door. Looking around, I realized we were standing atop the Masters’ Hall.
After a moment, I saw the tall, thin shape of Master Lorren block the candlelight behind the window. He worked the latch and the entire window swung open on a hinge.
“Elodin, what can I do for you?” Lorren asked. If he thought anything odd about the situation, I couldn’t tell from looking at his face.
Elodin jerked a thumb over his shoulder at me. “The boy here says he’s still banned from the Archives. Is that so?”
Lorren’s impassive eyes moved to me, then back to Elodin. “It is.”
“Well let him back in,” Elodin said. “He needs to read things. You’ve made your point.”
“He’s reckless,” Lorren said flatly. “I’d planned to keep him out for a year and a day.”
Elodin sighed. “Yes yes, very traditional. Why don’t you give him a second chance? I’ll vouch for him.”
Lorren eyed me for a long moment. I tried to look as responsible as I could, which wasn’t very, considering I was standing on a rooftop in the middle of the night.
“Very well,” Lorren said. “Tomes only.”
“Tombs is for feckless tits who can’t chew their own food,” Elodin said dismissively. “My boy’s a Re’lar. He has the feck of twenty men! He needs to explore the Stacks and discover all manner of useless things.”
“I am not concerned about the boy,” Lorren said with unblinking calm. “My concern is for the Archives itself.”
Elodin reached out and grabbed me by the shoulder, pushing me forward a bit. “How about this? If you catch him larking around again, I’ll let you cut off his thumbs. That should set an example, don’t you think?”
Lorren gave the two of us a slow look. Then he nodded. “Very well,” he said, and closed his window.
“There you go,” Elodin said expansively.
“What the hell?” I demanded, wringing my hands. “I . . . What the hell?”
Elodin looked at me, puzzled. “What? You’re in. Problem solved.”
“You can’t offer to let him cut off my thumbs!” I said.
He raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning on breaking the rules again?” He asked pointedly.
“Wh—No. But . . .”
“Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” he said. He turned and continued up the slope of the roof. “Probably. I’d still step carefully if I were you. I can never tell when Lorren is kidding.”
As soon as I awoke the next day, I made my way to the office of the bursar and settled accounts with Riem, the pinch-faced man who held the University’s purse strings. I paid my hard-won nine talents and five, securing my place in the University for one more term.
Next I went to Ledgers and Lists where I signed up for observation in the Medica along with Physiognomy and Physic. Next was Ferrous and Cupric Metallurgy with Cammar in the Fishery. Last came Adept Sympathy with Elxa Dal.
It was only then I realized I didn’t know the name of Elodin’s class. I leafed through the ledger until I spotted Elodin’s name, then ran my finger back to where the title of the class was listed in fresh dark ink: “Introduction to Not Being a Stupid Jackass.”
I sighed and penned my name in the single blank space beneath.
CHAPTER TWELVE
The Sleeping Mind
When I stirred awake the next day, my first thought was of Elodin’s class. There was an excited flutter in my stomach. After long months of trying to get Master Namer to teach me, I was finally going to get a chance to study naming. Real magic. Taborlin the Great magic.
But work came before play. Elodin’s class didn’t meet until noon. With Devi’s debt hanging over my head, I needed to squeeze in a couple hours’ work at the Fishery.
Entering Kilvin’s workshop, the familiar din of a half-hundred busy hands washed over me like music. While it was a dangerous place, I found the workshop oddly relaxing. Many students resented my quick rise through the ranks of the Arcanum, but I’d earned a grudging respect from most of the other artificers.
I saw Manet working near the kilns and started to wind my way through the busy worktables toward him. Manet always knew what work paid best.
“Kvothe!”
The huge room grew quiet, and I turned to see Master Kilvin standing in the doorway of his office. He made a curt beckoning gesture and stepped back inside his office.
Sound slowly filled the room as the students returned to their work, but I could feel their eyes on me as I made my way across the room, weaving between the worktables.
As I came closer, I saw Kilvin through the wide window of his office, writing on a wall-mounted slate. He was half a foot taller than me, with a chest like a barrel. His great bristling beard and dark eyes made him look even larger than he really was.
I knocked politely on the doorframe, and Kilvin turned, setting down his chalk. “Re’lar Kvothe. Come in. Close the door.”
Anxiously, I stepped into the room and pulled the door shut behind me. The clatter and din of the workshop was cut off so completely that I expected Kilvin must have some cunning sygaldry in place that muffled the noise. The result was an almost eerie quiet in the room.
Kilvin picked up a piece of paper from the corner of his worktable. “I have heard a distressing thing,” he said. “Several days ago, a girl came to Stocks. She was looking for a young man who had sold her a charm.” He looked me in the eye. “Do you know anything about this?”
I shook my head. “What did she want?”
“We do not know,” Kilvin said. “E’lir Basil was working in Stocks at the time. He said the girl was young and seemed rather distressed. She was looking for—” He glanced down at the paper. “—a young wizard. She didn’t know his name, but described him as being young, red-haired, and pretty.”
Kilvin set down the piece of paper. “Basil said she grew increasingly upset as they spoke. She looked frightened, and when he tried to get her name, she ran off crying.” He crossed his huge arms in front of his chest, his face severe. “So I ask you plainly. Have you been selling charms to young women?”