Once I caught my breath and spent some time abusing myself for several types of blinding idiocy, I took stock of my wounds. The good news was that I hadn’t broken either of my legs, but I had splendid bruises blooming just below each knee. The tile that had grazed my head had left a lump, but hadn’t cut me. And while my elbow throbbed with a dull ache, my hand was no longer numb.
There was a knock at the door. I froze for a moment, then drew the birch twig from my pocket, muttered a quick binding, and jerked it back and forth.
I heard a startled noise from out in the hall, followed by Wilem’s low laugh. “That’s not funny,” I heard Sim say. “Let us in.”
I let them in. Simmon sat on the edge of the bed, and Wilem took the chair by the desk. I closed the door and sat on the other half of the bed. Even with all of us seated, the tiny room was crowded.
We eyed each other soberly for a moment, then Simmon spoke up. “Apparently Ambrose startled a thief in his rooms tonight. Fellow jumped out a window rather than get caught.”
I gave a brief, humorless laugh. “Hardly. I was almost out when the window blew shut on me.” I gestured awkwardly. “Knocked me off the roof.”
Wilem let out a relieved sigh. “I thought I botched the binding.”
I shook my head. “I had plenty of warning. I just wasn’t as careful as I should have been.”
“Why was he back so early?” Simmon asked, looking at Wilem. “Did you hear anything when he came in?”
“It probably occurred to him that my handwriting is not especially feminine,” Wilem said.
“He had wards on his windows,” I said. “Probably linked to a ring or something he carries with him. They must have tipped him off as soon as I opened the window.”
“Did you get it?” Wilem asked.
I shook my head.
Simmon craned his neck to get a better look at my arm. “Are you okay?”
I followed his eyes, but didn’t see anything. Then I tugged at my shirt and noticed that it was stuck to the back of my arm. With all my other pains, I hadn’t noticed it.
Moving gingerly, I pulled my shirt up over my head. The elbow of the shirt was torn and speckled with blood. I cursed bitterly. I only owned four shirts, and now this one was ruined.
I tried to get a look at my the injury, and quickly realized that you couldn’t get a look at the back of your own elbow, no matter how much you wanted to. Eventually I held it up for Simmon’s inspection.
“It’s not much,” he said, holding his fingers a little more than two inches apart. “There’s only one cut and it’s hardly bleeding. The rest of it’s just scraped up. It looks like you scuffed it hard against something.”
“Clay tile from the roof fell on me,” I said.
“Lucky,” Wilem grunted. “Who else could fall off a roof and end up with nothing more than a few scrapes?”
“I’ve got bruises on my knees the size of apples,” I said. “I’ll be lucky if I can walk tomorrow.” But deep down I knew he was right. The clay tile that had landed on my elbow could easily have broken my arm. The broken edges of the clay tiles were sometimes sharp as knives, so if it had hit me differently, it could have cut me down to the bone. I hate clay roofing tiles.
“Well, it could have been worse,” Simmon said briskly as he came to his feet. “Let’s go to the Medica and get you patched up.”
“Kraem no,” Wilem said. “He can’t go to the Medica. They will be asking to see if anyone is hurt.”
Simmon sat down again. “Of course,” he said, sounding vaguely disgusted with himself. “I knew that.” He looked me over. “At least you’re not hurt anywhere that people can see.”
I looked at Wilem. “You have a problem with blood, don’t you?”
His expression grew slightly offended. “I wouldn’t say . . .” His eyes darted to my elbow and his face grew a little pale despite his dark Cealdish complexion. His mouth made a thin line. “Yes.”
“Fair enough.” I started to cut my ruined shirt into strips of cloth. “Congratulations Sim. You’ve been promoted to field medic.” I opened a drawer and brought out hook needle and gut, iodine, and a small pot of goose grease.
Sim looked at the needle, then back at me, eyes wide.
I gave him my best smile. “It’s easy. I’ll talk you through it.”
I sat on the floor with my arm over my head while Simmon washed, stitched, and bandaged my elbow. He surprised me by being nowhere near as squeamish as I’d expected. His hands were more careful and confident than those of many students in the Medica who did this sort of thing all the time.
“So the three of us were here, playing breath all night?” Wil asked, pointedly avoiding looking in my direction.
“Sounds good,” Sim said. “Can we say I won?”
“No,” I said. “People must have seen Wil at the Pony. Lie and they’ll catch me for sure.”
“Oh,” Sim said. “What do we say then?”
“The truth.” I pointed at Wil. “You were at the Pony during the excitement, then came here to tell me about it.” I nodded to the small table, where a mass of gears, springs, and screws were spread in disarray. “I showed you the harmony clock I found, and you both gave me advice on how to fix it.”
Sim seemed disappointed. “Not very exciting.”
“Simple lies are best,” I said, getting to my feet. “Thanks again, both of you. This could have gone terribly wrong without the two of you looking out for me.”
Simmon got to his feet and opened the door. Wil stood as well, but didn’t turn to leave. “I heard a strange rumor the other night,” he said.
“Anything interesting?” I asked.
He nodded. “Very. I remember hearing that you were done antagonizing a certain powerful member of the nobility. I was surprised that you had finally decided to let sleeping dogs lie.”
“Come on, Wil,” Simmon said. “Ambrose isn’t sleeping. He’s a dog with the froth that deserves to be put down.”
“He more resembles an angry bear,” Wilem said. “One you seem determined to prod with a burning stick.”
“How can you say that?” Sim said hotly. “In two years as a scriv has he ever called you anything other than a filthy shim? And what about that time he almost blinded me by mixing my salts? Kvothe will be working the plum bob out of his system for—”
Wil held up his hand and nodded to acknowledge Simmon’s point. “I know this to be true, which is why I let myself be drawn into such foolishness. I merely wish to make a point.” He looked at me. “You realize you have gone well over the hill concerning this Denna girl, don’t you?”
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
Piecework
The pain in my knees kept me from any sort of decent sleep that night. So when the sky outside my window started to show the first pale light of coming dawn I gave up, got dressed, and made my slow, painful way to the outskirts of town, looking for willow bark to chew. Along the way I discovered several new, exciting bruises I hadn’t been aware of the night before.
The walk was pure agony, but I was glad I was making it in the early morning dark, when the streets were empty. There was bound to be a lot of talk about last night’s excitement at the Golden Pony. If anyone saw me limping, it would be too easy for them to jump to the right conclusions.
Luckily, the trip loosened the stiffness in my legs and the willow bark took the edge off the pain. By the time the sun was fully up I felt well enough to appear in public. So I headed to the Fishery hoping to get in a few hours of piecework before Adept Sympathy. I needed to start earning money for next term’s tuition and Devi’s loan, not to mention bandages and a new shirt.
Jaxim wasn’t in the Stocks when I arrived, but I recognized the student there. We had entered the University at the same time and bunked close to each other for a little while in the Mews. I liked him. He wasn’t one of the nobility who drifted blithely through the school, carried by his family’s name and money. His parents were wool merchants, and he worked to pay his tuition.