The Wise Man's Fear by Patrick Rothfuss Read Free Book Online Page A

Anker’s smelling of hot bronze, tar, and coal smoke. It was almost midnight, and the room was empty except for a handful of dedicated drinkers.
    “You look rough,” Anker said as I made my way to the bar.
    “I feel rough,” I said. “I don’t suppose there’s anything left in the pot?”
    He shook his head. “Folk were hungry tonight. I’ve got some cold potatoes I was going to throw in the soup tomorrow. And half a baked squash, I think.”
    “Sold,” I said. “Though I’d be grateful for some salt butter as well.”
    He nodded and pushed away from the bar.
    “Don’t bother heating anything up,” I said. “I’ll just take it up to my room.”
    He brought out a bowl with three good-sized potatoes and half a golden squash shaped like a bell. There was a generous daub of butter in the middle of the squash where the seeds had been scooped out.
    “I’ll take a bottle of Bredon beer too,” I said as I took the bowl. “With the cap on. I don’t want to spill on the stairs.”
    It was three flights up to my tiny room. After I closed the door, I carefully turned the squash upside down in the bowl, set the bottle on top of it, and wrapped the whole thing in a piece of sackcloth, turning it into a bundle I could carry under one arm.
    Then I opened my window and climbed out onto the roof of the inn. From there it was a short hop over to the bakery across the alley.
    A piece of moon hung low in the sky, giving me enough light to see without making me feel exposed. Not that I was too worried. It was approaching midnight, and the streets were quiet. Besides, you would be amazed how rarely people ever look up.
    Auri sat on a wide brick chimney, waiting for me. She wore the dress I had bought her and swung her bare feet idly as she looked up at the stars. Her hair was so fine and light that it made a halo around her head, drifting on the faintest whisper of a breeze.
    I carefully stepped onto the middle of a flat piece of tin roofing. It made a low tump under my foot, like a distant, mellow drum. Auri’s feet stopped swinging, and she went motionless as a startled rabbit. Then she saw me and grinned. I waved to her.
    Auri hopped down from the chimney and skipped over to where I stood, her hair streaming behind her. “Hello Kvothe.” She took a half-step back. “You reek.”
    I smiled my best smile of the day. “Hello Auri,” I said. “You smell like a pretty young girl.”
    “I do,” she agreed happily.
    She stepped sideways a little, then forward again, moving lightly on the balls of her bare feet. “What did you bring me?” she asked.
    “What did you bring me? ” I countered.
    She grinned. “I have an apple that thinks it is a pear,” she said, holding it up. “And a bun that thinks it is a cat. And a lettuce that thinks it is a lettuce.”
    “It’s a clever lettuce then.”
    “Hardly,” she said with a delicate snort. “Why would anything clever think it was a lettuce?”
    “Even if it is a lettuce?” I asked.
    “Especially then,” she said. “Bad enough to be a lettuce. How awful to think you are a lettuce too.” She shook her head sadly, her hair following the motion as if she were underwater.
    I unwrapped my bundle. “I brought you some potatoes, half a squash, and a bottle of beer that thinks it is a loaf of bread.”
    “What does the squash think it is?” she asked curiously, looking down at it. She held her hands clasped behind her back.
    “It knows it’s a squash,” I said. “But it’s pretending to be the setting sun.”
    “And the potatoes?” she asked.
    “They’re sleeping,” I said. “And cold, I’m afraid.”
    She looked up at me, her eyes gentle. “Don’t be afraid,” she said, and reached out and rested her fingers on my cheek for the space of a heartbeat, her touch lighter than the stroke of a feather. “I’m here. You’re safe.”

     
    The night was chill, and so rather than eat on the rooftops as we often did, Auri led me down through the iron