The Name of the Wind Read Online Free PDF Page B

would’e like me to hang it then?”
    Kote roused himself enough to look around the room. “You can leave that to me, I think. I haven’t quite decided where to put it.”
    Graham left a handful of iron nails and bid the innkeeper good day. Kote remained at the bar, idly running his hands over the wood and the word. Before too long Bast came out of the kitchen and looked over his teacher’s shoulder.
    There was a long moment of silence like a tribute given to the dead.
    Eventually, Bast spoke up. “May I ask a question, Reshi?”
    Kote smiled gently. “Always, Bast.”
    â€œA troublesome question?”
    â€œThose tend to be the only worthwhile kind.”
    They remained staring at the object on the bar for another silent moment, as if trying to commit it to memory. Folly.
    Bast struggled for a moment, opening his mouth, then closing it with a frustrated look, then repeating the process.
    â€œOut with it,” Kote said finally.
    â€œWhat were you thinking?” Bast said with an odd mixture of confusion and concern.
    Kote was a long while in answering. “I tend to think too much, Bast. My greatest successes came from decisions I made when I stopped thinking and simply did what felt right. Even if there was no good explanation for what I did.” He smiled wistfully. “Even if there were very good reasons for me not to do what I did.”
    Bast ran a hand along the side of his face. “So you’re trying to avoid second-guessing yourself?”
    Kote hesitated. “You could say that,” he admitted.
    â€œ I could say that, Reshi,” Bast said smugly. “You, on the other hand, would complicate things needlessly.”
    Kote shrugged and turned his eyes back to the mounting board. “Nothing to do but find a place for it, I suppose.”
    â€œOut here?” Bast’s expression was horrified.
    Kote grinned wickedly, a measure of vitality coming back into his face. “Of course,” he said, seeming to savor Bast’s reaction. He looked speculatively at the walls and pursed his lips. “Where did you put it, anyway?”
    â€œIn my room,” Bast admitted. “Under my bed.”
    Kote nodded distractedly, still looking at the walls. “Go get it then.” He made a small shooing gesture with one hand, and Bast hurried off, looking unhappy.
    The bar was decorated with glittering bottles, and Kote was standing on the now-vacant counter between the two heavy oak barrels when Bast came back into the room, black scabbard swinging loosely from one hand.
    Kote paused in the act of setting the mounting board atop one of the barrels and cried out in dismay, “Careful, Bast! You’re carrying a lady there, not swinging some wench at a barn dance.”
    Bast stopped in his tracks and dutifully gathered it up in both hands before walking the rest of the way to the bar.
    Kote pounded a pair of nails into the wall, twisted some wire, and hung the mounting board firmly on the wall. “Hand it up, would you?” he asked with an odd catch in his voice.
    Using both hands, Bast held it up to him, looking for a moment like a squire offering up a sword to some bright-armored knight. But there was no knight there, just an innkeeper, just a man in an apron who called himself Kote. He took the sword from Bast and stood upright on the counter behind the bar.
    He drew the sword without a flourish. It shone a dull grey-white in the room’s autumn light. It had the appearance of a new sword. It was not notched or rusted. There were no bright scratches skittering along its dull grey side. But though it was unmarred, it was old. And while it was obviously a sword, it was not a familiar shape. At least no one in this town would have found it familiar. It looked as if an alchemist had distilled a dozen swords, and when the crucible had cooled this was lying in the bottom: a sword in its pure form. It was slender and graceful. It was