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“Sir?”
    It was one of the well-dressed travelers. He swayed
a little. “You’re Kvothe.”
    “Kote, sir,” Kote replied in an indulgent tone that
mothers use on children and innkeepers use on drunks.
    “Kvothe the Bloodless.” The man pressed ahead with
the dogged persistence of the inebriated. “You looked familiar, but I couldn’t
finger it.” He smiled proudly and tapped a finger to his nose. “Then I heard
you sing, and I knew it was you. I heard you in Imre once. Cried my eyes out
afterward. I never heard anything like that before or since. Broke my heart.”
    The young man’s sentences grew jumbled as he
continued, but his face remained earnest. “I knew it couldn’t be you. But I
thought it was. Even though. But who else has your hair?” He shook his head,
trying unsuccessfully to clear it. “I saw the place in Imre where you killed him.
By the fountain. The cobblestones are all shathered.” He frowned and
concentrated on the word. “ Shattered. They say no
one can mend them.”
    The sandy-haired man paused again. Squinting for
focus, he seemed surprised by the innkeeper’s reaction.
    The red-haired man was grinning. “Are you saying I
look like Kvothe? The Kvothe? I’ve always thought so
myself. I have an engraving of him in back. My assistant teases me for it.
Would you tell him what you just told me?”
    Kote threw a final log onto the fire and stood. But
as he stepped from the hearth, one of his legs twisted underneath him and he
fell heavily to the floor, knocking over a chair.
    Several of the travelers hurried over, but the
innkeeper was already on his feet, waving people back to their seats. “No, no.
I’m fine. Sorry to startle anyone.” In spite of his grin it was obvious he’d
hurt himself. His face was tight with pain, and he leaned heavily on a chair
for support.
    “Took an arrow in the knee on my way through the
Eld three summers ago. It gives out every now and then.” He grimaced and said
wistfully, “It’s what made me give up the good life on the road.” He reached
down to touch his oddly bent leg tenderly.
    One of the mercenaries spoke up. “I’d put a
poultice on that, or it’ll swell terrible.”
    Kote touched it again and nodded. “I think you are
wise, sir.” He turned to the sandy-haired man who stood swaying slightly by the
fireplace, “Could you do me a favor, son?”
    The man nodded dumbly.
    “Just close the flue.” Kote gestured toward the
fireplace. “Bast, will you help me upstairs?”
    Bast hurried over and drew Kote’s arm around his
shoulders. Kote leaned on him with every other step as they made their way
through the doorway and up the stairs.
    “Arrow in the leg?” Bast asked under his breath.
“Are you really that embarrassed from taking a little fall?”
    “Thank God you’re as gullible as they are,” Kote
said sharply as soon as they were out of sight. He began to curse under his
breath as he climbed a few more steps, his knee obviously uninjured.
    Bast’s eyes widened, then narrowed.
    Kote stopped at the top of the steps and rubbed his
eyes. “One of them knows who I am.” Kote frowned. “Suspects.”
    “Which one?” Bast asked with a mix of apprehension
and anger.
    “Green shirt, sandy hair. The one nearest to me by
the fireplace. Give him something to make him sleep. He’s already been
drinking. No one will think twice if he happens to pass out.”
    Bast thought briefly. “Nighmane?”
    “Mhenka.”
    Bast raised an eyebrow, but nodded.
    Kote straightened. “Listen three times, Bast.”
    Bast blinked once and nodded.
    Kote spoke crisply and cleanly. “I was a
city-licensed escort from Ralien. Wounded while successfully defending a
caravan. Arrow in right knee. Three years ago. Summer. A grateful Cealdish
merchant gave me money to start aninn. His name is Deolan. We were traveling
from Purvis. Mention it casually. Do you have it?”
    “I hear you three times, Reshi,” Bast replied
formally.
    “Go.”
     
    Half an hour