“Now that the gates of hell are closed,” Hemme said in his normal, rougher tones. “We can begin.”

And so he did, ignoring her for the rest of the lecture. Which, as I see it, was an inadvertent kindness.

It was a long two and a half hours. I listened attentively, always hoping that he would come to something I hadn’t learned from Abenthy. But there was nothing. I quickly realized that while Hemme was discussing the principles of sympathy, he was doing it at a very, very basic level. This class was a colossal waste of my time.

After Hemme dismissed the class I ran down the stairs and caught him just as he was leaving through a lower door. “Master Hemme?”

He turned to face me. “Oh yes, our boy prodigy. I wasn’t aware you were in my class. I didn’t go too fast for you, did I?”

I knew better than to answer that honestly. “You covered the basics very clearly, sir. The principles you mentioned today will lay a good foundation for the other students in the class.” Diplomacy is a large part of being a trouper.

He puffed up a bit at my perceived compliment, then looked more closely at me. “Other students?” He asked.

“I’m afraid I’m already familiar with the basics, sir. I know the three laws and the fourteen corollaries. As well as the first ninety—”

“Yes, yes. I see,” he cut me off. “I’m rather busy right at the moment. We can speak of this tomorrow, before class.” He turned and walked briskly away.

Half a loaf being better than none, I shrugged and headed for the Archives. If I wasn’t going to learn anything from Hemme’s lectures, I might as well start educating myself.

This time when I entered the Archives there was a young woman sitting behind the desk. She was strikingly beautiful with long, dark hair and clear, bright eyes. A notable improvement over Ambrose to be sure.

She smiled as I approached the desk. “What’s your name?”

“Kvothe,” I said. “Son of Arliden.”

She nodded and began to page through the ledger.

“What’s yours?” I asked to fill the silence.

“Fela,” she said without looking up. Then nodded to herself and tapped the ledger. “There you are, go on in.”

There were two sets of double doors leading out of the antechamber, one marked stacks and the other tomes. Not knowing the difference between the two, I headed to the ones labeled stacks. That was what I wanted. Stacks of books. Great heaps of books. Shelf after endless shelf of books.

I had my hands on the handles of the doors before Fela’s voice stopped me. “I’m sorry. It’s your first time in here, isn’t it?”

I nodded, not letting go of the door’s handles. I was so close. What was going to happen now?

“The stacks are Arcanum only.” She said apologetically. She stood up and walked around the desk to the other set of doors. “Here, let me show you.”

I reluctantly let go of the door’s handles and followed her.

Using both hands, she tugged one of the heavy wooden doors open, revealing a large, high-ceilinged room filled with long tables. A dozen students were scattered throughout the room, reading. The room was well-lit with the unwavering light of dozens of sympathy lamps.

Fela leaned close to me and spoke in a soft voice. “This is the main reading area. You’ll find all the necessary tomes used for most of the basic classes.” She blocked the door open with her foot and pointed along one wall to a long section of shelving with three or four hundred books. More books than I had ever seen in one place before.

Fela continued to speak softly “It’s a quiet place. No talking above a whisper.” I’d noticed that the room was almost unnaturally quiet. “If you want a book that isn’t there, you can submit a request at the desk,” she pointed. “They’ll find the book and bring it out to you.”

I turned to ask her a question, and only then realized how close she was standing. It says a great deal about how enamored I was with the Archives that I failed to notice one of the most attractive women in the University standing less than six inches away. “How long does it usually take them to find a book?” I asked quietly, trying not to stare at her.

“It varies,” she brushed her long black hair back over her shoulder. “Sometimes we’re busier than others. Some people are better at finding the appropriate books.” She shrugged and some of her hair swung back down to brush against my arm. “Usually no more than an hour.”

I nodded, disappointed by not being able to browse the whole of the Archives, but still excited to be inside. Once again, half a loaf was better than none. “Thanks, Fela.” I went inside, and she let the door swing shut behind me.

But she came after me just a moment later. “One last thing,” she said quietly. “I mean, it goes without saying, but this is your first time here....” Her expression was serious. “The books don’t leave this room. Nothing leaves the Archives.”

“Of course,” I said. “Naturally.” I hadn’t known.

Fela smiled and nodded. “I just wanted to make sure. A couple of years ago we had a young gent who was used to carrying off books from his father’s library. I’d never even seen Lorren frown before that, or talk much above a whisper. But when he caught that boy in the street with one of his books....” She shook her head as if she couldn’t hope to explain what she had seen.

I tried to picture the tall, somber master angry and failed. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Don’t mention it.” Fela headed back out into the entrance hall.

I approached the desk she had pointed out to me. “How do I request a book?” I asked the scriv quietly

He showed me a large log book half filled with student’s names and their requests. Some were requests for books with specific titles or authors, but others were more general requests for information. One of the entries caught my eye: “Basil—Yllish lunar calendar. History of Aturan calendar.” I looked around the room and saw the boy from Hemme’s class hunched over a book, taking notes.

I wrote: “Kvothe—The history of the Chandrian. Reports of the Chandrian and their signs: black eyes, blue flame, etc.”

I went to the shelves next and started looking over the books. I recognized one or two from my studies with Ben. The only sound in the room was the occasional scratch of a pen on paper, or the faint, bird-wing sound of a page turning. Rather than being unsettling, I found the quiet strangely comforting. Later I was to find out that the place was nicknamed “Tombs” because of its cryptlike quiet.

Eventually a book called The Mating Habits of the Common Draccus caught my eye and I took it over to one of the reading tables. I picked it because it had a rather stylish embossed dragon on the cover, but when I started reading I discovered it was an educated investigation into several common myths.

I was halfway through the title piece explaining how the myth of the dragon in all likelihood evolved from the much more mundane draccus when a scriv appeared at my elbow. “Kvothe?” I nodded and he handed me a small book with a blue cloth cover.

Opening it, I was instantly disappointed. It was a collection of faerie stories. I flipped through it, hoping to find something useful, but it was filled with sticky-sweet adventure stories meant to amuse children. You know the sort: brave orphans trick the Chandrian, win riches, marry princesses, and live happily ever after.

I sighed and closed the book. I had half expected this. Until the Chandrian killed my family, I thought they were nothing more than children’s stories too. This sort of search wasn’t going to get me anywhere.

After walking to the desk I thought for a long moment before writing a new line in the request-ledger: “Kvothe—The history of the Order Amyr. The origins of the Amyr. The practices of the Amyr.” I reached the end of the line and rather than start another one I stopped and looked up at the scriv behind the desk. “I’ll take anything on the Amyr, really,” I said.