CHAPTER SEVENTY-FIVE
Interlude—Obedience
IN THE WAYSTONE INN, Kvothe paused expectantly. The moment stretched out until Chronicler looked up from his page.
“I’m giving you the opportunity to say something,” Kvothe said.
“Something along the lines of, ‘That can’t be!’ or ‘There’s no such thing as dragons. . . .’ ”
Chronicler wiped the nib of his pen clean, “It’s not really my place to comment on the story,” he said placidly. “If you say you saw a dragon . . .”
He shrugged.
Kvothe gave him a profoundly disappointed look. “This from the author of The Mating Habits of the Common Draccus? This from Devan Lochees, the great debunker?”
“This from Devan Lochees who agreed not to interrupt or change a single word of the story he is recording.” Chronicler lay his pen down and massaged his hand. “Because those were the only conditions under which he could get access to a story he very much desired.”
Kvothe gave him a level look. “Have you ever heard the expression white mutiny?”
“I have,” Chronicler said with a thin smile.
“I could say it, Reshi,” Bast said brightly. “I haven’t agreed to anything.”
Kvothe looked back and forth between them, then sighed. “There are few things as nauseating as pure obedience,” he said. “Both of you would do well to remember that.” He gestured for Chronicler to pick his pen up again.
“Very well. . . . It was a dragon.”
