Squeezing past Setalle, he patted her on the shoulder. “Tell her we’ll try something else,” he muttered. But what? Obviously it had to be a woman with a sul’dam’s abilities to handle the a’dam.
The innkeeper caught him in the dark at the foot of the stairs leading up to the kitchen while he was gathering his hat and cloak. A stout, plain wool cloak with no embroidery. A man could do without embroidery. He certainly did not miss it. And all that lace! Certainly not!
“Do you have another plan ready?” she asked. He could not make out her face in the dark, but the silver length of the a’dam gleamed even so. She was groping at the bracelet on her wrist.
“I always have another plan,” he lied, undoing the bracelet for her. “At least you can forget about risking your neck. As soon as I take Joline off your hands, you can go join your husband.”
She just grunted. He suspected she knew he had no plan.
He wanted to avoid the common room full of Seanchan, so he went out through the kitchen into the stableyard and out through the gate into the Mol Hara. He was not afraid that any of them would mark him out or wonder why he was there. In his drab clothes, they seemed to take him for someone running an errand for the innkeeper when he came in. But there had been three sul’dam among the Seanchan, two with damane. He was beginning to be afraid he would have to leave Teslyn and Edesina collared, and he just did not want to look at damane right then. Blood and bloody ashes, he had only promised to try!
The weak sun still stood high in the sky, but the sea wind was picking up, full of salt and a cold promise of rain. Except for a squad of Deathwatch Guards marching across the square, humans rather than Ogier, every
one in the Mol Hara was hurrying to be done with whatever they were about before the rain came. As he reached the base of Queen Nariene’s tall bare-breasted statue, a hand fell on his shoulder.
“I did no recognize you at first, without your fancy clothes, Mat Cauthon.”
Mat turned to find himself facing the heavyset Illianer so’jhin he had seen the day Joline reappeared in his life. It was not a pleasant association. The round-faced fellow did look odd, between that beard and half the hair on his head missing, and he was shivering in his shirtsleeves, of all things.
“You know me?” Mat said cautiously.
The heavyset man beamed a wide smile at him. “Fortune prick me, I do. You did take a memorable voyage on my ship, once, with Trollocs and Shadar Logoth at one end and a Myrddraal and Whitebridge in flames at the other. Bayle Domon, Master Cauthon. Do you remember me now?”
“I remember.” He did, after a fashion. Most of that voyage was vague in his head, tattered by the holes those other men’s memories had filled. “We’ll have to sit down over hot spiced wine some time and talk over old times.” Which would never happen if he saw Domon first. What remained in his memory of that voyage was strangely unpleasant, like remembering a deathly illness. Of course, he had been ill, in a way. Another unpleasant memory.
“There be no time like now,” Domon laughed, swinging a thick arm around Mat’s shoulders and turning him back toward The Wandering Woman.
Short of fighting, there seemed to be no way to escape the man, so Mat went. A knock-down fight was no way to avoid being noticed. Anyway, he was not sure he would win. Domon looked fat, but the fat was layered over hard muscle. A drink would not go amiss in any case. Besides which, hadn’t Domon been something of a smuggler? He might know paths in and out of Ebou Dar that others did not, and he might reveal them to a little judicious questioning. Especially over wine. A fat purse of gold lay in Mat’s coat pocket, and he did not mind spending it all to get the man drunk as a fiddler at Sunday. Drunk men talked.
Domon hustled him through the common room, bowing left and right to Blood and officers who barely saw him if that, but he did not enter the kitchens, where Enid might have given them a bench in the corner. Instead, he took Mat up the railless stairs. Until he ushered Mat into a room at the back of the inn, Mat assumed Domon was going to fetch his coat and cloak. A good fire blazing on the hearth warmed the room, but Mat suddenly felt colder than he had outside.
Closing the door behind them, Domon planted himself in front of it with his arms folded across his chest. “You do be in the presence of Captain of the Green Lady Egeanin Tamarath,” he intoned, then added in a more normal tone, “This be Mat Cauthon.”
Mat looked from Domon to the tall woman seated stiffly on a ladder-backed chair. Her pleated dress was pale yellow today, and she wore a flower-embroidered robe over it, but he remembered her. Her pale face was hard, and her blue eyes were every bit as predatory as Tylin’s. Only, he suspected Egeanin was not after kisses. Her hands were slender, but they had swordsman’s calluses. He had no chance to ask what this was about, and no need.
“My so’jhin informs me you are not unfamiliar with danger, Master Cauthon,” she said as soon as Domon finished speaking. Her slow Seanchan drawl still sounded peremptory and commanding, but then, she was of the Blood. “I need such men to crew a ship, and I will pay well, in gold not silver. If you know others like yourself, I will hire them. They must be able to hold their tongues, though. My business is my own. Bayle mentioned two other names. Thom Merrilin and Juilin Sandar. If either is here in Ebou Dar, I can use their skills, as well. They know me, and know they can trust me with their lives. So can you, Master Cauthon.”
Mat sat down on the room’s second chair and threw back his cloak. He was not supposed to sit even with one of the lesser Blood—as her dark bowl-cut hair and green-lacquered little fingernails proclaimed her to be—but he needed to think. “You have a ship?” he asked, in the main to gain time. She opened her mouth angrily. Asking questions of the Blood was supposed to be done delicately.
Domon grunted and shook his head, and for a moment she looked even angrier, but then her stern face smoothed. On the other hand, her eyes bored into Mat like augers, and she rose to stand with her feet apart and her hands on her hips, confronting him. “I will have a vessel by the end of spring at latest, as soon as my gold can be brought from Cantorin,” she said in an icy voice.
Mat sighed. Well, there really had been no chance he could take Aes Sedai out on a ship owned by a Seanchan, not really. “How do you know Thom and Juilin?” Domon could have told her about Thom, certainly, but, Light, how could she know Juilin?
“You ask too many questions,” she said firmly, turning away. “I fear I cannot use you after all. Bayle, put him out.” The last was a peremptory command.
Domon did not move from the door. “Tell him,” he urged her. “Soon or late, he must know everything or he will put you in greater danger than you face now. Tell him.” Even for a so’jhin, he seemed to get away with a great deal. The Seanchan were great ones for property keeping its place. For everyone else keeping theirs, for that matter. Egeanin must not be a quarter as tough as she looked.
She looked very tough at the moment, kicking her skirts and striding back and forth, scowling at Domon, at Mat. Finally, she stopped. “I gave them some small aid in Tanchico,” she said. After a moment she added, “And two women who were with them, Elayne Trakand and Nynaeve al’Meara.” Her eyes focused on him intently, watching to see whether he knew the names.
Mat’s chest felt tight. It was not a pain, but more like watching a horse he had bet on streak toward the finish line with others close behind and the question still in doubt. What in the Light had Nynaeve and Elayne been up to in Tanchico that they had needed a Seanchan’s help, and had gotten it? Thom and Juilin had been closemouthed about the details. That was beside the point, anyway. Egeanin wanted men who could keep her secrets and did not mind danger. She herself was in danger. Very little was dangerous to one of the Blood, except for other Blood and . . . “The Seekers are after you,” he said.
The way her head came up was confirmation enough, and her hand went to her side as though reaching for a sword. Domon shifted his feet and flexed his big hands, his eyes on Mat. Eyes suddenly harder than Egeanin’s. The thick man no longer looked funny; he looked dangerous. Abruptly it came to Mat that he might not leave the room alive.
“If you need to get away from the Seekers, I can help you,” he said quickly. “You’ll have to go where the Seanchan aren’t in control. Anywhere they are, the Seekers can find you. And it’s best to go as soon as possible. You can always get more gold. If the Seekers don’t take you first. Thom tells me they’re getting very active about something. Heating the irons and getting the rack ready.”
For a time Egeanin stood motionless, staring at him. At last, she exchanged a long look with Domon. “Perhaps it would be well to leave as soon as possible,” she breathed. Her tone firmed immediately, though. If there had been worry on her face for a moment, it vanished. “The Seekers will not stop me leaving the city, I think, but they think they can follow me to something they want more than they want me. They will follow me, and until I leave the lands already held by the Rhyagelle, they can call on soldiers to arrest me, which they will as soon as they decide I am going to lands not yet gathered. That is when I will need the skills of your friend Thom Merrilin, Master Cauthon. Between here and there, I must vanish from the Seekers’ sight. I may not have the gold from Cantorin, but I have enough to reward your help handsomely. You can rest assured of that.”
“Call me Mat,” he said, giving her his very best smile. Even hard-faced women softened for his best smile. Well, she did not soften visibly—if anything, she frowned slightly—but one thing he did know about women was the effect his smiles had. “I know how to make you vanish now. No use waiting, you know. The Seekers might decide to arrest you tomorrow.” That hit home. She did not flinch—he suspected very little made her f