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Authors: Robert Jordan

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“You like us.” Nynaeve made it sound a crime. “That answers none of my questions.”
Egeanin hesitated again, then held her head up, defying them to do their worst. “
Sul’dam
were left behind at Falme. Some deserted after the disaster. A few of us were sent to bring them back. I only found one, but I discovered that an
a’dam
would hold her.” Seeing Nynaeve’s fists tighten, she quickly added, “I let her go last night. I will pay dearly if that is ever discovered, but after talking with you, I could not … .” Grimacing, she shook her head. “That is why I stayed with you after Elayne revealed herself. I knew Bethamin was a
sul’dam.
To discover the
a’dam
held her, that she could … . I had to know, to understand, about women who could channel.” She took a deep breath. “What do you mean to do with me?” Her hands, folded on the table, did not tremble.
Nynaeve opened her mouth angrily, and closed it again slowly. Elayne knew her difficulty. Nynaeve might hate Egeanin now, but what
were
they to do with her? It was not clear she had committed any crime in Tanchico, and in any event the Civil Watch seemed interested in nothing beyond saving its own collective skin. She was Seanchan, she had used
sul’dam
and
damane
, but on the other hand, she claimed to have let this Bethamin go free. For what crime could they punish her? Asking questions they had answered freely? Making them like her?
“I’d like to stripe your hide till you glow like a sunset,” Nynaeve growled. Abruptly her head swung toward Domon. “You found them? You said you found them. Where?” He shifted his feet, shooting a meaning look at the back of Egeanin’s head, eyebrows rising in a question.
“I do not believe she is a Darkfriend,” Elayne said when Nynaeve hesitated.
“I certainly am not!” Egeanin’s stare was fierce-eyed and offended.
Folding her arms as if to keep from tugging her braids, Nynaeve glared at the woman, then shifted an accusatory frown to Domon, as though this entire mess were his fault. “There isn’t anywhere to lock her,” she said finally, “and Rendra would surely demand reasons. Go ahead, Master Domon.”
He gave a last, doubtful look at Egeanin. “At the Panarch’s Palace, one of my men did see two of the women on your list. The one with the cats, and the Saldaean woman.”
“Are you certain?” Nynaeve said. “At the Panarch’s Palace? I wish you had seen for yourself. More women than Marillin Gemalphin like cats. And Asne Zeramene is not the only woman from Saldaea, even in Tanchico.”
“A narrow-faced blue-eyed woman with a wide nose feeding a dozen cats in this city where people do eat cats? In the company of another with that Saldaean nose and tilted eyes? That is no so common a pair, Mistress al’Meara.”
“It is not,” she agreed. “But the Panarch’s Palace? Master Domon, in case you have forgotten, five hundred Whitecloaks guard that place, commanded by an Inquisitor of the Hand of the Light! Jaichim Carridin and his officers at least must know Aes Sedai on sight. Would they remain if they saw the Panarch sheltering Aes Sedai?” He opened his mouth, but Nynaeve’s point was telling, and nothing came out.
“Master Domon,” Elayne said, “what was one of your men doing at the Panarch’s Palace?”
He tugged at his beard in an embarrassed way, and rubbed his bare upper lip with a wide finger. “You see, the Panarch Amathera do be known to like ice peppers, the white kind that be very hot, and whether or no she be amenable to gifts herself, the customs men will know who did give her one and be more amenable themselves.”
“Gifts?” Elayne said in her best reproving voice. “You were more honest on the docks, and called them bribes.” Surprisingly, Egeanin had twisted around in her chair to give him a disapproving look, too.
“Fortune prick me,” he muttered, “you did no ask me to give up my trade. And I would no if you did, no if you did bring my aged mother to
ask. A man do have a right to his trade.” Egeanin snorted and righted herself.
“His bribes are not our problem, Elayne.” Nynaeve sounded exasperated. “I don’t care if he bribes the entire city and smuggles—” A rap at the door cut her off. With a cautioning look at the others, she snapped “You sit quiet” to Egeanin, and raised her voice. “Come.”
Juilin stuck his head into the room with that silly cylindrical cap on, frowning as usual at Domon. The gash on his dark cheek, the blood already dried, was not unusual either; the streets were rougher now by daylight than they had been by dark in the beginning. “May I speak to you alone, Mistress al’Meara?” he said when he saw Egeanin sitting at the table.
“Oh, come in,” Nynaeve told him sharply. “After what she’s heard already, it won’t matter if she hears a little more. Have you found them in the Panarch’s Palace, too?”
In the act of shutting the door, he shot an unreadable, tight-mouthed glance at Domon. The smuggler smiled, showing too many teeth. For a moment it seemed they might come to blows.
“So the Illianer is ahead of me,” Juilin muttered ruefully. Ignoring Domon, he addressed Nynaeve. “I told you the woman with the white stripe would lead me to them. That is a very distinctive thing. And I saw the Domani woman there, too. From a distance—I am not fool enough to wade into a school of silverpike—but I cannot believe there is another Domani woman besides Jeaine Caide in all of Tarabon.”
“You mean they
are
in the Panarch’s Palace?” Nynaeve exclaimed.
Juilin’s face did not change, but his dark eyes widened slightly, flickered toward Domon. “So he had no proof,” he murmured in a satisfied tone.
“I did have proof,” Domon avoided looking at the Tairen. “If you did no accept it before this fisherman did come, Mistress al’Meara, it be no fault of mine.”
Juilin drew himself up, but Elayne cut in before the thief-catcher could speak. “You both found them, and you both brought proof. Very likely neither would have been sufficient without the other. Now we know where they are because of you both.” If anything, they looked more disgruntled than before. Men could be absolutely silly at times.
“The Panarch’s Palace.” Nynaeve jerked a fistful of braids, then flung the long plaits over her shoulder with a toss of her head. “What they are after must be there. But if they have it, why are they still in Tanchico? The palace is huge. Maybe they haven’t found it yet. Not that that helps if we are out here while they are inside!”
Thom, as usual, entered without knocking, taking in everyone at one glance. “Mistress Egeanin,” he murmured, with an elegant bow his limp did nothing to diminish. “Nynaeve, if I could speak with you alone, I have important news.”
The fresh bruise on his leathery cheek made Elayne even angrier than the new tear in his good brown cloak. The man was too old to be braving the streets of Tanchico. Or any rough streets, for that matter. It was time she arranged a pension for him, and somewhere safe and comfortable to live. No more gleeman wanderings from village to village for him. She would see to it.
Nynaeve gave Thom a sharp look. “I’ve no time for that now. The Black sisters are in the Panarch’s Palace, and for all I know, Amathera is helping them search it from cellar to attic.”
“I found out less than an hour ago,” he said disbelievingly. “How did you … ?” He looked at Domon and Juilin, both still glowering like boys who had each wanted the whole cake.
It was obvious that he dismissed either as Nynaeve’s source of information. Elayne felt like grinning. He did so pride himself on knowing all the undercurrents, all the hidden doings. “The Tower has its ways, Thom,” she told him, cool and mysterious. “It is best not to inquire too closely into the methods of Aes Sedai.” He frowned, bushy white eyebrows drawing down uncertainly. Most satisfactory. She became aware of Juilin and Domon frowning at her, too, and suddenly it was all she could do not to blush. If they talked, she
would
look a fool. They would, eventually; men did. Best to bury it quickly and hope. “Thom, have you heard anything that might indicate whether Amathera is a Darkfriend?”
“Nothing.” He tugged one long mustache irritably. “Apparently she has not seen Andric since donning the Crown of the Tree. Maybe the troubles in the streets make travel between the King’s Palace and the Panarch’s too dangerous. Maybe she has simply realized that her power equals his now, and is no longer as compliant as before. Nothing to say what her allegiances are.” With a glance at the dark-haired woman in the chair, he added, “I am grateful for the aid Mistress Egeanin gave you with those robbers, but to now I have thought she was a casually met friend. May I ask who she is to be brought into this? I seem to recall you threatening to tie a knot in any careless tongues, Nynaeve.”
“She’s Seanchan,” Nynaeve told him. “Close your mouth before you swallow a moth, Thom, and sit down. We can eat while we try to figure out what to do.”
“In front of her?” Thom said. “Seanchan?” He had heard some of the story of Falme from Elayne—some of it—and he had certainly heard the rumors here; he studied Egeanin as if wondering where she hid her horns. Juilin seemed to be strangling, if his bulging eyes were any indication; he must have heard the Tanchican rumors, too.
“Do you suggest I ask Rendra to lock her in a storeroom?” Nynaeve asked calmly. “That
would
cause comment, wouldn’t it? I’m fairly certain three big, hairy men can protect Elayne and me if she pulls a Seanchan army out of her pouch. Sit, Thom, or else eat standing up, but stop staring. All of you, sit. I mean to eat before it grows cold.”
They did, Thom looking as ill-contented as Juilin and Domon. Sometimes Nynaeve’s bullying manner did seem to work. Perhaps Rand
would
respond to occasional bullying.
Putting Rand out of her mind, Elayne decided it was time to add something of worth. “I cannot see how the Black sisters can be in the Panarch’s Palace without Amathera’s knowledge,” she said, pulling her chair under her. “As I see it, that makes for three possibilities. One, Amathera is a Darkfriend. Two, she thinks they are Aes Sedai. And three, she is their prisoner.” For some reason, Thom’s approving nod made her feel warm inside. Silly. Even if he did know the Game of Houses, he was just a foolish bard who had thrown it all away to become a gleeman. “In any case, she will help them look for what they seek, but it seems to me that if she thinks they are Aes Sedai, we might be able to gain her help with the truth. And if she is a prisoner, we could gain it by freeing her. Even Liandrin and her companions could not hold on to the palace if the Panarch ordered it cleared, and that would give
us
a free hand to search.”
“The problem is discovering whether she is ally, dupe or captive,” Thom said, gesturing with his pair of sursa. He knew how to use the things perfectly!
Juilin shook his head. “The real problem is to reach her, whatever her situation. Jaichim Carridin has five hundred Whitecloaks around the palace like fisher-birds around the docks. The Panarch’s Legion has nearly twice that, and the Civil Watch almost as many. Few of the ring forts are held half so well.”
“We are not going to fight them,” Nynaeve said dryly. “Stop thinking with the hair on your chest. This is a time for wits, not muscle. As I see it … .”
The discussion went on through the meal, continuing after the last small bowl was emptied. Egeanin even offered a few cogent comments after
a while spent silently, not eating and not seeming to listen. She had a sharp mind, and Thom readily accepted any of her suggestions he agreed with, though he stubbornly rejected out of hand those he did not, just the way he treated everyone else. Even Domon, rather surprisingly, supported Egeanin when Nynaeve wanted her to keep quiet. “She do make sense, Mistress al’Meara. Only a fool do reject sense, wherever it do come from.”
Unfortunately, knowing where the Black sisters were did little good without knowing whether or not Amathera was with them; that, or what they were after. In the end, almost two hours of discussion came to not much more than that and a few suggestions as to how to find out about Amathera. All of which, it seemed, were to be used by the men with their spiderweb of contacts crisscrossing Tanchico.
None of the fool men wanted to leave them alone with one of the Seanchan—until Nynaeve became angry enough to wrap them all three in flows of Air while they dithered before the door. “Do you not think,” she said icily, surrounded by the glow of
saidar
, “that one of us might be able to do the same to her if she says boo?” She would not release any of them until they all nodded their heads, the only bits they could move.
“You keep a taut crew,” Egeanin said as soon as the door closed behind them.
“Be quiet, Seanchan!” Nynaeve folded her arms tightly; she seemed to have given up trying to pull at those braids when she was angry. “Sit down, and—be—quiet!”
It was frustrating waiting there, staring at the plum trees and falling blossoms painted on the windowless walls, pacing the floor or watching Nynaeve pace, while Thom and Juilin and Domon were out actually doing something. Yet it was worse when each man came back at intervals, to report another trail faded away to nothing, another thread snapped, hear what the others had learned, and hurry out again.
The first time Thom returned—with a second purple bruise, on the other cheek—Elayne said, “Wouldn’t you do better here, Thom, where you could hear whatever Juilin and Master Domon report? You could evaluate much better than Nynaeve or I.”

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