The Dragon Reborn (The Wheel of Time #3)

The Dragon Reborn (The Wheel of Time #3) Page 161

Nynaeve's black stallion was just being lowered to the dock; sailors had already carried their tack off the ship and simply dumped it on the wet stones of the dock. Nynaeve glanced at the horses and opened her mouth — Egwene was sure it was to tell them to saddle their animals — then closed it again, tightlipped, as if it had cost her an effort. She gave her braid one hard tug. Before the sling was well out of the way, Nynaeve tossed the bluestriped saddle blanket across the black's back and hoisted her highcantled saddle atop it. She did not even look at the other two women.

Egwene was not anxious to ride at that moment — the motion of a horse might be too close to the motion of the Darter for her stomach — but another look at those muddy streets convinced her. Her shoes were sturdy, but she would not enjoy having to clean mud off them, or having to hold her skirts up as she walked, either. She saddled Mist quickly and climbed onto her back, settling her skirts, before she could decide the mud might not be so bad after all. A little needlework on the Darter — Elayne had done it all, this time; the DaughterHeir sewed a very fine stitch — had divided all their dresses nicely for riding astride.

Nynaeve's face paled for a moment when she swung into her saddle and the stallion decided to frisk. She kept a tightmouthed grip on herself and a firm hand on her reins and soon had him under control. By the time they had ridden slowly past the warehouses, she could speak. “We need to locate Liandrin and the others without them learning we are asking after them. They surely know we are coming — that someone is, at least — but I would like them not to know we are here until it is too late for them.” She drew a deep breath. “I confess I have not thought of any way to do this. Yet. Do either of you have any suggestions?”

“A thieftaker,” Elayne said without hesitation. Nynaeve frowned at her.

“You mean like Hurin?” Egwene said. “But Hurin was in the service of his king. Wouldn't any thieftaker here serve the High Lords?”

Elayne nodded, and for a moment Egwene envied the DaughterHeir her stomach. “Yes, they would. But thieftakers are not like the Queen's Guards, or the Tairen Defenders of the Stone. They serve the ruler, but people who have been robbed sometimes pay them to retrieve what was stolen. And they also sometimes take money to find people. At least, they do in Caemlyn. I cannot think it is different here in Tear.”

“Then we take rooms at an inn,” Egwene said, “and ask the innkeeper to find us a thieftaker.”

“Not an inn,” Nynaeve said as firmly as she guided the stallion; she never seemed to let the animal get out of her control. After a moment she moderated her tone a little. “Liandrin, at least, knows us, and we have to assume the others do, too. They will surely be watching the inns for whoever followed the trail they sprinkled behind them. I mean to spring their trap in their faces, but not with us inside. We'll not stay at an inn.”

Egwene refused to give her the satisfaction of asking.

“Where then?” Elayne's brow furrowed. “If I made myself known— and could make anyone believe it, in these clothes and with no escort — we would be welcomed by most of the noble Houses, and very likely in the Stone itself — there are good relations between Caemlyn and Tear — but there would be no keeping it quiet. The entire city would know before nightfall. I cannot think of anywhere else except an inn, Nynaeve. Unless you mean to go out to a farm in the country, but we will never find them from the country.”

Nynaeve glanced at Egwene. “I will know when I see it. Let me look.”

Elayne's frown swept from Nynaeve to Egwene and back again.“ 'Do not cut off your ears because you do not like your earrings,' ” she muttered.

Egwene put her attention firmly on the street they were riding along. I will be burned if I'll let her think I am even wondering!

There were not a great many people out, not compared to the streets of Tar Valon. Perhaps the thick mud in the street discouraged them. Carts and wagons lurched past, most pulled by oxen with wide horns, the carter or wagoneer walking alongside with a long goad of some pale, ridged wood. No carriages or sedan chairs used these streets. The odor of fish hung in the air here, too, and no few of the men who hurried past carried huge baskets full of fish on their backs. The shops did not look prosperous; none displayed wares outside, and Egwene seldom saw anyone go in. The shops had signs — the tailor's needle and bolt of cloth, the cutler's knife and scissors, the weaver's loom, and the like — but the paint on most of them was peeling. The few inns had signs in as bad a state, and looked no busier. The small houses crowded between inns and shops often had tiles or slates missing from their roofs. This part of Tear, at least, was poor. And from what she saw on the faces, few of the people here cared to try any longer. They were moving, working, but most of them had given up. Few as much as glanced at three women riding where everyone else walked.

The men wore baggy breeches, usually tied at the ankle. Only a handful wore coats, long, dark garments that fit arms and chest tightly, then became looser below the waist. There were more men in low shoes than in boots, but most went barefoot in the mud. A good many wore no coat or shirt at all, and had their breeches held up by a broad sash, sometimes colored and often dirty. Some had wide, conical straw hats on their heads, and a few, cloth caps that sagged down one side of the face. The women's dresses had high necks, right up to their chins, and hems that stopped at the ankle. Many had short aprons in pale colors, sometimes two or three, each smaller than the one beneath it, and most wore the same straw hats as the men, but dyed to complement the aprons.

It was on a woman that she first saw how those who wore shoes dealt with the mud. The woman had small wooden platforms tied to the soles of her shoes, lifting them two hands out of the mud; she walked along as if her feet were planted firmly on the ground. Egwene saw others wearing the platforms after that, men as well as women. Some of the women went barefoot, but not as many as the men.

She was wondering which shop might sell those platforms, when Nynaeve suddenly turned her black down an alleyway between a long, narrow twostory house and a stonewalled potter's shop. Egwene exchanged glances with Elayne — the DaughterHeir shrugged — and then they followed. Egwene did not know where Nynaeve was going or why — and she meant to have words with her about it — but she did not mean to