Robert Jordan - The Gathering Storm

They looked up with shock as Nynaeve strode into the room; one of the men actually leaped to his feet, his stool toppling to the floor behind him. He pulled off his hat—a lopsided brown thing that even Mat would have been embarrassed to wear—looking like a child caught poking his finger into the pie before dinner.

Nynaeve didn't care what they were doing; she had found some servants of the mansion, and that was all that mattered. "I must see the do-sun," she said, using the local term for the head housekeeper. "Fetch her for me."

Her soldiers entered the room behind her. All three were Saldaeans, and if they were somewhat oafish, they walked with the swaggers of men who intimately understood fighting. She doubted that these simple servants needed any more intimidation than an Aes Sedai, but the soldiers would likely prove useful later.

"The dosun?" the worker with the hat finally said. "Are you sure you wouldn't rather see the steward or—"

"The dosun," Nynaeve said. "Bring her to me now. Give her time to throw on a robe, but no more." She pointed at one of her soldiers. "You, go with him. Make sure he doesn't speak to anyone else or give the woman a chance to escape."

"Escape?" the worker yelped. "Why would Loral want to do that? What did she do, my Lady?"

"Nothing, I hope. Go!"

The two men—one worker, one soldier—hurried off, and the other three workers remained at the table, looking uncomfortable. Nynaeve folded her arms beneath her breasts, considering her plan. Rand had determined that his hunt for the Domani king had hit a wall with the death of the messenger. Nynaeve wasn't so certain. There were others involved, and a few well-placed questions might be very illuminating.

It was unlikely the dosun had done anything wrong. But Nynaeve did not want the worker who fetched her letting his tongue wag to the people he might meet along the way; better to instill into him a sense of danger and use the soldier to keep him quiet. Not to mention punctual.

Her foresight proved effective. Within minutes, the worker hurried back into the room, towing a disheveled, elderly woman in a blue evening robe. Gray hair poked out from beneath her hastily wrapped red kerchief, and her aging Domani face was absolutely white with apprehension. Nynaeve felt guilty. How this woman must feel, awoken at night by a terrified servant claiming that one of the Aes Sedai wanted her immediately!

The Saldaean soldier followed, then stood guard beside the doorway. He was bowlegged and squat, and he wore one of those long Saldaean mustaches. The other two lounged beside the doorway Nynaeve had come through, their casual air only serving to make the room more tense. They had picked up on something of her intent, it seemed.

"Peace, goodwoman," Nynaeve said, nodding to the table. "You may sit. You others, go to the main entryway and stay there. Don't speak to anyone."

The four workers needed no further prodding. Nynaeve told one of the soldiers to follow them and make certain they did as she said. The late hour was working to her advantage; with so many of the servants and Rand's attendants asleep, she could investigate without alerting those who might be guilty.

The departure of the workers only made the dosun more nervous. Nynaeve sat at the table on one of the vacated stools. The men had left their dice behind in their haste, but had—of course—made sure to take their coins. The room was lit by a small lamp, burning with an open flame on the windowsill. The Saldaean had taken her lantern with him when following the workers.

"Your name is Loral, is it not?" Nynaeve asked.

The dosun nodded warily.

"You are aware that Aes Sedai do not lie?"

The housekeeper nodded again. Most Aes Sedai couldn't lie, though Nynaeve technically could, since she hadn't held the Oath Rod. That was part of what earned her a lesser status in the eyes of the others. Undeservedly so. The Oath Rod was only a formality; Two Rivers folk needed no ter'angreal to make them honest. "Then you will believe me when I tell you that I do not suspect you personally of having done anything wrong. I just need your help."

The woman seemed to relax a bit. "What help do you need, Nynaeve Sedai?"

"It has been my experience that the head housekeeper knows more of a house's workings than the stewards, or even the owners of the property. Have you been employed here for long?"

"I have served the Chadmar family through three generations," the old woman said with no small measure of pride. "And had hoped to serve another, if Her Ladyship had—" The housekeeper cut off. Rand had imprisoned "Her Ladyship" in her own dungeons. That didn't bode well for there being another generation to serve.

"Yes, well," Nynaeve said, covering the uncomfortable silence. "The unfortunate circumstances involving your lady are part of my task this evening."

"Nynaeve Sedai," the aged woman said, growing eager, "do you suppose you can see her to freedom? Restore her to the Lord Dragon's good graces?"

"Perhaps." Doubtful, Nynaeve added in her mind, but anything is possible. "My activities tonight may help. Did you ever see this messenger, the one your mistress imprisoned?"

"The one sent by the King?" Loral asked. "I never spoke with him, Aes Sedai, but I did see him. Tall, handsome fellow, curiously cleanshaven for a Domani man. I passed him in the hallway. Had one of the most beautiful faces I rightly think I've ever seen on a man."

"And then?" Nynaeve asked.

"Well, he went directly to speak with Lady Chadmar, and then. ..." Loral trailed off. "Nynaeve Sedai, I don't mean to be getting my lady into any more trouble, and—"

"He was sent for questioning," Nynaeve said shortly. "I have little time for foolishness, Loral. I am not here looking for evidence against your mistress, and I don't really care what your loyalties are. There are much larger issues at stake. Answer my question."

"Yes, Lady," Loral said, paling. "We all knew what had happened, of course. Didn't seem right, sending one of the King's men to a questioner like that. Particularly that man. Shame to mar a face so beautiful, and all."

"You know the location of the questioner and the dungeon?"

Loral hesitated, then nodded reluctantly. Good. She didn't intend to withhold information.

"Let us go, then,' Nynaeve said, rising.

"My Lady?"

"To the dungeon," Nynaeve said. "I assume it isn't on the property anywhere, not if Milisair Chadmar was as careful as I think."

"It's a modest distance away, in the Gull's Feast," Loral said. "You wish to go tonight^"

"Yes," Nynaeve said, then hesitated. "Unless I decide to visit the questioner at his home instead."

"They are the same place, my Lady."

"Excellent. Come."

Loral didn't have much choice. Nynaeve allowed her—guarded by a soldier—to return to her rooms for a dress.

A short time later, Nynaeve and her soldiers marched the dosun— along with the four workers, to keep them from accidentally giving warning of what was happening—from the building. All five looked decidedly displeased. They probably believed the superstitious rumors that the night was not safe. Nynaeve knew better. The night might not be safe, but it wasn't any worse than other times. In fact, it might be safer. If there were fewer people about, there were fewer chances of someone nearby suddenly growing thorns out of their skin, bursting into flame or dying in some other horribly random way.

They left the mansion grounds, Nynaeve walking with a firm step, hoping to keep the others from feeling too nervous. She nodded to the soldiers at the gate, and went in the direction Loral indicated. Their feet thumped against the wood of the boardwalk, the clouded night sky glowing just faintly from moonlight above.

Nynaeve didn't give herself the luxury of questioning her plan. She'd decided on a course, and so far it was going well. True, Rand might grow angry at her for appropriating soldiers and stirring up trouble. But sometimes, to see what was at the bottom of a cloudy rain barrel, you needed to stir the water to bring up what was at the bottom. It was just too coincidental. Milisair Chadmar had taken the messenger captive months ago, but he had died only a short time before Rand wanted him. He was the only person in the city with a clue to the King's location.

Coincidences did happen. Sometimes, when two farmers were feuding and one of their cows died in the night, it was just an accident. And sometimes, a little searching uncovered the opposite.

Loral led the group toward the Gull's Feast, also known as the Gull District, a part of town close to where the fishermen dumped waste from their hauls. Like most sensible people, Nynaeve avoided that section of town, and her nose reminded her just why as they approached. Fish guts might make excellent fertilizer, but Nynaeve could smell the composting heaps from several streets away. Even the refugees avoided this dark area.

The walk was a fairly long one—understandably, the rich sector of town was distant from the Gull's Feast. Nynaeve stalked along, paying no heed to the shadowed alleyways and buildings, though her entourage— soldiers excepted—clustered around her apprehensively. The Saldaeans instead kept their hands on their serpentine swords, trying to look in all directions at once.

She wished she had news from the White Tower. How long had it been since she'd had news from Egwene or one of the others? She felt blind. It was her own fault for insisting that she go with Rand. Someone had needed to keep an eye on him, but that meant being unable to keep any eyes on everyone else. Was the Tower still divided? Was Egwene still Amyrlin? News on the streets was little help. As always, for every rumor she heard, there were two more contradicting it. The White Tower was fighting itself. No, it fought the Asha'man. No, the Aes Sedai had been destroyed by the Seanchan. Or by the Dragon Reborn. No, those rumors were all lies spread by the Tower to bait its enemies into striking.

Very little was said about Elaida or Egwene specifically, though garbled news of two Amyrlins was spreading. That was problematic. Neither group of Aes Sedai would like spreading the news of a second Amyrlin. Tales of squabbles among the Aes Sedai would only end up hurting all of them.

Eventually, Loral stopped walking. The four workers stopped behind her, bundling together with worried expressions. Nynaeve glanced at Loral. "Well?"

"There, Lady." The woman pointed a bony finger to the building across the street.

"The chandler's shop?" Nynaeve asked.

Loral nodded.

Nynaeve summoned one of the bowlegged Saldaean soldiers. "You, watch these five and make sure they don't get into trouble. You other two, come with me."

She started across the street, but when she didn't hear footsteps leave the boardwalk, she turned with a frown. The three guards stood together, looking at the single lantern, likely cursing themselves for not thinking to bring another.

"Oh, for the Light's sake," Nynaeve snapped, raising her hand and embracing the Source. She wove a globe of light above her fingers, casting a cool, even illumination across the ground around her. "Leave the lantern."

The two Saldaeans complied, hurrying after her. She stepped up to the chandler's door, then wove a ward against eavesdropping and placed it in the air around herself, the door and the two soldiers.

She looked at one of the soldiers. "What's your name? '

"Triben, my Lady," he said. He was a hawk-faced man with a short, trimmed mustache and a scar across his forehead. "That's Lurts," he said, pointing at the other soldier, a massive wall of a man who Nynaeve had been surprised to see was uniformed as a cavalryman.