Mat closed his mouth. “All right then,” he said. Shouldn’t the two of them be treating him with more respect? Wasn’t he some kind of high Seanchan prince or something? He should have known that wouldn’t help him with Leilwin or the bearded sailor.
Anyway, he had been sincere. Aludra’s words made sense, crazy though they sounded at first. They would need to dedicate a lot of foundries to the work. The weeks it was going to take him to reach Caemlyn seemed even more galling now. Those weeks spent on the road should be spent building dragons! A wise man learned that there was no use fretting over long marches—but Mat felt far from wise lately.
“All right,” he said again. He looked back at Aludra. “Though—for completely different reasons—I’d like to take these plans with me and keep them safe.”
“Completely different reasons?” Leilwin asked in a flat tone, as if searching for another insult.
“Yes,” Mat said. “Those reasons being that I don’t want them here when Aludra taps one of those nightflowers the wrong way and blows herself halfway to Tarwin’s Gap!”
Aludra chuckled at that, though Leilwin looked offended again. It was hard not to offend a Seanchan. Them and the bloody Aiel. Strange how opposite they could be in many ways, yet the same in so many others.
“You may take the plans, Mat,” Aludra said. “So long as you keep them in that trunk with your gold. That is one object in this camp that will receive the greatest attention from you.”
“Thank you kindly,”
he said, stooping to gather up the pages, ignoring the veiled insult. Hadn’t they just made up? Bloody woman. “By the way, I nearly forgot. Do you know anything about crossbows, Aludra?”
“Crossbows?” she asked.
“Yes,” Mat said, stacking the papers. “I figure there should be a way to make them load faster. You know, like those new cranks, only maybe with some kind of spring or something. Maybe a crank you could twist without having to lower the weapon first.”
“This is hardly my area of expertise, Mat,” Aludra said.
“I know. But you’re smart about things like this, and maybe. . . .”
“You will have to find someone else,” Aludra said, turning to pick up another half-finished nightflower. “I am far too busy.”
Mat reached up under his hat, scratching his head. “That—”
“Mat!” a voice called. “Mat, you’ve got to come with me!” Mat turned as Olver ran into Aludra’s camp. Bayle held out a warning hand, but of course Olver just ran right beneath it.
Mat straightened up. “What?” he asked.
“Someone’s come to the camp,” Olver said, excitement painting his features. And those features were a sight. Ears that were too big for his head, nose that was squashed down, mouth that was too wide. On a child his age, the ugliness was endearing. He’d have no such luck when he grew older. Maybe the men in camp were right to be teaching him weapons. With a face like that, he’d better know how to defend himself.
“Wait, slow down,” Mat said, tucking Aludra’s plans into his belt. “Someone’s come? Who? Why do you need me?”
“Talmanes sent me to fetch you,” Olver said. “He thinks she’s someone important. Said to tell you she’s got some pages with your picture on them, and that she’s got a ‘distinctive face,’ whatever that means. That. . . .”
Olver continued, but Mat had stopped listening. He nodded to Aludra and the others, then trotted out of her camp, past the sheets and out into the woods proper. Olver tagged along behind as Mat hurried to the front of the camp.
There, sitting on a short-legged white mare, was a pudgy woman with a grandmotherly air, a brown dress, and streaks of gray in her hair, which was pulled back in a bun. She was surrounded by a group of soldiers, Talmanes and Mandevwin standing directly in front of her, like two stone pillars barring entrance to a harbor.
The woman had an Aes Sedai face, and an aging Warder stood beside her horse. Though he had graying hair, the stocky man exuded that sense of danger that all Warders had. He studied the Band’s soldiers with unyielding eyes, arms folded.
The Aes Sedai smiled at Mat as he trotted up. “Ah, very nice,” she said primly. “You’ve grown prompt since we last parted, Matrim Cauthon.”
“Verin,” Mat said, panting slightly from the run. He glanced at Talmanes who held up a sheet of paper, one of those imprinted with Mat’s face. “You’ve discovered that someone’s been distributing pictures of me in Trustair?”
She laughed. “You could say that.”
He looked at her, meeting those dark brown Aes Sedai eyes. “Blood and bloody ashes,” he muttered. “It was you, wasn’t it? You’re the one who’s been looking for me!”
“For some time, I might add,” Verin said lightly. “And rather against my will.”
Mat closed his eyes. So much for his intricate plan for the raid. Burn it! And it was a good plan, too. “How’d you find I was here?” he asked, opening his eyes.
“A kind merchant came to me in Trustair an hour ago and explained that he’d just had a nice meeting with you, and that you’d paid him handsomely for a sketch of Trustair. I figured that I’d spare the poor town an assault by your . . . associates and just come to you myself.”