“What happened, Simion?”
The man looked at her sharply before answering. Perrin did not think anyone else saw how sharply, in the dimness. “There was about twenty of them, come day before yesterday. No trouble then. But yesterday... Why, three of them up and announced they weren't Children of the Light anymore. They took off their cloaks and just rode away.”
Lan grunted. “Whitecloaks swear for life. What did their commander do?”
“Why, he would have done something, you can be sure, good master, but another of them announced he was off to find the Horn of Valere. Anyway, still another said they should be hunting the Dragon. That one said he was going to Almoth Plain when he left. Then some of them started saying things to women in the streets, things they shouldn't have, and grabbing at them. The women were screaming, and Children yelling at the ones bothering the women. I never saw such commotion.”
“Didn't any of you try to stop them?” Perrin said.
“Good master, you carry that axe like you know how to use it, but it isn't so easy to face up to men with swords and armor and all, when all you know how to use is a broom or a hoe. The rest of the Whitecloaks, those as hadn't gone off, put an end to it. Almost came to drawing swords. And that wasn't the worst. Two more just went mad — if the others weren't. Those two started raving that Jarra was full of Darkfriends. They tried to burn the village down — said they would! — beginning with the Leap. You can see the burn marks out back, where they got it started. Fought the other Whitecloaks when they tried to stop them. The Whitecloaks that were left, they helped us put it out, tied those two up tight, and rode out of here, back toward Amadicia. Good riddance, I say, and if they never come back, it'll be too soon.”
“Rough behavior,” Lan said, “even for Whitecloaks.”
Simion bobbed his head in agreement. “As you say, good master. They never acted like that before. Swagger around, yes. Look at you like you were dirt, and poke their noses in where they hadn't any business. But they never caused trouble before. Not like that, anyway.”
“They are gone now,” Moiraine said, “and troubles with them. I am sure we will pass a quiet night.”
Perrin kept his mouth shut, but he was not quiet inside. All these weddings and Whitecloaks are all very well, but I'd sooner know if Rand stopped here, and which way he went when he left. That smell couldn't have been him.
He let Simion guide him on down the hall to another room, with two beds and a washstand, a pair of stools and not much else. Loial stooped to put his head through the doorway. Only a little light came in by the narrow windows. The beds were big enough, with blankets and comforters folded at the foot, but the mattresses looked lumpy. Simion fumbled on the mantel above the fireplace until he found a candle, and a tinderbox to get it alight.
“I'll see about getting some beds put together for you, good — uh— Ogier. Yes, just a moment, now.” He showed no sign of hurry to be about it, though, fussing with the candlestick as if he had to place it just right. Perrin thought he looked uneasy.
Well, I'd be more than uneasy if Whitecloaks had been acting like that in Emond's Field. “Simion, has another stranger passed through here in the last day or two? A young man, tall, with gray eyes and reddish hair? He might have played the flute for a meal or a bed.”
“I remember him, good master,” Simion said, still shifting the candlestick. “Came yesterday morning, early. Looked hungry, he did. He played the flute for all the weddings, yesterday. Goodlooking young fellow. Some of the women eyed him, at first, but...” He paused, looking at Perrin sideways. “Is he a friend of yours, good master?”
“I know him,” Perrin said. “Why?”
Simion hesitated. “No reason, good master. He was an odd fellow, that's all. He talked to himself, sometimes, and sometimes he laughed when nobody had said anything. Slept in this very room, last night, or part of it. Woke us all in the middle of the night, yelling. It was just a nightmare, but he wouldn't stay any longer. Master Harod didn't make much effort to talk him into it, after all that noise.” Simion paused again. “He said something strange when he left.”
“What?” Perrin demanded.
“He said somebody was after him. He said...” The chinless man swallowed and went on more slowly. “Said they'd kill him if he didn't go. 'One of us has to die, and I mean it to be him.' His very words.”
“He did not mean us,” Loial rumbled. “We are his friends.”
“Of course, good — uh — good Ogier. Of course, he didn't mean you. I — uh — I don't mean to say anything about a friend of yours, but I — uh — I — think he's sick. In the head, you know.”
“We will take care of him,” Perrin said. “That's why we're following him. Which way did he go?”
“I knew it,” Simion said, bouncing on his toes. “I knew she could help as soon as I saw you. Which way? East, good master. East, like the Dark One himself was on his heels. Do you think she'll help me? Help my brother, that is? Noam's bad sick, and Mother Roon says she can't do anything.”
Perrin kept his face expressionless, and bought a little time to think by propping his bow in the corner and setting his blanketroll and saddlebags on one of the beds. The problem was that thinking did not help much. He looked at Loial, but found no help there; consternation had the Ogier's ears drooping and his long eyebrows hanging down on his cheeks. “What makes you think she can help your brother?” Stupid question! The right question is, what does he mean to do about it?
“Why, I traveled to Jehannah, once, good master, and I saw two... two women like her. I couldn't mistake her after that.” His voice dropped to a whisper. “It's said they can raise the dead, good master.”
“Who else knows this?” Perrin asked sharply, and at the same time Loial said, “If your brother is dead, there is nothing anyone can do.”
The frogfaced man looked from one to the other of them anxiously, and his words came in a babble. “No one knows but me, good master. Noam isn't dead, good Ogier, only sick. I swear nobody else could recognize her. Even Master Harod's never been more than twenty miles from here in his life. He's so bad sick. I'd ask her myself, only my knees'd be shaking so hard she couldn't hear me talk. What if she took offense and called down lightning on me? And what if I'd been wrong? It isn't the kind of thing you accuse a woman of without... I mean… ooh...” He raised his hands, half in pleading, half as if to defend himself.
“I can make no promises,” Perrin said, “but I'll speak to her. Loial, why don't you keep Simion company till I've spoken to Moiraine?”
“Of course,” the Ogier boomed. Simion gave a start when Loial's hand swallowed his shoulder. “He will show me my room, and we will talk. Tell me, Simion, what do you know of trees?”
“Tttrees, ggood Ogier?”
Perrin did not wait any longer. He hurried back down the dark hall and knocked on Moiraine's door, barely waiting for her peremptory “Come!” before pushing in.