She cut him off with peremptory satisfaction. “That is it! The menagerie.” They all looked at her as if she had gone mad.
“Of course,” Thom said, much too mildly. “We can get Luca to bring the boarhorses back, and make off while they destroy some more of the town. I don't know what you gave him, Nynaeve, but he threw a rock at us as we were driving off.”
For once Nynaeve forgave him his sarcasm, feeble as it was. And his lack of wit to see what she saw. “That's as may be, Thom Merrilin, but Master Luca wants a patron, and Elayne and I are going to be his patrons. We still have to abandon the coach and team —” That smarted; she could have built a snug house in the Two Rivers for what they had cost. “— and sneak out that back way.” Tossing open the chest with the leafshaped hinges, she rooted through clothes and blankets and pots and everything that she had not wanted to leave behind with the wagon full of dyes — she had made sure that the men packed everything except the harness — until she came to the gilded caskets and the purses. “Thom, you and Juilin go out by that back gate, and find a wagon and team of some sort. Buy some supplies and meet us on the road back to Luca's camp.” Regretfully, she filled Thom's hand with gold, not even bothering to count; there was no telling what things would cost, and she did not want him wasting time bargaining.
“That is a wonderful idea,” Elayne said, grinning. “Galad will be looking for two women, not a troupe of animals and jugglers. And he will never think we would head for Ghealdan.”
Nynaeve had not thought of that. She had intended making Luca head straight for Tear. A menagerie such as he had put together, with tumblers and jugglers in addition to animals, could earn its way almost anywhere, she was sure. But if Galad did come looking for them, or send someone, it would be to the east. And he might be smart enough to look even in a menagerie; men did show brains sometimes, usually when you least expected it. “That was the first thing I thought of, Elayne.” She ignored the sudden faint taste in her mouth, the acrid memory of boiled catfern and powdered mavinsleaf.
Thom and Juilin protested, of course. Not the idea as such, but they seemed to think that one of them remaining behind could protect her and Elayne against Galad and any number of Whitecloaks. They did not seem to realize that if it came to that, channeling would do more than the pair of them and ten more besides. They still seemed troubled, but she managed to push them both out with the stern injunction “And don't you dare come back here. We will meet you on the road.”
“If it comes to channeling,” Elayne quietly said once the door was shut, “we will quickly find ourselves facing the whole Whitecloak garrison, and probably the army garrison as well. The Power doesn't make us invincible. All it will take is two arrows.”
“We will worry about that when it comes,” Nynaeve, told her. She hoped the men had not thought of that. If they had, likely one of them would lurk about, and probably rouse Galad's suspicions if he was not careful. She was ready to accept their help when it was needed — Ronde Macura had taught her that, though having to be rescued like a kitten down a well still galled — but it would be when she thought it necessary, not they.
A quick trip downstairs found Mistress Jharen. Her lady had changed her mind; she did not think she could face the heat and dust of travel again so quickly; she intended to nap, and did not want to be disturbed until a late supper that she would send down for. Here was the coin for another night's lodging. The innkeeper was very understanding of a noble lady's delicacy, and how inconstant their desires. Nynaeve thought Mistress Jharen would be understanding of anything short of murder, so long as the reckoning was paid.
Leaving the plump woman, Nynaeve cornered one of the serving girls for a moment. A few silver pennies changed hands, and the girl darted off in her apron to find two of the deep bonnets that Nynaeve said looked so shady and cool; not the sort of thing her lady would wear, of course, but they would do nicely for her.
When she got back to the room, Elayne had the gilded caskets on a blanket with the dark polished box holding the recovered ter'angreal and the washleather purse that held the seal. The fat purses of coin lay beside Nynaeve's scrip on the other bed. Folding the blanket, Elayne tied the bundle with some stout cord from one of their chests. Nynaeve had saved everything.
She regretted leaving it all behind now. It was not just the expense. Not only that; You never knew when something was going to come in handy. Take the two woolen dresses that Elayne had laid out on her bed. They were not fine enough for a lady, and too fine for a lady's maid, but if they had left them in Mardecin as Elayne had wanted, they would be in a fine fix for clothing now.
Kneeling, Nynaeve rummaged in another chest. A few shifts, two more wool dresses for changes. The pair of castiron frying pans in a canvas bag were perfectly good, but too heavy, and the men would certainly not forget replacements for those. The sewing kit, in its neat boneinlaid box; they would never think to buy so much as a pin. Her mind was only partly on her selections, though.
“You knew Thom before?” she asked in what she hoped was a casual tone. She watched Elayne from the corner of her eye while pretending to concentrate on rolling stockings.
The girl had begun pulling out clothes of her own, sighing over the silks before putting them aside. She froze with her hands deep in one of the chests, and she did not look at Nynaeve. “He was Courtbard in Caemlyn when I was little,” she said quietly.
“I see.” She did not see at all. How did a man go from a courtbard, entertaining royalty, the next thing to a noble, to a gleeman wandering from village to village?
“He was Mother's lover after Father died.” Elayne had gone back to choosing, and she said it so matteroffactly that Nynaeve gaped.
“Your mother's —!”
The other woman still was not looking at her, though. “I did not remember him until Tanchico. I was very small. It was his mustaches, and standing close enough to look up at his face, and hearing him recite part of The Great Hunt of the Horn. He thought I'd forgotten again.” Her face colored slightly. “I — drank too much wine, and the next day I made out that I could not remember anything.”
Nynaeve could only shake her head. She remembered the night the girl had filled her fool self with wine. At least she had never done that again; her head the next morning had seemed an effective cure. Now she knew why the girl behaved as she did with Thom. She had seen the same back in the Two Rivers a few times. A girl just old enough to really think of herself as a woman. Who else would she measure herself against except her mother? And sometimes, who better to compete against, to prove that she was a woman? Usually it led to no more than trying to be better at everything from cooking to sewing, or maybe some harmless flirting with her father, but in the case of one widow, Nynaeve had seen the woman's nearly grown daughter make a complete fool of herself trying to capture the man her mother intended to marry. The trouble was, Nynaeve had no idea what to do about this silliness in Elayne. Despite severe lectures and more from her and the Women's Circle, Sari Ayellin had not settled down until her mother was married again and she herself had found a husband too.
“I suppose he must have been like a second father to you,” Nynaeve said carefully. She pretended to concentrate on her own packing. Thom had certainly been looking at the girl that way. It explained so much.
“I hardly think of him so.” Elayne appeared intent on deciding how many silk shifts to take, but her eyes saddened. “I cannot really remember my father; I was only a baby when he died. Gawyn says he spent all of his time with Galad. Lini tried to make the best of it, but I know he never came to see Gawyn or me in the nursery. He would have, I know, once we were old enough to teach things, like Galad. But he died.”
Nynaeve tried again. “At least Thom is fit for a man of his age. We'd be in a fine fix if he suffered from stiff joints. Old men often do.”
“He could still do backflips if not for his limp. And I don't care if he does limp. He is intelligent and knowledgeable about the world. He is gentle, and yet I feel quite safe with him. I don't think I should tell him that. He tries to protect me enough as it is.”
With a sigh, Nynaeve gave up. For now, at least. Thom might look on Elayne as a daughter, but if the girl kept this up he just might remember that she was not, and then Elayne would find herself in the pickling kettle. “Thom is very fond of you, Elayne.” Time to shift to some other subject. “Are you sure about Galad? Elayne? Are you sure Galad could turn us in, Elayne?” The other woman gave a start, wiping a small frown from her face.
“What? Galad? I'm certain, Nynaeve. And if we refuse to let him take us to Caemlyn, that will only make the decision for him.”
Muttering to herself, Nynaeve pulled a silk riding dress out of her chest. Sometimes she thought the Creator had only made men to cause trouble for women.
Chapter 17
(Elephant)
Heading West