“I have jugglers,” Luca said. The six became eight, then ten, a dozen. “You are not bad.” The circle became two, intertwining. Luca rubbed at his chin. “Maybe I could find a use for you.”
“I can also eat fire,” Thom said, letting the stones fall, “perform with knives,” he fanned his empty hands, then seemingly pulled a pebble from Luca's ear, “and do a few other things.”
Luca suppressed his quick grin. “That does for you, but what about the rest?” He seemed angry with himself for showing any enthusiasm or approval.
“What is that?” Elayne asked, pointing.
The two tall poles Nynaeve had seen being erected now each had ropes to stay it and a flat platform at its top, with a rope stretched taut over the thirty paces between. A rope ladder hung from each platform.
“That is Sedrin's apparatus,” Luca replied, then shook his head. “Sedrin the highwalker, dazzling with feats ten paces up on a thin rope. The fool.”
“I can walk on it,” Elayne told him. Thom reached for her arm as she took off her bonnet and started forward, but he subsided at a small shake of her head and a smile.
Luca barred her way, though. “Listen, Morelin, or whatever your name is, your forehead may be too pretty to brand, but your neck is far too pretty to snap. Sedrin knew what he was doing, and we finished burying him not more than an hour ago. That's why everyone is in their wagons. Of course, he drank too much last night, after we were chased out of Sienda, but I've seen him highwalk with a bellyful of brandy. I will tell you what. You do not have to clean cages. You move into my wagon, and we will tell everyone you're my ladylove. Just as a tale, of course.” His sly smile said he hoped for more than a tale.
Elayne's smile in return should have raised frost on him. “I do thank you for the offer, Master Luca, but if you will kindly step aside... ” He had to, or else have her walk over him.
Juilin crumpled that cylindrical hat in his hands, then crammed it back onto his head as she began climbing one of the rope ladders, having a little difficulty with her skirts. Nynaeve knew what the girl was doing. The men should have, and perhaps Thom did, at least, but he still looked ready to rush over to catch her if she fell. Luca moved nearer, as though the same thought was in his head.
For a moment Elayne stood on the platform, smoothing her dress. The platform looked much smaller, and higher, with her on it. Then, delicately holding her skirts up as if to keep them out of mud, she stepped out onto the narrow rope. She might as well have been walking across a street. In a way, Nynaeve knew, she was. She could not see the glow of saidar, but she knew that Elayne had woven a path between the two platforms, of Air, no doubt, turned hard as stone.
Abruptly Elayne put her hands down and turned two cartwheels, ravenblack hair flailing, silkstockinged legs flashing in the sun; For the merest instant as she righted herself, her skirts seemed to brush a flat surface before she snatched them up again. Two more steps took her to the far platform. “Did Master Sedrin do that, Master Luca?”
“He did somersaults,” he shouted back. In a mutter, he added, “But he did not have legs like that. A lady! Hah!”
“I am not the only one with this skill,” Elayne called. “Juilin and—” Nynaeve gave a fierce shake of her head; channeling or no channeling, her stomach would enjoy that high rope as much as it did a storm at sea. “— and I have done this many times. Come on, Juilin. Show him.”
The thiefcatcher looked as if he would rather clean the cages with his bare hands. The lions' cages, with the lions inside. He closed his eyes, mouth moving in a silent prayer, and went up the rope ladder in the manner of a man mounting the scaffold. At the top, he stared from Elayne to the rope with a fearful concentration. Abruptly, he stepped out, walking rapidly, arms stretched out to either side, eyes fixed on Elayne and mouth moving in prayer. She climbed partway down the ladder to make room for him on the platform, then had to help him find the rungs with his feet and guide him down.
Thom grinned at her proudly as she came back and took her bonnet from Nynaeve. Juilin looked as if he had been soaked in hot water and wrung out.
“That was good,” Luca said, rubbing his chin judiciously. “Not as good as Sedrin, mind, but good. I especially like the way you make it seem so easy, while — Juilin? — Juilin pretends to be frightened to death. That will go over very well.” Juilin gave the man a bleak grin that had something of reaching for knives in it. Luca actually swirled that red cape as he turned to Nynaeve; he looked very satisfied indeed. “And you, my dear Nana? What surprising talent do you have? Tumbling, perhaps? Swallowing swords?”
“I dole out the money,” she told him, slapping the scrip. “Unless you want to offer me your wagon?” She gave him a smile that wiped his clean away and backed him up two steps besides.
The shouting had roused people from the wagons, and everyone gathered around while Luca introduced the troupe's new performers. He was rather vague about Nynaeve, merely calling what she did startling; she needed to have a talk with him.
The horse handlers, as Luca called the men who had no performing talent, were a scruffy, surly lot in general, perhaps because they were paid less. There were not very many of them, compared to the number of wagons. In fact, it turned out that everyone helped with the work, including driving the wagons; there was not much money in a traveling menagerie, even one like this. The others were a mixed lot.
Petra, the strongman, was the biggest man Nynaeve had ever seen. Not tall, but wide; his leather vest showed arms the size of tree trunks. He was married to Clarine, the plump, browncheeked woman who trained dogs; she looked undersized beside him. Latelle, who performed with the bears, was a sternfaced, darkeyed woman with short black hair and the beginnings of a sneer permanently on her lips. Aludra, the slender woman who was supposed to be an Illuminator, might even have been one. She did not wear her dark hair in Taraboner braids, not surprising given the feelings in Amadicia, but she had the proper accents, and who could say what had happened to the Guild of Illuminators? Their chapter house in Tanchico had certainly closed its doors. The acrobats, on the other hand, claimed to be brothers named Chavana, but though they were all short, compact men, they ranged in coloring from greeneyed Taeric — his high cheekbones and hooked nose proclaiming Saldaean blood — to Barit, who was darker than Juilin and had Sea Folk tattoos on his hands, though he wore no earrings or noserings.
All but Latelle greeted the newcomers warmly; more performers meant more people attracted to the show, and more money. The two jugglers, Ban and Kin — they really were brothers, it turned out — engaged Thom in talk of their trade, once they found out that he did not work the same way they did. Drawing more people was one thing, competition another. Yet it was the palehaired woman who cared for the boarhorses who attracted Nynaeve's immediate interest. Cerandin stood stiffly on the fringes and barely spoke — Luca claimed she had come from Shara with the animals — but her soft, slurred manner of speech made Nynaeve's ears go to points.
It took a little time to get their wagon in place. Thom and Juilin seemed more than pleased to have the horse handlers' help with the team, sullenly as it was given, and invitations were given to Nynaeve and Elayne. Petra and Clarine asked them to have tea once they were settled. The Chavanas wanted the two women to have supper with them, and Kin and Ban did, too, all of which made Latelle's sneer become a scowl. Those invitations they declined gracefully, Elayne perhaps a bit more so than Nynaeve; the memory of herself goggling at Galad like a frogeyed girl was too fresh for her to be more than minimally polite to any man. Luca had his own invitation, for Elayne alone, spoken where Nynaeve could not hear. It earned him a slapped face, and Thom ostentatiously flashed knives that seemed to roll across his hands until the man went away growling to himself and rubbing his cheek.
Leaving Elayne putting her things away in the wagon — throwing them, really, and muttering to herself furiously — Nynaeve went off to where the boarhorses were hobbled. The huge gray animals seemed placid enough, but remembering that hole in the stone wall of The King's Lancer, she was not too sure about the leather cords connecting their massive front legs. Cerandin was scratching the big male with her bronzehooked goad.
“What are they really called?” Diffidently, Nynaeve patted the male's long nose, or snout, or whatever it was. Those tusks were as big around as her leg and a good three paces long, and only a little larger than the female's at that. The snout snuffled at her skirt and she stepped back hastily.
“S'redit,” the palehaired woman said. “They are s'redit, but Master Luca thought a name more easily said was better.” That drawling accent was unmistakable.
“Are there many s'redit in Seanchan?”
The goad stopped moving for an instant, then resumed scratching. “Seanchan? Where is that? The s'redit are from Shara, as I am. I have never heard of —”
“Perhaps you've seen Shara, Cerandin, but I doubt it. You are Seanchan. Unless I miss my guess, you were part of the invasion on Toman Head, left behind after Falme.”
“There is no doubt,” Elayne said, stepping up beside her. “We heard Seanchan accents in Falme, Cerandin. We will not hurt you.”