“My eyes are just tired,” Mat laughed, leaning on his staff. Great men laying plans? The old fellow had probably seen them in Shibouya, with the giants. “I do thank you for that alley, you know. If there’s ever anything more I can do for you, ask. But right now, I am going to find a hot bath.”

“Does this gholam drink blood?” Noal asked catching Mat’s arm as he started to hobble by.

Light, he wished he had not mentioned that name where the old man could hear. He wished Birgitte had never told him about the thing. “Why do you ask?” Gholam lived on blood. They ate nothing else.

“There was another man found with his throat torn out, last night, only there was almost no blood on him or his bedding. Did I mention? He was at an inn down near the Moldine Gate. If that thing did leave the city, it’s back.” Glancing beyond Mat, he made a low, elaborate bow to someone. “If you change your mind, I am always ready,” he said in a lower voice when he straightened.

Mat looked over his shoulder as the old man hurried off. Tuon was standing beneath one of the gilded stand lamps, watching him through her veil. Looking at him, at least. Glancing? As always, the moment he saw her, she turned away and glided off down the hall, her pleated white skirts rustling faintly. There was no one with her, today.

For the second time that day, Mat shivered. A pity the girl had not gone with Suroth and Tylin. A man given a loaf should not complain that a few crumbs were missing, but Aes Sedai and Seanchan, gholam stalking him and old men poking their noses in and skinny girls staring at him was enough to give any man the golliwogs. Maybe he should forget about wasting time soaking his leg.

He felt better once he had sent Lopin to fetch the rest of his own clothes from Beslan’s toy cupboard. And Nerim to find Juilin. His leg still hurt like fire and wobbled when he wanted to walk, but if he was not going to waste time, then he might as well get a move on about it. He wanted to be gone from Ebou Dar before Tylin came back, and that gave him ten days. Less, to be on the safe side.

When the thief-catcher stuck his head in at the bedroom door, Mat was studying himself in Tylin’s tall stand-mirror. The red . . . garments . . . were tucked away in the wardrobe with the rest of the gauds she had given him. Maybe Tylin’s next pretty could get some use of them. The coat he had put on was the plainest he owned, a fine-woven blue wool without a thread of embroidery. The sort of coat a man could be proud to wear, without having everybody stare at him. A decent coat.

“Maybe a little lace,” he muttered, fingering the neck of his shirt. “Just a little.” It really was a very plain coat, come to think. Almost sober.

“I don’t know anything about lace,” Juilin said. “Is that why you wanted me?”

“No, of course not. What are you grinning at?” The fellow was not just grinning; his smile nearly split his dark face in two.

“I am happy, that’s all. Suroth is gone, and I am happy. If you don’t want to ask me about lace, what do you want?”

Blood and bloody ashes! The woman he was interested in must be one of Suroth’s da’covale! One she had left behind. He certainly had no other reason to care whether she was gone, much less be happy over it. And the man wanted to take one of her property! Well, maybe that was not so much, compared to taking a couple of damane.

Limping over to put an arm around Juilin’s shoulders, Mat walked him out into the sitting room. “I need a damane dress to fit a woman about so high,” he held up a hand just about his shoulder, “and slender.” He gave the fellow his most sincere smile, but Juilin’s own smile faded markedly. “I need three sul’dam dresses, too, and an a’dam. And it came to me that the man who knows best how to steal something without getting caught would be a thief-catcher.”

“I am a thief-catcher,” the man growled, shaking off Mat’s arm, “not a thief!”

Mat let his own grin vanish. “Juilin, you know the only way to take those sisters out of the city is if the guards think they’re still damane. Teslyn and Edesina are wearing what they need, but we have to disguise Joline. Suroth will be back in ten days, Juilin. If we aren’t gone by then, in all likelihood your pretty will still be her property when we go.” He could not help feeling that if they were not gone by then, none of them would be going. Light, a man could shiver himself to death indoors in this city.

Stuffing his fists into the pockets of his dark Tairen coat, Juilin glared at him. Glared through him, really, at something the thief-catcher did not like. Finally he grimaced, and muttered, “It won’t be easy.”

The days that followed were anything but easy. The serving women clucked and laughed over his new clothes. His old clothes, that was. They grinned and made wagers where he could hear over how fast he could change back when Tylin returned — most seemed to think he would race through the halls ripping off whatever he was wearing as soon he heard she was on her way — but he paid them no mind. Except for the part about Tylin returning. The first time a serving woman mentioned it, he nearly jumped out of his skin thinking she actually had for some reason.

A number of the women and nearly all the men took his change of clothing to mean he was leaving. Running away, they called it disapprovingly, and did what they could to hamper him. In their eyes, he was the ointment to soothe Tylin’s aching tooth, and they did not want her to come back and bite them for losing it. If he had not made sure Lopin or Nerim was always in Tylin’s apartments guarding his belongings, the clothes would have vanished again, and only Vanin and the Redarms kept Pips from disappearing out of the stables.

Mat tried to encourage the belief. When he went and two damane vanished at the same time, the events were sure to be linked, but with Tylin gone and his intention to run away plain before she returned, she would be safe from blame. Every day, even when it rained, he rode Pips in circles in the stable, for a longer time every day, as if trying to build up his stamina. Which he actually was, he realized after a while. His leg and hip still ached like fury, but he began to think he could manage as much as ten miles before needing to climb down. Eight miles, anyway.

Often, if the sky was clear, sul’dam were walking damane when he exercised. The Seanchan women were aware he was not Tylin’s property, but on the other hand, he heard some call him her toy! Tylin’s Toy, they said, as if that was his name! He was not important enough for them to learn if he had another. To them, someone was either da’covale or not, and this halfway business amused them no end. He rode to the sound of sul’dam laughing, and tried to tell himself it was all to the good. The more people who could tell that he worked to flee before Tylin returned, the better for her. It just was