Elayne grimaced at her, though it was too late. She could not tell whether the Sea Folk women were offended by Nynaeve’s tone. The pair kept the same neutral expressions, but Elayne was beginning to realize they did not show very much on their faces, not to strangers, anyway.

“Let us speak of passage,” Coine said. “If it pleases the Light, we may call where you wish to go. All things are possible, in the Light. Let us sit.”

The chairs around the table did not slide back; they and the table were fastened to the floor—deck. Instead the arms swung out like gates and latched in place once you had sat. The arrangement seemed to bear out Elayne’s dire predictions of heaving and pitching. She did very well with it herself, of course, but too much rolling on a riverboat set Nynaeve’s stomach jumping. It must be worse on the ocean than on a river, however fierce the wind, and the worse Nynaeve’s stomach, the worse her temper. Nynaeve sicking up and in a bad choler at the same time: there were few things more dreadful, in Elayne’s experience.

She and Nynaeve were placed together on one side of the table, with the Sailmistress and the Windfinder at the ends. At first it seemed strange, until she realized they would both look at whichever of the two was talking, allowing the other to watch them unobserved. Do they always deal with passengers this way, or is it because we’re Aes Sedai? Well, because they think we are. It was a caution that everything might not be as simple as they hoped with these people. She hoped Nynaeve was taking notice.

Elayne had not seen any order passed, but a slender young woman with only one ring in each ear appeared, bearing a tray with a square white brass-handled teapot and large handleless cups, not of Sea Folk porcelain as might have been expected, but thick pottery. Less likely to be broken in heavy weather, she decided bleakly. It was the young woman who took her attention, though, and nearly brought a gasp. She was bare to the waist, just like the men above. Elayne hid her shock very well, she thought, but Nynaeve sniffed loudly.

The Sailmistress waited until the girl had poured tea brewed to blackness, then said, “Have we sailed, Dorele, when I did not see? Is there no land in sight?”

The slender woman blushed furiously. “There is land, Sailmistress.” It was a miserable whisper.

Coine nodded. “Until there is no land in sight, and has been none for one full day, you will work at cleaning the bilges, where garments are a hindrance. You may leave.”

“Yes, Sailmistress,” the girl said, even more woefully. She turned away, undoing her red sash dejectedly as she went through the door at the far end of the room.

“Share this tea, if it please you,” the Sailmistress said, “that we may talk in peace.” She sipped at her own and continued while Elayne and Nynaeve were tasting theirs. “I ask that you forgive any offense, Aes Sedai. This is Dorele’s first voyage except between the islands. The young often forget the ways of the shorebound. I will punish her further, if you are affronted.”

“There is no need,” Elayne said hastily, taking the excuse to set her cup down. The tea was even stronger than it looked, very hot, unsweetened and quite bitter. “Truly, we were not offended. There are different ways among different peoples.” The Light send not too many more as different as that! Light, what if they don’t wear any clothes at all once they get out to sea? Light! “Only a fool takes offense at customs different from her own.”

Nynaeve gave her a level look, bland enough for the Aes Sedai they were pretending to be, and took a deep swallow from her cup. All she said was “Please think no more of it.” It was not possible to tell if she meant it for Elayne or the Sea Folk women.

“Then we will speak of passage, if it pleases you,” Coine said. “To what port do you wish to sail?”

“Tanchico,” Nynaeve said, a bit more briskly than she should have. “I know you may not mean to sail there, but we need to go quickly, as quickly as only a raker can, and without stopping, if that is possible. I offer this small gift, for the inconvenience.” She took a paper from her belt pouch and unfolded it, pushing it down the table to the Sailmistress.

Moiraine had given that to them, and another like it, letters-of-rights. Each allowed the bearer to draw up to three thousand gold crowns from bankers and moneylenders in various cities, though it was not likely any of those men and women knew it was White Tower money they held. Elayne had goggled at the amount—Nynaeve had gaped openly—but Moiraine said it might be needed to make the Sailmistress forsake her intended ports of call.

Coine touched the letter-of-rights with one finger, read. “A vast sum for the gift of passage,” she murmured, “even counting that you ask me to alter my sailing plans. I am more surprised now than before. You know that we very seldom carry Aes Sedai on our ships. Very seldom. Of all who ask passage, only Aes Sedai may be refused, and almost always are, as from the first day of the first sailing. Aes Sedai know this, and so almost never ask.” She was looking into her teacup, not at them, but Elayne glanced the other way and caught the Windfinder studying their hands lying on the table. No, their rings.

Moiraine had not said anything about this. She had pointed out the raker as the swiftest ship available and encouraged them to make use of it. Then again, she had given them these letters-of-rights, very likely sufficient to buy a fleet of ships like this one. Well, several ships, at the least. Because she knew it would take that much to bribe them to carry us? But why had she kept secrets? A foolish question; Moiraine always kept secrets. But why waste their time?

“Do you mean to refuse us passage?” Nynaeve had abandoned tact for bluntness. “If you do not carry Aes Sedai, why did you bring us down here? Why not tell us up above and be done with it?”

The Sailmistress unlatched one arm of her chair, rose and went to peer out of the sternwindows at the Stone. Her earrings and the medallions across her left cheek glittered in the light of the rising sun. “He can wield the One Power, so I have heard, and he holds the Sword That Cannot Be Touched. The Aiel have come over the Dragonwall to his call; I have seen several in the streets, and it is said they fill the Stone. The Stone of Tear has fallen, and war breaks over the nations of the land. Those who once ruled have returned, and been driven back for the first time. Prophecy is being fulfilled.”

Nynaeve looked as confounded as Elayne felt at this change of subject. “The Prophecies of the Dragon?” Elayne said after a moment. “Yes, they are being fulfilled. He is the Dragon Reborn, Sailmistress.” He’s a stubborn man who hides his feelings so deeply I cannot find them, that is what he is!

Coine turned. “Not the Prophecies of the Dragon, Aes Sedai. The Jendai Prophecy, the prophecy of the Coramoor. Not the one you wait for and dread; the one we seek, herald of a new Age. At the Breaking of the World our ancestors fled to the safety of the sea while the land heaved and broke as storm waves do. It is said they knew nothing of the ships they took to flee, but the Light was with them, and they survived. They did not see the land again until it was still once more, and by then, much had changed. All—everything—the world—drifted on the water and the wind. It was in the years after that the Jendai Prophecy was first spoken. We must wander the waters until the Coramoor returns, and serve him at his coming:

“We are bound to the sea; the salt water courses in our veins. Most of us set no foot on the land except to await another ship, another sailing. Strong men weep when they must serve ashore. Women ashore go onto a ship to bear their children—into a rowboat if no more is at hand—for we must be born on the water, as we must die on it, and be given to it in death.

“The Prophecy is being fulfilled. He is the Coramoor. Aes Sedai serve him. You are proof of that, that you are here in this city. That is in the Prophecy as well. ‘The White Tower shall be broken by his name, and Aes Sedai shall kneel to wash his feet and dry them with their hair.’”

“You will have a long wait if you expect to see me wash any man’s feet,” Nynaeve said wryly. “What does this have to do with our passage? Will you take us, or not?”

Elayne cringed, but the S

ailmistress came back just as directly. “Why do you wish to journey to Tanchico? It is an unpleasant port of call now. I docked there last winter. Shorefolk nearly swarmed my vessel seeking passage out, to anywhere. They did not care, so long as it was away from Tanchico. I cannot believe conditions are any better now.”

“Do you always question your passengers so?” Nynaeve said. “I’ve offered you enough to buy a village. Two villages! If you want more, name your price.”

“Not a price,” Elayne hissed in her ear. “A gift!”

If Coine was offended, or even had heard, she gave no sign. “Why?”

Nynaeve took a tight grip on her braid, but Elayne laid a hand on her arm. They had planned to keep a few secrets themselves, but surely they had learned enough since sitting down to alter any plan. There was a time for secrecy and a time for truth. “We hunt the Black Ajah, Sailmistress. We believe some of them are in Tanchico.” She met Nynaeve’s angry stare calmly. “We must find them, else they may harm … the Dragon Reborn. The Coramoor.”

“The Light see us safe to docking,” the Windfinder breathed. It was the first time she had spoken, and Elayne stared at her in surprise. Jorin was frowning, and not looking at anyone, but she spoke to the Sailmistress. “We can take them, my sister. We must.” Coine nodded.

Elayne exchanged looks with Nynaeve and saw her own questions mirrored in the other woman’s eyes. Why was it the Windfinder who decided? Why not the Sailmistress? She was the captain, whatever her title. At least they were going to get passage after all. For how much? Elayne wondered. How large a ‘gift’? She wished Nynaeve had not revealed that they had more than was in that one letter-of-rights. And she accuses me of tossing gold about.

The door opened and a heavy-shouldered gray-haired man in loose green silk breeches and sash came in, ruffling through a sheaf of papers. Four gold rings decorated each ear, and three heavy gold chains hung at his neck, including one with a perfume box. A long puckered scar down his cheek, and two curved knives tucked in his sash, gave him something of a dangerous air. He was fastening a peculiar wire framework over his ears to hold clear lenses in front of his eyes. The Sea Folk made the best looking glasses and burning lenses and the like, of course, somewhere on their islands, but Elayne had never seen anything like this device. He peered through the lenses at the papers and began talking without looking up.

“Coine, this fool is willing to trade me five hundred snowfox pelts from Kandor for those three small barrels of Two Rivers tabac I got in Ebou Dar. Five hundred! He can have them here by midday.” His eyes rose, and he gave a start. “Forgive me, my wife. I did not know you had guests. The Light be with you all.”

“By midday, my husband,” Coine said, “I will be falling downriver. By nightfall I will be at sea.”

He stiffened. “Am I still Cargomaster, wife, or has my place been taken while I did not see?”

“You are Cargomaster, husband, but the trading must stop now and preparations begin for getting under way. We sail for Tanchico.”

“Tanchico!” The papers crumpled in his fist, and he brought himself under control with an effort. “Wife—No! Sailmistress, you told me our next port was Mayene, and then eastward to Shara. I have traded with that in mind. Shara, Sailmistress, not Tarabon. What I have in my holds will bring little in Tanchico. Perhaps nothing! May I ask why my trade is to be ruined and Wavedancer impoverished?”

Coine hesitated, but when she spoke her voice was still formal. “I am Sailmistress, my husband. Wavedancer sails when and where I say. It must be enough, for now.”

“As you say, Sailmistress,” he rasped, “so it is.” He touched his heart—Elayne thought Coine flinched—and padded out with his back stiff as one of the ship’s masts.

“I must make this up to him,” Coine murmured softly, staring at the door. “Of course, it is pleasant making up with him. Usually. He saluted me like a deckboy, sister.”

“We regret being a cause of trouble, Sailmistress,” Elayne said carefully. “And we regret having witnessed this. If we have caused any embarrassment, to anyone, please accept our apologies.”

“Embarrassment?” Coine sounded startled. “Aes Sedai, I am Sailmistress. I doubt your presence embarrassed Toram, and I would not apologize to him for that if it did. Trade is his, but I am Sailmistress. I must make up to him—and it will not be easy, since I must keep the reason secret still—because he is right, and I could not think quickly enough to give him a reason beyond what I would give a raw hand. That scar on his face he earned clearing the Seanchan from Wavedancer’s decks. He has older scars earned defending my ship, and I have only to put out my hand to have gold placed in it because of his trading. It is the things I cannot tell him I must make up to him, because he deserves to know.”

“I do not understand,” Nynaeve said. “We would ask you to keep the Black Ajah secret …”—she shot a hard look at Elayne, one that promised hard words once they were alone; Elayne intended a few words of her own, about the meaning of tact—“ … but surely three thousand crowns is reason enough to take us to Tanchico.”

“I must keep you secret, Aes Sedai. What you are, and why you travel. Many among my crew consider Aes Sedai bad luck. If they knew they not only carried Aes Sedai, but toward a port where other Aes Sedai may serve the Father of Storms … . The grace of the Light shone on us that none was close enough to hear me call you so above. Will it offend if I ask you to keep below as much as possible, and not to wear your rings when on deck?”

For answer, Nynaeve plucked her Great Serpent ring off and dropped it into her pouch. Elayne did the same, a bit more reluctantly; she rather enjoyed having people see her ring. Not quite trusting Nynaeve’s remaining store of diplomacy at this point, she spoke up before the other woman could. “Sailmistress, we have offered you a gift of passage, if it pleases you. If it does not, may I ask what would?”

Coine came back to the table to look at the letter-of-rights again, then pushed it back to Nynaeve. “I do this for the Coramoor. I will see you safe ashore where you wish, if it pleases the Light. It shall be done.” She touched the fingers of her right hand to her lips. “It is agreed, under the Light.”

Jorin made a strangled sound. “My sister, has a Cargomaster ever mutinied against his Sailmistress?”

Coine gave her a flat-eyed stare. “I will put in the gift of passage from my own chest. And if Toram ever hears of it, my sister, I will put you in the bilges with Dorele. For ballast, perhaps.”

That the two Sea Folk women had dropped formality was confirmed when the Windfinder laughed aloud. “And then your next port would be in Chachin, my sister, or Caemlyn, for you could not find the water without me.”

The Sailmistress addressed Elayne and Nynaeve regretfully. “Properly, Aes Sedai, since you serve the Coramoor, I should honor you as I would Sailmistress and Windfinder of another ship. We should bathe together and drink honeyed wine and tell each other stories to make ourselves laugh and weep. But I must make ready to sail, and—”

Wavedancer rose like his name, leaping, pounding against the dock. Elayne whipped back and forth in her chair, wondering as it continued whether this was really better than being thrown to the deck.

Then, finally, it was over, the leaps slowing, growing smaller. Coine scrambled to her feet and raced for the ladder, Jorin at her heels, already shouting orders to look for damage to the hull.

CHAPTER 20

Winds Rising

Elayne struggled to open the latch on an arm of her chair and darted after them, almost colliding with Nynaeve at the ladder. The ship still rocked, if not as violently as before. Uncertain whether they were sinking, she pushed Nynaeve ahead of her, prodding her to climb faster.

On the deck the crew dashed about, checking the rigging or peering over the side to inspect the hull, shouting about earthquakes. The same shouts were rising from the dockmen, too, but Elayne knew better, despite the tumbled things on the piers and the ships yet pitching at their moorings.

She star

ed toward the Stone. The huge fortress was still except for masses of startled birds swirling about and that pale banner waving, almost lazily, in an isolated breeze. No sign that anything had ever touched the mountainous mass. That had been Rand, though. She was sure of it.

She turned to find Nynaeve looking at her, and for a long moment their eyes met. “A fine pickling, if he’s damaged the ship,” Elayne said finally. “How are we supposed to get to Tanchico if he goes tossing all the ships about?” Light, he has to be all right. I can do nothing if he isn’t. He is all right. He is.

Nynaeve touched her arm reassuringly. “No doubt that second letter of yours touched a nerve. Men always overreact when they let their emotions go; it’s the price for holding them in the way they do. He may be the Dragon Reborn, but he must learn, man to woman, that—What are they doing here?”

“They” were two men standing amid the bustling Sea Folk on the deck. One was Thom Merrilin, in his gleeman’s cloak, with leather-cased harp and flute on his back and a bundle lying at his feet beside a battered wooden box with a lock. The other was a lean handsome Tairen in his middle years, a hard, dark man wearing a flat conical straw hat and one of those commoner’s coats that fit snugly to the waist, then flared like a short skirt. A notched sword-breaker hung at a belt worn over his coat, and he leaned on a pale staff of nobbly, jointed wood exactly his own height and no thicker than his thumb. A square-tied parcel dangled by a loop from his shoulder. Elayne knew him: his name was Juilin Sandar.

It was obvious the two men were strangers despite standing almost side by side; they held themselves with stiff reticence. Their attentions were directed the same way, though, split between following the Sailmistress’s progress toward the stern-deck and peering at Elayne and Nynaeve, plainly uncertain and masking it behind a brisk show of confidence. Thom grinned and stroked his long white mustaches and nodded every time he looked up at the two of them; Sandar made solemn, self-assured bows.