“So you will be leaving me here,” Mallia told Mat. The captain's smile was not as ready as it might have been. “Are you certain there is nothing I can do to help further? Burn my soul, I never saw such a rabble! Those soldiers ought to clear the docks — with the sword, if need be! — so decent traders can do business. Perhaps Sanor can make a path through this scum to your inn for you.”
So you'll know where we are staying? Not bloody likely. “I had thought of eating before I went ashore, and maybe a game of dice to pass the time.” Mallia's face went white. “But I think I would like a steady floor under me for my next meal. So we will leave you now, Captain. It has been an enjoyable voyage.”
While relief still battled consternation on the captain's face, Mat picked up his things from the deck and, using the quarterstaff as a walking stick, made his way to the gangplank with Thom. Mallia followed as far as the head of the plank, murmuring regrets at their departure that jumped from real to insincere and back again. Mat was certain the man hated losing a chance to ingratiate himself with his High Lord Samon by learning details of a pact between Andor and Tar Valon.
As Mat and the gleeman pushed through the crowds, Thom muttered, “I know the man is far from likable, but why do you have to keep taunting him? Wasn't it enough that you ate every scrap of what he thought would feed him all the way to Tear?”
“I have not been eating it all for nearly two days.” The hunger had simply been gone one morning, to his great relief. It had been as if Tar Valon had loosed its last hold on him. “I've been throwing most of it over the side, and a hard job it was making sure nobody saw.” Among these drawn faces, many of them children's, it did not seem so funny anymore. “Mallia deserved taunting. What about that ship, yesterday? The one that was stuck on a mudbank or something. He could have stopped to help, but he would not go near it however much they shouted.” There was a woman with long, dark hair ahead who might have been pretty if she had not looked so bone weary, peering into the face of every man who passed her as if looking for someone; a boy little taller than her waist and two girls shorter clung to her, all crying. “All that talk about river brigands and traps. It didn't look like any trap to me.”
Thom dodged around a highwheeled cart — a cage holding two squealing pigs was lashed atop the canvascovered mound — and nearly tripped over a sledge being pulled by a man and a woman.“And you go out of your way to help people, do you? Strange how that has escaped my eye.”
“I'll help anyone who can pay,” Mat said firmly. “Only fools in stories do something for nothing.”
The two girls sobbed into their mother's skirts while the boy fought his tears. The woman's deepset eyes rested on Mat for a moment, studying his face, before drifting on; they looked as if she wished she could weep, too. On impulse he dug a fistful of loose coins out of his pocket without looking to see what they were and pressed them into her hand. She gave a start of surprise, stared at the gold and silver in her hand with incomprehension that quickly turned to a smile, and opened her mouth, tears of gratitude filling her eyes.
“Buy them something to eat,” he said quickly, and hurried on before she could speak. He noticed Thom looking at him. “What are you gawking at? Coin comes easily as long as I can find somebody who likes to dice.” Thom nodded slowly, but Mat was not sure he had gotten his point across. Bloody children's crying was getting on my nerves, that's all. Fool gleeman will probably expect me to give gold away to every waif that comes along, now. Fool! For an uncomfortable moment, he was not certain whether the last had been meant for Thom or himself.
Taking himself in hand, he avoided looking at any face long enough to really see it until he found the one he wanted, at the foot of the dock. The helmetless soldier in red coat and breastplate, urging people into the town, had the grizzled look of a squadman, an experienced leader of ten or so. Squinting into the setting sun, he reminded Mat of Uno, though he had both his eyes. He looked almost as tired as the people he was chivying. “Move along,” he was shouting in a hoarse voice. “You can't bloody stay here. Move along. Into the town with you.”
Mat stationed himself squarely in front of the soldier and put on a smile. “Your pardon, Captain, but can you tell me where I might find a decent inn? And a stable with good horses to sell. We have a long way to go, come morning.”
The soldier eyed him up and down, examined Thom and his gleeman's cloak, then shifted back to Mat. “Captain, is it? Well, boy, you'll have the Dark One's own luck if you find a stable to sleep in. Most of this lot are sleeping under hedges. And if you find a horse that hasn't been slaughtered for cooking, you'll likely have to fight the man who owns it to make him sell.”
“Eating horse!” Thom muttered disgustedly. “Has it really become that bad on this side of the river? Isn't the Queen sending food?”
“It is bad, gleeman.” The soldier looked as if he wanted to spit. “They're crossing over faster than the mills can grind flour, or wagons carry foodstuffs from the farms. Well, it will not last much longer. The order has come down. Tomorrow, we stop letting anyone across, and if they try, we send them back.” He scowled at the people milling on the dock as if it were all their fault, then brought the same hard look to bear on Mat. “You are taking up space, traveler. Move along.” His voice rose to a shout again, directed at everyone within hearing. “Move along! You cannot bloody stay here! Move along!”
Mat and Thom joined the thin stream of people, carts, and sledges flowing toward the gates in the town wall, and into Aringill.
The main streets were paved with flat gray stones, but they were crowded with so many people that it was difficult to see the stones under your own boots. Most appeared to be moving aimlessly, with nowhere to go, and those who had given up squatted dejectedly along the sides of the street, the lucky ones with bundled belongings in front of them or some cherished possession clutched in their arms. Mat saw three men holding clocks, and a dozen or more with silver goblets or platters. The women held children to their breasts, mainly. A babble filled the air, a low, wordless hum of worry. He pushed through the crowd with a frown on his face, searching for the sign that would mark an inn. The buildings were every sort, wood and brick and stone all cheek by jowl, with roofs of
