Minutes later Juilin arrived, pushing Mistress Macura ahead of him with his belt knife. “She came through a gate in the back fence. Thought I was a thief. It seemed best to bring her on in.”
The seamstress face had gone so pale at the sight of them that her eyes seemed darker, and about to come out of her head besides. She licked her lips and smoothed her skirt incessantly, and cast quick little glances at Juilin's knife as if wondering whether it might not be best to run anyway. For the most part, though, she stared at Elayne, and Nynaeve; Elayne thought it an even chance whether she would burst into tears or swoon.
“Put her over there,” Nynaeve said, nodding to where Luci still shivered in the corner with her arms wrapped around her knees, “and help Elayne. I never heard of forkroot, but walking seems to help the effects pass. You can walk most things off.”
Juilin pointed to the corner with his knife, and Mistress Macura scurried to it and sat herself down beside Luci, still wetting her lips fearfully. “I would not have done — what I did — only, I had orders. You must understand that. I had orders.”
Gently helping Elayne to her feet, Juilin supported her in walking the few steps available, crisscrossing the other pair. She wished it were Thom. Juilin's arm around her waist was much too familiar.
“Orders from whom?” Nynaeve barked. “Who do you report to in the Tower?”
The seamstress looked sick, but she clamped her mouth shut determinedly.
“If you don't talk,” Nynaeve told her, scowling, “I'll let Juilin have you. He's a Tairen thiefcatcher, and he knows how to bring out a confession as quickly as any Whitecloak Questioner. Don't you, Juilin?”
“Some rope to tie her,” he said, grinning a grin so villainous that Elayne almost tried to step away from him, “some rags to gag her until she is ready to talk, some cooking oil and salt... ” His chuckle curdled Elayne's blood. “She will talk.” Mistress Macura held herself rigidly against the wall, staring at him, eyes as wide as they would go. Luci looked at him as if he had just turned into a Trolloc, eight feet tall and complete with horns.
“Very well,” Nynaeve said after a moment. “You should find everything you need in the kitchen, Juilin.” Elayne shifted a startled look from her to the thiefcatcher and back. Surely they did not really mean to...? Not Nynaeve!
“Narenwin Barda,” the seamstress gasped suddenly. Words tripped over one another spilling out of her. “I send my reports to Narenwin Barda, at an inn in Tar Valon called The Upriver Run. Avi Shendar keeps pigeons for me on the edge of town. He doesn't know who I send messages to or who I get them from, and he does not care. His wife had the falling sickness, and...” She trailed off, shuddering and watching Juilin.
Elayne knew Narenwin, or at least had seen her in the Tower. A thin little woman you could forget was there, she was so quiet. And kind, too; one day a week, she let children bring their pets to the Tower grounds for her to Heal. Hardly the sort of woman to be Black Ajah. On the other hand, one of the Black Ajah names they knew was Marillin Gemalphin; she liked cats, and went out of her way to look after strays.
“Narenwin Barda,” Nynaeve said grimly. “I want more names, inside the Tower or out.”
“I — don't have any more,” Mistress Macura said faintly.
“We will see about that. How long have you been a Darkfriend? How long have you served the Black Ajah?”
An indignant squall erupted from Luci. “We aren't Darkfriends!” She glanced at Mistress Macura and sidled away from her. “At least, I'm not! I walk in the Light! I do!”
The other woman's reaction was no less strong. If her eyes had bulged before, they popped now. “The Black —! You mean it really exists? But the Tower has always denied — Why, I asked Narenwin, the day she chose me for the Yellow's eyesandears, and it was the next morning before I could stop weeping and crawl out of my bed. I am not — not! — a Darkfriend! Never! I serve the Yellow Ajah! The Yellow!”
Still hanging on to Juilin's arm, Elayne exchanged puzzled looks with Nynaeve. Any Darkfriend would deny it, of course, but there seemed a ring of truth in the women's voices. Their outrage at the accusation was nearly enough to overcome their fear. From the way Nynaeve hesitated, she heard the same thing.
“If you serve the Yellow,” she said slowly, “why did you drug us?”
“It was her,” the seamstress replied, nodding at Elayne. “I was sent her description a month since, right down to that way she holds her chin sometimes so she seems to be looking down at you. Narenwin said she might use the name Elayne, and even claim to be of a noble House.” Word by word, her anger over being called a Darkfriend seemed to bubble higher. “Maybe you are a Yellow sister, but she's no Aes Sedai, just a runaway Accepted. Narenwin said I was to report her presence, and that of anyone with her. And to delay her, if I could. Or even capture her. And anyone with her. How they expected me to capture an Accepted, I do not know — I don't think even Narenwin knows about my forkroot tea! — but that is what my orders said! They said I should risk exposure even — here, where it'd be my death! — if I had to! You just wait until the Amyrlin puts her hands on you, young woman! On all of you!”
“The Amyrlin!” Elayne exclaimed. “What does she have to do with this?”
“It was on her orders. By order of the Amyrlin Seat, it said. It said the Amyrlin herself said I could use any means short of killing you. You will wish you were dead when the Amyrlin gets hold of you!” Her sharp nod was full of furious satisfaction.
“Remember that we are not in anyone's hands yet,” Nynaeve said dryly. “You are in ours.” Her eyes looked as shocked as Elayne felt, though. “Was any reason given?”
The reminder that she was the captive sapped the brief burst of spirit from the woman. She sagged listlessly against Luci, each keeping the other from falling over. “No. Sometimes Narenwin gives a reason, but not this time.”
“Did you intend to just keep us here, drugged, until someone came for us?”
“I was going to send you off by cart, dressed in some old clothes.” Not even a shred of resistance remained in the woman's voice. “I sent a pigeon to tell Narenwin you were here, and what I was doing. Therin Lugay owes me a strong favor, and I meant to give him enough forkroot to last all the way to Tar Valon, if Narenwin didn't send sisters to meet you sooner. He thinks you are ill, and the tea is the only thing keeping you alive until an Aes Sedai can Heal you. A woman has to be careful, dealing in remedies in Amadicia. Cure too many, or too well, somebody whispers Aes Sedai, and the next you know your house is burning down. Or worse. Therin knows to hold his tong
