Crossroads of Twilight

“I am convinced the Second Librarian is… a spy, my Lady,” Mistress Harfor said finally, ignoring Norry as if to make him dis­appear. She had resisted letting anyone else know that she was searching out spies in the palace, yet the First Clerk knowing seemed to grate on her worst of all. His only authority over her, if such it was, came from paying the palace accounts, and he never questioned an expenditure, but even that little was more than she wished. “Every three or four days Master Harnder visits an i

“Hairdressers, footmen, cooks, the master cabinetmaker, no fewer than five of Master Norry’s clerks, and now one of the librar­ians.” Leaning back in her chair and crossing her legs, Dyelin glowered sourly. “Is there anyone we won’t eventually learn is a spy, Mistress Harfbr?” Norry stretched his neck uncomfortably; he took the malfeasance of his clerks as a personal affront.

“I have hopes I may be reaching the bottom of that barrel, my Lady,” Mistress Harfor said complacently. Neither spies nor the High Seats of powerful Houses ruffled her. Spies were pests she intended to rid the palace of as surely as she kept it clear of fleas and rats – though she had been forced to accept Aes Sedai aid with rats recently – while powerful nobles were like rain or snow, facts of nature to be endured until they went away, but nothing to get flustered over. “There are only so many people who can be bought, and only so many can afford to buy, or want to.”

Elayne tried to picture Master Harnder, but all she could bring up in her mind was vague, a chubby, balding man who blinked incessantly. He had served her mother, and as she recalled, Queen Mordrellen before that. No one commented on the fact that it seemed he also served the Brown Ajah. Every ruler’s palace between the Spine of the World and the Aryth Ocean contained the Tower’s eyes-and-ears. Any ruler with half a brain expected it. Doubtless the Seanchan would soon be living under the White Tower’s gaze, too, if they were not already. Reene had discovered several spies for the Red Ajah, assuredly legacies of Elaida’s time in Caemlyn, but this librarian was the first for another Ajah. Elaida would not have liked other Ajahs knowing what went on in the palace while she was advisor to the Queen.

“A pity we have no false stories we want the Brown Ajah to believe,” she said lightly. A great pity they, and the Reds, knew about the Kin. At best, they had to know there were a large num­ber of women in the palace who could cha

Aviendha snorted loudly and, spreading her skirts, started to sit down on the carpet before realizing what she wore. With a warning glance at Dyelin, she perched stiffly on the front edge of a chair instead, the picture of a court lady with her eyes flashing. Except that a lady of the court would not have checked the edge of her belt knife with a thumb. Left to her own devices, Aviendha would slit every spy’s throat as soon as it could be stretched for the knife. Spying was a vile business, in her view, no matter how often Elayne explained that every spy found was a tool that could be used to make her enemies believe what she wanted.

Not that every spy necessarily worked for an enemy. Most of those the First Maid had uncovered took money from more than one source, and among those she had identified were King Roedran of Murandy, various Tairen High Lords and Ladies, a handful of Cairhienin nobles, and a fair number of merchants. A good many people were interested in what happened in Caemlyn, whether for its effect on trade or other reasons. Sometimes it seemed that every­one spied on everyone else.

“Mistress Harfor,” she said, “you haven’t found any eyes-and-ears for the Black Tower.”

Like most people who heard the Black Tower mentioned, Dyelin shivered, and took a deep drink of her wine, but Reene just grimaced faintly. She had decided to ignore the fact that they were men who could cha

“I suppose I will.” Dreadful thought. “What else do you have for us today?”

“I’ve had a word with Jon Skellit, my Lady. A man who turns his coat once is often amenable to turning it again, and Skellit is.” Skellit, a barber, was in the pay of House Arawn, which for the present made him Arymilla’s man.

Birgitte bit off an oath in midword – for some reason, she tried to watch her language around Reene Harfor – and spoke in a pained voice. “You had a word with him? Without asking anyone?”

Dyelin was under no compunctions regarding the First Maid, and she muttered, “Mother’s milk in a cup!” Elayne had neyer heard her use an obscenity before. Master Norry blinked and almost dropped his folder, and busied himself with not looking at Dyelin. The First Maid, however, merely paused until sure she and Birgitte were done, then went on calmly.

“The time seemed ripe, and so did Skellit. One of the men he hands his reports to left the city and hasn’t returned yet, while it appears the other broke his leg. The streets are always icy where a fire has been put out.” She said that so blandly, it seemed more than likely she had engineered the man’s fall somehow. Hard times uncovered hard talents in the most surprising people. “Skellit is quite agreeable to carrying his next communication out to the camps himself. He saw a gateway made, and he won’t have to pre­tend terror.” You would have thought she herself had been seeing merchants’ wagons rumble out of holes in the air for her entire life.

“What’s to stop this barber keeping on ru

“Greed will stop him, my Lady,” Mistress Harfor replied calmly. “The thought of earning gold from the Lady Elayne as well as from Lady Naean is enough to make the man breathe hard. It’s true, Lady Arymilla must already have heard of the gateways, but that only adds credit to Skellit’s reason for going in person.”

“And if his greed is great enough for him to try earning still more gold by turning his coat a third time?” Dyelin said. “He could cause a great deal of… mischief, Mistress Harfor.”