Things did not get any better when he went into the kitchens searching for Mistress Anan to settle the bill. Caira was there, but with all her bad temper of the night before doubled; she stuck out her lower lip, glowering at him, and stalked out the door to the stableyard rubbing the back of her skirt. Maybe she had gotten herself into some misery or other, but how she could blame Mat Cauthon was beyond him.

Mistress Anan was out, it seemed — she was always organizing soup kitchens for refugees or leaping into some other good work — but Enid was waving a long wooden spoon at her scurrying helpers and ready to take his coin in her stout hand. "You squeeze too many melons, my young Lord, and you shouldn’t be surprised when a rotten one breaks in your hand," she said darkly for some reason. "Or two," she added after a moment, nodding. She leaned close, tilting up her sweating round face with an intent stare. "You’ll only make trouble for yourself if you say a word. You won’t." That did not sound like a question.

"Not a word," Mat said. What in the Light was she talking about? It seemed the right response, though, because she nodded and waddled away waving that spoon twice as vigorously as before. For a moment, he had thought she meant to thump him with it. The pure truth was, women all had a violent streak, not just some of them.

One thing and another, it was a relief when Nerim and Lopin got into a shouting match over whose master’s baggage would be carried over first. Smoothing their feathers required a good half an hour from him and Nalesean both. A manservant with his dander ruffled could make your life miserable. Then he had to settle which of the Redarms were to have the honor of lugging the chest of gold across and which were to take the horses. Anyway, it was that much longer outside the bloody Tarasin Palace.

Once he was ensconced in his new rooms, though, he almost forgot troubles at first. He had a large sitting room and a small, what they called a sulking room hereabouts, and an immense bedchamber with the biggest bed he had ever seen, the massive bedposts carved with entwined flowers of all things, and painted red. Most of the furniture was bright red or bright blue, where it was not layered with gilt. A small door near the bed led to a cramped room for Nerim, which the fellow seemed to think was excellent despite a narrow bed and no window. Mat’s rooms all had tall arched windows letting onto white wrought-iron balconies that overlooked the Mol Hara. The stand-lamps were gilded, and so were the mirror frames; there were two mirrors in the sulking room, three in the sitting room, and fourin the bedchamber. The clock — a clock! — on the marble mantel above the fireplace in the sitting room sparkled with gilt, as well. The washbasin and pitcher were red Sea Folk porcelain. He was almost disappointed to discover that the chamber pot under the bed was only plain white pottery. There was even a shelf in the large sitting room with a full dozen books. Not that he read much.

Even given the jarring colors of walls and ceilings and floor tiles, the rooms shouted rich. Any other time, he would have danced a jig. Any time when he was not aware that a woman with chambers right down the hall wanted to stick him in hot water and put a bellows to the fire. If Teslyn or Merilille or one of that lot did not manage it first despite his medallion. Why hadthe dice in his head stopped tumbling as soon as Elayne mentioned these bloody rooms? Curiosity. He had heard a saying on several women’s lips back home, usually when he had done something that looked fun at the time. "Men teach cats curiosity, but cats keep sense for themselves."

"I’m no bloody cat," he muttered, stalking out of the bedchamber into the sitting room. He just had to know; that was all.

"Of course you’re not a cat," Tylin said. "You’re a succulent little duckling, is what you are."

Mat gave a start and stared. Duckling? And a littleduckling, at that! The woman stood well short of his shoulder. Indignation or no indignation, he managed an elegant bow anyway. She was the Queen; he had to remember that. "Majesty, thank you for these wonderful apartments. I’d love to talk with you, but I have to go out and — "

Smiling, she advanced across the red-and-green floor tiles, layered blue and white silk petticoats swishing, large dark eyes fixed on him. He had no desire at all to look at the marriage knife nestled in her generous cleavage. Or the larger, gem-studded dagger thrust behind an equally gem-studded belt. He backed away.

"Majesty, I have an important — "

She started humming. He recognized the tune; he had hummed it to a few girls lately. He was wise enough not to try actually singing with his voice, and besides, the words they used in Ebou Dar would have singed his ears. Around here, they called it "I Will Steal Your Breath with Kisses."

Laughing nervously, he tried to put a lapis-inlaid table between them, but she somehow got around it first without seeming to increase her speed. "Majesty, I — "

She laid a hand flat on his chest, back-heeled him into a high-backed chair, and plumped herself down on his lap. Between her and the chair arms, he was trapped. Oh, he could have picked her up and set her on her feet quite easily. Except that she did have that bloody big dagger in her belt, and he doubted his manhandling her would be as acceptable to her as her manhandling him seemed to be. This was Ebou Dar, after all, where a woman killing a man was justified until proven otherwise. He could have picked her up easily, except...

He had seen fishmongers in the city selling peculiar creatures called squid and octopus — Ebou Dari actually ate the things!— but they had nothing on Tylin. The woman possessed ten hands. He thrashed about, vainly trying to fend her off, and she laughed softly. Between kisses, he breathlessly protested that someone might walk in, and she just chuckled. He babbled his respect for her crown, and she chortled. He claimed betrothal to a girl back home who held his heart in her hands. She really laughed at that.

"What she does not know cannot harm her," she murmured, her twenty hands not slowing for an instant.

Someone knocked at the door.

Prying his mouth free, he shouted, "Who is it?" Well, it was a shout. A high-pitched shout. He was out of breath, after all.

Tylin was off his lap and three paces away so fast it seemed she was just here then there. The woman had the nerve to give him a reproachful look! And then she made a kiss at him.

That barely left her lips before the door opened, and Thom stuck his head in. "Mat? I wasn’t sure that was you. Oh! Majesty." For a scrawny old gleeman with pretensions, Thom could flourish a bow with the best in spite of his limp. Juilin could not, but he snatched off his ridiculous red hat and did what he could. "Forgive us. We won’t disturb — " Thom began, but Mat broke in hurriedly.

"Come in, Thom!" Snatching his coat back all the way on, he started to stand, then realized that somehow the bloody woman had untied the waist of his breecheswithout him noticing. These two might miss that his shirt was undone to his belly, but they would not miss his breeches falling off. Tylin’s blue dress was not mussed at all! "Juilin, come in!"

"I am glad you find the rooms acceptable, Master Cauthon," Tylin said, dignity incarnate. Except for her eyes, anyway, when she stood so Thom and Juilin could not see them. Her eyes laced innocuous words with added meaning. "I look forward to having your company with pleasure; I shall find it interesting, having a ta’verenwhere I can reach out and touch him at will. But I must leave you to your friends, now. No, do not stand; please." That with just the hint of a mocking smile.

"Well, boy," Thom said, knuckling his mustaches when she was gone, "there’s luck for you, being welcomed with open arms by the Queen herself." Juilin became very interested in his cap.