Thom yawned at him and hitched at his gleeman's cloak as if it were a blanket. "We have ridden all night, boy. Let's at least find something to eat, first. The Queen's Blessing has good meals." He yawned again. "And good beds."

"I remember that," Mat said slowly. He did, in a way. The innkeeper was a fat man with graying hair, Master Gill. Moiraine had caught up to Rand and him there, when he had thought they were finally free of her. She's off playing her game with Rand, now. Nothing to do with me. Not anymore. "I will meet you there, Thom. I said I'd have this letter out of my hands an hour after I arrived, and I mean to. You go on."

Thom nodded and turned his horse aside, calling over his shoulder through a yawn. "Do not become lost, boy. It's a big city, Caemlyn."

And a rich one. Mat heeled his mount on up the crowded street. Lost! I can find my bloody way. The sickness appeared to have erased parts of his memory. He could look at an inn, its upper floors sticking out over the ground floor all the way around and its sign creaking in the breeze, and remember seeing it before, yet not recall another thing he could see from that spot. A hundred paces of street might abruptly spark in his memory, while the parts before and after remained as mysterious as dice still in the cup.

Even with the holes in his memory he was sure he had never been to the Inner City or the Royal Palace – I couldn't forget that! – yet he did not need to remember the way. The streets of the New City – he remembered that name suddenly; it was the part of Caemlyn less than two thousand years old – ran every which way, but the main boulevards all led to the Inner City. The Guards at the gates made no effort to stop anyone.

Within those white walls were buildings that could almost have fit in Tar Valon. The curving streets topped hills to reveal thin towers, their tiled walls sparkling with a hundred colors in the sunlight, or to look down on parks laid out in patterns made to be viewed from above, or to show sweeping vistas across the entire city to the rolling plains and forests beyond. It did not really matter which streets he took here. They all spiraled in on what he sought, the Royal Palace of Andor.

In no time, he found himself crossing the huge oval plaza before the Palace, riding toward its tall, gilded gates. The pure white Palace of Andor would certainly not have been out of place among Tar Valon's wonders, with its slender towers and golden domes shining in the sun, its high balconies and intricate stonework. The gold leaf on one of those domes could have kept him in luxury for a year.

There were fewer people in the plaza than elsewhere, as if it were reserved for great occasions. A dozen of the Guards stood before the closed gates, bows slanted, all at exactly the same angle, across their gleaming breastplates, faces hidden by the steel bars of their burnished helmets' face-guards. A heavyset officer, with his red cloak thrown back to reveal a knot of gold braid on his shoulder, was walking up and down the line, eyeing each man as if he thought he might find rust or dust.

Mat drew rein and put on a smile. "Good morning to you, Captain."

The officer turned, staring at him through the bars of his face-guard with deep, beady eyes, like a pudgy rat in a cage. The man was older than he had expected – surely old enough to have more than one knot of rank – and fat rather than stocky. "What do you want, farmer?" he demanded roughly.

Mat drew a breath. Make it good. Impress this fool so he doesn't keep me waiting all day. I don't want to have to flash the Amyrlin's paper around to keep from kicking my heels. "I come from Tar Valon, from the White Tower, bearing a letter from —"

"You come from Tar Valon, farmer?" The fat officer's stomach shook as he laughed, but then his laughter cut off as if severed with a knife, and he glared. "We want no letters from Tar Valon, rogue, if you have such a thing! Our good Queen – may the Light illumine her! – will take no word from the White Tower until the Daughter-Heir is returned to her. I never heard of any messenger from the Tower wearing a country man's coat and breeches. It is plain to me you are up to some trick, perhaps thinking you'll find a few coins if you come claiming to carry letters, but you will be lucky if you don't end in a prison cell! If you do come from Tar Valon, go back and tell the Tower to return the Daughter-Heir before we come and take her! If you're a trickster after silver, get out of my sight before I have you beaten within an inch of your life! Either way, you half-wit looby, be gone!"

Mat had been trying to edge a word in from the beginning of the man's speech. He said quickly, "The letter is from her, man. It is from —"

"Did I not tell you to be gone, ruffian?" the fat man bellowed. His face was growing nearly as red as his coat. "Take yourself out of my sight, you gutter scum! If you are not gone by the time I count ten, I will arrest you for littering the plaza with your presence! One! Two!"

"Can you count so high, you fat fool?" Mat snapped. "I tell you, Elayne sent —"

"Guards!" The officer's face was purple now. "Seize this man for a Darkfriend!"

Mat hesitated a moment, sure no one could take such a charge seriously, but the red-coated Guards dashed toward him, all dozen men in breast-plates and helmets, and he wheeled his horse and galloped ahead of them, followed by the fat man's shouts. The gelding was no racer, but it out-distanced men afoot easily enough. People dodged out of his way along the curving streets, shaking fists after him and shouting as many curses as the officer had.

Fool, he thought, meaning the fat officer, then added another for himself. All I had to do was say her bloody name in the beginning. "Elayne, the Daughter-Heir of Andor, sends this letter to her mother, Queen Morgase." Light, who could have thought they'd think that way about Tar Valon. From what he remembered of his last visit, Aes Sedai and the White Tower had been close behind Queen Morgase in the Guards' affections. Burn her, Elayne could have told me. Reluctantly, he added, I could have asked questions, too.

Before he reached the arched gates that let out into the New City, he slowed to a walk. He did not think the Guards from the Palace could still be chasing him, and there was no point in attracting the eyes of those at the gate by galloping through, but they looked at him no more now than when he had first entered.

As he rode under the broad arch, he smiled and almost turned back. He had suddenly remembered something, and had an idea that appealed to him a good deal more than walking through the Palace gates. Even if that fat officer had not been watching the gates, he thought he would like it better.

He became lost twice while searching for The Queen's Blessing, but at last he found the sign with a man kneeling before a woman with red-gold hair and a crown of golden roses, her hand on his head. It was a broad stone building of three stories, with tall windows even up under the red roof tiles. He rode around back to the stableyard, where a horse-faced fellow, in a leather vest that could hardly be any tougher than his skin, took his horse's reins. He thought he remembered the fellow. Yes. Ramey.

"It has been a long time, Ramey." Mat tossed him a silver mark. "You remember me, don't you?"

"Can't say as I..." Ramey began, then caught the shine of silver where he had expected copper; he coughed, and his short nod turned into something that combined a knuckled forehead with a jerky bow. "Why, of course I do, young master. Forgive me. Slipped my mind. Mind no good for people. Good for horses. I know horses, I do. A fine animal, young master. I'll take good care of him, you can be sure." He delivered it all quickly, with no room for Mat to say a word, then hurried the gelding into the stable before he might have to come up with Mat's name.