"The oddities were small, you see. A broken door here, a rip in someone's clothing they didn't remember. And the nightmares. We all shared them, nightmares of death and killing. A few of the women started talking, and they realized that they couldn't remember turning in the previous evening. They could remember waking, safe and comfortable in their beds, but only a few remembered actually getting into bed. Those who could remember had gone to sleep early, before sunset. For the rest of us, the late evening was just a blur."

He fell silent. Mat glanced at Thorn, who did not respond. Mat could see in those blue eyes of his that he was memorizing the tale. He'd better get it right if he puts me in any ballads, Mat thought, folding his arms. And he'd better include my hat. This is a good bloody hat.

"I was in the pastures that night," the mayor continued. "I was helping old man Garken with a broken strip of fencing. And then . . . nothing. A fuzzing. I awoke the next morning in my own bed, next to my wife. We felt tired, as if we hadn't slept well." He stopped, then more softly, he added, "And I had the nightmares. They're vague, and they fade. But I can remember one vivid image. Old man Garken, dead at my feet. Killed as if by a wild beast."

Barlden stood next to a window in the eastern wall, opposite Mat, staring out. "But I went to see Garken the next day, and he was fine. We finished fixing the fence. It wasn't until I got back to town that I heard the chattering. The shared nightmares, the missing hours just after sunset. We gathered, talking it through, and then it happened again. The sun set, and when it rose I woke up in bed again, tired, mind full of nightmares."

He shivered, then walked over to the table and poured himself a cup of tea.

"We don't know what happens at night," the mayor said, stirring in a spoonful of honey.

"You don't know?" Mat demanded. "I can bloody tell you what happens at night. You—"

"We don't know what happens," the mayor interrupted, looking up sharply. "And have no care to know."

"But—"

"We have no need to know, outlander," the mayor said harshly. "We want to live our lives as best we can. Many of us turn in early, lying down before sunset. There are no holes in our memories that way. We go to bed, we wake up in that same bed. There are nightmares, perhaps some damage to the house, but nothing that can't be fixed. Others prefer to visit a tavern and drink to the setting of the sun. There's a blessing in that, I suppose. Drink all you want, and you never have to worry about getting home. You always wake safe and sound in bed."

"You can't avoid this entirely," Thom said softly. "You can't pretend nothing is different."

"We don't." Barlden took a drink of tea. "We have the rules. Rules that you ignored. No fires lit after sunset—we can't have a blaze starting in the night, without anyone to fight it. And we forbid outsiders inside the town after sunset. We learned that lesson quickly. The first people trapped here after nightfall were relatives of Sammrie the cooper. We found blood on the walls of his home the next morning. But his sister and her family were safely asleep in the beds he'd given them." The mayor paused. "Now they have the same nightmares we do."

"So just leave," Mat said. "Leave this bloody place and go somewhere else!"

"We've tried," the mayor said. "We always wake up back here, no matter how far we go. Some have tried ending their lives. We buried the bodies. They woke up the next morning in their beds."

The room fell silent.

"Blood and bloody ashes," Mat whispered. He felt chilled.

"You survived the night," the mayor said, stirring his tea again. "I assumed that you hadn't, after seeing that bloodstain. We were curious to see where you'd wake up. Most of the rooms in the inns are permanently taken by travelers who are now, for better or worse, part of our village. We aren't able to choose where someone awakens. It just happens. An empty bed gets a new occupant, and from then on they wake up there each morning.

"Anyway, when I heard you talking to one another about what you'd seen, I realized that you must have escaped. You remember the night too vividly. Anyone who . . . joins us simply has the nightmares. Count yourselves lucky. I suggest you move on and forget Hinderstap."

"We have Aes Sedai with us," Thorn said. "They might be able to do something to help you. We could tell the White Tower, have them send—"

"No!" Barlden said sharply. "Our lives aren't so bad, now that we know how to deal with our situation. We don't want Aes Sedai eyes on us." He turned away. "We nearly turned your group away flat. We do that, sometimes, if we sense that the travelers won't obey our rules. But you had Aes Sedai with you. They ask questions, they get curious. We worried that if we turned you away, they'd get suspicious and force entrance."

"Forcing them to leave at sunset made them even more curious," Mat said. "And having their bathing attendants bloody try to kill them isn't a good way to keep the secret either."

The mayor looked wan. "Some wished . . . well, that you'd be trapped here. They thought that if Aes Sedai were bound here, they'd find a way out for all of us. We don't all agree. Either way, it's our problem. Please, just. . . .Just go."

"Fine." Mat stood up straight and picked up his spear. "But first, tell me where these came from." He pulled the paper from his pocket, the one that bore a drawing of his face.

Barlden glanced at it. "You'll find those spread around the nearby villages," he said. "Someone's looking for you. As I told Ledron last night, I'm not in the business of selling out guests. I wasn't about to kidnap you and risk keeping you here overnight just for some reward."

"Who's looking for me?" Mat repeated.

"About twenty leagues to the northeast, there's a small town called Trustair. Rumor says that if you want a little coin, you can bring news about a man who looks like the one in this picture, or the other one. Visit an inn in Trustair called The Shaken Fist to find the one looking for you."

"Other picture?" Mat asked, frowning.

"Yes. A burly fellow with a beard. A note at the bottom says he has golden eyes."

Mat glanced at Thorn, who'd raised a bushy eyebrow.

"Blood and bloody ashes," Mat muttered and pulled the side of his hat down. Who was looking for him and Perrin, and what did they want? "We'll be going, I suppose," he said. He glanced at Barlden. Poor fellow. That went for the entire village. But what was Mat to do about it? There were rights you could win, and others you just had to leave for someone else.

"Your gold is on the wagon outside," the mayor said. "We didn't take any from your winnings. The food is there too." He met Mat's eyes. "We hold to our word, here. Other things are out of our control, particularly for those who don't listen to the rules. But we aren't going to rob a man just because he's an outsider."

"Mighty tolerant of you," Mat said flatly, pulling open the door. "Have a good day, then, and when night comes, try not to kill anyone I wouldn't kill. Thorn, you coming?"

The gleeman joined him, limping slightly from his old wound. Mat glanced back at Barlden, who stood with sleeves rolled up in the center of the room, looking down at his teacup. He seemed like he was wishing that cup held something a little stronger.

"Poor fellow," Mat said, then stepped out into the morning light after Thom and pulled the door shut behind him.

"I assume we're going after that person spreading around pictures of you?" Thom asked.

"Right as Light, we are," Mat said, tying his ashandarei to Pips' saddle. "It's on the way to Four Kings anyway. I'll lead your horse if you can drive the wagon."