She hesitated, as if sensing something in his voice. "Well," she said. "If that be the case, then my requests are not so extravagant, yes? If the world goes to war, the forges will soon be needed for arrowheads and horseshoes. Better to put them to work now on my dragons. Let me assure you, each one we finish will be worth a thousand swords in battle."
Mat sighed, stood up and tipped his hat to her. "All right, then," he said. "Fair enough. Assuming Rand doesn't bloody burn me to a crisp the moment I suggest this, I'll see what I can do."
"You would be wise to show Mistress Aludra respect," Leilwin said, eyeing Mat, speaking with that slow Seanchan drawl. "Rather than being so flippant toward her."
"That was sincere!" Mat said. "That last part was, at least. Burn me, woman. Can't you tell when a man's being sincere?"
She eyed him, as if trying to decide if that very pronouncement were some kind of mockery. Mat rolled his eyes. Women!
"Mistress Aludra is brilliant," Leilwin said sternly. "You don't understand the gift she is giving you in these plans. Why, if the Empire had these weapons. . . ."
"Well, see that you don't give them to it, Leilwin," Mat said. "I don't want to wake up one morning and find that you've run off with these plans in an attempt at retrieving your title!"
She looked insulted that he'd suggest such a thing, though it seemed like the logical thing to do. Seanchan had an odd sense of honor—Tuon hadn't tried once to flee from him, though she'd had ample opportunity.
Of course, Tuon had suspected from near the beginning that she'd marry him. She'd had that damane's Foretelling. Burn him, he wouldn't look southward again. He wouldn't!
"My ship is being driven by different winds now, Master Cauthon," Leilwin said simply, turning from him and glancing at Bayle.
"But you wouldn't help us fight the Seanchan," Mat protested. "It seems that you'd—"
"You do be swimming in deep water right now, lad," Bayle interjected in a soft voice. "Aye, deep water, filled with lionfish. It may be time to stop splashing so loudly."
Mat closed his mouth. "All right then," he said. Shouldn't the two of them be treating him with more respect? Wasn't he some kind of high Seanchan prince or something? He should have known that wouldn't help him with Leilwin or the bearded sailor.
Anyway, he had been sincere. Aludra's words made sense, crazy though they sounded at first. They would need to dedicate a lot of foundries to the work. The weeks it was going to take him to reach Caemlyn seemed even more galling now. Those weeks spent on the road should be spent building dragons! A wise man learned that there was no use fretting over long marches—but Mat felt far from wise lately.
"All right," he said again. He looked back at Aludra. "Though—for completely different reasons—I'd like to take these plans with me and keep them safe."
"Completely different reasons?" Leilwin asked in a flat tone, as if searching for another insult.
"Yes," Mat said. "Those reasons being that I don't want them here when Aludra taps one of those nightflowers the wrong way and blows herself halfway to Tarwin's Gap!"
Aludra chuckled at that, though Leilwin looked offended again. It was hard not to offend a Seanchan. Them and the bloody Aiel. Strange how opposite they could be in many ways, yet the same in so many others.
"You may take the plans, Mat," Aludra said. "So long as you keep them in that trunk with your gold. That is one object in this camp that will receive the greatest attention from you."
"Thank you kindly," he said, stooping to gather up the pages, ignoring the veiled insult. Hadn't they just made up? Bloody woman. "By the way, I nearly forgot. Do you know anything about crossbows, Aludra?"
"Crossbows?" she asked.
"Yes," Mat said, stacking the papers. "I figure there should be a way to make them load faster. You know, like those new cranks, only maybe with some kind of spring or something. Maybe a crank you could twist without having to lower the weapon first."
"This is hardly my area of expertise, Mat," Aludra said.
"I know. But you're smart about things like this, and maybe. . . ."
"You will have to find someone else," Aludra said, turning to pick up another half-finished nightflower. "I am far too busy."
Mat reached up under his hat, scratching his head. "That—"
"Mat!" a voice called. "Mat, you've got to come with me!" Mat turned as Olver ran into Aludra's camp. Bayle held out a warning hand, but of course Olver just ran right beneath it.
Mat straightened up. "What?" he asked.
"Someone's come to the camp," Olver said, excitement painting his features. And those features were a sight. Ears that were too big for his head, nose that was squashed down, mouth that was too wide. On a child his age, the ugliness was endearing. He'd have no such luck when he grew older. Maybe the men in camp were right to be teaching him weapons. With a face like that, he'd better know how to defend himself.
"Wait, slow down," Mat said, tucking Aludra's plans into his belt. "Someone's come? Who? Why do you need me?"