(A/N - Apologies for the short chapters. I have a limited attention span, and therefore assume readers do too. I'll try to lengthen them in future. Plodding on, here's chapter three.)

**Disclaimer** - Regrettably, I do not, have never, and will never own any of Robert Jordan's characters or any other sundry WoT material. No money (nor good) shall come of this, so please don't sue me.

CHAPTER THREE

Mat scowled at the man's broad back as they entered the healer's dark, shabby practice. While the insufferable fellow busied himself tinder-lighting the scattered candles, Mat took in his oppressive surroundings.

The smell was almost overpowering, a pungent miasma of herbs, spices and unnameable concoctions assaulted his senses, and he fought the urge to vent a violent sneeze. The feeble light hinted at shapes and shadows that lined the walls and shelves of the rickety room. As more light began to blossom, Mat could see the muted glint of what he first took to be weapons grow into defined shapes, most of them pointed and deeply unpleasant looking.

He surmised that they must be tools of the medicinal trade, although Mat could not fathom how the torturous equipment could possibly be used in any healing process. He absently wondered what Perrin would make of these little, metal devices. Their wrought intricacy would probably fascinate his quiet friend, but Mat found the shiny objects induced enough queasiness to offset any further curiosity.

Not wishing to dwell on the nightmarish purposes of the apparatus, Mat turned his attention to the fire feebly smouldering in the hearth, and was surprised to discover that what he first took to be a large mound of furs lying before it was actually a dog of some kind. Mat didn't think he had ever seen a dog of such size. Its huge, gangling limbs almost seemed to fill half the room.

As though aware of the scrutiny, the hound laboriously lifted an eyelid to cast an incurious eye on its visitor. Evidently unimpressed, the dog expelled a soft snort before lolling back into its somnolent state. Mat had the distinct impression the unwelcoming beast rarely stirred from this position.

His host was still fumbling with the candlewicks, his thick fingers struggling to keep a grasp on the flimsy splint he was using to light them.

Mat retrieved Per's note from his coat pocket, and glanced at its contents. In his neat hand, Per had written a list of the sufferer's symptoms, and the suggested curative's he required. Mat cleared his throat before addressing the healer.

'I've brought a note from my healer. It's got a list of the things we...'

'You have a healer?' the man interrupted gruffly 'Why'd you come here then? Get some kind of pleasure waking good folk from their sleep?' He turned to face Mat, his eyes taking in his well-made clothes and lingering on the coin on his belt. 'Some new sport for the Lords, eh?'

'I'm no Lord, and my healer cannot leave the sick unattended.' Mat's glower deepened 'I trust this is explanation enough. I do not have time to bandy words with you, friend.'

The man grunted. Snatching the note from Mat's hand, he roved his eyes over it with deliberate slowness, scratching his scalp through none too clean hair. Grunting again, he moved to a peculiar hatch in the wall, which he thudded with a meaty fist.

Bemused, Mat watched as the hatch opened and the note disappeared within. He had time to glimpse a small, pale hand grasp the note before the small door slammed shut.

'Give her a moment.' The man said in his gruff voice.

Mat began to tap his toe lightly on the rough floorboards. This appeared to annoy his host, who shot Mat a flinty glare. Mat responded with an offensively mild smile, and continued to rhythmically rock his foot on the worn floor.

'How long is your wife going to be exactly?'

'She's not my wife.' He snapped. With a scowl, he gestured at the motionless dog 'I'd sooner marry that half-dead cur.'

Charm was not one of the man's well-hidden qualities, it appeared.

The brief attempt of conversation immediately lapsed into silence. Mat impatience continued to grow ever more unbearable.

He was about to question the man further, when the hatch sprang quickly open and just as quickly shut again. It was a moment before Mat realised a note had been deposited beneath it.

The man grabbed the note and thrust it towards Mat without so much as a glance at its contents.

'Follow what it says.' He muttered before striding to the door and holding it ajar.

Ignoring the man, Mat scanned the return note, frowning at what had been written there in elegant script.

'I cannot wait that long,' he protested, eyes lifting to meet the bulky man's sardonic sneer. 'I have to get back as soon as possible.'

The man rolled his hefty shoulders 'Follow what's on that note, or don't come back. No skin off my nose.'

Mat crushed the note in his fist as he approached the open door, seething at the time he had wasted in this swindler's company.

'You won't find another healer in this town, though.'

The man's quiet tone, thick with oily satisfaction, had Mat a hair's breadth from flicking one of his hidden blades to his palm.

Breathing deeply, he turned to the man once again.

'Get me what I need, and you get this.' He brandished the moneybag in front of the man's ruddy jowls. 'But do not play me for a fool. I will be back within the hour, and I expect to get what I am paying you for.' His frustration getting the better of him, he flourished a knife seemingly from nowhere, and felt a jab of satisfaction at the man's startled flinch.

'Or we might find ourselves testing your companion's healing abilities in a different way.'

Fighting a grin, Mat slammed the door behind him leaving his recent acquaintance gaping amidst a shower of splinters.