“You have progressed from accosting women in wine shops to assaulting them in bath houses?” Zoya asked, her voice scathing with contempt. From a purely tactical standpoint, fear or anger might have been a better pose to adopt. The problem with dissembling was that you had to maintain the pose though, and for that reason something closer to the truth was to be preferred. She rose without hurry and toweled herself dry.
 
“If you are a thieftaker, and you work for the High Lords,” her voice dripped with doubt on both points, “I shall be happy to clear up whatever slander you have dreamed up.”
 
 
“So this is our thief?” Teodosin demanded. Zoya stood before the Highlords, her wrists shackled with irons that looked particularly incongruous in the sumptuously appointed audience chamber.

 “My Lord, I don’t even know what I am supposed to have stolen,” Zoya protested, her voice now deferential and with a touch of fear appropriate for such lofty company.

 “I’m merely visiting your city. My sister has recently died and I wanted to perform some acts of charity in her memory,” she pressed on. The words skirted perilously close to her Oath but didn’t actually infringe on it.
 
“You are of noble birth?” Teodosin demanded. Zoya nodded her head quickly, reminding herself that crabbing was an ancient and noble profession.

 “From the Shadow Coast in southern Amadicia my lord,” she supplied quickly. “I don’t know why this man has accused me, I had never seen him before today when he accosted me while drinking in a wine shop and then forced his way into my bath house when I was in a state of undress.” The account was unflattering but technically truthful and she delivered it with scandalized disgust. The Highlord’s eyebrows raised at that. All eyes pivoted to Davian.

 “Take her to the cells,” Teodosin ordered. “We will discuss the matter with the Thieftaker.
 
Two Defenders locked Zoya into the cell. It was clean if musty from disuse. Clearly this part of the Stone saw few visitors, willing or otherwise. Zoya felt the old thrill of excitement kindle in her. The same spark which she had always felt while climbing into some merchant’s townhouse back in Tanchico, or slipping into some Aes Sedai’s chamber as a novice. Weeks of planning were about to be put to the test. She hadn’t planned on Davian bringing her here, but here was where she had wanted to be. Saidar flowed into her and she reached out with Earth, unbinding the shackles. With her hands free she crept to the door. One of the Defenders had returned to the higher levels, leaving only one guard. Zoya wove flows of spirit in a complicated net that settled over the man. He slumped where he stood, sound asleep. She wove a web of air to keep him standing while he slept. Drawing her hairpins free she set to work on the lock, it took less than a minute to spring the lock, few heavy locks were particularly sophisticated, and then she was out the door.
 
Zoya reached the doors to the Great Holding in less then ten minutes. The plans she had found in the Tower Library did not lead her false. A pair of Defenders stood before the door, backs straight and with bored expressions on their mustachioed faces. Zoya repeated her sleep weave in duplicate, sweating from the effort of managing so many flows at once. Both men settled into the nets of air, eyes closed in somnolence. Zoya slipped passed the sleeping men and into the Great Holding itself. Her breath caught at once. Thousands of items were piled on shelves, scatted across the floor, or piled against the walls. They had been cleaned and organized recently, part of the inventory which had been taken when Zoya had spread rumors of theft. Tarien archivists had compared what they found in the Holding to ancient manuscripts which listed the contents. It had never occurred to them that someone might add items to those lists, items which, for reason of being purely imaginary, they had failed to find. Saraita Sedai’s lessons on caring for documents put to good, if unorthodox use.
 
“Where are you?” Zoya whispered, but she could already see her goal. A small puzzle box fashioned of gold, ivory and jet. Just as she had Foretold. She crossed the room and picked it up. It was surprisingly warm to her hand as she slipped it into a pocket sewn into the inside of her dress. She felt a surge of triumph ever since she had come to the White Tower she had dreamed of doing something, doing something important, and now here she was, where no Aes Sedai had stood in centuries, recovering a vital and priceless artifact. There were other artifacts, so many, and they would languish here unstudied and useless. Zoya started grabbing things. Small valuable looking things. A disc carved with the image of an owl, a small crystal rod, figurines wrought in cundilliar, several rings and other small pieces of jewelery. She pulled her bodice open, it was quilted on the inside and she began slicing the lining and slipping object into the spaces. Several items she wrapped in a cloth and tucked beneath her breasts, then hastily refastened her dress. There was so much more she could take, but nothing brought more necks to the rope than greed. She slipped out of the holding, releasing the weaves on the guards once she was out of sight. Both men started awake but remained silent out of embarrassment for having fallen asleep on watch, the penalty for which was severe. She made it back to her cell and slipped inside, relocking the door and refastening her chains, finally she woke the guard who turned to see her reclining against the back wall of the cell. 

She had already been searched. All she had to do now was wait for the High Lords to throw her out on the street.