Aries swung at Jon's head. Jon stepped inside the blow, touched the boy's ribs with his wooden sword and drew back.
"Again."
Aries looked towards Arthur, who motioned him forward. By the bench, Geth was explaining the mistake to Nibs. Nibs had been caught the same way and did not much care to hear about it. Patch slept beneath them, out of reach of the swords.
Jon held his bound right hand against his belt. The knuckle still ached, and Lorren had forbidden him a shield. Even closing his fist hurt. He waited while Aries shifted his grip.
"I might catch your hand," the boy said.
"Keep your eyes up. I'll mind my hand."
Aries struck. Jon turned the blade aside with his left and stepped forward, stopping his point beneath the boy's chin.
"You watched my sword all the way," he said. "What were my feet doing?"
Aries looked down. Arthur took Jon's place and repeated the step slowly, bringing his foot beside the boy's.
"He was here before you began to move. Try it on me."
Jon sat upon the bench while they practised. The first time, Arthur caught Aries on the shoulder. On the second, the boy made him give ground before he was struck.
Jon knew the mistake well enough. His heel had caught beside the collector's mast, and the captain had been upon him before he could pull free. He remembered the sword coming down. Years at sea in his old life had made him too sure of his footing; none of those years had been spent fighting in this body.
Arthur beckoned him back into the yard.
They used no shields. The knight struck lightly but gave him little rest between blows, pressing him whenever he tried to settle behind a parry. Jon yielded a step, then another. The bench caught the backs of his legs.
Arthur lowered his sword. "You knew it was there."
Jon glanced behind him, annoyed with himself. "I thought I had more room."
"You had room to turn. You kept going back."
They returned to the middle of the yard. By the time Arthur called a halt, Jon was breathing hard and Aries had forgotten his own failures in watching them.
"Next time, begin with me against the bench," Jon said.
"Tomorrow. Give me the sword."
Jon surrendered it. His hand needed rest, and Tobin would be waiting below.
Wylla had left bread and eggs in the hall. Geth came in rubbing his knee. "Nibs tripped me."
"You ran into me," Nibs said.
"You stuck your leg out."
"Sit down, Geth." Wylla drew a stool away from the table. "You can tell him from there."
Jon let them argue. Aries joined in with his mouth full, taking Nibs's side, and earned a rebuke from Wylla. After the boy's silence since the battle, Jon was glad to hear him making a nuisance of himself again.
Gawen sat at the end of the table with his left arm in its sling. Alasdair, who was taking Tomas's place beside Jon, brought him the names of the morning's escort. Gawen sent two back to their beds.
"They asked to come," Alasdair said.
"They were on watch half the night. Choose someone who has slept. And tell the grooms which horses you take. I had a man hunting through the stables yesterday for two already saddled below."
Alasdair went to change the escort. Gawen looked at the bread on Jon's plate.
"Is that all you're having? You'll get little chance to eat once Tobin has you."
Wylla put another egg beside the bread. When Gawen reached for the loaf, his face tightened; she passed it to his sound hand.
Lorren saw him wince from the doorway. "Still waking you?"
"Only when I turn onto it. I slept better."
The healer came round the table and loosened the sling. Gawen supported his forearm while Lorren felt about the shoulder, answering his questions between clenched teeth. There was less swelling, though one touch made him flinch sharply.
Jon put down his bread. He could still see Robar's broken lance and Gawen falling backwards from the saddle. At least the knight had some colour now. At Runestone, while the maester cut away his mail, he had looked close to death.
"Can he do more?" Jon asked.
"Walk. See to his men. Nothing that puts a strain on this arm." Lorren settled it in the sling again. "No shield, Gawen, and no lifting."
"Can I at least teach the boys?"
"With your voice. Arthur can show them the blows."
Aries grinned into his bowl.
"I'll have you after supper," Gawen told him. "We can go over what you learnt this morning."
"Arthur said I did better."
"Then you should have no trouble showing me."
Aries bent over his breakfast. Lorren went to claim the bread Wylla had saved for him, and she began gathering the empty dishes.
Gawen caught her eye. "Will you be sorting linen again tonight?"
"There is still a basket to finish."
"May I come down? I'm tired of sitting up here."
She paused beside his chair. "You needn't spend your evening watching me fold sheets."
"I'd like the company."
Wylla glanced along the table. Jon was cutting his egg, giving it more attention than it needed.
"Come after supper," she said. "I'll be there."
Gawen watched her carry the dishes away. When he turned back, he found Jon smiling at him. The knight raised an eyebrow, and Jon reached for his cup.
Alasdair returned as they finished eating.
"Ser Tomas asks to see you before you ride, my lord. Alone, if you have time."
Jon pushed back his stool. "Is he worse?"
"No, my lord. He told me to say so."
"Tell Arthur where I've gone."
Lorren followed him out. Tomas had persuaded the healer to let him walk into the little room adjoining the sickroom. There were no stairs, and Olyver would stay beside him.
"Let him try for himself," Lorren said. "He knows Olyver is there."
Jon cleared a stool from the way and waited. Tomas appeared in the doorway, one hand upon the frame, his shirt loose over his breeches. The bandage still covered part of his forehead. Olyver followed within reach, though Tomas waved away the offered arm.
"You could have stayed in bed," Jon said.
"I've had enough of that bed."
Tomas reached the chair and lowered himself carefully, gripping the table until he was seated. Lorren looked in to ask whether his sight was clear. Satisfied with the answer, he took Olyver away and left the door ajar.
Tomas laid a folded sheet upon the table.
"I've been trying to choose a name. Gawen says I ought to have arms of my own as well."
"Let me see."
Tomas opened the sheet. It held several names, two heavily crossed out, and a clumsy drawing of a shield. He covered the writing with his palm.
"Olyver helped. I copied some of them, but…" He glanced at the door. "I'd rather you chose, my lord."
Jon drew his chair closer. "The name as well as the arms?"
"Both."
"Your children will bear them. You needn't give me the choice because I've promised you land."
"It isn't that." Tomas took his hand from the page. "My mother mended my cuff for the choosing. She thought you'd turn me away if I looked too ragged." He smiled at the memory. "Then she sewed your badge onto my coat. I wore it home to show her, though she'd put every stitch in herself."
Jon remembered the boys trying to stand straight as he walked among them, and Tomas, already taller than the young lord offering him a wage.
"I've worn your colours ever since," Tomas said. "Now I'm to put something else on my shield, and I don't know what. I keep writing down names that sound like knights from a song." He pushed the sheet towards Jon. "You knew me before any of this. I'd be proud to have my name from you."
Jon looked at the crossed-out words.
"Are you certain?"
"Yes, my lord." Tomas's voice caught. He swallowed and tried again. "I want you to do it."
Jon reached across with his good hand and clasped his wrist.
"Then I will. Give me until tonight."
Tomas bowed his head. For a moment he seemed unable to speak, and Jon sat with him until he looked up again.
"I thought you'd tell me I had to choose for myself."
"You asked me, Tomas. That is enough." Jon drew the paper towards him. "May I keep this until tonight?"
Tomas nodded, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. Jon folded the sheet into his coat and called for Olyver. On the walk back Tomas accepted a hand at his elbow. The small effort had tired him more than he cared to admit.
His letter lay ready beside the bed. Jon had promised to seal it, and Wylla brought wax when Olyver sent for her. She held the parchment steady while he pressed his seal into it with his left hand.
"Ask Marrec for a captain bound for White Harbor," Jon told Alasdair once the wax had cooled. "Someone he trusts. Keep this until we know who will carry it."
Alasdair wrapped the letter in oiled cloth. Tomas watched from his pillows, and Jon promised to return after supper.
Jon left Tomas resting and went down to the horses.
* * *
Blackburn lay along the harbour below the castle, its houses and workshops crowded close to the water. Jon kept Bucephalus at a walk as they came down among them. Beyond the roofs he could see masts swaying, and farther along the shore, the two ships they had captured.
Porters crossed the road ahead with sacks upon their shoulders. A woman sitting outside her door gutted fish into a bucket while a boy rinsed the baskets beside her. She looked up as Jon passed and nudged the boy, who scrambled to his feet. Jon nodded to them and drew Bucephalus aside to let another laden man through. Arthur and the household rode behind him.
Closer to the quays, he could hear sailors calling across the water and the knock of a loose rope against a mast. Fresh tar caught in his throat. He watched a crew hauling on a line, their backs bending together, and for a moment remembered standing aboard a very different ship, waiting for her to come alongside. He had missed being among ships more than he had expected.
From the saddle he looked along Blackburn's waterfront to the empty shore beyond. He could picture vessels crowded there, their crews coming ashore to spend their wages, merchants seeking him out because there was good trade to be had. Ships passed Dragonstone every day on their way to King's Landing. He meant to give their captains reason to stop here. The little fishing settlement could become a city; he wanted to live long enough to ride through it and scarcely recognise the place.
Tobin joined them by the merchant quay, walking beside Jon's horse. He pointed out Lord Grafton's first grain ship waiting beyond the harbour entrance. The collector still occupied the berth she needed.
Jon turned towards the repair beach. Qavo was waiting there, his men at work on the smaller captured ship. Jon dismounted and gave Alasdair the reins.
The smaller prize lay in the shallows beside the repair beach, steadied by ropes to the shore. Her damaged rail had been removed. Moro, Qavo's son, pointed out where the hulls had struck during the fight and showed Jon the broken oar. At her side, Hobb was picking old caulking from a leaking seam.
"A new rail, an oar and the ropes they cut," Qavo said. "A few days, if the wood comes and the weather holds. I still have to look at the steering."
Hobb straightened. "I'll need help fitting these planks."
"Tobin will find you men," Jon said.
Denys's harbour-watch captain joined them from the larger prize, where sailors were unloading stores under guard. Jon told him to begin gathering a crew for the smaller ship. Denys would choose her master; once Qavo was satisfied with the repairs, they could try her close inshore.
"Find out whether she can keep up with the patrol before you send her out with it."
They went aboard the collector. Jon climbed the plank with his left hand on the rope rail and Arthur close behind. The burned sail had been cleared away, though soot streaked the side. Beside the mast lay a heap of fresh shavings. Jon slowed as he passed it. They had scrubbed away the blood.
Qavo lifted a loose deck plank and drove his knife into the curved brace beneath the beam. It sank with little resistance.
"Rot. This was here before the fight."
"Have we anything to replace it?"
The shipwright reached under the beam and followed the curve of its wooden brace. "One piece. The timber we chose for your first hull."
Jon crouched to look. The straight lengths would be little use here; too much wood would have to be cut away to make the bend. He had ordered two new warships, but this one could be at sea long before either was ready.
"Use it. Give Marrec the measurements for another."
Qavo called over a carpenter and showed him where to begin. Jon told him to open any other place he distrusted, then followed the captain below.
The hold still stank despite the washing. An iron bar ran beneath the low beams where the captives had been confined. Pale scratches marked the wood above it.
"Ethan has seen this?" Jon asked.
"Yesterday, my lord. He had the bars and fittings examined."
"Take them out and keep them for him. We can use the space for stores."
The captain glanced along the low hold. "Some of the crew will have to sleep above, then."
"Find them room."
Jon had studied the slave trade in his first life, following its routes across maps. Even in a child's body he had to stoop to reach the hatch. Somewhere beyond the bay there were people still shut in such a place, waiting while Denys searched for them.
He reminded the captain to keep the cargo guarded and send Denys word of the repairs. Arthur was waiting beside the mast when they came up.
"I saw you stop here," the knight said quietly.
Jon looked down at the scrubbed deck. "I remember losing my footing here."
"I could see him coming at you." Arthur's hand closed upon the rail. "There were men between us. I couldn't get past them."
"I know." Jon stood beside him. "Tomas reached me."
Arthur nodded without looking away from the mast. They stayed there until the carpenter asked them to move.
Tobin met them at the foot of the plank. The grain master's boat was coming in again.
"He wants to know how much longer."
Qavo came down behind them and inspected the berth Tobin meant to clear. "Fasten the planking first. You can tow her once that's done; we'll finish the brace over by the repair beach."
"Beside the smaller prize?" Tobin asked.
The captain agreed. His men could finish unloading while the carpenters worked, then help the towboats move her. Jon sent word to the grain master that he had the next berth.
"Settle tomorrow's berths between you tonight," he told Tobin and the captain. "If you cannot agree, take it to Ethan."
* * *
Marrec had spread his timber offers across a table in Qavo's shed. Broad Oak had sailed for the first cargo. House Massey offered standing trees; House Wylde claimed its timber was cut and seasoned.
"Has anyone seen it?" Jon asked.
"No. Only the letter from Rain House."
Qavo came in while they were reading, having left his carpenters securing the collector for towing. His daughter Naella translated his questions for Marrec, then followed as her father led them to the covered racks.
Two planks were missing.
"For a shed door," Qavo said, pointing to the empty place.
Otho, newly arrived with the harbour drawings, swore and sent an assistant to recover the wood.
"Find who took it too," Jon said. "No foreman takes timber from these racks without Qavo's leave."
Marrec folded the offers. "Who will inspect the timber? Qavo has both prizes to see to."
"One of his men, then. Someone who knows what he will accept."
Qavo objected to losing a carpenter while both prizes needed repair, but eventually gave Marrec a name. The buyer would inspect the wood before paying. Ordinary building timber must be bought separately; Jon would not pay a shipwright's price for every roof beam.
"Abel will want to know where the money is coming from," Marrec said.
"Bring him both prices. We will go over them tonight."
The recovered silver already had more claims upon it than Jon liked. Clock orders brought money in, but it would take far greater earnings to pay for the expedition he had yet to mention to Arthur.
Marrec went to speak to the captain of a timber boat, taking Otho with him. Inside the shed, Jon waited while Naella shut the door. Moro laid out the drawings for the two ships Jon meant to build without oars. His father had strengthened the rudder's support. Jon marked out more room for the helmsman, then followed Qavo's finger to the side of the deck.
"You have reckoned the soldiers' weight across the whole deck. When another ship comes alongside, they will all run here."
Jon remembered the lurch of a deck beneath men rushing to one rail. Qavo was right; the trial would need to allow for it.
"We will try her with weights in sheltered water. Shift them across and see how she bears it."
He would attend the trial himself. Both building places could be prepared, but the second hull must allow for whatever they learned from sailing the first. Until then, Denys would have the prizes.
Jon looked again at the drawings. He had spent so long working out how to have these ships built that it was easy to forget what another lord would pay for them. If Qavo could make them sail as he intended, they would change far more than his little fleet. Merchants would want them; lords would want ships that could catch them. He meant to be the only man who could supply either.
"These designs stay here," he said in High Valyrian. "No copies for another yard, and no ships built from them without my leave."
Qavo rested his hands on the table. "The men who build them will know."
"Then choose men who will keep an oath. I will pay them well enough to stay." Jon looked from the shipwright to his children. "From you three I must ask more. Your service for life, and your word that you will never give what I teach you to another master."
Qavo drew Naella closer to the table. "My children are making their lives here. What will they have from you?"
"A house, wages of their own, and my protection. You will have charge of my yards for as long as you can do the work. When you cannot, you will still be provided for."
"And if one of us breaks this oath?" Naella asked.
"Whoever betrays it forfeits what I have given them. Sell the drawings, or teach another lord how to build these ships behind my back, and the punishment is death."
She glanced at Moro. Her brother was looking down at the plans. Jon waited; he wanted the words understood before anyone spoke them.
Qavo came round the table and knelt. In his own tongue he swore to serve Jon for the rest of his life and keep the work entrusted to him secret. Moro followed him. Naella took a little longer, then knelt beside her brother and made the same promise. Arthur stood witness by the door.
Jon bade them rise and promised that he would keep his part. Afterwards Moro fetched a chest for the drawings. Qavo locked it himself and put the key inside his tunic. The models and the full-sized patterns would need just as much care once the work began.
When Otho returned, Jon drew the harbour sheet towards him. "You will oversee the villages and the building of the new works. I will give you the plans and go through the work with you. Bring me anything you cannot settle; I will come out when you need me. When the works are ready, I will test them with the masters. Blackburn and the harbour I will take myself."
Otho left one of his assistants with him to take measurements and carry instructions to the foremen. Jon added Qavo's dimensions to the plan, allowing room beside the hulls for lifting frames and timber carts. A great shed would cover the first two slips, with boarded walls and doors opening towards the water. No keel would be laid until it was enclosed. The shore watch would guard the entrance, and Qavo would say who could pass. Once Jon had drawn in the shed, there was too little room left for Moro to shape the frames.
"Come outside," Jon said.
They passed the repair beach and the three marked slipways. The harbour-watch captain followed with his list of stores from the collector. Aries followed close behind Jon. Geth had taken Patch back to the castle.
Jon walked beyond the last stake towards the rough shore. Otho started to remind him where the yard ended.
"I know. Qavo, show me how much ground you will need."
The shipwright considered the shore, then took Moro down to the water. Jon followed them with his eyes. Where two ships would rise this year, he wanted rows of hulls, sheltered working places and timber enough to keep the men employed.
Jon marked where he wanted the depths taken, including the rocks Tobin pointed out near the headland. Each sounding must come with the state of the tide, so he could work out how much water would remain beneath a loaded ship at its lowest ebb. He would use those figures to place the quays and reckon their height above the seabed. Denys and the pilots must go over the approach with him.
Behind Jon, the captain was telling Tobin that the collector's stores were ashore. Her opened joints were still being secured. Tobin went to keep the towboats ready.
Aries watched Moro carry the cord farther along the beach. "How many ships are you going to build?"
"Two to begin with."
Moro called for someone to hold the far end. Aries scrambled down to him.
The captain showed Jon a sound shed above the shore. A messenger had spent half the morning looking for the captain between the prizes.
"Use it for your shore watch," Jon said. "Have every message brought there, and leave word where you can be found."
Jon reserved the adjoining ground for Denys's headquarters and crews' quarters, with a muster court between them. The chart room and captains' chambers could wait; for now the shore watch needed men on duty day and night and a signal mast where it could be seen from the water.
Tobin returned as they were considering the approach. Harbert already had boys coming for lessons with the sounding line; there would be more new hands to teach when the yards opened.
Jon looked at the steep path, imagining Harbert trying it with his crutch.
"Give him a level way in and somewhere under cover to sit. Ask him what else he needs."
"I'll bring Mira down to see it," Tobin said.
These were quarters for the fleet. Marros kept the castle garrison, and the legion remained at Black Fields. The merchant road would pass outside the naval gate, where Tobin's carters could reach the public quays freely.
Behind the gate, towers and a barrier across the entrance would protect the fleet's water. Jon's arsenal plan reached inland from the slips: sail lofts, rope walks, anchor smiths, armourers, bowyers and fletchers, with ground for assembling and testing fighting engines. Timber and ready stores needed shelter above the storms' reach, arms secure under lock. He kept pitch and oil behind a wall, away from grain and sailcloth.
Qavo returned with wet boots and a far larger boundary than the first stakes had enclosed. Aries came after him with mud on one knee. Beside the fitting-out berth, the shipwright marked space for the mast crane and a clear way to bring in the masts.
"No houses along here," he said.
"Reserve it," Jon told the assistant.
Marrec had caught up with them. He studied the empty ground. "The men I bring will ask where their own houses are. Their wives will ask before they leave."
"Tell them when we can have houses ready. Until then, we pay for lodging and their passage here. I want masters who will stay to build the next ships and teach other men."
The wages and terms must come to Jon before promises were made. Abel would reserve money for the first recruits after tonight's count.
Qavo began naming men he trusted. Each would have to swear to keep the work secret before he was admitted to the building shed. Naella wrote the names down, pausing when her father remembered that one still had a merchant's hull to finish.
"Find out when he is free," Jon said. "We need not ask him to abandon it."
"Come to the castle tomorrow," Jon told Marrec. "We need ships sent out to find more men. Engineers, and acolytes willing to leave the Citadel, as well as craftsmen."
Dragonstone's craftsmen and the trained men he could bring from the North would not be enough for the yards and the growing town. Otho would be occupied with the villages; Jon needed men in Blackburn who could take a survey and follow his calculations without his standing beside them. He would have to look across the narrow sea as well. Skilled slaves could be bought in the Free Cities; he meant to raise that with Marrec tomorrow, when they could speak privately.
Jon sent for the clearing foreman and showed him where to begin on the three slips. Planks stacked on the third went back to the racks; that slip would remain outside the shed, free for repairs or a later hull. The assistant stayed to set the shed's corner stakes while the remaining men went to the merchant road.
* * *
The man Otho had sent for the planks brought them back, still uncut. Behind the weighing shed, Tobin was directing handcarts towards the stores while a carter hauled his load of pitch up to the ground set aside for it.
Broken barrels and old nets choked the passage behind the stores. Cleared, it could take handcarts; a working smokehouse blocked larger wagons.
"The smokehouse stays until its replacement is ready," Jon said. "Have the rest cleared this afternoon."
Jon traced the handcart route on his drawing and gave it to the foreman. Tobin stayed to show him where the cargo had to pass while Jon went uphill with Arthur.
Sailors were eating fish beside a brazier. Jon bought two skewers, and Aries took his too eagerly, shifting the hot wood between his fingers. Geth returned from the castle without Patch; Arthur bought him one before he could ask.
Cords marked the first court of the covered market Jon intended to build. An onion seller wanted to know whether buyers would still enter from the landing. Her husband brought their basket over and set it beside the cord, showing Jon where they hoped to have their stall.
By the time Tobin and Otho caught up, several sellers had joined them. With baskets beside the proposed entrance, there was scarcely room for two laden people to pass. Jon widened it on his drawing and had the cord moved. Once they were satisfied, he continued uphill. They could go on trading at their old stalls until the market was built.
Above the market, a netmaker and his daughter waited beside the cords marking their new house. Their old home stood in the path of a planned street. Her child slept against her shoulder. The old man stood where his workroom door would be, looking down towards the boats.
"Will they know where to find me?"
Tobin promised to show his customers. Nets could be brought up without crossing the cargo road, and the workroom would be wider than the old one. The netmaker paced it out while his daughter stood at the far cord.
The assistant caught up with them. Jon left him marking out room for the old man's bench and nets.
Farther uphill, a foreman was arguing with a man who had driven two posts across the line of a future street. Rafters and thatch lay ready beside his house.
"It is on my own doorstep," the man said as Jon approached. "My daughter's coming from Eastcove. Her husband has work here. Where are they to sleep?"
"You cannot build into the street."
"It's one room, my lord."
"And when your neighbour wants another? The posts come out. My man will show you where you can build."
The man looked from the stakes to the little heap of roof timber. Jon told the foreman to take the matter to Ethan if the plot had no room. The family must have lodging until the new row was ready; they could keep every piece of wood. He waited until the man laid down his mallet and began loosening the first post.
"Mark the next ward as well," Jon told the assistant when he rejoined them. "They need to see where the streets will be."
Jon had him take the fall along the proposed cart road with a builder's level and a measured cord. He divided the fall by the distance, checked it again, then lengthened the turn across the hillside. Loaded wagons would have an easier climb that way. The calculations were familiar from his work as a civil engineer in his first life; he wrote the figures slowly with his left hand while the assistant watched. On the drawing, broad streets crossed the slope, with narrower ways leading downhill. Courts behind the houses would give families space for washing and children somewhere to play. Aries asked whether they could have fruit trees there. Jon pointed out the ground he had left for planting.
The sewers took longer. Jon counted the house plots that would feed each line and worked through the quantities of water they would need. He allowed for the next wards, then checked the fall along the first street against the depth at which the drain would have to run. A hollow midway down would leave filth standing beneath the houses. He raised that stretch on his drawing and marked places where men could open the drain to clean it. Rainwater would run separately. When he traced the waste line down to the shore, Tobin stopped his finger beside a beach where people gathered shellfish.
"The tide brings it back across the landing," Tobin said, following the line with his finger.
Jon drew another possible course around the rise and marked the heights he needed measured. If it gave him enough fall, it would spare a long cutting through rock. He would walk it with the surveyors and Tobin, checking the outlet against the high tide. Until those figures were in his hands, he would not send masons away from repairing the harbour arm.
The first houses would have lined privy pits. Carts could empty them from the back lanes and carry the waste away from homes and wells. Jon had the men who would do the work examine those approaches before the assistant marked the nearby foundations. Market and harbour dues would pay for the public privies and their keepers.
Higher springs would feed covered water tanks. Jon added the households' daily needs, allowed for the workshops and animals, and wrote the total beside them. He sent two men to time how quickly the springs filled a vessel of known size; he needed to know whether they could supply what he had reckoned. Rain gathered from roofs could serve washing and fire buckets. He kept the drinking-water pipes apart from the waste drains and gave the assistant the measurements for the first row.
The netmaker's daughter had come back with another question. Her father wanted timber walls because he could mend them himself.
"Brick on stone," Jon told her. "We have too few trees for wooden houses. He will still have wood for his floors, roof and doors."
"We have little enough brick either," Otho said. "The potter's next loads are for the kilns."
Only the first new kiln had foundations begun. The other two sites were grass, and the drying bays remained unfinished. Marrec brought out an offer for bricks already fired. Once the potter's customers and kiln builders had their share, they would have to buy what else the houses needed.
Jon took the brick sizes from the offer and worked out what the first row would consume, allowing for doors and windows, then adding a margin for breakage. He showed Marrec the total. The offered cargo would not cover it. Otho had stone for the footings, but reminded them that the roof timber must arrive while the walls were going up. Marrec amended his purchases beside Jon's figures.
"Fuel too," he said. "Bennard and every kiln burner on the island want the next shipload."
"Bring me their needs and the prices," Jon said. "Allow for the village work Otho has already begun. Abel must know what each will cost."
He would not have materials scattered among unfinished rows. They must complete this one, and Marrec must continue seeking brickmakers capable of running the new kilns.
The woman had waited beside them, rocking the child when he stirred.
"Ethan will tell you when the house is ready," Jon said. "You can stay in your old home until then. After that, the street goes through."
"Can we take the door? He made it."
Otho glanced at the workroom plan. "We can fit it."
She went to tell her father. Jon sent the list of other households in the streets' path to Ethan. They needed somewhere to move, help with their belongings and a place to keep working. Refusals were to come to Jon after Ethan had heard the difficulties.
"I will hear what has been missed," he told the assistant. "But the houses must move."
Tobin asked for guards of his own. Sending to the castle was little use when a quarrel could begin and end while the messenger climbed the road.
"Blackburn will have the Black Cloaks," Jon said. "Their captain will answer to Ethan."
Jon reserved ground above the market road for barracks and a drill court, enough for two hundred men as the city grew. For now, Ethan could rent rooms and begin choosing recruits. Marros would lend instructors, but the Black Cloaks would have their own captain. Posts at the quays and ward gates would follow the growing streets.
The Black Cloaks would keep order in the public harbour and streets. Sailors outside the naval gate and lords' retainers must answer to them, Jon's men included. They would wear black wool with plain iron clasps and carry ash-grey staffs. Jon wanted men paid by him, taking no gifts from merchants. Tobin was to send Ethan names and trades that evening.
There were more demands for builders everywhere Jon looked. Hamish could not lose his harvest hands. Two hundred legionaries were already divided among the island's works, with another fifty at Saltcliffe, and none was excused his training. They needed more men from outside the island.
They went back down to the harbour arm, where a mason was levering a loose stone out of the damaged wall. He rejected it for a crack and chose another from the recovered pile while his apprentice measured the gap. The next quarry blocks should arrive roughly fitted, the mason said; he could not waste the low tide cutting stone they had paid to bring downhill.
Those sizes would go to the active upper quarry. The spring wall still had its promised load; Blackburn would take what the crews could cut and cart next. Nothing would come yet from the flooded lower quarry or its unfinished crane.
Under the mason's shelter lay limestone from above Borren's cove and ash from Dragonmont. Merren was seeking burners to make lime from the stone. Until they were found and a kiln ready, the limestone could remain in its sack. The masons already had lime made from burned shells.
Jon had the mason measure the shell-lime while a labourer sifted the ash. He chose two proportions to try and wrote them beside equal-sized moulds. He remembered the volcanic ash in Roman mortar, but this was ash from Dragonmont. They would compare both mixes with a third sample of their ordinary mortar, made and kept beside them.
"We keep some damp and some in water," Jon said. "Give them time to harden. Then we can see what we have."
He wanted mortar that would hold beneath the harbour water and cheaper foundations than cut stone. They would have to prove they could make it reliably first.
"None of this goes into the arm."
The labourer carried the samples under cover. Outside, the mason called for a bar. The recovered block settled into place, and Jon left the men racing the returning tide.
* * *
The collector was moving when Jon returned to the landing. Men hauled from the shore while boats kept her bow clear. Tobin kept the quay clear while they worked.
She settled beside the repair beach, and a boat went out to guide in Grafton's grain ship. Her master came down with the letter as soon as she was fast. Grain dust clung to his coat. He gave Jon a brief bow and watched the berth behind him while Jon read.
This was the first of four deliveries agreed after Runestone.
"Half the usual harbour dues on the grain," Jon told Tobin. "For the year, as agreed."
"There's lamp oil below it," the master said.
"Ordinary dues on that. Marrec may want to buy it for the workshops."
Tobin would check the account before Abel paid the balance. Jon wanted sailing dates for the remaining cargoes.
A handcart carried six sacks through the cleared passage to the grain store. The fish sellers continued working beside the landing. Tobin sent two idle men to help with the next load.
Inside, the keeper opened a sack. Grain dust and dry boards took Jon back to his family's barns. He rubbed a few kernels between his fingers while the man dug down to check the grain beneath. When the sack had been tied again, Jon told him to make room for the later cargoes. Even a good harvest from Hamish's farms would not feed all the men he intended to bring here.
Woods met him outside with Henly and their quarry-crane drawing. Henly and Emrick had helped build the legion's war engines. Emrick remained at Cinderwell; both would assist the master carpenter and teach the men to use the lifting gear.
Tobin took them beside the scales and pointed out where he wanted the harbour crane. Woods watched a sling of sacks turn above the grain ship, then looked along the cart lane.
"Every cart would pass under the load." Woods pointed to a stack of barrels. "Move those and put it there. We can bring a cart alongside."
Henly held the drawing against the shed while Woods marked the larger crane. It could lift heavy casks and bundles ashore without tying up so many men with each load.
"The quarry comes first," Jon said. "Ewan needs the ironwork list tonight. Henly, see Marrec about rope."
Jon marked where the ground must be opened to examine it once the cargo was ashore. Then he took Woods south to see the other ground he had reserved. Qavo and Moro were stretching a cord far beyond the old yard boundary.
The carpenter stopped. "All of this?"
"Eventually. The first three slips stay where they are."
Qavo showed him where lifting frames would stand beside the rising hulls, tall wooden legs supporting the rope that would haul a beam up and lower it across the ship. The frames could be moved along the slips as the work advanced. Woods raised the planned roof of the building shed to leave room above them, then kept a clear way for the timber carts.
The mast crane would stand outside, where the ships could be brought after launching. Crouching over the drawing, Woods sketched wheels large enough for men to walk inside, winding the rope to raise a mast above a waiting ship. Jon could almost see it hanging there, the crew below guiding its foot into place.
Jon and Woods went to inspect the shore before choosing where it would stand.
"Farther back," Woods said. "This edge will not bear it."
Jon sat on a timber and began reckoning from the weight of the heaviest mast and how far the crane must reach over the water. The farther out it carried the load, the harder it would pull against the base. He sketched a broader footing and marked where trial pits must be dug to find firm ground. Woods bent over his shoulder, settling how the timber frame would be braced and how the winding gear would hold when the men stopped turning it. He would build the crane; Jon would finish the calculations once they had examined the ground. They reserved space to test it with stone, barely lifted at first, and gave Marrec the sizes of timber required.
They returned to the merchant shore, where Otho joined them. Jon spread his plan across a stack of boards and checked the quay lengths against the ships Tobin expected to bring in. On the drawing, warehouses, customs and weighing rooms lined the broad cargo road behind the deep-water berths. He left separate stairs for passengers and small boats, then marked where later cranes could stand without blocking the carts.
Tobin pointed beyond the damaged arm. "A bad easterly will empty those berths, deep or not."
Jon's drawing showed two longer walls sheltering the enlarged merchant harbour. He shifted the proposed entrance while Tobin described how the easterlies drove the sea into the present one. The fleet kept its guarded southern basin, the fishing boats their northern landing.
"Finish repairing this arm first," Jon said. "Then take your soundings. Denys and the pilots must see the entrance before any stone goes into it."
Jon began a rough reckoning of stone for the shallower stretch, leaving the deeper lengths until the soundings were taken. Much of the wall would lie beneath the water; the quarry would have to supply far more than its visible height suggested. Once they knew what ground lay beneath it, he could calculate how broad its foundations must be. The first wall would also change where sand settled. They must watch that before he fixed the second one's course. Otho took down the likely demand on the quarry so he could plan the village deliveries around it.
"The Gulltown captains will like it," Tobin said. "Lord Monford may like it less."
Marrec had the same concern. Some of the masters they needed worked in Monford's yards. He might willingly sell timber, but men taking their families to a rival harbour were another matter.
"His ships will have a market here. So will his timber," Jon said. "Put that business before him tomorrow. I mean to build this harbour."
Tobin returned to the unloading. Near the weighing shed Perrin brought Jon the Braavosi captain's clock account. The captain had accepted William's price for a finished clock for his employer, and Abel held the advance.
"The man who wanted our workmen?" Jon asked.
"And still wants the clock sooner than William promised."
"Lady Merryweather's goes first."
Perrin had already told the captain so. There was also an enquiry aboard Green Gull, brought by Aron of Lemonwood in Princess Arianne's name. Arthur looked round at that, but did not know the merchant.
They found Aron beside the weighing shed, separating broken roof tiles from a damaged bundle. He wiped his hands and bowed to Jon, then to Arthur.
"An enquiry from Sunspear, my lord."
Jon opened the letter inside the shed. Arianne wanted a clock with a face visible from a lower court and a bell that could be heard in the hall. Aron watched Arthur while Perrin cleared a place to sit, then noticed Jon's bound hand.
"They say you took those ships yourself."
"My men and I. Have you seen the court where the princess wants her clock?"
Aron had. He drew the archway on a sheet held flat by a broken tile, glancing towards Arthur as he worked.
"You may remember it better, ser."
"It has been years. Tell us what is there now."
Perrin noted the measurements and particulars Aron could not supply. Those questions would return with William's offer. When the merchant asked whether he might promise the clock by year's end, Jon refused to give a date before William had considered it.
"He has other orders. Speak to him before you sail. Perrin will arrange it."
Outside, Otho was examining the surviving tiles. Aron left the drawing to answer him, briskly counting intact bundles and offering his cargo for the new houses. Jon left Otho to judge the tiles and Marrec to settle the price.
Aron bowed again to Arthur as they left.
"They will be glad to hear you are well, ser."
"You may tell them so."
The clock enquiry and cargo were real enough. Jon wondered how much else Aron would describe in Sunspear: the captured ships, the growing harbour, Arthur standing beside him.
Tobin caught them at the horses. The grain master hoped to sail tomorrow, and other Gulltown captains would follow if there were berths for them. Jon told him to keep the cargo quay clear and repairs in their own water.
Alasdair brought Bucephalus round. He still had Tomas's letter inside his coat. Marrec had found no trusted White Harbor captain yet, and the grain ship was going back to Gulltown.
"Keep it until he does," Jon said. "Tobin, we need prices for the Watch's supplies as well. Have Marrec ask what fish and cloth we can spare, and give Abel the cost of the rest. This grain stays here."
Carriage on to Eastwatch must be settled before they paid. If the same captain could take Tomas's letter, Alasdair must bring him to Jon before handing it over.
"Tell Tomas we are arranging it. We have no ship yet."
At the upper turn Jon looked towards the southern shore. He could imagine a hull rising on the first slip, ribs taller than the men fitting them, and felt the old longing to be aboard. Then Bucephalus began the steeper climb. His hand ached, and Tomas was waiting for the answer he had promised. He settled the reins in his left hand and rode home.
* * *
Abel was still weighing the recovered coin when Jon returned. Light from the open shutters fell across two trays: sorted coins in one, a heap of clipped silver in the other. The maester sat beside him with a sheet of figures.
"Marrec has sent the accounts for his purchases," Abel said.
Jon lowered himself onto a stool. "There will be more. How far have you got?"
Abel showed him. The foreign coins had to be reckoned against one another, the clipped ones weighed. There were chests still awaiting a final check, and the plate and copper needed valuing. Across the room, the personal belongings had been wrapped and set apart. Jon left them untouched.
"Bring in the remaining clerks," he said. "Finish the coin tonight, and make a list of everything else. Leave the maester to check the weights. Keep those bundles for Wylla's enquiries."
Abel called one of the clerks over. Jon waited while he divided the work, then had him set aside the wages already promised. Noll's hammer iron came next, after Noll and Marrec had checked what could be taken from the stores. The clock advance was already in hand, but part of it would go towards the grain balance and the purchases agreed with Marrec.
The maester laid the settlement returns beside the plan. Blackburn held fourteen hundred and thirty-eight people, the largest of the five villages. Eastcove had five hundred and seventy-seven; Cinderwell four hundred and ninety-eight; Saltcliffe four hundred and nine; and Wyrm's Rest three hundred and forty-four.
Another seven hundred and thirty-one were entered under the castle, garrison and harbour quarters. Six hundred and eighty-seven lived outside those settlements, scattered among farms, quarries, kilns and small coves around the island. With the seven hundred and forty-six newcomers entered on their own roll, the total came to five thousand four hundred and thirty. Jon went over the figures with Abel. Even bringing every spare hand to Blackburn would leave them short of the men he needed.
Jon listed the work that could begin at Blackburn: hiring skilled masters, clearing and drainage, stone and timber, and the enclosed shed Qavo needed before he could begin the new hulls. The first masters would need wages and lodging while their workshops were built.
"Reserve enough to begin," he said. "Show me what each will cost. I will decide how much more we can undertake when I've seen the whole account."
"Bennard will ask about the larger furnace."
"He has leave for the first repairs. The enlargement waits for its own reckoning."
Abel made a note, then returned to the harbour plan. "We could let some of these plots while the larger works wait. That would bring in rent this year."
"And put houses where the streets and yards must go?" Jon drew the plan back towards him. "In two or three years, the houses, workshops and harbour I am building here will bring in many times that paltry rent. I will not spoil the layout of a whole city for a few more coins now. The ground stays clear."
Outside, servants were carrying supper towards the hall. A clerk glanced up from his tray, and Jon called for food and lamps to be brought in.
"Bring me the count before the builders arrive tomorrow."
He left Abel dividing the last chests among the clerks. Arthur was waiting by the western postern, where there was still light upon the sea. Hugin stood on the sill of the little room beside the door; Munin perched on the wall outside.
Jon sat and fed them. The birds quarrelled over a scrap until Arthur separated them, and then Jon sent both out above the harbour.
Munin followed the road behind the stores. Through his eyes Jon found a cart waiting while two men shut warehouse doors. Hugin banked over the repair beach, tilting the shore beneath him. For a moment Jon lost the cart. He steadied Hugin and found it again through Munin, beside the bend he had ridden past on his way home.
Knowing the ground helped. He held both views for a little longer, then brought Hugin round from the headland and called them home. Watching through both birds at once had left him exhausted yesterday, and he stopped while he still felt well.
Arthur held out a cup when Jon opened his eyes. As he drank, claws scraped upon the sill. Both birds had returned.
* * *
After supper, Jon went to his chamber to wash the dust from Blackburn off his hands. Arianne's letter lay on the table. Seeing the sun and spear upon it brought back the question he had nearly put to Aron: was the princess betrothed?
A harmless enough enquiry, except that he knew what the answer ought to be.
In the books, Willem Darry had promised Viserys to Arianne. Oberyn had signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness. Jon remembered the agreement clearly enough, but not the year. It might already have been made.
Or it might never be made here. Arthur was alive; Jon held Dragonstone by Robert's gift. He had learned too much of this world's differences to trust every remembered event. Qavo had known the royal children in Myr, yet the men being sent after them had only old reports and a quay to begin from. Jon could not even say where his aunt and uncle were sleeping tonight.
That troubled him more than the marriage. If Doran had already secured Viserys for his daughter, why had the children been left so poor? A little coin sent quietly would scarcely have brought Robert's armies down upon Dorne. Jon dried his fingers, anger rising with the old questions. He would find out what help had actually reached them.
Doran had held men back while Elia and her children were in the Red Keep. Jon had argued with Arthur about it before. Lewyn and the men who died at the Trident had done their duty; he had never blamed them for the spears their prince kept at home. Doran had preserved his own strength, and Jon's father had gone to the river without it.
Mace Tyrell had kept his strength too, feasting outside Storm's End until the war was lost. The Tullys owed their rule of the riverlands to his family, yet Hoster had joined those tearing it down. Robert had killed Rhaegar and accepted the bodies of his children, then married the daughter of the man who had sent their killers. Jon could sit at his table and take the lands he offered; he had not forgotten how Robert had won the crown.
It was Tywin he hated most. His brother and sister had been small enough to carry. Men had murdered them and laid them before a new king, and the men responsible still held lands and honours. No useful marriage or offer of soldiers would make Jon forgive that.
Doran might still have uses for Dragonstone even if he believed Jon to be no more than Arthur's nephew. Ships could carry Dornish soldiers past the mountain passes; a rich port at the mouth of Blackwater Bay could supply them. Jon glanced out at a cart struggling up the lower road. He would be doing the building and paying for it. Doran could afford to wait and see what came of the work.
When he took the throne, the Martells would answer to him. Doran's support would give him no right to dictate who Jon married or how he ruled.
For now he had a letter about a clock. It was signed by Arianne, and he would answer her. He remembered her anger at being kept ignorant of her father's plans; she might not be that woman yet, but there was no reason to begin by treating her as though her own enquiries required Doran's answer. The thought of Quentyn troubled him too. The boy was still alive, years from the journey Jon remembered. He hoped he would have no cause to make it.
A knock interrupted him. Arthur entered with the cloak Jon had left at the horses and hung it beside the door.
"Tomas is awake."
"In a moment." Jon sat on the edge of the bed. "How well did you know Doran?"
Arthur looked at the letter. "He never took me into his confidence, if that's what you mean. I knew Lewyn and Elia far better."
"Aron watched you more closely than he watched me."
"He knows my name." Arthur drew the stool near. "And there are people at Sunspear who will be glad to hear that I'm well."
Jon had spent the ride back from the quay wondering what the merchant would report. It had not occurred to him to ask whether Arthur wanted news in return.
"Would you be welcome there?"
"By some."
"And the others?"
Arthur looked towards the window. "I was in Dorne when Elia died. Her children were in King's Landing. They have a right to ask where I was."
Jon laid the towel aside. For a while he could hear the cart outside, its wheels grinding over the stones.
"What would they say if they knew about me?"
The knight turned back.
"They cannot have loved Rhaegar for what he did to Elia," Jon said. "Even if I were useful to them, that would remain."
"You were an infant."
"Would Doran care?"
"I don't know." Arthur leaned forward. "But if he asks you to answer for Rhaegar, I will be there."
"Doran has cause to hate the Lannisters too," Arthur said.
"He had cause to send more men before they reached Elia."
"And I have not asked you to forget it. Dorne has stood apart since the war. He may need an ally badly enough to offer terms worth hearing."
"My ships and my gold. I can see what he would gain."
"And you might gain a safe harbour, if Dragonstone ever fell. Somewhere to gather your men." Arthur leaned back. "Dorne's passes and dry country would make it hard for an army to follow you inland. I would hear what Doran offered."
"He would ask a great deal for that."
"Then we find out how much. He gains nothing by letting your ships and wealth fall into Lannister hands."
"The days when kings bargained with their own vassals are done," Jon said. "Doran will bend the knee or fall. So will the rest."
"You know you're making this harder for yourself," Arthur said. "Why? Kings have won wars by bringing the great houses to their side. Keeping those houses in balance is how they have held the realm together."
"When my ancestor came with his sisters and their dragons, he did what no king had done," Jon said. "He brought six kingdoms beneath one house. My house. He made vassals of kings and established a new order."
"He had dragons, Jon."
"Aye. He had the strength to enforce it." Jon met his eyes. "That is why I am building my own strength. We assume that because a thing has always been done one way, there can be no other. If no man has done it, we say it cannot be done. I intend to change that. I will establish a new order through my own might, Arthur. There is no other path for me."
Jon reached for Arianne's letter and folded it.
"Aron can have William's price and drawing. Nothing else. Let him sell his cargo. If the voyage pays, he'll come again."
He would bring news as well as tiles, and there were other ways to hear what happened in Dornish ports. Ships being hired and stores bought in quantity would be harder to hide than a letter at Sunspear.
"Have Ethan tell Marrec to ask his captains for news of unusual purchases. Ships, provisions, large companies seeking passage. I want to know who is paying."
As the knight rose, Jon remembered the captain Denys had been choosing for Myr.
"Ask Ethan whether our man has sailed. If he hasn't, tell him to listen for anyone else seeking the children. He needn't approach them."
"You think Doran is looking?"
"He may be. I would be, in his place."
Others might be searching as well. Jon remembered Illyrio's hospitality and Varys's shifting service, and somewhere beyond them a boy being taught to bear Aegon's name. He had never been certain whose son that boy was, even in the books. He had no report of him here. Viserys and Daenerys were missing people whom Qavo had known; they must come first.
"Our captain is not to delay his search following someone else's servant," he added. "Finding the children is his task."
"When Denys returns, he stays here until we have divided the work and settled the money," Jon said. "I want him with Ethan, Abel and Marrec when we decide which men and ships we can spare."
Afterwards Jon meant to send him east. While following reports of Viserys and Daenerys, Denys could seek out engineers and craftsmen willing to come to Dragonstone. He would need coin and clear terms to offer them. Tomorrow's reckoning would tell Jon what he could spare for the voyage; Denys would have his instructions before he sailed again.
Arthur agreed. Jon got to his feet.
"And bring me the reports on Oswell and Gerold tomorrow. We said we would take this up once we were settled. Ask Ethan for the old ones too; a name he passed over may mean something to you."
"There are men they could have gone to," Arthur said. "I can give Ethan names. Places where they might have found help."
"Only men you trust. Denys can tell us which ports his captains know."
Neither knight had been pardoned. Jon wanted no open letter with their names upon it travelling from port to port.
"If they are with the children, they will stay with them," Arthur said.
"I would not ask them to leave." Jon hesitated. "But they may know more about what was sent to my uncle Ned. What my mother thought he had received."
"I want to ask them that myself," Arthur said.
Arthur had already told him all he could remember.
"Tomorrow, then. We shall read what Ethan has together."
They parted in the passage, Arthur going to find Ethan while Jon continued to the sickroom.
* * *
Olyver met him at the door and went to wait along the passage. Tomas had a writing board across his knees.
"Did you get any rest?" Jon asked.
"Lorren saw to that." Tomas watched him take out the folded page. "Have you decided?"
Jon sat beside the bed. "I have."
Jon drew the lamp closer and unfolded the sheet upon Tomas's board. Beneath the crossed-out names he had drawn a shield. A silver gauntlet held a black heart, its edge picked out in silver against the black field. The fingers were clumsily drawn; he had managed them as best he could with his left hand.
"Sableheart," Jon said. "You told me you did not want to put my colours aside. Sable is black."
Tomas studied the shield. His thumb passed over the gauntlet, following the fingers where they closed about the heart.
"I cannot adopt you into House Black," Jon said. "But I would gladly have you for a brother. I wanted you to keep something of my name when you took your own."
Tomas looked up. Jon's gaze caught upon the bandage. He remembered his shield dragged wide, the sword above him, and Tomas stepping into its path. He had been certain the blow would kill him.
"I owe you my life, Tomas. I would be proud to have your house beside mine."
For a while Tomas said nothing. Then he looked down at the words Jon had written beneath the shield.
"Our Hearts Hold Fast." He read them softly, then nodded. "Aye. I like those."
"Ser Tomas Sableheart." He tried the name once more, smiling now. Then he reached for Jon's left hand.
"Thank you, my lord."
Jon returned the grip. Tomas held on for a moment before releasing him.
"We'll have a painter draw the arms properly," Jon said. "You can send a copy to your mother."
"I'll have to write again." Tomas smiled down at the sheet. "She'll want to know all of it."
"Alasdair can put another page with your letter. Marrec hasn't found a captain yet."
Aries knocked and came in carrying a bowl of broth from Wylla. He set it on the chest, then noticed the drawing.
"Are those your arms?"
Tomas turned the board for him. "Lord Jon chose them."
Jon gave the boy his chair. Aries leaned over the sheet, studying it, then asked if he might try drawing the shield.
"Geth showed me how to make the sides match."
"Fetch some paper," Tomas said. "Don't try on this one."
The boy hurried away. Tomas watched him go, still holding Jon's drawing. Laughter rose from the hall below, followed by the scrape of a bench.
He began asking about Blackburn: which prize would sail first, and whether Qavo was still willing to build without oars. Jon told him about the repairs and Grafton's grain ship at last taking the collector's berth.
"I'd like to see her in daylight," Tomas said.
"The collector?"
"When Lorren lets me. I don't want to remember her only as the place they carried me off."
"We'll go together."
They were still talking when Aries returned with paper and an inkpot clutched against his chest. His first shield came out too broad. Tomas turned the sheet, set a finger where the point should fall and helped him begin another.
Jon watched until Tomas laid down the quill and eased back against his pillows. His hand had been steadier today. At the door, Jon turned when he called.
"You'll tell me if they find the other prisoners?"
"As soon as I hear."
Lorren was coming along the passage. Jon asked him to give Aries time to finish the outline, then went downstairs.
In the linen room Gawen sat beside Wylla, a basket at her feet. She had stopped folding. They were talking too quietly for Jon to hear, her hand resting in his sound one.
Wylla looked up. For once she did not rise to ask whether he needed anything. Jon smiled and went on.
* * *
Back in his chamber, Jon sat over the harbour plan with a piece of dragon eggshell in his left hand. The other fragments lay beside the lamp. He turned it idly between his fingers as he checked the figures he had brought back from Blackburn.
A knock brought his head up.
"Come in."
Alasdair opened the door. "A boat from Captain Denys, my lord. The messenger's in the hall."
Jon laid the fragment beside the others and went down with him. The sailor stood beside the hearth with salt dried white along his coat. He held the back of a chair as he handed Jon a message in a leather wrapping. Arthur joined them while Jon broke the seal, and called for food and drink.
Denys's scout had found a galley near the creek beneath the split cliff. She had arrived earlier than the mate had said. The covered bow and joined blue patch at the top of her sail matched the mate's description. The scout had seen a boat take water out to her. Two people on her deck had their hands bound, though he had not got near enough to count everyone aboard.
Denys had gone to join him. He meant to catch her as she left, before she could turn back into the creek. The men and boats for the next relief were to be kept ready at Blackburn. If pursuit drew him farther south, he would send word through the agreed coastal boats.
"When did he send you?" Jon asked.
"Before dawn, my lord. The wind was against us round the point."
"Had he seen her himself?"
"Not then. The scout's boat had just come in."
Jon handed Arthur the message and sent Alasdair for Ethan.
"Eat," he told the sailor. "Afterwards, tell the maester where Denys last lay and which boats are carrying his messages. There'll be a bed for you."
Aries came down from Tomas's room as a servant brought the bread. He stopped on the stair, looking from Jon to the door.
"Are you going out again?"
"No. Denys is there. I'm staying here."
The boy let go of the stair rail. Jon drew a chair towards the hearth for him.
"You can stay and listen."
Aries sat, watching him. When Ethan and the maester arrived, Jon had the message read out and ordered the harbour captain told to hold Denys's relief ready. They were to carry provisions for a longer search. The other patrols would keep to their stations.
"Lord Monford is still expected tomorrow," the maester reminded him.
"We shall be ready for him."
Jon looked at the sailor, who was eating too fast to pay them much heed. His news was many hours old. Denys might already have taken the galley and be bringing people out of her hold. Five of Laro's companions were still missing; the scout's sighting could tell him nothing of them.
"Tell Lorren," Jon said. "If Denys brings back wounded people, I want warm rooms and men ready to carry them."
He turned to Aries. "Go and tell Tomas they've found a galley that may have the missing people aboard. We're waiting for Denys to send word."
Aries ran upstairs. Ethan sent the orders down to the harbour, and Jon stayed with the sailor. The man had no more news of the prisoners. When he reached for the empty jug, Jon filled it and let him finish his meal.