Eddard, seeing Kal staring in shock at the slip of paper, assumed that he was astonished at being suddenly elevated to Master of Coin.
Although he had already gained a deep and bitter understanding of King Robert's whims, he still had to patiently offer an explanation.
"Littlefinger was murdered by Gregor Clegane. The royal treasury is now without anyone to manage it. Kal, you are a suitable candidate."
Eddard had chosen to stand with the King; by saying this, he was effectively lending his authority as Hand of the King to endorse the appointment.
Yet at those words, Kal couldn't help but exchange a glance with the eunuch seated at the intelligence position beside the long table—Varys.
Varys smiled faintly, his expression perfectly calm.
After all, what the Hand had just said had nothing to do with him.
Everyone in King's Landing already knew that he, the King's spymaster, had managed to escape when the city fell.
As for what had happened within the Red Keep—surely that had nothing to do with such a "fortunate survivor."
Everyone had seen that he had escaped with his life only by disguising himself as a beggar with a bow.
As for the people within the Red Keep—
All could attest that Kevan Lannister had allowed Gregor Clegane and Amory Lorch to once again unleash a massacre there.
No one ever doubted that the deaths of the former Grand Maester Pycelle and the former Master of Coin Petyr Baelish had in fact held hidden circumstances.
And as the two men, who shared a tacit understanding, met each other's eyes for an instant, Varys's expression remained unchanged, while Kal's face stayed shadowed with melancholy.
Naturally, no one would suspect anything.
But that did not matter.
The Hand looked at Kal Stone, who still stood there in a daze, seemingly yet to grasp that he had already become a royal councillor.
All of a sudden, he remembered that although this youth had shown unmatched valor on the battlefield, he was still, after all, a youth.
For someone so young, such a reaction in the face of an event like this was hardly surprising.
Thus, the Hand patiently went on explaining.
"Kal, there's no need to worry too much. Though the Master of Coin is the King's chief economic adviser, you can take things slowly."
"Believe in yourself."
Just arrived in King's Landing and knowing nothing of the situation, the Hand could speak lightly indeed.
He simply assumed that Kal was worried about his own lack of ability.
And looking at Eddard Stark's sincere and instructive expression, Kal truly could not bring himself to bully such an honest man.
"Lord Hand, while you were still fighting alongside His Majesty in the Riverlands, I had already been trying to pick up the governance of this city here in King's Landing," Kal said with a bitter smile, "using the methods you once taught me in Winterfell."
"But at the same time, I am also well aware of the duties of a Master of Coin."
Hearing Kal's words, Eddard froze for a moment, then realized he had misunderstood.
"Would you tell me your thoughts?"
He wanted to hear what Kal Stone thought.
Seeing Eddard Stark's curiosity, Kal's smile grew even more wry.
Of course he knew how high and powerful a position the Master of Coin truly was among the royal councillors.
After all, the duties of this office included recording the income and expenditures of the royal treasury, receiving and consolidating reports from lower officials, and overseeing the collection of taxes, tariffs, and loans.
At the same time, he was also responsible for managing the treasury itself and supervising the three royal mints.
Moreover, the Master of Coin had to supervise a great number of officials.
These included the Keeper of the Four Treasuries, the Royal Accountant, the Royal Weigher, the heads of the three mints, the Harbormaster, tax farmers, and customs officers.
Then there were even smaller roles—wool factors, road toll collectors, shipmasters, and wine factors, and so on and so forth.
One could say that this position was not only invisibly powerful and richly lucrative, but also directly controlled the purse strings of an entire realm.
If someone of sufficient influence were to occupy such a seat, it was hard to imagine how much hidden authority he might wield in secret.
As for the only title he held that could be spoken of with any pride—"Warden of the East."
Frankly speaking, that was nothing more than a way for Robert to exert pressure upon the Vale, while at the same time serving as a form of political balance.
With Jon Arryn gone, Robert clearly understood that he had also lost his grip on the Vale.
But one had to understand—this was half of his very foundation.
Otherwise, why would a king who normally ignored all affairs of the realm be so anxious, even at the risk of angering the lords of the Vale, to forcibly suppress the appointment of Robert Arryn in the name of the King and Warden of the Realm?
And why would he then hurry north to seek aid without delay?
It was because he knew all too well that he no longer held any real control over the Baratheon family's base of power.
"Lord Eddard, are you aware of the Iron Throne's true financial situation?" Kal asked with a bitter smile.
The newly appointed Hand, of course, had no idea. He stared at Kal, eyes blank.
"Is there some difficulty?"
"If I remember correctly, Aerys Targaryen left behind mountains of gold and silver," Eddard said, recalling what he knew from memory.
Kal could only give a wry smile. "But Lord Hand, the royal family you see now is not the same as the one you saw then."
"What's different?" Eddard asked.
"At present, the Crown's total debt exceeds 6 million gold coins—or rather, the Lannisters, as the greatest creditor, have already become prisoners. And as everyone knows, kill your creditor, and your debts vanish."
Kal spoke the joke flatly, took a deep breath, and laid out the entire problem.
"So, the royal debt still stands at over 3 million gold dragons."
"As for the creditors of those gold dragons, they include Lord Tyrell of the Reach, the Iron Bank of Braavos, and several Tyroshi trading houses that have also lent money."
"And now, the King has just announced that he intends to hold a grand victory tourney. By rough estimation, the additional expenses may reach several hundred thousand more."
Kal counted on his fingers as he listed the debts he knew of the royal treasury.
The puzzled Hand, despite his exhaustion, could not suppress the astonishment twisting across his face.
Listening to the two, Varys showed no extra expression on his ever-smiling face.
"Perhaps even more than that," he said, his hands folded in his sleeves as he smoothly joined the conversation. "His Majesty intends for this tourney to be grander than any before."
"The champion's prize is 50,000 gold dragons, the runner-up's 30,000, and even the winners of the team melee receive 30,000. As for archery, that one's somewhat less—20,000."
The Hand had not yet recovered from the previous shock. His vacant gaze turned toward the eunuch—this information broker he had never liked.
He knew well what this spider had done. The murder of children was a crime he despised.
But Varys, unaware of the Hand's contempt, merely cooperated with Kal, laying out the cold, brutal figures upon this council table.
"This single expense alone totals 130,000," he said, and even the eunuch could not help letting out a sigh. "And beyond that, there are other necessary costs."
"King Robert will certainly host grand feasts throughout the tourney," Varys continued. "We will therefore need cooks, carpenters, serving girls, singers, mummers, and jesters."
"I happen to know a certain jester," Kal interjected. "He's currently residing in one of Winterfell's cells."
Hearing all this, the Hand's expression grew numb under the unending blows.
He had thought Robert had merely given him a slip of paper.
He had thought the King meant only to use this position to grant his bastard son a few privileges, to recognize in part the merits he had earned during the war.
He had already accepted that.
But now it was clear—the slip of paper handed to him was no "reward."
It was an enormous pitfall!
And one aimed squarely at trapping his own brother and his own son.
No wonder Kal Stone had worn such a stunned, dissatisfied look.
Now Eddard Stark understood—he understood everything.
His face went rigid, expression blank; for a moment, he didn't even know what to feel.
After a long pause, his hoarse voice forced its way out: "Jon Arryn would never have allowed Robert to squander like this…"
The Hand tried to find some flaw, some loophole, to prove that this was nothing more than a cruel joke.
But the righteous knight who had been silently observing all along could no longer stand by. "The Master of Coin is only responsible for finding the money. It's the King and the Hand who spend it."
"Yet Littlefinger never uttered a single complaint against them, though the Hand did grumble to the King about it."
"But King Robert merely said that he 'hated those damned coin counters most of all.'"
Ser Barristan Selmy's words shattered the Hand's last illusion, piercing through the final shred of hope in his heart.
Compared to the eunuch he so disdained, the words of "Fearless" Ser Barristan were clearly far more credible.
Eddard Stark swallowed hard, raised both hands, and rubbed his face vigorously.
Kal and the other two tacitly gave the Hand some time to absorb it all.
After a while, the Hand lifted his head, gazing bitterly at the silent Kal Stone.
"I'm sorry, Ser Kal. I'll help you refuse this appointment."
Then, his eyes showing a trace of grim resolve, he gritted his teeth. "And I'll have a proper talk with His Majesty. Such extravagance—this tourney, damn it—the realm simply cannot afford it."
But just as the kindhearted Eddard was preparing to return and "properly" speak with the King, and along the way reject this son-trapping appointment on Kal's behalf—
Kal raised his hand to stop him.
"Perhaps we can start by drafting a plan and thinking of solutions. I believe the royal treasury isn't truly as empty as it seems," Kal said, glancing at the three men seated along the long table, a confident smile spreading across his face.
With that, under Eddard Stark's astonished gaze, he stepped forward and sat down in the seat belonging to the Master of Coin.
Kal rubbed that "son-trapping" letter between his fingers, folded it neatly, and slipped it into his sleeve.
After all, this was the first 'offer' he had ever received in both his lives.
"I'll do my best to fulfill this duty, my lords!"
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