Chapter 66 — The Words of the Dead
The noise from the throne hall faded instantly as the heavy iron doors slammed shut.
Two soldiers in leather armor carried in a corpse with its throat slit and laid it gently on the stone floor. At Ned's signal, they withdrew, leaving the side chamber empty once more.
Now only three people remained inside the dim hall: Charles, Ned Stark, and the merchant.
The merchant kept glancing nervously around the bare chamber, unable to settle.
"Are you afraid?" Charles asked quietly, his hands tucked into the wide sleeves of his robe.
"No, my lord—just… excited. Very excited," the merchant stammered, his hands shaking. He realized how strange he must look and took several deep breaths, forcing himself to calm down.
Charles ignored him and turned his attention to the body on the floor.
The young corpse had been washed and dressed neatly.
Pale. Clean-featured. Thin.
By appearance alone, he was about Charles's age.
If not for the ugly gash across his throat, one might have mistaken him for a sleeping boy.
After studying him for a moment, Charles reached into his robe and drew out his pendant. He knelt beside the body and raised it before his eyes. His lips began to move.
A murmur—low and fragmented—filled the chamber.
The incantation echoed softly off the walls, whispering like something crawling through stone.
A chill ran through the air.
The merchant, who had only just recovered his composure, shivered violently. He stared at Charles's shadowed figure crouched beside his son and stumbled backward several steps, his face drained of all color and his legs trembling.
But the incantation lasted only seconds.
As suddenly as it began, it faded into silence.
The merchant was still staring, dazed—until he heard a voice.
"Who killed you?"
The young man in the dark cloak lifted his hood slightly and spoke toward the corpse.
"I don't know him," came the reply.
The voice was flat.
Empty.
Mechanical.
Too familiar.
"…What did he look like?" Charles asked.
"He had golden hair. He was not tall."
The merchant's breath hitched.
He took a step closer.
Then another.
And then he saw it—
The words were coming from his son's mouth.
Tears welled up immediately.
He rushed forward and dropped to his knees.
"Tigg! Tigg—is it you? It's your father—I'm here! Can you hear me? Son? Answer me! Tigg!"
The man's voice shook with genuine grief.
Charles hesitated.
The reaction… looked real.
This wasn't a random corpse pulled off the street.
"That man," the merchant choked, gripping his son's shoulder. "Who was he? Who did this to you? Tell your father—I will rip his head from his body!"
"He had golden hair," the corpse repeated.
"And then?"
"He was short."
"And then?!"
"And then… and then…"
"Nothing else."
The corpse paused.
Then, softly:
"Father… I'm cold…"
"I'm so cold… Father… why is it so cold? Was I not wearing clothes?"
The merchant froze.
"Not wearing…?"
"Not wearing anything?"
The corpse kept repeating the same words in a hollow whisper. Combined with the glassy pupils—dull and unfocused beneath its pried-open eyelids—the joy drained from the merchant's face as if stripped away by unseen hands.
The smile froze.
Then slowly collapsed.
He turned in panic toward Charles.
"Wizard, please—please save him! He's my only son! I beg you—save him!"
"I'm sorry."
Charles looked down at the rigid body of the boy who might as well have been his own age, pity flickering across his face.
"There are only a few minutes left. If you have anything to say to him… make it quick."
After signaling to Ned, Charles stepped aside.
"If he says anything else," Charles added quietly as Ned came closer, "I'll need your help."
Ned nodded, glancing at the merchant now crouched beside his son, clutching him as if his warmth might still be returned.
"To speak with the dead…" Ned murmured. "If you had been at my side earlier, many tragedies might have been avoided."
"What kind of tragedy?" Charles gave him a sidelong look. "You seem to be doing fine."
"Fine?" Ned exhaled sharply. "Jory, Wyl, Hullen… all of them were murdered by the Lannisters. If not for my failures…"
He trailed off, burdened by guilt.
Charles patted his arm lightly and changed the subject.
"When this ends, I need a few men. I'm going out."
"Out? Now?"
Ned frowned. "Leaving the castle at a moment like this is dangerous—especially when someone may be targeting you."
"This is exactly the right time."
Charles's eyes were calm.
"If someone is truly pulling the strings, then they'll assume I'm stuck here dealing with this mess. No one expects their prey to walk out the front door."
"The Red Keep isn't impenetrable," Ned warned. "If they're well-informed, this plan may not work at all. You should wait for my investigation."
"And how long will that take?"
"…I'll do my best to make it quick."
Charles shook his head.
"So I just hide and wait? I'm not afraid of a few rats."
Ned opened his mouth to argue—
Then the sobbing stopped.
They turned at once.
The merchant rose slowly, wiping tears from his eyes with his sleeve.
The corpse lay completely still.
Its eyes were shut.
"Did you find the killer?" Ned asked.
The merchant hesitated.
"…No. I— we talked about other things. I'm sorry, Lord Hand."
Ned gave the body one last look and replied gravely, "I will assign men to investigate. But do not cling to certainty."
"Yes—of course," the merchant nodded rapidly, all desperation gone.
Then he turned to Charles and bowed deeply.
"Wizard, forgive my earlier words. I was… misled."
"By whom?" Charles asked coolly.
"By Kanso," the merchant replied. "You may not recognize the name, but you know his master."
Ned stiffened.
"Who?"
"Petyr Baelish."
"Littlefinger?" Ned's eyes sharpened instantly. "He fled the city—what motive would he have now?"
"I don't know," the merchant shook his head. "But Kanso truly is his man. He told me that if I brought my son before you… his master would transfer the shops north of Iron Street to me."
Charles snorted softly.
"So you took the bait?"
The merchant bowed again.
"Only a fool would make an enemy of you, my lord. They were using me—but they will not escape judgment. I am certain of that."
He hesitated, then lowered his head respectfully.
"Thank you… for what you did for my son. If you ever need anything, simply speak my name."
"I will," Charles said. "Go."
Once the merchant had fled the chamber, Charles finally looked back at Ned.
"It seems your old enemy is still playing games behind your back."