Year 290 AC. Westeros. King's Landing.
Having quickly passed through several corridors and down a staircase, Petyr Baelish opened one of the inconspicuous doors on the second floor of the brothel and stepped inside. Glancing around the spacious room, he allowed himself a small smile. Although he was late, the guest seemed to be completely unoffended.
"Ah, Petyr Baelish, welcome!" A middle-aged man, having just released a pair of serving girls from his embrace and given them a loud slap on their bottoms as they departed, turned to face Littlefinger.
"I welcome our dear guest…" Pausing slightly, the Master of Coin looked inquiringly at the visitor.
"Ah, right. We haven't been properly introduced! My name is Vasso Nestoris," the somewhat portly man smiled, stroking his chestnut beard, which was noticeably streaked with grey.
"A pleasure to make your acquaintance, respected sir," Petyr smiled and settled onto the settee across from him.
The girls, in the meantime, donned light, low-cut dresses and began setting out snacks and wine on the small tables between the two men.
"When my brother told me about the Seven Kingdoms, he mentioned a very talented young Master of Coin with whom it would be worthwhile to do business. I must say that if you manage affairs as thoroughly and diligently as you oversee your beautiful brothel, then we are sure to become excellent partners," Vasso began the conversation, sipping from his cup and following the two flitting girls with his eyes.
"Your brother also spoke highly of you to me; I am pleased that you have become the new representative. Please accept my sincere condolences," Petyr said, still smiling politely. He took a small sip of the light wine and inwardly grimaced.
Old Tattish Nestoris had died at the most inconvenient time. He had already been tied to Baelish through several profitable ventures and had been quite well-disposed towards him. But because of one single storm, Petyr not only had to solve problems that had arisen with major merchants from Essos but also worry about the new representative. Praise the Seven that it turned out to be the previous one's brother, about whom Petyr had at least some idea based on Tattish's accounts.
"Yes, the loss of a brother is a heavy blow for the entire family. But as the acolytes of the House of Black and White say, 'death is sudden'," Vasso mused for a moment, then abruptly changed the subject. "But no matter! Tattish left behind a fine son, Tycho, and two daughters. My nephew will handle the sisters and their marriages, but I will offer some assistance to my brother's son. I believe we Nestoris will remain the representatives in the Seven Kingdoms, so I brought him along. Let him get accustomed to the people and customs of your beautiful country."
At this statement, Baelish merely praised Vasso for his foresight and dedication to family business and steered the conversation toward the necessary direction.
"The Crown is very grateful to both the Nestoris family and the Iron Bank as a whole. In honor of King Robert and Queen Cersei's wedding anniversary, Tywin Lannister has extended a loan of one million gold dragons to the Iron Throne. Half of that amount will go toward repaying the Kingdom's debt to the Iron Bank."
"Oh! That is simply wonderful!" Vasso rejoiced genuinely. "I imagine the ships to transport such a hefty sum will arrive from Braavos within three months."
"I would also like to personally present you with a small gift, in honor of the start of our mutually beneficial relationship." Smiling, Petyr rang a small bell, and servants brought a gilded casket into the room.
"These papers permit you to trade in King's Landing without any duties for the entirety of the year 291 AC." Having informed him of this, Petyr listened with a touch of amusement to his interlocutor's thanks, and finally moved on to what truly concerned him. "Respected Vasso, disturbing rumors have reached me that I would like either to confirm or refute."
"My friend Petyr! There is no need to be so formal! You were good friends with my brother, so let me be your friend, too!" Vasso waved his hand.
"I agree completely." Raising his cup, Baelish moistened his lips with wine again and continued, "They say a new, powerful mercenary company has appeared in Essos, the Burning Legion. They also say it belongs to Viserys Targaryen, the exiled prince of the deposed dynasty. Is this true?"
"Oh, the Burning Legion. Yes, yes, I know them," Vasso nodded his head. "Excellent warriors; I even hired them for my personal guard. Not all of them, of course, but a hundred legionaries always guarded me on family business trips to the other Free Cities. It is a shame that lately, they have refused to renew any contracts and have all flocked to the walls of Astapor."
"Indeed? Very interesting. Why would such an army be needed in Slaver's Bay if the Ghiscari have their Unsullied?" Petyr tensed slightly.
"As you correctly noted, the Burning Legion belongs to Viserys Targaryen, though they are commanded by his loyal assistant, Willem Darry. According to the Iron Bank's intelligence, the young Targaryen wishes to purchase all the Unsullied in Astapor, and then buy a very large fleet from the Free Cities. Myr has already laid down dozens of war galleys in its docks on his order. I think you can guess for yourself what the young dragon's next step will be." Vasso took a sip of wine, looking pointedly at his companion.
Instead of becoming anxious at such a palpable threat to the Seven Kingdoms, Baelish just laughed joyfully in his head, all while maintaining his polite mask externally. It seemed his Plan would only be accelerated. Why spend years of painstaking effort creating chaos in which one can rise, if troubled times will come to the Seven Kingdoms themselves with the march of the Burning Legion? Excellent, simply excellent! The main thing is to arrange for the death of the victor in advance, and everything will work out.
"Do not worry, my friend. Braavos will never abandon its reliable partners. Not a single decrepit boat will be sold to that insolent boy. It is a pity that the Faceless Men refused to take the contract for Viserys, citing the Blood Book."
"The Blood Book?" Now Baelish was truly interested. He had heard that the death of certain people cost a great deal, especially when bought from the Faceless Men, but for these assassins to refuse a contract altogether…
"Forgive me, my friend, but those are the secrets of Braavos that I cannot tell you," the Iron Bank representative said, spreading his hands.
After discussing a few more matters, Petyr left the representative and headed toward the exit of the brothel.
He became lost in his thoughts, already constructing dozens of multi-layered intrigues in his mind. He was jolted from his contemplation by an unexpected collision, which nearly made him fall.
"My apologies." Someone grabbed his arm and helped him regain his balance.
Gazing at the man he had collided with, Petyr smiled.
"There's no need to apologize; I was too preoccupied after a business conversation. I beg your pardon." The Master of Coin apologized.
In response to his apology, the young man with thick chestnut hair and a short beard only offered a distracted smile and a nod.
When they had already passed each other and walked a couple of steps in opposite directions, Petyr suddenly stopped and looked back.
"Might your name be Tycho Nestoris?"
"And yours is not Petyr Baelish?" his contemporary smiled broadly, turning around.
"I think we should talk. How about wine, fruits, and girls?" Petyr asked, having fully emerged from his preoccupation, raising an eyebrow inquiringly.
"Why not? My father told me about you, the youngest Master of Coin in the Seven Kingdoms. I believe I have much to learn from you, and I have much to tell you over a cup of wine."
…
Year 290 AC. Essos. Ghaen Isle. New Ghis.
Walking past the guard post protecting the entrance to the central slave market of New Ghis, I surveyed the scene that opened up before me.
The wide road, paved with red stone, was straight as a spear. Along the sides were large covered pavilions with wooden floors and woven walls. At the entrance was a comfortable booth where the sellers sat.
This time my escort was small. A pair of Praetorians, a bored Zirarro, and one of the merchants working for House Lorkhaz. The commander of my bodyguards remained in the pyramid, passing the time in the company of wine and Lorkhaz's chief of guard.
"I recommend this pavilion to you, Lord Viserys. They have a large selection and quality goods." My escort bowed, stopping at the entrance to one of the pavilions.
"I'll trust your advice." Shrugging, I stepped under the shade of the tiled awning.
"Narazzir, it's Vasoriss! Open up, you old stump!" The escort shouted loudly, knocking on the half-closed door.
A couple of moments later, the thin door flew open, and a short, fat man of advanced age literally tumbled out of it, sporting a ridiculous beard split into two braids right down the center.
"Vasoriss! What the fu—" The fat man stumbled, then carefully examined the sigil on my clothing and instantly bowed deeply, "Welcome, honored guest of House Lorkhaz, Viserys Targaryen."
"Merchant, my lord wishes to see what you have to offer." Stepping forward, Zirarro placed his hand on his hip.
"Of course, of course, honored sirs." Straightening up, the merchant nodded so quickly that his funny beard began to shake. "The best slaves of New Ghis are gathered in this pavilion! This is not the Rows of Pain and the Sea Market. Here are only strong young men, beautiful girls trained in at least one profession, and children—healthy and ready to be trained as personal servants, trustworthy stewards, accountants, and other people useful for a household."
"Excellent. Lead the way." I waved my hand imperiously, at which the slaver bent into a new bow and made way for the entrance.
We moved after him. Why had I decided to visit such a specific place as the slave market at all? Just as the merchant said, the most loyal servants and warriors are those you raise yourself. Only I didn't need accountants; I needed mages. Finding gifted ones among the children wasn't a big problem. My magical sight clearly showed who had a focus and who did not.
Why had my choice fallen on the most expensive market in the city? The answer is simple. Only here could I find what I had come for. Cheaper markets are visited by the priestesses of the Harpy who buy up children with a focus from whom new servants will grow. And though the temples are rich, they are not rich enough to pay four times the price for new acolytes at more accessible markets.
"The first section contains men. They can be used as galley rowers, stonemasons, and miners. A separate group consists of captured warriors. They make excellent gladiators," the merchant explained and stepped aside, revealing a view of a spacious room.
Rays of sunlight filtered through the woven walls and fell upon people chained to posts. Within the outlined circle were a dozen sturdy young men, each wearing a collar around their neck, to which a chain was attached, firmly tying them to the post.
Having glanced over the muscular, well-fed slaves and the guarding overseers, I was about to ask which direction held the children when I involuntarily turned around at the noise of a door being unlocked.
A servant flitted out of the adjacent hall, followed by a quartet of brutish mercenaries, and then literally floated a tall Ghiscari man dressed in green silk and possessing a belly comparable to a beer barrel. The procession was closed by a girl of about twelve, with posture straight as a sword, long charcoal hair, and narrow eyes set in a doll-like face. A decorative silver collar hung around her neck, the end of the chain gripped in the fat man's hand.
Meeting the girl's gaze, I saw nothing in her brown eyes but burning hatred.
"Mae! Bastard, let her go or I'll chop you into small pieces and feed you to the pigs!" a cry suddenly rang out from the nearest post.
"Shut up, lunatic." An immediate response followed from one of the overseers, and the young man, who looked about twenty, received a hearty kick to the stomach.
"I'll get out! I'll get out of here and kill all of you!" the narrow-eyed young man with tangled black hair reaching his shoulder blades hoarsely yelled.
Noting with surprise that the young man was speaking in Yi-Tish, I activated my sight and began to intently examine the girl. And I was right! Although the focus was half the size of what I had seen in the Harpy priestesses and was nothing compared to mine, it was there!
While I examined the girl's meridians with anticipation, the cursing only intensified.
"What is that wretch shouting?" the Ghiscari aristocrat asked the servant in Valyrian.
"Forgive me, Master, but we don't have people who know Yi-Tish well enough," the servant said with a bow.
"Wretched, fat barbarians! Give me a sword and I'll carve out your rotten hearts!" the young man continued to rage.
"Close his mouth," the pavilion owner ordered one of the overseers.
The guard, who had already drawn his arm back for a strike, was stopped by my shout.
"No! Step away from him and dare not touch him." Having glanced once more at the empty and damaged, yet well-developed magical focus of the Yi-Tish man, I turned to the owner of this place. "I'm buying. Both the girl and the boy."
"Too late, Valyrian. The girl is already mine," the Ghiscari man in the green ruha announced with a look of contempt on his face, and he started to head for the exit, but the path for him and his guards was blocked by the shields of my Praetorians.
"The Master stated his wish quite clearly, Ghiscari," one of the fighters, with the Praetorian sigil on his cloak, said menacingly.
"And we either come to an agreement…" Zirarro smiled bloodthirstily and placed his hand on the hilt of his backsword. "...or Lord Viserys will get what he wants by other means."
"As if I, Ghorezis mo Jaze, would yield to some Valyrian bastard?!" the Ghiscari man roared in a fury, waving his arms, which caused the chain to pull taut and yank the Yi-Tish girl forward, sending her sprawling onto the wooden floor.
"Mae!" the young man cried out again.
"Clear out, boys, or your guts will be wrapped around our blades," one of the fat man's guards snarled with a gap-toothed smile and unsheathed his sword.
"Act." As soon as the word left my lips, events spun with the speed of lightning.
The remaining mercenaries only reached for their weapons when the tips of spears pierced the throats of two of them.
"Bitches!" The mercenary who had already drawn his sword screamed and lunged straight at me.
But the gap-toothed man did not cover half the distance before he was stopped by Zirarro's backsword, which crashed down upon him like a storm upon a fishing boat.
In three swings of the blade, my Captain split the arrogant mercenary's head into two uneven halves. The fight ended there. A couple of Praetorians easily dealt with the remaining guard and had already wrestled the Ghiscari aristocrat to the ground, rewarding him with a few kicks to better understand the situation.
"I am buying both Yi-Tish people." Untying a purse from my belt, I threw the pouch full of gold coins to the slightly bewildered merchant.
"But, but, Master. He is the heir of House Jaze!" the slaver cried, wringing his hands and skillfully catching the purse.
"I don't care. They are barely on the last place in the Scroll of Lords. If those wretches have questions for Lorkhaz and Targaryen, the spears of the Unsullied and the blades of the Burning Legion will gladly answer them," my escort replied, looking contemptuously at the whining fat man.
Ten minutes later, we had already left the market and were walking leisurely toward the Lorkhaz pyramid. I decided to end today's adventures here and visit the market again tomorrow before sailing.
"Quiet, quiet, Mae. This white-haired barbarian is certainly a very noble and rich man. He has dozens of beautiful concubines, and he most likely took you as a servant for his favorite wife," the young man whispered, stroking the head of the silently weeping girl.
"So you think I'm so ugly, brother, that this barbarian won't even take me as a concubine?" the girl snapped, instantly ceasing her weeping and kicking her brother angrily on the leg.
"This barbarian has neither a wife nor a concubine," I said with a sneer, speaking in Yi-Tish, watching as the eyes of the brother and sister widened.
"Surely he's a sodomite?" Mae asked hopefully. The young man, schooling his face into the porcelain mask he wore instead of an expression, quickly covered his sister's mouth with his hand.
"I ask you to forgive my sister. She is still too young and therefore… hasty in her judgments." The young man bowed smoothly with dignity.
Stopping and casting a thoughtful glance at him, I raised an eyebrow:
"What is your name?"
"Liao, Senior."
"The full name," I asked, adding a clang of iron to my voice.
"Liao Fen, Master of the Scarlet River School," he replied after a moment's hesitation.
"If I grant you and your sister freedom…"
"I will become your most loyal blade, Senior, if you grant me and my sister freedom and no one touches her honor." Clenching his fists for a moment, Liao bowed again and, taking a deep breath as if preparing to dive underwater, blurted out, "I ask you to accept the oath of Clan Fen, Senior Viserys Targaryen!"
"I accept." Nodding, I smiled wryly at my silent companions and gave the order in the Common Tongue, "Remove their chains. They are free now." The Praetorians, without uttering a word, took the keys to the collars from the escort and began freeing the brother and sister. Looking at Mae's suspicious little face and Liao's attempt to maintain his composure, I smiled contentedly.
It seems I have acquired my first mages.
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