The Cat, the Spider and the Little Birds
The old black tom did not bother to hiss. The other cats in the castle - fat lazy beasts fed by even fatter cooks, newborn kittens eager to explore and escape their groomed lady cat mothers, jaded tabbies lurking outside ratholes and midden heaps - had long acknowledged his sovereignty. Once in a while, a strutting young bravo would snarl and arch its back, only to hastily beat a retreat when battle began. Balerion was a mean old devil, as vicious as his namesake, the dragon that had once ruled the Red Keep.
But the cat was not prowling the chambers and halls of the castle. Instead, he stalked the passages and corridors underneath. At least half a dozen tunnels met and made their separate ways into and out of King's Landing. There were traps, sliding doors, buried levers, locked portcullises hidden in the dark maze. A cat could see, hear, and smell far better than a human. Even the whiskers sensed the movement of air to more easily detect anything odd in the walls, floors and ceilings. Balerion had no troubles navigating the gloom.
There were many levels to the network of passages and tunnels. And there were doors, often concealed, that opened to circular staircases leading into different areas of the Red Keep. The old cat had found the dungeons of the black cells, the rungs that led from the chamber of the three headed dragon to the master bedroom of the Tower of the Hand, and the cellars of the White Sword Tower. Balerion had found several exits as well. One long passage went West from the castle, terminating in the stench of Flea Bottom and the redolent perfume of whorehouses. Two tunnels went South to the river while another led to a narrow path of handholds that faced Blackwater Bay and the narrow sea.
Balerion passed through a hall filled with faded red and black tapestries into a room full of skulls - dragon skulls. The empty eyes of the heads watched as he leaped over ridges of black teeth and bony white horns. He made his way up the corridor to the light and noise. A long long time ago, he had attended court with his mistress, a smiling little girl, dark haired, olive skinned, and bright violet eyes. The girl had loved him greatly before being taken away by monsters.
He remembered faintly what was ahead - a giant cavernous chamber with a monstrous structure that ruled the room. Even a cat would fear the pile of sharp spikes, jagged metal, and half melted swords. The Great Hall was the grandest room in the Red Keep and the Iron Throne was the most striking part of the hall, a steel spire resting on an iron dais at the end of a long red carpet that stretched from massive oak and bronze doors to the throne. The secret door opened behind the Iron Throne into the tunnels, a way used only by the Targaryen kings.
Pale slits of light from the throne room lit up the corridor, illuminating a dirty and disheveled figure, squatting by the wall with a short dagger resting on the ground. The young boy marked a slate board with a pointed stylus as he held his ear to the wall. This was one of the little birds the fat man sold, a child whose tongue had been cut out to reduce the risk of telling secrets to others. Balerion sat and watched, his rage growing hot.
Arya Stark watched as the wildfire oozed through the bunghole of the cask. Last night, Jon had awakened a shopkeeper on River Row near the docks and the Mud Gate to buy barrels. The cooper's eyes lit up when presented with a fistful of golden dragons and the man had offered his best wares - casks well built enough to hold whale oil harvested in the Shivering Sea. Jon had bought a dozen different barrels, all banded with metal hoops as well as seals, stoppers, and spigots. The shop owner had even thrown in a wagon, a mule and two wheelbarrows to cart away their goods.
It took a long time even to fill a small cask. The chill in the dank vault kept the wildfire murky and thick. Heat would make the liquid flow more easily but any spark or flame could lead to a fire. Jon had explained that wildfire expanded with great violence, and could explode outwards into a massive conflagration. Arya had the time to be careful. They would move the barrels from the chamber when they were ready.
Her brother woke, and his eyes opened and closed, the milky white fading, as he stretched his arms in a yawn. Arya wondered if she would ever be able to warg as easily as Jon.
"I found many of the passages in the Red Keep. There is one below the Tower of the Hand where several tunnels meet. It is a small chamber with a red and black mosaic of House Targaryen, and you climb up a long staircase. It leads to the bedchamber." Jon said.
"Whose bed?" Arya asked. She sealed the cask with a metal bung.
"Most likely the Hand of the King. The passages were built by Maegor the Cruel. I think he used them to spy on his Small Council." Jon said.
Arya bit her lip. "If the passage leads there, couldn't we go tonight to kill the Imp, rescue Sansa, and burn down the Tower with wildfire?"
"We could kill Tyrion in his sleep. But that is not rescuing Sansa. The Hand's bed chamber will be guarded from the outside. We would need to slay his men, find Sansa's chamber, and then kill her guards. Doing that without raising the alarm would be hard." Jon replied.
"Even guards need to sleep. I can stab them with Needle and Gram." Arya said.
Jon shook his head. "We do not know where Sansa is in the Tower. If her chamber is near, then we might rescue her. But her bedroom might be a floor lower. Once any alarm is raised, Sansa is lost to us. And if we use wildfire on the Tower, we may kill everyone in the Tower, including ourselves, and Sansa."
"But Jon, what about the wildfire?" Arya said, pointing to the full casks.
"What about it, sister?" "How will we use it?"
Jon chuckled. "Very very carefully. We don't want to kill ourselves. Wildfire, like dragons, are best used sparingly. Do you know how the Targaryens used wildfire in battle?"
"No." Arya replied.
"That is because they did not. After Aegon the III, the Targaryens had no dragons. So they commissioned the Alchemist Guild to produce wildfire. The pyromancers built Aegon the Unworthy seven dragons out of wood and steel. full of pumps and tubes to shoot jets of wildfire. They meant to invade Dorne. It was a terrible failure. The dragons exploded in the kingswood, burning everyone alive." Jon said.
"What went wrong?" Arya said.
"Many things but the simplest point is that when wildfire is hot, it explodes into flame. Dorne is the hottest region of Westeros. Aegon the Unworthy was an idiot, and the Alchemist's Guild are a pack of fools." Jon said.
"But are we going to use wildfire against the Lannisters?" Arya said.
"Yes, but not how they expect. Surprise is the best weapon. We cannot simply burn everything. For one, wildfire is treacherous and difficult to wield. A sharp wind, and the flames will turn on the user. And two, I swore an oath to Owen Fossoway that no Tyrells would die." Jon said.
"But Jon, if we can kill Joffrey or Tywin.."
"That would be tempting. But an oath is an oath. I gave Owen my word. I would keep it if I can. Without our honor, we are not better than our enemies." Jon said.
"The Lannisters have no honor. They pushed Bran off the wall. They beheaded Father. If they could, they would burn us all to death with wildfire." Arya complained.
"We are not the Lannisters, and I will not let them do that. If they harmed you, I would make them suffer. And if they killed you, I would burn the castle down to the ground. All their castles. The Red Keep. Casterly Rock. The Golden Tooth. Every stone House Lannister claimed from here to the Sunset Sea. But let us not worry about that. We have much to do." Jon scratched a crude map on the sand. "Do you know where we are?"
"The Dragonpit. I saw the light coming down through the dome." Arya said.
"Right - the Pit is on Rhaenys' Hill, next to Flea Bottom and the Street of Silk. Study the tunnels from here to the Red Keep until you can walk them with ease. When you escape with Sansa, you must be swift and certain in your steps." Jon said.
"You won't be with us?" Arya asked.
"No, I have another role to play. We will meet at the docks. You are the only one I trust with our sister." Jon said.
Arya nodded. She was not afraid of the dark. She thought carefully about the route to freedom. The three headed dragon mosaic. The chamber of dragon skulls. The tunnels of unfinished stone that curved west. The exit into the Street of Silk. She would not fail Sansa.
Tyrion looked out the window as the carriage turned right on the Street of the Sisters. The servants were both foreigners from the Free Cities. The driver's accent marked him as a Braavosi but only the Seven knew where Varys had found the other henchman - a hairless man whose face was tattooed with green tiger stripes. Some hellhole, no doubt.
"Where are we going? Could you not have answered my question at the Red Keep?" he asked.
"Pardon, my Lord Hand. But sometimes, a face is worth a thousand words." The eunuch tittered as they stopped at a bright well-lit building, redolent sweet perfume. A man played the pipes behind the leaded windows, obscuring the sounds of false laughter.
"A brothel? I am quite capable of finding my own whores." Tyrion said.
"Indeed? I have heard that others find whores for you." Varys glided from the carriage. He stepped to one side as he opened the door.
The room was dark and mostly empty, with many of the working girls sleeping off last night's excesses. A small mockingbird sigil was engraved in the wood door, and ornate screens of half dressed women dominated the common room. A dark haired doe-eyed girl jested with a fat merchant on a richly cushioned divan, pouring out a large goblet of purple mine. The girl was short, slim and pretty and Tyrion remembered when that smile, half shy, half wicked, had been directed at him.
"Shae. What is she doing here?" Tyrion asked as the eunuch closed the door noiselessly. The carriage began the trip back to the Red Keep before Varys spoke again.
"You asked me earlier what Baelish's game was. That is it. He found your mistress, and brought her back to King's Landing."
"Hardly a mistress. I had a whore at camp to share my bed. That is true for most lords."
"It is not the girl. It is the song she sings to Baelish. You told her about your first wife."
Tyrion's brow wrinkled. One night, when he was drunker than usual, he had told Bronn and Shae about the whore that pretended to be a crofter's daughter, and his father's displeasure. But why should that matter to Baelish? "What of it? That was many years ago."
Varys looked at him quizzically. "You were married to her by a septon?"
"Yes but only for a fortnight. My father made sure of that." Tyrion said.
"You are not Aegon the Conqueror. You cannot be married to two women."
"But my father said the marriage was undone." a befuddled Tyrion said.
"Ah to be young and foolish." Varys spoke languidly, like a teacher to a particularly slow but well liked child. "There are four ways the Faith of the Seven allows a marriage to end. The king can set it aside. The High Septon or his Council of Faith can annul the vows. The bride can join the Silent Sisters. Or you can join the Night's Watch and freeze to death on the Wall. I assume you do not intend to take the black?"
"The septons claimed it was as if we had never wed." Tyrion exclaimed.
"Your father's septons? They are not the Most Devout, I am afraid. Only the High Septon or the King can absolve your marriage. Now the late unlamented septon was fat and corrupt, and a gift to the Faith would be enough to make him do your bidding. But the High Sparrow has been chosen and he is no puppet. He could declare your marriage invalid." Varys said.
"Baelish would not dare speak to the High Septon. He knows that he cannot afford to provoke my Lord father." Tyrion said.
"Littlefinger is not accusing you. He wants others to do that. That is why he spoke to Joffrey about your first marriage. That is why Shae works at his brothel. Who else will she tell? When the crumbs litter the ground, the birds will peck and find the trail. Joffrey, your sister, the Tyrells - they will know soon enough. And they may tell the High Sparrow." Varys said.
"So the Faith and other Lords think badly of me. What else is new? They already call me a demon monkey behind my back. I am a Lannister. My name will protect me." Tyrion said.
"Even the Targaryens had trouble with the Faith. Your father may be feared now but how long will that last? The new High Septon could order you arrested and put on trial for bigamy. What if Littlefinger finds a whore who claims to be Tysha?" Varys said.
"Then Baelish is a liar." Tyrion said.
"Of course he is. But it would be your word against hers. My little birds tell me that a procession of whores will attend your wedding. Among them will be Shae and other ladies of the night. Perhaps the septon will think one of them is Tysha." Varys said.
Tyrion scoffed. "Tysha does not look like Shae. My wife was no courtesan. And how would a whore make it to the Red Keep during a wedding?"
"Your nephew is King. He would enjoy humiliating you. Joffrey might not put you on trial himself. But he would laugh if you were dragged down by a whore. All Baelish needs to do is to cover his tracks, and let others accuse you." Varys said.
Tyrion grimaced. He would clearly need to pay Baelish back for his schemes. No doubt Petyr had secrets that he did not want divulged, and henchmen that Tyrion could interrogate. Even his never ending sources of gold could be investigated. How had Baelish raised so much gold?
"What do you think of the Martells, my Lord?" Varys said, interrupting their thoughts.
"What about them?" Tyrion said warily.
"Why are there so many of them in the city?" Varys asked.
"So many? There is only one, and he has already created a nuisance at Chataya's. Bronn told me that Oberyn Martell nearly killed Reginald Lannister - one of my distant relatives. Although uncle Reginald would be no loss to my family." Tyrion said.
"One Martell but many, many Sands. Oberyn bought his paramour, and several Sand Snakes. Does that not strike you as odd?" The eunuch's eyes bore down upon him, like a spider watching a fly.
"He is here to claim a seat on a Small Council." Tyrion said.
"Do you really think the Red Viper cares a fig about being Master of Laws? What is his post on the Small Council, anyway?" Varys said.
"I am not certain. He has been too busy exploring our brothels to attend any meetings. And the Tyrells claim we promised two posts on the Small Council. Between those promised to the Reach, Baelish and yourself, we have no open spots" Tyrion said
"You should wonder about Dorne. Since Princess Elia's death, they have wanted nothing to do with the Iron Throne. And now the Red Viper shows up, with many companions. I would watch the Martells carefully, my lord." Varys said.
Tyrion nodded gloomily. Another thing to do after the wedding.
Sansa Stark handed the sweet biscuits to Jeyne Poole. The high tea with Lady Margaery and her ladies had been lavish - lemon cakes frosted in sugar and baked apples drowning in cinnamon and honey. Servant boys had rushed about with teapots shaped like swans and platters of strawberries and sweetgrass. All the wealth and bounty of the Reach were on display, and her clothes could not match the finery of the samite green gown of the Tyrell girl.
"Thank you, my lady." Jeyne said, taking a bite of the soft flaky shortbread.
"I would have brought you lemon tarts, but they are too hard to carry." Sansa said.
The two girls sat in a comfortable silence. Only a few moons ago, Sansa expected her best friend to attend her wedding as a honored guest. Now that would be impossible. Littlefinger had shattered Jeyne's spirit, along with her maidenhead. Scars criss-crossed her back, the marks of training at the brothel. Many nights, Sansa went to sleep to the sound of faint sobbing. The girl who giggled at the Hand's Tourney over Lord Beric's gallantry was gone.
Sansa placed her right hand over Jeyne's left arm. They would survive somehow. She would protect her friend. She would bring the light back to Jeyne's hollow eyes. The girl smiled back, and Sansa poured two glasses of buttermilk to wash down the biscuits.
A knock rang out. The door opened, and Brienne walked through in dented blue armor. Behind her, Ser Osmund sniggered and Ser Loras averted his eyes. The Hound had no expression.
"My lady, may I speak to you privately?" Brienne said in a halting voice.
Sansa nodded and Jeyne retreated into a bed closet. Brienne waited, and then handed her a long cloth. Sansa opened the red and blue bolt, and wondered why anyone would waste silver thread on a dumpy and poorly embroidered frog. "What is this, Ser?"
"A gift from Lady Stark - for you to wear on your wedding day."
Was that supposed to be a trout on a field of red mud? The fins looked more like a frog's forelegs. "My lady mother… Is this supposed to be the sigil of House Tully?"
Brienne nodded. "I know the trout isn't very well done but Owen Fossoway was insistent that you receive it."
Her mother would have never knitted crooked stitches. Sansa knew only one person capable of such terrible needlework - Arya. Her mind swam with the possibilities. Did Arya send the scarf to King's Landing? "What were his exact words?"
"He didn't say much. Lady Catelyn gave him the cloth at the God's Eye. She desired that you wear this at your betrothal." Brienne stammered.
"That was all he said?" she asked.
"I tried to ask more, Lady Sansa. I really did - but he only repeated that Lady Catelyn gave him the cloth and desired you to wear this at your betrothal. I pointed out that while this could cover your head, it was hardly a maiden's cloak. I don't see how you can wear this at the wedding without giving insult to the Lannisters." A flustered Brienne said.
Arya had told everyone that she would never marry. But their lady mother had instructed both of them on the details of a wedding ceremony. Her sister knew that the correct maiden's cloak would be the Stark dire wolf, not the Tully trout. And this Fossoway received this scarf at the God's Eye where her brothers had just won a victory. A spark of hope grew in Sansa's chest. She handed the needlework back to Brienne.
"Ser, find Owen Fossoway and return this to him. Tell him I cannot wear the sign of my mother's house. The Lannisters will not allow me to wear the Stark dire wolf." Sansa rooted about her wedding garments for the sample the seamstress had left. With a knife, she hacked off a piece of the maiden's cloak. "Give this to him. Tell him that I shall wear this as a cloak and a veil at my wedding."
"But why would Fossoway …"
Sansa's voice sharpened. "Lady Brienne, will you keep the oath that you swore to my mother?"
Brienne nodded. "I pledged my sword and service. I will give my life for yours, if need be."
"Good. Then follow these orders. Do not speak to anyone but Owen Fossoway. Make certain no one else hears my message." Sansa handed Brienne a strip of cloth, light grey on ice white.
They heard laughter from many of the rooms and windows of the brothel. An ornate lanthorn of gilded brass and scarlet glass hung over the entrance, casting a garish pink light on the cobbled streets. Guards in the flowing yellow robes of Dorne watched girls in flowing silks prance in and out of the two story structure.
"Do all Dornish people spend so much time at the brothels?" Arya complained.
"Well, Oberyn Martell has quite the reputation, with both men and women. He has eight bastard daughters." Jon said.
"Does he really need to bring his daughters to Chataya's?" Arya said.
"Oberyn Martell is not ashamed of going to a brothel. I doubt the Sand Snakes care either. The maesters think the salty Dornish follow their Rhoynish blood. Mother Rhoyne had many lovers, like the Great Turtle and the Crab King." Jon said.
Arya wrinkled her nose. "I did not need to know that."
"You asked, sister." Jon said. "Are you ready?"
Arya nodded. She pushed the cart forward. "Lemon Tarts. Lemon Tarts." she cried. The House Martell guards ignored her, but the painted ladies happily threw her copper stars. Some even gave a silver stag. Arya made her way past the entrance into a room full of mosaics of women engaged in acts that would have met with the full approval of the Rhoynar. Arya sold her lemon tarts with a smile, speaking to no one unless she was spoken to first. She was just a street rat, looking to make a few coppers. She kept her eyes at waist level, looking for a girl or boy with skin the color of teak. Her cart was almost empty when a tall angry woman with her long brown hair bound in a rat tail stood up to confront her.
"You, boy - are you one of Varys' little birds?" Obara Sand called out. A long spear clattered by her sandalled feet.
"That's not a boy. That's a girl." A tall lady in lilac robes tinged with cream and copper said in a bored tone. "Why are you here?"
The third Sand Snake fanned herself with pale soft hands. "Oh, leave her alone. The poor girl merely wants to make a few coppers. I love lemon tarts, sweetling."
Arya offered a tart to the lady in the green and white gown. Then she scurried away, making for the exit, until she saw a flash of skin smooth as polished ebony. Arya followed until she reached an alcove with a white feather bed. The girl was extraordinarily pretty, dressed in flowing yellow silks with a beaded gold belt that matched the gilded collar at the neck. She was as tall as Sansa with wide eyes and skin darker than teak.
"I am looking for Alleras." Arya blurted out.
The young girl smiled. "Oh, are you learning how to read as well?"
"Yes. Do you know where Alleras is?" Arya said.
"Right here." A comely youth in green and brown said. His skin was the color of nut brown ale, lighter than the girl's polished jet. "Yaya, I have two books for you." He handed her two slim tomes. "The second is an exercise workbook to copy words as you pronounce them."
"Thank you!" There was a sweetness about the whore, and a genuine interest in the books. "Do you want to share?" She said to Arya.
"Alayaya, let me speak to her in private."
The Summer Island girl left, leaving them alone. Alleras looked amused. "You look just like him. You have the same long face and grey eyes."
"What did you send to the Riverlands?" Arya hissed.
Alleras laughed. "And the same cunning. The Sphinx is the riddle, not the riddler."
"He wants to see you outside. Meet us at sunset at the eastern door of the Dragonpit." The Sphinx nodded, handing her three coppers for the last unsold tart. Arya made her way out of Chataya's and ditched the cart before heading south to the harbor to meet Jon.
The setting sun shone through the charred walls, forming strange misshapen windows on the upper levels of the Dragonpit. The great dome had collapsed long ago, and the cavernous interior was one giant mess, with much of the tumbled stone scavenged for graveyards, septs, manses, and buildings elsewhere in King's Landing. The bronze clamps which had held the stonework together were pried or hacked out and the only remaining iron jutted into the sky, like a dragon's wings. It was a cruel jape, Jon thought. Had the Pit been open to the sky on that fateful day, some of the royal dragons might have escaped. Instead, they all died at the hands of crazed smallfolk led by an even more deranged prophet. A dragon should never be chained.
Arya perched over the eastern gate, peering suspiciously into the growing darkness. The great doors had been sealed for over a century, and smallfolk and highborn alike believed the building to be cursed. For good reason, Jon thought, as he gazed over the blackened ruins and the ashes left by the massive destruction. The dragonpit was haunted by death and fire. Only a few desperate whores from Flea Bottom entertained clients nearby, and none did so inside the Pit.
"Someone is coming. Alone." Arya said.
A hunched over begging brother in roughspun shabby robes approached, tapping a stout quarterstaff, like a blind man probing for obstacles. Jon tossed down the twisted rope ladder purchased that afternoon from a ship chandler. The robed figure strapped the staff to his back and climbed up gracefully, taking Jon's hand for the dismount. The Sphinx' comely face emerged from the brown cowl.
"How did you know?" Alleras said.
"Your quarterstaff is polished wood. It would have been stolen from you in Flea Bottom." Jon pulled up the ladder. "Alleras, this is my…
"Your sister, Arya Stark. We have met." She spoke with a soft Dornish drawl.
"Were you followed?" Jon said in a more serious voice.
"I spotted the spies outside Chataya's. I lost them in Flea Bottom. But Varys knows of me. He found me in Eel Alley two days after I sent the wooden sphinx to you in the Riverlands."
"How much does Varys know?" Jon said.
"I have been careful to avoid his little birds but I posed as a trader from Lys. I sailed to King's Landing from Planky Town and Hull and his spies may discover that. And Varys also guessed that I was a woman." Alleras said.
"Does he know that you are a Martell?" Jon asked.
"Why would he know that?" Alleras said.
"You came from Dorne. His spies are watching Oberyn Martell and your sisters at Chataya's. And he knows that you are only pretending to be a man." Jon said.
"Perhaps but Varys relies on little birds - young boys and girls. They are not allowed inside Chataya's. And I have only sent messages to my father and sisters through Alayaya and others. I have not spoken to them directly." Alleras said.
"Petyr Baelish is a whoremonger. Could his spies be aware of you?" Jon asked.
"At Chataya's?" Alleras shook her head. "Chataya is my mother's sister. My father gave her the money to start fifteen years ago. Baelish has tried many times to buy her out. Chataya's is one of the safest places in King's Landing from both Varys and Baelish."
Arya's eyes popped. "Is that girl related to you?"
"Alayaya - yes, she is my cousin. A sweet girl and quite clever. I am teaching her how to read."
"But she is a whore." Arya said, surprised.
"Love making is not scorned in the Summer Isles. There is no shame to serve at a pillow house after a maiden or a youth has flowered. Pleasure is a gift from the Gods." Alleras said.
Jon chuckled. "The Summer Islanders make the Dornish seem like the Northmen."
The Sphinx smiled enigmaticly. "You know nothing. But enough about the Summer Isles. Why are you here in King's Landing, Jon Snow?"
"Why do you think?" Jon said.
"You came here to rescue your sister, Lady Sansa. You were not invited but you plan to attend the wedding."
"Perhaps. But why are you here, Alleras? Why did you come to King's Landing?" Jon said.
"I landed in Sunspear when Edric Dayne arrived with Amory Lorch. We want what Dorne has always wanted - revenge for the death of Elia Martell and her children." Alleras said.
"What did Lorch say?" Jon said.
"Tywin Lannister gave orders to kill Aegon and Rhaenys. That would allow him to declare fealty with Robert Baratheon and make his daughter queen." Alleras said.
Jon turned, his eyes sweeping over the husk of the Dragonpit. His brother and sister were murdered to win political favor for House Lannister. He tried not to think about his dreams of Rhaenys. "What of Elia Martell?"
"Lorch claims there were no orders on Princess Elia. Gregor Clegane did that on his own. Elia Martell fought desperately to save Aegon but Clegane killed him and raped her." Alleras said.
"Who else knew? Who else besides Lorch and Clegane?" Jon said.
"I don't know. Do you suspect others?" Alleras said.
"At Riverrun, I asked Jaime Lannister. He said he would have defended the royal children with his life. But Varys was in King's Landing. Did he know? How did the Lannisters get into the city? And how did Lorch and Clegane get into Maegor's Holdfast?" Jon asked.
"Lorch says he scaled the walls of the Holdfast." Alleras said.
Arya snorted. "Amory Lorch? He is fatter than Fat Tom, and older."
"He was younger during the Rebellion but Arya is right. The walls of the Holdfast are high and thick. Did Princess Elia have any guards? Even a few men could defend Maegor's against an army." Jon said.
"They killed all of her retainers. Her companions, her ladies-in-waiting, her guards. Anyone who could tell the truth about her murder was slain." Alleras said.
"Not everyone. Varys must know." Jon said. "He has spies all over the Red Keep."
"Who can trust the Spider? Who knows the extent of his plots or lies? He whispers to Uncle Doran that he would help the Martells. It has been sixteen years. Nothing has been done. Justice delayed is justice denied." Alleras spat.
"It might be too late for justice, but not for revenge. Princess Elia's story is not over." Jon said.
"What can I do to help?" Alleras said.
"How many little birds are watching you?" Jon asked.
"Hard to say. There are urchins everywhere in King's Landing. I see them on the docks, in the fish market, at the Blushing Maiden, near the Sept of Baelor, and on the walk to Chataya's. I only spot them when they start to follow." Alleras said.
"Let them follow you. We need to flush out the Spider." Jon said.
Most of King's Landing reeked of piss and sweat but the forges of the Street of Steel chased the stench away. A strong clean odor hung thick over the hill - honest smoke from charcoal mixed with the fires of coal dust and molten iron and steel. As Jon walked up, the streets widened, the beggars disappeared, and the buildings grew sturdier and refined. Ironmongers peddled old blades, horseshoes and tools at the bottom of the hill. In the middle, blacksmiths banged out shields and mail shirts at open forges. But the peak was reserved for the finest armorers who dealt in suits of polished plate armor. Everywhere, there was the clang of the anvil, the whoosh of the bellows, and blasts of hot air heavy with sulfur and limestone.
The Street of Steel had profited from the war. The hill bustled with young serving girls and hard working apprentices. Signs for jewelers, silversmiths and goldsmiths abounded. Those shops would gild and adorn armor, shields, and swords with gems, gold and silver filigree, roaring lions, silver trout, and golden roses. Jon was of the North. Steel was meant for battle, not parties. He ducked into a narrow street between two smithies. A large green placard twisted in the wind, inscribed with a jester of unusual height juggling knives. Jon entered the inn.
The Jester's Green brought back fond memories of the Quill and Tankard in Oldtown. Cheerful serving wenches exchanged tankards of wine, ale, and cider for silver stags and copper stars. Seamen, smiths, and singers swapped bawdy tales and stories. The food was good here - beef stew bubbling in a large cauldron over the fire, fowls roasting on spits, and onion soup served in hollowed out bread. Jon gave the blushing young girl a smile and two silver stags for mugs of ale, toasted bread and cheese, and two seats near the roaring fire.
"The cider here tastes worse than piss." A sturdy brown haired man sat down to his right.
Jon handed over the tankard of ale. "And how would you know what piss tastes like?"
Owen Fossoway laughed, but his eyes roamed the taproom to make certain they would not be overheard. When he was satisfied, Owen took out a long red and blue bolt and a short strip of gray and white. "Brienne gave me these. She spoke to Sansa Stark. Lady Sansa declared that she could not wear a cloak of House Tully and that the Lannisters would not allow her to wear the Stark dire wolf."
Jon nodded. "What is the other cloth?"
"Sansa Stark cut that piece from her maiden cloak. She says that she plans to wear a cloak and veil of these colors. And Jon, Sansa demanded that Brienne tell me only when no one else could hear." Owen said, having over the gray and white cloth.
"Did Brienne say anything else?"
"That she would protect Sansa, or die trying. Then she glared at me, like I was at fault for not telling her more." Owen said.
Jon nodded. Whatever her faults, Brienne was loyal. She was more of a true knight than those with great names or expensive armor. He threw the Tully sigil into the flames, and watched as the fire consumed Arya's handiwork. "Tell me what you have found out."
"The wedding is in four days' time. The banquet will be held at the Small Hall of the Tower of the Hand but the marriage will be elsewhere. What do you know of the Red Keep?" Owen said.
Through Balerion's eyes, Jon had explored extensively the network of tunnels and the hallways of the castle. The black tom prowled with impunity. Still, three days was not enough to uncover all the secrets of the Red Keep. "Just tell me everything. Leave nothing out."
"The Red Keep has a central set of stairs that separates the two levels. The Tower of the Hand, Maegor's Holdfast, the Small Council and the courtyards are below the steps. The Great Hall with the Iron Throne, the White Sword Tower,the godswood, the Maidenvault, and the Royal Sept are above the steps. Tyrion and Sansa will walk from the Tower of the Hand to be married in the Royal Sept. Only after the wedding is done, will they go back to the Small Hall for the banquet." Owen said.
"So, they walk up the steps in the afternoon, and then return down the steps near sundown."
Owen nodded. He looked eager to say more.
"What is in the Royal Sept?" Jon asked.
"The usual. Seven walls for the seven aspects of the Faith. There are candles on each altar, and a burning brazier in the center." Owen answered.
"And who is guarding Sansa?"
"She has four main guards. One of regular size - Loras Tyrell - and three giants. Brienne. Ser Osmund Kettleblack. And the Hound." Owen said.
"Kettleblack? Who is he?" Jon said.
"Some lackey of Cersei. They say the Queen wishes him to join the white cloaks. Big, broad, dumb as a stump."
"As tall as Clegane?" Jon asked.
"No one is the size of the Clegane brothers. Kettleblack is as tall and broad as Brienne. And his sigil is a fucking black kettle."
Jon smiled. "Your coat of arms is a red apple."
"Apples are important. They feed people. They are the best fruit, a gift of the Seven to the Reach. A red apple is much better than a black kettle."
"If you say so, Owen. How many will attend the wedding?"
"The royal sept can only hold a hundred comfortably. But that is not the most interesting thing. There are stories about Tyrion Lannister, that he is still married to a Lannisport whore. So King Joffrey intends to bring whores to the castle, to shame his uncle." Owen blurted out.
"Whores to attend a wedding in the Red Keep? Surely they will not be allowed into the sept."
"The whores would not be allowed in the Great Hall or the Sept. But on the way to the Sept, there are courtyards and a lower bailey. It will be a Walk of Shame - to show that the Imp is a whoremonger." Owen said.
"How many whores do they plan to bring?" a shocked Jon asked.
"I do not know. The Tyrells, Lannisters and Martells will be in the sept but there are hundreds, perhaps thousands more in the keep. Lordlings, knights, guards, servants, even wealthy merchants. They will line the hallways and corridors in the lower castle." Owen said.
Jon shook his head. "Why would Tywin Lannister allow such a thing?"
"To teach his son a lesson. To show that despite the defeats in the Riverlands, he is still a man to be feared. If he would do such a thing to his son, what will he do to his enemies?" Owen said.
"Cruelty is not strength. Lord Tywin has been fortunate in his enemies." Jon said. "Luck is a two sided coin."
"Tywin Lannister may be harsh but Garlan believes the plot was hatched by Joffrey. He is a cruel boy." Owen said.
"Where will you be during the wedding?"
"In the royal sept. House Fossoway is not a great house but we are loyal bannermen to the Tyrells. I will be seated with Ser Garlan and his wife, behind Lord Mace and Lady Olenna."
"And what of Lady Margaery?"
"She will attend at Joffrey's side. In a few moons, she will be Queen." Owen said.
Jon kicked the ashes of the Tully sigil deeper into the fire. He wondered where the Red Viper and the Sand Snakes would sit in the sept.
Breakfast was coarse barley bread and a hunk of ripe cheese, washed down with watered down ale. They woke before sunrise and made their way South through darkened tunnels to a trail besides the river. A light drizzle covered the city, although no one cared about the fog and damp near the wharves and Fishmonger Square. Later, the streets near the River Gate would be thronged with urchins, smallwives and soldiers but in the early light, the market had yet to truly wake. Oystermen, herring sellers, cod wives and shrimpers were setting up stalls, preparing for the morning rush of stewards, cooks and sailors. Jon and Arya made their way north, a few Winter Town boys trailing discreetly in their wake.
The Blushing Maiden did not quite deserve the risque name. No tumult of wild revelers or loud minstrels or dancing ladies greeted them. Jon could see why Alleras had chosen this inn as her base. It was a comfortable place, suitable for easy conversation, peaceful gossip, and the exchange of news by travelers, far from the hurly burly of the docks. The smell of freshly baked bread wafted through the windows of the taproom.
"I bet that is one of them." Arya whispered, pointing to a dark haired boy with bruises over his face. Jon wondered who had beaten him. "There is another one." She had spotted a short girl, hiding under a wagon wheel with a noticeable limp. One leg was clearly shorter than the other.
"We will see when Alleras starts." Jon said.
The Sphinx came out, leading a black mare with a mane and tail the color of fire. An orange saddlebag held a rather conspicuous note sealed by the golden spear of House Martell.
"Rather an obvious trap." Arya said.
"The little birds do not know that." Jon placed the spyglass to his eye. "My guess is that Varys trained them to steal ledgers, charts and letters. And with the sigil of House Martell, they will run to inform the eunuch immediately."
"What is in the letter?" Arya asked.
"A map of the Red Mountains. It shows the numbers of Dornish troops massing on the Boneway and the Prince's Pass. From there, they can march to the Stormlands and the Reach." Jon said.
"Is the letter true?"
"Who knows? The Dornish love to exaggerate their numbers. And the three Kingdoms have been fighting over the marches for hundreds of years. It is all rather stupid. There are a few fertile meadows and hidden valleys but the Red Mountains are barren lands with few people."
Alleras mounted the horse and the short girl hobbled out into her path. When Alleras slowed and threw the girl a copper penny, the dark haired boy scurried over and lifted the letter. The Sphinx prepared to ride, seeming oblivious to the theft. As the sand steed cantered down the street, a different boy in threadbare clothes followed.
"Chett and Clydas, the two of you go after the Sphinx on the Street of Sisters. Find the other little birds." Jon said. "Arry and I will chase down the letter."
"Look, there is another man following Alleras." Chett pointed to a tall man in purple robes, mounted on a brown palfrey. Jon frowned. Those robes were trimmed with ermine.
"Who is that?" Arya hissed.
Jon looked through the spyglass. The man had a narrow face with dark intelligent eyes. He had been waiting in the shadows of the stable for the Sphinx to leave. "I don't think he is one of the Spider's spies. Those robes are far too expensive."
The little birds split up. The girl stumbled into an alley to the left. The boy following Alleras stepped onto a wagon, then climbed up a ramshackle building. He ran along the rooftops north. The thief ducked to the right, heading toward the Red Keep.
"My Lord, there are too many. Chett and I can't track all of them." Clydas said.
"He looks unarmed. I will find out who the man on the horse is." Arya declared.
"Fine. Meet you back at the Blushing Maiden. And Arry - don't get into trouble." Jon added.
The dark haired boy went up the Hook, the narrow street that linked the Muddy Way near the docks to Aegon's High Hill. The Red Keep loomed in the distance to the Northeast. If the boy went past the castle guards, Jon would lose him. Before he decided to attempt to summon Balerion, the little bird raced to God's Way. Instead of heading east to the Great Sept, the boy hurried north, past manses and arbors. Finally, the boy slipped through the gates of a graveyard at the very tip of the city. The waves of Blackwater Bay smashed loudly against rocks north of the city walls.
Jon slowed down. In much of King's Landing, the morning fog had been burnt off by the sun. Here, the fog was thin but still wreathed the stones and tombs and funerary plaques. A solitary evergreen tree stood alone leaning on a cenotaph. Through the spyglass, he could barely read the weather worn words - To The Best Hand A King Has Ever Known. In another time, a memorial to Septon Barth would have interested him but Jon's telescope was focused on the figure who had walked out of a nearby vault - a stout man wearing mail and boiled leather who dropped the unlit torch to the earth as he read the purloined letter. The scarred and stubbled face was hidden by a brown cowl but Jon had no doubts of the identity. This was the Spider that Arya has seen in the tunnels below the Red Keep.
Varys tittered, his soft white hands patting the little bird on the head. The boy eagerly accepted a small rough wool pouch and filched out a small purple object, popping it into a dirty mouth. Jon looked more intently. It was a candied plum. The eunuch handed over two reddish brown coins, and then dismissed his little bird. The boy ran off before Varys tapped a stone, and disappeared back into the vault.
The spider was feared throughout the Seven Kingdoms for his vast network and skills at unearthing secrets. Yet he paid his spies with candied plums and copper coins. Jon had no doubt there were other spies, perhaps knights or serving wenches but the children that fluttered on the streets of King's Landing and in the secret tunnels received virtually nothing - a pat on the hand, sweets, and a few small coins. And some of these children had been mutilated, while others starved, were beaten or died young.
The graveyard lay between the Iron Gate and the Red Keep. Three days was not enough time to discover all of Maegor's secrets but Balerion had measured out the six tunnels leading from the Tower of the Hand. No passage came this far north. No passage exited in a cemetery. Somehow, one of the spies had sent a message, and the Spider had come out of the Red Keep to meet the boy. Jon waited patiently until he was certain the eunuch was long gone to tap the panel, and enter the tunnel.
It was a long silent walk in the dark. There were no doors, or traps, or levers hidden in the walls and no places to hide and eavesdrop. The passage did not connect with any others under the Red Keep. Instead, it terminated in a single door. Then Jon understood. Maegor wanted no rats in his own walls. There was only one secret passage reserved for the Targaryen kings, and Varys knew. The Spider knew how to enter and escape the Holdfast. He had not informed Princess Elia or saved Rhaenys. Jon thought long and hard on the return back to the graveyard.
Jon found Arya wandering near the bottom of the Street of Street, her interest piqued by the exotic weapon hanging on a wooden rack with other more mundane swords. It had a long crescent moon shaped blade with a thick handle, half sword and half scythe.
"That is a Dothraki arakh." Jon said, slipping behind his sister.
"Is it useful in battle?" Arya asked.
"The Dothraki certainly believe so. A curved blade can sweep down, so with the force of a charge, the arakh can inflict great damage. But it has drawbacks when fighting on foot. Good armor is only vulnerable at a few points - the neck, the eyes, the armpit and the joints. Thrusting is easier than slicing on the battlefield. Deadlier too." Jon said.
"So stick them with the pointy end." Arya said.
"That is how the water dancers fight." Jon said.
"Chett and the others are still looking. They have found a dozen little birds, so far."
"And what about you?" Jon said.
"The man in purple followed Alleras for a while but left her near Flea Bottom. He went to the Street of Silver instead. I caught his name when he spoke to the owner of the Silver Eel - Tycho Nestoris. He serves the Iron Bank." Arya said.
"The Iron Bank of Braavos? What is he doing in King's Landing?" Jon asked.
"Not gambling. He took out a small lacquered box, and disappeared behind a heavy guarded door. He left the Eel only ten minutes later." Arya said.
"Was there any expression on his face? Did he still have the box?" Jon asked.
Arya scrunched her nose. "I think I saw the outline of the box in his saddlebag. There was a tiny hint of anger but he remained calm, like Father before he was executed."
"That is very strange. Men who serve the Iron Bank do nothing without reason." Jon said. He remembered Archmaester Matthar's History of the Iron Bank.
"Couldn't he just be collecting some debt?" Arya said.
"The Iron Bank lends to princes and kings. They would not send a banker from Braavos because a shopkeeper could not pay. Tycho Nestoris must be here only because the interests of the Iron Bank are at stake. All the gambling dens on the Street of Silver are nothing compared to a single vault of the Iron Bank." Jon said.
"So what does this all mean?" Arya said.
"I don't know. There are too many plots in this city. And we have too little time. We can't unravel all the mysteries of King's Landing but I found the Spider with his little bird. He is the man you overheard six moons ago." Jon stopped to collect his thoughts before continuing. "We have only three days left - and a great deal to do. Let's go north. We have a purchase to make."
"I thought Chett and Clydas were dealing with that."
"They have their orders. But we need something else."
After a long walk, they arrived at the Street of Flour, the sweet smell of sugar, honey and molasses permeating the air. Below the Street, children begging for bowls of brown in the maze of twisted alleys of Flea Bottom. Buildings leaned over, exhausted, on their last legs and seemingly ready to fall. Arya turned her head away.
"Are you alright?" Jon asked. "Bad memories. I killed pigeons here on these cobbled stones. I was so hungry. And I was one of the lucky ones. I didn't starve." Arya said. The Hill of Rhaenys separated the wealthy lords facing the Red Keep from the slumdogs dwelling in the Bottom.
"You survived." Jon said.
"Some of these children won't. They say King's Landing is the wealthiest city in the Seven Kingdoms. So why are so many so poor?" Arya complained.
It was a hard question. Men starved in the North from famine and poor harvests. But in King's Landing, a noble could eat lamprey pie, honeyed ham and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters while servants had only stale bread to eat. The poor in Flea Bottom had even less.
Jon shrugged. "We cannot change the past, only the future. But we can feed children. I hear they like candied plums. Let us buy all the bags that the bakers will sell."
Arya shuffled on the balls of her feet, both legs bent, and then lunged. The target dangled from the ceiling of the vault under the Dragonpit, illuminated by a solitary torch. Needle stabbed through the visor of the greathelm and broke the links of the mail coif underneath. The short and slender rapier was not strong enough to penetrate through the back of the helm.
Jon raised his head at his sister's grimace. "It is unlikely he will wear a full helm at the wedding. If he does, slitting the throat will be easier."
She chewed her lip. "I just want to make sure I do this correctly."
Jon sighed. "I wish I didn't have to ask this of you. But we will need multiple ways out, and I am playing another role." He was filling the handle of a silver and gold stick and ball with wildfire. The holes on the mace like ball were sealed with cork.
"It is a good plan. Don't worry about me. I have killed before." Arya said firmly. Her brother nodded and returned to his task. Satchels full of wildfire rested on the sand.
And it was a good plan. The wildfire in the casks had been put into place. The goods had been purchased. The Winter Town Boys had their orders. The Wolf Wind and her sister ships were ready to sail. Arya knew the secret tunnels as well as the crypt of Winterfell. She was certain she could find her way even in the dark. As for Alleras, Owen, Brienne and Jeyne, she trusted her brother's judgment. Her only concern was House Martell. That night, Jon had instructed the Sphinx to speak with her family. Alleras did not know the details of their plans, but Jon wanted her to warn them about the pending chaos. "Jon, are you certain you can trust the Dornish?" Arya said in a hesitant voice.
"Trust them? No. But I am sure they want to kill Lannisters. Oberyn Martell has waited 16 years for revenge for his sister. We will give him the opportunity." Jon said.
"But will he play his role? Or will he do something foolish?"
Jon shrugged. "Alleras says her father is considered half mad. And that is by the Dornish, who are proud to be hot blooded. We have planned as much as we can. The Martells give us the best chance of freeing Sansa. Remember - the most important thing, the only thing - is that you and Sansa return safely to Robb."
Arya would have protested but she yawned. It was hard work moving casks about in the dark.
"Get some rest. Tomorrow will be a big day. One that will be remembered for a long time." Arya closed her eyes as her brother continued to work with the black tom at his side.
Author's Notes
Balerion the cat does not fear Balerion the dragon. When she is lost, Arya encounters the three skulls - presumably Balerion, Meraxes, and Vhagar - in the tunnels.
Astute readers have pointed out that children who could read or write would be quite rare - likely only maesters and noble children were taught. And it is not credible you spend years teaching a child to read and write, and then cut their tongue out. But maybe Essos, like ancient Greece, had more of a tradition of learning. In any case, I personally think Varys and Ilyrio are monsters. Anybody complicit in the death or mutilation of kids have committed heinous crimes. Even if GRRM delights in showing redemption stories after attacking kids - Jaime shoves Bran (10) out the window. Theon kills and mutilates the two miller's sons. (Bran and Rickon's age). That doesn't include Ollie, Shireen. Myrcella.
Warging is really unexplored in the stories. Arya has her dreams of Nymeria and she wargs into a cat in Braavos. Varamyr Sixskins claims that Jon could be a powerful warg but he never made any real impression in the story.
Tyrion does very little to cover up his great secret. In the books, he tells Bronn first when they are escaping the Eyrie. Then he tells Shae after he slaps her for mocking him. She is trying to get him to sneak her into the Tower of the Hand but he wants her to work as a scullery maid (to keep her identity from Cersei.) As soon as he tells her, Tyrion realizes it was a mistake. In the TV show, Tyrion tells both Bronn and Shae before the Battle of the Green Fork. As for whether the marriage to Sansa could be challenged, I have accelerated the rise of the Sparrows to pre Joffrey wedding. They were lurking in the background but didn't become an issue until Cersei screws up as Queen Regent. In the books, the High Sparrow emerges after the Red and Purple Weddings.
Reginald Lannister only appears on TV. He is the twit who Tywin banishes back to Lannisport after he complains about working too hard. In this story, he is transposed with the Lannister men that Oberyn stabs as soon as he gets into King's Landing.
Jeyne Poole is one of the many victims of casual cruelty in A Song of Ice and Fire. There are lots of people killed and brutalized to give credence to GRRM's "The Gods are cruel" notion. Part of it is an odd glorification of characters like Ramsay and Euron Greyjoy. I think GRRM would argue that it enhances the suspense.
Alayaya is Chataya's daughter. This plotline was never explored on the TV show but Tyrion uses her for cover when he visits Shea. This leads to her being tied to a post, whipped, and thrown out of the Red Keep naked and injured. It was never clear to me whether that was due to Cersei or Tywin.
The Iron Bank has a lot of promise in the books but falls flat in the Show. Or maybe it is going to fall flat in the books as well. There is a lot of potential - the Bank could have ties to the Faceless Men. Baelish might be a secret agent, and I really liked the chapter where Jon bargains with the Iron Bank for a loan to help the wildlings survive the winter. But then you realize the wildlings have zilch property and how exactly is the Night's Watch a good credit? Tycho Nestoris does have a role in the story but I am saving it for a later chapter.
I don't remember it from the books but Varys feeds his network of little birds candied plums on the TV show. Of course the kids also talk because mutilated kids are a bit much even for HBO. Qyburn takes over Varys spy network in Season 6 with boxes of sweets. The Spider's web appears amazing but not when exposed to the light of day or reason.
Lamprey pie, honeyed ham and roast swan stuffed with mushrooms and oysters is a meal from the Tyrion chapter right before the Battle of Blackwater. The dinner also includes creamy chestnut soup, crusty hot bread, a green salad with apples and pine nuts, buttered carrots and white beans and bacon. And this is when people are starving in the Capital. GRRM really enjoys his food porn.
As for the secret passages, there is only one tunnel that is the escape route from Maegor's Holdfast. I decided that Varys knew the tunnel and could have used it to save Elia and the children. He just chose not to.
The Martells are a great concept. Oberyn has good lines, he is a unique character (hot-headed, bisexual, proud to have bastard daughters.) I even admire the choice of a spear as an effective weapon. But he gets thrown away to show the costs of overreach/arrogance and that the monsters can outlast the good guys. And after Oberyn is toast, the rest of the Dorne plot is a total mess. Arianne kidnaps Myrcella, the Sand Snakes posture but don't do squat, then in the TV show, they murder Myrcella by kissing her and kill Trystane. And then Dorne completely falls apart in Season 8. The whole thing stinks but the initial premise - House Martell is the only family that can resist the dragons - is neat.