"The City Watch is failing at its job," Alaric said the moment the small council's members sat down.
"What an inspiring start," said Grand Maester Elysar at the same time when Manfryd Redwyne stood up again in anger:
"What? Are you saying my son's a failure?"
"He might not be one by himself, but he has too few men anyway," said Alaric. "Whenever there is a tourney or a feast, they can't keep the city going. We have had numerous reports of murders, rapes and robberies from Warrior's Day."
Alysanne's heart clenched. Even in her own city, her people couldn't be protected properly... Lord Rodrik Arryn did say there were "some questions" he discussed with Robert Redwyne about the Watch's reports, but he never said clearly enough just how dire the situation had become. He was probably afraid to talk like that in front of Lord Manfryd – all said and done, Rodrik was still a seventeen-year-old youth, and Lord Manfryd was nine-and-thirty, a more experienced courtier, and with a sour temper.
"That's for the master of laws to oversee," said Lord Manfryd, glancing pointedly at Rodrik's empty seat.
"Then should the Watch only be used to look fine at processions?" Alaric asked.
"The Shivers combed through their ranks," Alysanne said sadly. "They urgently need new men – good men, not just any vagabond who wants to earn more coin."
"We might have a tourney to find candidates," Gyles Morrigen suggested.
"That would be ruinously expensive – it's the Watch, not the Kingsguard, it needs hundreds of recruits, if possible. Lady Turnberry, maybe your spies would help with the search?"
"Your Grace, my spies can remember faces and voices, but they are no judges of fighting prowess," Aspen Turnberry chuckled. "Many of them are old people, frail women, and children, for whom anyone with a kitchen knife is already a formidable warrior."
"In the Night's Watch, there are special veteran warriors assigned to train the new recruits," Alaric said thoughtfully. "But we can't replicate it here, it too would cost us too much time and coin..."
"Wait, my lords, we need to attract new recruits at all before we judge how they fight," said Florence Fossoway. "I propose raising their wages. Ten stags a month is, if I may say so, laughable. As Lord Stark has just reminded us, this isn't the Night's Watch. These are people with families to feed. A hundred stags would be a proper repayment for their work, and they would be much happier to do it."
"A hundred stags a month to each watchman? Lady Tyrell, that will definitely turn us into another Wall. We'll have to rely on others' gifts to survive."
"Alaric, but you do agree that ten stags is horribly low?" Alysanne asked. Even some craftsmen's apprentices would have wrinkled their noses at such a sum.
"All right. Twenty a month," Alaric said.
"Ninety," said Lady Florence. "We need to get better than the Lannisters. Lannisport's Watch is in exemplary condition. I've seen them."
After a lot of numbers were tossed back and forth across the table (like a ball in a children's game, Alysanne thought with a smile), the pay of sixty stags a month was finally agreed upon. She wasn't taking a large part in the discussion – the setting of wages and prices was among her weaker sides, which she always admitted. It was one thing to plan feasts and merriment or one-time projects such as the construction of the Dragonpit, but when it came to the daily needs of the people, Alysanne knew she always had the urge to proclaim the lowest prices and the highest salaries, never mind the state of the treasuries of the crown and the city.
However, she came up with an idea about searching for recruits.
"We should send recruiters to other keeps and towns, at least in the crownlands," she said as soon as the pay question was done with. "The way the Night's Watch does, after all. The recruiters would simply ask the lords for their finest men. Much easier than calling all potential watchmen here for some grandiose tourney."
"The lords might not be willing to part with their finest men," Septon Barth pointed out. "Begging your pardon, Lord Stark, the Night's Watch is content with condemned criminals, but we won't be – I hope, at least."
"With the finest men from the smallfolk? Why not?" Alysanne said. "We aren't asking for knights. The worst crimes occur in places like Flea Bottom where there are knifes and stones and sticks, not swords and lances. As for the smallfolk themselves, many families would be delighted to move to the city where a job is ready for their father or brother or son."
"This way, we'll get more people in general," Septon Barth agreed. "The city needs to grow again after this winter."
"I can ask the Night's Watch to send their recruiters to help," said Alaric. "They are quite experienced with quickly checking one's fighting skills. They've also often heard words like If only I could take my family with me, I'd serve the land."
"The Night's Watch might frighten people, forgive me, Alaric," Alysanne shook her head. "They connect their black cloaks with the whole taking the black idea too strongly. Besides, it would take a while for your order to reach them and for them to get here. The City Watch right now does have a few skilled warriors who would be fitting for the job. We must call Ser Robert and pick the recruiters with him," a quick glance at Lord Manfryd told her that the man was pacified when he heard this and knew his son's opinions were valued.
After the meeting, Alysanne told Alaric about how his argument with Lady Florence looked like the tossing of a ball – she said it carefully, for fear of offending him, since she knew how seriously he took matters of coin. But Alaric's eyes sparked with mischief:
"Oh, I know. I've found a way to deal with Lady Tyrell. I suggest the lowest possible spendings on purpose, to rein in her frivolity. This way, I can get a reasonable raise rather than an outrageous one."
As she heard it, she couldn't help it anymore and burst into giggles.
"What?" Alaric said.
"It's just that only a few days ago, when I asked Lady Florence about her dealings with you, she told me that she offers impossibly high sums to spend because she needs to keep your – her words – thrifty ways in check."
Alaric blinked in surprise and then chuckled:
"Well. You did make us work together in the hopes we would achieve the golden middle way, though probably you didn't expect us to take it quite so literally."
The respite in Rosby had finally come to an end. Truth be told, Alarra had already started to miss her family and the ever-bustling Red Keep – the quiet little Rosby was a lovely place to rest, but she would never have wished to live here.
Unlike on the day of her arrival, there had been a persistent cold drizzle accompanied by gusts of wind since the early hours of the morning.
"You should ride in the wheelhouse, my lady," Joffrey Doggett said firmly. Usually Alarra resented being instructed like a little child, especially by someone other than Father, Alysanne, Roderick or Edwyn, but right now she could only nod and agree: even before the Shivers, she had been wary of cold water after what happened to Mother.
Mara Manderly was already in the wheelhouse by the time Alarra had finished saying her goodbyes to Fernan and Ella and giving a short speech of thanks to the townspeople. Lady Mara had come to court at all, as Alarra suspected, because her father Theomore Manderly ordered her to: she preferred to be left to herself, always reading a book or doing embroidery or just staring absentmindedly into the horizon. If one began talking to her, she spoke back, but it was obvious there was barely any pleasure for her in conversations. No wonder, Alarra thought, that she isn't even betrothed to anyone at nineteen.
"My lady," Mara bowed and, as Alarra nodded in greeting, returned to her embroidery.
Unlike her, though, Alarra rarely wanted to spend time in such utter silence. After working on her own embroidery patterns for a while, she began to grow weary of the quietness. However, she didn't want to talk with Mara, for whom it would so clearly be a burden.
That's the downside of going somewhere with such a small retinue, she thought. Looking out of the wheelhouse, she saw that it was still raining – if anything, the weather had grown worse. There was absolutely no chance of saddling Snowdrop.
There were no other ladies in her escort, so it looked like she had to kill time by herself somehow for the few hours left until reaching the capital... unless... Suddenly, she had an idea.
"Ser Joffrey!" she called out. The gray-haired knight immediately rode closer.
"My lady?"
"I wish to talk to Garnet of the Sunflowers," she said. "Could you bring her here, please?"
"Yes, of course."
The Sunflowers' cart was following her at some distance, just like on their way to Rosby, but for Ser Joffrey's horse, it was nothing to speak of. Less than a minute later, he helped the slightly bewildered Dornish girl into the wheelhouse.
"Lady Stark, Lady Manderly," Garnet bowed and took off her hooded cloak – even after such a short time of riding in the rain, it was drenched.
"Garnet, good morning," Alarra smiled. "Come sit over there."
The girl, still looking confused, obediently sat on a bench opposite Alarra.
"Don't be afraid: I just wanted to talk to you."
"Er... thank you, my lady."
"Did you like it at Rosby?" Alarra asked the usual "starting-point" question.
"The town fair was very nice," Garnet brightened. "I went there with Uncle Garris and bought some biscuits, and a wooden necklace, and new shoes for warm weathers – my old ones were getting too small for me. Lord and Lady Rosby were very kind to us, too, and some servants showed me around the gardens."
She didn't say a word about the success of The Royal Penance – the booming applause and the flowers, fruit and money the grateful audience sent to the troupe. It looked like Brennan had spoken the truth: Garnet wasn't an enthusiastic mummer either.
"I'm glad for you, Garnet. Now that you're staying in King's Landing, you'll be able to visit Rosby more often."
"I hope I shall," the girl said, and Alarra noted the ambiguous phrasing. Formally, she was speaking about coming to Rosby again, but her words could also mean she hoped to stay in King's Landing at all. Apparently Myribeth still wasn't sure she could manage the Sunflowers and the Little Dragons together.
"Do you intend to take any apprenticeship in the city?" Alarra asked, and Garnet's eyes lit up:
"Oh, yes, my lady! I want to become a seamstress or mayhaps a baker... I..." she caught herself.
"Don't fear," Alarra repeated. "Just like Her Grace, I always want our people to speak their minds."
"Um... thank you..." but there was still a pause of hesitation before Garnet finally admitted:
"I hate mummery."
"But you're quite good at it!" this time, she was able to say it without deception – Garnet was indeed pretty impressive, especially considering she played a boy. The passionate hatred that could now be heard in her voice was a surprise for Alarra.
"I have to be, to earn the coin. I can't leave Uncle Garris and Mother," the girl said, almost defensively. "But Mistress Myribeth won't let you stay with the troupe for no reason. You have to be doing something. Even Ellara now plays the music."
She fidgeted a little:
"Please... my lady... could you not tell Mother and Mistress Myribeth what I said? Mother worries so much about me already. I don't want her to know... how I feel about mummery."
"Of course I won't," Alarra assured you. "But if you do manage to stay in King's Landing, maybe you'd consider joining my court? You can be one of my maids and train many skills you can later use for work."
"No, my lady," Garnet said vehemently, then, probably realizing how it sounded, hurried to explain:
"I mean... you are very kind, my lady, and Her Grace and Lord Stark are kind too, but if I stay at the Keep, I'll have to be nice to everyone who comes there."
"Uh... yes, that's the idea."
"That means one day, I'll have to be polite with the ironborn!" Garnet spat the last word with such emotion that her previous detestation of acting seemed a trifle.
The ironborn didn't come to court too often – as Alarra could see, Alysanne and King Jaehaerys, when he was alive, preferred to just leave them to their own devices unless there was any unrest in the Islands. But, if one was fully truthful with oneself, Garnet was right: if the ironborn came to the Red Keep, Alarra's retinue would also have to be welcoming to them. Alarra sincerely hoped it wouldn't happen anytime soon (or ever).
"I have no wish to meet the ironborn either," she admitted. "My lady mother was a Mormont by birth. But if they do arrive in peace... it's our duty to be courteous."
As she spoke, she wondered what the ironborn could have done to merit such hatred from Garnet. Dorne rarely clashed with the Iron Islands: the Dornishmen were no sailors, and the iron men had never gone so far south on their raids, especially since there wasn't a lot to raid among the mountains and deserts.
"Oh, my lady, I'm so sorry you have to do this," Garnet said earnestly. "But if I can choose... I don't want to be courteous with them."
"Certainly you have a choice. It was only an offer," Alarra wanted to ask her about why she hated the ironborn, but she sensed the matter was highly personal for the girl. Besides, who didn't hate them anyway? "If you need any help with finding an apprenticeship, don't hesitate to ask me or Her Grace."
"Thank you, Lady Stark," the girl said. It suddenly came to Alarra's mind that the two of them were about the same age – well, maybe Garnet was only slightly younger – but they couldn't be more different, and not just in looks. Not even the ordinary commoners had that peculiar tired, wary look in their faces. The endless traveling and uncertainty took their toll even on the youngest.
I wonder if the wildlings feel and look the same, Alarra thought. Or the nomads from Essos the Grand Maesters Benifer and Elysar have told me about. I can't even imagine how it must feel not to have a home.
"Do you like stories?" she asked, a surge of pity in her heart. "When it's raining, it's so lovely to tell each other stories."
"Oh, yes!" Garnet exclaimed happily.
"You know any good ones to pass the time? Mara can listen too," Alarra said, noting the flicker of interest in her companion's face, "she likes books and poems and all things like that."
"In fact, my lady, Uncle Garris told us a funny story only four days ago," Garnet began with excitement. "It was late in the evening and we were all in the cart, except for Caleotte but, well, he has gone out as usual, and Uncle..."
"Wait... Caleotte – gone out?" Alarra asked. She had only seen the dashing Reachman hide inside the cart.
"Um, yes, he does it often. Sneaks away late at night. I just thought he had a lover or something."
"But did he do it in King's Landing too?"
Garnet nodded. As Alarra didn't ask anything else, she shrugged and continued:
"So, Uncle Garris told us that story. There were once three brothers, a fisherman, a hunter and a gardener, who decided to hold a feast..."
But Alarra was barely paying any attention now. Suspicion flared up in her mind. Why would Caleotte sneak out in such secrecy? Garnet's suggestion about a lover didn't hold water unless the lover accompanied him to Rosby. Besides – like she recalled only a few minutes earlier, Myribeth wasn't one to forbid meetings with lovers... unless, of course, she was sleeping with Caleotte too... but even then, it would be far easier for him to make use of the free time between rehearsals – his nightly walks clearly couldn't escape Myribeth's notice.
Then the Sunflowers' playwright must have condoned these walks. But what was he really doing during them? Alarra could have believed that he was having an affair with some highborn lady who couldn't meet him during the day, but no such lady had traveled from King's Landing to Rosby at the same time as the Sunflowers – except herself and Mara.
Could Mara be his secret love? The sheer idea seemed ridiculous. Besides... four days ago? Until yesterday, Mara had been having her moon blood, which was always extremely painful for her, so she lay down all the time and was attended by old Maester Germond. She definitely was in no condition for love affairs.
Then where does Caleotte go so frequently? With the royal protection over them, the Sunflowers could freely roam around the town of Rosby or the streets of King's Landing. They had enough money to buy food and clothing and no reason to go anywhere secretly, by night... unless something dishonest or outright treasonous was going on.
"...and the gardener kept watering the arrows, hoping that they would grow!" Garnet finished, and Mara, who had indeed been listening attentively, laughed merrily. Alarra forced herself to chuckle, her heart frozen in terror.
What if all this – The Royal Penance, everything – is just some intricate scheme against us? What if she tries to attack or poison us now? She remembered what she had heard of the attack on Alysanne in Maidenpool: Ser Joffrey and Ser Gyles still needed several crucial seconds to rush to help. What if Garnet knows some Dornish poison and has smeared a knife or a dart with it? Mara and I will be dead before Ser Joffrey knows what's happening.
She put her hand against her forehead:
"Garnet, thank you for the story, but I'm afraid I need to lie down. I feel very dizzy. Slept badly last night."
"Of course, my lady. Forgive me!"
"It's nothing... but, please, leave us now."
Garnet looked worried as she put on her cloak and climbed outside. Worried that she has angered me somehow? Or worried that she has accidentally revealed their plans? Maybe she doesn't know anything? If Myribeth and Caleotte and who knows who else of the Sunflowers are cooking up some scheme, they likely wouldn't take her into their confidence. She's too young.
"I still have some medicines from Maester Germond with me," Mara said. "If you are unwell, my lady..."
"No," Alarra said, feeling a slight tremor in her hands. She wanted to tell her it was just a ploy, but then another dreadful thought slipped into her mind. Lowborn traitors rarely act by themselves. What if Mara is involved in the plot, whatever it is? It was unthinkable, that a lady of House Manderly, which was among the Starks' most loyal vassals, could get mixed up in anything treasonous, but Alarra didn't really know Mara that well. Who knew what ideas could have come to her head since she left White Harbor?
Leaning back on the cushions and closing her eyes, Alarra vainly tried to calm down. The last act of treason to blacken Westeros was the Jonquil's Pool attack, long before Alarra herself joined the royal court. She had no idea how to deal with suspicions of plotters. Plotters that have been under my personal protection, she thought miserably. What if I have brought Dornish vipers to our breasts instead?
In this feigned sleep, she spent the rest of the ride home and nearly sobbed with relief when she heard the wheelhouse was approaching the gates of King's Landing: the telltale noise of the crowds coming and leaving and the loud shouts of the guards were impossible to miss.