Chapter 4
Manse
After leaving the bank, Illyen made his way back to Balerion's manse, both to return the doublet, and to ask a favor. Fortunately, Balerion was not occupied with a client, and received him immediately. As they sat in his parlor, Illyen relayed all that Varyn had told him, while Balerion reclined on a plush couch with his hands folded on his stomach. When he finished, the courtesan nodded slowly, then pushed himself up.
"Well, seems as though you would be in quite the bind, had Varyn not offered you such generous terms," he remarked as he made his way over to a silver carafe filled with spiced tea, which he poured into a pair of cups. He offered one to Illyen, who accepted it with a gracious nod. "In truth, I'm suspicious of this contract he's offered you. The Iron Bank is not known for its charity. He is not a keyholder, is he?"
"I don't believe so," Illyen admitted. "Though he is a senior member of the bank."
"Senior member or no, I find it difficult to believe that he amassed enough favors to essentially waive your payments for half a year. I also cannot help but wonder what he stands to gain from this arrangement," Balerion remarked, frowning into his cup. A moment later, however, he shrugged and took a sip of the drink. "But, perhaps I am merely being cynical. Perhaps his offer is indeed altruistic, with no ulterior motives."
"I'd like to believe so, though I'll keep watch for any hidden blades," Illyen replied as he took a sip of his own drink.
Balerion grinned. "Thinking like a magister already. Well done." He sighed and set down his cup, then asked, "So, what do you intend to do now?"
"First? I would like to survey Regoro's manse," Illyen replied.
" Your manse," Balerion corrected him with a grin. Illyen frowned, but decided not to argue the point. "In that case, I would like to accompany you, if you'd allow me. I've been rather curious about what Regoro left you."
"I would welcome it," Illyen agreed. "In fact, I also wish to ask you a favor. Could you bring a few of your guards as well? While Varyn claimed that it was unlikely that anyone forged a copy of the key, I still fear that the manse might have been burgled over the last few days. At the very least, I wish to remove any vagabonds who might have snuck in."
"Certainly. Especially since it appears the watch has little interest in actually protecting you, despite the danger you could be in," Balerion grumbled.
Illyen smirked drily. "I have only been an aristocrat for a day, after all," he pointed out. "And you know well that the watch cares little for the well-being of commoners."
"A fair point," Balerion sighed. "Very well. Allow me to collect a few items and we'll be off."
Illyen sipped his tea while Balerion dressed himself in common clothing – a simple white shirt, brown trousers, and knee-high brown boots. He was surprised, however, when Balerion also pulled on a thick leather jerkin, and offered another to Illyen.
"For your protection," he explained. "We would attract unwanted attention were we to don full suits of armor, but if there is indeed a burglar lurking in your manse, this will suffice against a small blade or a club."
Illyen silently admitted that had a point, and quickly pulled the jerkin on over his own shirt. Balerion then fastened a slender sword around his waist, before offering one to Illyen as well. Illyen was significantly more reluctant to accept the weapon. For one, while bravos typically did not demand duels in broad daylight, wearing a sword could be considered a provocation, and some had been known to challenge anyone carrying a blade, especially if they were drunk. Moreover, while Illyen did know a bit of swordplay, as many scenes in their plays involved dueling, he was well aware that he was hardly a trained swordsman. Any proper warrior could easily best him. However, he supposed it was better than entering the manse unarmed. Perhaps the blade might buy him enough time to escape if they were attacked. Thus, he fastened the sword-belt around his waist, albeit hesitantly.
Once they were armed, Balerion summoned four of his guards and ordered them to arm themselves as well. Illyen noticed that they were wearing chain shirts under their thick, silken robes, and that both thick iron maces and sharply curved swords hung from their belts. It never ceased to amaze him how much wealth the Otherys family had. To be able to not only comfortably hire their own cadre of guards, but to maintain a small arsenal as well… he could not help but wonder how much that must cost. Surely a debt of thirty-five thousand was a pittance to them, he mused bitterly.
Balerion's guards led the way out of the manse and onto the bustling streets of Braavos, where they quickly made their way along the canals of the Purple Harbor. The citizens parted for them like water before the prow of a boat, though this also meant that they attracted curious or annoyed stares. Illyen ducked his head, trying not to meet the hostile glares of the men and women around them, but Balerion seemed amused by the attention, even waving cheerfully to a few of the more incensed members of the crowd.
Thankfully, Regoro's manse was not far from Balerion's, and after walking for twenty minutes, they turned down a narrow side street and found themselves in a round cul-de-sac, which was being patrolled by a pair of watchmen. Six manses ringed the cobblestone plaza, surrounding a large oak tree that had been planted in the center. Illyen found himself marveling at it. Trees were quite rare in Braavos, save for the spruces and pines that acted as windbreaks near the harbors. He stared at it in awe for a few long moments, watching its branches sway gently in the breeze, until Balerion nudged him, which snapped him out of his daze.
The small group made its way over to the second manse on the right, and Illyen finally had his first look at the house Regoro had left him. Like most buildings in Braavos, it was a heavy grey structure made of thick bricks of granite. It stood about two stories tall, not including the attic, and was rectangular in shape. The front entrance consisted of a pair of heavy wooden doors that rested under a small porch, with a sloped roof of slate tiles, held aloft by four grey columns. Large, arched windows were spaced intermittently but evenly along the walls, with glazed glass panes reinforced by iron latticework. The structure was covered by a sloping black roof made of slate, and was capped by a small dome, which had eight windows built around it and was surrounded by a platform and an iron railing, suggesting a balcony that one could walk out onto. The entire building was protected by a ten-foot high wrought-iron fence capped with triangular spikes, which separated it from its neighbors and gave it a yard measuring roughly two acres. Illyen gazed at it for several long moments, his arms folded over his chest and mixed feelings warring in his mind.
"It's beautiful, and far more than I should have ever hoped to own myself," he said slowly. "But I must confess, calling this a manse seems generous." When Balerion turned and raised an eyebrow, he added, "At least, compared to the compounds that you, the Prestayns, and the Antaryons own. This seems a large house, rather than a true manse."
"Bear in mind, my family is among the richest, most powerful families in Braavos," Balerion pointed out with a chuckle. "You should hardly have expected your uncle, who only recently attained his wealth, to have a residence that matched ours. In truth, this is quite impressive for a new magister. I have met older families who owned far less. He truly must have been quite wealthy at one point, and if he insisted upon living here even after his trading ventures began to fail, it helps explain why he fell into debt so swiftly." His mouth twisted into a slightly sardonic smirk. "Besides, you would not want to maintain a large manse like ours, especially by yourself. This is quite manageable."
"True," Illyen admitted, folding his arms over his chest. "And I am well aware of how fortunate I am to be able to claim this place as my own. As I said, I certainly never expected to own a house so magnificent, especially here in Braavos. I merely feared that this was simply one more item my uncle lied to me about, that he simply purchased a large house and improperly called it a manse."
"Believe me, this is a proper manse," Balerion assured him. "A small one, to be sure, but a manse all the same. Why does it matter?" he added, raising an eyebrow.
"Because I am well aware that wealth is equivalent to status," Illyen replied.
Balerion tilted his head back, his eyes flashing with understanding. "And you fear that the other families will not treat you with respect if you cannot match their displays of wealth," he concluded. When Illyen nodded, he reached out and clapped him on his shoulder, "Then let me assure you, my friend… no matter how much wealth you flaunt, they won't respect you anyways!" When Illyen turned to frown at him, he grinned and explained, "You are the heir of a magister who has only held his title for a single generation, and who evidently had a rather poor reputation. Worse, you are not even his direct descendant, but a distant cousin who was selected at the last moment, as a last resort. The only way you could have any less of a legitimate claim to his title is if you were an adopted member of the family, or a bastard. So, you shouldn't concern yourself with displays of wealth! To them, you will always be little more than a mere commoner who has no business calling himself their peer!" he concluded cheerfully.
Illyen scowled. "My thanks," he muttered sardonically.
"But of course!" Balerion replied with a cheeky grin. "Now then, shall we?"
Illyen sighed as he turned back around and approached the iron gate, reaching into his belt pouch as he did. Before he had left the Iron Bank, he had been stopped by one of the bankers working at the counter. She informed him that while Varyn had wanted to give him the key to the front door to the mansion, symbolically handing over his uncle's estate to him, the Bank had retained the other keys. Illyen felt around in his pouch for a moment until his fingers closed around the thick key ring. He spent a few moments trying to fit various keys into the lock on the front gate, until finally a small brass key slid into place. Illyen took a deep breath, then slowly pushed open the gate and stepped inside the manse grounds. His boots lightly resounded off the cobblestone walkway leading up to the front porch, and after climbing a short flight of stairs, he stopped in front of the heavy double doors.
Illyen glanced down at the keyring to find the iron key that Varyn had given him, which he then slid into the large brass lock in the center of the door. Upon turning it, he heard a heavy clanking sound as the lock turned. He began to push open the door, but stopped when he felt one of the guards rest a heavy hand on his shoulder. "Please, allow me, Magister," he said in a low rumble.
Illyen grimaced sheepishly and stepped out of the way as the guard and one of his companions stepped past him to take ahold of each of the thick bronze handles on the doors, their other hands resting on the hilts of their maces. Together, they pushed the door inward and stepped inside, gazing around warily as they did. Balerion followed after them, with Illyen on his heels, and the other two guards bringing up the rear.
Once inside, Illyen's mouth fell open slightly as he gazed around. The entrance hall of the manse was enormous, easily twice the size of his family's entire house by itself. The first thing he noticed was that the floors were made of alternating tiles of white and green marble, forming a checkerboard pattern that extended to the doorways of the other rooms. Several feet past the entrance hall was a large marble stairway with an elegant black-iron railing, which extended upwards for about fifteen steps before leveling out to a landing, where a wooden door, flanked by a pair of windows, rested against the back wall under a semicircle of glass. The stairs then peeled off to either side and curved back around before disappearing as they led up to the second floor.
Illyen also quickly noticed that the entrance hall was richly decorated. Hanging from the ceiling was a large, bronze chandelier, and silver candelabras were set up in each corner of the room to provide additional light. A long, sea-green rug with grey paisley decorations stretched across the floor from the front doors to the beginning of the staircase. Twin marble busts on column-shaped pedestals flanked the stairs, and fine oil paintings, framed with gold and silver borders, were hung all along the eggshell-white walls.
Balerion let out a low, impressed whistle as he gazed around the entrance hall before glancing over his shoulder at Illyen. "You were concerned about displaying your house's wealth?" he asked with a sly grin.
"Evidently, I was mistaken," Illyen conceded, folding his arms over his chest as he gazed around, mesmerized.
"We will begin searching the manse immediately, Lord Otherys," one of the guards announced. "Oryn, search the upper floors. Zerro, the basement and the courtyard. Until they return, the two of us will remain here to guard you and the magister," he added, turning back to Balerion.
"Very good," Balerion said with a grateful nod. As the other two guards headed off to begin prowling around the house, however, he turned to Illyen with a grin. "Until then, shall we explore a bit?"
Illyen glanced at their guards, who bowed their heads, deferring to him. "I suppose there's no harm in looking around here at least," he murmured.
"Well, this is your manse," Balerion replied, his grin widening at Illyen's scowl. "Lead on."
Illyen sighed and gazed around the entrance hall. There were six mahogany doors, three on either wall, all of which were closed. Illyen briefly glanced back and forth between the two walls, then made his way towards the left-hand wall and pushed open one of the doors, keeping his free hand on his sword as he hesitantly peered inside.
The door opened into a large, open room that he immediately guessed served as the house's main drawing room. The floor was covered in white marble tiles, streaked with veins of bright blue, vaguely resembling broken ice or an extremely foamy sea. The walls had been painted as a single enormous fresco, which carefully wove around the windows and doorways to ensure that the painting was not interrupted, and which extended upwards to cover the ceiling as well. Along the far wall, between a pair of windows framed by sky-blue curtains, stood an ornate fireplace with a white marble façade. This, along with the golden chandelier hanging from the ceiling and the sconces on the walls, would undoubtedly provide more than adequate light for the room in the evening.
The room itself was also filled with a variety of diversions. In one corner of the room stood an elegantly-designed harpsichord, with a painted underside depicting a ship sailing across a stormy sea. Nearby stood a tall cabinet, which Illyen curiously pulled open to reveal several other instruments stored inside – a polished violin, a silver flute, a reed pipe, a drum – which led Illyen to wonder if Regoro hired musicians to play, or if he had practiced music himself.
Towards the center of the room, the fireplace was flanked by a pair of couches covered in midnight-blue velvet. Each had small, marble-topped tables on either side to rest drinks or other items upon. Opposite the couches were a quartet of single-seat chairs, also of blue velvet, which flanked the two doorways to provide additional seating. In one of the far corners, Illyen noticed an ivory cyvasse board and a pair of chairs with powder blue padding, and in the other corner against the far wall was a round wooden table surrounded by six more chairs, suggesting that the table was used for larger group activities – perhaps playing cards or dice, drinking, or simply talking with one another.
Based upon the way that the center of the room had been left open, however, Illyen suspected that the room chiefly served as a music and dancing hall. The chairs and couches were available for guests to rest and chat, and the other entertainments provided alternatives for those who did not wish to join, but there was a clear implication that anyone who had been invited into the room was expected to dance.
As Illyen mused about this, he wandered over to one of the walls to inspect the fresco. Upon closer examination, he found that it depicted ancient Braavosi ships sailing throughout the world, their masked sailors anchoring at exotic ports to sell their wares and liberate slaves, while wrothful Valyrian dragonlords flew across the ceiling overhead, their riders snarling as they impotently glared down at the free men of Braavos. Illyen's eyes wandered back to the oceanesque floor and realized that when the music was playing, it would almost seem as though the revelers were dancing upon the waves, blissfully free from the predations of the Valyrian slavers. Especially during the Uncloaking celebration, when all would be wearing masks, it would not be difficult for dancers to imagine themselves as part of the scenes depicted on the fresco, gleefully defying the dragonlords while eagerly awaiting the final day when they could reveal their faces to the world.
"Small wonder Regoro so enjoyed our performance," Illyen remarked absently to Balerion, who had wandered over to gaze at the fresco as well. The courtesan glanced at him out of the corner of his eye and chuckled softly in agreement.
Illyen's eyes eventually drifted away from the fresco to wander past the second door that he had seen in the entrance hall, which was clearly another entrance into this room. Beyond that, against the far wall between the cyvasse board and the large table, was another solid oak door, which was currently shut.
His curiosity piqued, Illyen glanced over his shoulder at one of the guards, who was lingering near the front entrance to the room. The guard caught his eye, and Illyen asked, "Would you be so kind as to lead us into the next room, please?"
The guard smirked slightly, seeming amused by Illyen's formal request, but he inclined his head in reply and made his way over to the door, with Illyen in tow. One hand resting on his mace, he pulled the door open with his other and peered inside for a moment before stepping into the room. Illyen waited nervously for a few tense moments, until the guard poked his head back into the room and announced, "It appears safe. Please, come in."
Illyen smiled gratefully at the guard as he walked into the room, his left hand resting on the hilt of his sword. The first thing he noticed as he took in his surroundings was that this room was much smaller than the dance hall, roughly half its size as an estimate. Unlike the bright, airy, almost celestial tones of the entrance hall and dance hall, this room was decorated in deeper, more intimate shades – the walls were a deep forest green, and the floor was largely covered by a sea-green carpet, embellished with golden ivy patterns. The carpet did not quite extend to the corners and sides of the room, revealing that the floor was simple brown brick – a marked, almost humble contrast to the pristine marble of the previous two rooms.
In the nearest corner of the room was a small round table capped with black marble, around which four green velvet chairs were arrayed. On the other side of the door was a green couch, which was turned at an angle to fit comfortably into the small corner. The couch rested beside a small, brown brick fireplace, which was situated against the exterior wall, and flanked by two more windows with dark green curtains. Two high-backed chairs covered in brown leather were situated directly in front of the fireplace, with a small table between them. Two more windows were built into the wall adjacent to the fireplace. Beneath one stood a small writing desk and a heavy chair, padded with dark brown leather. The desk stood next to another door, which – judging from the view through the windows – led into the rear courtyard. Under the other window was a low cabinet, upon which sat a pair of empty crystal decanters and several small glasses. Illyen wandered over to the cabinet and curiously opened it to reveal stacks of porcelain dishes.
Against the final wall stood a squat bookcase, which was filled to the brim with various tomes. Illyen closed the cabinet and wandered over to browse the titles, wondering if there were any that he recognized. He quickly realized that the top level held entertaining stories – fairy tales, epics, and the like – while the bottom two shelves contained books about trade, accounting, and law. Seeing this, Illyen surmised that this room was likely where Regoro had preferred to conduct business with other merchants.
Illyen also noticed that the art in this room was markedly sparser. Only four small paintings hung from the walls, each depicting a scene of nature. Above the fireplace was a framed, sepia-toned map of the world, with various trade routes marked in red and blue ink. As he gazed at it, Illyen couldn't help but wonder how many of those routes Regoro had sailed himself, and if the magister had intended to teach them to Illyen as well. Not that it mattered now, he mused pensively.
Once he was satisfied, Illyen led the way out of the parlor and crossed the entrance hall diagonally to the opposite wall. He let one of the guards push open the door nearest to the front entrance and peered inside, then nodded. Illyen cautiously stepped into the room, which he immediately realized was the dining hall. A large, open room that was only slightly smaller than the music hall, the dining hall was dominated by a long, heavy table with cherrywood legs and a white marble top. Fourteen leather chairs with red velvet cushions were arrayed on either side of the table, and two larger chairs loomed at the head and foot of the table. The walls were a deep violet, and the ceiling was pristine white, while the floors were made of black marble. A long carpet ran under the table, also colored purple, with a golden border and thick, bright red, leaf-like designs inside. Against the outer wall loomed a large fireplace made of crimson brick. A golden chandelier hung from the ceiling directly over the table, which could hold over a dozen candles.
Though the table was enormous, there was still plenty of room along the edges of the dining hall, allowing servants to move about comfortably and tend to the diners' needs. In addition, three low cabinets were situated around the room. Upon them rested silver candlesticks and pitchers, and when Illyen opened them, he found that they contained table dressings – linen tablecloths, napkins, vases for flowers, and so forth. As in the entrance hall, the walls were decorated with oil paintings, though these depicted scenes of hunting, feasting, and revelry – fitting, Illyen supposed, though not particularly original.
After spending a few minutes examining the room, Illyen began making his way past the second door leading into the entrance hall, and towards a third door at the back of the dining hall that he had not yet opened. Just as he was reaching for the handle, however, it was abruptly pulled open. His heart pounded as one of the guards swept into the room, nearly bowling him over before stopping short. The guard quickly noticed the startled looks on the others' faces, and he smiled apologetically.
"Forgive me. I've finished searching the basement," he announced. "It appears to be empty – though you will be pleased to note that the larder is full, Magister," he added with a sly grin. "As is the wine cellar."
"I trust that you merely inspected it?" Illyen asked pointedly.
The guard frowned, seeming offended by the accusation. "I touched nothing, Magister," he said firmly.
"Very good," Illyen said with a mockingly imperious nod, to show that he had just been teasing. Then he smirked. "As such, you'll be more than welcome to join us later when we sample some of my uncle's stock. You mentioned that he has an extensive wine collection?"
The guard's face split into a broad smile, revealing a pair of broken front teeth. "Quite extensive, Magister," he nodded. "Shall I show you?"
Illyen glanced over his shoulder at Balerion, who grinned and nodded. "Lead on," Illyen replied.
The guard inclined his head in a slight bow before turning and leading them into the next room, which was the butler's pantry. Unlike the other rooms, it was undecorated, with plain white walls and a grey brick floor. Cupboards and cabinets lined three of the walls, all of which contained a vast array of dishes – both silver and porcelain – silverware, and serving ware. In the center of the room was a large grey table made of stone, which Illyen supposed was used to arrange dishes before they were brought into the dining room. He also noticed a small bed with white sheets and a brown blanket resting in one corner, between the door to the entrance hall and a door leading to the back courtyard.
"Did a servant sleep here, perhaps?" Illyen asked Balerion with a slight frown.
"Indeed. Likely the steward," Balerion replied, glancing down at the bed. "At least, this is where ours sleeps. One of the steward's chief duties is to ensure that the silverware is not stolen, so ours sleeps in the very same room to act as a guard – or at least a watchdog. Also, if my suspicion is correct…."
He began walking along the shelves, before stopping in front of a small, locked cupboard tucked away in one corner. He glanced over at Illyen and motioned to it, who spent a few moments trying keys before finding one that unlocked it. When Balerion pulled it open, Illyen was surprised to find that it was filled with leather-bound books instead of dishes and utensils. Balerion pulled one out and opened it, then idly flipped through a few pages before nodding and handing it over to Illyen.
"Regoro's account books and logs," he explained. "Far more valuable than a few pieces of silverware."
"I see," Illyen said softly, peering over Balerion's shoulder at the numbers. A thought suddenly struck him. "Do you think the steward would know more about who Regoro's trading partners were, and what contracts they had drawn up?"
"It's unlikely, but not impossible," Balerion shrugged as he closed the book and stuffed it back into the cupboard. "It depends upon how close they were."
"Mm. Questions for later, then," Illyen said slowly, before shrugging. "For now, let us inspect the basement."
The guard led them almost to the door to the rear courtyard, before abruptly turning to his right. Illyen was surprised to find that there was a fairly wide stone staircase hidden behind what he had thought was the exterior wall. The guard grabbed a lit lantern that he had left on a hook on the wall and held it aloft as he descended the stairs, with the rest of the party in tow.
A musty scent hit Illyen's nostrils as they reached the bottom of the stairs, mixed with the unmistakable aroma of various foods. Though low windows carved into the walls just above the ground provided ample light for them to see, the basement was still dimly lit, and it took Illyen's eyes a few moments to adjust to the gloom. When they did, he realized that they were standing in a vast kitchen. Stone tables for preparing ingredients were situated in front of a grand hearth, with barrels tucked away in the corners, and pots and cooking utensils hanging from hooks on the ceiling. He also noticed dried herbs dangling from the rafters, which made the aroma lingering in the air somewhat more pleasant.
As they wandered across the bare stone floor, Illyen quickly found that the basement was divided into rooms dedicated to storing certain types of food. Salted and dried meats, cheeses, bread, vegetables, and fruit all had their own separate pantries, with varying temperatures and humidity depending on what was being kept. The shelves in every room were at least half-full, and Illyen suspected that if he only had to feed himself, he would be able to survive on what was in the larder alone for over a month and a half without needing to purchase any additional food. Of course, he would also have to cook his own meals, but he knew how to throw ingredients in a pot and boil them. He was not a fantastic chef, but his food was perfectly edible.
Illyen was also quite pleased when they arrived at the wine room, which had scores of bottles stored in racks, and a few sealed barrels of ale in the corners. After briefly examining a few of the bottles, Illyen concluded that Regoro had primarily favored heavy red wines, though thankfully, there were also over a dozen bottles of the sweeter whites that Illyen preferred. There were also a few small bottles of stronger spirits, but since Illyen rarely drank for the sake of intoxicating himself, he paid these little mind.
At the back of the basement were tubs and basins for cleaning, both for scullery and laundry. He also noticed another narrow staircase leading upwards, at the top of which was a cellar door, likely leading into the courtyard. Illyen decided not to bother opening it for now, and instead turned back to the group with a slight grin. "Well… at least I'm in no danger of starving," he commented wryly.
"Unless you host a feast, which you may need to, if you intend to attract customers," Balerion corrected him. Illyen noted his sober tone, and realized the courtesan was offering him honest advice.
"Well… I don't intend to for a short while, at least," Illyen replied as nonchalantly as he could. "In any case, my curiosity about the basement is sated. Shall we return to the main floor?"
Balerion motioned for him to lead the way, whereupon Illyen turned around and made his way back to the stairway leading up to the butler's pantry. As they exited the room, they were greeted by the final guard, making his way back down the stairs.
"From what I can tell, it appears that there is no one in the manse, Magister," he announced.
"That's a relief," Illyen sighed as he stepped back slightly so that he could address all of them. Inclining his head in a slight bow, he added, "I wish to sincerely thank you for your assistance. You did not need to trouble yourselves on my account, and I am grateful that you did."
All of the guards seemed slightly embarrassed by Illyen's gratitude, while Balerion let out a chuckle and shook his head. "Come now, there is no shame in asking for our help. Your caution is not unwarranted in the wake of your uncle's death, and none of us minded lending you our blades." Behind him, the guards shook their heads in agreement. While Illyen knew that they could have simply been agreeing with Balerion because he was their employer, their response did seem genuine.
"Nevertheless, thank you once again," Illyen added. "If you don't mind, I would like to see the rest of the manse. Then I wish to reward you all with a meal, for taking the time to assist me today."
The guards that had been accompanying him thus far grinned, while the one who had just arrived looked pleasantly surprised at the mention of a reward. Balerion smirked faintly, seeming simultaneously amused and approving. "I think that would be fitting," he agreed, glancing over his shoulder at his men, whose faces broke out into anticipatory grins. "But only once our task is finished. Go on, then, Illyen."
Illyen nodded and turned back around, leading the way up the stairs. He paused on the landing for a moment to peer out one of the windows, to see what was beyond the door at the top of the stairs. The door led out onto a balcony, surrounded by a stone railing, affording an excellent view of the rear courtyard. While he could not see any furniture on the balcony, Illyen began considering placing a chair and small table outside, to enjoy his meals outdoors once in a while. Of course, given that Braavos' weather seemed to fluctuate between fog, rain, and sleet in the winter, such opportunities might be few and far between, but it was still something to ponder.
The window also allowed him to look into the back courtyard. From where he was standing, he could see that most of the yard was covered with ornate stone tiles of various earthy colors – tans, russet reds, greys, and whites – and decorated with delicate, intricate designs. In the back corner of the yard, he also spotted a tall, narrow box made of stone, with a sloped roof, which he suspected was a privy, likely directly connected to the sewers.
In the center of the courtyard was a large, round fountain, with water constantly spraying from the top into a basin below. The fountain was undoubtedly connected to the enormous aqueduct called the sweetwater river, granting Illyen his own private source of fresh water. That alone delighted Illyen – as a boy, one of his chores had been to lug a heavy wooden bucket to a public well three times a day to retrieve water for his family. This fountain alone was a luxury he would have given his left arm for, even without the rest of the manse. He also noticed the tiles had been removed around three sides of the fountain, and a small herb garden had been planted in the bare earth. A few feet beyond the garden were two stone benches, with a small table on either side.
Grinning to himself as he turned away from the window, Illyen led the others up the rest of the steps to the second floor. As he stepped off the staircase, he found himself standing in another long hallway. While the main entrance had been decorated in bright, pristine marble, the colors on the second level were much darker. The ceiling was coated in white plaster, but the floor was tiled in mid-brown marble, across which was stretched a long burgundy carpet, trimmed saffron-colored leaf designs, which ran from one end of the hallway to the other. The upper half of the walls were painted a deep azure, while the lower half were covered in dark brown wood paneling, which must have been quite expensive, given the rarity of wood in Braavos. The walls were further decorated with rich tapestries of various colors and designs, which hung between the doors at even intervals. Three iron chandeliers hung from the ceiling, to provide additional light when the large, twin windows at both ends of the hallway were insufficient.
Illyen also immediately noticed that the hallway was asymmetrical. There were four doors on the left side of the hallway, and only three on the right. With a slight, curious frown, he made his way over to the nearest door on the left and pushed it open. The first thing that struck him as he peered inside was that nearly everything in the room seemed to be colored lavender. The walls were painted light purple, and a thick, mauve carpet covered much of the floor. In the corner was a plush chair covered in lilac velvet. The four-poster bed had white sheets and pillows, but the thick wool blankets and the curtains hanging from the canopy were both pale violet. There were other amenities as well – a small white fireplace, a marble wardrobe, a long table with a porcelain pitcher of water, washing basin, and linen towels, and a lidded, porcelain chamber pot half-hidden under the bed. He couldn't help but smirk down at Balerion as the courtesan ducked under his arm to gaze around the room.
"I didn't realize Regoro was so fond of violet," he remarked drily.
"He wasn't," Balerion replied flatly as he glanced around the room. "This is most like a guest chamber. It's not uncommon to decorate secondary chambers in one color – it makes it easier to tell servants which room to attend to. Also, master bedchambers tend to be far larger than this."
Illyen blinked as he took another look around the room. "If this is a mere guest chamber, then the bedchambers I've slept in throughout my life must be closets," he muttered.
"Near enough," Balerion agreed smugly, grinning up at Illyen as he glowered down at him. "Come. I would wager that the other rooms on this side of the hall are much the same."
Balerion was soon proven correct. Two of the other doors opened to reveal rooms similarly decorated primarily in one color – one in sunny yellow, the other in rose red. All shared the same amenities as the lavender room, and each could comfortably hold at least two people.
When Illyen opened the final door on the left wall, which was almost built into the corner, he was surprised to find himself peering into a narrow corridor with a stone staircase, which ascended for about four steps before abruptly turning to his left. A single window provided ample light at this time of day, and a hook holding a lantern was built into the wall, but it was otherwise completely bare.
"That leads to the attic, Magister," one of the guards explained as Illyen closed the door. He pointed to the door directly opposite him and added, "As does that door."
"Then we can explore that in a short while," Illyen replied as he wandered over to the next door on the right-hand side of the hallway.
After pushing the door open, Illyen found himself standing in yet another bedroom, though it was markedly different from the previous three. The room was significantly larger than the others, though still decorated primarily in a single color – in this case, oceanic blue. However, while the room did have the same furnishings as the others, there were a few other pieces of furniture that the others lacked. A desk and chair had been positioned in front of one of the windows, beside which rested a small bookcase, messily stacked with books and scrolls. There was also an armchair in the other corner of the room, as well as a few artworks and a tapestry.
The main thing that Illyen noticed about the room, however, was how it seemed to have been untouched for quite some time. There was a thin layer of dust on most of the furniture, and he spotted a few cobwebs in the corners. It seemed as though this room had been intentionally neglected.
"Do you suppose these chambers belonged to Regoro's wife?" Balerion asked as he gazed around the room.
"Or his son," Illyen suggested, folding his arms over his chest. "If so, I presume that he could not bear to enter this room after he passed away."
"Which would match his apparent lack of interest in trade after his son's demise as well," Balerion agreed with a soft sigh. "A pity."
"Quite," Illyen murmured. "In any case, I presume that behind the last door are Regoro's own chambers. Shall we go see?"
Balerion motioned for Illyen to lead on, and he turned and led the way back out into the hallway and towards the final door. As he pushed it open, he immediately learned that his assumption was correct. The bedroom was the largest in the house, though he noticed that it contained little more furniture than the previous room. The bedchamber was primarily decorated in green, with celadon walls, an emerald rug, and a bed with jade-colored blankets and curtains. However, Illyen also noticed that it lacked the desk that the previous room had held, and instead contained a few extra chests, two chairs in front of the fireplace, and a small couch situated in front of one of the windows.
He also realized that there should have been a window behind the bed, which was placed against the wall that would have been facing into the rear courtyard. Instead, there was only a plain wall, and another door to the right of the bedframe. Illyen frowned curiously as he approached the door and slowly pushed it open to peer inside.
To his surprise, he found himself standing in what seemed to be Regoro's cabinet – his private study. The small room was less than a third of the size of the bedroom, with dark brown wood-paneled walls and a deep red hardwood floor, much to Illyen's amazement. A writing desk dominated the center of the room, with a quill pen and inkwell resting next to its slanted surface, and two large bookcases were situated on either side of the room. A pair of candlesticks rested on either side of the desk, and the window behind it provided additional light. Two large chests rested on either side of the window, one made of wood, and one of iron.
There was little artwork in the room, save for two portraits hanging on the wall next to the door. One was Regoro's, but the other had been mutilated to the point that its subject was unrecognizable. It seemed as though someone had taken a knife to it, as the subject's face had been reduced to a mass of vicious, jagged slash marks. Illyen could not even tell if the robed figure was male or female, and he found himself staring at it curiously for several moments, pondering who it might have been, and what had happened to so arouse someone's – likely Regoro's – ire.
"Illyen?" Balerion asked, interrupting Illyen's thoughts. "Look at this."
Illyen turned and frowned as Balerion held up a piece of paper that had been resting on the desk. After briefly looking it over, he realized that it contained an unreadable message. There were seemingly random letters written on it, though there were breaks in the script that suggested that they formed words. After gazing at it for a long moment, Illyen looked up and let out a soft chuckle.
"It's written in code," he announced, amused.
"Indeed? Can you decipher it?" Balerion asked, tilting his head. "After all, you studied coded messages while writing 'The Uncloaking,' yes?"
"Yes, but that hardly makes me an expert at solving them," Illyen pointed out, frowning as he examined the paper more closely. He searched it carefully before turning it over, to see if there was some sort of key that would allow him to read the message, but aside from a trio of dots in the upper right-hand corner, there was nothing. "Still, I suppose that with time, I might be able to decode it," he added, running his fingers over his chin. "I must confess, I'm rather curious now. It seems that my uncle was keeping even deeper secrets than I realized."
"Quite. Is there anything to suggest who might have sent this message?" Balerion asked.
"There doesn't seem to be," Illyen answered as he turned the page over again. There was no address on the paper, and no seal. "Of course, Regoro could have been drafting this message himself," he pointed out. He then glanced around the room, and his eyes fell on the two chests behind the desk.
Tilting his head thoughtfully, Illyen pulled the key ring out of his belt pouch and approached the wooden chest, which was fastened with a simple lock. After trying four keys, the lock opened, and he lifted the lid and peered inside. Within were charts, trade contracts, and correspondence with other merchants, but all were written in standard text, without any of the words encoded. Frowning faintly, Illyen closed the lid and turned his attention to the iron chest.
Aside from the material that it had been forged from, the first thing that Illyen noticed about the chest was the unusual lock protecting it. Unlike the lock on the wooden chest, this lock was quite large, almost the size of Illyen's hand, and rather than a keyhole, it instead had three dials with numbers engraved on them. Illyen frowned faintly as he turned it over, searching for a keyhole, but while there was a small hole on the back, none of his keys fit. He scowled at the lock as he idly turned the numbers, racking his brain for a solution. Then, after a few long moments, a thought struck him.
"I wonder…." he murmured to himself as he reached into his pouch and felt around, until his fingers closed around the large iron coin that Regoro had given him. Holding it up to the sunlight, he examined it again, inspecting the numbers along the edges. Upon closer examination, he realized that if he treated the lines dividing them as spaces, they formed three-digit combinations. Regoro had told him that the coin was a key. Perhaps he meant a key to this chest?
Illyen chewed on his thumbnail as he turned the dials, matching them to the numbers on the coin. At first, the lock stubbornly held fast. When he tried the third combination, however – 1-9-4 – he heard a click, and the lock suddenly sprang open. His heart began racing as he pulled the lock off and pushed the chest open.
Inside were dozens of letters, written by different hands and in various inks. They were stacked in neat columns, perhaps carefully divided up by whom had sent them, though none of the messages had addresses or seals on them. All, however, were encoded. Illyen pulled a few of them from the chest and briefly looked them over, but he could not read a single one, and none contained even a clue about how he might decode them.
"Well… seems that Regoro was hiding quite a few secrets, wasn't he?" Balerion remarked as he peered over Illyen's shoulder.
"Indeed," Illyen murmured. He turned the letter over again, then shrugged and placed them carefully back into the chest before shutting it again. "And I'd very much like to know what they were. I cannot help but wonder if they might relate to whomever killed him… and why."
"Well, then you should set to work deciphering them immediately," Balerion chuckled. "Perhaps you could raise your uncle from the dead and ask him yourself?"
Illyen scowled, but then he remembered something. "My uncle obviously will be of no help… but that does not mean there is no one I could ask," he said thoughtfully. "That guard captain said that they were holding the steward of this manse in the dungeons. Do you think he might know something?"
"Hm," Balerion grunted. "He might. Is he not also suspected of Regoro's murder, though?"
"He is, but perhaps he might be willing to answer my questions all the same," Illyen mused. "Especially if he's innocent of the crime. At worst, he knows nothing, and we're no worse off than we are now."
"Do you wish to speak with him now, then?" Balerion asked, a slight smirk crossing his lips. "Do you no longer with to explore the rest of your manse?"
Illyen hesitated, then glanced over at the guard that had inspected the upper floors. "What did you find in the attic?" he asked shortly. "Anything of note?"
"It seems to be used to store furniture," the guard replied with a shrug. "Chairs, tables, a few chests, a bath or two. There were also four small beds, with a chest at the foot of each one."
"Likely for the servants," Balerion commented.
"I also noticed a spiral staircase in the center of the attic, which led up to the dome," the guard added.
"Oh?" Illyen asked, slightly impatiently. "Was there anything of interest up there?"
"There was a desk up there, with charts all over," the guard shrugged. "And a long cylinder. Seemed to be made of glass and bronze."
Illyen frowned, but then his eyes widened with interest. "A Myrish eye?" he asked, intrigued.
The guard shrugged. "Perhaps? It also seemed as though one of the walls had a door on it, so I suppose you could also step out onto the balcony."
"I see! Then perhaps it's an observatory," Illyen concluded, unable to keep from smiling slightly to himself. "Fascinating." He gripped his chin lightly with his thumb and forefinger, until he noticed Balerion smirking at him out of the corner of his eye. "What?"
"Are you certain you don't wish to see for yourself?" Balerion asked in a teasing tone.
Illyen rolled his eyes as he knelt down, slid the lock back onto the iron chest, and snapped it shut, then spun the numbered dials to lock it again. "Later," he replied as he pushed himself to his feet. "This matter with my uncle's letters demands my attention first."
Balerion nodded, his smirk fading. "One of my guards can remain here. The rest of us shall accompany you if you're headed for the dungeons." Illyen glanced over his shoulder, slightly surprised, until he saw another infuriating grin spreading across the courtesan's face. "You didn't think I would let you go alone, did you? Come now, this is the most fun I've had in quite some time."
"I'm so glad my frustration and peril amuse you so," Illyen growled as he made for the door of the cabinet. "Come, then."
A short while later, Illyen and Balerion were once again walking towards the tower leading into the dungeons of Ragman's Harbor. As they drew near, the watchman protecting the door eyed them curiously, but when he noticed the guards accompanying them, he stood a bit straighter.
"How might I assist you?" he asked formally, his eyes darting from Illyen to Balerion.
"We have come to speak with one of your prisoners," Illyen explained.
The watchman frowned slightly. "You… must ask the captain for permission, then," he replied slowly. "Only he can allow it. Please, come in," he added, opening the door for them and allowing them to step inside.
Illyen nodded politely as they walked into the dimly lit room. The guard captain who had released him the day before was sitting at his desk, idly gazing into a goblet, though he looked up when Illyen and Balerion walked in. "Magister?" he asked as he pushed himself up to greet them. "How might I assist you?" He smirked slightly. "Did you find your stay in your cell so pleasant that you've decided to return?"
"Indeed. It was more comfortable than any inn I've ever slept in," Illyen replied drily as he folded his arms over his chest. "You mentioned that you are still holding Regoro Telerys' steward in one of your cells, yes?"
"We are," the captain confirmed slowly, his smirk fading.
"Then I would like to speak with him, if I may," Illyen requested.
The captain narrowed his eyes as he folded his arms over his chest. "To what end?" he demanded.
"I believe he might be able to answer some questions I had about my late uncle," Illyen replied.
"That isn't a sufficient answer," the captain said shortly. "I will need to know more about what you intend to ask him."
Illyen narrowed his eyes, anger starting to flare in his chest. "Forgive me, but I do not wish to divulge that here, where others could be listening," he said, as politely as he could. "Doing so could place me in jeopardy. I merely wish to speak with Regoro's steward for but a few moments. So, I ask again – will you allow me to do so?"
The captain scowled and flicked his gloved hand dismissively. "Tell me, Magister… Telerys, was it?" he asked in a low growl. "Do you believe that because you are now a magister, you feel entitled to make demands? I will have you know, you are speaking with a peer, a fellow aristocrat. Your new title means nothing to me."
Illyen rolled his eyes, but before he could retort, Balerion stepped in front of him. "What is your name, captain?" he demanded, almost spitting the man's rank.
The captain smirked as he ran his fingers over his thick, dark-brown mustache. "Valerio Theyann," he replied imperiously. "I am the second son of Magister Gredorio Theyaan."
Balerion scoffed. "The spare scion of a third-rate line, then," he said in a dangerously soft voice. Valerio's smirk vanished instantly. "Small wonder you're a mere watch captain. A word of warning, Theyann – if you intend to intimidate an ally of the Otherys family with your title, you'd best bring an Antaryon or Prestayn to support you. Otherwise, you risk making a powerful enemy." As Valerio's face went slightly pale, Balerion added, "Now, my companion asked to speak with one of your prisoners. Might you accommodate us?"
Valerio narrowed his dark brown eyes at the pair, visibly seething. Without a word, he pulled the key ring off his belt and turned on his heel to lead the way down the stairs, almost stomping down them. Balerion shot Illyen a smirk as he followed the captain into the dungeons, while Illyen suppressed a grin of his own.
The captain guided them along the rows of cells, holding a lantern aloft to see in the gloom. After a short walk, he stopped in front of one of the cells and smacked the bars with his iron club. A shrill peal rang through the dungeons, setting Illyen's teeth on edge. "Get up! You have a visitor!" Valerio barked irritably.
A man stepped out from the darkness of his cell, blinking his blue eyes rapidly in the light of the lantern. Illyen guessed that he was in his mid-thirties, as there were faint hints of grey in his short, rust-colored hair. He also wore a full, neatly trimmed beard, and he was dressed in a violet tunic, though it was slightly soiled from the grime of the cell, which he had likely been sitting in for a few days.
"Well met," Illyen said politely, inclining his head. "I am Illy- Magister Illyen Telerys. I'm told that you were the steward of my uncle Regoro's manse?"
"I was, my lord," the man replied in a guttural accent, inclining his head deferentially as he did. "My name is Mattheus Dunn."
Illyen's eyebrows rose slightly. "Your accent… you are Westerosi, are you not?" he asked.
"I am, my lord," Mattheus confirmed, bowing his head again. "I originally hail from the Reach."
Illyen tilted his head slightly. "Intriguing," he said softly. He glanced at Valerio out of the corner of his eye and noticed that the captain was watching him intently. Deciding that it would be unwise to ask about his uncle's coded messages with the hostile captain eyeing him like a hawk, he decided to pursue a different line of questioning, which might still earn him some answers. "Tell me, if you hail from the Sunset Kingdoms, how did you come to be in my uncle's service?"
Mattheus blinked, clearly surprised by the question. "It's quite a long story," he admitted.
"Tales are my trade," Illyen countered with a slight smile. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Balerion raise an eyebrow, but the courtesan said nothing. "Please," Illyen pressed.
Mattheus inclined his head. "I… very well, my lord. As a boy, I was a squire for a household knight sworn to House Peake. Shortly before my twelfth nameday, King Daemon Blackfyre declared his intention to take the Iron Throne, and House Peake rallied to his banner. As you may know, King Daemon was defeated, and King Daeron severely punished those who had served him. Fearing that we would be executed as traitors, many of us fled across the Narrow Sea, where we became sellswords."
A faint, nostalgic smile crossed Mattheus' face. "I joined a band called the 'Harriers.' We mostly fought in the Disputed Lands, serving either Myr, Lys, or Tyrosh, depending upon who was offering the most coin. While most of my companions became knights or men-at-arms, I chose to remain a squire, even long after I entered manhood. I was no craven, but I found that I was far more skilled at tending to supplies, cooking meals, and mending wounds than I was at fighting. I had to endure some mockery, true, though that usually stopped rather quickly after my tormentors had to choke down a burnt meal or enter battle with a gaping hole in their trousers. In time, I became something of a campmaster for our band. In truth, it was not a poor life, especially for a young man. The coin was fair, and every day was an adventure. However, as the years wore on and more and more of my companions died or were sold into slavery, I came to realize that I could not live that sort of life forever. When a mere score of our original company remained, we chose to disband. Some chose to join other sellsword companies, but I decided to travel north to the only city-state in Essos that explicitly forbade slavery – Braavos."
"Why not return to Westeros?" Illyen asked.
Mattheus shook his head. "For one, I lacked the coin to charter a ship across the Narrow Sea. However, I also feared that I would still be marked as a traitor for siding with King Daemon during his rebellion, and I wished to keep my head. Thus, I felt it wiser to remain on this side of the sea and find work in Braavos." He once again smiled faintly. "I do not regret my decision. Squiring prepares one well for work as a servant in a household, and I was soon taken in by the Reyaan family." He then looked away, his expression turning sheepish. "However, when my… dalliance with a fellow servant came to light and it was discovered that she was with child, I was promptly dismissed."
"And you found work with my uncle then?" Illyen inferred.
"I did not, my lord," Mattheus replied. "Before that, I was hired by the Hathirions. They were a small family, but decent folk." He then grimaced. "However, roughly a year ago, a young girl approached me, claiming to be my daughter. She informed me that her mother had died of a pox, and that the Reyaan family had cast her out." He sighed heavily. "Sadly, though I was willing to claim her as my own, the Hathirion family could not afford to house her as well, and as I refused to part with my child, they reluctantly dismissed me from their service."
A warm smile spread across his face. "Fortunately, shortly after that, I met your uncle. As they'd had no complaints about my service, the Hathirions had spoken with him about hiring me instead, and he had informed them that he was in need of a new steward. I was more than happy to accept his offer. Not only would he offer my daughter and I a new roof, but I would be elevated to the position of head servant of his manse, to oversee his other servants. It was more than I could have ever dreamt." His smile quickly faded, however, as he looked down at his cuffs with a heavy sigh. "Yet now I find myself imprisoned, accused of his murder, and once again facing homelessness. And with a daughter to feed at that."
Illyen considered the steward for a long moment, then folded his hands in front of him. "Look at me a moment, please." Mattheus raised his head, and Illyen stared directly into his eyes. "Were you involved in Regoro Telerys' murder in any way?"
"I was not, my lord," Mattheus replied, his tone polite but firm. "Never."
Illyen stared at him for several seconds, but Mattheus did not flinch under his gaze. At last, he turned to Valerio. "Captain… I would like to pay to secure this man's release. I will take him into my custody until his trial has been arranged."
"Illyen!" Balerion exclaimed, and Mattheus' mouth fell open as the captain narrowed his eyes.
"Are you mad? This man has been accused of murder!" Valerio growled.
"Yet I am convinced he did not commit it," Illyen replied firmly. "He had naught to gain and everything to lose with Regoro's death. After all, it was not as though he could inherit the estate. We've also done a thorough check of the manse, and it does not appear anything of value was stolen, so theft was not a motive either." A wry smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. "What's more… the head servant killing the master of the manse? How very cliché."
Balerion stifled a chuckle while Valerio glowered at him. "Regardless, he still stands accused of a heinous crime," the captain insisted stubbornly. "If I release him and it happens that he is your uncle's killer, then most like he will slit your throat next!"
"Then it would behoove you to increase the guards patrolling around my manse, would it not?" Illyen retorted slyly.
Balerion reached out and took Illyen's arm, pulling him aside. "Much as I mislike it, I cannot help but agree with Theyaan," he hissed in a whisper. "In fact, it's utterly irrational for you to place so much trust in this man! You've spent the last few days jumping at your own shadow, fearing that your uncle's assassin is around every corner! Now you are asking to take one of the most likely suspects in his murder into your custody?!"
Illyen exhaled softly and held up his hand. "Yes… I know this seems illogical," he replied in a low, soothing voice. "However, if one considers what he told us, Mattheus had no true motive to kill Regoro. He had just been gifted a high-ranking position in Regoro's estate, and he was even allowed to care for his daughter. Why would he toss all that aside?"
"Perhaps there is more to the tale that we have not been told," Balerion pointed out. "Or perhaps he was lying."
"Perhaps," Illyen conceded. "But he did not seem to be, and you know well that I can usually tell when others are lying to me." Balerion frowned slightly, tacitly conceding that point. "Besides, I still want to ask him about Regoro's letters, and I have no desire to do so in here. Once we have left, we can ask him. If he knows nothing, and you still do not trust him, I shall turn him over to you, and your guards can watch him until his trial."
Balerion frowned deeply at him, then sighed and shook his head. "It's your choice," he muttered.
Illyen nodded, then turned to Valerio. "So, yes, I would like to secure Mattheus' release."
Valerio stared at him for a long moment, but then a thoughtful look crossed his face. He reached up and stroked his mustache as he gazed at Illyen for a few moments, and then he smirked. "…Very well," he said slowly. "If you're fool enough to seek your own death, I will not stop you. However, there is the matter of his bail…."
Illyen narrowed his eyes. "How much?" he asked in a low voice.
"Twenty titans," Valerio replied, his smirk broadening.
Illyen's eyes widened with indignation. Titans were one of the most valuable coins in Braavos, roughly equivalent to gold elsewhere in the world. Before he could respond, Balerion leaned in and whispered in his ear, "Come now, that is far beyond what his bail must actually be. You cannot accept this. He's extorting you."
"Yes, I suspected as much," Illyen muttered back. "But arguing will earn me nothing. He may even demand more, and I do not wish to discuss my uncle's secrets in front of this arrogant bastard." Then he smiled slightly. "Besides, servants cost a great deal anyways, do they not? Twenty coins is a rather cheap price for one."
Balerion blinked at him, then sighed and shook his head. "You're either too kind for your own good, or too gullible. Here." Before Illyen could protest, Balerion reached into his belt pouch and withdrew a handful of coins, which he pressed into Illyen's palm. "I know you have that much coin in the bank, but I doubt you're carrying more than three titans on you at the moment, yes? Simply repay me by the end of the week."
Illyen felt a rush of gratitude towards Balerion as he closed his hand around the coins, and then he turned back to Valerio. "Very well. Here," he said curtly, holding out the coins.
A greedy grin spread across the captain's face as he took the coins and counted them. "Very good," he said, pocketing the coins and pulling his key from his belt. "However, this does not exonerate this… vermin. He remains accused of murder, and there will be a trial for him if Regoro's murderer is not found. Should he flee before then, you shall be held responsible, and your title as Magister will not protect you from justice. Do I make myself clear?" Valerio added pointedly.
"You do," Illyen growled.
Valerio smirked smugly as he unlocked the door and pulled it open. When Mattheus stepped out, he also unlocked the manacles around his wrists, but Valerio's gaze lingered on Illyen the entire time. "You've only been a magister for a single day, and already you are paying bribes," he sneered, brazenly admitting what he had extracted from Illyen. "You may be well-suited to your title after all."
"Yet despite your own claims to aristocracy, you see fit to rob me," Illyen snapped.
Valerio's smirk faded, replaced by a cold glare. "I am the second son of my family," he snarled. "What little I see of our fortune is in the form of a pittance of an allowance, and I have near to no chance of ever inheriting it, short of slaying my brother. Thus, I must make my own coin however I can. Not that I would expect you to understand, gifted as you were with a windfall most of us could only dream of." He and Illyen stared daggers at each other for a few long moments, and then he dismissively waved his hand. "If there is nothing else, Magister, we will see you out now."
Illyen glared at the captain for a moment longer, then abruptly turned on his heel and stalked up the stairs with Mattheus and Balerion in tow. As they reached the top level, they saw that Balerion's guards were watching a pair of the watchmen play dice. When they noticed Balerion and Illyen returning, the strode over to the door of the tower and pushed it open, allowing them to exit the dungeons.
As soon as he was outside, Mattheus let out a soft chuckle of disbelief. "I… can hardly believe my fortune," he said softly to himself, before turning to Illyen and bowing deeply. "I had feared that I was bound for the noose! My lord, I am forever in your debt!"
"Well, it is not as though I've saved your neck just yet," Illyen pointed out grimly. "I have merely ensured that you're no longer being held in that tiny cell. What's more, I cannot truly say that I released you merely out of a sense of charity. I have some questions that I wish to ask you."
Mattheus folded his hands behind his back and nodded soberly. "I see. Very well. I shall answer as best I can," he replied.
Illyen glanced around, then led Mattheus to a nearby alleyway, with Balerion and his guards following behind them. After checking the area to ensure they were not being followed, Illyen told Mattheus about what he had found in Regoro's cabinet.
"Ah, those," Mattheus said softly when Illyen finished his story. "Yes, I do recall Magister Telerys receiving strange messages from time to time. However, they always arrived by raven, and he never told me who he was corresponding with. Nor did I feel it was my place to ask," he admitted.
Illyen grimaced. "Did he perhaps offer some clue about how to decipher the messages, at least?" he asked.
"I'm afraid not, my lord," Mattheus replied, his voice full of honest regret. "They would hardly be secret messages if he did, after all. Though I was his steward, I was still a mere servant. He would not confide in me about such matters."
"I see," Illyen sighed. "Pity." He then smiled slightly at Mattheus. "Though I am pleased that we could at least secure your release, temporary as it might be."
"Yes, and for that, I am eternally grateful," Mattheus replied, bowing deeply once again. "To that end, I would be honored to pledge myself to you, my lord. I will serve you in whatever capacity you see fit, whether as the steward of your manse, or as a mere drudge. It matters little to me."
Illyen felt his cheeks flush with embarrassment. "I… I cannot accept-" he stammered.
"It would be no trouble, I assure you," Mattheus insisted, raising his head slightly to look up at Illyen. "Would a wife be living with you? A family?" Illyen shook his head, and Mattheus grinned. "So much the better. Tending to the needs of a single person is a rather simple task. You do not even have a horse or armor for me to look after."
Illyen took a deep breath, then said firmly, "Mattheus, while I am grateful for your offer, I cannot hire you. Though I may hold the title of magister, I am as poor as any commoner. Poorer, in fact, as my uncle left me a crushing debt. I simply cannot pay you for your services. What's more, I will likely be forced to surrender my title and the manse within six months."
Mattheus looked down, apparently considering his comment, then replied slowly, "Well… six months would allow me ample time to make other arrangements. Until then, however, there is no need for you to pay me. I am, after all, in your debt for freeing me. I would only make two requests. If I may?"
Illyen hesitated, then sighed softly. "Very well."
"First, I ask that you allow my daughter to join me," Mattheus said. "Rest assured, she would serve you just as I would. Though she is still but a child, she can cook, launder, and clean. She is as skilled as any maid." He then smiled faintly. "And second, I would humbly ask that you allow me to continue to worship the Seven. If you would allow me these two gifts, then I will be your loyal servant for as long as you would have me."
Before Illyen could respond, he felt a hand on his shoulder. "You should accept his offer," Balerion said in his ear. "A magister should have servants. With your other responsibilities, you will quickly find keeping a manse an impossible task. And you will never find another servant who will offer to work for free."
Illyen quirked his mouth thoughtfully as he gazed at Mattheus, then let out a sigh. "Even so, I cannot allow you to work for free. We do not own slaves here in Braavos."
Mattheus looked down, chuckling faintly. "Very well. If it will ease your conscience, my lord, then I will only ask for a single titan, in exchange for half a year's service."
Illyen tilted his head back and forth, considering the offer, finally countered, "Two. One for you, and one for your daughter. And I will make one additional request."
"Certainly!" Mattheus exclaimed.
"Teach me Westerosi." Mattheus blinked, clearly surprised by the request. "My command of the tongue is only fair at best, and there are many Westerosi tales that I wish to read in their original tongue. I'm certain they would make excellent plays," Illyen explained.
A broad grin spread across Mattheus' face. "It would be my pleasure," he replied in an almost reverent tone.
"Then… we have an accord," Illyen stated formally. "Henceforth, you shall serve as the steward of my manse."
Balerion snickered beside him, which Illyen ignored, while Mattheus bowed his head deeply. "As you wish, Magister Telerys. If you would permit me, I must first retrieve my daughter. When I was arrested, I told her to wait for me in the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea. She should still be there. Once I have her, we will head directly to your manse." He looked up and smiled warmly. "I must say, while I am forever grateful to your uncle for naming me his steward, I suspect that I shall enjoy serving you even more, my lord."
Illyen matched his smile. "I certainly hope so, Mattheus. Balerion," he added, glancing over at the courtesan. "Could I ask one of your guards to escort him?"
Balerion grinned. "Certainly," he replied, nodding to one of the men, who strode forward and motioned for Mattheus to lead the way. Illyen watched them depart, while Balerion continued to grin at him. When Illyen glanced at him with a frown, he said, "A magister for only a day, and already you have your first servants! I'm so proud!"
"Shut up," Illyen grumbled as he began walking in the opposite direction to return to his manse, with Balerion following close behind, smirking all the while.
A/N: So far as I know, G.R.R. Martin never formally released any information about the types of coins Braavos used, other than they were square-shaped and made of iron. As such, unless there is a chart of Braavosi coins that I'm not aware of, I'll be making up a few nicknames for various coins and including their general values relative to Westerosi coins. For instance, a titan is roughly equal to a golden dragon. If Martin ever does give us more information about Braavosi coinage, I'll change the terms accordingly.
