The Red Deer

King's Landing was waking up. The sea breeze blew freshness through the city streets, and the city bakeries were filled with mouth-watering aromas. The morning serenity was, however, fleeting – the capital was waking up rapidly, and not even an hour after dawn had passed, and the streets were already filled with people. We, Ser Davos and I, unobtrusively accompanied by a dozen of our people, moved without haste to the market quarters, collecting the glances of curious citizens.

 Oh no, don't think about it! We were neither on horseback nor with a magnificent retinue, we were not wearing any coats of arms or expensive armor. From the outside, it was difficult to distinguish us from the "ordinary" nobles. If we talk about security, it was simply not necessary, because Ser Davos is a person who is well known in the circles of the capital to those "who really need to know." This already ensured our passage without unnecessary attention from suspicious individuals and other brothers of sufficient weight, who themselves did not fit in, and warned the younger comrades. As for the rest of the locals we met, they, being already quite used to the luxurious side of the capital, bestowed only glances full of momentary empty curiosity.

 I started exploring the city (and I'm talking, of course, about a real acquaintance, not a visit to a brothel) a week ago with a Dragon's Lair. The grandiose ruins, which in their design resembled an ancient amphitheater. However, to be honest, the size of the ruins and the accompanying mountains of "garbage" were grandiose in the first place. Otherwise, the place is not particularly remarkable, rather deserted and depressing, and for particularly impressionable individuals it is also creepy, which is why even the local poor and criminals try to stay away from the place to this day.

 Next in my travel schedule was the local cathedral. And so much for that, and the Great Baylor Sept turned out to be really amazing. Solid examples of the close union of inspiration and the honed skill of architects and sculptors, milky-white marble walls and, of course, crowning all the crystal, damn them, turrets. And I don't even want to describe how this crystal shimmers and plays with light under the midday sun – extra words will only take away the weight from this spectacle. No wonder, no wonder at all, that crowds of people are constantly swirling around the Great Sept. It must be said, however, that these crowds consist mainly of the very bottom of society. This factor stems from the fact that there are many different parishes and care homes scattered around the sept. It was another sight... most often, thin, eternally malnourished children came across, dressed in outright rags and doing small and dirty work at septs and parishes.

 All orphanages, as well as other "humanitarian" projects on the territory of Westeros, however, are maintained at the expense of the church. Not only street children, but also people with disabilities live and somehow study in care homes. It's a good thing, but not to say that they make the weather in King's Landing. Rather, on the contrary, they demonstrate the inability of the church to independently carry out such an extensive social mission. But, let's say, in smaller towns, care homes are quite successfully pulling their webbing. They also say that things are much better in Old Town…

 Today, the next step was to get acquainted with the local market. Royal Harbor is a big city, even a very big one, and there are many outlets for every taste and almost every purse. Of course, I was primarily interested in the part of the market intended for wealthy people. The location corresponded to the prices and the target audience – the desired place was nestled next to the houses and town estates of the local nobility. There were street after street, where they sold mostly jewelry, spices and, of course, curiosities from distant lands. It was run mainly by people from Essos and their local proteges.

 Ser Davos's company was very pleasant. This middle-aged man, I'm not afraid to say, is by nature a great intellectual and a noble nobleman, although not by blood. Born and raised in the slums of King's Landing, my companion went a long way from becoming a petty smuggler to the founder of a noble knightly family. With all the severity of the years, with all the stories he has experienced and the bumps that remind him of them, he also managed not to turn into someone cynical, eternally tired and just angry. Sometimes I can't even believe that such an honest, sincere and just kind person can exist in this cruel world. It should also be noted that although Ser Davos was deprived of education, he was not stupid or ignorant. I suppose it's quite difficult to find such a person. A man who has visited almost all corners of the ecumenical world. A man who, in one half-glance at appearance, manners, dialect and habits, can determine with surprising accuracy each time who came from where, and also why the hell he most likely did it. Let's not forget the fact that Davos is an excellent sailor and trader who has wisely disposed of his acquired noble status, providing himself and his family with not just a stable, but a consistently high income. Surely no one thought that his "Black Bertha", one of the largest galleys of the Royal Navy, got to him by accident or as a gift?

 Our dialogue with the onion knight did not stop for a moment of our wanderings through the shopping malls. Inevitably, somewhere on purpose, and somewhere "in the process", I learned a lot of interesting facts. Where and what spices grow, where they can be sold, where they can be sold with even greater profit, which goods from the Sunset Kingdoms are in demand in the east and on the Summer Islands and vice versa. We also talked about who builds which ships and where. There were talks about Braavosian galleons and swan ships of the Letnians, about Volantian dromons and even about the whalers of the north. A lot of information. Almost too much for perception in such a short period of time. That Ser Davos of yours is a walking encyclopedia, by God.

 All these conversations are not dictated by idle curiosity, no matter how easily and naturally they come up during our hike. From the very beginning, when I first arrived in the capital and began to delve into the social and economic processes of the kingdom, I had a feeling of wrongness... or perhaps incompleteness. Something was escaping my attention. A trifle, a fact, the misunderstanding of which contributed to the understatement. Because of this, I decided to take a much closer look at my horizons, starting from such mundane facts as, for example, the cost of nutmeg in King's Landing and where it grows. Facts that are obvious to others, but not to me. So I learned that the Bravosians began to build their "swan ships" for the sake of trade with the Summer Islands, partially borrowing the design from the whalers from Iba – and so the local type of galleons appeared. The success, recognition and subsequent spread of this design stem from the conditions dictated by the Summer Sea itself, which is not so easy to cross. This sea is dangerous. Not only and not so much by pirates, but by frequent storms and leviathans and kraken hiding in it. Leviathans are local sea monsters, larger than whales, and have destroyed countless ships, and kraken are monstrous squids competing with leviathans for first place in the nomination "Creature from the Depths". All these factors can pose a great danger to small vessels, and some low galleys, which are so actively used in a Narrow Sea, have nothing to do in Summer from the word "at all". And even if you manage to cross the Summer Sea and get to the Summer Islands, there are always locals. And there is no guarantee that the first thing they will not try to kill you and your team, tired of the hard transition, and appropriate a valuable cargo. But the equation looks much more pleasant if you add a galleon to it – a ship that, even with a relatively small (by the standards of its fellows) size, has a very decent crew, which will be much more than on any cog or galley (twice or even more). In addition, they make excellent collection ships, which is extremely important for Braavos and its long-distance trade.

 And yet, no matter how you look at it, but for commercial activity on the Summer Islands, you need a good such recharge…

But it's not time to wallow in thoughts yet – the campaign is not over. One shop replaced another, and in the process I spared no expense to buy all sorts of things. In particular, spices, for "spice master flo". And who would have known how much I would miss such an "ordinary" black pepper? Unfortunately, spices, that in the earthly Middle Ages, that here, are terribly expensive. And the life of a person living in the age of mass production did not prepare me for the shortage of such "banal" black pepper and bay leaf. Of course, Westeros is a huge continent rich in various climatic regimes, but unfortunately, it is deprived of exotic plants that would be suitable for food. Even Dorne, which seems to be suitable for the climate, can boast only of citrus fruits and peanuts. That's just the recipe for the lemon cakes so beloved in Sansa's book, in addition to lemon, vanilla and sugar lurk. I will enlighten you – neither vanilla, nor sugar cane, nor cinnamon, nor cloves, nor saffron, nor peppers, and so on grow in Westeros. Oh, I remembered, in Westeros, but there are garlic and onions! So, having spent the annual budget of the family of a successful merchant living in King's Landing, I found myself with a wide range of spices. And not only that! Silk (cuts of two types, from Fox and from Yi Ti), a telescope, lace and a small set of colored glass from the World, a small bottle of "Miirinsky fire", a couple of bottles of pear brandy from Tirosh, several types of paints, pearls, a utilitarian–looking arakh, in appearance - a cross between a scimitar and a caricature Arabic sabers.

 In general, I bought it specifically like this. I think if it hadn't been for the sullen faces of my fellow fighters, who were unkindly watching others, someone might still have risked robbing me. But nothing "like that" happened, I ran out of money allocated for this event, and I had to wrap up and wrap up on the way back.

- My Lord, - Davos, waiting for a convenient moment when I would move away from consumer euphoria, reminded me of the most important thing, - do you mind having dinner?

- Yes, it would be quite nice, - unnoticed by me, we wandered through the shops for four hours, which made my stomach constantly send signals about its indecent emptiness to a respected person.

- There is a great place nearby that my friend keeps. And I'm telling you responsibly, she cooks great.

"Well, lead the way, Ser Davos!" Hunger is not an aunt, it will not wait!

"Ha, well said, my lord.

***

After wandering around the streets for a while, Davos led our large company to a decent-sized intersection, in the center of which there are stalls with fruits and vegetables. Right there, a little to the side, lurked a tavern, on whose sign was an artfully painted mermaid.

"The Mermaid Tavern, my lord," I would never have guessed, "is run by a friend of my childhood. Siren.

- The siren? I asked the obvious question as we crossed the intersection.

- Her father was a sailor, a lover of fairy tales, especially sea tales. His tale, however, was short–lived, at least the part known to us - he disappeared in his next journey somewhere on the way to Qart.

 The tavern inside looked very decent. It's clean and, even more importantly, it's light. The latter was achieved due to the abundance of candles and large windows on the facade that let in daylight. Two rows of five tables, something like a bar counter... nothing superfluous. There weren't many people, about ten people, but after our appearance, it clearly became a little crowded. The contingent is quite decent, all merchants and middle-class philistines, clearly grinding their commoner affairs.

 Ser Davos and my people, as if they had not arrived with us, dispersed around the tavern. I only managed to whisper to the head of my guard, Sir Wilaf, that I was not a young knight with a mustache hanging like a Cossack for a long time, smiled and quietly brought the news to the rest of the contingent that arrived with us. The onion knight and I occupied an entire table for ourselves, choosing the one closest to the bar. A few minutes later, the hostess came out of the kitchen, a tall and beautiful woman whose age began to approach forty. Rich red hair, a beautiful figure and a charming face with rare wrinkles are bright, but not conspicuous beauty. In her hands she carried a large tray with fried fish and onions, and then appeared, apparently, a daughter, about seventeen-dash-eighteen. Well, just like a mother, both in the manner and in the number of greedy glances that she collects. The girl was carrying two large wooden mugs of beer.

 Upon entering the hall, Serena was clearly surprised by such an influx of people. For a moment, it seemed that I saw fear running through her eyes. It didn't work out any further, because as soon as she caught sight of Seaworth, her face smoothed out, and the hall was lit up with a wonderful smile. After completing the order, mother and daughter hurried to our table.

- Hello, hello, dear friend, - the Siren, not shy of anyone, hugged Davos tightly, - what winds?

- Duty, Siren, - and already turning to the girl, - hello, Beatrice! I thought you were already married.

- Hello, Uncle Davos, – the Siren's daughter replied coquettishly to the greeting, shooting me a look, - don't be silly, I won't leave my mother alone on the farm! Not with these two blockheads.

- Let me introduce... - Davos started up a little, as if he had forgotten about something… He's quite an actor, you can't say anything.

"Just Ser Richard," I said with my most charming smile, "a friend and colleague in Ser Davos's dangerous business.

Serena and her daughter smiled, politely appreciating the uncomplicated joke.

- What brought you to us? – after thinking a little, the Siren continued, without losing her smile, - although do not answer – it's probably all the fault of an empty stomach. Well, you're on time! We'll be putting on an apple pie soon. Beer or wine? There is a good Dornish, almost undiluted.

- I think I'll have a beer. And, my lady, those respectable gentlemen can have a beer and something to eat.

"Of course... and, Ser Richard, I am not a lady.

- You can hide a lot from my gaze, but not a noble bearing.

 Watching the retreating figure of the Siren, Davos slowly continued his story.

"Her father was from the younger branch of the Dark, from Twilight Vale, and her mother was a merchant's daughter. He did not save money on the education of his children. Perhaps if he hadn't disappeared too, her fate would have been completely different.

- I take it she didn't succeed in inheriting the surname?

- Absolutely right. The older relatives were against the marriage, and did enough to expel them from the Vale.

- Lovely. And how did you meet?

- Hmm, half the guys in the city looked after her, including me. But my friend was more lucky," Seaworth stroked his beard with his left hand, slightly closing his eyes, "she chose him, we fought, and then we drank for a long time. Adam and I were from flea bottom, and together we joined as cabin boys on a small train that ran between the capital, Saltworks and Gull City. They were engaged in smuggling, how could they do without it? In the end, our paths parted, and my path led me here, and Adam's path led him to his death. Five years ago, his ship sailed from King's Landing and never returned home. No one knows what happened to him, and no one will figure it out. The storm, the pirates, the sea monster. The gods only know.

- Uncle Davos!

 A guy and a little girl ran out of the kitchen. The boy is about fifteen years old, the girl is at most thirteen. Those, without much ceremony, attacked Davos. He didn't mind at all, though.

- Gods! Children, how have you grown up! Vigmar, you're already a real sailor! Lucia, you're about to blossom as an older sister and mother!

 The girl did not remain in debt and immediately rattled off questions about travel, distant countries and, of course, gifts. The guy seemed mature and experienced, but you can't hide his eyes – they still sparkled with pure, "childish" thirst and curiosity. The teenagers reluctantly left Davos behind only after their mother shouted from the kitchen.

- Oh, Ser Davos, I feel that the kid, if not today, then tomorrow he will ask to join your team.

- I know, my lord, - the old sailor sadly watched the guys go, - and this will not be the first time.

- What is holding you back? The opinion of the Lady Siren?

"Not only that, my lord. Thank the Gods, a not very successful conversation was interrupted by a huge cast-iron frying pan, which was dragged by the guy in question. It is difficult to have difficult conversations and think seriously about something when you have a dozen eggs, onions, garlic and lard squawking and inviting aromas. We were followed by two pints of beer and fresh bread. The local "aperitif before a real meal" was destroyed very quickly, but before I could catch my breath, there was a change of dishes, and lamb ribs and vegetable roast arrived on the table, which I really did not eat tastier. As promised. So, having satisfied the first hunger, Ser Davos and I could already calmly and quite leisurely enjoy culinary masterpieces, devouring pint after pint of beer and continuing our conversation.

 Meanwhile, the day was drawing to an end, and the hall began to fill up with people not to the state of "crowding", but almost to the limit of its capabilities. It got to the point where a group of young people sat down at our table, whispering excitedly about something. Being in a well-fed and, as a result, very good mood and not wanting to reveal my incognito, I quickly sat down my guys, who immediately wanted to kick the youth out into the street. Speaking of my brave fellows, one thing was missing! Seeing the lord who had grown quite fat and taken on his chest, Ser Wilaf sent the youngest of his gavriks to the Red Castle for horses.

- You're a fool, Rick!

 Having exhausted the topics for conversations with Seaworth for today, I listened with half an ear, not without interest, to the conversation of the young guys who sat next to me. Judging by their conversations and arguments, this close company is eager to sign up for the ship as sailors.

"The Volantians will make us slaves in no time!" The same guy continued.

- Well, what do you suggest, Saiman? If you're so smart! – Rick, who is a "fool", a rather big guy, probably the son of a butcher or from a similar category, frowned and accusingly pointed a chubby finger at his friend, a tall and, judging by the appearance (I don't know, deceptive or not), a precocious serious guy.

- And I have something to say. – The boy, that Saiman, bent down a little, switching to a loud conspiratorial whisper and forcing his friends to bend down as well, - my father told me that Stannis's ships entered the harbor a week ago.

- Are you crazy, go to Stannis on the ship! A third, unremarkable guy with straw–colored hair and a scattering of freckles almost screamed..

"But who's going to take your freckled face into Stannis's service?" Saiman continued, "What I'm getting at is... along with the Rage came another ship, not much smaller than the king's brother's ship. With black sails…

I involuntarily laughed, which made the young goonies look in my direction at once. The one called Saiman is probably the leader of the gang and the smartest - he quickly ran his eyes over Seaworth and me, clearly correctly placing accents in his head. But a few pints of beer did the trick.

"Did we say something funny... Sire?" – the question was asked, even unexpectedly, without a share of aggression, but clearly out of curiosity, because you never know who exactly is in front of them, but it is expensive to get hold of information. He's a good kid, the makings are right. It will go far if they don't get stabbed in the alley out of stupidity or bad luck.

 Davos freezes with a frozen paternal smile, clearly giving me the right to fuck off. Ha. Well, have it, Ser Davos.

"Black Bertha," I leaned on my elbows and leaned towards the group, at the same time making the most gloomy appearance and wiping even the smallest laugh out of my eyes, "the ship of Stannis's right hand, Davos Seaworth.

"Onion Knight,– fat Rick whispered, for which he received angry glances from his friends.

"That's right, kid. The Onion Knight is... a dangerous and scary man, I tell you.

 Said. Next, I took up a mug and took a couple of sips of a good beer. Without looking in their direction, I felt five pairs of dumbfounded eyes on me. The audience is a little warmed up – we must continue!

- No wonder the best pirate hunter in the Royal Navy.

- The best…

- Pirate Hunter…

 There was an unspoken "Wowoo" in the air.

- Yes, he is feared by pirates from Skagos to the Summer Islands, from Pike to Volantis. After all, few people want to mess with a sorcerer.

 As I said all this, I forced myself with great effort not to look at Davos, content only with the way these future sea wolves' eyes were burning in anticipation, then their eyes went out, and they themselves turned pale like drowned people.

- And you... huh. Did you think his ship was just named "Black Bertha"? Or that he just has black sails? Don't get me wrong, guys, these are all rumors, but there are no rumors from scratch. They say, I repeat, "they say" that once Black Bertha drowned. And in order to raise his ship from the bottom of the sea, the onion knight concluded a contract with the sea demon that he would raise the ship, and in return he would receive a hundred souls of desperate sinners. Well, since then Davos Seaworth began his hunt for pirates, and it was since then that his ship has black sails, in which there is always wind.

After enjoying the effect, I finally looked at Davos. It seems that my companion is about to drown in his mug, either from laughter or from grief.

- Well, that's not all. Every future sailor of the Black Bertha should know where his captain got this nickname. The Onion Knight.

"Well, everyone knows that, Sire, for..." one of the guys plucked up the courage.

- Ha! Come on, tell me the story of the bow and the siege of Storm's End! But no, everyone in the Royal Navy knows that just as Jaime Lannister is good with a sword, Davos Seaworth is good with a whip. They say Seaworth is so adept at using it that he is able to peel off the skin layer by layer, like... an onion.

 Watching the guys' expressions change, and fat Rick, apparently from impressions and a good fantasy, acquired a green tint of his face, I couldn't help but laugh out loud. As well as the neighboring tables, as it turned out, who also listened to my nonsense all this time. At the end of the evening, the apple pie was excellent. It's delicious, I'll tell you. The Westerosi cuisine is very weak for desserts, but the Lady Siren has done her best. For sure, especially for us, she opened her inviolable reserves of cinnamon, sugar and vanilla, because the pie turned out to be divine.

"It's strange, Ser Davos," I finally decided to ask the question about the tavern owner that had stuck in my head, "how does Lady Serena manage to stay afloat in such a dysfunctional city alone, without a strong shoulder?" Or did I miss something and she has a man?

- Here, as usual, not everything is so simple, - Davos, without distracting himself from the pie, turned his head slightly to the side in order to make sure that the neighbors would not hear anything superfluous, - Adam had many friends with many connections. Guilds of thieves and smugglers, bigwigs, several large merchants. Everyone, as they could and where they could, kept the Rusalka under protection, instead conducting legal transactions and meetings here.

- "Held"?

- They did. In recent years, the situation has changed a lot," Davos's voice dropped to a faint whisper, "the old guilds of thieves and smugglers collapsed after the unexpected death of their leaders, and in their place a new, much more ... unceremonious organization arose. The entire night capital came under their control over time, district by district, case by case.

- And what about the Golden Cloaks?

"And they are hardly warring parties, my lord.

Nevertheless, the situation is typical for the Middle Ages, where society is strictly divided into corporations, workshops, guilds and communities. This applies to everyone, from the scions of noble houses to beggars.

"I take it you're Lady Serena's only friend now?"

"That's right, my lord.

 At that moment, the doors to the tavern opened, and new characters entered the hall – five golden cloaks. With four, everything was clear at once – they did not go far from the usual city guards, except that not so long ago they were washed and dressed and armed richer. The fifth is a handsome officer. Full of mincemeat: regular features, tall, broad-shouldered, clean-shaven with shoulder-length raven hair. His armor matched and was richer on all sides than the analogues at the disposal of ordinary guards. And it goes without saying that under the "golden" brocade cloak there was a black enameled shell with four golden discs, and gilded knight's spurs rang on his feet. He was holding a beautifully wrapped package in his hands.

 The officer looked arrogantly around the room and, with his head held high, went deep into the tavern. The locals, clearly knowing who came to the light, quickly began to leave the tavern, which had become less hospitable and cozy. Only Davos and I remained at the table, while my men stood up and dispersed around the hall, not forgetting to unobtrusively flash their armor under their cloaks. The main "golden one" clearly wanted to say something to us, as a Siren appeared on the scene.

- What are you doing here, Dim? – The siren looked around the empty tavern with an indignant look, – you have dispersed my guests again!

- Good people do not run at the sight of the city guards, Siren, - the officer said with a kind smile, as if to an unreasonable little child, - I just brought a gift to you and your daughter.

- We don't need gifts from you! – The siren was flushed with anger and indignation, but fear was clearly visible in her eyes, - get out and don't come here anymore! Leave us alone already!!!

 Apparently, this is not the first time this noble gentleman has attempted matchmaking... but it is still unclear to whom exactly, mother or daughter? Or maybe both? In any case, the Siren is definitely and certainly not unreasonably afraid of him. Due to the mere presence of someone else in the tavern, the lady is already on the verge of hysteria. But the negative was not one–sided – the officer was clearly tired of listening to refusals - his face quickly turned red, and rage splashed in his eyes.

- How dare you, slut?! - the guard quickly got close to the woman and backhanded her with the back of his hand, causing the Siren to fall on one of the tables, - I'll finally teach you manners…

 The lesson did not take place, stopped by the melodious sound of a dozen blades being released from their scabbards. No command or comment was required – my men smartly surrounded the five cloakbearers, not allowing them to use their weapons, as well as extinguishing any desire to do so. Davos immediately rushed to the Siren, blocking her from unkind looks and the scene in general, practically hiding her behind him. I rose sedately from the table with a sour expression, imagining and calculating what would happen next.

- How dare you?!

 The gilded glavgad almost began to growl with anger, glaring angrily at my people. Surprisingly, so far his confidence in his own safety and exalted (relative to others at the moment) position has not been shaken. An unfortunate omission.

- Attacking the Royal Guard is punishable by death. He was no longer shouting, the words oozed softly, like poison through clenched teeth.

- Just not for me, - with the looks of the five sticking to me of different contents, I approached the main thing and deliberately casually threw, - who is this?

 The officer narrowed his eyes angrily. The muscles twitched, indicating that their master was about to say something stupid that I didn't have time for.

"Ser Wilaf, they don't want to talk to us!"

"Right away, my lord!"

 The old soldier, who got up during this short "conversation" behind my back, cheerfully, in spite of the years and wounds, jumped up to the officer and charged him in the face with a gauntlet... sending him straight to the kingdom of Morpheus with half of his face broken in blood. Or who is responsible for the realm of dreams here in Westeros?

"You overdid it, Ser Wilaf…

"I beg your pardon, my lord..." the knight looked down guiltily.

- Eh, it doesn't happen to anyone ... but now how do we find out what the name of that venerable gentleman is?

Among those present, the most quick-witted one quickly found himself, correctly assessed the situation and the message in my gaze, walking from one to another.

"This is... my lord," he quickly nodded at the recumbent body, "Sil Allar Dim, deputy commander of the City Guard.

- Ahhh! That's it! And I was thinking, where did such a desperate brave man come from in these parts?! – to demonstrate, Dima's sprawled body received a couple of studying kicks, - Ser Davos, I think Lady Serena and her children, whose heads are sticking out of the kitchen over there, should come to their senses.

 Davos only nodded briefly, hurrying to lead the Siren towards the kitchen.

- So, guys, - already addressing the remaining guards, - I'll be brief. I am Renly Baratheon and, concurrently, a master of the law.

- My Lord! – all four of them fell to their knees, realizing the greatness of the ass they had landed in.

- When your idiot commander wakes up, tell him my words. Tell him that if he shows up here again and bothers Lady Serena, her family, loved ones, or business, then I will chop off everything that sticks out of his torso. And now, dear ones, get out.

- Thank you, my lord, - the guards, picking up their commander, quickly fled the tavern.

 We paid for a delicious dinner. Ser Davos calmed the Siren down by drinking warm wine. We can say that the situation was resolved quite successfully. It will be all the more insulting to end on such a note, but already leaving such a hospitable institution, I could not help but express my complaints.

"That's a clever idea, Ser Davos, I didn't even understand it at first!"

- My Lord ... - Seaworth, realizing that he had been found out, was about to say something in defense, but I did not let him finish.

"I'm not judging you, Sire. Just remember that if you need help again, just ask.

- Thank you, my lord.

***

Already at night, having sorted my purchases into categories, I pored over a map of the known world compiled by my order, drawing dotted lines with a piece of coal. At some point, the last pieces of the mosaic fell into place, and an insight and a deeper understanding of the processes taking place in the world began to descend on me.

 So... in fact, there are two huge empires in the world, both geographically and in terms of population, located polar from each other. On the one hand, we have Westeros – an entire continent under a single government. On the other side, we see the Golden Empire of Yi ti in the east, which, judging by the stories of merchants, although going through difficult times, is still a formidable force, which all local players are afraid to provoke.

 There is a direct trade route between these two empires, Royal Harbor – In, In – Royal Harbor. It's not the most obvious thing for locals, but goods from the capital of Westeros sooner or later arrive in the capital of Yi ti and vice versa, forming a strong trade route to which the rest of the subjects are already attached. Sea caravans of silk, spices, ivory, skins of exotic creatures, jade, porcelain, paper, cotton, sugar, oils and incense are coming from the Golden Empire to the west. Silver, gold, copper, tin, steel products, furs, whalebone, blubber, wax, honey, marble and, importantly, wine, which is highly valued in the East, are sent back.

This arrangement explains a lot, a lot. Including the role of Free Cities that interested me. In fact, although the trading cities are extremely developed, they produce various products in relatively modest volumes, living mainly on transit trade. A simple analysis clearly demonstrates which free cities are the richest and most powerful in this historical period: Volantis, Lis, Tirosh, Mir, Pentos. And, surprise, it is near these cities that the global flow of goods is taking place, due to which they have gained their wealth. At the same time, cities such as Lorat, Norvos or Kvohor, located far from this trade route, are slowly but surely fading away, losing their influence and capital.

 The free cities that straddle the trade route between Westeros and the Golden Empire are mercilessly profiting from it, engaging in multiple resales and markups, and sometimes outright falsification. An example of this is the pieces of silk I bought from I–ti and Fox. An ignorant person will not find the difference. Why? Yes, because she is not there. There is no difference, but there is a detail. The Lisinians, buying silk from the Golden Empire, simply pull the threads out of the cut and weave them into a new one. So it turns out that you had one piece of fabric, and now you have two. In ancient China, heads were chopped off for this, but here? And there's nothing personal here, because stupid Andals will buy anyway.

 Of course, free cities produce a wide range of goods, but production volumes are not comparable to competitors and, most importantly, there are no monopolies. Yes, excellent crossbows are made in the World, but they are made all over Westeros, carpets are woven everywhere, the production of glass, mirrors, and precious products has also been well known to Westeros for a long time. Even the alembic is well known and pear brandy will not surprise anyone. Westeros can safely do without free cities, but free cities without Westeros cannot.

Of course, the free cities themselves compete fiercely with each other for control of the trade route "from the Andals to the Ithians." From here, the policy of Braavos, which is located far from the route and does not actively interact with it, becomes clear. Firstly, he "blocked" Pentos, thus gaining direct access to the trade route. Secondly, it becomes obvious why the Iron Bank repeatedly issued some prominent personalities (first Targaryens, and then Baratheons) a priori non-refundable loans, displacing all its at least somewhat significant competitors from Westeros and becoming the only major foreign creditor of the royal budget. So much for direct access to the trade route from King's Landing to In. That's why Braavos gave money to the Iron Throne – it was Braavos, because the Iron Bank, which is blood from the blood of the local elite, forgave delays in non-payment. The bank could not help but do this, because otherwise long-time competitors from Volantis, Mira, Lys would have come in its place and squeezed out the Bravosian merchants, which would have led to a weakening of the positions of not only the Iron Bank, but also the whole of Braavos as a whole.

 It is safe to say that the Iron Bank is trapped by these circumstances. The bank is currently not only the only creditor of the royal treasury of Westeros, but also the Royal Treasury is the largest borrower of the bank. No one else uses the services of the Iron Bank on such a scale, only Braavos itself, Lorat (how much is clear there) and the royal treasury. I would not be surprised if the cunning Bravos established the Iron Bank solely as a tool to influence and promote their interests in the Seven Kingdoms. Other Free Cities have their own banks, eager to issue a couple of loans, but fail time after time, because the kingdom does not need their services until the Iron Bank gives a reason. Having lost such a client as the Iron Throne, it will be very difficult for the Braavosian bank. So, the Iron Bank will continue to lend to the Iron Throne until the bank runs out of money. To continue, fully realizing that he is unlikely to ever get his money back.

 Of course, the proverb immediately comes to mind: "The Iron Bank always gets its way," but if you look closely, this is true only in relation to individual merchants and trading houses. Braavos is well aware that if they now or in the future start knocking debts out of the king, they will risk being left with nothing at all. You can't scare Westeros with a war, but by killing the defaulting king with the help of faceless ones, the Braavosians will get their money back, but only then they will fly out of Westeros like a cork from a champagne bottle ... or maybe even (oh horror) they will fly out without money, giving rise to the disintegration of the kingdom into several parts, whose small-town kings will send emissaries of the Iron a bank in King's Landing, because they lent money to the Iron Throne, right? So let the Iron Throne give it away! And the Starks, Arrins, Martells and others had nothing to do with the Iron Bank.

 So it remains for the bankers from Braavos to endure, flow around, pray and pay, pay, pay. This moment perfectly explains why the Iron Bank issued a loan to Stannis for his military activities, returning him, in fact, to an active political struggle. And at the same time forcing the Lannisters not to forget about their obligations to the bank, demonstrating so openly that "on occasion" the bank will begin to look for and support alternatives to the ruling dynasty. And on the other hand, he insured his contribution through Stannis, who, in case of victory, will continue to pay. A win-win situation.

 However, in this context, the motivation of Mopatis and Varys, who cherish plans for the return of the Targaryen dynasty, began to play with new colors. Pentos is a vassal of Braavos, as a result of a lost war. And Braavos is slowly but surely economically suppressing and absorbing Pentos, which is simply unacceptable for its elite. This is very much in line with the interests of Braavos' main competitor, Volantis. Volantis has outgrown himself, he is stuffy and cramped within his borders, everything calls for a certain "expansion". But what prevents him from colonizing the vast and fertile floodplains of the Rhoyne and becoming a powerful empire of western Essos? Not "what", as we find out with a close look, but "who".

 The Dothraki.

 The Dothraki nip in the bud any attempts by the free cities to reach a new level and become full-fledged states that could inhabit and develop the rich and fertile expanses of western Essos. They do this, of course, very elegantly: they rob, kill, enslave, impose tribute, keep land trade under them (reducing it to nothing at the same time).

 If we start from this and develop the idea, then we can assume that, according to Mopatis's plans, the descendants of the mad king, with the help of the Dothraki army, which has not yet been seen, will cross the Narrow Sea and conquer or at least cripple Westeros. As a result, the powerful deterrent force of Essos disappears from the political layouts of the free cities, opening up opportunities ... hmm ... first of all, for Volantis, which opens up space for internal colonization, because the small Khalasars remaining in Essos will no longer pose a great threat. As for Khal Drogo's great army and its adventures, let them be brought to Westeros, but no one promised to transport her back. Then just wait and see how the new blond king or queen, as a sign of gratitude, helps to throw off this "shameful yoke" of Braavos from Pentos. Perhaps even with the combination of the expulsion of the Braavosian merchants from Westeros and the forgiveness of debts to themselves. And perhaps the complete non-recognition of old debts by the new dynasty.

 A very interesting picture is being formed, but in this regard, at first glance, it is not clear how I can use the understanding of this alignment and whether it is true. And I have a couple of ideas about this. In this whole geopolitical picture, there is one blind spot, one region that, for one reason or another, has fallen out of the "world" economy, with which I will be able, firstly, to fit into the economic situation and collect considerable profit for further preparation for war, and secondly, to have a certain influence on events taking place outside of Westeros. It remains to wait for the maturation of those beginnings that I have generously scattered on fertile soil, and already reap the fruits.

***

The royal hunt. How much has been said and written about her. A large-scale action in which dozens of noble men compete in horseback riding, spear possession and other noble shows. The endless barking of a pack of hounds, the chiming of horns and, of course, a feast in the fresh air. But during Robert's reign, the former luster faded, because the king turned the Event into a routine, and it could not be otherwise, given how often hunting began to be carried out. But, to be honest, Robert didn't give a damn, which doesn't surprise me at all – hunting was more important to him than someone else's "extremely important" opinion. But still, one cannot argue with the fact that this constancy takes away from the event not only the charm, but also the scope, gloss ... as a result, instead of the magnificent action described in many treatises, there was a rather modest picnic of rich feudal lords.

 Robert, encouraged that all three brothers were finally together, decided to spend the hunt in the family circle. Apart from Stannis and me, no one from the upper class was observed. How did Stannis agree to participate? Robert just ordered him to. Despite my indifferent attitude to hunting, I nevertheless succumbed to the gushing energy of my older brother and when the moment came, I tried with no less passion to keep up with another deer or wild boar tracked by the royal huntsmen. Stannis, with a sour face, was trailing somewhere behind.

 To my great surprise, Robert, despite his size, was extremely dexterous with a short spear, managing to accurately hit a couple of unfortunate animals, while I could only injure one deer.

- Hahahaha, - the rosy-cheeked king was in a very good mood, demonstrating his prowess, - learn, boy! It's not like you're going to the brothels! Ahahaha!

- Where do I care about you, Your Majesty! Whores are given to me only because it's amazing how similar to Your Grace! – I did not remain in debt either.

- Ahahaha, - it seemed that the king's laughter should have been heard all the way in the Red Castle, – keep up!

 The hunt ended late in the evening, when not only the horses but also the people were tired, and when even the amazingly hardy king could hardly keep himself in the saddle. While we were having fun, the servants and pages set up camp, lit fires, set up braziers and skewers. In general, by the time we returned, everything was ready for cultural leisure.

 My barbecue became a hit. The meat marinated in advance in the spices I bought flew apart in a few dozen minutes, but I marinated ten kilograms. Fortunately, I also took my barbecue set of spices with me, so that even the recently killed game tasted transformed. I was not the discoverer of the use of spices in cooking meat, of course, but apparently no one has cooked it here yet, especially when it comes to frying meat on coals. So... given the speed at which rumors are spreading, the spice shops should soon have a slight stir. Maybe I should write a culinary treatise under the guise of writing and self-proclaim myself a master of cooking?

- Food of the Gods! – Robert savored a pork neck kebab, soiling all his hands in meat juice, - finally, a normal meal, damn me.

 My brothers and I sat in a semicircle around the campfire, eating the best pieces and drinking excellent ale. The sun had long since disappeared below the horizon, the surrounding world was in primeval darkness, in which only our bonfires gave a calm light and, at the same time, cast frightening shadows. Robert and I ate and drank without sparing our bellies. Stannis, as expected, slowly sipped the cup, almost without taking his eyes off the fire.

"Stannis, I have a favor to ask you. Stannis looked up at me with a slight hint of... skepticism or something, "I need a new squire." And I have heard that the fourth son of Ser Davos is not averse to sharing the harsh life of a knight.

"Marik is the master of the rowers on my ship," Stannis paused after laying out this fact, as if he had presented a comprehensive and impenetrable argument.

"Is there really no one worthy in the entire Royal Navy who could become a master of the rowers on the Fury?" Anticipating my brother's words and not letting him insert an extra word, I continue, "when I need a devoted person by my side.

 Stannis took another look at my serious face. Exactly what is "serious". This time my brother answered me with a short nod.

- It's hot! – Robert already stood up slightly, bringing his loud indignation to us - why the fuck did you agree so quickly?! You're getting old!

Once again, the king's guffaw rang out over the night glade. Draining the cup, Robert laughed again, apparently replaying what he had said once more in his head and marveling at his own wit.

- When are you going to get married? – Robert is as straightforward as ever.

- A year, two. It would be on whom.

- On whom? – it seemed that the king was about to suffocate with imaginary indignation, - Westeros is full of maidens who are ready to do anything for a stallion like you.

- That's what I'm thinking. Should I write to the old lion to find me a pretty blonde?

- Into the hell of the Lannisters! Don't even think about it, they're of no use, but at the same time these handjobs are already everywhere. Even in my damn toilet!

"How's little Shireen?" – trying to bring down the conversation on another topic, I turn to Stannis, who has been watching our dialogue all this time without interference and with little interest, - I heard she is growing up to be an intelligent girl.

- Good, My brother replied, visibly tensing up.

"Why don't you bring her here?" The local climate is preferable for a child of her age.

"She is struck by ugliness, and people are cruel," Stannis no longer hid his irritation at the question, finally launching a hairpin in the direction of the king, "especially children.

- It's time for you to understand that heirs are born from the regular intercourse of a wife, and not from a team fight!

 Robert couldn't reach into his pocket for an answer either. Eh, apparently, without knowing it, I opened up a painful topic for both older brothers.

"She is a princess of the House of Baratheon," I hastened to intervene in the heated argument, "anyone who dares to offend her will get what they deserve.

"Not even an heir?" Robert threw a provocation with a grin.

- Especially, - I did not remain in debt either.

"Ha... you see, Stannis, this is how you need to protect your children, not hide them in dungeons.

 That's a pickled ass... I'd better shut up.

 Stannis rose from his seat, splashing the rest of the ale into the dying fire, and threw a few sharp words at the end. Obviously, he would rather leave and disappear into the darkness than stay in such company.

- I can't listen to speeches about raising children from a man who has not raised any.

"Stubborn sheep," Robert finally managed to say after a few minutes of angry puffing, but after a few moments the king relaxed and leaned back in his camp chair, "I'm not fair to him, I know. But I can't…

 Fixing his gaze on the void, Robert plunged into his thoughts, giving me a few moments to look at his face. So to think ... if you trim your beard a little, remove the swelling and a little excess weight, then you will see a handsome, far from old man with a sharp mind, a rich history and a fairly broad outlook.

- What happened to you?

 My question sounded like a bolt from the blue, and I didn't realize at first that I had said it out loud. Robert seemed to wake up and shake off the dust, plunging his burning gaze straight into my soul.

"Emptiness and rage," Robert spoke slowly, angrily and with pain that was hard to confuse with something, "nothing can fill it. No power, no gold, no wine, no pleasure whores. I'm like an empty barrel. Nothing can give me pleasure or joy, nothing. Robert waved his hand, pointing at our entire surroundings. – Just to distract. Even when I look at my children... I don't feel anything. Nothing, because he wanted them from another. I loved her, Renly. He only loved her. I can no longer remember her face, but only the scent of her soap and silky hair. I didn't want her like a man wanted a woman, but was shy around her like a boy. I was happy with her touch or smile. A glance. And then she was taken away from me!

 At the last words, Robert roared with rage, jumping to his feet.

"I only regret one thing, Renly. That a man is a bastard who can only be killed once.

 Robert staggered away, leaving me contemplatively alone in the shadows and the glow of the dying fire. All I could do was whisper after the departing king. - «And with my spirit freed from this darkness, I shall not soar anew. Never, oh nevermore!»

***

On the third day, I escaped from this ill-fated hunt. This was the only possible scenario for me when I saw how new carts with swill, food, harlots and other "necessities" began to arrive at our "temporary" camp. It may well be that this is not the last "additional" caravan.

 The king went on a binge.

 As for me, I had no particular desire to participate in this impromptu festival of outdoor fucking. I'm still a creative person, subtle, you might say, so I'm not interested in these ladies of yours running around in a circle. Stannis... it should have been obvious right away that he, as a more experienced one, had already disappeared the next morning after the memorable conversation around the campfire. I'm a fool.

 First of all, when I somehow got to the Red Castle, I ordered, and just like that, "Ordered", to prepare a fragrant hot bath for me and not disturb me for several hours. Even for once, he served himself on the part of washcloths.

And so. Lying. Soaking in such a pleasant and inexorably cooling bath…

"My Lord," a page's head poked through the slightly ajar door, "Lord Varys has arrived for you. As he says, he has important news for you…

- Varys? – it's time to hurry Stannis to provide me with a squire or look for someone else, otherwise what a shame it is already looming... to borrow servants from my own knights, let him wait ten minutes, I'll go out now. And set a snack, but without wine.

 Wow, the spider itself got to me... strange. It's very strange. I don't seem to mind living, I don't touch anyone, I go about my business and I spend the royal money. Oh, now they're going to spin a web in my horns along the way.

 I went down to Varys, who was waiting for me in the small reception room, exactly after the allotted time. In a silk robe and with short hair, but I'm not going to keep such an important person waiting, am I? The living room in which the conversation will take place is very bright, pleasant enough, but of modest size and, frankly, to my taste, it is garishly decorated. A small table by the window, filled with cold snacks and sliced fruits, a carafe of lemon water, two armchairs, one of which fit Varys.

 Varys, who pulled his voluminous bodies into silk robes, reminded me of one of the characters in the Disney cartoon about Mulan. Namely, a fat and bald warrior dressed up in a woman's dress. But for some reason I didn't want to laugh at Varys, not out of fear (although you can never discount a Spider), but even just out of pity for a man.

 As soon as I appeared, the Spider jumped up from his seat and bowed quite strongly. Sometimes I forget what a social gap there is between us–a great lord and "just a eunuch from a distant country."

"My Lord, I apologize for distracting you from your well-deserved rest, so you won't understand if he's joking or not, but I may have important news for you.

- Unexpectedly, Varys, - I walked around the fat man and took the second chair, gesturing for the unexpected visitor to join me, - I didn't seem to do anything that could attract your attention, let alone visit. Not a single meaningful gesture or look.

"Lord Renly, you underestimate yourself.

Varys quickly overcame his momentary confusion without betraying it with either a gesture or a look. As expected, reading a Spider is not an easy task at all.

- After all, the capital only talks about you and your nobility.

- Rumors are like the wind, dear Varys, today they blow to the west, and tomorrow they blow to the east. Don't you know?

- Absolutely true, my lord, but unless you back up the rumors with facts, - sighing picturesquely, Varys leaned slightly in my direction and lowered his voice, - for example, how you protected the mistress and her family from harassment by a trusted person of the commander of the guard and with what excitement people learned about the disappearance of this family.

- what? My voice sounded unexpectedly hollow and even.

- Unfortunately, Ser Davos left on fleet business, why…

- WHO?!

 I got up from the table, restraining (not to say that I was particularly successful) an unexpected surge of rage and anger. Drums began to beat in my ears, and blood flowed through my veins, and only the sight of the interlocutor recoiling in fear began to bring me to my senses and push me to proper calm. I went to the window, casting an empty glance at the seascape and quickly digesting what had happened. Admittedly, even if "my" personality is dominant in tandem, but the overtures of a powerful lord, whose word was trampled by some goats, are firmly entrenched in the brain.

- Who, dear Varys? Pulling himself together and making a friendly and friendly face, he repeated his question.

"You know these names perfectly well, my lord," Varys didn't even flinch, just answered me with a friendly, promising smile.

- Rogers! – out of habit, I shouted, having no idea whose shift it was today, but, as expected, my vassal burst into the room, rattling fire and steel, ready for any achievements - armor and a horse! And let all our people put themselves in proper condition. Send a messenger to this, what's his name... commander of the City Guard…

- Janos Slynt, my lord. "The spider didn't leave me in the lurch.

-... to Janos Slint. So that he and his captains, along with the unused guards, would wait for me at the parade ground at their barracks.

"It will be done, my lord!" – and disappeared.

- And as for you, dear Varys, - a polite smile appeared on my face again, - we will discuss with you later the degree of your motivation and my gratitude.

"As you wish, my lord! – and again a deep bow, hiding the expression of the face and eyes.

 Tricky ass.

***

It took me about an hour to gather my boys and, making a splash, get to the main barracks and administrative buildings of the city guard at the Dragon Gate. By itself, the infrastructure of the golden cloaks is scattered throughout the city, concentrating at the highways. The contingent awaits us is specific, but quite understandable. The rank and file of the guards is recruited from the urban rabble, who perceive service in cloaks as a ticket to life. At the same time, all officer positions are held exclusively by persons of noble origin. The guard itself is conditionally divided into companies, each of which is responsible for specific gates of the capital and surrounding areas. The cloaks, recruited exclusively from the city nobles and keeping watch in the Red Castle, stand apart.

 The main base of the golden cloaks consisted of several three-story stone buildings located near a relatively small parade ground for several hundred people.

 They were already waiting for us, a hundred guards, built with a good (it seems that these guys specifically survived their portion of drill) box, armed with short spears, and several officers in a ceremoniously polished look.

 It is worth noting that no one was engaged in centralized combat training of guards. It all depends on the specific captains, their views, and sometimes their mood. In general, a picture that would have caused a well-deserved gnashing of teeth from Stannis. But, frankly speaking, no one expects military exploits from the guards, they were not created for this.

 From the arrival of almost eight dozen (some remained on the farm) riders in full parade, the parade ground suddenly became cramped. My warriors, frowning and motivated in advance, lined up in a wide front and froze as if they themselves were on review. I, along with Brienne, Rogers and five larger fighters, rode forward, heading for the welcoming officers, who, it seems, had already begun to suspect something.

 In front of everyone, as expected, Janos Slint himself stood proudly, causing an underlying disgust with his appearance. Rich armor with black enamel and gold inserts, a beautiful helmet with a high crest "a la attic helmet with a crest", but all this splendor was dressed on a fat and short peasant with piggy eyes and a double chin. Slint was accompanied by several officers, but there was no familiar face among them.

"Lord Renly," Slint managed to look both obsequious and arrogant, "your visit came as a great surprise to us, but, of course, it is also a great honor for us. City Guard st…

- Where's Dim? – while Slint was opening and closing his mouth, trying to answer something, his captains began to look at each other, coming to the same conclusions in their heads.

- Ser Allar Dim is at his town estate, he is not feeling well…

While Slint was gathering his thoughts, I managed to dismount and come close to the commander of the guard, towering over him by at least half a head.

"Dim and the innkeeper's family should be here in an hour.

- My Lord, I do not understand what you mean, - Slint indignantly raised his chin and proudly stood up, - and only the king or his grace's right hand can order me…

 It seems that my communication with the city guard is acquiring some traditions. I didn't hit it very hard, but it hurt – right on the nose, smashing it, but not breaking it. So... to bleed cleanly and squeeze out a squeal. Slint staggered back from the blow and clutched his bleeding nose. The painful moans he made were completely fine with me. The commander's retinue automatically reached for the blades, but was stopped by the sound and sight of almost a hundred swords being released from their scabbards behind my back.

- You're walking on fucking thin ice, my friends, - I'm carefully monitoring the reaction, apparently, of the captains, - but I'll give you a chance. You!

Pointed a finger at one of the standing officers, the only one who did not reach for his sword. Maybe my head is on my shoulders. Maybe it's just that instead of the right hand there is an iron prosthesis.

"As far as I know, you, Ser Jacelin Bywater, are one of the brave men who took the Ration.

 Bywater's voice was suitably dry and confident.

- Do you know where Dim is now?

- yes.

"Then you will go with a dozen of my warriors to fetch him and his prisoners and bring them here while I enjoy the hospitality of your commander.

Bywater only bowed in response.

"Lady Brienne, go with your ten, along with Ser Jacelin.

"As you say, my lord," the maiden replied calmly, catching the surprised glances of Bywater and the rest of the guards.

"Ser Benedict, organize a platform with local forces," he nodded towards the rank–and-file guards, who were freaking out from what was happening.

Rogers, in his silent way, just nodded.

"Well, Ser Janos, will you buy me some wine?"

***

Sitting in Slint's richly furnished office, I savored good Dornish wine and watched from the window as the guards quickly, knowledgeably and skillfully (obviously not for the first time) assembled the scaffold with the gallows under the close supervision of my warriors.

An hour and a half later, Tarth and Bywater returned, and they did not return alone. As soon as the door to the office swung open, as, staining the expensive Miirinsky carpet with blood from a decently broken face, Dim's bound torso "lay down" on the floor. Brienne followed.

"Lady Brienne, what about Mistress Serena and the children?"

The Tartan maiden looked very menacing, if she could, she would wet the goats with one glance.

- The young man was badly beaten, the younger girl did not have time to touch…

- ... did you manage to touch the mother and the eldest?

Brienne's voice didn't waver when she answered, but she still took a half-second pause.

- yes.

- Was he not alone?

- Four of them.

- What about the others?

- They resisted.

- I see. Do not consider it an encumbrance, take this body outside.

 Having gone down, surrounded by my warriors, the former prisoners settled down. The family looked, to put it bluntly, not very good. The boy was given first aid – his face was smashed into trash and, given such heavy breathing, one can also suspect fractures of a pair of ribs. The youngest has a childish tantrum with tears and snot, but at least no beatings were recorded. But Serena and her eldest daughter Beatrice... their faces and necks are bruised, pale, haggard. Serena, hugging her youngest tightly. Sirena and Beatrice wore only the cloaks of my warriors.

I froze at the foot of the stairs while my anger began to flare up again. Anger at myself. This is the damn Middle Ages, so why the fuck did I leave the whole situation on its own, promising protection? Why didn't I assign a couple of people to guard, why didn't I immediately dot the "e" with Dim? It's in Storm's End that I'm the king and God, and here I'm just another lord.

 Unable to find the strength to approach the Siren, I went outside, where four bodies covered with burlap lay near the entrance.

- Do you know who? I asked Bywater, who was standing next to me.

"Yes, Ser Allar's sergeants.

- Separate the heads from the bodies, impale them on spikes and install them in front of the windows of the commander's office.

 If you want the Middle Ages, bitches, then you'll have the Middle Ages.

 Dima, who had regained consciousness, was already being taken out, looking at the surrounding environment with a truly wild look. The guards were again lined up on the parade ground, only already disarmed, just in case, and the officers.

 Not feeling the weight of the armor from the surging emotions and adrenaline, I jumped on my horse and rode out in front of the guards, where Dima was already brought. A deathly silence fell on the parade ground, and all eyes were turned to me.

"In the name of my brother, King Robert, your first name, Ser Allar Dim, you are sentenced to death by hanging for your crimes.

- This is an outrage! You have no right! I am a noble man! You can't hang me. Only the king can judge me! Janos! Janos, tell him! But Slint was silent, looking very pale and not fighting.

Allar Dim was hysterical as he was dragged to the platform. The knot is already tied and the fighter is waiting for my order.

- Wait! The Night Watch! I want to serve in the Night Watch! Dim's face brightened, having found salvation.

"Alas... but the verdict has already been announced," my answer sounded with feigned pity, "to hang!

 A kick in the ass and Allar Dim is already twitching himself in convulsions, making not the most pleasant sounds. Unfortunately for Ser Allar, the rope was short, so instead of a quick death from a broken neck, a painful death by strangulation awaited him.

- Listen to me carefully, sirs, - I let my horse go to the officers and Slint, - if someone thinks that I came to the capital only to get drunk to death and fuck whores, then he is deeply mistaken. I am a master of the law and a punishing hand of justice. And from now on, I will keep a close eye on you! Especially for you, Slint! Do you hear me, damn it?! It's a commander's duty to keep his subordinates in line, and you're so fucked up! If once again someone here decides that the word of the master over the law does not dictate to him, then it is in your best interests to strangle this genius on your own as soon as possible. Otherwise, I will radically solve the problem of the low discipline of the city guards by hanging every tenth one. Finally! Don't take off the body of this walrus horseradish and the heads of his sodomite friends until I personally order the opposite, unless you want to swap places with them.

 Ten minutes later, we had to get ready to go back to the Red Castle, when a messenger appeared in the armorial colors of the Arrins.

- Lord Renly ... - the messenger looked at the gallows, then at the pikes, back at the gallows, turning slightly pale, but found the strength to continue, - the Lord Hand asks you to come urgently.