“It’s the Handxy’s tourney that’s the cause of all the trouble, my lords,” the Commander of the City Watchxy complained to the king’s council.
“The king’s tourney,” Nedxy corrected, wincing. “I assure you, the Handxy wants no part of it.”
“Call it what you will, my lord. Knightsxy have been arriving from all over the realm, and for every knight we get two freeriders, three craftsmen, six men-at-arms, a dozen merchants, two dozen whores, and more thieves than I dare guess. This cursed heat had half the city in a fever to start, and now with all these visitors … last night we had a drowning, a tavern riot, three knife fights, a rape, two fires, robberies beyond count, and a drunken horse race down the Street of the Sisters. The night before a woman’s head was found in the Great Septxyxy, floating in the rainbow pool. No one seems to know how it got there or who it belongs to.”
“How dreadful,” Varysxy said with a shudder.
Lordxy Renlyxyxy Baratheonxyxy was less sympathetic. “If you cannot keep the king’s peace, Janosxy, perhaps the City Watchxy should be commanded by someone who can.”
Stout, jowly Janosxy Slyntxyxy puffed himself up like an angry frog, his bald pate reddening. “Aegonxy the Dragonxyxy himself could not keep the peace, Lordxy Renlyxyxy. I need more men.”
“How many?” Nedxy asked, leaning forward. As ever, Robertxy had not troubled himself to attend the council session, so it fell to his Handxy to speak for him.
“As many as can be gotten, Lordxy Handxy.”
“Hire fifty new men,” Nedxy told him. “Lordxy Baelishxy will see that you get the coin.”
“I will?” Littlefingerxy said.
“You will. You found forty thousand golden dragons for a champion’s purse, surely you can scrape together a few coppers to keep the king’s peace.” Nedxy turned back to Janosxy Slyntxyxy. “I will also give you twenty good swords from my own household guard, to serve with the Watch until the crowds have left.”
“All thanks, Lordxy Handxy,” Slyntxy said, bowing. “I promise you, they shall be put to good use.”
When the Commander had taken his leave, Eddardxy Starkxyxy turned to the rest of the council. “The sooner this folly is done with, the better I shall like it.” As if the expense and trouble were not irksome enough, all and sundry insisted on salting Nedxy’s wound by calling it “the Handxy’s tourney,” as if he were the cause of it. And Robertxy honestly seemed to think he should feel honored!
“The realm prospers from such events, my lord,” Grand Maesterxy Pycellexyxy said. “They bring the great the chance of glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”
“And put coins in many a pocket,” Littlefingerxy added. “Every inn in the city is full, and the whores are walking bowlegged and jingling with each step.”
Lordxy Renlyxyxy laughed. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannisxy is not with us. Remember the time he proposed to outlaw brothels? The king asked him if perhaps he’d like to outlaw eating, shitting, and breathing while he was at it. If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how Stannisxy ever got that ugly daughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed like a man marching to a battlefield, with a grim look in his eyes and a determination to do his duty.”
Nedxy had not joined the laughter. “I wonder about your brother Stannisxy as well. I wonder when he intends to end his visit to Dragonstonexy and resume his seat on this council.”
“No doubt as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea,” Littlefingerxy replied, provoking more laughter.
“I have heard quite enough about whores for one day,” Nedxy said, rising. “Until the morrow.”
Harwinxy had the door when Nedxy returned to the Tower of the Handxyxy. “Summon Joryxy to my chambers and tell your father to saddle my horse,” Nedxy told him, too brusquely.
“As you say, my lord.”
The Redxy Keepxyxyxy and the “Handxy’s tourney” were chafing him raw, Nedxy reflected as he climbed. He yearned for the comfort of Catelynxy’s arms, for the sounds of Robbxy and Jon crossing swords in the practice yard, for the cool days and cold nights of the north.
In his chambers he stripped off his council silks and sat for a moment with the book while he waited for Joryxy to arrive. The Lineagesxy and Histories of the Great Housesxy of the Seven Kingdomsxyxy, With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Childrenxy, by Grand Maesterxy Malleonxy. Pycellexy had spoken truly; it made for ponderous reading. Yet Jon Arrynxyxy had asked for it, and Nedxy felt certain he had reasons. There was something here, some truth buried in these brittle yellow pages, if only he could see it. But what? The tome was over a century old. Scarcely a man now alive had yet been born when Malleonxy had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths.
He opened to the section on House Lannisterxyxy once more, and turned the pages slowly, hoping against hope that something would leap out at him. The Lannistersxy were an old family, tracing their descent back to Lann the Cleverxy, a trickster from the Age of Heroesxy who was no doubt as legendary as Branxy the Builderxyxy, though far more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was the fellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterlyxy Rockxy with no weapon but his wits, and stole gold from the sun to brighten his curly hair. Nedxy wished he were here now, to winkle the truth out of this damnable book.
A sharp rap on the door heralded Joryxy Casselxyxy. Nedxy closed Malleonxy’s tome and bid him enter. “I’ve promised the City Watchxy twenty of my guard until the tourney is done,” he told him. “I rely on you to make the choice. Give Alynxy the command, and make certain the men understand that they are needed to stop fights, not start them.” Rising, Nedxy opened a cedar chest and removed a light linen undertunic. “Did you find the stableboy?”
“The watchman, my lord,” Joryxy said. “He vows he’ll never touch another horse.”
“What did he have to say?”
“He claims he knew Lordxy Arrynxy well. Fast friends, they were.” Joryxy snorted. “The Handxy always gave the lads a copper on their name days, he says. Had a way with horses. Never rode his mounts too hard, and brought them carrots and apples, so they were always pleased to see him.”
“Carrots and apples,” Nedxy repeated. It sounded as if this boy would be even less use than the others. And he was the last of the four Littlefingerxy had turned up. Joryxy had spoken to each of them in turn. Ser Hughxy had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as only a new-made knight can be. If the Handxy wished to talk to him, he should be pleased to receive him, but he would not be questioned by a mere captain of guards … even if said captain was ten years older and a hundred times the swordsman. The serving girl had at least been pleasant. She said Lordxy Jon had been reading more than was good for him, that he was troubled and melancholy over his young son’s frailty, and gruff with his lady wife. The potboy, now cordwainer, had never exchanged so much as a word with Lordxy Jon, but he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip: the lord had been quarreling with the king, the lord only picked at his food, the lord was sending his boy to be fostered on Dragonstonexy, the lord had taken a great interest in the breeding of hunting hounds, the lord had visited a master armorer to commission a new suit of plate, wrought all in pale silver with a blue jasper falcon and a mother-of-pearl moon on the breast. The king’s own brother had gone with him to help choose the design, the potboy said. No, not Lordxy Renlyxyxy, the other one, Lordxy Stannisxy.
“Did our watchman recall anything else of note?”
“The lad swears Lordxy Jon was as strong as a man half his age. Often went riding with Lordxy Stannisxy, he says.”
Stannisxy again, Nedxy thought. He found that curious. Jon Arrynxyxy and he had been cordial, but never friendly. And while Robertxy had been riding north to Winterfellxy, Stannisxy had removed himself to Dragonstonexy, the Targaryenxy island fastness he had conquered in his brother’s name. He had given no word as to when he might return. “Where did they go on these rides?” Nedxy asked.
“The boy says that they visited a brothel.”
“A brothel?” Nedxy said. “The Lordxy of the Eyriexyxy and Handxy of the Kingxyxy visited a brothel with Stannisxy Baratheonxyxy?” He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lordxy Renlyxyxy would make of this tidbit. Robertxy’s lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannisxy was a different sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless, unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.
“The boy insists it’s true. The Handxy took three guardsmen with him, and the boy says they were joking of it when he took their horses afterward.”
“Which brothel?” Nedxy asked.
“The boy did not know. The guards would.”
“A pity Lysaxy carried them off to the Vale,” Nedxy said dryly. “The gods are doing their best to vex us. Ladyxy Lysaxy, Maesterxy Colemonxy, Lordxy Stannisxy … everyone who might actually know the truth of what happened to Jon Arrynxyxy is a thousand leagues away.”
“Willxy you summon Lordxy Stannisxy back from Dragonstonexy?”
“Not yet,” Nedxy said. “Not until I have a better notion of what this is all about and where he stands.” The matter nagged at him. Why did Stannisxy leave? Had he played some part in Jon Arrynxyxy’s murder? Or was he afraid? Nedxy found it hard to imagine what could frighten Stannisxy Baratheonxyxy, who had once held Storm’s End through a year of siege, surviving on rats and boot leather while the Lords Tyrellxy and Redwynexy sat outside with their hosts, banqueting in sight of his walls.
“Bring me my doublet, if you would. The grey, with the direwolf sigil. I want this armorer to know who I am. It might make him more forthcoming.”
Joryxy went to the wardrobe. “Lordxy Renlyxyxy is brother to Lordxy Stannisxy as well as the king.”
“Yet it seems that he was not invited on these rides.” Nedxy was not sure what to make of Renlyxy, with all his friendly ways and easy smiles. A few days past, he had taken Nedxy aside to show him an exquisite rose gold locklet. Inside was a miniature painted in the vivid Myrish style, of a lovely young girl with doe’s eyes and a cascade of soft brown hair. Renlyxy had seemed anxious to know if the girl reminded him of anyone, and when Nedxy had no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed. The maid was Lorasxy Tyrellxyxy’s sister Margaeryxy, he’d confessed, but there were those who said she looked like Lyannaxy. “No,” Nedxy had told him, bemused. Could it be that Lordxy Renlyxyxy, who looked so like a young Robertxy, had conceived a passion for a girl he fancied to be a young Lyannaxy? That struck him as more than passing queer.
Joryxy held out the doublet, and Nedxy slid his hands through the armholes. “Perhaps Lordxy Stannisxy will return for Robertxy’s tourney,” he said as Joryxy laced the garment up the back.
“That would be a stroke of fortune, my lord,” Joryxy said.
Nedxy buckled on a longsword. “In other words, not bloody likely.” His smile was grim.
Joryxy draped Nedxy’s cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the Handxy’s badge of office. “The armorer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel. Alynxy knows the way, my lord.”
Nedxy nodded. “The gods help this potboy if he’s sent me off haring after shadows.” It was a slim enough staff to lean on, but the Jon Arrynxyxy that Nedxy Starkxyxy had known was not one to wear jeweled and silvered plate. Steel was steel; it was meant for protection, not ornament. He might have changed his views, to be sure. He would scarcely have been the first man who came to look on things differently after a few years at court … but the change was marked enough to make Nedxy wonder.
“Is there any other service I might perform?”
“I suppose you’d best begin visiting whorehouses.”
“Hard duty, my lord.” Joryxy grinned. “The men will be glad to help. Portherxy has made a fair start already.”
Nedxy’s favorite horse was saddled and waiting in the yard. Varlyxy and Jacksxy fell in beside him as he rode through the yard. Their steel caps and shirts of mail must have been sweltering, yet they said no word of complaint. As Lordxy Eddardxy passed beneath the Kingxy’s Gatexyxy into the stink of the city, his grey and white cloak streaming from his shoulders, he saw eyes everywhere and kicked his mount into a trot. His guard followed.
He looked behind him frequently as they made their way through the crowded city streets. Tomardxy and Desmondxy had left the castle early this morning to take up positions on the route they must take, and watch for anyone following them, but even so, Nedxy was uncertain. The shadow of the Kingxy’s Spider and his little birds had him fretting like a maiden on her wedding night.
The Street of Steel began at the market square beside the River Gatexyxy, as it was named on maps, or the Mud Gatexyxy, as it was commonly called. A mummer on stilts was striding through the throngs like some great insect, with a horde of barefoot children trailing behind him, hooting. Elsewhere, two ragged boys no older than Branxy were dueling with sticks, to the loud encouragement of some and the furious curses of others. An old woman ended the contest by leaning out of her window and emptying a bucket of slops on the heads of the combatants. In the shadow of the wall, farmers stood beside their wagons, bellowing out, “Apples, the best apples, cheap at twice the price,” and “Bloodxy melons, sweet as honey,” and “Turnips, onions, roots, here you go here, here you go, turnips, onions, roots, here you go here.”
The Mud Gatexyxy was open, and a squad of City Watchmen stood under the portcullis in their golden cloaks, leaning on spears. When a column of riders appeared from the west, the guardsmen sprang into action, shouting commands and moving the carts and foot traffic aside to let the knight enter with his escort. The first rider through the gate carried a long black banner. The silk rippled in the wind like a living thing; across the fabric was blazoned a night sky slashed with purple lightning. “Make way for Lordxy Beric!” the rider shouted. “Make way for Lordxy Beric!” And close behind came the young lord himself, a dashing figure on a black courser, with red-gold hair and a black satin cloak dusted with stars. “Here to fight in the Handxy’s tourney, my lord?” a guardsman called out to him. “Here to win the Handxy’s tourney,” Lordxy Beric shouted back as the crowd cheered.
Nedxy turned off the square where the Street of Steel began and followed its winding path up a long hill, past blacksmiths working at open forges, freeriders haggling over mail shirts, and grizzled ironmongers selling old blades and razors from their wagons. The farther they climbed, the larger the buildings grew. The man they wanted was all the way at the top of the hill, in a huge house of timber and plaster whose upper stories loomed over the narrow street. The double doors showed a hunting scene carved in ebony and weirwood. A pair of stone knights stood sentry at the entrance, armored in fanciful suits of polished red steel that transformed them into griffin and unicorn. Nedxy left his horse with Jacksxy and shouldered his way inside.
The slim young serving girl took quick note of Nedxy’s badge and the sigil on his doublet, and the master came hurrying out, all smiles and bows. “Winexy for the Kingxy’s Handxy,” he told the girl, gesturing Nedxy to a couch. “I am Tobhoxy Mottxy, my lord, please, please, put yourself at ease.” He wore a black velvet coat with hammers embroidered on the sleeves in silver thread. Around his neck was a heavy silver chain and a sapphire as large as a pigeon’s egg. “If you are in need of new arms for the Handxy’s tourney, you have come to the right shop.” Nedxy did not bother to correct him. “My work is costly, and I make no apologies for that, my lord,” he said as he filled two matching silver goblets. “You will not find craftsmanship equal to mine anywhere in the Seven Kingdomsxy, I promise you. Visit every forge in Kingxy’s Landingxy if you like, and compare for yourself. Any village smith can hammer out a shirt of mail; my work is art.”
Nedxy sipped his wine and let the man go on. The Knightxy of Flowersxy bought all his armor here, Tobhoxy boasted, and many high lords, the ones who knew fine steel, and even Lordxy Renlyxyxy, the king’s own brother. Perhaps the Handxy had seen Lordxy Renlyxyxy’s new armor, the green plate with the golden antlers? No other armorer in the city could get that deep a green; he knew the secret of putting color in the steel itself, paint and enamel were the crutches of a journeyman. Or mayhaps the Handxy wanted a blade? Tobhoxy had learned to work Valyrianxy steelxy at the forges of Qohorxy as a boy. Only a man who knew the spells could take old weapons and forge them anew. “The direwolf is the sigil of House Starkxyxy, is it not? I could fashion a direwolf helm so real that children will run from you in the street,” he vowed.
Nedxy smiled. “Did you make a falcon helm for Lordxy Arrynxy?”
Tobhoxy Mottxy paused a long moment and set aside his wine. “The Handxy did call upon me, with Lordxy Stannisxy, the king’s brother. I regret to say, they did not honor me with their patronage.”
Nedxy looked at the man evenly, saying nothing, waiting. He had found over the years that silence sometimes yielded more than questions. And so it was this time.
“They asked to see the boy,” the armorer said, “so I took them back to the forge.”
“The boy,” Nedxy echoed. He had no notion who the boy might be. “I should like to see the boy as well.”
Tobhoxy Mottxy gave him a cool, careful look. “As you wish, my lord,” he said with no trace of his former friendliness. He led Nedxy out a rear door and across a narrow yard, back to the cavernous stone barn where the work was done. When the armorer opened the door, the blast of hot air that came through made Nedxy feel as though he were walking into a dragon’s mouth. Inside, a forge blazed in each corner, and the air stank of smoke and sulfur. Journeymen armorers glanced up from their hammers and tongs just long enough to wipe the sweat from their brows, while bare-chested apprentice boys worked the bellows.
The master called over a tall lad about Robbxy’s age, his arms and chest corded with muscle. “This is Lordxy Starkxy, the new Handxy of the Kingxyxy,” he told him as the boy looked at Nedxy through sullen blue eyes and pushed back sweat-soaked hair with his fingers. Thick hair, shaggy and unkempt and black as ink. The shadow of a new beard darkened his jaw. “This is Gendryxy. Strongxy for his age, and he works hard. Show the Handxy that helmet you made, lad.” Almost shyly, the boy led them to his bench, and a steel helm shaped like a bull’s head, with two great curving horns.
Nedxy turned the helm over in his hands. It was raw steel, unpolished but expertly shaped. “This is fine work. I would be pleased if you would let me buy it.”
The boy snatched it out of his hands. “It’s not for sale.”
Tobhoxy Mottxy looked horror-struck. “Boyxy, this is the Kingxy’s Handxy. If his lordship wants this helm, make him a gift of it. He honors you by asking.”
“I made it for me,” the boy said stubbornly.
“A hundred pardons, my lord,” his master said hurriedly to Nedxy. “The boy is crude as new steel, and like new steel would profit from some beating. That helm is journeyman’s work at best. Forgive him and I promise I will craft you a helm like none you have ever seen.”
“He’s done nothing that requires my forgiveness. Gendryxy, when Lordxy Arrynxy came to see you, what did you talk about?”
“He asked me questions is all, m’lord.”
“What sort of questions?”
The boy shrugged. “How was I, and was I well treated, and if I liked the work, and stuff about my mother. Who she was and what she looked like and all.”
“What did you tell him?” Nedxy asked.
The boy shoved a fresh fall of black hair off his forehead. “She died when I was little. She had yellow hair, and sometimes she used to sing to me, I remember. She worked in an alehouse.”
“Did Lordxy Stannisxy question you as well?”
“The bald one? No, not him. He never said no word, just glared at me, like I was some raper who done for his daughter.”
“Mind your filthy tongue,” the master said. “This is the Kingxy’s own Handxy.” The boy lowered his eyes. “A smart boy, but stubborn. That helm … the others call him bullheaded, so he threw it in their teeth.”
Nedxy touched the boy’s head, fingering the thick black hair. “Look at me, Gendryxy.” The apprentice lifted his face. Nedxy studied the shape of his jaw, the eyes like blue ice. Yes, he thought, I see it. “Go back to your work, lad. I’m sorry to have bothered you.” He walked back to the house with the master. “Who paid the boy’s apprentice fee?” he asked lightly.
Mott looked fretful. “You saw the boy. Such a strong boy. Those hands of his, those hands were made for hammers. He had such promise, I took him on without a fee.”
“The truth now,” Nedxy urged. “The streets are full of strong boys. The day you take on an apprentice without a fee will be the day the Wallxy comes down. Who paid for him?”
“A lord,” the master said reluctantly. “He gave no name, and wore no sigil on his coat. He paid in gold, twice the customary sum, and said he was paying once for the boy, and once for my silence.”
“Describe him.”
“He was stout, round of shoulder, not so tall as you. Brown beard, but there was a bit of red in it, I’ll swear. He wore a rich cloak, that I do remember, heavy purple velvet worked with silver threads, but the hood shadowed his face and I never did see him clear.” He hesitated a moment. “My lord, I want no trouble.”
“None of us wants trouble, but I fear these are troubled times, Master Mott,” Nedxy said. “You know who the boy is.”
“I am only an armorer, my lord. I know what I’m told.”
“You know who the boy is,” Nedxy repeated patiently. “That is not a question.”
“The boy is my apprentice,” the master said. He looked Nedxy in the eye, stubborn as old iron. “Who he was before he came to me, that’s none of my concern.”
Nedxy nodded. He decided that he liked Tobhoxy Mottxy, master armorer. “If the day ever comes when Gendryxy would rather wield a sword than forge one, send him to me. He has the look of a warrior. Until then, you have my thanks, Master Mott, and my promise. Should I ever want a helm to frighten children, this will be the first place I visit.”
His guard was waiting outside with the horses. “Did you find anything, my lord?” Jacksxy asked as Nedxy mounted up.
“I did,” Nedxy told him, wondering. What had Jon Arrynxyxy wanted with a king’s bastard, and why was it worth his life?