25: “Petyr’s” substitute left the room.
Rek’Sai sat sprawled in the wide wooden chair and casually tossed the heavy money pouch onto the table.
The clear clink of gold dragons colliding echoed through the room.
He leaned back against the chair and swept his gaze over the two girls in the corner.
“Come here.” Rek’Sai jerked his chin.
The girls shivered, yet still obediently moved closer.
Outside the door, heavy, disordered footsteps came from the stairs, mixed with cursing shouts.
Black Leyton wore a splendid dark-red silk coat, collar crooked, reeking of alcohol.
“Chataya!
I told you I want Jenny and Mia!
You dare tell me they’re entertaining someone else?” The madam Chataya followed behind him, face full of smiles, voice ingratiating: “Young Master Leyton, the guest on the top floor has already reserved them and paid a heavy sum.
I’ll arrange other, better girls for you…” “Bullshit!” Black kicked the wooden handrail of the staircase.
The railing gave a pained groan.
“I am the future lord of Deep Den!
I came to King’s Landing for Lord Renly’s coming-of-age ceremony, and you’re trying to palm me off with other people’s leftovers?” He brought two fully armed guards with him, strode up to the third floor, and kicked open the half-closed door with one foot.
The wooden door slammed hard against the wall, wood chips flying.
Inside the room, Rek’Sai held one of the girls in one thick arm while the other hand held a silver wine cup.
He lifted his head.
His gaze passed over the rim of the cup and landed on the intruders.
Even sitting there, his massive body was like an impassable mountain of flesh.
His shadow completely covered the three people in the doorway.
Black’s cursing stuck in his throat.
He looked at Rek’Sai’s size, then at the gold coins scattered on the table.
More than half of his drunkenness evaporated.
But the pride of House Leyton made him straighten his neck and force himself to keep face.
“You’re the one who stole my women?” Black’s hand rested on his sword hilt as he shouted loudly, “I don’t care what kind of wild man you are.
Get out right now, leave the gold dragons as compensation, and I can refrain from breaking your legs.” Rek’Sai set down the wine cup.
He said nothing and simply stood up.
The wooden crossbeam overhead suddenly looked extremely low.
Rek’Sai took one step forward.
Enormous pressure slammed outward.
The two guards instinctively drew their longswords, yet their legs trembled uncontrollably.
“Too noisy.” Rek’Sai reversed his hand and swung a slap.
No complex technique.
It landed squarely across Black’s face.
Bang.
Black flew outward like a torn sack and smashed hard into the wall of the corridor.
Several teeth stained with blood sprayed from his mouth and rolled across the wooden floor.
His eyes rolled back.
He did not even manage a scream before collapsing unconscious on the spot.
The two guards held their longswords, caught between advancing and retreating, foreheads covered in sweat.
“Take the trash and get out.” Rek’Sai sat back down in the chair and picked up the wine cup again.
The guards felt as if they had been granted a pardon.
They hurriedly supported Black and fled down the stairs as if running for their lives.
Rek’Sai patted the trembling girl in his arms.
“Keep pouring the wine.” King’s Landing.
A dark chamber in a certain residence.
The substitute man knelt on one knee on the stone floor, reporting what had happened in the brothel.
The real Petyr Baelish sat in the shadows, idly playing with a silver stag coin.
The usual smile hung at the corner of his mouth.
“Greedy, lustful, and sufficiently brutal.
House Tarth actually managed to recruit a monster like this.” “My lord, he knocked out Black Leyton, the heir of Deep Den.” The substitute kept his head lowered.
“Will this affect our plan?” “Affect?
No.
This is an unexpected pleasant surprise.” Petyr stood and walked into the candlelight.
“The Goldroad is very long.
I need to know exactly how well he can fight before he is worth that remaining two thousand gold dragons.” He tossed the coin into a money pouch.
“Go arrange it.
In the name of House Leyton, spread a message outside the city.
Say that a four-person party carrying several thousand gold dragons will leave early tomorrow morning along the Goldroad for Casterly Rock.” The substitute raised his head, face full of admiration.
“House Leyton was struck.
Spreading the news to draw bandits for revenge is perfectly reasonable.” Petyr smiled and patted the substitute’s shoulder.
“Go handle it.
Let the mountain bandits test his weight.
If he cannot even deal with a few packs of common thieves and dies on the road, then it proves he is trash not worth my investment.” The Red Keep.
The king’s solar.
Robert Baratheon slammed a brand-new set of plate armor onto the table, making the ale in the wine cups splash across the wood.
“This armor is too tight!
Go tell the smith to widen the breastplate by another two inches!” The attendant hurriedly carried the heavy armor away.
Robert downed a large mouthful of wine, his face flushed with excitement.
“The tourney at Casterly Rock!
That old bastard Tywin is as dull as ever, but the gold of the Westerlands can put on the best show.
I will enter the lists myself and let them see the warhammer of the Stormlands!” The wooden door of the solar was pushed open.
Varys, wearing soft-soled shoes, drifted in like a purple cloud.
He clasped his hands in front of him, a humble, worried expression on his face.
“Your Grace.
I fear your journey to Casterly Rock will need to be postponed.” Robert’s smile froze on his face.
He set the wine cup down heavily, eyes fierce.
“Dead eunuch, you’d better have a reason that satisfies me.
Otherwise I’ll tie you to a horse’s tail and drag you all the way to the Westerlands.” Varys gave a slight bow, tone mild.
“My little birds have brought word from across the Narrow Sea.
Concerning those two Targaryen children.” Robert’s expression immediately darkened.
The excitement in his eyes was replaced by violent fury.
“Those two silver-haired bastards?
Where are they?” “Pentos.
It is said the magister is funding them.
There are even rumors that they are attempting to contact the Dothraki.” Varys paused, then continued, “Not only that.
Fishermen near Dragonstone report seeing ships of unknown origin cruising outside Blackwater Bay.” Robert kicked over the wooden table in front of him.
The wine jug shattered.
Ale spread across the floor.
“What in the seven hells is Stannis doing?!” Robert roared, spit flying.
“He commands the royal fleet, yet he allows those broken ships to sway right under my nose?” Varys sighed.
“Lord Stannis has continually complained that the treasury has not allocated funds to repair the ships.
The fleet finds it difficult to put to sea.” “Excuses!
All of them excuses!” Robert panted heavily, pacing back and forth inside the solar.
“Pass my order!
Prepare ships!
I’m not going to Casterly Rock.
I’m going to Dragonstone!
I will go see for myself what that hard-headed bastard is up to!
If he does not bring me the heads of those silver-haired bastards, I will strip him of command of the fleet!” Varys bowed deeply.
“Your Grace is wise.” Robert grabbed the leather wineskin hanging on the wall and strode out of the solar.
The joy of the tourney had been completely shattered.
All that remained was endless killing intent toward the Targaryen bloodline.