Over the next few days, Luke’s life was orderly and efficient.
Every morning, taking Bronn and four sharp guards with him, he ventured deep into every corner of King’s Landing, acting like a young, wealthy merchant truly interested in exotic customs with a unique taste.
From the crowded docks near the Old Gate to the chaotic, shantytown alleys deep within Flea Bottom.
From the relatively respectable commercial streets of Rhaenys’ Hill to the noisy workshops where craftsmen gathered beneath Visenya’s Hill.
He even left his footprints in the areas near Aegon’s Hill where noble servants and small-to-medium merchants mingled, where the spires of the Red Keep could be seen from afar.
No longer confining himself to Cobbler’s Square or the Street of Silk, he actively sought out caravans and street vendors from all across the Seven Kingdoms, as well as Essos across the Narrow Sea, the Summer Isles, and even lands known only through distant rumors.
His method of trade was always the same: bartering.
A jar of “Mithril Salt” (table salt) for a few amber pieces of good quality or sparkling stones that looked like diamonds.
A small bag of “Velvet Snow” (white sugar) for an uncut rough agate or an exotic jade bracelet.
A bottle of “Summer Snow” (Florida Water) for an exquisitely crafted piece of Myr lace or a small Pentos enamel trinket.
“Dragon’s Cold Flame” (Essential Balm) was an even harder currency, capable of fetching lower-grade but undeniably real chips of rubies and sapphires.
As for the perfumes with ornate labels, they were his primary bargaining chips for larger, relatively better-cut gemstones.
His eye was sharp.
Though he seemed casual, his objective was razor-sharp.
Anything with natural mineral properties, high value on Blue Star, or unique aesthetic appeal—whether “stones” or artisanal handicrafts—was fair game.
He had little interest in plain jewelry or vessels made of gold and silver, unless they were set with valuable gemstones.
This unique and “generous” style of trading was like a stone tossed into a pond, its ripples spreading rapidly.
Within days, news that “an eccentric had arrived in King’s Landing, trading magical spices and perfumes for gemstones” spread through every major market and merchant guild.
Those goods—”Mithril Salt,” “Velvet Snow,” “Summer Snow,” “Dragon’s Cold Flame,” and various perfumes with grandly dramatic names—skyrocketed in price as they passed through hand after hand.
They ultimately landed in the hands of the nobles with the keenest noses and deepest pockets, leaving the lucky initial traders with overflowing profits.
The rumors grew ever more exaggerated and crept steadily closer to the heart of power.
Someone claimed that a small bag of “Mithril Salt” was presented to the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish, in exchange for a staggering ten thousand Gold Dragons!
Though unverified, word that “Littlefinger” took an interest in high-grade salt spread like wildfire.
Ser Jaime Lannister, the “Kingslayer” of the Kingsguard, was said to have spent five hundred Gold Dragons just to buy a bottle of “Rose Water” perfume to gift to his sister, Queen Cersei, winning her great favor.
The young Princess Myrcella could not put down “Velvet Snow” and “Ice Crystal Honey,” their sweet flavors capturing her heart.
Even the little Prince Tommen, who cried endlessly through the night, miraculously fell fast asleep after Old Nan soothed him with a piece of “Ice Crystal Honey.”
The King’s brother, Renly Baratheon, Master of Ships, developed a particular passion for the “Lady’s Kiss” perfume, spending a fortune to obtain a single bottle.
Even the aged Hand of the King, Lord Jon Arryn, began wearing a subtle green bottle around his chest.
It reportedly worked miracles in easing his headaches and chest tightness, rousing the Alchemists’ Guild into action as they inquired everywhere whether this “cool, pungent” concoction was somehow related to dangerous wildfire.
In an astonishingly short time, the modern industrial goods Luke released penetrated the highest social circles and daily life of King’s Landing, becoming coveted treasures that nobles competed to possess to show off their status and taste. Get faster updates on novelping . com.
The attention and undercurrents they stirred went far beyond his original expectations.
That afternoon, as the sun dipped toward the horizon, Luke concluded a trade, swapping three bottles of “Demon’s Whisper” perfume for a small pouch of emeralds that were roughly cut but vibrant in color.
In a good mood, he was preparing to lead his guards back to his residence on Rhaenys’ Hill.
Just as they turned onto a relatively wide street, a Gold Cloak guard in a black cloak embroidered with gold, carrying a sword at his waist, blocked their path with two subordinates.
The man leading the guards swept a sharp gaze over Luke and the formidable-looking Bronn and his men behind him.
Finally resting his eyes on Luke’s face, he spoke in a businesslike tone that nevertheless carried an undeniable weight of authority:
“Sir, Lord Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, requests your presence.
Please come with me.”
It was time.
A chill ran through Luke’s heart, but his face remained completely unruffled, as though he had long anticipated this development.
He nodded calmly.
“The honor is mine.
Lead the way.”
Behind him, Bronn raised an eyebrow almost imperceptibly, his hand resting casually on his sword hilt, his eyes flashing with heightened alertness and…
a faint flicker of excitement?
Following this mysterious employer never seemed to get boring.
The group did not head to the Red Keep or the Tower of the Hand.
Instead, guided by the Gold Cloaks, they wove through streets where lanterns were slowly being lit.
They finally arrived at the busiest stretch of the Street of Silk, stopping before a brightly lit, extravagantly decorated building guarded by two burly men at the entrance.
The air was thick with heavy perfume, stale wine, and a decadent, seductive atmosphere.
The sign was inscribed with ornate lettering: “Chataya’s Brothel.”
Bronn let out a whistle, his small eyes instantly lighting up.
He cast sneaky glances at the scantily clad prostitutes posing tantalizingly at the doors and on the balconies, clicking his tongue in appreciation:
“Whoa…
Chataya’s!”
“Luke, are we here to do business or…
Lord Baelish sure knows how to pick a spot!
This place is a famous money-sink across the Seven Kingdoms!”
Luke, however, frowned slightly.
The heavy mix of scents inside the brothel assaulted his nose, which was accustomed to modern, delicate fragrances.
It made him slightly uncomfortable and even dizzy, leaving him with zero interest in admiring the various alluring women of all shapes and sizes.
In his heart, his wariness toward “Littlefinger”—a man famed for his shrewdness and cunning—grew even stronger.
Choosing to meet in a place like this was itself steeped in subtext and a desire for control.
They were led inside.
The interior was luxurious to an extreme: velvet drapes, gold and silver tableware, rare tapestries, with lightly clad, beautiful maids and prostitutes gliding about, giggling softly amidst the intoxicating strains of music.
Bronn could hardly take it all in, while the guards looked a bit awkward and curious.
The guiding Gold Cloak led them straight up to the third floor, which was much quieter than below.
The corridor was covered with thick carpet, and the doors on both sides were tightly shut.
Arriving before a carved wooden door, the guiding servant stopped and made a gesture of invitation to Luke: “My lord, Lord Baelish is waiting for you inside.
Please.”
The servant’s hand reached out as if by accident to block Bronn, who was trying to follow.
Bronn grinned, ignoring the servant entirely.
With a gentle bump of his shoulder, he nudged the man aside.
He walked right into the room behind Luke, muttering, “My employer’s doing business, so I stay close.
That’s the rule.
I took his coin.”
Inside, the lighting was soft and the decor elegant without lacking taste.
A refined incense floated in the air, overpowering the chaotic scents from downstairs.
A slender man with a neatly trimmed beard, immaculately groomed hair, and a finely tailored velvet coat stood by the window with his back to the door, looking down at the night view of the Street of Silk.
Hearing footsteps, he turned around slowly.
His face wore a mild, harmless, almost humble smile, but his grey eyes were like two fathomless pools of icy water, fixing sharply on Luke.
It was none other than the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish—”Littlefinger.”
A phrase flashed through Luke’s mind: “Chaos is a ladder!”