The bustle of the Street of Silk fermented under the afternoon sun.
Luke set up his makeshift stall in a street corner where the foot traffic was a bit lighter.
An old wooden table under a faded linen awning offered just enough shade to block the scorching light.
It was a clever location—neither so conspicuous as to invite unwanted scrutiny nor so quiet as to lack customers.
After sending off two Gold Cloaks whose expressions had softened considerably thanks to a Silver Stag “protection fee,” Luke composed himself.
He didn’t rush to display all his goods, opting to quietly observe his surroundings first.
The Street of Silk certainly lived up to its name.
Thick in the air was a mixture of cosmetics, cheap yet pungent perfumes, roasted meat fat, sour ale, and an undefinable atmosphere of indulgence and desire.
Men and women in vibrant clothes darted through like colorful fish: noble scions wearing house crests, merchants sporting massive rings, mercenaries in leather armor studded with metal plates, and streetwalkers in sheer dresses and heavy makeup…
Voices, string music, clattering hooves, vendors hawking goods…
everything boiled together in one noisy cauldron.
Once he confirmed that no eyes were fixated on him as a new vendor, Luke carefully pulled his goods from his gray backpack.
Unlike the vendors on either side, he didn’t shout to attract attention; he simply laid his items out on the table, creating an eye-catching display.
On the left were two slender, dark-green glass bottles filled with a clear, pale-green liquid—Florida Water.
The labels had long been peeled away, leaving only simple curved patterns on the glass.
In the middle stood ten small, rounded glass bottles containing essential balm—unremarkable in appearance, but generously filled.
On the right were three glass bottles of entirely different shapes: one long and elegant like a swan’s neck; one short and plump, covered in cut diamond patterns; and the last flat, square, and crisp in line.
Inside were cheap “perfumes” snagged off Pinduoduo.
Their flashy original packaging had been stripped away, leaving only sparkling glass and the subtly swaying, differently colored liquids within.
Slanted afternoon sunlight struck the glass, reflecting flecks of dancing light.
Compared to the surrounding rough pottery and wooden wares, they looked entirely out of place—and utterly dazzling.
Almost the moment he finished setting them down, someone was drawn over by the sparkling light.
The first to stop was a scarred mercenary wearing a silk robe with a dagger at his waist and eyes sharp as blades.
He picked up a small bottle of essential balm, weighed it in his hand, squinted at the brownish liquid inside against the light, and asked in a heavy accent, “An alchemical potion?
Or poison?”
Luke was prepared.
He gestured for the man to unstopper it and smell.
Suspicious, the mercenary pulled out the stopper and leaned in for a sniff.
A powerful, refreshing scent—a complex mix of peppermint and camphor—surged into his nostrils.
A thrill ran through him, and his eyes lit up.
“Strong stuff!
To clear the head?”
Luke nodded, pairing simple words with hand gestures.
“Repels insects.
Apply a little.
Good for headaches and bug bites.”
He pointed to his own temples and arm.
The mercenary was clearly intrigued, especially upon hearing “repels insects”—vital for those who often camped outdoors.
“How much?”
Luke held up an index finger, feigning hesitation.
“One hundred…
Silver Stags?”
He waited for the man to haggle.
The mercenary scowled.
“Too expensive!
For such a tiny bottle.”
But he didn’t leave.
His gaze slid over to the three perfume bottles.
“What about those?
Perfume?”
Luke picked up the “swan-neck” bottle, gently unstoppered it, and fanned his hand over the opening.
A blend of floral scents drifted out.
Though cheap by modern standards, in this era, such a pure, rich, and lingering fragrance was extraordinarily rare.
The mercenary leaned close, took a deep breath, and smirked.
“For women?”
Luke nodded, then pointed between the tall bottle and the plump one.
“Fragrances…
different.”
He quoted an even more shocking price: “Ten Gold Dragons a bottle.”
The mercenary gasped, looking at Luke as if he were insane.
“Are you robbing me?
Ten Gold Dragons could buy me good wine for a whole year!”
But Luke remained expressionless, making it clear it was a take-it-or-leave-it deal, showing no urgency to make a sale.
After haggling for a long time, the mercenary finally bought a bottle of essential balm for fifty Silver Stags, muttering that he’d “give it a try,” while steering well clear of the perfumes.
This was only the beginning.
As the sun drifted west, a crowd began to gather at Luke’s stall.
The glass bottles alone were rare curiosities, and their contents were completely unheard of.
A decently dressed man who looked like a rich merchant’s steward showed great interest in the Florida Water, asking carefully about its uses—repelling bugs, removing odors, leaving a fresh scent.
In the end, he bought a bottle for ten Gold Dragons, saying he would “present it to his master to try something new.”
Several noble ladies walking together were drawn by the perfumes, gathering around the stall and chattering excitedly; their senses of smell were remarkably sharp. Find the original chapter at g.com.
Ultimately, three among them who held high status paid ten Gold Dragons each to take home the three bottles with “magical” spray nozzles.
They excitedly tried the perfume on their wrists and behind their ears right then and there, drawing gasps of admiration from their companions.
The essential balm was favored by older folks, those suffering from chronic headaches, or people who simply enjoyed the refreshing kick, with prices fluctuating between fifty and a hundred Silver Stags.
Meanwhile, no shortage of suspicious eyes swept over the sparkling glass bottles.
But when they noticed the Gold Cloaks occasionally patrolling nearby and keeping an eye on the stall, and saw that Luke himself was quiet yet unfazed, most put away their ill intentions.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, lanterns flickered to life along the Street of Silk, and the noise grew even louder.
Luke’s inventory was completely gone.
Two bottles of Florida Water, ten bottles of essential balm, and three bottles of perfume—all sold out.
He didn’t restock.
Knowing when to stop, he packed up his stall efficiently.
By a rough estimate, his afternoon earnings on the Street of Silk alone reached three hundred Gold Dragons and five hundred Silver Stags!
Added to the nearly thirty Gold Dragons he made selling sugar and salt on the Street of the Silent Sisters that morning, his total revenue for the day exceeded three hundred and forty Gold Dragons!
And that wasn’t counting the loose Copper Stars and foreign coins from Essos.
Rather than leaving immediately, he sat in a corner of a relatively clean tavern nearby, spending a dozen copper coins for a mug of ale.
He merely wetted his lips with the ale for appearance’s sake, drinking very little.
He sat quietly, Bluetooth earbud hidden in his ear, as the translator inside his backpack silently went to work, gathering snippets of evening chatter along the Street of Silk: prices, opportunities, rumors…
He needed more information.
More than that, he needed a place—a quiet, hidden stronghold that he could rent long-term or even buy.
Flea Bottom was too chaotic, and the Street of Silk was too noisy.
What he wanted was a stable foothold from which he could travel safely between the two worlds.
While concentrating, his earbud translated a fragment of conversation from a table of drunken mercenaries nearby:
“…over by the Muddy Gate…
there’s an old house…
owner ran off to Braavos over gambling debts…
selling cheap…
just isolated, right by the Blackwater…”
Luke’s ears perked up instantly.
Near the Muddy Gate?
By the Blackwater River?
Isolated…
an old house…
selling cheap?
He took a slow sip of the ale—which didn’t suit his palate at all—his eyes gleaming faintly in the dim light.
Perhaps it was time to check it out.