Morning at Casterly Rock.
Sea wind with the rust of the mines in it.
Lyonel Lannister stood on the gate steps.
Thirty bannermen’s horse in front of him.
Tywin Lannister was two paces at his back, hands on a lion-head staff, taking the yard the way he took a column of figures.
“Tax silver out of the Golden Tooth has run short three months.”
The yard went down to flags in the wind.
“Lyonel Lannister will ride there as Observer for the Heir and look.”
Lyonel turned his head.
Tywin did not look back.
The mouth moved, low.
“Do not shame this house.”
Lyonel’s mouth hooked.
He got up on the horse.
Blue on the eye.
[System]
Combo: Diplomatic Touch × Fiscal Mastery
Insight on commercial marks +150% for now.
Chance to flag a bad deal: 70%.
He shortened the rein.
The system was more use than the old man.
Twenty light horse ran the coast road south.
Bloom on his left, accounts and a map-roll in his coat.
Bronn on his right, a longsword at his hip that had come out of a hill nest, eyes working the ground like a hound just let out of a crate.
“My lord.
First stop.” Bloom.
“The Golden Tooth.”
“How many through the gate.”
“Two.”
Bloom stalled.
“Us.”
Lyonel glanced at the eighteen western riders behind.
“The rest wait outside.”
“If the lord turns?” Bronn.
Lyonel patted the hilt at his belt.
Casterly steel.
Hammer marks still on it.
No blood yet.
“Then he turns.”
Low right.
[System]
Note: inn ledgers around the Golden Tooth are moving wrong.
Inference: a hidden smuggle road.
Tied to the lord’s books.
Lyonel narrowed.
A clue falling out of the sky.
Afternoon.
They took a waystation on the road.
Bloom spread the map and put a finger on a dashed line outside the Tooth.
“Old road to the water.
Marked as a dead mine.”
Lyonel gave the line three seconds.
“Not a mine.”
Bloom looked up.
“What.”
“A smuggle road.” He drank from the skin.
“A dead pit does not carry a dock-mark at the mouth.
Whoever drew this painted the quay as a slag heap on purpose.”
Bronn talked around dry meat.
“So your father sends you for missing silver and you pick up a smuggle line.”
“On the way.”
“On the way you find that.”
“I get lucky.”
Bronn rolled his eyes and packed the last bite.
The pane: four hours to the midnight refresh.
Lyonel put his back to a post and shut his eyes.
The Tooth’s ground turned over in his head three times without being asked.
Fiscal Mastery ran by itself and put questions all over the Tooth’s logic.
“My lord.” Bloom came in low.
“Dennis Prester holds the Golden Tooth.
Married a western baron’s girl.
Two hundred on the walls.
If the books touch that marriage—”
“Then they touch it.”
Bloom swallowed.
“Lord Tywin—”
“My father gave me four words.
Don’t shame us.”
One eye open.
On Bloom.
“Do I look like shame.”
Bloom looked at the dwarf face.
Green and black, and under both a cold that was only counting.
Not shame.
Trouble.
The dark came down clean.
Back court of the station.
Lyonel alone under an old oak.
The daily box came up with a thin gold in it.
His finger hung over the draw.
“Not white.”
“Not green.”
“Give me—”
He hit it.
Gold light blew the crown of the oak bright.
The voice was ice.
[System]
Gold trait acquired —
Trade Sense (Gold)
Error on a deal’s worth ≤ 3%.
Feel for the premium: +40%.
Can read hidden profit and the other man’s floor.
He turned the card in the pane three times.
“…Gold.”
The face of it went to dust and into his chest.
Heat ran the spine out to the fingers.
He looked at his hand.
Open.
Shut.
He smiled.
“Bloom.”
Bloom’s head came out from under the eave.
“My lord.”
“Tomorrow I buy the Golden Tooth.
You believe that?”
Bloom looked at him.
“My lord, we have inn money.”
“I don’t need coin.”
He killed the pane and walked for the station door.
Boots on the flags.
Tick.
Tick.
“I’ve got this mouth.”
Bronn was folded under the porch.
He heard it, rolled, and muttered to the rider on watch.
“Your lord cracked?”
The rider’s face did not move.
“Every day.
He hasn’t lost.”
Bronn gave that three seconds.
“…Fuck.
Then I polish the sword.”
Lyonel lay on the common pallet and watched the boards overhead.
The pane sat in the corner.
The gold icon still ticked light.
Thirty bannermen had watched him leave the Rock.
Tywin on the steps: don’t shame us.
The Tooth’s books were dirty.
The road under it ran to the sea.
Dennis Prester had put two thousand gold dragons in his own pocket.
Lyonel turned and pulled the blanket to his chin.
Horses blowing in the yard.
Salt in the night air.
“Two thousand dragons…”
He said it to the dark.
“What’s the interest on that.”
The system did not answer.
After midnight there would be another draw waiting.
Cloud took half the moon.
Under the oak the gold leftover died.
The lions on the gate flags were gone in the black.
Before he shut his eyes he looked at the line once more.
[System]
Trade Sense (Gold) active.
Ongoing.
He showed the teeth and dragged the blanket over his head.
The Golden Tooth tomorrow.
Let it wait.