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“My lord, if this goes on, our winter stores will be emptied.”
Vayon Poole, steward of Winterfell, stood before Ned with a thick ledger in his hands and complaint in his voice.
Over the past few days, Ned had learned a hard truth: coin vanished fastest when you were the one responsible for feeding everyone.
Winter Town had begun with only five thousand residents.
More than twenty thousand people had poured in since, swelling it past thirty thousand.
The houses had all sold, and many newcomers had been temporarily settled in tents outside Winterfell.
At first, prices in Winter Town had been stable.
The North had just come through a harvest, and many families had arrived with wagons loaded with corn and grain.
But grain prices soon began to rise.
Many farmers settling in Winter Town had brought food in carts and wagons.
The mountain clans, however, had sent many herders.
Their lands held little arable soil, and most lived by raising sheep.
Many had come driving their flocks before them.
Other settlers had come from far away and sold their stored grain before traveling, choosing to arrive with coin instead.
Even after they received land and sowed their seed, months would pass before a harvest.
So many mouths still had to eat.
Ned brought out the food offered to Winterfell during Rickon’s nameday feast, and it sold out in a single day.
Ned ordered Lord Wyman of White Harbor to increase food shipments to Winter Town.
Supplies coming upriver along the White Knife were plentiful, but the price had risen sharply.
Residents began to complain.
Some wondered whether Winter Town was truly fit for long-term settlement, and people from places closer to Winterfell, such as Castle Cerwyn and Torrhen’s Square, packed their belongings and returned home.
When Winter Town grew overcrowded, order became a serious problem.
Jory Cassel, captain of Winterfell’s guard, oversaw law and order in the town, and the town watch had been expanded to five hundred men.
Even so, keeping the peace strained them badly.
Fights became ordinary.
Gambling dens, brothels, and taverns saw brawls every day.
A few days earlier, herders from House Norrey of the mountain clans had fought with long-time residents of Winter Town.
The cause was simple.
The herders had grazed their sheep on a farmer’s field, destroying young shoots that had just sprouted.
In past winters, when people from the mountain clans came to Winter Town, they did not bring goats and sheep with them.
Many herders in animal skins had arrived with their flocks, and when the old residents discovered their fields trampled, the two sides came to blows.
Fortunately, the fighters suffered only minor injuries.
Ned ordered the herders to compensate the farmer with several sheep, and the farmer to compensate the herders with a sack of corn.
That settled the matter.
Thieves were caught almost every day, and poachers in the wolfswood had clearly increased.
Ned had promised that during harvest season, residents of Winter Town could hunt legally, but much of the new land had not even been cleared yet, and many had already begun slipping into the forest.
Lord Commander Mormont of the Night’s Watch might have been the only man pleased by Winter Town’s decline in public order.
The worst of the scum were sent to the Wall.
Others were sent to the military settlements in the New Gift.
Winterfell had already begun cooperating with the Night’s Watch to develop abandoned land in the New Gift.
The first military settlement, led by Tomard of Winterfell’s guard, was at Queenscrown.
According to his letters, they had cleared more than ten acres, planted corn, built beehives, and every household in the settlement kept dogs, ready at all times for wildling raiders.
A few days earlier, a fire in the tent district had nearly spread to Winterfell’s gate and the market streets of Winter Town.
Fortunately, it had been put out in time.
The settlement project was progressing well.
People cut timber in the wolfswood and brought it back to build houses at impressive speed.
But Ned’s original price had been one hundred copper pennies for a house fit for a family and one acre of land, far below the true market price.
Every wooden house built meant another loss from Winterfell’s treasury.
Many advised raising the price of the houses and land.
Ned refused.
These people had come to Winter Town because of his favorable terms.
Raising the price now would break faith with them.
In the solar, Vayon Poole stood before Ned and tapped the ledger with one finger.
“Many residents of Winter Town have already eaten through their own provisions. Yesterday, on your orders, I took three cartloads of dried frozen meat, five carts of corn, and one cart of ale from Winterfell’s winter stores. All of it sold before nightfall. We made coin, yes, but none of it can be saved. The watch, house-building, beehives, saltworks, military settlements, purchased supplies, all of it costs money. In the end, we are still paying out more than we take in.”
Ned said, “I have already sent men to the Dreadfort, Barrowton, and Karhold to buy grain. Food from White Harbor is also flowing north from the south. It is summer. Our bannermen all say their local stores are sufficient.”
Vayon sighed.
“My lord, have you forgotten the words of House Stark? Winter is coming. This summer has lasted six years, but who knows when it will end? Maester Luwin says even the Citadel cannot predict the turning of the seasons with certainty. If autumn winds suddenly rise, if blizzards come, if snow kills our crops and blocks the roads and freezes the earth, what then?”
Ned smiled.
“Then Winter Town will be doing exactly what it was built to do.”
Vayon shut the ledger.
“I hear craftsmen are coming from all over. Must my lord wait until we spend Winterfell’s last gold dragon before he stops? The people outside our walls are useless mouths. Sooner or later, they will eat everything around them.”
Ned said calmly, “We need patience. We tighten our belts and endure this stretch.”
Vayon’s voice went dry.
“May it be as my lord wishes. My lord, I am steward of Winterfell, not steward of Winter Town. I truly cannot hold all of this together. Did my lord not say he meant to hire a…”
“You have worked hard. Lord Wyman sent a raven. The financial steward he hired for me from Braavos has reached White Harbor. He should arrive at Winterfell in a few days. Once he does, the Braavosi will take charge of Winter Town’s finances, and you can focus on Winterfell again.”
Since Ned intended to turn Winter Town into a city, he needed a professional to manage its finances.
Vayon Poole was diligent as steward, but matters such as tax rates, prices, lending, borrowing, investment, and appreciation were not his strengths.
Lord Wyman had recommended a Braavosi named Kral, a former employee of the Iron Bank who had also worked for a Tyroshi trading company and had deep experience.
Vayon left the accounts behind and departed.
Ned looked at the vast expenses and could not help frowning.
What would happen once Winterfell’s coin was gone?
Raise taxes?
His bannermen and smallfolk would both complain, and taxation alone could not solve the problem.
Borrowing from the Iron Bank of Braavos was an option, but debt would place a heavy burden on Winterfell.
If repayment became impossible, the saying that the Iron Bank would have its due was not empty talk.
If any kingdom dared default on the Iron Bank, the Iron Bank would spend coin stirring rebellion inside that kingdom.
The royal house would face rebel after rebel until it was exhausted.
Ned was only Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, not a king.
Catelyn entered with Rickon in her arms.
“What are you busy with?”
Ned set the ledger down in frustration.
“Money. What else? Sometimes I wonder why there are no gold mines in my lands. The damn Lannisters built their castle on a mountain of gold. We northerners work fields, raise sheep and cattle, breed horses, and earn too little for all of it.”
Catelyn smiled.
“That is the world as it is. I warned you long ago that expanding Winter Town, building saltworks, and founding military settlements would put us in the red. What do you mean to do?”
Ned said, “The plan must go forward. If there is no other way, we borrow.”
Catelyn said, “If we borrow, we can ask Littlefinger. Do not forget, Petyr Baelish was my father’s ward. He is Master of Coin now. If we need a loan, he is the safest person to ask. If I write to him, he will not refuse.”
Ned snorted.
“I would be very curious to learn how Robert’s court has money to lend. Robert loves tourneys, wine, and women, and rumor says the crown has been in debt for years. I will not borrow from Littlefinger. If I truly need to ask the crown, I will ask Robert directly.”
Catelyn refused to let the matter drop.
“Asking Littlefinger would not necessarily mean borrowing from the crown. He is Master of Coin. He knows many channels for loans. Through him, we could borrow from Tyroshi trading companies, Myrish bankers, or the Iron Bank of Braavos.”
“I can contact those companies myself. Why do I need Littlefinger as a middleman?” Whenever Littlefinger’s name came up, all Ned felt was disgust.
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