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“Lord Eddard, I am very glad to serve you.”
In Winterfell’s solar, Kral, the financial steward from Braavos, wore a long robe of silver-white silk.
A pure gold chain hung at his throat, and his bracelets were set with emeralds, mother-of-pearl, agate, and ivory, glittering with extravagant color.
Kral was in his thirties, with thick black hair, a lean build, and eyes full of laughter.
Lord Wyman Manderly of White Harbor had recommended him to Ned.
He had worked for years at the Iron Bank of Braavos and for a Tyroshi trading company, and his experience was considerable.
Ned motioned for Kral to sit.
“You have had a long road. Was the journey smooth?”
Kral sat elegantly in the soft chair covered in black bearskin.
“The voyage from Braavos to White Harbor went smoothly, and the road from White Harbor to Winter Town caused us little trouble. But when we reached the market district of Winter Town, we met a thief. Thanks to Syrio Forel’s protection, he caught the thief. Otherwise, I would have lost a fair sum in gold dragons.”
Only then did Ned pay attention to Kral’s guard.
The man was small and lean, with a hooked nose, a bald head, a white shirt over black leather armor, and black breeches.
“I can see that Syrio Forel is an excellent fighter.”
Syrio Forel nodded to Ned.
Kral said, “Syrio Forel served the Sealord of Braavos for nine years as First Sword. He is also one of the finest water dancers alive. His agility and grace put every bravo in Braavos to shame.”
Winterfell needed excellent warriors.
Ned said, “Syrio, will you continue serving Kral?”
Syrio Forel shrugged.
“I fear I do not have that honor. Kral hired me only to escort him to Winterfell. We set out from Braavos, and now the journey is done.”
Ned asked, “What do you plan to do?”
Syrio Forel said, “I thought to visit Gulltown or King’s Landing. Rich merchants and nobles gather there. I might find employment.”
“Would you be interested in remaining at Winterfell?” Ned offered.
“Winterfell is not far from White Harbor, and White Harbor is the Westerosi city closest to Braavos. Here, you would still be near your homeland.”
Syrio Forel asked, “And what, precisely, would I do?”
Ned said, “Join Winterfell’s guard and protect my family. You may also teach my children swordplay.”
But Winterfell’s master-at-arms often had to help Jory Cassel drill the newly recruited soldiers of Winter Town, which sometimes delayed the children’s training.
Syrio Forel could share Ser Rodrik’s burden.
Syrio nodded his agreement.
“I cannot refuse Lord Eddard’s invitation. I am willing to serve Winterfell and House Stark.” Then Syrio Forel drew his blade, knelt, and swore his service to Ned.
Ned helped him to his feet.
“I promise you a place in my hall for as long as you remain.”
Ned summoned Vayon Poole, Winterfell’s steward, and told him to arrange quarters for Syrio Forel.
Once the door closed, Ned turned to Kral.
He intended to question the Braavosi thoroughly.
Hiring Kral would mean handing the accounts and economic plans of Winterfell, perhaps even of the North, to a foreigner.
“Master Kral, Lord Wyman recommended you. I am told you have rich experience in finance and commerce.”
In his letter, Wyman Manderly had listed some of Kral’s career, but Ned still preferred to ask for himself.
Kral toyed with a ring on his hand, its sapphire flashing.
“Lord Eddard, I began work at a Tyroshi trading house when I was sixteen. Three years later, I returned to Braavos and became an employee of the Iron Bank. I have spent twenty years in this trade.”
“What specific accomplishments do you have?” Experience mattered, but Ned believed experience alone was not enough.
Some soldiers reached white-bearded old age and remained soldiers, never commanders.
Confidence bloomed across Kral’s face.
“I handled many loans and deposits for the Iron Bank. My clients were spread across the Nine Free Cities and the Seven Kingdoms. The most famous among them was your king. Both King Robert and the Mad King Aerys had business pass through my hands.”
“Of course, I had other clients besides kings. The Archon of Tyrosh, the Prince of Pentos, Lord Gyles Rosby, Lord Renly Baratheon. Ah, and one northern client as well: the valiant knight of Bear Island, Ser Jorah Mormont.”
Ned’s face darkened.
“Jorah Mormont broke the law and fled. I have stripped him of his lands and titles.”
Kral looked as if he had been punched.
“What? My apologies, Lord Eddard. Bear Island lies across mountains and seas from Braavos. My news is not reliable. In truth, I did not know Ser Jorah well. I only lent him money on behalf of the Iron Bank, nothing more. What law did he break?”
Ned said, “Jorah Mormont sold poachers to slavers for coin. The North has always had no tolerance for traffickers. Wildlings, ironborn, and stoneborn raiders often abduct women and children. If lords also begin selling people, the population of the wide and thinly settled North will wither further.”
Kral pressed a theatrical hand to his heart.
“Only trafficking people. I was worried for a moment that Ser Jorah had taken an Iron Bank loan and raised a rebellion against Winterfell.”
Kral looked wounded.
“My ability was outstanding, yet the Iron Bank’s managers never liked me. They thought I acted too loudly, dressed too splendidly, and ran against the Iron Bank’s practical traditions. Was I meant to dress like one of your ragged Westerosi brothers of the Night’s Watch to discuss business? The managers were plainly targeting me.”
Ned did not understand.
“You resigned merely because of that?”
Kral curled his lip.
“Every year, the Iron Bank ranks its envoys. First place wins a mansion. I was often second or third. I remember one year, near year’s end, I ranked second, barely behind Gombos in performance. To pass him, I privately helped a Lysene slaver complete a loan.”
“Braavos descends from slaves who fled Valyria. The people of the Secret City hate the slave trade. As the greatest port in the known world, Braavos welcomes everyone except slavers. It not only forbids the slave trade in its own city, it also uses its powerful navy to force Pentos to abandon slavery, though certain powerful merchants and princes still keep slaves in secret.”
“I surpassed Gombos, received the Iron Bank’s reward as I wished, and took the keys to my mansion. On the first night my family and I held a feast there to celebrate, a troop of the Sealord’s soldiers smashed through the door and seized me. My loan to the slaver had been exposed. I suspect Gombos reported me. Shameless little man.”
“I lost my position and was thrown out by the Iron Bank. My family spent a fortune to ransom me out of punishment. In recent years, I have earned my living at the Braavosi harbor as a moneychanger and insurance broker.”
Ned was silent for a long time.
“Do you regret lending to a slaver?”
“Not at all,” Kral said calmly.
“I love money and will do what I must to earn it. I admit that. But I am not as hypocritical as the Iron Bank or Braavos’s rulers. They call themselves descendants of escaped slaves and claim to hate the slave trade, yet they still lend to Volantis, Lys, Tyrosh, and Myr, all slaveholding cities.”
“How is that different from lending to a slaver? In fact, only a few days after I was accused, the Iron Bank lent a large sum to a Lysene prince. Once that money reached Lys, it would be loaned onward to slavers. The upper men of Braavos have earned enough coin to sit on mountains of gold, so now they use morality to bind those beneath them, forbidding them this and that.”
A capable, polished scoundrel was always a risk to work with.
Ned realized that the day he announced Winter Town’s expansion, he had already stepped onto a road of risk.
Great sums of Winterfell’s gold had flowed out.
Vast accounts had to be managed.
Tens of thousands outside Winterfell’s walls had to eat.
Before winter came, he had to gather enough coin and grain.
Ned handed Kral the account sheets for the saltworks plan, the beehive plan, and the military settlements in the New Gift.
“From now on, you are my financial advisor. You will manage Winter Town’s accounts and help me shape economic policy. Lord Wyman recommended you, and I trust his eye.”
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