Chapter 10

A master of the law. It sounds good, but what's behind the name? Depending on the ruler, the position is either fictitious or (at best) advisory. A vivid proof of the "unprecedented importance" of this position is the long absence of an influential person in this place. As for the current monarch... John didn't really need her: the small council is already in his hands, and he knows the laws and customs of Westeros better than some. He didn't need a law advisor, he needed another Baratheon by his side. Well, one way or another, it's time for times to change. Especially now, when the goal is to engage the younger generation in useful work.

 Arryn dumped a lot of routine cases on me, first of all, forcing me to be present as an adviser at the trials under his presidency. I am surprised to note that in Westeros, noble personalities are very fond of bringing their squabbles to court, not at all inferior to the ancient Romans in this. Lords and lesser nobles like to sue to the point that their claims are sometimes brought to outright legal and everyday absurdity. When it comes to lords, their disputes are usually considered by a narrow circle of the small council, since they prefer not to go to the capital because of such nonsense. Moreover, many people would have to get from afar, putting aside much more pressing problems. And it is extremely rare for these lawsuits to reach the Red Castle in one form or another, since the high lords prefer to solve problems themselves at this level. As for the local nobility, from the Royal Lands, here, on the contrary, they almost never visit their de jure possessions, being in the capital all the time.

 Fruit trees, cows, pasture boundaries, tolls and other escaped peasants. Eternal disputes that often last for generations, fading and flaring up again and again. Such material, of course, is oppressive, but not to say that I would not be ready for it. Being well aware of my perspective, I initially devoted quite a lot of time to studying the laws and legal traditions of Westeros. It didn't cause me too many problems and questions – both my "lives" worked perfectly in tandem. On the one hand, there was a man who grew up in these lands and understood and accepted some aspects of law and custom as something native (and how else if he grew up in this culture and in a sufficiently educated environment for his time). On the other hand, there was a man from another era who could look much deeper and wider at such a system, because its essence, origins and further metamorphosis were literally in the textbook. However, it's not about the textbook, but about the teacher, who sparked interest so that the knowledge turned out to be more extensive than "well, four and thank God."

 To put it bluntly, the Westerosi legal culture has not yet reached the Napoleonic Code or even the Saxon Mirror. The legal system is voluminous, fragmented and in no way systematized or codified. Only a large array of individual highly specialized nominal laws that complement regional traditions that are not fixed in writing, and religious norms and customs that few people have been able to influence for three hundred years.

 At one time, Jeheiris I spent a lot of effort and money trying to restore order in this area. Not everything was successful, but the most important thing was that he managed to bring the royal laws to a single beginning and give impetus to the maesters to improve their knowledge of law, who, in turn, achieved great success by compiling hefty collections of laws concerning regions and peoples.

 The result is quite obvious – at this stage, the competition of legal norms and their interpretation rule the ball. The High Lords have to have a remarkable flair and knowledge of laws and customs in order to bring social justice in a noble society. Of course, sometimes their strength and knowledge are not enough, which is why disputes reach King's Landing.

 But despite such a huge array of disparate laws and legal norms, there is logic in them. And they themselves, for a man of the twenty-first century, do not differ in a very complex legal language. As I said earlier, it was not so difficult for me to figure them out on the sly and even almost not painful. Apparently, I greatly surprised Arren, who expected at least a higher entry threshold. It's nice, damn it, I'll tell you.

 In addition to such a work routine, the dungeon of the Red Castle, with all its guests and staff, was transferred to my control. The prison casemates of the capital are, of course, impressive. They inspire, in particular, the number of dungeons and cells overflowing with indescribable stenches. Considering that King's Landing is a huge city, the prison is always packed to the brim: murderers, thieves, rapists and other carrion, which is often stupidly forgotten. Which is also quite natural, if we take into account that no one really deals with them. Funding is small, there are few interrogators, executioners and jailers, and the same John Arryn, like his predecessor, devoted little time to the penitentiary system. Therefore, it is not uncommon for a person in prison to wait for punishment for many years, turning over time into a pathetic likeness of himself (and this against the background of a severe shortage of personnel in the Night Watch!). Officially, the head of the royal dungeon is the Royal Justice, the chief executioner of all Westeros, the silent Ilin Payne. As an executioner and master of torture, Payne is, of course, a real pro, but as an administrator and manager? Not very. Not really at all. I would like to put things in order and shake the dust off this wonderful institution, but even here it was not without the course of action recommended by the party (I translate: "half measures"). Yes, if earlier Payne carried out his activities, reporting directly to the right hand, now everything will go through me. But all the same, as I have repeatedly hinted, the chief executioner and his code of executioners and jailers are inviolable to me. Only the interrogators were left under my direct command, although I was aiming much higher. Yes, the city guard was never transferred under my control, rejecting in every possible way, and deploying a whole underhand game against me.

 But this does not mean that the game was completely fruitless. When passions reached the proper heat, and when it became clear that I could not win here, someone wise in the ranks or surrounded by opponents whispered that my noble self-esteem needed to throw a "bone", because even lesser infringements, as practice and life experience show, can then turn unpleasant. And who wants to pinch something for the lord? The king's brother? A man who, by right, damn it, bears the surname Baratheon and its inherent advantages and disadvantages? In general, omitting the lyrics, I managed to achieve the creation of a corps of justiciars under my patronage and, importantly, managed to get the appropriate funding and small things-services that would facilitate the new department's first steps. As long as I don't talk about controlling the guards anymore.

 "Corps," however, is a big word. So, a few dozen people and a staff of clerks, but this is just the beginning. All that remains is to organize everything and recruit competent people. And there was a certain difficulty with this.

 I decided to recruit the main staff from prison interrogators who have the necessary specific knowledge. The interrogators are very interesting citizens. This unusual caste includes people with certain skills and methods, and they come mainly from the noble class. There are few of them, and they have the status of... "restless". For almost fifty years now, they have been working without direct supervision, without a lord interrogator. They report to the right hand or the master of the whisperers, they receive salary and allowances from the chief executioner, then there, then here. The Lord Interrogator has not been appointed since the time of Dayron II, apparently having completely forgotten about this position. Of course, this had a noticeable effect on the effectiveness of the interrogators as an independent investigative body.

So, with ordinary personnel, everything is more or less clear. The most important thing now is to find a manager so that the machine starts working at least and shows in practice what needs to be adjusted and where. A leader who is able to act on my behalf and in the way that I need. I have some ideas, all that remains is…

"Lord Renly... my Lord!

 A smooth, smiling voice brought me out of the cascade of thoughts. Startled, as if from a dream, I looked around. There was almost no one left in the small council hall, only Pycelle was jingling his chains in the corridor, and Baelish was gathering, packing his writing materials and slyly looking at me with understanding.

"The meeting of the small council has already ended, my lord.

- I was thinking hard. So what did they decide about the northern pastures of Rosby?

- Nothing yet. The arguments have been going on for a very long time, ever since the Darklin House was destroyed," the Lord Treasurer informed me with a scholarly look, "and the neighbors still share their inheritance, despite the fierce hostility and opposition of the Rikers.

- No matter how the armed confrontation begins.

"It also worries the small council, but"-Baelish, finally gathering himself together, and taking his ledger under his arm, stood up from the table-"fortunately for us, neither Lord Rosby nor the Stockworths can boast of determination. But you are…

 Baelish's eyes brightened again. He seemed pleased to switch to any topic unrelated to the meeting that had just ended. Well, let's play along.

- What, me?

"You look tired, Lord Renly.

- Really ... a lot has been piling on me lately, – I replied to the intriguer with a sincere, tired smile, - so many things, so many worries.

- I understand you perfectly, - Petyr's smile changed, becoming softer, even benevolent, - You should rest and relax. You know, I heard that Lord Tyrion is hosting a dinner party. And I think he won't mind if you honor him with your presence.

"The Tyrion?" – it would be interesting to look at the Imp.

- That's him, – the master of the coin smiled even wider.

- It's interesting, I won't hide it. What kind of place is this?

"You haven't been there yet," Baelish squinted slyly.

- Oh, you could have guessed it yourself, - and already in the back of the departing Little Finger, - Lord Baelish, wait.

 Littlefinger turned around, looking at me with expectation and interest.

- About the dinner party. Accept my invitation and become my guest in a couple of days, I want to show off my new chef to you.

"I would be honored, my Lord." Littlefinger bowed, hiding his eyes from me this time.

***

Katai Brothel, located on Silk Street, has been considered a privileged place since the time of the Mad King. The best, as it is considered, and, accordingly, the most expensive sexual services in the whole city. And if Baelish brothels take the availability of services for every taste and purse, then Kataya occupied an exclusively premium niche in which the ancient craft was brought to art. Well, the bet has played out - among the visitors of this institution are the most noble and wealthy citizens and guests of the capital, as well as the king himself, who has become a visitor as regular as the schedules of his royal duties and equally monarchical hangovers allow. The latter factor led to the fact that the Katai brothel acquired a truly reinforced concrete roof.

 From the outside, the brothel was a pretty two-story house, over the door of which a round lantern made of red glass and gilded was fervently burning. They were already waiting for me inside. The visitor, of course, and not me specifically. A young girl in a beautiful semi-transparent dress with a typical Middle-Russian appearance of a European brunette.

- Dear guest, unfortunately…

 Unfortunately, I never found out what was there, because I was most likely recognized. I may never have been here, but I was dressed to be recognized – a richly embroidered doublet in black and gold tones and the emblems of the House.

"Please come in, my lord." I will inform the lady.

 The girl immediately flew away, while a servant jumped up to me, taking my cloak and hat. Putting my hands behind my back, I entered the common room, where instead of a dinner party I saw something completely different. However, this did not surprise me, I did not fall for the chirping of the Little Finger and knew perfectly well where and to whom I was going. And first of all, I was driven by curiosity and a desire to meet an extremely interesting person.

 The hall was quite spacious, the floor was laid out in a high-quality mosaic of two ebony girls intertwined in love ecstasy. The hall was divided into sections by carved panels, through which much could be seen, and the kumar of incense was in the air. At the same time, the hall was full of people standing, sitting and lying down, singing along and sycophants of the younger son of the Old Lion, around whom girls of various degrees of dress circled like bees, but all, without exception, endowed with a bright and unusual appearance.

 I didn't have time to really look around, as a beautiful dark-skinned woman gracefully walked towards me, whose age was quite difficult for me to determine due to racial differences. Dressed in multicolored transparent silks, she is tall and, apparently, very flexible.

"Lord Renly! – Kataya, and who else could it be, smiled gently and invitingly, bowing gracefully, - it is a great honor for me to welcome you to my humble establishment.

- As for me, Lady Kataya, - coming a little closer, he kissed the outstretched hand in time, - I had heard a lot about the beautiful and wonderful place in King's Landing, but I did not have enough time to visit it. To this day.

 Gently taking my arm, Kataya slowly led me to the end of the hall, where it was a little noisier.

"I daresay I should thank Lord Tyrion for your visit."

- That's right. I took the advice of a good friend of mine-if that's what you can call Baelish-and decided to attend this event.

 At the end of the hall, behind several screens, on a soft ottoman, near a low (Turkish, if our way) table, in an undershirt, a dwarf was sprawled, surrounded on both sides by girls who fed him grapes and dried fruits. There were a couple of his companions nearby, or just convenient "parasites", feeding from Tyrion's table and hiding their true attitude... if it is possible to hide such a thing from such an astute person. Or I've thought too much and it's just "passing by" distinguished guests.

"Oh, oh," the dwarf drawled, already clearly drunk on wine, "what an honor! The master of the law himself visited such a wonderful place! I've heard a lot... please, my lord. Join us. At my expense, as much wine as you can drink, and any girl or even a few.

 Tyrion was waist-high, with short legs peeking out of his nightgown, but his arms were strong and muscular with large, ring-topped fingers. Her head was crowned with pale gold hair mixed with black, which together made them look like a dirty mop. The face is crooked and blurred, the eyes are of different colors, one green, the other black. Yes, not Dinklage at all.

- But, unfortunately for you, - the dwarf's mouth broke into a crooked grin, showing uneven teeth, - Lady Katai does not offer boys, but anything happens! Perhaps one of the guests will agree to help you.

 Tyrion laughed loudly and contagiously (I, however, developed immunity dramatically) at his own joke, supported by his surroundings.

- I am flattered by such hospitality, Lord Tyrion, - after waiting for another ottoman to be dragged to our table by the servants of the brothel, he lay down importantly, - but first clarify if by any chance your wife is among these lovely whores, otherwise I would not like to put you in such an awkward position.

 The dwarf's face twisted with laughter stuck in his throat, his eyes burned with anger. And what did you want, my dear?

- Kha, kha, kha, - having mastered his emotions, the Little lion laughed again, - wine! Wine for us!

 While the dwarf was being courted by two beauties, a girl with an appearance I had not yet seen approached me with a cup and a jug. Silver hair, green eyes, and skin like porcelain. Although diluted, it is clearly Valyrian blood.

- Sir, - the girl handed me a filled cup and gently, almost weightlessly settled down next to me, - my name is Mareya, and today I will take care of you.

 The girl had a model appearance both in appearance and touch. High breasts between the second and third sizes, a thin waist and a ripe ass. In general, all the excellent epithets addressed to her.

"Hmm," came an exclamation from the dwarf, "it's hot, but she liked you, my lord.

- Does this surprise you? He returned Tyrion's smug grin.

- Not at all! – and the dwarf raised his hand with a cup, - let's drink to the acquaintance. To the bottom!

 And we drank a good, fortified Arbor wine. The cup was drained, there was a slight buzz in my head, but that's okay, we are experienced citizens.

"I must admit," Tyrion spoke again, "I wonder if the rumors are true.

- Which ones exactly?

- That you can drink too much of a Demon? The dwarf laughed, not taking his eyes off me.

- Ha! So you can check it out here and now!

 We had a drink. They drank again, again and again...

***

Thirst. Persistently and greedily she pulled me out of the realm of Morpheus. I was desperately thirsty. Having opened my eyelids with difficulty, I began to examine the room in which I woke up. A small room, the entire space of which was occupied by a four–poster bed - you can safely say "nothing superfluous." Gradually, feelings of discomfort and cramped limbs began to reach the brain, which is not surprising. Young woman. Girl… What about her? Marea, I think. Naked and with a satisfied smile, this anaconda wrapped around me.

 After kissing the girl on the nose and untangling the seductive limbs, I threw on a shirt and went in search of life-giving moisture. As it soon turned out, I woke up on the second floor of the entertainment establishment. After descending the spiral staircase, a common room was waiting for me. To my surprise, the hall was completely empty. Apparently, not everyone has enough money to stay in such an institution for the night, even when the son of the richest man in the kingdom pays for you. All the decorative partitions were folded and removed, and several high round tables were placed in the hall, between which the girls were fussing, cleaning the room after yesterday's "dinner party".

"Good morning, Lord Renly.

 Tyrion was having breakfast at one of the tables, sitting on a high chair. Unlike me, he is already fully dressed and sporting a doublet in the colors of his house.

- Or rather, "good afternoon." Please join us.

 Without thinking for a long time, he accepted the dwarf's offer, keeping him company. At the same moment, a girl ran up to me.

- Just water, darling.

- What modesty, my lord. – the Imp grunted with pleasure, draining his cup, - especially for a man who drank so much yesterday.

- Well, did I manage to overdo the demon yesterday? – without listening to the answer, I intercepted the jug of lemon water brought by the girl and began to drink from it in large gulps.

"Ha, well, no," the dwarf drawled smugly, without taking his eyes off the jug, "but you were close, very close. Dangerously close even – I already thought that "everything", all my fame as a champion of wine would go to another. But in another field, I must admit, you were much more successful – half the night the guests and I listened to the contented moaning of Mareya. No one thought, including me, that she was capable of expressing such vivid emotions. As I have noted many times, girls with Valyrian blood are not so hot in bed, and in general they are more suitable for pleasing the eyes. That's what I thought. However, you have changed my mind.

"Live and learn forever, Lord Tyrion.

- An apt expression. I've never heard of him. Where is it from?

"I don't even remember anymore," he lied without hesitation.

- I'm sorry, - the dwarf was really a little upset, - and maybe I should apologize?

"For what, my lord?"

 Up to this point, everything was going more or less as expected, but still the Devil was able to surprise me.

- For yesterday's first words. I admit it was ugly, but in my defense I can refer to the fact that I was drunk.

"In that case, you will forgive me, Lord Tyrion. My words were cruel.

 Having uttered the last words, I extended my hand to the dwarf, which, after hesitating for a couple of moments, he shook firmly.

"Ah, how nice," Tyrion poured himself a glass of wine from a jug, "brothels bring people together so much. But I beg your pardon, my lord, I am plagued by a question that has sunk deep into my soul and has not let go until now. Just don't be offended, please.

- Okay, - I sighed heavily, expecting another caustic mockery, now with a hint of friendly banter – ask.

- Tell me what it's like, well ... to be with a man, – and this attentively expectant look with a sarcastic smile on duty.

"Disgusting," I replied as indifferently as possible.

 The silence that hung for a moment was broken – the Imp's palm, without a shred of pity for our collective hangover, slammed loudly on the table. The multicolored eyes were wide open and sought to drill somewhere into the soul, their owner at first just frowned, and then acquired an extremely indignant and at the same time joyful look.

- I knew it!!!

 After another, less dramatic pause, my interlocutor's acting gave up and crumbled under his laughter.

"It's not for nothing that I didn't fall for all these youthful charms!

- yes. However, I will take advantage of a convenient moment, - I decided to deepen our communication with the dwarf, - I would like to take your advice, Lord Tyrion.

"Mine?" – in surprise, the Demon stared at me with his multicolored eyes, and at the same moment gathered himself and acquired an extremely important look, - kh, I will try to help.

"I plan to visit Dragonstone soon, to visit my brother and niece. But I can't find the right gifts for the girl.

- Ahem, and I don't know how to help you, I'm weak in such things.

"So am I." But I know that Shireen, despite the fact that she is only seven, already reads well and loves this business very much.

"Oh, I get it," Tyrion perked up, rubbing his palms together impatiently, "you need to pick up books that will be interesting to a reading child.

"You got the point right, my lord.

- Okay, I think I can help you. How much time do I have?

- Two weeks.

"Fine, I'll send a servant when everything is ready," the dwarf nodded hurriedly, mentally already picking up books.

- Thank you very much, my lord, you will help me out a lot. – It remains only to thank Tyrion, who was quickly lost in his thoughts.

***

Dark cotton wool clouds came from the east and covered the sky to the horizon, bringing down a prolonged downpour on the capital and multiplying any activity by zero. The streets are almost deserted, the shops are closed, and the taverns are full of bored crooks. In such weather, I would sit by the fireplace and drink herbal tea with cypress or rosehip, but things are not waiting, and good people should not be kept waiting long.

 I borrowed a simpler carriage from the royal stable and went to the city. The carriage wound through the streets of the capital, turning heavily in the narrow alleys. Someone might have the impression that I was trying to cover my tracks. Partly. In fact, it became interesting for me to play conspiracy and tickle the huge conceit of the main intriguers of the capital.

 Passing by a narrow alley, I, and a couple of my guards, jumped out of the cart, having previously put on thick raincoats and wide-brimmed hats. After sneaking through a couple of narrow streets, we came out into the ill-fated alley in which the Mermaid tavern stood. After I rented this place from Sirena, it was never opened for its intended purpose, and so far there is no need. Approaching the door, I knocked the agreed number of times and, after a few seconds, the door opened, and an elderly warrior with a short beard looked at our company.

"My Lord," the warrior bowed and moved away from the door, allowing us to enter the room.

 Unlike my previous visit, the tavern was empty and dark. There were a couple of warriors and servants in the main hall, and a couple of dimly shining lanterns on the tables.

- Sir! Trevor hurried out of the door into the utility room, bowing low, "I'm glad to welcome you.

 Trevor. In the six months that I have not seen him, the merchant has changed dramatically, both in habits and in appearance. The merchant's face, framed by a neatly trimmed beard, shone with a healthy blush. The image was completed by a rich, fur-lined caftan (more for beauty than need) and a modest beret.

- Hello, my friend, - the hat is off in greeting, - I hope you didn't keep me waiting too long.

- No, my lord, - Trevor stepped back a little, making an inviting gesture with his right hand, pointing towards the interior, - we were ready to wait as long as it took.

 The leader of the seven led me through a short and winding corridor and led me to the kitchen... or rather, what was it. The dishes and other utensils were removed, the stoves were extinguished, and in the center of the room (what is happening in which it is also problematic to eavesdrop) A long narrow table was set up, around which eight chairs were placed: one at the head, the others on both sides. There were already six men at the table, who stood up when we appeared.

 Six men of different ages, fate and appearance. With a nod of greeting, I took my place at the head of the table, while Trevor sat next to me, on the right hand. There were several candles burning in bowls on the table, two jugs and eight clay cups. Putting his hat in front of him, he carefully examined the assembled audience and met with no less appreciative and attentive eyes.

 Old and young, tired and full of defiance to the world. Different. The sharks of medieval business who have been selected and fiercely competitive, who have walked on the edge of a knife more than once. Survivors in the harsh abyss of events that sometimes do not give a second chance. Hungry, angry and dangerous. Trevor told me about each of them in his letters (and in detail), but this was the first time I had seen them all.

"Gentlemen," a welcoming smile crept onto his face, "I'm glad to finally meet you personally. I know your names, but not your faces. Please introduce yourself in order to understand who is who.

"Oswald Arquirth, my lord," the rather young man sitting on Trevor's right hand stood up first. His face was clean-shaven, there was a mole under his right eye, dark hair mixed with sparse shoulder-length gray. His face is elongated and his eyebrows are very high, which makes Oswald look eternally surprised.

 Oswald Arquirth from the Rainy Forest. A hereditary merchant from Sorrowful, an old and trusted friend, and a companion of Combe. Before the "recruitment", he had several workshops where artisans made chests and other furniture. He held a good position and had a significant status in the local guild. Now, thanks to my patronage, he has become the head of the merchant guild of the Grieving Town.

"Malcolm Black, sir," a man in all black stood up next. An all-black robe coupled with a stern, unbiased face. Just like Oswald, clean-shaven. Medium length and coal-dark hair.

 Malcolm Black from Hull. A dealer in materials for the construction and repair of ships in the first generation. The grandson of a freed slave from a Volantian galley and the son of a shipwright who successfully married the daughter of a small trader. According to Trevor, he is a rather tough man, who at one time faced the betrayal of his maternal relatives, who almost let him go around the world. To this day, because of this story, he has strained relations with the merchants of Driftmark.

"Theobald of Stone, my Lord-that's it, no more and no less. A man with a hard, shaved face and a prickly look. Her hair is the color of red copper, long enough to cover her ears.

 Theobald the Stone of the Grey Fortress. The Stone Dornish. He was born and raised on an island in the Dornish Sea, three hundred kilometers from the Grieving One, in the family of a penal servitude manager on the island. And everything was fine and it would have remained that way, but at some obscure moment, my father was executed either for theft or for the slave trade. According to Theobald, however, everything was exactly the opposite. It was the executed man who uncovered something illegal on the island, which earned him a sentence. And then even the young Theo had to take care of his family, mother and three sisters, starting at the same time to sell processed stone, marble and other materials. It was my desire to expand the Storm Limit that brought Theobald and Trevor together.

"Herbert Butcher, my lord," the man who was already sitting on my left hand stood up. A fat but sturdy man. Short red hair with gray at the temples, fluffy mustache.

 Herbert Butcher of Harrenton. A descendant of the hedge knights, who traded mainly corned beef, bacon, fat, leather and salt. He made a name for himself as a trader with an iron business grip and a good feel. Good, but not perfect – chuika still let him down. Herbert had the temerity to lend a tidy sum to Lord Cox, and the audacity to demand repayment. So he faced serious problems and the danger of ruin, if not for my timely financial assistance. Well, Lord Cox owes me now.

- Sir, Hugh Weinbug, at your service, is a man of a decent age, his whole head is covered with thinning gray hair, gray mustache.

 Hugh Weinbug from Raemport, a wine merchant in an unknown generation, but also faced with tragedy and betrayal. The daughter, along with her boyfriend, stole a fortune from an old merchant one fine night, accumulated over the whole life of the old man, and went to Essos. And for a year now, Hugh and his son have been trying to get out of the shit.

"My Lord, Ethan Crowe is the last one. A man, not much younger than Weinbug. A short haircut of gray hair, an impressive snow-white beard. An obese body wrapped in many layers of clothing. The most important thing is tenacious and very attentive eyes.

 Ethan Crowe from Oldtown. Another white crow. The illegitimate fruit of the love of a young maester and the daughter of a wealthy merchant. Soon, as a warning, Ethan's father was sent to serve as a maester on the Wall, and Ethan inherited his grandfather's business. Crowe found himself the controversial fame of a dealer in mystical goods and books from the East. Alchemical and simply rare reagents, books and other talmudic books with a braid of human skin and even bodies and live test subjects for experimenters from the Citadel. But all these are just rumors spread by competitors... well, according to Trevor. Ethan married a freed slave from Myrrh and has a large family (several children and grandchildren). Careful, attentive, well-educated and, apparently, a network of informants. He reached out to Trevor on his own and offered cooperation in exchange for financial support. Rumors are rumors, and the reputation of him and his family was spoiled, which eventually affected his financial well-being.

 Great. So we met, and I personally saw the people who are going to build my trading empire. Are they loyal to me? More likely yes than no. They are as faithful as people who have been saved from ruin and oblivion, abandoned and betrayed, can be. People with gloomy prospects. I gave them money and a bit of power in their hands, they used the gifts wisely, multiplying and strengthening them. In other words, after passing the test. It's worth remembering that there were more of them... much more. But they failed. Someone could not cope with greed, greed, their vile nature, and someone was a fool at all. And I did not seek to cultivate absolute loyalty in these practical and tough people. No, the best loyalty is loyalty to yourself and your comrades.

 In the process of its formation, the "seven" did many unpleasant things towards their colleagues who decided to betray the common cause. These men are already tied up in blood, which has a certain effect on the psychology of the male collective. But not with a single blood! Mutual benefit also has its importance. During these six months, they earned more money than in the entire life of each of them. And the generous interest on my part has firmly instilled this feeling. And at the same time, right now they need me no less, if not more, than I need them. During these six months, so many tails and trunks have been trampled by them that without my patronage, I'm afraid sooner or later their lives will begin to end extremely tragically.

- I am glad to meet you, gentlemen, - I took the floor in my turn, - you know me very well. Before we get down to business, dear Master Combe mentioned that some of you have questions for me. I'm listening to you.

"Lord Renly," Oswald rose slightly from his seat after a short pause, "we have recently encountered certain difficulties in the Grieving and the Red Watch. Lord Whitehead, or rather his people, began to interfere quite often in the internal affairs of the guild, offering the lord to increase the amount of duties on all trade. In the Red Watch, in turn, the galleys of the House of Svann began to detain our merchant barges more and more, demanding colossal levies, and sometimes confiscating cargo.

 It seems that the gentlemen-my lords could not resist looking at the trade growing more and more right under their noses, and decided to take a bite. No piece of paper with my coat of arms helps here.

"I heard you, Oswald. I'll fix all the problems, you can be sure. In the meantime, fulfill all the requirements of the local lords, no matter what losses it eventually turns out to be. After a short pause, he continued, "How are the preparations for the expedition going?"

 Awareness of the upcoming events and their inexorable advance led me to an unequivocal conclusion: a large, strong and professional army is needed. To create and maintain a combat-ready state that needs money, a lot of money. The companies created by Lonmouth and Kensington proved this perfectly. It seemed like take control of all the trade routes of the Stormy Lands and voila! Here's some much-needed money for you! But reality, as usual, is full of nuances and disappointments. Unfortunately, the trade turnover in Stormy Lands cannot boast of large volumes and significant absolute figures. Translated into monetary terms, the annual trade volume of my lands can be estimated at thirty to forty thousand dragons, of which I can send no more than a third to my treasury. Is it a lot or a little? For the Iron Islands – a huge fortune, for the capital – just a prize for the winner of the tournament or, for example, a little more than a month's maintenance of the Royal Navy. In the capital, Old Town and Lannisport, more money is spent per month than in all Stormy Lands per year and, considering the above, if you think about it, then all my movements aimed at curbing trade routes in a separate, relatively small region, without large cities, does not look very promising. In fact, at the moment I'm not buying that much, if I'm not working at a loss at all. Why did the need to make super profits come to the fore, and not instantaneously, but regularly.

In the current circumstances, the choice of action matrices is very limited. Marriage and military campaign are out of the question. Yes, I will most likely receive either a relatively large dowry or spoils of war, half of which I will spend on expenses incurred in the process of preparing for the campaign (and this is at best). It seemed like that was all the options, but no, there is another one. Trading. Not parochial, often barter and with minimal cash output, but global, international trade in rare expensive goods with high liquidity.

 Although, it would seem, charter a bigger ship, load it with goods and go ahead to conquer foreign markets! But in other countries, they are not fools either. Everything has already been divided, and each trading hub has its own shobla. And yes, they may not really love each other, but you? They dislike you, Andalian mug, even more.

 However, a window of opportunity is always open for the desperate and daring, and if Peter the Great cut a window to the west, then I will cut a window to the south. Summer Islands is my goal. A large archipelago with a very difficult history, excellent prospects and unrealized potential, which is now in decline and degradation.

 The Summer Islands are on the fringes of world trade. The archipelago is separated from Westeros and Essos by the Summer Sea, although, in fact, you are dealing with a real ocean here. Despite the friendly name, the sea is treacherous and dangerous, which objectively limits the accessibility of the region (primarily its accessibility for trade). For single-deck ships, the islands are completely out of reach. But even this is not the reason for the decline in the region, but the progressive feudal fragmentation. At the dawn of their history, the Letnians created a powerful state, which included the entire archipelago, and now almost every village has its own prince. The feudal mass has grown, splitting into separate proud principalities, even small and poor islands. This phenomenon immediately affected the economy and trade. The only thing that connected the Summer Islands and the rest of the world were the Swan Ships. Large multi-deck ships with advanced sailing armament made of rare and expensive wood species, which endow the vessel with excellent seaworthiness characteristics. The grandfather of all local variations of carracks and galleons. It is still an unsurpassed peak and a very expensive toy. Incredibly expensive. So much so that only the lords of the large islands could afford them, of which there were fewer and fewer.

 Now, three hundred years have passed since the united Letnian state ceased to exist, and Swan Ships, real Swan ships, have become almost a legend. No, of course, the Letnians continue to build some ships and even continue to call these ships Swan ships, but they don't have much in common with "those" ones. A tribute to tradition and nothing more. Competencies are lost, and the last craftsmen who remember how to enchant wood for a real Swan ship are living out their days.

 With the disappearance of large ships, the trade routes laid by the Letnians themselves withered and died out. The archipelago found itself in a situation of semi-isolation. Now, instead of trading directly and receiving the lion's share of profits, Letnian merchants, who are able to equip ships less seaworthy than before, and in smaller numbers, are forced to trade through the nearest uncontrolled trading hubs. The main one is Volantis, which pulls over most of the Summer exports and imposes favorable prices on the latter. Gradually ruining and enslaving dark-skinned merchants who are unable to break the bonds of the Volantian monopoly in the western part of the Summer Sea. In fact, the majority of Letnian merchants are forced to trade exclusively with Volantis, living and trading on his loans.

 Volantis, in turn, receiving spices, valuable wood, pearls and gems from the Summer Islands at a minimum price, with a tenfold markup, sends these goods all over the world. And the Letnians are forced to use the proceeds to buy iron, copper, tin and other strategically important handicrafts in Volantis, the severe shortage of which has long been another unsolvable problem on the Summer Islands.

 It would seem that the Letnians are an island people, get on a ship and trade wherever you want, but even here everything is not so simple. Of course, some (richer) merchants and princes, under whose rule large cities do just that – equip individual ships and sail to Braavos, King's Landing and Lannisport. But the bulk of the Letnians can't afford it. Frankly speaking, in Tyrosh, Lys and Myrrh, the attitude towards the Letnians is the same as in Volantis, and the methods are the same. I smell a conspiracy.

 A very developed piracy also plays a special role, completely blocking trade for the Summer Islands with the Far East, since the Basilisk Islands are a three-day sea voyage from the archipelago under discussion. Pirate gangs regularly visit the islands, robbing, killing and capturing slaves, and a couple of years ago they completely captured and ravaged one of the major cities of the archipelago. As a result, the archipelago became the main and regular supplier of slaves to the slave market. To date, the Summer Islands, as a kind of community, are in a severe protracted crisis, from which there is no way out.

 And here I am, so beautiful. I came up with the idea to take over part of the trade routes for myself. Considering that the late Medieval era is now in the yard, and I will have a serious time reserve at my disposal until Volantis and other free cities understand what is happening. The plan is relatively simple – to establish direct trade with the Summer Islands. I have in abundance everything that the Letnians need so much: metals and derivatives from them, they have what I need: luxury goods, which not only Westeros needs, but also the free cities themselves, for which I can get super profits. Everyone is happy. This is if everything is simplified.

 To begin with, several expeditions, officially diplomatic and scientific, will be prepared and sent. To do this, I have already written to the Citadel with an offer to join the expedition to the research masters. The ships in the expedition will be packed with gifts for princes and expensive metal products, they decided to abandon the idea of stupidly carrying raw materials for now. After conducting a good diplomatic and economic reconnaissance, we will proceed to the second phase of our plan to colonize... ahem, to include the Summer Islands in international trade, and also prepare for a retaliatory strike by all interested Volantian bastards.

"If I may, my lord," Black took the floor, "the day after tomorrow I will head to Braavos. As one of my friends mentioned, a local tycoon died of stomach cramps, and his numerous heirs and creditors have already stolen all his property. However, while still alive and well, this merchant ordered the busting of the upper decks and the keeling of one of his galleons. But the trouble is, the heirs do not have enough funds to complete repairs and buy out the ship. With Master Combe's permission, I have already made a deposit for the ship, and my people are negotiating with the heirs and creditors to buy out the rights to the ship.

"And how much will the ship cost us?"

"Consider it half price, my lord, not counting the cost of the repairs done, but only... two and a half thousand dragons.

 Holy shit. Almost nine kilograms of gold!

- Ahem, - he involuntarily cleared his throat, trying not to betray his surprise, - how long can it take?

"No more than two months, I think. This is taking into account the time for the selection of the distillation team and the transportation of the payment.

- Not bad.

It's really not bad, there's still time to prepare. And as for the cost of the ship, the galleon is not a cheap ship. We were lucky that the ship itself was not fresh, and we did not have to order the construction of the vessel from scratch, otherwise the costs would have increased significantly.

"My Lord, allow me," Ethan Crowe leaned forward slightly, "I'm afraid one ship won't be enough. Even a ship as big as the Braavosian galleon.

- I understand, Mr. Crowe. There will be ships, I will take care of that.

"As you say, my lord."

- So, let's continue... - again, I took the floor.

***

- How's Cindy doing?

 After completing the meeting of the "masons", Trevor accompanied me to the exit.

"Ahem, my lord," Combe looked away awkwardly, "he's going to get married."

- Get married? Trevor winced slightly under my gaze.

 Trevor looked up at me in surprise. Did you really think that I couldn't share?

- Who is the chosen one?

"Master Hugh's son is a good young man.

- Not bad, not bad. Give them my best wishes. Of course, I have a gift for the young.

- I'm sure they will appreciate it.

 Ha, you bet.