Moll stopped at the doors of the Great Sept and looked up.
Jon followed her gaze to the coloured windows. Their light lay across the marble floor, broken by the shadows of people moving towards the altars. Somewhere beyond the pillars a boy was singing. Moll had scrubbed her hands so thoroughly that her knuckles were pink; now she hid them beneath her arms.
"You can hold mine," Septa Meriane told her.
"I'm not frightened."
The septa offered it anyway. Moll took two fingers and went with her.
The queen's answer had reached Jon after dawn. Cersei would hear prayers at the Great Sept that morning and give alms afterwards. Meriane might receive the children's gifts; those well enough to accompany her would be welcome. Their names would not be proclaimed. It was less than Cersei had first asked and more than Jon had offered. Meriane had agreed to come. Moll had wanted to see the queen, and one of the older boys had asked to go with her. Both knew the others would receive their share at home.
Wylla had stayed with Will and the other children. Marrec's two hired women were helping her, but Meriane was not yet willing to leave them in sole charge.
Lord Guncer Sunglass joined them near the Mother's altar. He had left Matthos with Ser Vaelor for the promised morning's riding. Here his attention was elsewhere. He touched the star at his throat and bowed his head while Meriane helped Moll set a taper among the others.
"For Will," the girl whispered.
"And the others," Meriane said.
Moll thought about that, then nodded. She watched the wick catch until the flame stood straight.
Arthur remained beside Jon. The bells had ceased, but the last notes seemed to linger beneath the high roof. Along the benches, work-worn hands closed over one another. A woman with a sleeping child leaned against her husband while the septons sang. Jon could see where someone had mended the man's sleeve with thread of a different colour.
Lady Tanda Stokeworth sat with her daughters a little way down the bench. Falyse gathered her mother's skirts out of the way, and Lollys patted the place beside her for Moll. She glanced up at Jon and ventured a smile. When he smiled back she went pink to the ears and turned quickly to Moll. "You can see the queen from here," she whispered. Moll took the place.
Cersei rose from her cushion near the front. Joffrey stood when she did, smoothing the breast of his crimson coat. Margaery Tyrell had the place nearest him across the aisle. She leaned towards him with a smile, and the prince bent his head to answer her. Jon could hear neither of them over the singing. As Joffrey straightened, Margaery caught Jon's eye and gave him a small, shy smile before her mother, Lady Alerie, touched her sleeve. The High Septon had risen to speak. Sandor Clegane kept his place beyond the royal party, his burned face turned towards the doors.
"Your Grace, some of the children in Septa Meriane's care are too sick to climb our steps this morning. The blankets you have sent will reach them before nightfall. We thank you for remembering them. May the Mother watch over your own children."
"And our thanks to you, Lord Black. There are women on Dragonstone who can put their children to bed tonight knowing that no master can sell them away in the morning. Your ships brought those families safely to shore. May the Seven keep the men who sailed them."
"Here in the city, a mother with a sick child knows where to find Septa Meriane. I would wish as much for a woman newly come ashore at Blackburn, with a babe in her arms and scarce a word of our tongue. Two good women have offered to cross the water for the sake of such families. When his lordship sends for them, may the Mother grant them safe passage."
When. Apparently his refusal had settled everything but the tide. Jon almost smiled. The old man knew better than to ask him twice for the same thing. This time he would let Guncer ask. Across the aisle Margaery's grandmother, Lady Olenna, was watching Jon. Had she heard about the keeper he'd refused at Blackburn?
Render unto Caesar the things which are Caesar's. Fine words. Even Aegon had counted his reign from the day the High Septon anointed him at Oldtown. Jon would have liked to hear His High Holiness say whose business it was to choose a schoolmaster on Dragonstone. If the two of them could differ over that while Jon was still a boy lord, they would have plenty to say to one another when he was king.
"I have a favour to ask of the rest of you," the High Septon went on. "When the bread is given out today, look about you. Perhaps someone who used to climb this hill with you has lately ceased to come. If you know him to be sick, take a loaf for him. If you have quarrelled and would sooner he did not know who brought it, tell one of my brothers where he lives. We can keep a little secret for the Mother's sake."
The woman with the sleeping child smiled at that. Her husband bent his head to hear what she whispered.
"Let us kneel."
The High Septon prayed for the king, his queen and their children. Voices answered him from the benches. When he spoke of the Mother's mercy, Meriane joined without looking to see who heard. Guncer's eyes were closed. Jon bowed his head while the others made the responses.
Outside, servants had set baskets of bread beneath an awning. The queen's men kept a way clear on the steps, allowing the poor to come forward in small groups. Joffrey was given a purse of coins. He glanced at his mother, then let a piece fall into the first woman's palm.
She caught his fingers and bent to kiss them. Joffrey drew his hand away. Her husband was still lowering himself onto one knee, one hand braced upon his stick.
"There are others waiting," Joffrey said.
Cersei offered the woman her own hand. She heard the blessings to the end, then told a servant to see that the couple had bread. As they moved on, Jon saw her put that hand behind her. An attendant was ready with a cloth.
Jon glanced at Sandor and remembered Joffrey with dung in his golden hair, screaming for the Hound while stones flew over the gold cloaks.
Meriane approached when the queen beckoned. Two servants brought folded blankets, cloth for the promised clothes and a covered basket. The garments still had to be cut to the children's measurements. Cersei explained that to the septa herself, as though there could be no question of sending them ill-fitting things.
"And the cakes," Joffrey said.
He glanced over at Margaery as he lifted the cloth from the basket. Moll leaned forward before remembering where she was.
"Honey cakes, as I promised."
"Thank the prince," Meriane murmured.
Moll thanked him, then looked at the basket again. "Can I take one for Will?"
"You can take the basket," Joffrey said. "That is what it is for."
The boy beside her laughed. Moll gave him a sharp look, but she was smiling when the servant helped her lift the handle. Meriane quickly took the other side. Neither child was asked to tell the court what had happened to them.
"They are in better spirits than your letter led me to fear," Cersei said to Jon.
"These two are, Your Grace. Others could not come."
"Then I am glad we could give them something to look forward to."
He thanked her, and Joffrey. She had yielded on the names and the attendance. In return, Jon stood beside her while Meriane blessed the royal children and people on the steps called thanks to the queen.
The High Septon joined them, supported by a young attendant. Sunlight struck the crystals of his crown.
"Will you show me which children are in your care, daughter?" the High Septon asked Meriane.
Moll still had both hands on the basket. The older boy made his bow.
"And for the ones at home, what do you lack?"
Meriane looked briefly at Jon. "Someone to sit with the sick at night, Your High Holiness. We have women now, but they have children of their own. And food once these gifts are eaten."
A grey-haired septa standing behind the High Septon stepped closer. Meriane greeted her with evident relief. They knew one another. The older woman asked how many were bedridden, and whether the maester would return. Meriane began answering before either lord could speak.
"She may go with you," the High Septon said. "We shall find another sister for her duties here."
"I will pay for their bread and pottage for the next month," Jon said.
It was an expense he could bear, though the showing had yet to earn a copper. Meriane thanked him, then took the other septa by the hand.
"You see how much may be done together," the High Septon said. "I hope we shall speak again of your people on Dragonstone."
"We shall speak, Your High Holiness."
Guncer accompanied him down the steps while Meriane arranged the gifts with the queen's servants.
"You were willing enough to hear me about Matthos," the lord said. "I hope you will hear His High Holiness as patiently."
"I have heard him. We disagreed over the schools."
"A septon would think their souls part of his charge." Guncer glanced back at the doors. "He would be a poor one if he did not."
"I'll hear him again," Jon said after a moment.
Guncer nodded and went to find Matthos.
Jon waited until Meriane and the children had started home under escort. Moll still held one side of the basket. Behind them the people continued thanking Joffrey, who had found a fresh handful of coins.
Arthur brought the horses. Marrec would already have the hall ready, and there were buyers to meet.
***
A hay cart drew aside to let Jon's horses through the hall's rear gate. Its driver stayed on the seat, chewing a stalk. Beyond him the lane bent between high walls.
Beeswax, clean linen and the oil on new leather greeted Jon when he reached the showing hall. One of Lord Baelish's clerks had found it for them; Marrec had been at work since first light. His steward stood beneath the windows with a cloth over one shoulder, watching the hall's grey-haired servant set down a pot.
"By the body," he said. "Both hands. Leave the handle alone."
The man adjusted his grip.
"Where's the girl who helped you yesterday?" Marrec asked.
"My girl won't be coming, master."
Marrec asked whether he knew another pair of hands. The servant said he did. Before the first buyers arrived he brought in a younger man with a cloth tucked through his belt. Marrec put him to carrying chests. The older man watched until he was called away.
Blue leaves curved around the white porcelain; beside it, six cups stood on fresh linen. Across the room the red and black armour caught a darker gleam. Perrin had put the white salt on dark cloth, with grey crystals bought in the city beside it. Beyond the open doors, a merchant's mule was objecting to the fine horses crowding it. Their owners were scarcely quieter.
Jon lifted a small bowl from its packing. Ellyn's mark lay beneath the foot. He ran his thumb over it before turning the bowl upright. The blue leaves had come out finer than he remembered, one curling away from its stem. He wanted someone to see that, and want it enough to carry it home.
Marrec had left the trestle beside the public entrance almost bare. Jon set the bowl there, with a little pot and two cups.
"People can come close enough to look," he said.
"They can look at the other table."
"With three lords and their servants between them and the cups?"
Marrec conceded the point. He moved a folded cloth under the bowl and sent for more small pieces. Jon left them within easy reach. He had seen enough costly things displayed as though the customer were a thief until he proved otherwise.
Ser Tomas Sableheart was trying to shift a bench with one hand. Jon lifted the far end and they set it clear of the passage to the delivery court. Two household guards took their places at the public door. A third stood at the passage mouth. Across the court the gate to the lane was barred, with a smaller wicket for men on foot.
The grey-haired servant carried a water jug down the cleared passage. "Leave room there for the men with chests," Tomas told him.
The knight had taken his fall in the lists better than some men took victory. His knuckles were swollen, but he caught the water jug when the servant nearly lost it and sent him on with a warning to watch his feet.
Vaelor came in from the court with Ser Tallad. They had already spent an hour with the riders. Three of the younger boys followed, newly washed and still arguing over something that had happened in the yard. Matthos Sunglass saw his father by the doorway and fell quiet.
"How did the boys ride?" Jon asked Vaelor.
"They all wanted to show Ser Tallad how fast they could go. I'll know more when they ride for me alone."
Tallad smiled. "One of them tried to ride through another man's horse. I told him there would be time enough to kill each other once they had an enemy."
That earned a laugh from the boys. Aleyx did not join it. He had been helping Vaelor, and was still considering which part of the mistake he ought to have stopped. Tallad drew him aside to show him with two cups and a salt jar. Marrec took the cups away before the lesson could become costly.
Aries brought Jon his gloves. He had brushed the coat twice, and Jon knew from the care with which he offered them that he was anxious about the morning.
"Are you going to make me wear those to sell a cup?"
The page glanced at the waiting buyers. "They are your good ones."
"Keep them for the king, then."
Aries tucked them away, relieved to have found a use for them. Jon let him straighten the loose fastening at his wrist.
Jaime arrived while the first buyers were coming through. He checked the cleared passage and the guard at the delivery entrance, then tried the wicket's bolt. When he returned he found Arthur beside the armour.
"I hear you have taken to archery," Jaime said.
"Only to spare you another defeat with a sword."
"Very considerate." Jaime picked up a red gauntlet, worked the fingers once and put it down. "The king expects you in the Kingswood before the hounds are loosed, Jon. Robb is going ahead."
Jon had known that. It still felt like being told he must leave dinner before the meat arrived. He asked Jaime to tell Robert he would be there. The Kingsguard departed with a nod to Arthur, leaving the gauntlet half turned towards the window.
A man in grey wool was waiting for Jon, a single gold ring sunk into the flesh of his smallest finger. His young assistant carried an empty wooden tray.
"Master Harro," Marrec said. "He sells fine vessels near the Street of Silk."
Harro bowed without taking his eyes from the porcelain. "May I?"
Jon put a cup into his hand. Harro felt the rim, then turned it over to examine the foot. He set it on the table and pressed lightly at opposite edges to see whether it rocked.
"Some do," Jon said. "Those stay with us."
"A sensible place for them." Harro lifted it towards the window. Through the thin white porcelain Jon could see the shadows of Harro's fingers. His assistant leaned closer, forgetting the tray until Harro steadied it. "Jossel. Give me room."
The boy flushed and stepped back. Harro turned the cup once more, held it lower, then raised it again. Jon found himself smiling.
"You see why I put them here."
"I see why you ought to charge for them." Harro lowered the cup. "Let me try a pot. With water."
Perrin brought a jug. Harro poured into the pot, then from the pot into the cup. He paused halfway, watching the lip. A drop swelled beneath it and fell cleanly onto the cloth.
"That one will do," he said. "Jossel, remember which."
The boy looked at the painted branches, then at the others. Harro waited while he found the difference for himself.
Another buyer had stopped to watch. He wore blue velvet beneath his travelling cloak, with a gold chain heavy enough to make Jon wonder how many cups its owner could afford. The man introduced himself as Master Lendry of White Harbor. Wylis Manderly had sent him to see the goods, though he was quick to add that the purse at his belt was his own.
"I have heard a great deal of your work, my lord. More since I came south."
"I hope some of it was true."
Lendry took the cup Harro offered him. "This is."
He wanted six cups and six small pots. Plain borders would suit him best, he said, or the blue leaves. He had customers who entertained guests from Braavos and men who had grown tired of hearing about their neighbours' silver. He would try the porcelain with both.
Marrec offered him a better price for twelve of each. Lendry smiled and laid his thumb over the mouth of his purse.
"Let me sell six first."
A narrow man in a richly lined cloak stepped between them. He carried a silver tray wrapped in cloth. Lady Myranda Lefford had sent him, he said, with a ribbon in the colour she wanted and the size of the table where the service would stand.
Harro put the large pot on the silver tray. There was room for four cups, he showed the steward, but not six. The man reluctantly agreed.
The steward laid the ribbon across the porcelain. It was a deeper blue than Ellyn's leaves. Myranda had wanted borders and designs of her own at the gift giving. She had not become less certain of what she wanted by sending someone else to ask.
"I can send it to the potter."
"My lady understood that you could match it."
"She asked whether we could. I cannot promise until Ellyn has tried."
The steward moved the ribbon a little, as though Jon had failed to see the shade. A kiln would give him no better colour because Lady Myranda disliked the answer. He could afford to disappoint her over a ribbon; he would look a fool if he took her gold and failed to deliver.
"Leave it with me," he said. "She shall have an answer."
"And her place?"
The queen's first service was already promised. So were other pieces. Jon explained that a service waiting upon a new colour might take longer than one they could make now. The steward wrapped his tray again. He left the ribbon, but his purse never appeared.
Lendry watched him go back to the doorway, then began selecting his six cups. Harro showed him one whose foot was neater than another's. They disagreed over the pot with the broadest handle, and Lendry kept it.
"My buyers have fingers too," he said.
Master Orlan had watched Harro pour. Marrec introduced him as a dealer in painted vessels brought from the Free Cities. He wore no chain, but the fur at his collar was better than Lendry's, and he handled the pot as confidently as Harro.
"Who taught your potter?" he asked.
"Her father taught her the wheel," Marrec said. "The white ware is Lord Black's invention. He taught them both to make it."
Orlan looked up from the pot. "Your invention, my lord?"
"I taught them the mixtures and the firing," Jon said. "Ellyn devised the leaves you're admiring."
Marrec smiled at that. Orlan ran a finger beneath the painted rim, though his eyes returned to Jon.
Jon let him consider it. He was pleased with what Ellyn had made of his teaching, but he had no intention of explaining a kiln to prove himself to a stranger.
"Remarkable work," Orlan said at last. "With your leave, I know men who would build her a kiln here. The city could keep it busy."
Orlan set the pot down. Beside him Harro paused with one of Lendry's cups still in his hand.
"She has my kilns on Dragonstone," Jon said. "Your friends may buy what we make there. Marrec will hear their orders."
Orlan inclined his head. "Of course, my lord."
He chose one small pot and paid the asking price without argument. Jon watched his servant wrap it. Somewhere in the city another potter would soon be turning it over, perhaps breaking it apart to see what he could learn. Let him spend his own silver on the failures. Jon had paid for the kilns and taught the work; he meant the wealth from them to build his ships and arm his men.
Harro set the cup beside Lendry's other five.
The coins came out at last. Perrin counted them while the new porter brought Lendry's empty chest closer. Harro had to ask him twice to turn it. Jon moved aside; he had been standing where the fellow needed to work. Lendry stooped to feel the depth of the straw before the first pot went in.
The grey-haired serving man passed with a water jug, his thumb pressed hard against the handle. Marrec called for him. He looked back so sharply that water slopped over his wrist. Jon moved a cup out of his way.
Septon Ollidor arrived while Perrin was counting Lendry's silver. Marrec introduced him as one of the Most Devout. He was slender, with carefully dressed grey hair and a seven-pointed star heavy with amethysts upon his breast. Rosewater reached Jon before the septon offered his hand.
His steward followed in plain brown, carrying a purse beneath his cloak. Ollidor left him to hear the prices while he accepted wine and looked over the porcelain.
"The larger cup," he said when Marrec offered him a sample. "I have guests who would spend the evening calling for more."
He held the broad cup by its foot, admiring the light through it. His thumbnail was polished. At his wrist the silk lining of his robe showed pale purple against the cream wool.
"Eight of these. And the two pots with the leaves."
"For the sept, Your Reverence?" his steward asked.
"For my table. The silver can go to the guest chamber." Ollidor tasted the wine. "Have you anything sweeter?"
Marrec sent a servant to look. The steward bent close to his master and spoke too softly for Jon to hear. Ollidor glanced at the purse, then back at the porcelain.
"Six, then. Both pots."
He accepted the concession with good humour, choosing each cup himself. When a woman carrying a parcel brushed his sleeve, he moved it clear and smoothed the cloth before continuing.
"His High Holiness spoke warmly of you this morning," he told Jon. "You must dine with me. There are brethren who would be interested to hear more of your island."
"I should be glad to hear what interests them."
"Bring Ser Arthur. We need not spend the whole evening upon schools." His smile broadened. "I have a cook from Oldtown who would take that as an insult."
Jon gave him no day. Ollidor did not press. His steward paid for the cups and pots, then asked Marrec to have them carried to his master's house. The septon added a jar of white salt after tasting it, then departed, leaving his steward to settle the extra coin.
Jon had refused the High Septon's proposed keeper. He could still learn something from men who might choose the next High Septon, if he could find an evening to spare.
***
The queen's steward arrived with a servant carrying the dimensions of her tables. He did not need to see the porcelain against the light. His mistress had already chosen what she wanted, and he reminded Jon that the first service with the finer finish had been promised to her.
"It has," Jon said. "No one is being put before her."
That satisfied the man more than another display would have done. He asked which of the painted pieces could be made ready sooner, and Marrec took him to the samples.
Wylla found Jon there after Meriane's return. Will had accepted a cake from Moll; the boy who bit had tried to claim two.
"Meriane says Will is much better," Wylla told him.
Jon laughed. The queen's steward asked whether the blankets had arrived as well. Wylla said they had, then drew Jon aside. Meriane was still asking after the children's kin. There was no news yet.
"Tell them I have not forgotten."
Wylla studied him before nodding. She was going back to help with the children's meal.
Two household men went with her. Marrec sent replacements to their posts before they left. Jon watched them clear the court, then turned back to find Guncer Sunglass waiting with Matthos.
The boy had a red mark above his collar. He had washed the dust away, but not the evidence of the morning's practice.
"Ser Vaelor put him with the others," Guncer said.
Jon looked at Matthos. "Was that wrong?"
"No, my lord. I would like to go again."
Guncer's mouth tightened. "I had hoped Ser Arthur might see him."
Arthur was across the hall, listening to a knight describe a badly set shoulder. Jon could not remember the last time he had stood beside a sword without someone wanting a lesson, a judgment or a story.
"Vaelor saw him," Jon said. "He is the man teaching my riders."
Matthos glanced towards Tallad, who was turning a black chest plate in his hands. "Ser Tallad said I leaned before the horse did."
"And did you?"
"I came off." He rubbed the mark at his neck. "I should like another chance."
Guncer began to explain how little time they had before their appointment with Celtigar. Matthos heard him out, then asked whether he might ride with Jon's company to the hunt.
"We have given our word to Lord Celtigar," his father said.
"You have. I could meet you there."
The words came out more sharply than the boy had intended. He looked down, but did not withdraw them. Guncer put a hand upon his shoulder.
"And when you have a place of your own, you may decide whom you keep waiting. Today you ride with me."
Jon left the answer with Matthos's father. He had offered a morning in the yard, and Guncer had brought his son. He would not repay that by encouraging the boy to defy him in a crowded hall.
"Ask Vaelor when he can see you again," he told Matthos. "Before you leave."
The boy looked up. It was less than he wanted, but he went to ask. Guncer watched him cross the room before following.
Beside the armour, Ser Balon Swann tried a gauntlet and flexed his hand. The thumb pinched. He showed the fitter where, then asked to strike the sample chest plate. Tallad watched with a black plate resting against his knee.
Behind Balon, Ser Aron Santagar, the Red Keep's master-at-arms, examined a red gauntlet and asked the fitter for its fellow.
"For yourself, ser?" Jon asked.
"For myself. His Grace has men enough to buy his armour."
Santagar held the red plates against his sleeve. He cared how they looked, but when the fitter began praising the finish he asked him to loosen the wrist instead. Jon left them to it.
Balon went to the block, where the red sample lay beside a hammer.
Jon had expected a hard blow. Balon began by feeling the edge and asking the thickness. Then he gave the plate to Tallad, who looked at the back before setting it down again.
"Hold that," Balon said.
Tallad steadied the block. The blow rang through the hall. A woman started, and a merchant who had been arguing over salt came to see what had made the noise.
At the public door, a guard took a belt knife from a customer in a worn coat. The man surrendered it without argument and went to look at the cups.
There was a bright mark where the hammer had struck, and a shallow hollow beneath it. Balon ran his thumb across the place.
"Again?" Jon asked.
"Once was enough for the man wearing it."
He put down the hammer. Before deciding, he would return with his own padding to have a black chest plate fitted. The fitter gave him a quieter hour.
Tallad passed the sample to a knight waiting behind him. His eyes returned to the black chest plate he had been examining. He left it on the table without asking the price.
Jon noticed. "I can have the fitter look at what you wear now."
"It still serves."
Tallad said it pleasantly. He had horses to think of, and a ransom, and no settled service yet. Jon did not press.
A man in a brown cap asked Marrec whether the goods would be left here after the hunt. Marrec told him the hall would close. He offered to show him a gauntlet, but the man had already turned away.
The new porter stood idle beside the armour. When Marrec looked round, he bent over an empty chest. Jon knew that look of his steward's. He had seen apprentices find work at the sight of it.
Lord Beric Dondarrion had been watching from the end of the table. He chose a red gauntlet and held it beside the starry cloth of his sleeve.
"Gawen hit me hard enough in the lists. I might as well look better when it happens again."
"You could try staying in the saddle," Lord Bryce Caron said.
Caron was seated near the wall, stiff after Royce's handling of him. He had refused a cushion, but accepted the chair. Beric glanced at it and smiled without answering. He asked the fitter to see whether the pair could be made to fit him, and counted out an earnest while Caron watched.
The knight beside Beric wore a plain sword belt, its leather polished where his hand rested. Marrec introduced him as Ser Philip Foote, from the west. He asked to hold the black chest plate and turned it over, examining the edges before putting it against his body.
"Will you be riding in it?" Jon asked.
"Riding, walking, whatever is required." Foote lowered it. "What does that one cost?"
At the answer he returned it to the table. He would consider it, he said. There was no shame in his voice and no attempt to discover what another man had been asked to pay.
Caron beckoned for the plate. Foote passed it across, taking care of Caron's bad knee. At the Blackwater, in the history Jon knew, Foote had killed Bryce Caron and been given his lands. Here he stood with a hand on the back of Caron's chair to steady it while the lord shifted his weight.
Ser Harys Swyft came over from the porcelain with a cup in his hand. He introduced himself as the Knight of Cornfield, then added that Ser Kevan Lannister was married to his daughter.
"I should like these at my own table. With our cock upon them, if your painter can manage it."
"Send the design," Jon said. "Perrin can tell you the price."
"For six?"
"For six." Jon showed him another cup, broad enough to leave room for the bird. Swyft examined it, evidently pleased to have a choice.
"Does naming Ser Kevan bring the price down?" Caron asked.
Swyft stiffened. "I pay for my own table, Lord Caron."
Beric looked down at his new gauntlet. Foote took the chest plate back from Caron and set it carefully beside the others.
"You may have a plain set sooner," Jon told Swyft. "The painted ones must wait for the next work from Dragonstone."
Swyft wanted the painting. He went to Perrin, repeating the number of cups. Caron watched him go.
"You are obliging to them."
"He asked to buy something."
Caron's gaze returned to Jon. "Aye. And his good-son will hear how well you treated him."
Jon could see the answer the Marcher wanted. He had no intention of declaring himself against the Lannisters over a cup, with their household men within hearing. He offered Caron wine instead. The lord accepted it, but asked no more about the armour. Swyft paid an earnest for his painted cups.
Lord Jonos Bracken arrived while the sample was being passed between the knights. His younger kinsman stood behind him, tall and solemn, one hand resting on the pommel of a sword he wanted people to notice.
Bracken looked longest at the red finish. "Six chest plates. For the men riding home with him." He indicated the young man. "They will leave before I do."
Perrin gave the price. Bracken scarcely paused over it.
"Then have them ready."
"We cannot make six before they leave," Jon said.
Bracken pointed to the armour. "You have pieces here."
Some were samples. Others were already promised, and would need fitting before they went to their owners. Jon explained that. Bracken listened as a man might listen to a servant describing why dinner was late.
"Let those men have the next ones. I am offering you silver for these."
"So have they."
"Merchants?"
Lendry had been wrapping a pot. He paused with a corner of the linen folded under his thumb. Jon wished the riverlord had asked while they were alone. He might have found a way to give the answer without making the whole room part of it.
"Men I have given my word to," he said. "Your six would follow theirs."
Bracken's kinsman looked at the bright red plate, then quickly away. His uncle saw the movement.
"There are armourers in this city who can serve a lord without a month's consideration."
"Those plates are promised. If you need armour today, you will have to buy elsewhere."
The last words had come out harder than Jon intended. Bracken looked at him for a moment before answering.
The riverlord drew on his gloves. "Then there is nothing to settle."
He turned away before Jon could offer a later date. His kinsman followed, leaving the red chest plate where it stood. At the door Bracken stopped to speak to another knight. Neither came back.
Perrin moved the sample clear of the edge. There would be a version of this quarrel in the king's camp before Jon reached it. Jon could have kept his word to the other buyers and spared Bracken those last few words.
"If I wanted a clock like the prince's, my lord, would Lord Manderly have to ask for me?"
Lendry still had the pot in his hand. Bracken's back was to them now.
"Whose hall would it stand in?" Jon asked.
"Mine, if my wife has her way. Every tale of Lord Manderly's clock ends with her asking when I'll get her one."
"Then you can ask me yourself. Have you a man you could send to Dragonstone? William, my clock keeper, could teach him to tend it. I can't spare one of his own men."
"I might. How long would he have to stay?"
"Perrin will ask William. You'll have the price and the time together."
"Good. I'd like to know both before I say a word to my wife." Lendry tucked the linen round the pot. "She'll remember a promise long after I've forgotten it."
Balon still had his gauntlet on. He bent his thumb for the fitter and showed him where it caught.
Ser Armond Massey, whose younger son had joined Vaelor's morning in the yard, waited until Balon had finished. He asked the price of a black chest plate. His son came nearer at once.
"For your brother," the knight told him.
The boy stopped. Armond had noticed, though he continued speaking to the fitter. His elder son would need the plate before winter; could they have it ready then? That was a promise Jon could make, provided the measurements came soon. Armond laid down an earnest and asked how the fitting would be managed.
His younger son examined the sample again, trying to lift it with one hand. Armond caught the edge before he dropped it.
"Both hands. You will have armour of your own when you need it."
The boy glanced towards Jon. Armond followed the look, then thanked him for letting the lad ride that morning.
***
Lord Monford Velaryon had been examining the packing of a sample chest. Aurane sat beside him with his bandaged hand well clear of passing elbows. A servant poured their wine while a Redwyne factor waited to speak to Jon.
The factor had brought Lord Paxter's interest in a purchase, and a folded drawing from Lady Desmera for the potter. Jon opened the linen around it. A flowering stem bent across the page, some buds still closed, one bloom beginning to lose its petals. Desmera had marked the colours in the margin. If Ellyn could use it, the accompanying note said, she was welcome to change what the firing would not allow.
Jon put the drawing safely aside. He wished more people would send Ellyn requests like that.
Monford pressed a finger between two packed cups. "My man in Pentos knows which households will pay for these. He has spent years making those acquaintances. The orders he finds should travel in my ships."
The factor glanced at Jon. Lord Paxter's ships had room as well, he said. Wine did not fill every hold on the outward voyage.
Jon wanted his captains to know the buyers themselves, and come home with orders for another voyage. Monford could help them through the door; he need not carry the cargo as well.
"I have ships," Jon said. "Name your man's price for finding buyers. My captains will carry the goods."
"My man serves my house. I mean to gain more than his fee."
"Then buy from me. What you have paid for, you may carry wherever you please."
The Redwyne factor spoke before Monford could answer. "My lord, would you sell Lord Paxter a chest on those terms? I could choose the pieces and bring him your price."
"Choose what you think would please him," Jon said. "Perrin can give you a price for the lot."
Monford shut the lid. "Send Perrin to me later. Until we have settled that, there is no need to trouble my man."
Monford meant to keep his acquaintances to himself, then. For now, Jon had little to offer in return for them beyond a share of the trade. If the voyages he planned prospered, his captains would bring home acquaintances of their own, and cargoes worth more than a few chests of cups. He wondered whether Monford would be as careful with introductions when he wanted one himself.
If the first cups brought orders, some of their silver would buy food for the voyage to Valyria. Bloodraven might think poorly of time spent selling dishes; Jon would have to feed the men who sailed with him.
Aurane laid his sound hand on the lid. "Best not let the captain sample the cargo. You may find him drinking out of it all the way to Pentos."
"You would put the wine among the ship's expenses," Monford said.
Aurane laughed, then shifted his hurt hand as the servant passed. Jon remembered that hand upon a ship he had brought home. "I was glad enough of his last voyage."
"So was I," Monford said at once.
Aurane bent his head over his wine, but his smile remained. Jon left the brothers together. Marrec and Perrin fell into step beside him; they had been making their own rounds while he spoke with the lords.
"What do they say when I am elsewhere?"
"Much the same, with lower prices," Marrec said. "One wants the price we give men who buy a chest, though he only means to take four cups."
"He can choose the rest as well," Perrin said.
Jon smiled. "And the men who mean to buy?"
"Two asked who bears the loss if their servants take the cups away and find them broken," Perrin said. "I would have that settled before I named a price."
"Have their men watch us pack them. Once they accept the chest, the risk is theirs."
"And when we carry them ourselves?" Marrec asked.
"Then broken cups are our loss. Allow for it when you reckon the voyage."
Perrin nodded. They passed a servant counting out copper for a salt jar and reached the far end of the table.
Lord William Mooton was waiting there. He had watched Lendry taste the white crystals before drawing Jon aside.
"My Maidenpool men will ask what you need to buy. They can sell you more than a passage for your cups."
"Wheat, first. We have mouths to feed now, whatever comes of today."
Mooton knew a man with wheat to sell at Maidenpool and barges to carry it. Jon asked quietly whether he knew who sold the wheat from Darry's lands, or anybody who dealt for Lady Whent.
"Darry's men, certainly. Lady Whent's business may take longer."
"I would be grateful."
"For the grain, or the acquaintance?"
"Both, if the grain is sound."
Mooton smiled and turned to Perrin. "You shall have a price for Maidenpool wheat."
"Maidenpool?" Lord Gyles Rosby had come up behind them. A cough took him before he could say more. His servant waited beside him with the jar of white salt Rosby had bought. "You've a nearer neighbour than that, Lord Black. We send butter and honey to the king's kitchens. Come out to Rosby and try them at my table."
Jon left Perrin with Mooton. He remembered Darry's ploughman upon the banners, still borne after the ruin of the king that house had served. He would be glad to send silver into those fields.
Lady Tanda Stokeworth put down her tasting spoon and told her man to pay for a jar. "Lollys wanted me to ask if the children had her coverlet."
"It's at Meriane's sept, my lady. Wylla says they're sleeping better. Please thank Lollys for me."
"I will. Has the septa found any of their people?"
"She's still looking."
Tanda shook her head. Jon offered her some bread to take the salt off her tongue. She took a bite before she turned to Rosby. "You must leave me an evening, Gyles. Lord Black and his brother have yet to sit at my table."
"I should be happy to see them both at mine," Rosby said. He looked to Jon for his answer.
"Let me see what time I have after the hunt, Lord Rosby. Perrin can hear your steward's price today. Lady Tanda, send word when you've chosen your evening."
Tanda took Rosby's arm. Her daughter Falyse was choosing dishes close by. She asked her husband how many their table would take.
"How many what?" Ser Balman Byrch had been looking across the hall at the armour.
"Dishes, Balman."
"Ah. Those are fine." He glanced back at the red chest plate. "I used to have a surcoat that colour."
"You still have it," Falyse said.
"It was finer when it was new." He smiled at her. She had chosen two dishes, and he paid for them with the coins she had counted out. They followed Tanda and Rosby into the street.
Marrec brought Jon to three salt merchants gathered about a broad man in brown wool. The cloth was good, though one cuff had worn smooth. A greybeard passed him a spoon and waited for him to speak.
"Master Belden," Marrec said. "He has stores in the merchant quarter and near the port. These gentlemen buy through him."
Belden bowed and asked to open a jar. Given his choice, he took one from the back of the case. Perrin broke its seal. Belden rubbed a little salt between finger and thumb before tasting it, then offered the jar to the greybeard.
"Clean," he said. "None of that bitter taste."
The greybeard tasted twice. He asked Marrec what six jars would cost, and had a hand inside his coat when Belden pointed towards the sacks.
"What of those? A fishmonger must count the salt in every barrel."
"Common salt," Jon said. "The white is for tables."
"The king has tried it, I hear." Belden turned back to his customer. "Will your buyers pay for the difference? Try one before you take six. A steward may praise his lord's dinner and still send the cook for whatever costs least."
The greybeard took his hand from his coat. "One jar, then. Let me see what they say."
Marrec wrapped the purchase. Another merchant wanted to know how soon he could have more. Perrin answered him, but the man looked to Belden before replying. Lendry reached past them to taste a second pinch, then went round the table to ask Perrin for a jar of his own.
Belden had cost him five jars without finding fault with the salt. Jon watched the greybeard tuck away his purchase. The man had tasted for himself and still waited for Belden's judgement.
"Let me sell it here," Belden said to Jon. "I have the space, and buyers know where to find me."
"You may buy what you need."
"So may anyone who walks through your door. Give me the city's custom, and I can offer more."
Jon shook his head. "Others may buy from me. Tell me what you will pay for salt."
Belden named a price. For that, he wanted enough to fill a good part of his store, with some of the money to follow once the goods were sold. Jon offered a smaller quantity, paid for when it changed hands. Belden let the spoon fall into the empty tasting bowl.
"You will have to trust someone, my lord."
"When I know him."
The merchant accepted that with a bow which gave nothing away. Beyond him a lord in a violet cloak had been listening to his steward. Marrec introduced Lord Lothar Mallery, who had come to see the armour but found his household needed common salt more urgently.
His steward had chosen the sacks. Their own men would not be ready to take them home for a week, and the innkeeper would not give them a dry room without being paid as though it held guests. Belden offered space in his store.
"Have you used it before?" Mallery asked his steward.
"For the wool, my lord."
That settled it. Mallery told him to pay for the salt and left the two men to arrange its keeping.
Petyr Baelish had come in while they were speaking. He greeted Belden as an acquaintance before stopping beside Jon.
"You have found a buyer."
"Marrec has. Belden has found someone who needs his store."
"Which is why the man can buy today." Petyr watched the sacks being moved. "Useful, having a place here. Your ships will sail; his door will still be open."
Jon looked at the merchant. There was nothing unreasonable in wanting somewhere dry to leave salt. Nor was there any reason the next purchase should come through Jon, if the buyer found everything he needed at Belden's door.
"You recommend him?"
"I recommend hearing him. He knows men who have never heard of your potter, and has trusted some of them with more silver than you have on these tables."
Jon could believe it. He could also hear Belden's demand for the whole city's custom in the compliment. He knew better than to let Petyr choose the men who would receive his cargoes.
Petyr smiled. "Come to supper after the hunt. I can have him there. It is easier to agree over a cup."
Before Jon answered, a household servant approached the Master of Coin and drew him aside. Jon called Marrec nearer.
The serving man was showing the man in the brown cap the way to the privy. He pointed through the court; the customer thanked him and went.
"We need a place of our own near the water," Jon told Marrec. "Somewhere people can find us after today."
Marrec looked at the full hall. "I have been asking."
"Good. We will look together."
He would need trusted men there, and his captains bringing them goods, and a door that stayed his when somebody offered the keeper silver to shut it. A few rented rooms could not give him King's Landing. They might give him somewhere to begin. He had no intention of making a claim upon this city one day with nothing inside its walls but his name.
Theon came through the court with Robb and Domeric, on their way to the crossing. A groom had to call twice before the hay cart moved enough to let their horses turn. Its load was still untouched. Robb offered to wait; Jon told him to go before Robert sent somebody to collect them both.
"You will come?"
"Before the hounds. Jaime has already reminded me."
Theon lingered while Domeric called for their horses. Jon asked whether he had found Ser Harras Harlaw.
"He has the letter." Theon's fingers went to the breast of his coat. "Said my mother would be glad of it. He hadn't opened it."
"Perhaps she will."
Theon looked towards the court, then followed Robb without another jest. Jon watched him go. There were some things he could encourage and then leave alone.
Lady Genna's servant had brought an earnest for six broad dishes for the Twins, with plain rims and the towers painted in the centre. Perrin accepted it.
Lendry made a porter lift one of the pots from his open chest so he could see the straw beneath it. Across the room the Redwyne factor had finished his selection for Lord Paxter to consider. Monford left with him, taking Guncer and Matthos as far as the door. The boy looked back once towards Vaelor.
The knights and lords were thinning out. Beric waited in the court while Caron mounted, slowly and with a groom at his stirrup. Swyft and Foote had already gone; Mallery left his steward to finish paying before following them towards the royal gathering. Balon Swann and Ser Aron Santagar departed together, and Armond Massey took his son with him. Tallad promised Vaelor that they would speak again, then went to attend to his horse.
The man in the brown cap stood where he could see them mount. He let another customer take his place at the table.
Their departure scarcely quieted the hall. The merchants had less reason to hurry. A porter knelt over a chest while his master told him to be quicker. Marrec raised his voice to a buyer. Jon stepped aside, his left shoulder aching beneath his coat.
Harro brought his assistant back to Jon. He wanted a mixed tray for his city shop, including the little bowl with blue leaves. His customers would choose something they could take away. Jon sent him to Marrec, and Harro began selecting from the low display by the public entrance.
Aries brought fresh cloths. Jossel helped him spread one beneath the tray. They were almost the same height. The assistant's cap was good wool, his smallest finger ink-stained; Aries had washed his hands but let his left cuff come loose again.
"You lads. Give me a hand."
The serving man had stopped beside the boys. Aries looked to Jon.
"With what?" Jon asked.
"A chest in the court, my lord." The man reached for Aries's sleeve. "Come along, lad."
Aries drew back. The servant let his hand fall, looking suddenly ashamed.
"Let them finish here," Jon said. "Ask Eddison."
The man bowed his head and went on into the court. Jon watched him until Harro offered him the bowl. The merchant had found a tiny run in the glaze beneath its foot. He wanted to know whether all the pieces were like it.
The man in the worn coat let Harro choose two cups before pointing to a dish.
"Must I buy the pot as well?"
"You may buy one piece," Harro said. "Master Marrec will give you the price."
Tomas moved nearer to give the boys room. The man in the brown cap had returned to the entrance. He glanced past the tables towards the court.
The serving man stood at the wicket in the rear gate. Perhaps he was letting in a porter. Harro pointed to the bowl in Jon's hands and asked whether its painted border could be repeated on a larger one.
"Ellyn can—"
The wicket was open now. No one came through. The servant had put down his jug and stood looking into the hall, one hand on the bar that held the broad gate shut. When Marrec called again, he did not answer.
Jon followed the servant's gaze to the low display. The man in the worn coat had left the dish where it lay. Both his hands were on the tray beside Jossel. Brown Cap was watching those hands as closely as he had watched the knights ride out.
The servant turned his face away.
He had wanted the boys away from the table. Jon set the bowl down and moved, catching Arthur's arm as he passed.
"The boys. Tomas—"
The man in the coat jerked the tray upwards. Its edge caught Jossel's fingers. Cups burst across the floor. Tomas reached for the boy, took the empty tray across his forearm and drove into the man who held it. The trestle went over between them. Aries stumbled clear; Jossel vanished beneath the cloth.
Harro cried his name. Jon started towards him, but Arthur caught Jon by the coat and pulled him back. Three men were pushing in through the public door. One had a short sword held low beside his leg.
The nearest guard met him in the doorway. Steel rang against the post. His companion shoved a woman behind him and drew, leaving the street half hidden by his shoulders. Somewhere in the court a horse screamed.
Jon turned. The serving man had swung the broad gate open. Men dropped from the hay cart and ran across the court. The delivery guard met the first at the mouth of the passage. Another swung over his fellow's shoulder. From behind them a man threw a burning brand that landed in Lendry's packing straw.
For a moment it lay there smoking. Lendry's man slapped at it with his cap. He scattered burning wisps over the linen instead, and a thin flame ran up the hanging cloth.
"Water!" Jon shouted. "The jugs—"
Someone seized one from the salt table. It broke against the edge of the chest. Water poured over the floor, missing the fire. Buyers were crowding away from it, carrying the cry towards the front door, where the guard was still fighting. The man in the brown cap caught a merchant by the collar and thrust him into those ahead.
"They're burning you out! Ask Lord Black what became of the last shop he set men to guard!"
Arthur's hand closed on Jon's sound arm. "Against the wall."
"Jossel's under—"
"Tomas has him."
Jon could see the knight now, planted over the fallen trestle, one hand hooked beneath the cloth. Harro was trying to crawl under it from the other side. People kept striking against them. A woman lost her footing; Tomas caught her by the back of her gown and thrust her upright without letting go of the boy.
A swordsman stumbled past the door guards and came at them along the wall. Arthur released Jon to meet him. The blades struck; the man recoiled against a buyer, recovered, and struck again.
The new porter came towards Jon with an empty bucket. He had been slow enough over his work all morning. Now he shouldered past Perrin, who was fumbling with a chest latch, and stepped over a man on his knees.
Jon pointed at the fire. "There. Help him."
The porter kept coming. His eyes were on Jon's face.
"My lord."
The bucket struck the floor. Jon saw the knife as the man's hand rose from behind it.
He caught at the wrist. The point dragged through his coat beneath the ribs, hot and startling. He tried to bring his left arm across and his injured shoulder failed him. The man's weight drove him into the wall. There was no room to draw a sword, barely room to breathe. Jon held the wrist with his right hand while the blade pressed closer. Beside his ear, Arthur's sword rang against the other man's.
Arthur drove his opponent backwards over the long table. Trestle and board came down beneath him. Arthur caught the porter by the collar and wrenched him sideways. Jon's grip broke. The knife tore free of his coat, and Arthur's sword went in beneath the porter's lifted arm. The man struck Jon once with his empty hand as he fell, almost gently.
Jon stayed against the wall. He could feel the cut now. He pressed his palm over it and stared down at the bucket rolling towards the table.
"How deep?" Arthur asked.
"I don't know."
"Keep your hand there."
The porter drew a wet breath. Jon had thought him dead already. Arthur pulled Jon clear of his legs and put himself between him and the hall.
Through the smoke Jon saw flame run along the cloth and curl beneath the display board. A pot cracked with a sharp report. He flinched before he could help it.
Vaelor came backwards through the delivery doorway, his sword working close to his body. The man facing him had a cleaver. He struck at Vaelor's head, missed, and caught the doorframe. Vaelor thrust before he could pull it free. The man went down across the threshold. Behind him the delivery guard was dragging himself along the wall, leaving blood on the stones.
For an instant Jon saw the court. Tallad had his horse between the gate and the passage, hauling its head round as a man struck at the bridle. Another lay under its hind feet. Aleyx was pulling at the wounded guard's belt. Then a fleeing buyer blundered into Jon and the court disappeared.
Arthur caught the buyer's shoulder and sent him towards the wall. "Stay behind us."
The man tried to speak, coughed and obeyed.
Jon's eyes were watering. The smoke had not filled the room, but it was gathering above the windows, darkening the bright strip where Harro had held a cup to the light. He had seen a compartment fill on a ship. Waiting until the smoke reached a man's face was waiting too long.
"The shutters," he said. "Marrec, open them."
His steward looked up from a burning cloth he was trying to stamp out.
"Get the people through. Leave the goods."
Marrec looked once at the tables, then dragged a bench beneath the nearest window. The opening was low enough to climb through from it. Perrin helped a woman up; her skirts caught beneath her shoe and she began to cry. Marrec took her ankle and freed it. Outside, someone reached to help her down.
Jon moved towards them. Arthur moved with him, sword still drawn. They had to go round the fallen display. Its linen was burning at one end, the blue-painted shards beneath it turning black. The heat drove Jon sideways.
At the public door the guard thrust his sword into a man's belly. The fellow folded against him, almost dragging him down. Eddison struck the next attacker with a stool. The stool broke, and the man fell beneath it. The swordsman Arthur had driven back scrambled over the fallen board and ran into the street.
"Out that way!" Jon shouted. "The door's clear!"
Lendry's man tried to drag the chest after him. It caught against the broken trestle and tipped onto its side. People pressed against his back until he let go, cursing. Harro appeared beyond him with Jossel hanging between himself and Tomas. Blood ran from the boy's hand. Aries followed with his arms full of clean cloths, his eyes fixed on Tomas's back.
"Go with them," Arthur told Jon.
The serving man was kneeling beside the fallen chest. He had wrapped his sleeves about his hands and was trying to pull a burning cloth free. The flames climbed his wrist. He dropped it with a cry, then reached again.
As Tallad hauled his horse clear of the fallen man, Brown Cap slipped behind its rump and made for the gate. Beyond it the hay cart was moving off. Two men ran after it, one holding his arm.
"Vaelor! The cap—"
Vaelor had a man on his knees, his sword at the fellow's throat. By the time he looked up, Brown Cap was through. The hay cart rolled past the open gate, hiding the turn in the lane.
Jon turned to the serving man. "Leave it. Come out."
"I can put it—"
"Come out!"
He hauled at the man's coat with his right hand. Pain stabbed beneath his ribs. Arthur took the man from him and drove them both towards the public door. Behind them the cloth fell apart, shedding sparks into the chest.
In the street Jon could breathe again. People were shouting from windows. A woman had brought a bucket from a neighbour's house and was arguing with a man who wanted it for the blood on his sleeve. Farther down the lane a bell began to ring.
Arthur put Jon beside Harro and went back as far as the threshold. He called for Eddison. The guard with the bloody sword came out first, pushing the tray-breaker before him. The prisoner's hands were open above his head. Eddison followed with the man he had struck, limp between him and the second guard.
"Is anyone left?" Jon asked.
"Marrec and Perrin. Coming through the window."
Jon looked along the wall until he saw them. Perrin had the little box of earnest money clutched against his breast. Marrec came after him carrying nothing.
Across the street, Harro bent over Jossel's hand. Tomas held the boy upright. Aleyx emerged from the court lane with the delivery guard leaning on him. Vaelor came behind them with his prisoner, and Tallad brought the horses. His mount's chest was streaked with blood.
The serving man edged towards the lane. Jon caught his sleeve.
"You opened the gate."
The man looked past him towards the turning.
"You opened the little door before the tray fell. I saw your hand on the bar of the broad gate."
"They have my daughter."
Jon's hand tightened on his sleeve. "What's her name?"
"Nelda."
"Where did you last see her?"
"On the bakehouse step, two doors down. We have a room above the ovens. She stopped to take a stone out of her shoe last night. I went up without her." He looked towards the lane again.
"They said she'd be home by supper. They said to let them spoil the goods, that was all." His burnt fingers curled against his chest. "Please, my lord. They'll have seen me."
"Who brought the porter?"
The servant looked at the door. Arthur was standing there with blood along his blade.
"They sent him. Said he was to see I did it."
Jon released the sleeve. "Keep him apart," he told Vaelor. "And get those hands seen to."
Ser Alester Arryn was beside him, asking where he should go. Jon had not heard him the first time.
"Find Ser Androw. Men attacked the hall and one tried to kill me. We have prisoners. This man says they took his daughter. Her name's Nelda. Tell Androw her father last saw her on the bakehouse step, two doors down."
Alester stared at Jon's hand pressed against his coat, then turned for his horse.
"And a rider to the king," Jon said. "He must hear it from us."
***
The neighbours brought water. A cooper lent them his yard across the lane, and the wounded were carried beneath its awning while men passed buckets towards the hall. Without the horses and buyers in the court there was room to reach the burning stock. Vaelor took charge there. Jon could hear him calling for more water long after the shouting in the street had ceased.
Arthur made Jon sit on a stack of planks. He cut the coat lining away from the wound and pressed folded linen over it. Jon caught his wrist when the pressure hurt.
"Let go."
Jon let go. Across the yard Harro was saying the same thing to Jossel, who kept trying to pull his hand away from Tomas. The boy had not cried while they carried him out. Now he could not stop.
"You had guards," Harro said when he saw Jon looking.
"Yes."
The merchant bent over the boy again. Jon had no answer that would help him. The guard from the passage lay a few feet away, white-faced, both hands pressing a wadded cloak against his thigh.
"Healers," Jon said to Eddison. "Bring whoever can come."
"Two men gone already, my lord."
"Good." Jon nodded. Eddison had not waited to be told. "Where are the prisoners?"
"Other side of the yard. Bound, with two men over them."
The serving man sat alone beside an empty barrel. A cooper's apprentice was pouring water over his hands. When the man cried out, Jossel lifted his head. Harro turned the boy's face against his coat.
Arthur bent over the dressing again. Jon shut his eyes and reached for Hugin, his crow.
The crow had left the hall roof for a chimney farther along the lane. Smoke drifted below him. Jon sent him over it, past the bend where the cart had gone. At a crossing the driver laid the whip to his grey horse. A man clung to the split tailboard, and another had stopped beside a doorway, bent over his wounded arm. There was no brown cap on either of them.
Two blue hands were painted on a sign above the door. Hugin settled on its iron bracket. The wounded man looked back towards the smoke, then knocked. A woman opened it a little. He put his shoulder against the gap and forced his way inside.
When Jon opened his eyes, Arthur was still bent over him. Jon drew him closer and spoke under his breath.
"There's a wounded man in the dyer's house beyond the turning. Two blue hands on the sign. Have Eddison watch the door and call the Watch."
"The hay cart?" Arthur asked.
Jon had lost it at the crossing. He could look again, but the men who had escaped were already separating.
"Grey horse, split tailboard. Ask which way it went."
Arthur called Eddison over and sent him on his way. Across the yard Aries held a cup while Jossel drank. The page's loose cuff was bloody. Jon wanted to look at his hands and face himself, but Jossel reached for the cup again and Aries stayed with him.
Tallad came through the yard gate. He was limping, though he waved away the offer of a seat.
"Six at the cart, counting the driver," he told Arthur. "I thought they meant to steal the horses."
He looked towards Jon's coat. Arthur shook his head once.
"How many down?" Jon asked.
"Two dead at the back. Vaelor took another alive."
Six at the cart, three at the public door and three among the buyers. Jon had let the tray-breaker stand beside Jossel. He'd taken the porter's idleness for fear of Marrec. Brown Cap had given up his place at the table to watch the knights ride out. Jon remembered wanting the hall less crowded.
Tallad lowered himself onto a barrel at last and began unlacing his boot.
Janos Slynt brought four gold cloaks into the cooper's yard. He sent one to clear the lane for the water carriers. Jon's guard pointed out the three prisoners and the servant who had opened the gate.
"These men go to the barracks," Slynt said. "Fetch the fellow who opened the gate as well. I'll hear him first."
The servant looked up from his burnt hands. A gold cloak caught the tray-breaker by the collar.
"Let him go." Jon rose, one hand pressed to the dressing. "All three stay here. Let the man with the burns have his hands seen to."
"My lord, there are men pressing against that gate to get a look at them. They'll be safer behind barracks walls."
"My men took them and my men can guard them. I sent for Ser Androw. He'll hear them here."
"He can hear them at the barracks."
Jon crossed the few yards to the prisoners. "The man who put a knife in me is dead. This one can still tell me who sent him. I mean to hear his answer." He turned to his guards. "Keep them for Ser Androw."
Ser Arthur came up on the watchman's sword side. "Take your hand off him, lad." The watchman let go of the collar. Arthur looked across at Slynt and waited.
"The king expects me this afternoon," Jon said. "Shall I tell him you couldn't wait for the Hand's knight?"
Even the watchman at the gate had turned to hear Slynt's answer. A flush crept up from the commander's collar. "Leave them where they are. You two, keep those people out of the yard."
Eddison called from the gate. "My lord, we've a man at the dyer's door. I need someone to go inside with me."
"One of the men who got away went in there bleeding," Jon told Slynt. "Send a gold cloak with him."
The nearest watchman turned to go. "Stay where I put you," Slynt called. The man stopped. "My men enter houses on my orders, Lord Black."
"Then give the order. He's had time enough already."
Slynt pointed the watchman back to the gate. "Eddison," Jon said, "keep our man on the door. See where the back of that house comes out." Eddison went at a run.
Alester came back with Ser Androw. Slynt met them at the gate. "Lord Arryn kept the brewery prisoners, ser. These men were taken today."
"One of them shouted about the last shop I set men to guard," Jon said. "Rilla's shop. He meant the buyers to hear it."
Androw took out the Hand's sealed order. "Then I'll hear them about both fires. They go to the Red Keep with me." While Slynt read it, Jon told Androw about the dyer. Androw sent two men to search the house.
Slynt gave back the parchment. When Androw went to the prisoners, Slynt leaned close to Jon. "You had to do it in front of my own men," he said. "I'll remember that, Lord Black. Next time one of your captains brings goods through the River Gate, I'll see to him myself."
Jon held his eye. Slynt turned and went back to his men.
Jon sat down. His hand shook. He hid it under his coat until Arthur moved the cloth to look at the bleeding.
"I had him by the wrist," Jon said. He could still feel the pressure of it. "I couldn't hold him."
"You held him long enough."
Arthur put Jon's hand back over the dressing and kept his own upon it for a moment. Since the dagger had shown its writing they had scarcely been alone. Jon had kept finding business that needed doing.
"Tonight," he said. "We'll speak tonight."
Arthur looked at him, then nodded.
***
By the time Ser Gawen Stone, the captain of Jon's household guard, arrived, the flames were out. Smoke still rose from the doorway. Vaelor would let no one carry goods away until his men had checked the chests and fallen boards for embers. The roof had not caught, but the window lintel was blackened and water stood across the floor. A salt sack split when the men lifted it. White crystals washed into the gutter.
Perrin brought the earnest box into the cooper's yard and opened it on a barrel. Buyers were waiting. Some wanted their goods; others wanted their money back. He had no dry place to set the orders.
Two pots had broken when Lendry's chest tipped. Lendry laid them beside the earnest box and turned the other four so Jon could see the cracks the heat had left in them. The chest had still been open when the fire started. "All six, Perrin," Jon said. "Give him back his silver."
"I can send you fresh pots from Dragonstone," Jon told Lendry.
"Keep the cups for now," Lendry said. "I'll have my man collect them."
Marrec had brought out a few pieces from the tray Harro wanted for his shop. Harro looked at them once. "Leave them, Master Marrec. I won't take the tray." The healer put another stitch in Jossel's hand. Harro let the boy squeeze two of his fingers until the needle came through.
The delivery guard had stopped bleeding. His wound was deep; he would have to be carried home. Tallad had a swollen ankle and a burnt wrist, neither of which pleased him. He asked Vaelor for someone to see to his horse before allowing his own wrist to be bound.
Jon's cut needed cleaning and a dressing. The knife had gone along his ribs rather than between them. He listened to the healer tell him this, looking at the length of torn cloth, and felt colder than he had beside the fire.
The dead porter had stepped over a fallen man to reach him. He had not touched the goods.
Androw had heard the serving man separately. A stranger had come before dawn to tell him what to do if he wanted Nelda back. The new porter followed later. Nelda's father had never seen the porter before. He had recognised the knife. It belonged to the hall, and he had left it beside the bread. Two of Androw's men had gone to the bakehouse to ask after Nelda and speak to the neighbours who shared the stair.
"He tried to move the boys," Jon said.
"He told me."
"I thought he wanted help."
Androw waited while the healer tied off the dressing. "Come and hear the man who threw the tray."
They took the tray-breaker into the cooper's little counting room, away from the wounded. Gawen stood at the door. Through a crack in the shutters Jon could see a gold cloak waiting in the lane.
The prisoner called himself Rudd. He had lost a tooth and kept touching the gap with his tongue.
"I had no blade when the tray fell," he said. "Ask your man at the door. He took mine."
"Who paid you?" Androw asked.
Rudd looked at Jon. "Wasn't told about killing anyone."
"Who paid you?"
"A man in a winesink. He gave me a stag and promised me another when we came out. Turn the tray over, get them shouting. That was all."
"And the man in the brown cap?" Jon asked.
"He brought me. Said there'd be others." Rudd wet his broken lip. "Said if I was caught he'd have me out by nightfall."
Outside, the watchman spoke to someone. Rudd turned his head towards the shutter.
Jon let Androw ask about the winesink. A blue door below steps off the flour street; a hearth cracked down one side. Rudd did not know its name. He described the woman who had brought the ale more readily than the man who had paid him, but when Gawen asked which turning he meant, he answered at once.
"Take me. I'll show you."
"You'll stay with me," Androw said.
The other two prisoners had come to the hall with weapons. One was still senseless from Eddison's blow. The other had given a name and nothing more. Neither could be allowed to hear Rudd's account before being questioned.
Gawen went to find the blue door. Androw told him to question the keeper; Rudd's story was not cause enough to seize whoever happened to be serving ale.
Jon watched them lead Rudd back out. The winesink was somewhere to start. He still wanted to know who had sent the porter with a knife. It was tempting to lay the whole business at Cadwyn's door. Half the buyers had heard the threat about Rilla's shop, just as the man who shouted it had intended.
The dead man's bucket stood beside the cooper's gate. Eddison had brought it out with the knife. Jon had looked at the empty bucket and thought of the fire; the man carrying it had been able to come within reach of him. He wondered how long the fellow had watched him before picking it up.
Baelish's clerk had found them the hall.
Jon asked Marrec for the clerk's name. His steward looked up sharply, then nodded. Petyr had offered Belden's stores that morning. Jon could imagine himself accepting such help now, with his goods wet and broken in someone else's hall. That did not tell him who had hired a killer. He gave Androw the clerk's name when Marrec brought it, and told him how they had come to hire the place.
***
Renly's rider found them as two of Androw's men carried the senseless prisoner out on a litter. Rudd waited under guard by the horses. The rider had left the Kingswood before Jon's messenger reached it. His horse shied at the smell from the hall, and he dismounted to lead it past.
"The king is waiting, my lord."
"He's been sent word."
The rider looked from Jon to Arthur. He did not ask whether they meant to hunt.
Jon wanted to go with Gawen. He wanted the man in the brown cap found and Nelda home alive. But Androw had men following both leads. If Slynt called his gold cloaks off again, Jon wanted the king's word to send them back.
He called Alester over. "Tell Lord Arryn what Slynt said when you rode in with Androw. Eddison heard him call his man back."
Alester nodded. He had wanted to go voyaging with Jon. This was less pleasing work, and he had done it without complaint.
Androw came to say that the dyer's house was empty. The woman said a stranger had forced his way through to the next yard. Blood on the passage floor supported that much. His men were still asking along the lane.
Jon swore under his breath. He should have checked the yard before bringing Hugin back.
"If anything leads to Nelda or the children, go," he said. "Don't wait for me."
"I won't."
"Teren hasn't come back," Marrec said. "If it's tonight, the women will have to leave their house soon."
Six women from a pleasure house that paid Merys, hired for a feast where one of Cadwyn's lieutenants meant to give his guests fights to wager on. Mistress Merys wanted her gaming houses back. Jon had promised to hear her. She had yet to name the place or the day.
"If Teren brings the place or the day, send him straight to Ser Androw," Jon said. "I'll hear Mistress Merys when I return."
"And Nessa?" Androw asked.
Nessa would sell word from the river, but her crews would stay with her boats. Androw's men at the eastern landings had seen bales going ashore. What was inside them was anyone's guess.
"Have Vhalar ask what she wants to keep watch for the boat with the blue plank."
Androw nodded. He would keep the prisoners apart at the Red Keep and send word when they could be questioned again.
Gawen had left Wylla's message with Tomas. Wat was resting; there was no change in his hand. She said Jon was not to make the maester promise what he could not. Jon looked towards Jossel, whose bandaged hand lay on Harro's knee, and asked Tomas to send her word of the attack before someone carried her a worse account. Gawen might be late for supper.
Harro was ready to leave. Jon paid the healer and sent one of his guards home with Harro and Jossel. Harro thanked Tomas. He did not look towards the hall again.
Vaelor would bring the surviving goods back with Eddison, Aleyx and the hall guards. The men at Meriane's sept and the lodgings would remain there. Androw supplied an escort for Jon; Arthur and Tomas would ride with him.
Aries brought Jon his cloak. He stopped when he saw the torn coat beneath it.
"The healer's finished," Jon said.
The page nodded and put the cloak on carefully. He had washed his hands, but blood remained in the seam of his cuff.
Perrin caught Jon at the mounting block. The queen's measurements and Desmera's drawing had survived inside the order roll. He would write to Ellyn when they were back at their lodgings.
"Tell her what Harro said before this," Jon told him. "And Lendry. She ought to know they wanted it."
Perrin looked at the blackened window.
"Tell her that too," Jon said.
Arthur helped him mount. Jon had no wish to quarrel about it. Once seated, he found he could bear the movement if they went slowly. Renly's rider led them out, stopping the people ahead to clear a way.
Near the crossing Jon saw a laden boat work against the current. Someone hailed it from a landing. The steersman answered and brought the bow round, passing so close to the posts that Jon expected wood to strike wood. The boat slipped between them without a touch.
He had thought often of taking King's Landing. Walls and gates were easy enough to mark upon a map. He knew less about the men who brought food beneath those walls, or who could persuade a boatman to cross after dark. When he declared himself, he would need people inside the city who had dealt with him, earned from him and found reason to keep his confidence. Today someone had found twelve men to come against him while he was still trying to hire a boat.
The children would come out first. He would not leave them with Cadwyn while he bargained for a better place among the gangs. Once they were safe, he meant to keep what foothold he could make here. His own rooms, someone to receive his goods and letters, men who knew the river. He had money for those things. Choosing the people would be harder. The grey-haired servant had worked in that hall for years, Marrec said. A daughter had been enough to turn him.
Jon kept his right hand on the reins. His side hurt more when he breathed deeply. Across the water the road rose towards the trees, and Arthur moved his horse closer as they began to climb.
They found the royal company still in the meadow. The hounds were leashed, Robert's spear in a groom's hands. Joffrey held out a gloved fist while his falconer settled one of Lord Tyrell's hawks on it. The prince turned at once to see whether Margaery was watching. Cersei had drawn her horse up beside them. Jon's messenger stood near Renly. Robb saw them and came at a run, Theon and Domeric behind him.
"They said someone stabbed you."
"A cut. Arthur stopped him."
Robb caught the bridle while Jon dismounted. He looked at the dark stain on his brother's coat, then at Arthur.
"It's been seen to," Arthur said.
Robert was coming towards them. Men drew aside for him; the conversation nearest Jon faltered and stopped.
"Where's the man who cut you?"
"Dead, Your Grace."
"And the others?"
"Three held for Lord Arryn. Four dead altogether. The rest got away."
"In my city." Robert looked towards the river, though the trees hid it. "At a hall full of armed men. Who thought that would end well for him?"
"Someone who watched the knights ride out. They came at both doors of my hall and set it alight with people still inside. I called to a fellow with a bucket for help. He put his knife in me."
Robert looked at Tomas's bloody sleeve. "Yours?"
"Jossel's, Your Grace. A merchant's boy. I pulled him from under a trestle."
Harro had given Jossel two fingers to squeeze while the healer stitched his hand. You had guards, he'd said to Jon. Yes. That was all Jon had found to say.
"My man Wat is still abed from the fire at Rilla's shop. Today a guard had to be carried home from my door. The servant says they took his girl Nelda to make him open the gate."
"Send for Slynt." Renly beckoned to a rider.
"And Ser Androw, Your Grace. We had one of the attackers run to ground. I asked for a gold cloak to go after him. Slynt called his man back."
"I'll hear what Slynt has to say."
"Hear him, Your Grace. We know enough to begin. I won't put my life in Slynt's hands. Give me charge of finding who sent those men, and order the Watch to help me."
"You're asking to hunt men through my city."
"Aye, Your Grace. I had that bastard by the wrist and I still couldn't keep the knife out. If Arthur had been a heartbeat slower, you'd be asking Robb how I died. I want the man who sent that knife into my hall."
Robert glanced at Robb, still holding Jon's bridle. "And when one runs into a lord's house? Suppose he names a lord he's never laid eyes on?"
Bracken was listening behind Renly. Jon had given Androw the clerk's name. He kept it to himself now.
"I'll have the house watched and bring what I have to Lord Arryn. Ser Androw makes the arrests for the Hand. I want the right man, Your Grace. Any prisoner can give me the name of someone he hates."
Robert looked at Jon's bloody coat. "And you'll answer for what your men do?"
"I will, Your Grace."