"Ask away, sir. Whatever I know, I'll tell you plain."
David had heard the question a hundred times. Men who could afford his rooms were almost always merchants chasing opportunity or sellswords and hedge knights chasing coin. The truly broke—smallfolk and refugees—slept in alleys or the cheaper doss-houses down by the fish market.
Bill didn't waste breath on pleasantries. "Tell me, is there anywhere nearby I can rent a warehouse? I've got a shipment that needs proper storage."
David's smile widened. Another sale. "You've come to the right man, sir. I've got several warehouses right behind the inn. How much space do you need?"
Bill's face lit up, but he kept his voice careful. "Really? That would be perfect. I only brought a few barrels of beer—nothing fancy—but the sun out here will spoil them fast. Mind if we take a look first?"
"Of course, sir. They're just fifty yards behind us. Follow me."
David didn't argue. He'd seen plenty of first-time traders who wanted to inspect everything in broad daylight before committing. Smart ones. The foolish ones learned the hard way.
They went back down the creaking stairs, through the hall, and out the rear door instead of circling around front. The moment they stepped outside, Bill's shoulders relaxed a fraction. The back alley wasn't the narrow, stinking lane he'd feared. It was wide, paved with neat stone, and bright with afternoon sun. The buildings stood in orderly rows, each one aligned perfectly with its neighbors. No crooked walls, no cramped gaps—just clean, planned space.
David noticed the look on Bill's face and chuckled. "Prince Gaemon laid all this out before the first stone was set. No one's allowed to build over the roads. Break the rule and they tear your house down and fine you heavy. Can't pay? You work it off on the roads until the debt's cleared."
Bill stared at the street. Two full wagons could pass each other with room to spare—five yards across at least. "You left the roads this wide? How many houses did you lose? How much coin went into paving alone?"
David's chest puffed with pride. "That's nothing, sir. Look down."
He pointed at the edges of the road. Bill followed the gesture and saw long, narrow slots cut into the stone—thin grates running the length of the street. Faint trickles of water could be heard flowing beneath.
"Drainage channels," David explained. "Oros sits right on the coast beside the Wendwater. Rain comes heavy here. Without these, the whole city would turn into a lake every storm. The prince ordered them dug first—main roads first, then every side street as it went up. Keeps everything dry and clean year-round."
Bill blinked, genuinely stunned. Even King's Landing still stank and flooded after heavy rain. "The entire city has these?"
"Every major street, sir. And more being added every month."
They walked another short distance. The warehouse row looked almost identical to the inn—long, solid timber-and-plaster buildings—but bigger. David stopped at the nearest door and swung it open.
The interior was dim, lit only by the rectangle of daylight from the doorway. Roughly a hundred square feet of clean, brick-paved floor stretched away into shadow. No windows, no clutter—just empty, dry, ready space.
Bill stepped inside, eyes adjusting quickly. Solid walls, level floor, good height. Perfect for barrels. He gave a satisfied nod and turned back to David.
"How much to rent one of these, innkeep?"
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