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"All right, then we'll go with Jaime's plan. Ah, and you had something to say as well, didn't you, Joffrey?"
On the dais, Cersei immediately confirmed Jaime's plan, then turned her head toward her son.
Joffrey glanced sideways at his mother and, when he saw her give a slight gesture toward Jaime, he nodded.
Then, in a tone that still carried a trace of reluctance, he spoke to Jaime below:
"Uncle Jaime, after my coronation, you will be my Hand of the King."
"It will be an honor to serve you."
Hearing that, Jaime shot a discreet glance at Cersei, then bowed to Joffrey.
"At the moment, the most important thing is capturing Robb Stark. That wretch... I'm still going to cross swords with him again. I won't just make him fall into the mud, I'll carve his body full of bloody holes..."
Ahem!
Seeing her son grow more and more agitated, his face twisting further and further, Cersei coughed pointedly.
At the warning from his mother, Joffrey shut his mouth at once and said no more.
After smoothing his expression back into place, he turned to Littlefinger, who until then had listened in silence, and said:
"Baelish, inform the High Septon at the Great Sept of Baelor to prepare my father's funeral in the coming days.
After that, make sure enough gold is prepared. When the time comes, I'm going to hold a tourney. My coronation must be magnificent."
"As Your Grace commands."
Though Joffrey had not yet been crowned, Littlefinger, sly as ever, was already addressing him with all the reverence due a king.
"Good, then that's all for today. My father was betrayed, my goodbrother fled, and my beautiful betrothed is surely very sad. I'm going to take her out to distract her."
The moment he finished speaking, Joffrey strode out of the throne room in high spirits, with the Hound following close behind him in the direction of Maegor's Holdfast.
"All right, everyone else may withdraw. Jaime, stay for now. There are a few things I want to discuss with you."
"Yes, Your Grace!"
Varys and the others bowed and withdrew, leaving Jaime standing alone in silence in the middle of the throne room.
"Lord Varys, do you truly not know where Robb Stark is?"
The moment they stepped out of the throne room, Littlefinger, who had made a point of walking close to Varys, drifted nearer and asked in a low voice, smiling.
"Of course not, Lord Baelish. Are you questioning my loyalty?"
Varys turned his head toward him with a broad smile and replied with a question of his own.
"No, no, I would never think such a thing. It's only that, from what I hear, Lord Varys was recently in the vicinity of Cobbler's Square, was he not?"
"Hehe, Lord Baelish's information truly does travel quickly. I went there to buy a fur cushion.
When one sits in the same place for too long, certain discomforts are bound to set in.
I am not like Lord Baelish, who can walk about, take his time observing everything, and sit only for a moment when he finds a better place."
"Hahaha, of course one must walk a great deal and observe a great deal. And if one is to sit, it should be somewhere higher, with a better view.
Lord Varys, be careful. If you sit in the same place for too long, one day you may find you can no longer rise from it."
"Hehe, you are quite right."
The two royal councillors exchanged a few more very friendly words, then went off in opposite directions.
...
The purse of golden dragons was hidden in the shop at Cobbler's Square. On him, Robb had only three silver stags, what remained of the bribe he had given to the Gold Cloaks the day before.
In his previous life, he had been used to going out with nothing but his phone, never carrying cash. Now, for the first time, he understood very clearly that in this age, having no money meant being able to do almost nothing.
The inns in King's Landing were even more expensive than those at the Boar's Head. Even putting aside the searches by the Gold Cloaks, Robb simply had no way to afford lodging there for many days.
The long cloak he had taken during his escape at noon did not fit him properly. In an emergency, it had done well enough, but there was no way he could walk the streets wearing that without drawing attention.
So, after giving Gendry a silver stag and asking him to buy clothes in the style of King's Landing that would fit his size, Robb was left with only two silver stags.
The sword that had helped him escape the encirclement, its blade full of small chips, had already been melted down by Gendry.
It did not take long for the boy to return with a set of clothing that was clearly southern: a dark blue linen robe.
With the change that remained, the thoughtful Gendry even bought, on his own, a small bit of Myrish ointment.
In addition, he brought back news from outside. At the moment, the muddy road near the Mud Gate and Hook Street in Fishmonger's Square were being searched section by section by hundreds of Gold Cloaks and Lannister soldiers.
Meanwhile, Cobbler's Square and the main crossings of the Street of Steel were also under watch, though less strictly. They searched only those who looked suspicious.
If they found nothing at the Mud Gate or Fishmonger's Square, then they would probably shift their search back to those two places.
Even so, by the standards of the age, King's Landing was an enormous city. Searching all of it with fewer than a thousand men would take far too much time. It was not something likely to reach this place anytime soon.
After washing himself with clean water, having Gendry apply the ointment to his back, and changing clothes, Robb, still unable to show himself outside, gave him another silver stag and asked one more small favor.
A little boy of eight or nine, dressed in rags and with his face smeared with mud and soot, sat in the street on the Street of Steel, holding out a hand to passersby for alms.
If someone watched him long enough, they would notice that even when he received copper coins, his eyes never stayed on the money. They remained fixed the whole time on the smithy across the street.
The black-haired youth stepped out of the smithy.
But unlike the last time, this time he stopped in the doorway, looked around, and upon seeing the boy, walked straight toward him.
"Hey, little one, what's your name?"
the young man asked with a smile.
The boy only stared at him blankly, as though he had not understood a word.
Gendry scratched at his greasy hair, pulled a silver stag from his pocket, and spoke again:
"If you open your mouth, this coin is yours."
The lure of a silver stag was far too strong for a street boy.
After thinking for a moment, he opened his mouth for Gendry.
Under the sunlight that was already beginning to fade, the sight of that empty mouth, the tongue cleanly cut out at the root, sent a chill down Gendry's spine.
Forcing a smile, he took the boy's right hand, placed the coin in it, and said in a low voice:
"Tell Lord Varys that the giant wolf wants to see him."
At those words, the boy's eyes widened. Clutching the coin tightly in his hand, he got up and ran off toward the Red Keep.
Watching the boy retreat farther and farther into the distance, Gendry shook his head and muttered to himself:
"Without power, all of us are helpless."
Night slowly descended, and the Street of Steel no longer held the noisy bustle of the day.
But for that street, many deals were struck precisely at night.
After all, once a man has decided to kill, he tends to prefer buying his weapon under the cover of darkness.
While Gendry was tidying the smithy with great care, a figure stumbled and collapsed right in front of the doorway.
He walked over to the entrance and saw that it was a fat drunk, lying face-down on the ground.
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