Percy left early the following morning. No one tried to stop him or even seemed to care. He was just one soldier from Arianne's retinue. A squire, not even a knight, so what did it matter if he left early?
And he left early. The sky was scattered with dawn clouds and the mountain air carried a bite. The orchards had people in them, of course, but most were just arriving. Percy rode past them, his eyes picking out a narrow canal that carried water around the orchard. Men with buckets were scooping it out and carrying it to the trees.
Percy followed the road downhill, traveling in the direction of Toland Territory.
O-O-O
It was a day's trip, but Percy chose to stay the night roughly halfway, put up by a kindly miller's family. In addition to the husband and wife, they had an adult son and another son half his age. They told him they had a daughter as well who had already married. All of them, particularly the miller, were excited to speak to a polite member of the Martell household who was willing to pay for his stay.
"Are you a hedge knight?" the miller asked over dinner.
His wife scoffed. "Look at him, Julan. He's clearly a noble! My husband meant no disrespect, ser."
"I didn't take any," Percy said. "Besides, you're both kind of right. I'm half-noble."
He'd decided this was the easiest way to introduce himself. Bastards were common, especially in Dorne, although he'd heard their treatment elsewhere could be hit or miss. If he went to any of the other Seven Kingdoms, who knows, maybe he'd turn into a second son overnight.
The following morning, after breakfast, Percy dropped coins on the table.
The miller counted them with his eyes, before recounting with his finger.
"That's too much!" he said. "We couldn't possibly ask for all this—"
"It's not just for food," Percy said. He looked at their older son, a strapping man who was almost Percy's height. "Do you have any spare clothes?"
"For that many coins," the man said, "I'd give the clothes off my back."
Luckily, that wasn't necessary, and an hour later Percy laid eyes on Ghost Hill, his comfortable Martell-supplied garb exchanged for a coarse tunic that made him feel like he was back in Wylmouth.
The road hugged close to the river, following its path down a moderately steep grade. Percy gazed at the glittering waters of the Sea of Dorne. Between him and the sparkling sheet was a valley of farmland. There was a village surrounded by low stone walls, and on an oceanside cliff only a little bit lower than where Percy was standing, the chalk-white walls of Ghost Hill were lit up by the sun. It had four square towers located on the corners, with a central keep half and again as large as Spottswood.
"Looks like we've arrived," Percy told his horse, running his hands along the stallion's neck.
The Sand Steed's name was Nymor, after an ancient prince of Dorne. He had a chestnut coat and was big by Dornish standards. Percy thought that he had a bit of attitude, which was why he liked to ride him. All the best horses were a little arrogant.
"You know what this means, don't you buddy? You get to take a day off."
Nymor shook his head side to side, not looking particularly pleased. Percy hadn't been able to figure out if horses could understand exactly what he was saying or if they just picked up on his intent. Until he could hear their voices, there was no way for him to check.
Before they reached the populated valley, Percy and Nymor left the trail behind. They picked their way through the woods and found a thicker copse of trees behind a large boulder visible from the road. That would be Percy's landmark to find his way back.
He slipped from the saddle and tied Nymor to a tree. Rummaging through the supplies he brought, Percy took out a handful of oats and fed them to the horse, slightly easing his funk.
"I'll be back before dark. You'll spend tonight in a nice stable, being looked after by a stablehand. So put up with this for a bit."
Percy left everything except his money with Nymor. He even left his sword. The odds of needing it were extremely low, and carrying it around would make it hard to look unassuming. Smallfolk didn't often walk around with professionally forged weapons.
Percy stretched. He took a moment to appreciate the forest. It was arid as far as woods went, and hot, but it was hot the way that Wylmouth was, not like Sunspear. He took a deep breath through his nose and breathed out from his mouth.
"Alright. Time to get busy."
First, he went to the river. It was called the Windspent, a pretty name that came from the brisk mountain air that followed its current. Compared to the River Wyl, this was just a creek. Even this close to its mouth anyone could have swum from one side to the other safely and easily.
It would have been especially easy right now. The banks were dry along most of their slope. The Windspent was less than half full. When he came to it, Percy slid down the steep bank until he was close to the water. He knelt and put his hand in, feeling the cool embrace around his fingertips.
When he drew his hand out, he shook it to dry his fingers. Moving a foot up the bank, he planted his palm on the sandy dirt. Percy closed his eyes.
He probably looked slightly ridiculous, which was why he chose to do this away from prying eyes.
Percy felt the grit on his skin, of course. It was sandy and clung between his fingers. Breathing in and out, Percy kept his eyes closed. He focused on the ground and really felt it.
It was dry now, but not desiccated. It had drunk its fill and not long ago at that. He finally stood up, knocking his hand against his thigh to rid it of grit. Percy looked at where he was and where the river still flowed, separated by maybe a foot.
"Interesting."
After he climbed back onto the road, he followed it until he reached the fields he'd seen from above. That didn't take long, probably ten or fifteen minutes. While they grew a variety of crops from wheat to figs, the largest fields had rows of short leafy plants. They were especially plentiful beneath the hill that had the keep at the top. Percy managed to investigate one of the plants without attracting attention, mostly thanks to how many workers were tending these fields.
"So these are their famous peppers."
Many had already been harvested. The rest would follow them soon, based on how fat and juicy they were. The river flowed right past the fields, and Percy wandered that direction.
Every thirty paces along the riverbank were devices fashioned from wood and rope. They looked like cooking spits shapewise, with a much longer stick balanced across the middle so that its ends hung off either side. At the close end of each long stick was a moderately heavy rock tied in order to not come off. At the other end were buckets connected to ropes. They were pulleys, designed to raise heavy buckets of water from the river without excessive toil.
Based on how many there were, they were important to these fields.
They were also completely deserted. When Percy got closer, he saw why. Their buckets could no longer reach the river, with how low the water had gotten.
"You! What are you doing?"
Percy looked over. Instead of a foreman, it was an armed soldier that was coming toward him. Actually, the man might've been both. He wasn't armored, just carrying a sword on his hip with a whip tied to his belt. Percy suspected the whip was for punishment.
"Are you here to labor, or to gaze at the river!" barked the soldier.
"Gaze at the river," Percy said immediately. "I don't even work here."
The soldier balked. "Then get out of the fields! If I catch you here again, you know what it'll mean!"
Percy jogged off.
He gave the fields he'd been caught in a wide berth and went to the village. Once he stepped foot in town, he started to feel more comfortable. Ghost Hill was a port just like Wylmouth with boats coming in and sailors stopping for the night. He passed a market that was almost eerily like the one that he knew. Seeing it reminded him of days perusing vendors with Dyanna, where she would quiz him about prices and teach him how to barter. Smiling, he moved on.
It was easy to find an inn. There, he'd be able to purchase lunch easily. But one glance inside showed him that it was full of sailors who were only slightly more local than he was. Percy moved on.
He kept his eyes peeled. It was a Percy classic— instead of spending too much time planning, he kept his eyes open for the right opportunity, and when it came he took it.
A boy and his mother were taking labored steps with two buckets of water. They had to use both hands to carry one each. The progress was slow and both were sweating.
The son's legs buckled. He was probably twelve at the oldest, or as young as ten. He started to pitch forward, the water sloshing as it threatened to spill.
Percy caught and steadied him. While the boy was surprised, Percy eased the bucket out of his hands, easily holding it with one hand. The kid gaped. He had straw colored hair that was shared by his mom, with a gap between his front teeth.
"Who're you?" the boy asked.
His mother wanted to smack him. The fact that both hands were full thwarted her.
"Thank him! He just saved you an extra trip, you squash-footed boy!"
"Oh!" The fate he almost faced settled in, sending the boy into shivers. "Seven bless ye, ser. I would've been a goner!"
"No worries," Percy said. "Were you taking these somewhere?"
"Our home is close by," said the mother. "We were almost back—"
"I'll take them for you. They're light enough."
She barely noticed him slide the second bucket handle out of her grasp, he did it so fast. Her son was staring at Percy.
"Are all grown ups as strong as you, ser?" he asked.
"Some of them," Percy said.
"My da's not," said the boy. "It'd sure help if he was."
They were right. Their house was only a few minutes away, a farmhouse made of stone just north of the village. The mom started to look nervous when they got close, hoping Percy wouldn't ask for payment. When he asked to be paid with lunch, not coin, she enthusiastically agreed.
The family had six children total. The father came in from the fields to eat with the family, shaking Percy's hand when he heard the story.
A mutton stew was served and Percy ate his portion with relish, even if it didn't have the flavor of Sunspear's royal dishes.
"I used to get what water we needed each morning before I went to the fields," the father said. His name was Jon, a name shared by the son that Percy had met. He shook his head. "There's no time anymore."
"Why not?"
"Cause they're no' letting us use the river!" said the younger Jon.
"River's low," his dad said. "The lord said the pepper fields have to be watered first. We have to take water from down by the mouth, thirty minutes' walk away."
"Forty, if you've got li'l legs," said small Jon. He crossed his arms. "Worst is, there's plenty of water. Not like we need to go so far, if the soldiers weren't such clodpulls."
Percy glanced around the home. Going off of Wylmouth, this family was on the bigger size of average for a Smallfolk one. They had quite a few mouths to feed and from what he could see, they were feeding them all. Small Jon and his siblings didn't show any signs of malnutrition. They had even been happy to feed a stranger for helping them carry a few buckets unprompted.
"There's enough water?" Percy asked. "Why would they make you go so far, then?"
Small Jon wasn't given a chance to answer.
"The boy doesn't know what he's saying," Jon said. "There's water in the stream, aye, but that can go quickly. Water's low, it definitely is. Soon it'll mean problems."
"What's causing it?" Percy asked.
"Next lord up the river," Jon said. "He's using it all for his lemon trees, he is."
"Using it how?"
"Well… He's scooping the water out! How else would he be doing it? He must have big buckets." Jon thought better of this a few seconds later. "Or lots of buckets, more like."
Percy enjoyed his meal. Other than frustration about having to go further to fetch water, the family was living quite well. Percy ate three helpings of stew, then paid a few coppers for the meal over the protests of Jon's wife. Jon had gone back to work nearly thirty minutes before Percy left. Small Jon walked him to the door.
When Percy was loose in the village again, he walked the streets and kept his eyes open. Near the center of town he found what was looking for.
There was a notice board with all kinds of bulletins. A wolf had been sighted by a shepherd, and those with livestock or children were warned to keep them under watch. A few of the stalls in the market were advertising goods that had come in recently. In the middle of the notice board was the paper that mattered most.
"Water shortage," he read aloud to himself. "Lord Santagar of Spottswood has laid claim to more than his share of water to feed his lemon orchards. Until the river is returned to its proper state, no buckets are to be filled except within a thousand steps of the river mouth."
It was signed, which meant it most likely arrived with a servant who could read. Someone who could gather the smallfolk and roar the proclamation for the unlettered to hear, before leaving the notice behind as a reminder.
The wording sounded awfully familiar. Percy heard all the same points at the table where he ate lunch. He suspected this was where Jon's opinions came from.
Percy stepped back and began the walk out of town, retracing his steps. The water was clearly low, and Lord Santagar's explanation of drought didn't add up, or else Percy wouldn't have been able to sense that the river was recently much higher. Drought was a gradual thing. It was when humans got up to something that things could change fast.
It was midafternoon when Percy spotted the boulder where he left his horse. He stopped by and fed Nymor more oats, which was a bribe to keep him happy, because Percy wasn't ready to untie him yet. Instead, Percy retrieved his normal clothes from the saddlebag.
He returned to the river. Hoping that no one would come by in the next fifteen minutes, he stripped down and stepped into the river. He had to hunch his shoulders in order to get them underwater even at the deepest point.
The current scoured him in under a minute. Percy dunked his head, and his hair was given the same treatment. When he climbed out he looked halfway to a new man. He fetched his clothes, the nice leathers that he wore at Arianne's side, and dressed himself in them. His body had already dried by the time the clothes were on.
This time when he returned to Nymor, he untied the horse and swung himself into the saddle.
Riding through the village, he turned heads in a completely different way. Percy's hair bounced in time with Nymor's quick trot. The orange sun with a spear through it embroidered on this chest helped that. Arianne did the needlework herself.
Soon Percy was riding toward Ghost Hill's gate. The older of two posted guards addressed him. "Who goes there?"
"Perseus Jackson, acting on behalf of Princess Arianne Martell!" Percy used the deep voice he'd used to organize troops during the Battle of Manhattan. "I've come to investigate Windspent River and get to the bottom of your lord's complaint."
An intense look from the older guard sent his younger partner running inside the keep.
"Just a moment," the older guard said. "Come inside. Would you like someone to see to your horse?"
Ten minutes later, Percy entered the heart of the courtyard on foot. He was flanked by two different guards than the ones by the gate. Percy was taller and broader than them both. He kept his head high as he studied the courtyard. Predictably, it was much smaller than its equivalent at the Sandship.
In the time it took to get Nymor stabled, a greeting party had been cobbled together for him. There were half a score of attendants with a pair of knights and what looked like the keep's master-at-arms. At the heart of the welcoming party were two girls. Percy recognized them as members of House Toland by their hair— the same red mane as Nymeria's guard.
Unlike Tomar Toland, these girls had skin slightly darker than Arianne's. One was tall and beautiful, with a sharp face and narrow eyes. The other one was plump and short. She had walnut shaped eyes which were looking at Percy as if he'd put a sword through her pet. Without warning, she turned and ran.
Percy actually stopped. He had been putting effort into walking evenly and keeping his head high. It was a mix of things Nymeria taught him with his best impersonation of how the Olympians acted, blending the two to make him seem as noble and important as possible.
He couldn't keep the act up as he watched one of the ladies here to greet him flee in terror. Fortunately, her sister didn't have the same reaction.
Biting back an angry sigh as her sister ran, the taller one moved forward, favoring Percy with a smile. She bent her knees and dipped her head.
"Valena Toland, heir to Ghost Hill, greets you ser," she said. "You've made a long trip for our troubles, and for that we are deeply grateful."
"I can see your gratitude," Percy said, visibly taking in the group.
Who wasn't here said as much as who was. The heir had come to greet him. Lady Toland was nowhere to be seen. Even her husband hadn't come. Maybe they were busy.
Or maybe, when one un-knighted squire appeared on their doorstep, they were replying in kind. The heir and her sister were enough to greet him.
They weren't ready to offer more than that.
"Might I enquire, will the princess be arriving soon?" Valena asked.
"It's not clear yet whether she'll be making the trip," Percy said. "She has given me the authority to act in her place."
"Truly?" Valena asked. "It gladdens me to see her taking such decisive action."
Percy walked forward again, moving with all the nobility he could muster. Although it felt out of character, he could muster a lot. The whispers that began when he called himself Arianne's agent disappeared. Valena stared at him as he came closer, lost in his eyes. When Percy smiled, it made her soften.
"I trust that Lady Toland isn't busy?" Percy asked. "As you said, I made a long trip. It wouldn't reflect well for the princess's agent to be kept waiting."