Aemon of Dragonstone

[aiwonder]

Otho found Jon at his desk, dressed except for his boots, with the Saltcliffe drawings spread beside the trays of dragonshell. His breakfast had gone cold.

"The cart is ready," Otho said. "Borren was to find our guides."

"Ask Tommen. Take the rods and cords and begin where we agreed. I shall come when the questioning is done."

"They will ask about Borren."

"Tell them he is in my dungeon. They will hear the rest from me."

Jon covered the shells and pulled on his dry boots. At the door Arthur told him Ethan was waiting below. The boatmaster had been asking for wine.

"Water will serve him. I want to see the passengers first."

* * *

Someone had washed Laro's hair and put a clean shirt upon him. The collar was gone. Linen covered the place where it had rubbed, and he sat with his neck carefully straight, following Arthur's sword until the knight stopped beside the door. Without the dirt and salt he looked younger. Jon disliked how much that changed the sight of him.

Lorren said he had slept and eaten a little. Mallador was still forbidden to use his injured arm; Denner was enduring his complaints. Jon drew a stool to Laro's bedside, with the maester beside him to help where Jon's High Valyrian failed to reach the boy's Lysene speech.

When Jon glanced at the bread upon the coverlet, Laro put his hand over it.

"Keep it. There will be more."

His father made rope in Lys. An uncle had found him a place upon a merchantman, and he had sailed hoping to bring home money. He remembered his wages and the first hot meal he had bought ashore. Then he reached the galley which had come alongside asking help for a sick man, and his voice dwindled.

Grapnels had come over the rail. He hid beneath a coil of rope; they found him there. He could not say how many moons had passed since. There had been too much time below decks. The master taken last night had not been among the attackers. Laro had seen him later, bringing provisions and carrying away cargo.

Yesterday that man had argued over whether he was worth more mending rope or sold ashore. Afterwards they lowered him into the boat by his bound wrists.

Laro lifted his hands to explain. Lorren eased them down, but Jon had seen the swollen band beneath the sleeve. The boy had listened while men discussed his price. One of them was downstairs asking for wine.

He was to wait with the cargo in the house ashore until another vessel collected him. Five captives remained upon the galley: two women and three men. Her figurehead was a swan with its neck broken off, pale wood showing through the paint.

"Give that description to Denys," Jon told the maester.

Laro caught the name and began speaking quickly, drawing his feet beneath the blanket.

"He thinks you mean to send him back to find them."

"No." Jon leaned nearer. "You are free, Laro. You will stay here while you recover. No one has bought you."

Even after the maester repeated it, the boy kept watching him, trying to discover what had been left unsaid. Jon told Lorren to send for anything else he needed and began to rise.

"My father."

He sat down again. Laro hurried through his father's name and the way to the workshop, then stopped because he had forgotten a turning. A yard where the ropes were laid out. A blue door beside it. His eyes followed the maester's quill as though an error might lose his father altogether.

"I shall send a letter with a ship bound for Lys," Jon promised.

"He cannot read."

"Then the man carrying it will read it to him."

Laro pressed the heel of his hand against one eye. "Tell him I tried to come home."

For a moment Jon heard his own son calling from another room, in a house he would never enter again. He had to swallow before answering.

"I will."

In the passage he stopped to unclench his left hand. He had spent years studying Rome and the wealth it had wrung from its slaves. He knew the arguments used to excuse it. Hearing them here, with a boy afraid his father would think he had abandoned him, made him sick with anger.

Daenerys's punishment of the masters of Slaver's Bay would look like child's play beside what he intended once he had the strength to reach them. He would ruin the men who owned the markets as thoroughly as those who kept the captives. It would take ships and armies and wealth he did not yet possess. He meant to acquire them.

The woman in the next room had paid for passage from Hull to Blackburn, where her sister had written that the castle was hiring servants. Once clear of Hull, the master went to the galley instead. She could wait while he collected his cargo, he said, or swim. When Laro tried to speak to her, he struck him with a lantern.

Her daughter pressed against her skirts. The woman drew her onto her lap and covered one small ear while explaining what she had heard: workmen would soon be along that shore, and the house must be emptied.

Jon asked Wylla to send for the woman's sister. Outside, Arthur closed the door softly.

"Borren said they paid for passage," Jon said.

"Some did."

Enough truth to hide behind. Jon went down to hear the rest.

* * *

Hewyn had built up the fire above the dungeon stair, though its warmth scarcely reached the guards at the door. Damp darkened the wall beneath the high window, where the maester settled to catch the light.

Rollam's chain caught upon his stool. He pulled at it in sudden panic until Hewyn freed the link. He could be little older than Laro; Jon wished that made his part easier to judge.

His uncle had fetched him and three other carriers after the meeting to clear the western smokehouse. Rollam knew the goods avoided Blackburn's dues. Five nights he had worked there, for six coppers each, once eight for staying until morning. His work was outside, he insisted. Yet he had seen a man try to leave and a sailor bring him back. He had also seen Borren pay Orrick, the guard who came ahead of last night's boat to say the patrol remained farther east.

The other carriers were questioned separately. One had taken bread inside after Borren locked the door. Another said he fled with Orrick because the man wore the castle badge. Ethan asked how he had seen it beneath the guard's cloak; the answer came less readily.

Jon sent Tomas and Marros to search the smokehouse by daylight and guard Borren's house. They were to take men who knew boats. Stolen cargo was to be found; the villagers' fishing gear left alone.

Hessa came in without her cap, trying to hide the short chain against her stomach. Before she sat, she asked for her son.

"He is in his cell. I have spoken to him." Jon waited until she sat. "Yesterday you said people paid for passage. Laro did not. Was he the first you had reason to doubt?"

"Borren said—"

"Tell me what you saw."

Before the last new moon there had been a woman beneath a boat, her skirts drawn over her feet. When she moved, Hessa saw blood upon one ankle and skin rubbed away around both. The woman watched a sailor by the steps the whole time Hessa brought her bread.

"Did you tell your brother?"

"He said she had hurt herself in the crossing."

"And you believed him?"

"He is my brother." She looked up, frightened and angry together. "He fed us when my husband did not come home. Found work for Rollam. What was I to tell him? That I thought he had become the sort of man who—"

"You could have come here."

"And said a woman's ankles were sore?" She turned to Ethan. "You sent men. They found nothing."

"I did not know there was a woman, Hessa."

Her expression faltered. She wiped her face, dragging the chain across her dress.

"You saw blood and the skin rubbed away," Jon said. "Do not call that a sore foot again."

"I was afraid."

"So was she. What became of her?"

Borren had said she went on. Hessa had not asked where. She remembered boats waiting beyond the rocks for word from the upper path; the maester wrote while Jon drew out what she knew. When he finished, she begged to see Rollam. Her son had only followed his uncle.

"When I have finished with the sailors. Until then you remain apart."

Borren tried to smile at Ethan when he entered. His swollen lip spoiled the attempt. He began about Rollam's innocence and his own help during the fighting.

"Mallador told me you knocked the knife aside," Jon said. "He also told me you struck him before that. Who told you the landing was safe?"

"Boats have landed there for years." Borren appealed to Ethan with a glance. Jon knew that look: a grown man hoping someone would take the matter out of the boy's hands.

"I asked about last night."

"Orrick passed upon his round."

At first the payments were fish and wine. When Jon mentioned the silver Rollam had seen, they became two stags whenever a boat came. Since spring, Borren admitted. The buyers had been coming for two winters.

"You remember that winter." He spoke to Ethan again. "Boats ashore with no canvas fit to put them out. I found men willing to advance what we needed."

"Who?" Jon asked.

"Merchants from Hull." His foot moved until the chain scraped. "You will need them for all that building. Send me back with Ethan and a guard. I can put the trade right."

"You are not going back."

"My lord, you have been here little more than a week. Men owe me, and I owe others. If you take me away—"

"You sat at my table yesterday and heard me promise work for your people. Then you helped bring a slave ashore." Jon rose. "Do not tell me what Saltcliffe owes you."

"I did not know about the collar."

"Who locked the people in your house?"

"I have kept goods there for half the village. Ask—"

Jon turned to the guard beside Borren. "Strike him."

The fist caught him across the mouth. His stool scraped sideways; the guard caught his shoulder before he fell. Borren bent over his manacles, coughing blood onto his coat.

Jon waited for him to raise his head. "Who locked the door?"

"I did. When the master told me. They owed him money for passage."

"One tried to leave. A sailor brought him back."

Borren said nothing. His bravado had gone, but he had yet to name anyone who paid him. Jon came round the table and asked about the woman with the raw ankles.

"Hessa told you?"

"Answer."

Borren claimed the master had said she tried to jump overboard. They tied her to stop her doing it again. He could not understand her speech; how was he to know what she had agreed to?

"There is a maester in this castle. You could have brought him to her. Instead you took their coin and locked her in."

Jon could smell the old sweat in his coat. He wanted to seize him by the throat. Somewhere there were other houses like that smokehouse, and men expecting the next payment.

"Who settled the money?"

"If I name a man, he will hear of it. My sister still has to live there."

"You took her son with you last night," Ethan said. "Do not pretend you were thinking of them."

At last Borren named Neresso, a merchant in Hull. Ethan pressed him until he described rooms above a warehouse beside the boatyards, with a carpenter working beneath. Neresso had bought fish first, advancing money for casks and canvas. Later he paid for storing cargo and finding carriers. Some goods returned to Hull; others went inland from Blackburn in carts. The woman had gone back to the larger ship two nights later. Borren denied knowing where it took her.

"Why risk another landing with my men measuring Saltcliffe?"

"It was to be the last. I sent word about the works. The master said he would clear the house."

"He brought more cargo."

"Until another boat could take it away." He looked towards the door. "Tomorrow night. If the weather held."

A larger vessel, with two masts, would use the same cove. Jon sent Denys the description and expected night; he would hear the sailors before trusting either.

"Give Ethan the carters' names. You no longer speak for Saltcliffe. No orders, no money collected in my name, no word sent out of this castle."

"Rollam, my lord. If I help you—"

"You will answer for your own deeds. So will he."

* * *

Voss brought irons found beneath the boat's forward boards. One cuff could have closed about a child's wrist. Jon had them laid upon the table. Denys had accounted for his patrols: none had been the vessel sighted outside the point. She might yet have been an ordinary trader bound north.

Orrick admitted six payments. He had obtained that stretch of coast by asking Torven to exchange his duties with those of a man whose child was ill. The illness was real; Ethan had sent to the house. When Tobin complained about the landings, Orrick warned Borren and led the searchers away from the smokehouse.

"Eleven years you have served here," Ethan said. "And sold us for two stags."

The guard kept his eyes down. Torven confirmed the exchange of duties; the searchers described where Orrick had led them. Ethan would examine the earlier changes with Torven.

The sailors followed separately. Lorren had the injured oarsman's leg supported while he answered. He named Neresso without prompting and described the carpenter sharpening tools while they rolled casks past his door. The mate admitted that the galley took merchantmen and bought stolen cargo. Other captains shared her stores and anchorages. He had seen three ships together, but did not know how many belonged to them. He also confirmed the collecting vessel expected tomorrow night.

Their master came last, one eye nearly swollen shut, still protesting that his goods were bought.

Jon touched the wrist irons. "You held a knife at a bound boy's throat."

"The boy was not yours."

"He belongs to no one."

Arthur moved from the door. The master followed him with his good eye until Jon struck the table with his left palm. The irons jumped.

"Look at me. His name is Laro. His father makes rope in Lys and has had no word of him for months. Did you strike him with a lantern?"

"He would not be quiet."

Jon stared. The man actually seemed to believe he had explained it.

"Have you nothing else to say?"

"In Lys, a master has the right—"

"I will hear no claim that gives you the right to sell a boy." Jon leaned over the table. "You brought him onto my land in a collar and drew steel upon my men. You will stay in those chains until I decide how you die. Tell me where the others were taken."

Confronted with his mate's account, the master described the broken swan and an anchorage well south where the galley had last watered. By now she might be anywhere upon the Narrow Sea. Jon kept him until the noon bell, extracting the captains' names and the ships they commanded.

When he was taken down, Jon dictated a letter to Lord Velaryon. Neresso was to be seized, his warehouse searched and any captives freed. Denys would send Black Tern that afternoon with another captain and a rested crew. He would stay to cover the harbour and prepare tomorrow night's watch while Voss slept. Men would wait at the cove whether the collecting ship came or stayed away; any who yielded were to be taken alive.

"And I want those people found. Send the galley's description with the ships trading east."

Laro's letter would go with the first trustworthy master sailing to Lys, with orders to read it aloud to his father. All eleven suspects had now been questioned. Jon allowed Hessa her guarded visit to Rollam, then left with Ethan. They would hear for themselves how much Saltcliffe depended upon Borren.

Outside, practice swords rang across the yard. Jon unclenched his aching jaw. Aries was beneath the eaves, chasing a hanging sack with his wooden sword until it swung back at his face. He seized it with both hands.

"Let it swing," Jon said. "That is what it is there for."

"I thought you had gone." The boy looked towards the horses being saddled.

Jon took a practice sword. His right knuckle protested, so he changed hands. "Show me."

"With your left?"

"His feet work," Arthur said. "Watch those."

Aries attacked eagerly. Jon gave ground until the boy reached too far, then touched his chest.

"Again."

"Have I done something?" Aries's point drooped. "You're cross."

Jon had ordered Borren to answer in much the same voice. He lowered his sword.

"Not with you. I'm sorry. It has been a foul morning."

"Should I fetch my cloak?"

"There is time. Try once more."

Jon showed him a shorter step. Arthur corrected his stance, and they crossed the yard slowly, until Aries began watching Jon's weight instead of staring at his sword. When the groom approached, Jon held up a finger.

This time Aries let him move away. When Jon came within reach again, the boy struck, glancing off his blade and touching his sleeve.

"There," Arthur said.

Aries turned, delighted. Jon tapped his unguarded shoulder.

"That one does not count. He was speaking."

"You can ask him to keep quiet."

The boy considered the Sword of the Morning and decided against it. Arthur laughed.

"It was well struck," Jon told Aries. "You made me come to you."

As they put the swords away, Aries asked why he had been sent to Gawen last night. He could have carried blankets. Tomas had gone.

"Tomas has had years of training. There were men waiting with knives." Jon straightened the fastening at the boy's wrist. "You will have your turn. Until then, you stay where I send you."

Aries held still, his mouth stubborn. "Was Rollam frightened?"

"Yes."

"His mother was crying. I saw them before Wylla sent me upstairs."

Jon remembered his own children listening in doorways while the adults thought them safely out of earshot. Aries had been left to make sense of chains and a weeping mother.

"She is being questioned too. Helping us last night did not answer everything about what she knew."

"Will you tell me what happens?"

"What you need to know. Fetch your cloak. You come to Saltcliffe today."

Arthur examined Jon's knuckle while Aries hurried inside.

"Let your page do the buckles. That will please him."

"He ought to be worrying about missed blows," Jon said. "I don't want him lying awake wondering whether men will carry him off and sell him."

"Nor do I." Arthur glanced towards the infirmary.

"Laro was watching your sword."

"I saw. I'll leave it outside when I next see him."

Jon nodded and took the reins, waiting for Aries's feet in the passage.

* * *

The cloud had broken by the time they reached Saltcliffe. Sunlight lay upon the wet roofs, and smoke from the boiling shed drifted through the racks of split fish. A girl upon an overturned boat was swinging a rope at the gulls. She stopped to watch the riders. One bird dropped behind her and stole a piece before her belated shout could trouble it.

Jon looked towards the path that passed west behind the headland. The hidden cove was out of sight. Borren had walked home from locking people in that shed and eaten supper among neighbours who thought they knew him.

Arthur, Ethan and Aries dismounted beside him. Otho came down from the marked ground with Tommen and two boatmen who remembered the worst winter water. The first soldiers were unloading tools. Around them, islanders waited with baskets forgotten at their feet; one man moved nearer his wife when Ethan approached.

"I have questioned Borren," Jon told them. "He took payment for secret landings and paid a man of the garrison to warn him when the shore was to be searched. Last night we found a boy with an iron collar at his throat."

A woman touched her own neck. Tommen said, "I heard he was in debt, my lord."

"He was taken from a merchant ship. Borren accepted silver to keep people locked up until another boat came for them. I will not hear it called a debt."

"He has lived here all his life," a boatman protested. "We would have known."

"You did not." Jon waited for the man to meet his eyes. "Borren no longer speaks with my authority. Neither does the guard who helped him."

Faces turned towards Ethan. He endured their scrutiny without defending his garrison.

"What of Rollam?" a woman asked. "He is Hessa's only boy."

"And what of the one in the collar?" someone called from behind the racks.

"I have questioned Rollam," Jon said over the rising voices. "I will decide his punishment. Otho directs the work here, and Ethan will see to the village until I appoint a headman. Bring us anything you know of those landings. Anyone sending warning to Borren's accomplices will answer for it."

He asked what had stopped while they waited for him.

"The casks," Tommen said. "And the fish. We cannot sell it."

Borren's house stood above the ordinary landing, well east of the hidden cove. Guards waited outside its store, where casks, nets and a wrapped roll of sailcloth stood beneath the loft. The headman had supplied half the boats with something they could not do without, advancing money through winter and finding buyers for their catch. Now the fishermen crowded into his doorway, unable to agree upon what they owed.

"He said a good season would clear it," one admitted. "Said that last year too."

"Did he give you the reckoning?" Ethan asked.

"He told me." The man glanced towards the shore. "There was the fish to sell."

Jon could have sealed the store and left the maester to untangle ownership. Meanwhile a boat would lose days at sea because its net was behind a locked door. Borren's neighbours would remember who had turned the key.

Ethan had begun asking who dealt directly with the buyers. The answers came more readily than anything said about the western cove. These men knew the price of a cask and which merchant would wait for payment; confronted with Borren's prisoners, they had scarcely known where to look. Jon watched their hands moving over the goods as they spoke. The village could manage without its headman. First he had to give them somewhere to turn when the arrangements they had lived by fell apart.

A familiar Blackburn buyer was due that afternoon. Jon established that he supplied ships at anchor and kept a stall beside the market; this was ordinary trade, quite separate from the vessel expected at the western cove. He told Ethan to hear the price and see the men paid, keeping Borren's portion aside until the debts were examined.

"You will not pay the same debt twice," he told the man who had borrowed through winter. "Tell Ethan what you received and what you have given back."

Tommen could finish the sail already cut. If its cloth proved stolen, Jon would bear the loss; the uncut roll must await the maester's examination. Nets and ordinary boat gear could leave under Ethan's eye. Wine, oil and foreign cloth seized at the western smokehouse would remain with the other evidence.

Outside, a fisherman asked about his imprisoned brother's children. Ethan went down to him, promising food before dark. Across the yard, Gella stood with her arms folded beneath her apron.

"The pan is boiling, my lord. If you still want to see it."

"I do."

* * *

The pan simmered beneath rafters wet with steam. A drop fell upon Jon's hair as he bent to inspect an old repair beneath the rim. Smoke caught his eyes; the man tending the fire shifted a piece of fuel and the draught drew it away.

Gella had chosen her two learners: a woman who had worked pans across the bay and an older boatman whose knee would no longer straighten. Neither looked like someone awaiting a marvel. They had already lost working hours to a young lord's promises.

"They want to know how you mean to make it white," Gella said.

"You will see." Jon gave Arthur his cloak, and the knight hung it clear of the smoke. "Show me where you are with this batch."

She drained a rakeful into a basket and scraped the last grains from the wood. Jon tasted the salt. Bitterness lingered after the first sharpness had passed.

"That is a good batch," she said, watching his face. "The fuel is dry today."

He remembered tipping too much salt into a pot and swearing over it. Such a cheap, careless waste in his old life. Here every grain represented water carried and fuel gathered, and she had made certain none remained upon her rake.

He could change that. After the morning, the certainty was a relief.

"Ladle out a little of that saltwater. We can try it today."

"In what? Those boilers you drew are not built."

"A clean cooking pot. Keep your pan working."

She sent her boy to borrow a sound earthenware pot. The pan held strong brine, seawater boiled down until much of its water was gone. They strained a little through clean cloth, catching ash and grit, then left it to stand. The finer dirt would sink while they looked over the new works.

Outside, Otho's cords marked the ground for the first furnace and boiler, above the ordinary spray. Jon brought the learners out to see them. Aries stayed with Gella to help carry clean water for washing the pot and tools.

The older worker looked from the nearest peg to the soldier standing at the far end.

"All of that? For one boiler?"

"One. More will follow when we can supply them."

"My wife will have something to say if you mean me to feed that fire."

"You will have men to carry for you, and others to relieve you. Bring her when we settle your work and pay."

The woman wanted to know how they would get so much water uphill. Jon showed her the cleaner intake, away from the fish washing, and where a timber frame would stand. Men would turn a winch to haul up buckets and empty them into a trough leading to the settling tanks. From there, the water could run downhill to the boiling house. He remembered pumps he had inspected in another life, but those required fittings he could not yet provide. Otho's carpenters could build the frame.

Otho wanted the rock uncovered before fixing the frame's footings. Jon agreed. They would use the loose stone for the road.

He could see the finished works clearly enough to grow impatient with the pegs at his feet. Once these men had learned, they could teach the next hands themselves. Without that, every undertaking on the island would wait upon his coming.

A boatman stepped across the cord ahead of them. "I bring her up here when the sea rises, my lord. Put that edge across the slope and it'll split her bottom."

The hauling way met the proposed road upon steep ground. It had looked easier on the drawing. Jon walked it with him, then moved the crossing lower, taking space from the store yard. Otho held a board while he amended the plan: paving flush with the slope, the drain covered beneath the crossing. The boatman followed the shifting cord with his eyes.

His wife had been waiting beside him. "And my mother? You mean to take us higher. She cannot manage many steps."

Gella sent Aries after them as Jon followed the woman through a passage hung with washing. Her mother's room opened upon a small yard fenced with broken oars. It was damp, cramped and convenient. Jon had seen enough old people measure a home by the few journeys they could still make unaided.

He gave the family a ground-floor room in the lower row, with a door into the court and a level way to the working yard. The woman made Otho show her where it would stand.

"You stay here until it is ready," Jon told them.

She looked uphill. "And the nets?"

"There will be room. Show Otho what you need to keep."

He would not let the new streets bend around every familiar fence. But he had promised to oversee the building, and he would have to return when the walls rose to make certain her mother could reach the room he had given her. The woman would believe him when she saw it.

Aries caught his boot against a basket on the way down and apologised to its owner. A boy behind her asked whether he was one of Jon's soldiers.

"His page." Aries straightened his cloak. "I ride with him."

"Do you fight him?"

"We practise. I caught his sleeve today." He glanced at Jon.

"He did."

Aries was showing the boy where his sword had landed when Arthur called him down the path.

* * *

Noll had brought scrap plate and a hammer. He laid them upon a trestle with the air of a man expecting an unreasonable request.

"The breadth you drew, I cannot beat it out with the hands I have. Every man wants nails as it is."

"Then we buy plate for the first boiler. Show me the sizes you can join."

The smith overlapped two pieces. Rivets would hold them; keeping brine inside through repeated heatings was another matter. Jon crouched opposite him and drew the supporting brickwork in the dirt. The iron needed room to move as it heated, and they must be able to reach the joints for repairs. Noll examined the plates again.

Otho unrolled the larger drawing. The long boiling house filled most of it, with room for the workers along the vessels and separate stores for fuel and finished salt. Jon traced the brine's course from the settling tanks. Men would bring water and fuel while others tended the fires and gathered the salt; the work would continue through changes of hands. Noll's finger stopped upon the furnace beneath the first great boiler.

"I have mended pans. I've never built anything like that."

"You will build the first with me."

"And the masons?"

"With me too. We shall test the joints with cold water, then watch them as it heats." Jon drew the sheet nearer. "Tell me where you doubt it."

Noll named a joint near the corner. Jon turned the plate and showed how it would sit upon the support. The smith listened without agreeing. When Otho began rolling the plan again, Noll stopped him; he wanted another look at the underside. Jon left it open. They could begin there.

For a while Jon's world narrowed to the metal between them. He had missed this during the questioning: a difficulty that yielded something when he looked closely enough.

The woman from the pan interrupted. "Where am I meant to stand?"

Otho showed her on the plan. She stepped back and swung her rake as she would beside the pan, showing how far its handle reached. A worker passing behind her would be struck. Jon shifted the vessel's outline to leave a wider passage.

The woman watched him as though she expected offence. Jon thanked her and had Otho measure the space she needed. She would have to spend her days working there.

Back at the shed, Gella showed Jon the dirt settled at the bottom of the pot. They carefully poured the clear brine into a bowl, leaving the dirt behind, then washed the pot and poured it back. She set it over a small fire, sheltered from the blowing ash. A gentle simmer would steam away the water and leave the salt behind. Jon left her to tend it and took Otho to the waiting men.

The foundations and road could begin now, with a modest roof to keep their fuel dry. The greater building would follow when the plates and timber arrived. Abel knew the cost was coming; hoped-for clock orders would not buy iron this afternoon. The interval would give Noll time to settle his requirements while brick and stone were prepared in the other villages.

Jon explained the first work plainly. The hired men must tell Otho which days their boats could spare them. Stone and earth were to be kept apart, and no one was to shift the house pegs without asking. When the road was cleared, Otho could carry on with the foundations without waiting for Jon's next visit. Anything beyond the agreed work must come to him.

The fisherman who had objected to the crossing offered his sons once they had finished with the nets.

"That will do," Jon said.

One of the sons was already among the men. He looked towards his father, received a nod and took up a mattock. Others began fetching their tools. Jon watched the first uncertainty pass into the familiar business of deciding who would carry and who would dig. They could doubt his white salt while opening a trench. He needed the work begun, and Otho now had enough hands to begin it.

He took Otho's spade in his left hand and put his boot upon the blade. The turf resisted. For an irritating moment everyone waited upon the strength of a twelve-year-old boy, and he remembered lifting far heavier things. Arthur moved closer. Jon pressed down and turned the sod himself.

"Keep that earth for the ground above the houses."

Otho passed the spade to a soldier, whose next cut came more easily. Jon's right knuckle stung; he had caught the shaft with that hand as the turf gave way. He flexed it once and left them to work.

* * *

They ate while the trial pot heated. Stools came from the houses, and someone added smoked fish to the food Wylla had packed. The older worker's wife brought bread. Finding him beside the salt shed, she asked whether he still meant to carry fuel upon that knee.

"I've done it all winter."

"And I have watched you trying to get out of bed every morning." She noticed Jon listening and fell quiet.

"He can tend the fire sitting," Jon said. "Others will carry the fuel."

"I'd be glad of that, my lord," her husband said. His wife took a stool beside him and broke the bread.

Tommen came down from the store. The buyer had offered less upon hearing Borren was gone. Ethan had threatened to send the catch to Blackburn to be sold beside the man's own stall, and a better price had emerged. Below them, casks rolled towards the water while Ethan listened to a woman holding up a fish by its tail.

The sailmaker took bread but ate little. His eyes kept returning to the guard outside Borren's house.

"Borren bought my mother's shroud," he said at last. "I could not pay him that moon. He never asked afterwards."

Jon lowered his cup. "I believe you."

"He came to see her too, when she could no longer get down to the shore." Tommen seemed offended by the easy answer. He had prepared for an argument.

"You want me to spare him."

"No. I don't—" He rubbed crumbs between his fingers. "I've known him since we were boys, my lord."

Jon remembered Laro clutching his blanket. All morning he had forced men to acknowledge what they had done, and now a kindness to someone else was supposed to weigh against it. The anger came readily. Recognising that Tommen had asked nothing of the sort took more effort. He was trying to save some portion of the man he had trusted.

"Borren had the key," Jon said. "Those people could not leave unless he opened the door."

"He told us they were waiting for passage."

"Some were. Others came in chains. He knew which was which."

A boatman called from the shore. Tommen lifted a hand without looking round. At length he admitted he had thought Jon mistaken, even after seeing the guards.

"I am not mistaken."

"No, my lord." Tommen rose, leaving the bread. "I had better finish that sail."

Jon let him go. He believed Borren had sat beside the old woman and paid for her burial without expecting anything back. It would not save him.

Gella's boy called from the pot. Much of the water had steamed away, and white salt crystals were gathering at the edge. Jon gave Gella a clean scoop. She lifted them into a cloth-lined basket and let the water drain through.

"More will come if we boil it down," she said.

"The water left in the pot holds much of the bitterness. Leave it."

"There is salt still there."

"Set it aside. We will see how much, and what use we can make of it."

She obeyed reluctantly. The new furnaces would use heat that her shed squandered, but she had today's fuel to reckon with. Until they had proved themselves, these white grains would have to earn their price.

They spread a little salt upon a dish beside the warmth to dry. Above them spades struck stone; casks were lowered into the buyer's boat. Jon passed the dish to Gella when the grains were dry.

She rubbed a pinch between finger and thumb. White lodged in the creases of her darkened skin. She held it nearer the light, tasted it, waited, then tasted again.

"Let me," the other woman said.

"Wipe your hands. You've been at the fuel."

Gella surrendered the dish reluctantly. Her companions tried it and looked towards the old pan where the batch had begun. At last she pointed uphill.

"The great boilers will make salt like this?"

"Yes. Once we have built them properly."

Noll picked up his plates and examined the holes again. Jon felt a pleasure out of all proportion to the few grains on the dish. He had imagined ships and machinery, streets full of work. For now, a woman who had spent her life boiling dirty salt was tasting what he could teach her to make, and a smith was looking afresh at the difficulty of containing it.

"Could I take some to Wylla?" Aries asked.

Most stayed with Gella. Jon wrapped a little for Aries, while Noll took darker salt to show beside it. The boy carried his packet as carefully as gold. Gella examined the water they had set aside. By the time Jon returned, he suspected she would have tried another pot herself. He hoped she did.

Before mounting, Jon returned to the hillside. The first foundation line lay open. Otho was showing the boatman's wife the lower row; her husband had brought their nets to show how much room they needed. Ethan would finish the payments and see the detained men's families fed. Choosing a new headman could wait until he knew who had helped with Borren's ordinary work without taking part in the landings.

Tommen walked beside the horses to the bend. "I'll have the sail finished when you come back, my lord."

"Good. I want to see it set."

He bowed and turned homewards. From the road, Jon could see Gella outside the shed with the dish still in her hands. Farther up the slope, the men were digging while soldiers carried the loosened stones aside.

* * *

The castle was taking supper when they returned. Aries had gone quiet on the last stretch of road, but the sight of Wylla restored him. He rescued the saddlebag from the groom and carried his packet of salt inside with both hands, explaining what it was before she had finished asking whether he had eaten.

Jon wanted water and a clean shirt. Denys was waiting, however, and he stopped in the passage to hear him. Black Tern had sailed for Driftmark that afternoon with Jon's letter and the captain Denys had chosen. Denys himself would remain to direct the watch. Fresh men were going to the western cove; they would look for the two-masted vessel tomorrow night, whether word of the raid had reached her or not.

"Five people still aboard that galley, if the boy is right," the captain said.

Jon stopped rubbing the soot from his cuff. Had they watched Laro being lowered over the side? Had any envied him?

"Unless she has put them ashore elsewhere. Have the incoming masters been asked about her?"

"My men have the description. So do the other captains."

"Send for me as soon as there is anything."

"At once, my lord." From the kitchen came Aries's voice, explaining the salt to Wylla. Denys glanced towards the door. "Did Saltcliffe give you what you wanted?"

"They are digging the foundations. We have white salt, though barely enough to cover your palm."

Denys went into the kitchen, and Jon climbed the stairs.

Arthur was outside Jon's chamber with Gawen, settling tomorrow's escort. Gawen shifted his sling and stepped aside.

"I need you for the crows," Jon told Arthur.

"After you eat."

He was hungry enough to agree. Washed and changed, he ate the stew brought to his desk. Beside his bowl stood the covered trays of dragonshell. Aries had asked again what he meant to do with the gold-coloured piece.

He lifted the cloth and turned the fragment beneath his fingertip. Candlelight moved across its raised pattern. He was glad he had brought it out of the mountain's bones and dust, though he still had no answer for Aries, or for Arthur's question in the cave.

He covered the shells and finished eating. If he waited for the island to give him a quiet evening, he would sail east no better prepared than he was now.

Arthur joined him in the room beside the western postern. Hugin waited upon the ledge. Munin came for the meat in Jon's hand, and he fed them both before settling upon the stool.

"Both tonight?" Arthur asked.

"I can move between them. I want to see how long I can stay with both, and how far they can go."

Arthur set water beside him. "For the expedition?"

Jon nodded. "I may need eyes ahead and behind us. Or help farther away than I can reach now."

He kept Valyria to himself. Flight would show him a coast, but there might be creatures in those ruins that could follow men where birds could not. Firewyrms came to mind, and the thought was enough to make him study the crows more soberly. They knew his touch. He had fed them, travelled with them, shared their hunger and delight in the wind. Whatever he encountered in Valyria would have no such reason to admit him.

He meant to strengthen himself while he had time to learn what he could bear. If his first struggle with an unfamiliar creature came when men were depending upon him, fatigue or a broken hold might kill them.

Munin opened her wings. Jon followed her over the wall, with the cliff passing beneath her left wing and the sea spreading to her right. Hugin came after them. At the first jut of rock Jon slipped into him; for an instant he saw Munin ahead, climbing above the spray.

The change was familiar. He returned to Munin, then tried to keep her sight while opening his attention to Hugin. That was harder. Sea tilted across the cliff. He let Hugin go, steadied Munin, and tried again with both birds gliding in the same direction.

For several wingbeats he could see through both. Munin flew low over the water. Hugin's shadow crossed the grass above the cliff, and Jon felt the wind differently against each pair of wings. Excitement nearly made him lose it. He eased back into Munin and let Hugin follow of his own accord.

At the southern headland he turned her in a wide circle, then went back to Hugin. Both answered readily. He sent them beyond the point.

They passed a sheltered inlet, then a pale rock standing alone in the sea. At each he changed birds, waiting until he could see clearly before asking more of them. Dragonstone dwindled behind him. Beyond the rock, drawing Hugin's sight into his own took an effort he had not felt nearer the castle. He tried once more, with Munin circling above a fishing boat, and felt a dull pressure gather behind eyes that were still closed in the postern room.

He fixed the pale rock in his memory. Tomorrow he would try that distance with one crow, then both, and find which effort had tired him.

He brought them home separately, taking Munin first while Hugin perched upon the headland. The wind opposed her now. When she gripped the window ledge, Jon left her and reached back for Hugin. Finding him again was easier than keeping both in flight. He brought the second crow along the cliff until Arthur's pale cloak showed within the window.

Jon opened his eyes. His shoulders ached from holding still.

"You had both?" Arthur asked.

"For a little while farther out." Jon took the water. "It became harder beyond the white rock south of the headland. I brought them back one at a time."

"You were gripping that stool."

"I felt it. I'll come before the yard each morning. I want to try that stretch while I'm rested."

"And stop there?"

"If I need to. Once I can hold them easily at that distance, I'll send them farther."

Arthur watched him rise, then moved aside. Jon fed the crows again before they left.

They found Aries at supper with Gawen. Wylla had spread the salt upon a dark plate. Aries pushed it towards Arthur.

"Try it."

"Let him sit down first," Wylla said, drawing the boy's supper back within reach.

Jon took the empty place. Eastcove would have him in the morning. Arthur tasted the salt, and Aries leaned forward to hear what he thought.

 

[aiwonder]

Jon sat beside the open window, his eyes closed and Arthur waiting by his stool. Through Munin's eyes he watched the white rock draw nearer. This time he reached it without the strain of last night's flight.

He let her settle upon it. Water broke below her claws, and a fishing boat moved slowly across the mouth of the inlet. He could distinguish the man at the stern from the one bending over the net. For a little while he watched them work, then brought her home.

The second flight was harder. Hugin flew above the cliff while Munin kept nearer the water. Jon held both for longer this time, until the two moving shores began to slide across one another. He released Hugin, waited for Munin's sight to steady, and reached for him again. By the white rock his neck was stiff and Arthur had spoken his name twice.

He returned the birds separately. There was no virtue in making himself useless before breakfast.

"The distance is easier with one," he said, opening his eyes. "With both, I tire sooner."

Arthur passed him the cup. "You were gripping the stool again."

Jon flexed his fingers. He had scarcely noticed them tightening; all his attention had been upon the birds.

"The same distance tomorrow," he said. "Until I can hold them without losing the shore."

Arthur nodded. Jon drank the rest of the water. In Valyria he might need to find a landing or a path well beyond the reach of his own eyes. He might also encounter creatures far harder to hold than birds that already came to his hand. For now, even these two could exhaust him.

In the yard, Aries waited with the wooden swords and his six friends. The centurions had released their pages to ride with Jon for the day. Geth and Timm were trying the balance of swords too long for them; Patch lay across Aries's feet, his pale throat turned to the sun.

Jon took a shorter sword in his left hand. His right knuckle still hurt when he closed his hand.

Aries glanced at the other boys and attacked too quickly. Jon turned the blow aside. Arthur corrected the boy's grip and made him try again. On the third exchange Aries caught Jon's sleeve.

"I got you!"

"You did. Keep your guard up."

Aries raised it, grinning. Nibs wanted the next turn, but the maester arrived with letters while Arthur was pairing the others. Patch lifted his head at the sound of the breakfast bowls.

"The last reply, my lord. From Sharp Point."

Jon handed his practice sword to Aries. They went beneath the covered walk, where breakfast had been set upon a narrow table. Wylla moved a bowl clear of the papers and put it before him.

Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass and Bar Emmon would come. The maester had kept the earlier answers together while they waited for the fourth. Each promised attendance and named the company that would need lodging. Jon read the assurances for himself, eating between letters.

Monford Velaryon would cross from Driftmark with his household. His acceptance was courteous and brief. Ardrian Celtigar required rooms suitable for his years and asked that his servants be allowed to prepare them. Guncer Sunglass wished to hear the septon's service during his stay. The answer from Sharp Point confirmed that House Bar Emmon would attend with its household and sworn men.

"They expect to be here within four days, my lord. The day before the gathering."

"Give Wylla the numbers. Tobin must know which ships to expect." Jon drew Monford's letter nearer. "This was written before Black Tern sailed?"

"Yes, my lord. There is no answer yet to yesterday's letter."

The invitation and the order concerning Neresso were separate matters. Monford had agreed to meet his young overlord; he had not yet told Jon what his men had found above the boatyards of Hull.

Arthur took the place beside him. "You will have more than building to discuss with them now."

"I meant to discuss their ships."

"And their service. Monford will want to know how often you mean to call upon it."

Jon looked towards the yard. Noll was arguing with a carter about a chest placed beneath the ironwork. Ewan had opened it himself and was lifting out the tools he wanted kept within reach.

"Then I shall tell him what I require." Jon turned back from the yard. "I need them ready to act when I call upon them."

"They have not seen what you built in the north," Arthur said. "Expect questions."

"They will get answers."

Jon left the replies with the maester. "The day before the gathering, you and Ethan go through the census with Otho and the masters. I want the craftsmen placed where their trades are needed, and the other willing hands sent where the work can use them. Keep the harvest requirements beside you. I will not have two foremen promising the same men different wages."

"And the men already upon the works?"

"They stay at work. We are preparing the larger parties."

Wylla had been studying the household numbers. "Some will come early. They always do."

"Have their rooms ready."

"I shall, if you leave me the women I have just hired. Tell Ethan I need them here."

"Then here they stay."

She pushed his bowl nearer. He finished it while Arthur went to the horses.

* * *

Ormond had gathered Eastcove beside the well.

Jon saw the folded housing order in his hand before he dismounted. Behind the headman stood men in clay-stained coats, women with baskets, and a cooper still wearing his leather apron. Children occupied the wall until their elders made them get down. The morning firing had begun; smoke spread above the low roofs and thinned as it reached the rising ground.

Otho waited with two assistants and a bundle of pegs. He had left a foreman at Saltcliffe to continue the agreed foundations. Here the cords lay coiled at his feet.

"They wished to hear it from you, my lord," Ormond said.

"Then read it."

The headman looked briefly at Ethan. Jon waited. At last Ormond unfolded the sheet and read the undertaking that no occupied house would be pulled down until its household had been shown a finished dwelling fit to receive it. Ethan would oversee the moves. The new houses were for the islanders as well as the people Jon had brought, according to the places assigned to them.

Ormond read the first part twice. No one hurried him.

"Those are my orders," Jon said when he had finished. "Keep that copy where your people may ask to hear it."

A man beside the cooper pointed uphill. "Are we all to go there?"

"The first rows will stand above the smoke. Come and see where."

Jon gave Bucephalus to the groom and took the lane through the houses. Arthur followed with the pages; Ewan and Noll came behind the cart. Hake held Patch by a short lead to keep him from the chickens beneath it. People left the well to walk with them, speaking quietly as they passed their own doors.

He had spent much of the survey looking past those doors. Now a woman stood upon one threshold with a sick child against her shoulder. A patched sail covered another roof. Ormond's brother had set a new lintel above his workroom and rubbed oil into the wood until it shone. The headman stopped there.

"He put that in last autumn."

His brother stood within the doorway, broad across the shoulders, pale hair tied back with a strip of cord. He looked at Jon without bowing until Ormond touched his arm.

"You will be able to use it again," Jon said.

"It fits this door."

"Show Otho its measure. He can allow for it in the new one."

The man glanced at the acolyte but did not answer. Jon went on. Saving a lintel would not make him welcome the loss of the house around it. He had seen men fight a road widening over a few yards of garden, and those men had lived long enough to watch governments come and go. These people expected their lord's decision to outlast them.

Beyond the last cottages, Otho opened the drawing upon a plank laid across two baskets. The survey marks remained where they had left them. An assistant pulled brambles clear of one while Jon followed the slope with his eyes.

"Begin with the road," he said.

Otho's men carried the cord uphill. One held its end at the old wall while the other walked away with the coil turning in his hands. The first pale line stretched across the rough grass. A second followed beside it, far enough away for laden carts to pass.

The villagers spread out along the cords. From the castle table it had been a narrow strip between buildings. Here a woman could stand in the middle and see how much ground Jon meant to keep open.

"That is a street?" the cooper asked.

"The main one. The shorter lanes leave it here and here." Jon walked to the first crossing. Otho gave him a peg, and he set its point against the ground. "Houses along the upper side. Their doors face the street. Courts behind them, with room for washing and the work that belongs at home."

"And my staves?"

"Your yard remains nearer the shore. You will not carry wet timber through the house rows."

The cooper called to his apprentice, who had stayed with the cart. They stood together examining the space between the proposed lane and the slope below.

Jon led the others down the side of the new street. A shallow gutter would receive the runoff from the roofs; the larger drain would take it away below the houses, clear of the well. He showed them where a person could lift a cover to clear a blockage. Otho set pegs at the changes of direction while the island mason checked the fall with him.

A girl carrying a water jar stepped across the cord and continued along the familiar track. Her mother called her back, embarrassed.

"She can cross it," Jon said. "The cord shows the edge of the road. It is not a wall."

The girl went on more slowly, looking over her shoulder. Aries moved out of her way. He had been keeping carefully inside the lines himself.

At the lower end, the new road met the lane to the boats. Ormond came forward before Otho drove the next peg.

"That is where the boats come up in winter."

"They keep the shore lane," Jon said.

"They do. But not that little turn." Ormond pointed at the bend. "You watched them carry nets through it. An empty boat is another matter."

Jon looked from the drawing to the ground. The lane was wide enough along its length. Its turn into the hauling ground had been drawn around a drying shelter, and a boat longer than a cart would cut across the corner.

"Which boat?"

Ormond called down towards the shore. Three men came from beside an upturned hull. They gave its length while Otho stretched the chain along the bend. Jon asked them to show where the bow went when they hauled it higher. One took the loose end of a cord and walked the curve, another followed at the distance of the stern, and the line swept through the proposed shelter.

"Move the shelter back," Jon said.

Otho measured from its rear peg. "There is room if we narrow the yard."

"Do it. Keep this turning ground clear."

Ormond watched the new peg go in, then looked back towards his brother's house. It still stood in the path of the future road.

"If you moved the road as well—"

"The road stays. You have my word about the houses, and I expect your help building them."

Ormond's mouth tightened. "Yes, my lord."

Jon called the mason to the first house row. Behind them, Ormond sent two men for spades.

* * *

Below the house rows, men had begun stripping turf from the ground reserved for the first large kiln. The other two sites were still grass. Otho had left room between them for fuel carts, and a broad stretch beside the road for drying sheds. Jon stopped there with Ewan and Noll while the potter caught up, his daughter carrying a basket at his heels.

The man looked along the cords. "All that for one firing?"

"For bricks and roof tiles," Jon said. "Saltcliffe needs them. So will Blackburn, and every house we build here. Your old kiln cannot supply all of them."

"It supplies the people who pay me."

"And it will go on doing so. I am paying for this one."

The potter gave him a doubtful look, then bent over the drawing Otho had spread upon a board. He had spent his life judging heat through a kiln mouth. Jon was asking him to trust passages buried beneath a chamber several times the size of his own, with shutters to direct the draught through them. He followed one passage until it vanished beneath the drawn floor.

"What stops the fire taking the nearest way out?"

Jon crouched beside a pile of old bricks and laid two short rows, bridging them with another brick. The potter came down beside him. With the drawing close at hand, Jon showed him where the heat would enter, where it would rise through the floor, and which openings they would close to make it reach the farther end.

"That closure will need to fit," the man said. "Leave a gap there and your far end will be cold."

"Yes. And we must be able to reach it when it needs mending."

Noll wanted to test the iron guides before trusting them in such heat; Ewan found too little room to remove the frame for repairs. Jon altered the drawing. Beside him, the potter lifted the top brick to examine their little channel.

"You have fired one of these before, my lord?"

"We built furnaces in the north. I shall direct the building and the first firing here."

The man's eyes rose to Jon's face. Jon knew what he was trying to reckon: years of learning, years of work, all somehow fitted into twelve years of life. Beside him, Ewan was already discussing the frame with Noll. The potter looked between the two northmen and back at the drawing.

"Then I had best be here for it."

"I want you here." Jon rose and brushed dirt from his knees. "Otho, send for me when they begin the heat passages. Nothing is to be covered until I have inspected it."

The potter led them back to his sheds, still asking about the firing. Beneath the first roof he had to turn sideways between racks of unfired pots. One board sagged under its load; he lifted it with both hands and told Ellyn to move the jar beneath it.

"You can give me a kiln as big as the castle. I shall still lose the ware if it has nowhere to dry."

Ewan took the village carpenter to the timber cart. There was enough to roof the first two bays of the drying shed; Jon had them begin there, so bricks could be shaped and dried while the foundations were dug.

Ellyn lifted her basket towards a bench. Her father caught her wrist before she set it upon a row of small clay horses.

"Mind those."

"I saw them." She moved the basket farther along. Aries had stopped beside the horses. There were birds too, some no larger than his thumb, waiting to go into a firing with the cups.

Ellyn showed Jon the notches distinguishing her clay samples. Her father warned that the lower seam grew gritty. Noll took two pieces to test in the smithy furnace before they used either clay to line the new kilns.

"Could I make one?" Aries asked Ellyn, touching a clay horse's tail.

"Leave those alone," her father said.

The boy withdrew his hand. Ellyn broke a little clay from a lump beneath a damp cloth and gave it to him.

"Use that. Over there, where you won't knock anything."

Jon left him with the other pages and took father and daughter to the old stone storehouse beyond the sheds. Its roof needed patching, but the walls were sound. Otho could put a lock upon the door and shutters at the windows. The small porcelain kiln would stand behind it, out of sight of the road.

Ellyn went through the doorway first. Daylight fell through a gap in the roof onto the empty floor.

"I could set a bench along here."

Her father remained beside Jon. "She will have to do more than set a bench."

"So will you. I am teaching both of you." Jon kept his voice low. "The mixtures and the firing are to remain here. You will swear to that before we begin. No visitors in the workshop, and no one taught without my leave."

"They'll come asking once they see the cups."

"Perrin will sell the cups. Send them to him."

For a moment the potter looked pleased by the thought of people seeking his work. Then Ellyn turned from the wall.

"Tomorrow, my lord?"

"Tomorrow afternoon. Otho will have the roof made sound. Begin with more samples of each clay, all the same thickness. We can test those while Marrec finds the stone for the mixtures."

"Tomorrow?" Her father stepped inside. "I have bowls waiting to be turned. You heard me promise the jars for Blackburn."

"I can do the bowls in the morning."

"And the next morning? And the day after? There are orders besides those."

She looked at Jon, then back at her father. "I tried to speak to you yesterday."

"You chose a fine moment. We had a firing to unload."

"I tried afterwards too." Her voice rose. "You said there was no use talking until his lordship came."

The potter glanced towards the men working outside.

"Everything you know, I taught you. Have you found so little worth keeping?"

"That isn't what I said." Ellyn's face had flushed. "I want to learn this as well."

Her father had agreed in the hall, but plainly he still expected to decide when she could be spared.

"Ellyn begins tomorrow," Jon said. "You will have her in the mornings for now, and Otho will send someone to help with the hauling. I promised to keep your customers supplied. I shall keep that promise."

The potter rubbed the dust from his palm. "You will need her longer when you fire."

"I will need you both. Arrange your orders with that in mind."

He showed them where the little trial chamber would stand. A larger kiln devoted to porcelain would come when they could produce good ware reliably. Until then the great works below belonged to brick and tile. He could afford spoiled cups in a small firing; he could not let them consume the fuel and labour needed to roof the island.

Ellyn would receive the wage of a potter's assistant from tomorrow, and a master's wage once she could oversee the work. Her father stayed to discuss the kiln's arch while she fetched her samples.

By the time they returned to the sheds, the pages had unpacked the food Wylla had sent. Geth was cutting bread upon a clean board; Timm and Hake had found benches for the men coming off the digging. From the houses came a jug of ale and a pot of fish broth. Jon realised how hungry he was when he smelt it.

Aries had used his clay to make a bird with a long beak. Tob and Wrenn were trying to persuade him it was a goose.

"It's Hugin," he said.

"Hugin has a neck," Wrenn answered.

Aries pinched the clay beneath the head. The beak drooped against the board. Ellyn sat beside him with her bowl and, after watching his attempt to lift it, gave him a small stick to prop it up while it dried.

"You can take that away later. Stop pulling at it."

He obeyed, reluctantly. Nibs had made a dog and put a pale scrap of clay upon its throat for Patch's marking. He kept looking down at the real dog beneath the bench, then adding more clay to the legs. Geth moved the board before a heavy paw could land upon it.

Jon sat with Arthur at the end of the bench. The children had spent the morning following them through measurements and arguments; now they were quarrelling over whether the crow could stand up. He watched Aries cup his hands around it as Wrenn reached across. There was a smudge of clay on the boy's nose.

Across from them, the potter cut bread for Ellyn and put it beside her bowl. She thanked him quietly. When Ewan asked about the clay bank, her father began describing the lower seam. Ellyn listened for a while, then reminded him where they had taken the last good load. He accepted the correction without looking at her. She bent over her broth.

Ormond had brought his brother to the meal. They sat near Otho, who shifted his drawing to keep an ale jug off it. The brother asked which of the marked plots would be his. Otho showed him, and he leaned across the sheet with his bread still in his hand.

"Will they begin those houses today?" Ormond asked.

"The first foundations," Jon said.

"Most of your men are down by the kiln."

"It needs more hands. There will be men on the houses as well."

The headman looked towards the slope. The digging there had stopped for food, leaving a short dark cut across the grass.

"We have waited through three winters for repairs. Now you ask us to wait while you build half the island."

Jon set down his cup. "I have brought the men and the timber. You have heard me order the work, and you have my word that no family leaves its home until the new one is ready. I will hear a fault in the plans. I will not spend every visit persuading you to let me begin."

Ormond's brother lowered his bread. The talk nearest them had ceased.

"The men will do as you command, my lord," the headman said stiffly.

"So will you."

Ormond bowed his head. Jon reached for his cup again, leaving him to his meal. He would not wring gratitude from the man, and had no time to try.

When the mason rose to return to the house ground, Ormond's brother went with him. The headman caught his sleeve.

"There is work waiting at home."

"It will wait until evening." He pulled his sleeve free. "If I'm to live in that house, I want to be there when they start it."

He took a spare mattock from beside the cart. Ormond watched him climb the slope and remained seated long after the men around him had gone back to work.

Otho spoke with Eastcove's foreman while Jon finished eating. Ewan would stay with the carpenter; Noll had Saltcliffe's fittings waiting at his forge. The old kiln could supply the first bricks. They would send for Jon when the new kiln's heat passages were ready to begin.

Their two hundred construction men were spread across the island. The census would give Ethan and the maester more labour to place before the gathering, after Jon's remaining village visits. He looked at the first trench and wished for the machinery he had once hired with a telephone call.

Ethan followed him towards the horses. Once they were clear of the sheds, Jon spoke about the workers for the private workshops.

"Gella has the salt refining. I shall teach the potter and his daughter the porcelain. When we have the means to bring freed men and women here, I want willing hands offered places with them."

"The people we took from Borren?"

"They have homes to return to. I mean others who want to settle here. Wages, a roof and a trade worth learning. We shall need more than the island can spare."

Perrin would arrange the search when the coin could bear it. Gella already had her guarded screen. Ethan would post a guard here when Ellyn began tomorrow. Deliveries stayed outside; Jon alone approved helpers for the private work.

Aries came running when the groom brought Bucephalus round. His hands were washed, though he had missed the clay upon his nose.

"Ellyn says we must leave them to dry. Can we come back for them?"

"When they are fired."

Nibs was less willing to leave his dog. Geth promised to come back with him, and Ellyn put both figures high upon a rack beyond Patch's reach. Her father called her to the wheel as the horses were led out. She answered at once. The bowls were still waiting.

Ormond stood beside the road to see Jon off. Above his shoulder, his brother was digging where the first house wall would stand. Jon returned the headman's bow and rode for the castle.

* * *

The boys argued about their clay animals for most of the ride. Aries wanted to paint his crow black; Nibs asked whether he could sleep with his dog once it had been fired. Arthur told him to ask Wylla. By the time they passed beneath the castle gate, Patch was trotting beside the horses with his tongue hanging out and the boys were looking for water.

Denys waited by the stable yard. He let the grooms take the horses before coming to Jon.

"The mate from the boat we took still says one ship. He and his master agree upon the lantern signal. The collector sends a boat in first, to see what is ready."

Jon's thoughts returned to the western cove. "Has anyone been near the smokehouse?"

"No one. Hewyn has the upper path, and Voss will take the boat as soon as its men land."

"Then we take their ship while they wait for it to return."

Denys unfolded his drawing against the stable wall. Salt Wraith would wait behind the southern headland, hidden from the approach. A second galley would lie farther offshore to close the route north. The collector had to anchor outside the cove's rocks; once her boat was inside, Voss would send a skiff round the headland to warn them.

"If she has heard about the raid, she may keep away," Arthur said.

"If she comes, I want her master alive." Jon looked at Denys. "You command the ships. I shall take the household aboard her."

The captain hesitated. Arthur did not.

"You can leave that to Tomas."

"I have led them in battle before."

"On ground that did not move beneath you."

Jon remembered wet decks and the sudden weight of a vessel meeting a swell. He had years of service Arthur knew nothing of, but none of it had put a sword in his hand at a defended rail. He looked again at the drawing.

"Then we choose where we board, and Denys gives us cover. I will not send them across alone."

Arthur's expression hardened. For a moment Jon thought he would argue before the captain. Instead he stepped nearer the drawing.

"I go beside you. Tomas takes the other side. You keep together once you are over."

Jon nodded. Denys had watched the exchange without speaking. Now he put a finger upon Salt Wraith's waiting place.

"Fifty legionaries, twenty-five in each galley, besides the crews and your household. We have enough to search her and take her if she fights." He folded the drawing. "We sail while there is still light."

Jon went upstairs to change. The day's drawings lay beside the covered trays of dragonshell. He began unfastening his clay-stained coat as Wylla came in with the water.

"Aries stays here," he said.

"They all do. Gawen has them." She looked at the mail waiting upon the bed. "Denys could have brought you this ship without taking you out in the dark."

"Perhaps."

She set the basin down more sharply than she needed to. Jon washed while she laid out his shirt. His right knuckle had split at the edge; she cleaned it and replaced the binding with a thinner one that would fit beneath his glove.

"Laro ate outside today," she said. "Arthur went to him without his sword, as he promised. They talked a little. And the woman's sister came from Blackburn to fetch her and the girl."

"How was she?"

"Crying before she'd crossed the yard. Both of them were." Wylla eased the glove over his hand. "They have gone home."

He sat a moment longer. He had ordered food and beds and letters yesterday, with the anger of the questioning still upon him. The woman had her sister now. Laro could sit in the sun. He wanted to bring the other five back with news as ordinary as that.

Wylla helped settle the mail beneath his black coat. Arthur came for him while he was buckling his sword belt, and she handed Jon the food she had wrapped for the boat.

"Eat before you get there."

"I will."

At the lower door, Tomas waited with the household. He checked Jon's shield strap while Arthur spoke with Denys's messenger. Jon flexed his bandaged hand beneath the leather. It would bear a shield. His sword would stay in his left.

"Ready?" he asked.

Tomas nodded. Above the doorway Hugin stirred, and Munin answered from the wall. They followed Jon down to the harbour.

The legionaries were embarking when they arrived. Hennet went up Salt Wraith's gangplank with Murch's men, carrying his spear low beneath the rigging. Across the quay, Mallador was arguing with the optio assigned to the other galley. His injured arm was bound against his body.

Jon stopped beside them. "What did Lorren tell you?"

Mallador's mouth tightened. "Not to use it, my lord. I can still give an order."

"He wants his ten," the optio said. "I told him he cannot board like that."

"Then he stays aboard your galley." Jon looked at Mallador. "Help keep the rowers covered. When we have prisoners, you can watch them from the rail. No climbing across, and that binding stays on."

Mallador glanced at the waiting men. One had his shield ready to hand him. He shook his head, and the man took it aboard with his own.

"Yes, my lord."

* * *

Salt Wraith carried them round the island beneath the last of the daylight. Jon stood near the stern with Arthur, Tomas and four of the household. Along the benches the rowers bent to their work, watched by the ship's master. Denys went forward to speak to the bowmen. The galley's replacement mast stood steady above them, its ropes creaking as she met the swell.

Behind the southern headland they shipped their oars and waited. Their consort lay farther offshore. The legionaries crouched beneath the rails, shields beside them. Neither galley showed a light towards the cove.

Jon ate the bread Wylla had given him. Tomas took the rest and shared it with the household, who were checking straps and shifting their feet upon the unfamiliar deck. The pages had been left in Gawen's care, still arguing over their clay figures. These boys were older and had trained for years, but Jon knew the face beneath every helm. He watched Tomas tighten his shield strap.

"Keep room to move your hand," Arthur told him.

Tomas tried the grip again and loosened it a little.

The headland grew black against the fading sky. Jon had begun wondering whether the collector had been warned when a skiff came round the point, its oars scarcely stirring the water. One of Voss's men caught the rope lowered from Salt Wraith.

"She is at anchor. Two masts. Four men have gone in with the boat."

Denys questioned him, then sent the skiff towards the consort. Jon put away the food and caught Arthur's eye. Hugin and Munin waited upon the stern rail.

"Stand close," he murmured.

He sat against the stern boards, sheltered by Arthur's cloak, and reached for Hugin. The crow rose above the cliff. Through his eyes Jon found the collector, then a second ship waiting beyond the outer point, her oars held still. From the galley, the headland hid her completely.

Munin took him farther out. A dark sail showed against the last grey light upon the water, well beyond the collector. Men were crowded along its rail. For a few heartbeats he held both birds, two waiting ships fixed against the coastline. The effort tightened behind his eyes. He released Hugin and brought Munin round towards the galley before opening his own eyes.

"There are three," he told Arthur.

Jon rose and called Denys over. He gave him both positions. The captain looked towards the empty water, then sent a man up the rigging.

"A sail beyond her!" the lookout called down.

"Another under the outer point," Jon said. "She has oars. It is an ambush. They mean to close behind us."

Arthur looked towards the headland. "Someone must have warned them."

"I will find out." Jon turned to Denys. "Warn the other galley."

Denys sent a shuttered signal to the consort, then strode along the benches. "Keep low until they come within bowshot. Shields ready at the stern." The legionaries moved into place. Arthur watched Jon until he had steadied his breathing.

"Can you fight?"

Jon drew his sword. "Yes."

They rounded the headland at a steady pull. The collector lay outside the cove, her stern lantern making a wavering line upon the sea. Beyond her, the smokehouse lantern opened and closed. Voss would let the boat reach the landing; Hewyn's men waited above it. Jon could do nothing for them from here. He watched the figures gathering along the ship's rail.

"They've seen us," Tomas said.

Three lights appeared at the collector's stern, one above another. They burned for a few breaths, then vanished. Denys went still beside the master.

A man in a pale coat climbed onto the raised stern and shouted towards the bow. Sailors ran to the windlass. Another began hauling on a line beneath the mainmast, and a sail rose slowly into the night.

Denys called across the water. "In Lord Black's name, keep your anchor down and lay aside your arms!"

"We are waiting for the tide!" the man upon the stern answered.

"Then you can wait while we come aboard."

The man turned away. Jon saw a crossbow rise beside him.

"Down!"

The bow snapped.

* * *

Hennet heard the bolt strike before he saw the man fall.

The rower pitched against the next bench, one hand clamped over his upper arm. His oar swung across another, and the long wooden shafts slammed together. The rower behind him screamed as the shafts trapped his wrist. Salt Wraith lurched beneath Hennet's boots; he caught the rail with his shield and nearly lost his spear over it.

"Lift them! Lift the bloody oars!" the master roared.

Two sailors dragged the wounded man clear. Blood ran from between his fingers onto the bare back of the man beneath him. Hennet could smell it through the tar and seaweed. He had been watching the merchant's lantern, waiting for someone to tell him when they would go aboard. Now men were shouting from every part of the galley, and he could not see the ship that was coming to kill them.

"Aft! Shields aft!"

The optio caught his shoulder and thrust him towards the stern. Hennet went with the others, stepping over a fallen oar. Beyond the rail a low, dark bow was growing larger. Its men had hooks ready. One wore a yellow scarf about his head; another stood with his mouth open, shouting something Hennet could not understand.

Their lord was already there. Hennet knew the black shield and the small figure braced beside Ser Arthur.

"Over the rowers!" Jon shouted. "Keep those shields up!"

Hennet set his shield beside the next man's. An arrow struck it so hard that the rim jarred his teeth. He ducked, then forced himself to look over it. The rowers had nowhere to go. They crouched between their benches while the master tried to bring the stern round, and Hennet could feel one man's shoulder pressing against the backs of his legs.

"Make room," he said. "I need to stand."

The rower crawled farther under the bench. Hennet widened his feet as he had been taught. He wished violently that the deck would hold still.

"Wait!" Denys called.

The pirate with the yellow scarf swung his hook. Hennet watched the iron turn above his head and thought of it catching his throat. It fell short, struck the water and vanished. The man hauled at his line, shouting at the rowers behind him to bring them closer.

"Loose!"

The bowstrings cracked above Hennet's shoulder. The man in the yellow scarf fell backwards. Another pirate dropped to his knees with both hands against his face. A hook struck Salt Wraith's rail and scraped along it; a sailor brought an axe down on the rope before it could tighten.

The pirate ship kept coming. Hennet thrust at a hand reaching for the rail. His point struck the wood instead. The hand disappeared. Someone beside him shouted in his ear to draw back, and he wrenched the spear free as a second volley went over them.

At last the enemy's bow swung away. Oars struck the water out of time; one snapped against Salt Wraith's side with a noise like a breaking branch. The low ship slid across the collector's bows, men falling against one another as its master tried to get clear.

Hennet wanted to shout after them. He wanted to thrust again and make certain they stayed away.

"Hold your places!" the optio shouted.

He held. He had ignored a halt once in an alehouse and paid for it upon the whipping block. Here there was a man beneath his shield who would die if he went chasing glory along the rail.

"Alongside the collector!" Denys called. "Bowmen, keep her stern clear!"

The galley turned. Lanternlight spread across a hull that seemed far too high. Above it stood men with stones, axes and crossbows. Hennet saw a red sleeve as a bowman leaned out; then a stone struck the man beside him, and the world narrowed to the thump of shields and the need to keep his head covered.

The inboard oars came in. Grapnels flew. One rope was cut and fell back among them, but another held. The sailors hauled until the two hulls struck together. Hennet felt the blow through the soles of his boots.

A ladder went up. The first soldier climbed with his shield above his head. He reached the rail, thrust once, then vanished as two hooked poles shoved the ladder sideways.

His cry came from below.

Hennet looked between the hulls. A face broke the black water and went under again. The ships drew apart upon a swell, then began to close.

"Rope!" he shouted. "Get him a rope!"

A sailor threw a coil. Hennet dropped his spear and caught the running end, bracing his foot against a bench. The man in the water seized it. For one dreadful moment his shield lodged against the hull and held him down.

"Let it go! Leave the shield!"

The man obeyed. Hennet and the sailor hauled together, dragging him clear as the ships ground against one another. A third man caught his belt and pulled him over the rail. He lay coughing water onto Hennet's boots.

"Breathe, you fool," the sailor said, his voice shaking. "You're out."

Hennet snatched up his spear. Lord Black had moved along the rail with Ser Arthur and Tomas. Above them, the collector's captain was drawing men towards the stern to meet Denys's boarders. For a moment the stretch beside the mast lay thinly held.

"The stern!" Jon called to the bowmen. "Keep those crossbows down!"

A fresh ladder rose. Hennet put his shoulder beneath one side while a sailor held the other. Jon climbed first. An arrow struck the planking beside the spearman waiting above him; the man flinched, and Jon drove his shield against the spear shaft and went over.

Arthur followed, then Tomas. A hooked pole reached for Tomas's helm. He twisted away, and the helm came loose with a strip of leather trailing behind it. It struck the galley's rail and vanished between the hulls. Hennet could hear fighting on the higher deck, close enough to distinguish the grunts between the blows.

"Across!" Jon shouted. "Come on!"

The optio pushed Hennet towards the ladder. He passed his spear up to the man above, took hold of the rungs and climbed. He did not look down this time.

* * *

Mallador could hear the shouting from Salt Wraith, but the sail bearing down upon his own galley hid her from him. He stood beside the stern boards, his good hand upon the rail. Without Denys's warning they would have had their backs to this ship, their bows pointed towards the collector.

"Here she comes," the master told the optio.

The optio turned. "Keep your heads down. Mallador, hold your ten here. Nothing gets through to the benches."

Mallador passed the order along. One man made the sign of the Seven. Another spat between his boots and rubbed his palms upon his coat. Twenty-five legionaries aboard, and he could not raise a shield. He could feel the binding drag at his upper arm whenever the galley rolled. It held the arm firmly against his body. He was beginning to be grateful for that.

The pirate swung alongside. Beneath her dark sail, a row of heads appeared above the rail.

"Oars in on that side!" the master shouted. "In, damn you!"

Wood rattled through the oarlocks. An arrow struck a bench where a rower's back had been. The man flung himself down, dragging his neighbour with him, and someone began shouting that they were too close.

"Shields!"

The front rank rose. Shafts knocked against wood; one struck the mast and hung there trembling. Mallador pressed himself behind the stern boards. He could see very little now except the backs of his own men and the sail looming over them.

Hooks struck their rail. A rope slashed across the deck and tightened, dragging a loose shield towards the side. Then the hulls met with a blow that drove Mallador's teeth together.

"Hold!" the optio roared.

A plank came down across the rails. The first pirate ran upon it crouching behind his shield. A legionary thrust at him, but the point glanced away and the man jumped, striking the deck upon both feet. Two more followed before the spearmen could close.

"They're over! They're over!"

Mallador caught the shouting soldier by his collar with his good hand.

"I can see them. Face them!"

He pushed him towards the passage between the benches. Four of his ten moved with him. The pirate who had crossed first swung an axe at the nearest shield, hooked its edge and dragged it down. His next blow struck the shield of the man beside it. A sword went into his thigh. He fell screaming; a second thrust silenced him, and the men behind him stumbled over his legs.

"Close up!" Mallador shouted. "Don't follow them out!"

One of his men had already stepped forward. A spear from the higher deck struck his helm and sent him reeling. Mallador ordered two men into the gap. His wounded arm throbbed with every shout. He wanted a shield himself. Every time he leaned out to see his men, he expected a point between his ribs.

The surviving boarders fell back to the rail. Their shipmates hauled them up while the legionaries thrust after them.

At the rail, a sailor swung an axe into a grappling rope. Before he could strike again, a pirate leaned over with a long spear and drove him back.

Mallador pointed. "Bowmen! Above the man with the axe!"

The nearest archer turned. His first arrow went high. The second struck beneath the pirate's chin, and the spear fell between the ships.

"Cut it!"

The sailor struck twice. The rope parted. Farther forward another snapped, and a cheer broke from the men holding the rail. The plank shifted beneath a pirate's feet. He dropped flat, clawing at its edges while his fellows seized his coat and hauled him back.

"Last rope!" the master bellowed.

It had caught beneath the broken end of an oar. Mallador sent two men to cover the sailor hacking at it. The pirate ship was pulling away already; the rope creaked, and the hooked iron tore a long splinter from the rail before the axe cut through.

Water opened between the hulls. The bowmen loosed into the retreating ship while the master called the rowers back to their benches.

Mallador counted his ten. The man struck upon the helm was sitting down, both hands over his face. Alive. He ordered him dragged clear of the oars.

"After them?" someone called.

"No." The master pointed inshore.

Salt Wraith lay against the collector beneath the headland. The smaller oared pirate was turning towards the collector's other side, men crowding her rail with hooks. Above them, steel flashed on the higher deck. Mallador could not tell whose.

"Bring us in beside that little bastard," the master said. "Outside her. She isn't getting away."

The optio called men forward. Mallador gathered those of his ten still upon their feet and moved them clear of the working benches. His arm burned beneath the binding. He kept it there as the rowers bent, the bow swung inshore, and the smaller pirate's stern came steadily nearer.

* * *

Jon could see the collector's mainmast over the shoulders of the men trying to drive him back into the sea. He had gained scarcely six feet from the rail.

A sailor came at him with an axe. He caught the blow upon his shield, felt the edge bite into the wood and drove his sword beneath the man's raised arm. The sailor fell against a cask. Jon pulled free and nearly went down with him as the collector rolled against Salt Wraith.

"Make room for the men!" he shouted. "Forward!"

Tomas fought beside him, bareheaded, driving a man with a hooked pole away from the ladder. The household held the opening behind them. Hennet thrust a spear past Jon at a pirate trying to reach their ropes.

More black coats followed. Casks and fallen cordage broke their line as soon as they reached the deck. Jon pushed them into the space they had, two shields abreast beside the mast, another pair towards the hatch. Arthur caught a legionary by the sleeve before he blundered across their points.

"Together!" the knight shouted. "Give each other room to strike!"

A lantern smashed somewhere above them. Burning oil spread across a folded scrap of sail, throwing yellow light up the mast. Smoke blew into Jon's face. A sailor beat at the flames with his coat while another dragged a bucket up from the side. Water hissed across the planks. Through the smoke Jon glimpsed a man still burning at the sleeve, battering his arm against the rail.

Near the stern, Denys's boarders had gained the rail. Jon heard him through the uproar, driving them towards the helm. For a moment it seemed they had the collector between them.

Then something struck her other side.

The deck heaved. Men staggered against the mast, and a fresh shower of hooks rattled over the far rail. Beyond it lay the smaller oared pirate, her bow coming level with the mainmast. The men aboard her were shouting to those upon the deck, waving them back from the ropes they meant to use.

They had come to reinforce their friends.

"Other side!" Jon called. "Hennet, keep that hatch clear!"

Hennet and two men moved across it. A pirate threw a plank between the ships; another caught it and dragged it into place. More men were gathering behind him. The plank sloped up from their lower deck to the collector's rail. Salt Wraith, the collector and the low pirate now rose and fell together, lashed into a tangle of grinding timber and taut ropes. Jon's retreat lay over the rail behind him. Ahead, the captain in the pale coat was forcing his way through his men.

"Take the boy!" he shouted in the Common Tongue. "Alive, if you can!"

Jon met him beside the mainmast.

The first blow jarred his shield against his chest. He struck back, but the man caught the sword upon his own and crowded him towards the mast. He was stronger, and he knew it. Jon gave ground enough to turn the next cut aside, then drove his point towards the man's belly. The captain knocked it away. Jon's edge caught his coat and opened the pale wool without reaching the flesh beneath.

To Jon's right, Arthur was fighting two men who had come down from the stern. One had a long knife and the other a bill whose hook kept reaching for the knight's neck. Tomas held the gap behind Jon. Beyond him Hennet's spear rose and fell above the hatch.

The captain came again. Jon struck low, trying to make him give ground, but the man stamped back and smashed the rim of his shield into Jon's. Pain flared through the bound hand. Jon's heel struck the mast footing. He stumbled, his shield dragged wide as the captain bore down upon him.

The sword rose above the pale coat.

Tomas stepped bodily between them. His own sword came up too late to stop the whole blow. Steel rang. The deflected blade cut across his forehead and down towards his left brow, and blood poured over his eye.

He drove into the captain before the man could draw back, shoulder first, forcing the sword arm wide.

Jon thrust beneath it.

His blade entered below the man's ribs. He pushed until the captain's breath broke against his ear, then tore it free. The man seized at Jon's coat. Jon struck him again and shoved him away. He fell beside the mast, the pale wool darkening beneath him.

Tomas staggered. Jon dropped his sword and caught him as his knees gave way. He slipped his other arm free of the shield, letting it fall beside the blade.

"Arthur!"

Arthur turned. The knife-man was down; the other fled towards the stern, dragging his bill behind him. The knight reached Jon in two strides. His face changed when he saw the blood.

"Hold them back!" he told the nearest household men. "Give him room!"

Jon lowered Tomas against the mast and pressed his cloak to the wound. Blood ran through his fingers. Tomas tried to push himself upright.

"Stay down." Jon's voice came out harsher than he meant. "Stay with me."

The boy's mouth moved. Jon bent nearer, but a roar from the far rail drowned the words.

The smaller ship's men were coming across their plank.

Hennet's first thrust knocked one back. Another clambered over the rail beside the fallen man, axe raised, and met the household's shields. They struck him down, but the plank shook beneath more feet. Upon the lower deck beyond it stood a broad man in a green coat, his beard threaded through a copper ring. A man in a rust-red jerkin repeated his orders and struck at the backs of sailors who hesitated.

"Captain says across!" the lieutenant screamed. "Move, you dogs!"

Arthur looked towards them, then back at Tomas.

"Press here." He placed Jon's hand more firmly over the folded cloak. "Do not lift it."

Jon could feel Tomas trembling against his arm. "Take their captain."

Arthur rose. "With me!"

* * *

Hennet moved aside as Ser Arthur came towards the plank. He had seen Tomas go down. Between the men crowding the deck he could still glimpse Lord Black kneeling beside him, one hand pressed to his head. He wanted to know how badly the boy was hurt, but Arthur was already at the rail.

Two of the household followed the knight. Hennet went with them, calling the legionaries nearest the hatch. Arthur struck the next boarder's sword aside and drove him back upon the plank. The man tried to retreat. The pirate behind him would not move, and for an instant the two blocked each other.

Arthur's sword took the nearer man beneath the jaw. He fell across the plank. The man behind him stumbled over his legs and caught desperately at the rope beside it. Arthur shoved the body clear with his boot.

"Back! Get back!" someone shouted from the lower ship.

Arthur crossed before they could pull the plank away, driving the stumbling pirate back before him. At the lower end the man fell among his own crew.

The grey-white cloak swung as Arthur ducked beneath the lieutenant's short pike. The point passed over his shoulder. He trapped the shaft beneath his arm, stepped off the plank onto the lower deck and cut across the man's face.

The lieutenant reeled against the rail. Arthur drove his sword beneath the red jerkin and left him dead against the timbers.

"Close behind him!" Lord Black shouted from the collector.

Hennet was already crossing. He planted his spear against the lower rail to steady himself, then jumped down beside the household. A pirate charged him as he landed. One of Tomas's men met the charge with his shield. Hennet caught his balance, drove his spear into the pirate's chest and had to wrench it free before the falling man dragged him down.

"Here!" the household man shouted. "Stay beside me!"

Hennet brought his shield up. The space between the rail and the first bench was scarcely wide enough for them both. Beyond it, Arthur was fighting his way towards the helm.

The captain in the green coat came down the narrow passage between the rowing benches with a curved sword in one hand and a dagger in the other. He had seen the lieutenant die. He did not rush. He waited for Arthur to step between two benches, where the knight could not give ground easily, then slashed at his head.

Arthur caught the cut and stepped onto the nearest bench.

The captain's dagger stabbed at empty air. Arthur's boot drove against his shoulder, sending him sideways into a rower who had not got clear. The captain tore himself free, roaring, and came back with the curved blade held low.

He cut for Arthur's legs. Arthur dropped from the bench on the other side and turned with him, using the timber between them. The curved sword struck wood. Before the captain could lift it, Arthur's blade flashed across his sword arm.

The dagger came up. Arthur knocked it wide with his hilt and drove his point beneath the man's chin.

For a heartbeat the captain remained standing, his open mouth red above the copper ring. Then his knees folded beneath him.

Arthur pulled his sword free.

"Down!" he roared at the men beyond the body. "Throw them down!"

The first axe fell. A sailor near the bow still had a spear raised; he looked past Arthur towards the sea and found the second Dragonstone galley coming alongside. Its bowmen stood above him with arrows drawn. There would be no escape that way.

"On your knees!" Mallador shouted from her rail. "Hands where we can see them!"

The spear went overboard. Along the benches, men let their weapons fall and raised empty palms. Arthur kept his sword towards them while the legionaries spread through the ship.

Hennet stopped beside the fallen captain. His own breath rasped inside his helm. He could hear the oars of Mallador's galley, the slap of water between the hulls, a man sobbing beneath a bench. Someone beside him began to cheer. Hennet looked back towards the collector, trying to find Tomas.

* * *

Jon heard the cheering from the smaller ship. The collector's own resistance had broken with her captain. Denys's men held the helm; the last men upon the raised stern were laying swords at their feet. For a while the only cries came from the wounded and from sailors warning one another about the ropes between the ships.

Jon looked down. Tomas was staring at him through his uncovered eye.

"Can you hear me?"

The boy nodded, then winced. "My eye."

"Don't touch it."

Arthur returned across the plank with a folded cloth stripped from a sailor's pack. Blood covered the front of his coat. He knelt and replaced Jon's sodden cloak with the cloth, working quickly while Jon held Tomas's shoulder. The boy made a low sound when the pressure changed.

"It was coming down on you," Tomas whispered.

"I know." Jon swallowed. "I saw."

The blade had been meant to split his skull. Tomas had known that when he stepped in. Jon looked at the blood upon the boy's cheek and could find nothing else to say.

Denys crouched beside them. "Both ships are ours. The other sail has broken away."

"Lorren."

"A skiff is already going." Denys turned at a call from the rail. "Here. Bring that plank here!"

Hennet came back from the smaller pirate and dropped to his knees beside Tomas, ready to lift when the sailors called. They eased Tomas onto the plank, bound him to it and passed him down to Salt Wraith. Jon watched from the rail. The wounded rower lay beneath a spare sail. Near him sat the man hauled from the water, coughing and shaking; another boarder held a cloth against his scalp.

Beyond the smaller pirate, Mallador stood at the consort's rail, shouting at a captive who tried to rise before the searching was done. His injured arm was still bound against him.

The third ship's sail was dwindling into the dark. Denys would not scatter his force in pursuit with wounded men and two prizes to secure. He ordered the prisoners stripped of their knives and the grappling ropes kept fast until each captured ship had a crew aboard.

The dead captain lay beside the mast. Two sailors held the collector's first mate upright, his wrists bound behind him. He strained against their grip as Jon approached.

"Who sent you?" Jon demanded. "Who told you we were coming?"

The mate gave a harsh, angry laugh and spat on the deck at Jon's feet.

"Ask him." He jerked his chin towards the corpse. "You cut him open."

Jon glanced at the sailor beside him. "Strike him."

The blow split the mate's lip. He sagged between his guards, then raised his head, breathing hard through his nose.

"Who warned your captain?" Jon asked.

The man stared at him and said nothing.

"Chain him apart from the others. I will question him myself tomorrow."

A sailor called from the stern hatch. In the compartment below, they had found an iron bar fixed near the floor and chains wrapped in sacking to silence them. No captives. Jon stood upon the ladder long enough to see the low roof and the space where people would have been made to crouch.

"Use those irons on the crew," he said, and climbed back into the night.

Voss's skiff had reached them. All four men sent to the cove were taken; Hewyn had caught the one who tried the upper path. Denys counted nineteen survivors in custody aboard the two prizes. Twenty-three prisoners altogether, besides those already in the castle.

"Keep them chained and apart from the prisoners in the castle," Jon said. "We question them tomorrow."

He still needed to find the galley with the broken swan. Its five captives were missing.

Denys divided prize crews between the captured vessels. Jon crossed back to Salt Wraith and knelt beside Tomas for the journey home.

* * *

Lorren met them at Blackburn with men carrying a litter. Jon walked beside it all the way to the castle. Tomas had stopped speaking, though his uncovered eye followed Jon whenever the torchlight reached him.

In Lorren's room, Wylla cleared a table and brought water while he cut away the makeshift binding. Arthur caught Jon by the sleeve before he could crowd closer.

"Let him work."

Jon stood back. The cut ran across Tomas's forehead towards the brow, its edges gaping beneath the blood. Lorren bent over it, and Jon made himself turn away until the stitching was done.

Ethan waited with Denys by the door. Jon gave him the news in a low voice: the ambush, the two dead captains and the captured ships. The maester must send the word to Velaryon before Monford sailed for the gathering. The prisoners were to be kept apart. After that he scarcely heard Ethan leave.

Tomas lay pale beneath the clean bandage when Lorren called him over. He would keep the eye. The wound would leave a scar.

Jon pulled a stool beside him. For years he had watched this boy train, eat, quarrel with the others and learn to command them. He had been proud of what they had become. Tonight he had felt Tomas's blood warming his hand.

"You saved my life," he said.

Tomas looked towards Arthur, then back at him. "I couldn't let him—"

"I know." Jon took his hand. "Thank you."

Arthur drew a chair to the other side. "I saw what you did."

Tomas tried to straighten. "Ser."

"Lie still. You have done enough standing in front of swords tonight." Arthur looked at Jon. Jon nodded.

"You have earned your spurs," Arthur said.

For a moment Tomas only stared. Then he tried to sit again, more urgently this time. Arthur laid a hand upon his shoulder and stopped him.

"You need not kneel," he said. "Stay as you are." He looked towards the door. "Bring his comrades in."

The household came in their stained coats, followed by legionaries who had fought beside them. Gawen entered with his arm in its sling. Aries slipped in behind him and stopped when he saw the bandage; Wylla kept a hand upon his shoulder.

Arthur drew his sword.

"Will you keep your sworn word, defend those who cannot defend themselves, and bear yourself with courage and honour?"

Tomas's answer was too faint for the men by the door. He swallowed and tried again.

"I swear it."

The blade touched his shoulders in turn.

"Then I name you Ser Tomas."

Tomas blinked hard, but the tears came. Jon stood and rested a hand upon his shoulder.

"Every day I live from this night is one you gave me, Ser Tomas. I will not forget it."

Hennet raised his fist by the door. "Ser Tomas!" The cry spread through the crowded room and into the passage, the men roaring his name.

 

[aiwonder]

Lorren called him ser as he tied the bandage.

Tomas had heard it half a dozen times since morning. It still made him want to look past the healer and see which knight had entered the room.

"Tell me if the light troubles you, ser."

"It doesn't."

"And if that changes, send for me. No getting up to see whether you can manage."

Tomas promised. Lorren gathered the soiled linen, set the water where he could reach it and went to the wounded legionary in the other bed. The man was breathing more easily now. He drank what Lorren gave him, lay back and was soon asleep.

When the healer left, Tomas listened to his footsteps until they faded into the castle passage.

The room had a ceiling higher than any at home. A stone beast crouched above the window, its open jaws black against the last of the evening light. Below it his sword stood within reach of the bed. Someone had cleaned the blood from the scabbard and rubbed the leather dry. Lord Jon had done it, Lorren said.

Tomas reached out and touched the pommel.

He remembered a pale sword above him, Arthur's voice, the pressure of a hand upon his shoulder. Some of the faces behind Jon had blurred together. He could recall Hennet shouting, though, and men taking up his name so loudly that Wylla had turned towards the door to hush them and then begun smiling herself.

Ser Tomas.

He whispered it again. He was a knight. Even now, he could scarcely believe it.

His mother had mended his cuff before he swore his first oath. He could still see her biting the thread, holding his wrist while she checked that the patch lay flat. When the choosing was over she had sewn the black badge onto his coat. At his new bed she had folded his cloak and touched his cheek, though the other boys were watching and he had wished she would stop.

He would have given a great deal to feel that hand now.

What would she say? Would she believe the first letter, or carry it to someone else to have it read again? He could write it himself. Once he would have needed another man to tell her even that he was safe.

He had not come to Jon expecting knighthood. A place, regular meals, wages to take home, work that might carry him farther than the same few roads. That had been enough to make him run until his chest hurt on the day Jon chose them. Olyver had lost a shoe; Tomas had taken his sack as well as his own, and by the end both burdens had seemed filled with stones.

Jon had remembered that.

Years later, when Gawen was given command, Tomas had wondered whether Jon remembered anything else. He was ashamed of the thought now. He had stood before the boy he served and asked whether he had given cause for doubt, unable to keep the hurt out of his voice.

Jon had said he had not.

Last night Jon had sat with Tomas's hand in his own, blood dried upon his sleeve, and thanked him. There had been nothing distant or lordly in his face then. Tomas remembered that part very clearly.

The door opened without a knock.

Olyver put his head around it, followed by Alasdair, Gage and Cressen. All four had washed. None had managed to make his boots quiet upon the stone.

"Lorren said a little while," Alasdair told the others.

"You have said that twice," Olyver answered. He stopped at the foot of the bed and bowed with such care that Tomas knew trouble was coming. "Ser."

"Don't."

"Was that too little? I've never had to bow to you before."

"You still don't."

"Good." Olyver sat down on the chest beneath the window. "I wasn't going to keep it up."

Gage grinned. Cressen stood nearest the door until Alasdair drew a stool forward with his foot and made room for him. Tomas wanted to ask about the fight, about who had been hurt and what he had missed after they carried him down from the collector. For once nobody was waiting for his questions or his orders. They had simply come to see him.

"You look dreadful," Gage said.

"Thank you."

"Better than last night," Cressen added quickly.

Olyver leaned forward, elbows on his knees. "He means you looked worse when you were covered in blood. Very cheering company we've brought you."

"I've had worse."

"When?"

"Whenever you complain about your boots."

Alasdair laughed. Olyver pointed at him. "You took those boots off at Runestone. You saw what they'd done to my heels."

"We all saw. You showed everyone."

Tomas was smiling before he could help it. The wound pulled as his face moved, and for a moment he shut his eyes. When he opened them, all four were watching him.

"It only hurts when I laugh."

Olyver nodded solemnly. "Then Alasdair can tell the next jest."

That made it worse. Tomas pressed a hand against his cheek, laughing through his teeth while Gage tried to quiet the others. The legionary beneath the shelves stirred, muttered something and went back to sleep.

After a while Alasdair asked whether Tomas remembered Arthur drawing Dawn.

"That, yes."

"Geth says you tried to get up."

"I thought I had to kneel."

"You'd have fallen on your face," Gage said. "Then Lorren would have had to start again."

Tomas glanced at the sword beside his bed. He had seen great lords stand to receive Arthur Dayne. At Runestone, men had pressed against one another for a glimpse of him fighting. That same man had laid Dawn against Tomas's shoulder and called him worthy.

He tried to explain it. "I thought, when he said it... I thought he meant when I was well. Some other day."

"He wasn't going to wait," Alasdair said.

Tomas nodded, though he still had not quite caught up with it.

Olyver looked around the room. "You'll want your own chamber now. Can't have a knight listening to Gage snore."

"He snores louder than I do," Gage said.

"A better chamber for both of you, then. At the far end of the castle."

Cressen smiled. "Finnan would have wanted the bed nearest the door."

The smile went before he finished saying it.

No one answered. Olyver lowered his eyes. Gage's hand, which had been resting on the bedpost, tightened around it.

"I wish they could have seen it," Cressen said. "Finnan. Keir and Struan too."

Tomas looked down at the coverlet.

He remembered Finnan scraping the burnt crust from the porridge pot, Keir's cup always in the wrong place, Struan drumming his spoon until somebody threatened to take it away. Memories from a hundred suppers came more readily than their faces upon the day they died. He was grateful for that, then ashamed to be grateful.

Cressen rubbed his palms over his knees. "I didn't mean—"

"I know," Tomas said.

He knew exactly what Cressen meant. There should have been three more men trying to squeeze through the door. Struan would have wanted to hear every word Arthur said. Finnan would have found something to mock before anyone grew too solemn.

Tomas had helped mend Struan's whistle. He could still feel the thin linen binding beneath his thumb. It hung beneath a name in the northern barracks now, far from this sea and this castle, and for a moment the distance hurt as much as the memory.

"They would have been proud of you," Alasdair said.

His voice was quiet. He had not been beside them in the wood. Tomas remembered how he had looked when the wounded came home, and how hard he had worked to find something useful to do for every man who returned.

"Finnan would have said you took long enough," Gage murmured.

Cressen let out a breath that almost became a laugh. "He would."

Tomas blinked until he could see them clearly again.

"I wish they were here."

"Aye," Alasdair said.

They let him say it. No one hurried to make the room cheerful again.

A little later there was a knock. Gawen came in with his left arm in its sling and a folded cloak over the other. The men began to rise, but he waved them down.

"Stay where you are. I've come to congratulate him, not inspect his visitors."

Gage brought him the chair. Gawen set the cloak across its back and studied Tomas's bandage before sitting.

"Ser Tomas."

It sounded different from him. Tomas felt his throat tighten.

"Ser."

"Arthur told me what you did. So did Hennet. Hennet's telling was rather longer."

"Was I taller in his?"

"By the end of it I thought you must have carried the captain under one arm and Lord Jon under the other."

Olyver made a pleased noise. "That's how I shall tell it."

"You will tell it properly," Gawen said, though he was smiling. Then he looked back at Tomas. "You did well."

Tomas had heard him say those words after a difficult turn upon a horse, or a passage at arms that had taken weeks to master. He had always wanted to hear them again.

"Thank you, ser."

Gawen glanced down at his sling. The smile faded a little.

"I wish I had been beside you on that ship. I would have liked to knight you myself."

"I wish you had been there too." Tomas hesitated, then looked up. "Though having Ser Arthur do it wasn't so bad."

Gawen laughed, and Tomas laughed with him, more carefully this time. Around them the others began smiling again.

"No," Gawen said. "I suppose the Sword of the Morning will serve."

Tomas remembered the bay he had ridden when Arthur first put him under Gawen's teaching. He had been so determined to do well with the lance that his whole body had stiffened. Gawen had taken it away and made him turn the horse without hauling at its mouth. Tomas had thought he was being sent back to a child's lesson. By the fourth circuit he had understood why.

"You taught me," he said.

"Some of it. Arthur might object if I claimed the rest."

"You know what I mean."

Gawen's good hand closed briefly around his forearm. "I do."

For a moment neither spoke. Then Gawen settled back in the chair.

"Lord Jon means to make you a landed knight," Gawen said. "You are to choose a name for your house, and arms to bear upon your shield."

Olyver opened his mouth. Alasdair put a hand on his knee without looking at him.

"A landed knight?"

"Aye. A holding of your own, in return for your service. He will settle the grant in time."

Tomas stared at him. Knighthood had been enough to leave him bewildered. Now there was to be land as well, and a name his children would carry.

"Here?"

"Elsewhere. He has not named the place." Gawen glanced at the others, then back at Tomas. "For now, think about what you would call your house. There is no need to choose tonight."

The room was very still. Olyver had forgotten whatever jest Alasdair had stopped him making.

Tomas tried to sit higher and stopped when the room tilted. Gawen steadied him until it passed. All at once he was glad to be lying down.

"He said that?"

"He did."

Land. There would be a place he could take his mother and say that she need not ask another man's leave to stay. He could scarcely imagine what such a place would look like.

"All I wanted," he began, and had to clear his throat. "When I went to him, I only wanted something more than the life I could see waiting at home. I thought if he kept me, if I learnt enough..."

Gawen waited. The others did too.

"He gave me all of it. A horse. Good steel. Men who listened when I spoke. I can write to my mother myself." Tomas looked at his companions. "I have you lot. And now this."

Olyver's face had lost its jesting look.

"I don't know what I could ever give him that would be enough."

"He is alive tonight," Gawen said. "Do not make what you did a small thing."

Tomas shook his head carefully. "I wasn't thinking of being rewarded."

"I know you weren't." Gawen leaned forward. "Jon knows it too. He has watched you serve him for years. Last night did not make him notice you for the first time."

The fear Tomas had carried from that conversation about the captaincy returned, smaller now and a little shameful. He had mistaken a change in his duties for the end of Jon's trust. Yet Jon was giving him a future he had never known how to ask for.

"I will not fail him."

Gawen nodded. He did not make Tomas swear it again.

"Then begin by letting that head mend. He will have work for you soon enough."

When Lorren returned, he found five visitors where he had allowed a little quiet company. Gawen accepted the blame and rose. The others followed, each finding something brief and awkward to say at the bed. Cressen gripped Tomas's hand rather than speaking. Tomas held it until Cressen was ready to let go.

At the door Olyver looked back.

"A boot," he said.

"What?"

"For your shield. Since carrying mine won you your first command."

"I carried your sack. Oren carried your boot."

"Then put two sacks on it."

Alasdair pushed him through the doorway before Tomas could answer. Their voices receded along the passage, arguing over whose account of the trial was worse.

Tomas lay looking at the empty chair. Tomorrow he would ask for ink. He would begin with the thing his mother needed to hear first: that he was alive, and being well cared for.

After that, he would tell her what Arthur Dayne had called him.

* * *

Below the hall, Drennan, the sail-mender from Saltcliffe, waited upon a stool in the guardroom, his hands chained. The captured first mate of the collector had named him as the man who warned the pirates of Borren's arrest.

He rose when Jon entered the guardroom. His wrists were raw where he had twisted them against the irons, but his clothes were clean. Pale hair hung about a narrow, weathered face. There was a small red puncture beside his thumbnail, the sort a man acquired working a needle through stiff canvas.

He looked like half the men Jon had passed on the road to Saltcliffe.

"My lord, there has been a mistake."

"Then explain it."

Drennan glanced at Ethan. Arthur closed the door behind them, and a garrison man took his place beside the prisoner.

"I went to see my cousin. I told your men."

"At Hull?" Jon asked.

"Aye."

"You told another man he lived down the coast."

"His boat was there. I meant to find his boat."

Jon stood across the table from him. "What is his name?"

Drennan answered. Ethan already had it. The maester had sent a man to ask after the cousin's household, but Jon did not intend to sit through another account of how a visit to a relative had brought Drennan alongside the collector before dawn.

He nodded to the guard.

The man brought in one of the prisoners caught at the cove. Drennan stared at him, and the other prisoner immediately began speaking.

"That's him. Little boat, brown sail, pale patch beside the mast. Came out with news of the shore."

"He has been told to say that."

"I saw you," the prisoner said angrily. "You asked where our captain was. Said Borren was in the castle and we were fools if we came ashore as before."

Drennan's eyes went from the prisoner to the door.

Jon waited until the guard had taken the witness out again.

"You warned them."

"I wanted them gone." The answer burst out of him. "They were to take their things and leave. Borren had brought them here. I wanted no part in what followed."

"So you rowed past my men to tell armed pirates where those men were waiting."

"I did not know they would fight."

Ethan made a disgusted sound. Drennan turned towards him, seizing upon the older man's attention.

"You know me. I've worked here all my life. I patched the sail on your stores boat last winter. Ask any man at the harbour what I—"

"Look at your lord when he questions you," Ethan said.

Drennan faced Jon again. For a moment the helplessness slipped, and something resentful showed beneath it. Jon knew what the man saw. A boy, hardly broad enough to fill the black coat, with a bandage on his hand and older men standing behind him.

"Why warn them at all?" Jon asked. "Why not bring what you knew here?"

"They owed me money."

There was the beginning of an honest answer.

"For sails?"

"Sails. Rope. Work upon the shore."

"What work?"

He would not answer that. Jon sent for Borren.

The former headman came between two guards, still wearing the coat in which he had been taken. One side of his mouth was swollen. He stopped when he saw Drennan.

"You told them?"

"You should have kept my name out of it."

"I never gave your name."

"They went straight to my shed!"

Jon let them look at one another. Then he asked Borren who had helped make the shore store ready for people.

"We stored cargo."

"You locked people in it. You have already admitted that. Who helped you?"

Borren looked at Drennan again. The sail-mender began shaking his head.

"Don't."

"Who?" Jon repeated.

"He brought the rope. Helped cover the openings so they couldn't be seen from the path."

"You told me it was for wine!"

"The first time." Borren's voice rose. "Tell him what you did when the woman started crying. Tell him why you went round to her door."

Drennan lunged at Borren. The guard caught his shoulder and forced him to his knees. The chain snapped tight.

Jon came around the table.

"What did you do?"

"Nothing."

"You heard her. You went to the door. What did you do?"

Drennan knelt with his hands against the seat of the stool. His mouth worked. Behind him, Borren watched with the ugly relief of a man whose accomplice had finally been caught.

"She wouldn't keep quiet," Drennan said. "I told her she had to. The boats were close. People could hear."

"Did she ask you for help?"

"I couldn't understand her."

"Did she try to get out?"

Silence.

Jon bent until the man could not avoid his eyes.

"Did she?"

"Aye."

"And you shut her in."

Drennan began to cry. Jon felt no satisfaction in it. The tears had come when the danger reached him. There had been none for the woman behind the covered openings.

He remembered Laro trying not to flinch when a hand came near his face. He remembered the narrow space beneath the collector's deck and Tomas lying against the mast with blood running between Jon's fingers. Drennan had seen the prisoners on shore. He had known what those ships served, and when soldiers came to stop them he had rowed out to give warning.

"No one mistook what was happening," Jon said. "You heard a woman begging to leave. You kept her quiet. Then you helped the men who had chained her."

"I have told you."

"Because you were caught."

Jon looked at Borren. "Did Orrick see them brought in?"

"He held the lantern at the door. He could see the ropes as well as I could."

Ethan nodded grimly. "He admitted seeing the woman. Claimed he thought she was a prisoner taken by a lord's ship."

"Then he should have brought word to you," Jon said. "Instead he took his money and turned the search away."

He straightened. Borren began speaking at once.

"My lord, I can still help you. Neresso has other men. I know the carters, where they—"

"You gave Ethan those names."

"There may be others."

"Then you should have remembered them while you could still bargain."

Arthur stood beyond the table, watching Jon rather than the prisoners. Jon made himself unclench his good hand.

He had wanted to seize Drennan and drag him through the castle to see the people left in Lorren's care. That would have made them a spectacle for their tormentor. They had endured enough without being summoned to prove their pain to him.

"The galley," he said. "The broken swan. What work did you do aboard her?"

Drennan raised his head. "Her sail."

"Describe it."

"Pale canvas. The upper corner tore. I had no length wide enough, so I joined two blue pieces across it." He swallowed. "They were to replace it at Hull."

"When did you mend it?"

He placed the visit between two landings Borren had already described. Ethan questioned him until the sequence was clear. Drennan had carried the sail back aboard himself. There had been armed men at the hatch and a woman sitting below the ladder with her wrists tied.

Jon made him continue. The galley put into ports as Fair Wind, a name Ethan took down for the searching captains. Her crew covered the broken swan with a hood of sailcloth when they did not want it recognised. Drennan had sewn that too.

"They need not show us the bird," Arthur said quietly.

"No." Jon turned to Ethan. "Send the false name and sail description to Denys and Driftmark. Tell them when he last saw that canvas; she may no longer carry it. Whoever takes the message is to explain the covered bow as well."

Drennan looked up with desperate hope. "I can show them. Take me on a boat. I'll point her out."

"You will stay here."

Jon went back to his place at the table. Ethan had the earlier accounts before him: Borren's payments, Orrick's altered patrols, the master's treatment of Laro. Each had been questioned separately; their own words had supplied what the others tried to hide. Drennan had filled another gap. There was enough to judge the local men without pretending he had found every hand in the trade.

"At dawn, I will take your head, Borren. Orrick and the master who held Laro will follow."

Borren stared at him. Orrick and the Lysene boat master taken with Laro on the first night still waited in the cells below.

Jon turned to Drennan.

"You remain apart until we have checked what you told us. If your answers prove useful, you live. You will work in irons. Lie to me again, and you join them."

Borren's face emptied.

"My sister—"

"Will answer for what she did. Your sentence is yours."

One of the guards took his arm. Borren planted his feet. He looked at Ethan, then Arthur, searching for someone who might tell the boy to reconsider. Arthur opened the door for the guards.

"Ask him what he took!" Borren shouted as they pulled him past Drennan. "Ask how much they paid him!"

"We shall," Jon said.

They took Drennan down by another passage. For a little while Jon could hear Borren calling from the stair. Then a door closed, and he heard only the wind at the high window.

Ethan remained beside the table. "And the collector's first mate, my lord?"

Jon looked at the purse lying among the prisoner's things. That morning the mate had thought silver might save him. He had spoken of the people beneath the galley's deck as if Jon were asking about a cargo of hides.

"Let him go hungry. No visitors, and no word to the other prisoners. He can sit with what he knows until Neresso is brought here."

"We have no answer from Lord Velaryon yet."

"Send another raven. When he comes, he is to bring Neresso under guard. I will question them both that day." Jon pushed the purse away. "We shall see how much defiance the mate has left by then."

The castellan nodded. He drew the account of the battle prisoners nearer: nineteen fit enough for the work already begun at Cinderwell, three wounded still under Lorren's care, and the first mate held separately. All twenty-three were accounted for.

"Feed the nineteen properly," Jon said. "I need them strong enough for the work still to be done."

Ethan's hand stopped above the page. "Work? You mean to keep them here?"

"In chains, as they intended for the people they carried. Two years upon the works. After that, they go to the Wall."

"Some will run if they can."

"Then their guards had better attend to their duty. Keep them together when they are moved. Otho is to have the labour he can use, with men watching them."

Jon had seen what those ships made of people. He had no intention of feeding their crews through idle months in a dungeon while honest men broke their backs hauling stone. They would help build the island they had chosen to prey upon. The thought left him coldly satisfied.

The other three would remain under guard while Lorren treated them. Hessa and her son were still held with the earlier prisoners; their questioning was unfinished. Jon would not let Borren's death become an answer to every question about his household.

Ethan put the accounts together. "Who takes Saltcliffe now?"

"Send for Hewyn. I want half a century posted there. Fifty men under a steady optio."

"To support the next headman?"

"There will be no next headman."

Ethan went still. Jon could feel his own anger rising again, as sharp as when Drennan had admitted shutting the woman inside.

"A headman, one of the garrison, a sail-mender with a boat. How many more took coin and looked away? Until I know, Saltcliffe answers to the optio. He answers to me."

"And the village's ordinary business?"

"Goes to him. The fishing continues. Gella's work continues. But his men will watch the landings and the coast, and only the helpers she has chosen are to go behind the screen where she refines the white salt. Put guards upon the salt stores and the carts when they go down to the boats."

The white salt could pay for more than the village understood. Jon would not teach Gella a process, build the means to enlarge it and then leave it among men who had already sold far worse secrets for silver. The optio need not know how she made it. He needed to know who was allowed through her door.

"Choose men who were not fighting last night," Jon added. "Hewyn will settle their duties. They are posted there, not available for Otho to borrow by the day."

"I will have him sent up." Ethan gathered Borren's earlier account. "Denys left orders for Qavo to examine both prizes. The captain he put over the watch will take the shipwright aboard in the morning."

"Have Qavo send me what each needs. Hull, rigging, oars, all of it. Begin the repairs he can make with what we have."

The collector and the smaller oared ship would give him two more vessels once they were sound. They needed crews as well as repairs. Jon told Ethan to have Denys's captain keep the prisoners clear of both hulls and put reliable men over the remaining cargo. The report would go to the acting admiral as soon as a boat could find him; the work need not wait for his return.

Arthur had listened without interrupting. Now his gaze fell to Jon's bandaged hand.

"You mean to do it yourself in the morning."

"I passed the sentence."

"I heard you." Arthur held out his hand, and Jon reluctantly let him examine the swollen knuckle. "You must be able to finish what you begin."

Jon closed his fingers. It hurt. He kept them closed.

"I can."

Arthur studied him, then released the hand. "I will have a suitable sword brought down."

Jon looked towards Ethan. "Make certain Saltcliffe hears the charges. I will not have Borren's friends tell them he died for hiding a cask of wine."

The castellan bowed his head. "They will hear them."

* * *

The yard was still in shadow when the prisoners came out.

Rain during the night had left dark patches between the stones. Jon stood bareheaded beside the block, his cloak folded over Arthur's arm. The sword from the armoury had a long hilt and a broad, freshly honed blade. He had tried its weight in private, with his left hand taking the stronger grip and his right bracing below it. Lorren had bound the knuckle again. Even so, a dull ache ran into his wrist whenever he tightened his fingers.

The island garrison brought the condemned men across the yard. Orrick searched the ranks for familiar faces. Some men looked back; others kept their eyes upon the block. His coat still showed the stitches where the badge had been torn away.

Ethan read the charges. The words carried clearly in the quiet: coin taken, patrols diverted, captives concealed, men warned against their lord. The slaver master listened without expression. Borren kept shaking his head.

Jon watched him. He remembered the women and children who had waited outside Saltcliffe's houses when the first arrests were made, unable to learn whether their fathers would come home. This man had been trusted to speak for them. He had used that trust to open a door to slavers.

When Ethan finished, Borren began talking at once.

"My lord, there are things I have not remembered. Give me another day. You need to know who—"

"You had the night."

"I can still name men."

"Then name them."

Borren's mouth remained open. At the edge of the yard, someone shifted upon the wet stone. He tried to give Jon a name already taken down in the cells. Ethan said so. Borren turned towards him with a look of desperate hatred.

The guards brought him to the block. He resisted until one caught his shoulder and made him kneel. Jon waited while they settled him. He could hear the man's breathing.

Eddard's voice returned to him with a clarity that made the cold yard seem briefly familiar.

The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

Jon had heard those words as a child. He had watched Eddard stand where he stood now, grave and certain, while other men looked on. He had understood the duty long before this morning. Understanding it did nothing to lessen the weight of the sword in his hands.

Borren looked up once.

"My sister's boy. He did what I told him."

"He will answer for his own deeds," Jon said. "I have told you that."

Borren lowered his head. Jon set his feet, lifted the sword and struck.

The shock of it drove pain through his right hand. He held the blade steady while the guards moved forward. Arthur remained beside him, near enough to take the sword if he asked. Jon did not ask.

Orrick came next. Without the badge, he looked like any frightened island man. He glanced at the soldiers who had once stood beside him and began to say that he had never laid hands upon a captive.

"You were paid to keep them safe," Jon told him. "You took more to leave them to those men."

Orrick looked down. He had nothing else to say.

The guards brought him to his knees. Jon waited until they stood clear, then raised the sword and took his head.

The master who had held Laro cursed when his turn came. Jon caught the boy's name among the words and felt his grip tighten despite the pain. The man had cut Mallador while trying to escape the first night's raid. Now he spoke as if losing his freedom were an injustice greater than anything he had done.

Jon let him finish. Then he carried out the third sentence.

When it was over, he stood with the point lowered towards the stones. His breathing sounded too loud. Blood had run along the blade towards his hand; a guard brought water, and Arthur took the sword only after Jon had loosened his fingers from it.

Ethan asked about the bodies. Jon gave the order for burial and remained while the garrison lifted them. There were men watching from the castle doors who had never seen their young lord kill. He was conscious of them, but had no wish to look at their faces.

The first mate waited somewhere beneath their feet. Neresso was across the water. Others still thought themselves beyond his reach.

Jon washed until the water in the basin had to be changed. His knuckle had begun bleeding beneath the wrapping. Arthur helped him bind it, saying little, then left him to change for the ride.

Wylla met him at the stable door with bread and cheese wrapped in linen. She took one look at his face and put the food into his sound hand.

"Eat before you ride."

"I will."

"Here."

He stayed beside the door and ate. She waited until the first piece was gone, then folded the remaining bread into the cloth for him. Beyond her, Alasdair was settling the escort. He had Tomas's duties for the day, with Gawen remaining at the castle.

"How is he?" Jon asked.

"Tired of being told to lie still," Wylla said. "Lorren is pleased with him."

Jon nodded. He could still remember how little pressure it had taken to make blood well through the cloth over Tomas's brow. The captain who had done that was dead. The men who had helped bring him to their shore had begged for their lives that morning.

He had slept badly and his hand hurt. When a groom fumbled a buckle he nearly snapped at him, then saw that the lad was trying not to touch the bandage. Jon finished it with his left hand and thanked him.

Hamish waited by the gate with Otho, mounted upon a sturdy bay. Gerren's elder son had brought his sea chest south to help lay out Jon's fields; during the island survey he had spent more time beside the measuring lines than at the castle. Now dust marked the knees of his breeches and a short measuring rod was tied behind his saddle. He looked young among the weathered men who had come to Dragonstone with their trades, though he had followed a plough long before he had ever seen a ship.

"Have you everything?" Jon asked him.

"Otho has the drawing, my lord. The longer cords went ahead with his men." Hamish hesitated. "Am I to stay there tonight?"

"Yes. I shall introduce you to Dake, then we will walk the ground together."

Hamish settled his foot more firmly in the stirrup. He had wanted this work. Being given charge of it had made him quieter.

Ethan met them as the gates opened. He and the maester would follow later, after the farms' work was done, for the household gathering Jon had promised. Hewyn was choosing the fifty men for Saltcliffe. They would march before noon.

Jon mounted. Beyond the last houses the road rose into open wind, and he was glad of the cold against his face.

* * *

Dake was cutting barley when they found him.

He worked beside his elder son, gathering stalks against the sickle. Behind them two women bound the cut grain. A child collected fallen heads into a basket until his mother called him out of the horses' way.

Dake straightened as Jon dismounted. His eyes went to the fresh wrapping on Jon's hand, then to Arthur. Someone from the village must already have brought news of the executions. He gave his greeting carefully.

"My lord."

"Finish the row. We can speak while you work."

His son pointed out shade for the horses. Jon sent the escort there and walked along the cut edge with Hamish. Otho continued towards the queen's barn, where his labour party waited.

Heat was gathering in the hollow. Chaff clung to Dake's neck, and his hands were dark where the sickle rested. He looked Hamish over, taking in the light beard, the plain coat and the measuring rod.

"Another man to measure us?"

"This is Hamish, Gerren's son. He worked with me at Miller's Run." Jon waited until the headman faced him. "He will oversee the farms here."

Dake lowered the handful of barley he had been about to cut.

"Oversee them."

"Under my direction. You and your neighbours will give him what he needs to learn the ground."

Hamish inclined his head. "I shall need to see where the river leaves its banks, and which fields dry first. Otho showed me the wet hollow."

"Did he?" Dake's glance returned to the young man's face. "And how many harvests have you brought in without your father telling you where to begin?"

Hamish reddened. "I worked beside him. We both followed Lord Jon's plan."

"Then I hope you remember it."

Jon felt the first stir of irritation. Dake's son had stopped cutting to listen; one of the women bent very deliberately over her sheaf.

"He remembers it," Jon said. "He helped put it into practice. That is why I brought him."

Dake looked at him, then resumed work. The sickle moved too quickly through the next handful, leaving stalks that his son cut when he passed.

"Your men have put a cord across the cattle way."

"To mark the new lane," Hamish said. "They lift it when the herd comes through."

"I asked my lord."

Jon's jaw tightened. "And Hamish answered you. The cattle way remains open."

The headman muttered that he was glad to hear it. Jon kept walking. If he answered every sour remark as sharply as he wished, they would spend the morning quarrelling beside an uncut field.

From here he could see the narrow strips spread across the hollow, some ready to reap, others still pale green upon the higher ground. The divisions had given each family a share of good and poor soil. They also sent teams back and forth across the same ground while men waited for their neighbours to finish. He meant to change that as thoroughly as he meant to change the streets of Blackburn.

At the end of the row Dake tucked his sickle through his belt and came with them. His son followed a few paces, until Dake told him to keep working.

"I was going to ask about the teams."

"Ask after the row."

The son went back, visibly displeased. Dake watched him bend to the barley, then turned towards the ruined barn.

"We have teams already."

"Which will still be needed," Jon said. "Your privately owned beasts remain yours. We settled that."

"We settled a good many things at the castle."

Jon stopped. Dake took another step before noticing and turning.

"If you have a question, ask it. I have no patience for being made to drag one out of every answer."

The headman's face darkened, but he bowed his head. "No, my lord."

They went on to the queen's barn.

Three walls still stood, streaked with lichen. A rowan grew where carts had once crossed the threshing floor, and one of the old piers had settled towards the wet ground below. Otho's men were clearing fallen stone from the approach. They had kept clear of the standing crop.

The larger drawing lay upon a board set across two trestles. Jon held it down while Otho fetched stones for the corners. Hamish stood beside the headman, leaving Dake room to see.

"Six hundred and forty acres," Otho said. "The ground we have marked for the first estate."

Dake bent over it. "I reckoned near six hundred."

"We took the farther edges and the fields beyond the rise," Otho answered. "That is the measured ground within this line."

Jon followed it with a finger. "The best arable land around the village. There are other fields beyond it, and meadow and grazing besides. This is where we begin."

The river curved along the lower side of the valley, with the deeper soil upon its gentler slopes. Beyond the selected ground, broken hills divided the farther farms. Jon had no intention of pretending they were useless because they did not fit conveniently upon this sheet. Their time would come. These acres were close enough to work together and good enough to reward what he put into them.

Inside Otho's measured boundary, the old narrow strips remained faint beneath Jon's darker lines. Larger fields followed the slope. A cartway reached the barn without cutting through the houses; the new house ground stood higher, with gardens behind it and a separate way for cattle.

Dake found the wall that divided his father's old ground from a neighbour's.

"That comes down."

"After the harvest."

"And this one."

"Where we have marked it. The new boundaries follow the fields we intend to work, not the shares your grandfathers divided."

Hamish bent closer. "This turn stays wide enough for the oxen. If we leave the wall across it, every team will have to stop and go round."

"We have managed to turn an ox before," Dake said.

"I can see that. I am asking what happens when we work the whole length."

There was nothing insolent in Hamish's tone. Jon heard the effort it cost him to keep it that way. Dake's eyes narrowed at being answered, then shifted to Jon as if expecting him to put the young man in his place.

"The wall comes down where I have marked it," Jon said. "Hamish will see that the turn is kept clear."

He put more force into the name than he had intended. Arthur looked at him from the other end of the trestles. Jon drew a breath and moved his hand to the river.

"Now show him what the water does here."

They left the drawing weighted beneath the stones and walked upstream to the shoulder where Jon meant to take water into the new channels. The river ran clear over pebbles there. Farther down, alder roots gripped the bank and a narrow shelf overlooked the bend.

Dake pointed out a scar upon the opposite bank. Winter floods had cut it. He knew where the water spread and where it stayed swift enough to take a man's footing. Jon listened. This was knowledge he needed, and he would not throw it away because the man giving it had become disagreeable.

Hamish asked whether the highest stain had been left by the last great rain or an earlier flood. Dake answered, then looked annoyed with himself for doing so.

Otho took the height against the marked rod. Jon walked the proposed course with him, keeping it above the fields that would need water. They would bring a channel around the rise, with smaller cuts leading into the flatter ground and gates to close them when enough had passed. The drains would carry away what the soil could not take.

Hamish crouched at a shallow dip, looking back towards the river.

"This bank will need raising."

"Yes," Jon said.

"Or the water will leave us here."

He said it almost to himself. Jon remembered him as a younger boy running ahead of their first channel at Miller's Run, eager to see whether the water could truly reach his mother's garden. The first trickle had found a low place there too. Hamish had helped mend the bank until it held.

"Have it marked," Jon told him. "And bring the men who will tend the gates when we set them. They are to see why each one stands where it does."

Dake rubbed his chin. "And when the river is low?"

"We take less. Otho will keep measuring it. I mean to use this water properly, not promise you a second river."

They followed the bank down to the shelf above the bend. Here Jon showed them the mill site. Water brought along a separate race would turn the wheel, then return below it. Carts could approach from the barn ground without trying to climb the steepest part of the bank.

"Grain brought down from the stores," Hamish said, studying the slope. "Flour back up by that way."

"Once the road is made." Jon turned to Otho. "Set the working height before the foundations. The wheel and the water leaving it must both have room."

Otho had already marked two possible lines. He and Jon compared them while Dake watched the river. It was no broad northern water, and its strength would vary. The gates and channels had to serve both mill and fields. Jon would not have Hamish opening every irrigation cut while the miller wondered why his stones had stopped.

"My father would have liked a mill here," Dake said at last.

For the first time that morning his voice held something besides resentment. Jon looked at him.

"Did he ask for one?"

"He asked a good many things. Men came, looked and went back to the castle."

"Then watch what my men build."

Dake gave no answer. Hamish was looking at the water, perhaps wise enough to leave the moment alone.

They returned by the grazing below the wet hollow. The man who held it stood watching soldiers lift stones from the choked outlet. He met Jon with a question about how much of the upper ground would be drained through his meadow.

"None until this end is clear," Jon told him.

Hamish followed Otho to where the water could leave beyond the obstruction. He came back with mud upon his boots and asked the man to walk it with him. Dake remained beside Jon. His mouth tightened as his neighbour went with the younger man and began pointing out the winter pools.

"He will need you," Jon said quietly. "You know this valley."

"So you have said."

"And he knows the work I intend. You will learn one another's part."

Dake looked after Hamish. "If he can spare the time from telling us ours."

Jon turned fully towards him.

"Enough."

The word brought Dake's eyes back at once. Jon kept his voice low, though he wanted to raise it.

"You have had a remark for every answer he has given you. If he is wrong, show him where. I have heard enough about his age."

Dake's cheeks darkened. "As you say, my lord."

It was obedience of the narrowest sort. Jon let it stand and called Otho back to the barn.

By noon they had marked the mill ground and the first lengths of channel. At the queen's barn, men had cleared a passage wide enough for a cart. The old walls would be tested before anyone built upon them. Beside them lay room for a new covered threshing floor, with stores where clean grain could be kept dry and fodder sheds far enough away to leave carts clear access. The dairy would stand nearer the houses, reached without taking the dung carts through its yard.

Jon left room in the drawing around the threshing floor. Much of what he wanted there depended upon the Blackworks. Bennard was still laying foundations; Noll's men could not turn out every fitting he needed because he was impatient for it. For now, the farmers would see a larger, better arranged place to do their work. In time the work itself would change.

Dake came back from his house carrying the guano sack sent from Saltcliffe. His wife and younger son followed with food. She set bread, cheese and a bowl of beans beneath the surviving wall while the men found places to sit.

Dake loosened the sack several paces from the food. Even there, Arthur grimaced when the smell reached him. Dake almost smiled, then glanced at Hamish and fastened the mouth again.

"We were told to keep this dry."

"Do," Jon said. "At the next sowing, put the same seed in two small plots beside one another. Spread this on one and leave the other without it. I want to see the difference."

Hamish asked where the ordinary manure was kept. Dake pointed with a piece of bread.

"Behind the byre. I suppose that must move too."

"If the new drains would wash through it," Hamish said. "I'd rather see it first."

Dake's wife told him where the path was. He thanked her and sat. The elder son arrived last, hands washed but chaff still caught in his hair. He took a place beside his brother and listened as Jon spread the smaller field drawing upon a flat stone.

"The new divisions will let us keep each course together," Jon told Hamish. "Wheat, then turnips, barley and clover. Different fields in different courses, so we still bring in grain while the others carry fodder."

Hamish nodded. "Some of the upper ground will want longer under clover."

"We will judge it as we go. The deeper ground can begin sooner. Keep the present crops until they are gathered, then we set the next sowing."

Dake leaned over the drawing despite himself.

"You would put all that good ground to turnips?"

"When its turn comes. The beasts must eat as well. More fodder lets us keep more useful stock through the lean months, and the clover helps the ground recover."

"We eat barley."

"And we shall grow it. You can see it there." Jon held his irritation in check. "But scraping grain off the same tired ground every time is not the whole of farming. Hamish has seen what comes back when the crops are changed properly."

"I was there when Lord Stark's steward compared our returns," Hamish said. "He could find no northern barley reckoning better by the acre."

Dake stared at him. "No better?"

"That is what he said. We still bought grain. Less of it."

Dake looked at Jon, who nodded once.

"We shall buy grain here too," Jon said. "These are six hundred and forty good acres, not an island large enough to feed every man I intend to settle upon it. Better yields and proper stores will make us less dependent. They will not make ships unnecessary."

Dake's elder son shifted closer to the plan.

"And the new tools?"

"Will come as the Blackworks is ready to make them."

"Will we have enough teams for all this?"

"That is part of what they will change. Fewer hands will be needed to work more ground. As men can be spared, there is work waiting at the harbour and the forges. I shall need recruits for the legion as well."

Jon glanced towards the field where the uncut barley still stood. His father in his first life had worked more ground with a handful of people than Dake could have managed with every household in this hollow. He could not give them that farm. He could remember enough to begin changing this one, if he could find the iron, the timber and the time.

"The harvest keeps its hands until we know we can spare them," he added. "Hamish will not send men away because a tool looks promising upon my table."

The elder son nodded, then asked Hamish about driving an estate team. Dake interrupted before the young overseer could answer.

"He has driven ours since he was old enough. There is no need to make a trial of him."

"There will be different work to learn," Hamish said. "I should like men who know the beasts."

"Then there are plenty here."

"Good."

The younger son looked down into his bowl to hide a smile. Dake saw it. Jon watched the headman's face close, and set the drawing aside before the meal became another quarrel.

They spoke of the stock instead. Dake's wife knew which cows gave the most milk and which calved without trouble; her sons disagreed about the soundest young bull. Jon listened, asked to see the animals when the day's work allowed, and told Hamish to preserve the good breeding stock when they settled the estate's herd. Better feeding would show sooner. Better breeding would take patience, and he had no intention of selling their best animals while waiting for it.

When the family returned to the fields, Hamish went with Otho to mark the approach to the stores. Dake lingered beneath the wall.

"My son would have had my holding after me."

There was hurt beneath the resentment. Jon heard it and was tired of having to hear it through an insult to someone else.

"Your sons will have work and the chance to rise in it. You have heard what I intend to pay, and this evening we will settle the terms with every household."

"Under him."

"Under the man I appoint."

Dake looked out towards Hamish. The younger man had taken one end of the cord while Otho set the other. Two local carters stood watching; Hamish beckoned them over to ask about the turn at the barn. They went readily enough.

Jon saw Dake's grip tighten upon the sickle handle.

"You would rather they waited for you to answer every question," he said.

"I have lived here all my life."

"Then give him the benefit of it."

The headman bowed stiffly and went down towards the barley. Jon remained beneath the wall until his temper had cooled enough to return to the drawing.

Arthur came to stand beside him.

"He thought you would choose him."

"I know."

"His sons heard the appointment."

Jon looked up sharply. "I shall not ask his leave to make it."

"I did not suggest you should." Arthur's gaze dropped to the hand Jon had braced against the stone. "You are bleeding through."

Jon looked down. A small red stain had spread upon the fresh linen. He took his weight off it, annoyed with the wound and with himself. Arthur fetched Lorren's spare dressing from the saddlebag. While he loosened the old binding, Jon watched Hamish guide a cart through the proposed turn.

The young man stopped the driver, shifted the cord a pace and tried again. He had found a mistake without calling for Jon to settle it. That was what Jon needed from the men he brought south: enough knowledge to act, and the sense to ask when they reached its end.

He would not let Dake drive him out of the work through a day of sneers.

* * *

The households gathered when the last harvest carts had been brought in.

Some came still carrying tools. Children sat beside bundles of cut grain while the maester opened the old rent and service accounts upon a borrowed table. Ethan had the household names from the completed census. Hamish stood beside Otho's plan, his measuring rod laid beneath it.

Before they began, the maester handed Jon a letter from Driftmark.

Monford Velaryon's men had seized Neresso in his rooms above the warehouse by the boatyards at Hull. The rooms were being searched, the merchant held apart from his servants while their stories were examined. Monford would bring the prisoner with him when he came to Dragonstone. His captains also had the description of the broken-swan galley and were watching for her.

Jon read the letter twice. The man who had bought fish, advanced coin and then begun paying for human cargo was alive in a guarded room. He could name men the sailors had never met.

"Tell Lord Velaryon the collector's mate is being kept apart for the same questioning," Jon told the maester. "And send the new sail description and the name Fair Wind, if the earlier message has not reached him."

The maester nodded. Jon put the letter inside his coat and faced the waiting farmers.

Dake stood among them with both sons. His wife had found a place beside the other women. He had brought his neighbours as promised, though he had left Hamish to answer their first questions about the ground.

Jon began with what would happen to the crop they had already grown. It would be gathered under the terms on which they had sown it. The dividing walls marked for removal would remain until that harvest was in. When paid estate work began, the old labour dues and barley rents would end. Gardens, poultry and privately owned beasts remained theirs.

A man near the back interrupted.

"Whose barn does the next crop go into?"

"The estate's."

"And what do we eat?"

"Grain from the stores, as part of your pay, with coin beside it. The grain is settled in measures. A dearer market will not make your portion smaller."

The maester gave the rates prepared from the earlier returns. Jon had him explain them slowly enough for the men at the back to follow, including the additional hire for privately owned oxen. The estate would feed those beasts while it used them. A farmer asked twice whether the old rent truly ended when the whole crop went to Jon, and Jon answered him twice.

Hamish showed them the selected six hundred and forty acres. He pointed out the present cattle way, the barn and the river before explaining the unfamiliar lines. Jon could see men finding their own ground and drawing their neighbours closer. The mill made them look down towards the water. The new boundaries brought them back to the drawing.

"You will have word before a wall comes down," Hamish said. "The marks must be checked against what you have sown. I shall walk them with each household."

"With the headman's leave?" Dake asked.

Hamish looked at him. "Lord Jon has given the order."

"I heard Lord Jon. I asked who will settle it when your cord runs where it shouldn't."

"I will hear you and look at the ground."

"You will hear me." Dake let out a short, unpleasant laugh. "I've sons near your age. Now I am to stand waiting while you decide whether I know my own field."

The talk around the table died away. Jon felt anger rise so quickly that he had to take his hand off the drawing before he crumpled it.

"Dake."

The headman turned. There was still a challenge in his face, strengthened by the neighbours standing at his shoulders.

"My lord, these are men who have worked here all their lives. Set a man over them who has weathered more than his father's displeasure."

Hamish went red to the ears. Jon saw him draw breath and stopped him with a raised hand.

"You have spent the day trying to make him ashamed of an appointment I gave him," Jon said. "You have questioned his age, his experience and every answer that did not come from my mouth. Now you do it before the men he is to lead."

"I am asking who you expect us to trust."

"I expect you to obey him."

Dake glanced towards his sons. The elder was watching Jon; the younger had lowered his eyes. The headman's mouth tightened.

"I will take my orders from you, my lord. I will not have that lad—"

"You will obey."

Jon's voice cracked across the yard. He came around the table, and Dake took half a step back before setting his feet. Arthur straightened beside the maester. Alasdair's hand settled upon his sword belt.

Jon had told him plainly at the castle what would change. He had answered him again beside the fields, at the river and over their food. Still Dake thought he could choose which orders to obey. Jon's hand throbbed, and the memory of the morning's blood lay close beneath every word.

"Hamish speaks with my authority. When you refuse him, you refuse me."

"I have served this village—"

"Then continue to serve it. Help him learn the ground. Bring him what he needs. Stop trying to turn every man here against him because I did not choose you."

Dake's face flushed darkly. Someone behind him drew a breath, but no one spoke.

Jon stepped closer.

"I have already put one headman in chains and found him a traitor. I took his head this morning. Do not imagine I will suffer another man to use the same office to defy me."

"I have sold no one."

"Then obey the order I have given you." Jon held his gaze. "Obstruct Hamish, set men against him, and I will remove you. If it takes irons to make you obey, you will wear them. Have I made myself clear?"

Dake swallowed. His eyes flicked once towards Ethan, but the castellan did not intervene. Jon waited, breathing hard through his nose. He would have liked the man to answer quickly. He forced himself to give him the silence in which to do it.

"Yes, my lord."

"Who oversees these farms?"

The headman's jaw moved before any sound came.

"Hamish. Under you."

"Remember it."

Jon turned away before he said more. He went back to the table and made himself lay the drawing flat. The farmers watched him now with a caution that had not been there at the beginning. Dake remained where he stood, humiliated and angry, but silent.

Hamish's hands were still upon the edge of the board. Jon looked at him.

"Show them the first work."

The young man swallowed, then pointed towards the outlet below the barn. His first words came unevenly. He steadied as he explained where his men would begin and which ground they would leave untouched until the crop was in. He knew this part. Jon let him finish it without taking over.

When Hamish had done, a farmer asked whether the new cartway would block his gate. Hamish asked him to show where it stood. The man leaned over the drawing, and the ordinary questions began again, more cautiously than before.

Jon stayed while the maester compared each household's present obligations with the proposed pay. Dake brought his sons to the table when called. He gave the size of his family and the beasts he owned, listened to the reckoning and took his place again. He did not speak to Hamish.

By the time they finished, the barn's shadow lay well across the yard. There were boundaries still to settle upon the ground and particular services to untangle. Ethan and the maester kept those cases. The first men who wanted work upon the stores were told where to come when their own grain was secure.

Jon called Hamish aside while the table was being carried away.

"You remain here. Otho's foreman knows what can begin now. Keep the men upon the outlet, the barn ground and the approaches. The fields wait until the harvest is in."

"Yes, my lord."

"If there is trouble, send word. Do not let a man delay you for days because he thinks you will be too proud to ask for help."

Hamish looked towards Dake, who was gathering his sons to leave.

"I will need what he knows."

"Then ask for it. He has heard me."

The young man nodded. Jon could see the question he did not quite dare put, and answered it.

"I chose you because you have done this work with me. You know when to act and when to send for me. I shall return for the first ploughing, and we will settle the next sowing together."

Hamish's shoulders eased a little. "My father will want to hear."

"Write to him. And your mother. I promised she would hear from you."

That brought a brief smile. It was gone when he turned back towards the farmers, but he went to them without looking for Jon's leave a second time.

At the horses Arthur waited until they were out of easy hearing.

"He will remember the threat."

Jon looked back. Dake was walking home with his sons, his sickle hanging at his side. The elder tried to speak to him. Dake answered without turning his head, and the boy fell silent.

"He had warnings enough."

"He did."

Jon pulled his glove over the new dressing and stopped when it caught. Arthur held the reins while he worked it free.

Jon could not leave Hamish here with every man believing that appointment lasted only while its lord stood beside him.

"They will see the work continue," he said. "That is what I owe them now."

Arthur handed back the reins.

Beyond the barley, the last stones were being carried clear of the outlet. Hamish had joined Otho's foreman beside the barn, with two farmers following them to look at the proposed cartway. There was little upon the ground yet to show what Jon intended. Tomorrow there would be more.

Jon mounted. Blackburn would need him in the morning. Before the week was done, Monford would bring Neresso through his gates, and the man waiting hungry beneath the castle would have someone else to blame.

He meant to be there to hear it.

 

[aiwonder]

Jon woke with his right hand caught beneath him.

Pain went through the knuckle as he pulled it free. For a moment he lay still, listening to the sea beyond the window, and waited for the ache to settle. Yesterday's ride had left mud upon the boots beneath his chair. The clean clothes Wylla had laid out smelled faintly of the herbs she kept with the linen.

There was no blood upon them. He looked away from the folded shirt.

Lorren came while he was eating. The healer unwrapped his hand without asking whether it hurt, examined the split skin and made an irritated sound.

"You have opened it twice."

"I know."

"Then stop leaning upon it."

Jon put down his bread. "How is Tomas?"

"Better at obeying me than you are." Lorren wound fresh linen between his fingers. "He sat by the window yesterday. Not for long. If he tells you that means he is fit to ride, you did not hear it from me."

"And the man who went into the sea?"

"His breathing is easier. I shall keep him here."

Lorren reached for the last of his linen, then stopped. "One of the men from our lessons is going with the quarry party. I've given him dressings. If someone is hurt, he can do something while they send for me."

"Can you spare him?"

"Denner is staying. And it is no use teaching the others if we never let them out of this room." He tucked the linen away. "I have told him what he must leave to me."

Jon nodded. He remembered Hennet hauling at a wet sleeve between the grinding hulls. There had been moments upon that deck he could scarcely separate from one another, yet he could remember the pressure of Tomas's blood beneath his fingers with a precision he did not want.

Lorren tied the bandage and caught him testing his grip.

"Leave it."

Jon left it. He finished his bread with the other hand.

In the lower yard the nineteen prisoners stood ready for the road. The garrison serjeant was checking their irons while another man counted them. One pirate watched Jon cross the stones, then looked towards the place where the block had stood.

Jon saw where he was looking. He walked past without speaking.

Ethan waited at the gate with Otho's directions for the escort. He had slept little; the skin beneath his eyes looked bruised.

"The guards have their orders. Cinderwell and back before the gates are shut."

"No straying into the village."

"The serjeant understands."

Alasdair brought Bucephalus forward and held him while Jon mounted. He had taken Tomas's place among the escort. Twice he glanced back to count the men, as though Tomas might appear to ask him whether he had remembered.

"Voss is going along the western shore," Ethan said. "The mate gave him enough to find the inlet."

Jon turned in the saddle. "The one beyond the smokehouse cove?"

"Aye. There is meant to be a store above the tide. He will search it with men who know the coast."

The collector's first mate had offered more than Drennan's name when he thought he could buy his life. Until Voss found the store, Jon had only the prisoner's word that it existed.

"Have whatever they find brought here," Jon said. "The maester and Abel are to see it together."

"And the mate?"

"He stays where he is."

Ethan nodded. Neresso was already in Monford's hands. Soon the merchant would be here to answer the same questions, without knowing which lies his sailors had told first.

Arthur rode up on Jon's left. Beyond the gate, the road to Cinderwell lay pale between walls of dark stone. There was still much of the morning ahead of them.

Jon looked once towards the prisoners. "Send word if Voss finds people, or anyone guarding that store. Do not wait for me to return."

* * *
​

At Cinderwell the women washing linen heard the horses first.

They straightened over the troughs as Jon rode past, sleeves rolled above reddened elbows. Wet cloth snapped against stone. A little farther up, bean vines straggled across the lane and caught at Bucephalus's bridle until Jon pushed them aside. Smoke rose from the houses into a pale morning sky. Jon drew Bucephalus to a walk. He had spent so much of the previous day among barley and river mud that the sound of hammers upon stone seemed a change of country.

Merren met him beside a stack of dressed stone. He had put on the coat he wore to the castle, though dust already whitened its cuffs.

"My lord." Merren's eyes went to the fresh linen about Jon's hand. "My son was at the castle yesterday."

"Then he will have told you why those men died."

"He did."

The headman kept looking at the bandage. Jon could feel Arthur beside him, waiting. He had no wish to carry yesterday's executions from house to house like a threat.

"I have come for the spring and the quarry," he said. "Is the mason ready?"

"Aye, my lord. He has been waiting for you."

Beyond him Otho's assistant was setting a measuring rod against the upper end of the stone stack. Otho had come ahead with Bennard and Master Woods. A cart stood near the spring with dressed blocks for the permanent repair; the props beneath the damaged wall were still in place.

Jon dismounted. "Show me what the mason has done."

They climbed past the gardens. Two women waited at the basin with jars, talking over the sound of water. The village branch ran steadily. Beside it, the second outlet fed the covered channel carrying water towards the castle.

Otho knelt near the wall, scraping loose earth from a stone with the point of his trowel. He looked up when Jon approached.

"The wall can be rebuilt a little at a time. We will keep it propped while the mason works."

"And keep both outlets running?"

"With a wooden trough past the work. The mason has the boards."

The mason showed him the boards ready beside the wall. The trough would carry water around the repair and back into the basin. Jon checked where it would stand.

Merren's daughter stood there holding a narrow board. Cuts along its edge showed how high the water usually rose. She fitted it between two stones and waited for the water to settle.

"It hasn't fallen below that one," she said, showing Jon the lowest mark.

"Even when they draw at the castle?"

"Not since the leak was turned aside."

Her father looked pleased. "She checks before she takes the goats out. Again when she comes home."

Jon crouched beside her. A strand of weed caught upon the board and trembled in the current.

"Keep checking while the wall is rebuilt. If it falls, tell the mason at once. He is to stop and find out why."

"Will he listen?"

The mason gave an offended grunt. Merren opened his mouth, but Jon answered first.

"He has heard me tell him."

She glanced at the mason. He nodded towards the board, and she put it back against the stone.

Jon took the plan Otho held out and laid it across the cart. Cords marked the new house rows below the spring. The road from the quarry would lead straight to the stone-cutting sheds, leaving the women filling their jars clear of the carts.

Merren followed Jon's finger until it reached the wider space below the houses.

"That is more road than we have houses for."

"You will have more houses. And carts meeting upon it."

The headman looked down the slope. "Men will build their sheds against it."

"They will build where Otho marks. I will not clear a street only to have it choked with lean-tos in a year."

"If someone wants more ground, he comes to you," Jon said. "You bring the request to Otho. No one takes land simply because it stands empty."

Merren nodded, less readily this time.

A murmur rose from the lane below. The prisoner party had arrived from the castle.

The men walked in pairs between garrison guards, their ankle chains striking against the stones. One had wrapped cloth around the iron at his shin. Another stared at the spring until a guard told him to keep moving. The escort led them down the quarry approach, away from the waiting jars.

Merren watched them pass.

"Those are the men from the ships?"

"The nineteen fit for work."

"You mean to keep them here?"

"They work here under guard, and go back to the castle at dusk."

The headman waited until his daughter had gone back to the basin.

"Our men have been asking after the wages. I told them you needed hands."

"I do."

"These won't cost you any."

Jon folded the edge of the plan flat. "They must be fed and guarded. And none of them knows your quarry as your own men do."

"A man needn't know much to carry stone."

"The hands Otho has hired keep their places," Jon said. "I am setting the prisoners to clearing the old iron mine. They will shift the fallen rock and the waste choking its approach. Your people keep their paid work."

"And the men who only have their backs?"

"Will still be needed. The new works will need men to haul fuel and ore every day, besides those building them."

Two men beside the stone stack had stopped to listen. Jon spoke loudly enough for them to hear.

"I mean to take far more stone and iron from Cinderwell than you have ever sent out before. In time I shall have to bring workers here because your village cannot supply enough." He looked back at Merren. "We must build the works first, and the harvest still needs hands. Do not promise everyone a wage tomorrow. But nineteen prisoners will not leave your people idle."

Merren's shoulders eased. "Then the men I called for should still come?"

"Every man Otho has hired. At the wages agreed."

He handed the plan back to Otho and went down towards the quarry road. Merren followed, calling to one of the men at the stone stack to pass the word.

The guards had halted the prisoners beside an old loading platform. One of the pirates lifted his head as Jon approached and spoke with undisguised contempt.

"Slave work, then?"

Jon stopped in front of him.

"You boarded my ships with steel in your hands. You served men who kept chains ready for people they could sell."

"I never sold—"

"Two years upon the works, then the Wall. I gave you your sentence yesterday." Jon stepped closer. "Take a shovel."

The man glanced at the guards and lowered his eyes. The accusation stayed with Jon as he turned away. He had sentenced these men for their crimes, and he meant to make them work. He would also have to see that their guards did not use the sentence as leave to do whatever they pleased.

He called the escort's serjeant aside.

"Water and food while they work. If one is ill, Lorren sees him. If one refuses an order, bring the matter to me. If one tries to run, stop him. You are here to guard them, not find sport."

"Aye, my lord."

"And keep them on the ground Otho has allowed. No one goes down to the flooded quarry floor or into the mine until he says it is safe."

Beyond the platform, a man sat in the shade of a cart, with two wooden sticks he used as crutches propped beside him. His left boot had been slit open around his swollen foot. A younger miner waited at his shoulder, the same man who had guided Jon into the ravine during the survey.

"You asked to hear Caddoc," Merren said.

The seated man began to rise. Jon put out a hand.

"Stay there. Which part did you work?"

Caddoc pointed uphill with one of his crutches. "The stone quarry first. The iron mine in the northern face after. Near twenty years between them."

Jon sat on a squared block beside the cart. "Show me."

Caddoc had brought a piece of roofing slate. He drew upon it with a pale chip of stone, turning it towards Jon each time he added a line.

From the cart Jon could see both workings. The stone quarry was an open pit, its lower floor hidden beneath a dark pool. Farther north, above the water, a narrow path led to the iron mine's entrance. A short stretch of tunnel remained visible before fallen rock blocked it. Splintered roof props jutted from the rubble.

Caddoc marked the tunnel upon his slate. "The roof fell just inside. Buried the way through to the iron. We got everyone out, but no one would pay for new props and men to clear it."

"That is the prisoners' work," Jon told Merren. "Once Otho and your miners have secured the roof, the prisoners can carry out the fallen rock. Until then, they clear the path to it."

The old man drew a second line, lower down. "The quarry flooded because its drain was buried. Used to carry the rainwater out beneath the loading place."

The younger miner shook his head. "There's nothing there."

"Under the heap," Caddoc said. "I crawled in to clear it often enough. You were still carrying wedges for your father."

Jon looked towards the nettles growing over the dumped stone. They could search for the drain without entering the flooded pit.

"Show Otho where to look."

Caddoc glanced at his crutches. "Can't get over that heap."

"Stay here and direct him."

Otho took the younger miner down to the heap. Caddoc called directions until they reached the brambles beneath the platform. Jon gave them two prisoners to dig there. The other seventeen began clearing the mine path under guard, carrying the loose stone away in baskets.

A broad-backed villager beside the loading platform watched them take up their baskets. He had his coat under one arm and had not joined the other loaders.

"Did you hear what Lord Jon said?" Merren asked him.

"I thought you'd brought them for our work."

"They're clearing the mine. You're loading building stone, as we agreed. Put your coat down. The cart is waiting."

The man looked towards Jon, who nodded. He laid his coat aside and joined the village loading crew. Merren helped them draw a rope beneath the next block. Beyond the platform, the prisoners carried baskets between the mine path and the waste heap.

At the drain, one of the two prisoners began hacking at a buried slab. Caddoc struck the side of the cart with his crutch.

"Easy with that! You'll bring the drain's roof down."

Otho heard him and stopped the man. They cleared with their hands instead, drawing out roots and damp leaves until a gap beneath a flat stone appeared.

Jon went down to look. It was too narrow for a man to stand in, a drain built from flat stones and roofed with slabs. Water seeped between the rubbish blocking its mouth. Behind it, darkness extended farther than he could see.

"No one crawls in," he said.

Otho nodded. "If the quarry water is behind that rubbish, it may come out all at once."

"Then have everyone clear of it before you open it."

Jon stayed while Otho checked where the water would run. It would pass below the cart road, well away from the village spring. Only then did he let the digging resume.

On the way back he passed one of the prisoners who had been clearing the drain. A sharp piece of stone had cut his palm. Lorren's pupil knelt beside him, his sword pushed back out of the way, and took a clean dressing from its wrapping. A guard stood over them. The prisoner watched the man's hands without speaking.

Jon remembered two spearmen practising bandaging each other in the northern infirmary, one groaning until Lorren told him to save his breath. Here the pupil was speaking quietly to the prisoner while he worked. Jon watched for a moment, then went on.

When he returned to the cart, Caddoc was pretending not to watch him.

"You were right about the drain," Jon said.

"Aye."

"Why wasn't it kept clear?"

The old man rubbed dust from the slate with his thumb. "The lower stone cost more to lift. Fewer men came for it. Then the mine roof fell, and there wasn't coin to put either right."

"You told them about the drain?"

"I told Merren's father. He knew it as well as I did." Caddoc looked towards the prisoners. "He couldn't pay a gang to dig it out."

Jon glanced at Merren. The headman had heard. He was watching a block being levered onto the cart, his hands clasped behind his back.

"Can you come here while they clear the approach?" Jon asked Caddoc. "You need not climb. Otho will need what you remember."

"I can come if there's a cart."

"There will be. You will be paid for the day."

For a moment the old man said nothing. Then he turned his slate over.

"There's another place you'll want to look. Above the mine entrance. They threw ore in with the waste when they cleared the deeper seam. Might be some worth taking yet."

Jon shifted nearer on the block.

Caddoc marked the heap upon his slate. When Otho returned with the younger miner, Jon had them mark the places they could reach safely for samples. Reaching the deeper workings would take longer.

A shout from the loading place made them look round. The carter wanted the next block turned before they loaded it onto the cart. Four local loaders eased it back upon its wooden runners while the stone worker shifted a plank. They knew their work; no one hurried until he had taken his bar clear. Even so, by the time the stone lay where the carter wanted it, the men were breathing hard.

Jon watched them return for another.

"We will need lifting frames here, Otho. A crane at the loading place first."

"Like the one we used for the barrack roofs?"

"Woods can build from that pattern. It will need firm ground and room for the carts."

He remembered Theon working the handle in the North, astonished by the weight it raised. These loaders could use the same help. Caddoc pointed out a level place above an old wall, and Otho went to examine it. Jon sketched the crane beside the road while they waited.

When Otho returned, he approved the ground but asked for a wider approach. Jon assigned that work to the village building crew.

"Will it take the larger blocks?" Merren asked.

"That is what Woods will build it for. We will test it before your men use it."

Merren looked back at the loaders. One had sat down to pull a stone chip from his shoe; the others were waiting for him.

"And someone who knows how to work it," he said.

"I have men who can teach them."

Jon turned from Caddoc's drawing to Merren. "Find the miners who used to work here. Otho will need their help making the tunnel safe. They will be paid."

"They'll ask if there is more than a few days in it."

"Tell them what we intend to build at the mill. If that seam is worth working, I shall need their sons taught as well."

Merren asked the younger miner how many of the old hands were still in the village.

"Four who've worked the northern cut," the man said. "Perhaps six, if the brothers come back from Hull. There are some of the old miners from the lime pit, too."

Jon turned towards him. "Lime pit? Where?"

"West of the castle, my lord. Above the cove. The upper path goes past it."

Jon remembered the hollow beside the path, seen through rain on the night they took Borren. He had been hurrying towards the smokehouse then.

"They quarried stone there?"

"Limestone," Caddoc said. "For burning. Some of our men worked both places. My father did."

"Is there still stone to take?"

"Aye. They stopped paying for it long before they ran out. The face is under gorse now."

Jon looked at Otho. "Have someone who worked there show your assistant the pit. I want samples brought to the castle."

Merren frowned. "Eastcove already burns shells."

"They should keep doing so. We will need both." Jon turned back to Caddoc. "Who remembers the burning?"

The old man gave Merren two names. One had sons still living in Cinderwell; the other, he thought, had gone to Hull with his daughter. Merren knew which house to ask at.

In his first life, Jon had walked beneath Roman vaults built with lime and volcanic ash. Dragonmont might supply the ash he needed; now there was limestone close to the castle. He had to test both, but the discovery made him look again at the heaps of broken stone.

"I mean to use it for a stronger mortar," he told Otho. "One that will harden even in wet ground. Mixed with broken stone, it could give us foundations much faster than dressing every block."

Otho looked towards the village's marked house rows. "And Eastcove will supply the bricks above them."

"Yes. If we can make enough of both, we can build far faster. Have the lime burner try the stone. We will test small batches of the mixture before trusting a wall to it."

Merren had been listening closely. "You mean to use stone we throw away?"

"Some of it. Your masons will still be needed."

The headman glanced back at the quarry. "I'll find those men."

The first laden cart went towards the village as they took the path east. Its blocks were for the spring wall. Behind them the prisoners' shovels struck earth, and Caddoc called another warning from his place beside the cart.

* * *
​

Nettles grew thick against the burned mill's walls.

The fire had left black marks above the doorway. The old roof had fallen inward, and young ash trees had rooted among its charred timbers. Bennard's men had cleared the lower end since Jon's survey. A new trench ran beside the surviving wall; lengths of timber lay ready above it. Below them a separate stream, well away from Cinderwell's drinking spring, hurried through the abandoned mill channel and spilled into the wheel pit.

Master Woods stood beyond the doorway with two carpenters, measuring a span the new roof would have to cross. He lowered his end of the cord when he saw Jon, then gave it to his man and came over. The master carpenter had built Jon's first workshop in the North. Here the fire had left him little he was willing to trust.

Bennard stood in the pit up to his calves, arguing with a carpenter on the bank. Ewan's furnace man had worked the northern hammer long enough to know what its shaking could do to a poor foundation.

"The stones where the wheel will stand are loose. This end has to come down."

"There's good wall above it. We could shore it up."

"We'd still be building on loose stone."

Jon crouched on the bank above Bennard. The furnaceman pulled a loose stone out with one hand. Behind it, water had washed the mortar into a gritty hollow.

"Take this end down to sound stone," Jon said. "Save the good blocks for rebuilding."

The carpenter looked from the stone Bennard held to the wall above it.

"It is more work, my lord."

"And we would have to do it all again if that wall gave way."

Jon stood and took the drawing. Bennard had altered the waterwheel's design to make better use of the stream. Until the wall beneath it was rebuilt, the water would be diverted past the work.

"The hammer first," Jon said. "We need tools while the rest is being built."

Bennard nodded. "I've told them."

The timber cart arrived while they were measuring the hammerhouse. Ewan rode beside it with Noll, who had brought the smaller iron fittings from the castle forge. Henly and Emrick followed on foot, their coats over their arms. Jon had sent for both that morning; the acolytes had left their engine men cleaning and checking the legion's equipment.

Ewan dismounted and went straight to the load. He pushed one timber aside to examine the length beneath it.

"You have the best of them, Bennard."

"I asked for the best."

"So did the carpenter at Eastcove."

Bennard grinned. Ewan shook his head, but helped him slide the timber down beside the others.

"Can Eastcove spare you?" Jon asked.

"For today. Their carpenter has the mould and the first bench to work from. He made the last joints himself, and I've left him one of our men. He'll send if he needs me." Ewan looked through the mill's broken doorway. "I wanted to see this before anyone set a hearth."

Noll unfastened his leather roll upon a timber and spread out the iron fittings. His men were still making Saltcliffe's pieces at the castle forge. Here, Ewan set him to checking what the carpenters would need first.

Henly and Emrick joined them. Both acolytes knew forge work as well as the legion's war engines; Jon had brought them to help turn his drawings into working machinery. Woods called Emrick over to settle a fastening, while Henly fetched Bennard's drawing.

"The iron we ordered in the North should be here," Jon told Ewan. "Ask Marrec what has arrived. I want the forges working while the mine is cleared."

Ewan glanced at the road they had come by. "Is there better ore than the last lot?"

"Caddoc thinks so. He has shown us where to take fresh samples."

The old samples had given them poor results. Bennard would test the new ones before Jon committed men and money to the great furnace. Until then, purchased iron would keep them working.

Merren came closer as the carpenters unloaded. They laid two great timbers beside the marks for the hammer frame. The headman looked from them to the mill doorway.

"It won't fit."

"The hammerhouse is larger than the old mill," Jon said.

"I understood that. I did not think you meant the hammer itself would need all this."

Ewan squatted beside the frame marks. "A head that heavy needs sound timber to hold it, and sound ground beneath the anvil."

"How many men to lift it?"

"The waterwheel lifts it and lets it fall," Jon said. "The smith turns the hot iron beneath the blows."

Merren bent over the drawing. Beside him, a young man with a mason's mallet tucked through his belt frowned.

"It would beat the iron flat before he could move it."

"He learns when to turn it and when to draw it back," Ewan said. "No man works the hammer until he has been taught."

"Can he stop it himself?" the young man asked.

"From where he stands," Jon said. "That is part of the design. Ewan will choose and train the men who use it."

The young man did not look reassured. Jon knew enough injured workmen from his first life to take the question seriously. He told Henly to keep a barrier between the moving machinery and anyone walking through the shop. He would be there for its first trial.

The young man looked at Ewan. "You've seen one work?"

"I helped build one in the North."

The men beside the cart set down their wedges to listen. Ewan told them about the northern hammer: the heavy beating it spared his smiths, and the work that still needed a skilled hand. When one of the loaders asked whether he could learn, Ewan told him to come and watch the first trial. Merren moved closer to hear, and Jon left the questions to the smith.

Merren looked across the marked ground again.

"All this for your soldiers."

"Picks for the quarry," Jon said. "Fittings for Gella's works. Tools for the men making bricks at Eastcove. Nails, hinges, wagon tyres. We need those before I can arm another century."

"And then?"

"Then armour. Weapons. Work for the ships. And iron to sell when our own needs allow it."

Woods came over when Jon opened the quarry sketch. He recognised the lifting frame they had used in the North.

"You will build the cranes, Master Woods," Jon said. "Begin with the quarry. We will need another here for the heavy pieces, and more at the building sites. Blackburn's harbour will need them most of all; I want ships unloaded quickly."

"I'll need more carpenters for that."

"Begin with your own men. When Ethan, the maester and I go through the census, we will assign you more. Your deputy can keep the clockwork going with William."

Woods glanced at Ewan. "I'll need your ironwork."

"Send me what you need tonight," Ewan said. "Noll and I can go through it at the forge."

Henly and Emrick knew windlasses from their work on the legion's war engines. Jon set them to helping Woods with the cranes and teaching the first crews. Woods beckoned them over and spread the quarry sketch upon a timber. Jon left the three of them there and took Merren farther into the yard.

Beyond the planned forges, a cord enclosed the ground reserved for the furnace. Merren walked its length, then stopped.

"That whole square?"

"For the furnace, and room for the men working it."

Merren looked up the slope as though he might see the height of the thing in the air.

"The smoke will come into the village."

"The ridge will shelter you from most of it. That is why we chose this ground." Jon pointed out the fuel road, which would keep the carts away from the spring. Waste from the furnace would be kept clear of the stream as well.

"I've never seen a works built with so much empty ground about it."

"It will not remain empty."

Jon could almost hear the hammer pounding over the rush of the wheel. He looked back at the roofless mill, impatient to have it working.

In his first life a builder could buy the tools he needed. Here, Jon had to establish the workshops that would make them. Eastcove could not turn out bricks fast enough without better equipment; Saltcliffe needed its boilers; every new roof would need nails.

Behind him, the carpenter who had wanted to keep the old footing went back to the wheel pit with a crowbar.

They ate in the shade of the ruined wall. Merren had brought bread, cheese and onions; Noll cut his onion with a knife too broad for the task and offered half to Bennard. Arthur took the place from which he could see both approaches. Jon noticed it now in a way he had not before the fight aboard the collector.

Over the meal Bennard warned him that the island's charcoal would not supply the works he intended. Jon told him to give Marrec the quantities he needed. They would have to buy regular cargoes, and build somewhere dry to keep them.

Merren tore a piece from his bread. He watched a carpenter sight along one of the wheel timbers.

"Will you keep coming?"

"Yes."

"Lords say that."

Arthur looked at him. Merren swallowed the last of his mouthful.

"My lord. My father took men up to that drain twice. Once he had to turn them away without their pay. They remembered it every time he asked for anything afterwards." He brushed crumbs from his coat. "Caddoc makes it sound as though we all stood watching the water rise."

"He said your father knew what needed doing."

"He did. He couldn't make the coin come."

Jon looked down at the men still eating in the shade. Some would have worked for Merren's father. They would remember being sent home without their pay.

"I will be here when Bennard raises the frame, and again when the furnace is lined. If the spring falls while Otho is away, send to the castle." Jon leaned forward. "But I will not be here for every cart and every quarrel. You are the headman. I expect you to see that your people come when they are wanted. If there is trouble, I expect to hear of it."

Merren nodded slowly, then looked towards the carpenters still at their meal.

After the meal Otho found a better place for the hammer, where its weight would rest on firm ground and the smiths would have room to work. Jon altered the drawing with Bennard and Ewan beside him, while Woods measured for the new roof. By the time they agreed upon it, Jon's bandaged hand was aching again.

By late afternoon the burned timbers had been dragged out of the first bay. Fresh pale wood lay across the grass where the carpenter was setting out his joints. Upstream, men were opening the temporary channel that would carry the water past the wheel pit while its footing was rebuilt.

Jon left Bennard in charge at the mill. Woods and Otho went back to the quarry with the acolytes, while Ewan and Noll took the revised drawings to the castle forge. There was still work waiting for Saltcliffe. On the way through Cinderwell, Jon stopped once more at the spring.

The mason had diverted the flow into the wooden trough. It ran around the propped section with a hollow, rushing sound and fell back into the basin. Merren's daughter held her marked board at the village outlet. As Jon watched, she moved it a little, checked again, and nodded to the mason.

The women were still filling their jars below.

* * *
​

Voss was waiting when they reached the castle.

Salt had dried white upon his boots. One sleeve was torn at the elbow, and black grit had lodged in the seams of his hands. Behind him two garrison men were carrying a chest through the lower door.

"We found it, my lord."

Jon dismounted carefully. "Anyone there?"

"No one. Nor any sign that people were kept in that chamber."

"Show me what you brought back."

Voss led them towards the lower hall. The store lay beyond the smokehouse landing, he explained, behind a shoulder of rock that hid the inlet from the path. At low water they had been able to reach it along a ledge. Loose stones concealed the entrance, with a gap just wide enough for a man to squeeze through.

"The mate said it was dry," Voss continued. "That much was true. There are shelves cut into the back. Planks above the floor for the bales."

"Enough room for what came off one ship?"

"More than one, my lord. Some of the racks were empty. We found spare oars and cordage as well as the goods."

Arthur looked at Jon. Spare gear, empty racks, room for more cargo: the gang had expected to keep using this inlet.

"Did you leave a watch?" Jon asked.

"Four men on the path above. Out of sight from the water. The rest are bringing the last of it up."

"Keep them there. No fires after dark."

The recovered goods filled a room off the hall. It smelled of damp wood and old sailcloth. Abel stood beside the maester, weighing silver from an open chest. A second chest held plate and jewellery wrapped in cloth. Copper ingots lay near the door, and a guard was helping unfold a woollen bale to check it for rot.

Jon stopped beside the open chest.

They had been doing this on his own shore. Long enough to cut shelves in the rock, to learn which ledge stayed dry, to trust that someone would carry their goods away before an honest patrol came near.

"How much can we use?" he asked.

"The coin is still being weighed," Abel said. "Some is clipped. Some I must have valued before I give you a sum."

"And the copper?"

"Sound enough, by the look of it. Noll should see it."

Jon nodded. Noll could judge what they ought to keep and what to sell. Useful as the copper might be, it would not supply the hammer with iron.

Ethan came in behind them. "We should ask Drennan whether he knew about this store."

"Ask him. Separately from what he did at the smokehouse."

"He has asked whether the galley has been found."

"Give him no answer."

The castellan stopped beside the second chest. Jon followed his gaze to a woman's comb caught in the wrapping. Teeth were broken at one end. Beside it lay a pair of small bracelets tied together with thread.

He thought of the woman Drennan had shut behind a door because her crying could be heard from the path.

"Keep those apart."

The maester looked up from the scales.

"The personal things," Jon said. "Let Wylla show them privately to the people we brought out. No one is to drag them in here to pick through a heap before the guards."

The maester set the comb upon a clean cloth. Ethan moved a cup to make room.

"Some may have come from other ships," Abel said.

"Then we keep them until we know. Count what can be spent without that."

He had felt relief when he saw the chest. He still felt it, and hated that the money should make any part of this easier to bear.

Jon looked again at the bracelets tied with thread. Someone had kept them together through all this. He hoped Wylla would find their owner among the people they had rescued.

Abel waited until he looked back.

"This will help with the first purchases. I cannot yet tell you how many."

"Set aside the wages already promised. Then what Noll needs for the hammer, after he and Marrec have checked the iron we have."

"The furnace?"

"Not from money you have not counted."

Abel inclined his head.

At Cinderwell, Jon had stood upon empty ground and seen the buildings that belonged there. He could still see them. He could also see the fittings Noll had brought in a small leather roll, every one taking a man's time at the forge. The larger works would consume this silver long before the island earned it back.

The expedition remained necessary. Nothing upon this table changed that.

He took Voss aside before leaving.

"The people who used that inlet may not all have heard what happened. If a boat comes to the store, I want to know where she came from and who meets her."

"Take them, my lord?"

"If you can do it without losing the men. If she has a fighting crew aboard, send word and keep her watched. Do not let four men try what needed two galleys."

Voss glanced at the bandage on Jon's hand. "No, my lord."

* * *
​

The door to Lorren's room was half open. Jon heard Olyver before he reached it.

"Does your mother need to know what you had for breakfast?"

"I haven't written that."

"There's still room at the bottom."

Tomas sat propped against the pillows with a board across his knees. A sheet of parchment lay upon it, covered nearly to the bottom. Olyver had taken the stool nearest the window. His own hand rested around an inkpot so Tomas could reach it without turning.

Aries stood at the foot of the bed with Geth and Nibs. Patch had claimed the space beneath Olyver's boots and was refusing to move when the man shifted.

"Lorren allowed all of you?" Jon asked.

"He allowed them," Tomas said. "Olyver came to help."

"And has he?"

"He has opinions."

Olyver lifted the inkpot. "He would have spilt this without me."

Jon came nearer. Tomas tried to put the pen down and left a short black mark beside the last word. His face tightened with annoyance.

"You can copy it tomorrow," Jon said.

"I would rather finish. I've started it twice already."

Jon looked at the sheet, then away before he read anything Tomas had not offered him.

"Have you told her about the wound?"

"I've told her."

"How much?"

Tomas was quiet. Olyver stopped moving the inkpot.

"Enough that she won't hear the worst of it from someone else," Tomas said at last. "I told her Lorren says I'm mending. And that I can see properly."

"Good."

"I've told her about Ser Arthur. About what you mean to give me." He looked down at the parchment. "That took longer."

Aries had been peering around Geth to see the letter. At the change in Tomas's voice he became still.

"I keep writing it as if I have to persuade her," Tomas admitted.

"You needn't."

"I know. I only..." He lifted his eyes. "She'll think I've misunderstood."

"Finish it. I will put my seal upon it when you're done."

Tomas stared at him.

"Then she can blame me for the unlikely parts."

The smile came slowly. He looked down before Jon could see much of it, but his fingers had relaxed around the pen.

"Thank you, my lord."

Olyver cleared his throat and asked whether that meant Jon would take responsibility for whatever arms Tomas chose. The question drew the others in at once.

"A sword," Geth suggested.

"Every knight has a sword," Nibs said.

"Not upon his shield."

"They might. You haven't seen every knight."

"What would you choose, then?" Tomas asked Nibs.

Nibs considered. "A horse."

"Every knight has a horse," Geth said promptly. Tomas laughed, then winced and put a hand to his side.

"Neither of you is painting anything yet," he said. "Let me finish my letter." Olyver moved the inkpot within reach again. Aries stayed at the foot of the bed while Geth and Nibs began discussing colours.

When Lorren appeared in the passage, Jon sent the pages out ahead of him. Olyver stayed long enough to take the board off Tomas's knees.

Outside, Aries waited while Geth and Nibs went towards the stairs with Patch following.

"What is it?" Jon asked.

The boy glanced back at the sickroom.

"Will he have to leave us when he gets his land?"

"No holding has been chosen."

"But when it is."

Jon had thought of what he would give Tomas. He had spent less time thinking of what the promise sounded like to the boys who wanted him at the next meal.

"In time he may have duties elsewhere. He will still be one of us."

Aries rubbed a thumb along the seam of his cuff.

"For now, Lorren will scarcely let him reach the window," Jon said.

That brought a small smile. The boy asked whether he could bring him another sheet tomorrow. Jon told him to ask Wylla for it, but Aries lingered.

"Has Lord Arryn written?"

"Not about the children."

Aries looked down the passage. The others had gone around the turning.

"I thought we would know by now."

Jon had written again when they reached Dragonstone, asking after the wounded boy at Rilla's neighbour's house and the children made to fight beneath the city. Aries had carried that letter to Perkin himself. Each day since had brought some new demand upon Jon; the boy had been waiting through all of them.

"Come with me," he said.

They found the maester in his chamber. Jon asked him to send another letter to Lord Arryn that night. He wanted to know whether the children had been found, where they were being cared for, and to whom he should send the money he had promised.

"Have Abel set aside a purse for their food and lodging," Jon added. "When the answer comes, I want it ready to send."

The maester drew a fresh sheet towards him. Aries stood beside the table.

"Rilla, too," the boy said. "Ask if she's all right. She was afraid they would find out she'd told us."

"I will ask," the maester said.

Jon stayed until the letter was written. Aries watched the maester fold it, but had no more questions.

At the stair Patch came back for them, nails clicking upon the stone. Aries crouched to meet him and let the dog push his nose beneath his hand. Geth called from below. This time Aries went to join him.

* * *
​

Arthur found him in the little room beside the western postern after supper.

Hugin and Munin were upon the wall beyond the window. One had a scrap of meat; the other kept hopping nearer in the hope of stealing it. Jon waited until the quarrel was settled before sitting upon the stool.

Arthur put water within reach. "Where are you taking them?"

"Munin along the shore. Hugin over the ridge."

"Both out of sight of one another?"

"That is what I need to practise."

The birds had given him warning of the ambush. Without it, Denys would have had less time to ready his men, and the first boarders might have found them with their shields still stacked. Jon had thought often enough about what his gift could become. Now he had seen what a few moments' warning were worth.

He closed his eyes.

Cold air caught beneath Munin's wings. Through Hugin, he felt his claws leave the stone and the sea wind lift him. For an instant the two movements confused him. He held Munin level while Hugin climbed, then let the higher bird turn inland.

The castle fell behind them.

He had learnt to move from one bird's sight to the other without losing either altogether. Holding them upon different courses was harder. Munin followed the broken edge of the coast; Hugin crossed grass and the dark line of a wall. When Jon attended too closely to the wall, the shore vanished from his awareness.

He let Hugin circle while he searched for Munin's view again. Bloodraven had warned him about confusing one bird's senses with another's. He had to feel where each of them was.

He returned his attention to Munin: the wind rising from the water, the pull along the coast, the dark shapes caught among the rocks below. The shore came back. He held to that sense of her place while Hugin climbed farther inland.

Beyond the ridge, a cart was crawling along the Cinderwell road. Two men walked beside it. The bird's eyes found the pale load, the shadow beneath the axle, a hand raised to point up at him.

Stone for the castle. Men he might have passed a few hours ago.

He wanted to follow the road farther. Instead he turned Hugin home while Munin continued around the headland. As she flew farther from the castle, keeping hold of her grew harder. He nearly lost Hugin's view again.

Munin saw a narrow beach and a tangle of weed left by the falling tide.

Enough.

He turned Munin home and guided both birds back towards the castle. Only when he was sure of their course did he withdraw.

His left hand was gripping his knee. He loosened it.

Arthur waited while he drank.

"Well?"

"I lost the coast for a moment when Hugin crossed the ridge."

"But you brought them both back."

"Yes."

"Then remember that part as well."

Outside, one crow landed with a scrape of claws. The second took longer. Jon watched the empty stretch of wall until Hugin settled beside his companion.

The expedition would take him beyond familiar coasts. He would need to work at greater distances, to follow one creature without abandoning another, to return to his own body with strength left to act. Birds were a beginning. They were not the most dangerous things that might live in the country he meant to enter.

He had no certainty that a firewyrm's mind would yield to him at all.

He did not mention that to Arthur.

"Again tomorrow," he said.

"After sleep."

Jon was tired enough not to argue.

In his chamber the covered trays had been moved to make room for Otho's drawings. Wylla had kept the cloth over every fragment. Jon lifted a corner and turned the gold-coloured piece of dragonshell into the candlelight.

The broken edge pressed against his thumb. He loosened his grip before it cut him.

He still had no use for it. Yet he could not bring himself to put the shells away in a chest. They had lain among bones beneath the mountain while kings fought over the island above them. Now they lay beside his plans for the island.

Jon set the fragment down and drew the Cinderwell plan closer.

He added the old lime pit beside the western path, leaving room for Otho's measurements when they came. Beneath it he wrote the names of the men Merren was to find. He wanted the samples soon. If the stone and ash proved suitable, the builders could start using the new mortar while the mine was still being cleared.

Blackburn waited for him in the morning. Beyond that were the labour allocations, the lords coming to hear him, and Neresso.

He moved the candle nearer and finished the alterations while he could still remember exactly how Bennard had placed the hammer frame.

 

[aiwonder]

Aries swung at Jon's head. Jon stepped inside the blow, touched the boy's ribs with his wooden sword and drew back.

"Again."

Aries looked towards Arthur, who motioned him forward. By the bench, Geth was explaining the mistake to Nibs. Nibs had been caught the same way and did not much care to hear about it. Patch slept beneath them, out of reach of the swords.

Jon held his bound right hand against his belt. The knuckle still ached, and Lorren had forbidden him a shield. Even closing his fist hurt. He waited while Aries shifted his grip.

"I might catch your hand," the boy said.

"Keep your eyes up. I'll mind my hand."

Aries struck. Jon turned the blade aside with his left and stepped forward, stopping his point beneath the boy's chin.

"You watched my sword all the way," he said. "What were my feet doing?"

Aries looked down. Arthur took Jon's place and repeated the step slowly, bringing his foot beside the boy's.

"He was here before you began to move. Try it on me."

Jon sat upon the bench while they practised. The first time, Arthur caught Aries on the shoulder. On the second, the boy made him give ground before he was struck.

Jon knew the mistake well enough. His heel had caught beside the collector's mast, and the captain had been upon him before he could pull free. He remembered the sword coming down. Years at sea in his old life had made him too sure of his footing; none of those years had been spent fighting in this body.

Arthur beckoned him back into the yard.

They used no shields. The knight struck lightly but gave him little rest between blows, pressing him whenever he tried to settle behind a parry. Jon yielded a step, then another. The bench caught the backs of his legs.

Arthur lowered his sword. "You knew it was there."

Jon glanced behind him, annoyed with himself. "I thought I had more room."

"You had room to turn. You kept going back."

They returned to the middle of the yard. By the time Arthur called a halt, Jon was breathing hard and Aries had forgotten his own failures in watching them.

"Next time, begin with me against the bench," Jon said.

"Tomorrow. Give me the sword."

Jon surrendered it. His hand needed rest, and Tobin would be waiting below.

Wylla had left bread and eggs in the hall. Geth came in rubbing his knee. "Nibs tripped me."

"You ran into me," Nibs said.

"You stuck your leg out."

"Sit down, Geth." Wylla drew a stool away from the table. "You can tell him from there."

Jon let them argue. Aries joined in with his mouth full, taking Nibs's side, and earned a rebuke from Wylla. After the boy's silence since the battle, Jon was glad to hear him making a nuisance of himself again.

Gawen sat at the end of the table with his left arm in its sling. Alasdair, who was taking Tomas's place beside Jon, brought him the names of the morning's escort. Gawen sent two back to their beds.

"They asked to come," Alasdair said.

"They were on watch half the night. Choose someone who has slept. And tell the grooms which horses you take. I had a man hunting through the stables yesterday for two already saddled below."

Alasdair went to change the escort. Gawen looked at the bread on Jon's plate.

"Is that all you're having? You'll get little chance to eat once Tobin has you."

Wylla put another egg beside the bread. When Gawen reached for the loaf, his face tightened; she passed it to his sound hand.

Lorren saw him wince from the doorway. "Still waking you?"

"Only when I turn onto it. I slept better."

The healer came round the table and loosened the sling. Gawen supported his forearm while Lorren felt about the shoulder, answering his questions between clenched teeth. There was less swelling, though one touch made him flinch sharply.

Jon put down his bread. He could still see Robar's broken lance and Gawen falling backwards from the saddle. At least the knight had some colour now. At Runestone, while the maester cut away his mail, he had looked close to death.

"Can he do more?" Jon asked.

"Walk. See to his men. Nothing that puts a strain on this arm." Lorren settled it in the sling again. "No shield, Gawen, and no lifting."

"Can I at least teach the boys?"

"With your voice. Arthur can show them the blows."

Aries grinned into his bowl.

"I'll have you after supper," Gawen told him. "We can go over what you learnt this morning."

"Arthur said I did better."

"Then you should have no trouble showing me."

Aries bent over his breakfast. Lorren went to claim the bread Wylla had saved for him, and she began gathering the empty dishes.

Gawen caught her eye. "Will you be sorting linen again tonight?"

"There is still a basket to finish."

"May I come down? I'm tired of sitting up here."

She paused beside his chair. "You needn't spend your evening watching me fold sheets."

"I'd like the company."

Wylla glanced along the table. Jon was cutting his egg, giving it more attention than it needed.

"Come after supper," she said. "I'll be there."

Gawen watched her carry the dishes away. When he turned back, he found Jon smiling at him. The knight raised an eyebrow, and Jon reached for his cup.

Alasdair returned as they finished eating.

"Ser Tomas asks to see you before you ride, my lord. Alone, if you have time."

Jon pushed back his stool. "Is he worse?"

"No, my lord. He told me to say so."

"Tell Arthur where I've gone."

Lorren followed him out. Tomas had persuaded the healer to let him walk into the little room adjoining the sickroom. There were no stairs, and Olyver would stay beside him.

"Let him try for himself," Lorren said. "He knows Olyver is there."

Jon cleared a stool from the way and waited. Tomas appeared in the doorway, one hand upon the frame, his shirt loose over his breeches. The bandage still covered part of his forehead. Olyver followed within reach, though Tomas waved away the offered arm.

"You could have stayed in bed," Jon said.

"I've had enough of that bed."

Tomas reached the chair and lowered himself carefully, gripping the table until he was seated. Lorren looked in to ask whether his sight was clear. Satisfied with the answer, he took Olyver away and left the door ajar.

Tomas laid a folded sheet upon the table.

"I've been trying to choose a name. Gawen says I ought to have arms of my own as well."

"Let me see."

Tomas opened the sheet. It held several names, two heavily crossed out, and a clumsy drawing of a shield. He covered the writing with his palm.

"Olyver helped. I copied some of them, but…" He glanced at the door. "I'd rather you chose, my lord."

Jon drew his chair closer. "The name as well as the arms?"

"Both."

"Your children will bear them. You needn't give me the choice because I've promised you land."

"It isn't that." Tomas took his hand from the page. "My mother mended my cuff for the choosing. She thought you'd turn me away if I looked too ragged." He smiled at the memory. "Then she sewed your badge onto my coat. I wore it home to show her, though she'd put every stitch in herself."

Jon remembered the boys trying to stand straight as he walked among them, and Tomas, already taller than the young lord offering him a wage.

"I've worn your colours ever since," Tomas said. "Now I'm to put something else on my shield, and I don't know what. I keep writing down names that sound like knights from a song." He pushed the sheet towards Jon. "You knew me before any of this. I'd be proud to have my name from you."

Jon looked at the crossed-out words.

"Are you certain?"

"Yes, my lord." Tomas's voice caught. He swallowed and tried again. "I want you to do it."

Jon reached across with his good hand and clasped his wrist.

"Then I will. Give me until tonight."

Tomas bowed his head. For a moment he seemed unable to speak, and Jon sat with him until he looked up again.

"I thought you'd tell me I had to choose for myself."

"You asked me, Tomas. That is enough." Jon drew the paper towards him. "May I keep this until tonight?"

Tomas nodded, wiping his cheek with his sleeve. Jon folded the sheet into his coat and called for Olyver. On the walk back Tomas accepted a hand at his elbow. The small effort had tired him more than he cared to admit.

His letter lay ready beside the bed. Jon had promised to seal it, and Wylla brought wax when Olyver sent for her. She held the parchment steady while he pressed his seal into it with his left hand.

"Ask Marrec for a captain bound for White Harbor," Jon told Alasdair once the wax had cooled. "Someone he trusts. Keep this until we know who will carry it."

Alasdair wrapped the letter in oiled cloth. Tomas watched from his pillows, and Jon promised to return after supper.

Jon left Tomas resting and went down to the horses.

* * *
​

Blackburn lay along the harbour below the castle, its houses and workshops crowded close to the water. Jon kept Bucephalus at a walk as they came down among them. Beyond the roofs he could see masts swaying, and farther along the shore, the two ships they had captured.

Porters crossed the road ahead with sacks upon their shoulders. A woman sitting outside her door gutted fish into a bucket while a boy rinsed the baskets beside her. She looked up as Jon passed and nudged the boy, who scrambled to his feet. Jon nodded to them and drew Bucephalus aside to let another laden man through. Arthur and the household rode behind him.

Closer to the quays, he could hear sailors calling across the water and the knock of a loose rope against a mast. Fresh tar caught in his throat. He watched a crew hauling on a line, their backs bending together, and for a moment remembered standing aboard a very different ship, waiting for her to come alongside. He had missed being among ships more than he had expected.

From the saddle he looked along Blackburn's waterfront to the empty shore beyond. He could picture vessels crowded there, their crews coming ashore to spend their wages, merchants seeking him out because there was good trade to be had. Ships passed Dragonstone every day on their way to King's Landing. He meant to give their captains reason to stop here. The little fishing settlement could become a city; he wanted to live long enough to ride through it and scarcely recognise the place.

Tobin joined them by the merchant quay, walking beside Jon's horse. He pointed out Lord Grafton's first grain ship waiting beyond the harbour entrance. The collector still occupied the berth she needed.

Jon turned towards the repair beach. Qavo was waiting there, his men at work on the smaller captured ship. Jon dismounted and gave Alasdair the reins.

The smaller prize lay in the shallows beside the repair beach, steadied by ropes to the shore. Her damaged rail had been removed. Moro, Qavo's son, pointed out where the hulls had struck during the fight and showed Jon the broken oar. At her side, Hobb was picking old caulking from a leaking seam.

"A new rail, an oar and the ropes they cut," Qavo said. "A few days, if the wood comes and the weather holds. I still have to look at the steering."

Hobb straightened. "I'll need help fitting these planks."

"Tobin will find you men," Jon said.

Denys's harbour-watch captain joined them from the larger prize, where sailors were unloading stores under guard. Jon told him to begin gathering a crew for the smaller ship. Denys would choose her master; once Qavo was satisfied with the repairs, they could try her close inshore.

"Find out whether she can keep up with the patrol before you send her out with it."

They went aboard the collector. Jon climbed the plank with his left hand on the rope rail and Arthur close behind. The burned sail had been cleared away, though soot streaked the side. Beside the mast lay a heap of fresh shavings. Jon slowed as he passed it. They had scrubbed away the blood.

Qavo lifted a loose deck plank and drove his knife into the curved brace beneath the beam. It sank with little resistance.

"Rot. This was here before the fight."

"Have we anything to replace it?"

The shipwright reached under the beam and followed the curve of its wooden brace. "One piece. The timber we chose for your first hull."

Jon crouched to look. The straight lengths would be little use here; too much wood would have to be cut away to make the bend. He had ordered two new warships, but this one could be at sea long before either was ready.

"Use it. Give Marrec the measurements for another."

Qavo called over a carpenter and showed him where to begin. Jon told him to open any other place he distrusted, then followed the captain below.

The hold still stank despite the washing. An iron bar ran beneath the low beams where the captives had been confined. Pale scratches marked the wood above it.

"Ethan has seen this?" Jon asked.

"Yesterday, my lord. He had the bars and fittings examined."

"Take them out and keep them for him. We can use the space for stores."

The captain glanced along the low hold. "Some of the crew will have to sleep above, then."

"Find them room."

Jon had studied the slave trade in his first life, following its routes across maps. Even in a child's body he had to stoop to reach the hatch. Somewhere beyond the bay there were people still shut in such a place, waiting while Denys searched for them.

He reminded the captain to keep the cargo guarded and send Denys word of the repairs. Arthur was waiting beside the mast when they came up.

"I saw you stop here," the knight said quietly.

Jon looked down at the scrubbed deck. "I remember losing my footing here."

"I could see him coming at you." Arthur's hand closed upon the rail. "There were men between us. I couldn't get past them."

"I know." Jon stood beside him. "Tomas reached me."

Arthur nodded without looking away from the mast. They stayed there until the carpenter asked them to move.

Tobin met them at the foot of the plank. The grain master's boat was coming in again.

"He wants to know how much longer."

Qavo came down behind them and inspected the berth Tobin meant to clear. "Fasten the planking first. You can tow her once that's done; we'll finish the brace over by the repair beach."

"Beside the smaller prize?" Tobin asked.

The captain agreed. His men could finish unloading while the carpenters worked, then help the towboats move her. Jon sent word to the grain master that he had the next berth.

"Settle tomorrow's berths between you tonight," he told Tobin and the captain. "If you cannot agree, take it to Ethan."

* * *
​

Marrec had spread his timber offers across a table in Qavo's shed. Broad Oak had sailed for the first cargo. House Massey offered standing trees; House Wylde claimed its timber was cut and seasoned.

"Has anyone seen it?" Jon asked.

"No. Only the letter from Rain House."

Qavo came in while they were reading, having left his carpenters securing the collector for towing. His daughter Naella translated his questions for Marrec, then followed as her father led them to the covered racks.

Two planks were missing.

"For a shed door," Qavo said, pointing to the empty place.

Otho, newly arrived with the harbour drawings, swore and sent an assistant to recover the wood.

"Find who took it too," Jon said. "No foreman takes timber from these racks without Qavo's leave."

Marrec folded the offers. "Who will inspect the timber? Qavo has both prizes to see to."

"One of his men, then. Someone who knows what he will accept."

Qavo objected to losing a carpenter while both prizes needed repair, but eventually gave Marrec a name. The buyer would inspect the wood before paying. Ordinary building timber must be bought separately; Jon would not pay a shipwright's price for every roof beam.

"Abel will want to know where the money is coming from," Marrec said.

"Bring him both prices. We will go over them tonight."

The recovered silver already had more claims upon it than Jon liked. Clock orders brought money in, but it would take far greater earnings to pay for the expedition he had yet to mention to Arthur.

Marrec went to speak to the captain of a timber boat, taking Otho with him. Inside the shed, Jon waited while Naella shut the door. Moro laid out the drawings for the two ships Jon meant to build without oars. His father had strengthened the rudder's support. Jon marked out more room for the helmsman, then followed Qavo's finger to the side of the deck.

"You have reckoned the soldiers' weight across the whole deck. When another ship comes alongside, they will all run here."

Jon remembered the lurch of a deck beneath men rushing to one rail. Qavo was right; the trial would need to allow for it.

"We will try her with weights in sheltered water. Shift them across and see how she bears it."

He would attend the trial himself. Both building places could be prepared, but the second hull must allow for whatever they learned from sailing the first. Until then, Denys would have the prizes.

Jon looked again at the drawings. He had spent so long working out how to have these ships built that it was easy to forget what another lord would pay for them. If Qavo could make them sail as he intended, they would change far more than his little fleet. Merchants would want them; lords would want ships that could catch them. He meant to be the only man who could supply either.

"These designs stay here," he said in High Valyrian. "No copies for another yard, and no ships built from them without my leave."

Qavo rested his hands on the table. "The men who build them will know."

"Then choose men who will keep an oath. I will pay them well enough to stay." Jon looked from the shipwright to his children. "From you three I must ask more. Your service for life, and your word that you will never give what I teach you to another master."

Qavo drew Naella closer to the table. "My children are making their lives here. What will they have from you?"

"A house, wages of their own, and my protection. You will have charge of my yards for as long as you can do the work. When you cannot, you will still be provided for."

"And if one of us breaks this oath?" Naella asked.

"Whoever betrays it forfeits what I have given them. Sell the drawings, or teach another lord how to build these ships behind my back, and the punishment is death."

She glanced at Moro. Her brother was looking down at the plans. Jon waited; he wanted the words understood before anyone spoke them.

Qavo came round the table and knelt. In his own tongue he swore to serve Jon for the rest of his life and keep the work entrusted to him secret. Moro followed him. Naella took a little longer, then knelt beside her brother and made the same promise. Arthur stood witness by the door.

Jon bade them rise and promised that he would keep his part. Afterwards Moro fetched a chest for the drawings. Qavo locked it himself and put the key inside his tunic. The models and the full-sized patterns would need just as much care once the work began.

When Otho returned, Jon drew the harbour sheet towards him. "You will oversee the villages and the building of the new works. I will give you the plans and go through the work with you. Bring me anything you cannot settle; I will come out when you need me. When the works are ready, I will test them with the masters. Blackburn and the harbour I will take myself."

Otho left one of his assistants with him to take measurements and carry instructions to the foremen. Jon added Qavo's dimensions to the plan, allowing room beside the hulls for lifting frames and timber carts. A great shed would cover the first two slips, with boarded walls and doors opening towards the water. No keel would be laid until it was enclosed. The shore watch would guard the entrance, and Qavo would say who could pass. Once Jon had drawn in the shed, there was too little room left for Moro to shape the frames.

"Come outside," Jon said.

They passed the repair beach and the three marked slipways. The harbour-watch captain followed with his list of stores from the collector. Aries followed close behind Jon. Geth had taken Patch back to the castle.

Jon walked beyond the last stake towards the rough shore. Otho started to remind him where the yard ended.

"I know. Qavo, show me how much ground you will need."

The shipwright considered the shore, then took Moro down to the water. Jon followed them with his eyes. Where two ships would rise this year, he wanted rows of hulls, sheltered working places and timber enough to keep the men employed.

Jon marked where he wanted the depths taken, including the rocks Tobin pointed out near the headland. Each sounding must come with the state of the tide, so he could work out how much water would remain beneath a loaded ship at its lowest ebb. He would use those figures to place the quays and reckon their height above the seabed. Denys and the pilots must go over the approach with him.

Behind Jon, the captain was telling Tobin that the collector's stores were ashore. Her opened joints were still being secured. Tobin went to keep the towboats ready.

Aries watched Moro carry the cord farther along the beach. "How many ships are you going to build?"

"Two to begin with."

Moro called for someone to hold the far end. Aries scrambled down to him.

The captain showed Jon a sound shed above the shore. A messenger had spent half the morning looking for the captain between the prizes.

"Use it for your shore watch," Jon said. "Have every message brought there, and leave word where you can be found."

Jon reserved the adjoining ground for Denys's headquarters and crews' quarters, with a muster court between them. The chart room and captains' chambers could wait; for now the shore watch needed men on duty day and night and a signal mast where it could be seen from the water.

Tobin returned as they were considering the approach. Harbert already had boys coming for lessons with the sounding line; there would be more new hands to teach when the yards opened.

Jon looked at the steep path, imagining Harbert trying it with his crutch.

"Give him a level way in and somewhere under cover to sit. Ask him what else he needs."

"I'll bring Mira down to see it," Tobin said.

These were quarters for the fleet. Marros kept the castle garrison, and the legion remained at Black Fields. The merchant road would pass outside the naval gate, where Tobin's carters could reach the public quays freely.

Behind the gate, towers and a barrier across the entrance would protect the fleet's water. Jon's arsenal plan reached inland from the slips: sail lofts, rope walks, anchor smiths, armourers, bowyers and fletchers, with ground for assembling and testing fighting engines. Timber and ready stores needed shelter above the storms' reach, arms secure under lock. He kept pitch and oil behind a wall, away from grain and sailcloth.

Qavo returned with wet boots and a far larger boundary than the first stakes had enclosed. Aries came after him with mud on one knee. Beside the fitting-out berth, the shipwright marked space for the mast crane and a clear way to bring in the masts.

"No houses along here," he said.

"Reserve it," Jon told the assistant.

Marrec had caught up with them. He studied the empty ground. "The men I bring will ask where their own houses are. Their wives will ask before they leave."

"Tell them when we can have houses ready. Until then, we pay for lodging and their passage here. I want masters who will stay to build the next ships and teach other men."

The wages and terms must come to Jon before promises were made. Abel would reserve money for the first recruits after tonight's count.

Qavo began naming men he trusted. Each would have to swear to keep the work secret before he was admitted to the building shed. Naella wrote the names down, pausing when her father remembered that one still had a merchant's hull to finish.

"Find out when he is free," Jon said. "We need not ask him to abandon it."

"Come to the castle tomorrow," Jon told Marrec. "We need ships sent out to find more men. Engineers, and acolytes willing to leave the Citadel, as well as craftsmen."

Dragonstone's craftsmen and the trained men he could bring from the North would not be enough for the yards and the growing town. Otho would be occupied with the villages; Jon needed men in Blackburn who could take a survey and follow his calculations without his standing beside them. He would have to look across the narrow sea as well. Skilled slaves could be bought in the Free Cities; he meant to raise that with Marrec tomorrow, when they could speak privately.

Jon sent for the clearing foreman and showed him where to begin on the three slips. Planks stacked on the third went back to the racks; that slip would remain outside the shed, free for repairs or a later hull. The assistant stayed to set the shed's corner stakes while the remaining men went to the merchant road.

* * *
​

The man Otho had sent for the planks brought them back, still uncut. Behind the weighing shed, Tobin was directing handcarts towards the stores while a carter hauled his load of pitch up to the ground set aside for it.

Broken barrels and old nets choked the passage behind the stores. Cleared, it could take handcarts; a working smokehouse blocked larger wagons.

"The smokehouse stays until its replacement is ready," Jon said. "Have the rest cleared this afternoon."

Jon traced the handcart route on his drawing and gave it to the foreman. Tobin stayed to show him where the cargo had to pass while Jon went uphill with Arthur.

Sailors were eating fish beside a brazier. Jon bought two skewers, and Aries took his too eagerly, shifting the hot wood between his fingers. Geth returned from the castle without Patch; Arthur bought him one before he could ask.

Cords marked the first court of the covered market Jon intended to build. An onion seller wanted to know whether buyers would still enter from the landing. Her husband brought their basket over and set it beside the cord, showing Jon where they hoped to have their stall.

By the time Tobin and Otho caught up, several sellers had joined them. With baskets beside the proposed entrance, there was scarcely room for two laden people to pass. Jon widened it on his drawing and had the cord moved. Once they were satisfied, he continued uphill. They could go on trading at their old stalls until the market was built.

Above the market, a netmaker and his daughter waited beside the cords marking their new house. Their old home stood in the path of a planned street. Her child slept against her shoulder. The old man stood where his workroom door would be, looking down towards the boats.

"Will they know where to find me?"

Tobin promised to show his customers. Nets could be brought up without crossing the cargo road, and the workroom would be wider than the old one. The netmaker paced it out while his daughter stood at the far cord.

The assistant caught up with them. Jon left him marking out room for the old man's bench and nets.

Farther uphill, a foreman was arguing with a man who had driven two posts across the line of a future street. Rafters and thatch lay ready beside his house.

"It is on my own doorstep," the man said as Jon approached. "My daughter's coming from Eastcove. Her husband has work here. Where are they to sleep?"

"You cannot build into the street."

"It's one room, my lord."

"And when your neighbour wants another? The posts come out. My man will show you where you can build."

The man looked from the stakes to the little heap of roof timber. Jon told the foreman to take the matter to Ethan if the plot had no room. The family must have lodging until the new row was ready; they could keep every piece of wood. He waited until the man laid down his mallet and began loosening the first post.

"Mark the next ward as well," Jon told the assistant when he rejoined them. "They need to see where the streets will be."

Jon had him take the fall along the proposed cart road with a builder's level and a measured cord. He divided the fall by the distance, checked it again, then lengthened the turn across the hillside. Loaded wagons would have an easier climb that way. The calculations were familiar from his work as a civil engineer in his first life; he wrote the figures slowly with his left hand while the assistant watched. On the drawing, broad streets crossed the slope, with narrower ways leading downhill. Courts behind the houses would give families space for washing and children somewhere to play. Aries asked whether they could have fruit trees there. Jon pointed out the ground he had left for planting.

The sewers took longer. Jon counted the house plots that would feed each line and worked through the quantities of water they would need. He allowed for the next wards, then checked the fall along the first street against the depth at which the drain would have to run. A hollow midway down would leave filth standing beneath the houses. He raised that stretch on his drawing and marked places where men could open the drain to clean it. Rainwater would run separately. When he traced the waste line down to the shore, Tobin stopped his finger beside a beach where people gathered shellfish.

"The tide brings it back across the landing," Tobin said, following the line with his finger.

Jon drew another possible course around the rise and marked the heights he needed measured. If it gave him enough fall, it would spare a long cutting through rock. He would walk it with the surveyors and Tobin, checking the outlet against the high tide. Until those figures were in his hands, he would not send masons away from repairing the harbour arm.

The first houses would have lined privy pits. Carts could empty them from the back lanes and carry the waste away from homes and wells. Jon had the men who would do the work examine those approaches before the assistant marked the nearby foundations. Market and harbour dues would pay for the public privies and their keepers.

Higher springs would feed covered water tanks. Jon added the households' daily needs, allowed for the workshops and animals, and wrote the total beside them. He sent two men to time how quickly the springs filled a vessel of known size; he needed to know whether they could supply what he had reckoned. Rain gathered from roofs could serve washing and fire buckets. He kept the drinking-water pipes apart from the waste drains and gave the assistant the measurements for the first row.

The netmaker's daughter had come back with another question. Her father wanted timber walls because he could mend them himself.

"Brick on stone," Jon told her. "We have too few trees for wooden houses. He will still have wood for his floors, roof and doors."

"We have little enough brick either," Otho said. "The potter's next loads are for the kilns."

Only the first new kiln had foundations begun. The other two sites were grass, and the drying bays remained unfinished. Marrec brought out an offer for bricks already fired. Once the potter's customers and kiln builders had their share, they would have to buy what else the houses needed.

Jon took the brick sizes from the offer and worked out what the first row would consume, allowing for doors and windows, then adding a margin for breakage. He showed Marrec the total. The offered cargo would not cover it. Otho had stone for the footings, but reminded them that the roof timber must arrive while the walls were going up. Marrec amended his purchases beside Jon's figures.

"Fuel too," he said. "Bennard and every kiln burner on the island want the next shipload."

"Bring me their needs and the prices," Jon said. "Allow for the village work Otho has already begun. Abel must know what each will cost."

He would not have materials scattered among unfinished rows. They must complete this one, and Marrec must continue seeking brickmakers capable of running the new kilns.

The woman had waited beside them, rocking the child when he stirred.

"Ethan will tell you when the house is ready," Jon said. "You can stay in your old home until then. After that, the street goes through."

"Can we take the door? He made it."

Otho glanced at the workroom plan. "We can fit it."

She went to tell her father. Jon sent the list of other households in the streets' path to Ethan. They needed somewhere to move, help with their belongings and a place to keep working. Refusals were to come to Jon after Ethan had heard the difficulties.

"I will hear what has been missed," he told the assistant. "But the houses must move."

Tobin asked for guards of his own. Sending to the castle was little use when a quarrel could begin and end while the messenger climbed the road.

"Blackburn will have the Black Cloaks," Jon said. "Their captain will answer to Ethan."

Jon reserved ground above the market road for barracks and a drill court, enough for two hundred men as the city grew. For now, Ethan could rent rooms and begin choosing recruits. Marros would lend instructors, but the Black Cloaks would have their own captain. Posts at the quays and ward gates would follow the growing streets.

The Black Cloaks would keep order in the public harbour and streets. Sailors outside the naval gate and lords' retainers must answer to them, Jon's men included. They would wear black wool with plain iron clasps and carry ash-grey staffs. Jon wanted men paid by him, taking no gifts from merchants. Tobin was to send Ethan names and trades that evening.

There were more demands for builders everywhere Jon looked. Hamish could not lose his harvest hands. Two hundred legionaries were already divided among the island's works, with another fifty at Saltcliffe, and none was excused his training. They needed more men from outside the island.

They went back down to the harbour arm, where a mason was levering a loose stone out of the damaged wall. He rejected it for a crack and chose another from the recovered pile while his apprentice measured the gap. The next quarry blocks should arrive roughly fitted, the mason said; he could not waste the low tide cutting stone they had paid to bring downhill.

Those sizes would go to the active upper quarry. The spring wall still had its promised load; Blackburn would take what the crews could cut and cart next. Nothing would come yet from the flooded lower quarry or its unfinished crane.

Under the mason's shelter lay limestone from above Borren's cove and ash from Dragonmont. Merren was seeking burners to make lime from the stone. Until they were found and a kiln ready, the limestone could remain in its sack. The masons already had lime made from burned shells.

Jon had the mason measure the shell-lime while a labourer sifted the ash. He chose two proportions to try and wrote them beside equal-sized moulds. He remembered the volcanic ash in Roman mortar, but this was ash from Dragonmont. They would compare both mixes with a third sample of their ordinary mortar, made and kept beside them.

"We keep some damp and some in water," Jon said. "Give them time to harden. Then we can see what we have."

He wanted mortar that would hold beneath the harbour water and cheaper foundations than cut stone. They would have to prove they could make it reliably first.

"None of this goes into the arm."

The labourer carried the samples under cover. Outside, the mason called for a bar. The recovered block settled into place, and Jon left the men racing the returning tide.

* * *
​

The collector was moving when Jon returned to the landing. Men hauled from the shore while boats kept her bow clear. Tobin kept the quay clear while they worked.

She settled beside the repair beach, and a boat went out to guide in Grafton's grain ship. Her master came down with the letter as soon as she was fast. Grain dust clung to his coat. He gave Jon a brief bow and watched the berth behind him while Jon read.

This was the first of four deliveries agreed after Runestone.

"Half the usual harbour dues on the grain," Jon told Tobin. "For the year, as agreed."

"There's lamp oil below it," the master said.

"Ordinary dues on that. Marrec may want to buy it for the workshops."

Tobin would check the account before Abel paid the balance. Jon wanted sailing dates for the remaining cargoes.

A handcart carried six sacks through the cleared passage to the grain store. The fish sellers continued working beside the landing. Tobin sent two idle men to help with the next load.

Inside, the keeper opened a sack. Grain dust and dry boards took Jon back to his family's barns. He rubbed a few kernels between his fingers while the man dug down to check the grain beneath. When the sack had been tied again, Jon told him to make room for the later cargoes. Even a good harvest from Hamish's farms would not feed all the men he intended to bring here.

Woods met him outside with Henly and their quarry-crane drawing. Henly and Emrick had helped build the legion's war engines. Emrick remained at Cinderwell; both would assist the master carpenter and teach the men to use the lifting gear.

Tobin took them beside the scales and pointed out where he wanted the harbour crane. Woods watched a sling of sacks turn above the grain ship, then looked along the cart lane.

"Every cart would pass under the load." Woods pointed to a stack of barrels. "Move those and put it there. We can bring a cart alongside."

Henly held the drawing against the shed while Woods marked the larger crane. It could lift heavy casks and bundles ashore without tying up so many men with each load.

"The quarry comes first," Jon said. "Ewan needs the ironwork list tonight. Henly, see Marrec about rope."

Jon marked where the ground must be opened to examine it once the cargo was ashore. Then he took Woods south to see the other ground he had reserved. Qavo and Moro were stretching a cord far beyond the old yard boundary.

The carpenter stopped. "All of this?"

"Eventually. The first three slips stay where they are."

Qavo showed him where lifting frames would stand beside the rising hulls, tall wooden legs supporting the rope that would haul a beam up and lower it across the ship. The frames could be moved along the slips as the work advanced. Woods raised the planned roof of the building shed to leave room above them, then kept a clear way for the timber carts.

The mast crane would stand outside, where the ships could be brought after launching. Crouching over the drawing, Woods sketched wheels large enough for men to walk inside, winding the rope to raise a mast above a waiting ship. Jon could almost see it hanging there, the crew below guiding its foot into place.

Jon and Woods went to inspect the shore before choosing where it would stand.

"Farther back," Woods said. "This edge will not bear it."

Jon sat on a timber and began reckoning from the weight of the heaviest mast and how far the crane must reach over the water. The farther out it carried the load, the harder it would pull against the base. He sketched a broader footing and marked where trial pits must be dug to find firm ground. Woods bent over his shoulder, settling how the timber frame would be braced and how the winding gear would hold when the men stopped turning it. He would build the crane; Jon would finish the calculations once they had examined the ground. They reserved space to test it with stone, barely lifted at first, and gave Marrec the sizes of timber required.

They returned to the merchant shore, where Otho joined them. Jon spread his plan across a stack of boards and checked the quay lengths against the ships Tobin expected to bring in. On the drawing, warehouses, customs and weighing rooms lined the broad cargo road behind the deep-water berths. He left separate stairs for passengers and small boats, then marked where later cranes could stand without blocking the carts.

Tobin pointed beyond the damaged arm. "A bad easterly will empty those berths, deep or not."

Jon's drawing showed two longer walls sheltering the enlarged merchant harbour. He shifted the proposed entrance while Tobin described how the easterlies drove the sea into the present one. The fleet kept its guarded southern basin, the fishing boats their northern landing.

"Finish repairing this arm first," Jon said. "Then take your soundings. Denys and the pilots must see the entrance before any stone goes into it."

Jon began a rough reckoning of stone for the shallower stretch, leaving the deeper lengths until the soundings were taken. Much of the wall would lie beneath the water; the quarry would have to supply far more than its visible height suggested. Once they knew what ground lay beneath it, he could calculate how broad its foundations must be. The first wall would also change where sand settled. They must watch that before he fixed the second one's course. Otho took down the likely demand on the quarry so he could plan the village deliveries around it.

"The Gulltown captains will like it," Tobin said. "Lord Monford may like it less."

Marrec had the same concern. Some of the masters they needed worked in Monford's yards. He might willingly sell timber, but men taking their families to a rival harbour were another matter.

"His ships will have a market here. So will his timber," Jon said. "Put that business before him tomorrow. I mean to build this harbour."

Tobin returned to the unloading. Near the weighing shed Perrin brought Jon the Braavosi captain's clock account. The captain had accepted William's price for a finished clock for his employer, and Abel held the advance.

"The man who wanted our workmen?" Jon asked.

"And still wants the clock sooner than William promised."

"Lady Merryweather's goes first."

Perrin had already told the captain so. There was also an enquiry aboard Green Gull, brought by Aron of Lemonwood in Princess Arianne's name. Arthur looked round at that, but did not know the merchant.

They found Aron beside the weighing shed, separating broken roof tiles from a damaged bundle. He wiped his hands and bowed to Jon, then to Arthur.

"An enquiry from Sunspear, my lord."

Jon opened the letter inside the shed. Arianne wanted a clock with a face visible from a lower court and a bell that could be heard in the hall. Aron watched Arthur while Perrin cleared a place to sit, then noticed Jon's bound hand.

"They say you took those ships yourself."

"My men and I. Have you seen the court where the princess wants her clock?"

Aron had. He drew the archway on a sheet held flat by a broken tile, glancing towards Arthur as he worked.

"You may remember it better, ser."

"It has been years. Tell us what is there now."

Perrin noted the measurements and particulars Aron could not supply. Those questions would return with William's offer. When the merchant asked whether he might promise the clock by year's end, Jon refused to give a date before William had considered it.

"He has other orders. Speak to him before you sail. Perrin will arrange it."

Outside, Otho was examining the surviving tiles. Aron left the drawing to answer him, briskly counting intact bundles and offering his cargo for the new houses. Jon left Otho to judge the tiles and Marrec to settle the price.

Aron bowed again to Arthur as they left.

"They will be glad to hear you are well, ser."

"You may tell them so."

The clock enquiry and cargo were real enough. Jon wondered how much else Aron would describe in Sunspear: the captured ships, the growing harbour, Arthur standing beside him.

Tobin caught them at the horses. The grain master hoped to sail tomorrow, and other Gulltown captains would follow if there were berths for them. Jon told him to keep the cargo quay clear and repairs in their own water.

Alasdair brought Bucephalus round. He still had Tomas's letter inside his coat. Marrec had found no trusted White Harbor captain yet, and the grain ship was going back to Gulltown.

"Keep it until he does," Jon said. "Tobin, we need prices for the Watch's supplies as well. Have Marrec ask what fish and cloth we can spare, and give Abel the cost of the rest. This grain stays here."

Carriage on to Eastwatch must be settled before they paid. If the same captain could take Tomas's letter, Alasdair must bring him to Jon before handing it over.

"Tell Tomas we are arranging it. We have no ship yet."

At the upper turn Jon looked towards the southern shore. He could imagine a hull rising on the first slip, ribs taller than the men fitting them, and felt the old longing to be aboard. Then Bucephalus began the steeper climb. His hand ached, and Tomas was waiting for the answer he had promised. He settled the reins in his left hand and rode home.

* * *
​

Abel was still weighing the recovered coin when Jon returned. Light from the open shutters fell across two trays: sorted coins in one, a heap of clipped silver in the other. The maester sat beside him with a sheet of figures.

"Marrec has sent the accounts for his purchases," Abel said.

Jon lowered himself onto a stool. "There will be more. How far have you got?"

Abel showed him. The foreign coins had to be reckoned against one another, the clipped ones weighed. There were chests still awaiting a final check, and the plate and copper needed valuing. Across the room, the personal belongings had been wrapped and set apart. Jon left them untouched.

"Bring in the remaining clerks," he said. "Finish the coin tonight, and make a list of everything else. Leave the maester to check the weights. Keep those bundles for Wylla's enquiries."

Abel called one of the clerks over. Jon waited while he divided the work, then had him set aside the wages already promised. Noll's hammer iron came next, after Noll and Marrec had checked what could be taken from the stores. The clock advance was already in hand, but part of it would go towards the grain balance and the purchases agreed with Marrec.

The maester laid the settlement returns beside the plan. Blackburn held fourteen hundred and thirty-eight people, the largest of the five villages. Eastcove had five hundred and seventy-seven; Cinderwell four hundred and ninety-eight; Saltcliffe four hundred and nine; and Wyrm's Rest three hundred and forty-four.

Another seven hundred and thirty-one were entered under the castle, garrison and harbour quarters. Six hundred and eighty-seven lived outside those settlements, scattered among farms, quarries, kilns and small coves around the island. With the seven hundred and forty-six newcomers entered on their own roll, the total came to five thousand four hundred and thirty. Jon went over the figures with Abel. Even bringing every spare hand to Blackburn would leave them short of the men he needed.

Jon listed the work that could begin at Blackburn: hiring skilled masters, clearing and drainage, stone and timber, and the enclosed shed Qavo needed before he could begin the new hulls. The first masters would need wages and lodging while their workshops were built.

"Reserve enough to begin," he said. "Show me what each will cost. I will decide how much more we can undertake when I've seen the whole account."

"Bennard will ask about the larger furnace."

"He has leave for the first repairs. The enlargement waits for its own reckoning."

Abel made a note, then returned to the harbour plan. "We could let some of these plots while the larger works wait. That would bring in rent this year."

"And put houses where the streets and yards must go?" Jon drew the plan back towards him. "In two or three years, the houses, workshops and harbour I am building here will bring in many times that paltry rent. I will not spoil the layout of a whole city for a few more coins now. The ground stays clear."

Outside, servants were carrying supper towards the hall. A clerk glanced up from his tray, and Jon called for food and lamps to be brought in.

"Bring me the count before the builders arrive tomorrow."

He left Abel dividing the last chests among the clerks. Arthur was waiting by the western postern, where there was still light upon the sea. Hugin stood on the sill of the little room beside the door; Munin perched on the wall outside.

Jon sat and fed them. The birds quarrelled over a scrap until Arthur separated them, and then Jon sent both out above the harbour.

Munin followed the road behind the stores. Through his eyes Jon found a cart waiting while two men shut warehouse doors. Hugin banked over the repair beach, tilting the shore beneath him. For a moment Jon lost the cart. He steadied Hugin and found it again through Munin, beside the bend he had ridden past on his way home.

Knowing the ground helped. He held both views for a little longer, then brought Hugin round from the headland and called them home. Watching through both birds at once had left him exhausted yesterday, and he stopped while he still felt well.

Arthur held out a cup when Jon opened his eyes. As he drank, claws scraped upon the sill. Both birds had returned.

* * *
​

After supper, Jon went to his chamber to wash the dust from Blackburn off his hands. Arianne's letter lay on the table. Seeing the sun and spear upon it brought back the question he had nearly put to Aron: was the princess betrothed?

A harmless enough enquiry, except that he knew what the answer ought to be.

In the books, Willem Darry had promised Viserys to Arianne. Oberyn had signed for Dorne, with the Sealord of Braavos as witness. Jon remembered the agreement clearly enough, but not the year. It might already have been made.

Or it might never be made here. Arthur was alive; Jon held Dragonstone by Robert's gift. He had learned too much of this world's differences to trust every remembered event. Qavo had known the royal children in Myr, yet the men being sent after them had only old reports and a quay to begin from. Jon could not even say where his aunt and uncle were sleeping tonight.

That troubled him more than the marriage. If Doran had already secured Viserys for his daughter, why had the children been left so poor? A little coin sent quietly would scarcely have brought Robert's armies down upon Dorne. Jon dried his fingers, anger rising with the old questions. He would find out what help had actually reached them.

Doran had held men back while Elia and her children were in the Red Keep. Jon had argued with Arthur about it before. Lewyn and the men who died at the Trident had done their duty; he had never blamed them for the spears their prince kept at home. Doran had preserved his own strength, and Jon's father had gone to the river without it.

Mace Tyrell had kept his strength too, feasting outside Storm's End until the war was lost. The Tullys owed their rule of the riverlands to his family, yet Hoster had joined those tearing it down. Robert had killed Rhaegar and accepted the bodies of his children, then married the daughter of the man who had sent their killers. Jon could sit at his table and take the lands he offered; he had not forgotten how Robert had won the crown.

It was Tywin he hated most. His brother and sister had been small enough to carry. Men had murdered them and laid them before a new king, and the men responsible still held lands and honours. No useful marriage or offer of soldiers would make Jon forgive that.

Doran might still have uses for Dragonstone even if he believed Jon to be no more than Arthur's nephew. Ships could carry Dornish soldiers past the mountain passes; a rich port at the mouth of Blackwater Bay could supply them. Jon glanced out at a cart struggling up the lower road. He would be doing the building and paying for it. Doran could afford to wait and see what came of the work.

When he took the throne, the Martells would answer to him. Doran's support would give him no right to dictate who Jon married or how he ruled.

For now he had a letter about a clock. It was signed by Arianne, and he would answer her. He remembered her anger at being kept ignorant of her father's plans; she might not be that woman yet, but there was no reason to begin by treating her as though her own enquiries required Doran's answer. The thought of Quentyn troubled him too. The boy was still alive, years from the journey Jon remembered. He hoped he would have no cause to make it.

A knock interrupted him. Arthur entered with the cloak Jon had left at the horses and hung it beside the door.

"Tomas is awake."

"In a moment." Jon sat on the edge of the bed. "How well did you know Doran?"

Arthur looked at the letter. "He never took me into his confidence, if that's what you mean. I knew Lewyn and Elia far better."

"Aron watched you more closely than he watched me."

"He knows my name." Arthur drew the stool near. "And there are people at Sunspear who will be glad to hear that I'm well."

Jon had spent the ride back from the quay wondering what the merchant would report. It had not occurred to him to ask whether Arthur wanted news in return.

"Would you be welcome there?"

"By some."

"And the others?"

Arthur looked towards the window. "I was in Dorne when Elia died. Her children were in King's Landing. They have a right to ask where I was."

Jon laid the towel aside. For a while he could hear the cart outside, its wheels grinding over the stones.

"What would they say if they knew about me?"

The knight turned back.

"They cannot have loved Rhaegar for what he did to Elia," Jon said. "Even if I were useful to them, that would remain."

"You were an infant."

"Would Doran care?"

"I don't know." Arthur leaned forward. "But if he asks you to answer for Rhaegar, I will be there."

"Doran has cause to hate the Lannisters too," Arthur said.

"He had cause to send more men before they reached Elia."

"And I have not asked you to forget it. Dorne has stood apart since the war. He may need an ally badly enough to offer terms worth hearing."

"My ships and my gold. I can see what he would gain."

"And you might gain a safe harbour, if Dragonstone ever fell. Somewhere to gather your men." Arthur leaned back. "Dorne's passes and dry country would make it hard for an army to follow you inland. I would hear what Doran offered."

"He would ask a great deal for that."

"Then we find out how much. He gains nothing by letting your ships and wealth fall into Lannister hands."

"The days when kings bargained with their own vassals are done," Jon said. "Doran will bend the knee or fall. So will the rest."

"You know you're making this harder for yourself," Arthur said. "Why? Kings have won wars by bringing the great houses to their side. Keeping those houses in balance is how they have held the realm together."

"When my ancestor came with his sisters and their dragons, he did what no king had done," Jon said. "He brought six kingdoms beneath one house. My house. He made vassals of kings and established a new order."

"He had dragons, Jon."

"Aye. He had the strength to enforce it." Jon met his eyes. "That is why I am building my own strength. We assume that because a thing has always been done one way, there can be no other. If no man has done it, we say it cannot be done. I intend to change that. I will establish a new order through my own might, Arthur. There is no other path for me."

Jon reached for Arianne's letter and folded it.

"Aron can have William's price and drawing. Nothing else. Let him sell his cargo. If the voyage pays, he'll come again."

He would bring news as well as tiles, and there were other ways to hear what happened in Dornish ports. Ships being hired and stores bought in quantity would be harder to hide than a letter at Sunspear.

"Have Ethan tell Marrec to ask his captains for news of unusual purchases. Ships, provisions, large companies seeking passage. I want to know who is paying."

As the knight rose, Jon remembered the captain Denys had been choosing for Myr.

"Ask Ethan whether our man has sailed. If he hasn't, tell him to listen for anyone else seeking the children. He needn't approach them."

"You think Doran is looking?"

"He may be. I would be, in his place."

Others might be searching as well. Jon remembered Illyrio's hospitality and Varys's shifting service, and somewhere beyond them a boy being taught to bear Aegon's name. He had never been certain whose son that boy was, even in the books. He had no report of him here. Viserys and Daenerys were missing people whom Qavo had known; they must come first.

"Our captain is not to delay his search following someone else's servant," he added. "Finding the children is his task."

"When Denys returns, he stays here until we have divided the work and settled the money," Jon said. "I want him with Ethan, Abel and Marrec when we decide which men and ships we can spare."

Afterwards Jon meant to send him east. While following reports of Viserys and Daenerys, Denys could seek out engineers and craftsmen willing to come to Dragonstone. He would need coin and clear terms to offer them. Tomorrow's reckoning would tell Jon what he could spare for the voyage; Denys would have his instructions before he sailed again.

Arthur agreed. Jon got to his feet.

"And bring me the reports on Oswell and Gerold tomorrow. We said we would take this up once we were settled. Ask Ethan for the old ones too; a name he passed over may mean something to you."

"There are men they could have gone to," Arthur said. "I can give Ethan names. Places where they might have found help."

"Only men you trust. Denys can tell us which ports his captains know."

Neither knight had been pardoned. Jon wanted no open letter with their names upon it travelling from port to port.

"If they are with the children, they will stay with them," Arthur said.

"I would not ask them to leave." Jon hesitated. "But they may know more about what was sent to my uncle Ned. What my mother thought he had received."

"I want to ask them that myself," Arthur said.

Arthur had already told him all he could remember.

"Tomorrow, then. We shall read what Ethan has together."

They parted in the passage, Arthur going to find Ethan while Jon continued to the sickroom.

* * *
​

Olyver met him at the door and went to wait along the passage. Tomas had a writing board across his knees.

"Did you get any rest?" Jon asked.

"Lorren saw to that." Tomas watched him take out the folded page. "Have you decided?"

Jon sat beside the bed. "I have."

Jon drew the lamp closer and unfolded the sheet upon Tomas's board. Beneath the crossed-out names he had drawn a shield. A silver gauntlet held a black heart, its edge picked out in silver against the black field. The fingers were clumsily drawn; he had managed them as best he could with his left hand.

"Sableheart," Jon said. "You told me you did not want to put my colours aside. Sable is black."

Tomas studied the shield. His thumb passed over the gauntlet, following the fingers where they closed about the heart.

"I cannot adopt you into House Black," Jon said. "But I would gladly have you for a brother. I wanted you to keep something of my name when you took your own."

Tomas looked up. Jon's gaze caught upon the bandage. He remembered his shield dragged wide, the sword above him, and Tomas stepping into its path. He had been certain the blow would kill him.

"I owe you my life, Tomas. I would be proud to have your house beside mine."

For a while Tomas said nothing. Then he looked down at the words Jon had written beneath the shield.

"Our Hearts Hold Fast." He read them softly, then nodded. "Aye. I like those."

"Ser Tomas Sableheart." He tried the name once more, smiling now. Then he reached for Jon's left hand.

"Thank you, my lord."

Jon returned the grip. Tomas held on for a moment before releasing him.

"We'll have a painter draw the arms properly," Jon said. "You can send a copy to your mother."

"I'll have to write again." Tomas smiled down at the sheet. "She'll want to know all of it."

"Alasdair can put another page with your letter. Marrec hasn't found a captain yet."

Aries knocked and came in carrying a bowl of broth from Wylla. He set it on the chest, then noticed the drawing.

"Are those your arms?"

Tomas turned the board for him. "Lord Jon chose them."

Jon gave the boy his chair. Aries leaned over the sheet, studying it, then asked if he might try drawing the shield.

"Geth showed me how to make the sides match."

"Fetch some paper," Tomas said. "Don't try on this one."

The boy hurried away. Tomas watched him go, still holding Jon's drawing. Laughter rose from the hall below, followed by the scrape of a bench.

He began asking about Blackburn: which prize would sail first, and whether Qavo was still willing to build without oars. Jon told him about the repairs and Grafton's grain ship at last taking the collector's berth.

"I'd like to see her in daylight," Tomas said.

"The collector?"

"When Lorren lets me. I don't want to remember her only as the place they carried me off."

"We'll go together."

They were still talking when Aries returned with paper and an inkpot clutched against his chest. His first shield came out too broad. Tomas turned the sheet, set a finger where the point should fall and helped him begin another.

Jon watched until Tomas laid down the quill and eased back against his pillows. His hand had been steadier today. At the door, Jon turned when he called.

"You'll tell me if they find the other prisoners?"

"As soon as I hear."

Lorren was coming along the passage. Jon asked him to give Aries time to finish the outline, then went downstairs.

In the linen room Gawen sat beside Wylla, a basket at her feet. She had stopped folding. They were talking too quietly for Jon to hear, her hand resting in his sound one.

Wylla looked up. For once she did not rise to ask whether he needed anything. Jon smiled and went on.

* * *
​

Back in his chamber, Jon sat over the harbour plan with a piece of dragon eggshell in his left hand. The other fragments lay beside the lamp. He turned it idly between his fingers as he checked the figures he had brought back from Blackburn.

A knock brought his head up.

"Come in."

Alasdair opened the door. "A boat from Captain Denys, my lord. The messenger's in the hall."

Jon laid the fragment beside the others and went down with him. The sailor stood beside the hearth with salt dried white along his coat. He held the back of a chair as he handed Jon a message in a leather wrapping. Arthur joined them while Jon broke the seal, and called for food and drink.

Denys's scout had found a galley near the creek beneath the split cliff. She had arrived earlier than the mate had said. The covered bow and joined blue patch at the top of her sail matched the mate's description. The scout had seen a boat take water out to her. Two people on her deck had their hands bound, though he had not got near enough to count everyone aboard.

Denys had gone to join him. He meant to catch her as she left, before she could turn back into the creek. The men and boats for the next relief were to be kept ready at Blackburn. If pursuit drew him farther south, he would send word through the agreed coastal boats.

"When did he send you?" Jon asked.

"Before dawn, my lord. The wind was against us round the point."

"Had he seen her himself?"

"Not then. The scout's boat had just come in."

Jon handed Arthur the message and sent Alasdair for Ethan.

"Eat," he told the sailor. "Afterwards, tell the maester where Denys last lay and which boats are carrying his messages. There'll be a bed for you."

Aries came down from Tomas's room as a servant brought the bread. He stopped on the stair, looking from Jon to the door.

"Are you going out again?"

"No. Denys is there. I'm staying here."

The boy let go of the stair rail. Jon drew a chair towards the hearth for him.

"You can stay and listen."

Aries sat, watching him. When Ethan and the maester arrived, Jon had the message read out and ordered the harbour captain told to hold Denys's relief ready. They were to carry provisions for a longer search. The other patrols would keep to their stations.

"Lord Monford is still expected tomorrow," the maester reminded him.

"We shall be ready for him."

Jon looked at the sailor, who was eating too fast to pay them much heed. His news was many hours old. Denys might already have taken the galley and be bringing people out of her hold. Five of Laro's companions were still missing; the scout's sighting could tell him nothing of them.

"Tell Lorren," Jon said. "If Denys brings back wounded people, I want warm rooms and men ready to carry them."

He turned to Aries. "Go and tell Tomas they've found a galley that may have the missing people aboard. We're waiting for Denys to send word."

Aries ran upstairs. Ethan sent the orders down to the harbour, and Jon stayed with the sailor. The man had no more news of the prisoners. When he reached for the empty jug, Jon filled it and let him finish his meal.

 

[aiwonder]

Sarro's rings had sunk into his fingers. Flesh bulged on either side of the gold, pale where the bands pressed it, and one of the rubies was smeared with oil from Vhalar's fish. A bead of juice clung beneath his lower lip. He caught it with his tongue and reached for another piece.

The fat slug had helped himself before the servant had finished pouring.

Vhalar watched him eat from across the table. Below the terrace of his fort lay Bloodstone's eastern anchorage, loud with hammers and the calls of men hauling a galley ashore. He had come up from the morning muster without taking off his mail. Sweat was drying beneath it, and a split in his knuckle stung whenever he bent his hand. His forearms rested bare upon the table, dark with old scars below the sleeves. Sarro had needed to stop twice upon the steps. Now he sat in the shade, a gold chain disappearing into his collar, making a meal of another man's breakfast.

"Try the wine," he said. "It cost me enough."

Vhalar drank. Arbor gold. Good, too, damn him.

Through the openings in the parapet he could see Sarro's four ships. All four had clean hulls and well-kept rigging; their crews had furled the sails quickly yesterday, without half the shouting he heard from worse captains. They lay clear of his own vessels, where they could get under way without waiting for anyone to move.

Sarro had chosen those berths himself.

"Moreo sent a boat to you."

"He did." Sarro sucked oil from his thumb. "He wanted to know why I had come."

"What did you tell him?"

"That you had asked me. Should I have lied?"

Vhalar set his cup down.

"I want your four ships off the western landing while I take Moreo's camp. If his men put out to sea, catch them."

"I'll show myself there," Sarro said. "Crews armed, all four banners up. If anyone runs for the open sea, I'll turn towards him."

"And if he keeps coming?"

Sarro picked a fishbone from his lip and laid it beside his plate. "I let him pass. I am not losing a ship to win you a camp."

"His sons may return."

"Then I'll make the same show for them. If they want a fight, you'll have to give it to them."

Vhalar looked past him at the four ships. Moreo would have to judge their intentions from the beach, with Vhalar's men coming at him. The sight of them might keep him ashore long enough.

"Your first mates will hear the plan at sunset," he said. "See that they are here."

Sarro nodded and reached for the wine. He had never pretended to be a fighting man. He hired those, paid them well and stayed where his captains told him to stay. Last autumn he had carried cargo into Tyrosh beneath the very nose of a captain whose merchantmen he had robbed. Vhalar had heard about it from a man who had helped him sell the goods. The fat slug knew what he was.

Moreo would have known it once. Twenty years ago the old Lysene had taken ships out in weather that sent younger men crawling for shelter. He and Vhalar's father had divided prizes upon this terrace, quarrelled over the division, and tried to rob each other of them the following season. Moreo had always come back smiling. Age had caught up with him at last. At their last meeting he had needed two men to help him into his boat. Vhalar's father was dead; Moreo's time was passing too.

His sons had left him what they did not want and sailed east to raid near Slaver's Bay. A pair of vain little shits. The younger was a whoremonger, a drunkard and a coward, dining and drinking on his father's gold. His brother had lost two ships taking a third. They would quarrel over their father's chair while better men took the ships from under them.

Vhalar meant to be there first.

His father had left him eight galleys and ten longboats, besides the vessels that worked the northern stores. He had men enough to take Moreo's camp. Keeping ships off the western landing would cost him galleys he needed elsewhere.

Rolo. That young whoreson still held the south beach.

Vhalar remembered the boats coming back overloaded, wounded men lying between the feet of the rowers. His father had been dying upstairs while captains decided which son of a bitch was likeliest to pay them. Two of Vhalar's best had died getting the others away. Drazen had gone back for the wounded and the pay chest while men who had eaten at this table changed their colours.

He would have Rolo in time. The Myrishman had good crews and the appetite to use them; of the three men upon Bloodstone, he was the one who would fight hardest to keep what he held. Moreo's harbour and ships would give Vhalar the strength to finish it. With Sarro's four showing themselves off the western landing, he could leave galleys watching the south beach while he took his men against Moreo.

"Moreo's lieutenant has offered to let my men through," he said.

Sarro stopped with the cup halfway to his mouth.

There. That interested him more than all the ships in the harbour.

"The man who keeps his boats?"

"Yes."

"He has served Moreo half his life."

"Then he knows what will be left of it under those sons."

Sarro lowered his cup. "What have you promised him?"

"His command."

"You must be very sure of him."

Vhalar ran his tongue along the broken tooth at the side of his mouth. He was sure the lieutenant wanted to live. The man still lowered his voice when he spoke of Moreo, though they had met with miles of water between them and the old pirate. Fear did not disappear because a man's knees had begun to fail him. But he had asked twice whether Vhalar meant to give his ships to someone else. That worried him more than betraying the captain he had followed for twenty years.

"He has sent me the watch," Vhalar said. "His own men will be beside the boats. When I land, they stay out of my way."

"Unless Moreo has made him a better offer."

"Moreo cannot give him better sons."

Sarro's mouth twitched. "Let my first mate speak to him."

Of course. Put the two of them together, and Sarro would have a way into the western landing whether Vhalar took it or not. The man never reached for one thing when he could close his fist upon two.

"Tonight. One man, and he goes with mine."

"He asks his own questions."

"He may ask them."

"And if he comes back unconvinced, my ships stay where they are."

Vhalar let him wait for the answer. Somewhere below, a man called for more rope. Sarro's eyes remained upon him. He had offered the four ships if the lieutenant's word proved good. They were worth letting him ask his questions. Vhalar could settle what else he learned by choosing the men who went with him.

"Agreed."

"Good." Sarro broke another piece of bread and pressed it into the juices upon the dish. "Now, the money you already owe me."

He put the bread into his mouth before Vhalar could answer. Oil ran to his chin. A little glisten of it remained there when he wiped his mouth, and Vhalar found himself watching that instead of the man's eyes. Sarro was buying himself time to consider what he had just been told. Let him chew. He would still have to name a price.

"Drazen is bringing it."

"Your clerk tells me there is money coming from Tyrosh as well."

"Five weeks. Six, if the factor is slow buying grain."

"I will be in Tyrosh myself before then. My brother has freight waiting."

"Drazen will be here first."

"You expect him first."

Vhalar raised his eyes. In the doorway his clerk had stopped writing. The guard beside the stair shifted his weight and then stood still.

He could drive the knife beneath Sarro's jaw before the chair went over. The thought came readily, accompanied by the remembered feel of a man struggling against his arm. Sarro had lifted his chin to contradict him. There was room enough beneath it.

The fat slug watched his hand. He had another morsel poised between finger and thumb, but for once it did not reach his mouth.

Vhalar put the knife beside his plate.

"You will be paid when he comes. Until then, tell me what it costs to keep you here."

Sarro set the morsel down and wiped his fingers upon the cloth. "I have four crews drawing wages whether we sail or sit here. Grain will pay them as readily as a prize. I can go back to carrying it whenever I please."

"Then you lose nothing by giving me a price."

Sarro inclined his head. "For how many days?"

He looked past Sarro at the water. No dark sail beyond the headland. Drazen had been ordered to gather the treasure from the cove upon Dragonstone and the other hiding places along the Westerosi coast. Pello and the collectors were to account to him and put what they held aboard his ship. Vhalar's cousin Neresso had been told to settle every balance he could through Hull and the other ports. Coin, this time. He had no use for another hold full of goods while captains stood before him asking for their shares.

Drazen would bring it. He had brought the wounded off the south beach when there had been little profit in that.

"When Drazen returns, you receive what I owe you and the hire for all four ships begins," Vhalar said. "We sail within ten days of that. Name the price."

Sarro named his hire, then broke another piece from the bread. "And a quarter of the treasure. Coin and goods."

Vhalar shoved his chair back and stood. His hand struck the table hard enough to make the cups jump.

"For nothing?" He leaned across it. "You risk none of your men, none of your ships, yet you ask a quarter from me?"

"I ask for no ships." Sarro pressed the bread into the fish juices. "Isn't that what you really need, Vhalar?"

The fat slug put it in his mouth. Vhalar stood over him while he chewed, his palm flat upon the table. Sarro seemed in no hurry to move his plate out of reach.

"I hear things," he said when he had swallowed. "Rolo has more men and ships each season. Fifteen galleys now, they tell me, and ten fast ships. Against your eight galleys and ten longboats."

Vhalar's fingers curled against the wood. Fifteen galleys. He would have that count checked.

"The men call him Redaxe Rolo." Sarro smiled up at him, a glisten of oil upon his lower lip. "I'm doing you a favour, Vhalar. Some coin for me, and you keep Moreo's ships. His men, too. Enough to deal with that young upstart, yes?"

He reached for another piece of fish.

The fat slug had chosen his moment well. Vhalar needed those crews as much as their galleys. With Moreo's men under his command, he could strike at Rolo and still leave enough strength to hold the fort. Sarro knew it, and sat there eating as though they had been discussing the price of grain.

Vhalar took his hand from the table and drew his chair forward.

"A quarter of the coin and goods," he said as he sat. "Every ship comes to me."

"Agreed." Sarro lifted the fish to his mouth. "But you must pay for the waiting."

Vhalar rose. Sarro's servant straightened at the stair.

"Stay there."

He went inside. The clerk bent over his writing so quickly that his sleeve dragged through the wet ink. Vhalar passed him without speaking and took the chest key from his belt.

His father had worn it about his neck, beneath his clothes, as though his own son would steal from him. At the end the cord had lain against a chest wasted to bone. Vhalar could still see the rise of it beneath the filthy linen, and the patch of dried piss at the old man's hip. The servants had tried to change the bedding. He had struck one and sent the rest away.

The old bastard had been dying for days. He had shouted for captains who were long dead, cursed the Archon, cursed his son when Vhalar came to his bed. An admiral of Tyrosh, a veteran of Maelys Blackfyre's war, and he could no longer lift himself clear of his own piss.

Vhalar had reached for the key. The hand that caught his wrist had seemed too thin to hurt him.

It hurt. Even then, it hurt.

His father dragged him down until he could smell the stale wine in his beard.

"Power is not a means, it is an end."

Vhalar had bent close, waiting for more. Some last demand, perhaps. Another voyage against Tyrosh, another promise that he would drag the men who had voted against his father out of their houses.

The old man's mouth worked. Nothing came. Vhalar watched him struggle for breath. It would have taken so little to press the linen over his face. No one in the fort would have dared ask why.

He had not needed to. Before sunset the old bastard was dead. Vhalar had taken the key and ordered the bed burned.

He turned the key in the chest now. The lock grated.

His tongue found the broken tooth again. His father had given him that for asking, before the servants, why a captain who had deserted them was dining at their table. Vhalar remembered the taste of blood, and trying to hold it in his mouth while the admiral ordered him to answer.

"Look at me when I speak to you."

He had looked. The next blow had sent him against the wall.

A moon later the captain was dead, his mate bought and his crew paid from the admiral's chest. Vhalar had understood the delay then. He had used the same method himself, more than once. That much the old bastard had taught him well.

Silver shifted beneath his hand. There was enough to buy Sarro's patience for a week. The rest had to wait for Drazen. He took a bag and locked the chest again.

Above him, a guard crossed the wall walk. The stones beneath the man's feet had been laid for Daemon Targaryen's garrison, paid for with Corlys Velaryon's gold. His father had found broken walls and roofless barracks here after Tyrosh took his command and seized the family warehouses. Backing the wrong man for Archon had cost him the city; he had made men throughout these waters pay for it ever since. He had restored the fort, gathered the ships and established the trade that Neresso now kept upon the western shore.

All that work, and still he had called Tyrosh home. Still he had spent good plunder upon schemes to get back among men who had spat him out.

They could keep the fucking warehouses.

Vhalar had a fort, ships and men who obeyed him. With Bloodstone his, there would be other islands to take and harbours where he could put his own captains. Let the merchants of Tyrosh come to him when they wanted passage. He would enjoy hearing what they offered.

Outside, Sarro had finished the fish. Vhalar dropped the bag beside his plate.

"Seven days, beginning today. Your men take water and provisions from my stores. If Drazen has not come by then, you may sail."

Sarro loosened the cord. "Have your clerk weigh it."

Vhalar called the man out with his scales. Sarro watched each little pile, picking out a clipped coin and pushing it back. Then another.

"We take those here," the clerk began.

"He gets the full weight," Vhalar said. "Replace them."

The clerk found sound coins in the bag and laid them in the pan, keeping his eyes upon his work.

Sarro reached for the silver. Vhalar caught his arm, his fingers closing hard above the wrist. Sarro flinched and tried to pull away.

"Look at me."

Sarro raised his eyes. Vhalar bent towards him without loosening his grip.

"Take my coin and break your word, and I will hunt you down. Tyrosh, Lys, wherever you run. If it takes the rest of my life, I will find you and cut your throat myself."

Sarro swallowed. His eyes went to the stair. "My mate must be satisfied," he said, more quietly. "I have promised you no battle. And if Drazen has not come in seven days, I sail."

The pulse beneath Vhalar's thumb was racing. He smiled. So the fat slug could be frightened.

"I know what we agreed." Vhalar tightened his grip. "Keep your word."

For a moment Sarro was silent. He managed a tight smile. "And you keep yours. My captains remain mine, and the hire begins when Drazen returns, even if we are still in harbour."

Still bargaining. With Vhalar's hand upon him, the fat slug was still bargaining.

"You will have what I promised."

Vhalar released him and sat. Sarro flexed his fingers, then drew the silver towards him and began putting it into the bag.

The fat slug expected to sail away with his hire and a quarter of the plunder. He had houses to go back to, merchants who would welcome him, that brother finding freight. Vhalar could not cut his throat and expect four ships to fall into his lap. He would need Drazen to find out which of those captains belonged to Sarro through gratitude, which through debt, and which would take another man's gold.

There would be time while they prepared against Moreo.

Once the western landing was his, Sarro would have a place under him if he swore for it. A good place. Vhalar had work for a man who could deal in cities where his own name closed doors. And if he refused, there were quiet ways to kill a man, once his captains had ceased to need him.

"Your first mates at sunset," he said. "All four."

"They will come."

The servant brought Sarro's cloak and helped him rise. Vhalar watched the gold chain lift clear of his collar, then settle into the flesh again. His father had worn a chain like that in Tyrosh. He had kept it long after the office it signified was gone.

Sarro went down the steps with one hand upon the wall. Halfway to the landing he stopped, turned back and raised a hand. Vhalar returned the gesture.

Then he called his clerk to bring the ship accounts outside. He would choose the vessels for the western attack before the first mates came, and settle which galleys stayed to watch Rolo. Drazen would find them ready when he came home.

* * *
​

Alasdair had to knock twice. When Jon called him in, the boy looked at his face and reached for the washing cloth.

Jon had fallen asleep over the last drawing, his head resting on his good hand. The lamp had burned out. He rubbed at his cheek and found ink on his fingers.

"Abel is downstairs, my lord."

"How long?"

"Long enough for Wylla to feed him."

Jon straightened, his neck stiff. The drawing beneath his sleeve was stained, but the measurements were clear.

Alasdair set a basin on the chest. Beside it lay six sheets for Otho, tied separately from the harbour drawings. Jon had worked through the weight the hammerhouse supports must bear and marked the order of the work. Otho could begin the foundations while Noll made the fittings, but Jon would inspect the channel and wheel before they put either to use.

"Take these to Otho at Cinderwell. Give them into his hands." Jon separated one sheet from the others. "This is the alteration to the spring wall. He must read it with Emrick before they lay another course there."

"Shall I bring Otho back with me?"

"No, let him stay with the work. Tell him to send for me if anything is unclear. And bring back the measurements from the lower end of the channel. I want those before Woods cuts the axle supports."

Alasdair rolled the sheets while Jon put on his coat. In his first life, other engineers would have checked his figures. Here he had spent half the night going over them himself, trying to find what he had missed before Otho built it in stone.

The harbour plans stayed on his table. He laid a weight across them and put the wrapped eggshells into the chest.

"Gawen has chosen the men to ride with you," Alasdair said.

"Good. Tell them we are going to Black Fields."

Alasdair nodded. At the door, Jon remembered something else.

"Tomas's letter?"

"Still with me."

"Leave it with Gawen before you go. He has another page to put with it."

* * *
​

Abel had brought no chest of gold. He had brought three books, a little set of scales and a foreign silver coin so badly clipped that scarcely half its king remained.

"Six hundred and forty dragons," he said. "That is what the recovered coin comes to at the weights the maester and I have allowed."

Jon turned the silver piece over with his thumb. It was warm from Abel's hand.

"After the losses?"

"After clipping, bad silver and the cost of changing what we cannot spend here. Marrec has agreed the rates. I would not put the plate into that sum yet."

"Nor the things Wylla is keeping."

"Those are entered separately." Abel opened the first book. "The ships are entered separately as well."

Jon put the clipped coin back beside the scales. Repairs would consume money before either prize added to the fleet.

They had taken the small hall, where the morning light was better. Ethan sat beside the maester with the village returns. Perkin, the legion's quaestor, had brought his pay book and was checking the work rolls at the other end. Arthur stood by an open window. Otho had gone to Cinderwell before sunrise; his requests filled most of the sheet Hewyn was holding.

Jon sat and drew his bread nearer. Wylla had put it where he would have to move the plate to reach the papers.

"Begin with what is already promised."

Abel did. The money for the household, provisions and the men already in Jon's service had been put aside before the earlier allowance for the works. Of the three thousand eight hundred dragons then free, Jon had committed twenty-eight hundred and kept a thousand against need. There were purchases still to arrive against that allowance. A ship being late did not make its payment available for something else.

"The first kiln, the millwheel, the water works and the first houses remain within it," Abel said. "So do the timber and fittings already ordered for Qavo."

There were two hundred dragons from the Braavosi clock buyer. Eighty could go against the balance on Grafton's first cargo, with the rest held for the clock's materials, wages and carriage. Jon had wanted some of that remainder for another cargo of brick. William would still need to finish what the merchant had bought.

"Leave it with his order," Jon said.

Abel drew a line beneath it. "That leaves the six hundred and forty."

It seemed a smaller sum now that it lay beside so many things needing to be paid for. Jon had been turning the island over in his head all night, adding furnaces and quays to empty ground. He could spend this money before he finished his bread.

"The men who took the prizes will have sixty," he said. "Denys and Perkin can bring me the division. Include the wounded."

Perkin wrote the sum. "From the coin, my lord? The two ships remain yours?"

"They remain in the fleet."

The collector would cost him more before she earned anything. Jon wanted her all the same. Qavo could have her ready long before either of the new hulls, even with the brace they had found rotten beneath her deck.

His eyes went to the harbour drawing Ethan had brought down. Beneath the planned shed, two narrow outlines marked ships that did not yet exist.

He had meant to have them before Valyria.

He had drawn faster ships, better fitted to his purpose. Now the cost of finishing them lay among the houses, furnaces and wages. The island's revenue would not arrive merely because he needed it; some was still growing in Hamish's fields.

He might have to make the voyage in the ships he already owned.

He would have the soundest hulls opened and examined, and fill them with stores and spare rigging. His years at sea had taught him what to look for. Beyond the Smoking Sea, that might still count for very little.

"My lord?"

Abel had his quill poised above the next line. Jon put the drawing aside.

"Hold a hundred and forty for hiring," Jon said. "Wages and lodging. When it is promised, no one takes on another man without coming to me."

Abel entered it. Noll's return lay beside his book: a further hundred and eighty for the hammer's heavy fittings, timber and carriage. Some iron could come from stores, but the parts that had to be ordered were dearer than Jon had hoped.

"And Bennard's furnace?" Abel asked.

"Waits."

Marrec had brought fuel prices. The charcoal could come from the mainland, burned and bagged. Coal was offered through the trading ports, though none of the sellers had sent a sample.

"A small lot of coal to try," Jon told him. "Charcoal for the smiths until we know what they can use. The kiln burners can take dry brushwood and the offcuts from our yards."

"There is brushwood going with Grafton's next cargo."

"Ask the freight. Cheap fuel does us little good if it costs twice as much to bring here." Jon pushed the furnace drawing back beneath Noll's return. "And leave the building timber for Qavo and Woods."

They allowed a hundred and twenty for fuel and carriage. Abel checked the sums, then looked up.

"A hundred and forty remains."

"Keep it for Marrec's search."

Hewyn leaned back. "You will pay passage for more smiths before we have room for the ones here?"

"If we wait until their houses are finished to start looking, we may have empty houses for a year." Jon reached for Otho's list. "What does he want from you?"

"More men than I have offered him."

Hewyn passed it across. Cinderwell wanted stone hauled for the hammerhouse; Eastcove needed its drying shelter finished. Every village had asked for men, and Blackburn's list ran onto the back of the sheet.

"Two hundred," Hewyn said. "That was the number. Your foremen have begun asking my officers for more."

"They are to ask Otho. He brings it to me."

Jon worked through the parties with him. Sixty would go to Blackburn, fifty to Cinderwell, forty-five to Eastcove, twenty to Saltcliffe and twenty-five to Wyrm's Rest. Their officers would rotate whole groups, keeping enough of each century at Black Fields to train.

Ethan struck one cartwright's name from two village requests. He already had damaged wagons waiting in his yard. Hamish could spare nobody from the harvest yet, and Jon left the fishing crews alone. There were five thousand four hundred and thirty people on the island; seeing their names divided between households and trades made it plain how few could be moved without leaving another job undone.

"The fifty guarding Saltcliffe stay where they are," Jon said. "Write it where every foreman can see it. They are not part of the twenty."

Hewyn bent over Perkin's shoulder until the distinction had been entered.

The nineteen fit prisoners remained another matter. Their guards and food still cost money; their labour did not give Otho nineteen trained masons. They would continue on the quarry approach and mine path, clear of the flooded ground. The village workmen kept their paid places.

"And no more men are to be taken into the legion for now," Jon said.

"I have twelve already," Hewyn said. "They have given their names. Some have been waiting since we landed."

Jon glanced down at the work parties. Twelve he could spare.

"Take them, then. But that is all for now. I need hands for the works, Hewyn. The rest of the legion will have to wait."

Hewyn nodded. Perkin entered the twelve in his book and passed it to Abel so he could allow for their pay and keep.

"Does that include the Black Cloaks?" Perkin asked.

"No new levy for them either. Ethan and Marros will choose from the men already serving here. Bring me the names before moving them."

Arthur had come away from the window. He looked over the work parties, then at Jon.

"You ought to see what those men are being asked to do at the camp before you take any more of their time."

"I will. This morning."

Hewyn folded Otho's requests and took the written division with him.

They left in ones and twos. Ethan took the new assignments to have copies made. The maester went to finish the notices for the villages. Abel stayed while Marrec shut the door.

"The hundred and forty will begin the search," Marrec said. "It will not bring you all the men Qavo names."

He took a letter from his purse. It had come with his Lysene correspondence, from a merchant who had found sailcloth for him before. There was a millwright for sale, a man said to have built mills as well as tended them.

"He has a wife and two children. He also wants his widowed sister brought with him, and a nephew he has been teaching. The merchant spoke to him. He will not leave either behind."

Jon passed the letter to Abel. Beside the names were the asking prices, with passage reckoned underneath. Abel checked them against the allowance.

"We could bring them all, if these prices hold. There would still be something for enquiries. But we would have to leave the smith in Myr."

That offer lay farther down the letter. Qavo needed another smith; Ewan's men were already struggling with the repairs. Jon read it before returning to the millwright. The nephew was sixteen and had worked beside his uncle for four years.

"Find out whether he can do what they claim. Have a millwright question him, and see his work if there is any to see. If he is worth bringing, and the whole party can be brought within our allowance, choose him."

"The smith may be sold before we can return to him."

"I know." Jon left the letter with Abel. "We need someone who can teach. Make certain the millwright understands that before you agree to anything."

Marrec drew a second sheet towards him to write the reply. Jon waited until he had finished the conditions.

"They are to be freed, Marrec. Paid work, lodging until we have houses ready, and no debt for their purchase or passage. His family must hear the offer too. If they leave us afterwards, we lose the coin."

Abel looked up, then added that beneath the terms. Those admitted to the secret works would swear the masters' oaths; Marrec was to explain those before seeking an answer.

Marrec would also send enquiries north and ask his correspondents in Oldtown about acolytes willing to leave. Neither place could supply everyone Jon needed, but letters could travel with ships already bound there.

Denys would choose the vessels and men after his return. Jon meant to keep him here for tomorrow's meeting with Abel, Ethan and Marrec. Until they had heard him, no ship was to be taken from a patrol or promised for the eastern voyage.

When the merchant left, the hall seemed unexpectedly quiet. Jon finished the cold bread and went to find Ethan.

* * *
​

Hessa had been waiting in the little chamber off the hall. Rollam was brought from another room when Jon sent for him. The guard placed the boy beside his mother and remained at the door.

Seventeen, Jon remembered. Old enough to know why a man would try to run from a boat. Young enough that his mother's hand went straight to his sleeve.

Ethan set their accounts before him. Jon had read them again in the night. Rollam had carried Borren's goods on five nights, taking six coppers for most of them, eight for one. He had known they were avoiding the harbour dues. He had seen a sailor stop a man who wanted to leave. Hessa had fed a woman whose ankles were raw and bloody, and accepted her brother's explanation because accepting it let her stay beneath his roof.

"Is there anything in this you say is false?" Jon asked them.

Rollam shook his head. Hessa stared at the table.

"Hessa."

"No, my lord." Her fingers worked at the cloth of her son's sleeve. "But I never sold anyone. I told you that."

"I have not said you did."

She looked at him then, with hope so sudden that he almost wished she had kept her eyes down.

"You knew enough to ask what was happening," Jon said. "You saw what had been done to that woman. You helped Borren keep it hidden."

"I was frightened of him."

"And she had reason to be frightened of you."

Hessa's hand stilled. Beside her, Rollam had begun to breathe through his mouth.

Jon let the silence stand. Fear and dependence explained much. Neither put the woman with the bleeding ankles back where she belonged. He would not hang Hessa for her brother's trade, but he would not let her walk from the castle with nothing lost because Borren had given the orders.

"For ten years you will work where Ethan assigns you, without wages. You will be fed, clothed and housed. At the end of those ten years, your service is done."

Her face had gone slack. "Ten?"

"Ten."

Ethan wrote the term and the day it began. Jon waited until Hessa was looking at him again.

"You will work in the castle washhouse to begin with. You will not be set over anyone, and you will not be sent among the people brought out of Borren's hands."

Rollam swallowed. "May I stay with her?"

"You will go to the legion."

The boy's eyes moved to Arthur. There was no help in the knight's face.

"For ten years too?"

"For life." Jon spoke before Hessa could begin. "For the first ten years, you will receive food, clothing and shelter, but no wages. After that you draw a soldier's pay. Your service does not end with it. When you are old or hurt, there will still be work you can do."

Hessa made a small sound. Rollam had let go of her hand.

"You said you would take us alive."

"I did. You are alive."

"He is my only son." Hessa caught Jon's eye. "His father died fighting the ironborn. Borren was all we had."

"His father did not make these choices for him."

Jon rose. Hessa began to speak again, but he turned to Ethan.

"They may speak together before he goes," he told Ethan. "Have someone remain with them."

Outside, Arthur waited until the door was closed.

"You have given him a long service for five nights' work."

"Five nights he admits. I judged him on those."

"I heard you."

Jon looked back towards the door. He could hear Hessa crying now, with Rollam saying something too low to make out.

"He took their money. He saw a man being held and said nothing. I am not asking you to like the sentence."

Arthur studied him for a moment. "Hewyn will need to know what he is receiving."

"I will tell him myself."

Ethan caught up with them at the foot of the stair.

"The collector's mate has asked twice whether you mean to hear him today."

"When Lord Monford brings Neresso."

"He says he has more to tell."

"Then he can keep it in his head until they are both here." Jon turned to him. "I want their accounts separately, before either learns what the other has said. Let him wonder how much Neresso will give us."

Ethan's mouth twitched. "He has had time to wonder."

"A little more will do him no harm. Feed him. Keep him apart. And do not tell him which answers I mean to compare."

* * *
​

Tomas was trying to write his new name when Jon came in. He had filled half a sheet with it. The first attempts were cramped; the last had grown so large that there was scarcely room for Sableheart before the edge.

"My mother will think someone else wrote it," he said.

"She'll recognise that hand." Jon pointed to the letters crowded against the edge.

Tomas looked at the end of the name and laughed. Jon took the chair beside him. He had asked Gawen to join them, but the older knight was still in the passage speaking to Wylla.

"Any word from Denys?" Tomas asked.

"Not yet."

The pleasure went from Tomas's face. He laid down the quill.

"He'll send as soon as he can," Tomas said.

"I know." Jon moved the inkpot away from the blanket. "There is something else I wanted to speak to you about. You will need a page."

Tomas glanced towards the door, where Olyver usually waited.

"Olyver has duties of his own," Jon said. "I mean a boy for you to teach, as well as someone to carry your messages and help with your gear."

"I'm scarcely able to look after my own gear."

"Then you can begin by telling him how."

Gawen entered with Wylla and two boys. The taller had pale hair cut roughly above his ears, the shorter a dark head and grey-violet eyes. Both wore clean clothes that had plainly belonged to other children. The smaller boy was holding his cuffs clear of his hands.

Ethan had found them work in the household after their parents died. Daemion, the taller, was ten and carried fodder in the stables. Haerys was nine. He had been helping in the kitchens and had tried more than once to follow the pages into their lessons. Their families were of the island's old Valyrian stock, Wylla had told Jon when he asked her that morning. Neither had kin able to keep him.

Jon had seen Daemion often without knowing his name. He was usually disappearing beneath a bundle of hay.

"You know Ser Gawen," Jon said. "And this is Ser Tomas Sableheart."

The boys bowed. Haerys nearly struck the table with his forehead and came up scarlet. Tomas pretended not to notice.

"Wylla tells me you would like to serve as pages."

"Yes, my lord," Daemion said at once.

Haerys nodded, then remembered to answer aloud. His eyes kept returning to the bandage on Tomas's brow.

Jon explained what would be expected of them. They would serve their knights, care for what was entrusted to them, and attend lessons with the other boys. They would learn to read and reckon as well as ride and use a practice sword. They would earn their squires' places when their knights thought them ready.

Daemion listened solemnly until Jon reached the riding. Then he asked whether he would be allowed on a horse before he was a squire.

"When the groom says you are ready," Gawen told him. "Have you ridden?"

"Only when they were taking the horses down to water."

"With leave?"

Daemion's ears reddened. Wylla looked away, and Jon suspected she already knew the answer.

"You will ask next time," Gawen said. "You can begin by coming with me after this. There is a saddle I want looked over, and I cannot work the buckles with this arm."

The boy stared. "Am I to be yours, ser?"

"If you can learn to ask before borrowing a horse."

"I can."

Haerys looked at Tomas. The young knight had gone quiet, watching Gawen as though there were a trick to this that he hoped to learn by seeing it done.

"And Haerys will serve you," Jon said to him.

Tomas sat a little straighter. "I'd be glad of him."

The boy came nearer when Wylla touched his shoulder. He noticed the shield drawn on Tomas's board and bent to see it.

"Is that your hand?"

"A gauntlet," Tomas said. "It will look better when a painter does it."

"Aries drew that one," Jon said.

"Better than mine, then."

Haerys traced the shape in the air, careful not to touch the page. He asked what the words beneath it said. Tomas read them to him.

"Our Hearts Hold Fast."

The boy whispered them once to himself. Tomas offered him the sheet, then stopped when Haerys reached for it with the hand he had been chewing.

"Wash that first. There is a basin there."

Haerys hurried to it. Water splashed over the rim. Tomas smiled, then looked at Jon with an uncertainty the boy could not see.

"What if I teach him badly?"

"Ask Gawen. Or Arthur. You had to learn too."

Jon could remember Tomas waiting among the boys in the North, trying to stand as though he already belonged beside a lord. Now someone smaller was waiting for a word from him. He wanted more of that: children from the island growing into men whose place did not depend upon a great house finding them useful for a season.

Gawen took Daemion away to the stables. Before he went, he gave Jon a sword wrapped in cloth.

"Hewyn has found someone for it. Ask him when you reach the camp."

Jon knew it as soon as he felt the plain pommel through the wrapping.

"The boy's family?"

"His mother can barely keep him in boots."

Jon nodded and took the sword. Haerys had returned to Tomas with dripping hands held out for inspection. Tomas gave him a cloth and asked him to fetch the writing board once they were dry.

"I'll come back before supper," Jon said.

"Bring news."

"If I have it."

Tomas nodded. He watched Jon go, but by the time the door closed he was showing Haerys how to keep the board level without gripping the wet edge of the page.

* * *
​

The road to Black Fields was full of men coming the other way.

Jon drew Bucephalus to the verge as Murch came round the bend at the head of his ten. They carried picks and shovels, with their food tied at their belts. Hennet grinned up at Aries before lengthening his stride to catch the others. Jon had known those faces in the North, when Malcolm's First Century was still learning to keep its line. Murch was keeping them together now, calling the rear men forward as the road narrowed towards Blackburn.

Beyond the rising ground, tents stood in rough rows beside stacks of timber. Norren, centurion of the Third Spears, was counting grain into the covered store. He sent a man farther inside with his sack, away from the damp boards by the door. Most of the camp still lived under canvas.

Hewyn met them at the horse lines, finishing an answer to a runner before coming to Jon. His appointment as primus pilus had made him senior centurion of the cohort without relieving him of much of his old work. Arthur held Bucephalus while Jon dismounted. Aries took the reins; Colin and the other household men led their horses after him.

Farther along the lines, Ser Vaelor Scales was examining a saddle with Aleyx Waters, his squire. Marros had spared the knight from the garrison to help train Jon's mounted men. For now, Vaelor had more to say about the mounts than the riders. He greeted Arthur, then called Aleyx back to show him something beneath the girth.

"The twelve are here," Hewyn said.

The volunteers waited near the entrance, their bundles at their feet. One had brought a spear with its head wrapped in sailcloth. Several had the fair hair common upon the island; a dark-haired lad at the end had eyes nearly the same violet as Jon's. He wanted more men of that blood in his ranks. If he could buy families free in Essos, there would be room here for those willing to serve.

"Have Perkin take their names and swear them," he said. "These twelve. No others until I give leave."

Hewyn sent his runner for the quaestor. As they moved towards the practice ground, Rennick brought the Second Spears past them for their march, halting briefly while a man bound a split sandal.

Malcolm's First Spears were forming against Gerralt's Fifth Sword-and-Shield Century. Men were missing from Malcolm's line. The others closed the gaps at his order, shields knocking together.

"Some of your work parties," Hewyn said.

"They will rotate. Otho has two hundred, not as many as his foremen can find work for."

"I shall want the First together again before the week is out."

"Set the parties accordingly. Ethan is sending him your copy."

Heward rode along the front, his bad leg stiff in the stirrup. As campidoctor he could stop the drill, and Malcolm watched for his signal. Jon watched the men. He could see which were following the order and which were waiting to be pulled along by a neighbour.

The first advance broke at the left. A young spearman moved too soon; when the man beside him tried to catch up, a swordsman put his shield into the opening. Two more pressed after him. Malcolm called a halt before the struggling men brought down the file.

Heward had the section put aside its weapons and walk the movement. The young man kept looking sideways until the instructor stopped him again. Gerralt's men waited, sweating beneath their shields. One sat and began binding a finger while his companion held the end of the cloth.

"We can give them another go after dinner," Hewyn said. "They'll be watching the gap now."

"Let them," Jon said. "Then change where the attack comes."

Arthur glanced at him. Upon the collector's deck there had been little warning of where the next man would come from. Jon stayed while the section tried again. It held together longer, though Heward was still correcting them when Brus brought the Sixth Sword-and-Shield Century up to relieve Gerralt's men.

Gerralt came over with a shield whose binding hung loose. Its owner followed, turning a blistered hand palm upwards.

"Cinderwell?" Jon asked him.

"Hauling stone, my lord. I meant to mend it last night."

"He came back after supper," Gerralt said. "Ate what was left and slept in his boots."

Jon took the shield by its sound rim. He had seen tired men overlook worse faults than this. The work would continue, but there had to be time between putting down a pick and taking up a weapon.

"Have the returning parties look over their equipment before they eat," he told Hewyn. "Give them time to mend it. If they come in too late, do it before drill."

Gerralt took the shield back. Seeing Colin behind Jon, he caught his former pupil's eye. Jon remembered the centurion's reluctance to lose him to the household in the North. He had wanted to give Colin ten men, once the lad learnt some patience in teaching them.

"Still keeping your own shield up?"

"You can ask Ser Arthur."

"I was asking you." Gerralt looked towards the twelve, now gathering round Perkin's book. "We have some who have never held one."

Arthur gave Colin leave to help while they remained at the camp. Hewyn put four of the recruits with him and sent the others to two waiting veterans. There was no swordwork yet. They fetched practice shields and stood awkwardly with them while Colin showed his four how to hold their arms.

Jon followed Hewyn to the forge shelter with the damaged shield. Three of Ewan's experienced apprentices had charge there. Their master and Noll were at Cinderwell, working on the hammer and the new works; these men had the camp repairs under Ewan's directions.

The eldest took the shield and put it beside two pieces of harness. A pick head was heating in the hearth. Beyond it lay fittings from the works, each with a request that its owner needed them first.

At the far bench a younger boy was sorting nails against a wooden measure. He pushed the short ones into a separate pot, then brought the smith a handful of the right length.

The apprentice lifted a fitting from the bench. "That came from the crane," he said. "I've no pattern for it. The man said Lord Jon wanted it."

"Send it to Ewan with the measurements. He gives you your work here. Hewyn may put a weapon or harness ahead of it for a man going on duty."

The apprentice found the chalked board that had come with the iron and tied them together. Rymond, centurion of the Fourth Spears, arrived while he was doing it. His men were carrying stores by hand because their wagon had been taken to the works. Hewyn sent for it and kept Rymond beside him until they had agreed which days it could be spared.

On their way back Jon passed Colin's recruits. One was holding his shield almost flat against his chest.

"Out," Colin told him. "Like I showed you."

The boy pushed his arm straight. Colin caught the rim before it struck his neighbour.

"Not that far. Here—"

Arthur stopped beside them. "Let him see your arm."

Colin took a spare shield and stood beside the boy. He moved slowly this time. The recruit copied him, lost the position when he adjusted his feet, and looked unhappily at Colin. Jon saw the young guardsman begin to speak, then reset his own shield instead.

"Watch the elbow. We'll do it again."

Rollam arrived as the men were going to eat.

The guard brought him to Hewyn with Ethan's order. His clothes were bundled beneath one arm and his wrists were still tied. Jon took the officer aside and told him what the boy had admitted, then waited while he read the sentence.

"Ten years without wages," Hewyn said quietly.

"Food, clothing and shelter throughout. After that he draws ordinary pay. He serves for life."

"Has he been taught anything?"

Jon called Rollam closer. Hewyn asked about weapons, running and swimming. The boy knew nothing of a spear. He could swim, and seemed anxious to make certain the officer understood that much.

"Then you can begin with the rest," Hewyn said. "You sleep where your decanus puts you, eat with your ten and answer at the count. If you are missing, we look for you."

Rollam glanced towards Jon.

"If you try to leave the island, you come back before me," Jon said.

The boy nodded. Hewyn called for a decanus, but Rollam stayed where he was.

"My lord. When can I see my mother?"

"You may go to the castle when Hewyn can spare a guard. Your duties come first. You return with the man who takes you."

"Will she know where I am?"

"Ethan will tell her." Jon turned to Hewyn. "Arrange it with him. And have Rollam taught. He is to serve as a soldier, not spend the rest of his life carrying things because no one will train him."

Hewyn folded the order. The decanus cut the cord from Rollam's wrists and told him to pick up his bundle. Rollam rubbed one wrist, looking from the officer to Jon as though there might be something more. Then he followed the man between the tents.

Jon sat to eat. Aries brought the wrapped sword from the saddlebag and laid it beside his bowl. He had been quiet since Rollam's arrival.

Hewyn sent for Darys, one of the young trainees already attached to the camp. He came from the cooking fire still chewing and swallowed when he saw who was waiting. His boots were much mended. He had no sword belt.

"Ser Gawen and I spoke of him," Hewyn told Jon.

Jon unwrapped the blade. Beside him, Aries stopped breaking his bread.

"This belonged to Keir," Jon said. "He served in my household. His mother asked that it go to a boy whose family could not buy him one."

Darys looked at the plain pommel, then at Hewyn.

"Go on," the officer said.

"I could pay something. When I have it."

"She gave it," Jon said, and held out the scabbard.

Darys took it in both hands. He eased the blade free far enough to see the steel, then pushed it carefully home. Jon remembered Keir's mother keeping the belt. She had made herself leave the sword upon his table, though her hand had gone back to it before she left.

"Keep it clean," he told Darys.

"I will, my lord."

Hewyn sent him to the storekeeper for a belt. Aries watched until the tents hid him.

"Will he use it?" he asked.

"When he has been taught."

The boy pushed a crumb across the table with his thumb. "Keir was very quick."

"He was."

Jon waited, but Aries said nothing more. At the northern camp Keir had pulled him beneath his shield. The spear had taken Keir high in the chest. Jon remembered Aries reaching for him before Rylas dragged the boy clear. He put his bread down.

Darys returned with a belt stiff from long disuse. He tried it standing beside Hewyn, who was listening to a report from the stores. The scabbard hung badly; when he shortened the strap, the buckle caught against its mouth. He glanced towards Jon and tried the other hole.

Aries slid off the bench.

"You have it twisted."

Darys looked down. Aries took the scabbard's weight while he unfastened the strap, then passed the end back through the loop. His fingers stayed clear of the hilt.

"There. Try it now."

Darys drew the sword a hand's breadth and sheathed it again. "That's better."

He thanked Aries and went to show a companion waiting near the tents. Aries returned to his place beside Jon. He did not watch them draw the blade.

Colin rejoined the household men at the horses. His four recruits were going with the others to see where they would sleep. One tried to give back the practice shield he was still carrying; Colin pointed him towards the rack, then waited while he put it away.

Aries had Bucephalus ready. He held the reins while Jon mounted, then climbed onto his own horse. Beyond them, the decanus led Rollam out of a tent and towards the cooking fires.

* * *
​

They came back through Blackburn in the afternoon. The grain ship had finished unloading, and men were carrying the last empty sacks away from the quay. Farther south, a few of Qavo's men worked upon the smaller prize. Jon could see the pale wood where part of her rail had been replaced.

Tobin was at the harbour arm with the masons. He came to meet them when Jon dismounted, wiping stone dust from his hands.

"Your sixty will be welcome."

"Keep the skilled men where they are. Let the soldiers clear and carry."

"The mason has already told me." Tobin pointed to the damaged stretch. "He wants the loose stone out before he lays more. Some of it has gone deeper than he thought."

Jon went with him along the sound part of the arm. Water stirred between the fallen blocks. He could picture the shape below it from yesterday's measurements, but the exposed face was worse than the drawing suggested. A layer that looked firm from above had opened along a joint.

He crouched and followed it with his eyes, then asked for the mason's cord. Arthur took his elbow as he stood again.

"You need not climb down there to see it."

"I wasn't going to."

Arthur kept hold of him until he had stepped away from the edge.

Jon measured the damaged length from safe ground and worked through the additional stone with the mason. The width at the base mattered more than the neat face people would see above the water. They marked the portion that must be opened at the next low tide. Tobin would have the loose blocks carried clear so the men laying the repair could reach sound ground.

The longer harbour walls remained lines on Jon's paper. He wanted them badly enough to find himself looking past the broken arm towards the ships beyond it. He made himself return to the measured cord. Those ships would have to use this entrance for a long while yet.

Harbert and one of his learners were waiting at the shore-watch shed. The old man began to rise when Jon came in, bracing a hand upon the table, but Jon pulled up a stool before he could get to his feet.

He remembered Harbert's name upon Denys's list from Fair Isle: a broken hip and leg, a wife and two daughters waiting at home. Jon had ordered his pay continued whether he worked again or not. Catelyn had made him add someone to help his wife lift him. Now Harbert had a boy's work spread before him, and little patience with the figures.

"You let her drift here." He put a finger upon the drawing. "Which side of the mark were you?"

The boy hesitated. "Farther out."

"Then we still need the depth here."

Jon sat with them and brought the measurements back to the same tide mark. The boy had been practising inside the old harbour. A ship following his drawing would pass nearer the shallows than his boat had gone. He marked the stretch to measure again.

The survey for the new entrance would wait until the arm was repaired. Jon left Harbert the crossings he wanted measured when the men could be spared.

Alasdair found them as they were returning to the horses. He had dust up the backs of his boots and Otho's answer tucked inside his coat.

"He has the plans. Ewan and Noll were with him when I left."

"The spring wall?"

"Emrick went straight out to it. Otho wants you to see the hammerhouse channel when it is cleared. He has marked the place."

Jon opened the sheet. Otho had put a cross where the new course met harder ground, with a note asking whether the turn could be eased. Jon would need to see the cut. He told Alasdair to send word that the men could continue above it, leaving that reach until he came.

Merren reported that small carts could now pass along the quarry path; the heavier loads must wait upon the crane. Saltcliffe's optio had asked after Gella's fittings. Jon sent the question on to Noll, then returned Otho's sheet to Alasdair.

"Make sure every foreman has his copy of the assignments tonight."

They left the harbour and rode uphill. William heard them outside his workroom and opened the door before Jon could knock.

"If you want a date for the Dornishman, I haven't got one."

"I wanted to see the clocks."

"Then you may come in."

Lady Merryweather's stood upon the bench, its case still open. The weighted bar moved steadily above the wheels. William let Jon watch it for a while before showing him the new bearing.

"Three nights with this one. It no longer grips when the room cools."

"How much does it lose?"

William showed him his notes. The rate still changed, but it no longer lurched after the coldest hours. He wanted another comparison before closing the case for its final trial. Jon had handled instruments in his old life that would have made this look like a child's toy. Here, watching the teeth advance beneath the bar, he felt an affection for it out of all proportion to its accuracy.

"Good," he said. "Send for me before you pack it."

Perrin had cleared a corner for the order book. The Braavosi advance was entered at the top; the enquiries from Pentos, Myr and Tyrosh followed beneath it. Only the first had brought them money.

"The Pentoshi wants a month named," he said. "Myr has yet to send the size. But this one may answer quickly."

He laid the Tyroshi letter before Jon. The buyer would have the carved case made at home. He also wanted to send a man with the ship that collected the clock, to learn how to tend it.

"He offers more for the teaching," Perrin said. "An advance with his acceptance."

William left the bench to read the letter.

"Ask what the man knows already. If he knows his trade, I can show him how to tend this one. Someone there ought to. If they send it back for every fault, it will spend half its life at sea."

"He needn't stand at that bench to learn it." Jon indicated the unfinished parts beside the other workman. "Show him on the clock he is buying. No drawings go with him."

William read the offer again. "He asks to be taught to replace a wheel."

"Fit one we send him, yes. Make one, no."

Perrin drew his ink closer. "He may not pay the extra for that."

"Put those terms in the letter."

The extra money would have helped with the brick he had refused himself that morning. He left it out of his reckoning. William had taken years to train, and Jon meant to keep the manufacture here.

William returned the letter to Perrin. "Write out what I will show him. I don't want him arriving with a chest of tools and another promise."

"Let me see it when you have both agreed," Jon said. "And the Pentoshi?"

William could give him a range of dates if his two workmen were left at their benches. Men downstairs kept asking to borrow one for an afternoon. Jon confirmed that they were to stay, then asked about learners for the new rooms in Blackburn.

"Two," William said after considering it. "If Ethan can find two who can count and use their hands. More would only keep the others from working."

Their wages would come from the hiring allowance. William would choose them himself; a larger workshop would be of little use until he had people to put in it.

Aron's rough drawing lay beneath the book. Jon left the Dornish enquiry with William to price once the missing dimensions arrived. He would promise no date yet.

Perrin began their answer. William returned to Merryweather's clock, and Jon left him to his work.

* * *
​

The harbour signal came while Jon was washing the dust from his face.

Alasdair met him outside the chamber. "Denys, my lord. His ship is coming in."

"The galley?"

"Not with him. A boat came ahead with word. He has people aboard."

Jon was already moving. He sent Aries to Tomas and went down with Arthur, leaving the horses this time. By the time they reached the quay, Lorren's men were waiting with a litter. Wylla stood beside them with a bundle of cloaks.

Denys came over the side before the passengers. His coat was torn at one shoulder. He looked tired enough to sleep standing, but he smiled when he saw Jon.

"We have her."

Jon caught his arm with his left hand. "All five?"

"Five. Two women and three men. They gave me names for Laro." Denys took a folded sheet from inside his coat. "The galley is following under a prize crew. I brought these back in my own ship. She was fit to make the passage sooner."

Arthur took the account. Jon released Denys's arm and looked towards the rail. A woman was standing there with a sailor beside her, staring at the quay. She would not take his hand. After a moment he stepped back, and she began the descent herself.

Laro had come down with Wylla. He had kept behind the bearers until he saw her face. Then he called a name and pushed past them.

The woman stopped halfway. One hand tightened upon the rope. Laro said it again, laughing now, though the sound broke in his throat. She hurried the last few steps and caught him so hard that he stumbled.

Jon stood aside. Behind her came a man with one foot wrapped in linen, leaning upon a sailor. Two others followed. The last woman had to be brought down with help; Lorren went to her at once, speaking gently while he examined her.

All five. Jon counted them twice before he could stop himself.

Denys had caught the galley outside the creek before dawn. The scout had stayed with her when she began to move, and the warning had given him time to come across her course. There had been fighting, men hurt on both ships. His account named those of his own crew who needed tending. The galley's master and surviving fighting men were under guard aboard their prize.

"I left a man who knows that coast with them," he said. "They are taking her slowly. She will come in when she comes."

"And you are staying."

Denys looked at him in surprise.

"For now," Jon said. "Eat, sleep and let Lorren look at that shoulder. Tomorrow I need you with Ethan, Abel and Marrec. We have set money aside for the eastern search, but I will not choose ships without hearing you."

"I thought you might want me out again by nightfall."

"You have men still coming home. See to them first."

Denys nodded, and Jon went to Laro.

The young man was trying to speak to everyone at once. He brought one of the rescued men forward, then stopped when he saw Lorren's litter being lifted. His friend said something sharply in Lysene. Jon caught enough to understand that Laro was being told to let the healer work.

"There is a room ready," Jon said in High Valyrian. "You can go with them."

Laro answered too quickly. Jon asked him to slow down, and the second time understood his thanks.

"Tell Tomas they are all here," Jon said to Alasdair. "Tell him you saw them."

He waited until the last had left the quay, then went back to the castle behind them.

Lorren kept him out until he had finished. Jon used the time to read Denys's account with Arthur. The rescued people had come from the same galley the mate had named. Whatever Neresso said when he arrived, they would now have living witnesses to set beside the ships and the goods.

"The mate will hear the ship came in," Arthur said. "Men talk."

"Let him hear that much. No names, and none of what Denys has written." Jon folded the account. "He can imagine the rest."

When Lorren let him enter, Laro was sitting upon a stool between two of the beds. Someone had brought broth. The woman who had embraced him at the quay held hers in both hands, breathing in the steam.

Jon stayed near the door until she looked up. Without the crowd and the ship behind her, she seemed smaller. The borrowed cloak had slipped from one shoulder. Wylla put it back without interrupting what Laro was saying.

He made the introductions slowly enough for Jon to follow. There were trades among them: a woman who had woven cloth, a man who had worked with rope. Others had only the work they had done in their homes and aboard the ships that took them. Jon did not ask them to make an account of it for him now.

"If you have families to send to, the maester will write for you," he said. "Laro has already given us word for his father in Lys. Yours can go with it, if that is where it must be sent."

The man with the bound foot asked who would pay the captain.

"I will."

He looked at Laro, who nodded hard.

The weaver set down her bowl. She had no husband to send to. Her sister had gone to Tyrosh years before; she did not know whether the woman still lived there. Jon listened while she tried to explain where the sister had worked. One of the men remembered the name she could not find.

"Tell the maester when you have rested," Jon said. "We have letters going east. He can put the enquiry with them."

"If she is there, can I go to her?"

"When you are well enough to travel."

The woman looked at Laro until he repeated it in Lysene. Then she drew the bowl back onto her lap. Jon sat when Wylla brought him a stool.

"There is work here too, if you want it. We need people who can weave, make rope, build and teach. You may stay on Dragonstone."

The man beside Laro looked towards the door. "For how long?"

"As long as you choose."

"And what would we owe?"

Jon heard the care with which he asked it. He had been explaining wages all morning to men who expected wages. He began again, more slowly.

"You will be paid for your work. While you are ill, you stay here and are fed. No debt is being kept against you for it. If you wish to go home when you are well, we will find passage."

The man looked at Laro again. This time the young Lysene answered at length. Jon understood most of it: the opened door, the letter to his father, the meals he had been given without being told what they cost.

He let Laro speak. When he had finished, the weaver asked whether there were other women working at the looms here.

Jon repeated the question to Wylla.

"There are," she said. "I can take her to them when Lorren says she may go."

He gave the woman her answer.

"I could show them what I know," she said. "While I wait for word."

Jon had been hoping she might stay. Instead he told Wylla exactly what she had offered. Wylla nodded and asked which cloth she had worked with. For the first time the woman answered without looking to Laro, using her hands when she could not find a word Jon knew.

No one agreed to settle that evening. One wanted his mother found; another asked how far it was to Lys. Jon answered what he could. He had expected relief to leave them easier in the room, but every offer still had to be examined for what lay behind it.

He stayed until Lorren returned. At the door, Laro caught his sleeve.

"My father will think I am dead."

"We will send the letter."

"Soon?"

Jon put his good hand over Laro's. "I will ask Marrec tonight."

Laro nodded reluctantly and went back to his friends.

* * *
​

Ethan had the guest list spread beside the harbour chart when Jon found him. Through the open door, servants were carrying bedding towards the chambers set aside for the visiting households. Gawen stood in the passage with Daemion, showing him which men were to be sent to Marros and which messages belonged with the household guard.

The boy repeated a name wrongly. Gawen made him say it again before letting him go.

Jon watched him run off, then went inside.

"Monford?"

"The lookout has a sail coming from Driftmark. If it is his, he will be here before dark." Ethan drew a chair away from the table. "The other households have sent their numbers. There is room, though Lord Celtigar's men will have to share more closely than they asked."

"They may complain to you after they have slept in the beds."

"They generally do."

Jon sat. His hand had begun to throb again, and he rested it against his leg beneath the table. Ethan noticed but did not comment.

He had laid four older packets beside the acceptances. Velaryon, Celtigar, Sunglass, Bar Emmon. Jon recognised the seals. These were the letters Ethan had kept while Jon was still in the North, with notes of ships arriving and men sent to speak on their lords' behalf.

"You have watched them longer than I have," Jon said. "What were they doing before I came?"

Ethan drew the Velaryon packet nearer.

"With Lord Monford, much what he is doing now. Watching the water, watching Hull, and making certain no one forgot how much of both he understood."

"Did he object to the grant?"

"He swore when he was required to swear. They all did. But an oath to a lord in the North left him little to alter here." Ethan found a letter and flattened its curled edge. "His captains came to us about patrols. Sometimes they asked what we meant to do. Sometimes they told us what had been done."

Jon read the passage Ethan indicated. It concerned a merchant stopped and searched in waters both islands' ships used. The captain had sent his account after bringing the vessel into Hull.

"Was he wrong to stop her?"

"No. That is why I sent thanks instead of a quarrel. But I kept the letter."

Jon looked up at him. Ethan's crooked hand rested beside the seal.

"He will not like Blackburn growing at Hull's expense."

"He will like ships buying from him," Ethan said. "He will like good patrols. He may like your harbour well enough until one of his masters brings his family to live beside it. Then he will want to know whose servant that man is."

"A free craftsman may take work where he is offered it."

"Tell him that before Marrec hires someone who owes his yard another year's work. It will spare you an argument worth hearing."

"Have the agreements checked. The work here goes on."

Ethan turned to the next packet. Celtigar's steward had asked who would receive the island accounts under the new grant and which older obligations Jon meant to recognise. He had been courteous, persistent, and much more interested in the sums than in the absent boy whose seal would stand above them.

"He will have heard about the clocks," Jon said.

"And the prizes. Men who heard that you took two ships will have made four of them by now."

Jon thought of Abel's six hundred and forty dragons, each portion already spoken for. "He can hear the true number from me."

"Let him hear what you intend as well. He will try to work out what you can afford whether you tell him or not."

The Sunglass letters were more formal. There were questions about the oath, the witnesses and the arrangements for worship while the household visited. Ethan had answered them carefully. With Bar Emmon, most of the correspondence had passed through captains: shelter in bad weather, reports from the coast, a request that a fishing boat detained for unpaid dues be allowed to sail.

Jon read that one twice. The request had come before the payment.

"Did you release her?"

"After he paid."

"Did his lord write again?"

"No." Ethan gathered the loose pages. "They were learning what they could ask of me. Now they will learn what they can ask of you."

Outside, someone opened the door to a guest chamber. Light moved across the passage as a servant carried a lamp inside. Jon could hear Gawen answering a question, his voice patient until the same question came again.

"They will ask what they asked of you," Jon said. "I would rather hear it from them than have their captains settling it among themselves."

"And the first time one tells you his father was promised otherwise?" Ethan asked.

"He brings the promise. We read it. I will honour what I owe, and he will do the same." Jon put the letters down. "I will hear their counsel. I will not haggle over whether my commands bind them."

Ethan gave a slow nod. He did not offer another caution. Instead he showed Jon where the households would sit, which chambers were ready, and where Marros would receive their armed retainers. The renewed oaths would come before the dinner, as the summons required. Guests would be welcomed at the public landing. The new naval ground was to remain under its own watch.

Arthur joined them before they had finished. He brought the old reports Jon had asked for, folded inside a plain cover. Ethan shut the door before putting the guest list aside.

There was little certain about Oswell or Gerold. Arthur set aside one account after reading the description, then kept another to compare with a name Ethan remembered.

"This man knew Gerold before the war," he said. "If he is still where the letter says, I would trust an answer from him."

Jon drew the account nearer. Most of it concerned a ship's movements. There was nothing upon the page to tell him where his uncle and aunt slept, or who stood at their door.

"If your man finds either knight, can he reach the children?"

"We must ask." Arthur rested his hand upon the table. "Gerold and Oswell went to Dragonstone when I took you north. We divided the duty. I stayed with you; they went to the queen and Viserys. I hope they are still with him."

"And Daenerys."

"And Daenerys. But finding them will be the beginning. A merchant may hear where they have been. We need someone who can remain with them until there is a ship to bring them away."

Jon thought of Laro asking how soon his letter would leave. He had been able to put his hand over the boy's and promise to speak to Marrec. His own kin were somewhere beyond that same water, with no one here able to promise him even an address.

"Denys is to bring them here, if he can find them."

"You also need him to choose the men for the ships, see to the prizes and find workmen in Myr. He cannot leave a child in an inn while he goes looking for a glassmaker."

"Then he does not." Jon looked up from the report. "Marrec has merchants for the workmen. If Denys finds my family, everything else on that voyage waits."

Arthur held his gaze, then nodded. "He will need to hear that from you."

"He shall, when we meet with Abel and Ethan. We have not settled his sailing." Jon pushed the account back to Arthur. "Prepare what he needs to ask your man. Keep the children's names off the page. We can give Denys those instructions ourselves."

Ethan drew the private papers apart from Marrec's list. Arthur took a clean sheet, but sat for a moment before beginning. Jon left him to it. He still wanted to know why no word had reached Ned. That could wait until his uncle and aunt were found.

Arthur helped Ethan sort what Denys could carry openly from what must be given to him by word. Jon sent for Marrec and asked that Laro's letter take the first trustworthy passage towards Lys, without waiting for Denys's own voyage. The Watch's fish and cloth could also be bought within the provision allowance once carriage north was agreed. Tomas's letter would go with that cargo if its captain could be trusted; until then, Gawen would keep it.

Marrec went to the harbour before the light failed. Jon stayed with Ethan, going over the households once more. He wanted the men at the landing to know whom they were receiving. No one was to turn a visiting lord's request into an order for the workmen, or take a boat from Denys because a retainer claimed his master needed it.

Alasdair knocked while Ethan was sealing the last instruction.

"Ships off the headland, my lord. The watch has made out Lord Monford's banner."

Jon got to his feet. The ache in his hand had become a steady pulse.

"Have men waiting at the landing," he told Ethan. "Neresso comes up separately under guard. When I send for the mate, bring him to the room beside the hall. Keep the doors shut between them."

Ethan took the prisoner's accounts from beneath the guest list and went to give the orders. Arthur stayed while Jon straightened his coat.

In the passage, Daemion stood beside Gawen with a lamp held carefully in both hands. Tomas's new page had joined him. Haerys saw Jon and came forward, remembering his bow this time.

"Ser Tomas asks whether you are coming back."

"Tell him I will come when Lord Monford's business is done." Jon paused beside the boys. "Did he have the news?"

Haerys nodded. "Alasdair told him. He made him tell it twice."

Jon smiled and sent Haerys back to him. Arthur was waiting at the window overlooking the bay. Jon joined him there.

Beyond the harbour arm, the leading sail came clear of the headland. Others followed. Down at the landing, the watch was making room for Lord Monford's boats.

 

[aiwonder]

Monford Velaryon came ashore before the last light had left the water.

He rose in the stern as his boat touched the steps, brushed aside the sailor's offered hand and climbed to the landing. His sea-green cloak hung open over his sword. For a moment he stood looking at the vessels drawn up beyond the harbour, while his men came ashore behind him.

"Lord Monford."

The Lord of the Tides turned. He had his house's pale hair, tied at the neck, and a narrow face reddened by the passage. He bowed to Jon, then inclined his head to Arthur.

"My lord. Ser Arthur. I had hoped to find you both in better repair."

"The hand will mend. Welcome to Dragonstone." Jon looked towards the second boat. "You have brought Neresso?"

"With my captain. He conducted the search." Two sailors were lifting a small chest clear of the wet steps. Monford beckoned them forward. "His books and letters. Some money. The goods remain under guard at Hull."

"Give the chest to Ethan."

Monford glanced past Jon. The castellan had brought men of his own to receive the prisoner; at Jon's nod, two stepped forward to take the burden.

"I would hear the charges myself."

"You shall hear him answer them."

The lord allowed the chest to pass. Beyond the landing, a porter shouted for room to bring a laden cart through. Men who had stopped to watch the arrivals drew aside, craning for another look as they returned to work.

"You have kept them busy," Monford said. "There was little enough doing when I last came here."

"There will be more when the new yard is ready."

"And four prizes to put in it, I hear."

"Two from the fight. Denys brought word of a third today. The fourth escaped."

Monford looked towards the repair beach again. "My steward's man had a richer tale. Gold enough to build another castle."

"I have one castle to put in order. It will take its share."

The second boat came alongside. Neresso sat between two guards, hands folded beneath the loose sleeves of a brown robe. His beard was trimmed and his hair carefully oiled, but he had lost a slipper coming down from the ship. He put his bare foot upon the step and winced.

"My lord." He was looking at Monford. "I have done all your captain asked. My rooms have been opened, my servants—"

"You will answer Lord Jon."

Neresso looked past him. His eyes went from Jon's face to the bandaged hand, then to Arthur. Jon let him look.

"Ethan will have water brought to you," he said. "We shall speak when your papers are ready."

"There has been a mistake about the men I employed."

"You may explain it then."

Ethan took the guards uphill with the chest. Neresso tried to catch Monford's eye once more before they led him away.

Jon followed at an easier pace, Arthur beside him and Monford on his other hand. Their households came behind. At the turn in the road, the lord stopped to examine the ships below.

"Which is the collector?"

Jon pointed with his left hand. "The two-master."

"A useful hull. Has anyone examined her lower timbers?"

"Qavo thinks she can be saved."

"Qavo is here?" Monford turned from the beach.

"He is building for me."

The wind caught Monford's cloak. He drew it back over his shoulder. "He would not settle in Hull."

A younger man had come up beside the visiting captain. His hair was almost as pale as Monford's, though strands had escaped its tie and were blowing across his mouth. He pushed them aside to look down at the collector.

"My brother, Aurane Waters," Monford said.

Aurane bowed. "My lord. I heard you had to tow her home. How much of her steering is left?"

"Enough to reach the beach. She will need work."

"I should like to see her when she comes off it."

Jon took another look at him. Aurane Waters. He remembered what the man had done in the books: persuaded Cersei to pay for ten new dromonds, picked the captains himself, then sailed off with the whole fleet when the Faith arrested her. One of the ships had even been called Sweet Cersei. The magnificent bastard had robbed her and taken her name along for the voyage.

Jon had laughed when he read it. He could feel the same amusement returning as Aurane studied his captured ship with such innocent interest. He would enjoy having this one about. He would also remember to count his ships.

"You may have the chance," he said.

Monford resumed the climb. His younger half-brother fell back beside the captain.

"Your merchant has been asking after men in my yards," the lord said.

"Marrec has my orders to find shipwrights."

"Some of those men learned their trade at my expense. I fed their families through winters when there was scarcely work for half of them. They owe more than a few days' labour."

"If they are bound to you, tell Marrec for how long. He will make no offer until he knows."

"And afterwards?"

"Afterwards I shall employ any who wish to come."

Monford looked at Arthur. Arthur walked on without answering.

"You will have every yard upon these coasts bidding against the others."

"I need men to build my ships, Lord Monford. I shall pay them to do it." Jon stepped aside for a servant coming down with an empty basket, then continued uphill. Monford followed without pursuing the matter.

At the castle, Marros received the visiting guards and showed them where they would eat and sleep. Monford's captain went to join Ethan. Servants took the sea-green cloak and brought water for the lord to wash before leading him to supper.

Jon had ordered fish, bread and onions cooked in butter. He had eaten little since morning, and the smell made him hungry enough to reach for the bread while Monford was still drying his hands. Arthur cut a piece for him without comment.

"The others come tomorrow?" Monford asked.

"Their chambers are ready."

"Celtigar has been asking what all this work costs. He takes an interest in your harbour."

Jon drew his plate nearer. "Have some fish before it goes cold."

They ate. Monford asked after the passage from the North and the tournament at Runestone, and Arthur answered him while Jon finished his first helping. When the lord enquired after Gawen, Jon told him the knight was up and about, though his arm still troubled him.

"Tomas must keep to his bed a while longer."

"The lad who stood between you and the captain?"

"Ser Tomas now. I knighted him."

"My pardon. The news had not reached me." Monford lowered his cup. "A brave deed. I hope he mends."

"So do I."

Arthur passed the onions. Monford took some and began speaking of a mast one of his captains had lost in rough weather off Massey's Hook. He gave the course and the wind, moving a fish bone across the table to show where the vessel had turned. Aurane, seated farther down, corrected the captain's name. Monford accepted it and went on.

"How heavily laden?" Jon asked.

Monford supplied the cargo, then the amount. Jon considered the turn he had shown.

"He should have shortened sail."

"He should. I have a mast for him at Hull. He will pay for it." The lord set down the bone. "There are lengths there which might serve Qavo. Sound timber, well seasoned. You could lose a year waiting for some of it."

Jon wiped his fingers. "Send Marrec the list and your price."

"I would have my own man speak with Qavo first. He knows what is in the yards. Let them look over the drawings together."

"Qavo can tell him what timber he needs."

"There is more I could offer. Men to work it, fittings already made. I should want the first vessel you can spare when your own are finished."

Aurane reached for the wine and filled his brother's cup. Jon watched the dark stream settle. Seasoned wood and trained men would bring his ships forward by months. Monford had chosen his offer well.

"Qavo's drawings remain here," he said. "Your man will have no need of them."

Monford set his cup down untasted. "A shipwright must know what he is supplying."

"Lengths and sound timber. He shall have the measurements for those."

"My own ships have claims upon the best of it. I might set some aside if I knew there would be a vessel for Driftmark at the end."

Jon thought of the bare ground below the castle and the drawings upstairs. Qavo had sworn lifelong service for the charge of those ships; his family had given their own promises. Jon meant to enclose the yard before the work began. He would not then open it to Monford's men to save a season. Once they had worked beside Qavo with those drawings before them, he would have given away years of his own knowledge.

"Finish your ships," he said. "Marrec may bid for what you can spare. I make no promise of a vessel."

"You will pay dearly for timber elsewhere."

"I shall decide what I can afford when I have the prices."

Monford studied him across the remains of supper. Jon reached for his bread. The lord could keep his timber until it rotted if those were his terms; Jon had not come to Dragonstone to build Velaryon's fleet for him.

Ethan entered as Monford took up his cup.

"The chest is open, my lord. The captain is ready."

Jon put down the bread and rose.

"Before we hear him," Monford said. "Neresso lived under my protection. His warehouse pays dues at Hull. My merchants will want to know why I delivered him here."

"Then hear the evidence with me. You will be able to tell them."

"An accusation from men you have taken prisoner?"

"Two men, questioned apart. Your captain searched his rooms."

"That does not make him guilty."

"No. It is why he will be heard."

Ethan closed the door. Monford remained seated, his cloth beside his plate.

"If I yield a merchant whenever another lord accuses him, there will soon be no end of accusations."

Jon rested his good hand upon the back of his chair. "You brought him to your liege to answer for crimes upon Dragonstone. He will answer here. If he is innocent, he leaves with you."

Monford glanced towards Ethan. The castellan stood waiting by the door.

"And if I have something to say in his defence?"

"Say it. Bring anything that bears upon the charge." Jon waited until Monford looked back at him. "Your protection will not buy him free of it."

The lord folded his cloth and left it upon the table. When he rose, Arthur opened the door.

"Let us hear him," Monford said.

* * *
​

The papers smelt faintly of damp wool.

Ethan had spread Neresso's books and letters upon the table. Monford's captain had found the books in the merchant's room and the letters in a locked box beneath his bed. Neresso had made no attempt to destroy them.

He came in wearing the robe in which he had been arrested, now dry. He had combed his beard with wet fingers. Jon received the deeper bow; Monford received the longer look.

"May I sit, my lord?"

Jon indicated the chair. Arthur stayed by the door while the merchant settled himself.

Neresso readily admitted supplying Pello, the collector's dead captain. He paid Borren for the use of the store and sent canvas, rope and oil from Hull. When Pello lacked coin, he paid in goods. Neresso opened his book and showed them the entries.

"I have dealt with him for nearly four years. Other captains use the store as well."

"Give Ethan their names."

He gave three. Then he explained the wool, the copper and the silver, naming buyers and prices with the ease of a man in his own counting room. He had been trading before Jon was born and seemed determined to remind him of it.

Jon stopped him at an entry for passage across the narrow sea.

"Who were these people?"

"Men seeking work. I found them berths when they could not pay for themselves."

"And who paid you?"

"The men who took them into service."

Jon left his finger upon the page. "A woman was brought ashore here with her ankles raw from irons. Hessa fed her. Two nights later she was put aboard another ship."

"I was not on Dragonstone."

"Was she seeking work?"

"I never saw her. I cannot tell you what happened to her."

"We found chains aboard Pello's ship," Arthur said.

"Ships from the east carry slaves. Selling a man rope does not make me answerable for everything he does with it."

"And arranging their passage?" Jon asked.

Neresso looked towards Monford. "I can answer for my own dealings. I cannot answer for every story told against a captain who is dead."

"Then answer for these." Jon tapped the book.

"I have."

For the first time he sounded irritated. His hands remained flat upon his knees.

Jon asked who stood behind Pello's voyages. Neresso named two merchants in Tyrosh and gave Ethan directions to their counting rooms. On the passage payments he would say no more. Jon sent him back under guard.

At the door Neresso turned to Monford. "There is other men's property in my warehouse. Goods held against debts. They will need my books."

"We shall have copies made," Monford said.

He waited until the merchant had gone. "He will say he trusted his captains."

"Do you believe him?"

"No. But some men in Hull will say you killed him for his warehouse. Others owe him money and will be glad to believe the charges."

"Then they can hear the evidence. Bring the mate."

* * *
​

The mate had been fed and shaved. A raw nick showed beneath his jaw. He looked over the papers before sitting, but Jon had closed Neresso's books.

"You gave us Drennan and the store," Jon said. "Where was Pello taking you afterwards?"

"South. He chose the ports."

"You were his mate. You knew where you were bound."

The man rubbed his wrist. Arthur pulled out the chair beside Jon, and he glanced round at the scrape of its legs.

"Bloodstone. The eastern anchorage, below the old fort."

"Who holds it?"

"Vhalar."

Monford leaned forward. "I heard Rolo of Myr had driven him off."

"Rolo took the south beach while Vhalar's father lay dying. Vhalar never lost the fort."

Ships were easier to speak of. At Jon's questioning the mate named eight galleys and ten longboats, all Vhalar's, inherited from his father. The two northern collectors Jon had captured were additional vessels, as was the third ship that had stood farther out during the fight.

"When did you last see those eighteen?" Jon asked.

"Before we sailed north."

He could give no reliable number for the garrison. Jon stopped him when he began counting sailors twice and asked what he had seen ashore. The mate described barracks, a repaired wall and guarded steps above the water. A spring supplied the houses below the fort. Monford questioned him about the shallows and made him trace the headland in a patch of spilt water.

Jon knew Bloodstone from histories of Daemon's wars. None told him where a boat could land now. He asked about the path behind the houses, but the mate had never followed it. Ethan left that part of his sketch unfinished.

"What did you carry back from the northern stores?" Jon asked.

"Coin. Supplies. Whatever Pello was sent for."

"Where is the coin?"

"Drazen took it."

He was Vhalar's lieutenant, the man sent to collect from the northern captains. The mate had helped carry chests onto his sailing ship at their last meeting before Dragonstone. He had seen bags of gold and silver opened for the reckoning, and other chests already below. He did not know their worth. Borren's store had not yet been emptied when Jon's men came ashore.

"Drazen was aboard the ship that waited farthest out?" Arthur asked.

"Yes." The mate looked between them. "Did she get clear?"

"She did."

He drew his hands off the table.

"Then he'll be going back."

"To Bloodstone?" Jon asked.

The mate stared at the closed books. Ethan waited with his pen above the page.

"My woman is there."

"Does Drazen know you lived?"

"He'll find out. And if your ships turn up asking after the fort, Vhalar will know someone talked." He looked at the guard. "I'm saying nothing more while she's there."

Jon sent the guard into the passage and waited for the door to close.

"Tell me her name."

"Let me fetch her."

"You are staying here."

"Then bring her away first."

"How do you expect us to find her?"

The mate had offered silver readily enough after his capture. He had spoken of the people in the hold as cargo. Now he sat with his jaw clenched, unable to trust them with one woman's name.

Jon let the silence last. He studied the sketch, weighing what it would take to land men at Bloodstone and seize the anchorage.

"I will try to save her," Jon said. "That is all I can promise."

"How?"

"That is for me to decide."

The mate stared at him. His eyes went to the door, then back to Jon. At last he leaned forward.

"Merra. Her brother is Tero, a caulker. Two fingers missing from his left hand. The pitch sellers below the fort know him."

Ethan took the names and directions on a separate sheet, then folded the sheet and set it apart from the account. Jon poured water with his left hand. The mate drank before he would look at him again.

"What did Vhalar want the money for?"

"Moreo. I heard him say Moreo had held the western landing long enough. I was at the fort with Pello."

"Has he attacked?"

"I don't know. The captains were talking of it when we left. Pello said Vhalar meant to move once the collections came south."

Money was short then. Some crews were still waiting to be paid. Besides Drazen's collections, Vhalar expected a Tyroshi factor with the proceeds of copper and silver sold in the east. The factor was buying grain as well. Pello had received word at Hull and meant to be back before him.

"Did he give a day?"

"No, my lord."

Jon told Ethan to have the other prisoners questioned separately about Drazen's cargo. Then he drew Neresso's book towards him.

"What did this man do for Pello?"

"Sold what we brought. Took his share. He's Vhalar's cousin."

Monford's hand stopped beside the sketch.

"Who told you that?"

"Pello. They quarrelled over eight bales of wet wool last autumn. Neresso wanted his money. Pello said being Vhalar's cousin didn't spare him his share of a loss."

He remembered Neresso sending his clerk Harro to inspect the bales. Monford's captain confirmed that Harro was under guard at Hull. Ethan found the eight bales in the book, with part of the loss charged to Neresso. Jon left the page open.

"Did he see the captives?"

"Once. In a lighter at Hull. He said two were too old for the price."

The captain looked up from the book.

"Where did Pello get his captives?" Arthur asked.

"Men ashore brought some. We took others from fishing boats. Pello chose who went south."

"And you?" Jon asked.

"I did what I was told."

"Did you guard them?"

The mate looked at Ethan's folded sheet.

"Yes."

Jon thought of Laro running to meet the woman from Denys's ship. Five brought home. There were families still watching for boats that would never bring anyone back.

"How many does Vhalar hold at Bloodstone?"

"Two hundred. Three, perhaps. I never counted them."

That was when he had last sailed. They were kept in two long sheds behind the storehouses, below the fort. Buyers came from Lys and Tyrosh. Vhalar kept shipwrights and smiths for his own use; others hauled timber in chains. There were women and children among them, and some spoke the Common Tongue.

Jon had him mark the sheds and the guards upon Ethan's sketch. Then they went through the northern landings and the approach to Dragonstone. Drennan had warned Pello in time for him to try to empty the store. They had expected watchmen or a searching galley. The attack in the dark had caught them unready.

"Had Vhalar ordered you to take me?"

"We didn't know you were aboard."

"Pello called for me to be taken alive."

"He saw your sword. The knights trying to reach you. He thought you'd fetch a ransom."

"Did he say that?"

"No. I heard him call for you alive. The rest is what I thought."

Jon sat back. He had wondered whether a man at court lay behind the attack. Nothing the mate had told him supported it. For now, he had a captain clearing stolen goods from a store and seizing his chance at a valuable prisoner.

When Ethan finished writing, the mate asked whether Jon would spare him.

"I have promised you nothing for yourself."

"But Merra—"

"I will try to save them both." Jon called the guard. "You will repeat your evidence before my lords tomorrow."

The mate watched Ethan put the folded sheet away before allowing himself to be led out.

Monford rose and stretched his legs.

"Moreo Vaharis holds the western landing. He raided with Vhalar's father. With Rolo in the south, that is three pirate fleets on one island."

"What does Vhalar prey on?"

"Merchantmen, mostly. They strip the holds and take the crews. Ransom for those who can pay. The slave markets for the rest." He looked at the sketch. "We need to know where those eighteen ships are now."

Jon nodded. "Bring Neresso back. And send for Abel."

* * *
​

Neresso drew the book towards himself as soon as he sat down.

"Eight bales of wool," Jon said. "You shared Pello's loss when they took water. What share did you take when a cargo sold well?"

"Whatever we had agreed. I put money into his voyages. That is hardly a crime."

"Did you know the ships were Vhalar's?"

"Of course."

"Your cousin."

Neresso looked at Monford. "His father was my uncle."

"You might have told me," the lord said.

"And would you have heard another word?"

His uncle had commanded ships for Maelys, he said, then lost his warehouses years later by backing the wrong man for Archon. He had fled Tyrosh with his ships and taken to plundering his enemies' trade. Vhalar had inherited the fleet and fort when the old man died.

"I sent provisions to my own blood. I have never hidden that I trade with his captains."

"You called it trade when they brought you stolen goods," Jon said.

"Then bring the owners here. I will answer for what I bought." He turned to Monford. "Your men watched the ships unload. You took your dues."

"Did I give you leave to sell men?"

"I found them passage."

Abel came in with his gown over his nightshirt. Jon gave him the books, showed him the six passages from Hull and told him what the mate had said. Ethan brought another candle while Neresso explained his expenses. Food, freight, the hire of the lighter. Abel listened and turned back through the accounts.

"The mate saw you inspect those people," Jon said. "You complained that two were too old for the price."

"A prisoner who hopes to save himself. What have you promised him?"

"An attempt to help two people at Bloodstone. Nothing for himself."

"He will still tell you what you want to hear."

"Harro and your boatmen will be questioned as well."

Neresso's thumb stopped upon the edge of the book. "They knew only what they were paid to do."

"Then you can tell us the rest."

"They were Pello's debtors. He had a claim upon their service."

"Did you see a judgement against them?"

"No. I had his word."

"Did any of them ask you to find them work?"

"Pello made the arrangements."

Jon waited until Neresso met his eyes.

"I asked you whether they asked for work."

"No."

Abel set the second book beside the first.

"Your expenses were repaid here," he said. "Food and passage, in full. This later payment was your profit."

"My fee."

"A share of what the buyer paid for six people. It is entered beside Pello's."

Neresso read it for himself. He turned back a page, then forward again.

"I advanced the money. I stood to lose it."

"You knew they were being sold," Jon said.

"They were sold in Tyrosh."

"And you arranged it from Hull."

For a moment only Abel's pages could be heard. Neresso looked to Monford, who left the book between them untouched.

"Lord Monford knows how long I have traded in his harbour. I have paid every due asked of me."

"You will answer Lord Jon."

The merchant straightened in his chair.

"Yes. I found the ship knowing they would be sold. I received a share. But I did not take them from their homes, and I never ordered Pello to take them. Write that too."

"Where did he get them?"

"He said a coaster. I do not know which."

"You said they were debtors."

"That was what he told me."

Ethan wrote down the answer. Jon made Neresso name the ship that had carried the six east and the buyer who had received them. Neresso supplied both, insisting that he knew nothing of what happened after the sale. When Ethan read his account back, he corrected the vessel's name and made him repeat the words concerning Pello.

Jon went on to the northern buyers of the stolen goods. Neresso supplied names and directions for men at Duskendale and Maidenpool, slowly at first, then more readily when he saw Ethan recording his help.

"Some bought without knowing where the cargo came from," he said. "You will ruin honest men if you seize everyone who traded with us."

"They will be questioned."

Monford knew one of the Tyroshi houses Neresso had named; he had bought pitch through them himself. Jon would have to separate the stolen cargo from the lawful trade.

They finished with the money sent south. Neresso produced a receipt for his payment to Drazen. He could not tell them what the lieutenant had collected elsewhere. For the Tyroshi factor there was a letter: copper and silver had been sold, grain was to be bought, and the balance brought to Bloodstone. Abel found the consignment in the book.

"When does Vhalar expect him?" Jon asked.

"Five weeks. Perhaps six, from now. It depends upon the grain and the wind."

"The copper was stolen?"

"Taken from a ship. I was not there."

Jon left Abel to check the remaining entries. They had no certain sum aboard Drazen's ship and no firm day for the factor's arrival.

Neresso watched the books pass out of his reach.

"You will need men in the eastern ports. I can write to merchants who would shut their doors to your captains. Have them watch for Drazen and the factor."

"And what do you ask?"

"Let me return to Hull, under Lord Monford's eye. Keep my goods until I have done what I promise."

"No."

"I am offering you a means to find them."

"Give Ethan the names. Any letter you send will be read." Jon stood. "Tomorrow you will answer the charge in my hall. If you wish to call a witness, name him tonight."

Neresso remained seated until the guard came beside him. Then he rose and straightened his robe.

"Lord Monford, I ask that you be there."

"I will."

He went without help, asking at the door for water to wash and a clean garment for the hearing. Jon nodded to the guard.

Abel needed more time with the books. Jon told him to have copies made so that the records of lawful business could return to Hull.

"My harbourmaster will answer for this," Monford said.

"Find out what he did. If he took money, bring him here. We still need to know which ships passed through."

The lord looked sharply at him. Jon held his gaze. He would not let the enquiry end with the punishment of a careless harbourmaster.

"Ethan will send a man with your captain," he said.

Monford inclined his head. "You shall have an account."

The passage was cold after the close room. A servant had fallen asleep upon a bench. He woke at Arthur's touch and hurried away for a candle while Jon drew on his cloak.

Monford lingered by the door.

"My father said he knew every master who came into Hull." He watched the servant disappear into the darkness. "I used to believe him."

Monford wished them good night and followed the servant towards his chambers. Jon waited until they had turned the corner, then took the sketch of the anchorage from Ethan and left with Arthur.

* * *
​

Arthur waited until the chamber door was shut.

"You need not go to Bloodstone."

Jon laid the sketch upon the table. "You have decided where I am going?"

"You asked about the fort long after you had enough to judge the men who served it." Arthur took off his cloak but did not sit. "We can clear your coast without taking a war into the Stepstones."

"And wait for Vhalar to send more men?"

"Make it costly enough and he may turn elsewhere."

"To a merchantman with fewer guards. Or a village farther south." Jon pulled out a chair. His right hand caught against the back; he stopped until the pain subsided. Arthur watched him sit.

"You have been through my plans," Jon said. "You sat with Abel this morning. You know what the works will cost."

"I know we left money against need."

"We did. It will not pay for every work I have begun."

"The eastern orders will bring more."

"They will. But in Essos it is still the smaller men placing orders. It will take time for the richer merchants and magisters to see the clocks and want their own. Then William has to make them. The money will come, but I cannot put men to work on the strength of orders we have yet to receive."

Arthur draped his cloak over the other chair.

"Then let the harbour wait."

"For how long? We need more workshops and trained hands before we can fill those orders. If I wait for the rich men to come to us before I build, I will have to make them wait in turn. You have seen how much needs doing here."

"And Bloodstone will pay for all this?" Arthur sat. "We have a prisoner's account of the place and a drawing that ends at the wall. Drazen may already have warned Vhalar. You could spend more fitting out than you bring home."

"If Drazen brings the money, Vhalar can move against Moreo. I mean to strike before he does."

"Drazen left before we knew his name. He may already be there."

"Then we have less time."

"Send a ship ahead. Find out whether Moreo still holds the western landing, and what stands between you and that fort."

"No. I will not wait for a man to go there and come back. If Vhalar takes Moreo's ships while we wait, we shall have those to fight as well."

"You do not even know how many men defend the wall."

"I know."

Arthur stared at him. "How soon?"

"The day after tomorrow. With the ships already fit to sail."

"You would put men ashore upon that account?" He pointed to the sketch.

"Yes. The longer I give him, the stronger he may be."

"Or we may arrive to find he has done it already. You are risking the men on a hope that he is slower than you."

Jon had considered that. Drazen had the better start, and no wounded men or household to settle behind him. Jon could lose the race before his ships left the harbour.

"We go now."

Arthur looked at the bandage resting in Jon's lap.

"You have another expedition planned. What became of finding your wealth in the east?"

"The expedition will have to wait."

"You spoke of finding buyers and bringing craftsmen here. I would sooner see you finish preparing that voyage than take on a pirate fleet because tonight we learnt where its master keeps his gold."

"And sail in what? The ships Qavo has not built?" Jon drew the candle away from the edge of the sketch. "I considered taking the vessels we have. They will serve in the Stepstones. For the voyage I intend, I want the new hulls."

"Then give Qavo time."

"He needs a yard fit to build them in. Workshops, materials, men who can do the work. He cannot make all of that from my drawings. The harbour need not be finished, but enough of the works must be. Until then the expedition waits."

"And while you wait, you would fight a war to pay for it."

"I would punish the man who sent slavers into my waters. Neresso did not act alone. Vhalar has people shut in sheds waiting to be sold, and ships crewed by the men who put them there. There is justice to be done there."

"There are slavers all across the eastern sea."

"This one has made himself my concern." Jon met his eyes. "And yes, I want his money. I want his ships. You need not make me confess it. They would help us here, and leave him unable to send another Pello north."

Arthur leaned back.

"Tomorrow I will ask the lords for ships," Jon said. "I expect excuses. Let Ethan take them down. I would sooner sail with our own men under Denys, but they shall answer me before one another."

"You have settled a great deal since supper."

"We learnt a great deal."

"And every answer has given you something else that cannot wait."

Jon looked up from the sketch. Arthur had left it untouched throughout the argument.

"What are you hurrying to get ahead of?" his uncle asked.

"You know there is more to prepare for than Vhalar."

"I remember the throne with nothing alive left to rule. You told me that dream. You did not tell me we were running out of days."

Jon could not have given him a day or a year he trusted. Too much had changed already. That uncertainty made the unfinished works harder to bear, not easier; he knew how long it took to turn money into something men could use.

"We have work enough for years," he said. "I will not let every chance pass because it comes before I am ready for it."

"A chance to gain something, or a chance to lose you?"

"Both. I know that."

Arthur's jaw tightened. He glanced again at Jon's hand, then made himself look away from it.

"When the time comes, I will explain," Jon said. "For now I need to get these things done. Every season we spend waiting is one we cannot use again."

"Is this something Bloodraven has told you? Or have you had another dragon dream?"

Jon folded the sketch along its old crease. He had told Arthur what he had seen. Explaining how much else he knew was another matter.

"I will tell you when I can."

Arthur remained seated. Jon let him weigh the answer without adding to it. At last his uncle reached for his cloak.

"I'll hold you to that."

* * *
​

By noon the yard was full of other men's colours.

A groom led away a horse beneath the red crabs of Celtigar. Beyond him, Lady Mylenda Bar Emmon brushed a speck from her son's shoulder. Duram endured it with his chin raised. His sword hung too high; as soon as she finished, he put his hand upon the hilt.

Jon waited at the foot of the steps with Arthur. Lorren had forbidden him to hold a sword, write with his right hand, or unwrap the dressing to see whether the wound looked better. Beneath the linen, it itched.

Lord Ardrian bowed over the hand Jon offered. He was broad through the middle, his beard neatly trimmed beneath pale brows.

"My lord. Two cases of wine from Claw Isle. Your steward has the tally."

Jon thanked him and sent Olyver to see the bearers in. Ardrian beckoned a square-built knight forward.

"My sister's son, Ser Corwyn."

Corwyn made his greeting, though his eyes had already gone to Arthur.

"Ser Arthur. Might I join you in the yard tomorrow?"

"If we have time."

"Thank you, ser."

He followed his uncle up the steps, looking pleased with the visit already.

Guncer Sunglass brought a septon and several of his household. Jon recognised the knight at his shoulder a moment before he bowed.

"Ser Eustace. You came."

"You asked me to, my lord. When my cousin said he was sailing, I begged a place."

"Have you recovered from your turn with Ser Arthur?"

"I have been trying to finish my attacks." Eustace glanced at Arthur. "He said I broke them off too soon."

"We shall see."

Guncer waited to present his septon, then his nephew, Ser Elyas. The younger Sunglass handed a bow case to a servant but kept a small leather satchel close against his side. Jon returned his greeting and asked after the book protruding from it. A table of the stars, Elyas said; some of the leaves had been spoiled during the crossing. He hoped Jon's maester might have a copy. Guncer brought the introduction to an end before his nephew could show them the damage.

Mylenda let her son speak first.

"Lord Jon. Thank you for receiving us."

The words had been practised. Duram got through them without looking at her.

"Lord Duram. Lady Mylenda. A good passage?"

"Very good," the boy said.

"He was on deck before dawn. He meant to have the first sight of Dragonstone."

"I saw the smoke."

"Your chambers look towards the mountain," Jon told him. "You may watch it from there."

Mylenda thanked him and called forward Ser Garon Bar Emmon. He carried a packet wrapped against the sea air.

"Our shipping accounts. Ser Garon has seen the work upon the galley himself. He can answer for the repairs."

Ethan received the packet.

"The master's estimate is folded inside," Garon said.

The castellan led them in. Jon waited for Duram to finish looking up at the towers, then went beside him into the hall.

The chair upon the dais had been made for a larger man. Jon had refused a cushion; two would scarcely have helped, and he had no wish to conduct the day's business perched upon a heap of wool. His feet reached the step. That would do.

Below him, the households found their places. The captured ships had been visible from the sea. Word of Neresso had travelled ahead of the guests from the yard, and several turned to look when guards took up their stations at the side door.

Arthur called Monford forward.

The Lord of the Tides knelt and gave his hands. He placed them carefully beneath Jon's bandaged right, without a glance at the wound. His oath carried through the hall. Men at the back who had been whispering fell quiet.

Jon promised him the protection and justice due from his lord, and raised him. Last night Monford had disputed the loss of a handful of workmen. Today he swore to put his strength at Jon's service. Before the afternoon was over, they would have to settle how much that meant.

Ardrian followed him, then Guncer. The septon watched Sunglass kneel before a lord who kept the old gods. Guncer spoke without hesitation; Jon received him with the same words he had given the others.

Duram came last, his mother a pace behind.

The hem of his cloak caught beneath his foot. Jon reached out and steadied him before he fell.

"Take your time."

The boy's ears reddened. He found the beginning of the oath and kept his eyes upon Jon until he had finished. Mylenda then gave her undertaking as regent, to govern Sharp Point in accordance with her son's sworn duty. She had made him speak for his house; when she spoke in her turn, there was no doubt who would have to find the men and money.

The hall stirred as they rose. Arthur stayed beside the chair, and the servants with the wine remained at the far doors.

"There is a judgement to be heard," Jon said. "Bring in Neresso."

The merchant wore a clean robe sent up from Monford's baggage. He had fastened it high at the throat and smoothed his beard. He bowed to Jon, then turned sufficiently to be seen by the other lords.

Ethan read the charges. Neresso had supplied Vhalar's ships, found buyers for stolen cargo, and knowingly arranged the transport of captives to be sold across the narrow sea. He gave the dates the books supplied. Where a witness remembered only a season, he said so.

Ardrian's steward began to write.

Neresso looked from Ethan to Jon.

"I have not denied my dealings with my cousin. I have given you the names of men who can speak to them. But I never sent Pello to take those people. I did not know where he had found them."

"You knew they were being sent for sale," Jon said.

"I arranged the passage. Pello had them brought to Hull. They were his."

"And you received part of what they fetched."

"For the passage, the food, the trouble of finding a ship. I explained the account last night."

Jon looked to Abel. The treasurer opened the book upon the table below the dais, but Ethan still had the dealings at the Dragonstone store to read. Neresso heard Borren's name and raised his voice.

"Borren paid the watchman. I did not. I knew nothing of that payment."

"We have no proof that you ordered it," Jon said. "Ethan, make that plain."

The castellan amended the account. Monford watched him write.

The mate was brought forward to describe the lighter at Hull. He kept his hands clasped before him as he told of Neresso looking over the captives and objecting to the value put upon two of them.

"This man was aboard the ship that fought you," Neresso said. "He would have carried you south himself if Pello had won. Now he hopes you will spare him for giving you a richer man."

"He has been promised nothing for himself." Jon turned to Abel. "Read the entry."

Abel gave the cost of six passages and the food advanced. Those expenses had been repaid. Then he read the sum left to Neresso from the sale, showing where it was entered apart from them.

"The better the price, the greater his return," he said.

"Without my money they would not have sailed," Neresso answered. "I stood to lose it."

"And expected to profit," Jon said.

"As any man would who advanced it. I did not take them from their homes."

He spoke towards Monford now. He meant to leave Pello with the blame for taking the captives and to answer only for the money. Jon had seen how carefully he counted even a small loss. He would have counted his share of these six people just as carefully.

Sunglass stepped forward when Jon invited questions.

"Were these admissions freely given?"

"I have been held under guard since yesterday," Neresso said. "And I had heard how the other prisoners were questioned."

"Were you beaten?"

"No."

"Threatened with torment?"

"No one needed to tell me what might follow if I displeased him."

Sunglass looked up at Jon.

"The mate was struck after we took his ship," Jon said. "I ordered it. Last night he was fed and questioned apart from Neresso. No one struck either man."

"I was there," Monford said. "Neresso disputed the account Ethan read back to him and corrected the vessel's name. He admitted arranging the voyage for a sale and receiving his part of the money. He also said that he had not known where the people were taken."

"That is what I have said here." Neresso faced Jon again. "I have helped you find the men you want. I have answered what I could."

Sunglass withdrew. Neresso watched him return to his place, then addressed the dais before another question could be put.

"If a fine is required, I can meet it. There are goods at Hull, debts owed to me. Men who will advance money upon my word."

"Some of those goods have owners," Mylenda said. "Their claims must be heard."

"Of course, my lady. I am speaking of what is mine." His courtesy remained exact. "Lord Monford knows how long I have traded in his harbour. I can pay."

Monford did not answer. Neresso had brought his appeal round to him again, in front of the other houses, but this time the Lord of the Tides kept his eyes upon Jon.

Jon rose, leaving his injured hand against his body.

"Neresso of Hull. You arranged for six people to be carried from Hull for sale, knowing why they were being sent. You received a share of the price. Your book records it, and you have admitted it before these lords."

"I have admitted no part in their taking."

"I have heard you." Jon waited until the merchant stopped trying to speak. "You will be beheaded at dawn."

Neresso stared up at him. Behind the lords, someone drew a sharp breath.

"Your property will remain under guard while claims are heard. Goods belonging to others will be returned where ownership is proved. What remains yours is forfeit. You may speak with the septon before morning, if you wish."

"Lord Monford."

The merchant's voice had changed. Monford met his eyes, but offered nothing. When the guards took Neresso's arms, his knees gave, and for several paces they bore most of his weight. Near the door, a woman drew a child out of their way.

Jon waited until they had gone. Abel's account remained upon the table below him. Six people had been entered there and a sum paid against them. Whether they still lived would take longer to discover. He would have Marrec begin today.

"My lords. We will speak in the council chamber."

* * *
​

Ardrian waited until the servants had set down the bread.

"You will have claims from every port between here and White Harbour. A man hears of a warehouse seized, and remembers a cargo he lost ten years ago."

"He will have to prove it," Jon said.

"That can be expensive work."

"Sharp Point can spare you some of it," Mylenda said. "We have Neresso's receipt."

Ardrian turned to her.

"Oak for our galley, ash for the oars. Paid for. He said the timber was at Hull, but when our master went to see it, the lighter had been delayed."

"Give the receipt to Abel," Jon told her.

"If he has sold it twice, my lord, I should like to know whose claim comes first."

Abel opened the smaller of the merchant's books. There were other advances, he said, and cargoes held against debts. Some of the goods at Hull had never been paid for. The coin in the chest would not cover the sums already claimed against it.

Ardrian listened with his bread untouched. Jon had seen him look at the chest when they entered; now he looked at Abel's list.

"Nothing is to be spent from it until the claims have been examined," Jon said. "Lady Mylenda's with the rest."

She accepted that. Beside her, Duram picked at a crack in the crust of his bread. He had said nothing since Neresso was taken away.

Denys brought the chart to the table. His coat was fastened loosely over the torn shoulder. Monford moved a cup so that he could unfold it without reaching across, then remained standing beside him.

"The people he sold," Sunglass said. "Will you seek them?"

Jon turned from the chart.

"We have the vessel's name and the buyer's. Marrec will make enquiries."

"And if the buyer will not give them up?"

"First we must find him."

Guncer did not look satisfied. He could offer a man or a ship if he wished to hasten the work. Jon turned back to Denys.

Denys laid a report beside the chart. The captured galley had been sighted from the headland; she should make the harbour that afternoon.

"Is that the galley your admiral took?" Ardrian asked.

"Yes," Jon said. "He brought our five missing people home on his own ship. The galley is following. Drazen escaped."

"With a warning for his master," Monford said. "If he has any sense."

"And the collections," Denys added. "We must expect Vhalar to have both by now."

Jon asked him to give the account. Vhalar commanded eight galleys and ten longboats, apart from the northern collectors and Drazen's vessel. The mate had known the captains when he sailed; he could not say where they were today. He placed Vhalar at the eastern anchorage beneath the old fort, Rolo upon the southern beach, and Moreo Vaharis at the western landing. According to Pello, Vhalar meant to move against Moreo once the collections came south.

Neresso's payment to Drazen was entered in his books. The mate had helped carry other chests aboard. Neither knew the value of the whole cargo, and it might already be spent. The separate Tyroshi consignment would bring proceeds from copper and silver, with grain bought for the fort. Neresso expected it in five or six weeks. They did not yet have the factor's sailing date.

Denys laid Ethan's sketch beside the chart. He went through what the mate had said of the sheds: two or three hundred captives at his last visit, some kept to work, others awaiting buyers from Lys and Tyrosh.

"From our coasts?" Sunglass asked.

"He heard the Common Tongue among them," Jon said. "He could not tell me more."

Sunglass bent over the sketch.

The houses had ships enough between them. Jon knew the numbers from Ethan's reports. Their captains would look to Driftmark or Claw Isle when Denys gave an unwelcome order. He preferred his own command. He would ask all the same, and remember their answers when they next came seeking a favour.

"You mean to take it," Ardrian said.

"I mean to take the anchorage."

Duram broke his crust. In the pause, the sound was surprisingly loud. Mylenda put a hand beside his plate and he laid the pieces down.

Monford looked from the fort to Jon.

"Daemon chose that place for a base. Stone above, galleys below. You will not take it by climbing over a rail."

Monford's eyes went once to the bandage. Jon left his hand where it was.

"I mean to strike before he takes Moreo's fleet as well."

"Has he not taken it already?"

"We do not know."

"Then send men to find out."

"They would need time to reach Bloodstone and return. I intend to sail tomorrow."

Monford set down his cup. "Without anyone having seen the defences?"

"Without waiting for scouts. I will take the ships we can make ready."

"You have not seen the place, you do not know its strength, and you will be putting men ashore before you can judge either."

"I may find more than I expect. I may also find him before he has swallowed Moreo's camp. That is the chance I mean to take."

Sunglass looked towards Arthur. Jon's uncle did not speak in his support.

Ardrian addressed Ethan across the table. "With the yard being built? The houses? Can you spare the men for this?"

Ethan looked to Jon.

"What ships can Claw Isle have ready?" Jon asked.

"My armed ships guard trade. Several are promised to voyages already paid for. Calling them home would break those agreements."

"When are they due back?"

"The first should return before the month is out, if the winds hold. But she is promised to a second convoy."

"And another?"

"My lord, merchants pay for safe passage. I cannot take their silver and leave them to the very men you wish to punish."

"Then name the first you can spare."

"Before we name ships," Monford said, "we should know what they are being asked to do. Burn a pirate's boats? Take his fort? Hold Bloodstone?"

"His anchorage," Jon said. "We take his fleet and free the people he holds there."

"And when you have them?"

"Leave. With the captives, the ships and what we can carry. I have no intention of playing conqueror."

Not yet. Jon looked down at Bloodstone. He wanted that anchorage, and disliked the thought of leaving it for another pirate to claim. But Dragonstone was already consuming his money and every trained hand he could find. He could not afford to keep a garrison supplied so far from home, or spare the ships to defend it. In five or six years, perhaps, with a larger fleet and the income to maintain it, taking the Stepstones need not be beyond him. He would plan for that properly.

Monford drew out his chair and sat.

"Then send to the Hand. The Free Cities will hear that a Westerosi lord is attacking Bloodstone. Tyrosh has merchants who sell to these pirates and buy their plunder."

"Some may have bought my people."

"They will not put that in their letters."

Sunglass leaned forward. "Your cause against Vhalar is plain. The men who lend him money may care more about what they stand to lose."

"And ask their archon to recover it," Monford said. "Sailing home will not necessarily end the quarrel. Lord Arryn should know what you intend before Tyrosh sends him its own account."

Denys spoke before Jon could answer. "If Drazen has brought the pay, Vhalar need not wait for the Tyroshi cargo. Moreo's ships could be his before that factor leaves port."

"Waiting may give you a sound ship in place of a hurried repair," Monford said. "You have a prize coming in today. Have you examined her keel?"

"No."

"Then we do not yet know whether she adds to your strength or your shipwright's work."

"Qavo examines her when she comes in," Jon said. "Denys will reckon only the ships fit to sail."

Monford continued before Ardrian could take up the objection.

"Make your ships ready while your men find out what is there. You need not sail before Lord Arryn has answered."

That was the restraint they wanted him to accept: a raven to King's Landing, an answer, perhaps another letter explaining why the first answer would not serve. Meanwhile Drazen could be paying crews upon Bloodstone, and another ship could be loading captives for Lys. Jon had waited upon distant decisions in his first life. The men who made them seldom had to mend what happened while they considered.

"I will send him an account today. I mean to leave on the first tide after dawn, once Neresso's sentence has been carried out. The ships that can sail will go with me."

"Then you ask us to commit our crews tonight," Mylenda said, "to an attack for which you cannot tell us the enemy's strength."

"I have told you what we know. I am asking whether you will send them."

Sunglass folded his hands upon the table.

"My oath requires me to defend these coasts. My ships will answer for that. I cannot leave Sweetport Sound bare while we discover how many enemies this raid will bring us."

"Nor can I leave our merchants without their escorts," Ardrian said.

"And Sharp Point has one galley under repair," Mylenda said. "You have heard what became of the timber for her."

"Our cog has carried men," Duram said.

His mother turned towards him. For a moment Jon thought she would silence the boy outright.

"Between our own ports," she said. "Where her master knows the water, and can put in if the weather turns." She faced Jon again. "She may serve here. I cannot pledge her to Bloodstone."

Duram kept his eyes upon his plate. Jon turned to Monford.

"Driftmark?" Jon asked.

"When the Crown has settled what is to be done," Monford said. "I will not lead my men into a quarrel with Tyrosh upon the strength of a prisoner's account."

"Enter their answers, Ethan."

Jon took his hand off the chart while the castellan wrote.

"Then I shall take my own ships and men. I will command them."

Ardrian began to speak, but Jon was already turning the chart towards the Gullet.

"Your coasts will require a guard. You have all agreed upon that."

He waited until Ardrian's attention followed his hand.

"Two armed vessels from Driftmark. One each from Claw Isle, Sweetport Sound and Sharp Point, with fit crews and provisions for forty days. Send the orders today. Ships already in your harbours are to come here at once."

"The same ships cannot—" Ardrian began.

"You have told me your merchants cannot be left to these men. I agree. One armed ship will join the patrol. Your officers will help search the landings."

"Claw Isle as well?"

"All four coasts. Lord Sunglass has acknowledged the duty. I require the same service from you."

Guncer looked at Ardrian. He did not withdraw the offer.

"One vessel," Celtigar said at last. "You will have her name."

Mylenda asked whether her armed cog would serve until the galley was fit. Jon agreed. Garon was to go through the repair account with Ethan, so that they would know when to expect her replacement.

Monford let them finish.

"Who commands these patrols?"

"Denys will draw their orders. He is my acting admiral. Before we sail, he will choose a captain to command in his absence, subject to my approval. One of my armed ships will remain until your patrol is assembled."

"Driftmark supplies two of the five ships. My masters know these waters and have served beneath my house for generations."

"Then give Denys the names of the men you trust with the duty."

Monford looked down the table at the admiral. "You would choose between them?"

"I would want to speak with them first," Denys said. "A captain who knows one approach well may know little of another. Their orders must cover all four coasts."

Jon waited. Monford could offer a good man and give him the chance of command, or keep him at home to make a point.

"My captains will report here," he said.

The assent was curt.

Ethan began to set out the searches ashore. Harbour officers would supply the names of masters who had traded with Neresso, including those whose dealings appeared lawful. Local men would lead the examination of the smaller landings, with Jon's officers beside them.

"Hull has already been searched," Monford said.

"Neresso's rooms," Ethan replied. "We need the men who brought his goods through the harbour."

"My harbourmaster can find them."

"He can begin today," Jon said. "Your captain takes the names back with him. My officer will hear what they say."

"Is my harbourmaster accused as well?"

"He has questions to answer. So did one of my guards."

"Hull trades with half the narrow sea. Men who have bought a coil of rope from Neresso should not have their doors broken because your officer does not know them."

"Then let yours show him which door to knock at," Sunglass said. "Mine will have to do the same."

Monford turned sharply towards him. Guncer went on.

"I would sooner have my own man present than learn afterwards what was asked in my harbour."

"There will be no seizure for having dealt with him," Jon said. "No ship detained merely because a name is in his books. Ethan will put that in the order. Where there is evidence, I expect it brought here, with the man who can answer it."

"And until then the harbour remains under my officers."

"They continue their duties. My men go with them."

Monford considered the words. "Copies of the statements to me."

Jon agreed. The originals would come to Dragonstone. Ethan recorded both provisions, and Monford watched him do it.

Ardrian asked about masters who had changed their ships' names. Denys wanted descriptions of the hulls, old ports and known associates, not merely lists to be compared by a clerk. For a while they spoke of particular anchorages. Mylenda named a creek that could take a laden lighter at high water. Monford corrected its depth. She named the master who used it, and he asked that the man be sent to Denys.

They knew their waters. Jon listened and let Ethan fill the page.

Ardrian asked about prizes.

"If my captain takes a raider, Claw Isle will expect a return. His crew cannot spend forty days earning nothing while another crew takes their place upon a paid voyage."

"The prize terms will be settled before they sail. Identifiable goods go back to their owners upon proof. The taking crew receives its reward, with provision for the wounded. Captured hulls come here for judgement."

"And a share of what is taken at Bloodstone?"

"No."

"Our ships will be guarding your waters while yours go south. That frees men for your expedition. The service has a value."

Jon heard Mylenda shift beside him. It was a better claim than he had expected Ardrian to make.

"It does. Your people will have the same protection as mine, and your crews the same terms upon patrol. If you want a share of what is taken at Bloodstone, send a ship to take it."

Ardrian looked towards Monford. The Lord of the Tides was reading the search order.

"We shall need the patrol terms in writing," Celtigar said.

"You shall have them."

Jon had Ethan include the conduct expected of the captains. A merchant who stopped for examination did not become a prize because his cargo was valuable. There would be no reward for accusing an innocent master. Ardrian asked who would hear disputed seizures; Jon answered that they would be heard here, with the captains and claimants present.

"There is one further matter," Jon said. "I will have a man from each of your households with me. Aurane Waters. Ser Corwyn Celtigar. Ser Garon Bar Emmon. Ser Elyas Sunglass."

Mylenda looked up from the repair account. Monford's face had lost the guarded satisfaction it wore when the patrol orders were settled.

"Aurane has duties upon Driftmark."

"He will have duties aboard my ships. So will the others."

"You have heard why we cannot furnish an expedition," Sunglass said.

"I have heard why you cannot spare ships. I am requiring four men. Their passage and provisions will be at my charge."

"Ser Garon is needed for the galley," Mylenda said.

"The master is to answer for the work. Garon will give Ethan the accounts before he leaves."

She put down the paper. "He has served this house well."

"Then you have sent me a useful man."

Ardrian looked towards the door. His nephew was somewhere in the castle, hoping for a place in Arthur's practice yard.

"Corwyn is a knight of my household."

"He remains one. He will answer to my officers while he serves with me."

Jon would give them no second command aboard his ships, nor any promise of a share for the houses that sent them. Four men could be taught his way of doing things without four fleets demanding to preserve their own. And they would see Bloodstone for themselves. When their kin spoke of what Jon had risked and what he had won, there would be someone at each table who had been there.

Monford leaned back. "You ask us to trust our blood where we will not send our ships."

"I am going with them," Jon said. "They will serve under the same orders as my own men."

"Elyas is young," Guncer said.

"Denys will give him duties fit for his experience. He will learn the rest."

Sunglass glanced at Arthur. "Will they be under your eye?"

"When they are with me," Arthur said. "They will obey the captain when aboard."

Sunglass considered him, then nodded. "Elyas will report to your admiral."

Monford waited until the others had finished. "I will speak with my brother."

"Tell him to report to Denys before supper. All four are to come."

Ethan entered the four names beneath the patrol orders.

By the time the papers were gathered, the servants had twice come to the door and been sent away. Ardrian drew his chair back.

"We should send a joint account to Lord Arryn," he said to Monford. "The judgement, and our concern about extending the fighting. There may be arrangements with Tyrosh we have not heard."

Sunglass agreed. Mylenda offered her steward to make a fair copy.

Jon let them settle which clerk would write it. Forbidding the letter would only give Arryn another reason to mistrust what he was doing.

"Ethan. Send for Stewart."

Ardrian stopped speaking.

"My account goes today. The evidence, Neresso's sentence, the patrols, and the force I am preparing. Each lord's answer to my request for ships. Lord Monford's presence at the questioning is to be included."

"I witnessed the evidence against Neresso," Monford said. "I have pledged no ships to your expedition."

"The letter will distinguish them."

He would read it himself. Arryn should have the evidence before he was asked to restrain a child carried away by his first victory. Jon could imagine Stannis asking for the ships' names, Robert asking whether the slaver was dead yet. Let them have the names, the crimes, and the four refusals with the reasons given for each.

Ethan opened the door for the servants. The fish had waited through the whole council. Jon lifted the cover from his plate; the butter had begun to set along the edge.

* * *
​

The council broke apart slowly.

Sunglass went to find his septon. Mylenda sent for Garon and the repair account. Monford remained with Ardrian near the door until the Celtigar steward arrived with fresh parchment. Neither lord had forgotten the letter.

Ardrian paused beside Jon on his way out.

"Your father was said to know the value of patience."

Ned Stark had endured a great deal in silence. Jon had seen the effort it cost him. Ardrian made it sound a pleasant habit.

"He also expected his orders carried out."

"Of course, my lord."

Ardrian bowed. Jon waited until he had gone, then turned to Denys.

"Show me what we can sail."

The admiral spread his roll beside the chart. These were the ships Jon had intended to use. He read down the names with Denys, marking those whose readiness still had to be settled.

"Qavo must examine the galley before I can give you a proper reckoning," Denys said. "Even if she is sound, she needs a crew. I cannot put the same oarsmen into her and the ships we have."

"Send for Hewyn. I want all six centuries ready to embark, with their centurions. The fifty at Saltcliffe stay with their optio. No one is to draw upon them."

"And the works?" Ethan asked.

"Recall the two hundred. Send riders now. That includes the twenty working at Saltcliffe, not the fifty guarding it."

Ethan had yesterday's assignments beneath his hand. "Otho will lose his haulers. Some of the stonework will stop."

"Leave him the craftsmen and the labourers who are not soldiers. Have him secure anything he cannot finish. I will take the centuries together."

"And the men Lorren is treating?"

"Stay. Hewyn is to bring me the fit roll, not six hundred names. Your garrison remains yours."

Abel had not closed his book.

"Keep the money already committed to the works," Jon told him. "Use the reserve for fitting out and hire. No promises against Neresso's goods."

"Hire?"

"Transports. Denys, see what merchant hulls are here and can sail with us. Enough for the men and their stores, with room to bring the captives back. We cannot reckon upon ships we have yet to take."

Denys looked down his roll again. "Their masters will want to know how near the fighting you mean to bring them."

"They are hired to carry us. No boarding, no place in the battle line. Our armed ships protect them. Settle their service with them before Abel pays."

"They will charge for the danger all the same."

"Bring me the price."

Denys put a finger beside two names on his roll.

"Not these by tomorrow. One needs work below the waterline. The other has too few hands."

"Leave them. And leave one armed ship for the coast until the lords' patrol arrives. Choose her captain today."

"That gives you fewer ships to take south."

"I know. The garrison and the coast must still be held."

Denys crossed out the names. "Fair Wind may have to stay as well. I will not know until Qavo has seen her."

"Then do not count her yet. Load the sound ships today. Food and water first; the men can bring their gear aboard while the stores are carried down."

Denys looked at the mate's sketch. "He may have every galley there. If we arrive without knowing, there will be little room to choose a fight."

Jon had no answer that would give them more room. The mate had left the inland ground almost blank, and could not put a number to the men within the wall. Sailing tomorrow would settle neither question. He had decided to go despite them.

"Give the captains the account we have," he said. "They are to know its limits. I will speak with them before we sail."

Arthur moved away from the table. He had argued the matter the night before; Jon could not mistake his silence for assent.

"Aron may know a pilot already here," he said. "Someone who has made that passage."

"Ask him today. We will not wait for anyone to be fetched from Dorne."

"And provisions on the southern coast?"

"We take what we need from here. If Aron knows reliable merchants along the southern coast, get their names in case we need to buy more on the passage. I will not have to beg Doran for provisions."

"I can ask without telling Aron our strength."

"Do that. It will not hold the ships."

Denys began marking the vessels to be loaded.

Jon watched his pen. He wanted the ships, the stores, and whatever remained of the money Drazen had carried south. Some of it might already be spent. The rest could leave aboard a fast vessel while Jon fought his way through the gate.

His injured hand had begun to throb. He shifted it beneath the table. Tomas had fallen across him on a deck scarcely wider than this room; he remembered trying to lift his sword with blood running over his fingers. He could feel Arthur watching him.

"Reckon food and water for three hundred more," Jon said. "And room to carry them. Some will be too weak to climb aboard without help."

Ethan brought him the papers for Hull. Harro and the boatmen would remain under guard while their statements were taken; the goods would stay sealed while Abel heard the claims. Jon approved both and asked after the collector's mate.

"Waiting," Ethan said.

"Five years' labour in irons, then the Wall. Have the sentence read to him."

Ethan set it down. "The others were given two years."

"He was their mate. He gave orders as well as taking them. His help has saved his neck."

"Shall I have him moved?"

"Keep him apart until we have finished checking his account. Drennan's bargain stands. Labour in irons while the rest of his story is tested."

"And the woman?" Arthur asked.

"I gave my word. Keep their names for me, Ethan."

Ethan kept the folded sheet with Merra's and Tero's names among Jon's papers. It did not go among those being copied for the lords.

Denys waited until Abel had gone to fetch Marrec.

"If I go south with you, I cannot make the other voyage first."

Jon had been reaching for the next paper. He left it where it lay.

Myr. Viserys and Daenerys. He had meant to send a man he trusted to find them, and now he was filling that man's days with another voyage. The children would have no way to know that anyone was looking.

"Speak to Arthur about his contacts tonight. Have the enquiries begun. If word comes while we are south, Ethan is to get it to me at the first opportunity."

Arthur nodded to Denys. Questions could go east while they sailed south. Bringing the children away would still require a ship and someone Jon trusted aboard her; that voyage would now have to wait. Jon disliked setting it aside, but he had given the orders.

"The craftsmen can be sought through Marrec's merchants," he said. "Keep to the allowance we gave him. Bring me any message that needs a ship of our own."

They would meet with Ethan, Abel and Marrec before supper, while the visiting lords were occupied with their letters. Jon asked Denys to have the first costs ready then.

A call from below drew him to the window. Fair Wind was entering the harbour beneath her prize crew. A boat had put off from the steps to meet her. She came sluggishly into the turn; Jon watched the men move upon her deck and the bow begin to answer, until the prize master had brought her safely past the shallows.

Yesterday he had considered taking a ship like her to Valyria. He had put that aside. Fair Wind might serve against the pirates if Qavo found her sound in time; the longer voyage would wait for the new hulls and the works needed to build them.

In his first life, he had known what a seaworthy ship could endure. He could remember the feel of one beneath his boots in weather that would drive these galleys to shelter. Those memories made Fair Wind's slow turn harder to watch. They gave him no vessel better fitted for the journey.

Below the castle the carpenters were still working. Jon could see one man steadying a timber while another drove the peg. He stood at the window a little longer, listening to the blows carry across the water.

* * *
​

Jon found Arthur in the passage with Corwyn Celtigar and Eustace Sunglass. Corwyn was asking about the fighting aboard the collector.

"Your practice will have to wait," Arthur told Corwyn. "There is too much to do before we sail."

Eustace nodded. Jon waited until they had finished before asking him where Elyas had gone.

"To trouble your maester. I warned him Stewart might be occupied."

"What does he want?"

"A star table. Sea water got into his satchel. He has been trying to make out the damaged leaves since breakfast."

Corwyn came with them as far as the turn of the passage, where Elyas had his satchel open. Garon Bar Emmon stood beside him examining a page. At Jon's approach Elyas closed the book over one finger and bowed.

"The maester has been sent for, my lord. I was told I might wait. I hoped to have a copy before we sail."

"He is writing for me. Ask him after supper."

Elyas accepted that without protest. Garon returned the page and showed Jon the folded account beneath his arm.

"Lady Mylenda has given me leave to take this to your admiral. I have sent for our galley master. He can explain the repairs, and answer to your castellan while I am south."

"Make certain Ethan knows where to find him."

"I will, my lord."

Aurane was coming up from the yard as they reached the stair. Salt water had dried along the edge of one boot.

"You went down to the galley," Jon said.

"I watched her come in."

"And?"

"Denys has men aboard her already. There are merchant masters waiting to speak with him on the steps. One wanted to know whether the galley was to be sold."

"She is not. He will have other business for that man."

"My brother wants to know which ship I will be aboard."

"When Denys has settled it, you can tell him." Jon looked from Aurane to the three knights. "Go to him now. We need transports. You know men who trade through your harbours. Find which have ships here, ready to sail, and bring their masters to him. Promise neither a price nor a share of anything we take."

"Our own houses' ships?" Garon asked.

"Merchant ships for hire. Your lady has given her answer about hers. Abel will pay from my purse."

"For how many men?" Elyas asked.

"Hewyn will give Denys the roll. He will tell you what he needs. You four will have places aboard my ships."

Corwyn inclined his head. Garon began to ask about a chest still aboard his lady's vessel, then stopped and said he would speak to the admiral. Elyas closed the fastening of his satchel.

Aurane looked down into the yard. Monford stood at the foot of the stair, waiting for him.

"He will want to speak with Denys himself."

"He knows where to find him."

Aurane bowed and went down. Corwyn and Eustace followed as far as the courtyard. Elyas handed his satchel to a servant and went after them; Jon sent Garon through the council-room door with the repair account before he joined the others.

Monford drew Aurane aside before the others reached them. His hand rested upon his half-brother's arm. Jon could not hear their words. Aurane pointed towards the harbour, then back at the stair. Monford shook his head and began to speak again.

Ethan found Jon there with Stewart's first draft.

"The evidence is copied. There is room for your seal when you are satisfied."

Jon took it in his left hand. From the lower hall came Ardrian's voice, asking a servant whether Lord Monford had finished with his clerk.

"Come with me."

In his chamber he read the draft with Ethan beside him. Stewart joined them with his pen and ink. The maester had set out the crimes and evidence plainly. Jon went carefully through the lords' answers to his request for ships. Each refusal was to stand with the reason given for it. If they later claimed he had denied them a part in the venture, Arryn would have their own words before him.

Stewart added the mate's estimate of the captives at Bloodstone and Jon's intention to free them. The five patrol ships would remain in home waters. The four men would sail upon Jon's ships, without vessels or crews from their houses. Jon read the passage concerning Bloodstone once more. Nothing in it pledged him to wait for an answer.

He pressed his seal into the wax with his left hand.

"For King's Landing," he told Stewart. "Send it now."

* * *
​

The first men recalled from the works reached the camp while Jon was there.

They came up the track in a dusty file, one carrying his boots by the laces. Hewyn sent them to eat before they fetched their arms. Behind the tents, someone was beating the dinner pot with a spoon; the cook had scraped it nearly clean and was shouting for more bread.

Jon had ridden the two miles from Blackburn with Arthur. Along the road they had passed carts going the other way, loaded with casks, sacks and bundles of firewood. Perkin had stopped one at the camp gate and was making the driver take off a broken barrel. Its wet trail ended in the dust beneath the axle.

"Empty it into the sound ones," the quaestor said. "We are not sending them short because you don't want to lift it twice."

The six centurions waited outside Hewyn's tent. Malcolm and Rennick stood together, watching their returning men. Norren had a roll open across his palm; Rymond was counting names against it. Beyond them, Gerralt and Brus had set two shields upon a chest and were comparing the space they would take in a boat.

Hewyn called them in. There was scarcely room for all of them beneath the canvas, so Jon had the table brought outside.

"The work parties will come in through the evening," Hewyn told him. "I have men waiting to put each back with his century. The Saltcliffe guards have been struck from the sailing roll."

"They remain under their optio. Ethan is to see that no foreman borrows them."

"And the thirteen at drill?"

"Stay with Heward. They are not ready."

Hewyn nodded. He had set Lorren's list apart from the rest. Jon saw familiar names upon it and left it where it lay.

"Denys is hiring transports," he said to the centurions. "Each of you goes with his own men. Hewyn will settle the divisions with him. Keep the tens together wherever the ships allow it. I want to know where to find a man when we put ashore."

"Are we to take the camp down?" Malcolm asked.

"Leave the tents standing. Ethan will have them watched. Arms, cloaks, blankets and what Perkin issues for the voyage. The spare kit goes by boat; no man is to arrive at the steps carrying a tent pole."

Brus looked towards the track. "Some of mine are still at Wyrm Rest."

"A rider has gone. Muster those you have. Send the others down when they have eaten and armed themselves. Do not keep a whole century here for ten men."

"The boats may part us," Rymond said.

"They will," Hewyn answered. "Put an optio ashore and another man you trust aboard. Count them at both ends. A boatload is not a new command."

Jon let him finish the arrangements. They had men to collect, equipment to issue and a road that would carry only so many carts abreast.

Rennick wanted to know whether the hired crews had been told where they were going.

"They will be told before they take my coin," Jon said. "They carry us and bring us back. We do the fighting."

"Then we shall need our boat order before the light goes."

"Denys will have it. Send a man to him now."

The centurions dispersed. Norren caught one of the returning workmen by the shoulder and turned him towards the bread. The man had begun to protest that he had already kept his comrades waiting. Norren put a loaf into his hands.

Jon stopped beside Heward on the way to his horse. The campidoctor was mounted, his bad leg hanging stiffly against the saddle. Rollam and the twelve volunteers stood before him with their practice shields. Several had turned to watch men putting on armour beside the tents.

"Eyes here," Heward said.

They turned back, reluctantly.

"You will answer to Ethan while I am gone," Jon told him. "Keep at it. I want them further along when I return."

"They will be." Heward waited until Jon had passed, then raised his voice. "Again. From the beginning."

By the time Jon reached Blackburn, soldiers were waiting above the harbour steps and a merchant was loudly refusing to put to sea.

He was a small man with a beard divided into two plaits. Corwyn stood beside him. Aurane had one foot upon a mooring post and was watching Denys examine the man's offer.

"I was told soldiers," the merchant said. "I have carried soldiers. I was not told Bloodstone."

"You have been told now," Denys answered.

"My owners did not give me leave to lose their ship."

Jon came down the last steps. The merchant bowed when Corwyn named him, then began again about his owners.

"You have not agreed to the voyage?" Jon asked.

"No, my lord."

"Then take your ship where they sent you."

The man looked at Denys, as though he expected some payment to be demanded for having wasted the admiral's time. Denys gave him back his paper.

Corwyn watched him go. "He carried men for my uncle last year."

"To Claw Isle," Aurane said.

"He said he had room."

"Tell the next man where we are going before you bring him here," Jon said.

Denys had four masters willing to hear the terms. Marrec knew two; Garon had found another discharging cargo, and Aurane had brought the fourth from a ship at anchor. Their offers lay beneath a stone on the admiral's sea chest. He had boarded each vessel himself and rejected the numbers one master claimed he could carry.

"He counted the space his men need to work the ship," Denys said quietly. "I did not."

"Will the four suffice?"

"With the places aboard our own ships. If their cargo comes ashore, and we stow for the people we may bring back as well as those we take."

The largest merchantman lay at the quay. Garon had found a dry place for her remaining bales, but its keeper would not open the doors without Marrec's word. Elyas stood beside the scales with the mate, reading back a tally as each load came over the side. He had tied his cloak out of the way. A smear of something dark ran from his wrist to the elbow.

Abel arrived with Ethan and Marrec before the first master had finished disputing the hire. Jon kept the meeting there. The men he needed were on the quay, and supper could wait.

The four masters heard the destination, then the service required of them. They were to carry the troops and stores, remain with the escort Denys assigned, and come in to a landing when he ordered it safe to do so. Their boats would help put men and provisions ashore there and bring them away again. None was hired to close with an enemy ship or carry soldiers into a defended landing.

"If there is no safe landing?" asked the oldest master. His cap had left a pale band across his forehead.

"You stay with your escort," Denys said. "I command the approach. My ships will have to clear the way."

"And if you cannot?"

"Then you will not be ordered in."

The master rubbed at the mark left by his cap. "I want that in the agreement."

"Put it in," Jon told Abel.

He had left a warship to guard the home coast. Now another would have merchantmen to protect while he sought a place to land. Asking the lords for their ships had cost him nothing; replacing the help they had refused was already costing money and strength.

The masters bargained over the advance, their daily hire and how long they were bound to remain. Abel made each say what provisions were included. Marrec settled the cost of storing the unloaded cargo, then brought out the other business Jon had asked for. The enquiries for craftsmen could leave with his ordinary letters. Denys and Arthur would speak that night about the children; Ethan would receive any reply while they were away.

When Abel showed him what remained after the first payments, Jon read the figures twice. The thousand dragons he had held back against need would no longer be a thousand. There would be more to pay when the ships came home.

"The works' allowance is untouched?"

"Untouched, my lord. Their advances come from the reserve."

Jon approved them. Abel took the masters aside, and Marrec sent a boy running to have the store opened.

The first century came down from the camp while the last bales were still passing ashore. Malcolm halted his men well short of the quay. Those behind him closed up until Hewyn waved them back, leaving a way through for the carts. Long shields turned edgewise to let a team pass; a driver swore at a man who stepped too close to his wheel.

The waiting soldiers had gone quiet. Jon could hear the clink of their equipment beneath the noise from the ships. Some watched the boats below them. Others looked out at the merchant hulls and tried to judge the distance.

At the steps, a sailor took the first man's spear before allowing him down. The next tried to follow with his shield upon his arm.

"Hand it here. Both hands for the ladder."

The soldier glanced at his optio, who nodded. He passed the shield down and descended. In the boat he sat where the coxswain pointed, holding his bundle between his knees. The next man took the place opposite him.

Brus brought a party down with round shields piled upon a handcart. His men wanted to load them together. The coxswain would take only half: the rest would leave him no room to work the oar. Brus looked at the boat, took hold of the uppermost shield and passed it back.

"Half, then. And no one goes without knowing which boat has his."

One boat pushed off; another came in. The movement made the first look suddenly small. Jon watched a man grip the gunwale until his comrade said something that made the others laugh. He loosened his hand without quite letting go.

Arthur stood beside Jon. His eyes followed the boat until it reached the ship.

"They will have time to learn the motion on the passage," Jon said.

"I hope they have time to keep a meal down."

Jon looked at him. Arthur had not meant it as a jest.

"Have Lorren speak with the officers before they board."

"I have."

Across the quay, Mylenda and Monford had stopped beside the empty handcarts, with Duram between them. Ardrian followed, complaining that someone had sent his boat to the wrong steps. Guncer joined them from the road.

Jon was near enough to hear Mylenda ask, "How many of those men were at the works this morning?"

"Two hundred have been recalled," Ardrian said. "My steward heard the orders going out."

A workman in a soldier's belt had come down the road at a trot. There was white dust in his hair. He stopped to ask where his century had gone, then hurried back towards the waiting ranks.

"He has spent the day hauling stone," Ardrian said. "Now he will spend the night finding his ship."

"Better that than finding his place in a line he has never stood in," Guncer answered. "They know their officers."

"Their officers know the shore," Monford said. He watched Brus pass another shield into the boat. "Denys will have his work with them."

"And with those masters," Mylenda said. "I heard one refuse the voyage."

"A sensible man," Ardrian said.

"A man whose owners had given him other business," Monford answered. "The others have agreed. Their ships are sound enough for the passage."

Ardrian looked at him. "You would go in one?"

"To be carried across the sea? Yes." Monford let a porter pass between them before continuing. "I would want to know where I could put my boats when I arrived."

Mylenda watched another file of soldiers turn off the road. "He will have emptied half his camp before the evening is out."

"He means to take the place," Guncer said. "I would be more troubled if he sent a handful."

"I would be less troubled if Garon were not among them."

Monford turned towards the merchantman at the quay. Aurane was aboard, bent over the rail while a mate showed him where to lead a line. For a while none of the lords spoke.

Jon left them to watch and went to see why the next cart had stopped.

Perkin and the oldest of the hired masters stood beside a stack of water casks. The master had set his heel against one and would not let the porters roll it towards the gangway.

"Below," he was saying. "You fill the deck with these and where do your people lie?"

"They need the water."

"They need somewhere to put their feet as well."

Jon looked from the casks to the open hatch. "Can they go below?"

"When those last bales are out. Your man wants to load over them."

Perkin had a soldier waiting at his elbow with another tally. "The boats are waiting for stores."

"Load the other ships while he clears his hold," Jon said. "We have paid for the space. Use it properly."

The master took his foot from the cask.

"And those you bring back," he said. "Three hundred, your admiral said. I won't fit them by throwing their water overboard."

"Nor will I ask you to. Set their room aside now. We keep it even if I find nothing worth bringing home but people."

Perkin nodded and sent the waiting soldier to stop the next cart above the steps.

The tide had fallen far enough to lengthen the ladders by the time Denys returned from Fair Wind. Qavo had found no reason she could not make the passage; the difficulty was still men. The prize crew could bring her into harbour. They could not fight her, and making up the numbers would weaken the galleys Denys already had.

"She stays," Jon said.

He disliked saying it. He had watched her come in and begun assigning her work before her ropes were fast. Denys crossed her from the sailing roll and passed it to Hewyn.

As the light went, lanterns were hung above the steps. The last work parties came down the road in separate groups, collected by men their centurions had left waiting. Jon saw Rymond turn a half-dozen towards a cart where bread and cold meat had been laid out. Further along, Rennick was counting men into a boat with a roll held close to a lantern.

Hewyn brought word from Saltcliffe. Its twenty workmen had returned; its fifty guards were at their posts. The optio had acknowledged the order to remain.

The lords went back to the castle before the loading was finished. Monford waited longest. Only after Aurane came ashore to speak with him did he turn towards the horses.

Arthur sent for horses. Jon had meant to stay until the last century was aboard, but Hewyn still had men to count and Denys had not finished with the masters. His presence was beginning to bring work to a halt whenever an officer turned to make a report.

"Bring the final rolls to me," he told them. "I will see the captains before we sail."

On the road up, he looked back. Boats were moving between the scattered ship lights and the crowded steps. Somewhere in the dark below, an officer called a name and waited for the answer.

* * *
​

At dawn, the septon finished his prayer beside the block.

Neresso's lips were still moving when the guards helped him kneel. Monford stood with the other lords beneath the steps. When the merchant looked towards him, he did not look away.

Jon waited until the septon had stepped clear. His injured hand lay against his chest. Arthur stood beside the block with a sword drawn.

Jon gave the nod.

The blow took Neresso's head cleanly. For a moment the yard was silent, then Duram made a small, choked sound and his mother drew him against her. A guard spread a cloth over the body.

Jon stayed until it had been carried away. Then he turned to Ethan.

"The island is in your keeping."

"Until you return, my lord."

Ethan walked with him to the horses. Behind them, the septon began another prayer.

The harbour boats were waiting when Jon came down. There were no companies on the road now, no carts blocking the steps. A porter was gathering the loose ends of rope from the quay. Out beyond him, men crowded the rails of the transports to watch Jon's party descend.

Jon and Denys had heard the final rolls and spoken with the captains before dawn. The admiral met him at the foot of the steps.

"The men are aboard. We can go."

Jon handed his reins to Ethan's groom. Arthur followed him into the boat, holding it steady while he found his seat. The four men from the visiting households came after them. Aurane glanced back once; Monford had ridden down behind them and was watching from above the steps.

The boat pulled away. Jon could feel the swell beneath it before they were halfway to the ship.

He climbed aboard with his left hand upon the rope. Hewyn waited by the rail, and beyond him the deck was crowded with men Jon had watched at drill in the North. They made room for him. Some grinned; others stood quietly with their shields against their legs. He recognised one of the men who had come back from the works last night, asleep beside his pack until a comrade nudged him awake.

Jon took his place beside Denys. Arthur remained close, his cloak stirring in the wind. Across the water, the first hired master was calling his men to the sheets.

"Take us out," Jon said.

The oars struck the water. Along the rail, men turned to watch the quay recede. Ethan stood at its edge with the grooms behind him; farther up, Jon could still pick out Monford's pale head among the departing lords.

One by one the ships followed them through the harbour mouth. The roll beneath Jon's feet grew longer as they reached open water. He waited until the last transport cleared the headland, then turned from Dragonstone and went forward.

 

[aiwonder]

Tero had promised to have the galley back in the water by noon. It was past noon, and she had not moved from the shingle.

Vhalar found the caulker beneath her stern, scraping pitch from the hull. Two fingers were missing from his left hand. Beyond him, chained men were dragging a heavy timber out of the galley's path to the water, urged on by an overseer with a whip.

"How much longer?"

Tero tapped a plank with his iron. A split ran through the wood.

"This needs replacing."

"You said noon."

"I found it after." He scraped away another strip of pitch, exposing the crack. "Launch her like this and she'll take water all the way across."

"Then replace it."

"I've been waiting for your carpenter to send the timber."

Vhalar looked towards the carpenter's shelter. The man beneath it hastily bent to the stack beside him.

"You. Bring it here."

The carpenter lifted a length of timber and hurried over. Vhalar made him stay while Tero marked where it needed cutting.

"By dark?" Vhalar asked.

"If he gets this fitted."

"He will."

While the carpenter carried the timber back, Vhalar looked across the anchorage towards the open sea.

Where in the seven hells was Drazen? His second knew they could not sail without the collections. The crews wanted their shares, and Sarro would charge him for every day his ships sat waiting.

A cry brought his head round.

The timber had shifted across the stones, trapping a slave's foot beneath one end. The others had stopped pulling. The overseer struck the man across the shoulders as he tried to wrench himself free.

Vhalar caught the overseer's raised wrist before he could strike again.

"He stopped pulling," the man said.

"Get the timber off him and put someone else on the rope."

Vhalar shoved him towards the sheds.

"Fetch more men. I want that path clear when the ship is ready."

The overseer hurried away. Two slaves lifted the end of the timber while a guard dragged the injured man clear. Then they took up the rope again.

From the shore, the two slave sheds looked much as any stores might: long roofs, small openings beneath the eaves, doors broad enough for a handcart. The bar across the nearer door was as thick as Vhalar's forearm. Someone inside had been coughing since he came down from the fort. He had told the keeper to separate the sick before the Lysene buyers came. If fever got among the rest, they would offer him half what the lot was worth and congratulate themselves upon their charity.

Goro was waiting beside the boats, his thumbs hooked into his belt. The captain had a new earring, a gold ring heavy enough to pull at the torn lobe. Vhalar had seen it upon a merchant taken off Cape Wrath.

"Your men ready?"

"They were ready yesterday."

"Then keep them ready."

"They want their shares."

"Have they sent you to ask?"

Goro took his thumbs from his belt. "I'm asking."

Vhalar looked at him until the captain glanced away.

It was the last day of Sarro's paid wait. Every man along the shore knew it. The four hired ships had taken their water that morning, and Sarro's boatmaster had asked whether the last of his provisions would be sent aboard before sunset. He had asked loudly, within hearing of Vhalar's captains.

"Drazen brings the coin, you get your shares," Vhalar said. "Until then, keep them sober enough to sail."

"They've been sober three days. They've nothing left to drink on."

"Sell that ring in your ear. I don't remember seeing it when we divided the last taking."

Goro's hand rose towards the ring, then stopped. Vhalar went past him to the end of the landing.

Four of his galleys were to go west, with six longboats carrying the men who would land first. Two more galleys would watch the southern approaches. Their captains had orders to send warning if Rolo moved and fall back beneath the fort, not give the Myrishman another pair of prizes. The remaining two would hold the eastern anchorage. Of the four longboats left there, two were to carry messages; the others would serve the fort and the ships.

He had gone over it until he could see every hull in its place. He still disliked the gap between the southern watch and the west. Moreo had chosen his harbour well. Reaching it by water meant taking the ships round the northern coast, leaving Rolo behind him with most of the island between their fleets.

A shout came from the wall above.

Vhalar turned. The lookout was pointing beyond the eastern headland. Below him, men upon the shore had stopped work and were looking out to sea.

A dark sail showed between two pale strips of water.

Goro came beside him.

"Is it—"

"Get your men off the landing."

The captain went to clear them. Vhalar stayed where he was.

The sail grew. He knew the patch near its foot, darker than the old cloth around it. Drazen had refused a new one before going north. There was good use left in it, he had said, and he could think of better things to bring home than a sailmaker's bill.

Now the yard hung crooked. As the ship came round, Vhalar saw fresh timber along a stretch of rail. A little water spilled from her side and flashed in the sun.

No collector followed her.

He waited until the ship had anchored. A boat went over the side. Drazen came down into it slowly, keeping one hand upon the rope while the other hung close to his body.

Drazen stepped ashore. His beard was full of grey salt, and there was a strip of dirty linen tied beneath his coat at the ribs. He looked past Vhalar towards the waiting men.

"The chests are aboard."

"How many did you leave behind?"

"None that we loaded."

"Pello?"

Drazen wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Not here."

Vhalar let him stand there a moment. Men were pretending to busy themselves with ropes and water jars. Goro had stayed close enough to hear.

"Get the chests off her," Vhalar told him. "Put my men aboard. No one opens a lid until the clerk gets there."

Goro nodded. Vhalar sent a man to tell Sarro that his money would be ready in the morning, then began the climb with Drazen beside him.

* * *
​

Vhalar kicked the door shut.

"Two ships missing, and you come limping back with half your rail gone. What the fuck happened?"

Drazen unfastened his coat. The linen beneath it had stuck to his side. He pulled it loose, grimaced, and left it alone.

"Pello had word there were men searching the shore. He waited for them to come for the store. Two galleys came off the cove, and he went out to take them. We went with him."

"Two?"

"Two."

Vhalar stared at him. Three ships against two. Pello had spent years taking merchants in those waters, cutting off the shoreward escape while another ship came at them from the sea. He had brought home men worth ransoming and holds that paid for whole seasons of drinking. Now Drazen was standing in front of him with blood dried into his coat.

"Did they catch you drunk?"

"They caught us expecting men who'd throw their swords down."

Drazen reached for the wine jug. Vhalar caught it first and set it out of reach.

"You boarded them?"

"I did. Put men over the rail and went after them. There were shields waiting between the benches. We couldn't get round them, and their bowmen had the men behind us ducking before they could cross. When we tried again, they cut the grapnels. I lost men getting back aboard."

"And Pello watched?"

"Pello had the other galley fast. Our third ship came in to help him. By the time I got clear, the galley I'd been fighting was coming round on her. They'd have had our third ship between them."

Vhalar waited.

"I cut away."

"You left them."

"There were men pouring onto Pello's deck. The other ship couldn't turn without fouling him."

"And yours could."

Drazen's mouth tightened. "Yes."

Vhalar went close enough to smell the sour sweat in his beard.

"So you watched them take my ships and ran."

"I had your chests under my feet." Drazen kept his voice low. "You sent me to bring the money home. It's down there. Would you rather it was in their hold?"

"Careful."

Drazen's eyes went to the knife at Vhalar's belt. He had enough sense to keep his own hands still.

Outside, a man shouted for the haulers to lift together. Vhalar could hear Goro bawling over him. The first of the chests had reached the steps.

"Pello dead?"

"I couldn't see him."

"Don't tell me you couldn't see a fucking thing."

"I saw men going over his rail. I saw the other galley closing. I didn't see Pello die." Drazen swallowed. "I had men of my own to get off that deck. Nine of them are dead. Seven there, two on the way back. There's another below who won't last the night."

Vhalar looked towards the window. Nine from the carrier, besides whatever the other two had lost. Men who knew how to come alongside without smashing their own oars, who would climb into a ship while her crew were still fighting. He could buy another hull. Filling it with men worth feeding took longer.

"Whose galleys?"

"Dragonstone's. They came out from the island."

Vhalar turned back.

"Stark's bastard?"

"Unless someone else has taken his harbour."

"Neresso said he was a boy."

"Then someone has found him fighting men."

Neresso's letter had been full of new dues, new harbour officers, what this little bastard might ask to see when he began poking through other men's business. Vhalar had told him to pay what he must and send the rest. He had expected the boy to be another mouth wanting silver.

"Was he aboard?"

"I never saw him."

"The money ashore?"

"Not loaded. Pello had sent four men in for it. They hadn't come back when we went out."

Vhalar picked up the cup and hurled it into the hearth.

"Fuck Pello."

It broke against the stone. Drazen did not look round.

"The coast was crawling with men looking for that store, and he sat there waiting for a prize?"

"He thought he could take them."

"He was there to bring in my coin. Not give the bastard two ships to carry it off in."

He could hear it already. In the drinking sheds, aboard Sarro's ships, in whatever stinking hole Rolo had chosen to eat in that night. Vhalar had sent three ships north, and a boy had sent one home. Every merchant who had paid to be left alone would wonder whether he needed to pay again. Every captain with a grievance would have something to say over his cup.

"I'll have him chained to an oar." Vhalar turned upon Drazen. "The boy and every bastard who was aboard those galleys. They can row my ships until their hands rot."

Drazen said nothing. He was looking at the broken cup.

"What?"

"If they've taken our men alive, they won't have to row far to find us."

Vhalar's hand closed upon his knife.

"You think I don't know that?"

"Pello knew about Moreo."

For a moment neither moved. Then Vhalar took his hand from the knife and went to the window.

The chests were coming up the steps. His men had crowded the landing below, watching each one as it passed. They would hear about the ships soon enough. A few already knew; Drazen's rowers had mouths, and there had been men waiting to take their ropes.

The last time Drazen had come back short of ships, Rolo had been behind him. He had saved the pay then, too. Vhalar had seen what happened to captains who could no longer give their crews a taking. They drank alone while their mates found other ships.

He was damned if he would sit here losing men to that Myrish cunt while Moreo's sons pissed away a fleet in the east.

"We take the western landing."

Drazen looked up. "After this?"

"Especially after this. Orros gives us the landing. We go up the hill, gut the old man and take the rest."

"And if a galley comes nosing round here while we're doing it?"

"Two stay under the fort. Two watch Rolo. Your ship stays here until she's fit to sail." Vhalar pointed towards the window. "There are men on those walls. What would you have me do? Sit behind them waiting to see who comes?"

"Get your money out of the chests and into their hands. My men are talking already."

Vhalar looked down at the landing again. Goro had stopped a sailor beside the nearest boat and was questioning him. The sailor was waving an arm out towards the sea.

"They'll get it tonight."

"And Sarro?"

"He'll get his. He's sat here eating my stores all week. Now he can earn his fucking hire."

Drazen eased his coat away from his side. The cloth came free with a small tearing sound.

"Moreo's crews won't like seeing you kill him."

"They'll like being sold in Lys less. They put their swords down, they sail for me. Any who'd sooner die with him can do it."

"You'll still have to pay them."

"With the old man's gold. What do you think I'm going there for?"

Vhalar pushed the wine jug across the table. Drazen found another cup and poured, keeping his eyes upon it.

"You take two of the galleys," Vhalar said. "Keep his ships off my boats while I land. If Sarro does his part, they won't know where to run."

"I can do that."

"See that you do. I'm short of ships enough."

Drazen drank. He had something more to say; Vhalar could see him considering whether to risk it.

"Out with it."

"Goro will want to call us cowards. Let him try getting his own men across a rail like that."

"Goro will take his share and get aboard when I tell him."

Vhalar opened the door.

"Go and see to your ship. And keep your men clear of Sarro until I've spoken to him. I'm not paying that fat fuck twice because one of yours sold him a story."

Drazen put down the cup. He left without another word.

* * *
​

Sarro came ashore the next morning.

Vhalar watched him climb the steps with his first mate at his shoulder and two armed men behind. He had taken his time leaving the boat. First he had looked over Drazen's ship, then along the anchorage, and finally out past the headland as though another sail might yet appear there.

The payment waited inside the fort. Vhalar had kept his own captains up until well past midnight, dividing the returned money and hearing their complaints. The men staying east would have shares in the western plunder too. He had settled that before any captain could carry the grievance down to his crew.

Sarro stopped in the doorway.

"Your messenger said you had my money."

"I have."

"Good." His eyes moved to Drazen, who stood beside the window in a clean coat. "A rough passage?"

"You've seen the ship."

Sarro waited. Drazen gave him nothing more.

"Where are Pello and the other ship?"

Vhalar pulled out a chair. "Sit down."

"I saw only the one coming in."

"I know what came in."

"Then you can tell me where the others are."

"It does not matter to the work you are being paid for."

Sarro remained standing. His first mate had stopped just behind him, close enough to hear every word.

"It matters to me. I like to know the odds before I put my ships among them."

"Your ships will lie outside Moreo's harbour and frighten men who do not know how little you mean to do."

"And if the odds have changed?"

Vhalar gripped the back of the chair.

Sarro saw it. He drew his sleeve over the fading marks upon his wrist but did not look away.

"Your man has brought back a damaged ship without the two that were to come with him. You have guards round his sailors. I can ask you here, or hear six different accounts upon the shore."

"The collectors were taken," Vhalar said.

"By whom?"

"Dragonstone's new lord."

"The Stark boy?"

"His men." Drazen spoke from the window. "Two galleys. We boarded one and were thrown back. The other took Pello alongside. When we got clear, both our other ships had enemies over their rails."

Sarro looked at him for a long moment.

"Did anyone follow you?"

"None that I saw. Once we left the coast, I lost sight of them."

The merchant rubbed a finger beneath one of his rings. Vhalar had seen him do it while counting a doubtful price.

"If prisoners were taken, they can tell the boy where you keep your ships. Where you mean to take them."

"Pello knew I intended to move against Moreo. He did not know when."

"And now—"

"Now I have the money and the ships are ready." Vhalar shoved the chair aside. It struck the wall. "I have waited for the collections. I have paid you to sit in my harbour. Your mate has spoken to Orros, my men have watched the landing, and Moreo's sons are still away. How much longer would you have me wait?"

Sarro spread his hands. "Long enough to know whether—"

"Until those two shits come home with another fleet? Until Orros decides he has waited long enough and tells the old man what we offered him?"

"He would be hanging from Moreo's wall before sunset."

"Then he had better open the landing when I come."

Vhalar turned towards the door.

"Bring it."

His guards carried in the chests and set them upon the table. The clerk opened them. Sarro's eyes went to the money despite himself.

"The old balance," Vhalar said. "Your hire since Drazen returned. The advance for all four ships. Count it."

Sarro did not move at once. The clerk laid his reckonings beside the scales.

"This is my part of the bargain," Vhalar said. "Unless you mean to go back upon yours."

One of the guards set his hand upon his sword. The other did the same. Sarro's first mate shifted, and Drazen moved away from the window until he stood between the man and the door.

For a moment no one spoke.

Sarro looked at the guards, then at Vhalar. His mouth tightened. The smile he had brought ashore was gone.

"One fourth," he said. "Of the coin and goods. And I will remember this."

"As long as you do your part, I will do mine."

"My captains remain mine."

"I have not asked for them."

"And if Moreo's ships stand and fight—"

"Drazen will fight them. You show your four where they can be seen." Vhalar leaned across the table. "Will your mate stand by what he told me?"

The lean man glanced at Sarro before answering.

"Orros will give you the lower landing. His watch, his boat crews. He promised no more than that. The men at the fort answer to Moreo."

Sarro pulled the discarded chair back to the table. He sat carefully, straightened the reckonings, and called his own man to the scales.

Vhalar let the counting take as long as it needed.

* * *
​

By afternoon the crews were carrying their gear aboard.

A man came down with a stolen bedcover wrapped round his shield. Another had three knives in his belt and no shoes. Goro stood at the gangplank and made each man show his weapons before he passed. Those who had spent their shares too quickly were borrowing from shipmates at prices they would curse when the next division came.

The repaired galley had floated level through the night. Tero came out of her hold with his lamp and told Vhalar where the new plank should be checked again after the passage. Vhalar sent him back to the yard. He would have more ships to mend soon.

Drazen had gone aboard one of the fighting galleys. His own vessel would remain beneath the fort while her rail and rigging were repaired. He would take two of the four westward galleys when they entered Moreo's bay, keeping the way clear for the landing boats. The other two would put Vhalar's fighting men ashore while their rowers remained at the benches.

The six longboats loaded last. Men sat upon shields and water casks, their spears projecting over the gunwales. Three carried ladders lashed above the thwarts, with axes and spare bowstrings wrapped in oiled cloth beneath them. Vhalar made one boatmaster put four men back upon the landing before he swamped himself. They went to the next boat, grumbling until its men made room.

He had promised them Moreo's stores, his gold, and a share in the taking. They had begun to argue over it before the first oar touched the water.

At the foot of the fort, the slave keeper asked for more guards.

"For what?"

"The men in the second shed have heard you are going."

"They have eyes. What have they done?"

"Nothing yet."

Vhalar made him open the door.

The smell came out first. Men sat shoulder to shoulder along the wall, their chains passing beneath an iron bar. A woman with a shorn head drew a child against her knees. Farther in, someone turned his face away from the light.

"Keep the yard clear," Vhalar said. "Bar both doors. If anyone tries to break out, call the fort."

He waited while the keeper counted the keys back onto his ring. The two galleys staying east were ready to move, and the ships watching Rolo had taken their stations beyond the southern point. He had left men on the wall who would hang for sleeping there.

When he reached his boat, Sarro's four ships were drawing clear of their berths.

The merchant stood upon the stern of the nearest, one hand upon the rail. Vhalar raised his sword to him. Sarro inclined his head and turned to his captain.

* * *
​

The western shore emerged from the dark in pieces: a pale line of surf, the low rock at the mouth of the bay, then masts rising behind it.

Vhalar stood beneath his galley's mast with his shield upon his arm. They had rounded the island's northern coast during the night, keeping the longboats close. Now the rowers held their oars just clear of the water while the masters judged the entrance.

Above the landing stood Moreo's fort. It was a squat place of weathered stone built around an older house, with a low outer wall enclosing the stores and a higher yard behind the gate. Vhalar remembered whitewash upon the house and a chained ape that had sat upon the wall while his father quarrelled with Moreo over a prize. The whitewash had washed away. A watch fire burned where the ape's chain had been fixed.

Nine galleys lay below it, six afloat and three upon the beach. One of those ashore had been stripped almost to her ribs. Smaller boats filled the landing beneath the stores. Men were beginning to stir among them, dark figures against the pale sand.

A covered lamp opened twice at the lower steps.

Orros.

Vhalar looked to starboard. Drazen stood upon the raised stern of his galley, waiting. Beyond him the fourth fighting ship kept station, her bowmen crouched along the rail.

Vhalar lifted his sword.

The oars dipped.

They were through the entrance before the horn sounded from the fort.

A man ran along the wall shouting towards the water. Another seized the rope of the bell beside the gate and began to haul upon it. Its harsh note carried over the bay. Doors opened beneath the stores. Men came out carrying swords, some bare to the waist, others fumbling with coats as they ran.

The watch at the lower steps stood aside.

Farther out, three of Moreo's galleys were already drawing away from their moorings. One had her oars out on only a single side and turned drunkenly until men ran to the empty benches. The largest was moving towards the boats coming in with Vhalar's men.

Vhalar pointed his sword at her.

"Drazen! Keep them off the landing!"

The lieutenant raised his arm in answer. His two galleys swung across the water. Vhalar climbed down into the longboat waiting alongside, and its men thrust clear with their oars. The other boats were already pressing towards the steps.

Vhalar could hear Moreo's bell above the oars. He drew his shield higher and called to the men waiting behind him.

"There's your silver. Follow me and take it!"

The first arrow struck the water a yard short of the bow.

Vhalar watched the next flight rise from the wall. He brought his shield over his head. Wood cracked above him; something struck the man behind and knocked the breath out of him. The rowers kept pulling. Beneath their feet, water washed over the stones they carried for ballast.

To their left, Moreo's largest galley bore down upon the outermost longboat. Her bowmen crowded forward, trying to shoot past their own sail. The boatmaster shouted to his men to pull, pull, and the longboat slipped across her bow with scarcely an oar's length to spare.

Drazen caught the galley as she tried to turn after it.

His ship came alongside hard enough to break the nearest oars. Vhalar heard the crash, then the shouts of the men whose handles had been driven back against them. Hooks flew across the narrowing water. Drazen's second galley held farther out, denying the next attacker room to come round him. Moreo's third galley was still turning behind the other two.

Vhalar's own boat struck the shingle.

He went over the side into water above his knees. For a moment the stones rolled beneath his boots and the weight of shield and mail dragged him backwards. A man caught his elbow. Vhalar shook him off once he had his footing and waded clear, his sword held above the spray.

"Up! Get up the beach!"

Another arrow hit his shield. It came from the upper gate, well above the stores. The bowman who had loosed it was already reaching for another.

Vhalar ran for the lower steps.

Orros waited beside them with a handful of armed men. He was broad through the belly, with a grey beard plaited beneath his chin and a spear held in both hands. Two bodies lay near him. One had fallen across a coil of rope; the other wore the same strip of blue cloth about his arm as Orros's men.

"The landing is yours."

"The gate?"

"Shut when the bell rang."

"How many above?"

"They are still coming out of the houses."

A bolt struck the step between them and broke against the stone. Orros flinched. Vhalar pushed past him, keeping close to the wall of the nearest storehouse. His men followed in knots, splashing ashore, stumbling with their shields, shouting to those still in the boats. One stopped to haul a fallen man clear of the water. Another took the dead man's belt before running on.

Goro reached him with blood upon his cheek.

"Some of them are making for the ships."

"Let Orros have them." Vhalar caught the captain by the shoulder and pointed up the lane. "You stay with me."

The gate stood at the head of a short climb between the stores. Two square towers flanked it, their upper chambers open towards the yard. Men stood along the wall between them. There were more appearing with every breath: one pulling a shirt of mail over his head, another carrying a sheaf of spears, a boy with a bucket who vanished behind the parapet as soon as he saw the beach.

Moreo had not been idle while his sons were away. The gate timbers were newer than the wall. Iron strips crossed them at a man's shoulder and near the ground. Vhalar could see the pale heads of the nails.

"Ladders!"

They came up from the boats on men's shoulders, knocking against the corners of the stores. A shaft caught one of the bearers in the thigh. He dropped, bringing his end down with him. The men behind cursed him and tried to lift it before another flight came.

"Shields over them!" Vhalar roared. "Over them, you fools!"

Goro dragged two men into place. Others followed, lifting their shields while the wounded bearer crawled aside. The ladder rose again.

The first reached the wall to the right of the gate.

A man in a red cap went up it so quickly that Vhalar thought he might gain the top before the defenders could shift. Then a spear came over the parapet and struck his shield. He caught the next thrust upon its rim, hauled himself another rung higher, and took a stone in the face.

He fell without a sound. The man below him screamed as both came down.

The ladder hung against the wall for an instant. A hooked pole caught beneath its upper rung and thrust it out. Men scattered as it fell across the lane.

Vhalar stepped over the red cap. It had rolled almost to his feet.

"Put it up again."

No one moved.

He looked at the nearest man. A broken tooth showed beneath a lip he had drawn back from his teeth. His eyes kept going to the wall.

"Lift it."

The man bent. Someone helped him. They dragged the ladder back against the storehouse, leaving two bodies beneath the gate.

Vhalar glanced up the lane. Sending another man into those spears would buy nothing. Moreo's bowmen could shoot down into the approach while his spearmen watched the ladders, and the new gate would hold against anything they could carry in their hands.

A shutter banged above him.

He looked up. The storehouse had a loft beneath its roof, with a broad opening where bales were hauled in from the lane. It faced the left-hand tower.

"Bowmen. In there."

The door was locked. Goro put an axe into the hasp. A second stroke broke it, and the men shouldered their way inside.

"Leave the fucking goods!" Vhalar shouted after them. "Upstairs!"

He sent another party to bring the heavy timber he had seen beside the landing, a spar laid out for repair. While they fetched it, his men gathered beneath the walls of the stores, breathing through open mouths. Those who had landed from the two galleys were joining them now. The lane grew crowded. A man at the rear called that they should try the other side of the fort.

Vhalar turned upon the voice.

"And give them time to bar that too? We go through here."

A bowstring sounded overhead.

The man in the left-hand tower jerked backwards. Another ducked behind the stone. Vhalar looked up at the loft. Two archers had found room at the opening; a third knelt at a narrower window. They could not reach the whole wall, but they could reach the men looking down beside the gate.

"Keep their heads down."

The spar came up the lane, six men to a side. Others held shields over them as they ran it against the doors. The first blow boomed through the gateway. Men upon the wall shouted and rushed towards it. A basket tipped above them. Stones rattled off the lifted shields; one struck the timber and glanced into a bearer's face.

"Again!"

The spar struck. The doors shuddered and held.

Vhalar seized the nearer ladder.

"Goro. The other one. Now."

They ran them up together, one on either side of the gate. A spear struck the ground near Vhalar's foot. An arrow passed his face so closely that he felt the fletching. The ladder hit stone, slid, caught beneath the coping.

He began to climb.

The shield dragged at his left arm. He could not hold it high and use the hand properly, so he hooked his fingers over each rung and pushed with his legs. The ladder shook beneath the men coming after him. Halfway up, he heard Goro bawling at someone to climb or be thrown up.

A face appeared above the wall. A young man with a pale beard and both hands upon a spear.

Vhalar stopped one rung short of its reach.

The young man thrust down. Vhalar raised his shield, took the point near its centre and felt it bite deep. The man tried to wrench it free. Vhalar dragged the shield down and to one side.

The young man lurched against the parapet.

Vhalar let the shield go.

He climbed the last rungs with his sword hand braced against the stone. The young man still had the spear, with the shield hanging from it. Vhalar struck him across the wrist and drove his shoulder into his chest before he could drop it and draw his knife. They fell together upon the narrow walk.

A boot struck Vhalar in the ribs.

He rolled into the wall. A second man stood over him with an axe. Vhalar caught the descending haft near the head; the edge hit stone beside his ear. The man hauled back, pulling him half upright. Vhalar went with it and thrust beneath his arm.

He did not wait to see him fall. The spearman had found his knife.

Vhalar kicked him in the face and rose.

The first of his men came over the coping. Then a second. Farther along, Goro had one leg across the wall and a defender beating at his helmet with a short club. One of the loft archers put an arrow into the defender's back. Goro dragged himself over, got both feet beneath him, and struck until the man stopped trying to rise.

"The stairs!" Vhalar shouted.

Three defenders barred the descent into the yard. Behind them, others were turning from the gate. Vhalar went for the nearest before they could gather. The man gave ground along the walk, keeping his buckler close. He was good enough to turn the first cut and quick enough to answer it.

Vhalar felt the point drag across the mail beneath his arm.

He crowded in. There was no room for the buckler to swing, no room for a proper stroke. He drove the pommel into the man's mouth, hit him again, then shoved him into the defender behind. Both went down the steps.

The third ran.

Below, the yard had filled with men. Some were coming towards him; others were trying to drag a laden cart across the gate passage. Vhalar could see the bar laid in its brackets behind the doors, thick as a man's thigh.

"Down with me!"

He took the steps two at a time. His side hurt where the boot had struck him. At the bottom a man lunged from behind the stair with a boathook. Vhalar turned the shaft with his sword, caught it under his free arm and drove forward until the man struck the wall. Someone behind Vhalar finished him.

The others came down in a rush.

They hit the men at the cart before it could be turned. A mule screamed and began to kick. Its driver dropped the reins and fled towards the house. Vhalar caught a swordsman turning to follow him and cut across the back of his knee. The man fell in front of the cart, and his companion stumbled over him.

"The bar! Get that bar up!"

Goro brought men from the other stair. They crowded beneath it, straining, while Vhalar and the others held the passage. Beyond the doors, the spar struck again.

"Stop, you bastards!" Goro shouted. "Stop hitting it!"

Someone outside heard him. The next blow did not come.

The bar rose out of its brackets and fell with a crash. Men hauled upon the doors. One opened barely a foot before the cart wheel caught it.

Vhalar put his shoulder to the cart. Goro joined him. A defender came at them with a spear and was dragged down by the men squeezing through the gap. The mule kicked again, broke its trace, and lurched clear. The cart moved.

The doors swung inward.

Vhalar's men poured through, shouting his name, the names of their ships, promises of what they would do to anyone still holding a blade. The defenders gave back towards the house. A few threw down their weapons. Others tried to reach the door beneath the right-hand tower and found it already crowded with their own men.

Vhalar caught his breath against the wall.

He had lost his shield. Blood ran from a cut across his knuckles, and his left side hurt when he breathed deeply. He opened and closed the hand until he was sure it would serve.

Across the yard, a shutter burst outward. One of his men had climbed through a window. Another was trying to follow, despite Goro's shouts.

"Leave the rooms!"

The captain caught the second man by his belt and dragged him down. The first had already vanished inside.

The house door opened.

Moreo came out with his sword drawn.

For an instant Vhalar saw him as he had been when his father was alive: broad across the shoulders, fair hair bound behind his head, laughing over a captured cog while the merchant's master begged them to leave him something to take home. He had cut the man's purse from his belt and tossed it back with a single copper inside.

Now the hair was white. His mail hung loose beneath a faded blue surcoat, and a man beside him had one hand beneath his elbow.

Moreo shook it off.

"With me!"

His men came down the steps together.

There were scarcely twenty, but they knew one another. They had stood beside him through years of boarding decks and breaking holds, and they came with their shields touching. The first of Vhalar's men met them alone and went down. The second tried to turn away and was thrust through from behind.

The men who had been shouting a moment before fell back into those still coming through the gate.

"Stand!" Goro bellowed.

Moreo's men drove into them. A short spear caught Goro high upon his shield and forced him backwards. Beside him, a man dropped his axe to clutch at his throat. Vhalar saw the opening widen.

He snatched a shield from the ground and ran into it.

The first blow drove the shield against his chest. He planted his feet, struck over its rim and felt his sword glance from a helm. The man before him came on again.

"Here!" Vhalar roared. "Close on me!"

Goro struck the spearman from the side. Another of Vhalar's men pushed in against his shoulder. The retreat stopped. Behind them, more men were coming through the gate than Moreo could kill.

The old pirate saw Vhalar.

"You."

He said it so clearly that Vhalar heard him through the shouting.

"Your father knew better than to come here."

Around him his men were giving ground, but Moreo stood where he was, with his sword held low.

"He should have come years ago." Vhalar forced the spearman's haft aside. "Your time is done, old man. Mine begins here."

Moreo stepped through the gap his men made for him.

He did not hurry. Vhalar had expected a shout, some curse upon his father or the faithless men who had opened the landing. Moreo only settled his shield and came within reach.

His sword moved.

Vhalar caught the cut upon his shield. The point slid over its rim and came for his face. He jerked his head aside, felt it scrape his cheek, and struck back too late. Moreo had withdrawn behind his own shield.

Vhalar tasted blood.

Moreo had seen him snatch up the shield. He struck at its outer edge again, drawing Vhalar's arm across his body, and thrust beneath it.

This time Vhalar was ready. He turned his hip and took the point along his mail, then brought his sword down hard upon Moreo's. Steel rang. Moreo gave half a step and recovered.

Behind him, one of his men fell. Another closed the space. They were trying to give their captain room to kill Vhalar.

Vhalar went forward.

He struck high, then at the knee, then high again. Moreo met the cuts without wasting strength. His breathing grew louder. Sweat ran through his white beard. He retreated a pace towards the house, and Vhalar followed.

The retreat was an invitation.

Moreo planted his rear foot and thrust as Vhalar stepped after him. The point slipped beneath the shield and scraped across the mail at his belly. Vhalar twisted away, forcing the blade down with the shield's lower edge.

Moreo drew back for another thrust.

Vhalar struck before it came. The old man caught the blow upon his sword, but Vhalar bore down upon it and drove his shield against Moreo's, forcing it back against his chest. Moreo tried to give ground. His shoulder struck the man fighting behind him.

Vhalar shoved harder. The old pirate's knee buckled, and his blade dipped as he struggled to keep his feet.

Vhalar drew back his blade and thrust beneath his chin.

Moreo sagged against him, his sword hand trapped between their bodies.

He pushed him away.

Moreo fell upon the stones at the foot of his own steps.

One of his men cried out and came at Vhalar. Goro caught him from the side. The others hesitated just long enough for Vhalar's men to force their way between them.

"Down!" Vhalar shouted. "Weapons down, and live!"

A sword rang upon the stones. Then another.

Two men tried to reach the house. One made it through the door. The other fell upon the steps, and the men pursuing him climbed over his body.

Vhalar dropped the battered shield and stood over the old man until his own breathing steadied.

The bell had stopped.

From the harbour came a different sound: men cheering, answered by shouts from the landing. Goro went to the gate and looked down. When he returned, he was smiling through the blood upon his face.

"Drazen has two of them fast. The third came back under the beach. Orros's men have her ropes."

Vhalar looked at the house.

"Get men through every room. Roofs, cellars, the stores below. I want the ones still hiding brought out before they find a bow."

"And those who put their swords down?"

"Keep them together. I'll speak to them when we're finished."

He would need them. Nine hulls, even if one was barely a hull at all. Moreo's crews knew the channels, the coves where traders sheltered, the prices paid for cargoes that had lost their papers. They would grieve for him until their next share was counted.

Vhalar wiped his sword upon the dead man's surcoat.

Outside the gate, someone had broken a wine jar. The red stream ran between the paving stones, and men knelt with their cups in it while others fought over the jars still whole. Goro struck one with the flat of his sword and sent him after the men searching the stores.

Vhalar let the rest drink.

They had climbed the wall. He could hardly tell them now that everything behind it belonged to him alone.

A woman ran out of the house carrying a bundle against her breast. Two men caught her at the steps. The bundle fell and broke open, spilling shirts and a little wooden box. She reached for it, and one of them pulled her arms behind her while the other kicked the lid apart.

Silver scattered over the stone.

"Shared taking," Vhalar said.

The man who had bent for it looked up. Slowly, he took his hand out of his belt pouch.

"All of it."

He set three coins beside the others.

Vhalar pointed towards the gate. "Take her down with the rest."

More people were being brought out: servants from the house, a cook with flour still upon his sleeve, two girls clinging to the same older woman. Below the stores, a door had been forced open upon the captives Moreo had not yet sold. They came into the morning blinking, their ankle irons scraping the steps. Vhalar's men drove them towards the landing beside the newly taken.

One of the cooks tried to explain that she was free. The man tying her wrists told her to explain it to the buyer.

Orros came up through the gate. He saw Moreo at the foot of the steps and stopped.

"Your men have the ships?" Vhalar asked.

"Those still at their moorings. We are bringing the crews ashore."

Orros kept looking at the body.

"He came out," Vhalar said.

"He would."

"Then you knew how this would end."

The grey-bearded man lifted his eyes.

"I knew what his sons would do to the place when he was gone."

"He is gone. Keep your men together. Goro will send someone down to count the prisoners with you."

Orros understood. Vhalar saw it in the slight tightening of his mouth. He had brought him the landing, and he would keep the command he had bargained for. He would not be left alone with the ships.

"Where did he keep the books?"

Orros pointed into the house. "Above the hall. Room to the left of the stair."

Vhalar sent for his clerk.

The old man would have gold. He had seen enough being carried out already to know that. The books would tell him where the rest of it lay: which merchants held balances, which warehouses received his cargoes, what his sons had taken away and when they meant to bring it back.

Sarro would have his quarter. He could count it beneath Vhalar's eyes.

Inside, the hall smelled of spilled lamp oil and the breakfast no one had eaten. A loaf lay upon the table with a knife still in it. Someone had pulled the cushions from a bench and slashed them open. Feathers clung to the blood upon Vhalar's boot.

He crossed to the stair.

"Captain!"

The shout came through the open door. Vhalar turned, annoyed, and saw a man stumbling across the hall towards him.

"Sails!"

"How many?"

The man bent, sucking at the air.

"Speak."

"Coming round the northern point. Sarro's gone—his ships are running."

Vhalar looked past him towards the bright doorway. His men were carrying Moreo's cups into the yard.

"Rolo?" He caught the man by his coat. "What do they fly? Did you see the axes?"

The man's eyes widened.

"Black sails."

* * *
​

While the fighting still crowded Moreo's gate, Sarro had watched from the shade beneath his stern awning.

His first mate stood at the rail with a Myrish glass. He lowered it when Sarro held out his hand.

"They're getting another ladder up."

Sarro put the glass to his eye. For a moment he saw only stone. He adjusted it until the gate came into view, with men packed into the lane beneath it and a heavy timber swinging between them.

"Which one is Vhalar?"

"The left-hand ladder. Near the top."

Sarro found him. A man in mail was climbing with a shield above his head. It was difficult to tell one dirty killer from another at that distance, but the men below seemed unusually anxious to follow him.

"He does like to be first."

"And you still get your quarter."

Sarro lowered the glass. His mate was smiling at the men struggling beneath the wall.

"When it is paid."

Sarro settled the glass against the rail. Farther inshore, Drazen's two galleys lay entangled with two of Moreo's, their oars overlapping across the water. Men were fighting upon the decks. The third defender had turned back towards the beach after Sarro brought his four ships across the mouth of the bay.

That had cost him nothing. He had ordered the turn while the galley was still far enough away to believe he meant to fight. Once she ran inshore, he had restored his course and kept his distance.

"Will she come out again?" he asked.

"Not through us."

"She might, if someone tells her captain what I promised Vhalar."

"Then let us hope he keeps his bargains to himself."

Sarro smiled.

On the wall, the man they thought was Vhalar disappeared over the parapet. Others followed. The glass would have shown more, but Sarro left it where it was. He disliked the way it made a battle seem close enough to touch.

He reached for his cup. The edge of his sleeve drew back above his wrist, and he stopped with his fingers just short of the stem.

Vhalar had looked at him across the breakfast table: attentive, almost pleased, his hand closing harder while Sarro tried to pull free. He remembered the cords standing in the pirate's neck and the small, ugly satisfaction of the smile.

He had known Sarro was afraid.

Sarro picked up the cup.

"Your boat was back before we sailed?"

The mate nodded. "Both men. They spoke to the captain you named."

"And no one else?"

"No one who knew why they had gone. They took the empty water casks with them."

Sarro drank. The wine had grown warm beneath the awning.

Rolo now knew where Vhalar meant to be, which ships he was taking, and when the attack would begin. Sarro had sent no plea for assistance. He had described an opportunity to a man who made his living from them. If the Myrishman could not work out what to do with it, the tales of Redaxe Rolo had grown in the telling.

There had been no reply. That still troubled him.

Fifteen galleys and ten fast ships, if the latest count was right. Rolo had taken the southern beach while the admiral lay dying, before Vhalar could put his father's captains in order. He had known whom to pay, where to land, which men might fight and which would wait to see who won. Sarro knew captains twice his age who still called it luck.

Those were the ones who worried him least.

"He won't pass up a taking like this," the mate said. "You've left him very little to do."

"He's left us without an answer."

"Perhaps he means to answer in person."

Sarro looked at him until the smile faded.

Rolo had once spent eleven days hunting a Pentoshi captain who had fired upon his boat while they were under a flag of parley. The grievance had been real; no pirate would have let it pass. Yet Rolo had abandoned a rich, slow convoy to pursue one damaged ship, followed her into shoal water at dusk and lost a galley on the rocks. He had gone on in the boats.

One of Rolo's men had told Sarro the rest when he brought the captured cargo to market. Rolo had taken the Pentoshi captain alive. The ship was sound enough to tow, her hold still half full. He had burned her with the captain bound to the mast and sat in a boat to watch.

Sarro had asked what became of the men from the wrecked galley.

The man had not known. He had been more concerned about the price of the cargo than the crew Rolo had lost. That, too, made the account easier to believe.

If Rolo had only been a madman, someone would have killed him before he gathered so many ships. But he could wait, buy a man's servant, learn where a captain drank and when a harbour chain was lowered. Sarro could follow such calculations. He could not know when the Myrishman would decide that watching a man burn was worth more than the ship beneath him.

He wanted Vhalar between them when they met.

"Keep a man looking south," he said. "And another on the northern point. I want to hear of a fishing boat if one leaves the rocks."

"Already done."

"Good."

The mate glanced towards the fort. A shout had risen from the shore, too distant to distinguish. Men were running through the gate.

"You judged the old man's strength well."

"We haven't seen him yet."

"His gate is open."

"And men are still coming out of the house. Keep watching."

Sarro took another drink and handed the cup away.

The mate was watching the house obediently.

Vhalar would have to leave men here. He could not take Moreo's ships, empty his stores, find his money, settle the crews and march back across the island before Rolo had heard the first rumour. Every prize would hold him a little longer. Every man he sent aboard a captured galley would be one fewer standing beside him when the Myrishman came.

And if Rolo took the eastern anchorage instead, Vhalar would have to fight to get home.

He wanted them fighting here, where Vhalar's men were already bloodied and scattered among the stores. Rolo might win, but he would lose men doing it. Better still if neither captain came out alive. Taking the eastern anchorage cheaply would only give the Myrishman another fort and more gold to hire with.

"If one of the captains asks us for passage," the mate said, "what shall I tell him?"

"That I am a merchant."

The mate smiled.

"At the usual rate?"

"You may begin there."

He liked that answer. Sarro could tell. By evening, if matters went well, his mate would be repeating it to the other captains as proof that Sarro had understood the whole affair before a sword was drawn.

Let him.

There were men on this island who would drink his wine and call him a peddler to his face. They brought him waterlogged silk, spoiled spices, frightened people whose names they had never troubled to learn, and demanded the prices they had heard paid in Lys. When he told them what the goods would fetch, they reached for their knives. Then their crews wanted paying, and they came back.

Vhalar had inherited ships. Rolo had taken them. Both still needed someone who could turn a stolen cargo into silver without losing half its value at the first quay.

They might remember that when there were fewer of them.

Movement showed upon the steps of the house. The mate raised the glass, then offered it to Sarro.

"The old man."

Sarro watched Moreo's last men drive into the yard. For a little while the attackers gave ground. He could not see individual blows clearly, only the knot of shields pressing forward and the crowd thickening about it.

Then it broke apart.

"Down," the mate said beside him. "I think he's down."

Sarro held the glass steady. Men were running towards the house. Others knelt upon the stones with empty hands raised above their heads.

It had been quicker than he hoped.

"A quarter of all that," the mate said. "And our men haven't lost a finger."

"Have the signal flags ready."

"To go in?"

"To clear the bay."

The mate turned his head towards him, then nodded as though it had been the answer he expected.

"Of course."

Sarro could send for his share later. He had already collected his hire, the old balance and the advance. Those chests were below his feet, guarded by men whose wages came from his purse. The money in Moreo's house belonged to him only so long as Vhalar cared to remember it.

He had not forgotten the fingers upon his arm.

Nor had he forgotten what Vhalar had said about finding him, no matter where he went. A man who made such a promise might decide, after winning a fort, that he need no longer pay for what he could take.

Let him try that with Rolo.

The mate moved away to speak to the helmsman. Sarro rested both hands upon the rail and looked over the harbour.

Moreo's storehouses had good roofs. The landing lay well under the headland, sheltered from the worst of the weather. Ships could be watered there; cargoes could be held until prices rose. With enough coin, he could buy the services of men who had followed a dead captain. He knew which of Moreo's creditors would welcome a sensible settlement and which of his sons would sell an inheritance before trying to defend it.

Sarro had always paid other men for a safe place to put his goods.

He looked again at the house above the yard.

"Sails!"

The call came from aloft.

Sarro smiled.

"Now it begins."

The mate returned to the rail and lifted the glass towards the northern point. Sarro watched the nearest galley in the harbour. Her men were hauling a body clear of the oars. They had not heard.

"Sarro."

Something in the mate's voice made him turn.

The glass remained against the man's eye.

"Those aren't red axes."

Sarro held out his hand. The mate did not seem to see it.

"They're black."

"Black?"

He snatched the glass and swung towards the headland.

A dark sail stood clear of the rock. Another followed. Below them, oars rose and fell together, carrying the leading ships beyond the shelter of the point. There were more hulls behind, larger and slower, with pale canvas drawing in the wind.

He lowered the glass.

"Signal the others. Out. Now."

"What about Rolo?" his mate asked.

"Let them kill each other!" Sarro screamed.

Perhaps there would still be something worth taking when the fighting was done.

Sarro looked once towards Moreo's fort. Men crowded the yard, carrying what they had taken. Somewhere among them Vhalar was counting his victory.

There was no time to send a boat.

* * *
​

Jon saw smoke above the western hills before the fort came into view.

At first it lay low against the roofs. Then the wind lifted it, exposing the pale wall and the ships gathered beneath it. Through the glass he could see men upon the landing, boats moving close inshore, two galleys locked together farther out. He could not tell whose men stood upon their decks.

Their course would carry them round the northern headland to Vhalar's anchorage on the eastern shore.

Four ships were turning away from the bay.

Denys had seen them too.

"They're making for open water."

Jon lowered the glass with his left hand. His right lay against his belt, the bandage hidden beneath the cuff. It had ached through the last two nights. He had stopped expecting it to be better by morning.

"Let them go."

Denys waited.

"Keep the transports with their escort. We take the eastern anchorage."

The captain went to give the order. Beyond the rail, the four hired vessels held their distance behind the fighting ships. He had kept room aboard them for the captives they meant to bring away.

He looked towards the hills. If that was Vhalar's doing, the attack had begun before they could stop it. Whoever had won, Jon would have to learn what remained in the eastern anchorage when the coast opened before them.

Arthur stood beside the mast, one hand resting upon his sword. He followed Jon's gaze, then looked back at the ships behind them. He offered no further objection. They had spent those words on Dragonstone.

Hewyn came forward with his helmet beneath his arm. Men rose from the benches and took up shields. Aurane had gone to the rail to help pass the last quiver forward; Corwyn stood clear of the sailors, tightening a strap that was already tight. Officers moved among the legionaries, checking that every man was ready.

Jon set down the glass.

"Prepare the men," he told Hewyn. "It's time for war."

Hewyn put on his helmet.

"Black!"

The legionaries answered him, their voices striking the deck beneath Jon's feet.

"Black!"

The next ship answered, and the next. Men lifted shields above the rails. Farther back, the legionaries aboard the transports took up the cry.

"Black! Black!"