Chapter 146: The Mockingbird Cuts His Strings
The spice merchant left Petyr Baelish's solar believing that he had survived a dangerous conversation.
He was wrong.
Petyr remained beside the window long after the door closed, watching the man cross the courtyard below. The merchant paused once to speak with a servant, then continued toward the outer gate without looking back.
He had served faithfully for six years.
He had carried messages, moved coin through false accounts and introduced Petyr's agents to merchants travelling between King's Landing, Gulltown and the Riverlands.
He also knew too much.
More importantly, the enemy knew about him.
Petyr turned away from the window.
Three wooden birds rested upon the map covering his table. One marked Maidenpool, another Gulltown and the third an abandoned sept north of Duskendale.
Three lies.
Three watchers.
All three had returned without seeing the slightest movement from the people Petyr hoped to draw into the open.
That meant the enemy had recognised the trap.
Or they had ignored the rumours and watched the men waiting at each false destination.
Petyr picked up the wooden bird resting upon Maidenpool.
If the latter were true, every watcher had become a trail leading directly back into his network.
Saving those branches would only allow the enemy to follow them farther.
A soft knock sounded.
"Enter."
A broad-shouldered man dressed in the plain clothing of a minor household guard stepped inside and closed the door.
Petyr did not know his true name.
That was one reason the man remained useful.
"The spice merchant will travel through Cobbler's Square before returning home," Petyr said.
The man waited.
"There will be a robbery."
"Does he survive?"
"No."
"And the robbers?"
"One."
The man nodded.
Petyr moved the second wooden bird.
"The moneylender near the River Gate has begun transferring his records."
"Where?"
"That no longer matters. His building will burn tonight."
"With him inside?"
"If he remains foolish enough to sleep there."
The third bird followed.
"The owner of the Painted Cup will receive enough coin to reach Pentos. He is to board the Summer Maiden before dawn."
"Should the ship be permitted to leave?"
"Yes. Have one of our men travel with him."
The guard finally showed a hint of curiosity.
"To protect him?"
"To tell him that he is being protected."
Petyr's smile was faint.
"The owner knows several names, but none of importance. Anyone following him will believe they have discovered one of my escape routes. Let them spend men and coin watching him in Pentos."
"And if they capture him?"
"Then he will offer them information I selected for that purpose."
The guard bowed.
Petyr reached for a list of names and held it over the candle flame.
Fire curled along the edge of the parchment.
"If an enemy discovers the threads," he murmured, "one does not wait for him to reach the hand holding them."
The flame consumed the first name.
"One cuts the threads."
The spice merchant noticed the first shadow near Cobbler's Square.
A hooded man had been following him since he left the Red Keep. The figure never came closer than fifty paces, but he appeared at every corner.
The merchant quickened his pace.
So did the shadow.
Market stalls were closing for the evening. Shopkeepers pulled wooden shutters across their windows while apprentices carried the remaining goods inside. The crowd grew thinner with each street the merchant crossed.
He turned into a narrow alley.
Someone stepped into his path.
The merchant stopped.
The stranger wore a dirty brown cloak and held a short sword.
"Your purse," the stranger demanded.
The merchant glanced behind him.
Another man had appeared at the alley entrance.
This one carried a club.
"What do you want?" the merchant asked.
"The purse."
"I will give it to you."
His trembling hand moved toward his belt.
The short sword entered his stomach before he could touch the purse.
The merchant gasped.
The supposed robber pulled the blade free and stabbed him again.
A figure dropped from the roof.
Jon's agent landed behind the attacker and drove a dagger beneath his ribs.
The second robber charged from the alley entrance. His club struck the northern agent across the shoulder, throwing him against the wall.
A second agent emerged from behind a stack of barrels.
Steel flashed in the narrow space.
The merchant collapsed, clutching his stomach as blood spread across his expensive robes.
The first attacker fell beside him.
The man with the club turned to flee, only for a third northern agent to block his path.
The prisoner fought with the desperation of someone who knew capture would be worse than death. He broke one man's nose, slashed another across the arm with a concealed knife and nearly escaped over the wall.
A weighted rope wrapped around his ankles.
He crashed to the ground.
By the time the struggle ended, the spice merchant had stopped breathing.
One of Jon's agents knelt beside him and pressed two fingers against his neck.
"Dead."
The wounded northerner leaned against the wall, holding his shoulder.
"This was no robbery."
"No."
Their commander searched the surviving attacker. He found no letter, no sigil and no purse beyond a few common copper stars.
Inside the man's boot, however, he discovered a small silver coin.
A mockingbird had been scratched across one side.
The commander studied it for several moments.
"Take him alive," he ordered. "And leave this place before the gold cloaks arrive."
The dead merchant's report reached the Winter's Titan through three coded radio relays.
Mario stood inside the command chamber while Jon read it.
The Titan moved steadily south beneath a clear morning sky. Sunlight entered through the wide windows, illuminating maps of the North, the Vale and King's Landing spread across the enormous table.
Alex stood at Jon's right.
"One dead," Mario said. "Two wounded. One of them may lose the use of his left arm."
Jon's eyes remained upon the name written at the bottom of the report.
Harod.
Twenty-seven years old. Recruited from a wildling village six years earlier. Married, with one daughter.
"He knew we would follow the merchant," Mario continued.
"Yes."
"We believed Baelish would try to protect his network."
Jon placed the parchment down.
"He is no longer protecting it."
Alex frowned. "Then what is he doing?"
"Using it as a weapon."
Mario nodded grimly.
"The moneylender's building also burned last night. Most of the records were destroyed."
"And the brothel owner?"
"He boarded a ship for Pentos. Our people are watching him, but after the ambush, I no longer believe the escape is genuine."
"It may be genuine for the owner," Jon said. "That does not mean the path was not deliberately shown to us."
"What are your orders?"
"Withdraw every agent currently watching Baelish's minor businesses. Change the codes used by all King's Landing teams. Abandon every safe house visited within the last month."
"That will disrupt the investigation."
"It will keep them alive."
Mario accepted the decision immediately.
"And the prisoner?"
"Has he spoken?"
"He claims he knows nothing of Lord Baelish. His orders came through an intermediary called the Singer."
Alex looked up.
"An actual singer?"
"We do not believe so," Mario said. "The name appears to be a title. The prisoner heard that the Singer carries important messages between King's Landing and the Vale."
Jon's attention sharpened.
"The Vale?"
"Yes. Our agents have identified three possibilities. A travelling musician who regularly performs for Vale merchants, a raven keeper employed by a trading family and a former household guard who journeys between Gulltown and King's Landing."
"Do not arrest any of them."
Mario had clearly expected the order.
"Watch them separately?"
"Use teams with no contact between them. If one is discovered, the other two must remain untouched."
"And if the Singer begins travelling?"
"Follow from a distance. I want to know where messages from Baelish enter the Vale."
Mario bowed.
"I will send the orders."
"Mario."
He paused.
"Harod's family will receive his full wages for the next ten years. His daughter's education will be paid for by the crown."
"Yes, Your Grace."
After Mario left, Alex remained beside the table.
"Baelish caused us our first death."
"Not the first," Jon answered quietly. "Only the first in this particular war."
"You are taking it calmly."
"Anger will not return Harod to his wife."
Alex studied him.
"No. But it may help kill Baelish."
Jon's expression did not change.
"Baelish expects anger. He expects us to answer his ambush by striking at everything connected to him. If we do that, we destroy minor branches while he hides the important ones."
"So we wait."
"We learn."
Jon touched the report concerning the Singer.
"Then we kill him when killing him gives us everything he possesses."
Varys had always considered fire a crude instrument.
It destroyed secrets along with the people who held them.
That was precisely why the burning moneylender's house interested him.
The eunuch stood inside one of the hidden passages overlooking the throne room, listening while a little bird repeated what he had seen.
"The fire began upstairs," the child whispered. "But the oil was poured below."
"So the building was deliberately burned."
The boy nodded.
"And the owner?"
"They found a body. It was badly burned."
"Was it the moneylender?"
"The gold cloaks believe so."
Varys smiled sadly.
The gold cloaks believed whatever conclusion allowed them to finish their work before supper.
"And the spice merchant?"
"Stabbed near Cobbler's Square. Three men fought in the alley. Two carried the merchant away. Others took a prisoner."
"Did you recognise them?"
The boy shook his head.
"They spoke like men from King's Landing."
Trained agents could change accents.
"What about the woman who removed the blacksmith's boy?"
"She has not returned."
"And the false wool wagon?"
"Gone."
Varys gave the child a small sweet and dismissed him.
The passage became silent.
Within two days, several businesses quietly connected to Petyr Baelish had closed, burned or changed ownership. A merchant had died. A brothel keeper had fled across the Narrow Sea.
Petyr was cutting away pieces of his own network.
He would never do that without reason.
Someone had found the threads.
Varys rested one hand against the cold stone wall.
Jon Arryn's death.
Robert's bastards.
The young king beyond the Wall.
Somewhere among those three matters lay the cause of the silent war consuming Baelish's agents.
The woman at Tobho Mott's forge had deliberately permitted one of Varys's children to see the northern markings upon her wagon. That continued to trouble him more than her escape.
Someone had not merely avoided the Spider's web.
Someone had looked directly into it and chosen which strand to touch.
And now Littlefinger was burning his own strands before the unseen hand could reach him.
Varys moved silently through the passage.
The royal party remained in Winterfell. A warning would have to travel north.
Not because Varys trusted Eddard Stark.
Not because he trusted Jon Snow.
But if Petyr Baelish feared the same hidden enemy that had taken Gendry, the game had already changed.
And Varys disliked games whose rules he did not understand.
"You knew."
Robert's words filled Ned's solar.
The king stood before the fire with a cup of wine in one hand. No guards, servants or councillors had been permitted inside.
Ned remained behind his table.
"I knew what?"
"That Snow distrusted the betrothal."
"You already heard that."
"I heard he warned you. I want to know why you listened."
"Jon has earned my trust."
Robert drank deeply.
"He is fourteen."
"He is a king."
"A king with giants, monstrous wolves, flying beasts, ships larger than castles and enough secrets to drive a man mad."
Ned said nothing.
Robert turned toward him.
"Did he know Joffrey was cruel?"
"He knew enough to advise caution."
"How?"
"You must ask him."
Robert's face reddened.
"First the boy refuses to fly here. Then he sails toward me inside a floating kingdom. Now everyone tells me he knows secrets they cannot repeat."
"Jon did not command you to postpone the marriage."
"No. He merely made waiting the only sensible choice."
Robert walked to the table and placed his cup upon it.
"Tell me what he knows, Ned."
"I cannot."
"Cannot or will not?"
"Both."
The king glared at him.
Ned did not look away.
At last, Robert released a weary breath and dropped into a chair.
"The stable boy was not the first."
Ned's expression tightened.
Robert stared into the fire.
"When Joffrey was younger, he cut open a pregnant cat because he wanted to see the kittens. Proudly showed them to me."
Ned felt cold disgust settle in his stomach.
"What did you do?"
"I struck him. Cersei threatened to kill me if I ever touched him again."
"And afterward?"
"She said he was a curious child. That boys sometimes did cruel things before they understood death."
Robert reached for his cup, then stopped.
"I wanted to believe her."
"He is old enough to understand now."
"Yes."
For once, Robert sounded more tired than angry.
"He will inherit the Seven Kingdoms."
"If he remains your heir."
Robert's eyes moved sharply toward Ned.
"What does that mean?"
Ned held his gaze.
"It means you must decide whether he is fit to rule."
"You speak as though a king can simply choose another son."
"You have another son."
"Tommen is a child."
"So is Joffrey."
Robert grunted.
"The betrothal remains postponed. I will not force Sansa. But I will hear everything Snow knows before I make any final declaration."
"That may not happen as quickly as you expect."
Robert gave a humourless laugh.
"If he refuses, I will hang him upside down from Winterfell's walls until the secrets fall out."
Ned almost pitied him.
"You are welcome to try."
The wooden practice sword struck the training post hard enough to split a piece from its edge.
Arya stepped back, adjusted her grip and struck again.
Her lessons with Syrio had made her faster. Winterfell's guards still smiled when they saw the little girl holding a sword, but fewer laughed after watching her move.
"That is not how knights fight."
Arya recognised Joffrey's voice before she turned.
The prince stood at the edge of the courtyard with two Kingsguard behind him. Sandor Clegane leaned against a nearby wall, his scarred face showing complete disinterest.
"I am not a knight," Arya said.
"No. You are a little northern savage pretending to be a swordsman."
Arya turned back toward the post.
Joffrey's mouth tightened when she ignored him.
"Your sister possesses better manners."
Arya struck the wood again.
"Though perhaps she will forget them after my father sends her bastard brother crawling back beyond the Wall."
Arya stopped.
Joffrey smiled.
"You heard me."
"Jon is a king."
"A king of savages and animals. He was probably too frightened to come alone, so he hides inside that ridiculous ship."
Arya faced him fully.
"Jon is not afraid of you."
"He should be. One day, I will rule the Seven Kingdoms. The entire North will kneel to me."
Arya's wooden sword rose.
Joffrey's hand settled casually upon the hilt of his real blade.
One of the Kingsguard shifted forward.
Arya took a step.
A hand caught her wrist.
"Let go of me," she demanded.
"No," Robb said.
She had not heard her brother approach.
"He insulted Jon."
"I heard him."
"Then let me hit him."
"That is what he wants."
Arya looked from Robb to Joffrey.
The prince stood beyond the reach of her wooden sword, his hand upon sharpened steel and two white-cloaked witnesses behind him.
Understanding slowly replaced her anger.
Robb stepped between them.
"If you wish to challenge someone, challenge me."
Joffrey's smile weakened.
"Why would I waste my time fighting you?"
"Because Arya is smaller than you," Robb replied. "And apparently that is the only kind of opponent you prefer."
A rough laugh came from the wall.
The Hound made no attempt to conceal it.
Joffrey's face reddened.
"Silence!"
Sandor scratched the burned side of his face.
"I said nothing, Your Grace."
"You laughed."
"Must have been the wind."
Even one of the Kingsguard lowered his eyes to hide his expression.
Arya lowered her practice sword.
"You wanted me to strike first."
Joffrey sneered.
"Why would I want that?"
"So you could run to your mother again."
The Hound laughed louder.
Joffrey drew several inches of his sword from its sheath.
Robb did not move.
The prince looked at the watching guards, the Kingsguard and Sandor Clegane. If he attacked Robb now, there would be too many witnesses.
He shoved the blade back into its sheath.
"When I am king, I will remember this."
Robb's voice remained calm.
"Then perhaps you should begin remembering all the people you threaten. The list appears to be growing."
He placed one hand upon Arya's shoulder and guided her away.
Only after they entered the armoury passage did Arya pull free.
"I could have beaten him."
"Perhaps."
"I could."
"That was not the danger."
Arya glared at him.
Robb leaned against the stone wall.
"Joffrey wanted you angry. If you struck him, the story would not be that he insulted Jon. It would be that Arya Stark attacked the crown prince while two Kingsguard watched."
She looked back toward the courtyard.
"I hate him."
"That is another reason to think before fighting him."
"Jon would not have allowed him to speak like that."
"No," Robb agreed. "Jon would have smiled, frightened him without drawing a sword and somehow made Joffrey believe the entire humiliation had been his own idea."
Arya considered that.
"I need to learn how to do that."
Robb laughed.
"So do I."
"The poison failed."
Cersei's attendant stood before her with lowered eyes.
Cersei remained beside the window.
"How much did it eat?"
"All of it, Your Grace."
"And?"
"Nothing happened. The creature searched for more food."
Cersei's fingers tightened around her wine cup.
"There was enough to kill several horses."
"Yes."
The chamber door opened.
Jaime entered without waiting for permission.
Cersei dismissed the attendant, but he caught the fear upon the woman's face before she escaped.
"What have you done?" Jaime asked.
"Nothing that concerns you."
"You poisoned the eagle."
"I tested it."
"You tested a creature belonging to a king who commands giants."
"And learned that it cannot be poisoned."
Jaime stepped closer.
"No. You learned that your poison failed. Those are not the same thing."
"It ate enough to kill several horses."
"Then be grateful it did not die."
Cersei turned sharply.
"You are afraid of Snow."
"I am cautious of a man whose ship survived a storm that sank lesser vessels around it. A man who possesses creatures no maester can explain and weapons he refuses to reveal."
"He is a bastard playing at kingship."
"He is a bastard with an army."
Cersei's green eyes hardened.
"He warned the Starks against Joffrey. He interferes in matters that do not concern him."
"Then poisoning his eagle was an excellent way to make certain he interferes more."
"He knows nothing."
Jaime stared at her.
"Can you be certain?"
Outside the window, a small brown bird rested beneath the stone ledge.
Neither of them noticed it.
Far away aboard the Titan, Jon watched through the bird's eyes.
Jaime's caution interested him.
The Kingslayer understood danger more clearly than his sister. He did not know the true strength of Winter's Heaven, but he recognised that ignorance itself was reason for restraint.
Cersei recognised only an insult to her pride.
Beautiful, dangerous and reckless.
Jon remained within the bird until Jaime left. He heard Cersei order her attendant and the man who carried the poisoned meat to speak of the incident to no one.
Then he released the bird.
His physical eyes opened inside his private chamber aboard the Titan.
He kept everything within his own mind.
No one needed to know how often he watched Winterfell.
That afternoon, Jon entered the Titan's military assembly hall.
Alex, Mario and several officers waited around a large map of White Harbor and the roads leading to Winterfell.
"How many accompany us?" Alex asked.
"One thousand soldiers."
"You originally intended to take five hundred."
"Robert brought much of his court north. One thousand will be sufficient."
"And the giants?"
"Ten."
"Armoured?"
"Completely."
Alex looked at him.
"You said you did not wish to frighten everyone."
"That is why I am taking only ten."
Several officers struggled to conceal their amusement.
Jon continued as though he had heard nothing.
"Fifty direwolves will accompany the procession."
"The ones larger than horses?" Alex asked.
"Slightly larger."
"Of course. Ten armoured giants, fifty horse-sized direwolves and one thousand elite soldiers. A peaceful and reassuring escort."
"It is restrained."
"By the standards of Winter's Heaven."
"The only standards that matter when selecting my guard."
Jon turned toward the weapons officer.
"Issue ordinary steel swords to every soldier travelling to Winterfell."
The officer hesitated.
"Your Grace, their Valyrian steel blades offer greater protection."
"They will not need them."
"All one thousand have mastered the breathing techniques," Alex said. "I doubt ordinary Westerosi soldiers could threaten them even if they fought with kitchen knives."
"Precisely," Jon replied. "The North has seen thirty Valyrian steel swords. Let them continue believing thirty is an extraordinary number."
The weapons officer bowed.
"High-quality castle-forged steel, then."
"No markings from our smithies. The blades should appear exceptional, but not impossible."
"And the giants?"
"Dark iron plate. Full armour. Reinforced axes, spears and clubs."
Alex studied the formation marked upon the map.
"What about the direwolves?"
"Ten ahead of the column. Ten upon either side. Ten at the rear. The remaining ten stay near the central formation."
"They may terrify the horses."
"They are trained. The horses will adjust."
"The horses may not know that."
"Then they will learn."
Jon placed a marker outside White Harbor.
"The Titan will anchor fifteen kilometres from the harbour. The ten internal steamships will begin transporting soldiers, horses, direwolves and supplies ashore immediately."
Mario pointed toward the coast.
"Five thousand men cannot all enter White Harbor without creating problems."
"They will not. Most will remain aboard the Titan or establish a controlled camp outside the city with Lord Manderly's permission. Only the selected one thousand travel with me."
"The giants will require special wagons for armour and supplies," one officer said.
"They will wear the armour after we disembark. Their presence should be visible from the moment we leave White Harbor."
Alex raised an eyebrow.
"I thought we were avoiding frightening everyone."
"We are avoiding revealing everything."
That silenced the room.
Jon looked down at the markers representing ten giants, fifty direwolves and one thousand soldiers.
To the lords of Westeros, it would appear to be an overwhelming display of force.
To Jon, it was less than a fraction of what he could have brought.
Every one of the soldiers had learned breathing techniques that strengthened his body beyond normal human limits. They possessed discipline, formations and physical endurance unknown to ordinary Westerosi armies.
The giants were veterans.
The direwolves obeyed signals as precisely as trained cavalry.
If Jon had permitted the soldiers to carry their Valyrian steel katanas, the procession alone could have exposed one of Winter's Heaven's greatest military secrets.
Forty thousand blades remained hidden.
That was how Jon intended them to remain.
"When do we reach White Harbor?" Mario asked.
"Approximately eleven days if the weather remains favourable."
"And from White Harbor to Winterfell?" Alex asked.
"Nearly a fortnight by horse and road. The heavy wagons may take longer."
"You could arrive within days upon an eagle."
"I could."
"And yet Robert continues waiting."
Jon smiled faintly.
"He requested to see giants. It would be discourteous to arrive without them."
At the Eyrie, Lysa Arryn paced before the fire.
Petyr's newest message lay open upon the table.
Move the letters to another hiding place.
Tell no one.
Await my arrival.
She read the final sentence again.
Await my arrival.
Petyr was coming.
He had warned her of danger, but he would not abandon her. Perhaps the discovery of the servant had finally forced him to act. Perhaps he would come to the Vale, expose those plotting against them and remain beside her.
They would be together at last.
Lysa pressed the parchment against her chest.
That evening, she ordered servants to prepare the finest private chamber in the Eyrie. Fresh sheets, Myrish carpets, scented candles and wine were carried inside.
When Robert Arryn asked who would use it, she smiled.
"A dear friend."
The courier departed the following morning.
He wore the grey cloak of a travelling musician and carried a small harp upon his back. He rode down from the Eyrie, passed through the Bloody Gate and continued toward Gulltown without seeing anything unusual.
He did not notice the shepherd tending goats upon the distant hillside.
He did not notice the second rider waiting beyond the mountain pass.
And he certainly did not notice the raven circling far above him.
The Mockingbird had begun cutting his own strings.
But one thread still stretched from King's Landing to the Eyrie.
Jon Snow's agents had finally found it.
End of Chapter 146
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Author's Note
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