"Nnnnnnnnggggghhhhh… nnnnnnggggghhhhh…" A small smile appeared on Umi's face as she continued to moan in pleasure.
It was her new life in the new Yunkai, the city of pleasure, in the Eastern Empire. And she was happy with it.
…
A Year Later III
Radolf's day began before dawn. The port canteen — the busiest in Meereen — needed everything in place before the waves of dockworkers, sailors, and city officials poured in at midday. He walked through the back kitchen with his slate in hand, watching cooks move like ants around vats of steaming rice, racks of roasted meats, and barrels of vegetables.
"Keep the pork cutlets crisp, not greasy," he barked at a boy, who was turning the meat too quickly over the oil pan. "If I bite into one and it's dripping, I'll throw it in your face."
The boy swallowed hard, nodding fast. Radolf didn't smile. Standards were high here. This wasn't a roadside tavern — this was the Empire's face on the docks. Sailors from Braavos, merchants from Pentos, officials from the Empire itself — they all ate here. Sloppy food meant sloppy reputation.
He went dish by dish. Bowls of thick barley stew. Trays of fried rice mixed with vegetables from the Grass Sea. Fresh fish, cleaned and cut, ready to be grilled. Loaves of bread stacked in baskets. "Good," he muttered, stamping each entry on his slate. Finally, he tasted a ladle of soup. Too thin. He spat into the bucket. "More salt, more bones. Do it again." The cook scurried off.
By midmorning the kitchen was in order. Radolf made his way to the front, where the billing desk stood. A clerk was already sorting tokens — standard meals were free for state workers, add-ons cost copper. The system worked well. Workers ate, bellies filled, then went back to labor without grumbling.
"Desk looks clean," Radolf said, glancing over the rows of wooden trays and parchment rolls. "Keep the accounts tight. If a coin goes missing, I'll know."
The young clerk nodded quickly. Radolf knew he looked stern, but it was necessary. A year ago, he'd been nothing more than property, taught languages to serve masters. Now he had a house inside Meereen, a wage higher than most, and men who listened when he spoke. He wasn't about to lose that by being soft.
The bells of the port rang at noon. The doors opened. The tide came in. Workers in rough shirts, sailors smelling of tar, even soldiers in armor filled the benches. Trays clattered, voices rose, food vanished as fast as the servers could bring it. Radolf retreated to his small office in the back, closed the door, and finally sat. For the next hour, his part of the job was done.
He took quiet time to tally numbers. How much rice had been used. How many barrels of fish are cut. How much pork and turkey remained. He filled the columns in his neat hand, lips moving as he counted. By the time he finished, the hall outside had quieted. Lunch hour was almost over.
Radolf stepped out, tray in hand, and served himself. Fried rice, pork cutlet, a slice of fish, soup — the same as the others. He sat at an empty bench near the window. Eating late meant peace.
It lasted three bites before someone's shadow fell across the table.
"Mind if I sit?"
Radolf looked up. The man was olive-skinned, sharp-eyed, dressed better than most dockhands — dark red tunic with gold trim. A foreigner, clearly.
"Sit," Radolf said, not unkindly.
The man placed his tray down and smiled. "Name's Sahad. Merchant. From Volantis."
Radolf nodded once. "Radolf. Manager here."
They ate in silence for a moment before Sahad spoke again. "The food's better than I expected. Heard much about this city. Busy port. Rich trade."
"Busy, yes," Radolf said. He gestured with his spoon toward the harbor outside the window. Dozens of masts rose, ships from Braavos, Qohor, Pentos, even Lys. "Most of the Empire's trade runs through here now. Silk, perfumes, wine, soaps, jewels, condoms. All pass this port."
Sahad chuckled. "Ah, the famous sheaths. That's why I'm here. I wish to import them. Volantis has never seen such demand for a thing."
Radolf smirked faintly. "You and every other merchant. Ships from Astapor and Yunkai bring barrels full every week. They go out again within days. Braavosi buys them fastest, then Pentoshi, then the rest."
"I also hear Yunkai has become… entertaining," Sahad said carefully. "A place for pleasure, yes?"
Radolf leaned back. "You could say that. Casinos, gardens, beaches. Folk go there to forget work. Merchants spend coins fast when their trousers are loose."
Sahad laughed, tapping the table. "Then I must visit."
"You can," Radolf said, finishing his soup. "But first — you want imports, you do it proper. Go to the Foreign Affairs Office. Register as a merchant. They'll ask for your papers, references, coin. Then you wait. Review takes two, maybe three weeks."
Sahad frowned. "That long?"
"Empire doesn't hand out trade to every man with a smile," Radolf said flatly. "Too many thieves, too many cheats. You get approved, you get a merchant card. That card lets you buy in bulk. Without it, you don't get more than a barrel or two."
Sahad thought for a moment, then nodded. "Fair enough. And while I wait…?"
Radolf shrugged. "Take a ship to Yunkai. Four days there, four back. Enough to see the sights. Visit the beach. If you want a unique experience, try the nude sands. They're… different." He gave Sahad a knowing look.
Sahad chuckled again, clearly amused. "Perhaps I will. Thank you, Radolf."
Radolf stood, picking up his tray. "Don't thank me. Just follow the rules. You'll get what you want."
He left the merchant at the table and carried his tray to the bins. Outside, the port bells rang again. Another ship was coming in. Another day, another tide of work. Radolf adjusted his tunic, squared his shoulders, and went back to the life he'd built.
For the first time in his life, the work was his choice. And that was enough.
…
Next chapter: A Year Later IV
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