Chapter 33: Two Sellsword Captains
"The coat of arms of House Grafton of Gulltown," Ian replied.
"You're quite knowledgeable."
"Heraldry is a compulsory subject for nobles." Though I'm not one of them. "So," Ian returned to the topic at hand, "he arrived yesterday afternoon? And he still hasn't left?"
"That's right, and he didn't order breakfast either."
"Then what kind of King's Landing journey is this?" Ian glanced out the window. Judging by the sun's height, it was well past nine in the morning. Who wouldn't have set off by now?
"I couldn't say, my lord."
Of course you couldn't. "Go knock on his door and ask if he wants breakfast. And while you're at it, take a look around his room to see what he's doing, then report back to me."
Intuitively, Ian told himself this knight wasn't a player. After all, if a player was coming here to form alliances or hunt, there'd be no reason to tell the innkeeper they were heading to King's Landing.
But it cost nothing for Jenny to investigate.
"Yes, my lord." Jenny was reluctant, fearing the wrath of a lordling if he was still sleeping. But she feared the 'richest man in Westeros' even more.
"Also, have Masha bring our breakfast personally."
"Yes, my lord."
"You can help cover some of Masha's duties while she's occupied. Ask her for details now, but remember—I'm conducting a very important and secret arrest. If word gets out..."
"No, absolutely not, I swear it," Jenny promised quickly.
Ian waved his hand, dismissing her.
Jenny fled the room, relieved.
Not long after, a breakfast—quite sumptuous for the times—was delivered to Ian's room.
It consisted of a pot of mutton soup made with turnips, barley, carrots, and onions; a large roasted goose; a pot of buttered peas; a beet salad; three portions of oat bread; and three tankards of ale.
Ian didn't drink in the morning, so he gave his ale to Rolf.
"Tell me about Blackwing," Ian said, taking the thick soup Masha served him.
"Forgive me, my lord, I haven't spoken with Captain Morgan yet."
Ian looked at her, waiting for an explanation.
"Well, Captain Morgan hasn't left his room or ordered breakfast yet, so he's probably still abed."
"Your niece just reported to me that a knight from House Grafton also hasn't risen. What, did they share a bed?"
"My lord jests."
"So do I need to teach you how to knock on a door yourself?" Ian rolled his eyes. "You can't wake him if he doesn't rise?"
"I wouldn't dare, my lord. Captain Morgan despises being disturbed while sleeping," Masha shook her head quickly. Noticing Ian's displeasure, she quickly added,
"But I've already handled the other sellswords for you! The four individuals have been sent away. Of course, there's still one sellsword in the common room who just arrived yesterday. I left him there as you instructed."
"Then," Masha continued, "the two sellsword captains—'Spike' Dennet and Ser Grayson—have both expressed willingness to accept your commission. Dennet's company consists of nine men, and the price I negotiated is three thousand silver stags per month. Ser Grayson has only four men under his command, but they're all mounted, and their monthly rate is twenty-five hundred silver stags."
"Can they see me now?" Ian had no objection to the prices—triple the market rate had been his own idea.
"Yes, my lord. They've been waiting."
"Then I'll meet them first. Bring the two captains in. And keep watch for Blackwing. When he emerges, speak to him about me first."
"Yes, my lord." Masha received her instructions and departed.
A moment later, a handsome young man with burgundy hair and a middle-aged man in mail knocked and entered.
The young man wore a Dornish-style robe with a curved sword and dagger hanging from his belt. The middle-aged man wore a mail shirt with no other armor, a longsword at his waist.
Neither had disarmed before entering, and Ian wouldn't have asked them to—it would only make him appear insecure.
Without Ian's command, Kevan casually stepped forward and positioned himself along the wall between Ian and the two sellswords. This distance wouldn't hinder conversation, but if the men showed any hostile intent, he could immediately intervene.
"You look very young, my lord," the young man said with a smile.
"I am Ser Lucien Lannister, not a lord," Ian corrected him.
He hadn't corrected Jenny when she'd called him "lord," because titles didn't matter much to commoners. But now that one of the sellsword captains before him was a knight, such matters needed clarification.
Since he was playing the role of a knight, he couldn't presumptuously accept the title "my lord." Ian didn't need to create a bad impression over such a trivial matter.
"A Lannister?"
"Is that a problem?"
"No," the young man shook his head. "My name is Dennet. They usually call me 'Spike.' It's a pleasure to serve you, ser."
What an uninspired nickname.
"Ser Grayson," the middle-aged man introduced himself, then cut straight to business. "Regarding the price Masha negotiated with us—twenty-five hundred silver stags per month."
"That's what I authorized, no question," Ian said, looking at Dennet. "And three thousand for your company. As for payment, I can give you half upfront and the remainder upon completion."
"No. We need the full amount upfront," Grayson refused flatly.
"That's not how this business works," Ian said with a mild smile.
"For your kind of job, it is."
"My kind of job?" Ian's eyes narrowed. "What did Masha tell you?"
"She said nothing. But I think you need us for something very dangerous, don't you?"
"What makes you think that?"
"The price you're offering is triple the market rate. If the job wasn't particularly dangerous, who would pay such a premium?"
"Someone as rich as a Lannister," Ian said, invoking the famous phrase. "What I need from you will take considerable time and require absolute obedience, but there will be essentially no danger. As for why I'm offering triple the rate, that stems from an experience I had two years ago."
Ian leaned back, adopting a more comfortable posture. "I hired a company of sellswords in the Reach. Standard rate, standard contract. Halfway through the job, they decided they could get more coin by betraying me to bandits. Cost me a warhorse, my favorite sword, and nearly my life."
He gestured casually. "Since then, I've learned that paying premium rates buys not just swords, but loyalty. Or at least makes betrayal less tempting. The job I have is tedious, time-consuming, and requires discretion. But dangerous?" Ian shook his head. "Only if you're spectacularly incompetent."
"What's the job?" Dennet asked, his curiosity clearly piqued.
"Surveillance," Ian said simply. "I need eyes on this inn and the surrounding area. I need to know who comes, who goes, and anything unusual about them. I need you to follow specific individuals if I identify them as persons of interest. And most importantly, I need absolute silence about what you're doing."
"Surveillance," Grayson repeated, sounding skeptical. "That's it?"
"That's it. Though I may occasionally need you to... detain someone. Quietly. Without causing a scene. Can you do that?"
The two sellsword captains exchanged glances.
"For three months' pay upfront?" Dennet said. "We can be very quiet."
"Two months upfront," Ian countered. "The third upon successful completion. And if you prove yourselves valuable, there may be additional work—and additional pay—in the future."
Grayson stroked his beard thoughtfully. "Two months upfront, third upon completion, and we get to keep any weapons or armor taken from these 'persons of interest' you want detained?"
"Within reason," Ian agreed. "I may claim certain items for myself. But most of it, yes."
"Then we have an accord, Ser Lucien," Grayson said, extending his hand.
Ian clasped it firmly. "Excellent. Now, let's discuss the specifics of what I need..."
(End of Chapter)
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