No sooner had Tyrion seen off the Faceless Men than Podrick came looking for him, before he'd even had breakfast.
"Lord, someone's waiting outside the Tower of the Hand to see you."
Podrick was quiet, timid, and shy, with a slight stutter when he spoke. He had brown hair and blue eyes, and was terribly afraid of people, often staring at their feet to hide his embarrassment. It was hard to imagine he was distantly related to Ilyn Payne.
If one wanted to picture the face of an Other, Payne's would do.
"Did you take care of what I asked?" Tyrion said.
"The laxatives?" Podrick answered. "I contacted several apothecaries. They have stock, but none are willing to sell at your price..."
"They're trying to take advantage of you, boy," Tyrion said. "Find Timett—no, Shagga. Have him go with you. Tell them if they won't take my price, Shagga will chop off their cocks and feed them to the goats."
Tyrion was irritated. His offer wasn't generous, but it certainly wouldn't have cost the apothecaries a penny.
"Forget it. Whether it's Timett, Shagga, or Chella—whoever you can find, take them with you."
Podrick nodded.
"So who's come calling today?" Tyrion asked.
"A big crowd of bakers, butchers, and greengrocers—they're demanding to see the Hand."
"Why don't they go to the King?" Tyrion said sharply. "Let His Grace reward them with a good flogging. It's just food shortages."
"Could be because you pulled back the ships," Bronn cut in.
"I've said it already—there's nothing left to give them. The relief rations will arrive in a few days."
Food shipments into King's Landing were pitifully small, most of it reserved for the castle and the barracks. Prices for greens, potatoes, flour, and fruit had all soared beyond reason. Tyrion didn't dare imagine what kind of meat was boiling in the pots of Flea Bottom.
Maybe fish, he hoped. At least fishing boats could still sail; Stannis's fleet hadn't managed a full blockade yet.
"They're asking for protection," Podrick said. "Last night, a baker was roasted alive in his own oven. The mob said his bread cost too much."
"And then? Did they eat him?" Tyrion asked.
"Not that I've heard."
"What a waste," Tyrion muttered. "They're not hungry enough yet. Dried, he might've made decent jerky."
"Gods," Bronn groaned. "The devil must have your face tattooed on his back."
"Enough. Tell them I've already appointed a new commander for security," Tyrion said, descending the spiral stairs of the Tower of the Hand. "In a few days, I'll distribute the famine rations. That'll deal with the shortage. Go."
Tyrion dismissed Podrick and crossed the square with Bronn. The sound of iron gates rising echoed ahead—his sister was setting out with a large escort.
Cersei rode a white horse, golden-haired and green-eyed, looking down on the world like a lady from legend.
"Brother," she called, her tone utterly cold.
Cersei was still furious over Tyrion's punishment of Janos Slynt, though she seemed quite pleased by Lancel Lannister's promotion.
"Queen," Tyrion bowed respectfully, "you look truly radiant this morning." She wore a golden crown and a snow-white sable cloak. A large retinue of mounted retainers followed her.
Ser Boros Blount of the Kingsguard wore plate beneath a white surcoat, his brow furrowed as always. Ser Barron Swann carried his bow across a silver-inlaid saddle, his sword at his back. Lord Gyles Rosby coughed nonstop, likely from asthma. Among the crowd were Hallyne, the pyromancer of the Alchemists' Guild, Vylarr, and twenty Lannister guards as escort.
"Where are you off to, sister?" Tyrion asked, chin lifted.
"To inspect the new ballistae and trebuchets at the gates. I will not have anyone think I'm like you, interested only in pleasure and blind to the city's defenses." Cersei glared with those clear green eyes, contempt plain in her stare though it did nothing to diminish her beauty. "I've also had word that Renly Baratheon has marched from Highgarden and now presses north along The Roseroad with a heavy host."
"Highgarden?" Tyrion feigned ignorance. "I thought he was a lord of the Stormlands."
"He has the Stormlands and Highgarden behind him, you empty-headed fool!" Cersei snapped down at him. "The Tyrells married their daughter to Renly. They're all in league."
Still fuming, she ordered, "I want you to tell Father to march on King's Landing at once."
"Ha. My brilliant sister," Tyrion laughed. "When have I ever 'commanded' Father to do anything?"
"Father must be mad to have sent you. You're less than useless, save for your looks." The Queen pulled the reins and turned her horse.
"Then send me to Renly's camp. Let him walk through my back door," Tyrion said.
Renly Baratheon was less of a threat to Tyrion than his elder brother Stannis. Renly was handsome and generous and loved by the people, but he had never led men in battle. Stannis was different: stern and pitiless. If only there were a way to learn what was happening on Dragonstone. No number of fishermen Tyrion paid to spy there had returned. Even the eunuch's informant near Stannis had vanished.
With the intelligence net severed everything grew harder.
Striped Lysene hulls had been sighted along the coast. Varys had received word from Myr that mercenary captains had sailed to Dragonstone. Stannis must have called pirates to his cause.
If Dragonstone's fleet struck up the Blackwater while Renly pressed the land attack, Joffrey's head might be on a pike in less than three days, like Lord Eddard's.
Tyrion was not yet worried. Events had not outstripped the foresight of his Allseer's Eye. These brothers were mortal enemies set to destroy one another. He quickened his pace toward the Red Keep with Bronn close behind.
"Where is Lord Petyr?" he asked a guard.
The guard pointed to the Red Keep's spire. "Lord Petyr is usually on the tower at this hour, taking in the view."
The Red Keep's spire rose far above the Tower of the Hand, a needle into the sky and the realm's most striking landmark. At dawn its glazed tiles flashed gold when the sun hit them, the whole structure shining like a sovereign surveying the city below.
If ashes could bow in submission, Littlefinger would have burned them all.