Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 116: The Bad Money of the Red Fortress and the Cross-Sea Ambition

Early summer in the Blue Fork Valley brought little warmth. Several days of continuous rain made the temperature in the lower levels of the inner fortress as cold as an icebox.

The pungent smell in the air, a mixture of blast furnace slag, sulfur from acid mud pits, and damp stones, was trapped within the gray stone walls by the oppressive air pressure.

There was no brazier lit in the confidential accounting room at the bottom of the stone tower. The walls were sealed off by granite, with only two tallow lamps hanging from rusty iron hooks casting a dim, yellowish glow.

The head butler, Pollifer, stood before a wooden table covered in sheet metal. His long, skeletal face remained expressionless.

He held in his hand a brand-new golden dragon bearing the crest of the Baratheon family's crowned stag.

On one side of the wooden table, a dozen or so iron and wooden crates that had been forcibly pried open were lined up. Inside were "newly cast golden dragons," which had just been unloaded from the merchant ship in Seagull Town the previous evening and were used to settle the payment for last month's salt and silver.

Otto Hohenzollern stood on the other side of the wooden table, his thick gray-black woolen coat still stained with mud from his inspection of the flood control canal.

He watched Pollifer's movements quietly.

Pollifer pressed the edge of the gold coin heavily against the black touchstone, forcefully scratching a long metallic mark. Then, he dipped a very thin glass rod into a drop of clear acid and applied it to the scratch.

"Sizzle..."

The extremely thin layer of gold powder was stripped away by the acid. A dark brass and black lead base was then clearly revealed on the touchstone.

"grown ups."

Pollifer's voice sounded like he was reading out a dry inventory list, without a trace of surprise.

"I randomly inspected three boxes last night, a total of five hundred pieces. Without exception, this batch of new gold dragons from Seagull Town is one qian lighter than the old gold dragons, and the purity inside is mixed with at least 30% brass and lead."

William Charlton, standing in the shadows, suddenly looked up, his gray eyes flashing with murderous intent, and his hand instinctively gripped the hilt of his sword.

"The merchant from Seagull Town in Loso is still drinking at the inn at the ferry crossing."

William's voice was as cold as ice.

"Sir, give me two men. I'll go and cut off his head, put it in a box, and send it back."

"Cut off his head, and then what?"

Otto casually picked up the inferior coin with its brass base from the table and gently rubbed it between his fingers.

"Losor is just a errand boy, an accountant. The real minting of these coins is done by the power machine in the Red Keep of King's Landing."

"Littlefinger is using the Iron Throne's right to mint coins to legally plunder thirty percent of the Blue Fork River. If we kill his men or openly refuse to pay, Stannis's navy will block the river tomorrow on charges of treason and tax evasion."

"Your sword isn't even worthy of scraping the dust off the Red Keep in King's Landing."

William gritted his teeth and forcefully suppressed the urge to draw his sword, pulling it back into its sheath.

Pollifer frowned, his mind racing with the calculations of how to cut his losses.

"Sir, since we can't refuse to accept it, could we send someone to Seagull Town to negotiate privately with Loso? Could we exchange the old for the new, accept a discounted price for a single Golden Dragon, and receive the full amount next month?"

"Negotiations with Petyr Baelish?"

Otto threw the bad coin back into the box, his voice cold.

"At the power table, if you take even half a step back, he will see through your bottom line. Next month, the gold dragon he sends will contain 50% lead. Once he has figured out your weakness, he will devour Blue Fork River alive."

A deathly silence fell over the accounting room. Thousands of counterfeit coins weighed heavily on the mahogany table, like an invisible mountain.

"Not a single penny should be wasted in the river valley."

Maria Frey, wearing a grey fox fur cloak and carrying a windproof oil lamp, went into the basement.

She walked directly to the tin wooden table, her eyes revealing the shrewdness of a businesswoman.

"The river region is our base; the wheat and iron ore here are the lifeblood of our survival. If we use these large boxes of inferior currency to purchase goods from the surrounding areas, prices will double in less than three months."

"Brightwood and Breckon will immediately report us to Riverrun once they receive the counterfeit money. Poisoning our own blood pool is a dead end."

Otto nodded slightly, his gaze falling on the parchment map on the wall.

"Since King's Landing has fed us poison, we can't spit it out, nor can we let it rot in our stomachs."

Otto walked to the map, his index finger crossing the narrow blue sea and pointing to the continent in the east.

"Then let it drain across the narrow sea."

A dangerous glint flashed in Maria's grey-brown eyes.

"My Blackwater network has a long-distance smuggling route from Seagull Town directly to Pentos. On Essos, Westeros's golden dragons are precious in themselves. When dealing with big clients who pay by the box, those Eastern merchants usually only look at the surface to verify the funds."

"But this is deadly."

Maria threw the noose hanging overhead.

"The princes and governors of Pentos are not fools; their merchant guild employs ruthless goldsmiths. If our ships linger in port for too long and are found to be counterfeit... according to the laws of the free trade city-states, the captain and sailors will have their hands chopped off on the spot and be sold to Rees to do hard labor."

"So you have to be fast. Take advantage of the time difference, get in and out quickly."

Otto gave the order.

"Polliver, calculate what supplies we need most right now."

Pollifer immediately regained his composure.

"First, sulfur, alum, and the strong acid waste liquid from Tyrosi. The pickling process for the twelve amputee veterans in the closed workshop relied on these raw materials."

"Secondly, we need to establish a dedicated animal power line for the Liulin mining area, for the heavy pack mules and draft horses of Pentos."

"third……"

Pollifer paused for a moment.

"Sir, the herbs in the medical shed are almost gone. Since we're not buying expensive herbs, should we purchase a batch of cheap 'Sour Leaf Grass' from Pentos? That plant can numb the refugees' pain, allowing them to wield pickaxes even while suffering from illness."

"I won't buy sour clover."

Otto rejected the proposal.

Pollifer was stunned, and even William frowned slightly in the shadows.

This doesn't align with adults' usual cost control logic.

"Sour clover is indeed cheap, but it can erode the brain."

Otto's voice echoed in the secret room.

"Polliver, can you possibly settle all the accounts of the Bluefork River by yourself? How many more years can Maester Elijah's old eyes endure under the lamplight?"

"What we need are grassroots administrative officers who can read blueprints and calculate production capacity. The labor code promulgated last month has given people in the mines a way to survive—three years in the deep mines can free them from slavery, and five years in the agricultural settlements can lead to promotion to civilian status."

"The gallows are gone, iron thieves are no longer beheaded, but branded with double-headed eagles and sent to do heavy labor. People will only work hard if they have hope, but those who work hard must be literate for this path to work. If we turn the refugees into fools, who will measure the mines for us?"

"Keep only a small portion of the sour clover as an anesthetic for Gareth's amputation. The rest of the money will be used to buy pig iron, books, and..."

Otto paused for a moment, a predatory glint in his eyes.

"Go to the slums and dilapidated temples and bring back a few scholars or priests who can teach literacy and arithmetic."

Pollifer was shocked: "Sir, using counterfeit money... to invite a scholar?"

"They were lured onto the ship with promises of high salaries."

There was not a trace of guilt in Otto's tone.

"When these self-righteous scholars set foot on the muddy ground of the Blue Fork River and discovered that the wages they were paid were fake gold dragons mixed with brass, it was too late for them to go back. As long as they still wanted to eat, they could only sit here and teach our people to read."

Two days later, at the secluded reed marsh ferry crossing on the Blue Fork River.

The early summer night rain, like a veil, shrouded the deep-draft three-masted sailboat on the river.

The hold was filled with iron boxes of inferior currency wrapped in moisture-proof tarpaulins.

John Mudd, the thirty-seven-year-old lord of Willowwood, stood on the slippery wooden pier, wearing a black, stiff leather cloak to keep out the rain.

Beside him stood two mounted infantrymen, their faces weathered and some missing an eye or half an ear.

These two were old Mudd's trusted confidants who had shared life and death with him during his time with the Golden Company.

Otto, wearing a thick woolen coat, walked onto the pier from the dark rain.

"This ship is going to Pentos."

Otto's voice mingled with the sound of raindrops.

"Your two most trusted brothers will go out to sea as captains of the guard. Protect the captain and use the scrap brass coins in the hold to get back what's on Pollive's bill."

Old Mudd's jaw muscles tensed suddenly, and his calloused hands gripped the hilt of his sword at his waist.

He knew all too well the methods of the Essos merchants.

"grown ups……"

Old Mudd's Adam's apple bobbed laboriously, his voice hoarse.

"The coroners in Pentos have a sharp eye... they're old bones who crawled out of piles of corpses with me..."

"By exploiting time differences and quickly moving in and out, they can survive. Moreover, on the return trip, there can be room for one person in the cargo hold."

Otto stared at the vassal.

"Send them to the dirtiest slums of Pentos. Bring your son, who's still shining boots, back to Westeros. Tell him his father is now a Knight of Willowwood in the Riverlands, with rightful lands and a sword."

"thump!"

Old Mudd's plea for mercy, which was about to spill out, was abruptly cut off in his throat.

He knelt on the wooden boardwalk, lowered his head, and kissed the tips of Otto's muddy boots with all his might.

The smuggling ship, like a ghost, slowly sailed towards the Narrow Sea.

And the next morning.

On the muddy bluestone drill ground of the Blue Fork River, veteran Toren was shouting and cursing as he selected thirty hungry-eyed refugee boys from among more than two thousand settlers.