landbeastnovel Chapter 100: Autumn Sour Mud and the Shadow of the Mockingbird
Chapter 100: Autumn Sour Mud and the Shadow of the Mockingbird
In the early autumn of 290 AC, a year and a half had passed since the end of the Greyjoy Rebellion.
The autumn wind in Blue Fork Valley carried a hint of premature desolation.
The gray stone wall that once withstood the Blackwood massacre during the spring floods has now been stained a somber, iron-gray hue by the black smoke billowing day and night from the kilns and blacksmith shops.
The twenty-five wooden stakes with human heads stuck in them had long since rotted away over time, but the terrifying name of "Piercing Lord" had spread like a plague throughout the northern part of the Riverlands in the past six months.
No longer did any foolish bandit or lord dare to ride their horses freely on the mudflats of the Blue Fork River.
"Waaah—"
A deep horn blast tore through the autumn morning mist.
Two large, flat-bottomed sailing ships, adorned with twin tower crests, laboriously lowered their mainsails at the confluence of the Red Fork River, and their heavy hulls slowly approached the newly expanded, sturdy log pier on the Blue Fork River.
The ship had a very deep draft. Old Walder Frey kept his word; the hold was filled with heavy iron ingots and twenty sturdy draft horses capable of pulling heavy carts through the mud.
Over the past six months, the Hohenzollern territory has managed to build a frantically operating silver and salt refining workshop through a superficial exchange of resources with the Twin Towers.
Otto Hohenzollern stood at the end of the pier.
He was still thin, but the chilling coldness in his eyes, capable of freezing one's bones, was even more unfathomable than a year ago.
He was wearing only a gray linen long gown without any insignia, facing the slightly chilly autumn wind.
Thirteen-year-old William Charlton followed closely half a step behind Otto, carrying a rough wooden tray covered with a white cloth.
In just a year and a half, this boy, who once betrayed his family's information to Polliff for half a piece of dead bread in the deepest dungeons, has grown up to be a whole new level.
He wore a well-fitting black leather armor, with a blood-stained steel dagger hanging at his waist.
As the footboard was lowered, three Frey family stewards, dressed in exquisite velvet robes, strode down arrogantly, surrounded by a squad of elite guards.
The head steward was named Innis Frey, a middle-aged man with a large belly and shrewd, arrogant eyes.
"Baron Hohenzollern." Innis casually patted his chest, his gaze sweeping with disgust over the workshops around him, which were scorched beyond recognition by smoke and fire. He then pulled out a spice-scented silk handkerchief and covered his nose.
"When Marquis Walder heard that Blue Fork River had been in dire need of reconstruction for the past six months, he specially allocated the finest ironware and horses from the treasury to comfort his granddaughter, Lady Maria."
Otto remained expressionless. He turned slightly to the side without saying a word.
William immediately understood and stepped forward, lifting the white cloth from the wooden tray.
On the tray was a piece of hard-baked rye bread and a small dish of pure white salt.
"Please thank the Marquis for his generosity," Otto's voice was as calm as an ancient well. "Having come from afar, please have bread and salt. Within these gray stone walls, the rights of guests are sacred and inviolable."
Innis frowned. He was used to the fine pastries and mulled wine of the Twin Towers, but faced with the oldest and most sacred covenant in Westeros, he could only pick up a small piece of coarse, hard dark bread, dip it in salt, and stuff it into his mouth.
But this does not mean that there are no rules on this land that are more deadly than swords.
"Your Excellency, the Marquis has given orders." Innis swallowed a mouthful of rough bread and immediately adopted the posture of a supervisor. "Now that the supplies have arrived, the accounts must be settled. From today onwards, the three of us will assist Lady Maria in taking full control of all white salt inflows and outflows and ship dispatches on the Blue Fork River. This is a family matter, but also a business."
"Polliver, take the three gentlemen to see the lady." Otto turned around and looked at the pig iron that was being unloaded.
"William, go and fetch Cole the blacksmith. Tell him that the main shaft of the second watermill has been completely replaced with refined iron. We're going to open three more furnaces tonight."
Inside the tent room on the second floor of the stone pagoda.
Maria Frey sat quietly behind a large oak table.
A year and a half has completely stripped away the fragility of this former granddaughter who was once on the fringes of the Twin Towers.
She wore an elegant dark-colored long dress, with the brass master key, symbolizing the authority and responsibilities of the matriarch, still tightly hanging from her waist.
Her eyes and brows revealed a ruthlessness and composure that came from long-term management of the territory's secret accounts and even experience in the baptism of silver trading.
Innis and two other stewards pushed open the door and entered. They had expected the young girl to be as subservient to them as she had been in the Twins.
"Maria, bring out the keys and the salt business's ledger." Innis pulled out a chair and sat down without any ceremony. "This is my grandfather's order. You've done a good job these past six months, but the Blue Fork River business is growing bigger and bigger. From now on, we elders will manage it for you."
Maria didn't move. She toyed with the heavy brass master key in her hand, her gaze cold as she looked at the three so-called "family members."
“Uncle Innis,” Maria’s voice was extremely calm, yet carried a superior’s authority, “Grandfather sent you here to ‘assist’ me, and I am deeply apprehensive. But the Blue Fork River’s score is not as easy to settle as the Twin Towers’.”
Maria pushed several thick, mud-stained booklets to the edge of the table.
"Since the three of you intend to take over the salt and ironworks, let's begin by checking the most basic sedimentation tanks. Steward Pollifer!"
Pollifer slipped in from the shadows outside the door like a ghost. In the past year and a half, his gaunt face had become even more stern.
"Take the three stewards to sedimentation ponds number two and three to inventory the brine and bottom ash residue that need to be replaced for this batch of pig iron." Maria's lips curled into a cold smile that resembled Otto's.
"Remember to tell them that every inch of sediment at the bottom of the pool must be scraped clean and weighed; it's all precious. The rights of our guests are sacred and inviolable; we must not allow the Frey family's distinguished guests to dine here idly."
Innis completely missed the venom in her words. He sneered, assuming Maria had compromised, and even thought it was a lucrative opportunity.
He picked up the account book on the table and followed Pollifer out into the blazing sun with an air of superiority.
Two days later, at the very edge of the territory, near an abandoned shallow pit behind the earthen kiln.
A pungent, acrid smell, a mixture of strong alkali and waste acid.
This is not a brine pool for salt production at all, but a hidden sewage channel that Otto has been using for the past six months to cover up the lead ash and toxic acid washing waste produced by the refining of raw silver ore.
Innis and the two stewards were barefoot, with their expensive silk trousers rolled up, wading through thick, grayish-white mud that reached above their calves.
"What kind of hell is this place?! This mud looks like it's on fire!"
A foreman groaned in agony. He looked down in horror and saw that the skin on his once pampered calves was now raw and red from being bitten by waste acid mixed with quicklime. Large areas of the skin were peeling off, and even dense, terrifying yellow blisters had appeared.
A piercing burning sensation shot straight to the brain along the nerves.
"Stop talking nonsense! Lady Maria said that every inch of sediment at the bottom of the pool must be dredged up and weighed!"
Pollifer stood on the safe, hard earthen embankment, holding a charcoal stick in his hand, urging on with a blank expression.
"If our distinguished guests at the Twin Towers can't even endure this little hardship, how can they possibly manage the hundreds of thousands of kilograms of business in our Blue Fork River?"
William Charlton watched this scene coldly from the shadows of the second floor of the stone tower.
The boy's fingers unconsciously rubbed the short sword at his waist. He recalled the snowy winter when he first arrived at Blue Fork River, the cesspool reeking of urine, and the half-eaten flatbread.
He suddenly felt exhilarated.
King's Landing, the muddy alleys of Blackwater Bay.
This is the heart of Westeros's power, but in the deepest veins of this heart flows only filthy blood that can never see the light of day.
A merchant dressed in coarse brown linen clothes, disguised as an ordinary sailor, was hurrying through alleyways filled with excrement and rotting fish.
His true identity is that of a high-ranking agent sent by Tytos Blackwood a year and a half ago.
During this long period of tracking, he followed the smuggling waterways of the Riverlands, sniffing out the smells of East Tower linen and raw silver slag, and finally found an astonishing secret figure at the underground bank in Seagull Town and the agent of the Braavos Iron Treasury.
It was a rubbing of a huge contract for buying out mercenaries in the Golden Company, as well as a batch of raw silver transaction records of unknown origin, of extremely high quality but with a sour, grayish smell.
He turned into a dead end, intending to transfer to a fast horse at the designated meeting point and rush back to Hejian overnight.
"Whoosh—"
A soft, rustling sound, like a gentle breeze rustling through the tiles.
The scout didn't even feel the pain; he only saw a thin piece of gallows wire shoot out from the darkness and precisely wrap around his throat.
The immense force severed his trachea. He didn't even have time to struggle to pull out his sword before collapsing limply into the stinking garbage heap like a dead fish drained of water.
From the darkness emerged a thin figure wearing a dark green velvet cloak.
The man skillfully flipped open the scout's clothes and pulled out the sheepskin scroll, which was covered in body heat and cold sweat.
By the faint moonlight, the man opened the scroll and glanced at the numbers and the secret mark of the Iron Treasury.
He didn't exclaim in surprise, but carefully hid the reel close to his body, as if he were putting away a priceless check.
A gust of wind carrying the smell of the sea blew by, lifting a corner of the man's cloak.
On his left chest was a finely crafted, eerily intricately detailed mockingbird brooch made of pure silver.
The next morning, at the Red Fort, in the Chancellor's tower.
The rising sun shone through the exquisite stained glass, casting its light on a large desk piled high with IOUs from various families, customs duty reports, and lists of smuggled goods intercepted.
Over the past year, thanks to his unparalleled money-making skills in Seagull Town, Petyr Baelish has successfully squeezed into the Council of Kings and firmly secured his position as Chancellor of the Iron Throne.
At this moment, he was comfortably trimming his well-maintained nails.
The parchment scroll that had been pulled from the dead man in Blackwood lay flat beside him.
Little Finger's gray-green eyes, with a cruel smile that seemed to see right through people, stared intently at the money flow of Blue Fork River on the scroll.
"A baron from the Riverlands. A barbarian estate with only a few hundred farmers. Yet he could buy out thirty heavily armored infantrymen, plus the elite of the Golden Company."
The little finger gently flicked the parchment, the sound as soft as if it were singing an ancient love song.
"Tethos, you fought wars your whole life, yet you didn't even know who the true owner of the gold was."
Little Finger picked up a glass of scarlet Qingting Island wine and took a small sip.
"Those mud-legged bastards from the Riverlands dare to dig up the Iron Throne right under my nose and eat its flesh."
Littlefinger put down his wine glass and picked up an expensive gold quill pen. He felt no anger, only the greed of a merchant.
He gently drew a circle on the edge of the parchment, locking the three characters "Blue Fork River" firmly within it.
"It seems I need to send a knowledgeable 'tax official' into that gray stone wall to have a proper talk with this audacious 'piercing man' about the 'protection fee' for this deal."
"Seventy percent, I think that's a fair price."