Game of Thrones: The Impaler of the Blue Fork

Chapter 79: The "Spring Thunder" in the Ledger

After the ice melted, the Blue Fork Valley was devoid of any spring warmth in the air.

It was a fishy smell, a mixture of rotting dead fish and the pungent stench of quicklime, that had been stirred up from deep within the permafrost.

Otto Hohenzollern stood at the breach in the city wall, his boots sinking into the half-dry mud.

The thawed mud seemed to have a life of its own, clinging tightly to his boots with every step he took, making a dull sucking sound.

"Sir, Raymond Frey's ship has arrived. There's only one, and it's very shallow."

Steward Pollifer strode over, a few specks of black mud on his faded sheepskin coat.

He clutched a freshly sealed roll of parchment in his hand, his knuckles dry from the force of the grip.

"He's waiting for us to beg him."

Otto stared at the lone sailboat on the river, his eyes as cold as ice.

"He felt that the heavy snow had blocked the trade routes and that Haijiang City had raised prices, so we could only kneel in the stables of the Twin Towers and lick the leftover bean cakes from him."

---

There was no brazier at the bottom of the stone tower, and a chill seeped from the cracks in the stone.

Raymond Frey sat on a rickety wooden stool, toying with a dagger inlaid with cheap gemstones.

Compared to his arrogance last year, his movements now carry a hint of restlessness and unease.

"Hohenzollern, let's get straight to the point."

Raymond exhaled a breath of sour, foul air.

"Victor from Seafront City told me you've become so poor you're resorting to mixing salt with thin porridge. Since we're related by marriage, I've brought you three cartloads of oat seeds, but the price... will be double that of Fair Market. After all, the scouts of Tethos aren't to be trifled with."

Otto sat behind his desk, his right hand gently tapping the thick roster of the territory.

"Don't rush to discuss the price, Raymond. I have a story that's worth more than oats."

Otto glanced to his side.

Twelve-year-old William Charlton emerged from the shadows.

He was still wearing that smelly, tattered peasant's coat, his hands were covered in calluses, and the innocence that belonged to a noble young master in his eyes had long been washed away by the filth from washing manure buckets.

He stared intently at Raymond, like a wolf cub eyeing carrion.

"Petty the blind tax collector in the culvert outside the East Tower."

William's voice was hoarse, but every word was clear.

"The cartload of winter linen he withheld each month was not put into the old marquis's storeroom, but was transported into a private residence."

Raymond's hand, which was toying with the dagger, suddenly stopped.

"That house is right across from your residence, young master."

William added, a sneer playing on his lips.

"That spice merchant's mistress has been wearing fine linen skirts quite often lately."

The air in the stone chamber seemed to freeze.

Raymond's face went from rosy to deathly pale.

"What...what do you want?"

Raymond's voice turned shrill, a tremor like a cornered dog about to leap out of the wall.

"I don't want your life, Raymond. What I want are those three cartloads of seeds and four strong oxen."

Otto leaned forward slightly, shadows covering half of his face.

"Petty stole the old Marquis's winter coat, a capital offense. But if this matter remains unresolved, when old Walder investigates and finds out who lives across the street from you, do you think he'll think you were 'negligent,' or that you were the ringleader in the looting?"

"This is extortion!"

Raymond suddenly stood up, his hand on the hilt of his sword.

"No, this is dividing the spoils."

Otto's voice was perfectly steady, without any inflection, as if he were checking a perfectly normal transaction.

"I've already had Pollifer calculate the linen. It's too conspicuous; it would be a disaster if left in the Twins. But once it's here, I can tear it up and make back braces for those four hundred farmers, or turn it into new bandages. In return, I'll have 'Blind' Petyr write on that tattered account: 'Due to the cold and damp winter, the cloth was destroyed by wildfire during transport.'"

Otto nudged the white salt pot on the table with his fingertip.

"Raymond, if you come with me, your neighbor across the hall will have a pile of linen that can be exchanged for money; if you don't come with me, your neighbor across the hall will be a gallows. You should know the choice better than I do."

Raymond stared intently at Otto.

He looked at the nineteen-year-old, looking into his eyes.

"Four cows, that's the most we can have."

Raymond slumped back into his chair, looking as if his spine had been removed.

"I'll have someone deliver the seeds tonight, as... as Maria's settlement fee."

"Deal. Pollifer."

---

After Raymond left, the stone chamber fell silent once more.

Gareth stood at the door the whole time.

He watched Raymond stagger away, then looked at Otto, who was wiping the seal with his head down.

"Sir, William is still a child. You're sending him to eavesdrop on these shady things and then expecting him to identify them in person."

Gareth clenched his fist, his tone tinged with resentment.

"This will ruin him. He should have studied swordsmanship, learned how to become a true knight."

Otto stopped what he was doing and looked up at Gareth.

"A true knight?"

Otto sneered and pointed out the window to the refugees scavenging for food in the mud ditch.

"Garres, if I don't teach him how to read books, he'll spend his whole life washing manure buckets. What honor do you think he can learn from that pile of dung?"

He stood up, walked over to William, and placed his large hand heavily on the boy's thin shoulder.

"He did a good job today, so he'll get a whole piece of salted fish with oil on it tonight."

Otto looked into William's wild eyes.

"William, how does this feeling compare to learning swordsmanship?"

William did not speak.

He simply touched the piece of salted meat that Pollifer had just stuffed into his arms, and bowed deeply to Otto.

---

On the drill ground, the fourteen newly recruited veterans, led by Edric, were undergoing "mud stab" training in the spring mud.

The heavy fish-scale armor made a rustling sound as it rubbed against each other, and each time the hook-and-sickle spear was retracted, it kicked up a long trail of sticky black mud.

Otto stood on high ground, watching the team that was taking shape.

"Polliver."

"Yes, sir."

Write it down.

Otto looked at the dark treeline to the south, where fifteen men had gone missing—another dead end left behind by Blackwood.

"When the seeds are planted, the boundary marker on the south side will also be moved outwards. This time, the boundary official won't need to come and measure it."

A rumble of thunder sounded from behind the clouds.