A two-story building made of bricks and earth stood before them, with a messy, fenceless yard in front. At the center of the yard sat a large, soot-blackened iron cauldron big enough to fit an entire cow. Seven or eight men and women in coarse hemp clothes were busy working around it.
One person was feeding firewood under the cauldron. A woman with dull, rough skin and a bloated figure was washing turnips beside a well. A burly man with a thick beard was skillfully skinning a dead dog—Dany could smell the heavy stench of rot rising from its blackened fat.
Another person was holding a large bamboo basket, pouring chunks of dark red meat, still attached to ghastly white bones, into the pot. As he poured, two others stirred the contents with ladles. Inside, Dany could see barley, soybeans, onions, and bones from unidentifiable animals.
A thick layer of greasy oil floated atop the viscous brown broth. From time to time, large, eyeball-sized bubbles slowly rose to the surface and popped, releasing eerie puffs of salty aroma that drifted outward.
"Gulp."
"Gulp."
Dany felt nauseous just looking at the oily broth, but the scrawny children nearby were staring wide-eyed, sucking their fingers, and swallowing saliva.
"The brown soup isn't ready yet, guests," said the square-faced man pouring meat into the pot, eyeing Dany and her companion with confusion. "Sirs, there's no fine food or drink here for knights like you."
"These children," said the white knight, pointing at the twenty-odd beggar children clustered around the horse tamer, "give each of them a bowl of brown soup."
"Oh, that?" The square-faced man casually tore off a thick sausage and tossed it into the pot. His voice was calm, but his tone was firm. "That's duck neck!"
The other workers glanced indifferently at Dany, not pausing their work for even a second.
Dany was about to speak again, even thinking of drawing her sword, when the white knight firmly grasped her elbow and shook his head solemnly. "My lady, that's duck neck. The Brown Soup Shop doesn't butcher animals themselves. They buy meat and vegetables from the citizens and sell the soup at almost cost price to the locals. Tens of thousands live in Flea Bottom—over a hundred thousand people rely on this place to survive."
Silently, Dany sheathed her sword.
The old knight dismounted and entered the courtyard, asking the square-faced man, "Strick, how's business lately?"
"You know me, Ser?" The man looked surprised.
"Heh, I've lived in King's Landing for forty years. I know every flea in Flea Bottom," said the white knight, his tone complex.
Hearing this, the man—Strick—and the other workers looked at the armored knight with noticeably more warmth.
"Not good," Strick sighed, shaking his head. "Half of King's Landing's food, vegetables, and meat come from Crownlands. But those wolf pups from the North—though they didn't take a single major city—destroyed nearly every estate around Maidenpool.
"And the lions from the West are no better. The Iron Throne may now bear the name Lannister, but when their army passed through, they still looted the countryside—stealing grain, murdering, even... raping."
A young man with a kidney-shaped face squatting by the fire murmured, "Ah, I miss the peaceful days when King Robert was alive."
"Yeah, yeah," a teen next to him nodded in agreement. "King Robert was great. Back then, a copper coin could buy a sausage. Now, even a pumpkin costs three coppers, and a whole gold dragon barely buys a cut of beef."
"No, King Robert was nothing. It was King Aerys who was truly good!" the fat woman washing vegetables at the well shouted, shaking her head. "You kids are too young to remember the glory days of Aerys' reign. People lived in peace, with plenty to eat and drink. Life in King's Landing was so good, the Brown Soup Shop nearly went out of business."
Even the bearded butcher's face showed nostalgia. "Yeah, I remember the twelfth year of King Aerys' reign. One copper could buy ten big, crisp, sweet apples on Flour Street. Sigh... it's been over half a year since I last had a juicy red apple."
Each worker had their own king to reminisce about—some missed Robert, some missed Aerys. Anyone unfamiliar with the truth might've mistaken them for legendary wise rulers.
But Dany understood—they weren't nostalgic for the kings, but for the peaceful summers of the past.
Why did everyone long for long summers?
Because summer meant abundant harvests. And as long as there was no war, people didn't starve.
Dany nudged her horse forward into the courtyard. Frowning as she looked at the bubbling pot of meat, she asked the old knight, "Is it true their Brown Soup Shop doesn't make money?"
Strick pulled at his filthy linen tunic with a scowl. "Do we look like rich folks to you?"
Dany nodded, then pointed to the children behind her. "If I want to provide them with brown soup for half a year, how much would I need to pay?"
Strick started counting on his fingers. The more he calculated, the more conflicted and uncertain his expression became. After a while, he gave up with a helpless wave. "Give whatever you like. Ten silver stags? Twenty? Any amount is fine."
"Will you take my money and then not feed the children?" Dany asked again.
"Impossible!" Strick flushed with anger, pointing at the white knight. "I, Strick, have a name in Flea Bottom. Your companion knows me—ask him!"
"Give him twenty gold dragons," the white knight said firmly. "Even Old Strick wouldn't steal from that."
Strick's eyes welled up with emotion. "Ser, take off your helmet and let me see your face. Anyone who knows me this well must be a good friend!"
The white knight lifted his visor, revealing a bearded, hairy face.
"You're... Columbus from Mud Street?! Where've you been these years? Haven't come drinking with me in ages!" Strick exclaimed in shock.
"I'm not Columbus," the white knight replied, a little disappointed, lowering his helmet. "I've seen you many times—you just never remembered me."
"Ah, that's true," Strick scratched his head and chuckled sheepishly. "Sorry, old friend. It's like me knowing Queen Cersei—but she definitely doesn't know who I am."
That comparison...
"Ahem, not just twenty gold dragons," Dany cleared her throat, cutting off the two old men's awkward chatter. "I want to donate a large sum to your shop. All I ask is that from now on, any starving child who comes by... gets a full meal."
"Have you lost your mind?" Stryker stared at her in shock.
"How am I the one who's lost my mind?" Dany asked, confused.
"You're a noble lady from a wealthy family. Why do you care about those little brats no one wants?" Stryker asked.
"I'm rich, and I do as I please."
Stryker's mouth twitched. He dropped the basket and wiped his greasy hands on his clothes before reaching them out toward Dany. "Don't worry. I won't embezzle a single copper coin."
Dany unfastened her backpack and tossed over a leather pouch. It jingled heavily, easily weighing four or five pounds.
Caught off guard, Stryker almost dropped it.
"Is this amount of silver really worth twenty gold dragons? What a wild boast," he muttered, casting a doubtful glance at Dany. Grumbling to himself, he started to open the pouch—only to be nearly blinded by the dazzling golden light inside.
"Th-this—" Stryker's expression shifted from shock to complete bewilderment as he looked at Dany, utterly at a loss.
[Latest chapter first published at Six9 Book Bar!]
"Just a couple hundred gold dragons, no big deal. Don't act like you've never seen the world," Dany said casually, waving her hand.
"What? They're all gold dragons?" The other shop assistants immediately abandoned their work and crowded around to watch.
As the glittering, shiny little gold coins came into view, many of their gazes shifted—toward the pouch, then toward Dany—now filled with greed, hesitation, malice, and even an urge to act.
Stryker snapped back to his senses and roared at his staff, "What are you doing?! Never seen gold before? It's just a few hundred dragons! Get back to work!"
His voice boomed like thunder, and the assistants quickly lowered their eyes and slunk back to their duties.
"Milady, you really think too highly of me," Stryker said at last with a wry smile, shaking his head.
Dany tilted her chin toward the white knight, grinning. "His approval is worth far more than this pouch of gold. But this is all the cash I have left—otherwise..."
Stryker's eyes widened. He turned once more to the old knight and asked seriously, "Who are you?"
"Don Astane. I served in King's Landing for a few years."
Stryker wracked his brain but still couldn't recall such a "famous man." Shaking his head, he said solemnly, "I can't accept this money. I'm not qualified to. But I can help you hand it over to the High Sparrow. Only he has the authority to receive and properly use such a donation."
"You know the High Sparrow? Did you join the Begging Brotherhood or something?" Dany frowned.
"No, I don't know him personally, and I've never joined any church militia. But the High Sparrow has heard of me," Stryker said proudly, straightening his back.
"He often sends monks here with grain, telling me to lower the cost of brown soup so I can feed more of the people."
"He's really been doing that?" Dany's expression shifted to surprise.
"Yes. He's sold nearly everything of value inside the Sept—even the archbishop's crown—to buy food for the poor in King's Landing. Because of that, refugees from the Crownlands and the Riverlands have been pouring into the city recently."
Dany's face shifted through several emotions before she asked again, "Are you going to see the High Septon right now?"
"Of course," Stryker said, lifting the money pouch with a bitter smile. "If I wait any longer, and word gets out, I might not live to see tomorrow."
"Is King's Landing really that chaotic?" the white knight asked with a frown.
"People have gone mad from hunger."
Leaving the group of little beggars behind at the brown soup shop to wait for their meal, Stryker stuffed the pouch into his coat and left together with Dany and the knight.
The trio walked silently through the narrow alleyways. Only after reaching the main road did the grim expression on Stryker's face ease a little.
Letting out a long breath, he spoke slowly, "The weather's getting colder. I heard it even snowed lightly in the Riverlands two months ago. Everyone knows winter is coming, but the kingdom is..." He paused, then continued, "Milady, now that you've shown your wealth, don't ever go to the Flea Bottom again. Just a year ago, there was a food riot in King's Landing—even several Gold Cloaks were killed. The High Septon himself almost..."
Stryker didn't finish, but Dany could already guess. That High Septon likely ended up as an ingredient in the brown soup.
After a moment's thought, Dany reached into her backpack again and pulled out a piece of elaborately decorated, finely made parchment. "Take this too."
"What's this?" Stryker took it and examined both sides. "I can't read, but this mark of the Seven and all these numbers... Looks like some kind of deposit slip from the Church's bank?"
(End of Chapter)
Want to read the chapters in Advance? Join my Patreon
https://patreon.com/Glimmer09