"It's a bearer certificate from the Church Bank—anonymous, and redeemable for cash upon presentation."
In this world, maritime trade is particularly prosperous, and with it, the banking industry has flourished. While issuing paper currency isn't practical, instruments similar to the "Jiaozi" from the Song Dynasty in the Celestial Empire have long existed.
However, most of these are large-denomination, registered certificates of deposit. Banks won't accept them unless backed by at least three Golden Dragons, and only the account holder or a designated person may withdraw the funds, and even then, only with a signature and official seal.
Of course, banks encourage depositors to use bearer certificates, which are almost equivalent to large-denomination paper money.
But they're quite risky. If Dany were robbed, she'd lose twenty thousand gold dragons in an instant. Yet, a lord's ransom is only about a hundred gold dragons.
So even after taking the three major city-states of Ghis, she hadn't seized many bearer certificates from the slave merchants.
Strick's eyes widened as his trembling fingers traced the numbers, "T-t-twenty thousand gold dragons? By the Seven!"
"A small matter," Dany waved her hand nonchalantly. "Tell the High Sparrow to spend it immediately. Preferably don't buy grain within the Seven Kingdoms. Go across the Narrow Sea and look for grain merchants there."
Twenty thousand gold dragons is a small matter? Are you some kind of billionaire?
Truly, no one is perfect. This lady knight had a kind heart and a beautiful face—grace and virtue combined—but she did love to brag.
Strick carefully tucked the parchment close to his body, still puzzled. "Why? Grain from Highgarden is cheaper!"
"Alas, the Seven Kingdoms are short on food. If we only consume what's within and don't import, it's unlikely we'll survive the winter.
And with constant conflict between the Tyrells and the Lannisters, Highgarden won't support King's Landing forever. Once everyone flocks to the Riverlands for grain, prices will skyrocket.
Foreign profiteers, even if their costs remain unchanged, will follow suit and raise their prices. This vicious cycle will devalue the currency rapidly and ultimately crash King's Landing's economy."
"This…" Strick was utterly lost and overwhelmed. He offered a suggestion instead, "How about… you come with me to the Great Sept and speak directly to the High Sparrow? I don't understand all your advice, but you clearly mean well. I'm sure it would benefit the people of King's Landing."
"Meet the High Sparrow?" Dany hesitated and turned to look at the White Knight.
"It's worth meeting him," Barristan nodded.
Dany asked Strick, "Will he see me?"
"He definitely will!"
"All right. I've been curious about this legendary High Septon anyway."
King's Landing is bordered to the south by the Blackwater Rush and to the east by Blackwater Bay. The city is primarily built on three hills, each named after one of Aegon the Conqueror's three spouses:
Rhaenys Hill—home to commoners and the poor, including the abandoned Dragonpit and Flea Bottom;
Visenya Hill—where craftsmen and the middle class reside, and where the Great Sept of Baelor, the main temple of the Faith of the Seven, is located;
And Aegon's High Hill—where kings and nobles live, with the Red Keep perched atop a cliff at the confluence of the river and the bay.
They followed the main road eastward. The streets were still filthy and chaotic, but the buildings gradually grew taller and more orderly. The air still reeked of stench and rot, now mingled with the smells of strong liquor, makeup, and freshly baked bread—a nauseating mix.
Along the way, Dany passed naked courtesans leaning out of second-story windows to solicit customers, saw blue-robed women carrying vegetable baskets digging out two copper coins to buy five shriveled apples no bigger than a child's fist from a street vendor, and passed one desolate inn and tavern after another.
Turning onto Silent Sisters' Street, Dany finally saw the famous Alchemists' Guild.
A sprawling complex of black stone buildings, nearly deserted save for a few idle pyromancers drifting in and out. The locals treated the place like a plague zone, quickening their pace whenever they passed.
In stark contrast, the Great Sept of Baelor was teeming with people—mostly ragged, filthy refugees.
They seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the plaza, bringing along their families, erecting coarse fabric tents on the pristine marble floor, even building mud huts near the altar of Baelor and on the steps of the pulpit. Bedding was spread out, fires lit, with pots and pans placed nearby.
Smoke curled in the air in front of the Great Sept of Baelor!
Strick walked quickly to a group of soldiers clad in rough brown cloth, handing a pouch of coins to a one-armed man while gesturing toward Dany, who stood at the edge of the square.
Soon, the group of soldiers approached Dany. They were unkempt, dirty, and poorly equipped—some wore dented plate over their coarse tunics, others had rusty chainmail, and a few only had cracked leather armor. But all bore the seven-pointed star of the Faith on their chests.
Dany understood—this ragtag force was most likely the High Sparrow's "Beggar Army," a militia of the poor.
Of course, "Beggar Army" was just the common folk's name for the church militia. Within the Faith of the Seven, they had a far more dignified title—The Order of the Star.
The one-armed man thanked Dany and Barristan before asking, "Milady, are you a follower of the Faith?"
"Yes, we both believe in the Seven. I'm even a member of the clergy," Dany nodded.
"Excellent. I'll take you to see the High Septon right away," the one-armed man said, pleased. "May I ask your names, fellow believers?"
Dany handed her horse to one of the Star Knights and smiled. "I'm Kaysa Alexander, and this is my knightly squire, Astan."
"Nice to meet you, Lady Kaysa. I'm Lancel," the one-armed man hesitated briefly, "Lancel Lannister."
"Lannister?" Dany was indeed surprised.
Suddenly, she remembered who he was—Jaime's cousin, the one who climbed into Cersei's bed, and directly caused Robert's death.
"I've given up my titles and lands. I've devoted the rest of my life to the Seven," the one-armed man said with a weary, solemn look, like a monk who had transcended worldly concerns.
As they walked through the crowd—past fires, carts, and shabby shelters—the refugees around them looked listless, gloomy, and numb. Some even showed faint signs of hostility.
Lancel stopped at the center of the crowd and loudly announced, "This is Lady Kaysa Alexander, a fellow believer and a devout follower of the Seven. She has made a generous donation to our cause!"
It was like someone had suddenly turned on a beauty filter and background lights—instantly, the expressions of the refugees changed. Their gazes toward Dany became gentle, reverent, and filled with goodwill. Even the dull, grey, and cold weather seemed to brighten with sunshine.
"So superficial," Dany thought to herself, while maintaining a polite smile.
As they approached the statue of Baelor the Blessed, she was shocked to see that the majestic marble figure—smiling kindly—was piled with bones and skulls from the waist down. Many of the remains still had traces of flesh attached.
Plump white maggots wriggled among the bones, flies buzzed and darted about, and a flock of crows had landed on the heap, feasting on the dry remains.
"What is going on here?" Dany asked Lancel, who stood beside her.
"These are the clergy who died tragically in recent years across the Riverlands, the Crownlands, and the Stormlands—septas, septons, regional bishops. Some were hanged by followers of the Red God, others gutted by northern marauders. But the majority..."
He paused, his face darkening, then continued grimly, "were slaughtered by the Brave Companions, hired by Lord Tywin. And there are bandits roaming the Riverlands and Crownlands who rob septons, rape septas—they don't even spare the Silent Sisters. The Brothers of the Poor Fellows gathered their remains from across the realm and brought them here, hoping the Holy Church would bear witness."
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The Brave Companions—also known as the Bloody Mummers—were a mercenary company whose infamy in Essos was second only to the Second Sons (the same group, led by the Titan's Bastard, that Dany had wiped out).
The most foolish decision Lord Tywin had ever made was hiring this notorious company from across the Narrow Sea to do his dirty work.
Aside from the fact that their captain hacked off Jaime's right hand, their presence utterly destroyed agriculture in the Riverlands—a loss that did little to help secure victory over the local lords.
The Riverlands, once the breadbasket of the Seven Kingdoms, became the Iron Throne's heaviest burden after the War of the Five Kings.
The High Sparrow—and all his little sparrows—were refugees from this very region.
As they walked up the stone steps before the Great Sept, Lancel reminded her, "Lady Khaisha, as per the High Septon's command, no non-clergy may bring weapons into the sept. You and your attendants will need to surrender your swords."
"Of course." Dany unbuckled her longsword and handed it to her white knight. "Wait here."
The old knight hesitated a moment, then nodded and took Clear Sky.
Ordinary steel swords weren't a concern if given to the Poor Fellows. But Valyrian steel, though outwardly unremarkable, could easily betray itself once drawn—its weight, balance, and edge unmistakably different.
To suddenly produce two Valyrian blades might tempt the desperate Poor Fellows to steal—or spark other trouble.
They crossed through the Square of Baelor and a small garden before arriving at the sept's grand entrance.
The building was a magnificent marble structure crowned with a domed roof and flanked by seven crystal towers. Upon entering the main doors, they came to a long corridor that led deeper into the sept.
Lancel stopped just before the corridor, where over twenty barefoot monks in roughspun robes knelt, scrubbing the floor with rags, using water from wooden buckets, soap in one hand, cloth in the other.
Dany was still wondering about the scene when a thin, stooped old man—no taller than five feet—rose from the floor, tossed his rag into a bucket, and cracked a small smile across his withered face. "Khaisha, thank you for all you've done for the people of King's Landing."
"You... you're the High Septon?" Dany's eyes widened.
He didn't even reach her shoulder. His body was frail, and his brown robe hung on him like it was draped over a stick. His bare feet were blackened and calloused, rough as tree roots.
Yet he wasn't unkempt—his robe, though patched and worn, was clean. His beard was neatly trimmed, and his sparse hair combed back into a tidy knot. A refreshingly simple old man.
"I am the High Sparrow," he said with a gentle smile. "This is no place to receive guests. Khaisha, please come with me."
He led her across the soap-slick, wet floor, through a set of double doors, and into a vast hall. Dany's iron boots and the High Sparrow's bare feet echoed off the marble floor.
Inside stood seven tall statues. Beneath each—except the Stranger—altars were crowded with candles, nearly a thousand in total, burning bright like stars.
As they reached the center of the hall, beams of rainbow light streamed through the stained-glass windows in the dome above. Dust danced in the shafts of light, incense hung in the air, and a monk led over a hundred sparrows in prayer before the statue of the Mother. Their voices rolled like distant waves—ethereal and sacred.
"Which of the Seven do you serve, Lady Khaisha?" the High Sparrow asked softly.
"The Maiden," Dany replied, moving instinctively toward her altar.
(End of chapter)
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