The girl by the canal was still called Cat, but she no longer served Brusco the fishmonger. The daughter of the most noble duke had
The girl by the canal was still called Cat, but she no longer served Brusco the fishmonger.
The daughter of the most noble duke had once fallen to become the lowliest of servant girls for a common fish vendor.
From the highest to the lowest—that was the best way to strip away her past as Arya.
When Cat could perform the most menial tasks with a calm heart, her training at the canalside was deemed complete.
Half a month ago, she had begun the next phase of her training: to observe and study the actions and characteristics of every person and every type of person, to blend into their roles, and to adapt herself seamlessly to whatever situation her assumed identity demanded.
She was Cat of the Canals, the girl who sold oysters along the waterway.
"Oysters, clams, mussels!"
That evening, like every other, Cat pushed her wooden cart along the canal path leading to Ragman's Harbor, calling out whenever someone passed by.
"Oysters, prawns, plump green mussels!"
She greeted everyone with a smile.
Smiling was the best way to appear friendly and disarm suspicion.
That's what the kindly man had taught her.
And Cat wholeheartedly agreed.
Often, even when faced with her own dry, long, and dark face—plain to the point of ugliness—people would pause and buy a few oysters, moved by the warmth of her smile.
The kindly man had also told her: language may deceive the mind, but the smallest expressions and unconscious gestures can deceive the soul. A smile, too, was an expression, and it could lie—far better than words ever could.
At first, only those with compassionate hearts responded to the smile of the ugly little Cat.
But over time, Cat's smile became more and more versatile.
She learned, she imitated, she reflected, and she innovated.
Her smile grew natural and sincere.
Now, Cat could discern people's preferences from their appearances and habitual gestures. With that knowledge, she could tailor her smile—sweet, pitiful, flattering, or humbly submissive enough to make the other feel noble and generous, noble enough to toss a few copper coins her way.
When she could see through hearts and human nature, when she could reshape herself to fit others' expectations, Cat began to succeed in everything she tried.
Take, for example, Sloey, an actress aboard the mummers' ship—shrewd, stingy, and vain.
Fully aware that a female performer's beauty fades quickly and that most grow old in misery, she saved all her wages in a bank to secure her future. Yet she kept affairs with two men from the same troupe—Ellaquor and Quince—alternating them to fund her lavish lifestyle in the city.
Even so, Sloey still regularly spent a silver coin on oysters from Cat.
Or take "Merry Mummer" Merrylene, the madam of Happy Wharf. Every time she saw Cat pushing her cart past the brothel, she would call out to buy a dozen oysters to share with the girls inside.
Sure enough, that evening, as the lanterns lit the streets, Merrylene stood at her doorway, shaking the largest bosom in all of Braavos to attract clients. The moment she spotted the shy, smiling little waif, she instinctively waved and shouted, "Cat! A dozen oysters for me. Take them to the back for my darlings."
Cat agreed gladly.
By then, she had sold almost all of her oysters.
It was time to go home.
She began heading in the direction of the House of Black and White.
But she wouldn't go directly. It was still early, and the kindly man hadn't tasked her with simply selling oysters. His purpose was to let her meet more people, so she could learn to become many people.
So she circled around, pushing the cart further.
"Oysters, clams, mussels!"
Cat called again.
Then, she saw a familiar face.
She often saw him at Happy Wharf. He favored a girl named Lana, a fourteen-year-old blonde.
Merrylene priced Lana at three times the rate of a regular girl, but that didn't deter him. He was a skilled thief and assassin.
Money came easily.
But lately, Cat hadn't seen him around. When she had just delivered oysters, little Lana had even asked her, "Have you seen Rogo? I haven't seen him in a while."
Cat had been curious too. Could it be that Rogo had found someone new?
So she moved closer and gave him a Lolita-like look—innocent and alluring. Her face was thin and dark, but her eyes were big and bright. She knew he liked that kind of look.
Once, with that very smile, she had coaxed him into teaching her his specialty—throwing knives hidden in sleeves.
"Get lost!"
But this time, Cat miscalculated. Red Rogo gave her only a cold glance before striding off.
No, perhaps it wasn't a miscalculation. She had already expected this.
From the loss of rhythm in his Water Dancer's step, and the faint but buried killing intent on his face, she knew he had killed someone—and been wounded.
She had seen such signs before. After all, he was a thief and an assassin.
And assassins kill. Without killing, how else would he have money to visit Lana?
Cat watched Red Rogo's figure disappear into the distance, and murmured softly:
"The scent of blood is fresh. The fight happened two hours ago.
Wounds on the left palm and just below the right thigh. Treated by a healer.
Face pale. Blood loss.
There's a bundle under his cloak, weighing around ten pounds. He doesn't seem to value it much.
The mission likely succeeded, but he's in a foul mood tonight."
Her eyes flashed.
Cat pushed her little cart closer to the riverbank, glanced around, then gave the cart a hard shove.
Splash! Lobsters, clams, mussels, and over a dozen oysters all spilled into the canal.
She then wheeled the rickety barrow into a nearby alley and left it overturned beside a heap of scrap wood.
Slap, slap, slap!
Cat slapped her own thin cheeks a few times. Her clothes hadn't changed, nor her face, but the timid little vendor girl was gone.
Now, anyone who saw her would think she was just another streetwise urchin from the alleys.
Before Red Rogo could reach the next corner, the street rat had already caught up, shadowing him with ease.
Cat's true goal had never been to sell oysters.
As for the kindly man
If she could bring him a piece of information even he didn't know, he wouldn't mind if she threw away ten carts of oysters.
Red Rogo was a powerful Water Dancer.
But the one tailing him out of curiosity was a Faceless One.
So, he didn't know that a pair of bright gray eyes in the darkness was watching him as he stopped beside a rarely used stone bridge, took off the bundle, and hid it among the scattered rocks beneath the bridge.
Winter was coming, and with the canal entering the dry season, slippery rocks were now exposed along both banks.
The cat no longer followed Red Roggo, for her curiosity about the bundle outweighed her interest in the assassin's next move.
As soon as he left, she went over, rummaged through the rocks, and untied the bundle.
"Oh Mother of Dragons!"
She exclaimed with a currently popular Braavosi catchphrase used to express shock.
"That bastard Red Roggo actually killed a baby! And to think he always boasted in front of Lana that he was the most gentlemanly assassin—claiming not even kings and queens could make his sword hand tremble, and that he would always turn away when faced with women and children."
Seeing the baby's corpse—its skin turned ashen gray—and the plain dagger still lodged in its chest, the cat's expression turned uncertain.
She returned to the dark alley, tossed the bundle onto a handcart, and pushed it toward the Isle of the Gods. The House of Black and White received large numbers of corpses every day and also took care of the unclaimed dead.
A wooden boat silently approached and just as silently ferried her to the dock of the House of Black and White. Not a word was exchanged, nor was there even a glance between them.
"I was curious, so I followed him—and found this."
Each night, the cat had to report her findings to the Kindly Man, including the news she overheard on the streets, at the docks, and in the brothels.
"Mm."
The Kindly Man smiled kindly.
He was very pleased with her performance today.
He wouldn't bat an eye if a hundred carts of oysters were dumped into the river.
"Red Roggo killed a baby. He deserves to die," the cat said.
The Kindly Man's expression was no longer kind. His smile vanished, replaced by sternness as he said, "We kill, but we do not judge. We do not have the right to bypass the Many-Faced God and decide life or death on our own."
The cat bowed her head, humbly accepting the lesson.
Still, she was punished.
She had to balance on one foot, standing on the big toe of her left foot, while holding a tray in each hand. A waif added and removed weights from the trays at random.
Each time her body tilted, the waif pinched the soft flesh on her buttocks.
It wasn't until 2 a.m. that the cat finally collapsed into sleep.
In truth, the cat should have continued tracking him, because soon after, Red Roggo met the man in the grey robe who had hired him—down a narrow, cramped alley.
Well, the cat had already guessed he might meet his employer, but she wasn't interested.
"You're late," Red Roggo said coldly.
In the darkness, his expression couldn't be seen clearly, but the man in the grey robe could sense his mood perfectly: frustrated and seething with suppressed anger.
"I'm not late. I came as soon as I received your message," the grey-robed man replied flatly.
"May Deathwing devour you, bastard! That thing wasn't a corpse-wight. I've been to Qohor—I've seen the necromancers' stitched-together abominations," Red Roggo muttered with a curse.
"What do those look like?" the grey-robed man asked, curious.
"You don't know?" Red Roggo raised his voice, full of disbelief.
"Show me the head," said the grey-robed man.
"Heh, you've been at the docks this whole time, haven't you? You didn't see the fire?" Red Roggo sneered.
The grey-robed man didn't deny it. He patted the coin pouch at his waist and smiled faintly. "I pay, you do the job. I see the head, I pay the balance. That was the deal."
Red Roggo's good right hand unconsciously rested on the hilt of his sword. He spoke in a low voice, "The noble's head was too big to carry, but I brought the baby's body back.
You give me the money, and tomorrow I'll leave a note telling you where the body's hidden. By my name, Red Roggo, I wouldn't cheat you over something so petty."
The grey-robed man took two steps forward. A flash of realization lit up his eyes beneath the hood as he nodded. "I see now. You were seriously injured."
Red Roggo's hand tightened on the sword hilt. In a low voice, he said, "I already killed four Night's Watchmen. I can still take down two more."
"No, no," the grey-robed man quickly shook his head. "I'm just stating a fact. Nothing more. You're badly hurt—makes sense you couldn't carry something that heavy. I understand.
But you're being overly cautious. I just want them dead. Seeing the bodies is only to confirm that.
You don't need to hide the corpses to threaten me. I'm not going to cheat you out of your reward, nor will I silence you to protect myself."
"Is that so? Good." Red Roggo removed his hand from the sword hilt.
The grey-robed man untied the pouch at his waist and tossed it over. "Fifteen gold glimmers. Final payment. We're even."
Red Roggo weighed the pouch in his hand and nodded with a smile. "The amount's right. We're even. Farewell."
With that, he cautiously stepped back a few paces, then turned and walked away.
Shhhk—
Suddenly, a flash of cold light pierced the darkness. Warm blood sprayed.
"You!"
(End of chapter)
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