Chapter 83: The Curse of the Stranger
Although Balerion the Black Dread's fire had annihilated the Sept of Remembrance, Ian reasoned that the dragonflame would have primarily ravaged the structures on the surface.
Therefore, when construction on the Dragonpit began, the basements of the old sept—those that survived the inferno—were likely preserved and incorporated into the new structure.
And that meant a section of the [Underground]—the sept's crypts—had become part of the Dragonpit. It was a place that perfectly fit the clue of [Holy] within the greater [Ruins], a site already infamous throughout King's Landing as a symbol of [Death].
The secret passage to the treasure chest had to be in one of the basements that originally belonged to the sept.
To verify his guess, Ian immediately questioned his subordinates.
He soon received the confirmation he sought. Dorian's men reported that the forty-plus basements they had explored were of two distinct styles, both in their architecture and their murals. One style was clearly Valyrian, filled with motifs of dragons and sorcery. The other was just as clearly Andal, depicting scenes from the Faith's holy myths.
This was all the proof Ian needed. He immediately had his men organize their findings and draw up a map showing the distribution of the different basements.
Finally, Ian identified two distinct areas where the sept-style crypts were concentrated.
In these two areas, the sections buried by collapsed boulders were only about half the size of the intact portions, amounting to perhaps five or six basements in total.
Ian gave the order at once: clear the rubble from the buried crypts of the Sept of Remembrance and search for any hidden passages within.
He estimated the process would take about five days.
At dusk that day, as the operation to clear the ruins was just getting underway, messengers arrived at the Dragonpit. One came from Sir Grantham's team, posted at the port, and the other from the 'Naughty Jokes' crew, who were still operating in Flea Bottom.
Taking a break for dinner, Ian, who had been hauling bricks alongside his men all afternoon, took the time to meet with them.
"This is all we have for now," Ian said, sharing bread, salt, and ale with the two messengers. He took a bite of his own portion before continuing, "Forgive the humble fare. I'll treat you all to a proper feast after this business is done. Now, who reports first?"
"I will," said Sir Grantham's adjutant, a bearded man whose name Ian couldn't recall. "We believe we've spotted a group of enemy reinforcements."
Ian had tasked Grantham's men with monitoring ships from Pentos. His reasoning was simple: the traitors from the Laughing Lion had been operating out of Pentos before becoming trapped in King's Landing. It was logical they might have sent for help from their associates there.
"When? And how many?" Ian asked.
"This morning. A group of twelve well-equipped warriors disembarked. Sir Grantham had one of the sailors from the Shayala's Dance try to speak with them, but they were very vigilant. He couldn't learn their purpose in King's Landing. Additionally, some of them kept a close eye on our 'bait' when he passed by, but they never made a move. They entered the city, and we followed them discreetly. They went straight to the Street of the Sisters and took rooms at an inn near Flea Bottom."
The adjutant finished his report in a single breath and quickly took a swig of ale. "Soon after, several of them entered Flea Bottom. Based on your description, Sir, we're certain this is the group you're looking for."
Sir Grantham's judgment was sound. This was undoubtedly a team of players, though Ian couldn't know if they were a single party or an alliance.
"Are you still watching them?"
"Yes," the adjutant nodded. "Sir Grantham has deployed a number of men to keep an eye on that inn. We can launch an attack whenever you give the word."
"Not yet. Just keep watching them," Ian said, shaking his head. The funeral for the former Hand, Jon Arryn, had just ended, and security in King's Landing was still tight. Launching a rash assault on an inn and killing a dozen men was far too conspicuous.
Ian's most important task was finding the treasure box. Everything else could wait until he was ready to leave the city.
"And you?" Ian turned to the messenger from the 'Naughty Jokes' mercenary company. "What have you found? Not the same group of men, I hope."
"No, Sir. We have bad news."
"Bad news?" Ian raised an eyebrow. According to his plan, what bad news could there be?
"We followed your instructions and set a 'bait' in Flea Bottom," the messenger said, his expression unnatural. "A man named Bonn, dressed in the gear of a hedge knight. This afternoon… Bonn was killed."
"Was the murderer caught?" Ian asked immediately.
The bait being killed meant someone had taken it. To Ian, this wasn't necessarily a bad thing; he held no personal sentiment for these mercenaries.
"No, Sir," the messenger shook his head quickly. "We never saw the killer."
"What?" Ian fought to keep his expression neutral. "Give me the details."
"Yes, Sir." The messenger paused, seeming to recall and organize his words. "He was alone in his rented room at the time."
"Alone? Not under your watch?" Ian interrupted.
"Oh, Sir, if the bait stays where there are people all the time, you'll never catch any fish. We ran this same sort of work at the Crossroads. We have experience," the messenger explained hurriedly.
"So how did you have it set up?" Ian asked. He vaguely remembered them bringing him several heads at the Crossroads, but he had never asked about their specific methods.
"First, Bonn entered Flea Bottom separately from us. We split into four groups and took up positions in different spots within his usual route, so no one would connect us."
"Good," Ian commented.
"Bonn's job was to wander Flea Bottom in that armor, then return to his rented room periodically. The goal was to give the enemy the illusion that he was isolated. We chose a rented room instead of an inn because inns are crowded, and it's harder to make the enemy lower their guard."
"And how did you watch him when he was alone in the room?"
"The house we chose for Bonn is in a dead-end alley. There is only one road in or out," the messenger explained. "We had men posted at the mouth of the alley and in another house within it. If anyone suspicious followed Bonn into that alley, we would have seen them immediately."
"But Bonn was killed, and you saw no murderer? Were you careless?"
The messenger grew agitated. "There was no suspicious person! Seven Hells, I swear it! No one entered that alley. It was… it was the Stranger's curse!"
"The Stranger's curse?" Ian frowned. "What in the hells is that?"
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