Chapter 100 Pentos
At the dawn of a new day, the coast of Pentos finally came into view.
The morning sun rose from behind the city, bathing the port in a warm, orange light that shimmered beautifully on the water. As the ship drew closer, Ian's thoughts began to wander.
Pentos was one of the nine Free Cities, situated on the western coast of Essos and facing Westeros across the Narrow Sea. Of all the Free Cities, it was the closest to King's Landing.
It was also the most populous. Its maritime trade routes stretched from the Seven Kingdoms to the distant shores of the Jade Sea, while overland caravans connected it to Norvos, Qohor, and even the Dothraki sea of grass. To the east of the city lay a vast plain, thousands of miles of fertile land with immense agricultural potential.
The crucial detail, however, was its vulnerability. Some ninety years ago, after a disastrous war with Braavos, Pentos had been forced to sign a treaty forbidding it from maintaining a fleet of more than twenty warships, from hiring mercenary companies, and from fielding any army beyond its city guard.
This massive, walled city was, in truth, a paper tiger.
*Wait,* Ian thought, mentally slapping himself. *What in the seven hells am I thinking?* He had fewer than ten swords at his command, and here he was, daydreaming of taking a city? His ambition was far outstripping his means.
Shaking his head, Ian forced his thoughts back to the present.
"Daeron," he said, outlining his plan to the son of Lord Grafson beside him. "You know the location of Magister Illyrio's manse, don't you? We will go directly to him after we disembark."
"Uh…" Daeron hesitated for a moment before replying nonchalantly, "I did attend a banquet at one of the Magister's residences, but he doesn't often live there. I've heard Illyrio owns three grand manses in Pentos, and countless other properties besides."
"So you don't know where he usually lives?" Ian frowned. "Fine. Just take us to the manse you've been to. Once we inform the guards of our identity, they will naturally contact Illyrio."
***
"Another Westerosi noble? Be on your way!" The captain of the guard looked Daeron up and down before waving him off unceremoniously. "The Magister has given orders. All so-called nobles from Westeros are to be sent away."
A flash of anger crossed Daeron's face. "I'll have you know, I am of House Grafson of Gulltown!"
The captain let out a mocking laugh. "The last pretender, who claimed to be an illegitimate son of House Martell, was ten times more convincing than you! And before him, a man claiming to be the last knight of House Mouton. When the Magister investigated, they were all found to be fakes! Now get out of here, before you force us to act!"
"I know Magister Illyrio personally!" Daeron insisted, pointing a finger at the guard's nose. "If he learns that you treated me with such disrespect, he will most certainly—"
"Are you going to leave, or not?" the captain cut in. He waved a hand, and the Unsullied guards flanking him stepped forward, leveling their spears.
The sight of the disciplined slave-soldiers immediately sobered Daeron. He took several quick steps back, bumping squarely into Ian.
Ian saw no point in starting a fight with a full contingent of Unsullied. He simply turned and walked away, heading toward a side street. Embarrassed, Daeron had no choice but to hurry after him.
"Ian, listen to me," Daeron began with a nervous energy once they had stopped in a deserted corner. He had patted his chest and promised Ian he was a guest of Magister Illyrio, yet they had been unceremoniously kicked away from the first manse they found. The humiliation was total.
Ian listened patiently to Daeron's defensive excuses. He already knew the situation wasn't his fault. Logically, their plan should have worked. Daeron would reveal his identity at one of Illyrio's residences, the household steward would inform the Magister, and a meeting would soon follow.
Who could have predicted a recent flood of fake Westerosi nobles?
Ian knew exactly who those impostors were. They had to be other players, racking their brains for a way to get an audience with Daenerys Targaryen. Evidently, Illyrio's intelligence network on the other side of the Narrow Sea—which was to say, Varys—was so effective that he had exposed them one by one.
This had exhausted Illyrio's patience, leading to the current stalemate where Ian and his party couldn't even get past the gate guards.
"You do know Magister Illyrio personally, correct?" Ian asked after Daeron had finished his tirade.
"Of course! We have met several times. Pentos is an important waypoint on our shipping routes. Yes! Yes, Illyrio knows me," Daeron said, latching onto the thought and finding his footing again. "As soon as I meet him in person, he will confirm my identity. And when he does, I will make sure those insolent guards pay for this."
"The question," Ian interrupted, cutting through his bluster, "is how we are going to meet Illyrio in person?" He saw that Daeron, for all his renewed confidence, had no idea. "We cannot simply wait at his door. You said yourself he has hundreds of properties in Pentos."
This was infuriatingly complicated.
"This…" Daeron was embarrassed once more. He looked away, avoiding Ian's gaze.
After a few minutes of silence, Ian spoke again. "You've attended one of the Magister's Chamber of Commerce banquets before, haven't you? Is it possible for us to acquire an invitation for the next one he holds? We could get in front of him that way."
"That's it!" The idea seemed to jolt Daeron. "Illyrio convenes his chamber members and merchants seeking his partnership for a banquet in the middle of every month. But…"
As he spoke, Daeron's voice grew softer again. "Attending requires a qualification review. If my ships were still mine, there would be no problem."
"You can't qualify now?"
"I am not a member of Illyrio's Chamber of Commerce, and my personal wealth no longer meets the standard. I used to apply on my own merits each time, but now… I no longer have my ships."
"What are the minimum requirements to apply?" Ian asked after a moment's thought.
"Three merchantmen capable of navigating the Narrow Sea, or a single ocean-going galleon that can sail the Summer and Shivering Seas."
*Damn it.* Ian, who had been considering the possibility of simply buying whatever assets were required, felt his plan hit a wall.
Ships were among the most expensive assets of this era. A vessel that could cross the Narrow Sea cost several hundred gold dragons at a minimum, while an ocean-going galleon could easily cost thousands. The very best could cost tens of thousands.
He recalled how Magister Illyrio's three ships, the ones Daenerys 'confiscated' in Slaver's Bay, were valued by the slavers of Astapor to be worth a thousand Unsullied.
Ian had more than six thousand gold dragons to his name, but he had no intention of spending half his fortune on a ship. Beyond the colossal waste of resources, his current identity could not explain the source of such wealth.
"By the way!" Daeron suddenly exclaimed, interrupting Ian's thoughts. "I have some friends in the Chamber of Commerce here in Pentos. Perhaps we can ask them for help."
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