Chapter 125: Sir Under Poole
"The man who destroyed Taimei's gang was called Ser Ender Poole. He's a hedge knight from Westeros who arrived in Pentos less than three months ago. His name was in the report I gave you," Hazro said.
"And what is he doing now?" Ian had no recollection of the name. The report had been dense with far too many individuals, and he'd had no time to study anyone whose history wasn't particularly noteworthy.
"He serves in Suda Tetrus's personal guard. He's been recruiting sellswords for Suda at a small, reopened fighting pit in the lower city." Hazro paused, his gaze sharpening. "You aren't interested in him as well, are you? I'm warning you, don't even think of causing him trouble."
"No," Ian replied, realizing his previous question might have sounded too eager. He forced a calmer tone. "Your story simply caught my attention."
He could hardly admit that he was, in fact, contemplating how to cause Ser Ender Poole a great deal of trouble. Pentos was a tinderbox. Suda Tetrus represented the interests of the Volantis faction, while Prince Hazan championed the Braavosi. A contest of life and death was brewing between them.
If Ian, as a member of the 'Illyrio faction,' were to suddenly attack a man in Suda's personal guard, it would be seen as Illyrio openly siding with the Braavosi and declaring war on the Volantene party.
Illyrio would never allow that to happen.
Ian took a slow breath. The news was a tangled mess of good and bad. The good news was that an enemy was now on the map, right here in Pentos. The bad news was that not only could he not use Illyrio's power against him, but he would likely be constrained by Illyrio's politics.
"Is that so? When you asked, I could have sworn I saw murder in your eyes."
"An illusion," Ian said firmly, though he inwardly cursed. He should have known Hazro, of all Illyrio's 'little mice,' would be this perceptive.
The boy was a slip of a thing, no older than sixteen, short and thin as a bamboo pole. A stranger would assume him malnourished, though in truth, he ate better than anyone in Illyrio's manse. That unassuming appearance allowed him to blend in perfectly with the destitute children of the lower city.
Yet this same boy had seen the killing intent Ian had so carefully concealed. His talent was undeniable, and unsettling.
"As I said," Ian reiterated, "my only purpose, from the very beginning, has been to help Daeron deal with his enemy, Gini Taimei."
He abandoned any thought of asking Hazro for more information on Ser Ender Poole. It would be foolish to use Illyrio's resources when dealing with a player now attached to Suda Tetrus. He would have to find another way. Later, he could slip into the skin of a crow and send a letter to Dorian the Black Falcon and Bronn. He would have them investigate the man first, and then he could decide on a course of action.
He and his companions had maintained no contact with Bronn since arriving in Pentos; no one would ever connect them to him.
"Alright. If you say so, I'll believe you for now." Hazro watched him for a long moment, then shook his head. "But as a friend, I must remind you: Magister Illyrio despises those who make trouble."
His words said he believed him, but his expression and tone carried a heavy warning.
It was only natural that Hazro remained suspicious. After all, Ser Ender Poole perfectly matched the description of the man Ian had originally asked him to investigate.
"Fine, I won't beat around the bush," Hazro said after a moment's thought. "I'll have men watching you. If you make any move against Ser Ender Poole, I will report this conversation to Lord Illyrio, word for word. My job, after all, is to help you nip any potential trouble in the bud. I hope you understand."
"We've known each other long enough. You should know I am no idiot. I can distinguish what is important. Very well, I admit it—I harbor a certain hostility toward this Ender Poole. The reason for it is tied to Ser Daeron's secrets, which I have sworn an oath not to reveal."
"I understand the oaths of you Westerosi knights," Hazru nodded.
"Thank you. But what I want you to understand is this: compared to Daeron's personal grudges, the greater affairs of Magister Illyrio and His Grace, Viserys, are what matter most to me. If you feel you must inform the Magister of this, then please, tell him on my behalf that I will always be a solver of problems, not a maker of them. On the honor of House Darry, I swear it to the Seven."
Hazro stared at him, his gaze unwavering, before finally giving a slow nod. "I believe you."
This time, his voice held a note of sincerity.
"Then," Ian said, shifting the topic, "let us continue with Gini Taimei."
"There isn't much more. To be honest, if he hadn't reappeared at the Red Temple, I would have assumed him dead. He vanished completely after that attack on the docks."
Hazro continued, "According to the sellswords who took part in the operation, they cast a wide net. Aside from a few men who jumped into the water and escaped, they nearly wiped out all of Magister Hauket's forces."
"Was Gini Taimei's body ever found?"
"Gods, hundreds died that night. Many of the bodies they pulled from the water were bloated beyond recognition. Who would have noticed if the corpse of some unknown mercenary captain was among them?" Hazro retorted.
*His life or death is uncertain,* Ian thought. The man at the Red Temple could have been an imposter, an ally, or an enemy of Taimei. But whatever the truth, he had to be another player. No one else would use a word like 'basketball.'
"That's all I have. If there is nothing else, I'll be on my way. I have other matters to attend to."
"Of course. Thank you for the information. Please keep an ear out for any new developments." Ian thanked him again and saw him to the door.
Returning to his room, Ian felt a familiar irritation prickle his skin.
He had never expected Illyrio's prized neutrality to become the greatest obstacle to dealing with the player named Ender Poole.
He now hesitated to even involve Bronn. Hazro's warning had been clear enough, its unspoken meaning hanging in the air: *If anything happens to Ser Ender Poole—if he chokes on his water or is struck by lightning—Lord Illyrio will hold you responsible.*
Still, having Bronn and the others merely investigate should pose no risk.
With his mind made up, Ian penned a quick letter. He then walked to the birdcage in the corner of the room and, with practiced ease, slipped his consciousness into one of the ravens within.
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