The city was a creature of two faces. At night, it shed its skin of commerce and noise, revealing a silent labyrinth of stone and black water. The air, freed from the day's heat, carried the clean scent of the sea and the damp chill of the canals.
He moved through the sleeping streets like a whisper. His [Mental Map] was a perfect compass, guiding him through alleys he had never physically walked as if he had known them his entire life. He flowed past shuttered windows and under arched bridges, his footfalls absorbed by the damp stone.
He reached the dyer's district, the chemical tang sharp in the air. The shop Orbelo had mentioned was a dark shape pressed against the high garden wall of the Lady Zarrina's manse. The street was empty. Jon took a moment, listening to the gentle lap of canal water, and began to climb.
The drainpipe was cold and slick, but his grip was sure. He reached the roof, a flat expanse of tar and gravel, and crept to the edge. The manse was a world of its own. He crouched in the darkness, activating his [Sight].
The world turned to shades of grey. He could see the dull blue auras of the guards as they passed by the ground-floor windows. Faint lines of light, the echoes of their paths, traced their patrol routes on the cobblestones of the courtyard below. He listened intently, his hearing sharp in the quiet night, building a picture of their movements in his mind. Jon watched for a full five minutes, observing the pattern, timing the loops. He saw one guard stop to speak with another near the main gate, their auras overlapping for a moment—a brief, unplanned deviation. He saw his moment of opportunity.
The leap to the third-floor balcony was a silent flight across a ten-foot gap. He landed in a crouch, the impact absorbed by his trained muscles. He was in. He scaled some carved stonework to the roof above. Now, he was directly above the guards.
He found the window to Tregarro's chambers and rappelled down, his rope a thin black line against the stone. The lock on the shutter was simple. A few delicate probes with a stiff wire, a soft click, and he slipped inside.
The room was opulent, smelling of expensive oils and spilled wine. Jon moved with a slow, deliberate silence, his eyes scanning every surface. He activated The Sight again, this time not looking for people, but for objects. He was searching for the tell-tale blue-white aura of [Intent: Concealed]. He swept his gaze over the carved wardrobe, the heavy desk, the cold hearth. Nothing. The auras of the objects were all a faint, neutral grey. His physical search confirmed what his Sight had already told him. The room was clean.
He had failed. The realization was sharp and unfamiliar. His planning had been perfect, his infiltration flawless, but the objective simply wasn't here. Tregarro, for all his arrogance, was not foolish enough to keep a trophy of his crimes.
Dejected, he prepared to leave. He was at the window when a new sound reached him from outside—not from the manse, but from the street below. A soft splash, like a single oar dipping into the canal. Jon froze. A moment later, a cloaked and hooded Tregarro emerged from a small, hidden postern gate in the garden wall—a gate Orbelo hadn't known existed. Jon's frustration vanished, replaced by instinct. He pulled his rope and ascended back to the roof.
He shadowed Tregarro from above, a far more challenging task now that his target was on the move. He flitted from rooftop to rooftop, his [Mental Map] allowing him to stay one step ahead. Tregarro was cautious, sticking to the darkest canals, and Jon almost lost him twice when he darted under a low bridge.
The trail ended at a dilapidated warehouse near the Ragman's Harbor. Tregarro slipped inside. Jon found a high, grimy window and peered in. Tregarro was meeting a small man in a clerk's grey robes.
"She suspects nothing?" the clerk whispered.
"She is a peacock, vain and stupid," Tregarro boasted. "She sees a handsome face and an empty head. She does not suspect her new pet listens to every secret her powerful friends whisper in her bed."
"Our master is pleased," the clerk said, passing over a heavy purse. "The information on the Sealord's trade negotiations with the Summer Isles was... profitable. He sends a new scroll of instructions."
"Tell Magister Borro he will have his answers," Tregarro grumbled. "Now get out."
The clerk scurried away. Tregarro waited a few moments, then walked to a dark corner of the warehouse. He pried up a loose floorboard, placed the sealed scroll inside, and replaced the board, kicking some loose straw over it to hide his work. He then left in the opposite direction, melting back into the city's alleys.
Jon remained motionless in the high window of the warehouse for a long time, committing every detail to memory. He had failed the mission he set out on, only to stumble into a victory far greater. A series of notifications suddenly bloomed in his vision, their light blue.
[Hidden Quest Complete: Uncover the Serpent's Secret]
[Reward: 3000 Experience]
[Rank Up! Rank 5 -> Rank 6]
[You have 2 Skill Points]
[User Identity Updated]
He quickly brought up his status screen, his breath catching in his throat at the change.
[Status]
Name: Aemon Targaryen (Corvus/Jon Snow)
Title: The Exiled Prince
Rank: 6
Experience: 0/5000
Skill Points: 2
The System had acknowledged his true name, a reflection of his own growing acceptance, while keeping the others as aliases. It was a small thing, but it felt like he had taken a step forward in his journey to discover his ambitions. He pushed the thoughts aside. He had a mission to finish. He waited until the sounds of the city assured him that Tregarro was long gone, then performed his second infiltration of the night. He dropped silently into the warehouse, went directly to the hiding spot, and retrieved the scroll.
He slipped from the warehouse and began the journey back, not to the inn, but to the rendezvous point. He moved through the winding canalside paths, the [Mental Map] guiding him unerringly toward the Canal of Cats. The pre-dawn air was cold and damp, and the first grey light was beginning to silhouette the rooftops.
He found the canal, a narrow, quiet waterway shielded by towering tenements. A single, small gondola floated in the deep shadows beneath a stone bridge. As Jon approached, a large shape within it shifted.
"Took you long enough," Kaelo's voice rumbled, low and tense. "I was about to leave. Did you get it?"
Jon dropped silently from the stone embankment into the boat, causing it to rock gently. He looked at his friend. "No," he said, his voice flat. "The proof wasn't there."
Kaelo's shoulders slumped with shared disappointment. "Damn it. So it was for nothing." He picked up the pole to guide the gondola away. "Orbelo will be crushed."
"The night wasn't a waste," Jon said quietly. "I found something better."
They returned to The Drowned Mug as the first bakers were opening their shops, the smell of fresh bread mixing with the ever-present scent of the canals. They slipped into their room to find Orbelo pacing like a caged animal. He spun around the moment they entered, his eyes wide with a desperate, frantic hope.
"You're back!" he breathed. "Did you... did you find it?"
He looked from Jon's empty hands to Kaelo's grim expression, and his face fell. The hope vanished, replaced by a familiar, soul-crushing despair. "Nothing," he whispered, slumping into a chair. "There was nothing."
"Not nothing," Jon said, closing the door behind them. He waited until Orbelo looked up, his eyes hollow. "I didn't find proof of the old crime. But I found proof of a new one."
He recounted everything: the fruitless search, the decision to wait, Tregarro's secret exit, and the meeting at the warehouse. Finally, he placed the sealed scroll on the table. "Tregarro is a spy for Magister Borro of the Iron Bank."
Orbelo stared at the scroll, his despair momentarily forgotten, replaced by sheer shock. "Borro? He is not just a rival; he seeks to undermine the Sealord himself. Zarrina's manse is one of the great listening posts of this city. The secrets spoken there could shift the balance of power on the entire council." He looked at the seal on the scroll, a unique merchant's mark. "I know this mark. It is Borro's, used for his dealings."
"A spy," Kaelo said, his voice hard. "The bastard is a spy."
"Exactly," Jon said. He leaned forward, the exhaustion of the night gone, replaced by a cold, calculating energy. "This is better than a clue. A clue clears one man's name. This... this is leverage."
"But my name," Orbelo said, the pain returning to his voice. "My justice..."
"You'll have it," Jon promised, his gaze locking with Orbelo's. "But we're not going to ask for it. We're going to use this to take it. We go to the Lady Zarrina. We tell her the truth about the man who sleeps in her bed."
"She'll destroy him," Orbelo said, a hint of vengeful light in his eyes.
"She will," Jon agreed. "And as part of our price for this information, she will publicly declare that Tregarro framed you. She will restore your honor. That is not negotiable."
A measure of hope returned to Orbelo's face. Kaelo, already understanding where Jon was going, asked the real question. "A great service. So what's our payment?"
"Freedom," Jon said simply. "We demand a ship. Not a lumbering trade cog, but something small and fast, like a Longship, that needs only a small crew. And we demand a chest of coin. Enough to hire that crew, buy the best gear, and fund our operations for a year."
He looked at his two companions, his gaze steady and cold. "With this, we clear your name, Orbelo, and you get your vengeance. And it will give us what we need for the next part of our journey."
[A/N] - So, how have you been liking the story so far? As you can see, the crew is about to get a ship, and I'd love for you to help me name it! Please suggest a name in the comments.
Thank you for reading!