What?
Can't?
"What do you mean, 'can't'?" Tyrion asked, puzzled. "What does 'can't' mean? He doesn't have one?"
Tyrion turned to Varys.
"My lord, why look at me?" Varys waved his hands.
"Explain. What do you mean, 'can't'?" Tyrion leaned toward the older girl. "Too young? Doesn't know how?"
"Can't means can't," the older woman said slowly. "He just can't get hard."
"What?" Tyrion's brow knotted. "I don't understand. If he has the thing, how can that be? Describe it to me in detail."
The older woman obliged. She told how the younger girl teased and flirted. How she was whipped. How the older woman watched, then went in herself. She showed Tyrion her wounds and swore it was true.
"My lord, I swear." she said. "I've seen many men. Some enjoy this. But your young lord is not one of them. He revels in the pain of the whipping. He takes pleasure in cruelty. He has no sexual interest."
"His member — I don't know if I can even call it that — stayed soft the whole time."
Tyrion fell silent. His face twisted into something hard to read.
"Still, thank you both." Tyrion stood. "I'll pay double. What happened today stays here."
"One more thing." He patted Varys on the back and leaned close. "Moon tea — no matter what, make sure she takes moon tea. Find Qyburn. I'll question him."
He opened the door and watched Varys send the two women away. He sighed in the corridor.
...
"Hey, Lust Demon, why the sigh?"
The sudden voice startled Tyrion. He turned to see Arya Stark.
"What's a horse-faced girl doing here?" Tyrion asked. "It's still dark. Why are you up so early?"
"My teacher said be like a cat. Cats wake early," Arya replied. "You see secrets when you rise early, right, you bad man?"
"How am I a bad man?" Tyrion leaned against the wall. "Mind your tongue, girl."
"I saw three women come out of your room, didn't I?" Arya said. "You're a disgusting villain."
"Three women?" Tyrion paused, then realized she'd counted the eunuch as a woman. "How do you tell men from women, horse-face?"
"Don't call me horse-face," Arya said. "Syrio Forel taught me to tell a man's sex by his stride. You can even learn his character."
"Impressive skill."
"When will you take me and my sister home?" Arya asked abruptly.
"You and your sister were exchanged for my brother. Forgot?" Tyrion replied.
"What if your brother's dead?" Arya said. "Robb will kill him."
"Trying to frighten me, girl?" Tyrion chuckled and bent to look at her. "Kill my brother? Never. Your brother and your mother wouldn't let that happen. I think he'll outlive most of your family. Tell me, horse-face, if Robb and Lady Catelyn were dead, where would you and Sansa go?"
Arya flushed. "You're a bad man. A very bad man. All Lannisters are rotten."
Tyrion felt a stab of regret. He had no business teasing a child like that.
"If Ser Jaime comes back, will you really send me and Sansa home?" Arya asked after a moment.
Tyrion sighed inwardly. Poor child. Even if my brother returns, the Starks may not have long. Where could I send them? Must I break her heart again?
"Of course, if my brother returns," he lied.
"Then you must swear."
"Is that necessary?" Tyrion frowned. "I don't like swearing oaths. Lannisters always pay their debts. We never break our word."
"You must swear!" Arya insisted.
"Fine." Tyrion straightened. "I swear I will deliver Sansa Stark and Arya Stark to their mother." He thought, may the gods forgive my lie.
"Is that enough?"
"That'll do." Arya nodded. "I can cross you off my death list."
"Ha." Tyrion laughed. "Death list? I'm still on it? Amusing. You plan to kill me?"
Arya only stared coldly.
"You must have watched my walk a long time. What kind of man am I?"
"You're a narcissist! Sooner or later your father and big brother will die before your eyes!" She spat at him. "Maybe your end won't be so terrible!" Then she ran back to the bedchamber.
Tyrion watched the door close and shook his head with a smile. Curse my sister all you like.
"An interesting girl, isn't she?"
Tyrion turned around. It was Syrio Forel—or at least his face was. Beneath the skin, it was Jaqen H'ghar.
"You're back?" Tyrion opened the study door. "Mission accomplished?"
"Someone has completed the task." Syrio Forel followed him inside, stopping in the shadows. "Vargo Hoat is dead—or rather, he's been dead for some time."
"An accident, then?" Tyrion sat behind his desk, resigned to get back to work. "Where did you find him?"
"After Lord Tywin withdrew from Harrenhal, Roose Bolton took the castle. Vargo Hoat joined his forces there," Jaqen said. "Someone made him fall from a bridge. His men were scattered and taken in by Roose Bolton's troops."
"Sounds perfectly tidy." Tyrion leaned back. "Tell me, how much would it cost to hire someone like you to kill a man like Vargo Hoat?"
"About ten times the price of hiring his entire company," Jaqen replied.
"Then you've made quite the loss." Tyrion clicked his tongue. "You can move freely through the Red Keep? The guards of the Tower of the Hand didn't stop you?"
"Someone walks through shadows."
"That trick—you didn't teach it to Arya, did you?"
"Someone's skills are not easily learned."
"She was boasting to me just now that she can read people by their footsteps. That was your doing?" Tyrion asked.
"Yes, my lord."
"I thought you were only pretending to teach her, just to keep up appearances. Didn't expect her to pick up something real." Tyrion sounded genuinely surprised.
"Someone teaches as Syrio Forel would," Jaqen said. "Reading footsteps is a lesson for Water Dancers."
"Good. Then I'll think on the next name. It won't take long—perhaps a few days." Tyrion nodded. "In the meantime, continue teaching Arya Stark, if you would. Money is no concern."
"Someone agrees." Jaqen bowed slightly and turned to leave.
"Wait," Tyrion said. The Faceless Man stopped.
"Tell me—what do my footsteps sound like to you?"
"They sound flawless," Jaqen said. "Fit for a king."