I also expected to meet with Orm that evening or the following morning, to learn how things were progressing and what he had managed to accomplish recently.
After the council session, a very small meeting was held, attended by only four people: Tywin, Kevan, Tyrion, and myself.
We discussed Littlefinger. At first, Tyrion wanted to speak with me privately, but I quickly realized that he had uncovered something truly significant. I therefore decided to hold the conversation in a slightly wider circle. I wanted the elder Lannisters to understand just how sharp my uncle's mind was—and how well he could think.
"In short, Littlefinger turned out to be a complete bastard," Tyrion began somewhat pompously, pouring himself a cup of wine. Tywin grimaced involuntarily, while Kevan and I remained outwardly calm. "The son of a bitch was stealing. Constantly. Over the past ten years, he has stolen at least two million gold dragons from the treasury—and that is only what I have been able to confirm."
Even Tywin's brow lifted, while Kevan could not conceal his astonishment at all. I myself had long suspected something of the sort, but I was curious about the true scale of Littlefinger's activities.
"Littlefinger cheats on taxes and duties at the port and customs," Tyrion continued, "and buys provisions at low prices, only to sell them to the Crown at inflated ones. He used his position to pressure many merchants into signing fictitious contracts or lowering their prices, after which he resold everything at market value. Four years ago, when the Red Keep underwent renovations, Littlefinger made more than thirty thousand dragons on that single affair. It seems it never even occurred to King Robert to check his activities, and Littlefinger took full advantage of that."
"It cannot be!" Kivan looked at us all with a discouraged expression. "At least not on such a scale, Tyrion! Are you certain you're not mistaken?"
"Alas, Uncle, I am," Tyrion replied with a crooked grin. "In fact, I am almost certainly underestimating the true extent of his activities. I am convinced there is much I simply failed to uncover. He is very clever—not only with money, but with numbers as well. That must be acknowledged."
"And yet you caught him?" Tywin asked skeptically.
"Actually, I am not the dumbest man in Westeros. Look here," he began opening the financial ledgers. For some time, we studied them in silence, counting figures and comparing entries, growing ever more convinced that Tyrion was right.
"Other sources of income?" the Hand asked again, his voice now carrying less doubt.
"Oh, that is where it becomes interesting," Tyrion chuckled, taking a sip of wine. "We all know about Littlefinger's brothels, but who among us can imagine how much money they bring him every month?"
Everyone remained silent, and Tyrion, having waited for a question but receiving none, went on:
"At least a hundred thousand dragons annually! And whose money do you think he used to buy or build them—the king's, or his own?"
The sum mentioned, though large, did not make much of an impression on anyone. Then again, it depends on how you look at it. After all, the brothels are only one of his sources of income.
"Where else is his money going?" Tywin tapped his fingers thoughtfully against the table.
"Fishing guilds, merchants and traders—and surely something else as well."
"With such enormous income, he has to be investing it somewhere," I said. "We never observed anything of the sort behind Littlefinger. Were you able to find out where that money goes, Uncle?"
"It's not so simple," Tyrion replied after a moment's thought. "I never found precise records, but the circumstantial evidence makes it clear that a great many knights and guards are feeding from his hand. I believe he has an excellent network of informants—one that covers not only the Red Keep and King's Landing, but a significant part of Westeros as well."
"That bastard," Kevan muttered.
"He invests money in trade in Braavos. He bought one or two estates there. I'm also inclined to assume that at least one mercenary company in Essos—the Gallant Men—is maintained with his funds, and that, if necessary, they're ready to carry out any of his orders. Money was also flowing to another mercenary group, though where exactly remains unclear for now."
"And we gifted him Harrenhal," I laughed. "And now the Vale is under him as well."
We spoke about Littlefinger for a long time. The situation with him looked grim. The only consolation was that all of his brothels and dens, along with some shops and small businesses, were located in King's Landing—and, if necessary, all of them could be seized for the crown.
We decided to keep everything Tyrion had learned secret, as much as possible. And to begin with, that very evening we sent a letter to Littlefinger, demanding that he return to King's Landing, as a number of questions had arisen here.
The letter was composed in a businesslike, calm tone, its entire meaning boiling down to the fact that the king required the presence of an experienced, proven Master of Coin.
The following days proved extremely tense. I met and spoke with people in private conversations. Tywin and Kevan, Cersei, Tommen and Myrcella, Pycelle, Mathis Rowan, Addam Marbrand—each of them wanted something from the king. And I, in turn, had my own need to negotiate with them.
On the second day we held a joint luncheon, attended not only by Margaery, but also by Sansa and Tyrion, Myrcella and Tommen, as well as Roslin Tully. On the very first day I had asked my wife and my sister to grow closer to Edmure Tully's wife and, if possible, establish normal, cordial relations with her.
Margaery knew how to be very charming and could easily win another person's trust—I had felt that firsthand. And Myrcella was in no way inferior to her in this regard, so I had every reason to hope that everything would turn out well.
(End of Chapter)
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