"It's him, that bad seed." Tyrion Lannister watched Petyr Baelish's back, which cast a shadow at the doorway.
Tyrion was 100% certain that Lady Catelyn Stark, that fool, was most likely convinced by Littlefinger to abduct him at the Crossroads Inn.
Littlefinger, a lying, slick, seemingly harmless man. Tyrion was only sure that Littlefinger had framed him for harming Bran Stark, but he hadn't yet considered the deeper implications, such as Jon Arryn's death; after all, he wasn't omniscient.
Littlefinger was a master of sleight of hand, seemingly born for big spenders like King Robert. Compared to the former master of coin's chaotic era, the royal income was now ten times what it used to be... and the royal debt had also increased significantly. Tyrion knew Littlefinger was good at making money, but he didn't entirely trust those flashy financial tricks, though it would take time to expose them.
Now, almost the entire financial system was staffed by people Petyr had brought in, his trusted confidants. All four treasury directors were his people, as were the royal accountants and royal assayers, and even the heads of the three mints were his nominees. Besides that, nine out of ten port masters, tax farmers, customs officials, wool agents, road toll collectors, ship masters, wine merchants, and so on, were Littlefinger's men. Most of them came from ordinary backgrounds, including merchants' sons, minor nobles, and even foreigners, but in terms of achievement, these people's abilities far surpassed those of the former noble officials.
"Can I kill him? Even if he's a traitor," Tyrion thought, then shook his head. With war raging, it was already troublesome enough for him to remove someone without a power base, like Janos Toad, the Commander-in-Chief of the Gold Cloaks, and that was only with Varys's help. Removing someone with considerable standing like Littlefinger would be even more difficult. King's Landing couldn't afford more chaos; only cooperation and caution were possible. The master of coin was crucial, and Littlefinger also had special connections in The Vale of Arryn.
"Do you think a single Harrenhal can fool me, The Imp? Arrogance is not a good thing, nor is underestimating your enemies, my old friend." Earl Petyr, the master of coin, tugged at the corner of his clothes and quickly exited the Tower of the Hand's reception room.
Petyr recalled their recent encounter. While The Imp had many strengths, his few weaknesses were fully known to Littlefinger and Varys. They needed to understand The Imp better than he understood himself. His occasional kindness and sympathy, arrogance, underestimation of his enemies' malice, and excessive fondness for that little whore Shae were all obvious flaws.
Harrenhal was merely a stepping stone; Petyr would not commit a single soldier to it. Even if he gained the title of Duke of Harrenhal, would the lords of The Three Rivers region obey him? Could he rally an army?
The Imp was too presumptuous; he underestimated Petyr's ambition. A man who dared to poison a duke would surely want more.
Petyr swept through the courtyard, spotting the boy king practicing shooting rabbits. King Joffrey Baratheon wore red damask embroidered with opposing lions and stags, his golden hair shining even brighter under the golden crown.
"What a beautiful lion." King Joffrey was truly adored, Petyr also recalled the king's arrogance last night, shooting commoners.
"Hurry up and flush out the rabbits, you idiot!" the King yelled at Thorys, the jester riding a broomstick horse.
Thorys dropped the broomstick horse and clumsily took the rabbit held by the hunter. The white rabbit immediately bolted.
The King pulled the crossbow trigger hard, but missed by a full two feet. The rabbit stood on its hind legs, wiggling its nose at the King. Joffrey cursed as he tightened the bowstring, but the rabbit quickly vanished.
"Another rabbit!" the King fumed.
Thorys released a brown one from the cage, but the King was too impatient, and the bolt nearly hit Thorys in the groin.
"Idiot, idiot!" the King cursed the jester, who nodded nervously, not daring to speak.
Littlefinger saw this scene, smiled without speaking, and merely bowed respectfully to the King. Joffrey was in no mood to bother with them, telling them not to disturb his enjoyment.
"Perform well, jester, and trick that poor little girl into your hands." Petyr swept past them with a look of anticipation.
Petyr also glanced at The Red Keep; everything was as usual, except for the guards who were somewhat tense due to the mob's fury. No one had yet discovered his biggest secret: Petyr knew a secret tunnel in and out of The Red Keep. The tunnel was very hidden; Petyr had once taken Eddard through it, and now Eddard's daughter might also use it. First, one entered a tower in The Red Keep, descended a winding staircase, crossed a sunken courtyard, and walked along a dilapidated corridor.
On both sides of the corridor walls were unused suits of armor, like standing guards. They were historical remnants left by the Targaryen family, made of black steel, with dragon scales inlaid on the helmets, but now covered in dust and long forgotten. At the bottom of the staircase was a heavy door made of oak and iron bars; once opened, it led to a steep cliff above the river, with handholds carved into the rock face, allowing escape from The Red Keep. There could be boats on the river, and next to the base of the cliff was a narrow, muddy riverside path; everything was perfect.
Petyr left accompanied by Lothor and others, feeling a sense of security only on his own territory.
Petyr returned to the dilapidated three-story wooden building, which was a brothel. Light streamed from the windows, particularly bright in the gradually dimming twilight. Music and raucous laughter spilled out, drifting over the river. A heavy chain by the door held an ornate oil lamp, covered by a leaded red glass shade.
"Are there any recent ships?" Petyr wondered.
"Go find out which ships are leaving soon," he told Lothor.
"My lord, shouldn't we wait for a formal decree, or perhaps a larger merchant ship?" Lothor asked, puzzled.
"No, now is the time. Time waits for no one. A Braavos merchant ship would be best," Petyr stroked his beard. "Because of that bastard Stannis's raids, perhaps only Braavos merchant fleets are coming now, and King's Landing to Braavos is conveniently on the way."
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