"I've heard of the Faceless Men. Everyone says they are the finest assassins in the world." Cauliflower Ear, who was rowing at the stern, perked up. He had finally heard something familiar.
"Rumor has it they can change their faces into a thousand different forms."
Hearing this, Pate shrank his neck in fear and murmured, "All men must serve."
"But what does their ability to pay have to do with us?" The pragmatic Zaren asked, confused, steering the conversation back to the main topic.
"We can't keep doing this—kidnapping a captain's son and sailing him to Braavos to make the insurance merchant pay up, can we?"
"If we don't have hostages, or if the captain is ruthless, or if the insurance merchant realizes what's happening and reports us, we'll never make it out of Braavos."
Clearly, the Titan and the Arsenal had deeply shocked and intimidated Zaren Borrell.
"You're dreaming if you think you can eat your fish and have it too." Arthur laughed.
"Your uncle, Lord Godric, doesn't just want to make money from salvaging ships; he also wants to avoid being hanged."
"But..."
"The insurance industry isn't a monolith. There is competition among them." Arthur waved his hand to cut Zaren off, gesturing for him to listen. He hid nothing.
"We can partner with one insurance merchant. He provides us with information on other merchant ships."
"In exchange, we spare his ships, but we sink the ships insured by other merchants. Then, we send the captains and crews of those sunken ships back to Braavos to claim their insurance."
"This forces the other insurance merchants into a dilemma: either refuse to pay and lose their reputation, or raise the insurance premiums for ships trading with White Harbor." Seeing Zaren still looked confused, Arthur broke it down further.
"Your uncle, Lord Godric, gets accurate shipping information for vessels sailing from Braavos to White Harbor.
"Our partner insurance merchant gets a price advantage, allowing him to seize a larger share of the insurance market.
"Even the unlucky captains and crews of the sunken ships might... get another chance to sail. At the very least, their lives aren't in danger.
"You could call it a triple win."
Zaren suddenly understood. He slapped his webbed hand against his thigh, already extrapolating.
"We could even offer protection and piloting services to our partner's ships! Or even ship repairs!"
Seeing Zaren grasp the core concept, Arthur smiled knowingly. However, he knew having an idea was one thing; executing it would face many difficulties.
Both sides would get what they needed, but cooperation relied on mutual trust, even if that trust was maintained by profit.
The Sistermen hadn't even known what insurance was until now. Even understanding it, the language barrier and their identities were natural obstacles.
A Braavosi insurance merchant would never trust a distant pirate lord and a gang of wreck-salvaging smugglers. They wouldn't naturally cooperate.
Arthur had spotted this gap and seized the opportunity to leverage Lord Godric's influence.
First, he spoke Braavosi. Second, he had Godric's authorization. For Arthur, this information asymmetry was enough to extract value.
The small boat rowed along the Long Canal toward the city center. With his questions answered, Zaren relaxed and began to take in the sights of Braavos.
"What is that canal in the sky for?" Zaren pointed to the massive grey stone aqueduct spanning the city, supported by three tiers of arches. "Is that a shipping lane too? Can we go up and look?"
"That is the Sweetwater River, my lord. It carries fresh water from the mainland across the mudflats and shallows," Ledger Pate explained.
"The wealthy have pipes built directly into their homes. The poor fetch water in buckets from public fountains.
"The water from the Sweetwater River is good. The water in the canals is salty and brines; you can't drink it without boiling it thoroughly."
Arthur smiled bitterly. High and low, rich and poor—it was the same everywhere.
"Speaking of the wealthy, I asked Victar. The rich and the powerful swordsmen here usually wear dark colors, mostly black," Arthur announced.
"We'll need to buy some black clothes later."
"Why would rich people here like wearing black?" Cauliflower Ear couldn't understand. He spoke without thinking, "The Night's Watch on the Wall wears black, and they're mostly thieves and rapers."
"I once thought I might end up wearing black too. That was back when Lord Stannis hanged a bunch of my smuggler friends on Sweetsister," Zaren Borrell said with a bit more self-awareness.
"Never thought the rich here would choose to wear it."
"Here, the assassins dress the most colorfully," Ledger Pate added, glancing at the darkening sky. It was both a fact and a warning.
"In Braavos, if you go out at night wearing a sword, it means anyone can challenge you to a duel."
"That's an interesting rule." Arthur touched the sword at his waist. This was the first time he'd heard that specific detail. "I'm starting to like this place."
The boat passed under the Sweetwater River and turned a corner along the waterway.
Ahead, tall, imposing stone statues lined both sides of the canal. They were solemn, draped in bronze robes stained with seabird droppings.
Some statues held books, others daggers, others hammers.
One held a golden star aloft; another tilted a stone flagon, pouring an endless stream of water into the canal.
"Are these statues gods?" Zaren Borrell asked. "Sisterton has statues of the Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Skies, but they are much smaller than these."
"They are the Sealords of the past," Ledger Pate answered, pointing ahead. "The Isle of the Gods is still ahead. We have to cross under six more bridges. On the right bank lies the Temple of the Moonsingers, the most magnificent temple in Braavos."
"Legend says the Moonsingers led the first Braavosi to this island. The temple of the Seven here is called the Sept-Beyond-the-Sea."
"As for the Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Skies you mentioned, perhaps you can find them in the Sanctuary. Braavosi keep shrines there for all the minor gods forgotten by the rest of the world."
Before the boat passed the third arch bridge, Arthur saw the magnificent temple Pate had mentioned.
A grand palace of snow-white marble crowned with a silver dome. Milk-white glass windows displayed the moon in its various phases.
Flanking each door were pairs of marble maidens, as tall as the Sealords, supporting crescent-moon lintels.
Even in my past life, this would be a top-tier tourist attraction, Arthur thought.
Beyond that lay another temple—a fortress of red stone. Atop its massive square tower sat a twenty-foot iron brazier burning with a roaring fire. Smaller fires burned on either side of the temple's bronze doors.
"The Red Priests love fire," Ledger Pate continued his duty as a guide. "They worship the Lord of Light, R'hllor."
They don't just like fire; they like burning people, statues of other gods, and anything else that might please the Red God, Arthur added silently.
Arthur was wary of the Red God and his priests.
In Westeros, aside from dragons, White Walkers, Children of the Forest, greenseers, and skinchangers, the priests of R'hllor were the only ones who displayed high-magic capabilities.
They could see visions of the future in the flames (though their interpretations were often wrong) and their kisses could resurrect the dead (though the resurrected lost their memories and came back changed).
Next came a massive brick building covered in moss.
If Pate hadn't explained, everyone would have thought it was a warehouse.
"That is the Sanctuary, or the Warren, as some call it."
A small canal cut through the mossy high walls of the Warren. Pate steered the boat to the right, passing through a tunnel and emerging once again into the light.
More shrines lined the banks.
"Look there, Cauliflower Ear." Zaren Borrell stood up in the boat. Among the many shrines, he had actually found the gods he worshipped.
"They really do honor the Lady of the Waves and the Lord of the Skies here."
The boat turned a corner and passed under another bridge.
A small rocky hill appeared on the left. Atop the hill sat a windowless temple of dark grey stone. Stone steps led from its door down to a covered landing on the water.
"That is the House of Black and White, the temple of the Many-Faced God," Pate said. He glanced up at the temple only briefly before lowering his head, rowing faster than usual.
"It is also the headquarters of the Faceless Men."