Chapter 72: A Truthful Rumor
Arya departed, leaving only the bond-issuing duo in the room. Egger looked at Tyrion and asked, "How did you settle the papermaking inventor?"
"Well, things are a bit more complicated than you imagined. It's not just one person trying to make paper, but a household that earns its living by weaving. More accurately, it's the youngest pair of siblings in that family," the Imp explained. "The sister noticed that the frames used to wash cloth would always develop small, paper-like residue after long use. On a whim, she took a bolt of cloth, steamed and mashed it in water, then dried it out to create a complete sheet of paper."
"A remarkable woman indeed," Egger said with genuine interest. "And then she and her brother started experimenting with other materials?"
"Yes. Though they made paper, it's more like hardened cloth. To be honest... the quality is too poor even to wipe one's backside. Besides, the cloth they weave isn't even enough to sell for their family's upkeep—how could they use it for mass production?" Tyrion continued, "The weaving and garment industries haven't been doing well lately; they can barely feed themselves. While their family doesn't object, they don't have the resources to support new inventions. The brother tried to pitch their creation to paper merchants to borrow money for technical improvements, was rejected, and finally... we picked them up."
So that was it. It wasn't that the working people of the world of Ice and Fire didn't use their brains; it was that invention was being stifled by short-sighted resource holders.
"Did you bring them back?"
"Yes. I told them to forget about weaving. The whole family is moving into the city. I rented a large courtyard for them in an area where land prices are low. I'll cover all their food, drink, and papermaking expenses. They just need to produce usable paper as quickly as possible."
"Good. Let's leave it at that."
"This agreement you mentioned... what exactly is it?"
"It's nothing magical, just a covenant. Make it clear to him... her, and the whole family: we will support them, reimburse all experimental costs, and there will be a bonus once usable paper is successfully developed. But once a breakthrough is made, the technique must not be leaked or taken to another patron. It must serve our plan exclusively. Otherwise, the Lannisters, the Night's Watch, and even the Hand of the King will hold them accountable."
"That's a bit theatrical. How would I or the Night's Watch hold them accountable? As for the Hand, he might not even bother with such a thing."
"A commoner? Show him a document signed and sealed by the Lord Commander and the Hand, along with a famous figure like yourself—you don't think that'll intimidate him?" Patent laws didn't seem to exist in this world yet. Egger thought for a moment and shrugged. "Of course, the best way is to keep our inventors well-fed so they don't develop wandering hearts. Provide the equipment for the siblings first, let me see a batch of paper as soon as possible, and we'll make specific decisions after that."
"Fine, we'll do it your way," Tyrion nodded. "Are you still not coming back to the inn? I see your office has no business to attend to for now."
"A few trivial tasks left. You go ahead; I'll be back later. Don't sleep too early—we still need to discuss recruitment tonight."
"Alright."
"We agreed you'd manage the funds. Take the money with you."
"Mhm."
...
Egger saw off Arya, Tyrion, and their attendants, leaving the Night's Watch office solitary once more. Dusk was approaching. He had an important task that could only be carried out after dark. He lacked helpers, but even if he had dozens of subordinates or employees, he wouldn't trust anyone else with this.
It was still summer, and the sky darkened agonizingly slowly. Egger killed time, waiting stubbornly for the light to fade. He ate dinner at a small eatery near the Gold Cloak barracks and sat in his office for a while longer until it was pitch black outside.
The time was right.
He left the office, locking the door like a common merchant closing up late. He mounted his horse and began heading toward the Albatross Inn. There were no streetlights in King's Landing, and this area wasn't like the Street of Silk where "business" thrived after dark; the shops on both sides were shuttered, and the streets were nearly empty. Egger sat upright in his saddle, tilting his head slightly to scan his surroundings, ensuring no living soul was within fifty yards.
Then, he reached into his bag, produced a small, rolled-up slip of paper, took a breath, and let go.
In the quiet of the night, the paper scroll slid from the man's palm, rolled along the horse's back, brushed against its coat, and spiraled to the ground. It was kicked by the horse's hind hoof just as it stepped past, flying half a meter away into a corner of the cobblestone road. Silently, a vehicle for a rumor merged into the darkness, its origin unknown to any.
He encountered no patrolling Gold Cloaks. Egger intentionally took a long detour, carefully dropping a slip of paper every few dozen yards like a bomber dropping its payload. He repeated this dozens of times until the stock he had prepared the previous night was exhausted.
The content of the slips was simple. Written in the voice of a young knight from the Vale, it told a brief but earth-shattering story that was bound to cause an uproar.
I am Hugh, and I served as squire to the late Hand, Jon Arryn, for many years. By the time someone reads this note, I will surely be dead.
Months ago, I accidentally stumbled upon the affair between Lord Arryn's wife, Lysa Tully, and the Master of Coin, Petyr Baelish. Lady Lysa threatened me never to tell a soul, or she would have my head. Lord Baelish promised that as long as I kept silent, I would receive endless wealth and honor.
Driven by both fear and greed, I did not immediately inform my Lord of what I had found... until he suddenly fell ill and passed away.
Lord Arryn was of great age, and falling ill seemed normal enough, but after paying close attention, I noticed the frequency of meetings between that man and woman increased around the time of his death. This makes me suspect that Littlefinger likely induced Lysa to poison Lord Arryn.
I have no evidence. Although I was knighted as Lord Baelish promised, a faint unease has always lingered in my heart: if my suspicion is true, a man like me—even with noble status—is likely still just an ant that a powerful man like Littlefinger could crush at will.
Thus, I have written down what I know and given it to a reliable friend. If one day I die unexpectedly, it must be murder by Littlefinger's schemes. My death will further prove that Lord Arryn's passing was by no means natural. I am a small man, and my hesitation cost a noble Lord his life. My life is cheap, but the truth must be brought to light, and the guilty must be punished.
The deed was done. Now, he could only hope it wouldn't rain for the next two days and that a few of these slips would fall into the hands of literate and meddlesome people.
...
Because of his low status, Ser Hugh's death had caused no stir or investigation, yet the mystery of his passing was no less bewildering than the attempt on Bran's life. Egger had learned through idle chatter with Jakken that his transmigration had not changed the fate of this young man from the Vale. The newly made knight had died just days before Egger's arrival in King's Landing, his throat pierced by the lance of Ser Gregor Clegane during a joust.
There were many questions: Did someone cheat during the drawing for the tournament brackets? If so, did Gregor receive an order to kill? If he did, from whom did the order come, and what was the purpose? Did Ser Hugh truly know some secret, or was it merely a move to confuse Ned?
Egger knew nothing of the answers to these questions, but they didn't matter. He wasn't seeking the truth; he was hoping this slip of paper would bring trouble to his enemy.
Except for the part about Jon Arryn's cause of death, the story on the paper was almost entirely fabricated. However, rumors have an interesting trait: as long as a part of them is true, people will subconsciously believe the rest. Whether Lysa and Littlefinger had an affair in King's Landing, whether Hugh truly knew a secret he shouldn't have, or even if his death was just a coincidence—it didn't matter. As long as it was true that Lysa and Littlefinger had known each other since childhood and were close, true that Jon Arryn had died suddenly, and true that Ser Hugh had died in the joust... then this slip of paper would be enough to give the accused a very hard time.
Better yet, Littlefinger had once boasted far and wide that he had taken the virginity of both Tully sisters, making the gossipy parts of this note even more persuasive... one wonders if the younger Baelish, who once used that as bragging capital and took pride in it, will regret his youthful folly in the coming days.
Littlefinger could stir the pot in King's Landing at will partly because of his clever mind, but the more fundamental reason was the contempt most people felt for him. Born to a minor, impoverished noble house on the Fingers, possessing no martial prowess, running brothels that decent men looked down upon, and showing little outward ambition... many great men might have interacted with him as an equal or relied on his financial skills, but in their hearts and subconscious, they utterly despised him. This was the most crucial factor allowing him to be a successful pot-stirrer and plunge the Seven Kingdoms into blood and fire.
But now, someone who understood him and intended to deal with him had arrived in King's Landing. His good days... were likely coming to an end.
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