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They moved deeper into the tunnels. Candles burned in the wall niches, and their footsteps echoed off the low ceilings.
A tall, thin man named Wick Whittlestick waited where four wormways crossed. He was one of the few prisoners who had cooperated. The rest were locked in the Watch's own ice cells.
He handed Maester Aemon a thick bundle of papers. The old man felt their weight with his fingers, then passed them to Lynn.
"These are the counts from before the last three turnings of the seasons. We can compare them to what we actually have. Shall we start with the granaries?"
Lynn nodded. They continued through the gloomy passages.
Every storeroom had a heavy oak door secured by an iron lock the size of a dinner plate.
A ring of keys hung around Wick's neck. To Lynn they all looked identical, but Wick always picked the right one.
Inside each room he pulled out a fist-sized piece of chalk and marked every barrel, sack, and cask so they could match the new tally against the old records.
The Free Folk could never have managed anything like this.
They opened one storeroom after another, then locked them again.
In the granaries they found mountains of rye, oats, wheat, barley, and barrels of coarse flour.
In the root cellar, strings of onions and garlic hung from the rafters. Sacks of carrots, parsnips, white radishes, and white and yellow turnips filled the shelves.
One room held hundreds of whole wheels of cheese, some so large it took two men to move them.
The next was stacked ten feet high with barrels of salted pork, beef, mutton, and cod. Three hundred hams and three thousand long black sausages hung from the beams in the smokehouse below.
The spice room contained pepper, cloves, cinnamon, mustard seed, coriander, sage, parsley, and big blocks of salt.
Next came barrels of apples and pears, dried beans and figs, sacks of walnuts, chestnuts, and almonds, planks of smoked salmon, and clay pots of olive oil sealed with wax.
One storeroom held jars of rabbit, honeyed venison haunches, pickled cabbage, beets, onions, eggs, and herring.
They moved from cellar to cellar. The wormways grew steadily colder.
Before long, in the lantern light, Lynn saw frost forming on Wick's beard with every breath.
"We are beneath the Wall now," Aemon said, shivering slightly, "and soon we will be inside it. The cold keeps meat from spoiling far better than salting for long-term storage."
The next door was rusted iron. Behind it, wooden steps led upward.
"Star Shield" Nymo and another Thenn went ahead with lanterns. At the top they found a long tunnel, wider and taller than the wormways.
The walls were solid ice, studded with iron hooks. Hanging from every hook was a whole carcass or half a carcass, stretching as far as the eye could see.
Spotted deer, red deer, and elk still in their hides. Bison split down the middle. Huge pigs swinging from the ceiling. Headless sheep and goats hanging in rows. Farther on, even horses and bears.
Everything was coated in white frost.
While the others tallied the numbers, Lynn pulled off his left glove and touched the nearest deer haunch. His fingers stuck instantly. When he pulled back, a bit of skin tore free and his fingertips went numb.
Even with an entire mountain of ice overhead, the cold here was unnatural.
He regretted not wearing the spacesuit down here, and worried the elderly Aemon might not last long.
"The situation is worse than you feared, Lord Lynn," Wick Whittlestick said quietly once the count was done.
It looked like they had every scrap of meat in the world, but against a hundred thousand Free Folk it was nothing.
Aemon spoke up.
"We had a very long summer, with rich harvests, and the lords were generous. We have enough stores to see the brothers through three years of winter—but only the brothers. If, as you say, a hundred thousand Free Folk are coming to the Wall, even the most careful rationing here won't last a month."
He paused, then continued.
"It's too late to plant now. Even the hardiest rye wouldn't be ready until next spring or early summer. Until year's end we'll live on turnips and pea porridge. After that, we'll start butchering the horses, then chew bark and boil dirt."
"And scurvy," Aemon added before Lynn could reply.
"Winter brings the bleeding gums and loose teeth. Lime juice and fresh meat can cure it, but our limes ran out a year ago, and we don't have enough fodder to keep the herds large enough for fresh meat."
Lynn stared at a pig hanging from the ceiling for a moment, then turned to the grim-faced group.
"Maester, what you call 'bad blood' comes from a lack of… certain necessary nutrients. Besides limes, other vegetables and fruits can provide them, and fresh meat works too. It's a problem for people whose diets are too narrow. If you go too long without fruits or vegetables, everyone gets it."
Aemon looked startled. "Is that so? I always wondered why the same men fell ill every year. I thought it was some family weakness, but a pair of twins at Shadow Tower disproved that. The older brother always got it; the younger never did. You're certain, Lord Lynn? If so, this is a great discovery."
This wasn't the time for medical lectures. Lynn cut the discussion short.
"The Free Folk aren't completely empty-handed. They've brought what they could carry and have some stores of their own to last a while. The rest is up to us."
"Us…" Aemon repeated bitterly.
"War rages across the Seven Kingdoms. I have sent raven after raven, but received almost no replies—and those that came were useless. The kings and lords believe the lands beyond the Wall can support only a limited number of people. With war everywhere, they say we must defend the realm ourselves…"
"The North was always the Watch's strongest ally, but now King Robb is campaigning far south, and the ironborn have struck while his back is turned. The Wall has gone half a year without any food or other vital supplies."
"And now the Wall is held by your Free Folk. Forgive me for speaking plainly, but even if the lords find the time, I doubt they will send grain. They will send spears and swords instead."