Capítulo 9: The Black Library
It was sunset when we patrolled the Volantene streets decorated with paper lanterns coating everything orange. Ser Rolly led the way, riding on a horse while me and Serpent Squad waddled after him afoot like a troupe of ducklings.
We halted at the crossroads. Nothing looked out the ordinary. The alleys were empty and the new city was a maze of ramshackle and double-storied homes built of mudbrick that pressed against each other like drunks during a night of drinking. Many had been reinforced with scaffolding and had external stairs leading up to where houses had been stacked one atop another. In Volantis, one could only build up.
I didn't want to be here. None of us did. But we were soldiers and we had a job to do.
Despite pretending to be Jon Connington's treasured son and being groomed by Myles Toyne for an obvious officer position, I still had duties to my comrades-in-arms and, likely due to our greenness and needing to prove our worth, we were assigned to patrol the poorer parts of Volantis. It was little more than a cesspit - literally in some places - and populated by undesirables and outcasts. Many of the buildings were winesinks and brothels, drug dens and gambling houses all built inside what one would call a shanty town if you were feeling particularly generous. It was also where most of the riots happened as well as having the highest deployment of sellswords. Near exclusively sellswords. The tiger cloaks had been redeployed to the more prosperous areas, damn them.
"Whore Street," Mallor grumbled. "Has there been a more disgusting place?"
"You act like you never visited," Leo remarked cheerfully, looking over his shoulder and smiling with false innocence.
"Not these ones," the Dornishboy played along. "The harridans here are all filthy with every disease the demons of the sixth hell have dredged up."
"And how would you know that?" Symeon asked with mocking in his shrill voice.
While I ignored another round of their bickering, I turned my mind to other things, like making sure no one was committing crime. Surprisingly it was empty with no vagrants sleeping drunkenly in the shadows or even beggars. During the day, the area was full of women in various stages of undress and urging forward clients. All the shops – or lack thereof – were closed and boarded. There was no movement. No danger.
"Keep your wits about you, lads," Duck warned us, riding atop a horse because he was a knight. "Something's not right here."
Jon snorted. "Aye, something's wrong. No pimps nor drunks. Nor is there a slut in sight. No cutpurses nor cutthroats either. Makes you think the whole city just buggered off."
I couldn't tell if he was being sarcastic. Sometimes it was hard to tell. "It's quiet, I can say that much," I said softly. "Do you think this is out the ordinary, ser?"
"Slightly. This area should be busier. But mayhap's the rabble's too drunk with the festivities."
That, too, could be the answer. Yesterday had been spent keeping an eye on the crowds during a chariot race. There were four teams: the Greens, Whites, Blues and Reds. Each side had three chariots and the race themselves was like a game of thrones in themselves as teams collaborated and back-stabbed each other. Their clothing and hair was colour-coded to their faction and the games were so politically driven that it promised at least one fight would break out. While we stood on patrol and acted quickly to weed out any troublemakers, the Golden Company officers watched the games in plush seating while gorging themselves and making bets. Jon Connington wanted me to be with them – likely so I was in his sights – but Myles Toyne refused. He did keep more than a few veteran guards around me, however; not always in sight but always close enough to respond quickly should the need arise.
It hadn't been that bad. I was expecting worse. Only once did the crowds grow restless and, besides a scuffle between the Greens and Reds, not much happened. That was perhaps a good thing for if the crowd exploded into a riot, I was sure Myles would drag me out swinging his sword and killing everyone in the way. While he was a sink or swim tutor for the most part, he knew how valuable I was as the last Blackfyre. Despite many in the Golden Company being apathetic to the Blackfyre cause after many decades of failures, the Golden Company was still a Blackfyre organisation with oaths sworn to sit a black dragon on the Iron Throne. Me dying would be the final defeat for them. I was the last chance for themselves and their houses.
Of course, whether a black dragon would sit the Iron Throne was a matter of debate. While I had plans to take Westeros, I could decide to instead do an Alexander the Great and conquer the Free Cities, uniting them into one great empire where I'd declare myself emperor. I smiled at the thought. Emperor did sound so much better than king. Emperor Aegon Blackfyre, the Black Dragon of the East. I liked the sound of that. Go against the story I was put into and make something of myself independently. No Westeros and no game of thrones. I was a nice idea, but I doubted it would happen. Because of my circumstances, my fate was decided for me. There was far too much pressure to place me on the Iron Throne.
I grimaced.
The streets grew darker and colder. Contrasting the radiant heat of day, the nights were freezing. The fact my garbs were thin did nothing to help matters. As we made a last lap, we met another squad of Company members alongside some tiger cloaks with green tattoos painted under their eyes. Duck politely greeted the man who approached us.
"Greetings," the sergeant said. He had dark olive-skin and black hair tied into braids. His black breastplate was carved with elaborate details and he wore two golden torcs around his arms. "You lot heading back to the barracks?" When Rolly said he was, the man shook his head. "You can't. You're needed on the waterfront. There's been a murder."
"Someone's always murdering another. Why's this different?"
"Because this bumbling fool was a politician. A member of the tiger faction. Political assassination most likely. The city watch want us to aid them in sealing the area and retain witnesses. They don't trust their own people to do it. Everyone in this infernal city is paid to work against the other half. A time when sellswords are the most trust worthy individuals." He laughed. "That's why we're here."
"If needs be. Is there anyone else there?"
"Some watchmen under the command of an officer. We're in charge of investigating though."
Rolly nodded and we all trailed behind. While everyone kept our silence, it was clear Serpent Squad hated it. We were all tired and annoyed, but none of us argued for it was not our place, not in this world. With haste we made it to the waterfront which was a forest of masts where ships bobbed up and down in the pitch-black sea. It was a deep harbour and ideally placed for ships. The local's claimed it could fit all the hundred isles of Braavos and still have room to spare. It certainly looked like it from what I'd seen so far.
Meeting us was a small group of slave guards, huddled together, rubbing their hands and talking amongst themselves in quiet voices. Their officer saw us and approached. He was a massive man, with the shoulders of an ox and scars crisscrossing his shiny bald head. "What your business here?" I believed he said, though his voice was so gruff I had difficulty understanding. When Rolly explained, the man rolled his eyes. "Fool of blue blood. Low noble. The whores were offering special favours." I couldn't make out the rest of what he said. Rolly didn't seem to have the problem and told us to watch the streets and clear the brothel out.
To call it a brothel would be disingenuous. It was more a collection of rooms with beds harder than the streets outside. The paint was crackled, the furniture old and the carpets soiled. The owner of the establishment was as ugly as she was crude, with a wild unbrushed mess of red hair streaked with white and a face so covered with thickly layered cosmetics it turned her wrinkled features into a parody of youth. She had lost half her teeth and what remained were brown and rotting and jutting out of greyish gums. Now that, my dear friends, was why I brushed my teeth – near religiously Leo claimed. I didn't want to face the primitive dental care, nor did I want to have my mouth look like one of those magazines one would find at a dentist's waiting room. Even her clothes were ugly, the silken shawl was stained with sweat, wine and other substances I didn't dare think of.
Rolly grimaced at the sight; we all did. "Qarro, bind this harlot. Jon and Mallor, you two rouse the girls and boy whores and everyone else inside. Drag them out if you must and beat them if they resist."
We stripped the buildings of all potential threats and arrested the occupants. Thankfully it was small and there weren't that many people. Three more women were dragged into the street from where they'd been chained to the beds, as well as a large soft-faced eunuch with pegged teeth. He struggled but both Qarro and Leo threw shackles around his wrists and tied him to the wall. The eunuch struggled in vain until Symeon pressed a sword to his throat.
When that was done, we needed to collect information of the crime, so we knocked on doors if not break through them, and then asked questions. Soon we had all the information we could interrogate out of everyone and the noble's body was wrapped up and moved away, hidden so no one would see it. Just as well for it had been ravaged brutal in the victim's struggle. With that came more city watch alongside an armoured carriage made for transporting criminals.
From what we were told later, the victim wasn't the most prominent member of the Tigers, but the death of a highborn warranted attention, especially during election year. So, of course, conspiracy theories ran rampart. It just couldn't be down to coincidence, it had to be murder. Well, the torturers would be interrogating witnesses soon enough, I was sure. And honestly, my knowledge of antiquity and medieval torture devices left much to the imagination. If anything, I think my knowledge of primitive torture was much more imaginative than Volantis could even dream of. I haven't seen it in the books where people are roasted alive in a brazen bull or the Ironborn performing a blood eagle for instance. Makes you think ancient earth was full of sadists . . . which, to be honest, might have been the case. Note to self, don't give Joffrey and Ramsey advice else you may be the first victim of their newest creation.
If there's one thing to say about my time so far, it hadn't been dull.
...
The murder of a highborn did indeed disrupt the Volantene elections. As could be expected in such a tense climate, various candidates pointed fingers and accused each other of being involved in the ordeal. The public grew restless and fights occurred throughout the city between supporters. Portions of Volantis – usually the poor areas – were set aflame and looted of the little they had. Outside one minor red temple had been a bloodbath where a group of tiger supporters pulled out swords and began killing a group of slaves owned by the elephants. More slaves rushed forward, attacking the tigers with whatever they could get their hands on. The tide turned and they chased after the attackers. We brought an end to the fighting with a cavalry charge, killing ten slaves and sending the rest into flight.
Throughout my time, we'd only been in a handful of fights but the various skirmishes were growing in intensity. Due to Joncon's objections, as well as those from Septa Lemore, I was pulled from front-line duty. While Myles claimed I should research in the Black Walls, the real reason was that he didn't want me to be at risk in the increasing tension. A few sellswords of the Golden Company had been found dead in various winesinks and brothels, all having their necks slit. As such, everyone was under heightened awareness. The rest of Serpent Squad didn't like the fact I'd left them, despite Myles Toyne saying to them directly that I was serving him during our time in Volantis. From the way they looked at me, it was clear they thought I was abandoning them. In a way, I was flattered they cared enough. Either that, or they thought I was being hidden away because my fake father was overprotective and used his influence from sleeping with the captain-general – which was true. Blackfyre or no, Connington saw me as his son.
While my comrades spent their time in the heat and dust of New Volantis, I had to make do in the cool of the ancient library that had more than enough ancient books to fill the appetite of any bookworm. How could it not? There were books and scrolls dating back to even before the Doom of Valyria; ancient manuscripts of magic, lost technology, and of histories long since forgotten. While I didn't find anything about Valyrian Steel, what I had find gave me an idea on how dragonstone was created. It was like concrete using a special volcanic ash but needed a blood sacrifice to add to the strength. My theory was that adding blood caused a chemical reaction which created crystals within the mortar in a similar way as its roman equivalent. That did make me wonder how much of this so-called magical technology was just simply chemistry.
It was a shame to say that all this was forbidden to leave the walls of the library or be even seen by one who wasn't of the Old Blood. I was lucky enough that the slaves taking care of everything thought I was a noble thanks to my silver-hair and Valyrian features. So most ignored my presence as I went through everything with Haldon (everyone thought he was my Westerosi slave). It was good that the area was mostly empty besides a few slaves so I had the place to myself . . . and one other person.
The guy's name was Vaquo Volnyros, a lesser son of a minor branch of a prominent Old Blood house. A branch – an old man claimed – that really needed to be cut. He was a plump young man with two chins, reddened cheeks, narrow pale-blue eyes and hair like freshly laid snow. Vaquo was older than me. Perhaps late teens or early twenties, though it was hard to tell. Despite his darker-than-average complexion, he was obviously Valyrian. Every morning I would find him in the same corner, eyes blood red from staring at the pile of books before him. Many times I found myself wondering if he ever left the spot.
Upon seeing him, and discovering what he read, we did engage in conversation a few times, though he did ignore me if given the choice. I'd been looking for ancient manuscripts for technology dating back to the Century of Blood and how siege engines functioned. While I knew how they worked, it didn't mean I could recreate them without a blueprint. One day, I discovered him sprawling over a pile of parchments, drawing diagrams and reading from ancient scrolls. While more of a hobbyist who claimed to have experimented with making things, Vaquo was the closest thing to a proper engineer I've found so far. Because of this, I convinced the Volantene to examine my own designs. Things like peer reviews would help me get feedback after all. While I had Haldon look at it, I couldn't find anyone else for the Golden Company outsourced engineers whenever they were needed and the field wasn't as respected as trade (in Essos) or warfare (in Westeros). The fat-cheeked man looked over at it and, for a brief moment, looked impressed.
"You created this?" He stared down at the blueprints of the seed drill. It was around the fourth or fifth draft. The previous ones I'd burnt after Haldon picked up some errors and I made improvements. The Volantene pursed his thick lips. "You're Lysene, correct? Though your accent speaks differently. I'm unfamiliar."
"My . . . mother was Lysene, but my father's Pentoshi."
He looked bored already. Putting the parchment down, he went back to his book. How rude. "There are some improvements to make. Not as efficient as it could be. The wheels could be improved, as can the plough. You could use a better design or multiple variants. Not every plough will be good in the same instance. Size doesn't matter and smaller ones can work just as well, if not better. Not to mention that you could use better metal. Chilled-casting. That may work."
"Excuse me?"
The Volantene rolled his eyes and looked at me like I was a child wasting his time. "Molten metal on contact with a cold metal mould. It can make the plough harder. Be careful with the material, though. You don't want it to break by being too brittle." He went back to his book.
An idea popped into my mind. "How do you know that?"
"Experimented down in the city," he waved his hand lazily above him. "I paid a metalsmith to tutor me when I was younger. They accept anyone provided you have enough coin."
"So you create things?"
He rolled his pale-eyes and turned to me, looking frustrated. "I experiment," he extravagated the movement of his mouth for emphasis. "I don't just create things. I improve them and . . . or tell others how to improve them. That's what I'm doing for you won't leave me alone. If I'm being honest, within recent memory, these ploughs of yours have been more interesting than other things I've experimented with." He looked back down at the blueprints once more. "Such designs require less slaves. In Volantis the noble families love using slaves. Especially mine. They want me to join the family business and be an overseer of one of the estates." He said that like he'd been cursed with a terminal disease and winkled his nose. "A waste of my talents and time. I would rather be building things. But that's considered the work of lesser men."
I suppressed a grin. Oh, you just walked into my trap. "What if I promise you the opportunity to create?" Aegon Silver-Tongue strikes again.
That caught his interest. "And what may that be?"
The way he looked ready to jump at the opportunity told me all I needed to know. After a few days it didn't take long for me to know he processed only a narrow field of interests, and ones that weren't respected or approved by his family. I needed engineers for the Golden Company. Those from high positions of power aided in the possible transfer of resources.
"I know you have an interest in the art of crafting and the building of various technology. From what I've seen so far, I can tell you're very knowledgeable in the way you've both criticised and provided constructive feedback. I can offer you a job, a respectable position worthy of your breeding and various opportunities to expand your talents to however you see fit."
"I am talented," he said, not at all humbly. "But doing what? I don't know you and we've only talked for the last few days. I doubt you'll give me this out the goodness of your heart."
Seen right through me there. But I was one of those people that believed the world improves because of peoples innate selfish desires just happen to benefit others. Enlightened self-interest, I believed it was called . "The position as an engineer within the Golden Company."
His face soured immediately. "Sellswords are below me." He paused. "Why would they have need of me and why would you want me?"
I let the silence stir for a moment.
"The Golden Company is in the process of reform. We're looking for the best and brightest to join up. As the son of a commander and working closely to the captain-general himself, I'm on the lookout for potential recruits. We need talented individuals who can build machinery as we currently lack such members."
Vaquo blinked once, twice, then looked back down at his own sketch. "War is not my thing. One, I don't desire to die. Two, it won't give me much time."
Time to change tactic, it seems. "More time than your family is offering, I'm sure. I mean . . ." Despite his words, despite his attempts to dissuade himself, he was intrigued. He had legitimate reasons to not join, I just had to overpower them. "I can offer you a deal. Though this is the one chance you'll have to take it. I have many ideas on what to do and these seed drills and ploughs are only a small part of what I desire to create. I've got bigger, better ideas that will revolutionise the world. You can be a part of that provided you aid me in whatever ways I need. Take my offer, I can provide you with your own resources to do as you desire . . ." Provided it doesn't disadvantage the Golden Company.
"While I was never one to desire to see the world outside the Black Walls . . . I may need to. I'll have to ask my father. Though I must say he'll hold reservations to such an idea."
His father, as it turned out, didn't hold any reservations. I was personally ushered into a palace that, while big, was nowhere near the size of it's neighbours. If the son wasn't that visually impressive, his father was anything but. Tall and statuesque, with sculpted features and eyes alight with intellect. He was the vision of what a Valyrian should look like, which of course meant unnaturally good looking. While he was attractive, his attitude was anything but. The patriarch looked at me like I was a dog who'd just threw up on his very expensive carpet. His nose upturned whenever he looked in my general direction, and raised even further if he dared look at Haldon, which was rare for many of the Old Blood saw outsiders as . . . well, that. They treated their slaves as less than furniture.
"The Golden Company seems like a marvellous idea," he said, his voice all high and musical. "It's about time to make something of yourself, Vaquo. This is such an opportunity for you and our house. Especially one for a lesser branch as yourself. A second son. Your circumstances require you to take this opportunity."
Despite his pretty words, they were basically, "I'm done with you under my roof, son. This is my chance to kick you out and I'm taking it with both hands."
I could almost pity Vaquo. It didn't seem the plump Volantene understood, even if everyone else did. That was the way of this world. Any sons after the heir were a drain on the family. That was why many of the Golden Company and other sellsword companies were full of the sons of highborn of Essos. Those who didn't take up the sword got into trades like becoming a trader or a captain of a ship. The fact that Vaquo was apathetic to the point he avoided anything that wasn't his interest did indeed narrow his potential career prospects but gave him greater than average knowledge in fields that did carry his interest.
The plump man nodded lightly. "If my father wishes."
"Very much so. Of course, you'll have everything you require for such a dangerous undertaking." Turning to me, Mr Volnyros looked apathetic, as if his son being sent to potentially die wasn't on his set of worries. Then he ushered me to the side. "What do you want from this? You look similar to the boy who followed the Golden Company officers to visit the Triachs. News travels fast in the Black Walls."
I smiled warmly at him. It was a false smile. As good-looking as the man was – and as much as he made me question my own sexuality – I didn't like him. His smiles never quite reached his eyes. "I saw skills within Vaquo. I think they might prove useful." With both magic and technology I could revolutionise Westeros. Having meritocracy instead of birthright would be a good place to start. Much of the problem of Westeros was the idea of people deserving to own things because of their precious bloodline. There was beautiful evidence on why that was a dangerous thing. It was just a shame the nobility were the only ones who had the resources to be educated. While I couldn't break the nobility yet, or within my lifetime, I could lay the foundation for change.
The older man pursed his lips. "I might just question your wit, boy. I see no use of him within a sellsword company, but I won't question the opportunity presented. Though I want one thing of you."
"And what may that be?"
"His safety. He's my second son to my second wife. With his lack of ambition and . . . slowness, he shows himself to be no threat to my eldest. Instead of being productive, he spends his time reading or acting like a plebeian craftsman." He spoke those words with nothing short of disdain. "Regardless of that fact, he's loved by his mother thanks to her tender woman heart. Because I don't want that to break, you'll ensure Vaquo is kept safe, but as far away from Volantis as you are able. I don't desire to see my mongrel of a son again."
That smile never left my face and it only grew larger and more sardonic. "I plan to, Master Vhalaso. Your son will be safe within the Golden Company." Strange words to say, but I did plan to keep Vaquo with the support companies when the reforms were underway. The man gave a nod and, just because he left, I asked a question. "Mind if I ask where I can find myself a glass candle?" They were useful tools if I could remember correctly. They hadn't burnt in recent memory, but began when Daenerys' dragons hatched. They would allow magicians to see around the world, and instantly pass messages without ravens and the like. Something like them would surely impress Lyra and get her on my side. Not to mention, she may be able to get them to work. She did say to have been taught by Marwyn of all people. "I desire to get one."
Master Vhalaso Volnyros looked at me and I saw his lips forming a not-so-subtle smirk. "I know of a few. What do I get in return?"
"Let's come to a arrangement."
Status de energia semanal
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Poder 
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Poder