Flea Bottom

King's Landing, Flea Bottom.

The narrow alleys twisted like intestines, leaving gaps barely wide enough for one person to squeeze through sideways.

The stench of sewage long pooled on the ground, the sour reek of garbage fermenting in damp, shadowy corners, dog shit—these were smells strong enough to make a person unable to keep their eyes open.

Every now and then, a dark shape darted past a corner with a whoosh, stirring rustling sounds and faint squeaks. It was impossible to tell whether it was a stray cat, a giant rat, or some other living thing.

"If the Seven Hells' kitchen ever exploded," Gyles Rosby said, pressing a perfumed handkerchief tightly over his nose and mouth, "I'd wager this is what it would smell like!"

Ser Criston Cole drew up the edge of his hood, leaving only his gray-blue eyes exposed. His stride remained steady. "Relax, Lord Gyles."

"Try taking a deep breath and savoring it."

"Once you leave behind the incense and flowers of the court, this is the true scent of King's Landing."

"A deep breath?!" Gyles's eyes bulged as tears streamed down his face.

"Here?! Ser Cole, I'd wager every bit of next year's salary—"

"Taking one breath in this place is deadlier than swallowing an entire jug of Dornish poison wine!"

"My lungs are made of flesh, not steel plates like that armor of yours!"

Cole chuckled softly and stopped teasing him.

Behind them, six guards in fresh clothes followed silently.

They struggled through the maze-like alleys before finally stopping in front of a two-story wooden building with faded blue cloth curtains hanging outside.

Three broad-shouldered, vicious-looking men stood at the entrance like door gods, their arms folded.

The guard leading the way stepped forward and spoke to them in a low voice. Several silver coins silently slipped into the palm of the leading man.

The man weighed them in his hand, then nodded.

"Go in." He stepped aside. "Keep your men in line. Don't cause trouble."

The scene beyond the door changed abruptly. An overpowering wave of incense rushed over them, successfully blocking out most of the stench outside, though it was a blend of several mysterious spices.

In a room at the back of the second floor, Lady Mysaria sat behind an old wooden table.

She wore a deep-purple velvet gown of decent quality. Her black hair was casually pinned up, revealing a well-kept, beautiful face marked by the traces of hardship.

Most striking of all were her amber eyes.

She was carefully shelling a nut, her fingernails neatly trimmed.

This was Mysaria—the Lysene lover who had once utterly captivated the Rogue Prince, Daemon Targaryen.

After Daemon abandoned her, she had not fallen into ruin. Instead, in the filthiest corner of King's Landing, she had woven an invisible web of information.

"Oh my." She set down the nut and dusted off her hands, her amber eyes studying the visitors with amused interest.

"Tell me, what wind blew such respectable guests into my little nest?"

"Did you two get lost, or did you come all the way to Flea Bottom... to experience life?"

Gyles removed his hood and forced out the smile he was best at. "My lady, you jest. This place of yours... is quite distinctive, full of vigorous... life."

"Life?" Mysaria raised an eyebrow and laughed softly. "My lord certainly knows how to speak."

"For two important men to lower yourselves so—"

"What do you want?"

"A love potion? An enemy? Or the whereabouts of some noblewoman?"

Cole removed his hood as well. Without exchanging pleasantries, he went straight to the point. "Blood and Cheese."

Mysaria looked up.

"In Flea Bottom, there are at least eight or ten men with nicknames like that."

Cole said nothing more. He stepped forward and placed a small pouch on her table.

The mouth of the pouch fell open, revealing several gleaming, dazzling coins.

"The two men I want are Rat Catchers," Cole said.

"My... gods." She counted the Gold Dragons on the table and spoke softly.

"Ser, whoever is backing you... is generously frightening."

"They're only two lowly men."

"Is this really worth it?"

"My lady, are there some questions you are very eager to know the answers to?" Cole's gaze turned cold.

"All right, all right. A customer's secrets come first." Mysaria immediately raised both hands.

She turned toward the door and called, "Old Giss."

An old man with a missing front tooth and shifty eyes slipped in at once and stood respectfully to one side.

"Take these two distinguished gentlemen to Andrew and Jones. You should know where they are," Mysaria ordered.

As they followed Old Giss through ever darker, more labyrinthine alleys, Gales could not help asking Cole again in a low voice, "Are you sure this old man can be trusted?"

"My lord, you can rest a hundred percent assured!" Old Giss had sharp ears. He turned back with a chuckle, baring uneven yellow teeth. "Flea Bottom has no secrets—at least, not from gold."

"As long as the money is enough, I can find out what underwear His Majesty wore last night and what sleep-talk he uttered!"

"The two men you're looking for may not have shown their faces much these past few years. They've kept a very low profile."

"But they still have to eat, drink, take jobs, and have fun, don't they?"

"As long as they're still in Flea Bottom."

"I know everything about them."

Remembering his orders, Cole abruptly asked, "Do they have any family?"

At Cole's question, Old Giss narrowed his eyes.

"Seems you're not here to hire pest-control experts, my lord?"

Cole smiled. The guards beside him had already placed their hands on their sword hilts.

"There are some things you shouldn't speculate about or try to learn."

"Or does it seem you're eager to get involved?"

"No, no, no."

Old Giss shook his head. He could not afford to offend these important figures from the Red Keep—not even Lady Mysaria behind him could afford to offend them.

"I like clever people." After Ser Cole spoke, Gales tossed a jingling little pouch to Old Giss.

Old Giss looked at the heavy pouch and pried it open. It was full of Silver Stags...

There had to be more than a hundred of them... They were not Gold Dragons, but to him, this was already an enormous sum.

Rarely encountering such a generous nobleman, Old Giss's face filled with excitement, and he began to tremble.

"My lord, I'll tell you everything I know."

A while later, they finally stopped at the end of a dead-end alley, before a two-story wooden building that looked as though age and damp might reduce it to rubble at any moment.

The door downstairs was tightly shut, though a faint yellow glow seeped through the crack beneath it.

"Here it is." Old Giss pointed at the house.

Cole nodded, and Old Giss turned and immediately left.

He had been paid, and he had told them everything he was supposed to tell them. He did not want to know anything else; he understood the wisdom of knowing when to stop.

Cole gave one of the guards a look.

The guard stepped forward and knocked on the door in a measured rhythm.

The conversation inside stopped abruptly.

A moment later came the slow, creaking sound of the door being pulled open.

The door opened a crack, and a wary eye studied them through the gap.

"Who are you looking for?" asked a voice as rough as sandpaper scraping wood.

"There are pests in the house," Cole said. "I heard you have the finest cleaners here, people who can deal with them thoroughly."

The gap widened. A short, powerfully built man blocked the doorway. He was around forty, bald, with a vicious scar across his face running from his brow bone to the corner of his mouth.

"How many are coming in?" he asked, his voice still hoarse.

"Me, and this lord." Cole pointed at Gales. "We're here to discuss business with you."

The scar-faced man hesitated and gave them another few appraising looks.

In the end, he stepped aside. "Come in. The rest wait outside."

Cole and Gales entered the house one after the other. The door closed behind them.

The room was more spacious than it appeared from outside, but it resembled a cluttered workshop and storeroom.

"Lord Gales mentioned that the finest Rat Catchers in King's Landing could be found here," Cole said mildly.

The two men exchanged a glance.

The scar-faced man—Jones, nicknamed Cheese—snorted. "Gales? That fat old steward from the Red Keep?"

"He still remembers us? I thought he'd long since considered us dead."

The one-eyed man—Andrew, nicknamed Blood—finally stopped sharpening his blade. He raised his single eye, his gaze sweeping over Cole and Gales as tangibly as substance. "These days, we only take small odd jobs. Catching rats and such."

Cole said nothing more. He directly took another, smaller leather pouch from his clothes and set it on the stained table.

The mouth of the pouch loosened, and twenty brand-new Gold Dragons rolled out.

Both men's breathing caught at once.

"That's not rat-catching money." Andrew stared blankly at the sight, his single eye fixed firmly on the gold coins.

"Of course not." Cole spoke calmly, reaching up to slowly pull back his hood, revealing a face almost everyone in King's Landing recognized.

The air in the room seemed to freeze solid.

Jones's hand shot toward the small of his back. Andrew narrowed his only remaining right eye, studying them like a venomous snake eyeing its prey.

"Ser Criston Cole?" Andrew said slowly.

"Well... bloody hell. The White Knight of the Royal House, coming to see two... rat catchers like us? No drunk would believe that."

"I'm not here to cause trouble." Cole's voice was steady. "On the contrary, I'm here to offer you an opportunity."

"Who do you work for?" Jones asked warily, his hand still not leaving his lower back.

At that moment, Gales stepped forward and removed his own hood, revealing his grave expression.

"Andrew, Jones, it's been a long time."

"That's right. I was the one who recommended you to Ser Cole."

"The Red Keep has... a serious rat problem now. Ordinary methods aren't working. We need the most professional people to handle it."

"Of course, the pay will be generous. You won't be treated unfairly."