The drunk wore a shabby, filthy robe and only one shoe. His bare foot was caked in mud, a wineskin clutched in his right hand. The stench of liquor rolling off him could have choked a rat.
Gendry frowned, covered his nose and mouth with his right hand, then bent down and nudged the drunk with his left. "Hey, are you all right?" he asked, his voice muffled.
"I want to see the Direwolf."
The drunk spoke softly and weakly to Gendry. Then he immediately rolled over and bellowed in a booming voice,
"Keep drinking! I want more! Ugh... Water! I want water!"
At the first sentence, Gendry's heart skipped a beat. He forced his expression to stay calm and glanced around the street. A few people were still scattered along it.
So he shook his head and called out to the drunk, "What a nuisance!"
Smack!
As soon as Gendry finished speaking, he reached out to help the drunk up. But the man suddenly rolled over again, and his arm happened to smack Gendry's hand.
Gendry paused for a moment, then changed his grip from supporting the man to hauling him by the back of his robe, dragging him forward with his face turned toward the ground.
Fortunately, Gendry was an apprentice blacksmith with strong hands. Otherwise, he might not have been able to drag the fat drunk at all.
He hauled the drunk into the blacksmith's shop.
In the storeroom, Robb watched Gendry drag the man inside and waved a hand in front of his nose to dispel the stench. "Lord Varys, your disguise is far too convincing. You smell so strongly of liquor that no one would want to come near you."
"Would I put myself through this if it weren't to see you, Lord Robb? You're