Deadly Poison Mushroom

The atmosphere in the Red Door Courtyard was somewhat stifling today.

The medicinal smell in the sickroom was so thick it could not be dispelled. On the sickbed lay a once-dazzling knight, now a helpless paralyzed old man.

Ser Willem Darry's longsword and yew bow hung on the wall, but neither had been drawn in a long time.

Looking at Willem Darry on the bed, his face pale and his eyes barely able to open, the doctor's expression darkened. Then he naturally shook his head.

"My skills are of no use here anymore," said the doctor from Braavos. "The gods have taken back this old warrior's flame."

The doctor was still somewhat curious about Viserys's silver-white hair and purple eyes, but he had not connected him to the Dragon King. He merely saw him as a close relative of the Lyseni.

"Thank you for your kindness." Viserys Targaryen placed a silver coin in the doctor's hand.

It was a round iron coin, stamped with the image of an armored figure. It appeared to be the Titan of Braavos.

At the sight of the silver coin Viserys had given, greed flashed in the butler's eyes.

Perhaps because he knew Ser Willem would soon die, that greed became even less concealed and more unrestrained.

Rhaenys had already taken note of the butler's expression. She was a quick-witted child.

Viserys discreetly glanced at the butler's face. This man was courting death.

If the servants stole the money belonging to the three of them, then Viserys and the two children would not last long on those few jewels. They would truly have no choice but to beg.

"Thank you. Thank you." After accepting the silver coin, the doctor's attitude became much kinder.

Free Trade Cities such as Braavos were commercial cities, unlike the feudal lordships of the Sunset Lands.

Everyone here sought wealth. They did not shy away from discussing money, and bloodlines generally carried far fewer restrictions.

Even cheese merchants and butter merchants could rise to become magistrates.

In most of the Free Trade Cities, merchants, sailors, and bankers held the highest status.

War was not something wealthy merchants liked to do either. There were mercenaries, after all. If the Dothraki came, they could simply offer a few gifts.

Such a thing was unimaginable in Westeros, where knights and warriors ruled.

The knights of Westeros had always despised the customs of the Free Trade Cities. Even House Lannister, the richest of them all, thought the same way.

"They use gold instead of longswords to fight. Money is useful, certainly, but wars must still be won with iron." Tywin Lannister had once judged the Free Trade Cities thus.

"Judging by how fast he is fading, the soonest... the soonest will likely be tomorrow noon. You should prepare yourselves. Even if he survives, it will only be torment." After taking the silver coin, the doctor quietly offered Viserys one more piece of information.

It was like entering the final countdown of a game. Every plot and every method had to be used.

By the time Viserys saw the doctor out and entered Willem Darry's room, the sun over Braavos had completely set.

Whale-oil candles burned in Ser Willem Darry's room, making the place as bright as day.

They were luxurious candles, far more effective for lighting than ordinary ones.

With time short and money scarce, they had not used scented candles.

The faded Myrish carpet on the floor further showed Viserys's straitened circumstances.

Rhaenys Targaryen, tears still clinging to the corners of her eyes, stood with the helpless Daenerys at Ser Willem's bedside. The room carried a warm, sickening sweetness—the smell of herbs.

Ser Willem, his hair gray-white and his face deeply lined, had developed a raging fever. The flame of his life was slowly fading away.

"He can still only drink watered wine or warmed lemon water," Rhaenys said.

When a person became weak enough, it was as though they no longer had the strength to eat solid food.

The butler, laundress, and cook were all waiting anxiously in the outer room.

Of course, they did not love or respect the old knight. They feared him.

They were merely waiting for the lion on the sickbed to die, so they could immediately steal the coins Ser Willem had hidden beside his bed.

Watching over a sick person was exhausting work. Viserys sat in a chair, with little Daenerys and Rhaenys beside him.

Viserys looked thin, helpless, and sorrowful.

The butler naturally took it all in, becoming even more convinced that his scheme was flawless.

Time passed bit by bit. Waiting was the hardest thing to endure.

"Your Grace, you have all worked hard as well. Shall I have the cook bring you some hot soup first?" the butler asked solicitously.

Ser Willem Darry's condition had worsened recently, and someone had to watch over him day and night.

Thus, during this period, Viserys had always deliberately instructed the kitchen to make an extra pot of thick soup at night, one he personally specified, to ensure the caretakers had enough nourishment.

Not only Daenerys and Rhaenys received some; every servant did as well.

Rather than feeling flattered, the servants became even more certain that Viserys had lost all sense. This half-grown boy was easy to bully.

"Yes. Make the butter mushroom soup I chose. The mushrooms and everything else are already in the pot, so it can be made directly."

"At once, Your Grace. Go make it," the butler told the cook.

"At this hour?" The cook grumbled, biting her lip. The old knight was nearly dead. They could just steal the valuables and leave. Did they really have to keep serving this bunch of little brats?

"Go," the butler ordered, then pinched the cook's backside.

At worst, they would have to wait until tomorrow before taking the money and fleeing. What harm was there in enduring a little longer?

"Fine, then." The cook grumbled as she headed for the kitchen.

"And you should drink the butter mushroom soup first. We have no appetite at the moment," Viserys added naturally.

"How could we possibly accept that, Your Grace?" The butler put on an embarrassed expression, though he was secretly delighted.

"You have all worked hard too," Viserys said with complete sincerity.

"Meow!" One-eared Balerion followed the cook into the kitchen as well, ensuring nothing went wrong.

Rhaenys moved closer to Viserys. Now that it had truly come time to kill someone, Viserys found himself somewhat nervous after all.

Viserys's attributes were not yet high enough, so to be safe, he decided to use the poison mushrooms he had selected long ago.

Now he was prepared while they were unsuspecting. Through deception and a surprise attack, Viserys would act faster than the servants.

Viserys's months of studying cooking in the kitchen, handling ingredients, and even deliberately asking the cook to make soup at night recently had all been for this final scheme.

He had arranged numerous conditions and circumstances as cover, all to ensure his goal could be achieved.

The foolish little Daenerys understood nothing. She was too young and had not been involved in the plot.

Rhaenys traced a line across Viserys's palm, signaling that the plan was proceeding smoothly.

If I do not eat others, others will eat me. Viserys felt his heart pounding especially fast.

They could not afford the finest cook, and a slightly foolish cook like this would not grow suspicious of prepared Bloodspot Mushrooms.

Besides, she had long grown accustomed to the wandering prince's fondness for fine food.

The Bloodspot Mushrooms had been hidden among the prepared white mushrooms and oxtail. Delicious but deadly, they had been carefully chosen by Viserys.

As an experienced cook, she quickly prepared the butter mushroom soup.

After all, mushroom soup was a basic thick soup.

The fragrant mushroom soup filled brass bowls. On a cold night, it was the sort of soup everyone craved, wonderfully delicious.

"Delicious, truly delicious." The butler, laundress, cook, and the rest each had a bowl. The cook never shortchanged herself.

Black Cat's green eyes gleamed as it hid in the corner, watching the servants wolf down their food. None of them paid it any attention; they were already used to it.

Rhaenys nodded, and Viserys let out a breath of relief, making sure every one of them had drunk the mushroom soup.

"Let me... let me taste... the wine." Ser Willem suddenly called out in broken phrases. "Bring me... that bottle I treasured."

Before his death, the wine Ser Willem wished to drink was neither the famous wine of the Arbor nor Dorne's Summer Red, but the local wine most beloved by Riverlanders.

Wine from the Riverlands was brewed from grapes that were small and sour, barely drinkable. Only locals could grow accustomed to it.

Viserys rose and found the wine Ser Willem had requested. The bottle was used to ease his homesickness.

Over time, little of the Riverlands' sour wine remained.

Because the wine of the Riverlands was of such poor quality, even obtaining a bottle was very difficult.

Viserys hurriedly poured Ser Willem a cup of wine.

"Good. Good wine... Thank you, Your Grace. It is sad that I cannot see you clearly, nor can I see my little princess clearly." Ser Willem spoke in broken phrases before falling into a deep slumber again.

"It truly is good wine." Viserys drank a cup as well. The wine was as bitter and astringent as tears.

In the sitting room, the servants who had finished their mushroom soup suddenly all changed color.

Clang! A brass soup bowl fell to the floor.

The butler's face suddenly went pale. He felt his heart racing wildly, thump thump thump thump, while his vision began to blur.

The cook clutched her throat, only to find that she could not cough anything up.

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