Lynn had been searched upon arrival. He had carried nothing but his clothes and a standard Northern longsword, not a single silver stag.
The officer who had searched him knew that.
With no money and no trips outside, where had these silver stags come from?
Had he looted them from the Wildlings?
But what the hell would Wildlings want with silver stags?
Everything was clear.
These silver stags had indeed come from the assassins.
A fine sheen of cold sweat instantly broke out across Bowen Marsh's forehead.
His little eyes darted about, not daring to meet anyone's gaze.
As Castle Black's chief steward, he controlled the entire castle's purse.
Every purchase of supplies, every copper spent, was recorded in his thick ledger.
Of course he remembered.
Not long ago, Alliser Thorne had withdrawn a small pouch of silver from him, claiming he needed to "buy special whetstones from the south to repair the weapons."
At the time, he had thought little of it.
Thorne might have been bitter, vicious, and thoroughly disliked.
But he was still the Master-at-Arms, still a knight. Bowen had no reason to refuse such a small request.
But now...
Looking at the silver coins on the ground, he recalled Pyp and Grenn's accusations.
And the supplies Thorne had never brought back.
Bowen Marsh's heart sank.
He knew he had been dragged into an enormous mess.
"Master Marsh?"
Lynn's voice pulled him out of his tangled thoughts.
"Do you remember now?"
Bowen Marsh's face alternated between red and white.
He stole a glance at Lord Commander Mormont's livid face, then at Lynn's icy gaze.
Finally, his eyes settled on Alliser Thorne's already contorted face.
He knew he had to choose now.
Should he protect a doomed Thorne and offend the two most powerful men in the castle?