The moon shone bright among sparse stars, its clear light spilling over King's Landing and lending the capital of Westeros a hazy, mysterious beauty.
King's Landing had no curfew, for nobles generally did not go out at night, seeking their pleasures at home instead, within their heavily guarded mansions.
By contrast, desperately poor Flea Bottom always came alive at night.
The place was too foul, too poor, and too chaotic. Under Janos's command, the Gold Cloaks had never bothered to patrol here late at night when there was nothing to line their pockets.
Underworld powers controlled the place, using gambling dens, fighting pits, brothels, and every other means humanly imaginable to cruelly squeeze the last scraps of value from these impoverished people.
Legend had it that the former "Rogue Prince," Daemon Targaryen, had been a regular visitor to Flea Bottom, and people had affectionately called him the "Lord of Flea Bottom."
Listening to the excited roars of the poor outside, the fighting pit's owner, Yahn Snow, gazed at the chest brimming with Gold Dragons and Silver Stags, his fleshy face split by a grin he could not contain.
This was his happiest moment of every day.
A bastard who had traveled all the way from the North, Yahn Snow was nothing like the traditionally honest, simple folk of his homeland.
Having lived in misery from childhood, he had displayed an extraordinary hunger for money.
He had willingly left his homeland for the unfamiliar splendor of King's Landing, hoping to make something of himself.
With the ferocity peculiar to northerners and a cunning to rival any native of King's Landing, Yarn, who had arrived in the city alone, had secured a foothold in Flea Bottom in almost legendary fashion.
"Yarn."
Suddenly, a hoarse voice came from the shadows in a corner, startling him into a shudder.
He hurriedly picked up a candlestick and turned around. In the candlelight, a bruised face hidden beneath a hood appeared before him.
"Oh, honored Lord Baelish!"
Recovering, Yarn hastily spread his arms in feigned surprise and made to give Baelish a warm embrace, though the faint amusement in his eyes was rather difficult to hide.
"What brings you here?"
"Stop putting on an act."
As shrewd as he was, Baelish could hardly miss the mockery in the other man's eyes. He dodged Yarn's embrace and walked around him toward the chest full of coins.
Watching Baelish gently stroke the money in the chest with both hands, Yarn's fat face twitched, but he said nothing.
"I need money, Yarn."
Baelish got straight to the point, issuing his order without ceremony.
"But last month's payment has already been made, Lord Baelish."
A vicious gleam appeared in Yarn's eyes as he glared at Baelish's back, yet his tone remained as respectful as ever.
He knew perfectly well why Baelish had come so suddenly. Although Robert had only invited the nobles of King's Landing to watch at the tourney grounds, how could those pampered lords possibly go without bringing a few servants along?
Those noblemen's servants had not a penny in their pockets, while their idle masters always happened to be creating some sensational news.
News such as whose newborn son looked nothing like his master, or whose lady had stayed out all night and only appeared on the Street of Silk the following morning, provided them with something to sell for money.
It could be said that, apart from Varys the Spider, Yarn's intelligence network was a match for almost anyone's in King's Landing.
All the more so when it came to a feat like Arthas taking on seven Kingsguard single-handedly.
"Don't be stingy over this little bit of money."
The pain in his face and body had yet to fade, and Baelish sucked in sharp breaths from time to time.
Knowing Yarn would not hand over the money so easily, his tone grew stern:
"Don't forget who took you from begging in the streets and made you the richest man in Flea Bottom."
"Lord Yahn Snow!"
It was hardly surprising that Baelish was so anxious. He truly had no other option.
Believing it a sure thing, he had accepted the Imp's wager of ten thousand Gold Dragons on Arthas winning, right there at the tourney grounds before all the nobles of King's Landing. Now he could not deny it even if he wanted to.
Besides, no one in all of Westeros dared default on a debt to House Lannister.
"A Lannister always pays his debts."
That well-known saying did not work in only one direction.
"But, Lord Baelish."
A savage glint flashed through Yarn's eyes as he studied Baelish's delicate neck, seemingly considering how to keep him here without alerting anyone outside:
"As you know, the people living in Flea Bottom are poor. There's really nothing to squeeze out of them."
"This little fighting pit of mine brings in only a paltry few dozen Gold Dragons a month, and most of that income goes to you."
"I really can't come up with much money."
Shaking his head, Yarn decided to play along with him for now.
The man was a noble, after all. If he died under mysterious circumstances in Flea Bottom, the Gold Cloaks could follow the trail here tomorrow.
Those fellows were far better at bleeding people dry than Littlefinger.
"Why don't you try the Street of Silk instead?"
Yarn rubbed his palms together, his tone somewhat earnest, as though he were considering Baelish's interests:
"The businesses on the Street of Silk all belong to you. They bring in far more than we do here."
"When those noble lords are happy, they scatter handfuls of Gold Dragons like rain."
"Stop playing dumb with me."
Baelish knew exactly what Yarn was scheming. He turned sharply, meeting the other man's vicious gaze head-on.
Still, he was not particularly worried. From what he knew of Yarn, the man was not a fool who lost his head over money:
"I want a hundred thousand Gold Dragons before tomorrow morning!"
"Don't tell me you've spent all these years in Flea Bottom and can't even produce a hundred thousand Gold Dragons."
Seeing Yarn about to protest again, Baelish cut him off, though his tone softened somewhat:
"Yarn, you started out as a bastard and a beggar. Under me, you've lived better than the nobles of King's Landing all these years."
"Now it's time to repay that kindness."
He patted the man's shoulder, appealing to both sentiment and reason:
"I am the kingdom's Master of Coin, after all. Help me through this difficulty, and your business will survive for as long as I remain in office."
"This is a goose that lays golden eggs. I trust you'll make the right choice, won't you?"
At these words, Yarn's gaze shifted, his thoughts impossible to discern.
After a brief silence, he seemed moved by Baelish, and a few glistening tears trickled from his eyes:
"Lord Baelish, you're right."
Yarn wiped his face with his expensive sleeve, his voice carrying a slight sob:
"You're the greatest benefactor I've ever had. Without your help, I would never have such a comfortable life today."
"I ought to die for hesitating when you're in such difficulty."
"Rest assured, a hundred thousand Gold Dragons will be delivered to your residence on time tomorrow morning."
Seeing that his expression was sincere and seemingly genuine, Baelish finally nodded in satisfaction. He patted his shoulder again, pulled up his hood, and walked straight out of the still-bustling fighting pit.
Once he had left, however, the muscles in Yarn's formerly honest-looking face twitched incessantly, and his gray eyes seemed ready to spit fire.
He rushed forward and hugged his money chest tightly, rubbing his cheek against it as his bloodshot eyes fixed on the direction Baelish had left, murmuring:
"My money. No one will ever be able to take it away from me!"
"Ever!"
Inside the Red Keep, a grand banquet was underway.
Numerous nobles from King's Landing had been invited by the king to celebrate Arthas's appointment as Commander of the City Watch.
Though it was called a celebration, in truth Robert, who enjoyed a lively gathering, had merely found an excuse to throw a feast.
"Yoo-hoo, Arthas!"
The Imp staggered over to Arthas with a wine cup in hand, already looking unsteady on his feet.
Less than half the height of an ordinary man, he excitedly climbed onto the table and hooked an arm around Arthas's neck, shouting to him over the noisy music and cries:
"Cheer up. You're the star of tonight's feast!"
"Don't act like you did at Casterly Rock, pretending to be some boring old man all day. Don't forget you're only fourteen!"
"Don't get so close, Tyrion."
As the banquet's guest of honor, Arthas showed little excitement. He simply placed his hands calmly beneath the Imp's arms and set him on the floor like a child. "I can hear what you're saying."
"Don't spoil the fun. We've won over a million Gold Dragons."
Unable to hide his excitement, the Imp raised his wine cup high:
"Starting tomorrow, we'll be the richest men in King's Landing!"
Arthas picked up his cup and clinked it against Tyrion's, then sipped the tart wine, his expression as calm as ever:
"Winning money is certainly exciting, but Tyrion."
"As a Lannister, are you short of money?"
At that, the Imp thought back. It seemed he had never worried about money since the day he was born. Most of the excitement of winning vanished in an instant, and even his expression dimmed.
"No, wait!"
"That's over a million Gold Dragons!"
Seeing Arthas's half-smile, the Imp immediately realized he had fallen for his trick:
"Even a Lannister can't just produce that many Gold Dragons at the drop of a hat."
Unwilling to accept being outmaneuvered, the Imp darted his eyes about, looking for a way to get even.
Suddenly, he spotted a beautiful young woman dancing gracefully in the middle of the room, and a good idea came to him:
"Hey, Ael."
The Imp nudged Arthas's calf with his elbow:
"If I remember correctly, you've never had any intimate dealings with a woman, have you?"
"You should know, when I was your age, I was already the man of every noble lady's dreams in Casterly Rock!"
As he spoke, he puffed out his chest like a proud knight.
Then he lifted his chin toward the beautiful young woman with curly brown hair in the middle of the dance floor, his tone teasing:
"See that beauty? Almost half the men here are watching her."
"If I were you, with an opportunity this good, I'd make her mine tonight!"
Arthas followed the Imp's gaze toward the middle of the dance floor. As though sensing it, the dancing girl lifted her gentle eyes and met his gaze across the room.
Under his appraising gaze, the girl showed no embarrassment at all. Instead, she smiled openly at him.
With the eyes of a host of men following her closely, she picked up a wine cup and approached Arthas with butterfly-like steps.
"Hello, Lord Arthas."
The girl's bright eyes were as warm as spring. Standing beside Arthas, who wore a gentle smile, she looked perfectly matched with him.
She lightly raised her wine cup, lifting it elegantly before Arthas:
"As the finest knight in the Seven Kingdoms, shouldn't you share a drink with a lady?"
Before you continue