Clay reached out with two fingers and picked up the ring, which seemed to serve as a token of identity.
The ring itself appeared to be cast from pure gold, with a clearly defined trident on top. A line of words was engraved around the band, worn almost illegible, but Clay, who knew his family's words very well, still barely managed to make them out: "Our Reach Is Long!"
A blood-red gemstone sat at the center of the trident. This had once been a magnificent ring, but time had worn it down to a dull-colored token.
As it happened, Clay had seen one on his old man's hand, identical in shape and decoration, though that ring's gemstone was blue, presumably representing the sea outside White Harbor.
Once Clay put the ring on his hand, the way the five people looked at him changed from scrutiny to the obedience of subordinates toward a superior. In a sense, they recognized only the ring, not its wearer.
"This is the last time I will sit in this room. Snow, starting with you, the five of you will take turns reporting your current work and the latest news to Lord Clay."
Ser Bartimus's orders still carried weight in this meeting room, but once he left it, he would never be able to enter again unless Earl Wyman himself came.
The gray-clad man called Snow nodded slightly. Sitting in his chair, he opened a wooden document holder in his hands. Clay noticed some yellowed sheets of paper inside, but did not know what was written on them.
"Most of the spies under me are concentrated in Winterfell, the Dreadfort, Last Hearth, and Hornwood. The rest are distributed among the major castles and their dependent villages in proportion to their populations."
This was Snow's report on the distribution of White Sea spies in the North. Clay offered no comment, asking instead:
"During the king's stay at Winterfell, did you learn of anything besides what happened to me?"
"Yes, my lord. I will compile the intelligence for you later."
Clay nodded. He actually wanted to get a sense of these spies' abilities. After all, he had been in Winterfell himself, and his original memories could also tell him a few things. Comparing the two would probably allow him to estimate the spies' intelligence-gathering capabilities.
After asking a few more questions, Clay found that this overseer, Snow, had not mentioned Bran Stark's fall from the tower. There was no way they would not know about something so significant, so Clay could be certain of one thing: because of him, the Three-Eyed Crow had definitely switched to another way of influencing Bran Stark.
Still, this was just as well. Making him fall from a tower, then brutally stuffing dreams into his head, and finally having a cripple flee beyond the Wall to inherit the Three-Eyed Crow's mantle was rather too miserable.
Next came Rivers, the overseer for the Riverlands. The man who kept himself hidden in the corner opened with a bombshell:
"Lord Hoster Tully is bedridden with a grave illness. He has fallen unconscious several times, and the maester has had to save him repeatedly. But the old lord's flame of life is about to go out. He is merely waiting futilely on his sickbed to return to the gods' embrace."
Overseer Rivers had hoped to see shock on his far-too-young superior's face, but he was disappointed. Clay merely frowned slightly, then nodded for him to continue.
Clay had long known that Lord Tully did not have much time left. In the end, he had died while the Lannisters were besieging Riverrun. My butterfly effect shouldn't affect Lord Tully's life, should it? Clay thought uncertainly.
Overseer Rivers gave Clay a rather approving look and continued:
"One of House Frey's offspring fled the Twins and was captured by Frey soldiers. The information received so far says that he has been hanged. My subordinates are currently investigating the precise reason for his defection."
Frey? Clay's brows knitted tightly. In another day or two, he would set out to accept House Frey's invitation. It seemed he would have to obtain more information about this family.
He tapped the table and said quietly:
"I need a summary of the major events involving House Frey over the past five years. You have one day. Can you do it?"
"As you wish, my lord." This was Overseer Rivers's answer, his voice level, as though it were something quite routine.
According to Overseer Rivers's account, nearly all the White Sea Guard's strength in the Riverlands was concentrated at the Twins and Riverrun, because those were the only two places of real value in the entire Riverlands, with the possible addition of Harrenhal, which had already fallen into ruin.
Clay agreed with this. Whether during Robb Stark's march south or the later back-and-forth fighting in the Riverlands during the War of the Five Kings-how should he put it?-these Riverlands nobles had been of no use whatsoever. There was simply no need to take their existence into account.
The roots of this situation had actually been laid when Aegon Targaryen I conquered Westeros. The Riverlands had always been divided among numerous factions, and Aegon Targaryen I had really just picked the best of a bad lot.
Thus, after House Tully became the guardians of the Riverlands, most of their vassals were not particularly convinced of their authority, foremost among them House Frey, far from the heart of the Riverlands and isolated upstream on the Green Fork.
A weak liege and strong vassals-it was exactly the same as House Tyrell of Highgarden. But with their wealth and sufficiently adept political maneuvering, House Tyrell could generally keep their vassals in hand. Clearly, however, the gravely ill old Lord Hoster lacked that ability.
With the Riverlands covered, the next to speak was an overseer named Hill. When he gave his name, Clay finally understood: all five overseers were named after the bastard surnames of the regions they oversaw. Until then, Clay had thought the first two really were bastards.
Compared with the first two, Overseer Hill's report contained little worth noting. Most of the intelligence was somewhat outdated, but according to him, infiltrating the Westerlands was extremely difficult for the White Sea Guard and would also entail considerable casualties.
That was effectively a contest of financial strength against Lord Tywin, who sat in Casterly Rock and was said to shit gold. Lord Tywin of the Westerlands also had a similar force under his command, and both sides' spies had continually suffered casualties in their struggle.
Had he gone on any longer, Clay would have thought he was asking him for funding. But Clay did not have many gold dragons on hand himself. What could he give them?
As for the Vale of Arryn, most infiltration attempts failed while passing through the Bloody Gate. After all, spies were people, not dragons. They could not imitate Queen Visenya, Aegon the Conqueror's wife, and fly straight to the Eyrie.
Moreover, the Vale of Arryn had been quite hostile to outsiders in recent years, shutting its gates and ignoring outside affairs. The White Sea Guard could obtain pitifully little intelligence. All they knew was that the young Lord Robert Arryn seemed to be in very poor health and also appeared to have problems with his intelligence.
The nobles of the Vale had long voiced considerable criticism of this, but that was all.
Last came King's Landing, which was also where the White Sea Guard had suffered its heaviest losses in personnel. Last year alone, more than ten had been arrested or defected.
There was nothing to be done. They were based far away in White Harbor, and their fine-grained operational methods were no match for those of Petyr Littlefinger and the eunuch Varys.