The Jade Lotus sat nestled between a silversmith and a wine merchant on the Street of Silk, its emerald lanterns casting a soft glow that promised discretion and pleasure in equal measure. Unlike the bawdier establishments that lined the street, the Jade Lotus catered to merchants and minor nobility, those with enough coin to buy privacy but not enough name to warrant entry to the truly exclusive brothels frequented by the high lords of Westeros.
Lorrick approached not through the main entrance, where a burly doorman checked purses and turned away the riff-raff, but through the narrow alley that led to the kitchen and servants' entrance. He'd spent three days watching the place, noting the rhythm of deliveries and staff changes, before deciding on his approach.
A copper pressed into the palm of a harried kitchen boy had secured him the uniform of a wine server, complete with the jade-colored sash that marked the establishment's employees. Another copper to an exhausted laundress had added the information that one of the regular servers was down with a fever, leaving them short-staffed for the evening.
"Seven hells, you must be the new boy," a balding man with a perpetually harried expression exclaimed when Lorrick slipped in through the kitchen door. "Took you long enough. Take that tray of Arbor gold to the Myrish Room, and be quick about it. Lord Patrek's party has been waiting."
Lorrick nodded obediently, lifting the silver tray laden with crystal glasses and a decanter of golden wine. He navigated the back corridors with the confidence of someone who belonged, nodding to passing serving girls and looking appropriately busy whenever a member of the establishment's management appeared.
The Myrish Room was on the second floor, decorated as its name suggested with Myrish carpets and lace, the walls adorned with erotic tapestries from across the Narrow Sea. Lorrick paused outside the partially open door, listening to the voices within.
"...price increases are merely the beginning," a cultured voice was saying. "Once the Tyroshi lockout goes into effect, we stand to triple our investment in Myrish glass."
"If the lockout happens," another voice countered. "The Archon has threatened such measures before, only to be persuaded otherwise by Tywin Lannister's gold."
"The difference, my friend, is that this time we have friends in the small council willing to block Lord Tywin's interference."
Lorrick committed the exchange to memory before knocking softly on the door. He entered at the muffled command, eyes downcast as befitted a servant, though he took in every detail of the room from beneath lowered lashes.
Four men sat around a small table inlaid with mother-of-pearl. Their clothing marked them as wealthy merchants, though one wore the distinctive chain of the Guild of Alchemists around his neck. Two women lounged on divans nearby, their revealing silks identifying them as the establishment's employees rather than wives or daughters.
"The Arbor gold you requested, my lords," Lorrick murmured, setting down the tray and beginning to pour.
None of the men acknowledged him directly, continuing their conversation as if he were merely a piece of furniture. It was a common blindness among the wealthy, this inability to see servants as people who might have ears and minds of their own.
"Petyr Baelish is the key," the alchemist was saying as Lorrick poured his wine. "The man controls customs now, and he has no love for the Lannisters despite his public deference."
"Baelish loves nothing but gold and chaos," objected the heavyset merchant to his right. "How can we be certain he won't betray our arrangement if Tywin offers more?"
"Because we're offering something besides gold," the first merchant replied with a sly smile. "Information about a certain property in the Vale that once belonged to—"
He broke off as he noticed Lorrick still standing there, tray now empty. "What are you gawking at, boy? Out!"
Lorrick bowed and retreated, but not before noting the merchant's face for future reference. Whoever he was, he had leverage over the Master of Coin, and that was valuable knowledge indeed.
Back in the corridor, Lorrick deposited the tray on a sideboard and moved purposefully toward the rear of the building. Here, narrow staircases and hidden passages allowed the women to move between rooms without parading through public areas, and servants to appear and disappear as needed. It was a labyrinth designed for discretion, but perfect for eavesdropping if one knew its secrets.
He passed a partially open door where a handsome knight in Baratheon colors was snoring loudly, a girl barely older than Jena counting his remaining coins with practiced efficiency. Another room held an animated discussion between a Pentoshi trader and two Lysene twins, their naked bodies glistening with scented oil as they feigned interest in his tale of commercial daring.
Lorrick continued until he reached a small alcove tucked between two of the more lavish rooms. Here, a ventilation shaft designed to carry fresh air to the interior chambers also carried voices with remarkable clarity. He settled in to listen, pulling a small cloth-wrapped package of bread and cheese from his pocket to sustain him through what might be a long vigil.
For over an hour, he heard nothing more interesting than drunken boasting and the artificial moans of women pretending ecstasy. But patience had always been one of his virtues, and eventually it was rewarded.
"...absolutely certain?" a voice drifted down the shaft, taut with excitement or fear or both. "The Hand is investigating the matter personally?"
"My source is impeccable," another voice replied, this one familiar. Lorrick frowned, trying to place it. "Stark visited the armorer yesterday, asking about Jon Arryn's final days. The same questions, the same trail. You know what that means."
"How much time do we have?"
"A fortnight, perhaps less. Once he speaks to the whore, he'll know everything."
"Then we proceed as planned. The shipment arrives on the new moon. Your men will intercept it before it reaches the Red Keep. Lord Stannis must never see those pages."
Lorrick's pulse quickened. This was no merchant conspiracy about trade tariffs. This involved the Hand of the King, his predecessor's death, and Lord Stannis, the king's brother. Far more dangerous waters than he typically waded into.
"And the boy?" the first voice asked. "The one who overheard Arryn and Stannis at the armorer's?"
"Being dealt with," the second voice assured him. "My people are searching Flea Bottom now. Before the week is out, he'll trouble us no more."
A chill ran down Lorrick's spine as the pieces clicked together. The stable boy who disappeared. The Hand's investigations. The search for a boy from Flea Bottom who asked too many questions. They weren't looking for him specifically, he realized with relief. They were looking for anyone who might have overheard something at an armorer's shop.
But which armorer? And what was in this mysterious shipment meant for Stannis Baratheon?
A sudden commotion below interrupted his thoughts. Raised voices, the sound of breaking glass, a woman's startled cry. Lorrick tensed, ready to flee if necessary, but the disturbance seemed confined to the lower level.
He was about to return to his listening post when a soft voice behind him froze him in place.
"Well, what have we here? A little mouse in the walls?"
Lorrick turned slowly to find himself face to face with a young woman of breathtaking beauty. Her dark hair fell in waves to her waist, her olive skin and full lips suggesting Dornish heritage. But it was her eyes that truly captured attention, larger and more knowing than seemed possible in a girl of perhaps twenty.
"I'm just taking a short rest," he said, adopting the sullen tone of an overworked servant. "The steward's been running us ragged all night."
She laughed, a warm sound that seemed genuine despite their surroundings. "Oh, you're good. Very good. But I know all the faces who work here, and yours is new." She studied him with open appreciation. "Though not unwelcome. Are you here to steal or to spy?"
Lorrick weighed his options in an instant. Denial would ring false to someone so perceptive. Flight would only confirm her suspicions and likely bring guards. That left charm, his most reliable weapon.
"If I were here to steal," he replied with a rueful smile, "I'd have chosen a merchant's home, not a brothel where most valuables are kept on the person. As for spying," he shrugged, letting his eyes meet hers directly, "everyone in King's Landing spies in one way or another. It's practically the city sport."
To his relief, she laughed again rather than calling for help. "True enough. I'm Alayaya."
"Lorrick," he replied, offering his real name on instinct, something about her manner inspiring an unusual trust.
"Lorrick," he replied, offering his real name on instinct, something about her manner inspiring an unusual trust.
"Well, Lorrick," she said, stepping closer, "you've chosen a dangerous listening post. Those two men speak for people who wouldn't hesitate to open your throat if they knew you were eavesdropping."
He showed no surprise that she knew exactly what he'd been doing. "Are you going to tell them?"
"That depends," she said, reaching out to straighten his jade sash. Her fingers lingered, warm against his chest. "On what you intend to do with what you've heard."
"Survive, mainly," Lorrick admitted. "I have no interest in politics or power games. I look after my own, and knowledge helps me do that."
Alayaya studied him, something softening in her expression. "My mother owns this establishment, you know. She taught me to read people as well as books. Do you know what I see when I look at you, Lorrick from Flea Bottom?"
"I couldn't begin to guess," he said, acutely aware of her closeness, the scent of exotic flowers that clung to her skin.
"I see a boy pretending to be a man, and doing a remarkably good job of it," she said softly. "I see intelligence and ambition warring with fear and doubt. And I see someone who cares for others, which makes you a rare creature in this city of vipers."
Lorrick found himself speechless, caught off guard by her insight. Before he could formulate a response, shouting erupted from below, closer this time, followed by the unmistakable sound of steel being drawn.
"You need to leave," Alayaya said urgently, her manner shifting from playful to serious in an instant. "The back stairs, through the kitchen, then out the delivery entrance. The guard there is easily distracted by a pretty face. I'll make sure you have a clear path."
"Why would you help me?" Lorrick asked, genuinely puzzled.
She smiled, a complicated expression that held both wisdom and mischief. "Perhaps I see something worth preserving. Perhaps I simply enjoy thwarting powerful men who think themselves untouchable. Or perhaps," she added with a hint of her earlier playfulness, "I hope you'll return someday when you're not hiding in the walls."
A crash from below punctuated her words. Whatever disturbance had begun earlier was escalating.
"Go," she urged, giving him a gentle push toward the back stairs. "And Lorrick? Be careful with the knowledge you gather. Some truths are deadlier than you could have ever imagined."
He didn't need to be told twice. With a nod of thanks, Lorrick slipped down the servants' stairs, mind racing with all he'd heard. The kitchen was in chaos, staff shouting about a fight in the main salon, no one paying attention to yet another servant hurrying through.
The delivery entrance was guarded as Alayaya had warned, but the man was clearly more interested in watching the commotion inside than in scrutinizing those leaving. Lorrick slipped past with a muttered comment about fetching the City Watch, earning a distracted nod from the guard.
The cool night air hit him like a blessing after the perfumed warmth of the brothel. Lorrick paused in the shadows of the alley to collect his thoughts. The conversation he'd overheard confirmed his fears about the Hand's investigation and its connection to Jon Arryn's death. But it also hinted at something more, something involving Lord Stannis and a mysterious shipment of papers or books.
And now he had a specific place to focus on: an armorer's shop visited by both Hands before their lives were endangered. There weren't many high-end armorer's in King's Landing, and fewer still that would receive visits from both Jon Arryn and Ned Stark. Tobho Mott on the Street of Steel was the obvious candidate, known for working Valyrian steel and catering to noble clients.
Tomorrow, he decided, he would visit the Street of Steel and see what secrets might be gleaned there. But first, he needed to ensure his small family was safe. If men were searching Flea Bottom for a boy who had overheard something significant, all young men would be at risk.