Chapter 101: Daeron's Friends
"Are you asking your friends to introduce us to Magister Illyrio?" Ian speculated.
"No," Daeron shook his head. "Illyrio is a merchant, but he's also a Magister. Ordinary guild members have no right to meet him directly. The only way they can see him is through the monthly feast."
"So?"
"I can try to ask my friends to give us their invitation to the feast."
"Give? Can't attendees bring companions?"
"Of course they can if they're more highborn, but ordinary guild members or ship captains who apply on their own can only bring one female companion. Male companions are also acceptable—Pentos isn't as strict about such things as Westeros."
"So your friends are just ordinary guild members?" Ian was somewhat disappointed.
"Perhaps, but they still might consider me as the son of the Lord of Gulltown."
"That's the situation. We need to see the Magister, so I'm hoping you can do me a favor and give us the opportunity to attend Magister Illyrio's feast in the middle of this month," Daeron asked his acquaintance.
"I'm sorry, Daeron," said Taroban, sitting on a velvet-cushioned sofa with an arrogant expression. "I'm afraid it's difficult for me to help you. My place at this feast is also very important to me. It involves the distribution of shares in many trades throughout Pentos for the coming month."
"It's just a few shipments of cheese," said Daeron, of course knowing what business Taroban conducted. "And I need this opportunity to meet my king." He then explained his situation.
"Careful, Daeron. You're not in a position to discuss 'cheese' in that tone anymore." Taroban mimicked Daeron's dismissive tone in an exaggerated manner. "I tolerated your arrogance before because you were the son of the Lord of Gulltown, but now..."
Taroban shrugged. "Gulltown has been taken by the Crown, and you..." He glanced at Ian standing behind Daeron. "You're just..."
Taroban paused, seemingly thinking of something, and directly changed the subject. "And if I'm not mistaken, your ship is gone, isn't it?"
"How did you..." Daeron was caught off guard.
"If your ship were still operational, you could pass the qualification review for the Magister's feast yourself. Why would you need my help?"
"I..."
"So you have nothing now. Why should I help you?" Taroban drummed his fingers on the table, watching as Daeron became increasingly flustered.
Ian watched Daeron's utterly pathetic performance, and he couldn't help but feel the urge to slap a gold dragon on this damned cheese merchant's table and force him to kneel and surrender his place at the feast.
But he knew he couldn't do that; it wouldn't align with Ian Rivers's character.
Ian's plan demanded that he display no financial resources in Pentos. He had to appear almost destitute to Illyrio, so that the Magister would confidently recommend him to Viserys.
By the time they left Pentos and embarked on the journey to Vaes Dothrak, Illyrio would be too far away to interfere.
But before leaving Pentos, he had to conceal his wealth.
Illyrio and Varys were both intelligence experts, and Illyrio would be able to track his every move within Pentos.
"Master Taroban," Ian finally spoke up. "I wonder what you would need us to do in exchange for this opportunity to attend the feast." Ian could read the cheese merchant's expression; his eyes said, "Make me an offer."
"I..."
"Don't be so quick to deny it. From the beginning, you simply told us that this request was very difficult for you. Then you emphasized the importance of the feast to yourself and reminded Daeron to recognize his current status.
Moreover, you held back your insults just as you were about to humiliate us completely. If I'm guessing correctly, you planned to wait until we were disappointed and ready to leave, then make your request in a tone of gracious charity, correct?"
Taroban was stunned for several seconds before he lowered his crossed legs and sat up straight. He looked at the young man behind Daeron with a scrutinizing gaze—someone he'd initially assumed was merely Daeron's attendant.
"I can see your desperation," Ian continued. "And since you're going to all this trouble instead of simply asking outright, it means you need something that's either incredibly difficult, morally questionable, or both. And coincidentally, in your eyes, we're capable of solving this problem."
"I must admit, you're quite perceptive. Who are you?" Taroban forced himself to recover from his surprise.
"Ser Ian. I'm a friend of Daeron's." Ian didn't rush to reveal his new identity.
"Ah," Taroban's face brightened with a calculating smile. "Ser Ian, any friend of Daeron's is a friend of mine. I do have a significant problem that needs handling.
And you happen to have the military capability to deal with it." He glanced at the four knights surrounding Ian, then back at him. "And the wits. If you can help me resolve this, I'll not only give you my place at the Magister's feast, but also provide you with a payment of fifty—no, one hundred gold dragons. What do you say?"
"Tell me more," Ian nodded.
He certainly didn't want to get himself into trouble immediately upon arriving in Pentos, but he couldn't see a better option at present.
If solving a merchant's problem meant he could gain an audience with Illyrio, he could accept it.
As for the reward of one hundred gold dragons, Ian wouldn't normally have bothered, but having a "traceable" source of income in Pentos would allow him to spend more freely in the future without raising suspicions.
"Why haven't you brought chairs for our distinguished guests? Where are your manners?" Hearing Ian's agreement, Taroban's expression brightened considerably, and he quickly scolded his servants.
Dirty work. Ian sat down on the chair provided by the servant, and inexplicably thought of someone.
If he didn't need to maintain his cover identity, that man would be perfect for dirty work, wouldn't he?
"Achoo!"
"The wind is strong at sea, and you're not dressed warmly enough," 'Black Falcon' Dorian said to the sellsword beside him. "But I didn't expect you to come along."
"I don't know what schemes you're running, but you won't find work that pays sixty gold dragons a month anywhere else. I have no reason to abandon such an employer."
"True," Black Falcon said, glancing at the sellswords behind him. "None of us have any reason to abandon him."
Ser Ian might truly be worrying too much, he added silently.
(End of Chapter)
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