Covering up the damp earth again, Matthew stomped on it a few times to blend the soil together.
Next, he laid the sleeping mat back down and walked along its edges, smoothing away any traces he'd left behind.
Only then did he feel safe enough to collapse onto the center of the mat.
Thud!
The wide wooden boards beneath the straw mat groaned under his weight.
"Phew!"
Matthew let out a long breath, lying however felt most comfortable, his body sprawled in a twisted mess.
He really couldn't summon an ounce of strength right now.
"The terror between life and death is real," Matthew thought, still shaken by getting cornered in that dark alley earlier today.
Usually, he was the one ambushing others from the shadows. This was the first time someone had tracked him down and trapped him.
If those two had been a little more alert and cautious, he might have died right there.
"Looks like I need to be even more careful from now on."
Matthew rubbed his calf, where the muscle was twitching involuntarily. He wanted to cry but had no tears left.
Tonight, he still had to go to the "old place" to meet the Spider, Varys. In his current state, it was just one bad thing after another.
However, Matthew was also wondering why Varys wanted to see him.
"Could it have something to do with Jon Arryn?"
He stared blankly at the roof of the tent, muttering distractedly, "Is he dead?"
The thought of Jon Arryn dying and the various factions in King's Landing making their moves weighed heavily on Matthew's heart.
No one could guarantee what would happen once chaos broke out.
Although Robert was still alive, he was notoriously lazy about governing and only listened to what he wanted to hear. He couldn't stabilize the political situation on his own.
The fact that he would later personally go to ask Ned Stark to be the Hand of the King just proved that the situation was too chaotic for him to handle.
It was clear how vicious the upcoming power struggle would be.
Most critically, Matthew didn't know if the Lannister spies had their eyes on him.
Ever since the Spider had secretly arranged for him to meet Jon Arryn and Stannis Baratheon, he had been worried about this.
Cersei had been secretly hunting down the King's bastards non-stop. If Jon Arryn was dead, she would likely become even more rampant.
"What a mess."
The heaviness in Matthew's heart seemed to weigh down the straw mat, making it creak as bits of straw rolled off to the left.
Moments later, perhaps because the mood was too heavy, the straw gave way, and Matthew slid right off the wooden planks, his elbow plunging into the wet mud.
Instantly, his back and neck felt itchy and sore.
Matthew quickly scrambled back onto the mat and rubbed three red scratch marks on his neck.
"Bad luck, bad luck, bad luck!"
His brows drooped, and a bitter smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
But as his hand slowly moved up from the back of his neck, Matthew couldn't help but grasp at the empty air, murmuring in a daze:
"The Game of Thrones... when is it my turn to play?"
Right now, he desperately wanted to move up in the world.
The feeling of being someone else's prey and pawn was agonizing.
Inadvertently, he thought of the scum hiding out in the Kingswood.
Running away was shameful, but he had to admit, it was useful.
"Maybe I should learn from those bastards and hide in the Kingswood for a month," Matthew mocked himself.
But deep down, he had already crossed that option off the list.
It wasn't about saving face; it was simply too dangerous.
As a "little bird," he was Varys's eyes and ears, and his poisonous dagger. He knew too many of Varys's secrets.
If he left without permission, Varys wouldn't just lose years of investment; he'd see Matthew as a loose end. Varys would never allow it.
Besides, the wilderness outside King's Landing was full of beasts, bandits, and criminals who had no honor. Like Matthew, they loved a good ambush.
Knowing this, he had played along with Varys until now.
Without armor and weapons, going out there was gambling his life with R'hllor.
And he hated gambling.
When you're weak, being cautious is the only way to survive.
Taking a deep breath, Matthew's gaze hardened.
"Tonight, I'll gauge Varys's tone and attitude first, then decide."
Especially regarding whether Jon Arryn was dead or not—he had to find out.
He closed his eyes and tried to rest, hoping to recover from his muscle strain as much as possible.
Matthew didn't want to meet Varys looking like he couldn't walk straight.
The Fishmarket was noisy, sounding like a pot of boiling oil.
Matthew breathed gently, regulating his breath. His eyelids fluttered less and less.
Gradually, the tent grew quiet.
The sound of the Blackwater Rush rushing by cut through the noise of the market, calming his mind. Accompanied by the yowling of stray cats, Matthew drifted into a light sleep.
Fishermen had work to do, so few people came near the city wall.
Every time approaching footsteps got too close, Matthew would wake with a start to check the situation.
Outside the mat, his axe was stuck in the mud, handle facing him, within easy reach.
Matthew had gotten used to sleeping like this.
Once the people walked away, he would fall back asleep.
The summer ghost heat was stifling, the humidity rising like steam. The cicadas sounded like the heat was driving them mad, screeching incessantly.
But no matter how hot the day, the sun eventually sets.
As darkness fell, the cicadas stopped abruptly. Fishermen hurried home to eat and rest so they wouldn't have to burn oil lamps to work.
Matthew had managed to sleep for a surprisingly long time. He opened his eyes and stared into space, listening to the shouts of men, women, and children outside.
When the noise suddenly died down, he sat up and massaged his calves, which were still numb and swollen. He waited until human activity outside had basically ceased.
Matthew pushed off the straw mat with his right hand and slowly stood up.
His legs were still stiff and sore, which was uncomfortable, but he could walk fine.
Picking up his axe, he went to the small wooden stool, put on his clothes which had long since dried in the heat, and tucked the axe into his belt.
His broken boots were right there.
However, he chose not to wear them.
Matthew pressed his ear to the tent wall for a moment. Confirming no one was there, he moved the stone aside and crept out stealthily.
The Fishmarket was pitch black, with various dilapidated shacks blocking the moonlight.
Relying on memory, Matthew felt his way out bit by bit.
Along the way, he could hear shuffling footsteps. People were either stealing or up to no good.
Occasionally, the cries of women and children mixed into the sounds of the night.
As he neared the docks, a crowd of stray cats blocked the path, fighting over discarded fish and unwanted guts left by the fishermen.
Their shrill yowls echoed over the water, their green eyes glowing like a swarm of giant fireflies.
Matthew felt it was bad luck, so he backed away quickly. He looked up to check if the Gold Cloaks were patrolling the wall.
Seeing no torchlight, he took a detour, avoiding the crazed cats and moving through the water reeds.
Past the docks, the "old place" wasn't far.
Matthew followed a small path, limping slightly as he walked behind Aegon's High Hill.
As he approached the towering walls of the Red Keep, he entered a desolate, overgrown area that no one visited.
Cypress and elm trees swayed like ghosts, making the surroundings feel claustrophobic.
But he had to go deeper, into the wind tunnel.
Nearing the cliff edge, Matthew suddenly stopped cautiously, crouching like a hunter to observe.
He saw a fat man with a shiny bald head.
It was the Spider, Varys—his direct superior and the man who had saved the life of the body's original owner.
Varys stood alone in front of some bushes. His plump body blended mostly into the shadows of the weeds and trees, obscuring what lay behind him.
It looked the same as always, but this time, Matthew felt a sudden pang of nervousness and worry.
If Jon Arryn really was dead, would Varys abandon him—a puppet prepared for so long—to avoid drawing the Lannisters' attention?
Matthew stared intently at the figure ahead, speculating wildly.
He couldn't read the Spider's mind, but he knew for a fact that Varys was a master schemer.
Matthew wasn't the original owner of this body. In the dead silence of the dark, it was hard not to overthink.
Subconsciously, he found it hard to believe a schemer wouldn't choose the simplest, cleanest solution to protect his own interests: kill him.
Matthew looked away, crouched back into the weeds, gritted his teeth, and crawled on the ground, circling wide around the area.
After confirming there were no others around and that Varys wasn't carrying a crossbow, Matthew rested for a moment, observing as he slowly crawled back to the original path.
rehearsing his lines in his head, he brushed the grass off his clothes and limped out into the open.
Approaching Varys, Matthew lowered his head and called out with a tone of admiration:
"Lord Varys, I'm here!"