Morning light sliced through the narrow gaps between buildings as Lorrick made his way through the cramped market square. Sleep had come fitfully after his adventure at the Jade Lotus, his dreams plagued by faceless men speaking of shipments and secrets. He rubbed gritty eyes and focused on the task at hand: securing food for the day while watching for any signs they were being hunted.
The market was already bustling despite the early hour, fishwives hawking yesterday's catch at reduced prices, bakers selling bread that hadn't sold to the wealthier customers. Lorrick moved methodically from stall to stall, spending the coppers he'd earned from Master Wendel with care, haggling where appropriate but not so aggressively as to be remembered.
"Apples, fresh from the Reach!" called a gap-toothed woman. "Three for a copper!"
Lorrick was about to pass her by when something caught his eye. A portly man in simple but fine clothing stood at the far edge of the market, speaking to a ragged child who couldn't have been more than eight. Though the man's hood was pulled forward, Lorrick caught the gleam of a bald head and the flash of powdered cheeks.
Varys. The Spider. Master of Whispers on the king's small council and the most dangerous man in King's Landing for those with secrets to keep.
Lorrick turned casually toward a nearby stall selling cheap trinkets, positioning himself to observe without being obvious. The bald man passed something to the child, who nodded and darted away into the crowd. Another child appeared moments later, this one a thin girl with dirty blonde hair, who received similar treatment before disappearing in a different direction.
"You buying or just looking?" the trinket seller demanded, breaking Lorrick's concentration.
"Just looking," he murmured, moving on before the merchant could protest further.
He continued his shopping while keeping Varys in his peripheral vision. The Master of Whispers never moved quickly, never raised his voice, but there was something unsettling about the methodical way he collected his little birds, one after another, each interaction brief but clearly purposeful.
Lorrick counted six children in all who approached the man, received something, and vanished back into the crowd. None returned during the time he watched, which suggested they'd been sent on specific errands rather than delivering information.
Just before Lorrick finished his purchases, something odd happened. A seventh child, a boy of perhaps ten with fiery red hair, approached Varys. Unlike the others, this boy seemed hesitant, almost fearful. The conversation lasted longer than the previous exchanges, and even from a distance, Lorrick could see the tension in both figures.
Eventually, the red-haired boy nodded and slipped away. Varys remained motionless for a long moment, watching the child's retreat with an unreadable expression. Then, with a slight adjustment of his hood, he too melted into the crowd, moving toward the Street of Sisters.
Curiosity prickled at Lorrick like a burr caught in clothing. What business could the Master of Whispers have in a common market? Why send children on errands when he commanded resources that could move mountains in the Red Keep?
The obvious answer was secrecy. Children were invisible in King's Landing, much as Lorrick himself had been before he grew too tall to pass unnoticed. They could go where adults could not, hear things meant to be private, carry messages that would attract attention in the hands of grown messengers.
Lorrick hefted his bag of purchases, considering. Following Varys would be supremely dangerous. The Master of Whispers had eyes everywhere, and Lorrick had no illusions about his ability to track someone so practiced in deception.
But the red-haired boy... that might be different. Something about that exchange had seemed off, distinct from the others.
Decision made, Lorrick changed direction, heading toward the alley where he'd seen the boy disappear. The passage twisted between tenements, emerging onto a narrow street lined with tanneries whose stench kept all but the most desperate from living nearby.
The boy was already a hundred yards ahead, moving quickly but not running. Lorrick followed at a distance, keeping to the shadows where possible, using passing carts and clusters of pedestrians as cover. Years of navigating Flea Bottom had taught him how to move unseen when necessary.
The red-haired child led him on a winding path through progressively narrower streets until they reached an area Lorrick didn't immediately recognize, somewhere on the edge of Flea Bottom where it bled into the western districts. Here the boy ducked into the gaping doorway of what appeared to be an abandoned septry, its seven-pointed star hanging crookedly above the entrance.
Lorrick hesitated. Following into an enclosed space was far riskier than tailing someone through open streets. Still, his instincts were clamoring that whatever the boy was involved in mattered somehow.
He waited three breaths, then approached the doorway, listening intently. Hearing nothing, he slipped inside, blinking as his eyes adjusted to the gloom. Dust motes danced in the thin beams of light filtering through broken windows. The main chamber was empty save for toppled benches and the remains of a long-dead fire in a corner.
A soft sound from above caught his attention. Careful to avoid the creaking steps, Lorrick ascended a narrow staircase to the septry's upper level. Here, a series of small rooms once meant for septons now stood open and abandoned, their contents long since plundered.
All except one.
The door to the last room was closed. From behind it came the murmur of voices, too low to make out words. Lorrick crept closer, careful to distribute his weight evenly to avoid the betraying groan of ancient floorboards.
"...can't keep doing this," a young voice was saying, presumably the red-haired boy. "They're asking questions about the others."
"The crown has no interest in missing guttersnipes," a second voice replied, smoother and somehow familiar.
"It's not the crown I'm worried about," the boy said. "It's the Hand's men. They're looking for Stefan, asking about who he talked to before he disappeared."
"The stable boy? He was careless, spoke of things better left unsaid."
"Is he dead?" the boy asked bluntly.
A pause. "What do you think?"
"I think," the boy said slowly, "that four of us have vanished in a fortnight. First Stefan, then Willa, then the twins. All after doing work for you."
"Not for me," the smooth voice corrected. "For the good of the realm."
"Realm don't care about us," the boy retorted. "Never has, never will."
"Which is precisely why you should take the opportunity I'm offering. Ten gold dragons, Addam. Enough to buy passage to Braavos and apprentice yourself to a respectable trade. A new beginning, far from the filth and hunger of Flea Bottom."
"And all I have to do is deliver a message to Lord Stark, conveniently disappearing afterward." The boy's voice dripped with suspicion. "Do you think I'm stupid?"
"On the contrary, I think you're quite intelligent. Intelligent enough to recognize an opportunity when it presents itself." A rustle of cloth, as if someone had stood. "Intelligent enough to understand that you're already involved, whether you deliver the message or not."
Lorrick tensed at the implied threat, his hand moving to the knife hidden in his boot. He wasn't about to let a child be harmed, not even a stranger, not when he could prevent it.
"Think on it overnight," the smooth voice continued, softer now. "I'll expect your answer tomorrow at the usual place. Choose wisely, Addam. Few get second chances in this city."
Footsteps approached the door. Lorrick retreated silently to the adjacent room, flattening himself against the wall as the door opened. He caught only a glimpse of a cloaked figure slipping out, but it wasn't Varys as he'd expected. This man was taller, leaner, with the gait of someone younger than the Master of Whispers.
Once the man's footsteps had faded down the stairs and out of the building, Lorrick waited several heartbeats before peering into the room the boy had occupied. It was empty, a small window at the back standing open to the adjacent rooftop.
Clever lad. He'd made his own exit while Lorrick was distracted by the man.
Frustrated at missing the chance to speak with the boy but wary of lingering, Lorrick made his way back to the street, taking a circuitous route toward Flea Bottom in case he was being followed. His mind churned with what he'd overheard.
The stable boy, Stefan, had disappeared after speaking carelessly. Now the Hand's men were asking after him. And other children connected to whatever scheme was unfolding had vanished as well. Most disturbing was the attempt to use this Addam to deliver a message to Lord Stark, with the clear implication that the boy wouldn't survive the task.
What sort of message would be worth killing its messenger? And who was the cloaked man really working for, if not Varys himself?
As Lorrick navigated the increasingly familiar streets of his district, he noticed something odd. A beggar woman he'd passed earlier was now positioned at the corner ahead, though she'd moved against the usual flow of foot traffic. A pot boy he knew worked at The Broken Anchor was inexplicably sweeping the street outside a chandler's shop three streets from the tavern.
And there, at the edge of a group of washerwomen arguing over the price of lye, stood a thin girl with dirty blonde hair. The same one he'd seen speaking to Varys in the market.
Lorrick felt a cold prickle of awareness crawl up his spine. He wasn't being followed. He was being herded.
Without breaking stride, he ducked down an alley between two tenements, vaulted a low wall, and cut through the common yard of a rooming house where he occasionally ran messages. The surly landlady glared but said nothing as he passed through her kitchen and out the service door on the far side.
Now moving at a brisk walk that wouldn't attract attention but would cover ground quickly, Lorrick headed not toward his hideout, but to one of several bolt-holes he'd established for emergencies. This one was a forgotten storeroom above a chandler's shop whose owner believed it had been sealed off years ago after a fire. A loose board in the adjacent alley allowed access to a narrow gap between buildings and from there to a storm-damaged window that opened into the space.
Once inside, Lorrick settled on a dusty crate to think. The Spider's web was more extensive than he'd realized, and now it seemed that web had been cast in his direction. Not specifically for him, perhaps, but for anyone connected to whatever secrets were swirling around the Hand's investigation.
The disappearing children troubled him deeply. Street children went missing all the time in King's Landing, victims of disease, violence, or the simple, grinding hardship of their lives. But four in a fortnight, all connected to the same person? That spoke of something deliberate and sinister.
And if they were targeting children who knew things they shouldn't, Lorrick's own little family could be at risk. Not just him, but Tommen, Weasel, and Jena too. The thought sent a surge of protective fury through him.
He needed more information. Needed to understand what game was being played and by whom, if only to keep his family safe from its consequences. But he also needed to be more cautious than ever. Varys didn't earn his reputation by being careless or merciful.
A noise in the alley below interrupted his thoughts. Lorrick froze, listening intently. Footsteps passed, paused directly beneath his hiding place, then continued on. A coincidence, perhaps, or another reminder that nowhere in King's Landing was truly safe.
As darkness fell, Lorrick slipped out of his hiding place and made his way back to the hideout through a carefully indirect route, watching constantly for any sign of pursuit. He found the children tense but unharmed, Weasel keeping watch with a rusty dagger while Tommen played a quiet game of stones with Jena to keep her distracted.
"You were gone too long," Weasel said accusingly as Lorrick secured the door behind him. "Thought maybe they'd got you."
"Not yet," Lorrick replied, ruffling the boy's hair despite his scowl. "But we need to be more careful. All of us."
As he unpacked the food he'd purchased that morning, distributing bread and cheese and slightly bruised apples among the eager children, Lorrick made a silent vow. Whatever web the Spider was weaving, whatever secrets were worth killing children to protect, he would not allow his family to become collateral damage in games played by powerful men.
The bald man with his whispers and schemes, the Hand with his dangerous questions, the plotters in the brothel, even the king himself, fat and drunk on his stolen throne, they were all part of a world Lorrick had no interest in joining. Let them play their game of thrones. He would play a simpler game with simpler rules.
Stay alive. Keep his family safe.