Petyr II

He smelled the salty breeze of the sea and harrumphed in relief. The ensuing meeting with Gerold’s closest advisors proved fruitful. In essence, they all agreed with Petyr on all his ideas but argued on how best to implement them. Rydan was reluctant with the establishment of the Customs Office as it may interfere with the administration of the harbour, but the Oldman eventually agreed when Petyr suggested he use his title to enforce the decrees set out by the Office. Of course, Petyr ‘reluctantly’ put himself as the Head of the Office.

He couldn’t help tingle with excitement, thinking about the sweeping changes he would be making. Even simple changes like double-entry bookkeeping can drastically reduce corruption and fraud. As it would make income and spending easy to monitor and scrutinise. Petyr was confident in the implementation of this method would increase the taxes flowing into the Treasury by three folds. He just needed clerks to assemble and administrate a burgeoning Civil Service.

A Civil Service that will serve the people, and ideally be neutral in petty politics. Of course, that’s not possible as Petyr associated himself with the Graftons. This is going to be a problem for future generations to overcome. I’ll be long dead way before the Civil service can be politically neutral.

Though, there were bitter arguments and writhing pointing at the Falcon Manse when discussing the proposal for a luxury tax. The idea of giving half of it to the Gulltown Arryns disgusted Gerold. But he managed to convince the young lord to compromise and to let him handle the negotiations between House Grafton and Arryn.

Petyr strolled towards the pier and noticed the harbour was bustling. Cranes moved to and fro with dockyard workers moving cargo around and storing them in massive warehouses. He glanced at one of the buildings next to the warehouse. Four storeys high with Venetian-style architecture with many pillars with crisscrossing patterns adorning the walls. This looks gorgeous! This’ll be it! My first imprint in this world! My first gift to this world! My first step towards modern normalcy!

The young man stepped forward to his building and couldn’t help but hear a bitter argument. He stood behind the pillar and eavesdropped.

“The war is over! Your Mad King is dead. Killed by the lion cub! Gimme my ship back, damnit!” A man with long black hair, tied in a ponytail, banged on the desk and grabbed the shirt of the man behind the desk. “Listen here! Tell your masters I have connections with the Sealord of Braavos! Just a word from me and trade will dry up in your barbaric city!”

Petyr felt his mind turn. He recognised this middle-aged man.

Walking towards the feuding two he announced his presence. “Aleqqo! It’s been a while, how have you been!?”

The Braavosi relaxed and smiled. He dropped the dock officer and came towards Petyr. He ruffled his hair before grabbing his ear. “Where’ve you been boy?! I was so worried about you! I talked to your foster father and he said you disappeared! What were you playing at!?”

He felt abashed at that. “Well…” He nursed his ear and scratched his head. “Things kinda happened. Looks like the old trout was too embarrassed to say what I’ve done. Basically, I duelled against Brandon Stark for Cat’s hand in marriage…” Petyr purposely left out the part where he, on the verge of dying, had sex with Lysa. Aleqqo didn’t need to hear that.

Aleqqo burst into laughter and slapped him in the back. “Well, good on you lad! You finally grew a pair!”

Petyr lifted his black doublet to reveal the scar he got from Brandon. “I got this cool-looking scar too. The ladies’ll love it!”

“Wow, lad. You’ve done a lot when I was gone.” He widened his eyes and clicked his fingers. “Wait! Is it the same Brandon that stupidly demanded Rhaegar to die in front of the Mad King?” Aleqqo crossed his arms and waited for Petyr’s confirmation.

Petyr nodded which prompted Aleqqo to continue. “Got his father burnt too. Rumours say he strangled himself to death in a useless attempt to save his dad. Poor boy.”

What a gruesome death… Regardless of what he has done to me; he didn’t deserve that. His dad didn’t deserve that either. “Well thank the Seven justice has been done. I pray for Cat’s happiness every day. Hopefully, this Eddard will make her happy.”

“What a gentleman.” The Braavosi suddenly tensed as he scanned the room which was beginning to be overrun with guards. He grabbed his rapier and brandished it when Petyr quickly grabbed his sword arm and pointed it downwards.

The broad-shouldered Harbourmaster came through the door and surveyed the situation when he instantly recognised Petyr standing in front of the rabble-rouser. “What’s goin’ on here?” He pointed at Petyr. “Care to explain. I’d rather not have bloodshed.”

“Rydan, he’s with me. He’s one of my captains who regularly liaise with my Braavosi acquaintance across the Narrow Sea.” Aleqqo was about to retort but Petyr cut him off. Petyr clapped his back, “It has come to my attention that my good captain here is being scammed. His ship, ‘The Mermaid’s Curves’ was justly requisitioned to be used against the Mad King’s tyranny. All of us Westerosi owe him our immense gratitude for the service his ship has done to bring a swift end to the Rebellion. But instead of gratitude, his claims were unjustly dismissed. His request for compensation was refused. Of course, he shouldn’t have lost control and I know this reflects poorly on me, but can you ask your men to sheath their swords and forgive his mishap.”

He finished his diatribe and was rewarded with Rydan ordering his men to leave his building. Rydan stared at both of them and gave the older man a more pointed look. “The reason why I didn’t gut ya today was because of the lad. And your ship may have been destroyed during the storm that swept across the Bay of Crabs.” He relaxed his posture. “I know how hard it is to lose a ship but expect to never see her.”

“A storm? Why the hell did they sail through a storm?! Who ordered such nonsense!?” Aleqqo’s temper got hold of him again before he was restrained by Petyr which shocked him. “Bloody hells boy. You look like you’ve lost half your weight. Didn’t expect you to be this strong.”

It’s because I’m not. It’s all technique where I use your point of balance to use your weight against you. But better not tell him that cus I really need to hit the weights again. “You haven’t changed, have you? I used to remember you screaming at me for the most minor mistakes.”

“Minor?! You nearly grounded my ship!”

“I was ten and one. It was mostly Cat’s fault.”

“You encouraged it, you little shit!”

“What was I supposed to do? Ask a daughter of one of the most powerful Westerosi lords to stop whatever she was doing and listen to me? Pfft. Don’t be daft, old man.”

Rydan watched on in amusement before coughing to get their attention. “Since you’re going to be Petyr’s mate, I may see you again. So, let’s start on a good foot.” He strolled to Aleqqo and held his arms prompting the Braavosi to grab it with full force. The harbourmaster did the same and both stood still.

Petyr watched in increasing annoyance and broke the two apart. “Enough, you two. There’s work to be done.” He pointed at the ceilings and the windows. “They’re filthy. There are cobwebs everywhere. The foyer needs to be cleaned and waxed from floor to ceiling!” He waved his hands back and forth.

“This buildin’ is owned by the Vantery family. House Grafton has temporarily requisitioned the ground floor to facilitate trade and to compensate-,” Rydan paused then glared at Aleqqo. “Compensate reasonable people for their ships and any goods used for the war effort.”

“Then it will be permanently requisitioned. This entire edifice, from the ground to the third floor will now be owned by the Customs Office. They will be adequately compensated of course. I’m sure Lord Gerold will have the dragons for it. In fact – “ He pointed at Rydan. “If you can order a runner to Gerold and inform him I’ve found a suitable building. And ask him to send me some grunt workers. Tell them they will be paid four copper stags for their trouble.”

Rydan whispered to Aleqqo which Petyr barely heard. “Is he always this compulsive? He seemed like a careful boy when I met him yesterday.”

“When he puts his mind to things he can be… Zealous.” The Braavosi sighed. “Damn kid nearly put my ship into an early grave by unfurling the sail for no reason.” He’s never going to forgive me for damaging his boat, is he? I was eleven! I mean ten and one, as the locals say. And it was mostly Cat’s fault.

“I heard that. Stop beating around the bush, Rydan. You have issues with me using this building so please say it now and save me the trouble later.”

Rydan tilted in confusion with the strange bush analogy but understood the meaning. “The Vantery family have Arryn kins, like Maribelle Arryn who’s a childless widow. Other than that, they’re second cousins at the very least. Even then they’re honour bound to represent their interest. I feel like you’re goin’ to make more enemies for Gerold by stealin’ this building.” Porter sounded worried. Normally, he was never this cautious after all why would he trust a Petyr, a stranger, at first sight. He seems overprotective of Gerold. An interesting titbit – might file this as ‘important’. I need to approach this carefully.

“Remember our council session, Master Porter. The Customs Office is supposed to be above petty politics. It was by design to bridge the growing rift between the Gulltown Arryns and Lord Grafton. If they feud, then the city will suffer. If the city suffers, everyone in it will be displeased.” Petyr paused to observe Rydan and he nodded along. “Therefore, this is the problem for the Civil Service to fix. In summary, it’s my problem. Not Gerold’s. But I’m quite confident I can negotiate without leaving bad blood.”

“Civil Service? You mean the Customs Office, right?”

“Yes.” Eventually, this honourable body will transform into the Civil Service. But not yet. I still need to build the basic foundation for the Civil Service – human resources. And that requires education, indoctrination which takes time.

“Well, lad… Sorry for doubting ye. Ye seem to move fast and my senile mind cannae keep up. So, slow down will ya please.”

“I’ll try Master Porter but change is happening, and house Grafton and its leal servants will benefit from it. I can assure you.” Rydan hmphed in relief and was about to exit but Aleqqo called out to him.

“Oi, you still haven’t answered my question. Who was the idiot that sailed my ship right into a storm?”

“Twas the Master of Ships. King Robert’s younger brother. Stannis Baratheon. This is why you don’t give reigns to younger people. They’re impulsive and brash. He probably wanted the honour and prestige from taking Dragonstone. Alas, half the Baratheon fleet is now in ruins or under the sea.” Rydan nodded to himself and made a fist before staring victoriously at Petyr. “Perhaps, the Customs Office can compensate you, Aleqqo.” Before Petyr could protest, he left the building.

“Now Aleqqo, I don’t expect you to work for me. I did that to cover your ass but perhaps an agreement can be made. One where it benefits you greatly.”

Aleqqo smiled, like a Cheshire cat. “I just want to be compensated for ‘Mermaid’. That is all. I already have far too much on my plate by carrying orders for the Sealord Antaryon.”

“Spare me that, please. Name your price. I need connections to Braavos ASAP.”

“ASAP?”

“As soon as possible.”

“45% reduction in tariff for Braavosi ships. Then I’ll give you a good word for the Sealord and a referral to the Iron Bank.”

“Impossible. There would be outcries accusing Gulltown of favouring greedy foreign merchants and heretics instead of the Seven-blessed Westerosi traders.” He clicked his fingers and shook his head. “We would need to reduce the tariff to the same level as Braavosi merchants. You would beggar us. So, tariffs aren’t on the table. Please be more reasonable.”

“5% reduction in tariff.”

“Please be more reasonable.” He crossed his arm and tapped it with his finger.

“You drive a hard bargain, lad. Perhaps the Customs Office can give Braavosi traders preferential treatment.”

“Please be more specific.”

Aleqqo started to slightly sway in his feet which Petyr quickly noticed. “May we sit?” The Braavosi pleaded.

“You have sea legs. Where did you sail from and what ship did you use? Last I heard you only had one ship.” Petyr frowned and looked annoyed but inside he was celebrating. I knew it. I knew he wouldn’t leave his beloved ship to any Westerosi, ‘barbarian’, captains. He must’ve piloted the ship as the war raged on. Now the question is how did he escape the massive storm? “You know the punishment for deserting the Royal Fleet is punishable by death. I am honour bound to wrap you in chains and deliver you for the new King’s Justice.” Petyr gambled.

“Well, well, well. It’s fortunate that we’re good friends. And I’m good friends with the Sealord.”

Bingo. Looks like he left before the storm hit the fleet. Somehow, he did it without anyone noticing. The Sealord is lucky to have such a resourceful subordinate. Petyr couldn’t help but feel impressed.

“For the sake of your friendship with my late father and you helping me to sail, I’ll forgo the King’s Justice. All I ask is to give me a referral with the Iron Bank and a good word with the Sealord.”

If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

Aleqqo slumped and headed for the chair. He was soon followed by Petyr. “Listen, lad. I can’t just give a good word and a referral like I’m pulling it out of my arse! You have to give me something. Can you compromise? Leverage the Customs office to give Braavosi traders preference for mineral exports.”

“Be specific. What minerals do the Braavosi want?”

“Iron and the usual: gold, silver and diamonds. Ores only.”

“Why just ores?” Petyr shifted in his seat and looked at Aleqqo with caution.

“We already have industrial-grade smelteries in Braavos which are way more advanced than what you Westerosi have. And those smelteries employ masters and apprentices which stimulate the local economy. Come on Petyr, I didn’t just teach you how to sail.”

“Ores sell less than processed gold, silver, and diamond. I doubt Braavosi traders are patriotic enough to sell ores to stimulate the Braavosi economy in return for smaller profits.”

The long-haired man laughed heartily at that. “Is it a deal then?”

“I need to get some of the Grafton’s clerks to finalise the minute details and I have to contact Gerold as a witness. This agreement will be in parchment. Three copies. One for me, one for you and one for Lord Grafton.”

Aleqqo mimicked having an arrow shot through his chest. “You wound me, Petyr! Such levels of distrust!”

“You tried to scam me. I learn from the very best.”

“Save your flattery boy. It won’t work on me.” Just as he was about to stand up Petyr motioned for him to stay.

“You realise that the Customs Office needs to be politically neutral, right?”

“Impossible.”

Petyr ignored that and trudged on. “I have a need for a clerk. Not just any clerk, they’ll be a secretary of some sort. The upper management of this honourable body. I need someone that’s not Westerosi. I also need someone competent in investments.”

“You’re not making a bank, are you? If you are then I’ll have to rip the agreement apart. I can’t have the Iron Bank paint a target on me and you.”

“Of course not. Usury is a dastardly sin and an affront towards the Seven. I plan to create a department of Welfare. The purpose of this is to give out loans to the good people for Gulltown. Zero per cent interest.”

“Zero?”

“Yes. I’m a devout believer of the Seven and an avid follower of its teachings. Let me say this again, usury is a sin and I will have no part in it.” He locked his eyes at Aleqqo and leaned forward.

“I believe that. But Petyr, you’re always one step ahead… I can smell something fishy.”

“There’s the ocean with trawlers full of fish.”

“Very funny. Do you have someone in mind?”

“Yes. Unfortunately, she’s dead.”

Aleqqo spat his drink and leaned his chair back causing him to fall. “What?”

“I wanted Naerys. If we assumed you were honest, her corpse would be under the sea with the ‘Mermaid’s Curves’.”

The Braavosi, at least, had the decency to look ashamed as his face turned red. “You got me on that. Well, she’s all yours. I remember her teaching you advance numeracy. You excelled where no mere boys would’ve managed.” Aleqqo then thought of something. “She’s only four years older than you. And you need to put on a bit more muscle and you’ll be suitable for her.”

“What in the heavens are you on about?” She has that valyrian hair with beautiful blue eyes (the same as Catelyn’s) but I need to marry for power. Love has no place when climbing the ladder! In fact, I need to climb it. I’ve been put here by Christ Almighty, to bring prosperity and civilisation to this world! He shook his head and mentally waved the delusions of self-grandeur away.

“Don’t fake ignorance, my boy. Now, take me to the Grafton Keep and finalise this agreement shall we.”

Petyr signalled for the coachman and entered the carriage.

Inside Petyr was wary of Aleqqo. Yes, he was a good friend. He acted as a mentor and dare he say - a father, though a pretty distant one. But something was nibbling at the back of his mind. “Say… Aleqqo. Why did you specifically ask for ores again? We could’ve easily given you preferential treatment for processed metals. And before you repeat yourself, Westerosi smithies are the best in the world. Each metal is carefully shaped with pride and love causing its quality to be one of the best. Something that is sorely lacking with Braavosi mass production.”

“Why are you giving out zero per cent loans? Spare me the proselytising nonsense. I know you’re not that religious.” Aleqqo didn’t bother to answer but instead fired a question back.

“You have spies in the Grafton Keep, don’t you? You knew about the incoming luxury tax.” Petyr decided to go for the hail Mary.

“You have a loophole that allows you to circumvent the Usury laws mandated by the Septs, don’t you?”

The ride to the Grafton Keep was silent.

Gerold was pleased with the agreement and merrily shook Aleqqo’s hand whilst patting Petyr in the back.

Maribelle I

Maribelle Arryn nee Vantery adjusted her gown and waived the help from her seamstress. She’s a merchant’s daughter. A Vantery. A former smallfolk despite their substantial family wealth. She knows how to dress herself without help. She’s not like her Highblood Arryn cousins requiring daily pampering and incessant flattery to inflate their fragile ego. She placed her headdress and told her manservant to prepare the horse and carriage.

“Where to milady?” The carriage driver asked politely.

“To the Customs Office, my good man.”

It’s been nearly five months since they’ve had their city manse seized by that man. That manse was their most prized possession in the city. It was a former warehouse that have been renovated. Through sheer luck, it was chosen as a place to exchange goods and requisition materials for the war, by that boy lord. If Orland was smarter, he could’ve used the manse to control the flow of goods between the harbour and the city. It seems Littlefinger noticed its strategic importance first and ran laps around her brother.

Oh, how she wanted to strangle her oaf of a brother for selling it for ‘referral with the Iron Bank’. All thanks to the silver tongue of that man. Orland is an oaf but he’s not stupid. He must’ve asked for something greater than a referral.

The Vantery doesn’t need the Iron Bank. We’ve built this family from humble beginnings. From selling cured meats to being the prime exporters of grain across the Vale.

She remembered the weekly family gatherings and the agenda set by Orland. The agenda focused on getting contacts to mineshafts. Haughty nobility who have no sense of trade was targeted. Within a week they’ve secured deals and contracts left, right and centre to exclusively buy the ores. From coal to diamonds.

Everyone thought it was a foolish endeavour, including her. The Vanterys had a stranglehold on food. Generations of work have made that possible but venturing towards minerals was foolhardy. We hardly knew anyone related to mining. No connections. Nothing. Yet, Orland being the lovable oaf, insisted on setting course on his sinking ship.

To everyone’s surprise and her immense shame, it worked! The volume of sales continued to increase and since they didn’t need to be processed, the cost of storing them for long periods of time and hiring smiths was non-existent. It was a masterful move by his brother.

For the sake of Maribelle’s pride, they were still some improvements needed; like negotiating for a zero per cent export tax instead of five per cent. Littlefinger must’ve snuck that in during the negotiations without Orland knowing. Well, it’s too late now. Three copies of the contract exist and to renege now would damage their reputation and risk their profitable mining venture.

As the carriage approached the harbour, she noticed how there were more people than normal. More ships, more cranes, more dockworkers. Five market squares adorned with colourful fabric sprang out of nowhere. She knocked on the door which alerted the driver, “My good man please stop me there. Right by the market.”

“Of course, milady.”

She stepped out and was soon followed by five of her household guards wearing the Arryn Falcon. She scanned the market and was surprised by what she saw. Purple fabric was being auctioned off as dozens ferociously bid for it. Saffron, peppers, turmeric and whole sorts of spices she wasn’t familiar with were being displayed

Her guards were not surprised. “Excuse me, Jonothor. When did this marketplace come about?”

“Just a month ago, my lady. There are more market squares outside the city too. My village, Riverville, has one too. My brother told me about it.”

Maribelle was shocked. Marketplaces are common in many Essosi cities but here in Westeros, it was virtually non-existent. She smelled something causing her to turn back. A food vendor was roasting a slab of meat. Her parents would always warn her about the food served in stalls because it could be poisoned, or the meat often came from suspicious places. The widow was sure food vendors needed licences now to sell. One of the best ideas Littlefinger thought about. She would’ve respected him by now if he didn’t steal their family’s property right under their noses.

Maribelle gave a regretful look. If Littlefinger didn’t steal that manse, that would’ve been them controlling the flow of goods. The Vanterys would have an immense amount of political power as well as monopolising the Braavosi deal. She shook her head at that. No. It was that man who made the deal possible.

She marched to the food vendor demanding to see his licence. “Ma’am, here it is. As you can see I’m permitted to sell pork, beef and chicken. I’m currently roasting this fine cut of beef. It will be seasoned with the standard spices and salt and if you come back an hour from now, this’ll be cooked.”

“Who gave you this licence?”

“It was the Customs Office. They created a new wing called the ‘Department of Regulations and Enforcement’. It’s headed by that scary harbour guy.”

Maribelle processed that information and was genuinely scared. The Customs office was only supposed to control the flow of goods in Gulltown. That already makes the institution incredibly powerful. Now their issuing licences which is fine by itself, but they have the ability to enforce it. She knew that some of the dockyard guards will be secreted into this new department of enforcement. Seven hells! What’s the boy lord doing! My spies tell me they’re good friends but not to this extent. And Littlefinger doesn’t have a wife despite being nearly ten and eight years old. Are they sword swallowers? Maribelle was going to overwork her spies for this.

She was close to their former property, and she immediately noticed the doors were widened and increased in height. Chandeliers, lined with gold, adorned the ceiling. Spiralling stairs made of mahogany connected the ground floor foyer with the first floor. She looked further ahead to see rows upon rows of people. Many were well-dressed though she did notice an odd number of rag-wearing folks. They queued behind a table fortified with steel cages with clear glass intercalating between the steel bars. On top of the tables were large portraits depicting distinct logos with words for the more literate folks. The logos corresponds to their respective department.

She continued to scry the manse but was interrupted by a lady with silver-gold hair and blue eyes.

“You must be Lady Arryn.” She curtseyed prompting Maribelle to do the same. “Welcome to the Customs office. My name is Naerys Aenorh, I’m the secretary for the Department of Welfare. Lord Petyr bid me to escort you to his office, which is on the third floor I’m afraid. Would you like a palanquin, my lady?”

“I don’t need it. I’m fine with using the stairs but thank you for the offer, my lady.”

Naerys giggled at that. “I’m no lady, I’m a humble civil servant working under Lord Petyr.”

So much for hoping he was a sword swallower. Well, at least I found his mistress. I just need to assign someone to observe her.

By the time they got to Littlefinger’s solar, she was heaving slightly. Sweat covered her back providing her with a modicum of relief from the scorching heat of climbing eight flights of stairs!

She wanted a break but Naerys abruptly opened the door and bid her to enter first. I haven’t even calmed my breathing! Gods damnit! Hiding her inner anguish she stepped into the room.

“Lady Arryn!” A slender man happily skipped toward her and then grabbed her hand to kiss. “Thank you for responding to my invitation. I haven’t had the time to properly thank the Vantery family for providing such an immaculate building!”

Maribelle summoned her rictus smile and tried to banish the insult from her mind. “It’s great that it’s being used so well. Never have I imagined that it could accommodate this many people.” She lied.

“Oh! It’s because I bought the neighbouring warehouses to expand the scope of the Customs’ rapidly expanding responsibilities.” He offered his hand which she accepted and lead her to a mahogany chair lined with onyx and gold. “I hope the palanquin wasn’t too rough?”

“I didn’t use the palanquin.”

The Customs Lord visibly flinched at that causing her to snort.

Maribelle smirked. “What’s the surprise, my lord?”

“Forgive me, my lady. But I didn’t expect you to climb that many flights of stairs whilst looking immaculate!” He clasped his hands together. “Frankly, I’m amazed. First, it was Naerys and now you that have broken my ignorant views about the fairer sex.”

Was that an insult? Is he questioning my femininity? “And how does that make you feel, Lord Baelish?”

“Like what I said. I’m amazed! I’m not one of those ignorant nobles that see women as objects. Oh, no. What I see in you is something much more!”

Maribelle’s smile was starting to tire her. She wanted to frown. She really did. Littlefinger in person was more cheery and LOUD than she expected and is beginning to annoy her. “What would that be?”

“The Customs Office is supposed to be a neutral body. That would juggle the interest of Grafton, Arryns, rich merchant families and the ordinary people of Gulltown. We aim to serve everyone!” He said with such zeal that surprised her.

“How commendable.” Pointlessly impossible is what it is.

“Well of course! This August Body has increased the revenue of Gulltown to thrice its normal levels and we couldn’t do any of this if it weren’t for everyone’s cooperation.”

“Indeed. I’ve heard from my Arryn cousins that they secured a deal regarding the luxury tax. How on earth did you manage to convince them?” She actually didn’t know how. Her spies’ reports told her they secluded themselves inside the Falcon Manse – Falcon Castle. That place is growing non-stop.

“Simple. I appealed to their sense of duty and honour inherent in all Arryns. Be they from the main branch or the cadet ones.” He said with such sincerity that Maribelle started to doubt herself. Everything that came out of that man’s mouth was a complete lie. ‘Inherent honour’ – pfft! How hysterical!

“It’s good you see my family in such a good light, Lord Baelish. But I have to ask why you’ve summoned me to your solar instead of going to mine? That seemed disrespectful.”

“Please don’t misunderstand, my lady. My growing responsibilities pertaining to my two roles being the Secretary of the Department of Imports and Exports and being the head of the Customs Office, means I’m an extremely busy man. And I summoned you here so you’re able to familiarise yourself with your new working environment if you chose to agree with my job offer.”

Now, this was surprising for Maribelle. Out of all her expectations, this wasn’t it. Giving jobs to women was unheard of in the Vale. “This offer better be worth my time, Lord Baelish. I’m also terribly busy.”

“Of course. Of course.” He glowed positively at that and looked like he was about to jump in his seat. “The Customs Office is currently lacking one thing.” He paused

“That is?” She bit.

“Information about the people coming to and fro from this building. As well as information about our prospective clients.”

Maribelle was confused about this. “What clients? The people of Gulltown and the farmers outside the city? I thought you already conducted a census which still hasn’t been published and distributed to the public.” She said sternly

“The census has been enormously helpful for the Office to pinpoint mistakes, corruptions and problems plaguing the good people of Gulltown. However, it still has its mistakes and will be further edited until it is ready to be released. We’re withholding such an important document because we, in the Customs Office must verify the document’s accuracy. You understand right, my lady?”

“I sympathise with your position Lord Baelish. However, the Arryns, Vanterys and other merchant families are starting to be impatient. I can only do so much to stem their irritation.”

“Of course! Of course. Tell them we’re prioritising the document to the best of our ability. But what the Office wants is more specific information. Like the whispers and rumours related to the demand and supply of products in other towns and cities. The census is good at measuring our local clients, but Gulltown is the hub of trade in the Vale. We must aim for the very best, to ensure everlasting prosperity for Gulltown. No?”

“And what would my role be?”

“Being the Secretary of the Department of Marketing.”

“’Marketing’?”

“It’s a term I invented which is about promoting business and economy.” He preened like a peacock at that.

“I get to hire my own people, right?”

“Of course. Under one condition.” Littlefinger leaned forward. “The act of gathering information can be seen as a dangerous and potentially life-threatening occupation. And if they get caught, they must do the right thing by doing everything they can to not link their activities to this August Body. Because of that, I think it’s fair for people enrolling in your department, to pass a series of stringent literary and physical examinations to see if they’re qualified for their job.”

Maribelle’s blood suddenly felt cold. Most of my spies are ordinary servants. They may not pass! “Can I get more details about the examinations?”

“Anything for you, my lady?” Littlefinger got up and looked through his drawers and pulled a massive scroll.

“This… Is a lot of information. I think I may need time to digest this, and I’ll give you my answer by the end of the week.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Excuse me?” Maribelle said not prepared for that response as she squeezed her hands together.

“That scroll contains many secrets. Including the training regime and dietary changes. So much brainpower was used to produce that document. It cannot leave this room. In fact, under the authority invested in me by Lord Gerold Grafton, I cannot let you take this out of the room. I would like a reply. Now.” He paused as he sipped his silver chalice. “However, be aware by refusing you must swear an oath to take what you’ve heard about the true purpose of the Marketing Department to the grave.”

Maribelle felt her chest squeeze. Her brown eyes widened, and her legs started to shake. “I accept.”

This was a dangerous man.