The heat in Dorne was far more intense than anywhere "Ledger" Pate had ever been. The character of the people here matched the climate: fiery and uninhibited.
Pate sat up on the bed in the Starfall Port inn, nudging the curvaceous Dornish woman lying beside him.
She mumbled a few words of complaint until Pate pressed a silver Stag and a handful of copper pennies into her hand.
The silver Stag was her price for the night; the coppers were a tip for her enthusiastic service.
Clutching the coins in both hands, she kissed him on the cheek and left the room, beaming with satisfaction.
"The weather in Dorne is truly scorching, but at least the people are just as warm."
Pate poured himself a cup of the leftover Summerwine—a bottle had cost him a whole silver Stag—and looked out the window to admire the morning scene of Starfall Port.
Fishermen were rowing their small boats out to sea, casting nets for mackerel, octopus, and shellfish.
Farmers, hoes and sickles resting on their shoulders, made their way to the orchards and vegetable patches outside the town.
Women and children carried clay jars toward the public wells and irrigation canals to fetch water.
Knock, knock, knock.
Before Pate could finish his wine, a rap came at the door.
"Pate, the Steward of Starfall, Fat Karen, is here. He says he needs to see you." A voice heavy with a Braavosi accent came from the hallway. "He is waiting in the taproom downstairs."
Pate recognized the voice as Nick's. Nick was one of the five men Pate had brought from Braavos who could speak both the Common Tongue and Braavosi.
When Pate recruited him, Nick claimed he had worked as an auditor for the customs office in Braavos.
He said he lost his job because he was too diligent and meticulous, which forced him to leave the city.
After spending time with him, Pate found that Nick was exactly as he described: a man so serious and precise he would argue over the weight of a single anchor-link.
Descending to the taproom, Pate easily spotted the distinctive figure of Starfall's Steward, Fat Karen.
His face was broad, his cheeks round, and his eyebrows were thick and messy as wild grass. Even his loose silk robes could not hide his obesity.
And his semi-bald forehead was perpetually slick with sweat.
Deep down, Pate disliked fat people. They reminded him of Sybell Caron, who had cheated him, and "Dumpling Ear," who had beaten him.
But more than that, it stemmed from his childhood in Flea Bottom. When he couldn't find food and was starving, the sight of fat people triggered a strange sensation.
Back then, Pate knew exactly what that feeling was. Whenever he was hungry and saw them, he couldn't stop salivating.
Subconsciously wiping the corner of his mouth, Pate greeted him. "Steward Karen, you are early."
This wasn't his first meeting with Fat Karen. When Wick and Vic had returned from delivering Lord Arthur's gifts and personal luggage to Starfall, the Steward had come with them.
In their first meeting, Fat Karen had proposed buying some spices and perfumes at a low price.
Pate had agreed. As a newcomer, he knew that making friends opened more roads than making enemies. In return, he asked the Steward to keep an eye out for a large manor to rent for housing his people.
Sleeping in the common room of this inn cost one copper Star a night. A private room on the second floor cost five Stars, and the more luxurious guest rooms were priced in silver Stags.
They had over sixty people. Some didn't speak the language. Without a proper base, organizing and managing them was inconvenient.
"Pate, my friend! It is wonderful to see you again." To Pate's surprise, Fat Karen stood up as he approached and walked toward him, a flattering smile on his chubby face.
He grabbed Pate's hand with both of his own. "I have found a suitable manor. I guarantee the location is perfect and the price is fair."
"Thank you, Steward Karen." Pate frowned slightly, extracting his hand from Karen's greasy grip. "The goods you asked for were ready yesterday."
Karen kept chuckling. "Why so formal? We all serve the Lords and Ladies. We will be dealing with each other often in the future. Just call me Karen."
"Karen, then. Shall we go to the docks for the transaction?"
"No rush on that. Let's eat first." Fat Karen gestured for Pate to sit. "We can settle the price at the standard market rate. After the docks, we'll go see the manor."
Pate eyed Karen with suspicion. When the Steward had first contacted him, he hadn't been nearly this easygoing. In fact, his tone had been demanding.
Back then, the fat Steward had shown none of the Dornish frankness. Every word had been a boast about his position at Starfall, hinting heavily that he expected a kickback.
Pate didn't know why the man's attitude had shifted so suddenly. For safety, when they left the inn, he specifically asked two Black Mamba swordsmen and Nick to accompany him.
The fat Steward brought two guards of his own. According to him, a band of mountain clansmen—or perhaps Vulture King's men—had come down from the Red Mountains, crossed the Torrentine, and were raiding the farmers and shepherds along the river.
"Rest assured, Starfall has dispatched Ser Barton and a troop of guards to track them down. I believe they will soon destroy the raiders or drive them off."
Pate offered a prayer. "May the Seven grant them success."
"My point is, we can use this to haggle with the manor's owner." Fat Karen wrapped a headscarf around his head as soon as they stepped outside. "The manor is over there. With these raiders causing trouble, no one wants to rent it. If we exaggerate the danger a little, we should get a cheap price."
In their subsequent interactions, Fat Karen behaved with perfect propriety. He never mentioned the kickbacks he had previously demanded and actually paid the market price for the spices and perfumes Pate had prepared.
The atmosphere between the two groups was incredibly harmonious, and Pate's impression of the fat Steward improved somewhat.
Leaving Starfall Port, they passed Starfall itself and crossed the wide stone arch bridge connecting the island to the mainland on the east bank. After about an hour's ride, they arrived.
Pate and his seven companions reached the manor on a hill east of the Torrentine just before the noon heat became unbearable.
Even so, Pate and Nick had to gulp down several cups of cool water offered by the owner before they recovered. The Black Mamba swordsmen, clad in chainmail, poured waterskins over their heads in the shade.
Fat Karen and his two guards were Dornish and handled the heat much better, though even they were drenched in sweat.
After tying up his horse, the fat Steward still had the energy to lecture Pate. "In Dorne, no man can stand under the direct glare of the noon sun. Stay out too long, and you'll catch heatstroke."
"Wearing iron armor in Dorne is unwise. Chainmail like theirs is bearable," Karen pointed to the Black Mamba swordsmen. "But if knights from north of the Red Mountains come here in plate, they become stewed meat in a tin can."
"Unless a squire helps them strip the armor quickly, the very steel meant to protect them becomes a pot to boil them alive."
Pate felt Karen was exaggerating, but the heat of Dorne was undeniable.
It was no wonder the knights and guards he saw here wore leather armor or scale armor sewn with copper discs. Even their helms were padded with linen or draped with silk scarves to ward off the direct sun.
"I have prepared some pickled olives and fresh blood oranges for you."
While they chatted, the manor owner had servants bring out cooling fruits and snacks.
Fat Karen didn't stand on ceremony, grabbing a handful of olives and stuffing them into his mouth.
Pate ate some blood oranges and began discussing the lease with the owner.
Despite his irritability from the heat and the harsh sun, Pate could see that the manor was indeed a fine place to settle.
It sat on the shaded side of a hill, relatively cool, and safe from the flooding of the nearby Torrentine River. Below the hill lay orchards of olive trees and vegetable patches.
The main residence was large enough, built of stone. On the eastern side of the house, near the roof, a two-story watchtower had been erected. The living area was surrounded by a wooden and stone palisade about one and a half meters high.
According to the owner, the place had originally belonged to a landed knight who intended to build it into a small castle. However, he had died in Robert's Rebellion with the construction only half-finished.
His widow and orphan couldn't support the debts incurred during the building, so they had been forced to sell it to pay off the creditors.