Serena didn't ask questions. She trusted her son's unnatural knowledge implicitly. With a swift, brutal motion, she drew back her heavy winter boot and kicked her heel squarely into the back of Gared's right knee joint, exactly where Yoriichi had indicated.
CRACK.
"AGGGHHHH!" Gared shrieked, a sound of pure, blinding agony.
It wasn't a broken bone, but the strike to the nerve cluster sent a paralyzing shockwave of electricity up his thigh and down to his toes. His leg instantly went dead, collapsing uselessly beneath him. He hit the floor hard, sobbing in pain, clutching his numb, burning limb.
Am I a toy to them?! Gared cursed inwardly, tears of humiliation and rage pricking his eyes.
Am I a dog to be kicked whenever they please? He wanted to scream at her, to order his men to kill them all, but the cold steel of the knife immediately returned to the nape of his neck, silencing him.
"A precaution, Lord Gared," Serena said coldly. "So you don't get any sudden ideas of running or lunging. Help him up," she snapped at the two thugs.
Pate and the limping Orik rushed forward. Grunting under his massive weight, they hauled the sobbing landlord up and practically dragged him to a sturdy wooden chair near the counter. Gared slumped into it, his right leg hanging lifelessly, his spirit completely broken.
"The bag," Serena ordered.
Pate hurried to fetch the canvas sack, placing it on the heavy oak table in front of Serena. He quickly backed away, pressing himself against the wall next to Orik.
Serena did not open it immediately.
In the slums of King's Landing, she had heard stories of desperate men rigging lockboxes with poisoned needles or spring-loaded blades.
She maintained high vigilance. Using the tip of her knife, she carefully sliced the canvas bag open, letting the thick fabric peel away.
Inside sat a heavy, unassuming box made of dark, polished ironwood, bound with strips of black iron. It had no lock—the secrecy of its location under the floorboards had been its only defense.
Using the blade of her knife, Serena slowly popped the iron latch and lifted the heavy lid, stepping back slightly just in case.
Nothing jumped out. There was no trap.
Serena stepped closer, her green eyes scanning the contents. The interior was lined with faded red velvet.
The first thing that caught her eye was a stack of heavy, irregularly shaped gold. They were not the pristine, circular Golden Dragons of King Robert's mint. They were thick, crude gold biscuits—ingots of unnatural purity that seemed to radiate a dull, ancient aura.
Serena picked one up. It was incredibly heavy. Carved into the surface were strange, jagged runes—marks of beasts, clawed hands, and sun-wheels that belonged to the First Men.
Wildling gold, Serena realized, her heart skipping a beat. Treasure from beyond the Wall.
Next to the gold lay a long, curved object, a few inches thick and nearly a foot long. It was milky white, smooth to the touch, but yellowed with unimaginable age. It felt denser than bone, heavier than wood.
Serena set the gold down and picked up the white material.
"What is this?" Serena asked directly, her eyes narrowing as she studied the strange, polished surface. "Is this some kind of northern metal?"
Gared, sweating and nursing his dead leg, let out a pathetic, breathy chuckle. "Metal? No. You Southern girls know nothing of the true North. That is ivory. The tusk of an ancient Mammoth, hunted by the Thenns in the Frostfangs. It's worth about hundreds of gold dragons to the right magister in Braavos."
Serena's mind raced. Mammoth ivory. Wildling gold. The evidence of high treason was piling up in front of her. But the final item in the box was the most dangerous of all.
Resting at the bottom of the velvet-lined box was a thick, black leather-bound notebook.
Embossed on the front cover, in crude, faded gold lettering, was a single word: Finance.
Serena carefully lifted the book. It smelled of old parchment and cheap ink. She opened the heavy cover and flipped to the first page.
It was a ledger, but unlike the chaotic mess Silas kept, this book was meticulously organized. The handwriting was sharp and deliberate.
Her eyes scanned the columns. There were names—dozens of them. Beside each name was a detailed list of personal information: their bastard surnames, the castles they hailed from in the South, their gambling debts, their favored whores at the Mole's Hole.
But it was the final column that made the breath catch in Serena's throat.
Amount of personal tax collected from me - 4 Silver Stags.
Amount of personal tax collected from me - 50 Penny.
Amount of personal tax collected from me - 10 Copper Pennies.
There were eighteen distinct names listed on the first few pages alone, taking up dozens of lines of transactions.
Serena's mind, newly forged into the analytical weapon of a survivor, quickly connected the dots. The pieces of the puzzle slammed together with terrifying clarity.
Personal tax? she thought, her eyes wide as she traced the names. No, these aren't taxes. These are payouts. Bribes. Does he have the entire town mixed up with him? Are they all...
"They are exactly who you think they are," Gared's voice echoed in the quiet shop, cutting through her thoughts.
The fat landlord slumped in his chair, a twisted, arrogant smirk briefly cutting through his pain. He couldn't help but brag about his masterpiece, even in defeat.
"Yes," Gared sneered, pointing a trembling, bloody finger at the black book. "They are none other than the sworn brothers of the Night's Watch. Builders, stewards... even a few rangers. They help me out with... certain logistical things. So, I pay them. Just pennies on the dragon, really. A commission for their hard work."
Serena slowly closed the black ledger, the heavy thud sounding like a judge's gavel in the quiet room. She finally understood the true scope of the web she had stumbled into.
She wasn't just extorting a brothel owner; she had just captured the spider at the center of the Wall's black market.
She looked up at Gared, a slow, predatory smile spreading across her lips. She had caught the net perfectly.
"Oh?" Serena asked, her voice dripping with sudden, dangerous curiosity. She tapped the black cover of the ledger with her fingernail. "What things, Lord Gared? What exactly are the noble crows stealing for you?"