Having played the righteous judge for a small matter, Kal paid it no mind and continued walking forward.
Yet from the start, Tyrion had been silent, and now he ca up beside him, his expression thoughtful.
"The way you handled that was good—resolving the quarrel in public, while at the sa ti issuing a decree and a course of action. I imagine King's Landing's trade will only flourish further with you in charge."
"But are you sure, after this, that the Gold Cloaks will be enough?"
Tyrion's words were simple—both praise and reminder.
Although as Master of Coin Kal indeed had the authority to handle matters of trade, in so respects, he had nevertheless crossed the line a little.
However, Kal acted as though he hadn't heard the warning, riding his horse with a leisurely air.
"After taking back King's Landing, I added 2,000 n to the Gold Cloaks. Together with the 2,000 Ser Barristan Selmy brought back after the war, there are now about 6,000 Gold Cloaks in total. It's a bit tight, but still enough."
"If that's not sufficient, I'll request more n from the Hand during the Small Council."
Kal spoke casually, as if discussing what to have for breakfast, showing no sign of having caught the hint in Tyrion's tone.
"But as far as I know, the original Gold Cloaks were all thrown out by you, while your own n have beco the main force guarding the court and King's Landing. I an those who tied up and dragged back to your chambers."
Sensing his indifferent attitude, Tyrion raised an eyebrow, making his implication more direct.
Then he tried to persuade him from another angle. "And have you thought about how great an expense that will be? Maintaining an army isn't easy—nor is it safe."
At these words, Kal laughed heartily.
"That's why I think it's quite fitting for you to serve as Commander of the City Watch, isn't it? If you're worried about disobedience, Jon will assist you."
"Besides, the King won't care who commands the Gold Cloaks, the Hand won't concern himself with it, and as for Lord Renly Baratheon, the Master of Laws—he doesn't seem to have any interest in it either."
"They all don't—or rather, they deliberately ignore it. After all, before this, Littlefinger had so rather tangled dealings with them."
"Oh, and one more thing—though the City Watch now has more n, the expenses have actually gone down."
"Because those unclean or ill-intentioned ones are unworthy of wearing this uniform. There are others more deserving of it."
Kal no longer spoke in riddles with Tyrion and laid his words bare.
Besides, he wasn't foolish enough to give up the only force in his hands that truly held any value. His foundation was still unstable—and this force was that foundation.
As he spoke, Kal's gaze turned toward the direction of the Muddy Gate.
The gate stood wide open. A small squad of about twenty City Watch guards, wearing standard golden cloaks over their shoulders, stood beneath the portcullis with spears in hand.
From the west ca a group of riders galloping in single file, and several of the Gold Cloaks exchanged glances.
Then two of them stepped out of formation, pushing through the pedestrians and carts at the gate, stopping the riders before they could enter.
Kal's eyesight was excellent—he could see from afar, beyond the gate, the silk banner carried by the group: a long black flag embroidered with a purple lightning bolt streaking across the night sky.
"It's the Dondarrion family from Blackhaven," Kal recognized the house represented by that banner. After all, when Jon had been sent to deliver gifts to House Martell, it had been from that very region.
Confronted by the Gold Cloaks' obstruction, a young noble soon appeared, his golden-red hair gleaming. Draped in a black satin cloak patterned with stars and riding a fine black stallion, he looked exceedingly ostentatious.
Almost enough to rival Kal himself.
"Are you here to participate in Lord Kal's Victory Tournant?"
The warriors of the mountain clans, who had only recently learned how to wear the Gold Cloaks' standard armor, understood nothing of noble courtesy or honorifics. Their words were blunt and stiff.
Stopped and questioned by the guards, the young noble grew displeased. "I am here to claim the championship of the tournant."
At those words, the two Gold Cloaks couldn't help but burst out laughing.
One of them said, "Heh, that's the third funniest joke I've heard today."
"Other than Lord Kal, there's no one who could be champion—" the other added.
"All right, let them through. We've no ti to waste on him, and the road's already starting to clog up again."
Kal didn't hear their exchange, for by then he had already left the square and turned onto Steel Street.
Following the narrow path upward before him, he soon reached Visenya's Hill.
All along the way stood blacksmith shops, and on both sides of the road, smiths toiled before their forges.
So were freelance knights haggling over armor prices, while others were gray-haired ironmongers selling old blades and worn tal tools from their carts.
With the war's end and the new-style tournant about to begin, business had indeed never been better for these smiths.
It was said that even at night they did not rest—day to night, every mont, there were always hands laboring before the flas.
Kal's gaze swept over them, and as he and his companions continued upward, the surrounding buildings grew ever taller and grander.
The person Kal was looking for lived at the top of Visenya's Hill.
There stood a large house made of timber and plaster, tall enough to overlook the narrow alleys below.
The re fact that such a house could stand in this place was proof enough that its owner possessed strength worthy of respect.
The two great doors were made of ebony and weirwood, carved with a hunting scene—one black, one white—strikingly distinct.
At the entrance stood a pair of stone statues of knights guarding each side, clad in fantastical red-steel armor, one shaped like a griffin and the other like a unicorn.
Kal's entourage arrived with so spectacle, and one of the house's slender maidservants imdiately recognized him at a glance.
She hurried out to welco him inside, then went to summon the master of the house.
Kal had only just sat down on a stool when his gaze began to wander across the swords and armor on the wall, comparing them with those of the smithies in the ga world as he waited.
Before long, a hurried figure appeared, face beaming, bowing deeply before Kal.
"Pour wine for Lord Kal—Sumr Red."
Clearly, the master of the house who had co out to greet him was no stranger to him.
Seeing how utterly different this old fellow's attitude was from before, Kal actually found he preferred the man's forr arrogance.
"Tobho Mott, it's been a while. How's Ewing? I ca to see him."
Accepting the cup of Sumr Red, Kal smiled and greeted the blacksmith—rumored to dabble in sorcery—with the sa ease he had shown back when he was still a sellsword.
Tobho Mott wore a black velvet coat, its sleeves embroidered in silver thread with the image of a hamr, and around his neck hung a heavy silver chain bearing a sapphire the size of a pigeon's egg.
"Lord Kal, Ewing is doing quite well. He's talented and learns quickly—only a bit lacking in strength for now—but he's grown taller recently."
Facing the man who, at their last eting, had been an unknown sellsword but was now the hero who had saved King's Landing and had beco Lord of Casterly Rock and Warden of the West, Tobho felt sowhat tense.
Yet hearing that Kal's first question was about the boy he had once brought as an apprentice after paying the training fee, Tobho Mott secretly breathed a sigh of relief.
He had feared this man had co to cause trouble—for he admitted that at the ti, he had indeed overcharged Kal quite a bit.
Looking at the earnest expression on this fellow's face, Kal only felt like laughing. He still rembered clearly how this guy had put on airs before him back then.
Ewing himself was a clever child, and a kind one too.
But unfortunately, his father had apparently run away or sothing of the sort, leaving only his mother to support the family as its sole pillar.
To take care of him and his even younger sister in a place like King's Landing—as a woman—that was truly a difficult task, and her health had already suffered greatly from overwork.
When Kal had first returned to King's Landing from the Free Cities, he had t the boy at the docks, where he was begging sailors for a fish to make dinner for his family.
After that, he worked for Kal for half a year.
Before the King's retinue left King's Landing to head north to Winterfell, the little fellow had still been unwilling to give up this relatively stable and decent job, wanting to follow Kal to the North.
Kal refused him and instead found him an apprenticeship under Tobho Mott, even paying his apprentice's fee.
It was his way of repaying the boy's diligence and devotion during those six months.
At the very least, Kal did not wish for a child to live a life of licking blood from the edge of a blade. Moreover, his family needed a young man like him to support them.
To nobles, a blacksmith might rely be an important craftsman; but to commoners, if one possessed the skill of forging iron and armor, that truly made one a man of standing.
It could even be called a kind of social ascent.
Yet a small complication arose in the process—at the ti, Tobho Mott wanted to refuse, using the excuse that Ewing, though already twelve years old, still looked small and malnourished.
Kal had no choice but to accept his lion's asking price.
Of course, Tobho was not being entirely unreasonable either.
But who could bla him? He was said to be the finest smith in all of King's Landing, after all.
He had his own pride.
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