Lying to Petyr Baelish felt like trying to sneak a sunrise past a rooster. The man's entire career was built on knowing things other people thought were secret. Walking to their meeting, Wade felt a familiar, exhilarating hum of anxiety. It was the same feeling he got before jumping out of a plane without checking his parachute first.
He'd spent the morning mentally drafting his report.
{Plan A: Tell him everything! We found the king's bastard! High five! Promotion!}
And then Littlefinger uses Gendry like a pawn and gets him killed before the opening credits even roll. Bad plan.
{Plan B: Tell him nothing! Say we spent the money on booze and pies! He'll respect our honesty!}
He'll respect his dagger in our kidney. Also a bad plan.
That left Plan C. The Deadpool special. His goal for this meeting was simple: feed Littlefinger just enough truth to be valuable, but keep the most important card – Gendry – tucked firmly up his sleeve.
The shipping office was exactly as he'd left it: smelling of salt, ink, and quiet ambition. Littlefinger was examining a ledger when Wade entered, but he looked up immediately, his grey-green eyes missing nothing.
"Master Deadpool," he began, his voice a smooth purr. "I trust your time has been productive."
"Amazingly so," Wade said, flopping into the chair opposite the desk. "I have investigated your lead with the subtlety of a mongoose on cocaine. And I have a breakthrough to report."
Littlefinger closed the ledger. "I'm listening."
"So, Jon Arryn is sniffing around the Street of Steel. Visiting forges. I thought to myself, 'Wade, how do you find out what a man is looking for in a blacksmith's shop?' Do you hang around outside? Bribe an apprentice? No. That's thinking small."
Wade leaned forward, spreading his hands dramatically. "You think bigger. I figured, why spy on a place when you can own it? So I bought it."
A flicker of genuine surprise crossed Littlefinger's face. "You bought… a forge?"
"The best one," Wade confirmed. "Tobho Mott's place. The old master was looking to retire. I made him an offer he couldn't refuse. He stays on as master smith, I provide the operating capital. I now own the single best vantage point for Arryn's entire investigation. He comes to me, not the other way around."
He sat back, letting the audacity of the move sink in.
Littlefinger was silent for a long moment, his steepled fingers hiding his mouth. He was reassessing. This wasn't the work of a simple thug. It was a bold, strategic power play. It was a move he would have made.
"Ingenious," Littlefinger finally said, a hint of real admiration in his tone. "Expensive, but ingenious. And what has your investment revealed so far?"
This was the tricky part. The obstacle. The direct question.
"Mott is tight-lipped, but the apprentices talk," Wade lied smoothly. "Seems Arryn was asking about apprentices. Specifically, ones taken on in the last decade or so. He was looking at eye color, hair color. Compiling a list, maybe. But he wasn't just talking to Mott. He visited half the forges on the street."
"And did you find any apprentices that fit his interest at your new… establishment?" Littlefinger's gaze was sharp as a razor.
"Just one," Wade said with a casual shrug. "Some surly kid with a hammer. Black hair, blue eyes. Quiet type. Mott seems to like him, but the kid's got a vocabulary of two words: 'grunt' and 'clang'. Arryn spoke to him for a minute, then moved on. Seemed like a dead end."
He delivered the lines with perfect indifference. He was dismissing Gendry, painting him as a nobody, a footnote in a wider, more boring investigation.
Littlefinger considered this. "And the boy's name?"
"Dunno. Smudgy? Grumpy? Honestly, I was more focused on the business side of things. Kid's just part of the inventory that came with the shop."
Wade held his breath. He had given Littlefinger a trail of breadcrumbs – Arryn looking for apprentices with specific traits – that was true and verifiable. But he'd made the most important breadcrumb, Gendry, seem stale and worthless.
Littlefinger nodded slowly, apparently satisfied. "Good. That is a promising start. You have proven yourself… proactive." The result of his efforts landed perfectly. Wade hadn't just passed the test, he'd gotten an A-plus. "Your new position gives us a unique opportunity."
He stood and walked to the map of the city. "Jon Arryn does not act alone. His inquiries began shortly after a visit from our man at Dragonstone, Lord Stannis Baratheon."
He tapped a location near the Red Keep. The Master of Ships' manse.
"Lord Stannis is a hard, unyielding man. He and Lord Arryn have been spending a great deal of time together. If Arryn is the hound on the scent, Stannis is the one holding the leash. Your next task is to find out what they discuss. What passes between the Hand and the Master of Ships."
The stakes escalated instantly. Going from the Street of Steel to the King's own brother was a major leap.
"Lord Stannis is not a man who appreciates frivolity," Littlefinger warned. "He is paranoid and observant. And be aware, you are not the only one I have looking into this. You are simply the one with the most… unique approach. Do not fail me."
"Stannis the Mannis. Got it," Wade said, getting to his feet. "Sounds like a real party animal. My favorite."
He walked out of the office, the weight of Littlefinger's gaze on his back. He'd done it. He'd protected his asset and secured his position.
As he stepped out into the bustling street, a flicker of movement caught his eye. A young boy, a street urchin, was watching him from across the way. But this boy was different from the grubby kids in Flea Bottom. His clothes were worn, but clean. His face was smudged, but artfully so. He met Wade's gaze for a split second before darting into an alley.
A little bird.
Wade's grin vanished. The meeting was a success, but he had a new, pressing question. Was the little bird Littlefinger's, a tail to test his new agent's loyalty? Or was it Varys's, a silent reminder that the Spider was always watching, and that no secret – not even the one about a bull-headed boy in a forge – stayed secret for long in King's Landing?
A slow grin reappeared across his face. Most people would have ignored him. A smart person would have pretended not to notice and tried to lose him in the crowd.
Wade was neither of those things.
"Well, well, well," he muttered under his breath. "If it isn't the immediate consequences of my own actions."
He wasn't going to let some prepubescent peeper report back to the Spider without a little chat first. His goal was clear and immediate: catch the little bird and find out exactly who he was singing for.
The moment Wade's posture changed, the moment his casual stroll turned into something predatory, the boy knew the game was up. He tried to lose his position in the alley with the speed and agility of a startled cat.
"Oh, we're doing a chase scene!" Wade cackled, breaking into a full sprint. "I love these! It's my cardio for the day!"
The boy was fast, but Wade was a blur of red and black. He gained on him quickly in the narrow alley. The boy, seeing the dead end approaching, did something unexpected. He scrambled up a stack of old barrels, grabbed the edge of a low roof, and pulled himself up with practiced ease.
"Ooh, a rooftop chase!" Wade cheered. "It's like Assassin's Creed, but with more jokes and less eagle-screeching!"
He didn't bother with the barrels. He took three long strides, ran straight up the brick wall, kicked off, and flipped onto the roof, landing in a perfect three-point superhero pose just as the boy was getting to his feet.
The boy's eyes went wide with terror. He'd been trained to be fast and silent. He hadn't been trained for whatever the hell this was.
He scrambled away, his small feet surprisingly sure on the uneven tiles. This was his turf. He leaped a gap between two buildings that would have made a normal man hesitate. Wade cleared it with a running bound, landing with room to spare.
"Come on, kid, we can talk about this!" Wade called out. "What's your name? What's your favorite color? What's the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow?"
The boy didn't answer. He slid down a steep roof and dropped into a bustling marketplace below, instantly vanishing into the throng of people.
Clever little bastard, Wade thought, perching on the edge of the roof, scanning the crowd. He'd lost visual.
{He's gone! He beat us! We suck!}
Relax, Boxy. Think like a rat. Where does a rat go when it's cornered? Back to its nest.
Wade's eyes scanned the market's exits. He saw a flash of the boy's grey tunic slipping between two buildings and heading for the poorer districts. Wade didn't follow on the ground. He stayed on the rooftops, a silent predator running parallel to his prey. He'd lost the boy, then reacquired him, gaining the tactical advantage of the high ground.
He was about to drop down and cut the kid off when the chase escalated. A woman emptied a bucket of dirty water from a window, aimed squarely where Wade was about to land. He twisted in mid-air, avoiding the foul splash. It wasn't an accident.
Then, a line of wet laundry was suddenly hoisted up between two buildings, directly in his path. He slid under it, his katanas scraping on the rope. A market stall owner rolled a barrel of apples into his path on the street below. The little bird wasn't just a spy; he was part of a network. The whole neighborhood was his alarm system.
"It's a conspiracy!" Wade yelled, vaulting over a chimney. "A conspiracy of well-coordinated street urchins! The worst kind!"
He pushed off, launching himself into a long jump across a wide street. He landed hard on the opposite roof, rolling to absorb the impact. The boy was just ahead, sprinting down a deserted alley. He'd run out of tricks and out of friends.
Wade dropped silently into the alley behind him, blocking the only exit. The boy skidded to a halt, turning to face his pursuer. He was breathing heavily, his small chest heaving, but his eyes held a flicker of defiance.
"Okay," Wade said, panting slightly. "Time out. Truce." He held up his hands. "You're fast, kid. Real fast. You part of a track team? The King's Landing Sprinters?"
The boy just stared, his hand inching toward a small, crude knife tucked in his belt.
"Ah, ah, ah," Wade chided, wagging a finger. "Let's not do that. You've seen what I can do. I promise, your knife is not going to have a good time."
He took a step forward, and the boy flinched. Wade stopped. "Look, I'm not gonna hurt you. I just want to talk. Who do you work for? The bald guy with the fancy robes? Lord Varys?"
The boy's silence was all the confirmation he needed.
"Thought so," Wade said. "So what's the deal? He just have you kids follow anyone who looks interesting?"
The boy, whose name was Renn, finally found his voice. It was small but steady. "I was just told to watch. To report who you met with. What you said."
"And could you hear what we said?" Wade asked, tilting his head.
"No. The office was secure."
"Good boy. Honesty. I like that." Wade reached into one of his pouches. Renn tensed, but all Wade pulled out was a gold dragon. He flicked it through the air. The boy caught it out of pure instinct.
He stared at the coin in his hand. It was more money than he'd ever held.
"Here's the deal, Renn," Wade said. "You're going to go back to your boss. And you're going to give him a message for me. A two-part message. Are you listening?"
Renn nodded, his eyes wide.
"Part one: 'He knows.' Just like that. All spooky and mysterious. Varys will love that. Part two…" Wade leaned in, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. "Tell him Mr. Deadpool appreciates the interest, but he's currently a taken man. However… he's open to being poached if the offer is right. And it had better be a lot more than fifty dragons a month."
He had turned a spy into a messenger. A threat into a negotiation.
This is the way. The Deadpool way.
Renn stared at him, a mix of fear and confusion on his face. He clutched the gold coin and nodded again, speechless.
"Great." Wade gave him a cheerful pat on the shoulder. "Now scram. And use that coin to buy yourself something nice. A new pair of shoes. Or a very, very large meat pie. Your choice."
The boy didn't need to be told twice. He turned and fled down the alley, disappearing as if he'd never been there. Wade was left alone, his point made. He'd let the Spider know that he saw his web. And he was willing to dance on it, for a price.
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Read more at pat reon /MoonyNightShade