It seemed to Aegon that in a week in Pentos he had eaten more expensive viands and drunk more luxurious wines than in his entire life in King's Landing. Even a simple breakfast the Pentoshi managed to stretch over a couple of hours, placing no fewer than two dozen gold and silver dishes groaning with foods, fruits, and pastries on the table, while light wines of the finest floral bouquets flowed like rivers into cups. Scarce had the Prince and his sworn shield managed to catch their breath and digest what they had eaten when dinner time approached, and they had to eat again in the company of Magisters and the Prince.
"It is small wonder that every lord of Free Pentos possesses such a belly," Aegon remarked after another feast. "To gorge so much and not grow a paunch is impossible."
"Undoubtedly," agreed Dennis, fighting a yawn. "And they need beards so no one can count how many chins they have."
The Prince, in whom a pitcher of fortified wine splashed then, laughed drunkenly at such an unpretentious joke.
Avoiding such feasts was impossible, for precisely at them, and not at formal assemblies, the fates of the city were decided and its policy determined. Precisely at them Aegon finally fixed in his head the names of every Magister in the city, as well as into what parties they united and what interests they pursued jointly and separately.
Gessio Gonlaris was interested in trade with Westeros, his ships had sailed to King's Landing, White Harbor, and Dragonport, as well as Gulltown, for the twentieth year already, but they were most welcome guests on Driftmark; Aegon, after thought, classified him as a profitable acquaintance, but one requiring caution. In the veins of Villio Ernaris flowed the blood of Dornish Princes—as the Prince understood from conversations, the Magister's great-grandmother was a uterine sister of one of the Martells—and now he made his fortune exporting weapons, salt, and wine from Dorne, offering grain and Yi Tish silk in return; duties quite profitable for him testified that the Prince of Dorne definitely remembered his distant kin, and Aegon classified him as an unfriendly and dangerous acquaintance. Each of them possessed money, connections, influence from Oldtown to Volantis and from Lys to Braavos, and the Prince of Pentos had to live with them day after day, juggling their interests so as not to be sacrificed for unworthy governance of the city.
If the first week went to acquaintance with the ruling circles of the city, then the second and third Aegon spent in an endless series of conversations flowing one into another, persuading hospitable and generous hosts to conclude a new trade agreement with the Iron Throne, providing the Seven Kingdoms with silks, spices, and jewels at quite acceptable prices. Aegon's own merits in creating the treaty were small—he merely persuaded the Prince and Magisters to sign a paper composed by Lord Lyman with the active participation of the Hand.
The ceremony of affixing signatures and seals to all copies smoothly flowed into another carousal, ending for the Prince in the company of a slave girl obligingly provided by Karlaris. Naturally, she was quite skilled, trained in the Yunkish "way of seven sighs," but climbing off the Prince she had ridden, she managed extremely unsuccessfully to touch his right leg; the flash of pain caused by her blocked out all pleasure received. When Aegon could inhale again, his first desire was to kick the wench out by the scruff of the neck, and throw something after her to boot, however, the manifestation of true Targaryen wrath was curbed; the slave girl went to sleep on one of the low sofas in the next room, and the Prince spent a disgusting night, waking now and then due to an uncomfortable position.
Whether due to this incident or because he had already fulfilled his main task in Pentos, the next morning Aegon hinted to Karlaris of a desire to rest from the city stuffiness; he interpreted his hint correctly, and on the evening of the same day he rested together with his Westerosi guests in blessed solitude in a secluded estate on the shore of the Bay of Pentos, enjoying a meager meal of bread, a dozen kinds of cheese, spicy blood sausages, fruits, and Dornish wine. The conversation leisurely flowed from discussing one Magister to another; the Prince skillfully joked about their shortcomings but did not forget to emphasize existing virtues either.
"Tell me, Prince," inquired Aegon lazily in passing. "I cannot understand one aspect of Pentoshi politics."
"What is unclear to you, my friend?" smiled Kallio.
"In Oldtown, and on Dragonstone too, I was taught that the Prince of Pentos represents rather a crown, a symbol of power, but not power itself."
Karlaris laughed:
"So I am, in the opinion of your Maesters, a thing?"
"Rather, it is customary to consider you a puppet in the hands of Magisters."
"That is not too far from the truth. But what is the question?"
"You do not look much like..." Aegon waved a hand vaguely in the air, and silver rings flashed on his thin fingers, "a puppet."
The Prince sent several grapes into his mouth one after another, obviously pondering the answer.
"Magisters control my every action, that is true. I cannot receive an ambassador alone, cannot conduct negotiations independently, cannot raise taxes, abolish duties, start a war, make peace without their participation and approval. I have the right to commit only what the Magisters have already established among themselves. I am an instrument in their hands through which they rule. Having elected me Prince of Pentos, they presented me with a fait accompli, I had no opportunity to refuse this honor."
"Highly dubious," remarked Dennis in passing. The sworn shield enjoyed the same rights and privileges as his suzerain, and therefore was present at all receptions and feasts, managing thereby not to eat too much and remain almost sober. "Especially if one recalls how they deal with objectionable Princes."
"Let us return to puppets," Aegon hastened to leave the unpleasant topic; say what you will, but Dennis was a mediocre diplomat. Kallio noticed the interlocutor's efforts and raised his goblet, thanking him for such a gesture of friendliness.
"Using your metaphor, dear Prince, the Magisters are sure they have tied me and can now pull the strings whenever they take it into their heads. But they forgot two things."
"Which ones?"
"Firstly, they forgot that I, generally speaking, am also a Magister," chuckled Karlaris. "I am of the same nature as they. I know their way of thinking, their steps, because I myself in their place would have acted the same way. And secondly..."
Here the Prince leaned over the table and whispered confidentially:
"They forgot that strings lead not only to the puppet but also from it. I can pull them too."
"Thus, nothing changes," spoke Aegon not without admiration. "You pretend to play by their rules, but in reality..."
"I beat the Magisters by their own rules," remarked the host good-naturedly. "This is politics, my young friend."
"This is a very subtle mechanism," admitted Dennis.
"And requiring constant attention. This does not let one get bored, something like your Westerosi tournaments for which one must be constantly ready."
"Now it is clear why you are somewhat thinner than the rest," chuckled Aegon. "Only training is capable of defeating the consequences of Pentoshi hospitality."
"And you abandoned them, my Prince," Dennis let drop as if by chance, which caused his suzerain's confusion and another fit of laughter from Karlaris.
"Now my turn, dear friend," stated the Prince, wiping a tear that had appeared; Aegon saluted him with a goblet, inviting to continue. "Why did you come to Pentos? Our new treaty, of course, is important and profitable for all, but for this it was not necessary to send the rider of the Bronze Fury."
Aegon sipped wine again, allegedly savoring its taste, but in reality sorting through answer options. Which of them does the Prince of Pentos want to hear? With which of them will he be satisfied?
"I decided to see the world," Aegon gave the general version. "Pentos is our nearest neighbor, and my crowned brother decided to combine the pleasant for me with the useful for his realm."
"To set off for Essos without really visiting all Seven Kingdoms seems rather strange, do you not find?" Kallio, becoming Prince, definitely did not cease to be a Magister and now masterfully set a trap before the guest. Pentoshi whisperers definitely do not receive their money for nothing—Aegon truly had not been north of the God's Eye, and was only passing through the Stormlands.
"My cousin Rhaenys's husband, Corlys the Sea Snake, says that only finding himself at the edge of the world did he learn to truly love his home," the Prince began to weave a verbal lace. "I want to check if this is true. I do not think, of course, that I shall need to fly to the edge of the world, but who knows..."
"Beautiful words," nodded Karlaris and raised his cup. "Let us drink then to wanting to return home!"
"To having somewhere to return to!" Dennis raised his goblet, and Aegon barely restrained a smirk: the sworn shield had not a patch of his own land, and the rooms of the Prince he guarded served as his home.
"To having someone to return to!" said Aegon, himself surprised at the significance of his toast.
They drank, but Karlaris was not so easy to lead away from the topic interesting him.
"I remember, my friend, how at one of our first dinners you said you wanted to visit all colonies of Old Valyria. Is that so?"
"True," Aegon nodded absently, vaguely recalling that he truly let drop something of the sort in passing at the very beginning, when he had not yet worked out a strategy for his behavior among Magisters; it turns out the Prince remembered that too.
"Very like a pilgrimage. Or reconnaissance."
"My brother needs no Valyrian colonies. He values the peace our grandfather gave the Seven Kingdoms and does not want to disturb it."
"As you please," Kallio raised palms up, as if capitulating. "So it means pilgrimage?"
"Something of the sort," the Prince had to agree with this assumption so as not to dodge around; moreover, it was not too far from the truth.
"Unfortunately, our city has little with which to gladden you," such sincere regret reflected on the Prince's face that Aegon even wondered if it were not true. "After the Doom of Valyria, only one dragonlord remained in Pentos, declaring himself our ruler, but in a couple of months he was overthrown, and the dragon killed."
"Boldly," cast Dennis.
"Not very," grimaced Kallio. "The dragon was young and small. He was pelted with spears, and the body burned together with the rider's corpse and his estate. The Prince's Palace was later built on that place."
"So, old Valyrian libraries were not preserved?" inquired Aegon, noting to himself that the conversation quite successfully turned into the right channel.
"I did not say that," smiled the Prince slyly. "In Pentos one can find much if one knows what and where to seek."
"And for what price," the Prince finished for him.
"Oh what are you saying, my friend! What price?! I am ready to help you from a pure heart, as a sign of our friendship."
Aegon thoughtfully looked out the window facing the garden; outside it had almost grown dark, and one could hear waves whispering nearby, rolling onto the shore, and birds settling for the night conversing among the branches of trees fragrant in the twilight.
"My crowned brother is interested in drawings of the Valyrian City."
"I think Magister Lorrio Lenaris will have something suitable. He is married to my cousin, so there will be no problems with him."
"My other elder brother is interested in wars the Freehold waged," continued Aegon. He ascribed such a narrow sphere of interests to Daemon himself and just now, but one could believe it: his brother truly valued Valyrian heritage and dreamt of military affairs.
"Military chronicles can be found in my own library too. I remember reading a report of the Governor of Volantis about one of the Rhoynish wars. But what is interesting to Prince Aegon himself?"
"Dragons," exhaled Prince Aegon and added before he had time to think well: "And Valyrian candles."
Silence hung over the table. Karlaris thoughtfully tapped fingers on the table, as if weighing something. Aegon mentally cursed his own incontinence.
"I suppose Valyrian candles have somewhat... greater significance. Am I right?" finally Kallio broke the silence.
"True," the Prince nodded gloomily.
"I read of them, but never saw. As far as I know, no one in Pentos has them. If they had, surely the owner would have boasted of them already. What to do, such is our nature: one's wealth must be demonstrated. But, if you wish, my friend, I shall ask my whisperers, maybe they will manage to find something."
Aegon nodded again in gratitude, not counting particularly on a result. The Prince of Pentos was right: the owner of Valyrian candles would not keep the fact of possessing them secret, it would be like if Targaryens took it into their heads to hide their dragons from everyone. Wealth, status, opportunities can and must be demonstrated to strengthen one's authority and demonstrate one's influence.
"Searches will take some time," continued Kallio. "But for now you may use my library."
"Oh, no, feasts again!" groaned Aegon, shuddering at the prospect of new city carousals.
"My friend, you are in the house where I was born," said the Prince confidentially. "My family's entire library is gathered precisely here. Deny yourself nothing."
One might think, said Aegon to himself, that he ever denied himself books.
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