"Look, that is the Titan of Braavos." Captain Victar stood at the bow of the Storm, pointing toward two distant lights piercing the thick fog.
"Braavos is surrounded by a ring of islands and dense fog. Only the natural channel beneath the Titan allows ocean-going vessels to enter the lagoon."
Arthur and the Sistermen, visiting Braavos for the first time, followed Victar's finger.
The colossal statue of the Titan emerged from the mist. His legs bestrode the gap, one foot planted firmly on a mountain on either side.
His broad shoulders loomed above the craggy peaks. His legs were hewn from the living rock, identical in texture to the black granite sea cliffs beneath them.
The Titan wore a kilt of green bronze plates and a bronze breastplate. A crested bronze half-helm crowned his head, with green-dyed hemp ropes flowing down as hair.
His eyes were two caverns, fires blazing within them—the source of the light Arthur had seen through the fog.
From the front, Arthur could see murder holes dotting the Titan's breastplate and exposed midriff.
One of the Titan's hands rested on a mountain ridge to his left, bronze fingers clutching a massive boulder; the other reached toward the sky, gripping the hilt of a broken sword.
As the Storm sailed into the channel, passing between the Titan's legs, Arthur noticed murder holes studding the inner thighs and the underside of the bronze kilt. They were densely packed.
He could even see the cold glint of metal arrowheads waiting inside.
Seeing this formidable defense for the first time, the Sistermen on deck instinctively shrank back. Some, unsettled by the sheer scale, retreated into the safety of the hold.
The Storm cleared the channel and entered a vast lagoon.
Ahead rose another sea rock, like a spiked fist thrusting from the water. Its battlements were bristling with scorpions, spitfires, and catapults.
"That is the Arsenal of Braavos," Victar announced with pride, introducing it to the crew. "They can build a war galley in a single day there."
Just then, two longboats rowed out from either side of the rock.
"Who goes to Braavos?" a voice shouted from one of the boats in Braavosi.
"Victar of Braavos and his friends," Victar replied in the same tongue. "My ship, the Wavebreaker, struck a reef and sank in the Sisters during a storm. We return on the Storm."
"What cargo does the Storm carry?"
"Mostly timber. I know the way to the Chequy Port. No need for escort."
"All men must die." The man in the boat nodded a final greeting.
"All men must serve." Victar touched his brow and nodded in return.
"We must go to the Chequy Port first for inspection by the Sealord's customs officials." Having dealt with the patrol, Victar turned to Zaren Borrell, who was at the helm.
"Usually, they spend half a day inspecting the cargo and registering the ship."
Since Arthur had wrestled him, Zaren had stopped giving Victar a hard time. He had even started learning Braavosi from the captain.
In terms of pragmatism, Zaren was very much like his uncle, Lord Godric.
Sometimes Arthur would teach him a few phrases too.
Useful Braavosi phrases like "Yes," "No," "Fuck," "Thank you," and "Dracarys."
As well as insults like "Camel Cunt" and "Asscheeks."
Guided by Victar, the Storm soon arrived at the Chequy Port.
"Lower a boat. We're going into the city to look around," Arthur ordered Cauliflower Ear. Then he turned to Zaren. "Coming? Let Victar and your first mate deal with the customs officials."
Zaren hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He ordered his crew to obey the first mate and cooperate with the inspection without causing trouble. Victar assigned a young lad to act as their guide.
Arthur and Zaren sat in the bow of the small boat, while Cauliflower Ear and the lad rowed.
The lad's name was Pate. On the sunken Wavebreaker, everyone called him "Counting Pate" or "Ledger Pate."
Aside from having a good memory, he was responsible for tallying the cargo and reconciling the accounts before handing them to Victar for review.
"Ledger Pate" was actually Westerosi, born and raised in Flea Bottom, King's Landing.
"What do you think of this place, Zaren?" Arthur asked, seeing the shadow of a modern city in this world for the first time. "Is it what you expected Braavos to be?"
Zaren Borrell's mouth twitched involuntarily. He thought to himself—I never expected to come here at all...
"It's magnificent. The biggest city I've ever seen." Zaren scanned the cityscape rising from the water—grand arches, towers, and bridges stretching in all directions in grey, gold, and red stone, connecting the various islands.
"White Harbor and Gulltown are wrapped in walls. Here, I see no walls, only hundreds of islands in the sea."
"Braavos relies not on walls. The war galleys... are their walls," Pate explained nervously, casting a fearful glance at Cauliflower Ear.
"We are going... north of the harbor. There is a deep canal... we can row straight into the city."
Cauliflower Ear, full of aggressive energy, had beaten Pate severely during the wrestling matches even after the boy yielded. But after Arthur had beaten him senseless, the Sisterman had learned his lesson. Now, he yielded faster than anyone.
"How are you going to fulfill your promise to my uncle? Can you tell me now?" Zaren's gaze was drawn to the grey stone houses lining the canals, rising four or five stories high, but his practical nature brought him back to their purpose.
"Both you and I are here for the first time. How will you bring him more shipwrecks and lower the risk of punishment?"
"Braavos has an insurance industry."
"Insurance industry?" Both Zaren and Cauliflower Ear heard the term for the first time. "What is that?"
"Sailing carries great risks—storms, pir... reefs," Ledger Pate explained.
"In Braavos, many captains or shipowners take a sum of gold to an insurance merchant before sailing and sign a paper agreement. If the ship is lost to storms or reefs, the merchant pays the full value of the ship and cargo."
Zaren looked thoughtful.
Cauliflower Ear stared at Pate, bulging eyes wide, and spat disdainfully. "Trading gold for paper? Only a fool would do that."
"Think of it like the gambling you do on wrestling," Arthur shot a glance at Cauliflower Ear. "The captains and the merchants are betting on opposite sides. But every captain hopes he never wins."
"Why?" Cauliflower Ear was confused.
Zaren mused, "Because if they win..."
"...they lose their ship, and usually their lives," Arthur finished, dragging his hand through the cold, damp air above the water.
"The sea is dangerous. As Victar said, even more so in autumn and winter.
"But undoubtedly, a captain about to be swallowed by the storm finds some comfort remembering the contract signed in Braavos. He knows his wife and children won't starve."
"But signing a contract is one thing; collecting is another. Sometimes the contract is just peace of mind," Ledger Pate added, understanding the nuance well.
"If not for Lord Arthur, if Captain Victar hadn't returned, only the Seven know if the merchant would have paid that contract to a widow and orphans."
"Perhaps you've heard the saying that comes from this city: The Iron Bank will have its due," Arthur nodded appreciatively at Pate.
"But that reliability is built on the Sealord's purple fleet, the mercenary companies the Iron Bank hires with its wealth, and the Faceless Men of the House of Black and White."