It wasn't until the sun dipped low in the west and the heat finally broke that Pate, Fat Karen, and their retinues emerged from the manor.
"Karen, thank you for going to such lengths to find me such a fine residence." Riding alongside the Steward, Pate offered his sincere gratitude. "Without your help, the owner would never have rented it to me at such a low price."
Fat Karen waved his hand dismissively. "It is all in service to the Lords and Ladies. In the future, if I find myself in a bind, just lend me a hand."
"But of course."
The two exchanged pleasantries on the ride back, parting ways only when they reached the gates of Starfall.
Watching Karen enter the castle, Pate switched to Braavosi and asked, "Nick, did you notice anything off about the Steward?"
"Nothing seems amiss," Nick shook his head. "He seems like a warm, upright fellow. If only the customs officials in Braavos were more like him."
"I just feel his warmth is a bit... excessive." Pate wondered if his own prejudice was playing tricks on him. He turned to the two Black Mamba swordsmen. "What do you think?"
One swordsman shrugged. "We didn't understand a word he said."
The other complained, "This weather is too damn hot. I swear I smelled roasting meat earlier—my own. Tomorrow, I am definitely not wearing this chainmail."
Pate, still puzzled, remained distracted. He was convinced that a person's nature didn't change without reason.
Even after returning the rented horses and walking back to the inn, he kept turning the matter over in his mind. Could there be something wrong with the manor itself?
Lost in thought, Pate didn't notice the scrawny boy darting out from the roadside until they collided.
The dirty, ragged boy, having bounced off Pate, grumbled, "Watch where you're going!"
Feeling he was in the wrong, Pate asked, "My apologies. are you hurt?"
"N... no." The boy rubbed his left shoulder, muttered something under his breath, and hurried away.
Just as Pate was thinking about returning to the inn to document the day's events...
"Ah! Let me go!"
"Why are you grabbing me? You're hurting me!"
The familiar, urgent voice of the boy came from behind him.
Pate turned to see that one of the Black Mamba swordsmen had seized the boy by the arm.
Pate asked, confused, "Why have you grabbed him?"
The swordsman replied in Braavosi, "My Lord, this little rat stole your purse."
Pate patted his pocket. Indeed, it was empty. At the same time, he noticed the boy's right hand—the pinky and index fingers were missing two knuckles each.
In Westeros, thieves who were caught often lost a knuckle as punishment.
"Let... let me go... I'll give it... back," the boy started to cry. "We... we were just so hungry."
We? Pate caught the word. He scanned the surroundings and spotted several small, furtive figures watching from the shadows of a nearby building corner.
A crowd of Dornish locals had also gathered to watch the commotion, their faces showing nothing but disgust for the boy.
"Eight-Finger Jerry caught stealing again? Looks like he'll be Seven-Finger Jerry soon."
"I hope the Lords chop his hand off this time, or send him to the Wall. Then we won't have to worry about him pilfering our goods."
"I've lost quite a few things lately. Wonder if it was him."
The other Black Mamba swordsman quickly searched the boy and retrieved Pate's purse.
Pate weighed the purse in his hand. Finding it no lighter than before, he looked up at the scrawny boy, whose tear-streaked face was covered in dust and grime.
"My Lord, please... mercy."
"What is this crowd doing? Disperse!" Just as Pate was considering how to handle the boy, two town guards ran over and scattered the onlookers.
The guards clearly knew the boy. A quick glance told them everything. "Jerry, stealing again? There will be no mercy for you this time."
Seeing the guard reach for the boy, Pate interjected, "I make no accusation of theft."
"You want to let him go?" The guard looked at Pate in surprise.
Pate nodded to the guard. Then, casually, he took a handful of copper pennies from his purse and stuffed them into the boy's pocket.
"Take these coppers to the bakery. Buy bread. Deliver it to me on the second floor of the Traveler's Inn before nightfall."
"Thank you... My Lord, thank you for your mercy. I... I will go at once." Jerry stammered incoherently.
"My Lord? Your kindness is wasted." The guard shook his head as he watched Jerry vanish into the alley. "He is a habitual thief. I've caught him three times and released him three times. He won't change because of your mercy."
"The Wall is the only place for his kind. Only in the freezing cold will he reflect on the trouble he causes others."
Pate nodded to the guard again, said nothing, and walked away.
---
"Pate, are you planning to recruit that boy? For the talent development plan you proposed to Lord Arthur?" Back at the inn, Nick asked, perplexed.
"But a boy like that? A habitual thief missing finger joints? What is the point of cultivating him? I don't understand. Or was it just your bleeding heart?"
Pate didn't answer Nick's question directly. Instead, he asked, "Have you ever felt true hunger?"
Seeing Nick stay silent, Pate continued.
"I have. Hunger is a terrible thing. It drives a man mad, and often breeds terrible thoughts."
"When the boy begged me, he said we were hungry, not I was hungry." Pate poured himself a cup of Summerwine. "That word moved me. I was willing to let him go, and to give him a chance—and a test."
Nick frowned. "A chance and a test?"
"If he doesn't bring the bread bought with my money to me before dark, or if the amount of bread doesn't match the coin I gave him, then he fails the test."
"Then the matter ends there. When we start the talent plan in Starfall later, naturally, we won't recruit him."
Nick's interest was piqued. "And if he passes your test?"
Pate sipped his wine, a complex look flashing through his eyes.
"Opportunities to change one's life are rare. For people like him—and like me, who came from the lowest depths of Flea Bottom—such chances are almost non-existent."
"I treat meeting Lord Arthur as only the second real chance I've ever had in my life. If that boy is smart enough, he should understand what I mean."
Nick was curious. "What was your first chance?"
"A Septon from the Great Sept of Baelor said he represented the Seven, teaching the children of Flea Bottom the holy texts. Those who were pious and learned well would receive a piece of black bread every day." Pate subconsciously wiped the corner of his mouth.
"The texts described the Seven as beautiful and full of great morals about kindness. But the hunger in my belly always reminded me of what reality was."
Pate continued, "The Septon said the bread was a gift from the Seven. But every child who walked out of Flea Bottom knew that we earned it ourselves."
"Those who didn't understand that... stayed there. Forever."