TBOV: Chapter Ten: The High Roost (PT 1)

Chapter Ten: The High Roost

“He married her for a claim. A crown is worth a thousand times what any woman is.”

―Petyr Baelish, A Feast for Crows

…

They had told Kellen to expect the auditor by midday, yet the hour crept past noon before the ship appeared—an unassuming carrack bearing neither the understated insignia of the Merchant Guild nor the three-headed dragon of the Crown. A hush fell over the wharf as the vessel drew in, sails trimmed, hull scraping the barnacled pylons of Lordsport’s battered docks.

Kellen stood in the biting wind, cloak pressed to his frame, fighting the lingering sting of salt in his lungs. Around him, a small honor guard—fifteen men in half armour—waited silently. The usual rank reek of fish and seaweed mixed with fresh sawdust from the newly built slipways behind them. A small group of Ironborn onlookers loitered behind a rope barrier, gazes watchful, expressions sullen. None dared approach. Even the gulls seemed to sense the tension, Kellen hearing only a few desultory cries overhead.

The ship’s gangplank lowered with a groan. A pair of escorts in black-and-crimson livery strode off first, then Emory Celtigar descended. He wore a severe black cloak lined with faint gold piping, pinned at the collar with a small dragonglass brooch. His posture was impeccable, his face set in stoic calm. If he noticed the stiff breeze or the resentful stares from the salt-blooded smallfolk, he gave no sign.

Kellen advanced, gave a crisp half-bow. “Welcome to Lordsport, Master Auditor. I am Marshal Rivers, at your service.”

Celtigar paused, gloved hands resting easily on the pommel of his short baton. His eyes flicked over Kellen, then the Red Cloaks behind him, then the harbor. “Marshal Rivers,” he said at last, voice a measured baritone. “Thank you for receiving me.”

“Of course, sir.” Kellen allowed himself a nod. “If it pleases you,” He said, falling into step alongside the auditor as they went up the winding path towards Pyke, “we can discuss more in my chambers.”

“By all means,” Celtigar said, allowing Kellen to lead him inside.

...

There was a brief pause. The auditor glanced around the room—freshly converted from an old storage room. The rotting beams replaced, a table polished to reflect the minimal torchlight. He gave a faint nod, acknowledgement without warmth. “I see you’ve been busy here.” he said.

“Indeed, sir,” Kellen nodded. “Restoring this castle is one of the duties I was charged with by the Good Prince. If it pleases you, we may dispense with the formalities and get started.”

“By all means,” Celtigar said, stepping forward. Kellen sat in his chair, posture politely erect. The auditor took the seat opposite and placed a slender leather-bound ledger onto the table. “Let us start with a formal statement of compliance,” the man said. “I trust you have your tallies and inventories at hand?”

Kellen nodded. “Of course.” He gestured to one of his subordinates to bring forth the documents that had been arranged. “Our daily logs, rosters, and estimates. We can go through the ledgers in detail. Afterwards, I’ll guide you for an on-site inspection.”

Celtigar nodded.

Kellen took the cue to begin. “Let us start with the barracks expansions on Orkmont,” he said. “We’ve completed the first building—capacity of five hundred men. The second and third are halfway done. Construction progress on the fourth is one-fifth the way to completion, by last night’s measure.”

Kellen passed a parchment listing supply usage: stone, mortar, nails. The auditor studied it with heavy-lidded eyes. “You used more stone than the original estimate.”

“Yes, we encountered structural issues,” Kellen replied, clearing his throat. “The southwestern corner of the first building needed reinforcement after the hillside showed signs of slippage in the heavy rains. An additional two hundred stone blocks had to be cut, and we needed to purchase more mortar. This caused a—eight-day delay. We overcame it by doubling shifts for the thralls.”

Celtigar dipped his quill, neatly marking the margin. “Understood. I would urge you to speed up construction if possible, but I am sure you are already cognizant of this need. The crown requires the capacity to billet more men on these islands. The Prince’s expansions cannot proceed if our men-at-arms are sleeping in damp tents.” His voice never rose above that measured calm. Then, “I see the cost of nails soared by fifteen percent. Issues with the local blacksmiths then? Your last report mentioned some… recalcitrant locals.”

Kellen shook his head. “No, sir. A family died from dysentery two weeks ago and they—a father and three sons—had been responsible for producing a significant amount of the nails we used for construction. Their deaths have forced us to rely on shipments from Lannisport, which drives up cost. Measures, however, have been taken to ensure this incident does not repeat.”

Celtigar wrote a single line in his ledger, lips pursed. “Hmm. I will write to King’s Landing for more labour and supplies,” he said. “Just be careful with these ones; many of the thrall that would be sent are Essosi prisoners of war and they have been known to have a habit of causing trouble. The prince will expect you to maintain this schedule, so avoid situations that would permit sabotage. These expansions must be completed within the next half year.”

“Essosi, sir?” Kellen asked, confused, as he slid a second sheaf forward.

“The ones detained during the battle of Rook’s Rest, yes,” Celtigar said. “Too many were being sent to the Wall, hence, the Small Council decided the realm would be better served if they were dispersed more evenly across the realm.” The room fell silent for several moments as the man skimmed through the document Kellen passed to him. “What am I looking at?” he asked in the end.

“The dry docks in Lordsport, sir,” Kellen replied. “The two slipways are now fully operational. The first longships are also nearly complete. We’re fitting the final riggings now. A second hull is half-framed. You’ll see here,” he pointed to a set of columns, “the daily man-hours allocated, plus supply usage for timbers, pitch, and iron rivets.”

Celtigar nodded and ran a critical eye down the columns. “The pitch usage is lower than the allotment. Are you short?”

Kellen nodded in turn. “Some. The local pine pitch is subpar. We rely on shipments from the North, but belays at sea hamper us and the Iron Isles can’t produce enough on their own.”

The auditor’s quill flicked again. “We might route some from Rosby, if shipping lanes permit. However, that will take some time. Though, at least, the cost should be manageable. The Guild’s latest disbursement covers you for how many more fortnights again?”

Kellen steeped his fingers. “Four, sir, if all goes smoothly. After that, we’ll need either a fresh infusion of gold or slave labor—preferably both.”

Celtigar kept his voice neutral. “I have noted the request. Yes, before I forget, show me the reports on the foundries.”

Kellen passed another ledger.

Celtigar read it and frowned moment’s later. “What happened? You still haven’t completed the repairs of southwestern mine shaft?”

“More sabotage, sir, but we’re addressing the matter aggressively. To compensate, our lead mason suggested we open a new shaft west of the Ten Towers on Harlaw; this one deeper than the first. I expect to recover that shortfall soon.”

Seltigar’s mouth pressed into a thin line. Annoyance. “You have compiled an incident report, correct?”

Kellan nodded and passed another ledger. “Two sabotage attempts, both minor,” he said. “One infiltration attempt from the coast by returning raiders. No large-scale revolts.” The Marshal realized then how that must sound, an attempt at positivity. “Morale among the enlisted is stable however—most appreciate the hazard pay. As for the rest of the population… they keep their heads down and try to stay out of our way.”

Seltigar’s mouth pressed into a thin line, perhaps annoyance or acceptance. Then without saying a word, he closed the ledger with a soft thump. The auditor rose, smoothing his dark cloak. “Shall we proceed with the inspections now, Marshal?” he finally said. “I’d prefer to see these new structures with my own eyes. The prince is never content with ledgers alone.”

Kellen rose as well and gave a polite half-bow. “Of course. This way.”