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***
- I didn't do it,' Cersei hissed. - I have no idea why he died, but I had nothing to do with it. Before you accuse me, tell me this, Lancel: why is Robert still alive? We agreed on everything! Did you change your mind? Or did you get cold feet?
- I got him drunk like we agreed,' Light sighed. - And the boar nearly killed him, but Ser Barristan intervened and spoilt it.
- That stubborn old prick. I should have him retired by now!
- I shouldn't. If he protects Robert so well, he'll protect your son well when he's king.
- I suppose so,' Cersei agreed after a moment's thought. - Robert may be lucky this time, but Jon Arryn is lucky for us. Whatever he inherited, he won't tell us now.
- And Stannis?
Cersei wrinkled her nose as if she'd bitten into a lemon.
- Stannis has escaped. He's on Dragonstone now, in his own domain, and he can't be reached there.
- The King will need a new Hand. I thought Stannis would want to fill the vacant post.
- You think too much, Lancel. Everyone knows the King hates his middle brother. Stannis will never be Hand. It should be given to my father.
- When has Robert ever done what he should?
Cersei chuckled.
- Indeed he has. I hope Robert appoints some fool to match himself. Then I will have nothing to fear.
A fool? That would be nice. To start a war, Light needs someone to leak the Queen's incest to the public. An honest fool would be the best person for the job. Stannis might work, too, if he hadn't run away. Renly's not serious enough for this. It requires a man with a solid reputation, someone whose word the lords will listen to.
When he heard footsteps behind him, Light looked round. Golden armour, golden sword, golden hair - in short, Jaime Lannister. It was as if the sept had grown a little brighter.
- How pious you are, sister,' he said mockingly. - And you, cousin. What are you praying for, I wonder?
- For the king's health,' Light and Cersei said in chorus.
- Not just piety, but devotion! - Jaime marvelled. - My family is a storehouse of virtues. Lancel, do you mind if I take Cersei for a moment? I want to say a few words to my dearly beloved sister.
- Of course I don't mind, Ser Jaime.
Cersei rose, straightening her skirts. Kneeling alone was awkward, and Light stood as well.
- I heard the king was nearly killed on the hunt. Ay, ay, ay, Lancel, how could that be? If I were a suspicious man, I might think you'd got him drunk on purpose to--
- Shut up!' Cersei hissed, turning deathly pale. - Shut up, Jaime, now!
Green eyes widened.
- So it's true,' he whispered. - You really did want... Gods be my witness, Cersei, I want it too, but you've always been against it! What's changed?
I wonder, Light thought. If Cersei hasn't seen fit to initiate her brother-lover into the plan, does that mean their love isn't that strong? Maybe Light has a chance?
- I'll explain everything to you,' Cersei said hurriedly. - But not here, not now. Jaime, I assure you, I've done everything for my family. For us,' the queen said the last word with only her lips.
Maybe not.
***
Grand Maester Pycelle folded his palms cosily on his voluminous womb.
- A terrible tragedy, my young friend. Yes, yes. Lord Arryn's death grieved me deeply. I'm not a young man myself, heh-heh, and the sight of another man's demise makes me sad. Young people don't understand it. An old body is a fragile vessel, and the slightest cold... fever... heh-heh...
The old man gave a fake cough. He's not as decrepit as he wants to appear, Light thought.
- So Lord Arryn died of fever?
- Yes, young Lancel, you heard right. Our good, beloved Hand died of fever.
- Did you treat him?
- I did, my young friend. The right hand was first treated by young Maester Colemon of the Vale, but I sent him away.
- Why?
- He was pumping Lord Arryn's stomach. Too risky a procedure at such an advanced age. Young people don't understand it.
- I've heard stomach pumping helps with poisoning,' Light said, watching Pycelle closely.
The Maester's faded eyes flickered.
- Poisoning? What a strange thought! No, it is impossible. I assure you, my young friend, no one would dare poison Lord Arryn.
Light leaned forward.
- I've read something about poisons, Grand Maester. There is such a potion, Lyssus's tears, and I'm sure you know it, don't you?
Pycelle coughed again.
- Lyssa's tears? - He finally got it out. - Yes, of course. It's familiar to me.
- Which one is it? - Light asked, looking at the shelves of vials.
With shaking hands, the maester held out a vial to him.
- As you can see, my good young friend, it's sealed. I have not used it, no.
Light took the vial.
- Who did?
Pycelle frowned.
- Alas, my noble young friend, I cannot answer that question.
Light leaned back in his chair and threw his leg over his foot.
- 'I can tell the king that you deliberately let Lord Arryn die. I can tell him that the Hand did not die of fever at all. One word from me and you'll be in the dungeon.
Pycelle shook silently.
- But I can keep silent,' Light said softly. - If you do me a favour.
- A favour?
- First, tell me who you work for.
- The Lannisters! - Pycelle almost shouted. - I've always served the Lannisters, ever since Aerys was king and your Uncle Tywin was his Hand. I've always served the Lannisters!
- That's fine. I'm a Lannister, as you know. And from now on, you serve me.
- Serve you-- but how? What am I supposed to do?
- Report to me everything that happens at the Small Council meetings, and answer any further questions I have. Oh, yeah, Light pretended he only remembered the vial of poison now. - I'm taking this with me. And not a word to anyone, understand?
Pycelle bowed low.
- 'Yes, my Lord Lannister. As you wish, my Lord Lannister.
As he left the Grand Maester's office, Light put the vial in his pocket and grinned. How simple! L would have done just as well. What was L, even Matsuda would be able to crack Pycelle. The criminals of this world had simply never encountered a career Japanese police officer. Much less a great detective, someone who managed to kill L himself and take his place!
So, the cause of the Hand's death has been established. But who is the murderer?
Firstly, who benefits? Cersei. But she claims she's innocent, and since she's in league with Light, her word can be trusted. Who else knew about the investigation? Baelish. A clever man and dangerous, but his motives are unclear. Why would he help the Lannisters? It's also unclear how Baelish could slip the Hand poison. Unless he did it with someone else's hands... but whose hands? Let's move on to 'secondly'. Who had the means to give Jon Arryn the poison? Someone close to him. Hugh? Too artless. Robert knighted him in honour of his friend, and Hugh's become arrogant: he won't talk to Light, who's still a squire. What about Lady Liza? She quarrelled with her husband over Robin, and her hasty departure to Eagle's Nest just after his death looks suspicious. What could Baelish and Lysa have in common? Like the fact that he's her lover. Then the motive for murder is more personal than political. Or is it personal for Lysa but political for Baelish?
Conclusion. The most likely poisoner is Lysa Arryn. She could have done it either on her own, for the sake of the child, or in collusion with Baelish. While it's possible that the Hand was poisoned by someone else for some unknown purpose, Lysa Arryn should be considered the prime suspect.
However, all of this is of more theoretical interest. A warm-up for the mind, nothing more. Light can't expose the culprit anyway: there's no evidence. And he won't want to. He's got better things to do. And if someone else starts the investigation? Then it would be desirable for Light to take part in it - to be aware of the case and to be able to influence its outcome.
***
- Winterfell? - Light asked.
- That's right. We're going to Winterfell. To see my good friend, Lord Eddard Stark. Take your books, warm clothes, a barrel of wine, or two.
- Your Grace, what about Highgarden? Lord Tyrell would be offended if you cancelled the prince's visit.
The king waved his hand, telling Light to shut up.
- Circumstances have changed, Lancel. My Hand is dead, and only one man can replace him. Our path lies to Winterfell. And to Lord Tyrell, Varys will write a letter of apology. - The king suddenly stared at Light. - I forgot to ask: What do you think of the brothels?
- You already asked, Your Grace. Remember I also told you that I saw your daughter, Barra, there.
- Barra,' the king murmured softly. - You said her mother loves me, didn't you? Waiting for me? I love brunettes!
- She's blonde.
The king had the conscience to blush.
- Well, never mind. That... Barra's mother... I'll visit her later. Someday. For now, we must go. North!
***
The royal cortege didn't start until after lunch. Robert decided to have a few drinks and snacks before travelling, and emptied four plates. Five bottles of wine, a whole roast pig and three capons disappeared into the king's voluminous belly. The motorcade moved slowly. The huge gilded wagon in which the queen and her youngest children were travelling could barely crawl along the dusty road. Light rode beside Prince Joffrey, listening with feigned admiration to his jokes about the Northmen ("How many Northmen does it take to shoe a horse? Five: four hold the legs and the fifth changes the horseshoes").
Tyrion, accompanied by a couple of Lannister guardsmen, joined them outside the Inn at the Crossroads. Having heard of the King's trip to the North, the dwarf rode out of the Cliff and along the River Road to its intersection with the Kingsroad. Tyrion wanted to get to the Wall, and since the King was only travelling to Winterfell, Tyrion would have to travel the rest of the way in the company of the brothers of the Night's Watch.
Long gone are the days when service in the Night's Watch was considered honourable. Over the past centuries, the ancient organisation had withered and degenerated into a place of exile for criminals. The Watch was said to protect the Seven Kingdoms from the wildlings beyond the Wall. Was it worth building such a huge structure to keep out the wretched savages? It's a rhetorical question. The Romans and Chinese also built walls on the borders of their empires, but even they did not think of making them two hundred metres high.
The journey to the North took a month, of which a week the detachment travelled along the gathi, the only road across the swampy Isthmus. Leaving the mire behind, the party paused at the ruins of the Cailin Ditch, once a mighty fortress that had defended the North from the Andals for centuries. Now only three dilapidated towers remained. After Torrhen Stark bent the knee to Aegon the Conqueror, the fortress had fallen into disuse and decay. However, as Light noted, the position of the towers kept the whole road under fire, so the Cailin moat had not lost its military importance. If the North were to secede from the Seven Kingdoms again, it would be very difficult to conquer.
On the seventh day after Cailin's Moat, the twin granite walls and towers of Winterfell appeared on the horizon.