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***
The girl's cries finally died down, and Qyburn breathed a sigh of relief, savouring the well-deserved silence. Silence, but not peace, for he had no time to rest. He had to write down all the procedures he had performed and describe in detail the observations he had witnessed. One day, in the future, this knowledge would allow him to rise to fame and prominence, displacing the stubborn fools of the Citadel who, in their stubbornness, could not appreciate the contribution to science for which Quibernus had to make sacrifices. Since becoming Queen Cersei's Hand, he has had no shortage of material.
Every day, the guards would bring him another fool who would broadcast against Cersei in the streets of the capital, accuse her of every mortal sin, and call on the people to overthrow the queen, who was possessed by the spirit of the Mad King. And the guards seemed to work quickly and unceremoniously, but the preachers did not become less, and the townspeople who listened to them became more and more.
The first shock after the destruction of the Great Sept of Baelor had worn off, and the common people were looking with increasing hatred towards the Red Castle, the gates of which, as a rule, were now permanently closed, as if those in power did not care about the problems that were growing rapidly. The country had lost the top of its power, and the consequences were not long in coming: the judicial system was in disarray, and as a result the city's prisons were already overcrowded; the treasury was out of control, for no one had been appointed Master of the Coin; the navy was without an admiral, though the storm that had blown through the other day had shattered a few ships. The list went on and on, but Cersei cared nothing - in her dreams she was a great queen, her deeds surpassing not only Tywin Lannister but Aegon the Conqueror himself.
And I don't care that the crown ruled over three kingdoms. I don't care that their enemies surround them on all sides and dream of putting Cersei's head on a spike. I don't care that the common people hate their queen with all their souls, and sooner or later a rebellion will break out. I don't care that winter has come and the capital is running low on provisions. Cersei drank wine, made idiotic plans and dreamed of the Great One. In particular, she was already looking for someone to describe her great deeds, so that all descendants, who would have nowhere else to go, would admire Cersei Lannister, the First of her name.
Qyburn himself intended to leave King's Landing as soon as possible. There was no point in tying his fate to the queen, for the ship called Cersei was going down, and only a fool who saw that would stay on board. Quibernus himself had already prepared a warm place in Braavos, where, secretly from the queen, he had already begun to slowly transport his belongings. The only thing that upset Quibern in this move was the impossibility to continue his research, because for such practices, the authorities of Braavos will not be patted on the head. But Quibern did not intend to stay there, he was already planning to move further east.
The door creaked open and the Hand frowned, he didn't like to be distracted, but when he turned round to see who was visiting his domain, all indignation caught in his throat. It was not for him to quarrel with the queen's brother, whom even Cersei herself had begun to be wary of lately.
Jaime Lannister entered the cool, dimly lit room and looked around glumly. His gaze lingered for a brief moment on the girl's open body, but the man's face didn't flinch. As he walked on, he peered into Quibernus's book, studying the notes and drawings.
- Ser Jaime,' Quiburn greeted the knight kindly. - Is there anything I can do for you?
- Help? - The Kingslayer interjected. - Yes, there is something you can help me with.
- I am always at your service,' Qyburn bowed, wondering inwardly what Lannister could possibly want from him. And the Hand had plenty to worry about.
Since his return from the Riverlands, Jaime had barely spoken to his sister, ignoring any attempts at conversation on her part and answering only when asked about military matters. Qyburn knew that the Kingslayer was careful not to be alone with Cersei, much less sleep with her, locking his chambers in another wing of the castle with seven locks. There was no doubt that the destruction of Baelor's sept had sent Lannister into a rage, and even Cersei herself now didn't know what to expect from her brother. Especially with all the talk that had been floating around the capital lately, reported to the queen by her spies.
- Tell me, Qyburn,' Jaime said with cold curiosity, 'have you ever heard of a pyromancer named Rossart?
- No, I have not,' replied the Hand, who was not enjoying the conversation to begin with.
- Aerys Targaryen appointed him his Hand in the last days of his reign,' the Kingslayer said.
- I'm afraid not,' Quiburn shook his head. - He's long gone, I take it?
- He died the same day as the Mad King,' Jaime answered, stepping closer. - I killed him myself, to be exact. Do you know why?
- I can only guess at your motives, Ser Jaime,' Qyburn took a step back, wondering if he could get to the door in time to call the guards. But the door creaked again, and Bronn Blackwater stood in the doorway.
- I killed Rossart for the same reasons I killed Aerys,' Lannister said, playing with his dagger. Quibernus broke into a cold sweat. At what point did the Kingslayer get to him?!
- You see, Qyburn,' Jaime continued, stepping closer, 'I sacrificed my own honour, burned the title of Oathbreaker on my forehead, and became Kingslayer for one reason only: I couldn't let two madmen burn the capital.
Qyburn's gaze swept the room in search of defences, but found none. Not the surgical instruments, and a few flasks of corrosive substances that had yet to be reached.
- So I come home from my camping trip, and what do I see? Bronn, what do we see?!
- A smoking ruin! - shouted back the mercenary.
- Smoky ruins,' Jaime repeated. - I saw a city paralysed by fear and pain. And there are two people to blame for it-you and my mad sister.
- Ser Jaime,' Qyburn said, 'I assure you I was only following your sister's orders. We had hoped to destroy all your enemies at once, but we had no idea it would happen this way.
- Did you? You didn't know, did you? - Jaime turned slightly. - Bronn, do you believe him?!
- That lying bastard?! - came the reply. - I'd rather believe there are women with six tits on the Summer Isles than believe that nonsense!
- You see, Qyburn,' Jaime turned to the Hand again, 'Bronn doesn't believe you. And neither do I.
The Kingslayer's eyes became cruel, merciless. The dagger stopped dancing in his fingers, frozen in the palm of his hand.
- You dare not! - Quiburn shrieked. - I am Queen Cersei's Hand! She will be furious!
- One Hand more, one less,' Lannister shrugged. - It's not the first time I've killed your kind. As for Cersei, her opinion should be the last thing on your mind right now.
Quibern lunged to the side, trying to grab the sharp scalpel, but Jaime was at his back in a flash, and the razor-sharp blade slid almost caressingly across the Hand's throat, drawing blood. Trying to clamp down on the cut flesh, Qyburn grabbed his throat and even took a few steps towards the medicine table, but the life was rapidly leaving him, and in a moment he collapsed to the stone floor, pouring blood all over it.
- Okay, that thing's taken care of,' Bronn stepped closer, looking at the lifeless body. - What's next?
- Did Tarly give you an answer? - Jaime asked, wiping his dagger on Qyburn's robes.
- Yes, he has,' the mercenary replied. - He doesn't like having to deceive the Tyrells, though. He's a stubborn old man, and it took a long time to convince him.
- Good,' Jaime nodded. - Then we should get started. Did you find a ship?
- Yes, I've made a deal with the smugglers,' Bronn said. - They're just waiting for a crew and payment.
- Set sail tonight,' Lannister ordered. - The money will be delivered to you. Take the messenger with you. He has no further business here. If Cersei finds out about him, he's a dead man.
- As you command.
***
Bronn sat in a rundown tavern, leaning back against the shabby wall and looking around. The mercenary had no doubts about the presence of spies, so he was behaving as usual - drinking cheap wine, eating badly cooked pork and groping waitresses who happened to get too close. The mercenary also listened.
Not even a few hours had passed since Quibernus' death, and rumours of the Hand's murder had already spread across the capital, gaining blood-chilling details, as detailed as if half of the citizens had witnessed the murder. People gloated and glowered at the Red Keep as they learnt of Qyburn's death, wishing Queen Cersei the same fate that had befallen her Hand. Cersei was no doubt well aware of this, for it was not without reason that she kept her nose out of the castle, knowing full well that neither the Mountain nor the Lannister Guard could save her from the raging mob.
The door to the tavern opened and a stout-looking boy came in, carrying a bag with something long and wrapped in cloth strapped to his back. The boy looked around a little lost, and some of the regulars started to look at him, but the alien noticed Bronn in the far corner and headed towards him. When they saw who the young man had come to see, the locals turned away and looked away - the mercenary had a reputation to match his appearance, so no one wanted to get involved with him.
- Hello,' the messenger sat down in front of Bronn. - I'm from...
- You'd better shut up, kid, if you don't want our conversation to continue in the cells of the Red Castle,' the mercenary hissed, and then put a mug of wine in front of the boy. - Drink, be quiet and do what I tell you.
The messenger obediently shut up, took the mug and took a generous sip, which made him cough. It was obvious that he felt uncomfortable and insecure in such a place, although his strong muscles scared away the local scum, but the girls from among the waitresses noticed a handsome and physically unprepossessing guy.
After sitting for about an hour, Bronn got up, threw a couple of coins on the table and, to the displeasure of the local beauties, told the messenger to follow him. He picked up his bag and followed the mercenary outside, where it was already evening.
- It's getting darker and darker every day,' Bronn remarked. - Come on, let's go, they're waiting for us.
They had been walking in silence through the dark and crowded streets for some time when Bronn suddenly ducked into a dark alley, taking his companion with him. Silently he drew a curved dagger from its sheath and hissed:
- Not a sound. Don't even breathe.
Nothing happened for a while, but then footsteps were heard, and a figure in rags appeared in the street, to whom any normal person would not have paid the slightest attention. But as soon as the tramp passed the alley, Bronn lunged forward, plunging his dagger into his back and clamping the tramp's mouth with his other palm. The blade gently exited the body, and the mercenary gently picked up the dead man by the armpits and dragged him into the alley before laying him on the ground and searching him thoroughly. His loot was a knife and a handful of coins.
- One of the queen's spies,' Bronn explained his actions. - The bastard followed us from the pub.
- How did you spot him? - The messenger asked admiringly.
- I've got a nose for that kind of shit,' Bronn said proudly. - If I didn't, I'd be dead a long time ago. Hold on to me, we're late.
It took them a long walk, winding through the maze of streets and picking off potential spies, until Bronn was sure that they were not being followed. But still, he looked around every now and then, sometimes standing still and listening.
- Now, boy, listen to me carefully and remember, I won't tell you twice, - Bronn began to instruct his companion, taking the money from him. - The place we're going to is not safe even when we're drunk, so keep your mouth shut. If you get into trouble, I won't save you. I'm not your babysitter, and I'm only taking care of you now because I've been told to. Questions?
The boy just shook his head.
- No questions? Good. Now, what was your name again?
- Gendry, sire.