Here's your chapter Three coins lay on Greene Kleb's table: a gold dragon, a silver stag, and a copper star.
One gold dragon was worth ten silver stags, and one silver stag was worth a hundred copper stars.
Greene roughly converted the currency to the values from his past life. A gold dragon was about 1,000 yuan, a silver stag about 100 yuan, and a copper star about 1 yuan.
[The currency system, values, and conversions are set for ease of writing.]
[Some further examples for clarity: a full suit of plate armor starts at 10 gold dragons, a set of chainmail at 3, a fine warhorse at 16, and an Unsullied at 100 (not including shipping fees). A meal with meat and a tankard of ale costs 20 to 30 copper stars, while a farmer's annual income is roughly 1 gold dragon.]
The total coinage in the Kleb vault amounted to just over 2,000 gold dragons, not counting goods stockpiled in the lord's warehouses.
But the debt? 5,000 gold dragons. Last year alone, the interest had been 500 gold dragons.
After the Reaver's War, Jon Arryn, the Hand of the King, had orchestrated a forced loan through the nobles and merchants of the Vale to "aid" the lords of the Crab Claw Peninsula in their recovery.
That loan had been one of the terms for post-war peace.
You would never see a single golden dragon from it. The Vale lords and merchants had used the very lands they had seized from you as collateral.
It was a noose disguised as a favor.
You could refuse, of course. It just so happened that Baratheon's armor hadn't yet been stored away, and Robert hadn't had his fill of war.
The price of reclaiming the Kleb lands was 5,000 gold dragons, and the interest had compounded to 7,500.
According to the contract, for the next five years, payments of 2,500 gold dragons were due annually, with the full principal of 5,000 to be settled in the final year.
It was a leash from the Red Keep, born of their distrust toward the lords of the Crab Claw Peninsula.
The interest rate for post-war reconstruction had been just high enough to prevent rebellion, yet low enough to ensure stagnation.
A weak and peaceful lord was the best kind of lord.
The Population and the War Machine
The entire Kleb domain had just over 2,000 people.
Because of the constant raids by the mountain clans, the keep maintained a standing force of 200 men—full-time soldiers.
This was the realistic limit.
Years of warfare had left the population skewed—more men than women.
The women here were built from hard bone. Most worked the fields and hunted like men. Many were spearwives.
With enough weapons, those spearwives could be recruited to fight—not just for survival, but for coin and husbands.
In theory, if the elderly and craftsmen were left behind, and every able-bodied person was mobilized, Greene could field up to 1,500 fighters.
The savage lords in the neighboring valleys were fragmented. Some commanded mere dozens. The stronger ones had a few hundred. They were scattered.
And scattered enemies could be crushed.
Why toil in the fields? As the new motto went, Strength is better than hard work.
First, the mountain clans needed to be dealt with. They had gathered to raid, seeing the young new lord as an opportunity.
He would make an example of them.
This was where it would begin.
The Dawn of a New Plan
The next morning, the sky was thick with clouds.
Whispering Castle was an arc of stone, built more for function than elegance.
But it was large enough to house over 1,000 people in times of war.
Standing atop its twenty-meter-high walls, Greene gazed out. Behind him, his steward, Herschel, and Ser Pell, his sworn knight, waited in silence.
Robert's rebellion had lasted seven years. Whispering Castle should have prepared for war long before.
Greene turned his gaze south.
The land there was gentler, the terrain more accommodating. If he planned for a settlement of 10,000, he would start with the first ring of fortifications, then the second…
No.
Instead of a "first ring," he would call it the inner city.
"Herschel," Greene said, "record this."
The steward raised his quill.
"The fishing village will be renamed Mermaid Port."
Herschel dutifully wrote it down.
"The upper half of a mermaid is a girl," Greene continued, "and the lower half is a fish's tail. The Seven will marvel at her beauty."
Herschel hesitated. "My lord… Some septons might find that offensive."
Greene, an atheist, had originally meant to say that the Seven would be seduced by the mermaids, but he had already softened it.
"Your counsel is appreciated, Herschel," Greene conceded.
He paused before speaking again. "Bards. Find reliable ones. Have them spread the tale. Let them embellish as they see fit. They are, after all, professionals."
Herschel continued writing.
"Mermaids love to sing songs passed down through generations. They are reclusive and only come ashore to sing under the cover of night. Their voices are…"
Greene smirked. "As pure as nature itself."
Originally, he had wanted to say their voices were kissed by the Seven. But no need to push it.
"Mermaids are free-spirited, kind, and full of joy. But when they weep from heartbreak, their tears turn into the purest pearls in the world."
The Legend of the Mermaid's Oath
"A mermaid loves only once in her lifetime," Greene continued. "A true mermaid, when in love, makes an oath of devotion."
"The oath must be recorded," Greene added.
"I pledge myself to my beloved—to love what he loves, to think as he thinks, to bear his burdens and suffer his pains. Whether he is rich or poor, humble or noble, in times of peace or when the gods have turned their backs, I will live for him, die for him, and never part from him. Forever."
Behind him, Herschel and Ser Pell exchanged glances, their faces betraying a mixture of awe and skepticism.
Greene smirked.
Did they actually believe the legend of Mermaid Port?
Well, if they did, why stop them?
Greene adjusted his plans.
A secret known only to oneself was the safest kind of secret. But a secret believed by many? That was something else entirely.
From now on, he too would believe in the legend of Mermaid Port.
Mermaids were shy creatures. It was perfectly normal for them to never be seen.
Come, come to Mermaid Port, and lose yourself in the mermaid's call.
"This is a secret passed down through the Kleb line," Greene declared, turning to Herschel and Pell. "And I tell it to you now, because you two are the men I trust most."
Both straightened, their chests puffed with pride.
No one in the world was more trustworthy than them.
"First," Greene said, "mobilize the villagers to build a dock. Find the right location. It must be able to handle large ships."
"Second, a lighthouse. A beacon for the passing ships."
"Next, inns, taverns, and shops. Modest at first, but every function must be accounted for. We will earn every last copper star."
"Strong men will be armed. The old and weak will take posts in the shops. Friendly guests must be protected."
"Mermaid Port must grow. It must flourish. Visitors must leave entranced by its beauty, never doubting its legend."
Herschel's eyes gleamed.
"My lord… The longer this legend spreads, the more will come. And then…" He smiled. "We will have a true trade hub."
Greene's robes billowed in the wind as he turned away.
Herschel and Pell bowed.
For a moment, they believed they had glimpsed a king.