“It’s the Hand’s tourney that’s the cause of all the trouble, my lords,” the Commander of the CityWatch complained to the king’s council.

“The king’s tourney,” Ned corrected, wincing. “I assure you, the Hand wants no part of it.”

“Call it what you will, my lord. Knights have been arriving from all over the realm, and for everyknight we get two freeriders, three craftsmen, six men-at-arms, a dozen merchants, two dozen whores,and more thieves than I dare guess. This cursed heat had half the city in a fever to start, and now withall these visitors … last night we had a drowning, a tavern riot, three knife fights, a rape, two fires,robberies beyond count, and a drunken horse race down the Street of the Sisters. The night before awoman’s head was found in the Great Sept, floating in the rainbow pool. No one seems to know howit got there or who it belongs to.”

“How dreadful,” Varys said with a shudder.

Lord Renly Baratheon was less sympathetic. “If you cannot keep the king’s peace, Janos, perhapsthe City Watch should be commanded by someone who can.”

Stout, jowly Janos Slynt puffed himself up like an angry frog, his bald pate reddening. “Aegon theDragon himself could not keep the peace, Lord Renly. I need more men.”

“How many?” Ned asked, leaning forward. As ever, Robert had not troubled himself to attend thecouncil session, so it fell to his Hand to speak for him.

“As many as can be gotten, Lord Hand.”

“Hire fifty new men,” Ned told him. “Lord Baelish will see that you get the coin.”

“I will?” Littlefinger said.

“You will. You found forty thousand golden dragons for a champion’s purse, surely you canscrape together a few coppers to keep the king’s peace.” Ned turned back to Janos Slynt. “I will alsogive you twenty good swords from my own household guard, to serve with the Watch until thecrowds have left.”

“All thanks, Lord Hand,” Slynt said, bowing. “I promise you, they shall be put to good use.”

When the Commander had taken his leave, Eddard Stark turned to the rest of the council. “Thesooner this folly is done with, the better I shall like it.” As if the expense and trouble were notirksome enough, all and sundry insisted on salting Ned’s wound by calling it “the Hand’s tourney,” asif he were the cause of it. And Robert honestly seemed to think he should feel honored!

“The realm prospers from such events, my lord,” Grand Maester Pycelle said. “They bring thegreat the chance of glory, and the lowly a respite from their woes.”

“And put coins in many a pocket,” Littlefinger added. “Every inn in the city is full, and thewhores are walking bowlegged and jingling with each step.”

Lord Renly laughed. “We’re fortunate my brother Stannis is not with us. Remember the time heproposed to outlaw brothels? The king asked him if perhaps he’d like to outlaw eating, shitting, andbreathing while he was at it. If truth be told, I ofttimes wonder how Stannis ever got that uglydaughter of his. He goes to his marriage bed like a man marching to a battlefield, with a grim look inhis eyes and a determination to do his duty.”

Ned had not joined the laughter. “I wonder about your brother Stannis as well. I wonder when heintends to end his visit to Dragonstone and resume his seat on this council.”

“No doubt as soon as we’ve scourged all those whores into the sea,” Littlefinger replied,provoking more laughter.

“I have heard quite enough about whores for one day,” Ned said, rising. “Until the morrow.”

Harwin had the door when Ned returned to the Tower of the Hand. “Summon Jory to my chambersand tell your father to saddle my horse,” Ned told him, too brusquely.

“As you say, my lord.”

The Red Keep and the “Hand’s tourney” were chafing him raw, Ned reflected as he climbed. Heyearned for the comfort of Catelyn’s arms, for the sounds of Robb and Jon crossing swords in thepractice yard, for the cool days and cold nights of the north.

In his chambers he stripped off his council silks and sat for a moment with the book while hewaited for Jory to arrive. The Lineages and Histories of the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms,With Descriptions of Many High Lords and Noble Ladies and Their Children, by Grand MaesterMalleon. Pycelle had spoken truly; it made for ponderous reading. Yet Jon Arryn had asked for it, andNed felt certain he had reasons. There was something here, some truth buried in these brittle yellowpages, if only he could see it. But what? The tome was over a century old. Scarcely a man now alivehad yet been born when Malleon had compiled his dusty lists of weddings, births, and deaths.

He opened to the section on House Lannister once more, and turned the pages slowly, hopingagainst hope that something would leap out at him. The Lannisters were an old family, tracing theirdescent back to Lann the Clever, a trickster from the Age of Heroes who was no doubt as legendaryas Bran the Builder, though far more beloved of singers and taletellers. In the songs, Lann was thefellow who winkled the Casterlys out of Casterly Rock with no weapon but his wits, and stole goldfrom the sun to brighten his curly hair. Ned wished he were here now, to winkle the truth out of thisdamnable book.

A sharp rap on the door heralded Jory Cassel. Ned closed Malleon’s tome and bid him enter. “I’vepromised the City Watch twenty of my guard until the tourney is done,” he told him. “I rely on you tomake the choice. Give Alyn the command, and make certain the men understand that they are neededto stop fights, not start them.” Rising, Ned opened a cedar chest and removed a light linen undertunic.

“Did you find the stableboy?”

“The watchman, my lord,” Jory said. “He vows he’ll never touch another horse.”

“What did he have to say?”

“He claims he knew Lord Arryn well. Fast friends, they were.” Jory snorted. “The Hand alwaysgave the lads a copper on their name days, he says. Had a way with horses. Never rode his mounts toohard, and brought them carrots and apples, so they were always pleased to see him.”

“Carrots and apples,” Ned repeated. It sounded as if this boy would be even less use than theothers. And he was the last of the four Littlefinger had turned up. Jory had spoken to each of them inturn. Ser Hugh had been brusque and uninformative, and arrogant as only a new-made knight can be.

If the Hand wished to talk to him, he should be pleased to receive him, but he would not bequestioned by a mere captain of guards … even if said captain was ten years older and a hundredtimes the swordsman. The serving girl had at least been pleasant. She said Lord Jon had been readingmore than was good for him, that he was troubled and melancholy over his young son’s frailty, andgruff with his lady wife. The potboy, now cordwainer, had never exchanged so much as a word withLord Jon, but he was full of oddments of kitchen gossip: the lord had been quarreling with the king,the lord only picked at his food, the lord was sending his boy to be fostered on Dragonstone, the lordhad taken a great interest in the breeding of hunting hounds, the lord had visited a master armorer tocommission a new suit of plate, wrought all in pale silver with a blue jasper falcon and a mother-ofpearlmoon on the breast. The king’s own brother had gone with him to help choose the design, thepotboy said. No, not Lord Renly, the other one, Lord Stannis.

“Did our watchman recall anything else of note?”

“The lad swears Lord Jon was as strong as a man half his age. Often went riding with LordStannis, he says.”

Stannis again, Ned thought. He found that curious. Jon Arryn and he had been cordial, but neverfriendly. And while Robert had been riding north to Winterfell, Stannis had removed himself toDragonstone, the Targaryen island fastness he had conquered in his brother’s name. He had given noword as to when he might return. “Where did they go on these rides?” Ned asked.

“The boy says that they visited a brothel.”

“A brothel?” Ned said. “The Lord of the Eyrie and Hand of the King visited a brothel with StannisBaratheon?” He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lord Renly would make of thistidbit. Robert’s lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannis was adifferent sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless,unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.

aratheon?” He shook his head, incredulous, wondering what Lord Renly would make of thistidbit. Robert’s lusts were the subject of ribald drinking songs throughout the realm, but Stannis was adifferent sort of man; a bare year younger than the king, yet utterly unlike him, stern, humorless,unforgiving, grim in his sense of duty.

“The boy insists it’s true. The Hand took three guardsmen with him, and the boy says they werejoking of it when he took their horses afterward.”

“Which brothel?” Ned asked.

“The boy did not know. The guards would.”

“A pity Lysa carried them off to the Vale,” Ned said dryly. “The gods are doing their best to vexus. Lady Lysa, Maester Colemon, Lord Stannis … everyone who might actually know the truth ofwhat happened to Jon Arryn is a thousand leagues away.”

“Will you summon Lord Stannis back from Dragonstone?”

“Not yet,” Ned said. “Not until I have a better notion of what this is all about and where hestands.” The matter nagged at him. Why did Stannis leave? Had he played some part in Jon Arryn’smurder? Or was he afraid? Ned found it hard to imagine what could frighten Stannis Baratheon, whohad once held Storm’s End through a year of siege, surviving on rats and boot leather while the LordsTyrell and Redwyne sat outside with their hosts, banqueting in sight of his walls.

“Bring me my doublet, if you would. The grey, with the direwolf sigil. I want this armorer toknow who I am. It might make him more forthcoming.”

Jory went to the wardrobe. “Lord Renly is brother to Lord Stannis as well as the king.”

“Yet it seems that he was not invited on these rides.” Ned was not sure what to make of Renly,with all his friendly ways and easy smiles. A few days past, he had taken Ned aside to show him anexquisite rose gold locklet. Inside was a miniature painted in the vivid Myrish style, of a lovely younggirl with doe’s eyes and a cascade of soft brown hair. Renly had seemed anxious to know if the girlreminded him of anyone, and when Ned had no answer but a shrug, he had seemed disappointed. Themaid was Loras Tyrell’s sister Margaery, he’d confessed, but there were those who said she lookedlike Lyanna. “No,” Ned had told him, bemused. Could it be that Lord Renly, who looked so like ayoung Robert, had conceived a passion for a girl he fancied to be a young Lyanna? That struck him asmore than passing queer.

Jory held out the doublet, and Ned slid his hands through the armholes. “Perhaps Lord Stannis willreturn for Robert’s tourney,” he said as Jory laced the garment up the back.

“That would be a stroke of fortune, my lord,” Jory said.

Ned buckled on a longsword. “In other words, not bloody likely.” His smile was grim.

Jory draped Ned’s cloak across his shoulders and clasped it at the throat with the Hand’s badge ofoffice. “The armorer lives above his shop, in a large house at the top of the Street of Steel. Alynknows the way, my lord.”

Ned nodded. “The gods help this potboy if he’s sent me off haring after shadows.” It was a slimenough staff to lean on, but the Jon Arryn that Ned Stark had known was not one to wear je............