chapter 26
The next few days blurred into a careful rhythm of profit and restraint.
Crates left the Obsidian Leaf carrying one thing and returned heavy with another. Coin flowed in, then flowed out again just as quickly. Iron bars stacked like bricks of promise, coils of wire, nails by the thousand, saw teeth wrapped in oiled cloth, hammers, chisels, hinges, anvils, glass vials, alchemical reagents Erik didn't even have to pretend not to understand too well. Grain in sealed barrels. Dried fruits, vegetables and their seeds. Several living sheep, hens and other domesticated animals. Every purchase was deliberate. Nothing flashy.
Even then Erik was left with more coin as their goods were more valuable and Erik was a savvy bargainer using all kinds of tricks like reading body language and reverse psychology to get the best deal possible.
As always there were too many eyes watching.
Dockhands lingered too long. Merchants asked the same questions twice. Men Erik didn't recognize leaned against posts pretending not to watch. Tavern girls smiled too warmly. A customs clerk "lost" a page and asked them to restate their origin.
The crew followed orders.
"We're from White Harbor," one sailor said lazily to a wine-seller.
"No, Stark lands," another muttered to a dock guard.
"We serve house Bolton" a third claimed with a shrug, just loud enough to be overheard.
"We were Ironborn slaves that escaped with our former master's fortune" a fourth answered to a hooker sweetly extraction information using her ways
Contradictions spread like smoke.
Ivar found it endlessly amusing.
"They'll spend weeks arguing over which lie is true," he said, grinning as he watched two factors whisper heatedly down the quay. "And by the time they decide, we'll be gone."
Runa did not smile. "Or followed."
"Only if they think they're clever or desperate" Ivar replied lightly. "Most wise men here prefer profit to risk."
"Levi will make short work of any that follow" Stigr promised smacking his fist into his palm.
The crew rarely left the ship. When they did, it was in groups of six or more. Always armed, always alert. Watches rotated day and night. The Obsidian Leaf never sat unwatched.
Erik walked the deck often, hands clasped behind his back, his expression calm and distant. To any watching eye he looked like a merchant lost in thought, counting cargo or tides.
In truth, his mind was elsewhere and everywhere.
It spread outward in a thousand thin threads, riding the senses of the city's lesser lives. Rats beneath the docks. Gulls perched on rooflines. Cats slipping through alleys slick with canal water. Even a few half-wild dogs that lazed near warehouses, tolerated because they kept vermin down.
Through them, Braavos secrets unfolded to Erik.
The docks and his ship were his first and primary concern. Rats nested in cargo holds and under stone piers, hearing everything men said when they believed no one listened. Gulls watched ships come and go, counting hulls, colors, banners. Cats lounged in counting houses and crept along rafters above closed-door meetings, eyes half-lidded, ears sharp.
Erik listened without using his own listening from his own ears. He observed every minute detail simultaneously, his enhanced mind and champion powers made it easy to observe from dozens of animals, process all this information and pick out the occasional nugget of important information.
Snatches of argument. Whispered bargains. Names spoken with care or contempt.
And the latest gossip was proving quite interesting
"…Sealord won't approve another levy—"
"…. the latest order of twenty galleys delayed again…."
"…timber's the problem, always timber…"
"…ships rot faster than we can replace them…"
Patterns emerged.
Braavos was rich in coin, in skill, in manpower but wood was its quiet weakness.
Their shipyards were vast, hungry beasts. Docks that never slept. Hulls under construction as far as the eye could see. And all of it demanded timber, straight trunks, long beams, seasoned planks.
Too much, and too close to the sea, to be imported cheaply from the south.
Erik followed the thread deeper.
Behind a shuttered counting house, a fat grey cat listened as two factors argued in low voices.
"…prices from the south are robbery and the timber's low quality"
"Then we go East."
"We can't. Lorath claims the bay."
"And Lorath doesn't have the strength to stop us."
"…another hull delayed—no planks," one voice hissed
Another voice, colder:
"Lorath has ships and the Valyrian Freehold's backing. And the bay is theirs, whether they can defend it or not."
Erik let the cat slip away.
A gull carried him over the harbor, then eastward in thought, to a map he had already drawn in his mind.
Lorath Bay.
Forested shores. Old growth. Tall, straight trees perfect for masts and keels. The closest viable source of large-scale timber for Braavos.
And it would seem contested.
Lorath claimed the bay, guarded it fiercely, and taxed any who tried to take from it.Braavos tooke the timber from her until recently as Lorath had raised the price exorbitantly due to pressure from the Valyrian freehold. Braavos wanted the wood but not a war that would disrupt trade.
So they argued. Maneuvered. Pressured. Waited.
Erik's fingers flexed behind his back.
Scarcity, he thought. Need. Leverage.
The Obsidian Leaf creaked softly beneath his feet, heavy with iron, tools, people, and now knowledge.
Ivar approached, cane tapping quietly.
"You look like a man who's just learned where a treasure is buried," he said lightly.
"No treasure, but sometime just as good" Erik didn't look at him. "Braavos is short on timber."
Ivar blinked, then smiled slowly. "Ah."
"They're building ships faster in that fancy arsenal of theirs than they can supply," Erik continued. "Their closest forests are in Lorath Bay. Lorath is resisting."
Ivar's grin sharpened. "So, the greatest shipbuilders in the world are starving for trees."
"Yes."
Runa joined them, her voice low. "And you're thinking of solving that problem."
Erik finally turned, his eyes thoughtful rather than eager.
"I'm thinking," he said, "that land surrounding Weirstad has forests no one here can touch. Cold, dangerous and claimed by us."
Ivar chuckled. "And timber doesn't care who cuts it."
"No," Erik agreed. "But men care very much about who controls it."
"It's a great idea. Beside we're going to cut through them eventually to make room for orchards and crop fields" Runa mused "And you can use your powers to make more trees grow quicker, stronger and straighter"
"You're right" Erik agreed "But it's going to be tricky selling them lots of lumber without letting them know where its coming from since we're not strong enough to repel a large assault"
Ivar shifted his weight against the rail, fingers tightening on his cane, the familiar restless energy coiling in him. His eyes flicked toward Erik, sharp, hungry, always measuring how far the knife could go before it cut the hand that held it.
"Then don't sell it as yours," he said, voice low, edged with a dangerous amusement. "Men don't fear wood. They fear the hands that grow it."
Runa turned slowly, dark eyes cool and assessing, lips curving with that faint, superior smile that meant she was already three thoughts ahead.
"And how, pray tell," she said silkily, "do we move mountains of timber without anyone noticing the mountain?"
Ivar let out a short, humorless laugh.
"Because Braavos is built on not noticing. This city was born from people who survived by lying convincingly."
He tapped the deck once with his cane if punctuating a threat.
"You don't sell forests. You sell planks. Logs. Cargo that's already changed hands twice. By the time it reaches a shipyard, no one remembers where it came from and no one wants to."
Runa folded her arms, cloak settling around her like a second skin.
"Convenient," she said. "And filthy. Braavos would approve."
Ivar's grin flashed, sharp and pleased.
"They would indeed."
Erik listened, silent, eyes distant.
"I can also make more trees to grow faster" Erik murmured
Runa glanced at Erik sideways. "You're talking about shaping forests like crops."
"I am," Erik said calmly. "Selective growth. Spacing. Stress-loading to harden the grain. I can do in years what takes decades."
Ivar chuckled softly. "Gods help the shipwright who thinks he understands where his best wood comes from."
Runa tilted her head toward him.
"You can make trees grow straighter, denser," she said. "Stronger grain. Less waste. Shipwrights will notice."
"They'll notice quality," Ivar cut in, voice darkening. "And that's where the danger begins."
He leaned forward slightly, intensity sharpening.
"When men realize something is better, they want to own it. Control it or break it if they can't control it."
Runa's smile thinned.
"So we never give them enough"
Ivar nodded once, approving.
"Scarcity makes people respectful. Fear keeps them honest."
Erik finally spoke.
"I can grow a forest to feed their arsenal shipyard for generations."
Ivar turned on him sharply.
"And that," he said, eyes blazing, "is exactly why you don't."
Runa stepped closer, voice quiet, cutting.
"You feed them just enough so they survive but never fill their demand completely. Different marks. Different stories. Different brokers. Let them argue among themselves about where it comes from."
She shrugged lightly.
"Nothing distracts merchants like the chance to outsmart each other."
Ivar laughed, harsh and delighted.
"Gods, I like you when you're cruel."
Runa shot him a look.
"Don't get sentimental."
Erik considered both of them, then nodded.
"We never sell directly. We never replace their other sources completely. And if they start asking questions…"
Ivar's grin returned, feral and satisfied.
"…we disappear."
Runa's eyes flicked toward the lantern-lit canals, thoughtful, dangerous.
"Or we let them think Lorath or Valyria did it."
Ivar barked a laugh.
"Oh, that's beautiful."
Erik allowed himself a small, knowing smile.
"Braavos doesn't need to know where the forest stands," he said calmly. "Only that it answers when they knock."
Ivar straightened, gripping his cane like a king reclaiming his throne.
"And when it stops answering," he murmured, "they'll be too busy blaming each other to come looking for us."
Runa's smile returned,slow, sharp, and satisfied.
Runa's gaze drifted across the canal, watching lanternlight shiver on black water. When she spoke, her voice was smooth, deliberate—every word chosen like a spell component.
"There's a simpler way," she said. "And far less theatrical than pretending forests wander the world on their own."
Ivar snorted softly. "I do enjoy a bit of theater."
"I know," Runa replied dryly, not looking at him. "That's why this has to be boring to keep people like you from taking notice."
She turned to Erik then, eyes sharp, intent.
"Find a local merchant," she continued. "Not a great one. Not a powerful one but someone established enough to have licenses, docks, warehouses, connections… and desperate enough to be leveraged."
Ivar's brows rose with interest.
"A middleman," he said slowly, tasting the idea. "One with clean papers and desperate needs."
Runa inclined her head.
"Exactly. Someone already tangled in Braavosi red tape. Someone who understands the city because he's a part of it. We let him do the selling. The customs. The explanations and we never tell him where we are from either so he never spills our secrets"
"And we remain shadows," Ivar added, grin widening. "I like shadows."
Erik considered it, eyes distant, mind already reaching outward, weighing possibilities.
"I could find one," he said. "Someone overextended. In debt. Or hiding something. Or dying of sickness or old age"
Runa's smile was faint but sharp.
"Of course you could. You don't even need to look hard. Men like that are everywhere here."
Ivar leaned forward, excitement flickering in his eyes.
"And if he tries to cheat us?" he asked pleasantly.
Runa shrugged.
"Then he discovers loyalty is cheaper than betrayal."
Ivar laughed, delighted.
"Gods, you really are terrible. I approve."
Erik nodded once, decision settling.
"A local merchant gives us insulation," he said. "Contacts. Warehouses. Plausible origins. And no questions we don't want answered."
"And no red tape for us," Ivar added. "Just coin flowing one way, timber flowing the other."
Ivar tapped his cane against the deck, satisfied.
"Then I'll find one," Erik said. "A man who already belongs to the city… and will soon belong to us."
-----
The next morning, Kate the female blacksmith arrived.
She came at dawn, when the mist still clung to the water and the docks were quieter. She stood at the foot of the gangplank for a long moment, looking up at the black hull and the green sails furled above like folded wings.
She was not alone.
A thin, stooped man leaned heavily on a staff beside her, his beard white as forge ash. He winced with every step, one hand pressed to his lower back, shoulders hunched as if the years had never stopped striking him. When a dock bell rang nearby, he flinched and squinted, clearly missing half the sound.
Beside Kate, clutching her skirts, was a small girl, no more than five. Dark-haired, solemn-eyed, staring at the ship with open wonder.
Stigr spotted them first.
"Hey!" he stage-whispered loudly. "New people! Small human! And… old human"
Erik came forward, concern already knitting his brow.
"You have decided to come with us," he said gently not accusing, just surprised.
Kate straightened. "I intended to but I can't come alone. These two depend on me"
She rested a hand on the old man's shoulder.
"This is my father. He forged iron longer than I've been alive. Now his back's twisted, his hearing's half gone, and the pain never really leaves." Her jaw set. "I won't leave him."
The little girl peeked out from behind her mother's leg.
"And this," Kate added more softly, "is my daughter."
Erik crouched slightly, lowering himself to the child's level.
"What's your name?" he asked.
She hesitated, then whispered, "Ellyn."
"That's a good name," Erik said with a small smile. "Do you like ships, Ellyn?"
Her eyes flicked to the towering hull. "…It's big."
"That's the idea."
Behind them, Ivar raised an eyebrow. "You're expanding the crew already?"
Kate shot him a look. "She doesn't work."
"She might," Stigr said helpfully. "I started doing important things at six."
"No, you didn't," Runa said flatly.
Erik rose again, turning back to Kate.
"And Ellyn's father?" he asked, not unkindly.
Kate looked away, out toward the canal where the water moved endlessly onward.
"He was a sailor," she said. "Sailed away. Never came back."
No bitterness. Just a fact long settled.
Erik nodded once.
"Then all of you are welcome," he said simply.
Kate blinked. "You didn't even…"
"I know what I'm agreeing to," Erik replied. "A skilled smith. An elder with knowledge and pain I can ease. And a child who deserves to grow somewhere safe."
The old man squinted at Erik, clearly struggling to hear. "What's he sayin'?"
Kate bent close, repeating it louder.
Her father studied Erik for a long moment, then grunted. "Hmph. City's blind if it lets her go."
"That it is," Ivar said dryly.
------
Erik leaned against the rail as dusk settled over Braavos, the city's lights blooming like fallen stars along the canals. To anyone watching, he looked idle another merchant waiting for night.
In truth, his mind was everywhere.
Rats in warehouses. Gulls on rooftops. Cats curled beneath counting tables. Even a tired horse tied behind a merchant hall. Through them, he listened, watched, tasted the city's anxieties.
He filtered carefully.
Not the financial giants that were too guarded, too entangled.
Not the small fry that were, too fragile and unresourceful.
He searched for the merchants that were in the middle. He further looked for men with something left to lose.
He found several.
A spice trader bleeding coin to bribes.
A ship-owner one storm away from ruin.
A silk factor hiding losses from his partners.
Useful. All of them.
But one presence burned brighter than the rest.
Erik's awareness slid into a narrow manse near the Purple Harbor, following the soft padding of a cat along tiled floors. Inside, voices were low. Exhausted.
A boy lay on a cushioned couch near a brazier, skin pale, breath shallow and uneven. His chest rose with effort, as though the air itself resisted him. His eyes were open but unfocused, swimming in fever-dreams.
At his side knelt a man in his late forties, robes once fine now worn thin at the cuffs. His hands trembled as he held the boy's wrist, counting a pulse that refused to steady.
The merchant.
Erik tasted his thoughts like salt on the wind that were full of fear and guilt.
Once, the man had been powerful. His trading house had moved grain, timber, and copper between Braavos and the Shivering Sea. Then his son had fallen ill slowly, inexplicably. No rot. No wound. No curse any priest could name.
The merchant had done what wealthy men always did when confronted with helplessness.
He threw money at it.
Foreign physicians brought in at obscene cost.
Alchemists. Herbalists. Water-dancers who claimed healing forms.
Even a red priest once, muttering prayers over the boy's burning skin.
All failed.
Coin drained away. Ships mortgaged. Contracts sold. Loans taken. Relatives, Friends and partners slowly abandoned him.
Now the man stood on the edge of collapse of both fortune and sanity. His own health had deteriorated as he clearly showed symptoms of a possible heart condition.
Erik withdrew, breath steady, expression unchanged.
Behind him, footsteps approached.
Runa stopped at his side, eyes flicking once to his face. She didn't ask how she knew—she just did.
"You found someone," she said.
"Yes," Erik replied quietly. "one that can be leveraged in so many ways"
Ivar limped closer, cane tapping, interest sharp in his gaze.
"Oh, I like that tone," he said. "That's the sound of a man who's found a crack in the wall."
Erik turned to them.
"Mid-level merchant," he said. "Formerly successful. Now drowning in debt. His only son is sick. No cure. No diagnosis. He's spent nearly everything trying to save him. The merchant is sick too"
"Grief makes men pliable," she said. "Especially fathers."
Ivar smiled slowly, that dangerous, thoughtful smile of his.
"Pliable," he echoed. "Or explosive."
"He's past explosive," Erik replied. "He's tired. He's afraid. And he's running out of time."
Runa studied Erik carefully.
"And you can cure the boy."
It wasn't a question.
"Yes."
Ivar let out a low, delighted laugh.
"Oh, that's beautiful," he said. "Tragic. Horrible. Beautiful."
Runa's eyes narrowed slightly.
"We don't threaten him," she said. "We don't even ask at first."
No," Erik agreed calmly. "We offer help but not freely. We ease his debts, stabilize his position… and I cure the boy only partially. Enough that he improves. Enough that hope returns."
His gaze hardened just slightly.
"The rest of the cure comes in stages. Medicine only I can provide. As long as he remains loyal. As long as he does exactly what we need.
"And that," she said, "is when the leash slips on and he thanks us for it."
Ivar tapped his cane once against the deck, satisfied.
"A local man," he said. "Established. Desperate. Grateful. With contacts and paperwork and no desire to ask questions. Good find"
Erik's voice cut in, low and steady, carrying an edge beneath the calm.
"And I'll make sure," he said softly, "that when the boy smiles again… his father never forgets who made that possible."
Not so far away, behind shuttered windows and perfumed halls, a sick child coughed weakly into the night.
The sound was thin, fragile, the kind that scraped at a father's soul.
The man knelt beside the bed, hands clasped so tightly his knuckles burned. Sweat soaked his fine silks. His back screamed in protest as he bowed his head, but he welcomed the pain—it reminded him he was still alive, still able to beg.
He prayed to every god he could remember.
He did not care anymore.
Coin was gone. Pride was gone. His health followed, unraveling thread by thread under sleepless nights and gnawing fear. He would have traded his company, his name, his future, his very soul if it meant his son would breathe freely again.
The prayer was heard. It would soon be answered. And it would indeed cost him, all he had and then some.