I have noticed the King’s Justice lurking about, however. “Sorry to disappoint you, but I’ve seen no dragons. I’d asked him why so many of our spells seemed, well, not as effectual as the scrolls would have us believe, and he said it was because magic had begun to go out of the world the day the last dragon died.” “Oh, pardon, I was just remembering something old Wisdom Pollitor told me once, when I was an acolyte.
“Not unless you found one under the Dragonpit. “You don’t suppose there are any dragons about, do you?”
“They, hmmm, seem to be working better than they were.” Hallyne smiled weakly. “Yes, you have secret spells how splendid. Ser Jacelyn Bywater was likely here by now, and Ironhand misliked waiting. It is only, hmmm, we have made so much of the substance that we have become, hmmm, more practiced as it were, and also”-the alchemist shifted uncomfortably-“certain spells, hmmm, ancient secrets of our order, very delicate, very troublesome, but necessary if the substance is to be, hmmm, all it should be…” “We were, my lord Hand, my brothers and I have been laboring day and night from the first, I assure you. Hallyne had the complexion of a mushroom, so it was hard to see how he could turn any paler, yet somehow he managed. “Though it does raise the question of why you did not begin working hard until now.” “That would doubtless explain why you are making so much more of the substance than before.” Smiling, Tyrion fixed the pyromancer with his mismatched stare. “We have been working very hard, my lord Hand, hmmm.”
“Yes, yes, that’s so.” Hallyne mopped at his pale brow with the sleeve of his black-and-scarlet robe. You are several thousand jars ahead of the best estimate you gave me when last we met.” “Three hundred jars, you say? That still does not account for these totals. He supposed it was as good a place as any to store wildfire, and better than most, but it would have been nice if the late Lord Rossart had told someone. “I haven’t seen any dragons rising over the city, so it would seem it didn’t work this time either.” The Dragonpit atop the hill of Rhaenys had been abandoned for a century and a half. “There was a prince who tried that once,” said Tyrion dryly. He was so drunk he broke the seal and drank some.” When he felt the jars, he mistook them for wine. Under the Dragonpit! Some whores have been using the ruins to entertain their patrons, and one of them fell through a patch of rotted floor into a cellar. Another cache of Lord Rossart’s was found, more than three hundred jars. We have been, hmmm, most fortunate, my lord Hand. “No, no,” Hallyne squeaked, “the sums are accurate, I swear. “Almost thirteen thousand jars? Do you take me for a fool? I’m not about to pay the king’s gold for empty jars and pots of sewage sealed with wax, I warn you.” “This cannot be true,” said Tyrion as he pored over the ledgers. Only then did he admit Hallyne with the latest tallies from the alchemists.
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