The edge of Flea Bottom, on "Silent Sisters Street," was noticeably cleaner and more orderly than the deeper parts of the slum.
The shops looked sowhat presentable, and the air carried the mixed slls of baked bread, stewed vegetables, and animal fat. It was still murky, but at least not choking.
One roast at shop in particular was doing especially good business. The charcoal fire crackled loudly, and the aroma of grilling at drifted halfway down the street.
Luke stood outside for a mont, then stepped in.
The owner was a fat white man wearing a greasy apron, sweating profusely as he flipped at ribs on an iron rack.
Luke didn't waste words. He took out a bamboo jar from his bag, pulled out the stopper, and held it in front of the man.
The fat shopkeeper lifted his eyelids, sizing up this strangely dressed and strangely accented outsider. His thick, sausage-like fingers hesitantly reached out, dipped into the snow-white granules, and brought them to his mouth.
The next second, his eyes widened dramatically!
Pure saltiness, without a trace of bitterness or impurities. It lted delicately on the tongue.
He could hardly believe it. He dipped in again generously, sared it onto a freshly grilled, sizzling rib, and took a huge bite.
"By the Seven…"
The fat shopkeeper let out a satisfied hum, the folds of fat on his face smoothing out. When he looked back at the bamboo jar, his eyes burned with greed.
"This… what kind of salt is this? Where did it co from?"
Luke didn't understand everything, but he clearly read the desire in that gaze.
He raised one finger and said in stiff, accented English: "One gold dragon. No bargain."
"One gold dragon?!"
The shopkeeper nearly jumped as if his foot had been burned by a poker. He shook his head like a rattle drum, waving his greasy hands wildly.
"Impossible! Too expensive! At most… at most fifty silver stags!"
"One gold dragon."
Luke's tone didn't change. He made a move to take the jar back.
"Wait! Wait!"
The fat shopkeeper panicked. He grabbed Luke's wrist, spit flying as he grumbled about high costs and how hard business was.
Luke mostly couldn't understand the words, but with the help of his "translator," he knew exactly what the man was saying.
He stayed silent, waiting for the man to pause for breath, then replied shortly: "Good salt. Worth it."
"Seventy silver stags!"
"One gold dragon, or I leave."
"Impossible! Eighty silver stags, that's my final offer!"
"One gold dragon, or I leave."
...
"One hundred silver stags! That's the number, believe , highest I can go!"
The fat shopkeeper clutched Luke's sleeve desperately, staring with pitiful cow-like eyes, sweat beading on his forehead.
Luke estimated that after nearly fifteen minutes of back-and-forth, one hundred silver stags was probably the man's real limit.
He finally relented: "Fine. One hundred silver stags."
The fat shopkeeper looked as if he had been granted amnesty. He quickly counted out one hundred shiny silver stags and practically snatched the two-hundred-gram jar of refined salt.
He held the bamboo jar like a holy relic, muttering nonstop: "What a loss… but this taste… it's worth it!"
First battle successful. Luke felt much more confident.
He repeated the process and took out a jar of white sugar.
This ti, after tasting the unprecedented sweetness that shot straight to the top of his skull, the fat man's expression was priceless — like he had seen a ghost.
A new, even fiercer round of bargaining began.
Luke stubbornly held firm at one gold dragon no matter how the man jumped, gestured, or wailed.
In the end, perhaps the shock from the refined salt and the business opportunity behind it made the shopkeeper desperate. Trembling, he dug out a precious gold dragon coin from the depths of his money box and traded it for the jar of sugar.
He looked like he had just had a piece of his own flesh cut off.
With this successful start, Luke grew bolder.
He specifically targeted the better-looking, busier shops on Silent Sisters Street: four more roast at shops, six bakeries, one tailor shop, and even a stall selling rare fruits…
The process was similar: show the goods, let them taste, watch the shock, bargain hard, close the deal.
His spoken English was still clumsy and his vocabulary limited, but with his confident deanor, flawless products, and occasional use of the translator to gauge the other party's bottom line, he managed to hit the exact "critical point" price. Most deals went smoothly.
Salt sold relatively easily, priced between one hundred and one hundred twenty silver stags.
After all, it was a necessity, and the quality was excellent. Shopkeepers were willing to stock up or use it to upgrade their own food.
White sugar was treated more like a "rare treasure." It caused greater amazent, but also scared off so people.
Final prices varied widely — from one hundred fifty silver stags to nearly two hundred fifty — depending on how wealthy the shopkeeper was and how willing they were to try sothing new.
He even successfully sold a small pack of rock sugar and received a large handful of mixed coins in return: silver moons, silver stags, copper stars, copper pennies of various conditions, and even so foreign coins from across the Narrow Sea in Essos with strange symbols.
This was exactly what he wanted — he needed to understand the currency system here and also prepare so small change for future transactions.
A morning of hard work that looked like simple street peddling was actually a hidden battle of information and psychology.
When Luke slipped into a quiet alley to catch his breath with a much heavier money pouch, he roughly calculated: ten jars of salt, ten jars of sugar, and one small pack of rock sugar sold.
Total inco: close to thirty gold dragons!
Most of it had already been stored in his personal space.
To the common people of King's Landing, this was already a considerable fortune.
More importantly, he now understood how much the shops on this level of Silent Sisters Street could bleed, and how thirsty they were for rare goods.
And he hadn't attracted too much suspicion.
A foreigner with a strange accent carrying top-quality goods, eager to exchange them for quick cash by going shop to shop.
In a bustling port city full of rchants and travelers, it wasn't too unusual.
At lunchti, he cautiously avoided all local food. He found a corner, took out sealed bread and pure water from Blue Star from his storage space, and finished it in a few bites.
The hygiene conditions here were still a hurdle he couldn't cross for now.
After a short rest, his gaze turned toward the much more prosperous area on the distant hill.
His afternoon target: Silk Street — where purchasing power was stronger and the appetite for "luxury goods" was much bigger.
He straightened his light gray ranger outfit, adjusted the remaining "special goods" in his bag, and strode out of Silent Sisters Street.
User Comments
0 comments from readers