Varys
He briefly noticed how the shadow crept past his feet and crawled up the eastern wall, how it was growing darker and darker beyond the window barred with thick iron grates. His mind, calm and unhurried, searched for an answer to a simple question: should he appear in court tomorrow?
If he did, it was quite possible that he could clear his name. The evidence against him was purely circumstantial. He was accused more of negligence than of an actual crime. And Oberyn would not sink him—so Varys reasoned, calmly and logically.
The real question was whether the Lannisters and the Tyrells would want a fair trial. Would they truly seek the truth, or would they simply seize a convenient excuse to cut off his head?
Varys knew he had no friends in the Red Keep. Many would only rejoice at the fall of the hated Spider. But the opinions of others mattered little to him. So—should he stay, or should he try to disappear?
He reviewed the situation once more and came to some disappointing conclusions: he had relaxed and lost control in this game. The presence of Lord Tywin, combined with the ill-considered persistence of Prince Oberyn—who was ready to resort to blackmail at any moment—had not had the best effect on recent events. Worst of all, he was being steadily pushed out of the role of a player and reduced to a mere pawn. And pawns did not live long!
Now he understood clearly that he needed to step away and hide for a while. That would allow him to stand his ground, give him time to catch his breath, think everything through carefully, and then return to the Game with a single, heavy blow.
Besides, Prince Oberyn and his House were not the sort to abandon a matter halfway. The attempt on the king's life had failed, but if Varys survived tomorrow, the Red Viper would come to him again—wearing that sharp smile, lacing his words with veiled threats and hints of blackmail.
It seems that, under the circumstances, it would be wiser to leave the Red Keep. Or at least to make it appear that way.
Time was running out, and at last he made his decision.
Over the many years he had served the realm as Master of Whisperers, Varys had accomplished a great deal within the Red Keep. Among other things, he had ensured that it was possible to escape from almost any cell. The whole trick was that every place required its own individual escape plan—some through secret passages, some through windows, and some through doors.
This cell belonged to the last category.
Waiting until deep night, when sleep lay heaviest upon men and the cell was drowned in darkness, Varys approached the door and listened. All was quiet; only faint, distant snoring reached his ears.
The Spider bent down and felt for the second rivet from the right, set low at the base of the door. He pressed it firmly while shifting it to the left at the same time. A soft click followed, and a small section of the wooden board slid aside.
Varys slipped a finger into the opening, found the concealed ring, and pulled it downward. The ring, he knew, was attached to a long metal pin, which in turn was linked to the locking mechanism. The lock disengaged almost without a sound.
The Master of Whisperers carefully returned the board to its place and nudged the rivet back—he was always careful with both things and people. There was no reason to reveal his secrets to strangers.
Then Varys slowly loosened one of the bars set into the small window in the door. He had to push it inward while shifting it to the side. The bar came free of its fastening. Varys slid his arm into the opening up to the shoulder, rose onto his toes, and felt around on the other side of the door. Finding the bolt, he lifted it and drew it back.
That was it—the way was open.
He put the bar back in place and slipped out into the corridor.
In complete darkness, guiding himself with one hand along the wall, he moved past several cells. His light steps carried him forward in utter silence, an old and well-practiced habit. Varys stopped near the door to the guardroom—the source of the snoring, now much louder. The Spider gently pressed on the door and slipped through the narrow gap that opened.
His eyes had adjusted to the darkness and could see quite well. Moreover, a thick candle burned on the table inside the guardroom, and its flame, sensing the draft, flared and flickered as if alive.
There were two men inside. The corpulent Ser Boros Blount slept on a pallet in the corner, his head buried beneath the edge of his cloak. Varys recognized him at once—by his armor, and by the massive belly that cast an impressive shadow against the wall.
The second guard, a Gold Cloak, had fallen asleep with his elbows on the table.
The Spider frowned briefly. He did not like the absence of a third guard. Calmly, very quietly, he approached Boros and drew his dagger from its sheath—the weapon might yet prove useful.
Varys had no taste for unnecessary cruelty and no intention of killing anyone. If the unfortunate guards slept through this, they would live. At least until the escape was discovered and the negligent men were punished by the Hand or the king. His hands would remain clean.
The eunuch slid the dagger into his belt and crossed the guardroom. Once more, he paused at the door and listened.
Damn it—yes, someone was coming.
Judging by the sound of approaching footsteps, it was the third guard.
(End of Chapter)
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