"Who?” "Jate Blackberry. He knows me well enough.” "I never heard of him. Most like he’s dead.” "Lord Chyttering, then.”

"That one I know. He burned on the Blackwater.” "Hookface Will? Hal the Hog?” "Dead and dead,” the crossbowman said, but his face betrayed a sudden doubt. "You wait there.” He vanished again. Davos waited. Gone, all gone, he thought dully, remembering how fat Hal’s white belly always showed beneath his grease-stained doublet, the long scar the fish hook had left across Will’s face, the way Jate always doffed his cap at the women, be they five or fifty, highborn or low. Drowned or burned, with my sons and a thousand others, gone to make a king in hell. Suddenly the crossbowman was back. "Go round to the sally port and they’ll admit you.”

 Davos did as he was bid. The guards who ushered him inside were strangers to him. They carried spears, and on their breasts they wore the fox-and-flowers sigil of House Florent. They escorted him not to the Stone Drum, as he’d expected, but under the arch of the Dragon’s Tail and down to Aegon’s Garden. "Wait here,” their sergeant told him. "Does His Grace know that I’ve returned?” asked Davos. "Bugger all if I know. Wait, I said.” The man left, taking his . Aegon’s Garden had a pleasant piney smell to it, and tall dark trees rose on every side. There were wild roses as well, and towering thorny hedges, and a boggy spot where cranberries grew. Why have they brought me here? Davos wondered. Then he heard a faint ringing of bells, and a child’s giggle, and suddenly the fool Patchface popped from the bushes, shambling along as fast as he could go with the Princess Shireen hot on his heels. "You come back now,” she was shouting after him. "Patches, you come back.” When the fool saw Davos, he jerked to a sudden halt, the bells on his antlered tin helmet going ting-a-ling, ting-a-ling. Hopping from one foot to the other, he sang, "Fool’s blood, king’s blood, blood on the maiden’s thigh, but chains for the guests and chains for the bridegroom, aye aye aye.” Shireen almost caught him then, but at the last instant he hopped over a patch of bracken and vanished among the trees. The princess was right behind him. The sight of them made Davos smile. He had turned to cough into his gloved hand when another small shape crashed out of the hedge and bowled right into him, knocking him off his feet. The boy went down as well, but he was up again almost at once. "What are you doing here?” he demanded as he brushed himself off. Jet-black hair fell to his collar, and his eyes were a startling blue. "You shouldn’t get in my way when I’m running.” "No,” Davos agreed. "I shouldn’t.” Another fit of coughing seized him as he struggled to his knees. "Are you unwell?” The boy took him by the arm and pulled him to his feet. "Should I summon the maester?” Davos shook his head. "A cough. It will pass.” The boy took him at his word. "We were playing monsters and maidens,”
spearmen with him

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