Chapter 37: with translation of chapter title

They landed successfully at Seagull Town. When the duke confirmed that the last ship, tattered sailcloth aloft, had docked, he ascertained that they had lost fifty ships in total, one more than the red‑robed monk had predicted. The duke deemed this discrepancy acceptable.

It was fortunate that the losses were kept to this extent; the duke recalled the scene after the sacrifice, the violent black clouds contracting at a speed visible to the naked eye, then swiftly drifting away, and once he had disposed of Qie Luo's corpse, the black clouds were no longer in sight, as if they had never been.

While handling the corpse, the red‑robed monk wore a strange smile, his eyes red and flickering; the duke recalled that at the time he had very much wanted to push him into the sea as well.

According to the itinerary, the duke was to meet many people in Seagull Town, but for him only two were truly important: one was the manager of the Iron Bank, who represented the bank in signing the loan contract with the duke and recommended the Faceless Men organization to his subordinates awaiting him in Braavos; all details had been settled, the procedure only lacked the duke's and the Warden of the North's formal signatures; the other was Duke Harrenhal, governor of the Trident, and Warden of the Eyrie and the Vale, Lord Petyr Baelish. To obtain ample and efficient supplies in Seagull Town, his support was indispensable.

He also had other duties, such as calming officers whose emotions had run wild, briefing the allied forces on the facilities and defensive situation around Winterfell, and working out the attack plan—these were all tasks he needed to accomplish.

To accomplish these tasks, the duke rented Griffen's manor in Seagull Town as his residence and that of the army's senior officers. The manor lay on the half‑mountain north of Seagull Town, allowing him to escape the port's clamor while overlooking the entire harbor to watch every incoming and outgoing ship.

The harbor's docking berths were limited, so the duke's numerous ships could only loiter offshore; when a berth became free, each vessel had to enter in turn. The port officials needed only half a day to assign docking order and numbers to the ships adrift at sea. As soon as a captain saw his signal flag hoisted on the harbor tower, he could bring his ship into port, moor at the assigned spot, take aboard the supplies the duke had arranged for him, and set out on the next leg of his voyage. Thinking of the chaos at Saltpeter Town, the duke could only marvel at their efficiency.

In his residence, the first person he saw was the Iron Bank's bank liaison, Griffen Nemitus. He had a head of brown‑tinged gold hair, neatly combed, looked at least forty, clean‑shaven, and bore an elegant and dignified demeanor.

"Honored Duke, I offer my greetings on behalf of the Iron Bank!" he said with a warm smile, bowing deeply upon meeting, quite eager.

"Your Grace, the Iron Bank takes your proposal very seriously; its managers have sent me here expressly to await you. Ah, the weather in the strait has been awful these past days, but seeing you arrive safely has set my heart completely at ease."

"Thank you for your concern," the duke said.

Westeros imports more than it exports from overseas, and most nobles across the realms spend more than they earn, many having taken out loans; the Iron Bank is the most famous creditor among them, to say it controls the Seven Kingdoms is no exaggeration, for the Iron Throne's debt mountain is largely owed to the Iron Bank. The duke knew this situation had always been an exception in the North. The North exports about thirty percent of Westeros's fur, and recently seems to have added a bit of distinctive pottery; as for imports, the Northron's pragmatic attitude leads them to bring in grain and various bulk fruits chiefly, while they scorn luxury and pleasure goods. Hence the North is one of the few places among the Seven Kingdoms that can maintain a slight trade surplus.

Now the duke is using the North's foreign trade as collateral and its total income as guarantee for a loan from the Iron Bank, which may signal that the North will also be brought into the bank's sphere of operations.

"My lord, for your loan we have prepared the following contract; please review it." He took from his small carrying box a clean sheet of parchment on which were clearly recorded the identities of the two parties, the loan amount, the annual repayments, the collateral, and the Iron Bank's rights should other circumstances arise.

The duke noticed that the Iron Bank had already affixed its seal to the parchment: a red wax bearing the bank's insignia—a golden eagle with wings spread as if about to take flight—beneath which were the Braavosi signatures of the three bank managers.

"My lord, once you sign, we will deposit the funds with the Iron Bank and I will issue you a certificate of deposit; you can draw on it at the Iron Bank or any of its branches. At present we have branches in Old Town and King's Landing; you may withdraw up to fifty thousand gold dragons with five days' notice, incurring a fee of fifteen percent of the amount withdrawn; if you withdraw in Braavos, you need only give one day's notice, there is no ceiling, and the fee is one percent of the sum withdrawn." Griffen explained the Iron Bank's services fluently.

He felt proud to work for the Iron Bank. While explaining the business, the duke sensed that he was radiating light, his eyes sparkling.

"I have no need to withdraw funds in Westeros, you understand."

In order to deal easily with those two brats, the duke thought he could spend twice as much money. Even though he commanded an army stronger than the Starks', had covert spies, clever potters, and terrifying nobles as allies, this still would not be enough to guarantee safety.

A blade must be honed finely to be sharp; a major undertaking requires meticulous calculation to be foolproof; going all‑in is not his style.

Ah, winter is coming; if victory can be won with the least sacrifice, that is good for both the Starks and the North. A slave‑born man like the red‑robed monk would think spending five hundred thousand gold dragons is a high cost, but he never grasps that, for the duke, using him is the true high cost. He will merely be a later resort.

"I understand. I have been entrusted to arrange a deal with the Faith on your behalf. I am confident that, with the Iron Bank's backing, the Faith will certainly agree, my lord—rest assured, the Faith is as reliable as we are."

The Faith is a sinister and dreadful organization that ought not exist. In the duke's view, the Targaryens are utter fools. No sensible ruler would let dragon‑bearing descendants huddle in a tiny Westeros, and in their heyday they failed to make good use of their dragons' power to seize the wealthy city just across the narrow sea.

"Do I sign here?" the duke asked.

"My lord, you need to affix the seal of the Duke of Terror Fort, the Warden of the North seal granted by the Iron Throne, and your personal signature at the borrower's section. Moreover, between the two pages there is a sewn‑in gold silk ribbon for valued clients; you must likewise stamp your seal there as an anti‑forgery mark." He said carefully.

"We hope the Warden of the North's seal is the one once used by Eddard Stark." He added.

The duke smiled and assented.

The duke lifted the Terror Fort duke's seal, dipped it in red wax, and pressed it firmly in two places; instantly a red flayed man appeared on the white parchment. Next came the Warden of the North's seal: he took it, dipped it in gold wax, and stamped it in the designated spots, revealing the side profile of a direwolf.

"The Iron Bank has never received a Stark, so I had no idea what the Warden of the North's seal looked like!"

"For three hundred years the Warden of the North's seal has been a direwolf, even in the few instances when a Karstark acted as regent; this is the very seal Eddard Stark used, and also the one his father used." The silver seal, worn smooth by centuries of handling, was now bright and clear, though the wolf stamped on the parchment appeared somewhat indistinct.

"Heh, this seal belongs solely to the Warden of the North, and he is our borrower."

"Anything to say?"

"Our debt will be claimed from whoever holds this seal. Let me add one more thing: even if you were defeated, we would still enforce this contract bearing the Warden of the North's seal against the Starks to recover the debt—of course, my lord, you will not be defeated."

The duke smiled. You've said more than just one sentence.

"Of course, the Iron Bank does not tolerate arrears," the duke said.

"Heh, yes, the Iron Bank does not tolerate arrears. My lord, this is your certificate of deposit."

The certificate clearly records the holder's name and the deposit amount; it bears the Iron Bank's seal and the signatures of the three bank managers. On the back of the parchment, a ribbon for endorsement is carefully glued, bearing the signature of the officer who handled the transaction.

"I will send someone with you to Braavos to hand this certificate of deposit to my subordinate; he will make good use of it."

The duke rose to his feet, and Griffen rose as well. He knew this meeting was about to end.

"My lord, I will arrange the ensuing matters flawlessly so that you may see the Iron Bank's reliability." He said.

"I look forward to it."