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Blackwater Bay; old Longwaters was more like to be descended from some minor household knight than from a princess. “As it matters, though, I have more pressing concerns than your lineage.”
    Longwaters inclined his head. “The lost prisoner.”
    â€œAnd the missing gaoler.”
    â€œRugen,” the old man supplied. “An undergaoler. He had charge of the third level, the black cells.”
    â€œTell me of him,” Jaime had to say.
A bloody farce.
He knew who Rugen was, even if Longwaters did not.
    â€œUnkempt, unshaven, coarse of speech. I misliked the man, ’tis true, I do confess it. Rugen was here when I first came, twelve years past. He held his appointment from King Aerys. The man was seldom here, it must be said. I made note of it in my reports, my lord. I most suredly did, I give you my word upon it, the word of a man with royal blood.”
    Mention that royal blood once more and I may spill some of it,
thought Jaime. “Who saw these reports?”
    â€œCertain of them went to the master of coin, others to the master of whisperers. All to the chief gaoler and the King’s Justice. It has always been so in the dungeons.” Longwaters scratched his nose. “Rugen was here when need be, my lord. That must be said. The black cells are little used. Before your lordship’s little brother was sent down, we had Grand Maester Pycelle for a time, and before him Lord Stark the traitor. There were three others, common men, but Lord Stark gave them to the Night’s Watch. I did not think it good to free those three, but the papers were in proper order. I made note of that in a report as well, you may be certain of it.”
    â€œTell me of the two gaolers who went to sleep.”
    â€œGaolers?” Longwaters sniffed. “Those were no gaolers. They were merely
turnkeys.
The crown pays wages for twenty turnkeys, my lord, a full score, but during my time we have never had more than twelve. We are supposed to have six undergaolers as well, two on each level, but there are only the three.”
    â€œYou and two others?”
    Longwaters sniffed again. “I am the
chief
undergaoler, my lord. I am
above
the undergaolers. I am charged with keeping the counts. If my lord would like to look over my books, he will see that all the figures are exact.” Longwaters had consulted the great leather-bound book spread out before him. “At present, we have four prisoners on the first level and one on the second, in addition to your lordship’s brother.” The old man frowned. “Who is fled, to be sure. ’Tis true. I will strike him out.” He took up a quill and began to sharpen it.
    Six prisoners,
Jaime thought sourly,
while we pay wages for twenty turnkeys, six undergaolers, a chief undergaoler, a gaoler, and a King’s Justice.
“I want to question these two turnkeys.”
    Rennifer Longwaters let up sharpening his quill and peered doubtfully up at Jaime. “Question them, my lord?”
    â€œYou heard me.”
    â€œI did, my lord, I suredly did, and yet . . . my lord may question who he pleases, ’tis true, it is not my place to say that he may not. But, ser, if I may be so bold, I do not think them like to answer. They are dead, my lord.”
    â€œ
Dead?
By whose command?”
    â€œYour own, I thought, or . . . the king’s, mayhaps? I did not ask. It . . . it is not my place to question the Kingsguard.”
    That was salt for his wound; Cersei had used his own men to do her bloody work, them and her precious Kettleblacks.
    â€œYou witless fools,” Jaime had snarled at Boros Blount and Osmund Kettleblack later, in a dungeon that stank of blood and death. “What did you imagine you were doing?”
    â€œNo more’n we was told, my lord.” Ser Boros was shorter than Jaime, but heavier. “Her Grace commanded it. Your sister.”
    Ser Osmund hooked a thumb through his swordbelt. “She said they were to sleep forever. So my brothers and me, we saw to it.”
    That you did.
One corpse sprawled facedown upon the table, like a man passed out at a feast, but it was a puddle of blood beneath his head, not a puddle of wine. The second turnkey had managed to push back from the bench and draw his dagger before someone shoved a longsword through his ribs. His had been the longer, messier end.
I told Varys no one was to be harmed in this escape,
Jaime thought,
but I should have told my