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Chapter 170: The Mott Scam and the Tyroshi Bonds
🕑 Added 2025-02-24 12:27:19 +0000 UTCAfter learning that the person causing him trouble was Littlefinger, Tobho Mott remained silent, his expression turning somewhat strange. He neither asked Lynd to intercede with the Hand of the King on his behalf nor requested his help in dealing with Littlefinger. It seemed as though he believed the fault lay with him—and that it was a serious matter.
Lynd looked at the smith in front of him and spoke in a deep voice. “I don’t like getting involved in other people’s troubles, and I especially don’t like bringing them into my territory. You’re going to Summerhall with me, and I want you to be clean when you go. Now tell me—why did Ser Petyr Baelish have to use the Hand of the King's residence to get to you?”
Tobho Mott’s face darkened slightly, as if he were reluctant to speak. He cast a furtive glance at Varys, hoping for assistance.
Varys frowned and said sternly, “Don’t look at me. You’d best be honest, or you’ll offend not only Ser Petyr Baelish but also the powerful people within the Hand of the King's circle.”
Seeing no other option, Tobho Mott finally recounted how he had offended Littlefinger. After hearing his account, Lynd reevaluated him. This man might not be as competent as I thought. A blacksmith capable of such misjudgment? Perhaps when they returned to Summerhall, he shouldn't be placed as head craftsman but reassigned elsewhere.
The reason for his conflict with Littlefinger was simple—he had swindled him. Not once, but three times. Altogether, he had cheated Littlefinger out of nearly 2,000 golden dragons. What was even more remarkable was that his scheme closely resembled a classic Ponzi scheme.
Though Tobho Mott had kept the creation of his own armor and greatsword a secret, many were aware of his skill—Littlefinger among them. Seeing the smith's potential, Littlefinger had sought to invest in his forge, intending to take control of it and make Tobho Mott his exclusive smith.
Unaware of Littlefinger’s true intentions, Tobho Mott devised his own way of profiting without risk—an Ice and Fire version of a Ponzi scheme.
He claimed he had connections that allowed him to purchase Valyrian steel scraps from Qohor. Though merely fragments, in large quantities they could be melted down and reforged into daggers, jewelry, or other valuable items. However, he needed a significant amount of money upfront, promising extremely high returns in the later stages.
Given his reputation for crafting weapons and armor for Lynd, no one doubted his claims—Littlefinger included. He invested a sum and soon received a return. Encouraged, he invested twice more, receiving payouts each time. But when he awaited his third return, he was told that the ship carrying the goods had been attacked by pirates, and all his investment had been lost.
At first, Littlefinger believed the story, assuming the loss was due to piracy. He even sent men to investigate, hoping to ransom back the stolen goods. But when his agents returned with their findings, the truth became clear—there was no such ship. In fact, the previous two shipments had never existed either. Only then did he realize he had been conned.
That was why he used the Hand of the King's connections to exact revenge. Since he never personally intervened and everything was done under the Hand of the King's authority, if anything happened to Tobho Mott, the consequences would not fall on him, but on the Hand.
From the way things stood now, it seemed Littlefinger was after more than just recovering his lost money—he had other motives as well.
To be honest, because of various pieces of information from his past life, Lynd had always regarded Littlefinger as a supremely intelligent figure—one of the few people in this world he truly feared. He had even considered that if Littlefinger ever dared to plot against him, he would not hesitate to strike first, completely suppressing him and eliminating any chance for him to play his tricks.
But after hearing Tobho Mott’s account, he suddenly questioned whether he had been too cautious about Littlefinger.
Even so, he did not allow this incident to lower his guard. As the saying goes, even the best horse stumbles. No matter how clever Littlefinger was, he wasn’t infallible. Being deceived once or twice did not mean he was any less dangerous.
“This method makes money easily—you don’t have to do anything, and a fortune just comes to you. You must have cheated more than just Petyr Baelish, right?” Lynd fixed the smith with a serious gaze, his voice sharp with accusation.
Tobho Mott was silent for a moment before nodding. Then, one by one, he named a dozen individuals—every single one of them powerful and wealthy figures in King’s Landing.
Hearing this long list of victims, Lynd couldn’t help but sit down in his chair, rubbing a hand over his forehead. He turned to Varys and said, “You knew about this all along, didn’t you?”
Varys nodded. “Yes, my lord, I knew about it. But I only learned after the fact. By then, it was too late—I couldn’t save him.”
Lynd’s voice lowered. “And your little birds? They didn’t catch wind of this either?”
Varys shrugged helplessly. “My little birds only watch things that interest me, and making money happens to be one of the things that interest me the least—just like women.”
Lynd turned his gaze to Tobho Mott, who had lowered his head completely, as if waiting for judgment. What Lynd wanted most in that moment was to simply walk away, wash his hands of the matter, and let the smith be torn apart by his creditors.
But that wouldn’t solve the problem. The smith had carried out this scheme in his name. Even if he disowned Tobho Mott now, people would still hold him accountable. Not to mention, he had just admitted to the Gold Cloaks that the smith was his head craftsman.
His expression turned cold as he eyed Varys. “Are you plotting against me?”
Varys shook his head. “Of course not. Even if I weren’t here, if Tobho Mott were in trouble, wouldn’t you still come to his rescue?”
Despite the certainty in Varys’ voice, Lynd didn’t believe a word of it.
He was convinced that Varys had orchestrated something today—he just didn’t know what.
But Varys was right about one thing. Even if he hadn’t been here, Lynd would have stepped in.
Tobho Mott was one of the few people in Westeros who knew how to forge Valyrian steel. And while Lynd already had the greatsword of the Knights of the Banished, he might need Valyrian steel again in the future, just as he was currently forging the frozen dragon rune necklace for the giants.
Beyond that, Tobho Mott was a master craftsman. The armor of the Banished Knight was proof of his skill with metals beyond just Valyrian steel. He was valuable. And Lynd’s army needed such a master—to design and produce standardized weapons and armor. In his plans for the next year or two, unifying military equipment was a priority.
His voice turned stern. “Where’s the money? Don’t tell me you’ve already spent it.”
Tobho Mott’s face twisted bitterly. He didn’t answer.
Lynd’s eyes darkened. “You really spent it all?” He was stunned. Rising from his chair, he walked up to the smith and lowered his voice. “How much was it? A few thousand golden dragons at least? Even most nobles couldn’t spend that much in a year. How did you manage to burn through all of it?”
Feeling the weight of Lynd’s presence, Tobho Mott shrank back and muttered, “My lord, I… I spent it all on Tyrosh bonds.”
“Tyrosh bonds?” The term struck a chord in Lynd’s memory. Something eerily familiar. A financial scheme from a past life. He was surprised to find such a concept existing in a medieval world like this one.
“This is basically national gambling,” Varys explained, assuming Lynd wasn’t familiar with the concept. “Over a hundred years ago, Archon Quello of Tyrosh came up with this system. Every five years, the Archon issues bonds—borrowing money from investors to fund the city’s development. If all goes well, the bonds are repaid with interest. But if war breaks out, things change. If Tyrosh wins, they honor the debt. If they lose, they simply refuse to pay, and the bonds become worthless—just scraps of paper.”
Lynd frowned. “And the people who lose their money? They don’t object?”
Varys shook his head. “The risks are made clear when the bonds are purchased. If you lose, that’s just bad luck.”
Lynd’s expression turned sharp. “What if Tyrosh—unwilling to repay the bonds—deliberately starts a minor war with a neighboring Free City as the bonds are about to mature, then deliberately loses, using it as an excuse to void the debt? Or what if they secretly make a deal with another Free City’s rulers, staging a war just to invalidate the bonds?”
Varys froze, surprise flickering in his eyes. “It’s remarkable that you thought of that just from my brief explanation.” He then glanced at Tobho Mott, who was still staring at the ground. “That’s why it’s a gamble. Bondholders can only pray that the Archon of Tyrosh has a conscience and doesn’t pull such tricks.”
Lynd exhaled deeply, sinking back into his chair. He tapped his fingers against the armrest, lost in thought.
Tobho Mott sensed this was the moment that would decide his fate. He knew that Lynd was the only one who could save him now. If Lynd abandoned him, he would be doomed—buried without a trace.
After a long silence, Lynd finally spoke. “Bring out all the Tyrosh bonds you bought.”
Tobho Mott hesitated for a moment. Then, realizing Lynd had likely decided to save him, he sighed in relief. Without delay, he ran upstairs, retrieving a box filled with bonds, and returned to Lynd.
“Open it,” Lynd ordered.
The smith quickly obeyed.
Inside, the box was packed with rectangular slips of parchment, each roughly palm-sized. Lynd picked one up and examined it. It wasn’t paper, but a fine animal hide, its patterns intricate and detailed—comparable to the most refined currency he had seen in his previous life. Not printed, but embroidered.
“The face value of this bond, converted to the Seven Kingdoms’ currency, should be around two golden dragons,” Varys estimated. “There are about 3,000 in this box.” He paused. “In other words, you spent nearly 6,000 golden dragons on these bonds?”
“It was 6,500,” Tobho Mott corrected. “Five hundred of it was my savings.”
Varys chuckled. “The Archon of Tyrosh must be delighted to have found a buyer like you. In the past few decades, very few people have spent that much on Tyrosh bonds. Take this box to Tyrosh, and you’ll either be treated as a very important guest… or end up dead in an alley, with these bonds vanishing into thin air.”
Tobho Mott grimaced, unable to find a response. Even he didn’t know what had compelled him to buy so many—until it was too late to stop.
Lynd’s voice was low. “If Tyrosh were to redeem these bonds at maturity, with principal and interest, how much would they owe?”
“Sixty-five thousand golden dragons,” Varys answered.
Lynd blinked. “Ten times the amount?” His voice dropped further. “That doesn’t seem right. Who would even buy these bonds?”
Varys smirked, gesturing at Tobho Mott. “You see, there are buyers. That’s why I call it a gamble. And, actually, Tyrosh has redeemed bonds at ten times their price before. The past three issuances were all repaid in full, so many people bought them this time—including some of my friends.” He paused before adding, “But my friend recently discovered something suspicious—Tyrosh is concealing the number of bonds they’ve sold. Based on estimates, the total amount held by known buyers already exceeds three million golden dragons. And that doesn’t include individuals like Tobho Mott. The actual total could exceed five million.”
Lynd chuckled dryly. “So if they were to honor these bonds, they’d have to pay fifty million golden dragons.” His smirk faded. “Could they even sell Tyrosh for that much?”
Varys tilted his head in mock thought. “Perhaps. But voiding the bonds would be much easier. After all, it wouldn’t be the first time.”
Lynd fell silent, deep in thought. The smith, sensing uncertainty, grew anxious again—afraid that Lynd might still change his mind.
