* * * *
Two of the men-at-arms fled back into the rain as a pool of blood spread out from Black Tom’s body. The others clutched their spears and hesitated, casting wary glances toward Dunk as they waited for their lord to speak.
“This ... this was ill done,” Butterwell finally managed. He turned to Dunk and Egg. “We must be gone from Whitewalls before those two bring word of this to Gormon Peake. He has more friends amongst the guests than I do. The postern gate in the north wall, we’ll slip out there ... come, we must make haste.”
Dunk slammed his sword into its scabbard. “Egg, go with Lord Butterwell.” He put an arm around the boy and lowered his voice. “Don’t stay with him any longer than you need to. Give Rain his head and get away before His Lordship changes sides again. Make for Maidenpool, it’s closer than King’s Landing.”
“What about you, ser?”
“Never mind about me.”
“I’m your squire.”
“Aye,” said Dunk, “and you’ll do as I tell you, or you’ll get a good clout in the ear.”