Whatever names Harren the Black had meant to give his towers were long forgotten. They were called the Tower of Dread¹, the Widow’s Tower, the Wailing² Tower, the Tower of Ghosts, and Kingspyre Tower. Arya slept in a shallow niche³ in the cavernous vaults⁴ beneath the Wailing Tower, on a bed of straw. She had water to wash in whenever she liked, a chunk⁵ of soap. The work was hard, but no harder than walking miles every day. Weasel did not need to find worms and bugs⁶ to eat, as Arry had; there was bread every day, and barley⁷ stews⁸ with bits of carrot and turnip⁹, and once a fortnight even a bite of meat.  Hot Pie ate even better; he was where he belonged, in the kitchens, a round stone building with a domed¹⁰ roof that was a world unto itself. Arya took her meals at a trestle table in the undercroft with Weese and his other charges, but sometimes she would be chosen to help fetch their food, and she and Hot Pie could steal a moment to talk. He could never remember that she was now Weasel and kept calling her Arry, even though he knew she was a girl. Once he tried to slip her a hot apple tart¹¹, but he made such a clumsy job of it that two of the cooks saw. They took the tart away and beat him with a big wooden spoon.  Gendry had been sent to the forge; Arya seldom saw him. As for those she served with, she did not even want to know their names. That only made it hurt worse when they died. Most of them were older than she was and content to let her alone.  Harrenhal was vast, much of it far gone in decay. Lady Whent had held the castle as bannerman to House Tully, but she’d used only the lower thirds of two of the five towers, and let the rest go to ruin. Now she was fled, and the small household she’d left could not begin to tend the needs of all the

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