“Piss on wildfire and your cock burns off,” old seamen¹ liked to say. Still, Ser Imry had warned them to expect a taste of the alchemists’ vile² substance. Fortunately, there were few true pyromancers left. They will soon run out, Ser Imry had assured them.  Davos reeled off commands; one bank of oars³ pushed off while the other backed water, and the galley⁴ came about. Lady Marya had won clear too, and a good thing; the fire was spreading over Queen Alysanne and her foes⁵ faster than he would have believed possible. Men wreathed in green flame leapt into the water, shrieking⁶ like nothing human. on the walls of King’s Landing, spitfires were belching⁷ death, and the great trebuchets behind the Mud Gate were throwing boulders⁹. One the size of an ox crashed down between Black Betha and Wraith¹⁰, rocking both ships and soaking every man on deck. Another, not much smaller, found Bold Laughter. The Velaryon galley exploded like a child’s toy dropped from a tower, spraying splinters as long as a man’s arm.  Through black smoke and swirling¹¹ green fire, Davos glimpsed a swarm¹² of small boats bearing downriver: a confusion of ferries and wherries, barges¹⁴, skiffs, rowboats, and hulks that looked too rotten to float. It

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