A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"Still it does," Oliver agreed. He noted the way Greeves was looking nervously around, as if waiting for someone to walk through the door. Or else trying to check himself against it. "You need something else."

Greeves nodded. "While it's quiet, I thought it best to speak to you on… other matters that require your attention."

The way he drew his tongue across his lips to wet them as he said that was vaguely disconcerting. There was something disconcerting about his behaviour in general. If he'd been inside a local shop, behaving as thus, he would have invited the shopkeeps immediate suspicion.

Oliver sighed. "Fine. I suppose we can use one of the smaller rooms, if you must."

"It ain't just for me I'm asking for," Greeves said, but he didn't protest as Oliver led them away. They nodded to a maid as they passed, and Greeves made a point to tell that girl that they were not to be disturbed for a time. The girl nodded, not meeting his eye. All the servants seemed to have an instinctive natural fear of the creature that was Greeves.

The merchant closed the door firmly enough that it almost slammed, and he fumbled with the latch with shaky, almost excited hands. By the time he turned around, Oliver could see that he was sweating already. He frowned his disgust, and gestured towards the opposite seat.

"You certainly know how to make a man repulsed by you," Oliver commented dryly.

In response, Greeves only gave a thin merchant's smile, the sort of smile that declared that he wanted something, but that he was willing to wait behind a mask until the right opportunity to ask came about.

Even as he sat down and steadied himself, the merchant didn't seem to be in a rush to speak. He licked his lips, once, then twice, and by the third time he hurried to do so, Oliver's impatience was at a boiling point.

"Greeves," Oliver said. "You asked me here, don't make me wait in suspenseful silence before you finally get it out."

"I don't know your house," Greeves said, looking around, staring at the door in particular. "I should have brought Judas to see the door guarded... I must be growing simple, if I don't plan that far ahead. Those serving girls of yours… how far do you reckon that they can be trusted?"

"Far enough, they've served me well," Oliver said. Though they were serving girls, they weren't of the Serving Class. They were all locals of the village.

"That's the wrong answer," Greeves said. "In matters like this, you don't trust no one. Not even your closest. Only those that have put blood on the line in order to prove their loyalty to you. Someone with secrets that can you throw out if they dare to cross a line."

Greeves had a particularly feverish, frantic tone to him then. His sweat showed no signs of slowing down. All the efforts that he'd wasted on his earlier bath were quickly being demolished.

"I've retainers that have sworn their names to me," Oliver said. "I don't need secrets to blackmail them with."

"Even if you had them, you wouldn't use them, eh?" Greeves said. "Yes, aye, that is what you'd say, wouldn't it? Because you haven't had to dirty your hands, aye? Well – we've entered a battle, boy. You'll have to dirty your hands, or you'll be crushed. I deal with such matters myself, ordinarily, but I know what you're like.

You'll find out if I've done something without your permission, and you'll accuse me of something. You don't properly trust me."

"How can I trust you, when you trust no one else?" Oliver said. "I trust you to a degree. You have served me well. But I know what you wrestle with. I know that as much as we might try to avoid it, it is our strengths, not our weaknesses, that we find it most difficult to run away from. For you, your strength lies in the shadow, and you'll always find your way back there.

For me, my strength is… just the sword, and I make trouble for myself with it, knowing that I should be leading, and finding a blade in my hand in need of use instead."

Greeves tittered. A nervous laugh. He was not in the mood for such conversations, Oliver could see. He hardly seemed to have blinked since he'd sat down. If he was a dog, his hackles would have been raised, though he kept those teeth of his well hidden, as if trying to show that he was no concern to some overwhelming predator.

"Speak, then, what has come up?" Oliver asked.

"We had that business before, with the kidnappings, aye?" Greeves said. "I saw that dealt with, I did. I bloodied my hands there, and you had no complaints."

"You only went as far as was necessary, I trust," Oliver said, but no immediate agreement seemed to be forthcoming from Greeves. The man did not meet his eye. "Greeves," Oliver said, more firmly now.

"You know we didn't get rid of em' just like that," Greeves said. "You said to stop it, didn't you? Aye, you did, I remember you saying. Your concern was the innocent, wasn't it? I tell you, these were no innocent men, no indeed. Judas soon cooked the secrets out of them.

You've got to make a man of that sort talk. He won't do it himself."

"You're still forcing that sort of work on Judas?" Oliver said. "He's a father now, Greeves, he ought not be going home with blood and maliciousness on his hands."

Greeves snorted. "Don't let him fool you. Judas is loyal, and his simpleness might make you think he's a good man, at heart, but he's worse than me. He can do that sort of work, and he can go home, and live with himself, without the bottle."

"…Are you telling me that the sweat I see on you is from the liquor?" Oliver asked.