"That upcoming mission," he mused to himself, as he glanced out of the window, seeing it icy from the cold winter air. "Why do I feel so tense at its approach, when no matter what I should confront, I am sure I’ll have the strength to deal with it..?"
He cracked his knuckle, acknowledging his own unusual question. His dreams had been fraught with odd imagery as of late. That very night, he’d had three very odd dreams in quick succession. The first of which had featured felled trees with cross sections as loud as houses. He shook his head at the memory of them. Rarely did his dreams ever feature anything on such a grand scale.
"I’m merely nervous about the change, I suppose," Oliver told himself, as he threw on his clothes for the morning. Indeed, there was much change. Over the past month, various cogs had been set in motion, and it would only be within the next week that he’d begin to see the physical forms of all that they’d been plotting.
That day, it would begin with the men that Greeves had recruited – or at least, he hoped it would.
When he came down for breakfast that day, a perfectly timed knock at the door greeted him. He pulled back the bolts, to allow two pretty women inside, each carrying a tray.
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"Good morning, Ser Patrick," they had both said, smiling with a faint blush on their cheeks. More provocative women it would be hard to imagine. Though Greeves had sworn that he’d started to leave the world of prostitution behind, the women that he hired certainly didn’t seem to be strangers in the use of physical charm.
He dismissed them with a small amount of impatience, preferring to eat alone, in front of the hearth. Being as early as it was, it seemed that Greeves and Nila weren’t up yet – and if they were, they hadn’t expected for him to have arisen quite so early. Which did beg the question, how had those girls known to arrive in such a timely manner?
He guessed that they’d probably spied him through the window. Was that a coincidence, or had Greeves posted someone to keep an eye out? "That merchant… He’s still such a shady bastard," Oliver murmured to himself, as he hurriedly bit through a slice of bread, watching the flames of the fire dance.
It was ten minutes later that another knock came, just as Oliver was finishing the last of what had been brought for him – which turned out to be a rather large meal for breakfast. Far larger than he was accustomed to putting away.
Oliver threw on his coat before he answered it. Without yet opening it, he already knew who he’d find there.
"Good morning—Oh, you’re dressed to go out already?" Greeves said, apparently not even having the heart to finish whatever noble greeting he’d been able to rattle off. He sniffed slightly in distaste at that. "Have you already grown tired of our chats? I think the girl was looking forward to it. I wouldn’t have minded a while in front of the fire either."
"We spoke last night," Oliver said. "And I’ll see her again today. I wish to discuss matters of a more physical nature. As in, I want to see what it is that you’ve written to me about."
"You’re starting to speak like that, at times," Greeves noted. "The nobles, that is. Fine, if yer that impatient, Ser Patrick, I suppose I can show you. But I ain’t got to do it with a smile on my face, given the early hour, do I?"
"You can save your smile," Oliver said, "it’s not the sort of smile that puts a man at ease, but more the sort that seems primed to rattle them."
"Come now, that’s a smile that the women love. They say it’s a charming smile," Greeves said, flashing his teeth. "What slave, or even merchant can say they’ve teeth as well placed as mine? I ain’t even got too much yellow tinging them."
"Judas, has he been drinking?" Oliver asked.
"Hm? I doesn’t think so, Ser Patrick," Judas said, taking a moment to find his footing as he was pulled so suddenly into the conversation. "He rarely drinks in a morning."
"Then why’s he taking so much drivel instead of moving?" Oliver asked.
"I ain’t—"
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"That’s not the kind of question you’re meant to answer, you traitorous dog," Greeves said, giving him a light smack on the side. "I see we’ve got a bit of your old temper already flashing through. The shine has already worn off us, has it? You seen us once two weeks ago, and it’s right back to the old ways? Or is this just what happens when we find you first thing in the morning?"
"I’ve that mission next weekend, Greeves," Oliver said, speaking honestly. "I would like to better know what position I’m in. There’s an amount of urgency to what I’m doing. If those men that you’ve found me are of any sort of quality, then I want them to be ready to travel, should I send word for them."
"You’re wanting to bring them along already?" Greeves said, surprised for once. "I thought you’d have wanted to train them, or something, for a time… If you’re wanting to move them as soon as next weekend, aye, I can see why you’d be wanting a glance, but I might warn you that’s somewhat optimistic. They’re still more slaves than soldiers, as you might expect."
"Show me," Oliver said again.
This time, Greeves responded more seriously to that command, feeling a trace of Oliver’s own anxiety. He nodded to himself, and made a motion to Judas, who seemed to understand what was being asked of him. The large man jogged the short distance along the side of the square, and pushed his way into Greeves’ house, returning a short while later with a sturdy iron key.
Oliver raised an eyebrow seeing it. "I thought you’d freed them?"