A Time of Tigers - From Peasant to Emperor

"We won't be able to fit all the boxes into this single carriage," Verdant said.

"Do you suppose you might be able to find another, then?" Oliver said.

"I can attempt to, my Lord, but at this time of day, I can imagine a good portion of them being busy," Verdant said.

"Blackthorn, we'll take a break. Verdant's off to find us another carriage," Oliver said.

"Apologies, Ser Patrick… I ought to have warned you about the boxes beforehand… If I went through, I could probably pick some that I could leave, but…"

"But you'd be leaving yourself without coin, right?" Oliver said. "Worry not, Harmon. We're in no real rush. There's a few hours before sundown, and that's our only real obstacle. You can take a minute yourself, if you want. Perhaps you can reassure your wife that she doesn't need to rush."

"I suppose I will, Ser," Harmon said. "I think she'll appreciate that."

The smith disappeared inside, and Oliver lowered himself to one of the chairs outside his shop. Blackthorn took the one next to him, and with her dark raven-like eyes, she watched the crowd with the same level of attention that Oliver was.

"Do you see anything?" Blackthorn asked him, after they'd spent a few moments in quiet.

"Nothing that I can act upon," Oliver said. "Perhaps all that I see is my own natural level of suspicion reflected back at me. But in a city, do people often stare this much? Do we really stand out to such a degree? So many of them are sending looks our way as they pass… It's just as busy in that building over there, why aren't they looking to them just as frequently?"

Oliver pointed to the building across the way. It was three stories of solidly built stone, with glass for windows – an impressively rich structure, without a doubt. It had three carriages parked outside of it, and workers were constantly coming and going between them. They didn't seem to be carrying all that much. The occasional item covered in cloth, as far as Oliver could tell.

Their work seemed to be more the verifying of an inventory, but it was taking an awful lot of them walking up and down the many stone steps of the large front entrance to see that done.

"It is just the way cities are," Blackthorn said. "We're not often seen here, so we're a curiosity. Maybe they're curious to see the smith move out as well, if his standing here was that good."

"I suppose so," Oliver agreed. "That would be enough to make people stop and stare, wouldn't it?"

"…You don't sound too in agreement," Blackthorn said.

"Well, I think that I shall just be happier when this business is done," Oliver said.

A young boy in his early teens rushed past them, carrying an open-topped box, and moving just short of a sprint. The box was filled to the brim with bottles, as far as Oliver could tell with the brief glance that he was afforded – not the sort of thing that one ought to have been sprinting with.

Two guards soon enough came after him, screaming the new title that the youth was afforded. "THIEF! BAR HIS WAY!" One of them exclaimed, huffing and puffing from the weight of his armour and the distance that they'd already ran. When he saw the boy round a corner, down a sound street, he didn't suppose that the soldiers would be stopping them anytime soon.

One of the men shot Oliver an accusing glance, as if to ask why he hadn't stood up from his seat to stop him.

"Is there something that you want to say?" Oliver asked of the man, showing his teeth, but not necessarily smiling.

The guardsman looked away. "Er no… Ser," he said, quickly hurrying on with his duty.

"That was bold of him," Blackthorn remarked icily. "For a mere guardsman to be that comfortable glaring at a noble – I wonder if he has been drinking?"

"Or perhaps he didn't think I was a noble?" Oliver suggested. "Maybe I don't look as much, with a box lying at my feet, in the middle of removal work."

"I think it would be obvious that you are a noble, no matter what you're doing, Oliver," Blackthorn said with a frown. "You do not carry yourself with commonness, even if you prefer to spend the majority of your time amongst them."

"Do I not? That is news to me," Oliver said. "Not that I particularly know what it would look like if I did carry myself with supposed commonness. I think, on this, I might put it down to the mere fact that you know me."

"I wouldn't," Blackthorn said sharply.

"Hmm?" Oliver glanced at her, surprised by the particular iciness of the remark. Blackthorn too, he noticed, seemed to be more on edge than usual. She noticed him looking at her from the side, and she fluttered her eyes in irritation, before turning her head all the way away from him, and folding her arms.

"Will you be growing your hair out again?" Oliver asked suddenly, noting that the hair that Zilan had seen cut to her shoulders had grown a degree in her absence.

"Do not pretend you are interested in my hair," Blackthorn said hotly, not even deigning to look at him. "You were observing the crowd, continue."

"Business talk, is it then?" Oliver said, smiling at her coldness. "Well, I will say, it's good to have you back, Blackthorn. The world is just the slightest bit smaller without you. It would be strange weathering the winter without having the cold weather to blame on someone."

"What does that even mean?" Blackthorn said. "Are you accusing me of—No, nevermind. This is ridiculous. Do your job, Oliver."

"Hmm…" Oliver leaning off to the side, pressing his head against his hand, eyeing the passersby more by what was on their belts than the looks on their faces. More than half of them seemed to be walking around armed. Even the women, in their dresses, could be seen with a dagger on their belts.

And those that did not have the weapons on display, Oliver supposed to still have one, stowed away somewhere hidden, whether it be on ankle or thigh.