"You haven't even heard what the job is, and you don't know the pay, yet you've already agreed…" Jorah pointed out in exasperation, as his own attempt to wiggle out of it was already cut off.
"I could say the same to you, Jorah," Oliver said, not overlooking that fact. "You were about to decline me without even having heard my conditions."
Jorah blushed lightly, and looked away. Direct confrontation seemed to be an awkward spot for the otherwise intelligent youth. "Forgive me, Ser Patrick… I do not dislike you, and you have been good to me… I just do not need the work, and I don't want to take the risk of having something go wrong."
"Go wrong? Your job should be fairly safe, but I can understand that worry…" Oliver said.
That didn't seem to be what Jorah meant, but the boy didn't correct him. "So? What will we be doing, Ser?" Karesh asked impatiently.
"Eh, well I'm going to hunt a few Hobgoblins, and I need people to help me carry the loot back," Oliver said.
"A porter?" Karesh said, forgetting to add his Ser. He did not seem pleased. "Damn it, I go back to the Grand Forest after all these years, and I'm a damn porter again?"
"Do you want to be a soldier, then?" Oliver asked.
Karesh immediately brightened up. "Ser! Of course! You said it yourself, I'm a shieldbreaker, aren't I? I ain't got no smarts, no one's going to hire me for any craft work. Soldiering is all I got, but there isn't the time to train for a proper fight."
"Isn't there the Games to participate in? Can't you get recruited by some noble and take part in that?" Oliver asked.
"Hah!" Karesh said. "As if they'd let me in. They only take the goody-goody types. 'Besides, there's only a handful of nobles with the money to take part in all that. No one's looking for a soldier 'cept those."
There was an opportunity here, but one that Oliver wasn't sure whether he should yet risk. He might not have the money to provide for these men, after all. His arrangement with the alchemists seemed to be going well, and he'd received that letter, but he had yet to feel the coin in his hand.
It could all go belly-up any week, and then he'd be left with men in his employ who needed paying, without him having the money to do so.
Oliver bit his lip in consideration, wondering if he could confide in them. He relented. What did it matter if his plans went around? There wasn't much that people could do to try and stop him. "I'm hoping to gather an army myself for the Games," Oliver said carefully, noting how Kaya's eyes lit up.
Jorah's eyebrow twitched in surprise. "Forgive me, Ser, but I'd heard that the Patrick House was destitute how would you..?" His eyes fell upon Lord Blackwell's pin on Oliver's chest. "Ah… I suppose, yes. That would make sense."
"I'm only in my fourth year though," Kaya said reluctantly. "I'm not that well practised with a spear either."
Oliver smiled at that, recalling the villagers that he'd fought with in the past. No one could be more untrained than them. At least Kaya was familiar with the spear. He decided – even though he'd come here initially to hire them as porters – to merely go all the way, to take the risk, despite the deficit that it was likely to have to his pursue.
"Well, I was looking for porters initially," Oliver began. "But I would be happy to negotiate some soldier's contracts with you three, if you were interested."
"I'm really not sure—" Jorah began.
"I'm in!" Kaya said immediately.
"Obviously! You can pay me scraps and I'd still join!" Karesh said enthusiastically. "This is my only shot. I'm in my fifth year already, and at this rate, I'm going to end up working in a lumberyard."
"Ser," Jorah corrected him with an exhausted sigh, slapping his forehead.
"Ser," Karesh said, embarrassedly correcting himself as he scratched the back of his head.
"How can either of you say that you want to serve a contract with a noble when you can't even remember to keep up the basic manners expected of you?" Jorah said, exasperated. "This is absolutely insane. You're both going to end up getting yourselves killed. You're not cut out for this sort of thing."
Oliver was surprised by the vehemence with which he protested. "I'm certainly not going to execute someone over forgetting to say 'Ser'," Oliver said.
"Then you would be a rarity, Ser Patrick," Jorah said, allowing the faintest bit of anger to seep into his tone. "And I don't know why I'd trust a rarity, no matter how pleasantly they might have treated us in the past. The moment we enter a contract with you, you owe us for its duration. Can we really trust anyone with that, Ser?"
"When you put it like that…" Oliver said. "I suppose not. I certainly wouldn't. The best I can give you is my word. Or perhaps some alternate sort of contract, to protect you from situations like that."
"There is only one contract, Ser," Jorah said. "The contract of servitude. To be a retainer is to be completely loyal to one's master, in all things, even outside the scope of his job. You could upend their supposed position as soldiers by the end of the week, and force them to be chamber attendants, and you'd be well within your rights."
"I have no need of chamber attendants, I can assure you," Oliver said patiently.
"But that isn't the point, Ser. The point is that you're in a far superior position to the one we find ourselves in. I have seen far too many nobles abuse the servitude contract out of convenience. Can you really say that you wouldn't, if the situation demanded it, Ser?" Jorah said.
Both Karesh and Kaya were looking at Jorah awkwardly, as the boy grew increasingly heated. Their gazes flashed between Jorah and Oliver, seeming to expect Oliver to grow angry, but Oliver – though known for his temper as of late – was far from losing it. He could feel the rage that Jorah felt, and he knew that it wasn't directed at him.