He was not want to see it then, but with the swiftness of his movents, and the cut of his clothes and hair, at that mont, he looked very much the son of a noble.
He found the hallway to be quiet as he stepped out into it. He looked left. It continued on for a long way down, with many rows of doors, and many torches burned. He assud they were other rooms in which the nobility would be staying.
He looked to the right. There were fewer doors there, and an open archway stood in the wall on the left, inviting soone to walk through it. He recalled that he'd been led through there, as the earlier woman had brought him in.
Just beyond the archway, at the bottom of the corridor, there were a set of spiral stairs. It went both up, and down. Oliver noted all these astutely, and put his hands behind his back, as he affected a gait that he assud would be more suited to a noble.
He decided to head back through the archway in which the woman had led him. The left end of the hallway didn't look particularly interesting. It was either the archway, or the stairs. He figured familiar ground was likely to be more interesting.
He noted torches on the walls as he walked. Windows still allowed light to stream through, but he assud in the evening that they would be lit.
He noted the stone floor too, and how the heels of his boots clacked against it as he walked. It was all new to him. It was a challenge to decide what to focus on, and what was a relevant bit of information.
Through the archway he went, into a hall that he recognized. This too seed surprisingly empty. It seed more like a conjunction connecting different parts of the building than it was a place in itself.
More corridors ran off all four sides of the hall, and since he knew that the corridor to his right would eventually lead to the outside, he decided to go to his left, here he could at least hear the noise of conversation, assuring him that this was not rely a building full of ghouls. Stay tuned with empire
It took him several long strides before he could even begin to glance down the corridor. The hall was unbelievably vast and empty. He found himself marvelling at the waste. Back in the village, such a fine stone shelter of that size could have easily housed ten families, or even more – and they would have considered themselves well off to live there.
He spotted two boys – or were they n – as he crossed into the corridor.
They were engaged in conversation as they walked, with one laughing rather frequently at the words of the other. Oliver glanced at them, and found himself surprised at the yellow of their shirts. He had given to believe that he wore the school uniform. He took that to an the sa thing as an army's uniform – that each man's clothes were identical.
But the style of their clothes was different to his, and then the style of them again was different to each other. Their trousers were black, it was true, but one of them wore a considerably thinner material than the other. Oliver wasn't sure what it was, but it wasn't wool.
He frowned as he passed them.
They noticed him at the last mont, and their eyes widened in apparent startlent. One nudged the other with a sharp elbow, drawing an irritated look, before he gasped, and realized the sa thing that the other boy did.
Now that Oliver was level with them, he was sure that they were older. They were taller than him for one, and their faces were harder set, in the distinctive way that a man's was. He judged them to be seventeen, or perhaps a little older.
Sharply, they drew themselves into a hurried bow as he passed them.
Oliver had been set to rely stroll by without a word, but the bow made him pause. It was a stiff, formal bow, forty-five degrees at the waist.
He looked down at them, as they bowed towards him. He could even see a droplet of sweat run down the forehead of one of them, as it licked its way away from his black curls.
Oliver broke a second-long silence. "Sorry – why are you bowing to ?"
One of them looked up sharply, apparently startled by the question. Despite the fact that they were obviously older than him, for so reason they were forcing themselves to act completely subserviently.
The two shared a look, apparently unsure if there was a trick in the question.
"Etiquette, ser, I expect..?" Ca the hesitant reply of one of them. This one had dark blonde hair that was approaching brown. Oliver noted him to be the one that had jabbed the other with the elbow.
"Etiquette? I am not a Lord, or the like. There is no need for other nobles to bow to , is there?" Oliver asked, cocking his head to the side. It was a genuine question. He knew absolutely nothing of noble society.
Worse than that, he wasn't even particularly well-versed in how upper-class peasants were expected to treat each other. He'd always completely failed in his interactions with Greeves. He'd treated them like equals, even before he had the position to believe that. In hindsight, it had turned out fine, but Dominus had pointed out more than once how his incompetence had left him weak.
He didn't wish to remain weak much longer. To survive as a noble, he knew, he would have to learn quickly. Perhaps quicker than he had even with the sword. It was a dangerous knife edge that Dominus had placed them on – him, Lombard, and Blackwell. None of them openly expressed just how dire the consequences would be if Oliver's true birth were discovered, but Oliver himself had not forgotten.
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