De Lacy again presented Oughtibridge with the keepsafe, into which he deposited another portion of his coins, along with a forced garrumph that drew laughter from the room.

“The farmer, on the other hand,” de Lacy trip-stepped his way back across the table, “is still making food, and he pays more as well, and he hates it.”

Gisbourne, without performance, placed his single coin into de Lacy’s hand.

“Or he doesn’t pay it, and he still hates it. Or he goes to prison, and he hates it. Or he hides in the forest, and he hates it. It doesn’t really matter, because look at how much he can pay.” De Lacy showcased the one coin about. “I couldn’t care less if he pays or he doesn’t, because caring about it would cost more than what he’s paying.”

He flicked a finger and the coin lobbed high through the air, a smooth arc that ended at the staircase where its pathetic tiny tink tumbled down to a lower level where it was already forgotten.

“The farmers still farm, the dukes still duke, and everything is the same except that everyone generally hates it a little bit more.”

More chuckles for this.

“Until,” he raised his voice and a finger, and let it hang while he stepped slowly back to the center of the table. He set the keepsafe down gingerly, and made a silent and steady show of removing two handfuls of coin from its stomach. The coins dripped from his fingers and he drew his words out painfully slow.

“Until a band of supposed heroes comes by and steals from the duke, and just gives it to the farmer.” Ever so softly, he stepped and leaned out to Gisbourne, dropping the coins in front of him.

“Now the farmer has it all. He has money and food. And he realizes that he’s been hungry, and that he’d rather eat his vegetables than give them to the duke. Meanwhile, the duke has neither money nor vegetables, so what does he do? He stops paying his taxes. And now, now my friends, now I suddenly care again. Because without the duke’s taxes, there’s no money at all coming in, so there’s no money going out, not to the King and not to the Chancellor and not to anyone at all, and I hate it as much as everyone else.”

He snapped his foot through the keepsafe to an explosion of coin and noise, and though it rained money nobody dared to move. When the last of the clatter had clicked and rolled and tinkled to a stop, de Lacy descended from the table and sank into his chair to conclude viciously, “It doesn’t matter who the sheriff is, Nottingham is crumbling. So we’re here to discuss practical solutions. I think you’ll find it’s more difficult than digging your feet in the ground.”