urich drowned another community of unseen germs within the folds of his gut. He had been downing one Braakbroew after another in quick succession since night had fallen. His sorrows were growing ever more acute by the hour. Life in Marienburg was weighed in coins, not worth. Today's experiences had hammered that home more than ever.

For now, the beer flowed freely as it was Bezahltag, payday. The remainder of his contract pay lay 8 days hence and combined with the abundance of mugs arriving at the table it would make the absence of coin more hard felt over the coming week.

"S'not right, jus kickin a man when his risked so much. S'just not right!". Murich ended his statement with a wet burp.

"Yup, s'right mate. Ya gives yer all an thay kick yer inna gizzard!! ".

Gerk, Murich's shorter and somewhat smellier drinking companion, thumped his gut with a meaty paw to demonstrate his point.

The esteemed guild of Stevedores and Teamsters had finally struck a deal with the Directorate for a ten shilling pay rise. The hard fought months of strikes, muggings, petitions, rallies and brawls had finally paid off for the Suiddock. Murich had lost two fingers and
taken more than his share of bruising from the black caps over the past month for it, not that it mattered now.

"Yeah, thas wot they'll do to ya! I mean, I work as ard as any man on the dock. So wot I aint got no fammy.fimillli. womma an kids like. I'm stilla man, I still fight fer those gits inna guild house."

"Aye man, Aye. I knooo reet were yer comin from. If I."

"I mean, look at me. I'm a hard working type an I dun lost two o me figgers." Murich butted in, winding up for one of his drunken tirades. "Its not as if those Reik suckers inna Merchan guild would care innit. They not supposed ta. But me own guild. Me own GUILD Gerk mate. It jus ain't right yer hear!"

"Aye laddie I hear, I hear". Gerk's drunken affirmation spurred Murich on.

"Was the world comin too, I mean wot? Nex thing you know the guild ill be like , `ooo eer look ere. We gotta move our big asses over yonder onnna other side a hoobug bridge like. O'er thar we can talk to em Merchan quicker like'. An then ittle be, `ooo eer, we gotta gets more coin from ya te pay the rent like. Ooo boo hoo, we need a bigger house cos we werkin sooo ard to protect yer jobs an.an.. an tomorrow like!." Murichs face had started to acquire a red lustre as he ranted. Even his perpetual five o'clock shadow started to look decidedly bloodshot.

Gerk had started guffawing in earnest at Murichs display. Most of the bar seemed to be interested as well, evidenced by the number of heads that were turning in their direction. Murich was oblivious to it all as his voice rose above the din.

"Yeah, them pansies. I bet they get all like, `ooo eer me deario. Doodkanaal is too low fer the likes a my shite. We is all impertent now we is choofin with tha Merchans now. Why I even reckon we is no better than a bunch a sca.."

"Good evening Murich". The voice smothered out the din of the beerhall. Conversations ground to a halt, words forgotten on slack lips.

Murich's fear clawed up from the heady depths of strong ale and finished the sentence just in time. "..ffolding", he feebly managed.

The hall looked as one at the newcomer. All knew who he was and what he represented. He was a burly head man from the guild, their guild. His name was Herg Prochnow. More commonly known as Herg the Hand.. Ask any scab worker how Herg got the name and they'll tell you how they got their scars.

Murich stepped down off his chair and turned to face the mountain of flesh, cloth and hair behind him. A calm, impassive expression met his own, which was quickly losing its lustre.

`I see your in high spirits lad. Not bad considering, eh?"

"Eh Herg. Wot yer doin here?", Murich felt his throat constricting. His addled mind feverishly rummaged through the last twenty seconds of his life. How far had he gone? He noticed Gerk not taking much interest in Herg. Thinking again Murich decided it wasn't anything he couldn't brush over. Besides, he was the one who had been wronged, not the guild. His alcoholic haze and temper hushed down an inner voice of caution.

Herg paused in order to land an ample buttock on the edge of the long table. The table creaked, yet the noise was like the snapping of trees across the silent hall.

"Oh you know. The usual. Checking in with the patrons and their orders, looking out for muggers", Herg leaned in closer, "watching out for the faithful members, as I am want to do". A smile flickered across the corner of his mouth.