"When you are quite done purveying the real estate Herr Pentinbaum, I would like to have our little discussion. Yes?"

"Oh, oh yes. Whatever. Sorry, just haven't been here for a while. Things have changed."

The stranger looked about, his eyes focused on some object in the distance. "Yes, changed for the worse I'm afraid. But with your help we may just change all that."

Murich pondered the meaning of his words as the door to the Tar Candle swung open and they both stepped in.

The Tar Candle was as bare as ever. Straw on the floor, simple wooden furniture and the ever present smell of stale ale and lavender. The proprietors wife had her own ideas on how to run a bar. Though she couldn't easily dominate her husband, the lavender bags had been one of her better ideas.

Times must be tough. A solitary artisan sat in the corner. The cut of his cloth indicated his station, the moth eaten velvet of his sleeves indicated tough times. A collection of labourers sat in another corner, quietly talking and drinking themselves into stupor. There was no raucous behaviour, no energy in their conversation. Murich suspected it was more than early morning tht dampened their spirits.

"Over here Herr Pentinbaum, I would prefer that table in the corner."

"Murich thanks."

"Beg Pardon?"

"Murich, just call me Murich please."

The stranger stared with those bulging lenses. "Two things Herr Pentinbaum. One, be proud of your heritage, as you should be. Two, I do not wish to be so familiar with you."

Murich was slightly befuddled by the strangers statements. If it wasn't for the headache he would have thought up a come back, maybe even a witty one. "Ahh, yes. Whatever. Lets sit, I could use an ale."

The stranger chose a chair near the wall. He turned it before sitting down, the oaken back board covering his gullet. Murich noticed this, he'd known a man who always did the same. A kislevian soldier, more paranoid than a cat in a dog pit. As long as you didn't say the words `North' or `Waste' around him he was just bearable.

A serving girl approached as Murich sat. "Good Morn gents. What will you have?"

The stranger raised an eyebrow at Murich. The thought of food raised a vote from his gut.

"What do you have?"

"Pork pies sir. I recommend the pork pies. We still manage to get them in from Guilderveld. We also have some Imperial cheese with Tilean breads, always a favourite. If you need warming up we have toasted grain sir. Very cheap as well."

Murich pondered the choices. Something light and above all cheap.

"The grain, and two ales."

"One ale thank you, bring me some water." The stranger drew odd looks from Murich and the girl.

"As you ask sir. Ten and five sir." She held out a callused hand to Murich."

"Ten and five! That sounds very rich Frau. I'll pay when you serve it, if it isn't swill."

"Begging you pardon sir, we can't get it unless you pay. We have to order from a bakery in the next street who won't prepare it until you pay."

"This is Marienburg Frau. Only idiots pay in advance."

"Then leave sir."

Her tone was frank and quite curt. Clearly this must be one of the few places hereabouts with reliable business, she certainly didn't seem to need his. The food and ale must be worth it then.

"Oh, alright. But don't expect any extras from me." Murich rummaged in his jerkin and pulled out the money pouch. Gerk's money pouch. He pulled out a guilder and passed it to the girl. She walked off without another word.

The stranger shifted forward in his chair, hugging the back board. Murich noticed for the first time how stiff and worn his hair was. A sort of washed out blonde colour. Murich was certain the stranger was one of the oddest looking people he had met.

"Now Herr Pentinbaum, let us get down to business. My name is Amon Ebojager, you may refer to me as Herr Ebojager thank you. I represent a respectable businessman in need of a few good, hard working men. What I propose is some solid, well paid work over the
next two weeks. Nothing special, just moving crates and loading cargo."

Murich twigged onto what the stranger was getting at. Was it a test? Surely it wasn't coincidence that led Ebojager to the alley. Murich had to admit, it was very convenient that Ebojager was waiting there when he woke up.

It struck Murich like a bolt of lightning. Ebojager knew the muggers alright. This was a test, the guild was testing him. Murich was pleased that he could see through their tricks so easily.

"Look Herr Ebojager. I don't think I like the sounds of what you are suggesting. I may be hard on my luck, but I'm no scab."

The stranger was put off by the accusation. "Herr Pentinbaum, I don't think you are getting the idea, not a jot at all. I can assure you, this work has been cleared. By Lea Jan Cobbius himself in fact."

Murich caught the lie easily. "You must really take me for a bretwit. I know, just as every dockworker knows, the esteemed Master Cobbius doesn't deal directly with work markers."