Known as the City of Guilds, Romney's cobblestone streets were knotted, a labyrinth of closes and wynds, often leading nowhere or into blind alleys populated by disreputable looking drinking establishments. Only the dark main street called the Murky Mile seemed at all inviting to visitor's to the strange town.

It appears to be a well.

The water was fresh.
Slurping down several handfuls drawn from the well, Owyn splashed his face and arms as well for good measure. When at last he felt fully refreshed, he moved away from the bucket so that Gorath could do the same.

The lay of the goods store was comfortably familiar, arranged in such a common sense fashion that it took only a few moments for James to locate the items which interested him.

REPAIR:

A sign hung on the wall.

Mender On Call. Ask the Shopkeeper!

The shopkeeper whistled.

Cringing at the sound, Locklear glanced up to see what bargain the keeper wished to call their attention to, but instead it seemed the man was calling to someone else. "Didn't mean to startle you," the man said. "Just trying to find if my mender is still about today."

"You have a tinker in your employ?" Locklear asked.

"Sometimes, when he chooses to show up," the shopkeeper said amiably. "He can fix nearly anything---crossbows, armor, swords. You name it. And his work looks like brand new. Would you like to speak to him?"

Within, the accommodations were humble. Several splintering tables had been jammed into the common room and arranged to accommodate perhaps twenty five men, thirty if hunger pressed them. Greasy stains covered benches and walls, evidence of wild days past.

Meet: JASON

CHAPTER 2 ENDS HERE:

Even as they threw the door open, James bit back the impulse to vomit. Kingdom soldiers lay scattered about the room, each lying in his own coagulating pool of blood. Nowhere did there appear to be anyone untouched by murderous hands...

The meeting hall was full.

Assembled in the room were a dozen grizzled looking men, all seated around a long table at the head of which sat a young man sporting a goatee. As the entered, a servant quickly pointed them to a bench off to the side, indicating that a meeting of some import was underway.

"I don't care what Mitchel Waylander may or may not be doing," the bearded man said sternly." I am the Duke of Romney and you will do as I request, else I will call up others from Bas-Tyra. Do you really wish to call King Lyam's attention to this matter?"

Unsettled by the vigor with which the young Duke made his point, the various guild leaders shifted in their seats. One, a tremendously overweight man whose clothes tested their seams, leaned forward, careful not to spark too much of a response. "It is entirely possible that the leader of the Riverpullers was assassinated by the leader of one of the other guilds here. It's even possible he sits in this room with us..."

"If you have someone in mind, Botho, why don't you simply come out with a name!" another man replied, leaning across the table to grab the obese guild master's shirt. "Talk, you overweight cat's innard!"

"Enough!" Slamming down the tankard of ale which sat at his right hand, the Duke turned his piercing blue eyes on all who assembled. "I want peace on the Romney, and I wish it today! The fact that the Ironmonger's Guild will not come to a negotiations table is irrelevant. If I hear another word of a possible uprising in Romney, I swear to you, I shall make each and every one of you pay for it..."

Having heard enough of the heated words in the chamber, Locklear turned and whispered to his companions. "If Arutha were here, he'd have this lot at the gibbet for even thinking of open rebellion..."

"The fact of the matter is that Prince Arutha is not here," the Duke replied tersely, evidently having overheard the whispering. "And I will not deal so cavalierly with those who are as much my family as my serfs."

Snapping his fingers, he motioned to a pair of guards who stood mute behind him. "Sergeant Yearly, see to it that these gentlemen are let out, seeing as how they yearn to get to a part of the world where Prince Arutha rules..."

Guards halted them.

Remembering the large sergeant at arms, Locklear backed away quickly.

"I don't believe the Duke cares for your company," Yearly said. "Now, turn around and move away before Captain Anselm and I have to turn you into river chaff."

They were shown into a room.

Seated crosslegged in a large wooden chair, Duke Romney was staring at a large lumpy form which was heaped on top of the meeting table, his youngish features obviously clouded by some issue of great concern.

"What's under the sheet?" James asked.

"Botho Chandler," the Duke replied grimly. "They found him in the alleyway and have dropped him off here until the undertakers can come for him.

"Murdered?"

The Duke sighed. "Fortunately it's no great mystery. He was fighting with the leader of the Miller's Guild and got cornered by three mercenaries. We have them all in custody. Things have gotten so bad here that we're regularly building a bonfire to burn the bodies from this idiot private war between the Guilds."

"Any way we can be of assistance?" James asked, taking a glance beneath the sheet at the obese corpse. "We may be in the area for some while."

Drumming his fingers on the table, the Duke stared intently at them. "Actually, you may be of service to me," he said after a thoughtful moment. "If I can convince Arlie Steelsoul to come into negotiations with the rest of the guilds, it's possible I can break this deadlock between them. My father always said that the guilds will follow Mitchel Waylander and Arlie Steelsoul whichever way they go, but unfortunately Mitchel is too intertwined in the origins of this problem for me to use him effectively."

"Where do we fit into this?" James asked.

"You're neutral," he replied, gaining his feet. "You were born outside of Romney and you have no connections to the guilds. I am right about that aren't I?" Quickly an anxious look flickered in his eyes, but quickly vanished as he noticed that James was shaking his head. "Excellent. My point being, as the Duke, the guilds might view a private meeting between myself and Arlie as unfair negotiation. They have to believe that he is coming to the negotiation table of his own free will, and believe me, they will be watching my movements for a while."

"So you want us to find this Arlie Steelsoul fellow and convince him to come and negotiate with the rest of the guilds, is that it?" James asked.

"Just so," the Duke replied. "You will find that he has a small house to the west and south of here. I would advise you though, he is a paranoid man. He keeps himself well guarded and there may be some danger involved. I will reward you for your efforts of course."

"That's all right," James said with a smile, heading towards the door. "We're used to danger."

The Duke was surprised to see them.

"Have you spoken with Arlie?" he asked. "Will he be coming back to negotiate?"

"Haven't gotten through to him as yet, James said, looking around the room. "We've had a few other things to attend to."

Immediately the Duke's eyes registered offense at James's offhand comment, but quickly the seigneur recouped. "We are here at the request of Prince Arutha, Lord. I in no way intended to indicate that your problems here were secondary. We will attend to your affairs as soon as we may."

Taking the Duke's glare as a cue it was time they got about their business, James quickly led them back into the streets of Romney.

The sergeant at arms halted them.

Putting his hand against James's chest, he shook his head. "I'm sorry, but the Duke is..." Abruptly he halted as the Duke appeared behind him.

"It's all right," the Duke said. "Let them in, sergeant. I'm expecting these fellows. I'm expecting they've come to tell me they've convinced Arlie Steelsoul to come and help me out. Am I right?"

James confirmed the fact quickly, following the Duke into the deserted meeting hall. Seeing the benches had been removed from the room, he seated himself unceremoniously on the table edge while Owyn and Gorath stood by the door.

"Before I forget, your reward," the Duke said, opening a chest in the corner of the room. Sorting through what looked like torn table linens and soiled riding clothes, he at last found a pouch and tossed it to James. Inside were several gold coins and a very valuable key. "I keep my promises," he said. "Now let's hope that Arlie does as well."

"I don't see why he wouldn't," James said, packing away the Duke's gift. "He seemed honorable enough.

"He's in charge of a Guild," the Duke replied. "He has to sound honorable. In their own way, the Guilds are more powerful than princedoms. You mark my words. One day the enfeoffed of the Kingdom will cross swords with the Guilds and it is not likely to be a bloodless affair. I think what's happened here is just a small taste of the things to come."

"Glum words," James replied. "Do you think there will be more trouble here?"

"Not for now. They've had enough of anarchy to do them a while and Arlie's coming to negotiations should settle things a bit."

After chatting a while longer, James glanced up at the darkening windows. "It's getting late and we have other business to attend to."

"Thank you for your services, gentlemen," the Duke said, escorting them to the door. "If you are ever in Romney again, please feel free to drop by and visit again."

Duke Romney greeted them.

"I hadn't counted on seeing you so soon again," he said. "Is all well with you?"

"Fine," James said. "Actually, we were just passing through."

Making a sound of acknowledgement, the Duke shrugged apologetically. "I should like to chat, but I've gotten word I am to send men to muster in Kenting Rush and I have many things to attend to. Perhaps another time."

Accepting the Duke's apologies, they turned back from the meeting hall and into Romney's deserted streets.