This angst served to create an unexpected sort of conflict: the poorer citizens naturally became drawn together, but seeing this caused the Merchants to interfere in any way possible, even to the point of hiring people to illegally police the city’s populace, breaking up gatherings, pressing people into service, and eventually contesting the Thane’s rule directly.
Doc was present in the Hall of the Thane, when the largest faction of the Merchants demanded a meeting to decide Mirrindale’s fate. Their spokesman, a fat, grotesquely painted, perfumed, excessively overdressed fellow named Crasp, addressed the Thane from the gallery, which was full to overflowing. Doc sat with a new acquaintance, a merchant named Finli, and a small group of quieter, conservative types, who watched the proceedings with stoic and silent reserve. None of this group was dressed in the gaudy finery of his peers, and none were as grossly obese as Crasp and his followers.
‘My Thane,’ Crasp said, getting to his feet-
‘I do not recall giving anyone leave to speak,’ the Thane said quietly, reading some paperwork, the Merchant’s petition, in fact, taking his time. ‘Or to stand, for that matter.’
‘My Thane,’ the Merchant persisted, his face growing red.
‘Your next unauthorized utterance will lead to your immediate expulsion from this chamber,’ the Thane said, gesturing to a pair of guards who began moving in Crasp’s direction.