Cultural Differences OR I just want my merchant's license.

Chapter 2: Arrested Progress

 The next morning, Reginald set out towards the merchants' guild. He was all dressed up in the same outfit he had on yesterday; He cleaned and washed it the previous evening just so he could wear it again today.

He was smiling as he went. The sky was a wonderful shade of baby blue, birds were chirping in the trees. It was a wonderful day to get his merchant's license and begin his dream. His mind wandered through his next plan, the goods he'd buy, the carriage, what kind of animal to guide it, and more. He could already see the smiling faces of the people who'd undoubtedly come running to see his goods.

He walked over the bridge across the Ribble river, and his smile fell. He could tell something was wrong. There was a multitude of armed guards all around the merchants guild. They were hurrying to and fro, stumbling around the merchants guild as if looking for something.

Reginald started to walk faster towards the merchants guild, worries of his license running through his head and–more than that–worries of the papers he'd left with the merchants' guild yesterday.

The guards didn't even notice Reginald until he greeted them. "Excuse me, sirs. What happened?" Reginald said.

Two guards looked up at Reginald, seeming startled. The two guards looked at one another and nodded. Swaggering towards Reginald, one of them put a firm hand on Reginald's shoulder.

"Hey," the guard said, his breath reeked of alcohol, and his eyes were bloodshot, "Wha- what are you here?"

Regnal looked at the guard with concern and the sudden realization that being here was a very bad thing. "I-" Reginald stammered, "I'm here to get my merchants license. I came by yesterday and handed in my papers for it."

"Wh- who did y- you happen to, uh, be wanting that merchant's license from?" the other guard said, looking intently at Reginald.

"I think his name was Mr. Wharton," Reginald said cautiously.

The two guards looked at each other, then back to Reginald.

"What's your name?" one of the guards said abruptly, "I don't reckon I've seen you around before."

"I'm Reginald Bartleby, sir," Reginald said.

The guards nodded, and the hand on his shoulder squeezed tight. There was a shing as one of the guards pulled out a sword, and the guard said, "Well, Reginald. I'm going to- to have you come with us. You can come the easy way," the guard's fingers tightened around the sword hilt, "Or the hard way."

"What?" Reginald said, aghast, "Why? You can't just arrest people on the streets for nothing."

"Well," said the guard, "We can when they are suspects for a crime. Now come with us."

These obviously inebriated guards with sharp weapons at the ready were nothing that Reginald wanted to mess with, so Reginald sighed and said, "Very well. I'll go with you."

With that, the guards escorted him down the dirt path towards one of the buildings just a short walk away from the merchants guild. It was a much more somber-looking building, with the Cashuni Kingdom's flag hanging outside its door. They passed briefly through a wooden entryway and a number of oak desks before being taken down a stairwell, through musty stone passages, and into an underground courtroom with a wooden podium at its head.

There, one of the guards pushed him down into a chair at the front of the courtroom, and the other headed off, saying, "I'll go and, uh, tell the captain."

Silence stretched on as Reginald sat there, utterly confused and silently wondering about the fate of his papers. It seemed less and less likely that he would get a merchant's license today–if at all.