He clucked his tongue, “You would be twice as sour, ‘twere you in my shoes. Bargeman…” His eyes narrowed. Blocking the man’s path he retorted. “I received word… not from that weasel of father’s, but my own sources… that you and other merchants that trade out of our borders, have been undercutting costs. Dodging the import tax by claiming lighter loads. Keeping what is due unto the Master for your own.” He placed his foot upon the boat cleat, hoping to further delay the man from his departure. “You ought to know well enough the consequences of such actions. Your counterparts however, might need some reminding. Who are they Bard? I want names.”
Bard halted in his stride as Destrian blocked his path, the first stirrings of frustration within him. “Due unto the Master?” he said, the sound of his voice full of incredulity as he stared at the other man. “If such a thing occurs - and I am not saying it is - perhaps your father should considering lowering his taxes. Our people do not work from dawn till dusk so he can wear fine fabrics and round his belly with foods we can only dream of. Now–” He stepped into Destrian’s personal space, their faces but inches away from one another as he spoke, his voice quiet and low. “Your foot is on my property. I suggest you remove it.”