Running Bet

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Running Bet

A Thadrick Clant Novel

Chris Mitchell

Copyright 2013 Chris Mitchell

Cover Art by Chris Mitchell

Smashwords Edition

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This e-book is a work of fiction. Assuming that the author was not influenced in any manner by his own experiences, then logically it follows that all characters, places, and events within are entirely fictitious, and any similarities to real places, events, or persons (living or dead) are purely coincidental. If you believe that assumption is invalid, you may safely disregard this disclaimer.

Smashwords Edition License Notes:

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Table of Contents:

Chapter 1: In which I talk to a client's child

Chapter 2: In which I am repeatedly the bearer of bad news

Chapter 3: In which I find another man's paperwork irritating

Chapter 4: In which I visit a pair of apothecaries

Chapter 5: In which I tell my maid to be more honest

Chapter 6: In which I reveal what I know

Chapter 7: In which I hire some guards

Chapter 8: In which I explain a running joke

Chapter 9: In which I witness a street brawl

Chapter 10: In which I say farewell to my guest

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Chapter 1: In which I talk to a client's child

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A common factor in the people who approached me for help was that they all tended to be in a desperate state when I met them. I suppose that most were simply emotionally distraught, believing their situation to be hopeless. While this was not entirely true, it was understandable, especially when other members of the nobility were involved.

Naturally, I was rather surprised when this turned out to not be the case. As was typical, I was working on finishing up some paperwork when someone walked into my office. While I needed to finish this work, I was actually grateful for the interruption, as I found myself tiring of the tedium. It certainly did not hurt to take a break once every so often.

The person in question was a woman, slightly younger than me and dressed rather plainly. It was obvious from the beginning that this was likely a side business affair, as she was dressed rather plainly. Only those with significant wealth approached me about investment, as they were the only ones with the money to spare and the lack of sense not to handle such matters themselves.

Mister Clant? the woman spoke.

Indeed, I said, Do you have need of my services?

Yes, she answered, looking around, My name is Mirabella Mort. I can't stay long, though, since my children will get into trouble without me. Can I arrange a meeting with you tomorrow?

Of course, I indicated, Will you be bringing said children to the meeting, or coming alone?

No, they're going to spend the day with their grandfather, she explained. That was curious, but at this point it was hardly my business how she raised her children.

Very well, I told her, writing down the address of my home, This is where my home is. Does early tomorrow afternoon sound good to you?

That will work, Mister Clant, she nodded, sounding slightly relieved, Thank you.

It's not a problem, I said, Have a good day, Miss Mort.

As she turned and left, I considered what this could be about. Judging from her demeanor, this did not seem to be a particularly urgent affair. I expected I could readily resolve the issue within a few days. I routinely dealt with such requests, and this one would be no different. It was a pity, really, since I preferred more challenge in my side work.

Either way, I had agreed to hear her out, so it did not really matter. I would see to the issue the next day; for now, the paperwork was not getting done on its own. I sighed and returned to working on it.

* * * * *

The next day, I chose to remain at home in preparation for my meeting. I had instructed my maid, Parial, to expect a guest and prepare food and drinks accordingly. In the event that this woman showed up early enough, having a midday meal ready would improve my relationship with her.

Unfortunately, she did not show up in time for said food, leaving me and Parial to eat all of the extra food ourselves. This was not a problem, as Parial was surprisingly capable of eating large amounts in one sitting. Such was the benefit of being as young as she was, a benefit I had been forced to give up years ago.

It turned out Miss Mort was true to her word. Not too long after we had finished our meal, I heard a knock at the door. I waited patiently for Parial to show our guest in. As expected, Mort followed Parial in...and behind her, a bearded man, looking roughly the same age as the woman, perhaps a little older.

I sincerely hoped this was not an issue to deal with some sort of romantic affair. I had only had to deal with that sort of affair once before, and the result was rather messy. It would be rather odd for a woman who claimed to have children to be involved in something of that sort, but not entirely unheard of. I supposed that I would know the truth soon enough.

Hello again, I said, And you would be?

Name's Bartos Mort, the man greeted me, You've met my wife, right?

I can safely say that I have. I had to wonder which of them had originally came up with the idea of approaching me for help.

Right, so I'll get to business, the man said, You know about the upcoming Victory Festival?

Of course, I replied, not bothering to mention I did not normally attend that festival. What is the problem then?

I normally run in the race on the last day of the festival, Mort explained, Do it every year. However, I might not, because of what I found stuck to my door a few days ago. He pulled out a small slip of paper, and handed it to me.

I noted it was written in a very crude style as I read it out loud. If you run in the festival race, it will be the last thing you do. I snorted in response. How very juvenile, making such a threat. So I assume you want me to find out who left this?

Please, his wife spoke, I don't know why someone would do this, but they need to be stopped.

I take it you are unwilling to pay the bribes needed to get the city watch involved, I noted, However, you must understand I do not undertake such tasks for free.

One hundred gold coins, the man promptly told me. I was rather surprised, as I had not expected them to readily have such money. It would not cost that much more to pay off the guard. I guessed they disliked turning to the city guard on principle, and thus refused to pay them.

Fifty up front, and we have a deal.

Done, Mort extended a hand, and I shook it, noting his strong grip. I can arrange for the first amount to be given to you tomorrow. That should be okay, right?

Fair enough, I smiled, Now, before I go, do you have any information about this note?

Only that it was pinned to the door with this knife, he answered, pulling out a small dagger. All I know is that this didn't come out of the smithy I work at. Doesn't have a smith's mark.

I took the dagger and examined it. As he had indicated, there were no obvious signs of who it belonged to. I'll keep both the note and the dagger, and will look into this, I nodded, Let me know if either of you receive any more threats.

We will, Mort said, Thanks for agreeing to help. You sure you can figure this out?

I'm Thadrick Clant, I answered, Success is part of what I do. But before you go, could you tell me where you live? I will need to know.

Of course, Mort nodded, We live at...

* * * * *

The Victory Festival was not the sort of thing I normally paid attention to. Part of the reason why was that, between my investment business and side matters, I was kept very busy most of the time. However, it was true that I had never held an interest in the festivities. I preferred more relaxed entertainment than what was at this festival.

What I did know was that the festival itself was centuries old, in honor of the ancient defeat of the last Nosfer invasion. Children and adults alike came together to participate in various events, watching sword fighting, juggling, and all sorts of musical and theatrical performances. The footrace on the final day was one of the last events of the festival, and apparently it was a major attraction to many people.

That was certainly not sufficient knowledge for the task I faced. I would have to find out who was in charge of organizing the events. It was impossible that whoever was in charge of organizing said festival would not, at the very least, know something of relevance. However, I would have to identify them, preferably in as discrete a manner as possible.

While I had hoped there would be a simpler route, I supposed the best person to talk to would be Captain Drogon of the city guard. He would be willing to help, and would consider it a favor repaid, for all the times I had assisted him before. Of course, he did not really enjoy that fact, but that was the sort of person he was.

With that in mind, the next afternoon I made my way to his office, immediately after receiving the promised payment. His office was located in a small barracks just outside the castle walls. Unless there was an emergency, Drogon normally helped out with the morning patrols, and then spent the remainder of the day behind a desk. This was actually more effort than the other captains normally put in, a fact that testified to the man's commitment to his job. I could do no less than admire Drogon for that.

As I had anticipated, he was there. Another case, Mister Clant?

As always, I answered, I need to meet with the person in charge of organizing the Victory Festival.

Well, to start with, there's not one person in charge, Drogon said, Knowing you, you'll probably want to speak to the one in charge of the festival's security.

Which in turn, knowing you, would be you. I stated bluntly. Drogon was predictable in his devotion to his work, if nothing else.

Yes, Drogon nodded, smirking slightly. Tell me what you've found.

This was given to one of the people planning to participate in the race, I told him, producing the threatening note.

Drogon frowned as he read it. This is odd, he muttered, then looked up, The sword fighting is the main attraction of the festival, and I'm used to seeing most of the problems there. I don't have any idea why someone would be that desperate to keep a specific runner out of the race. He paused, clearly thinking this matter through. Who is the man in question?

I frowned at that question. I had hoped to not give away the identity of my client. However, I suspected I would not get any farther here if I didn't reveal that. Bartos Mort is his name. He apparently has run in the race before.

I see, Drogon said, I'm going to guess he isn't willing to approach the city guard for help?

As far as I know, that is the case, I answered, I did not press the matter.

It would be nice if people would actually trust us for once... Drogon stood up and paced for a bit. Finally, he returned to his seat. I can't really proceed without more information, or a formal request.

In all honesty, this suited me just fine, as I had no desire to let Drogon or his men handle this. This situation called for subtle handling, something typically beyond the capability of the guards. While they certainly could guarantee the safety of Mort, their efforts would make identifying the ones responsible an impossible task.

Then I shall handle this matter myself, for now, I said, So, who would I talk to in order to determine who the other racers are?

I'd tell you who to talk to, but I don't think you could find that information out yet, Drogon answered, From what I know, there are a lot of people who register on the last few days. Sorry.

Fair enough. That does make sense. I rose, knowing there was nothing more to gain here. Thank you for the information. Farewell then.

Farewell, Mister Clant.

* * * * *

Despite my final question to Drogon, I did not actually want to go hunting down the person organizing the race itself just yet, as I was still trying to be subtle about the affair. There was no guarantee that he wasn't involved himself, which could mean approaching him now would end up disastrously.

Instead, I elected to go visit the Mort house the very next day, and see if they knew the names of the participants of the race. Surely he could not be the only one who had run in the race before. He would know who they were, even if his wife did not.

Of course, it was his wife who was the only one present when I went to visit. She was taking care of a little girl, while her son, who looked slightly older, played nearby with a set of wooden blocks and a vivid imagination. It was all rather charming and picturesque,