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Chapter 13: The Gentlemen's Club


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#1 Guest_RickTaylor_*

Posted 05 February 2005 - 05:11 PM

Chapter 13
The Gentlemen's Club



April 21, 1885
Magnus's Apartment, Late Morning


Has it really been three days since I last wrote in my diary? I fear I’ve fallen badly behind. A lot has happened since I last set pen to paper. Well, I suppose now is a very good time to catch up. My arm is feeling better, and there’s nothing else to do except lie in bed all day. Virgil and Magnus take turns looking in on me. I think they’re making sure I don’t try to sneak out or otherwise over-exert myself. Of course I can’t really blame them. If our positions were reversed, I’m sure I’d be doing the same thing.

Magnus has been a most generous host. He won’t even allow me to talk about compensation for his hospitality. Yesterday morning he had a doctor look in on me, a middle-aged dwarf dressed in a rumpled suit and with a few grey hairs in his beard. The fellow was horrible. He wasn’t overtly rude, but he was completely cold; he didn’t even try to hide his contempt for me. I swear that when I become a doctor, I shall never treat a patient like that, I don’t care who they are. Still, I can’t fault his professional abilities. Already I am able to write with hardly any pain; in a week or so I hope to be able to pick up a sword again. Perhaps it will be sooner; after all, we half-orcs are renowned for our recuperative powers. In the mean time, at least I can write.


So, after I wrote my last diary entry, I gathered my things and went downstairs to find Virgil waiting for me in the lobby. As I came down the stairs, he looked up at me with concern. “Are you feeling better, Clarisse?”

“I’m fine. Did you get the signature?”

Virgil pursed his lips. “I did, but there’s a problem. Take a look.” He handed me the document.

From the Desk of Wendell Wellington


Please allow the bearer of this invitation, Clarisse Vorak,

full access to the club this day of February 18, 1885.


Signed Wendell Wellington


“Why isn’t your name on it, Virgil?” I asked.

“I talked to Charlie; he’s the man who did the work. He said he could squeeze in both our names, but it would look suspicious. Mr. Wellington probably wouldn’t give two people one invitation unless they were husband and wife.”

“Oh dear. I see. Well, I guess I’m going to have to go in there on my own then. You can wait for me a block south from the club. I’ll go to the club on my own and then meet you outside as soon as I’m done.”

“Alright. But keep your eyes open. If there’s any trouble, I’ll be waiting for you.”

“Don’t worry, Virgil, no one’s going to try to kill me in a gentlemen’s club. They might try to arrest me, but that’s another matter. Let’s go.”

It was a short walk to the Wellington Gentlemen’s club. As I approached the big front doors, I saw the same doorman I’d talked to yesterday standing out in front. He lifted his eyes heavenward as he saw me approach as if to say, “Lord, give me strength!”

I stopped in front of him and smiled. “So good to see you again, sir.”

He took a deep breath before replying, “Good afternoon, madam. Is there something I can do for you?”

“I explained my situation to Mr. Wellington, and he was most understanding. He has generously allowed me access to the club.” I presented the doorman with my invitation.

He snatched it from me and examined it, his eyes moving back and forth scrutinizing every line. He asked to see my passport, which of course was in order. Then he stood there frowning pensively as I waited. Finally, he sighed heavily and said, “Very well, madam. I cannot prevent you from entering, but I’m afraid the regular patrons will not like it at all. I beg of you, please, conduct your business and leave as soon as possible.”

I cast my eyes humbly downward, resisting the temptation to gloat. Gloating could wait until after I’d finished my business within the club. Speaking as demurely as I could, I said, “Don’t worry, sir. This won’t take long, and I shall conduct myself with the utmost decorum. Thank you so much for your help.” He winced at that last remark, and I went inside.

I passed through a coatroom into a very large area that could easily have sat a couple hundred people. It was divided roughly into three parts: a well stocked bar to the right of the entrance with a mirror behind it, a large open space with small mahogany tables and chairs scattered about, and a gaming area in the back with two billiard tables, a curious electric game with blinking lights, a large rack of old newspapers, and a bookshelf. It was a workday afternoon, and only twenty or so gentlemen were present. They were playing pool, or sitting and reading papers, or chatting at the bar, while they nursed their drinks and smoked (the room stank of tobacco). They were mostly human, but I could see a few gnomes and even one dwarf among them. After all the trouble I’d gone through to get inside, my actual entrance was anticlimactic. A few gentlemen glanced up at me as I entered, but no one stared or paid much more attention than that. By now of course I understood that Mr. Wellington was susceptible to bribery, and outsiders visiting the club were not necessarily such a novelty. Dressed as I was, I doubt anyone even noticed my race.

I was at a bit of a loss as to what to do next. I wandered over to the bar, and sat at the end by myself. I ordered a glass of spirits and pretended to drink it while attempting to strike up a conversation with the bartender. I thought perhaps I’d have an easier time with him than with the patrons of the club. He was at least superficially polite, which felt very nice. He must have assumed that anyone who made it past the doorman must have legitimate reason for being there, no matter who they were. I tried to get him to talk about Mr. Garringsburg and his painting, but it soon became clear that he wasn’t going to discuss the other patrons of the club with me.

I was considering what to do next when I heard a gentleman behind me clearing his throat. I turned and looked down to discover a gnome. He was thin even for his kind, just over three feet tall, young, sporting a moustache, elegantly groomed and dressed, and rather handsome in a roguish sort of way. I recognized him immediately from the papers. One of the wealthiest men in Tarant, he had a reputation as a businessman for being bold, brilliant, and utterly ruthless. He smiled politely, and said “Good afternoon, madam. I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of seeing you here before?”

“I’ve never been here before, sir. Mr. J. M. Morat I presume?’

He raised an eyebrow.

“Forgive me, sir, I recognized you from the papers.”

“Indeed? Well, you mustn’t believe everything you read. And you would be the sole survivor of the IFS Zephyr? Please forgive me if I don’t remember your name.”

“Clarisse Vorak, sir. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Likewise, although I must admit I didn’t expect the famous blimp crash survivor to be a half-orc.”

“Most people don’t, though I don’t see why not. Although I must say, you’re quite polite. I do appreciate that.”

He smiled again, but there was little warmth to it; it was as though he was smiling at some private joke. “Oh don’t mistake me, madam, I’m no orcish-rights fanatic. As a wealthy capitalist, I couldn’t afford to be. But politeness costs nothing, and I have discovered it can turn a profit when one least expects it.” He took a sip from his drink before continuing, “To what do we owe this visit, madam?”

“I’m here on behalf of the Garringsburgs. Or at least on behalf of Mrs. Garringsburg. I’m investigating the theft of their painting”

“‘Kergahn and Persephone’? I see. A distressing business, that. Do you mind if I ask how you managed to get past Bernard?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“He’s the doorman. I was just curious how you managed to gain entry to the club.”

I looked down uncomfortably. “Mr. Wellington gave me an invitation.”

Mr. Morat raised his eyebrows in surprise. “Did he now?”

“Yes, I, uh, explained the situation, to him. As it involved the welfare of another member of this establishment, he most graciously offered me admittance here to pursue the matter.” My voice quavered slightly as I spoke, and I mentally wished I had thought to take a dose of the potion of persuasion before coming to the club.

The gnome’s face remained impassive; his opinion of all this was unreadable. “I see. Not that it matters. Still, I wonder what you expect to find here that will help you?”

“Mrs. Garringsburg told me that the thieves were in and out of the house in minutes. They must have known exactly what they were looking for; I’m trying to find out how they could possibly have known about the Garringsburgs’ painting. Mrs. Garringsburg said they had told only a few close friends about it, but she thought Mr. Garringsburg might have left his guard down when he was drinking and in the company of friends.”

Mr. Morat smiled broadly at that, and took another swallow from his own glass. “Mrs. Garringsburg knows her husband well. George is a good fellow, but he does drink more than is good for him, on occasion. I was here about two weeks ago when he was going on and on about his new painting and how much it was worth. We had to arrange for a carriage to take him home.” Mr. Morat paused for a moment, thinking about the matter. “But I still don’t see how this helps. You don’t really think a member of this club would go breaking and entering into his house, do you?”

“Well, it’s not just members of this club who come here, now is it?”

The gnome smiled darkly at that. “That is a most astute observation, madam. You know, I may have to revise the opinion I have of your race.”

I continued, “I hesitate to suggest this, but it is possible that some blackguard took advantage of Mr. Wellington’s generosity to gain an invitation and used the opportunity to spy out opportunities for theft.”

Mr. Morat snorted. “Mr. Wellington’s generosity. Pah!” He looked around to make sure no one could overhear us before continuing, “You don’t need to play games with me, young lady; I know Mr. Wellington is no gentleman, and I’m sure you know that too. Yes, it is quite possible that some ‘blackguard’ bribed his way into the club. That might explain the rash of thefts the papers have been talking about.”

I felt the blood rising to my head as Mr. Morat spoke; I suspect I was blushing. Silently praying that he did not know of Mr. Wellington’s habit of propositioning young ladies who sought to get into his club, I cleared my throat, and ventured to ask, “You don’t remember anyone unusual on the night in question, do you, Mr. Morat?”

He thought about this. “I don’t, but that doesn’t mean anything. However, Bernard records all the members and guests who enter and it’s placed into a logbook at the end of the day. If I were you, Miss Vorak, I’d talk to Jameson, that’s the bartender over there. Ask him for copies from the guest log on April 12 and April 5. Offer him, oh say 20 coins for his trouble. If he hesitates, you can use my name.”

“Thank you so much, sir. I do appreciate your help.”

“If you should be so fortunate as to recover the painting, you will mention my name favorably to Mrs. Garringsburg, won’t you? Mr. Garringsburg occasionally does business with my firm. I’d like him to do business more often.”

“Of course, sir.”

The gnome smiled that strange impenetrable smile of his, and walked back to rejoin his friends.

I called the bartender to arrange the matter, and he agreed very quickly to my proposal; I suspect he must have overheard at least a bit of my conversation with Mr. Morat. Regardless, he excused himself to go into the backroom and search for and prepare the material I required, and I sat down to await his return. As I sat there, I heard footsteps approaching quickly from behind. Most alarmingly, they were accompanied by the clinking sound of chain mail. I turned to see the doorman furiously bearing down upon me. A guard accompanied him, his hand on his sword.

“Madam,” the doorman said, “I must ask you to leave immediately.”

“Of course, sir, I was just on my way. Just give me one second to...”

“NOW, madam. This gentleman will be taking you to the police station. You are under arrest.”

“What is the trouble here, Bernard?” I looked down to see that Mr. Morat had returned and was looking curiously up at us. Of course by now practically everyone in the club was looking in my direction.

“Mr. Morat, I was suspicious that the honorable Mr. Wellington would allow a woman of her obviously low station admittance to the club. I gave a boy a coin to take a message to Mr. Wellington, and I have received one in return. This, this... I can’t call her a lady, this creature has gained admittance to the club through false pretenses. She either forged her invitation or, most likely, stole it from the honorable Mr. Wellington. Not surprising for such a half-breed low-life.”

Mr. Morat raised his eyebrows. “Is this true, madam?”

I confess I felt a bit guilty as he asked the question. Mr. Morat hadn’t done me any harm, after all. “I’m afraid so, sir.”

Mr. Morat smiled broadly. For a moment I thought he was going burst out laughing, but he controlled his mirth. “Well, Miss Vorak, there was no great harm done, and you were acting on behalf of a member of the club, so I think you can be forgiven this once.”

“But Mr. Morat!” cried the doorman.

“Calm yourself, Bernard. This lady is my guest, and I shall escort her out.” He picked up a piece of paper the bartender had left on the bar while we were talking. “I believe this is yours, madam?”

Virgil was waiting for me right outside the front doors. He was visibly relieved to see me. “Are you alright?” he said. “I saw that man over there going inside with the guard; I thought they were about to arrest you.”

“They were, but things worked out. Take a look at this,” I said, showing him the guest list the bartender had given me. “It’s a list of all the people who were in the club on the nights that Mr. Garringsburg bragged about his painting. Let’s see, there are two people listed as ‘guests’: Rory Limes and Steven Caldwell. Perhaps one of them is our thief.”

Virgil shook his head. “Even if one of these people did steal the painting, I don’t think they’d use their real name.”

“Maybe not, but they would have had to show the doorman a passport, and forging a passport can’t be an easy matter. If they used the same name in some other legal document, we might be able to find them at the hall of records. Anyway, it’s the only lead we have. If it doesn’t pan out, we’ll just have to forget about it and go back to tracking down the owner of the ring. I’ll just have to find some other way to convince Magnus I’m not green.”

It was early evening and the hall of records was still open. We quickly discovered that Steven Caldwell was a Tarantian businessman; his appearance at the club was hardly suspicious. Rory Limes was another matter. There was no record of any citizen with that name. After an hour of pestering the staff at the hall of records, we did find a document with his name on it. Rory Limes was the legal owner of a warehouse locker at 57 Mulligan Bone Alley.

Virgil’s eyes bulged open as he saw the address. “Mulligan Bone Alley? That’s a dangerous neighborhood. About as bad as you can get in Tarant except for the Boil. It’s not far from where I met Charlie.”

“Isn’t that just a block or so south of the factory slums?” I asked.

Virgil looked at me curiously. “How would you know about that?”

“I’m sorry, Virgil, I went walking there a few days back.”

You what?!? Are you crazy? That place is full of thieves and low-lifes, even the guards won’t go there, except in force.”

“Well I was a bit crazy then. But it wasn’t so dangerous, not for me. I’m a half-orc, Virgil, remember? I got far fewer stares there than I do walking through Kensington Park. Anyway, I promise not to do it again without telling you. Let’s get back to Mr. Rory Limes. 57 Mulligan Bone Way doesn’t sound like the warehouse of some respectable businessman who’s trying to elbow his way into high society. Perhaps it’s a place for storing stolen goods. Do you suppose our painting might be there?”

Virgil shrugged. “There’s one way to find out. We go there and take a look for ourselves.”

“Look for ourselves? How will we get in?”

Virgil looked embarrassed. “I, uh, have some experience opening locks without a key. I’m not a professional, but a warehouse in the slums isn’t going to be much of a challenge. I picked up some tools when I went to talk with Charlie; I thought they could come in handy.”

I laughed. “More research, Virgil? Honestly, you’re turning out to be a man of many talents.”

We bought a map of Tarant, returned to the Bridesdale Inn, and talked late into the night of how we would approach our task the next day. Of course I’d never planned such a thing before, but Virgil had many creative ideas. As our conversation came to an end, Virgil was looking pensive. “Is something wrong, Virgil?” I asked.

He looked down. “I don’t mean to be rude, but... you don’t have much experience dealing with the kind of people we’re going to be dealing with tomorrow. I just want you to be careful when we go out there.”

“I’ll be fine, Virgil, I’m half-orcish.”

Agitated, Virgil looked me in the eye and said insistently, “Listen, Tarant is a big city, and some parts of it, well, they’re not nice. A man needs to watch what he does and who he talks to. Believe me, I know a lot about surviving in places like this. This and worse. Just keep one eye always open, and one hand always on your weapon. You can't trust strangers, sometimes not even your friends. I used to, uh…”

Virgil fell silent. Softly I said, “It sounds like you know a lot about surviving on the streets.”

Virgil continued, “I used to…well…that was another time. Just be on your guard, and I'll be watching out for you as well.”

“Virgil, what is it? Where do you come from?”

“No! I’m sorry, I don’t want to talk about it. I don’t mean to... there’s so much I have to learn. Joachim says the free man is defined by what he does today. I'll look no more behind me.” Virgil sat quietly for a while, not meeting my gaze. Finally, he stood up and said, “I guess I’ll go to bed now. I’ll see you in the morning.”

As he made his way up the stairs, I took out my pen, opened my diary, and prepared to write. Virgil stopped at the top of the stairs, turned, and looked down at me, a slight smile playing on his lips. “Clarisse, it’s late. Shouldn’t you get an early night for once?

I smiled in response. “You’re always telling me I need to get more rest.”

“Well it’s true. Even if you are the Living One, you can’t live without sleep. You’re always staying up past midnight and getting up at least an hour before I do. I’ll bet you’re planning to get up early tomorrow to look after that kid again, too.”

“I’m half-orcish. We half-orcs have strong constitutions.”

“That doesn’t mean you don’t have to care of yourself. Besides, we both need a full night’s rest for tomorrow.”

I closed my diary in defeat. “I suppose you’re right. Good night, Virgil.” With that, I went up to my room and went to bed. I have to admit it did feel good to get a solid seven hours of sleep for a change. Of course I didn’t know then that that would be my last opportunity to write in my diary until now.

Goodness. I’ve been writing for over an hour and I’m nowhere near caught up. I feel exhausted, I’d better get some more rest.




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