The Ember Thief

Chapter Twenty Two - Stacked Deck

Raide went over the directions in his head as he wandered off across the deck. By now, he had gotten familiar with the movements of a ship, and how you never seem to walk in a straight line. At the stern of the vessel, there was a row of large cabins joined together. Just as Tor said, the one on the far left side had a large hand axe stuck into the door as if someone tried to break it down. Raide walked over and gripped the shaft of the axe. The axehead was buried so far in the wood it must have been poking through on the other side. He knocked the door firmly to the side of the weapon.

'Come in,' a voice shouted from the inside.

Raide opened the door to find a spacious room filled with maps and nautical charts on the wall. In the centre was a large circular table with a hole in the middle, where a young man sat. The chair had been made so it could spin around in all directions.

'You must be the man they call, Raide,' he said, in a formal, educated accent. The man stood up and crawled on all fours part-way across the desk, holding out his hand. 'Godfrey Renwick, pleased to meet you. Most people here, just call me Renwick.' He was young, well dressed with floppy brown hair that was swept to the side. Raide shook the man's hand before he shuffled backwards to the hole at the centre of the table. 'I knew it was you at the door.'

'How?'

'You knocked, that normally doesn't happen around here.'

Raide pointed over his shoulder. 'You have an axe in your door,' he said, sounding slightly dismayed.

'Ah yes,' Renwick said, leaning over past Raide looking at the door. 'Giving people betting advice here can lead to one of two extreme reactions.' He started searching the papers on his desk. 'I think I was close to working out a formula that predicts a common sailor's reaction to gambling loss, by taking into account the amount of tala lost multiplied by how much he has had to drink. Did they tell you what I do here?' he said, jumping subjects quickly.

Something about the way the man spoke and the mess on his desk reminded Raide of Monty. 'Tor said you're a Faker, whatever that means.'

Renwick sighed. 'Guttural slang vernacular fondly used by the lower classes. I prefer to think of it as a student of probability and theoretical outcomes. However, the term Faker does have a practical origin. As I would be the one who approaches the bookmaker, as a proxy for the gambling man, to protect his identity. Therefore, I'm the fake man or Faker being the more popular term. Sugared almond?'

'I beg your pardon?' Raide said, leaning forward trying to keep up with the speed in which Renwick spoke.

Renwick passed the bowl of nuts across the table. 'Would you care for a sugared almond?' he said, purposefully slowing down his speech.

Raide frowned and took an almond and popped it in his mouth. 'Thanks.'

'Finding food that has nutritional depth and longevity aboard a ship can be somewhat challenging with extended periods at sea. The nut, for its size, is a wondrous creation. High in fat and rich in nutrients, unless you're the small percentage of the population who are adverse to them, in which case I might just have killed you. How's your breathing?' Renwick blurted quickly, barely stopping for breath.

Raide stopped chewing. 'F-, Fine,' he mumbled.

'Excellent, with death adverted, for the time being, you are probably wondering what I can offer you?'

Raide went to open his mouth.

'Well the answer to that question is relatively straight forward,' Renwick continued. 'I can divulge with you information that has been collected from various sources, including nefarious means, regarding the match this evening, which may or may not, provide a tactical advantage when people start throwing hammers at your head. On a scale of one to ten, one being feeble and ten being formidable, how would you rate your physical conditioning today?'