Chapter 5: Mean Streets

Razia let out a sharp, genuine laugh that had everyone, Quentin included, turning to stare at her.

“Oh come on. You’re not going to do the toll road bit, are you?” She pushed past Quentin’s arm and stood proudly in front of the leader of them. The leader cocked his head to the side. He considered Razia, a smile growing on his face. Quentin looked between him and the two men still slowly edging forward, pinning them in.

“No,” he finally said. “No bit. We’re robbing you. You either give us your money or we perforate you. We’re simple men, we want a simple thing. We’re far from any Watch patrols. What’ll it be?”

“And what if we don’t have any money?” Razia pressed, getting a little bit closer to him. Quentin wanted to shush her, but she didn’t look the slightest bit intimidated. “I haven’t gotten started for the evening, and my friend here is practically a slave. Would you believe they pay him in scraps of bread?” She shook her head. “Won’t you take pity on us and just let us be?”

The leader pulled out a glass knife from his belt. Behind them, the other two men did as well. They were short, curved little things. Good for stabbing, but too fragile for a real fight. The type that were easily concealed in clothes, and didn’t come anywhere near violating the city’s weapon restrictions. They would kill someone just as easily as a sword or spear.

“Razia?” Quentin said, trying to warn her. If he went for his own knife, they’d be on him in seconds. His fingers still itched to draw it.

“Then we’ll kill the slave and take you back with us,” said one of the men blocking their escape. He was taller than even Quentin and built like a brick wall. He mimicked grabbing her and thrusting against her. That made his partner laugh, and even the leader chuckled.

“Yes, what Gregor said,” he drawled. “Though at this rate, you’re wasting our time. Might be easier to just shank you both. What do you think, boys?”

“I don’t know about them,” Razia pressed, “but that doesn’t work for me. How about you and me talk about it for a little while? Just the two of us, and you let my friend go.”

Quentin put his hand on Razia’s arm to keep her from getting closer. “Look,” he said, swallowing down his growing anxiety, “there’s no need for any of that. I’ve got some money right here. It’s yours. We’ll be on our way and you can go back to drinking or creeping around or literally anything other than threatening us.” He reached to his belt and pulled out a small cloth sack. He jingled it and the sounds of glass on glass followed.

The sounds of insects in the night and distant people faded away as Quentin’s heartbeat started working in double time. After spending most of his life fighting, he could practically taste it when a fight was about to break out. Everything in him screamed to act first, to seize the advantage before they could keep control of the situation. The leader looked at the bag of money and seemed to be considering it, but then his gaze slid over to Razia.

“Wait a minute…” His eyes narrowed. “I know you. You were at that party a couple months ago, down on the south side. One of the leaders of the gangs, Piro I think, brought you out and humiliated you. You walked away crying!”

All of Razia’s confidence evaporated in an instant. “Oh,” she said.

The leader’s eyes lit up. “It was you! Oh gods. Boys, change of plans. Someone’s going to want to have a few words with her.”

Razia turned towards Quentin. Her warm, soft features were twisted in real fear then. Quentin didn’t think about it for a second. He let out his breath and acted.

“Here!” He lobbed the bag of shards high up in the air above the thug. The leader looked up and that was the distraction Quentin needed. He stepped forward and drove his fist through the man’s face. He felt the man’s nose crunch and his own already battered knuckles split open again.

The thug dropped. Quentin ignored the urge to stomp him, kick him, and win the fight. He took off instead, tightening his grip on Razia’s arm and dragging her along with him. “Run!” he shouted.

“Ged dem!” Quentin heard the leader shout thickly. He smiled, feeling the throb in his hand. The dark alley they’d slowly crept down when trying to avoid being mugged took only a few seconds at a sprint. By the time the gang had recovered from the shock, Quentin already guided Razia back onto the main thoroughfare.

They tore down the main street, pushing past a couple of men, hand in hand. One of the men shouted something rude after him. A few seconds later, he shouted again, but this time in fear. Quentin and Razia were already turning down a side street.

Quentin led them down that way, dodging around a stack of crates and skidded to a halt. In the alley was a group of about a dozen men and women standing in a circle, jeering and shouting. In the circle were two large lizards, four feet long and three feet tall. One of the dunewallas hissed, frills raising and trembling as the other snapped harmlessly at it.

“Shit,” Quentin groaned.

“Quentin?” Razia said, nudging him and looking behind them. The two shirtless thugs found the alley. Seeing them, they pointed and shouted.

“Shit shit shit,” Quentin repeated in a mantra. One of the people around the dunewalla fight turned around. Quentin saw his opportunity and took it. “C’mon!” he said as he dashed forward again.

The man leapt out of his way, giving them an opening. Quentin pushed past the ring of people and right among the lizards. Both of the dunewallas turned their lazy aggression at him, mouths opening wide to show a row of teeth that would hurt, if not be lethal. Quentin paused long enough to reach out and backhand the nearest dunewalla before the wall of people parted for them.

“Hey!”

“What the hell?”

“Oh shit, get a hold of them!”

The lizard he struck went wild, gnashing and biting at anything that came close. Another set of shouts told him their pursuers weren’t far behind, but they were slowed. Razia let out a peal of surprised, delighted laughter. The alley ended and once more they were back on a main road.

The city passed by in a blur of dimly lit clay houses and the odd surprised straggler. Beside him, Razia ran her fastest to keep up with him. Every so often she lagged behind and the sound of her sandals on the sandy street would slow until Quentin tugged on her arm. Each new burst of speed was shorter than the last.

Running felt wrong. Even knowing that it was the best option he had, he wanted to stand and fight. Even as the wound on his leg flared with pain, piercing through the generous heaps of numbing gel he’d slathered onto the wound, Quentin wanted to turn and stop them and show them exactly what he thought about their attempted mugging. He ran away from the urge as much as he ran from the muggers themselves.

“Stop…” Razia eventually said, panting. Reluctantly, Quentin slowed to a stop. Though it was dark and everything was blurry, the Boulevard was just barely visible in the distance. If they could get there, there were enough people there at all hours of the night to be more or less safe. “Just for a moment…”

Razia hung on his arm, sucking in air. She shook sand and rocks from each of her sandals, wincing. Quentin turned back to where they had been, shifting his weight from foot to foot. His heart beat fast, but still controlled. “You good now?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Razia said. Her breathing was nearly back to normal. “I don’t think they’re going to follow. I think you...Shit.”

It was Quentin’s turn to be pulled into running. He looked, and there were the two tattooed thugs coming straight for them, fresh blood on their arms and legs. The few people in the street got out of their way in a hurry. Quentin and Razia slipped down another dark alley. They were halfway to the next street when Quentin’s wound flared with pain. On the next step, his leg buckled.

Quentin threw out his hands and caught himself before he landed face first. The impact made the entire world go white.

“Quentin?” Razia stopped and ran back. “You okay?” She hooked her hands under his armpits and tried tugging him to his feet.

“Yeah, yeah, I should be.” He tested his weight. Quentin crumpled, but this time Razia caught him with a surprised grunt.

“Shit,” she hissed, looking back where they came from. “Okay. I’m sorry for this, but trust me.”

“Trust you? What?”

Razia pulled him to the side. Quentin lurched forward on his good leg as she angled them in the tiny space between houses. Razia slipped between them and let herself tumble backwards, pulling Quentin with her. It was so narrow his shoulders scraped the walls. He landed on top of her.

She shifted on the ground and his weight was redistributed to make their position less awkward. Razia spread his cloak out and pulled his head down into the nape of her neck. Razia made a shushing noise, but she didn’t need to. Quentin was completely frozen.

Down there, no one would see them unless they went poking around, but the pursuit was all but forgotten. Quentin was so much bigger than her, he realized. On top, he felt like he was in danger of crushing her, but if she was uncomfortable she didn’t seem like it. Pressed up against him, Razia almost felt like...like she fit perfectly. Quentin swallowed hard.

The two men ran past their hiding place without even slowing.

Quentin opened his mouth to speak. Razia covered it and held up a finger. They said something he couldn’t make out, muffled and angry sounding. They argued like that for a minute before it ended. A minute of silence later, she nodded and moved her hand.

“What the hell was that?” Quentin croaked.

Razia looked down and smiled sheepishly. “I thought we could give them the slip. Looks like I was right! You worried about getting caught like this?” She wrapped her legs around his waist.

“Not that!” Quentin hissed, pulling away from her before she felt just how little he minded the position. He used the walls for leverage and climbed to one foot as she let out another warm peal of laughter. “I meant sassing that jackass. What were you thinking?”

“Honestly? I thought I'd confuse him, get close, then kick him in the crotch and run like hell. I think we were basically on the same page.” Razia grinned up at him from the ground. She held her hand up.

“Or you could've let me give him some shards so they'd leave. You know, without trying to kill us.” Quentin sighed and helped her to her feet. She brushed dirt off the back of her dress. “What was that about some guy and a party?”

That same look of surprise and fear crossed her face, and then was gone. Razia shrugged. “Oh, that. It’s really not a big deal. It was a bad breakup. He humiliated me, so I got him back after. He’s pissy because I hurt him worse than he hurt me. You know how it goes.” She pushed past Quentin and looked down the street.

“I really don’t,” Quentin muttered. He took a step after her and the pain flared again. He sucked in a sharp breath, but didn’t fall to his feet this time. He propped himself up against the nearest house as he limped forward.

Razia turned around, looking down. “Are you okay, Quentin? What happened back there?”

“It’s nothing. Just a minor --”

Razia dropped to her knees and pulled his cloak open before he could protest. She lifted the bottom of his tunic, and winced. Quentin stilled his pounding heart and saw that the cut he’d stitched up was bleeding again. “Oh. Is this why you wanted to just give your money up without a fight?”

Quentin gently put his hand on hers and pushed it away from his thigh. He pulled his cloak closed. “Yeah, that’s one reason,” he said. He helped Razia back up to her feet again.

“There were three of them. I’m not sure how many fights you’ve been in, but you don’t want to be outnumbered. One person is fine. Two is rough, but doable if I’m not surprised...Or injured. Three while my leg’s like this? Might as well just slit my own throat and save them the trouble.” Quentin tested his weight on his leg. The pain returned, but his leg held. He nodded to himself. It would be enough to get home.

Without saying a word, Razia took his arm in hers and supported some of his weight. It didn't help much, but Quentin appreciated it. They walked in silence to the Boulevard of Saint Trassius.

The Boulevard was one of the biggest thoroughfares in all of Orchrisus, north or south. It split the north side in half going from west to east, connecting dozens of side streets and neighborhoods. It was wide enough for the thousands of people and hundreds of beetle driven carts to walk side by side every day, with room left over for merchants’ stalls to line the streets.

The night grew brighter and the buildings bigger as they left the line of small houses. They were a few yards away when Quentin stopped. Razia looked up at him, questioning.

“This is where we should part, I think,” said Quentin. “I don't live too far from here, and you should be safe if you don't go down any dark alleys. I mean, what are the odds of getting mugged twice in one night, right?”

Razia's shoulders slumped. “Yeah…” she let out a nervous laugh. “I'm sorry about that. If I'd known that you were hurt, I wouldn't have provoked that guy. For what it's worth, if I'd been alone things might have been very different. Thanks for escorting me.”

To Quentin's surprise, Razia pulled him down and gently kissed his cheek. She lingered long enough for him to feel the ghost of her lips after she pulled away. Quentin didn’t know what was warmer: her smile or his face. She let out a delighted laugh.

“You’ve got pink in your face again,” she pointed out. Of course, that only made it worse.

“Oh piss off,” Quentin sighed, smiling. He pulled his hood back up. “Take care of yourself, Razia, and, uh...Good luck.”

He nodded to her then limped onto the Boulevard. No matter the hour, there were always people there. One more cloaked man wouldn’t be noticed. In the night crowd, he could be alone in peace until he got back home for the night. Another round of numbing gel sounded good. A few days of rest and relaxation, and he would be back in shape for the next fight.

“So I was thinking,” Razia said as she fell into step with him, shaking Quentin from his thoughts. “I owe you money, don’t I? I mean, you threw some at that guy, and it’s not right that you paid for the privilege of keeping me safe. Stands to reason that I have a debt to pay, right?”

“What? No.” Quentin stared at her. Even now she wasn’t giving up. He shook his head, smiling. “That was a sack of half-qala pieces. I keep it on me in case I get shaken down. He got maybe 8 qala from me. I’m not going to lose sleep over that little.”

Razia’s eyes widened comically. “Well,” she said, faking astonishment, “check out Mr. Moneybags here! That’s enough to feed me for a week. With that much, I have to pay you back. It’s a matter of honor now.”

Quentin stopped. She wasn’t going to give up. He didn’t know why, but he wasn’t desperate or lonely enough to not be suspicious. Women like her didn’t go for freaks like him. In all his life, only one other woman did, and that one time...He shook his head.

“Why?” he asked once more. “There’s plenty of other people here and it’s safer. You could have your pick of anyone. You don’t owe me anything, Razia. If this is about pity, I neither need nor want it.” Quentin’s voice came out colder than he expected, but it was a relief to get it out.

Razia looked around. She made a big show of it, craning her head around to point at the various people who were standing around, or buying a late night meal at a stall. Her finger bounced in the air as she counted each of them off. She nodded, satisfied. Razia looked up at Quentin, fighting to keep a straight face.

“There’s twenty three people right here. I can see 2 taverns and an inn. With that, I’d guess that there are probably about a hundred people in spitting distance. If only half of them are men, then I’d guess that there are seventy five people who I could approach. Right?”

She continued without waiting for his response. “Right. Out of those one hundred people, only one of them lost money and aggravated a wound in defense of my life and honor. Forget pity, Quentin. I don’t do that. You seem like a good man.”

A good man. Quentin couldn’t have felt worse if she’d just called him a moonkissed monster. Good men didn’t kill people for a living, or enjoy the thrill of it. Good men didn’t have to hide their face or what they did from others. He shied away from Razia.

“I’m...I’m not. Thank you for the offer, but no.”

He no more turned around than Razia called out again. “Come on, Quentin. Let me buy you a drink or two at least. Just a drink, I promise.”

Quentin hesitated. “...Just a drink?”