Chapter 9: Razia’s Shadow

Demetrius and Jonas left shortly after they cleared their plates. For them, it would be an off night at the Colosseum, working through the last dregs of hangovers and concussions while Quentin recovered from his injury and stayed behind. They left Quentin with reason to be thoughtful. Maybe even angry.

Demetrius was the reason the other fighters ignored Quentin? No, Quentin shook his head, exhaling hard and burying his fingers into his knees. They’d decided to just pretend he didn’t exist rather than risk getting killed from letting his identity slip. It made sense. Quentin couldn’t deny that he might’ve done the same thing in their position. Of course, if he was in their position he would have more than just one friend and one adoring teenage fan.

And then there was what Demetrius said about Razia. Or mostly, about what she was. As if there was anything shameful about making a living. It beat what Quentin did. At least Razia and other women like her made people happy. They provided something for the world and took the abuse of the worst of society. Quentin wasn’t going to judge Razia. Not for that. Not when he killed people two or three nights a week.

Still, he couldn’t shake the last sliver of doubt. She figured it out, and she wanted him to know. Razia told him to his face and walked away. What could she possibly want from him? Maybe she would rat him out. Maybe she wouldn’t. Either way, Demetrius was right: Quentin did have to find her, and as soon as possible.

Quentin stayed until sunset. When the water clock in the corner reached the halfway point, he grabbed his cloak and left Demetrius’ home, locking up behind him. Stepping out into the last dying rays of light was a relief. Orchrisus at sunset was such a sight even Quentin couldn’t be down. The sky was on fire with fierce oranges, lazy yellows, and deep purples creeping up on the horizon and the people matched. They streamed around Quentin, wearing colorful silks and with hair dyed every color imaginable. Sunrise and sunset were the times of the Pierced Heart, and thus the times of Orchrisus. Sunset was the start of when he could be outside without fear of burning or blindness.

Sunset was when he could disappear into anonymity as just another figure in the crowd. Night brought out the hedonism in Orchrisians. Quentin might not have belonged, but at night it felt like the city belonged to him. Despite the growing pain in his leg wound, Quentin walked back up to the Boulevard and found Maggie’s Den.

The dinner crowd filled the place. Only a handful of seats were available, and servers squeezed by each other to attend to the tables. Even Maggie’s daughter Andrea was helping out instead of playing her lute. Quentin kept his cloak held tight around him and pushed his way to the bar, head down and praying no one would bother him. Gods, this had been way easier the night before.

“What’ll it be?” Maggie shouted to be heard as she shoved a couple of mugs and collected a handful of shards for them.

“Information,” Quentin shouted back, tilting his head to get a better look at her.

Maggie’s eyes narrowed with recognition. She snorted. “Welcome back, Battlemaster.” She grabbed a mug and filled it for him, setting it down without missing a beat or motioning for money.

“What’s this for?” Quentin asked, tentatively taking a sip.

“A thank you for last night,” Maggie said, working automatically to pour refills and collect discarded mugs from the others at the bar. Andrea came up from behind her and began taking money. “The drinks started flowing when it turned into gladiator storytime. You had a helluva eager audience.”

Quentin’s stomach dropped into a deep, cold pit. “I did?” His memory had bits and pieces of people forming a circle around him and him talking up a storm. There was little else, save for a shaky image of Razia pressed up close with her arm around his shoulders and laughing pleasantly.

Maggie let out a loud, booming laugh. “Can’t blame you for not rememberin’. You were wobblier’n a newborn lamb by the end of the night. Everyone was buying drink after drink so you’d keep talking. And,” she said, grinning fiercely, “I didn’t have to break up any fights. The least I can do is get you a drink.”

Alarms went off in his head, sounding suspiciously like Demetrius screaming at him. “What exactly was I telling them?” Quentin asked in a shaky voice.

He got a shrug in response. “Big one was how you became Battlemaster. Something about you being shit on by some gladiators before you laid their asses out, became a human training dummy, and climbed the ranks. Any of that true?”

Quentin let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding. “More or less,” he said, taking a big gulp of his beer. Maybe that was before he got too drunk to keep a lid on things. Or maybe there wasn’t anything to worry about. Except for... “That woman I was with. Does she come around here often?”

“Sure.” Maggie’s face screwed up in concentration. “‘Bout two, maybe three times a week I see Razia in here. Usually to get food, rarely alone. She’s almost always on someone’s arm. Usually guys. Though there’s this pretty redhead girl I seen her with a few times. Why?”

Instantly, Quentin’s face heated up. He could hear Razia’s laugh echoing in his head. You actually get a bit of color to your cheeks! “I, uh. I need to find her. It’s about something she said to me last night.”

Maggie looked at him with clear pity in her eyes. “You’re setting yourself up for heartbreak, kid. You go after a girl like that, you’ll regret it.”

Quentin shook his head vehemently. “No no, it’s not like that. It’s --” There was a shout behind him, followed by three loud thumps and the sound of mugs breaking.

“Oh hell,” Maggie sighed. She grabbed a big, cracked hunk of wood from under the counter. “If you want to find her, ask them,” she pointed at a table in the corner. “They like to hire girls like her. Now if you’ll excuse me…” Maggie vaulted over the bar, brandishing the club. “I TOLD YOU NO FIGHTING!”

“Maggie, no!” A voice called out before being silenced with a thud.

The rest of the bar ignored the fight. Quentin was fine with doing the same and winding his way around people over to the table Maggie pointed out. To his surprise, the people sitting there were familiar.

“Hey, it’s the Battlemaster!” Adrian, the burly blonde man from the night before slammed his drink down and waved him over.

“Battlemaster!” Cassius echoed, making space for Quentin to join them. Around them, a few more people looked up and called out the title.

Quentin looked around, something halfway between a grimace and a smile on his face. Gods, how many people did he interact with? How many people knew his face now and thought he was something he wasn’t? He sat down beside Cassius, forcing himself to focus.

“Uh, yeah. Hi. I wanted to ask you --”

Cassius threw an arm around his shoulder and pounded the table. “We were just talking about you.”

Adrian nodded enthusiastically. “Yeah, we had a question!”

Quentin looked between them. Were these seriously the two guys he almost got in a fight with? What was wrong with them? He took a deep breath and let it out nodding. “Alright. What is it?”

Adrian leaned in closer, hunching over the table. “How come you don’t fight in any matches? You know, if you’re so much better than everyone else.”

He was smiling, but Quentin had no damned clue if Adrian was taunting him or trying to be friendly. Either was likely, and Quentin wasn’t inclined to trust that people were friendly towards him. No matter how they seemed at first. “Because I am as you said,” Quentin said evenly, “a fucking moonkissed. If I went in the ring, they’d throw shit at me.”

To his surprise, Cassius winced and removed his arm. “Oh, uh...Sorry about that. You’re all right, Battlemaster. Quentin, yeah?”

Huh. Maybe they weren’t baiting him. Now it was his turn to be embarrassed. “It’s...It’s fine. Here, let’s get you a couple of drinks.” Quentin waved two fingers in the air and gestured at the table. At the bar, Andrea met his gaze and nodded, getting to it.

“Maggie said you could tell me something,” said Quentin as Andrea put their drinks down on the table. He tossed her a few half qala pieces.

“Yeah?” Adrian grabbed his drink and lifted it in a silent toast. “Whatcha need?”

“That woman I was with,” said Quentin. “How do I find her?”

“Ayy, she was that good, eh?” Cassius crowed, elbowing Quentin in the side. “I knew she would be.”

“Any girl who shaves her head and has piercings like that,” said Adrian knowledgeably, “has got to be an ABSOLUTE freak in bed. Cute little thing, but I bet she’d leave teeth marks in ya!”

Quentin set his jaw and willed his face to stay normal. No go. His face burned, but his two companions didn’t seem to notice. Cassius brayed like an ass near his ear, and Adrian was starting to make an obscene gesture when Quentin cleared his throat. “Do you know where I can find her?”

“Naw,” said Cassius.

“Okay.” Quentin stood up.

“But Bonz does,” Adrian supplied.

Cassius snapped and pointed at Adrian. “Bonz, yeah! That ugly sumbitch wouldn’t stop talking about her for like a week straight. He’d know. Pretty sure he’s still nursing a nasty wound, too. He’ll be home.”

“Where do I find this Bonz?”

They told him. “Great. Thanks. Enjoy your drinks.” Quentin stepped away from the table, not sure if he was glad to be away from them or not. Cassius’ hand shot out and tugged on his cloak.

“Um,” Cassius said. “About that curse. We’re good, right?”

Bonz, as it turned out, lived right where the prosperous part of north Orchrisus ended and the bad part started. It was the kind of place where the inhabitants looked out for each other but everyone else was fair game. The brightly painted murals and personal gardens of one neighborhood gave way to small, tightly packed houses crowded on top of one another. One of the city’s five Watchtowers separated the two areas, its shadow looming over the seedy neighborhood a constant warning.

It was hard not to be wary of the Watchmen nearby, who leaned against the tower and chatted, but they paid Quentin little attention. They weren’t there to stop people from going into that neighborhood, they were there to keep an eye on anyone trying to get out. Quented crossed the invisible line without incident, but as soon as he was out of sight of the tower, trouble found him.

Quentin didn’t see the first man follow him, but he noticed the second. As he walked down the street, a tough looking man with scarred arms and blue hair cut down to a stripe looked behind him. When Quentin passed, he pushed off from the wall and started walking behind.

Any other part of town, it could be a coincidence. Here, just after sunset with the full moon beating down on them, Quentin could see their shadows stretched out on the ground, as if they were walking beside him. He kept his pace steady as his heart began to pound and he did the math. Two potential attackers, hostile territory, while he had an injury.

Even if he wanted a fight, odds weren’t good enough to risk it.

His destination wasn’t far now, but the shadows crept closer. They were close enough to hear the crunch of their sandals on sand, getting louder by the second. Quentin walked quickly but not hurriedly. His leg throbbed, and running would set them off, same as any other predator. Another minute and they’d jump him and no amount of skill would save him.

Quentin turned the next corner. They found him waiting for them, leaning up against the doorway of a dilapidated house. He had his knife out and was cleaning his teeth with the tip. They froze upon seeing him, glass daggers in hand.

Neither of them said anything or moved a muscle. Quentin could practically see them working out whether they should back off or attack now and overwhelm him before he could defend himself. He made the choice easy. Pushing away from the wall, Quentin drew himself up to his full height and held his arms out in a welcoming gesture. The moonlight gleamed off the metal of his blade.

They saw it and paled. The only people around those parts with metal weapons were either the Watch or professional criminals. The ones with enough money to splurge on good steel. Neither was worth troubling. Or so Quentin hoped.

Evidently they agreed. Slowly they put their knives back on their belts and backed away from him. It was almost funny. Quentin smiled and sheathed his knife when they were no longer in sight. He wasn’t prey for anyone.

The house where Bonz lived wasn’t hard to find. It was a ramshackle shithole like the rest of the neighborhood, but it had a large B carved into the door in five harsh, jagged lines. Thinking back to Adrian and Cassius, this seemed like the right place. Quentin knocked on the door.

The man who opened the door made Quentin look handsome, and as soon as he had the thought Quentin felt guilty. Bonz was tall and broad, with a healthy layer of fat over thick muscles. His face was scarred to hell, with one milky white eye and half of his nose missing. Bonz loomed in the doorway, glowering at Quentin. “Yeah?”

“Hi. I was hoping you could help me,” Quentin started.

Bonz scoffed and grabbed a gnarled club from beside the door.

“It’s about Razia Rashid!”

At that, Bonz paused. Looking up into Bonz’ ugly face, Quentin gambled. He lowered his hood, letting the man get a good look at him. Understanding reached Bonz. He moved out of the way and motioned with his head for Quentin to come inside.

The inside was worse than the outside, and Quentin was almost impressed. Demetrius’ home was messy, but there were dozens of discarded bottles and broken reed baskets from whatever food stalls Bonz got his meals from. Two rats battled over the last hunks of moldy bread. There were battered chairs, but neither man sat.

“Nice place,” said Quentin, unable to help himself.

Bonz grunted an acknowledgement that Quentin spoke before getting to business. “You met Razia too, huh? Isn’t she great?”

The eagerness in Bonz’ voice surprised Quentin. As big and mean as the man looked, he sounded flat out happy. “Huh. Yeah, she seemed…”

“WONDERFUL!” A big grin split Bonz’ face in half, showing some missing teeth. “Not like some’a those other girls.”

Quentin stared at the man. Whatever he was expecting, this wasn’t it. Being told to fuck off, or having to press to get some kind of answers would’ve been it, but excitement? “Yeah,” Quentin said. “That’s her.”

“What was your favorite part?” Bonz asked, grabbing a half empty bottle from his chair and taking a long pull.

“What?”

“For me, it was the way she listened. Like, really listened. I mean, I could fuck any whore I wanted. Even with…” Bonz gestured to his face. “But with Razia, I forgot it wasn’t real. Just for a little bit.”

That hit close to home. Despite being indoors, with only Bonz for company, the familiar instinct to put his hood up and hide his face hit Quentin hard. He swallowed and nodded. “That’s...That’s her,” he said again.

“Was it like that for you too? Did she make you forget you were a freak for a while?” Bonz practically bounced from foot to foot, ecstatic that he had someone to talk to about it. As if they were kindred souls, instead of just two ugly thugs who happened to run into the same peculiar woman.

“...Kind of?” Quentin struggled to find the sweet spot between being honest and not raining on the man’s parade. “Not really. I’ll never stop being this way, and I can’t forget it. She made other people seem to forget it, I guess. Besides, we didn’t do anything.”

Bonz’ brows furrowed in confusion. “You didn’t?”

“No.”

“Why the hell not?” Bonz let out a snort that was so much louder and worse with half his nose missing. “What’re you here for, then?”

“I’m trying to find her,” said Quentin, some of his frustration seeping through to his tone. “Last night she left before we...Before, okay? I’m trying to find her to...Get more out of things.”

“Ahhh.” Bonz nodded, full of understanding. He took another pull from the bottle and offered it to Quentin, who waved it off. “I dunno where all she goes,” he said.

Quentin sighed. Of course he didn’t.

“But I do know she works some nights at the Silk Lounge,” said Bonz. “That’s where I met her. Dunno if she’s gonna be there tonight, but s’far as I know she’s there half the time.”

It was like a bucket of cold water was up-ended on Quentin’s head. Quentin knew the Silk Lounge. It was a place for professional criminals, mercenaries, and bosses to meet in peace and safety. He’d even been there once. It was a gaudy, tacky place.

And it was dangerous, as any place where dozens of armed men with disregard for the law gathered was. If Quentin could have paled, he would. There was a good chance that in going there, he’d run into people who knew prisoners he executed. Razia knew who he was, and she was hanging out around people who would pay good money for the privilege of killing him.

Demetrius was right. Quentin needed to handle this before it was too late.

“Gods,” Quentin groaned.

“Yeah,” Bonz agreed enthusiastically. “Not too far from here! She’s a bit picky about who she sees, but…” He motioned between the two of them. “I think she’s got a type. Go see her, and she’ll make you into a new man.”

Quentin left with a renewed need to see this through and a hearty pat on the back from Bonz that rattled his teeth. The Silk Lounge wasn’t too far from there. Quentin wouldn’t have been surprised if half the neighborhood went there on occasion. The one time he’d been there, everyone there seemed like a bunch of cutthroats kept peaceful only by the threat of angering a predator much higher up the food chain.

Such a peace was a house of cards, ready to tumble the moment someone looked at it funny. In his experience, just existing near people made them look funny and be ready to throw a punch. Then again, maybe they’d make the same mistake Bonz did and assume he was one of them. Quentin didn’t know if that thought was reassuring or depressing.

His thoughts were interrupted by voices around the next corner. Quentin slowed down as he got near, listening.

“...I don’t care what you want,” a nasally, stuffed up voice said. “We’re going for the bounty. How hard could it be to find a whore in Orchrisus?”

Heart pounding, Quentin peeked his head around the corner. There stood the three muggers from the night before.