Chapter 13: The Damsel of Distress

Razia Rashid loved Orchrisus, and had from the moment she first set foot in it. Out of all the major cities she’d visited, it was easily her favorite. Nalak was an astounding achievement of how many people could live right on the water, but she grew up there. Greensborough was a lush paradise sprawling as far as the eye could see, but it was a flat sprawl and didn’t have the same bustle a capital should have.

Orchrisus, though, was larger than life. Orchrisus was colorful, and the people especially so. It wasn’t just the gorgeous silks, dyed all colors of the rainbow or the hair and beards dyed to match. There was a liveliness here, born of equal parts dreams and desperation. Even in the darkest slums, the people were alive and fighting for dear life to get ahead, no matter how behind they were. She could relate.

It was a place that accepted foreigners like her and made even her relatively unique appearance not stand out any more than those around her. At least, not in big crowds. There in the back streets leading to the Silk Lounge, being an islander and a woman with a shaved head, she might as well have glowed.

Dozens of people were out and about, talking and laughing, cooking dinner over firepits, visiting with neighbors and playing music on their porches. Dozens of individual lives, all coming together as the sun set and the people shifted from hard work to hard play. Dozens of eyes following her as she passed, the way it was meant to be.

Razia loved Orchrisus, and she loved the people in it. She loved being able to walk through any given street and have their attention the moment she wanted it. So many people fought to stay out of sight to avoid the attention of predators. Short, tiny, five foot nothing Razia revelled in it. She was not the kind of person to hide, even when it would be wise. Razia was entirely unsurprised when she realized she was being followed.

They came after she passed them; five local youths sitting on the ground and playing dice. One of them had a brown dunewalla on a leash, chewing on a bone. It started as it often did, with just one man noticing her. His eyes locked on as she glided down the street in just a tight green top and a short skirt that rippled with the cool evening breeze. At some point his eyes stopped roaming and he made a choice. He got up and went after her, friends trailing behind him.

Razia pretended not to notice, but excitement made the hairs on the back of her neck stand straight up. His sandals crunched the sand beneath them not far behind her in a steady, even pace. He wasn’t trying to get closer. Not yet. Razia shifted her weight and put some more sway in her walk. She looked over her shoulder.

Her admirer was in his late teens, old enough to know what he wanted and young enough to still have something to prove. He looked up from Razia’s ass to her smirk. His face reddened. She looked away and counted to three. A long, hurried step followed each number and on three the teen was walking right beside her.

“You’re the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen,” he said loudly. Behind him, his friends snickered. He shot a look back at them, and then stared expectantly at Razia.

“Mmm,” she said, smirk growing. “Probably. It’s still nice to hear though.” Her eyes flicked over to his for just a second. It was just long enough to make his face turn red and give him ideas, and then her eyes were back on the road ahead of her.

“Where are you going, baby?” The kid tried again, forcing some bravado into his voice. “Why don’t you stick around for a while? We’ve got some booze. We could all have a good time.” There was an edge there now. A hint of real danger. There were five of them, and only one of her.

“I’m the most beautiful woman you’ve ever seen, and you’d share me?” Razia scoffed. “I don’t know if you’re generous to your friends or just admitting you’re not enough for me.”

Behind them, his friends laughed again. The sound was closer now. The end of the street was in sight, but now the teen’s face was a bright purple. The cocksure smile he’d plastered on now an offended grimace. “I’m more than enough for you. What’s it going to take to get you to stay, beautiful? How much?”

Razia’s laughter bubbled out, low, throaty, and rich. She couldn’t help herself. “You couldn’t afford me, kid,” she said, pure mirth in her voice. At the laughter behind her she added, “But you’d still pay half what your friends would.” The laughter died.

Antagonizing people in this kind of neighborhood wasn’t the smartest thing she could’ve done, but Razia didn’t care. It was half the fun. There were five men there, all bigger than her, stronger than her, and better armed. Anything she said to them could be punished tenfold, but that was part of the game. It wasn’t fun if she wasn’t dancing along the razor’s edge. Besides, she had this under control.

“I think you hurt their feelings,” the kid beside her said. His voice was practically buzzing with excitement and hunger. “If you’re not careful, they’re gonna make you swallow those words.”

“Is that what they’d make me swallow?” Razia looked at him again. She smiled then, wide and confident. “What about you?”

“My cock,” he leered.

Razia sighed. “See, that’s the problem with boys your age.” Not much further now. “You don’t enjoy the build up. You just open with your cock and think that’s good enough. No, I think you’re going to have to swallow each other’s cocks tonight. I’m a little busy.”

She put on an extra burst of speed, not running but hurrying past the invisible line that separated this neighborhood from the next. She might as well have bolted for how they reacted. Loverboy grabbed her by the arm and his fingers dug into her skin badly enough to hurt. The others collapsed in on her, surrounding her. Hands went to her hips, her shoulders, showing her they could do whatever they wanted to her and she was powerless to stop them. Savoring what fear they could. It was about what Razia expected.

“Why?” One of the other boys said with a grin. “We’re gonna keep you busy all night long, slut.”

The pack was good and hungry by then and ready to go for the kill. So was Razia. “Hi Allen!” she called out.

The tall, middle aged guard strode towards her, hand going to a curved blade at his waist. His eyes were focused on the men around her and he wore a dreadful scowl that belied how great his smile was when he laughed. He got closer, and the teens around her took a collective step away from her. “You alright? These boys giving you any trouble?”

Fear flashed bright and intense on the head boy’s face. Razia shook her head. “Not at all, Allen. These nice boys were just giving me an escort to work. Weren’t you?”

The gang looked at each other with bewilderment before one of them murmured an agreement and the rest joined in. Razia reached up and cupped Loverboy’s cheek and gave it a pat. She let her fingers trail over his skin as she left him behind, walking arm in arm with Allen to the Silk Lounge.

“You starting shit again, Razia?” He asked in a low voice.

“Always,” she replied, smiling.

Allen shook his head. “Otho’s been pissy the past few days. If you bring fights right to his doorstep, he’s going to lose his shit and you don’t deserve the kinda crap he’d do to you.”

“If he tries, you’ll protect me, won’t you?” Razia looked up, giving her best sad, vulnerable eyes.

Allen laughed and gave her a gentle shove. “I’d just as soon not have to, thank you,” he replied. There was just enough warmth there for Razia to believe he’d hesitate, at least, before doing anything to her. It was a good start. Razia squeezed Allen’s arm and stepped inside.

As far as houses of vice went, the Silk Lounge wasn’t awful. The decor was garish and laughable, but it meant that the clientele at least pretended to go along with a code of conduct while there. The majority of them were violent, unruly, sex-mad drunks, but most of them followed the rules and those who didn’t ended up as reminders for why you should. Good men didn’t come here. They were dangerous, but like all people they could be handled.

The lobby was busy as Razia entered. Four men stood in line to be checked in. Otho stood off to the side, talking animatedly to Janice, the head of security. Razia slipped behind him past the front desk. “...don’t care what it takes, the next time one of them gives me lip…” she heard as she passed and climbed the stairs up to the dressing room.

Ostensibly, the Silk Lounge was meant as a general hangout for the local criminal element. It started out as a place for drinks and peaceful negotiations between feuding gangs. Safety and alcohol was what they offered. In time that expanded to drugs, food, and of course, sex. The Silk Lounge was safe, more or less. If nothing else Razia knew she would be safe. Mr. Cicero had promised that much.

The dressing room, Razia had to admit, was decent. There were a dozen stations where the two dozen or so girls made themselves up. Each one had a vanity with three mirrors, with jars of make-up lined up around the edges. Most nights, it was busy with girls getting ready and chatting. The sounds of laughter and jeers went back and forth as girls rotated in and out. Not tonight. Tonight, there was an oppressive hush, broken only by murmurs.

“Hey,” said Razia, sitting down at the vanity next to Samantha. The plump redhead was staring into the mirror blankly.

“Hey…” she said dimly, turning to face Razia. Her eyes were puffy and red, and there was little life in her. Razia’s stomach twisted.

“I know you,” Razia said. “Something happened. What’s up?”

“Our beautiful, brilliant Samantha picked a fight with Otho.” Isa leaned against Razia’s chair, looking at her reflection in the mirror. Isa was a tall, slender, dark skinned dusk-girl, partway through her transition. “And then continued to pick it the last two nights.”

Samantha’s face screwed up as if she was going to cry. The woman was sweet, but she cried at the drop of a hat. Razia leaned forward and threw her arms around her. Samantha leaned into it gratefully. “What happened, Sam?”

This time, she did burst into tears, sobbing directly into Razia’s shoulder. Isa sighed, but Razia just patted her on the back. Eventually, words came out. “A-a-a man came by wanting to see you, but you weren’t here so Otho said we were friends. And-and-and then he was going to sell me to the man to be killed!”

Razia blinked. That was a new one. She pulled back but kept her hands on Samantha’s shoulders. Her face was a splotchy mess, and now that she was crying the makeup covering her black eye ran. “What?” Razia asked, though she wasn’t sure if she meant being sold or the shiner her friend was hiding.

“He said he was a friend of yours! And he didn’t kill me or anything --”

“Obviously,” Isa muttered.

“B-b-but Otho thought he would and that’s what matters! It was this nice moonkissed man, Quentin, he --”

“Albino,” Razia corrected immediately. “Not moonkissed. He hates that word.” Then surprise caught up with her. Quentin was here, looking for her? She suppressed a smile. He may have turned her down, but that didn’t mean things were over. Maybe her little tease had done the trick after all. “Quentin came here to find me?”

Sniffling, Samantha nodded. “He wanted me to pass on a warning to you.”

A warning? That intoxicating sense of danger was back. Like getting ready to jump in shark infested waters, or walking by a group of teens who wouldn’t take no for an answer. The executioner of Orchrisus was at least as dangerous as either of those. Razia shivered, a wide smile taking over her face. “What did he say?”

“He said…” Samantha wracked her brain. “The muggers from last night are looking for you. He ran into them and said you’re in danger.” She let out a sigh, deflating. Seeing herself in the mirror, Samanatha cringed and got a cloth to wipe away the runny makeup. Her tears had died down to just sniffles now.

“Muggers? Who is this man and what happened?” Isa asked.

“He’s...A friend, I think,” said Razia. Did this mean she was wrong? No, she was sure of it. The pieces all added up together too well. Razia knew she was capable of being wrong, but she had enough confidence in herself to stamp it down. He was definitely the executioner. And apparently looking out for her, if he sought her out just to warn her. Yes, Razia could probably consider him a friend.

“He escorted me from the Colosseum down to the Boulevard the other night. We ran into some trouble and he got us out of it. And then he came here, apparently. Sam, how do you know Otho was planning on letting him kill you?”

“He told me. Quentin, I mean.” Samantha dabbed at her eyes. “So when he left, I gave Otho a piece of my mind, and he hit me!”

“Oh no,” Razia breathed, “that was a mistake.”

“Mouthing off to Otho always is,” Isa said. “He let her rant for five minutes before he popped her and told her to get back to work.”

“Oh no no no,” Razia said louder, shaking her head. “Otho’s going to regret that.”

Razia would be the first to admit she was something of a hothead. It wasn’t always the best quality to have in a profession based on serving others, but some things she couldn’t let go. The best she could do was refine it. There came a certain level of anger where the anger burned cold and cruel. Surprisingly, this was the anger that got her in the most trouble, but it got shit done. That’s what she needed right now.

“Just let it go,” Isa said. “Give it a week and he’ll forget all about it. You can leave then.”

“The hell I will,” Razia said. She was on her feet, her body moving fast enough the rest of her had to catch up. “That greasy asshole is finished. Pack your shit. We’re leaving.”

Samantha’s big blue eyes were wide with surprise, and then excitement. She grabbed her bag and shoveled in a couple jars of makeup and some cheap necklaces hanging from the side of the mirror. She stood up looking equal parts excited and scared.

“This is a bad idea,” Isa said, but she packed up as well. At this point they caught the attention of the rest of the room. What little hushed conversation remained died and all eyes were on Razia.

“What are you doing?” An olive skinned woman named Maria asked, looking towards the door like Otho himself was going to waddle in there and begin thrashing them.

“We’re leaving,” Razia said. She looked around the room. “Anyone who doesn’t want to work for a man willing to let them die should come with me. If he did it once, he’ll do it again. The only question is the price he’d charge for your life.”

There was silence for an agonizing ten seconds, and then more than half the room gathered what they could and stood up. Half of those remaining were slaves. There was nothing Razia could do about them. The free women still sitting were capable of making their own choices and weren’t her problem anymore.

“Why should we go? It’s not like it’s any safer out there. Besides, it was Samantha’s fault for picking a fight with him in front of his men.” A thin, bony woman named Gina said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Razia shrugged. “Then stay, I don’t care. I’m not letting anyone, especially not Otho, treat my friends this way.”

Gina scoffed. “He’s not going to let any of us go.”

Razia bared her teeth in a fierce grin. “He doesn’t have a choice.”

Their footsteps arrived before they did, thundering as they came down the stairs. Otho, Janice, and the other guards were waiting, looking up at them as Razia descended. Otho’s lips were pressed in a thin, hard line and his face was turning reddish purple.

“What’s this? What’s going on here?” he started, full of bluster.

“Move.” Razia barked. “We’re leaving.”

Janice let out a low whistle. “Oh, this is going to be fun.” She pushed off the wall she was leaning against, one hand going to the knife at her hip but she didn’t draw it yet. Janice had the look of a cat eyeing a mouse.

Razia pushed past Otho, head held high. The proprietor let out a startled squeak. His hand shot out and latched onto her wrist, stopping her while the girls continued to the doors.

“Guards, stop them! You’re not going anywhere.” The guards at the door shared a baffled look and positioned themselves in front of the twin doors, spears crossed. They were used to enforcing the rules on the clients. It was rare they were directed at the girls, and one of them looked distinctly uncomfortable.

“Our lives are not yours to sell!” Razia screamed into Otho’s face. He stumbled backwards a step, releasing her arm. Razia looked around, heart pounding and breathing going ragged. It was important to make a scene, make some noise. The hard part was not losing control. “You thought you should push us around? Try again. We’re done. Find new girls, or enjoy blowing dozens of men every night.”

Otho took a deep breath and let it out, fighting to keep his composure. He spoke through gritted teeth, saying, “I’m assuming this is over Samantha, crying over nothing. Like usual.”

Samantha, from her safe spot behind Razia, thrust an accusatory finger at him. “I-i-it’s not nothing! You thought he was going to kill me and you were okay with it!”

Otho rolled his eyes. “And he didn’t, did he? By all rights you should be a slave with how much money you owe Mr. Cicero. You should be grateful to live this well.”

All of them began talking at once, growing louder and louder. Beside Otho, Janice shook her head, laughing silently at all of them. The noise did the trick and attracted the patrons. Heads began peeking around the corner from the hallways on either end of the foyer as men abandoned their nooks and investigated the source of the commotion.

That’s what Razia was waiting for. There wasn’t any convincing men like Otho. Men who viewed others as property weren’t going to be reasoned with, and Razia didn’t have anything credible to threaten him with. That didn’t mean she was powerless. Unlike Otho, she knew the value of the girls working for him. She’d been stockpiling up the greatest resource a place like the Silk Lounge had: information.

“You are a pathetic, honorless rat who would sell your own mother for a qala,” Razia spat out. More people filled the doorway. Dangerous men and women Razia recognized by now. The Silk Lounge’s dangerous, touchy clientele. She fought to keep the smile off her face. “Why should I be surprised you’d sell out one of your girls? You sell out the clientele constantly.”

All at once, the bickering stopped. Silence dropped, heavy and tense as the people assembled realized what she said. It started with a whisper in the back, spreading from man to man. It was a spark, and one Razia was going to fan into flames and burn the bastard with.

“How. Dare. You.” Otho seethed. His teeth were grit and his shoulders squared, but his eyes flitted to the men beside them.

“Okay,” Janice said, drawing her knife. “I think it’s time for you to get the fuck out of here and for the rest of you ladies to go back upstairs.”

“He’s used you too, Janice,” said Razia.

“I know,” Janice sneered. “It’s called having a proper job, sweetheart.”

Razia smiled. “And how did you get that proper job? It was right after your last client disappeared, right?” She reached back for Samantha’s hand and squeezed it. Her pulse was pounding in her head as excitement swelled up. No one ever really took notice of the girls, even when they were around. People were always willing to talk in front of the entertainment, too arrogant or ignorant to realize that the girls talked among themselves. Some had to be coaxed for some of their secrets, but Razia was more patient than anyone gave her credit for.

Janice hesitated. That was all Razia needed to push. “You were in town passing through with the caravan you were hired to protect.”

“This is ridiculous,” Otho said loudly. Janice silenced him with a raised finger.

“Your boss came in here and treated you all to a night of entertainment, right?” Razia continued, voice still raised for the people in the back. “Just a few nights while he did business, before you guys were ready to leave. He never showed up the next morning, right? Otho needed replacement security and your men got on well with the guards already here. So he made sure you were unemployed.”

Otho paled. Razia didn’t have the exact story, just pieces. It didn’t matter if it were true or not, it was true enough to make him nervous. “That’s a lie! I have no idea how Jaxon died and he --”

“Died?” Janice turned her predatory gaze on him. “I thought he ran up a gambling debt and ran for his life.”

“T-this is Orchrisus,” said Otho, forcing a laugh. “He probably tried to run and died in a gutter after. You and your men just happened to be a good fit.”

“Convenient, isn’t it?” Razia pushed. “The gambling was real, and it was a perfect opportunity. An entire mercenary troupe who already liked the place and could be paid in room, board, booze and bitches to just...Stay and keep an eye open while you indulge yourselves.”

Otho positioned himself between Razia and Janice. He held his hands up, smiling nervously. “You’re not seriously listening to her, are you? She’d say anything.”

Janice stared both of them down, her sharp face an impassive mask while she thought about it. The whispers in the crowd only grew as the show continued. “I wasn’t before now,” Janice said. “But she’s making an awful lot of sense.”

“She’s lying! Remove her at once and we’ll talk about this.”

Otho was finished. He just didn’t know it yet. Razia looked out into the crowd. She pointed over at a common hood she recognized. “Benny!” she called out. Dozens of heads turned to face him. “You remember when you stole those fine mooran rugs and someone found your hiding place? Otho was listening in on your private room and sold that information to Big Ren over there,” she pointed to a short, rat-like man on the other end of the room.

“WHAT?” Benny roared.

That one was a blatant lie, but it didn’t matter anymore. It could’ve been true. Maria was the one who heard about the stolen rugs. She’d talked about it as she complained about how sloppy drunk and rough Benny and his boys got that night. Those rugs could’ve been stolen by anyone. Why not make it someone Benny hated?

“Head’s down girls, and get ready,” Razia muttered.

“What?” Samantha looked around wildly just as all hell broke loose.

Benny charged forward, bellowing. Samantha, Isa, Maria and the rest of them ducked out of the way, piling in around the front doors the guards were still blocking. Big Ren pointed and shouted and one of his (much bigger) lieutenants came out swinging. That’s all it took for the dozens of dangerous, hotheaded criminals to start brawling in the foyer. The guards blocking the girls took all of three seconds to decide the fight was more important than keeping a group of prostitutes in place.

“Janice, get this under control,” Otho squealed.

“You fucking joking, mate? You and I need to renegotiate our relationship.”

Razia pushed the door open and the girls poured out of the doors and into the night. She slammed the door and ran after them, laughing with manic joy. Isa shot her a disbelieving look but no one said much of anything as they ran as far from the Silk Lounge as fast as possible.

They stayed together in a group, hardly saying anything until they reached the safety of the Boulevard. The sun had set and now night began in earnest. They stopped in front of the statue of Saint Trassius, and the weight of what they’d done caught up to them.

“Gods,” Isa groaned. “What the hell did we let you talk us into? There’s no way Otho’s going to forget and forgive after this.”

“Forget Otho,” Maria griped. “He’s an asshole, but the pay was steady. What now? Rent is coming up and my daughter is counting on me.”

A chorus of agreements sounded through the group, sans Samantha who stayed quiet and looked thoughtful. Razia held her hands up and the voices died down again. “I know how scary this can be, but you don’t need to worry about it. The night’s young, there’s plenty of places around here to get some steady work, and I promise you Otho’s going to be pissed at me and not you. So here’s what we’ll do.

“Split up in groups of two or three. Some of you take The Drunken Dunewalla, some of you go over to Maggie’s Den, and the rest can probably find some work over at Moonlit Madness. It’s a nice night, and if you dance with each other, people are bound to notice and cut in. Sound good?”

After a second of hesitation, the murmured consensus was that it was acceptable. “What about you?” Isa asked. “You caused a riot in one of Mr. Cicero’s places. You going to be finding the first caravan out of town?”

Razia laughed. “No, this is nothing. Mr. Cicero won’t hear about this for at least another few hours. I’ll be fine. Probably. Don’t worry about me. Meet up here again tomorrow night and we’ll figure out something more permanent.”

That was acceptable to them. The girls scattered in small groups and put more distance between them and the Silk Lounge. All of them except for Samantha, who didn’t move an inch. Razia cocked her head to the side.

“Otho,” Samantha began, wetting her lips. “He was right. My family owes a pretty big debt to Mr. Cicero. Otho was taking half of what I was making to pay that debt off. What if they come after me?” The poor thing was all but shaking.

“Don’t worry Sam,” Razia said, pulling the bigger woman in a hug. “I’ll take care of that, I promise. We’ll deal with that debt together. And I won’t let them punish you for my actions tonight. I’ve got a plan.” Another lie, but give it a few hours and she’d have something. Unfortunately, dealing with the damage was nowhere near as fun as starting the fire.

“Look, I’ve got a room not far from here. Go to Inn and Out and say you’re with me. Get yourself a good meal and take the night to kick back and relax.”

Samantha nodded, relief washing over her face. “Thanks Raz. You’re the best. What are you going to do?”

Razia grinned. “Well, if Quentin went to all the effort to find me and give me a warning, it’s only right I thank him for it, right? I think there’s something sensitive he wants to talk about.”

“Ahh,” Samantha said. “His big secret. Give him a hug from me? For warning me too.”

“Sure thing. Of course,” Razia added, trying to suppress the laugh bubbling up inside her, “I don’t think I can smother him the same way.”

They shared a good laugh. Samantha hugged her one last time and headed east. Razia watched her until she was out of sight and set out towards where they last parted. There would be consequences to deal with later, but for now it was time to deal with the consequences of the last time she prodded a dangerous man.