Chapter 16: Home Sweet Home

Razia Rashid was used to waking up in strange new surroundings, but it never lost its novelty. There was an excitement in those first few vulnerable moments when she woke and her senses returned. It was thrilling, never knowing whether her surroundings would be palatial or a shithole. Quentin’s home was decidedly not a shithole. As she stretched away the last of her sleep, she had to admit it was one of the better places she’d stayed.

Even sleeping out in the open on the couch was more pleasant than the inn she previously called home. The couch was soft and well worn, and as the morning dragged on the sun came through the skylight and gently roused her to the sound of silence. Quentin’s home was big, beautiful, and somehow quiet in the middle of a city teeming with life. A place like that was more than just a big house: it was a sanctuary. Lying there on the couch with her arms behind her head, all her troubles seemed to belong to someone else.

“That poor bitch is in some hot water,” she muttered, breaking the silence. She laughed to herself and got up for the day.

There was no easy way to explore her new temporary home without invading privacy or waiting for Quentin to wake up, and the man had looked like he was ready to collapse the night before. So Razia did the only thing she could: went around opening doors a crack to see if there was anything behind them. There were six rooms arranged around the atrium that could’ve been bedrooms. Outside of Quentin’s room (which she respectfully avoided), four of them were completely empty. The only other room that had anything in it was a mess, cluttered with old battered books, training weapons, and a suit of chitinous armor not too dissimilar from the one he wore during executions. There was a crack in the front where a weapon broke through some time ago.

“Man, Quentin,” Razia said to the empty room, “you’re really banking on solitude keeping your secret, aren’t you?” With a last lingering look at the broken armor she closed the door.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t picture what it must’ve been like to spend your entire life alone like this. It was so far from her experiences. It strengthened her resolve to make sure that while she was getting shelter and a measure of security, she’d make sure Quentin lived a little before either of them got themselves killed. It was the least she could do.

With the rooms that could’ve been used for a street facing business sealed shut, that left only the kitchen and bathroom. Razia knew that if she looked at that tub again, she would be unable to resist filling the tub and soaking in hot water and silence until she shriveled. That left the kitchen.

Just as she suspected, it was the only other room that showed real signs of life. It was fairly well stocked, if basic. Salted and smoked meats hung in a dark, cool cabinet. Quentin had a good supply of fresh fruit that could stand the heat without spoiling, and a stone chest that when opened revealed fresh vegetables, eggs, cheeses, and a glowing blue stone that seemed to suck the warmth out of the air. Razia grabbed a few eggs and vegetables and closed it.

There was a fine line between respecting someone’s privacy and making yourself at home. She couldn’t really make herself at home without making a few assumptions, so she just danced across the line, opening cabinets and learning her way around as she made breakfast for two.

As luck would have it, Razia was just finishing up when she heard Quentin’s bedroom door close loudly. She transferred the omelettes to clay plates along with some dried fruit and a couple hunks of bread. He was there on the lounger when she came out, blinking away the last of the sleep and looking half dead. No longer hidden by his bland cloak, Quentin was an explosion of disparate colors. Yellows, greens, and purple bruises littered his chest and arms, and half a dozen fresh cuts stained red through bandages that would need to be changed.

Guilt was far from something Razia experienced regularly, but seeing those wounds she felt a fresh pang of it. “Hey,” she called out, holding up the plates. “Thought you’d be hungry when you woke up.” It wouldn’t make up for her invading his home and blackmailing him while he was too beat up to put up much of a fight, but it was a start.

Quentin lurched forward, blinking rapidly. He let out a grunt that could’ve been a greeting, an acknowledgement, or a go fuck yourself. Just the same, he took the plate from her and dropped onto the cushion. Razia settled in next to him

They ate in silence. There were several times when Razia nearly said something, but her gut told her to give Quentin enough space to process it all in his own time. Before too long he was finished and set the plate down on the floor. It was another few minutes after that before he spoke.

“Did you, um. Did you sleep well?” Quentin asked, not looking directly at Razia. “This couch is comfortable enough for naps, but I can’t see sleeping on it every night. Not comfortably.” His face was tormented, as if forcing himself to speak caused him real pain.

Razia half turned to him, bumping her knee into his. “Quite well, thank you. It’s not too late to change your mind, though. If you’d rather I not be here, I won’t impose. I meant it when I said I think staying with you might be my safest option.” She put her hand on his knee and squeezed it.

Quentin shook his head. “No, that’s...That’s fine. Really it is,” he insisted with more life to his tone. “I’m just having trouble wrapping my head around that. Trying to wrap my head around you.”

“Don’t,” Razia said, a big smile spreading across her face. “You’ll just give yourself a headache. I can’t even wrap my head around me. Either way, I’m grateful and I owe you. I fully intend to make good on my promise.” She finished her own breakfast and stacked her plate on Quentin’s.

That nebulous promise. Razia could almost see the wheels in Quentin’s head turning, mulling over her words. When she’d promised to make him feel alive, he’d fallen silent and she could tell that she struck gold. Even now she was working out how to do that. There were a few ideas, but like all of her best ones it’d come to Razia right when it was needed.

“How come you don’t do more with the rooms you have?” she asked.

Quentin shrugged. “I probably should’ve bought a smaller home,” he admitted. “I was hoping my father would live with me, once I showed him I could provide for us and let him take it easy. He decided he’d rather break his back for a living than take blood money.”

Just like that, Razia found a sore subject to tread on. “Screw that,” Razia said, making Quentin look up sharply. “I’m not too proud to enjoy some blood money. It’s a damned lovely home and you’ve got tons of options,” she proclaimed. “You could do anything you wanted with a house this size. Screw guilt.”

“Maybe,” he admitted. “Either way, you’re free to any room you’d like. Other than my room,” he added, a smile of his own crossing his face. “Something tells me you’re the kind of person who’d try.”

Razia gave a wide, innocent shrug. “Not me!” she said. “I’d never try to steal your room out from under you. I’m way more likely to try to share your room. Under you or on top of you. But you said no and I respect that,” Razia said, raising her voice to be heard over Quentin’s surprised laugh.

He looked at her with the same bewildered, surprised look that had caught her attention from the start. “You’re not going to try more?”

“Do you want me to try more?” Razia countered.

Quentin slumped in place. “I don’t know,” he answered in a low voice. “I don’t like...I don’t like feeling like I’m at your mercy. Either because I think you’ll tell, or because you know I...You know you can get to me.”

The absolute worst thing Razia could’ve done was let out the laugh she was holding in. It wasn’t often men didn’t know how to handle their attraction to her. So instead, Razia took Quentin’s much larger hand in hers and squeezed.

“I know. Don’t worry Quentin. I give you my word that I’m not going to tell people who you are, where you live, or that you’ve got an unnatural attraction to islander girls.”

“Abuh?” Quentin made a distressed sound, turning to her.

“And I’m not going to use my evil islander girl sex powers on you. Not intentionally, at least. If you are interested, you’ll let me know. Until then, you’re my friend and I’ll lay off. I promise.”

Silence fell again, but it wasn’t awkward. Razia reclined on her side of the sofa, watching Quentin pointedly stare at the ground, working through things silently. Eventually he bent over, grunting in pain as he grabbed the plates and limped his way to the kitchen. Once more a pang of guilt struck Razia, but more than ever it was backed by the need to follow through with her promise. For a change.

“I’m not going to tell anyone who you are,” Razia said when he came back. He froze in the middle of the atrium, listening. “I mean that. But I’ve got some clothes and things I would like to bring here. Would you mind if I had my friend Samantha help me bring them here?”

Quentin nodded. “That should be fine. You know what room you want to take?”

Razia pointed at the one across from Quentin’s, separated by the atrium. “That one. That way you’ll have your space.”

He nodded again, approvingly. “Do you want my help bringing stuff here?”

Her eyes slid up and down the network of injuries across his chest and arms. “No,” she said, “I think I got it. You should take the day and rest. Spoil yourself, Quentin. You deserve more than you give yourself.”

In response Quentin looked around his enormous house and then back to Razia, quirking a brow.

“I mean it,” she said.

Finding Samantha at Inn and Out wasn’t difficult. All Razia had to do was step through the door and the redhead called out her name.

“Over here!” Samantha waved her arms around, as if it was possible to miss her in the smallish room. Half the clientele ate outside on old barrels. The tables in here were small and couldn’t hold the four people they were designed for. Most people chose to eat outside, but Samantha had a corner to herself. Herself, and the few men who sat near to check her out.

“You were so right. After I got here last night and had a good dinner and bottle of wine I felt SO much better,” Samantha gushed as Razia took the stool catty corner to her.

“If there’s an ill that good food, drink, and company can’t cure then I don’t want to know about it.” Razia took a sip of Samantha’s drink. “There wasn’t any trouble? No one came looking for you? Or for me?”

The good cheer faded a bit, but Samantha didn’t look put out. “Nope. I mean, people found me, but they weren’t looking for ME, I think. I’m still worried about what I’m going to do about daddy’s debt. If I don’t keep payments up, we’ll lose the house.”

Razia’s heart broke as Samantha’s face fell. Out of all of the people she’d found since coming to Orchrisus, Samantha was possibly the most honest and sweet. Some people might’ve pointed out unkindly that Samantha wasn’t bright enough to lie. Razia hated that. Samantha wasn’t stupid. She just kept things simple and straightforward. She was a breath of fresh air.

“Hey,” Razia said. “We’ll take care of that. I met up with Quentin last night and…” Razia tilted her head, thinking how to phrase it. “We worked something out. I’ll be staying with him to save on shards. I’ll help with your debt.”

Samantha’s eyes welled up with grateful tears. “Oh gods Razia, thank you! But what about you? Whatever you end up giving me, I swear I’ll pay it back I just -- “

“No no,” Razia waved her off. “It’s just money. Easy come, easy go. I’ve thrown away more money than that on worse things.”

In fact, she probably already had the amount Samantha owed. Razia had half a mind to pay the debt off herself. After the initial danger of pissing Otho and maybe Mr. Cicero had worn off, it would even be fun. It wasn’t unlike getting bored of the old game and making a mess, just to start a new one. But she was down to the last of her shards. Razia was the first to admit she was bold, but she wasn’t entirely reckless.

“How much was it again?”

Samantha shrunk in her seat. As much as a woman of her size and bubbliness could ever shrink. “Ah,” she said, licking her lips. “Forty aquilos…If we can’t pay...” She trailed off.

Razia winced. No, it would clean her out and then some. She could buy them time though. “We’ll deal with it together. But first, I need something from you.”

“Yeah?” Samantha leaned in.

Razia smiled. “Your brother Jack still have that Mooran rickshaw he drags people around in?”

It turned out the only reason Jack still had a rickshaw was because no one wanted to buy it off of him. When beetle carts were common enough, few people wanted to be dragged around by a scrawny teenager in the blistering heat. As far as ideas to make some quick money in the busy city went, this one was a bust, but that made it perfect for Razia’s needs.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” Jack said from outside Samantha’s family’s surprisingly large home, staring down at his feet. “Don’t suppose you want to buy it off me?”

“No, we just need it for today,” Samantha said, slapping his arm affectionately. “You’re the best, Jackie.”

“Don’t call me that,” he said reflexively, ears turning red.

“I think it suits you,” said Razia, enjoying the way the teen squirmed. “But I was hoping to hire a strong young man like you. I’ve got an important delivery and we couldn’t possibly carry it all ourselves. What do you say, Jackie?”

“Y-yeah,” he said, voice cracking. “I’d be happy to.” He scampered off around the corner, presumably where the rickshaw was kept.

“See? No problem.” Razia beamed.

Samantha sighed. “Of course he says yes when you ask. Any time I try to get him to do his chores he’s either busy or just gone.”

A line of five kids ranging from four to ten ran out the front door, screaming the way playing children do. The oldest led the group, turning and zigzagging as the others mimicked her movements. “Hey, no screaming!” Samantha scolded. The kids ignored her and ran down the street. Samantha shook her head fondly. “Little brats.”

“You do a lot for your family, don’t you?” Razia said, putting her hand on Samantha’s shoulder and squeezing it.

Samantha shrugged, but she was smiling. “I gotta. Ma’s been gone for four years now, and daddy’s struggling to keep the home. Someone’s gotta help him wrangle the other seven kids. He spends most of his time working to try to keep the house, and I bring half of what I make here to make sure the kids are fed. I’m the big sister. I gotta.”

A sharp pang struck Razia. She let out a low laugh. “I’ve got five siblings of my own. Only one of them would do anything to help me. And even then, Radha would give me no end of shit for it. Don’t sell yourself short, Sam. You’re a good big sister.”

Samantha smiled, but her face burned and threatened to reach a shade close to her hair. She looked over Razia’s shoulder and Razia turned to look. Jack came around the back with an old battered rickshaw behind him.

One of the wheels was cracked and held together with tightly wound rope, and the seat was uneven and cracked from the sun. Standing in front of it, Jack looked too scrawny to pull that and passengers behind him. But he was excited, and enthusiasm counted more than competence sometimes.

“Ready when you ladies are,” Jack said, giving a formal bow.

“After you,” Razia motioned to Samantha.

As bad as the rickshaw looked, the ride was even worse. As Jack picked up speed and turned onto a main road, Razia wondered if the thing wouldn’t fall apart on the way there. Every few feet the uneven wheel made the entire thing jolt violently. Constant shakes had Samantha holding herself to stop the wild jiggle.

“Not a word,” Samantha said.

Razia put her finger to her lips.

The place Razia temporarily called home was a modest apartment building she saw maybe once a week. More often than not she was on the move, spending money as fast as she made it only to return home to deposit whatever was left over. It was a place for her to be invisible and occasionally rest. Most of the other residents kept to themselves, and the only problem she'd faced was with the owner.

“Alright,” said Razia, stumbling off the rickshaw. She helped Samantha down after her. “This shouldn’t take too long. We’re just here to pick up a couple of dresses, a small chest of jewelry, and some money. We can be in and out in five minutes. Just keep your eye out.”

“Keep our eyes out for what?” asked Samantha, who looked a bit green from the trip. Jackie’s satisfied grin at a successful ride dropped.

“Oh,” Razia forced a smile on her face. “Nothing, really. How about you wait here, Jack, and we’ll quickly go up?”

“Yeah, alright,” said Jack, hopping into the back of the rickshaw and stretching out. “I could use a break anyway.”

Together, Samantha and Razia went in. The place was as quiet as apartments get, which meant there were only two people shouting at each other and the sound of kids playing too loud. It was laid out almost identically to most of the shared living spaces in Orchrisus. The downstairs was largely a common area with a kitchen attached, and stairs leading up to the two stories above it where people dwelled. Razia scanned the room and led them to the stairs.

They were halfway up the stairs when Razia first felt it. As sharp as she was, she hadn’t survived this long in the dangerous city without her instincts to guide her. There’d been no trouble at all since leaving the Silk Lounge with Samantha and company. None. Even finding a new place to live had been swimmingly easy. Nothing came this easy in Orchrisus.

“Wait,” Razia said a few steps from the second floor. Samantha tilted her head but Razia held a finger to her lips. Carefully, she peeked an eye around the corner. Her room was at the end of the hall. The door was open, and the landlord was there, talking to someone inside. Razia’s blood turned to ice. She didn’t know she’d made a sound until Samantha tugged on her shirt.

“What is it?” Samantha asked.

“I’ve been found,” said Razia.