Chapter 30: Connected

It was almost funny how similar the Arbiter’s home was to Quentin’s. They both lived in private squares in the city for rich people, but even among the rich there were different levels of wealthy. Quentin’s area was for upper middle class people, those with enough money to have personal staff. Supreme Arbiter Omar Faroukh’s home was wealthy enough to require it.

Razia found it hard not to gawk at the size of the place. Homes that large didn’t belong in the middle of crowded cities, she decided. There was such a thing as too big, and this was it. But she wasn’t there to judge a man over his opulence. No, she was going to beg that same man to use his power and opulence to bail her friend out of trouble.

She took a deep breath and went over everything in her mind again. She was all dressed and made up to be as beautiful as possible, and to leave no doubt that she was meant to be seen. That was important for more than just sex appeal. If she’d walked up to a house like that looking like she was ready for a bit of skullduggery, they wouldn’t actually see her so much as a person shaped void in the world. A void that wasn’t welcome.

Now, wearing a tight yellow dress with a flower behind her ear, standing out in the open and staring at the door? She was begging to be seen, and the longer she stood there, the more curiosity would build up. That’s all Razia needed, for them to be more curious than they were dismissive. That’d get her foot in the door. After that?

No clue. Razia had very little idea of what kind of man Omar was, other than generally pleasant and serene. Quentin had told her that much. He wasn’t too forthcoming with most of the details around the Savant attack other than to say that he saved the man’s life. That had to be worth something to the Arbiter. Hopefully enough to get him to abuse a bit of power for their sakes.

The front door opened, and out walked a well dressed slave. So well dressed in nice, colorful silks with jewels adorning the chains around her throat that Razia wondered if she should have perhaps worn more jewelry. The woman was middle aged and had far more presence and dignity than any other slave Razia had seen. “What is it you want, Miss…?”

“Razia,” she said, introducing herself with a polite curtsy. “I’ve been sent to the Arbiter by one of his employees.”

The woman gave her an appraising look. “I doubt that,” she said.

Razia shook her head, smiling pleasantly. “I mean it. One of Omar’s employees needs his help, so he sent me to speak to him.”

The woman’s expression turned ugly. “That’s Supreme Arbiter Faroukh to you. Not Omar. You can’t honestly expect me to believe that one of the Arbiter’s employees would be so bold as to send a painted woman to him.”

Razia let out a delighted chuckle. “Rich, powerful men love being represented by beautiful women, don’t they?” She nodded towards the woman. “Miss…?” she echoed, smile widening.

The corner of the woman’s lips twitched. “Veritte,” she said. “Alright. What rich and powerful man sent a beautiful woman in his stead?”

“Before I tell you,” said Razia, unable to help herself to playing a little, “let’s make a little wager, between us girls.”

“Gambling is a disgusting habit, utterly beneath me,” Veritte said. “What did you have in mind?”

Razia laughed with delight. “I tell you his name and we go in together. If your master doesn’t recognize or acknowledge the name, I pay you five castura and you get to throw me out.”

Veritte nodded approvingly. “And you get your foot in the door and a chance to speak with the Arbiter. Or attempt to kill him.”

“Yes, exact- wait, what?” Razia blinked.

Veritte smiled, and it was nasty again. “We’ve been warned about attempts on the Arbiter’s life. There’s already been two that we know of. I have no clue who you are, and I won’t risk it.”

Panic gripped her. “Quentin Quintius,” she blurted. “That’s the name of his employee. It’s a life or death situation and the Arbiter will want to know about it. I’ll wait here if I have to, just please…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

Veritte stared her down an uncomfortably long time, as if she could bore a hole right through her and get inside her head if she tried hard enough. Pursing her lips, she sighed. “Wait here.” She disappeared back inside.

Razia fought to control her breathing, keeping it steady in and out. Demetrius had been entirely right when he blamed her for Quentin’s predicament. Now that she was here at Faroukh’s massive, expensive, well guarded home she faced the realization that she could actually fail. If she did, would Quentin be sentenced to death just like that? Or would someone in the system see who he was and bail him out?

The longer she stood outside, the more her doubts grew into hideous whispering monsters, filling her thoughts with every bad case scenario imaginable. And it would be all her fault. That’s what she’d get for running away from her problems. Again. Quentin would pay for it and she’d keep running, causing more problems where she went. Ugh.

Razia rubbed at her eyes, not caring if she smeared her makeup. The Too Beautiful To Turn Away Approach didn’t work when heightened security was in play. Having a prissy, prudish house slave barring the door didn’t help matters either. Razia was about to lose her patience and go up to the door when Veritte came back out, her face a mask.

“You’re quite sure you said Quentin Quintius?” she asked in a tone that hoped she was wrong.

“Yes. Quite sure.”

Veritte bowed her head and gestured for Razia to enter. Razia did, fighting the urge to say I told you so. The moment she stepped through the door, two guards collapsed on her, grabbing her wrists and pulling them up above her head.

“Hey, what the fuck are you --”

“Stop fighting, Miss Razia,” Veritte said. “You’re being permitted to enter, but you will be searched and any weapons confiscated.”

Razia forced herself to relax. The two men holding her weren’t being especially rough or rude, but no one liked being manhandled and told what to do. Especially not when surprised. She spread her legs and steeled herself while the one who didn’t hold her arms up patted her down. He did a particularly thorough job.

“Hey, watch it or I’ll have to charge you,” Razia snapped. The guard pulled out a long, thin stiletto from her thigh. He held it up as if to say, ‘and what’s this?’ He stepped away and dropped the knife down on a desk by the door.

“You can have that back on your way out,” Veritte said sweetly. The guards released Razia, and Veritte motioned for her to follow.

The Arbiter’s house was not just larger, it actually looked lived in. As Razia craned her head this way and that to take in all of the paintings, mosaics, and sculptures throughout the open reaches of the home, she resolved to beg Quentin to do something about his own. Anything to make it less empty and depressing. Big was nice, but the Arbiter’s home was, above all else, surprisingly warm.

She was led through a lavish foyer and an extravagant audience room all the way to the Arbiter’s personal office, not far from the skylight. His pool had live fish in it. The Arbiter himself was a thin, distinguished looking older man. He looked like the kind of upper class gentleman Razia would attach herself to when not slumming it with friends for fun. He stood from his desk and nodded respectfully to her.

“Do you mean me any harm?” He asked at once in an even, agreeable voice.

“Not at all,” Razia said.

“Are you here on behalf of anyone who means me harm?”

“I’m here on behalf of Quentin Quintius,” she said, pausing after. That felt weird. That’s not how she would’ve normally answered it, was it? She shook her head. “He’s in danger and needs your help.”

The Arbiter motioned for her to sit across from him and took his own seat. He ran his hand over his scalp, a motion Razia was very much used to doing herself. “I take it,” he said sighing, “that this means you know who Quentin is. What he is. Who are you?”

“Razia Rashid, daughter of Trade Prince Malachi Rashid of Nalek, and…” Razia forced her mouth shut. Her heart pounded. Something was wrong. She didn’t know what, but she didn’t like it. “I know who Quentin is, yes,” she said haltingly, “more importantly, I know what kind of danger he’s in. He’s been accused of murder and they’re going to rush him through the courts.”

The Arbiter’s eyes widened. “What happened?”

Razia told him, starting from meeting Quentin to him warning her about the muggers to finding them outside Quentin’s house, and finally to them showing up and trying to kidnap her again. The arbiter stayed silent the entire time she spoke, watching her intently. When she finished, he didn’t immediately respond. When he did, it wasn’t what she expected. “So Quentin did kill a man?” he asked.

“Yes.”

“Was it murder?”

“Gods no! It was defense,” Razia swallowed a lump of guilt down. “He was defending me and he was drugged. Even when Juiced up he was still able to fight and keep me alive.”

The Arbiter nodded thoughtfully. He put his hands together, fingers interlocking while he thought about it. “Then you would have me render my personal judgment of his innocence and demand his release? Do you think it’s that simple?”

It was a simple question, with no malice or mockery in there, but it still drove Razia nuts. “I think it’s as simple as Quentin saved your life, and you are honorbound to return the favor.” Razia let go of the arms of the chair, which she hadn’t realized she’d been clutching until her hands hurt. “I think that if you want that Savant dead and your emperor to not be publicly humiliated, you’re going to want him fighting.”

The Arbiter pursed his lips. “You’re not wrong,” he admitted. He leaned back in his chair and let out a sigh. “I’ll be honest with you, Ms. Rashid. I don’t like doing it. Not,” he added quickly, seeing the look on her face, “that I am opposed to helping Quentin. He’s been an exemplary worker and he has, as you said, saved my life. No, I am honorbound to help him.

“But I do not like toying with the law or bending it on a whim. Nor do I really approve of you knowing Quentin’s identity. We tolerate family knowing, as it is often a necessary evil. But you are a security risk.”

“Yes,” said Razia, rolling her eyes. “A security risk that came all this way and put up with your charming housekeeper in order to make sure he gets out.”

The Arbiter chuckled, waving her off. “Peace, Ms. Rashid. It is nothing personal. I have trust issues. It comes with being in my field for as long as I have. You must understand how seriously I must take this. You might not be a direct threat to Quentin yourself, but that doesn’t mean you aren’t a danger to him. Consider what happens if he is distracted in the Arena if, say, he knows you’re watching him. What happens if he grows attached to you and you leave, as women of your kind leave, that kind of thing. Meaning no offense, of course, just stating facts.”

Razia smiled bitterly. “You know what really brings me and Quentin together? We both know what it’s like to be dismissed and considered dirty and low by those around us. He gets it better than almost any man I’ve met. He’s kind, compassionate, and doesn’t judge us the way others do. I don’t know how long I intend on sticking around, but I won’t do him dirty. Not unless he does something really shitty to deserve it.”

Omar inclined his head respectfully. “Do you mean that?”

“I do,” Razia said, feeling trapped and not quite sure why.

He stood. “Then let’s get Quentin out of trouble.”

She expected the carriage ride to be more awkward than it was. Especially after the Arbiter’s bodyguards came inside as well as on top of the carriage. It seemed like they were taking the attempt on the Emperor’s life completely seriously. Razia appreciated that, though she was grateful it didn’t stop her from getting the Arbiter out of his palace and on to helping Quentin out.

The ride was mostly quiet, with both of them looking out the window and avoiding talking to one another. Neither seemed especially comfortable talking about anything of substance with the bodyguards around, and the guards were too busy keeping an eye out to be much for conversation. It meant Razia had about half an hour for her mind to wander, and it did.

She wondered how angry Quentin would be with her. After promising to keep him in the loop on things, she’d done the exact opposite. Razia told herself it was all so she could present the information all at once with decent conclusions. Something maybe Quentin would appreciate instead of her just sidling up to him and going, ‘Hey Quentin, I got an idea.’

It was too late for that now, even if it wasn’t too late to get Quentin out of real trouble. Thanks to Georgie, he now had a truly terrible idea of what people were seeing him as. Maybe after a bit he would see it the way she and the girls saw it. Razia promised herself she wouldn’t push. Unless she saw an opportunity she couldn’t ignore, of course. She wasn’t about to lie to herself about that.

And finally, Razia thought of the three bastards who refused to leave her alone. One dead, one jailed, and the other escaped. She couldn’t really bring herself to care much for the one who died. They wanted worse to happen to her, and Razia wasn’t the type of woman to shed tears over her enemies. With two thirds of them taken care of, maybe they’d finally leave her alone and she could focus on the future.

They pulled up to the Northwest Watchtower at about noon. The carriage rolled to a gentle stop in front of one of the Watch’s prisoner carts. The back was open and a thin young man was already inside and chained to the bench. The front of the tower opened up and Razia’s heart skipped a beat. They marched Quentin towards the cart.

“There! There he is, they’re loading him up now!” she cried, making for the door and throwing it open. The Arbiter barely had time to let out a surprised sound before she was out of the carriage, feet slapping down hard on the sand. The coppers nearest to Quentin pulled their weapons on her and threw him to the ground behind them.

“Stop right there,” the nearest one said, pulling a sword on her. All around them the other coppers went from business as usual to armed and dangerous. Several had bolters aimed right at her.

Razia didn’t give a fuck. “Unchain him immediately,” she demanded. “Whatever you think you’re doing, it ends here.”

From his spot on the ground, Quentin stared up in her general direction, eyes screwed up so tight they were almost closed. “Razia? You came?”

“Of course I came, dummy. You think I’d let these bastards --” She was interrupted by the guard nearest to her backhanding her hard enough to send her to the ground as well.

“Shut up, bitch,” The guard spat, to the laughter of the others. “Unless you wanna join him. Colosseum’s taking all kinds of new fighters.”

The Arbiter came out of the carriage, flanked by his bodyguards. His guards drew their own weapons but stayed a few feet away, waiting for orders. The coppers all around froze, not sure who this was but clearly able to recognize him as someone important. He raised a hand to get their attention.

“I’m Supreme Arbiter Omar Faroukh,” he said in a strong yet calm voice that carried well. “This man is one of my personal agents. I’m afraid I’m going to have to ask you to release him to my custody.”

No one moved to do anything, except for Razia who got to her feet and gingerly touched her bloody lip. She leveled a glare that could wilt flowers at the copper who hit her. He ignored her, staring at the Arbiter instead. No one was willing to be the first one to make a move, either in obedience or to tell the well dressed Ramali man to fuck off so they could get back to work.

The Arbiter sighed and raised his voice. “I don’t expect you to do it blindly. Take me in to see your commanding officer and we’ll get this sorted out.”

That was agreeable enough. One by one the coppers lowered their weapons, the ones nearest Quentin holding out until everyone else was back to a reasonable level of alert. Razia pushed past them and helped Quentin to his feet. He held onto her hand with both of his, squeezing. It was then that Razia noticed the untreated wounds across his arms and the peek of wound through torn clothes on his side. A big nasty red line going up from his ribs to past his shoulder. The fall caused it to start oozing blood again, and the skin around the wound didn’t look great.

“Did you fuckers really not see to his wounds at all?” Razia demanded, gesturing to the bloody bandages around his forearms. “What, did you figure he was going to die anyway so no point? What the hell is --” She fell silent when the Arbiter raised his hand again.

“We’ll get answers for this,” he promised her in a tone that would accept no insolence or resistance. He looked far from happy about it as well, and the nearest coppers looked at each other nervously.

“Right this way, Arbiter,” one of them said, opening the door to the Watchtower and giving a nervous, respectful bow.

Supreme Arbiter Omar Faroukh put his hand on Quentin’s shoulder and guided him along inside, with Razia following along close behind. The coppers trailed in last, half coming in and half staying out with the cart.

The watchman in the front led them through an open main floor, where citizens came in to file reports and ask for help. Downstairs were where the prisoners were held, and the upper floors were for the higher ranked men, silver and gold badges, worked in relative peace. It was up to this second floor they were led, winding around desks as the Watch stared at them as they passed.

Razia took all of this in from a distance. She remained focused on the Watchmen themselves. She didn’t know how immediately recognizable the Arbiter was to the people who, indirectly, worked for him and his office. The fact that he had better outfitted bodyguards doubtlessly clued plenty of them in. For everyone else, his purposeful stride kept them from barring the way.

“Are you okay, Quentin?” Razia asked as they turned a corner and had to climb stairs to reach the next floor. He swayed on reaching the first landing, and Razia took his side, holding him by the less injured arm.

“A bit dizzy,” he admitted. “I don’t know if that’s because of whatever I got dosed with or from my injuries.”

“Juice,” she said. “Someone tried to drug me and got you instead.”

“Yeah, I had a talk with Philus. He’s not happy with either of us.” He said. Razia grinned. Quentin’s smile faded as he said, “I’m not happy with us either.”

“We’ll talk about it,” Razia promised. “At length. As soon as we get you home.”

They reached the third floor and had to stop for a minute for Quentin to catch himself again. Razia let him lean on her. The Arbiter caught her eyes and a silent exchange passed through them. Understanding, more than anything else. He gave her a respectful nod before the copper in front led them past a corridor of doors to the very end. He paused there and knocked.

“Enter,” an annoyed voice called out. The watchman looked back at the Arbiter and opened the door. He stepped to the side, not wanting to be in the same room when all of this went down. The Arbiter ushered Quentin and Razia in, following after Quentin took a seat in front of the commanding officer’s desk.

The man behind the desk wore a gold badge on his chest with the name ‘P. Irwin’ engraved on it. He was around the Arbiter’s age, his short hair gray and tidy beard still mostly black. Upon looking up, he clearly recognized the man. P. Irwin shot to his feet, stammering out a welcome. “S-supreme Arbiter! What brings you to our tower today?” His eyes slid over to Quentin.

The Arbiter cleared his throat. “There appears to have been a mistake, Inspector Irwin. Your men have arrested one of my personal agents. You are to release him to my custody immediately, and remove all records of his ever being arrested.” His jaw was set. He really wasn’t happy about doing this, but he wasn’t half-assing it either.

“But Supreme Arbiter, this man is guilty of murder,” said Inspector Irwin. “Our investigation was thorough.”

Omar raised an amused eyebrow. “Was it?”

Inspector Irwin shook his head. “Not at all.” He made a face at what came out of his mouth. Grimacing, he added, “it was open and shut. There was a street brawl between the moonkissed -- “

“Quentin,” Razia said at the same time as the Arbiter said

“His name is Quentin, Inspector.”

Inspector Irwin looked frustrated. “There was a street brawl involving Quentin and Quentin killed another man. It doesn’t get much more simple than that.”

“You had half a dozen witnesses telling your men it was in self defense,” Razia spat. “We were told we weren’t quality people, so our words meant nothing. You going to say that about the Supreme Arbiter’s word?”

She may as well have slapped him across the face. “I didn’t say that,” said Inspector Irwin, raising his voice. “But the Arbiter wasn’t there that night.”

“I am here as a character witness,” said Omar lightly. “He is one of my agents. What he does is my responsibility. Where were you sending Quentin when we arrived?”

“The Colosseum.”

“Ah.” The Arbiter clicked his tongue. “Let’s go over this, Inspector. Your men arrested my agent from a fight where criminals accosted him and his companions. You decided that there was no need for a follow up, no time in court. It was enough to send this man to his death in under twenty four hours. Is that right?”

With each word the scowl on Quentin’s face grew until he looked truly pissed over what had happened to him. As if waking up in the cells cut up all to hell and pre-sentenced to death wasn’t really actually bad until it was laid out like that. Razia was at least as pissed.

The color drained out of Inspector Irwin’s face. “That’s not how I would word it,” he said.

“I’m sure it’s not,” said the Arbiter pleasantly. “One final question, Inspector. In your opinion, was my agent fast tracked to the Colosseum because of his being, excuse me Quentin, Moonkissed?”

The look on Inspector Irwin’s lined, tired face was truly miserable. “Yes, without a doubt.”

The Arbiter nodded to himself. “Thank you for your honesty, Inspector. I think that it’s best if we all put this behind us. You’ll release Quentin into my custody and burn whatever records you have of this arrest. You won’t have to worry about who he is or why he’s important, and I won’t have to investigate such a flagrant disregard for protocol. Such a thing could be interpreted as attempted murder, and I know an upstanding man like you would never let that stand. We all walk away happy.”

“Thank you, Supreme Arbiter,” said Quentin, once they were back downstairs and at the entrance to the Watchtower. Everything had happened very quickly after the Arbiter offered the deal. No one wanted the headache that would’ve come from handling the paperwork and investigating everyone whose hands were unclean. None of them would’ve gone unscathed.

They stepped outside. The cart was already gone, the other prisoner on its way to the Colosseum. Quentin stopped as the light hit him and blinded him. Now that she knew how bad his vision was, Razia could see how it affected him. He cupped his hands around his eyes to address the Arbiter.

“You may call me Omar. And with this, my debt is paid,” said Omar. He put his hand on Quentin’s shoulder and squeezed. “I’m happy to do you favors or lend you an ear, Quentin, but please don’t put me in a position to abuse mine again. Be careful. Don’t give Amicus a reason to bench you. And more importantly, be safe.”

He entered his carriage before either of them could think of anything to say, followed closely by his bodyguards. A moment later the carriage was off. And then it was just the two of them.

“Are you okay, Quentin?” Razia asked, suddenly afraid of how upset he could possibly be with her.

“Well,” he sighed, “I’m tired, injured, sore, blind, and my skin’s definitely going to burn without my cloak. Which I didn’t see with you. But at least I’m not sentenced to death, I guess.”

Razia smiled. “Let’s get you home and take care of you.”