Chapter 35: Mercy

Once, when Quentin was only twenty two, his father had asked him a question.

“You think this job is perfect? What happens when you have to kill someone you know? What’ll you do then, Quentin?” This was shortly before they’d stopped speaking entirely, and it never quite left Quentin’s mind. Every time he saw a new writ of execution, there was a small part of him that wondered if it would be someone he knew once upon a time, or someone he heard of.

Ten years Quentin went without ever executing someone he knew. So of course his luck turned around and gave him not one, but two people he was intimately familiar with. Maria stared from behind the bars with disbelief and horror, while right in the cell next to her was Philus. Somehow, Peter hadn’t been the one taken to the Colosseum after all.

“You’ve gotta be shitting me,” said Philus, gripping the bars. “There’s no way.”

Quentin took off his helmet. Everyone was looking at him, including the guards. But they didn’t matter now. Then again, Quentin had no idea what was important. His brain still hadn’t recovered from the shock, and he looked between the two of them slack jawed. This was impossible. This was ludicrous. This was really happening.

From his spot in the corner, Kassim let out a bark of laughter. “Oh, oh this is just too rich,” he said, holding his sides as the laughter kept coming. “Poor, poor Quentin has to kill his friends.”

Philus’ reaction was immediate. He turned and jabbed a finger through the bars at Kassim. “We are not friends. This son of a bitch killed my best friend.”

From beneath his outstretched finger, Graham Calhoun laid in the straw. He smacked his lips lazily and said, “Could you all keep it down? I’m trying to nap.”

Of course, that was when everyone started talking all at once.

“I knew you were just a common killer, and --”

“...this can’t be happening. Quentin I’m scared, --”

“I’m sorry, but you need to tell me --”

“I swear to the gods I’ll have my revenge.”

The nearest guard drew her club from her belt and slammed it against the bars near Philus’ head. All of them, including Quentin, shut their mouths. The guard looked around, obviously surprised it worked. “Keep it down, all of you. ALL of you,” she directed right at Quentin.

Quentin’s blood boiled. “I know you’re not talking to me like that,” he said in a low voice. None of the guards dared talk to him like that. And he damned sure wasn’t going to put up with it when he was this upset.

“Deal with it, Butcher. Or Quentin, I guess,” the guard sneered. Her partner looked away, uncomfortable. “We’ve got orders straight from Amicus, telling us to treat you as a potential security risk. We’ve got our eyes on you.”

Anger was good. Anger was better than the lingering confusion and growing horror at the situation. Quentin drew himself to his full height and scowled at the woman. To her credit, she stood her ground. She didn’t look happy about it, but she didn’t move. “These prisoners are my responsibility,” said Quentin. “Amicus may own the Colosseum but he does not own me or the position. Have this woman brought up to my office.”

The guard frowned. “That’s the exact opposite of what I was told to do. It’s not happening.” She kept her grip on her club tight, like she might be inclined to use it on him next. Quentin growled and turned away from her. He was about ready to crack skulls here, but she wasn’t the place to start. He got up close to the pen with Maria.

“You need to tell me what happened,” he said. “I’m going to do whatever I can to get you out of here, I promise.”

“Well, isn’t that nice?” Kassim drawled. “You’re perfectly fine with offing us until it’s someone you care about, and then you’ll try to bend the rules to save them? You’re garbage, Quentin.” This time he did manifest a copy, a much healthier looking version of Kassim shimmered into existence, pointing and laughing at him.

“Ignore him,” said Quentin to Maria. “What happened?”

Maria’s eyes darted wildly from person to person. The holding cells were rarely this full and that much noise in a small space would drive anyone up the wall, let alone someone already terrified out of her wits. She wet her lips and managed to get out, “Th-th-the merchant I was with. My new patron. His wife found out about me, and she flipped.”

That didn’t sound so bad. “So what happened after that?” Quentin pressed.

“You’re not going to save her,” Philus said, clinging to the bars. “She’s going to die in here. I’m gonna die too, but I promise you I’ll make sure she does.” Maria let out a squeak and moved away from his side of the cell. Bars separated them, but she wasn’t quite out of reach.

“Shut up, Philus,” said Quentin. “One word is all it’ll taken to have you beaten until you can’t do much more than whimper.” He glanced at the guard. “That still allowed, or is that a security risk too?”

She tilted her head to the side in consideration. “I’ll allow it,” she said. “If only because I can tell this one’s gonna be a shit. Gonna be a toothless shit if he’s not careful.” She flashed a fierce grin at Phil, who looked away from her.

Quentin took the opportunity to focus on Maria again. “What happened after that, Maria? Why did you get sentenced to death?”

Maria still looked crushed and scared, but she drew herself up and took a deep breath. “He had me wearing her jewels,” she said. “Wanted to see how I looked in them. Said I reminded him of his wife before she turned cold.” She let out a bitter laugh at that. “I’m too old to keep up with the girls but I’m young enough to look like his wife did. I never should’ve taken him on.”

“Focus,” said Quentin gently. “You were wearing her jewels. What happened next?”

She composed herself again. “She came in. He had to hide me, so he slipped me outside. His wife realized the jewels were missing and called him on it. He lied and said he had no idea what happened. So his wife called the guards, and they caught me. Quentin, he pretended like he didn’t know me! So they called the Watch and had me taken away.”

All of it made sense, as far as he could see it. Quentin couldn’t picture lying like that, throwing another person out to the dunewallas just to get out of trouble. But one thing wasn’t adding up. “But sentencing you to death is ridiculous,” he said. “Even if they were trying to send anybody. They got the jewelry back, I’m assuming. Why were you sentenced to death?”

“Because Orchrisus is a shithole and they’ll put people to death for any reason,” Kassim said from his cell.

Quentin couldn’t deny it.

Maria sighed. “They were very old jewels. And she belonged to one of the city’s first families,” she said.

If Quentin could’ve paled, he would have. That changed things. One third of their government was made up of officials elected from the masses, one third was the Emperor himself, and the final third were the heads of the oldest families in Orchrisus. Those who had been there since before the formation of the city, back when they were refugees fleeing the Scions and heading to the desert for safety.

Orchrisus was not a fair place. Quentin knew first hand how true that was. The rules surrounding the first families were even more unfair than normal. For their part in building their nation, they were shielded by the law more than any other citizen. Their businesses paid less in taxes, their historical artifacts and property given greater weight and importance than anything else save the Pierced Heart’s Temple and the holy relics inside.

Stealing priceless old jewels from one of them was grounds for death if the family pushed for it. Quentin didn’t need to be told the rest. The merchant’s wife pushed for it. As a punishment for her philandering husband, and a punishment to the whore who dared touched what was hers. “What was the merchant’s name?” Quentin asked. “If you give me the name, I think we can do something about this.”

Maybe. Gods, he hoped they could do something about it. Things weren’t looking too good so far. Maria’s expression softened. “Do you think so? I’m scared, Quentin.”

“I’m scared, Quentin,” Phil mocked, pressing his face through the bars. Without looking Quentin slammed his hand against Phil’s nose, eliciting a cry of pain from him. He fell back, looking up at the executioner balefully.

“I know, Maria. I’m going to get you out of this, one way or another.”

It wasn’t much, but it seemed to help her calm down. “His name is Roberto Rossi,” she said. “He specializes in spices and dyes. He’s got caravans moving in and out of the city, supplying restaurants and clothiers. He’s big.”

Quentin nodded. “I’ll go take care of this.” He set out to leave, but her hand shot out and grabbed him by the wrist. The guards jumped to attention, pulling out their weapons. Quentin held a hand to stall them. He took Maria’s hand in his and squeezed.

“Quentin...My daughter Tricia. She doesn’t know. Please, you need to get her somewhere safe. Take her to her grandmother, please.” Crap, Quentin had forgotten about Tricia. He’d never gotten the chance to meet her, but Maria talked about her every night they’d hung out, and eventually he’d taken to asking after her.

“Where do you live?” Quentin asked. “I give you my word she’ll be safe.”

All in all, Quentin wasn’t quite sure what he was feeling. There was anger there, and plenty of it. But it wasn’t quite rage. There was sadness, and a healthy dose of fear, and worst of all, helplessness. The helplessness made him feel like a hypocrite. All of his prisoners were helpless. That’s what they dealt with, day in and day out, when they were sentenced with death. Never before had he had to deal with the same helplessness.

He found he hated it, and anger was the easier emotion to feel. It was anger that led him back up to Amicus’ office, storming past people who rushed to get out of the way. Quentin had forgotten his helmet down in the holding cells and nothing was covering his expression of utter frustration and contempt. He didn’t bother knocking this time. Quentin opened the door and barged right in.

“The hell do you think you’re doing?” Amicus demanded, dropping the shards he’d been counting on the desk. Seeing the look on Quentin’s face, he flinched. “What is the meaning of this?”

“There’s a problem with one of the prisoners,” said Quentin. “I know her in my personal life. And I will not be killing her, no matter what.”

It took a few words for his words to settle in, but when they did Amicus let out a dark laugh. “You think it’s that simple? Who gives a shit if you know her? She’s sentenced to die, so she’ll die. Or you’ll be -- “

“Yes yes, I’ll be replaced,” Quentin snapped, slamming his fist on the expensive desk. “Find a new line you bloated sack of shit.” Realizing what he said, Quentin’s blood turned to ice. There was no going back from it, so he might as well go forward. “If you could’ve replaced me you would’ve done it by now. Why don’t you just admit that there’s nothing you can do about me?”

Amicus’ expression turned ugly. He narrowed his beady dark eyes at Quentin, sneering. “I wouldn’t say there’s nothing.” He folded his hands together, putting on a false smile. “I may not be able to throw you out of here, but I could make your life miserable, Quintius.”

That made him laugh, a dark and cynical sound. “What the hell can you possibly do that you haven’t been doing for the last five years? No, this is what’s going to happen Amicus.” Quentin didn’t know where this courage was coming from, but he suspected he was finally just too fed up to put up with Amicus’ shit. “I’m going to perform the executions as normal. I’ll kill the savant, the child rapist, and Philus, and then we’ll show a bit of mercy by letting one of them go. The crowd will go nuts for it and wonder if it’s possible to happen again.”

Amicus stroked his many chins. “Or I can just have Cervenka kill her.”

Quentin shook his head. “We both know that as good as he is, he won’t survive the Blooming fight. He’s not that good. The Savant will get him.”

Quentin sighed. This wasn’t a negotiation. “Unless you agree to my terms, I’ll walk away. I don’t care anymore. I’ve got enough money to retire and I’m still in good health. I could just leave and you’ll be left without a competent executioner for the Blooming. I don’t even need you to agree to this, I’ll take it to the Supreme Arbiter. He’ll be happy to agree to it if it means the event goes smoothly.”

Amicus fell silent. His face was bright red, and he was breathing hard. He shifted his injured leg off the pillow and sat up as tall as he could make himself. “You realize that even if you did have this kind of sway, the moment the Blooming is over you’re expendable again? You really willing to give up your job just to save her life?”

That was the real question. He didn’t even hesitate. “Absolutely. She’s not done anything near bad enough to be worth putting her to death. This isn’t justice, this is --”

“Alright alright,” Amicus waved him off with a disgusted look on his face. “Save the sentimental shit for someone else. You’ve got me over a barrel. Fine, Quintius. Kill the rest of them, and you won’t have to kill the whore. You happy? Yes? Get the fuck out of my office.”

Quentin left, mildly satisfied with himself. He’d done it. He finally spoke up against Amicus and he came out on top. That didn’t mean he was stupid enough to trust Amicus to hold to his side of the deal. Quentin was going to do everything he could to get Maria out of this, but the rest was something he couldn’t handle on his own. He wasn’t looking forward to telling Razia about this.

She knew something was wrong as soon as he got home. As soon as he walked in the door, she came out of her room, all smiles. The smile faded when she saw the condition he was in. “What’s going on?” she said.

He had the entire four mile walk home to think about how he was going to broach this and still Quentin drew a blank. Rather than argue with himself over the best way to do it, he just sighed and said, “I found Maria. At the Colosseum.”

It took her a second, but when it sunk in Razia’s face fell. “What? How?”

Haltingly, Quentin told her what Maria had said to him, as well as the conversation with Amicus afterwards. Razia stayed quiet the entire time, but she had a look in her eyes that told him she was already working something out. Thank the gods, he’d done the only thing he could think of and it still didn’t feel like nearly enough.

When he was finished, Razia said nothing. After a few seconds of this, Quentin prodded. “Do you have any idea how we’re going to get her out of this?”

“The merchant,” she said, staring off into space as she thought about it. “The key’s the merchant. Well, the key’s the merchant’s wife, but I don’t know that we’d be able to say or do anything to get through to her if she’s this pissed at her husband’s philandering. So we focus on him, I think. We know roughly where he lives, which is a good start, but not how to approach him.

“Bribing him is our best bet. Barring that, threats. But if he’s rich, chances are he can afford proper security. Which means threats will either bounce off of him or he’ll get offended and dig his heels in harder. No, it’s probably going to have to be a bribe of some sort.”

Some of the built up panic faded away. Quentin was starting to calm, though he couldn’t shake the horrible image of facing her in the Colosseum. Or the look on her face when she realized her good friend Mr. Q was the executioner. She’d been shocked, but not for too long. The realization on her face as she added all the pieces together stung. Maria had gone from disbelief to ‘this makes too much sense’ very quickly.

Now that he was back home and away from the damned Colosseum and all of its drama, it was easier to calm down. Especially with Razia here. “So you think we’ll be able to pull this off?” he asked hopefully.

Razia frowned. Without meeting his eyes she said, “I can’t promise anything. If he’s rich, the only thing we can really bribe him with is more girls, which might not work if his wife’s got him on a short leash. We can try, though. All we can do is try.”

It wasn’t enough, but it would have to do for now. “And Maria’s daughter, Tricia? I promised Maria I would get her to her grandmother. I don’t think…” His throat closed up. Quentin turned his head to the side and cleared his throat. “Would it be possible for you to see to it? I don’t think it’s a good idea, her seeing me.”

Razia understood at once. She closed the distance and wrapped him up in a big hug. After a second, he hugged her back. “Maria didn’t think so,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “She asked you to do it because she trusts you. Even now, she trusts you. I think you owe it to her to see it all the way through. Don’t you?”

Quentin hated that she was right. Without further ado, they left home together in search of Maria’s daughter.