Chapter 80: High Quality Bitches

The rowboat powered its way against the current, drawn towards their destination by what Quentin assumed was magic. The boatman looked comfortable, sitting back with one hand on the dark red orb as it pulsed periodically. Spray from the river misted into the boat, reminding Quentin that he was not a very strong swimmer. Still, it was their destination that scared him more than the chance of falling overboard.

“The palace?” Isa inhaled sharply. “Is that true?” she asked the boatman.

“Can’t say,” he said with a shrug. “My lips are bound. We’re heading towards a top secret dock in a very private place. Make of that what you will. I’d suggest you just enjoy the ride and not worry about it.”

“Easy for you to say,” Isa muttered. Her hands went to her hair and clothes, checking to make sure everything was in order.

Quentin opened his mouth to try and reassure her, and thought better of it. If Isa needed to fret and fuss over her appearance to soothe herself, that was her business. He did as the boatman suggested and just settled in, reminding himself that they were safe and this was a good thing. Razia’s voice was practically whispering in his ear, telling him about all the possibilities and opportunities this could bring. That Mr. Cicero was even more well connected than they thought. It beat worrying about things outside his control.

The ride was silent apart from the rush of water all around them. The night was still relatively young and a half moon hung high in the night sky, a little too dim for their small boat to be seen on either shore. Sure enough, they approached the southwest side of the solitary island in the center of the river. The closer they got, the more the sky was swallowed by the edges of the palace, cliffs looming high over the river. They went straight for the nearest cliff, speeding their way directly at some rocks.

“Quentin…” Isa said with alarm. “Are we going to -- we’re going to crash!”

The boatman wasn’t worried, so neither was Quentin. “We’ll be fine,” he said. “Probably. If we die I guess I won’t have to worry about you staying silent, huh?”

She turned to shoot him a dirty look that didn’t last. Isa snorted and shook her head. When she looked forward again the boat went right into the cliff -- and through the illusion. Quentin let out the breath he was holding and relaxed, blinking at the sudden bright lights of a line of torches along the walls of the secret grotto. A marina with four spaces for boats, three of them already full, awaited them. Along with a handful of armed men.

The boatman put the orb away as they slid into the empty spot, tossing a rope around the piling and tying it down. He paid them no mind, so Quentin carefully stood up, offering his hand to Isa. She went up onto the dock first, and he stepped onto solid ground right as two of the guards walked down the marina to meet them there.

“You the pimp and whore?” the older of the two asked in a low growl.

Isa opened her mouth to protest, but Quentin put his hand on her arm and said, “That’s us. I believe we’re expected.”

The guard grunted before grabbing Isa by the arm and yanking her forward. The other one patted her down roughly. She looked to Quentin for help, but he just shook his head and held still as they switched from her to him. They took his knife from his belt and stepped back. The grizzled one said, “Alright, some ground rules. You will speak when spoken to, you will not touch any of them without invitation. You will not raise your voice or be threatening in any way or we’ll come down on your asses. This is a one night deal only and choosing you is not a commitment for anything more, and is certainly not an endorsement. Is this understood?”

“Yes,” Quentin answered for both of them. Isa, lips pursed, nodded.

They were led up stairs carved into the side of the island, up into a corridor leading into what Quentin assumed to be a deep, dark part of the palace where no one would disturb them. He kept his hand on Isa’s arm and held her close, sandwiched in by their escorts as they climbed the stairs. They walked for only a couple of minutes before they came to a blank wall. The younger of the two guards went ahead and fiddled with something unseen. The wall opened up, and there they were.

The room they were in was big, rich, and a bit ostentatious for Quentin’s tastes. White marble pillars sat in the center, carved with scenes of naked men and women either frolicking or fucking. Big couches and loungers like the one in his home lined the walls, most underneath portraits of beautiful people wearing only jewelry or a cape. Spinning lanterns hung from the ceiling, casting the room in a low, ephemeral glow. Quentin stifled a snort. Leave it to the royal family to have a big room dedicated to the excess celebration of sex.

They weren’t the only ones invited. As Quentin half expected, there were three pairs of people in there, other than the guards. They were very clearly counterparts to him and Isa. It must’ve been a party, with a sampler of ladies for the royals to choose from. Scattered all around the room, they turned to look at the newcomers. Quentin did a quick scan, putting on his neutral half-scowl as he checked them out.

Closest to them was a lean, tattooed woman with her dark hair pulled back into a tight braid all the way down to her waist. She leaned against one of the pillars while her girl sat primly on a couch nearby. Her girl had a strong, handsome jawline and bright green eyes that met Quentin’s with no fear but a determined ferocity. Further on down was a Ramali man in nice clothes holding onto a leash. At the end of the leash was a petite blonde with sharp cheekbones, wearing a bland but tight outfit. She didn’t look up. On the far side of the room was an older man laying down on a lounger, eyes closed. His girl sat with his feet in her lap. Out of all the other women, she was dressed the best, looking almost as classy as her master.

“Wait here,” the young guard grunted before going back down the secret passage in the wall. A few guards remained, but they stuck around the two sets of doors on opposite ends of the room, leaving the occupants to kill time together.

Isa looked around before chuckling. “So that’s why I was requested.”

Quentin turned to her. “What do you mean?”

Isa gestured to the others with a sweep of her arm. “We’re all dusk-girls.”

He blinked. “All of them? You can tell?”

She shot him a withering look, like ‘of course I can’. “I recognize Sarah,” she said, nodding towards the girl on the leash. “Poor girl is owned by Aziz. If half of us are dusk-girls, it stands to reason that the others might be too.”

“Owned?” Quentin’s lip curled. For a moment he thought the leash was just a personal touch, or maybe an egotistical flourish. No, it was a pimp and a slaver. He was certainly in good company. “Judge me all you want for my past, at least I’ve never owned anyone else.”

Before she had a chance to retort, the lean woman with the tattoos turned to him, eyes lighting up with excitement. “You,” she said, closing the distance between them. “I’ve heard of you. Big pale fucker, scary yet well dressed, scowls a lot. Mr. Q, is it?” There was no real heat or venom in her words, just the sort of strength that came from someone without any fear of others.

“I am,” Quentin confirmed with a respectful nod. “I’m afraid you have me at a disadvantage.”

She smiled wolfishly, extending her hand. “Raquel. Did you really break both of Darriq’s arm's and steal one of his bitches?”

“And ripped some teeth out,” Isa added helpfully, smiling at his grimace.

Quentin took her hand and gave it a firm shake. She gripped it back with considerable strength. “Yes. He started shit with me. I ended it. Lynne came with me of her own free will.” He looked past her to Aziz, who watched with the leash held firmly in his left hand. “I’m not in the habit of forcing women to do what I want.”

“Oh ho, you’re a spicy one,” Raquel snorted. Over her shoulder she said, “you hear that, Aziz? I think he disapproves of you.”

Aziz shrugged. “I couldn’t care less. We all have our little niches. Mine happens to be perfectly compliant little pets. Isn’t that right?” He jerked on the leash.

Sarah winced and moved closer to him. Her eyes were glassy and lifeless. “Yes sir,” she said.

Quentin’s stomach turned. He hadn’t been at this for too long all things considered, but he had yet to meet a…a colleague who he could respect. So far it seemed like all pimps were utter bastards or at the very least bastard adjacent. His instincts told him to just shrug it off and not socialize with them. His rational side reminded him that he needed to interact with the greater North Orchrisan community of lowlifes. That included him now, all the way.

“Compliant sounds boring,” said Quentin, putting all of his contempt into it. “My customers prefer fucking someone with a bit of life to them, not someone beaten into a living corpse. But as you said, we all have our niches. What’s yours?” he asked Raquel.

It was Raquel’s girl who answered, standing beside her with arms crossed over her chest. “Rich idiots and travelers. No one powerful or petty enough to consider crossing us, stupid as that would be.” Her voice was low and husky. Isa was probably right about all of them being dusk-girls.

Raquel put her arm over her girl’s shoulder and kissed her cheek playfully. “Thank you, Veronica. We stick to the edges of town and help caravans with their coming and their going. I don’t think there’s any overlap between our circles, provided you're a good boy and don’t start a fight. Are you a good boy, Mr. Q?”

“Otho and Darriq wouldn’t say so,” the older man said from his position on the couch. He looked asleep, but he was evidently listening. “Or Georgie. Word is, you have no respect for territory, seniority, or personal property. Henry Atticus,” he said, turning and looking at Quentin. “I believe I’m the next person you’ll be coming after. High quality bitches for the rich and powerful.”

It had been a while since Quentin felt out of his element. He was the new kid on the street, and all of them knew way more about him than he did them. That was something to remedy. Pimps with grudges against him were the last thing he needed. He cleared his throat and addressed the old man. “Pleasure to meet you, Henry. Otho was a pig who destroyed himself, Georgie thought he’d attack me instead of speaking civilly, and Darriq hurt one of my girls. I’ve no quarrel with you. Either of you,” he added, eyes flitting between Raquel and Henry.

“Besides,” Quentin added, with a half smile, “I’m not after the wealthy clients. I’ve got medium quality bitches for the newly rich and moderately powerful. Completely different niche. No problems here.” Isa smacked him on the arm, glaring daggers at him. He smiled, resolving to apologize for the crime of calling her medium quality later.

Raquel’s eyes twinkled with mischievous delight. She looked ready to speak when one of the doors opened and two soldiers wearing quality armor with intricate heralding on the front. Behind them were three women, ranging from around Quentin’s age to around Lucy’s. The oldest of them was a dark haired brunette who was quite a bit pregnant, and the youngest was a slight, nervous looking woman with sandy hair and rosy cheeks. Her eyes darted between the different groups.

The rest of the pimps and their girls stirred and lined up in a neat row. Raquel and Veronica leaned against each other, back to back. Aziz jerked on the leash and Sarah dropped to her knees at his side. Henry’s unnamed but statuesque companion stood behind him with her hands folded in front of her, looking demure. Without needing to confer on it, Quentin and Isa linked their arms and stood together. To his surprise, Isa laid her head on his arm.

The guards stopped in front of them, then stepped to the side so the three women could address them. The oldest spoke without preamble, “Good evening ladies. My dear baby sister has come of age and you’re her presents. Well,” she amended with a wicked smile, “one of you will be. Two others will go to me and our other sister. If you are to address us tonight, you may do so with ‘my lady’ or ‘mistress’. Is that understood?”

“Yes my lady --”

“..my lady --”

“Mistress.”

Isa came in last, considering them before she bowed her head and said, “yes princess.”

Quentin’s eyes widened with surprise and recognition. That’s why they looked familiar. The youngest was the spitting image of the Emperor. These were the Caragalla heirs. Only then did he realize what Isa had done by saying that. He squeezed on her arm, just hard enough to be a warning. He wasn’t sure he had it in him to punish her for being herself, but Quentin was pretty sure the guards would do it for him if she wasn’t careful.

The pregnant woman, Lavinia if he remembered, clicked her tongue. Coming up close to the two of them, she looked them up and down with a smirk. “Always good to see a Ramali recognize who rules them. You’re not one of those rebellious radicals who go on and on about being given land back?”

Isa smiled, and in that smile Quentin saw some of the fear that had been driving her, but some of her familiar fire. Isa was the absolute worst person to be baited like that. She was going to get the two of them killed. Torn between speaking up and risking offending the princess, he froze in place. Isa didn’t hesitate for an instant. “No, my home is in the city. My lady. I am Orchrisan first and foremost. My cousins, on the other hand, would probably spit in your face even if it killed them.”

A big unanimous wince flowed through the others like a wave. The guards nearest to them put their hands on their weapons. The three sisters looked at them with unreadable faces. Until first Lavinia snickered, and then the nondescript middle sister (Althea?) burst out laughing. Quentin released a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. He squeezed her arm even harder. She squeezed back twice in quick succession. He couldn’t tell if she was acknowledging him or taunting him, and before he could think more about it the eldest addressed him directly.

“Why should we pick your girl? Sell her to us, in your own words. What is she good at and why should she be allowed to pop our dearest’s cherry?” The youngest sister Vesta shrank, face turning an interesting shade of red.

Oh crap. Quentin took a deep breath and thought as quickly as he could. He was getting better at speaking but being put on the spot was still a weakness. When he spoke, the words tumbled out of his mouth as quickly as he thought them. “Isa is one of my best girls. She’s fiery, passionate, and takes pride in what she does. As a companion, she is versatile but excels at domination. All of her clients have praised her for it.”

Gods, how long ago would being that matter of fact about someone close to him’s sexual prowess make him uncomfortable? It almost felt wrong saying that and to royalty no less, but when he thought about it he imagined what Razia would say in their favor. “At the Moonlit Garden, my companions are constantly training to master pleasure in both passion and technique. We take inspiration from the Pierced Heart’s priests and priestesses, and treat pleasure and pain as a spiritual calling.”

He had to bite back a laugh at that. It was technically true, but would probably piss the church off if they made that a regular part of their pitch. Gods, they didn’t need to start any more feuds, especially with the temple. Maybe later once Piro was dealt with. Quentin only hoped that the smile on his face looked confident instead of cheeky or insubordinate.

Vesta seemed to perk up at it. “Noted,” she said, really giving Isa a once over. Isa smirked at her, extricating herself from Quentin and running her hands down the silks covering her chest teasingly. Lavinia cleared her throat and moved on to Aziz.

“And what about you? Same question.”

Aziz bowed his head respectfully and said, “I offer obedience and safety. Total submission and dedication to your utmost satisfaction.” He planted his foot on Sarah’s back and shoved her to all fours. She presented herself like an animal, head down. Her outfit was a tight slave’s uniform that technically covered everything but showed it all off just the same. Quentin tore his eyes away from her almost exposed backside. “Sarah will do anything you tell her to do without complaint, and without ever speaking of it to anyone. The very picture of discretion.”

Vesta made a face. Althea put her arm around her sister’s shoulders and said, “No, not this one I think. Our dear Vesta isn’t the type of person to bark out orders, now are you?” she clicked her tongue while Vesta squirmed in place. “Now me, on the other hand…I’m sure I’ll find a use or two for her.”

Azis bowed his head and offered the leash to her. Althea stepped forward and took it, tugging on it until Sarah crawled on all fours and sat at her side, face completely blank and eyes cast down to the floor. Quentin buried any feelings of sympathy he had. It was impossible to save them all, and it wasn’t his responsibility. But her being picked meant that there were presumably only two slots left, and three companions.

“And you?” Lavinia turned towards Henry and his girl.

“Greetings, my lady,” he said, bowing like each of them before him had done. “Gabrielle is a perfect source of joy and comfort. She is specifically trained and suited to being a companion to those with class and grace. She is for more than just base carnal pleasures,” he said smoothly with a slight smirk, “and will stimulate the mind just as well as the body. If you choose Gabrielle you will be catered to and treated all night by one of the greatest professionals this city has ever seen.” Gabrielle did a curtsy, curly hair bobbing with the motion.

He couldn’t have been aiming more for Quentin if he tried. Quentin kept his face neutral, focusing on the sister’s reactions. Lavinia looked intrigued, but Vesta just kind of shrugged. Gabrielle was a bit older than the other girls, and even he saw she was probably more cultured and classy than he’d ever be. When Lavinia tilted her head questioningly, Vesta shook hers. “Your services are requested tonight,” Lavinia said. “But not for my sister.”

Neither Gabrielle or Henry looked disappointed. Isa on the other hand frowned. There was just one last prospect now, and the sisters walked down the line to Raquel and Veronica. Unlike the others, Raquel didn’t wait to be questioned. As soon as Lavinia stopped moving, Raquel spoke up. “Veronica is, above all else, fun. With her the hours will dwindle away like a candle burning both ends. Just one night and you’ll be begging for more and she is more than happy to give it. Choose Ronnie, and you won’t spend a single second bored.”

Vesta nodded thoughtfully. Veronica blew her a kiss and indeed seemed the most playful and lively of the women, if a bit informal. Maybe it was the informality that did it, because after a short muttered discussion, the youngest Caragalla child stood in front of Isa again. “Y-your master said you’re adept at pain?”

Isa’s eyes widened in surprise, and she turned to Quentin as if to remind him that he was not, and never would be, her master. “Yes,” she said to Vesta, “If you wish it, I will make you choke on your screams.”

The princess’ face darkened. She licked her lips and then nodded. Slowly at first, then growing enthusiastic. “Yes. This one,” she said as her sisters crowed in amusement.

“Ooh, little Vesta’s not going to be able to walk tomorrow~” Althea laughed.

Lavinia reached out and pinched her cheek, even as the youngest tried to ward her off with ineffectual slaps. “That’s our girl, always taking the road less traveled by.” To the assembled people, she was all business and authority again. “That’s our selection for the night. For those of you chosen, your masters will receive their retainer as well as a bonus for your silence. For the trouble of making the trip and waiting, refreshments and libations will be brought out. You,” she addressed Raquel, “may stay and partake if you like. Perhaps you’ll be chosen next time.”

Quentin then realized they would be separated. Obviously. He’d been so caught up on whether or not Isa would get picked he forgot what it would mean if she was. Waiting around with a slaver and a man who felt threatened by him while Isa had to toe the line between being herself and not offending powerful people by being herself. “Behave,” he warned her under his breath.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she muttered back, but it was accompanied by a pleased smile. “I’m the companion of a princess. You’re beneath me now.”

He sighed and gently pushed her forward, right up to Vesta who was watching Isa intently. Isa closed the rest of the distance, passing by the older sisters without paying them any heed. She offered her hand to Vesta, who took it in a daze. This was where all her charm was turned on, and her very bearing changed into her alluring but aloof and in control persona. She put a hand under Vesta’s chin and tilted her face up to meet hers, leaning forward to whisper something in her ear.

Vesta giggled and practically melted, held in place by Isa’s gentle but firm grip on her hand. Whatever Isa said, Vesta was bright red and her mind was well on its way out. Quentin chuckled and shook his head as the three sisters collected their companions for the night and disappeared back the way they came. A few seconds later a parade of servants came in with tables of food and drink and brought them over to the couches before leaving.

“Alas, no luck this time Ronnie,” Raquel sighed, patting her girl on the ass. Veronica just snickered and threw an arm around her.

“They were probably afraid she would rob them like you do everyone else,” Aziz said with a smirk. “At least you got the entry fee. Not a bad amount for just showing up, no?”

“Eat shit,” Raquel laughed. She fished a deck of cards from a pocket and held them up. “How about we play a few hands and see how much of your fee you can lose in one go? What about you, Henry? Mr. Q?”

Quentin glanced over to the tables covered with rich and exotic foods. “Maybe after a snack,” he said. Ever since discovering his ability, his need to eat often and in great quantities made a lot more sense and he found himself rarely turning down an easy meal. It kept him in fighting condition.

“And you, Henry?” Raquel whiffled the cards from one hand to the other. “Think you’re willing to lower yourself to associate with us street scum?”

The older gentlemen snorted with scorn. “I know better than to play a rigged game,” he said. “I’ll happily watch you take these two fools’ shards though.”

Raquel, Veronica, and Aziz sat together on two of the couches, quickly shuffling and dealing out the cards. Quentin left them behind and headed for the table, grabbing a clean plate and filling it with a little bit of everything. He was so focused on making sure he got a good sample he didn’t realize when Henry came up next to him and spoke.

“So your girl was picked,” he said, “and by the princess of the hour no less. Tell me again how you’re only catering to the newly rich? And such a newcomer too. I’ll tell you this right now boy, watch your ambitions. I’m not as easy to take down as the others and I’ve got no tolerance for overeager pups.” He grabbed himself a goblet of wine and walked off before Quentin could say anything.

Frowning, Quentin watched him go to a far couch and sit alone. It wasn’t his intention, none of this was, but if they were climbing they were climbing. This is what it must’ve meant to have real connections. Did they have the same loyalty to Cicero, or was Quentin and Isa more or less cheating to get ahead? The idea didn’t bother him as much as he thought it would, but he still didn’t need any more enemies and certainly not someone doing it for much longer.

Either way, he reflected, it was a good step up and maybe if Isa performed really well, a repeat customer. For a second he wished Razia was here. She was going to go nuts when she found out who their client really was, and would hate having to miss it. Smiling, Quentin brought his plate over to the couch to watch them play. Maybe he’d even join in and start building bridges.