Chapter 115: Quentin's Journal, Entry 1

Quentin's Journal, Entry 1

It’s strange to write in this. For so many long years, I’ve been in isolation. Now I have friends, lovers, followers, and a community. No matter how many times I blink and pinch myself, this dream never ends. Most of my life was misery, and now…I genuinely fear that the happier I am, the closer I come to someone or something taking it all away, leaving me right where I started.

It hasn’t happened yet, but with the perpetual threat of Piro coming back to get vengeance on Christophe and kill me (or whatever his plan is), it’s permanently on my mind. That said, it’s been over a month since he showed up at the Garden and set me on fire, and we’ve heard nothing from him since.

I know I shouldn’t relax, but it’s getting harder and harder to take his threat seriously, especially as we continue to grow and prosper. Now that we have three houses in my square and are working on a fourth, things are just…clicking into place. I estimate we’ll have the entirety of Argonza Villas by the end of the year.

And that’s on top of basically being the de facto controller of the Boulevard of Saint Trassius. Not all of the merchants and landlords along the Boulevard like us or want to be under our control, but they’re behaving themselves, so far. It’s not something I thought I would ever seek out, but here we are.

I didn’t used to understand Cicero and the others, but I do now. The bigger we get, the bigger a target we are. Defending ourselves is one thing, but being reactive isn’t enough. With both the north and south sides of Orchrisus in relative chaos, everyone wants to fill that power vacuum. If it wasn’t us, it would be someone much worse.

How sad is that? It’s the same thing I used to tell myself before I would execute people. It felt wrong then, and it feels wrong now, but is it? Time has proven again and again that others are far worse. Even so, I’ve done things I’m not proud of, things that should condemn me to thousands of years of penance when I die…

Well, when I die for good. Twenty or thirty years from now when my time runs out and a lifetime of healing catches up with me. Gods, I worry about my girls when I finally die and don’t come back. I still have time, but that ticks down with every injury and fight, and I am definitely still fighting.

A month of relative peace and prosperity still means at least one or two fights in the street a week. If you can call them fights. Every so often some pissant with a small gang of followers wants a piece of us and issues a challenge. And then I execute them. What else do you call a fight with a foregone conclusion?

Bit by bit, piece by piece, the street becomes ours. Mine. Gods, I never wanted any of this, but to reject it is to invite further chaos. I have things I care about. People I care about. There’s no way I’ll let anything bad happen to them, if I can do something about it.

Being honest, I’m not entirely sure what to write down here. This is only the second journal I’ve ever kept, and it’s a lot more…personal than the other one. But I did try to retrieve that one from my former job. Maybe I should talk about that, write down what happened. Why not? Razia said this would be good for my soul.

The summer storms hit Orchrisus right on time, turning the hottest season of the year into the wettest. In truth, it was my favorite part of the year. Sure, days it didn’t rain were miserable, but the rest of the season was often cloudy and dark in the middle of the day, and it let me go out without my shades and still be able to see.

I still wore them, of course. They were part of my image now. The tall, brooding moonkissed with his eerie eyes hidden. Everyone expected to see Mr. Q dressed well, eyes covered, a girl on my arm and three or four armed men flanking me. I didn’t mind it so much, except for that night’s destination.

We could’ve taken a carriage, but out of nostalgia we walked from the northern outskirts of the city to the Colosseum, where I’d given a decade of my life and taken nearly seven hundred lives. That last execution still haunted me, and I hadn’t been back since.

“Did we really have to walk the entire way?” Isa complained, naturally, but I knew her well enough by now to know she just needed to gripe about something.

“I know this is nostalgic for you and all, but surely just being there would do the trick. Why punish me?” She held her umbrella carefully, making sure she stayed mostly dry. There was nothing to be done about the mud caking the bottom of her sandals.

“We’ll take a cart the way back. If I don’t get myself arrested for murder.” I slid my hand around her back, keeping her as close as I could without the umbrella poking me in the face.

“Please don’t,” said Isa. “I’m really sick of having to deal with the Watch.”

Gods, weren’t we all? The bastards were usually willing to look the other way thanks to Omar’s intervention and regular payments, but at this point they hated us more than the other criminals. Whether it was for being untouchable or because we did a better job of keeping the Boulevard safe, it was impossible to tell.

“Not in my hands,” I said with a barely restrained smile. “If Amicus decides to start something, I’ll finish it.”

Behind me, my boys stirred. “Are we going to need to quit?” Jaxon asked.

Turning to look over my shoulder, I said, “No, not unless you want to. Amicus is a bag of wind. He’ll be petty, he’ll be cruel, and he’ll be easily punctured. I have enough on him that I really don’t think there’s much to worry about. But if he does punish any of you, I’ll pay for the inconvenience and see about getting you more work. That sound fair?”

The three gladiators turned gang members liked it well enough. One of them patted me on the shoulder roughly, a familiar motion I only really allowed them and my girls to do. Isa, however, wasn’t completely satisfied.

“How is it you intend on getting what you want? You’re going to threaten him into behaving? If he’s really such a cunt scab of a person, do you think that’ll work or just make him more likely to lash out?” Isa demanded.

“Speaking from experience?” I fully earned the slap to my arm.

“You know damned well I am. If he’s even half as much of a bitch as me, he’ll do anything he can to hurt you just for daring to make him think about changing.”

I didn’t have anything to say to that. I could’ve congratulated her on growing as a person and being less of a vicious dragon of a woman, but Isa got weird about reminders that she was softening. Besides, she had a point.

“I’m going to appeal to his better nature,” I said. “And when that fails, I’m going to shrug off everything he says and wait for him to tire himself out, then I’ll go in for the kill.”

“Metaphorically,” said Isa, lips twitching with amusement.

“If you like.”

The rest of the trip passed only with warm rain and the crunch of our sandals on mud. Luckily, there was a path of stone, keeping us from getting a foot stuck. The Colosseum grew larger and larger until it loomed over us and we came into its shadow.

Despite the fact it was a rainy day, there were still plenty of people there. In an attempt to try to shake my influence from the fighters, they now had more fights going than ever, and a greater number of part time gladiators, rotating in and out with few real superstars or standouts. Other than, of course, Cervenka.

Normally, we’d around through the employees entrance on the east side, but I’d been informed that there were standing orders to not let me through. If I was going to talk to Amicus, it would mean either forcing my way through and making it clear I was there for a fight…or buying my way into the luxury box, where he held court. I paid for myself and Isa, and basic tickets for my boys to get in. They wouldn’t be necessary for what came next but at this point I couldn’t leave the house alone in peace.

It feels strange to admit this, but this was only the second time I’d entered as a spectator. The first had been when I was a small child, and my parents took me to see a beast fight. They scrimped and saved to get me seats close enough to see the action. Nothing had blow my mind like seeing those half a dozen gladiators, armed only with swords and spears, take on some of the most deadly beasts of the deep desert.

Every time in the Colosseum after that was after I was arrested for being part of Cicero’s underground fighting arena during a bad scrap that had a body count. From there I watched the fights from the closest vantage point in the house, among the others. In a way, I was grateful we were taking the spectator’s path. The depths had way too many memories attached to them.

At the first ring inside, we separated from our escort. They followed at a distance while we went to the west side where the luxury boxes were. The good thing about spending a decade working there was most people knew of me, even if they didn’t know me personally. The man checking our tokens to enter stiffened when I got close.

“Quintius. You’re not supposed to be here, last I checked.” He was a man in his late forties, in no shape or condition to stop me if I tried something.

Isa held up our two tokens. “Paying customers. You going to start a fight over that or let us through?”

He shrugged, bowing his head. He motioned for them to enter.

“You’re at least as good as any threat,” I said to Isa, pulling her closer.

She folded her umbrella and tied it shut. “You can kiss my ass later, in private.”

“As you wish.”

The luxury box was, naturally, covered and protected from the rain. Rather than endless stone benches they were individual cushioned seats. Several slaves stood at the ready to bring wine and snacks at a command. Though there were still plenty of spectators, the luxury box wasn’t nearly as full. They were half an hour from the start of the afternoon games, and their target was there.

Amicus followed a slave’s gaze to find Isa and come in. Hatred and contempt flooded his features, and he openly sneered at us as we sat down next to him. “Hello Amicus,” I said. “You and I have something we need to discuss.”

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He scoffed. “The hell do you think I have to say to you? Get the fuck out of my sight, and take your filthy Ramali bitch with you.” Amicus kept his voice low, but a rich looking woman with silver hair looked aghast.

Isa, naturally, took it as a challenge. She broke away from me and plopped herself down onto Amicus’ scarred up leg. Throwing an arm around his shoulders, her other hand went down to his balls and squeezed until he squeaked and thrashed.

“No no, none of that,” she said, squeezing harder until he let out a pained gasp. “You’re going to apologize for that, and then we’ll talk like adults. If not, this will get so much worse.”

“I thought threatening him was a bad idea,” I said with a chuckle.

“Get your hands off me. I’ll see you dead for this!” Amicus wheezed, before another sharp squeeze removed his ability to speak. He gripped the arms of his chair like his life depended on it, bucking hard to no avail. Isa wasn’t going anywhere.

“That was before he insulted me. I don’t have much tolerance for ugly fat Orchrisans thinking they’re better than my people. You have any kids, Amicus? I can make sure it never happens.”

“S-sorry!” Amicus whined.

Isa released him and plopped herself down into the seat on the other side of him, wearing a very Isa kind of pleased smile.

One of Amicus’ guards ran up, hands on a club. I shook my head slowly, brushing my mantle back to show my knife. He paused, and I took that opportunity to sit by Amicus, who cradled his abused bits. Amicus waved him off as he huffed and puffed for air.

“You really think you can have your…woman assault me in public and get away with it? Do you have any idea the kind of hell I can rain down on you? And your business?” His face was red and I’m pretty sure no one has hated me the way he did then. “What makes you think I’ll spare you?”

I smiled and took off my shades, hanging them on the edge of my tunic. “The fact that I am a protected man and you are not. The fact that if I were to kill you, right here and now, in front of witnesses, I would then get to kill Cervenka and walk home a free man. The thing is, I don’t want to threaten you, Amicus. I want to solve this problem between us.”

After a few seconds, he looked away. “You expect me to look away while you poach my employees for your criminal enterprise? Why would I do that when I hate you and want to see you suffer?”

“Do you hate shards, fat man?” Isa asked, buffing her nails on the colorful silk wraps she wore. She pointedly didn’t look at him, but it was obvious contempt rather than Amicus’ clear discomfort. “You stand to gain on this, if you can get out of your own way.”

“...I’m listening.” Amicus licked his lips and dared to look at me again, just for a second. His guard remained nearby but went to nearby people in the box and encouraged them to give us some privacy.

I turned to the sight of the arena in front of me, from a vantage point I’d never had before. Things were fuzzy about halfway out, but the fight would still be a wonder from here. For a second I tried to imagine what it would be like, to be just another rich person, rubbing elbows with Amicus and laughing as he announced. To share his wine as an equal, or whatever came close in his mind.

“You know,” I said, “I’ve always loved the Colosseum. Even when it wasn’t good to me. Even when Demetrius and others said I should quit, for my own sake. It took me until now to finally have comradery with the others. And now that I have it, I’m not willing to let it go. Your attempts to punish them for working for me have been ridiculous and self defeating.

“You don’t want me to retaliate or make it into a war. Instead, you want to give a blessing for your fighters to moonlight for me. Most of them are safe and don’t have to worry about real fighting so much as small scraps. They’ll be happier for it, given how hard it is to make a living in the Colosseum these days.”

“And what do I get out of it, in this fantasy scenario you think I’ll accept?” Amicus swiped a nearby bottle of wine and drank straight from the bottle.

“Same deal we give most other people who partner with us,” I said, trying my best to sound enthused and confident instead of like I was asking for a favor. It was something I still struggled with sometimes. The curse of having a soft voice. “Cheaper entertainment on demand, for whatever parties or events you have.

“Consider the specialty crossovers. Beautiful women pretending to fight for private parties, removing each other’s clothes as they struggle for dominance and put on a special show. Not only that, but free advertising from those who come to the Moonlit Garden. You’re already getting that, in fact. People see gladiators they know and like hanging around and it makes them want to chat over drinks, and ask their opinions on which girls to go for.”

Isa spoke up, driving the point home the way she was so good at. “This is your chance to regain some semblance of control before one of the most dangerous men in the city decides to take umbrage at years and years of insults.”

Amicus nodded, but said nothing. After another long pull from the bottle, he wiped his mouth clean with the back of his hand and dropped it. Wine spilled out onto the floor, but he didn’t care. His dark, beady eyes were screwed up in concentration as he thought it over. I gave him all the time he needed. Eventually he spoke up.

“I hate you, Quintius. Always have. My father used to talk about you as being good at what you did. Cool headed, professional, and never caused any problems. So imagine my surprise when I met you and you’re a bleeding heart and a freak. Quiet, ugly, and unnerving as hell. My father never minded your little quirks, but you’ve been a pain in my ass for entirely too long. You know the worst part?

“I don’t have much of a choice.” Amicus spit on the ground. “I’ve got friends you can’t imagine. Powerful ones. I could have you or your women killed.”

“You could try,” said Isa airily.

Amicus continued as if she hadn’t said anything, “But you’d probably survive and be an even worse pain. So if the choice is to get some extra shards and my dick sucked, I don’t see how I can say no. You’ll get your…your alliance. But I don’t want to have to see you any more than I have to.”

I nodded. “That’s reasonable. I don’t want to deal with you either, but I am tired of my boys having to worry about making a choice where they work. You’re bigger than me now, but that won’t last long. I make a better friend than an enemy. So, we’re agreed?” Just because I knew it would bother him, I extended my hand.

He looked at it like he wanted to spit in my hand as well. Instead he just sighed and took it, pumped it once, and then wiped his hand off on his toga. “Fine. Now make yourself scarce.”

Isa stood. “One more thing,” she said, sharp features looking downright predatory. “You’re going to gift us one of your best boxes. Permanently. Not this one, you can have some distance, but if we or friends of ours want to see a match, we will.”

I hadn’t intended on asking for anything else, but like usual it was a good suggestion that just added to it and let Isa push just a little bit further. I smiled and she looked appropriately pleased with herself.

“Fine. Fuck off now.”

Biting back laughter, I added, “One last last thing. A favor between friends.” Amicus turned a fantastic shade of red. “I’m going back to my former office. I left something behind there that I want to have.”

Amicus snapped his fingers and the guard on standby came forward. “Escort these two up to the executioner’s office, and then off the premises when they’re done. Understood?” At the guard’s nod, he sneered at me. “Get what you need and get the fuck out, Quintius. One of these days you’re going to get what’s coming to you, and I fully intend on being there to see you fall.”

“Nice talking to you, as always.” I took Isa’s hand and helped her step over the fallen wine. With Amicus’ toady in tow, we re-entered the Colosseum and took the winding path up into the offices at the top of the building.

“Don’t take too long,” the guard said, trying and failing to sound tough.

“And what’ll you do if we linger? You and what army?” Isa scoffed. I dragged her into the office with me before she could pick any more fights.

“Having fun?” I asked, wrinkling my nose at the way Cervenka decorated. Back in the day, I kept it classy and understated. A solemn place to get my paperwork done and the only other time I kept a journal. Now, weapons covered the walls, largely bolters of different size and shapes as well as throwing knives and axes. The DeathHawk mask hung above the chair, watching us.

“Always.” Isa sat on the edge of the desk and watched me with her arms crossed over her chest.

Ignoring all that, I went to the cabinet against the wall opposite the window. It was locked, but I wasn’t too worried about respecting Cevenka’s privacy or the sanctity of his office. He’d already shat on the position of executioner, I was merely taking what was mine. So I broke into the cabinet by punching it open. The pain lingered as I healed the cuts on my knuckles, stinging and burning into nothingness until I was once more whole.

There were several ledgers in there. It didn’t take me long to find the three that were mine. I opened one up and ran my fingers across the carefully line.

Shae Belani, 34, mother and daughter. She was found guilty of murdering her neighbor and stealing her children after finding out she was barren. Her grief consumed her and drove her, right to the end. She didn’t repent, didn’t apologize, didn’t think she had done anything wrong. When confronted about the murders, she cried that her neighbor didn’t deserve the children she had. Not when she herself had no family.

She chose to fight, promising me that when she won she would return to the children she earned and show them all the love they had been missing. Interviews with the children confirmed that their parents had been abusive and cruel. Obviously, none of that matters, but I can’t help but feel an appreciation for her motives, if not her actions. Of all the reasons to kill another person, love and jealousy are common.

I met her in the arena. She was a fierce fighter, all enthusiasm and anger and no skill. She didn’t have a chance. I let her tire herself out while the audience watched and laughed at her. When she realized there was no hope left, she fell on her sword while cursing my name. Rather than let her suffer, I took her head and ended it there. The audience loved it. I didn’t. I hope in death she found peace and fair judgment by the Darkstar. As for the children, I took the money from the execution and made sure the oldest got it when they came of age.

“What is it?” Isa asked, curiosity washing away all traces of her permanent aggression. Wordlessly, I handed the journal over to her and let her read the page I had open. She took her time reading it, expression softening.

“Did you record everyone you executed?” she asked.

I held up the other two ledgers. “Every single one of them. I didn’t write much at first, mostly just noting their crimes and the way they di-...the ways I killed them. You’d think they would blend together after a while, but after a year of doing it, I couldn’t stand them just…being a footnote. I tried to talk about them, what drove them to do what they did, their attitudes, and how well they died. Even if no one else would remember them, I would.”

“And do you?” Isa asked, arching a delicate brow. She flipped through the ledger, towards the end. “Adam Carrow.”

It took me a moment, but soon I smiled. “Friendly man. Killed his wife and brother for cheating. Regretted what he did and had me give the money from his bounty to his father and little brother. We had a few drinks and laughs before we fought.”

“Does it make you feel better about killing them?” Isa asked. There was no real judgment to the question, just a bluntness she could never escape. “Does it help you sleep better at night?”

“Yes,” I replied honestly. “It does. It did. Now I have nightmares of other things, but for a while…for a while it was bad. I didn’t think about these when I left. Not at first. But after everything that’s happened with the Warlords, and the things I’ve done to protect us…I don’t need them anymore, but I want them.”

Isa slid off the desk and handed me the journal back. “Then let’s get these back and lock them up so no one can find them and learn who you are. You’re lucky I’m so agreeable and forgiving and didn’t try to use it against you.”

Smiling, I said, “Yes, I am lucky. We’ll drop these off at home and then get dinner. How does that sound?”

Isa walked out the door and I followed. “That sounds nice. You owe me for making sure negotiations went smoothly.”

I did. But that was far from my mind. When I got home, I had a little girl to add to the ledger. A scared child who had no business being executed. But like most of my life…better it was me than someone worse.

It feels good, having the ledgers at home. It reminds me of who I once was, which lets me see better who I’ve become. Things might be stabilizing, but there’s no telling when things will flare up again and we’ll be fighting for our lives. I’m grateful for a chance to catch my breath, a chance to look backwards before I move on.

Maybe I’ll continue this journal. Maybe I won’t. It’s too early to tell, and I’m incredibly busy these days. But maybe that’s a reason why I should. The busier things get, the more it’s important I take time to myself, and don’t lose sight of who I am.

So that’s all for now, I guess. Razia and I have an important dinner to go to tomorrow. Maybe later I’ll write down how that goes.