Chapter 34: Chapter 34: Writ of Execution

Chapter 34: Writ of Execution

When Quentin woke that morning, he had no idea just how bad his day would be. When he first got up around midday, it was with thoughts of their successful night out, and Quentin was happy. Better than happy, he was content. Everything went about as smoothly as he could expect it. Even breaking a rival’s arm hadn’t come with immediate repercussions. There were no friends that showed up for vengeance, though Quentin knew that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be in the future. Quentin played a part well, and the girls who were now counting on him thrived. He could be proud of that.

“Morning,” he said to Razia as he stepped out of his bedroom. She was already sprawled on the couch and reading one of his old books. He really needed to get more furniture in there. “Sleep well?”

Razia let the book fall forward on her chest. Looking up, she favored him with a cheeky grin. “Quite well after the workout. What about you? You turned in early when we got back.”

Quentin’s breath caught in his chest. He willed his face to stay pale. Don’t give her the satisfaction, Quentin. Don’t do it. Something had changed between them last night. He’d just been getting used to her teasing and now he didn’t dare look her in the eye when she was smiling at him like that. “I had a lot on my mind. Thinking to the future.”

“Ahh,” Razia sat up, looking more wicked by the second. “Thinking ahead to future problems, huh. Did you get a good grip on any solutions?”

All of his restraint failed him and his face burned. Of course she knew. He walked past her to the kitchen, grumbling to himself as he slapped breakfast together. He ate it sullenly in the kitchen, not giving Razia the satisfaction of teasing him further. He was most of the way done when she peeked her head into the kitchen and said, “You’ve got mail. From the Colosseum, I think.”

They were just about the only ones who did send him mail. Every now and then the temples sent messages asking for donations or inviting him to one of the festival events they ran. Mostly though, it was just the Colosseum sending him news of who was to die next. Quentin set his bowl down and took the envelope from Razia.

His name was written in tall, looping letters. It was sealed with wax, with the letters ATB standing out. Yes, there was no mistaking this. Quentin opened the letter, knowing what he would find..

Attention! By decree of his Imperial Majesty Emperor Caragalla,

It was there that the letter’s formatting changed to something less elegant and more hurried.

Quintius, we’ve found the final two people for the Blooming. Get your ass here for a briefing. And leave your sympathy at home. These people are going to die and there’s nothing you can do to stop it. Be here by the end of the day.

Quentin handed it to an obviously curious Razia. She read it, nose wrinkling in irritation. “Does he always talk to you like this?”

“Not always,” said Quentin. “Sometimes there’s other people around and he pretends he isn’t a piece of shit. But mostly it’s a lot of this. Strictly speaking, I don’t have to go to the Colosseum every day. I only need to show up when I’m summoned with a writ of execution. But sometimes, like for the Blooming special event coming up, he wants me in to talk details.”

Razia handed the letter back. “So they’re really going to make you fight four people at once? Not that I don’t think you can’t do it,” she added, “just seems like a lot.”

Quentin put his bowl in the sink to soak. “I guarantee you there’s maybe two of them that are dangerous. The other two are just to pad things out, maybe soak up the audience’s sympathy or hatred. I don’t know how this event is going to go. I guess that’s what today’s for. To talk it out and give instructions to everyone involved. Doesn’t usually matter to me. I show up and kill prisoners and people pretend I’m not there.”

He stiffened when he felt Razia’s arms circle around him and squeeze him. “Well, you have at least half a dozen people who care that you’re there and won’t pretend otherwise,” she said. She tugged on his tunic and drew him out of the kitchen and back into the open main room. “Speaking of...How are you doing today? Any regrets?”

Immediately, he said, “I feel a bit bad about breaking that man’s arm. Sort of. He took a swing at me and was being rude, and we needed to make a statement, but part of me can’t help but think that he was in the wrong place at the wrong time for him and just perfect for what we needed. What if he comes back with friends?”

Razia nodded sympathetically. “I believe it was the right move. If he comes back with friends he comes back with friends, but he won’t be doing a damned thing to you for a few weeks at least. You didn’t just hurt him, Quentin. You made him look weak. His pride might call for vengeance, but people aren’t going to take him quite as seriously. Especially if we keep going.

“If you want to keep going.” Razia stopped there, biting her lip while thinking. “I know this is a lot for you. But did you like it?”

That was the question. Honestly, Quentin wasn’t entirely sure. Everything went swimmingly, but that didn’t mean there wouldn’t be bumps in the future. Going all out on the first night had been a test of sorts, to try to make that happen. The way Quentin saw it, if he was going to try it, he’d try to make it as ugly as possible. If he could make it through that, he could make it through anything. Now?

“All I did was sit around and look menacing. The couple of times I had to do anything, it was intimidating people.” Quentin frowned. “I feel like I shouldn’t like it. But it’s not like I was killing anyone. I was just keeping an eye out for all of you, and hurting a bastard who would’ve hurt me if he had the chance. It feels like…”

How did it feel? Razia didn’t interrupt his thoughts as he searched within himself for answers. Even speaking to Razia on a regular basis hadn’t undone a decade of isolation and not having to answer to anyone. It was weird for his introspection to be thorough instead of just beating up on himself. “It almost feels like it’s more fair than the Colosseum. I’m not killing people, but I’ll issue out beatings to those who deserve it. But it lacked the thrill of fighting for my life.”

Razia’s grin stretched from ear to ear. “I’m sure we can find you a few thrills along the way.”

Quentin sighed. He wasn’t sure if he regretted bringing up their weird relationship. Now that he did, she was playing with him constantly. Never pushing too far or making an overt offer, but with him acknowledging his infatuation he was now fair game to tease. That it didn’t feel like the kind of cruel teasing he grew up with was the only reason he didn’t beg her to stop. Maybe not the only reason.

“I’m sure we can. Samantha looks up to some fun.” Quentin burst out laughing at the surprised look on Razia’s face.

“Should I tell her you said that?” she asked with laughter of her own.

Quentin shook his head, smiling. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

His stomach fluttered with a sudden idea of what to say. He followed it, feeling equal parts fear and excitement. “You wouldn’t,” he confirmed. “Not until you get me first.”

Razia’s mouth formed a surprised O before she laughed with delight. “Oh Quentin,” she said, sighing theatrically. “I’m not the jealous type. Before, after, it makes no difference to me. Might make her day though.”

“Okay, you win,” Quentin said. He crumpled up the note in his hand and tossed it into the shallow pool. “I should probably go as soon as possible though. Amicus will be pissy with me whether it’s now or later, so I should just get it over with.”

Her eyes lit up. “Excellent timing, then. I have a present for you. Gimme just a second.” Razia ran to her room, leaving Quentin wondering what it could be, and why he could possibly deserve a present. She came back a minute later with a small wooden box on hinges.

“I know you have trouble seeing, especially during the day,” she said, fiddling with the box. “And I happened to find a solution for you that might help with your appearance too. How you present yourself, I mean.”

Quentin raised an eyebrow.

Razia laughed, “I’m not calling you ugly. Just saying that there’s a huge difference between hiding from people and holding your head up high and...Just take it.” She pushed the box into his hands.

Quentin opened the box. His throat tightened. Inside were a pair of black spectacles on a wire frame. Carefully, he pulled the spectacles out and unfolded them. Once upon a time, Quentin had considered visiting a physician and seeing if spectacles would help. He hadn’t, for the same reason he didn’t get regular check ups or drink less: he didn’t expect to be around long enough for it to matter. He carefully tried them on, feeling the frames sort of stretch around his head. It wasn’t a perfect fit, but…

But Quentin could see. Not all the way. By nature the black spectacles made everything dimmer, but looking around his home Quentin could see details from further away than before. Individual tiles of a mosaic on the wall, instead of the thousands of tiny tiles appearing as cohesive as a painting from afar from the blur. Razia stood there, waiting for a reaction from him.

He didn’t give her one. Quentin walked right past her and headed towards the garden. He stepped outside among the flowers and a couple of edible plants he grew, blinking in amazement as he realized he could see them. Through a blackened tint of the world, but they weren’t just shadows to him. Outside the gates to his house, he could see the other houses. They were still a bit blurry at their distance, but he could see them.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“What do you think?” Asked Razia, from behind him.

Wordlessly, Quentin turned around. Razia looked up into his face, casual smile shrinking as he looked at her. Quick as a flash he closed the distance between them and wrapped her up in a tight hug. She let out a squeal as Quentin picked her up and squeezed. “That’s…” he said thickly. He swallowed a lump in his throat. “This is a good gift. Thank you.”

“Well, you’re welcome,” Razia said laughing as he set her back down. “They look good on you. Fierce. Hides who you’re looking at and what you’re thinking. Perfect for the inscrutable Mr. Q.”

Quentin made a face. “Inscrutable now, huh? Thank you, Razia. I love it.” And he very badly wanted to show her how much. It was a quick impulse, there and gone again. What if he kissed her? He shook the thought out of his head. “This was perfect timing. This’ll make the walk to the Colosseum much less painful.”

“Anytime,” she said.

And it did. With his new cloak and spectacles, Quentin walked through Orchrisus in the middle of the afternoon with his head held high. He wasn’t hiding, then. He was taking up space and being a bit of a spectacle as he pushed his way through the crowded and winding streets leading up north to the Colosseum.

“Hot treats and cold drinks, here to make your day better! You sir, come and have a snack and a drink, I’ve got the best price around for jellied grubs!” Even the vendors were paying attention to him now instead of just letting him walk by. It was obnoxious and he didn’t care for it, but damned if he didn’t almost stop for a snack, just to celebrate. He resisted, promising himself something later as a treat for dealing with Amicus.

Overall, the walk to work was better than it had been in years. Quentin showed up to the Colosseum in a good mood. He smiled at the man guarding the employee’s entrance in the back, getting a grunted greeting in return. Even the people inside didn’t completely ignore him this time, though many of them didn’t seem to recognize him at first without his cloak or the skull mask covering his face. This really was the best gift ever.

He wasted no time in making his way up to the top of the Colosseum, stopping and knocking at Amicus’ door. “Enter,” Amicus shouted. Quentin came in, closing the door behind him and standing at attention, not saying a thing.

Amicus was reading a scroll and didn’t look up for a few seconds. When he did, he scoffed and returned to the scroll. “You look ridiculous. What happened to the covered up corpse look? At least that way I didn’t have to look directly at you.”

There was no point in getting mad at Amicus. Quentin told himself that every time he started to get sick of the treatment. It was easier to just let it slide and go about his work. That didn’t mean, however, that he didn’t dream of one good solid punch to show Amicus how he felt. All he did was shrug and say, “Sorry to inconvenience you. You wanted to see me?”

Sighing, Amicus gestured to one of the chairs in front of him. Quentin remained standing. As far as defiance went it was the bare minimum, but it was better than nothing. Amicus put the scroll down and said, “We’ve got all four condemned prisoners down in the hold and ready to go. The Savant, the rapist, a gangster and a thief.

“We’ve got several things in store that night. The first is a short concert, played by a popular band that’s been making waves. They’ll be at it for about an hour, playing songs from The Death of the Blooming Rose and The Pierced Heart’s Kiss, as well as some upbeat festival songs. The type that’ll hype up the peons and get them good and eager for the action to come.”

That was all fairly standard. First play a few winter songs and then play a few songs from the play about the coming of Spring, where the Daystar and found solace in the Pierced Heart’s arms. Spring and Autumn were the Pierced Heart’s seasons, perpetually in between the twins of life and death. Orchrisus was the Pierced Heart’s favored city, and the Blooming and Heartfall festivals were biggest there.

“Next,” continued Amicus, “we’ll have an exhibition match of some of our gladiators. They’ll be fighting on the stage we’re building on top of the arena. It’ll be the Orchrisan Military versus Ramali Rebels, and they’ll put on a good show and entertain the guests before the main event.”

“What if the rebels win this time?” Quentin asked.

Amicus looked at him as if he was stupid. “The teams are stacked. If the Ramali win, then some crackpots win long odds and walk away happy. Maybe they spend a bunch here before going home to drink themselves to death. It’s irrelevant. After that will be the main attraction. You’re going to kill four degenerate criminals in the Emperor’s honor, and you’ll make a proper show of it.

“The arena’s going to be transformed into a maze. You and the four prisoners will be armed, and it will be up to you to hunt them down through the maze and kill them. They’ll be using the maze and each other to try to gang up on you and kill you. You think you’ll be able to manage that?” Amicus could make even the most innocuous sentences sound dismissive.

“Shouldn’t be a problem,” said Quentin, suppressing a sigh. “Will there be any restrictions or requests on weapons?”

Amicus grunted. “The prisoners will have spears. You’re going to be using a mace. A special mace, commissioned by the Emperor in honor of his fortieth year of rule.”

A mace while his opponents got spears? It was official, Amicus really was trying to kill him. A match like that and all they would have to do is surround him and poke him to death while he slowly weakened from the blood loss. If he was lucky then he’d be able to down a few of them, at least the Savant, and succumb to his wounds after. Was that Amicus’ plan for retiring him? Get what he wanted, leave Quentin to die at the end? The fucker would probably pocket Quentin’s ten percent too.

“Sounds good,” said Quentin. If nothing else, this would give him a direction to take his training. Demetrius would absolutely love to get on his ass about proper defense. He’d at least commiserate with Quentin and maybe go on another rant about him quitting while he still had life in him. “If there’s nothing else, I’ll go inspect the prisoners.”

“Wait,” Amicus said, sighing. “I meant it when I said there are to be no courtesies, no qualms of conscience or any other such nonsense. I’m reminding you again because one of the condemned is a woman, and we can’t have you getting precious over that.”

Irritation finally made Quentin heat up. “I’ve executed female prisoners before, Amicus. That’s not a problem.”

Amicus shrugged thick, stubby arms. “I’ve no way of knowing what’s going to tug at your heartstrings and what won’t. Inspect them if you must, but nothing else. No giving them extra rations, for example.” The look in his eyes was frosty.

Quentin paused. He wasn’t surprised the guards sold him out, but so far Amicus was just warning him, not chewing his ass out about it. Maybe this really was a warning. He nodded and left the office before Amicus could say anything else. Closing the door, he let out a long, weary sigh. “Gods I hate that man,” he said.

Even Amicus couldn’t get him down. Quentin was happy, dammit, and he was going to continue to be. No matter how hard Amicus tried to get him to quit or die fighting, Quentin would overcome it and continue to be a pain in the ass. That thought made him even happier as he descended down the Colosseum again and headed towards the locker room.

Just like he didn’t have to show up at the Colosseum each day, Quentin didn’t really have to wear his armor and mask when he went to deal with the prisoners. None of them were going to get a reprieve unless the Emperor had a sudden change of heart that contradicted the last twenty years. They weren’t going to say who he was to loved ones unless Quentin let them.

But it gave them a chance to get used to their impending death, and to get used to Quentin. If they’d only seen him the day of the execution and no other time, it would just be cruel and callous. So long as Quentin was the executioner, he had no intentions to be either if he didn’t have to be. He already had to harden his heart to survive, he couldn’t bring himself to go full heart of stone. That really would be like already being dead.

Demetrius caught up with him in the locker room, as he was finishing putting on his chest piece. “You’re really not going to be happy about the prisoners,” he said, all but collapsing onto the bench next to Quentin. “Just warning you ahead of time.”

“Good to see you too, Demetrius,” Quentin said, clasping his armor on. “I’m fine, thanks for asking.”

The older man rolled his eyes. “Yeah, hi. Great to see you got out of being arrested. I’m guessing your whore friend -- “

“Her name is Razia,” Quentin said patiently. “I don’t care if you don’t like her, but you know her name, Use it.”

He took a deep breath. “I’m guessing your friend Razia was able to get the Arbiter to bail you out like she said she would. How’d she manage that?”

Quentin grabbed his helmet and put it on. “She went to his house and asked him nicely to help me. He nicely helped me. Then we went home and had a long talk about things. We’re good now. Look, are you still willing to give me extra training? Amicus intends to give me a mace and put me up against four spears.”

Just as predicted, Demetrius’ face turned an interesting shade of red. “He fucking what.”

“I think you might be onto something with him trying to kill me,” said Quentin lightly. “The arena’s getting turned into a maze and we’re going to be hunting each other.”

Demetrius’ hands opened and closed like he was trying to strangle somebody who wasn’t there. “Yeah, we’ll figure out something to prepare you for it. You’re not going to die on my watch. But…” He looked uncomfortable once more. “You’re not going to be happy about the prisoners, Quentin.”

Quentin stood up, holding the mask. “So you’ve said.” He already wasn’t happy. The child rapist would be no big deal to kill, and he would enjoy fighting the Savant. But if the thief was who Quentin thought it was, Quentin would gain no pleasure from killing him. The last Quentin had seen Peter, he’d been in the cart about to be transported to the Colosseum. He imagined the kid was waiting for him even now. “I’ll be careful.” He put the mask on.

Demetrius looked like he wanted to say more. His mouth worked but no sound came out. Eventually he just frowned. The executioner waited another few seconds before shrugging it off. “After I get a look at them and do a quick appraisal of how I expect them to perform, I’ll meet you in the practice yard.”

“Right,” said Demetrius. “See you there.”

Now that he was back in his proper uniform, people resumed giving the executioner the usual healthy space. He didn’t mind it this time. When he got home, there would be people happy to see him. Maybe that would make the job more worth it. The executioner whistled as he made his way down to the holding cells.

Like usual, the guards unlocked the door and got out of his way. “He’s still being a nightmare,” one of them said to him.

The executioner nodded and entered the room. Not much had changed since the last time he was there, other than two more cells being occupied. There were two guards in here as well, playing cards until he entered. The sound of sobbing in the corner was familiar, almost welcome.

“Welcome back Quentin,” Kassim sneered from his pen.

“Kassim,” the executioner returned evenly. “Did Amicus really revert you back to half rations? I’m sorry about that.”

“Like hell you are,” he hissed. The guards behind the executioner shifted uncomfortably. “They never gave me more rations. Not once. They’ve been starving me so you have an easier time killing me. That’s the justice you’re fighting for. Imperial cruelty.”

The executioner sighed. “I’m genuinely sorry, Kassim. You’ve been a bastard to me, but I genuinely want you to be comfortable in your final days.” Even if the fucker did piss on him. That awful day got better later. The executioner could put up with just about anything Kassim sent his way now.

“Fuck you, Quentin,” Kassim said, turning away from him. Maybe it was fatigue, maybe it was disgust, but there were no copies wandering the room, making noise. He actually seemed subdued there, and it turned the executioner’s stomach.

The sobbing stopped. “W-wait,” a woman’s voice said. A familiar woman’s voice. “Quentin?” She stood up in her cell.

Quentin’s entire world turned upside down. He gripped the back of a guard’s chair to support himself. Inside the cell, staring at him with tearstained eyes, was his friend Maria. He had to execute warm, motherly Maria.