Chapter 36: Chapter 36: The Ties that Bind

Chapter 36: The Ties that Bind

Quentin didn’t want to do this. He didn’t want to go seek out Maria’s daughter almost as much as he didn’t want to execute Maria. It wasn’t that Quentin hated kids, per se. It was more like he hadn’t really had anything to do with them for the last ten years of his life, and at this point he had no idea how to behave around them. Tricia was fourteen and was hardly a child, but judging from the sullen, insolent look on her face when she opened the door, she wasn’t close to being an adult yet either.

“Hey sweetie,” Razia greeted softly. At her request Quentin hung back a bit. The neighborhood wasn’t the worst he’d seen, but it was in one of the poorer parts of town. The house was sandwiched between almost identical clay homes lining the street. They’d nearly walked past the right door when Razia’s memory kicked in and she recognized the small flower carved into the wood. “Are you doing okay?”

Tricia kept the door mostly closed. She had Maria’s dark, curly hair and wide mouth. Quentin could picture her fussing over people, making sure they were getting enough to eat and that they’d be safe. But children weren’t just miniature versions of their parents. She currently had none of her mother’s warmth. Her eyes narrowed in suspicion. “Where’s mom?” she demanded. Her eyes slid over to Quentin. “Who’s he?”

Razia looked over her shoulder at Quentin. He shrugged, completely out of his depth. Razia must’ve made a quick decision because she sighed and said, “The Watch arrested her. I came to make sure you were okay. He’s a very good friend of mine, here to make sure we’re safe.”

Hazel eyes remained staring, unblinking, until she gave in and opened the door for them. She disappeared into the house. Razia and Quentin trailed after her, the latter closing the door behind him. The house was small, with most of it being the one main room, with a couple of doors leading to bedrooms where they’d have some semblance of privacy. It wasn’t too unlike the place Quentin grew up.

“What did she get arrested for this time?” Tricia asked in the tone of someone who was more or less used to this and found it a mild annoyance at worst. “And why couldn’t she make sure we had enough food before she got herself locked up?” She didn’t offer them anything to drink, or tell them to make themselves comfortable. She stood there in the living room with her arms crossed over her chest, staring them down.

Razia sighed. “Stealing. But it’s not that simple. Why don’t you pack some clothes and a few personal things?” She suggested. “Your mom wanted us to get you to your grandma’s house.”

“Ugh,” was her reply. “I don’t want to go to grandma’s. I can stay here just fine. It’s not like she doesn’t keep me alone here every night anyway. I can take care of myself just fine.”

“Minus getting food, apparently,” said Quentin. Her eyes met with his dark spectacles. She looked away first. “Gotta have money for that too. You got some decent savings?”

“Yeah, we’ll just pull from savings, like we do whenever she gets harassed or doesn’t show up for a few days.”

Annoyance flared hot in Quentin. He stepped forward, ignoring Razia’s silent attempts to get him to back down. “Savings won’t cut it. She’s been sentenced to death for stealing First Family jewels.”

Tricia reacted like Quentin had hit her. Her jaw dropped, and the insolence was gone. “W-what?”

Razia moved in front of Quentin, putting her hands on Tricia’s shoulders. “We’re working on a way to get her out. But in the meantime, she asked us to look after you.” Tricia’s legs buckled and she collapsed to the ground. Razia went down with her, pulling her into a hug Tricia didn’t know she needed.

This was what Quentin dreaded. Not just having to tell the girl, but the fallout that would come after. The tears, the fears, the begging and the bargaining. He probably could’ve handled this better. It was hard enough to face people with the mutual knowledge that you would be the one to kill them. Quentin was used to that. He could never really get used to the shock and grief of the loved ones.

“They’re going to kill mom?” Tricia asked, suddenly sounding very small. She hugged Razia back tightly, glad for the comfort of someone at least a little familiar.

“No,” Quentin found himself saying. “No, we’re not going to let it happen. We’re going to stop it.” The promise from Amicus meant little to him, but there was no way the bastard could force Quentin to go through with it. “I work in the Colosseum,” he said. The little lies about who he was and what he did didn’t seem to matter much anymore. “I spoke with her. She asked me specifically to make sure you were safe. She wants you to know she’s okay and that she loves you.”

That sent her over the edge and Tricia burst into tears. Quentin instantly regretted saying anything. He shifted uncomfortably from one foot to the other, wondering if he should get down there with the hug as well. Razia had the matter well in hand, though.

“Shh. Shh, it’s okay,” Razia said, running her hands through Tricia’s hair and letting her cry against her. Razia looked about as comfortable as Quentin felt. It was nice to know he wasn’t alone. “Cry as long as you need to. We got you.”

The more Tricia cried, the more Quentin’s heart broke. He was never meant to have to see the aftermath. This was too much. He cleared his throat. “I’ll be waiting outside. Just come on out when you’re ready to go.”

He rushed outside, missing whatever Razia called out to him on his way. With the door separating them, Quentin allowed himself to slump against it and sigh. This wasn’t about him, he reminded himself. His comfort or discomfort didn’t matter in the face of a teenage girl who was in danger of losing her mom. Even now, knowing he wouldn’t do it Quentin found himself unable to think about Maria’s death as anything but inevitable.

The people they sent his way weren’t the type to get last minute pardons or reprieves. The people sentenced to death who had friends in high enough places to get them out of it were the type to go to the Emperor’s personal executioner. Quentin’s job was executing the common folk of Orchrisus, those who were entirely on their own. No one was coming for Maria except for them, and it hurt.

It hurt seeing her daughter looking so much like her, crying her eyes out. Maria was the first one other than Samantha to welcome him in. She’d been kind to him and treated him as if he was normal and just another friendly face. Everything about this hurt in a way that was unfamiliar and overbearing. Quentin would’ve chewed his own arm off if it meant getting away from how he felt.

But there was no escaping it. The feeling stayed with him the fifteen minutes it took for Razia to calm Tricia down and get her packed up. It stayed with him when he met Tricia’s eyes again and saw the pain and fear there. It wasn’t the fear of death. He knew that look well. It was fear of the unknown, fear of the unthinkable happening. Whatever Tricia thought about her mother coming and going, she didn’t think anything bad was really going to happen to Maria. She couldn’t.

“You, uh, got everything you need?” Quentin asked, clearing the doorway for them. Tricia nodded, lifting a bulging pack. Quentin took it from her and slung it over his shoulder. “You doing okay?”

“As okay as possible,” Razia answered for her. She flashed him a grateful smile that helped ease some of the tension and pain away. Not all, but it was bearable for now. “Shall we?”

By unspoken agreement, Razia took the lead and Quentin brought up the rear, sandwiching Tricia between them. She sniffled every now and then but kept quiet as they made their way through the city. Her grandmother wasn’t too far away, as was often the case with families in Orchrisus. There were only so many places to go without leaving. It didn’t take them more than half an hour to go from a mediocre part of the city to a bad one.

Tricia’s grandmother lived in the slums. As they got deeper and deeper into rundown neighborhoods of damaged houses squished together and on top of each other, the hurt in Quentin grew again.

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“Hey there, pretty pretty,” a middle aged man missing half his teeth called out to Tricia, grinning horribly. Quentin turned to him and silenced him with a look. The man slunk away after a few seconds. Razia fell back to walk beside Tricia, taking her hand in hers.

“Your grandmother really lives around here?” Razia asked, disdain clear in her voice.

“Yeah,” Tricia sounded numb. Dead inside. “She does the wash and sometimes watches some of the other neighbor’s kids. Sometimes she comes to mom and asks for a bit of money if times are hard.”

Quentin didn’t like it. He kept his eyes open and his hand at his belt, before remembering that the Watch took his knife and he hadn’t replaced it yet. Being in that part of town without a weapon was like being naked. No, he didn’t like it at all. “Is there anywhere else you can stay?” he asked, looking around.

Tricia shook her head. “My friend Barb’s parents don’t like me or my mom. And Kat’s family has too many mouths to feed already.”

Quentin grunted an acknowledgement. As rich a city as Orchrisus was, you couldn’t count on your friends and neighbors to pick up the slack if something happened. When it came right down to it, everyone was on their own. Those who could get help were lucky, and those who could and did provide it were almost saints, as far as Quentin was concerned.

Tricia stopped and pointed at one of the houses. The window shutters were hanging by a hinge and the door had a terrible crack in it around the knob. Quentin disliked and distrusted the place immediately. “This is it,” she said, sounding resigned.

Quentin and Razia exchanged a look of mutual dissatisfaction. This place? Maria’s daughter? Still, it was what Maria asked. Quentin shrugged and motioned with his head. Razia nodded and knocked on the door. Nothing. She knocked on the door again, louder and longer this time. This time there were sounds of life inside, someone getting closer while grumbling.

The woman who opened the door was probably in her late sixties, but she looked much older. Her wrinkles had wrinkles, and her entire body seemed shrunken with age and poor health. She looked at the unlikely trio, screwing up her eyes to be able to see them properly. “What do you want? Tricia? What are you doing here? Where’s your mom?”

Razia cleared her throat. “That’s what we’re here about. May we come in?”

The inside of the house looked worse than the outside. The floor was a mess and badly in need of a good scrubbing, and the few spare bits of furniture the woman had were in terrible repair. Quentin set Tricia’s bag of clothes down by the door in one of the clean spots.

Tricia’s grandmother moved slowly, as if everything hurt. “Can I get you anything to drink? All I’ve got is some water and tea. Between you and me, go for the tea. The water’s none too great.”

“No thank you,” Razia said. Then she got right into it. “I’m Razia and this is Quentin. We’re friends with Maria. She’s fallen into a bit of trouble and Tricia needs a place to stay.”

“I’m Maeve,” the old woman said. “What happened to that rotten child of mine? She go out with the wrong sort again?” She let out a nasty snort. Tricia shifted uncomfortably. Quentin reached for her shoulder and then thought better of it.

“Something like that,” Razia said. “The Watch arrested her for a crime she didn’t commit. We’re trying to get her out, but it might take us a bit. Maria wanted us to bring Tricia here for a few days, if you’re able to take her.”

From the look on Maeve’s face, she was able but less than willing. “How long are we talking here? I can barely feed myself, let alone a teenager.”

Razia turned to Quentin. “A week,” he said. “Maybe less. It all depends on how fast we can get Maria out.” She didn’t, Quentin noticed, mention the death sentence. After just a minute in her company Quentin understood.

“A week,” Maeve echoed, clicking her tongue. “Well, I just don’t know if I can afford to keep her for that long. I can do a few days, maybe. This is all Maria’s fault, and I don’t see why I should have to keep cleaning up after her messes. She’s a grown-ass woman, and she should really be taking care of me, at my age.”

Throughout all this, Tricia remained silent, head bowed. She was clearly used to her grandmother’s rants about her mother. She must’ve had to listen to it each time she came here for a few days. As Maeve’s rant went on, her shoulders slumped further and further.

“I understand,” Razia said diplomatically. “You’re doing her a huge favor. Hell, you’re doing me a huge favor.” Razia reached down the front of her dress and pulled out a tiny purse. She dumped out a few qala pieces and held them out. “Here. This should cover feeding her for a week, shouldn’t it?”

Maeve’s demeanor changed and she was instantly all smiles and good cheer. “Well, isn’t that kind of you, darling,” she said, taking the shards. “I think I can maybe help sweet Patricia out.” Humming, she disappeared into her room, leaving the three of them standing here.

“Can I talk to you?” Quentin said to Razia, motioning with his head that he wanted it away from Tricia. Tricia sighed and walked across the room, looking equal parts crushed and resigned to her fate. That too, stung.

“What’s up?” Razia said in a hushed voice, sidling up to Quentin.

“You can’t honestly be thinking of leaving her here,” said Quentin. “This woman is trash. How do we know she won’t kick her out the moment we leave and take your money? How do we know she’s not going to hurt her? She seems like the kind of bitter old bitch who spends her time making everyone around her miserable.”

Razia nodded thoughtfully. “Honestly, we don’t know. I’m worried too, Quentin. But I don’t see that we have many options here. Maria told us to go to her. Clearly she trusts her mother. Maybe you’re onto something. Not like I would trust my father with anything this important.” She looked over her shoulder at Tricia, who sat on a stool at the table, head down.

“Poor thing,” Razia said. “This is so much for her to take in. Maybe you’re right. But where would we even take her? Maria didn’t give us any other options, and I don’t personally know anyone who is willing or able to look after a teenager. Especially one who’s going through some shit and might lash out.”

Quentin didn’t like the thought he was having. Even more, he hated that it came because of feeling guilty and personally responsible for the entire situation. It was silly, but it wasn’t something easily shaken off or ignored. He wasn’t the type to leap before he looked, and the only solution coming to him was just that: a blind leap that was bound to be a disaster.

“Alrighty,” Maeve said as she limped back into the living room. “Now that that’s settled, why don’t you two leave and I’ll make up a bed for little Tricia here.” Her tone was sickeningly sweet. “Tomorrow you can start earning your keep by helping gramma do some cleaning.”

Tricia looked up, and she looked even more miserable than before. She looked around her and her eyes met Quentin’s. It was just for a second, but that’s all it took for Quentin to make the dumbest decision he had since meeting Razia.

“Actually, forget about it,” Quentin said, the words coming out of his mouth on their own. “Keep the shards. We’ll take Tricia with us and look out for her until her mom is out. Assuming you want to come,” he said, turning towards Tricia.

Silence. He could feel Razia’s eyes burning a hole into him but she kept silent for the time being. Maeve looked to be at a loss for words. Tricia gave him a weird look, as if she couldn’t figure out if he was serious or not. It wasn’t like she knew him, or had any reason to trust him. He was just some weird looking guy who came in and gave her bad news. Before she got a chance to answer him, Maeve spoke up again.

“Nonsense, nonsense,” she said, her sickeningly sweet tone now had an edge to it. “It’s been too long since we’ve spent quality time together, hasn’t it dear?” Maeve turned her sugary smile to Tricia.

Tricia stood up and walked over to Quentin and Razia, hiding behind them. “I’ll go with you guys,” she said, voice still small. There was no hint of the indignant teenager from earlier. Razia wrapped an arm around her shoulder and squeezed.

Maeve’s face twisted into a silent snarl. “Well,” she huffed. “If you would rather go with an islander bitch and a moonkissed than your own grandmother then you deserve whatever happens to you. This is exactly the kind of bad decision your mother would make.”

“It’s her bad decision to make,” Quentin said, voice turning frosty. Maeve’s tirade died then and there. Sometimes it was handy, looking the way he did. He grabbed the pack of clothes. He nodded to Razia and Tricia and they exited the shithole of a house.

As soon as they were in a slightly better neighborhood, Razia said, “Well, I certainly wasn’t expecting that,” she said, looking at Quentin.

Quentin shrugged. He cleared his throat and addressed Tricia. “Is she always like that?”

Tricia nodded, laughing humorlessly. “Pretty much. She says shitty things about mom and makes me work until I get blisters, and keeps the money.”

It was exactly what Quentin expected. “No wonder you’re willing to gamble on a couple of strangers. Well, a stranger and Razia.” He smiled at Razia.

“Pretty much,” Tricia repeated. “Thanks, by the way. I’m...Mom’s going to be okay, right?”

Quentin’s throat tightened. “She will. I promise.”

Maybe this wasn’t the best decision. He’d been making a number of those recently. Quentin knew he couldn’t save everyone who came his way. Hell, he couldn’t save anyone. That’s not what he did. Maybe this was just just guilt, but after ten years there was a lifetime’s worth of guilt packed in. He couldn’t save them all, but he could save Maria and help her daughter. And he would, or die trying.