Chapter 22: Ladies of the Night

 

The Oasis is the place they chose that night. It was one of the bigger taverns on North River Row, and directly overlooked the water. It was the kind of place that always had a crowd, and exactly why he avoided it. The places on North River Row tended to be classier and better kept, which meant people like him weren’t welcome.

 

Razia assured him it would be different this time. This time, he’d be with others and if anyone gave him shit, they would all leave. That made him feel better until he thought about it and realized he’d feel even worse if everyone uprooted because of him. Then he put it out of mind and went to work, certain he’d see Razia at home later. It didn’t work out that way. The night was awful, and so Quentin caught a beetle south and found himself standing on the outside patio of the Oasis.

 

A band played on a miniature stage and people danced around him, laughing and having fun. Quentin slipped past them as best as he could, only bumping against a couple of less than impressed couples. Inside, it was bright, lively, and full of beautiful women. Blinking against the harsh lights, Quentin saw a woman lead a man up some stairs to the second floor. The place had rooms, but it was clearly not a place for travelers to stay.

 

“Quentin, over here!” Razia’s voice called out to his right. He looked where she’d grabbed a small table she and Samantha sat at. Immediately, some of his bad mood dissipated. Samantha got up and rushed to him with her arms outstretched. Quentin didn’t realize what she was about to do until she was pulling him into a hug and pressing her lips against his.

 

He froze as Samantha kissed him, hard. It was a lot wetter than he remembered kissing being. When she pulled away, her cheeks were red. And so was her nose. She’d had a few drinks and was feeling no pain. “Mr. Q!” Samantha cried, almost directly into his ear. The place wasn’t nearly loud enough to warrant it. “Raz told me what you did. I gotta thank you sometime. Maybe with…”

 

“Consider me well thanked,” said Quentin, gingerly pulling away from her. Behind Samantha, Razia looked like she was holding back laughter. He patted Samantha’s shoulders, half just to make sure she stayed arm’s length away. “Maybe buy me a drink.”

 

Her eyes lit up as if it was the best thing she’d ever heard. “You got it, Mr. Q!” she said, darting to the crowded bar without bothering to ask what he wanted. Quentin shook his head and joined Razia.

 

“Aww, I think she might like you, ‘Mr. Q’,” Razia teased.

 

“What the hell was that about?” Quentin asked, sitting with his back to the wall, watching Samantha gesticulate wildly at the bartender.

 

Razia snorted. “What do you think? You got her out of debt, out of the hands of thugs, and out of a bad place of work. You’re going to have to give her a hard no if you don’t want her throwing herself at you.” 

 

“But I didn’t do any of that because I wanted anything,” Quentin protested. “In fact, I actively don’t want to be rewarded in any way, sexual or otherwise.” It was a strange conversation to be having in a crowded tavern, but it was no stranger than the rest of his night so far.

 

“Then maybe you shouldn’t have dropped that many shards on a woman who shows her affection physically,” Razia said sweetly, breaking out into a cackle. At Quentin’s frown she nudged him. “If you like, I’ll have a talk with her. It’s probably better if I tell her and others I have dibs on you.”

 

“Dibs?” Quentin made a face.

 

“Yeah, dibs. Like this. Sam!” Razia called as Samantha came back with three mugs. The redhead froze in place, looking up inquisitively. “Quentin’s off limits. I saw him first and he’s my patron.”

 

“Awww,” Samantha whined, shoulders slumping. Some beer spilled from the cups before she noticed and straightened. She set the mugs down and eyed Quentin like she was a predator and he was a side of meat. “Fine. For now.” She bent forward slowly and suggestively and poked Quentin’s nose in a way he imagined was supposed to be playful. Then she turned and went back to the bar, leaving her drink behind.

 

Wordlessly, Razia pulled the mugs closer, setting two of them in front of Quentin. Quentin took a drink and let himself get comfortable, for the most part. He still hunched over the table, looking out through his cloak. There was a low level of background chatter straddling the line between pleasant and too much. This was already better than being scolded and pissed on. “So, Patron?”

 

“It’s about the only thing I can think of that could easily sum up our relationship,” said Razia. “Seeing as how you’re currently funding my shenanigans and giving me shelter and protection.”

 

Quentin mulled over the word. “I’ve never been anyone’s patron before,” he said. “What all does a patron do?”

 

“For artists and craftsmen, it usually means funding their work and getting partial credit because of it. Making sure they’re fed and well supplied.” Razia took a sip, watching him carefully. Quentin swore she waited until he was about to drink before continuing, “For whores it usually means you pay me an allowance for me to fuck you on demand.”

 

He choked on his drink, coughing and sputtering while Razia smiled innocently. “So Samantha thinks that we’re…?”

 

“Fucking, yes.” Razia took his hand in hers. “Most people are going to assume that, Quentin, no matter what we say. Is that going to be a problem?”

 

For a split second Quentin wanted to say yes. Of course it was a problem, it wasn’t true! But as soon as he had the thought he questioned it. He shook his head. “No,” he said slowly. “I’m not a prude, no matter how it may seem. I feel like it gives the wrong impression of me though.”

 

Razia tilted her head to the side, considering him. “What’s the right impression, then? I didn’t want to ask but curiosity is eating me alive. What do you have against sex? Are you a virgin? There’s no shame in --”

 

“No, I am not a virgin,” Quentin said, louder than he intended. He hunched down further, as if he could shrink and hide from himself. “I’ve had sex before,” he continued just above a whisper. “With two people.”

 

“At the same time? Go you!”

 

“No, not with two, --” Quentin sighed, chuckling along with her. “Two people, two different times. And it was good. Really good.” He had gone over the memories so many times over the years, he could almost describe every moment by heart. The pain involved made him not want to. “Both times ended...poorly.” He shook his head. “I’m not going to get into it now, but I was shamed and humiliated. And now…”

 

“...now you can’t think of having sex without associating the bad times,” Razia finished for him, understanding in her eyes. “That’s understandable, and rough. I can see why you’re hesitant to trust again.”

 

Quentin couldn’t shrink any more than he already was. He drained one of his mugs of beer, anything to avoid having to speak while his throat and eyes burned. The beer gave him an excuse to rub at his eyes. “It’s not silly?”

 

“Oh Quentin,” she said, and in those two words were all the sympathy and understanding he could ever have wanted. “It’s not silly at all. If I’d known I would have --”

 

“No, no.” he cleared his throat. Eyes closed, Quentin did a quick countdown before straightening in his seat and forcing his face into its normal hawkish, half scowl that passed for neutrality. “If you hadn’t been you, I’d probably still be at home, doing nothing. Besides, it’s not like I didn’t enjoy it.”

 

He knew he said the wrong thing when Razia’s eyes lit up. “So you did enjoy it? What about Samantha? Did you enjoy her grabbing and kissing you?”

 

“So,” Quentin cleared his throat, “a patron.”

 

“A patron,” she said, dropping the subject, though the twinkle never left her eyes. “For the most part that should keep the other girls away. Mostly. Fair warning? It might make some of them try harder. Stick around me and you’ll be beating them off with a stick. Although,” Razia tugged on his cloak. “You’d do better if you let yourself relax and be here.”

 

He thought of arguing with her. There were a lot of people here, at least twice as much as Maggie’s Den had. They were split up between the tavern and the open patio, but with dozens and dozens of people going in and out, that was a horrifying amount of times his appearance could offend someone. Maybe bad enough to get them thrown out, maybe bad enough to be attacked. He’d be outnumbered.

 

“How many fights does this place get?”

 

“I don’t know. No more or less than any other place like it. It’s still early, most fights won’t be for another few hours. Does this mean you’ll do it?” She bounced in her seat excitedly.

 

He thought of arguing with her, but what good would it do? Quentin undid the clasp of his cloak and pulled it back, letting it drape over the stool. Underneath he was wearing a simple dark tunic. Nothing flashy or raggedy. It was painfully average and Quentin still expected every aspect of his appearance to be judged. It wasn’t that he was afraid. Not really.

 

Logically Quentin knew it didn’t matter. Chances are he wouldn’t see most of these people again and after seeing him he’d maybe be a story they tell their friends. ‘Hey, I saw this one freak last night’. But the weight of so many eyes on him and so many whispers were enough to make his flesh crawl and hackles raise. A lifetime of experience conditioned him to always prepare for the worst and to never underestimate how cruel other people could be. If nothing happened, Quentin would still spend the entire time feeling like trouble was on its way. “There,” he said, unconsciously crossing his arms over his chest.

 

Razia pushed the other mug of beer. Quentin grabbed it gratefully and downed it too. He kept his eyes on the table, telling himself he was just imagining people staring already. He couldn’t help it and looked up. Yes, there were people looking at him. Only a couple looked upset or disgusted. Some just looked surprised and averted their eyes when they saw he was looking back at them.

 

“You should leave your cloak behind next time,” said Razia, leaning against him. “Seriously. You deserve to be able to be places and take up space too. You don’t have to hide yourself away and worry about what others think. You can be out here, and have fun.”

 

“Easy for you to say,” Quentin muttered, but he was listening. It was nice to hear, even if he wasn’t entirely sure he agreed with her. “So, other than drinking until we can’t see straight, what is there to do in places like this?”

 

“Well,” she said smiling, “there’s always talking to people. Making new friends.” At Quentin’s grimace she laughed. “There’s cards or dice for those who want to socialize and have it turn sour fast. And there’s dancing, if you’re game.”

 

“I’m nowhere near drunk enough for that.”

 

“We’ll fix that. Oh, hey!” Razia stood up, waving at the doorway. “Maria, Isa, over here!” she called out.

 

In the entrance, two women had just come in and were looking around. One was a dark skinned, slender Ramali Quentin recognized as the dancing dusk-girl, the other was a middle aged, olive skinned brunette with a lot of laugh lines. Upon seeing Razia they made a beeline for their table. The brunette (Maria, Quentin presumed) was fine but Isa stopped short, lip curling.

 

“You,” she accused. “What the hell are you doing bringing him here? You want us to have to pack our shit and leave here too?” She stood there, hands on her hips and glaring daggers at Quentin.

 

Quentin felt momentary panic, more from the sudden tone than any fear of the woman herself. He looked around with wide eyes but Razia wasn’t bailing him out of this one. “Um. Sorry about that,” he said to her, inclining his head respectfully. “None of that was any of my intention.”

 

Isa scoffed. “Is that supposed to make it better? We had a comfy job there. The men were gross but at least they knew how to toe the line. Thanks to you we’re on our own now.”

 

Razia spoke up this time. “It’s more thanks to me than thanks to him. You mad at me too, Isa?”

 

Isa said nothing, instead crossing her arms and frowning so severely Quentin thought her face would stay that way. Seeing she was alone, she huffed, “Whatever. I’m going to see if I can get something going. If I work really hard I might even come close to what I was making before.” She stormed away from them and right into a group of men on the other side of the bar.

 

“Sorry about her,” Maria said, wincing. “I’d say she isn’t normally that rude, but...That’s not exactly true.”

 

“It’s fine,” Quentin waved it off. “Most Ramali don’t like me much. I try not to take it personally.”

 

“I’m Maria,” she said, holding out her hand in a way where Quentin wasn’t sure whether he was supposed to shake it or kiss it. He scrambled to his feet and took it in his and gave it a shake.

 

“Quentin,” he said.

 

“Quentin’s my new patron,” Razia supplied. They all sat down again, Maria with her back to the rest of the bar and facing Quentin. “He’s going to stop by every so often and make sure I’m doing well.” Underneath the table, she nudged him.

 

“Probably a lot more,” Quentin said. “My nights just cleared up for the next little while.”

 

Razia looked delighted. “They did? Since when?”

 

“Since tonight. I’ll explain later.”

 

Maria’s eyes flitted between the two as they talked, looking more interested by the second. “A patron, huh?” She whistled. “Is that why you were willing to burn the Silk Lounge the way you did?”

 

Razia didn’t get a chance to answer. Samantha came back to the table, dragging a man who looked at least as drunk as her with her. Her lips were smeared red and so was his face, and the front of his trousers tented out. “Making a deposit~” Samantha sang.

 

Immediately, Razia pulled out a small lockbox Quentin didn’t know she was hiding. She undid the top and Samantha dropped a handful of qala pieces in there before it was put back away. “For what we owe you,” Razia explained. “We’ll tally up tonight’s earnings at the end, take what we need and give you the rest.”

 

The man behind Samantha looked at Quentin, but after the brief recognition that he was indeed unusual, he only had eyes for the curvy redhead. “I’ll have plenty more by the end of tonight Mr. Q,” said Samantha in a bubbly slur. She headed for the stairs, dragging her customer with her.

 

“Mr. Q?” Maria turned to him.

 

“You don’t have to call me that,” he said, embarrassed. “Only she calls me that.”

 

“I kind of like it,” said Razia. “And I know you couldn’t possibly hate it more than other things you’ve been called.”

 

She wasn’t wrong. If Quentin was being honest, there was this odd little thrill at having a nickname that wasn’t just an insult repackaged into a name or title. At least Samanatha hadn’t called him a moonkissed again. Quentin shrugged, half smiling

 

“So you’re also Samantha’s patron?” Maria asked.

 

“Uh. Something like that,” Quentin hedged. “Not officially. Not like with Razia. Mostly I’ve been looking out for Razia and ended up helping Samantha out too. Not intentionally, but I guess I’m stuck with her now.”

 

Maria laughed and moved her chair closer. “What do you do, Mr. Q?”

 

There it was. That wasn’t something they’d discussed before coming out here. There was always the lie from before, but Quentin no longer trusted it. It would be just his luck to try it again and have yet another person learn who he was. “I…” He looked to Razia. She nodded and took over.

 

“Mr. Q here is a private arms instructor.,” she said, putting her hand on Quentin’s arm. “He teaches the children of the rich and noble how to defend themselves and does a bit of private guard work as well. You know how well rich people will pay for services they can trust.”

 

Quentin nodded along with her words, trying to not let anything show. It was a better lie than he could’ve come up with. He could work with it. “I’m between jobs right now and Razia is…” This was weird, even if he wasn’t opposed to others thinking it was true, per se. It was a normal thing to lie about, he supposed, but not for him. “Helping me relax before I find my next job.”

 

Maria looked like she wanted to pry more. It was written all over her face. Instead, she just smiled and said, “Well, it’s good having you here. Any friend of Razia and Sam must be good people.”

 

Razia stood, scooping up their mugs. “Refill time,” she announced, heading for the bar.

 

That left Quentin with a woman he didn’t know, but he was beginning to get more comfortable. “So, how long have you been a prostitute?” he asked. And then hated how it sounded. “If that’s not a personal question,” he added, too late for comfort.

 

To his relief, Maria laughed it off. “Five years-ish. When my husband died, it fell on me to support our daughter Tricia. She’s 14 now. I take care of her during the day and work at night.” She looked to the bar, and Quentin followed her gaze. Razia had their drinks, but was talking animatedly to a woman there who was leaning in close. “Looks like she’s still on the job. You okay with that?”

 

It took him a moment to realize why he might consider it a problem. Quentin just shrugged. “Why wouldn’t I be? I don’t own her. I’m just here to relax and enjoy some drinks and company.”

 

“Well,” said Maria, “if she leaves I’ll keep you company. But only on one condition.” She gave him a sly smile.

 

“And that is?”

 

“Maybe keep an eye out for me while I’m here,” she said, voice dropping. “This place is better than most, but you never know when people are going to get grabby or not take no for an answer.”

 

He had to think about it. He didn’t know this woman, but then, he hardly knew Samantha and Razia. Maybe it wasn’t about what Quentin the executioner would do. What would Quentin the Arms instructor say? “I don’t see why not. So long as you stay in this area. I’m feeling much too lazy to go far from here.” He slumped comfortably in his chair, as if demonstrating his point.

 

“The night’s young, I don’t have to start looking for work for a bit. It’s definitely looking like I’ll be staying for a bit.” Maria gestured towards Razia.

 

She was pressed up against the woman, her face buried in her neck while the woman arched back, looking rapturously tortured. She had her leg wrapped around Razia and one hand against the wall for balance. Then Razia pulled away, whispering something in her ear. It was odd, seeing something so intimate happening in public. Quentin averted his eyes.

 

“Looks like,” he said, unsure of how he felt. On the one hand, Razia had been very clear about the fact she and Samantha were going to be working. On the other, it did feel like he was about to get left behind. Well, not entirely.

 

“You’re really not jealous?” Maria pressed, leaning in. “Most men I know would be a bit possessive right about now. Let alone a patron.”

 

Quentin gave an uneasy shrug. “I know who she is and what she does. Even if I wanted to judge her, I’ve no room to. I’ve done a lot of unsavory things for shards. I don’t know anyone who hasn’t. She said it best, ‘a girl’s gotta eat’.” He risked looking back at Razia in time to see her kiss the woman and bring her over to the table, setting the drinks down.

 

“Mr. Q~,” she said in a playful singsong voice, “do you mind if I take this nice lady upstairs and show her what she’s been missing all her life?” Her smile faltered, and she looked intently at him. “If you say no, I’ll stay here with you.”

 

Quentin looked over to the woman. She was older, in her fifties at least and looked as excited as a young girl. She had her arm around Razia’s petite shoulders and looked uncomfortably aware of people watching her and judging her. Quentin could relate.

 

“Of course,” said Quentin, trying to give the woman a reassuring smile. “Have fun.” After a gesture from Razia, Quentin pulled up the lockbox and opened it up. The woman reached into her purse and dropped a handful of shards in it.

 

“Thank you,” the woman murmured. Razia’s hand around her dipped low and the woman jumped in place, turning bright red.

 

“I’ll be back in...Say, an hour,” Razia said. She mouthed thank you and led the eager woman upstairs.

 

Alone again with Maria, Quentin found himself chuckling. “I don’t normally spend my time with women like you,” he admitted. “Seeing her turn the charm on someone else is weird. I wonder if I look that completely lost when she does.” He marveled that he said that openly, but Maria laughed sympathetically.

 

“I wouldn’t doubt it. I kind of miss when people would look at me the same way,” she said wistfully. “When you get older, things start to slip and you have to try a little harder than before. I do alright,” she added, “but I know I can’t do this forever.”

 

“I know what you mean,” Quentin said. “My job’s the same way. Can’t do it forever, but I can’t think of retiring just yet. Not when I have this much life in me.” Quentin raised his cup, and Maria did the same.

 

“To not being too old?” Maria said, cocking her head to the side.

 

“I’ll drink to that,” Quentin smiled and did just that.

 

A short, sharp scream had him coughing and sputtering. He and Maria looked up together. Across the way, Isa was in the other corner, surrounded by men. One of them had their hands on her crotch and squeezed it. She shoved at him and in return he backhanded her. Quentin was on his feet, fist clenched. But then he froze.

 

This wasn’t his problem. Not only was this not his problem, but Isa had been very rude to him. Chances are she wouldn’t appreciate him interfering, even if she was in trouble. Quentin knew the type. But watching the guys in the corner manhandle her and drag her back down into one of their laughs, his blood boiled. Quentin looked at Maria.

 

She was frowning and looked upset, but also resigned. She looked at him and then back at Isa. “She’s in trouble,” she said. “Could you...Do something? Anything. I know she can be a real bitch sometimes, but she doesn’t deserve what’s likely to happen to her.”

 

Quentin cursed under his breath. “Hey!” he called out. “Leave her alone.”

 

Over a dozen men on that side of the building looked up at him, faces turning grim. Over half of them stood as Quentin stepped forward, wondering why he kept doing this to himself.