Chapter 63: Time To Kill Again

 

The Colosseum felt different. Nothing had visibly changed in the month since Quentin had last been there. It still stood alone on the border of the great desert and Orchrisus. Not a brick or grain of sand looked out of place. The crowd was the same as it ever was, though maybe a little thicker at this time of day. It was open during the day most days, with athletic competitions, chariot races, and some of the gladiator’s practice matches. It wasn’t unusual to see people there before sunset, but there wasn’t usually a line to get in. Whatever it was, Quentin pushed it aside and wound around the building until he reached the guarded employee’s entrance.

 

The giant of a man there, Berk, looked momentarily confused to see Quentin, but he let him pass with an amicable grunt. From there, some of that odd unease faded away. It was good to be back, he told himself as he went down the corridors down to the locker room. His spot was still there, and the armor as well, untouched by the other gladiators in their own corner. Though now a second locker was in the corner next to his. Cervenka’s beaked mask hung off the corner of it, taunting Quentin silently. He looked at it with distaste, wondering if it would be petty to throw it on the ground when someone behind him spoke.

 

“Quintius? I thought you quit.” He turned around to see Bruce there, helmet under his arm. The other gladiator was half dressed and looked surprised but not alarmed to see him. And for a change, there wasn’t as much of that look of discomfort and distaste.

 

“So did I,” Quentin said with a crooked smile. “I got a note from Demetrius telling me to meet him here tonight about official Colosseum business. Where is he?”

 

“In the practice yard,” said Bruce, jerking his head in the right direction. “We got a new batch of fish to break in and he’s having the time of his life.”

 

Quentin let out a bark of laughter. “Yeah, I’ll bet he is. Hey,” he motioned towards the beaked mask. “Has he been as big a bastard as I expected?”

 

The comfortable, easy look on Bruce’s face vanished. His lip curled and he nodded. “It’s not great. He still acts like one of us, hamming it up for the crowd. Amicus loves it, but the matches…They’re a lot longer than yours were.”

 

That was exactly what he feared. Grimacing, Quentin nodded. “He getting the same treatment I did? Everyone avoiding him like the plague?”

 

To his credit, Bruce winced and looked appropriately guilty. “We didn’t even have that chance. When he’s around, he’s just as loud, in your face, and attention grabbing as before. If anyone tries to ignore him, he…” Bruce shook his head. “That crazy bastard is going to get himself killed. And I don’t mean in the arena.”

 

“Well,” said Quentin, “better him than me.” And he meant it. Now that he was back, it was like this happened another lifetime ago. It was a different Quentin entirely. One who was shyer, quieter, had no friends and spent his life hiding, coming out only to kill someone before slinking off. Gods, only a month and his life was so much different now.

 

“Is it true what Jonas has been saying?” Bruce asked, cocking his head to the side. “You really hanging out with a bunch of whores now?”

 

“I am,” Quentin said. “You can find my place just south of the Boulevard of Saint Trassius. Come by sometime, you’ll get a discount.” He clapped his hand on Bruce’s shoulder, inwardly laughing at the surprised look on his face before he left the locker room behind and went to the shaded practice yard on the east side of the Colosseum.

 

All the veteran gladiators were already sparring or doing weapon drills, while the newbies ran around the track for hours on end. Anytime one of them slowed or faltered, Demetrius was there to bark at them. “The fuck you think you’re doing, fatty? Did I tell you to stop? You keep your ass moving. Slowest fish gets axed.”

 

Quentin waited for the line of five recruits to pass before he crossed onto the sand and stood next to Demetrius. “Your favorite part of the job, brother?”

 

Demetrius didn’t answer him at first. His eyes remained locked on the runners, turning the corner now and…one of them collapsed to the ground, and the rest of them tapered to a stop, looking behind them. “There it is. First one to drop. Gonna bust his balls real good and he’ll either quit or be the hardest working motherfucker out of them. Just a sec, Quintius. Hey!” Demetrius strode forward, waving his arms wildly. “Your brother in arms collapses and you just stand there, looking at him? You and you, bring him to the infirmary. Make sure he gets plenty of water and then get your asses back out here for more running. You haven’t begun to suffer yet.”

 

Two of the recruits, both so skinny and young, helped their comrade up to his feet and pulled him along out of the way. The remaining two went right back on to jogging, staying at a steady pace though sweat streamed freely down their face, soaking their nondescript tunics until it clung to their bodies. Quentin smiled fondly, remembering the days he used to be one of them, running and running until he could barely feel his legs. Then when that was over, they’d use him as a training dummy for sparring until his entire body was a bruise.

 

“These new kids aren’t bad. Once you break them down first,” Demetrius returned to the center next to Quentin. He looked up at his friend, eyes narrowed. “You keeping up on your health in your retirement, or are you getting all your exercise from the girls?”

 

Quentin laughed. “Yeah, I’m keeping up with basic training. I spend at least an hour each day jogging around my garden and making sure I don’t get too fat and lazy. Nowhere near the two or three hours a day I’d spend here, but…”

 

Demetrius grunted, looking around the yard with his sharp, appraising gaze. “You’re likely not fighting for your life three times a week anymore. If you’re even fighting at all.”

 

“I’m basically not,” Quentin admitted, shrugging. “The type of people who give me trouble aren’t used to getting into real fights. Frankly, I’ve been embarrassing them more than hurting them when they need to be shown the door. How come you haven’t visited me? We’ve been in business for three weeks now.”

 

“How come you haven’t visited me?” Demetrius countered. “That door goes both ways, Quintius. You’ve known where to find me, and you know I’m not comfortable in that big clean house of yours.”

 

Guilt nipped at Quentin, but it was gone within seconds. “I’ve actually been really busy since retiring,” he said. “I spent a week feeling like death and then had to get my shit together for everyone else. Since then I bought a second place, started a business, and have been the only one there in case of trouble. That’s something I wanted to talk to you about actually.”

 

“New rule, bitches,” Demetrius called out. “Me and this big idiot are going to start running. If we catch up to you, you’re really not going to like it. C’mon, then.” He stepped out onto the ring of sand surrounding the center, a miniature version of the main arena, and started jogging. Quentin took off his cloak and let it drop and followed him, catching up quickly and matching his pace. It felt good to be moving like this again with others, part of a team of people all working for the same goal of being the best fighter they could be. Ahead of them, one of the new pups looked over his shoulder and put on a burst of speed to put some more distance between them.

 

After a few seconds of just enjoying the feel of jogging on a warm spring day, Demetrius finally spoke up. “Speak, then.”

 

“I can’t be the only one protecting my girls at all times,” said Quentin. “I need one or two other people in there in case things get really hairy. I was hoping I could pick at your brain and see if there are any retired gladiators who want some easy guard work with some nice perks attached to it.”

 

Without missing a step, Demetrius looked up at him in surprise. “Are you really starting to get that big?”

 

Grinning, Quentin said, “Brother, I’m making nearly as much each night as I would here. A lot of it gets eaten up by operating costs and paying employees, but from here we’re only going to grow. I need some men before it gets too big and something bad happens.”

 

Demetrius grunted in the affirmative before falling silent again. For the next minute the only sounds were the swish of sand, the sounds of weapons striking dummies, and the cries of the gladiators as they went through their forms. Quentin wasn’t worried. Demetrius did this sometimes, where he’d suddenly stop talking as if he hadn’t heard you in the first place and just think about it. In his experience, it was usually a good sign.

 

“So you’re happy there?” he asked.

 

“Incredibly,” said Quentin. “I spend my nights surrounded by beautiful women and drinking wine. Once or twice a night I get to slap a fool around before going back to listening to men with more money than sense tell stories of their lives and get sucked in by my girls’ charm until they’re addicted. I don’t have Amicus breathing down my neck or have to risk my life. I don’t have to feel guilty all the time.”

 

“Shit,” Demetrius breathed, coming to a stop. They got off the ring, and Demetrius looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. “You don’t understand how happy I am to hear that. I’ve been worried about you. If I hadn’t been told to reach out to you, I was still going to check before too long.”

 

“Told to reach out to me?”

 

Demetrius shook his head. “I’ll get to that. Don’t wanna ruin the moment just yet. The important thing is you’re still young, you’re in good health, and you’re a businessman now. That’s incredible, Quintius. Your worse half still running things behind your back?”

 

A flutter went through Quentin’s stomach at the way Demetrius referred to her. Part of him wanted to be insulted, but the idea that they were two halves was…He shook his head. “More or less. She takes care of all the details and numbers I don’t care about while I get to look intimidating and have fun. But it’s not like she’s doing it behind my back. We’re full partners, and we don’t keep anything from each other.” Mostly.

 

“A woman like that never tells you the whole truth,” said Demetrius. “There’s always something, mark my words.”

 

“So you still don’t like her, then?” It would’ve been so easy for Quentin to be upset at the way Demetrius talked about her. It felt like an attack on him, his judgment, his sensibilities, everything. Years of training under the man had toughened him up and made him almost immune to the grizzled veteran’s tone. Almost. “What did she ever do to you?”

 

“Find out who you are, blackmailed you, and then got you arrested and nearly sentenced to death?” Demetrius crossed his arms over his chest.

 

“Well, yeah, but she got me off afterwards,” Quentin protested.

 

“Oh, I bet she did.”

 

He walked right into that one. Quentin covered his face with his palm and took a deep breath. “You might not believe me about this, but we haven’t done anything. We’re just friends.”

 

The trainees ran past them, forcing them to fall silent until they were gone. Demetrius shook his head. “So what is it you’re getting out of this, then?”

 

“A friend, a successful business, and fun. That’s all I want.”

 

“Beetleshit!” Demetrius jabbed a finger into Quentin’s chest. “There’s no way you’re going to tell me that you’re hanging around a bunch of whores, not getting your dick wet at all, and that you don’t want more. Unless you’re not into women that way. That’d make sense, given -- “

 

“Don’t you dare,” Quentin growled. “Never bring that up. Let that stay in the past and die. Razia’s my friend, I enjoy what I do, and while I do want more, I’m okay with what I have. Are you going to help me or are you just going to bust my balls all night?”

 

Demetrius scowled hard, trying to bore a hole in him with just his attitude. When he saw Quentin wasn’t moving or even blinking, he looked away. “You’re right. I’m sorry. I just don’t want you to be taken advantage of by someone like that. I can probably find you a couple of older guys who won’t mind spending their nights in such company. You got any specific kinds of people in mind?”

 

Quentin relaxed a little. “Whoever you get, they need to respect my girls and not look or talk down to them. They’ll get a half off discount on their services, but if a girl doesn’t want anything to do with them she doesn’t have to do a godsdamned thing. We’ll need one for the front room to check and keep any weapons my customers bring with them. Someone organized and not prone to starting or escalating things is preferable. The other will be in the main room, pretending to be a statue until he’s needed. Pay is two castura a night.”

 

“Yeah,” Demetrius grunted, “I can definitely find the people you need. Question, though…” His craggy face split open into a shit eating grin. “Does that discount apply to old friends?”

 

“For you, brother? Costs double.” Quentin broke out into a grin of his own and together they shared a good laugh that caught the attention of the rest of the training yard. Heads craned to look over at what got their grumpy bastard of a trainer laughing so hard, and Demetrius didn’t bother to call them out for slacking. It seemed like a perfect time to ask, “So what did you mean by told to reach out to me?”

 

The smile on Demetrius’ face vanished. He looked past Quentin to the rest of the yard and said, “Not here. In my office. ALRIGHT LADIES,” he boomed, stepping into the center and attracting all of their attention. “You’ve earned a fifteen minute break. Get some water, rest your legs, catch your breath. When I come back, we’re going to do it all over again.”

 

They knew better than to groan or complain or even look disappointed. Quentin retrieved his cloak and followed Demetrius back into the cool darkness of the Colosseum. The head trainer’s office was nothing like Quentin’s. His was neat and orderly while Demetrius used his to store shit he didn’t want to think about. There was enough room for one person to sit on either side of a desk. On that desk was an expensive looking bound book with notes on the gladiators Demetrius took.

 

Demetrius grabbed a bottle of murky brown liquid and two small clay cups and poured for them both. “Before I say anything else, I want you to know that there’s almost nothing that could make me want to ask you back here.”

 

That got Quentin’s attention. “Almost nothing? What, has Amicus changed his mind already and wants me back? I thought he’d be happy with Cervenka’s style of executions.”

 

“Oh, he is. He’s happier than a beetle eating shit.” Demetrius threw his drink back, wincing at the burn. “That sick fucker’s making this place tons of shards. None of the gladiators watch the executions anymore. They’re not really fights now. See, he dances around them and throws knives and axes at them, or uses his bolter to weaken ‘em. Then he toys with them. Amicus loves it, but I guess even he has standards.”

 

“What do you mean?” Quentin downed his alcohol, unable to stop the light cough that forced its way out of his throat after. He pounded his chest, eyes watering. “Hoo, you drink this shit?”

 

“This isn’t a time for good booze.” Demetrius poured them both some more before setting the bottle down and retrieving something from his desk. Quentin recognized it immediately. It was a writ of execution, like the hundreds he’d seen and gone over in the past. “Amicus asked me to contact you for you to do this execution specifically. He said, and I quote, ‘the crowd loves a monster, but no crowd would ever love this. Better we get the freak to handle it rather than ruin the image of the Colosseum.’”

 

Wordlessly, Quentin took the writ and opened it. He scanned it quickly, skipping past the intro saluting the emperor and the justice system and went right to the condemned. It took him reading over it three times before the words really registered in his mind. “Gods above and below, they can’t be serious. There are laws against this!”

 

Demetrius downed his liquor again, and this time spat on the ground when he was done. “There are. Apparently the collateral damage was bad enough for them to ignore that just so they could have someone to blame and punish. The execution is in three days. I never wanted to ask you to come back, but…Brother, I’d rather you do this than let Cervenka handle it. I don’t know that he’d make it bad, but I don’t have much faith in the bastard.”

 

His stomach turned over the idea. Out of all the people Quentin killed over the years, this would be a new low. It was then that he understood what Amicus wanted. It nearly made him burst out laughing, realizing that for the first time in the better part of a decade, Amicus was requesting honor and mercy. Quentin grabbed the cup of liquor and shot it down, embracing the pain this time. If he did this, he would hate himself for it. If he didn’t, he’d hate himself even more.

 

“I’ll do it,” he said. “I don’t want to, but I will. I can’t let Cervenka handle this one.”

 

“I figured that’d be the case,” Demetrius nodded.

 

“But if I’m going to be here,” Quentin continued, “I’m going to need a favor from you. And it’s not negotiable.”

 

“Whatever you need, brother. Whatever it takes for you to be the one who handles this.”