Chapter 69: Consequences

 

Once the thrill of being rescued and Quentin finally kissing her wore off, reality set in. Razia had to help keep Quentin upright as they walked down the bridge, and given he was over twice her size it was a struggle. One she very much preferred to the alternative. So she had his arm around her shoulder and let Quentin use her as a human crutch until they came upon the consequences of the night’s actions.

 

The Watch was out in force, about a dozen of them in total. Two carts with cages in the back were parked, one of them occupied. The last Warlord sat there, looking bitter but mostly relieved. He made eye contact with Razia and scowled at her. She just blew him a kiss and laughed as he was carted away. Quentin looked down to her with an inquisitive grunt, but Razia just shook her head.

 

“You got her back then?” a sandy haired copper asked Quentin. He exchanged a nod of greeting with her. “What happened to the others?”

 

There was a ring of spectators who parted for them. They stopped a few feet away from the bodies, lined up neatly next to each other and off to the side of the road. The sandy streets were stained with their blood, smeared in the direction they were dragged. A couple of Watchmen were examining them and looked up at the two with unreadable expressions.

 

“Got away,” said Quentin, standing up straight and releasing Razia. “They ran away as soon as they saw me.”

 

She found herself immediately wanting to cling to him, and she wasn’t sure if it was pure relief, fear at what had almost happened, or just a need to not let him out of her sight now that things were…Definitely going to be different, moving forward. Instead, she took her hand in his and squeezed it fiercely. “They ran back to Piro Pentius,” Razia said. “They’re his men.”

 

The copper wrinkled his nose. “The jeweler?” he scoffed.

 

“He’s a lot more than that,” said Razia. “He’s also the leader of the southside gang, the Warlords. He’s behind the attack on the Moonlit Garden and my abduction. We need to get out of here now before his men get back and he sends reinforcements.” Now that the fighting was done, she easily slipped into her role of doing the talking. Poor Quentin looked like he needed a break.

 

“I dunno about any of that,” the Watchman said. “Way above my paygrade. What I do know is you were taken and we have five dead bodies because of this shit. And at least three of them are your fault,” he said, pointing at Quentin. “I told you no killing them.”

 

“Sorry,” said Quentin, too tired to be angry. “The next time I’ve got three or more people trying to kill me I’ll just politely roll over and die. How about it, Cab?”

 

Cab made a face. He looked over to the pile of bodies and spat on the ground. “It’s gonna be me what has to explain everything that happened.”

 

“Which means you can be the one to tell them this wasn’t murder,” Razia interjected. She released Quentin’s hand and stepped forward. “You’ve got multiple eyewitnesses to an assault on our business, I was kidnapped, and you took one of the bastards alive, right? It shouldn’t be too hard to explain.”

 

The Watchman shook his head. “Yeah, all that’s true, but…Turns out, this stab-happy bastard has a record, don’t you Quintius?”

 

Quentin sucked in a deep breath ready to retort, but then another Watchmen came up and put his hand on Cab’s shoulder. His badge was silver, which meant it was more than likely he was in charge of them all. “Quentin Quintius, you’re under arrest for the unlawful killings of two men. You’ll be taken to the nearest Watchtower, where you will await trial as we collect the facts.”

 

The rest of the Watchmen tightened their ring around them, hands on their weapons. Quentin just sighed. Razia stood in front of him, as if she would be able to do something to stop them. Well, maybe she couldn’t stop them but that didn’t mean there was nothing she could do. “Which one’s the nearest Watchtower?” she asked.

 

The silver badge said, “Watchtower number 5. Why?”

 

Razia brightened up. “Then we’ve got no time to waste! Bring us on in, and when you do, alert the Inspector. He’s going to want to be the one who handles this. Unless he wants to get in trouble like last time.”

 

Whatever the Watch was expecting, it wasn’t that. The silver badge coughed and said, “Last time?”

 

Quentin looked down at her, tired and questioning but not stopping her at least. “Yeah, the last time Inspector Irwin tried to speed up charges against Quentin, it didn’t end well for him. He’s going to want to handle this personally, so let’s get on our way so we can go home.”

 

“Err, right. Into the cage you go,” the silver badge ordered. 

 

Quentin limped on over to the cart and Razia helped push him up and into it. He collapsed onto the cold metal bottom and forced himself to sit cross legged. Razia climbed in after him. If any of them had any objections to it, they kept it to themselves and just closed the cage and put padlocks on the corners.

 

From there, a couple of the coppers including Quentin’s new friend Cab grabbed the handles and pulled the cart along. Slowly they rolled down the streets, heading north and to where Razia would hopefully be able to get them out of trouble. Scenario after scenario passed in her mind in a flash as she went over every possibility she could think of. When she had a few of the more likely ones in mind, she turned to Quentin. “Hey. You okay?”

 

Quentin groaned pitifully, but there was a smile on his face. “I’m fucking exhausted. Tonight’s not been great. Before this, there was…” he trailed off, unwilling to say anything else in mixed company. “Then I ran home, only to find that you were gone. So I got suited up and ran after you, got in a fight, and ran some more. You’re lucky I like you.”

 

“Unbelievably lucky,” Razia said. Quentin smiled at her, and she couldn’t resist leaning forward to kiss him again. He didn’t pull away or freeze up. As scary as the entire situation had been, it was almost worth it to be able to do that and have it be right. Maybe she wouldn’t think so later, but for now Razia was grateful. “And so are you,” she said, pulling away. “You got in a fight with Warlords and you barely have a scratch on you!”

 

A weird look crossed Quentin’s face. Slowly, he shook his head and let out a dark chuckle. “Not quite. One of them got me good.” He tilted his head to the side, grimacing. His shoulder was covered in crusty brown blood, with an angry red line from his chest to his back. It didn’t look good, but it could’ve been way, way worse. And Razia said so.

 

“That scratch?” she said. “Sure it’s long, but it looks like they nicked you.”

 

Quentin laughed again, stopping when it caused him pain. “If anyone took the hit I did, they would be out for months, maybe never be able to use that arm again. It just happened to heal. Really, really fast.”

 

Realization struck her. “Oh. Oh. THAT fast?”

 

He smiled weakly. “I kind of tried something and…Well, it worked. Let me run after you when I could barely move.”

 

Oh that was going to mess with his head and she knew it. He hated the idea that there was anything possibly tied to his albinism that made the stories true. Luckily, Razia had a much easier solution. She sat back against the bars of the cage and said calmly, “So, you’re a Savant, then, and that’s your one trick. Unless you’ve got others you’ve been hiding.”

 

That earned her a thoughtful grunt. He closed his eyes, sagging in place. “Maybe. Better that than…yeah.” The city rolled on past them slowly as he thought about it. People peered in on them as they passed by, but for a change Quentin didn’t seem to notice it. Suddenly, he chuckled again. “When Omar was talking to me about Savants, he said something that I didn’t think about until now. He said a lot of Savants don’t know they are. So I guess this is why my teeth grow back and I’m never out of the fight for long. But I’ve never healed THIS fast before.”

 

Razia scooted closer to him and leaned against him, using his uninjured shoulder as a pillow. “What was different this time?”

 

“I guess I thought about it more. And maybe begged a little to be healed. It hurt like a bitch all at once and then it was mostly better. You think maybe the gods heard me begging?” He sounded skeptical.

 

“No, nothing like that. Maybe it’s because you were focusing on it. When you get injured, do you think about it all the time?”

 

“Not really. I do when it hurts, and sometimes it hurts worse than usual, like the wound is fresh. I usually just settle back and sleep and eat a lot until I heal up.”

 

Maybe that was the key. “How do you feel now?” Razia tilted her head up to look at him.

 

“Tired. Pretty damned hungry,” he admitted. “I don’t feel great. But I guess it could be worse.”

 

It made sense to Razia. “What if…” she started, making it clear it was a hypothetical, “you’ve been speeding it up all along when you think about it when laid up? You only thought about it a little, every now and then, and you made sure you got plenty of rest and food. If you can do that on command, it makes sense you’ve been doing it without realizing it.

 

Slowly, Quentin nodded. “I think that makes sense. We’d have to test it for sure, and I’m not especially eager to damage myself to see if I can pull it off again.”

 

They fell silent again. The way Razia saw it, he had a lot to think about and could use a bit of a rest before she got them out of this. Gods, she could use a bit of a rest as well. Turning in place, Razia rested against his armor and let her eyes close. It felt like only seconds later when the cart came to an abrupt stop and the Watchmen following unlocked the cage.

 

“Out, hands where we can see them, one by one. You first,” one of the coppers pointed at Razia.

 

She opened her mouth and let out a lazy yawn before she did as she was told, slowly slipping out of the cage. “Are we really doing this?” she asked. “We came willingly. If we wanted to resist we wouldn’t have come back to you in the first place. We would’ve ran.”

 

It wasn’t that she thought her words would change anyone’s minds. No, the Watch was going to act how the Watch acted, but she could at least draw attention to it. Make them feel silly about every step of the farce that was arresting them. The sooner she established this all as a bad joke, the easier it would be to drive that idea home. Razia wasn’t disappointed when the nearest watchmen grabbed her by the arms and twisted them behind her back.

 

Quentin came out of the cage haltingly, though the brief rest seemed to do him some good. His eyes were clearer and locked onto the Watchman holding Razia. He too was grabbed and secured, by a man on each arm. He looked over at the silver badge incredulously.

 

“This is standard. You’re already being treated better than most, so be glad you’re not in chains,” the man said, shrugging. He motioned for them to move and they were ushered inside the Watchtower.

 

It was much the same as the last time they were there, save that there were far fewer people inside. Most of the Watch patrolled the streets at night, with only a small crew watching over the jail. She supposed it was lucky that they did as she demanded and brought them straight to the Inspector’s office. The silver badge knocked on the door and disappeared inside. A few minutes passed as the two talked inside. Then the door opened, and Cab was ordered in.

 

“Think he’ll be on your side?” Razia asked Quentin after several minutes of silence.

 

“No talking,” one of the guards barked.

 

They looked at each other and rolled their eyes. “No telling. He helped me out but wasn’t happy about it.”

 

The guard cuffed Quentin’s head. Quentin’s head swiveled around slowly. He smiled. “You get that one for free.”

 

Before things could get worse, the door opened again and both Cab and his superior came out. “You’re up, I guess,” the silver badge said with a grimace. Razia recognized that look on his face. He was surprised and unhappy about something. This was probably going to go their way. Quentin motioned for her to go first and followed after her.

 

Inspector Irwin was much the same as the first time they’d met him, with one important difference. He didn’t look especially happy to see them again. So naturally, Razia smiled widely and said, “Inspector Irwin, a pleasure to see you, though we’re sorry for the circumstances.” She took a seat and Quentin joined her in the other chair. She leaned back and crossed her legs, projecting her best carefree attitude.

 

“You’re sorry?” he scoffed. His eyes slid between the two of them, but his focus was mainly on her. “You’re sorry for another instance of slaying men on the street? You do realize this is a country of laws, right?”

 

“Except for when the proper people have been paid off, or just don’t do their jobs and fast track a man to death, right Irwin?” Razia didn’t have to try to look smug. His growing irritation was enough to do it for her.

 

He turned to Quentin and said, “Last time you were drugged and didn’t know what you were doing. According to our officer, you explicitly went and got a weapon and hunted these men down and murdered them. And now you two are acting like this isn’t a big deal, and that this is just going to blow over?” With each word his voice raised until he was all but yelling at them.

 

Quentin shot an easily read please stop face at Razia. She ignored it and instead pointed at Irwin confidently. “That’s exactly what I think. Because Quentin here is still an agent of the courts, and he was executing his duties tonight. Inspector,” she said, voice dropping to something less mocking and more conciliatory. “You know who is backing him. What he did tonight was completely lawful, and in fact, was a part of cleaning this city up. You should be thanking him.”

 

“And who the fuck are you, Ms. Rashid?” Irwin growled at her. “What makes you think you’re so godsdamned important that you’re speaking for Mr. Agent Of the Courts?”

 

Razia glanced over to Quentin. In the past few months they’d become closer and closer every day. Razia could honestly say she’d never quite had a partner who matched her so well, who knew when to let her do her thing and when to pull her back. She and Quentin were entirely different people, but they knew how to connect. The question was directed at her, but now it was his turn to play the game.

 

“She’s my partner,” said Quentin, managing to sound both exhausted and bored at the same time. He sat with his head propped up on his fist and despite the armor he still wore and all the blood, he looked at ease. “She deals with the boring minutiae while I do my job. Are you really going to lose sleep over a couple of dead gangsters?”

 

Inspector Irwin didn’t respond. He stroked his short beard thoughtfully, like he was fighting not to lose his temper and unload on them. After about half a minute he sighed and reached into his desk and pulled out a bottle of liquor and a cup. He poured himself a measure of golden liquid and shot it back. “I don’t care that they’re dead,” he said. “I care that they were there to begin with, attacking your business and kidnapping this woman. What does a gang from the southside want with you, and how many more times will it end in death?”

 

“I may have given them cause for offense,” Razia said, shrugging. “They found out where I was and tried to have me kidnapped. Quentin stopped them. We’ll be beefing up security and it will not happen again. Look, Inspector,” she said with a sigh. “I recognized the leader of them. He was a man named Simms. Last I recall, he had a price on his head. You’re not going to make that one stick if it goes to court. If you can bring it to court. What if, instead of fighting a losing battle, you and your men claim credit for the deaths of wanted criminals and keep the reward for yourself?”

 

Quentin chimed in, “Please, by all means. I’ve no need for the money.” His voice dropped, sounding entirely pleasant but chilling underneath, “the work is its own reward.” The smile on his face honestly made Razia’s skin crawl. Gods, he really was getting good at acting when he needed to.

 

It apparently worked, as Irwin lasted only a few seconds before his eyes dropped down to his desk. His jaw was set and it looked like steam was about to come out of his head, but when he spoke again it was muted. “You can’t hide behind an Arbiter and get away with this every time. If I see you in here again, I will push, consequences be damned. Now get the fuck out of here.”

 

Razia stood first and offered Quentin her hand. Smiling, he took it and nearly pulled her down as he used it to get to his feet. They left the office, startling the nearest Watchmen who had their ears to the door. They backed off quickly, faces turning red. “Mahoney, make sure they get home safely and without any more dead bodies,” Irwin called out.

 

Cab straightened up at being called out and motioned for them to follow. Hand in hand, Quentin and Razia followed him down the stairs and out of the Watchtower. As they passed, every eye was on them, many of them looking distinctly unhappy that they were leaving. Razia couldn’t help but hum to herself along the way. Quentin was much more subdued, trudging along like a man ready to fall into bed.

 

“I can’t believe they’re letting you go,” Cab said once they were away from the others. “I mean, I said you didn’t start this and they jumped us, but you still killed those men. What on earth made the Inspector let you go?”

 

Sighing, Quentin said, “I’ve killed a lot of men in my time. Do you know how many times I’ve been charged with murder?” Cab looked over his shoulder at Quentin inquisitively. “Not once. To tell you more would be above your paygrade.”

 

That seemed to give the Watchmen food for thought. They were silent as they headed home. They’d need to make sure the girls were okay for the night and tell them they would deal with things in the morning. There were a million little things that had to be addressed if they were going to deal with this, but for now they could afford to rest. Razia squeezed Quentin’s hand. Things were different, but it wasn’t a bad thing.

 

“Hey,” said Quentin, life coming to his eyes. “I meant to ask, how is Demetrius doing? Your friend got him help, right?”

 

Cab slowed to a stop. When he turned around, he was frowning. Razia’s stomach dropped. “He did, but…” 

 

Quentin’s face fell. 

 

“It was too late. Your friend died of his wounds. I’m sorry.”