Chapter 117: Political Violence

  It would’ve been easy to be annoyed at the interruption, but Quentin genuinely liked Omar, and it had been too long since they’d talked. One thing he appreciated about the Supreme Arbiter was his straight-forward but sympathetic nature. It was almost unheard of in the higher realms of Arbiters, but Omar Faroukh seemed to genuinely care.

  Discovering that he was in contact with Cicero and other important criminals had been shocking at first, but the more Quentin thought about it, the more it fit. He’d gone from having the Arbiter as his boss in the Colosseum to unofficially being his boss on the street. In the end, not much changed, save for no longer having to deal with Amicus. Something both men appreciated.

  “Good evening, Omar,” said Quentin as he entered the atrium. Now that he’d allowed Razia to decorate, it actually looked and felt homey, with several couches surrounding a red and yellow rug with the Daystar’s symbol in the center. The oil lanterns burned low and dim, but the moon illuminated the pool beneath it, lending an intimate air to his home.

  Omar stood in front of the couch, and Quentin was struck by how fast the man had seemed to age in just a few months. The Ramali man was always thin, with a heavily lined face and shaved head, but he had more wrinkles and white stubble on his cheeks. He still smiled broadly at seeing Quentin and bowed his head more deeply than one of his station typically did.

  “Quentin, my friend! My apologies for the long absence. I’m afraid things have been just as chaotic on the judicial level as they have on the street. But I must commend you on establishing yourself as quickly and effectively as you had.” He extended his hand, and Quentin grasped him by the forearm like he would one of his gladiators.

  “It hasn’t been easy, but it’s been necessary. I was actually hoping to talk to you about things. Can I get you something to eat or drink? Forgive my saying so, but you look like you could use a good meal.” Quentin almost blanched at his own bluntness, but Omar was a savant as well, and had an aura that directed people towards honesty.

  The Supreme Arbiter chuckled. “You’re probably right. I won’t say no to some wine and bread, if it’s not an imposition.”

  “Not at all.” Quentin bowed and went to the kitchen. It wasn’t as well stocked as the other houses, but wine, bread, and fruit were essentials, and he came out with a full spread. Setting it all on the table between couches, he poured them both some white wine and took a sip.

  Omar took a few seconds to catch his breath, and it was obvious he needed it. “What do you have for me?”

  With a direct question asked, Quentin’s answer came automatically, difficult but not impossible to resist. “I can have the Boulevard under my full control soon, but I worry about the surrounding areas. We’ve made some allies and enemies, and there are skirmishes on side streets and worse off neighborhoods. Some of my own people are itching to go on the attack. I understand that I can’t be entirely defensive, but I’m afraid I don’t have good instincts for when to try to hurt others and take from them. Razia has ideas, but she’s…Reckless is the word that comes to mind.

  “Within another month, we can probably acquire the last of the houses in my neighborhood and truly make it the pleasure capital of the city. And that’s great. I’m honestly really proud of everything we’ve accomplished. But…” Quentin took a sip of his wine. It tasted fine, but it didn’t satisfy. “I’m happy with what I have. I don’t necessarily want more, but I feel like I’m going to have to keep going.”

  Omar nodded thoughtfully. He didn’t answer for a few seconds, instead enjoying a hunk of bread and a date. He washed it down with wine, and his relief was palpable. “You are. I’ve come to ask a favor of you, but…Let’s address this first. You will need to keep going, and you’ll need to feed your dogs while keeping them on a leash. It’s not too dissimilar from the jobs us Arbiters must do. We maintain order. We establish the song and the beat, and we punish those who cannot adhere to the dance.

  “Justice is the idea, but it isn’t guaranteed. Not when the greatest criminals are the rich and powerful. They are not touched by the Emperor’s Justice. Do you know who keeps them in check?”

  Quentin made a face. “Each other, as far as I know. Everyone knows the nobility, the master merchants, the politicians, and some of the clergy, they fight amongst each other and send spies and hired daggers after…”

  It clicked. He took a deep breath and nodded, resting his chin on his folded hands as he slouched. “You’re here because you want me to kill someone. Someone important.”

  Omar smiled humorlessly. The lines on his face deepened; he’d never looked more weary than now. “Unfortunately, yes. I’m sorry to say, you’ve graduated from executing criminals to executing real scum. If you are willing to continue in your new duties.”

  It made sense, even if Quentin wasn’t sure how he felt. For the longest time, he didn’t kill outside the Colosseum, but that ship sailed months ago. Orchrisus was a dangerous, dark place, and the only way certain people faced consequences were when bad men forced the issue. He was that bad man, now.

  “Who is it? Tell me who they are, what they did, and why they must die.” Quentin drained his wine and crossed his arms over his chest. His fingers tapped his arm, but he was otherwise as still as a statue.

  “His name is Lukas Zervas, and he’s a sitting senator of the noble class. He has a villa on the west side of town, not too far from where I live. He is influential, well defended, and a complete monster who needs to die. Please understand that I do not say that lightly.”

  “And why is that? What makes him a monster that you judge, when you seem to be fond of me?” Quentin half-smiled.

  “You’re a necessary evil, much like myself. Zervas is a petty, greedy, overindulgent toad who has enough seniority that, if he wins his next election, he will be the Vox Primo and set the agenda for the next year. Among them will be bills to tighten restrictions on Ramali land ownership and to crack down on the nomads harrying caravans and trying to live the old ways…by punishing those of us still in the city.”

  Quentin’s blood ran cold. Anti-Ramali sentiment had been around long before he was born, and was common in the Policheran and Lupitian population, who had migrated to this location from across the continent during the war of the Scions centuries ago. The Ramali had been there first, and showed how to survive the desert. And then the Lupitians claimed land and water and built and built until the city was the sprawling metropolis it was, supported by countless satellite settlements meant to support the capital’s population.

  Naturally, some Ramali took offense and fought back, and split the population in half between those who wanted to integrate, and those who wanted to keep their identity. The splinter all but doomed them to be consumed, and many lived as secondclass citizens.

  “Punishing them how?” Quentin asked evenly.

  Omar’s expression darkened. He took another drink of wine and set the empty goblet on the table. He leaned forward, mirroring Quentin’s posture. “By giving the Watch the freedom and orders to detain and question any Ramali who is suspected of having ties to the cell that tried to assassinate the emperor. By disrupting Ramali businesses and confiscating their money, to denying entry to the city for anyone they want to accuse.

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  “It’s a petty, cruel thing to do by a greedy man who wants to use the Watch to hurt and loot my people’s meager wealth. He’s not breaking any laws, and if he was, he has enough shards and friends to get himself out of any trouble from official channels. If he’s elected, and he likely will be, he’s going to do untold harm. Killing him is not lawful, but it’s the right thing to do.”

  Quentin found himself nodding, even before he made up his mind either way. Unlike most people of Lupitian descent, he’d always been sympathetic to the Ramali, who largely viewed him with distaste, distrust, and suspicion. He knew what it was like to be an outsider, never fully welcomed, and always treated like a criminal.

  It didn’t matter if they didn’t like him. Omar liked him. Isa liked him, most of the time. He realized he would kill this man for their sakes, even if it didn’t help tens of thousands of people just trying to live their lives. At the same time, a part of him couldn’t help but despair. No matter how far Quentin had come, he could never escape the Butcher.

  “How do you expect me to do this, Omar? You say he’s rich, powerful, well defended, well liked, et cetera. The Watch is not happy with me. They’ve wanted to get me for something since I first took control.” Quentin’s lips thinned into a line. “If he’s really this big, how do you plan on protecting me? I have no intentions of dying or being sent to the Mirage.”

  “Of course not,” said Omar with a sigh. “I cannot tell you how to do it. I can give you all the information I can on his resources, his home, and his security. From there, it will be on you to execute it any way you see fit. If you can tell me when your attempt will be, I can draw some of the Watch elsewhere. It will give you time to slip away, and there will not be enough evidence to bring you to trial. Assuming there aren’t any direct witnesses.”

  “Oh, you want the witnesses too?” Quentin bared his teeth in a silent snarl. “I will not hurt anyone who is not a combatant. A man like that must have a full houseful of servants, and I will not -- “

  “Slaves,” Omar interrupted. “Lukas Zervas made his fortune off of slaves.”

  Quentin exhaled sharply. He went ahead and refilled his wine, and then Omar’s. “You know just what to say to get me to cooperate, don’t you?”

  “My apologies, but yes, it’s a talent. I did not become the Supreme Arbiter through my savant gift alone. If you do this, I will give you a chance to free those slaves. With his death, I can guarantee you that his slaves’ debts will go on sale for rock bottom prices. And it just so happens that this job is not to be done without recompense. Accept, and you will get a thousand aquilos to pull this off and pay your men.”

  In truth, the money was almost an insult, but Quentin appreciated what it could do for his people. Shards flowed in every week from a hundred businesses and a thousand people either working for him or paying him tribute. It was a lot, but not enough to turn down enough such a prize.

  “And when I do this, when I kill this Lukas Zervas,” said Quentin, wetting his lips, “How else do you plan on using this to gain control of the senate? What are you not telling me?”

  Omar chuckled again. “The person with the next most seniority is his direct rival, and someone more sympathetic to the needs of the common man. Phelan Reynolds is still a bastard, like most of us, but he understands what hurting our Ramali population will do to the rest of the country. He wants to focus on improving trade alliances and keeping the roads and seas safe.

  “The Dell Archipelago is getting rich off Carolas’ war with Cartinia, and that war’s looking to end soon, one way or another. The road to Bellamoore has become more dangerous, and we’re losing caravans and merchants, and the sea route has always been infested with monsters. Our relative period of peace seems to be over, and it’s time to prepare for things to get rockier.

  “Which is why your work is more important than ever.” Omar lifted his goblet sardonically. “With fall comes the election, and by this time next summer, things are going to change. This is our chance to get ahead of those changes and make sure Orchrisus endures.”

  Quentin nodded, deep in thought. “I’m going to need some time to discuss it with my people and see how we can make it work. Get me the information you have on Zervas and his home, as well as that money, and we’ll get started as fast as we can.”

  “About that…” Omar grimaced and stood. “It needs to be within the next two weeks. After that, he’ll begin campaigning in earnest, and will be a harder target. More than that, he could become a martyr and someone else could carry his torch. This is delicate work, Quentin. And I promise you, there is no one in the world I trust to get this done more than you.”

  With that, Omar took his leave and Quentin took some time to himself to think. During the street war against Christophe, they’d had some grand, successful battles that were decisively won. They raided a number of places and killed countless Warlords, and then they had to do similar once Cicero was killed and the north side turned on itself.

  Experience wasn’t the problem, nor was manpower or willingness to murder bad people. Quentin and his Shades had all of that and more. It was partially the time limit, and partially the increased awareness of long-term consequences. If they did this, it would make a statement, even if they managed to not get credit for it.

  That wasn’t necessarily a bad thing. If he was to become famous for anything, killing a slaver was as good a reason as any. It would certainly end some of the last, lingering traces of resistance. Gods, he really was thinking like a petty tyrant now.

  The Garden remained in full swing, with the screams of laughter and occasional moans and groans matching the music in volume and passion. Everywhere he went, hands went up to wave at him or salute. As he searched for either of his partners, he was struck at just how many Ramali women and men they had working for them.

  They were more likely to be his Shades than the Night Flowers, but there were still a few dark skinned, dark haired men and women entertaining the city’s newly growing middle class. Would this assassination help them more than it would hurt? Or would doing nothing be even worse?

  Nothing was clear anymore, but at no point did it ever feel like it wasn’t worth it. Absorbing the love and energy of the nightly party always lifted Quentin’s spirits, even when he wasn’t feeling particularly festive. He’d helped build all of this, and it was his responsibility. If he could successfully pull this off, maybe it would make them look even stronger, a crew worthy of fear and capable of bold action.

  He needed to know what Jonas thought about the attack. He needed Razia’s enthusiasm, and Isa…Well, her special brand of pessimism was probably exactly what he needed. Quentin headed straight for their building, where they still lived and worked without needing to share like some of the new girls.

  He found her in her room with a drink of her own, talking to Lucy on the bed with her back to him. With a grin, he came up behind her and wrapped his arms around her. She tensed, but only for a second.

  “You’re lucky I didn’t gouge your eyes out,” she said, looking over her shoulder at him.

  “I would’ve just grown them back. How are you doing tonight, Lucy? How are your studies going?”

  Lucy’s bright blue eyes lit up. “It’s difficult, but I’m working with Salim every other night. I never thought I’d become a physician, but it’s like nothing I’ve done before! He told me you used to be a good surgeon.”

  Quentin feigned an agonized groan. “He’ll never let me live it down. I was never meant to be a surgeon. It would’ve been nice, but I found who I am. I’m glad this is good for you, though. Have the books been helping?”

  She nodded enthusiastically. “The Grey Grimoire is really hard to read, and I need a special glass to see the words clearly, but the pictures are incredible. And really gross.”

  He barked out laughter. “They are at that. Do you mind giving me a moment alone with Isa?”

  Lucy slid off the bed, saying, “Of course. Two rounds, huh Mr. Q?” She clicked her tongue and laughed at his resigned sigh.

  Isa turned, raising an eyebrow. “I’m not good for another round until we clean up. What did the Supreme Arbiter want?”

  Quentin didn’t beat around the bush. “He wants me to kill someone. Tomorrow, I want to talk to you, Razia, and Jonas about how we’re going to pull it off.”

  Her reaction was as fast as it was expected: she narrowed her eyes at him. “And who, may I ask, is worthy of a personal murder from the great Quentin Quintius? Who the hell would the Arbiter deem personally worthy of demanding you kill?”

  “You ever heard of Lukas Zervas?”

  Her dark, suspicious eyes lit up with uncharacteristic joy. “You’re serious? Gods yes, let’s do it! Let’s kill the bastard and piss on his ashes.”

  Of course she would know who he was. With her tacit approval and enthusiasm, it looked like he wouldn’t have any reluctance or resistance among his inner circle. It looked like they were going to kill an Orchrisan senator, and dare the world to do something about it.