The Accidental Pimp

More than most people, Quentin knew the gods were real, and felt their touch on the world. After a lifetime of denying it, he'd come face to face with the Darkstar herself, who had blessed him with life and healing at the cost of his mother. It was a price she paid willingly for her child, but the knowledge still broke his heart when he thought about it for too long.

Today of all days reminded him of that week-long span of death, and the vision of Orchrisus that belonged to the dead, lingering in the goddess' half of the world. It had passed in just a few hours for him, but it had given him the answers to his questions, and then further questions he didn't like to think about.

And after that, the Darkstar had offered him a job. A role as her right hand man on Carlossa, empowered and blessed even further to help carry out his duties as her champion. Quentin politely refused. And to this day, he meant it. It didn't stop him from thinking about it, nor the warning of things to come.

Now, the Pierced Heart's newest miracle. When it happened, Quentin checked out the courtyard the same as everyone else. It gave off the same feeling of power and presence that still haunted him from his resurrection. He'd begged off for a while, and went back to his house to try to distract himself with an old favorite book.

Try being the operative word. After rereading the same page five times without remembering any of it, Quentin set the book down on the nearby table and flopped over onto the lounger couch. The new plants wrapped their way around the columns in the atrium and spread across the ceiling. Another year and they would overtake everything except the skylight. They were a sign of how far his crypt of a home had come. Things kept escalating, but more than ever, Quentin lived and loved it.

Most of the time.

This new miracle gave others hope. But all Quentin could feel was a vague sense of doom, like the sands of a full hourglass, slowly trickling time away. It was a stupid, pointless fear, but it hounded him.

Footsteps shook him from his thoughts. He raised up to see Isa stomping her way over, a sharp scowl on her severe face.

"Did something happen?" he asked, sitting back up.

"That bitch from the Temple is back, and she's giving us shit for having another miracle. Razia's dealing with it, but she's threatening us. Says if we don't behave and keep our noses clean, the Temple's going to brand us heretics and let fanatics kill us." Isa's fists balled up, and she shook with anger.

Quentin stood and made to go out, but Isa caught him by the arm.

"Razia said to let her handle it. Now, I don't give a shit what she wants, but I thought I'd pass along that message, at least. I personally think you should go out and we should all tell them to eat shit."

The Darkstar's face appeared in his head again, and he thought of her offer. Frowning, Quetin shook his head. "I don't think that's wise. We'll wait for now. How are preparations going for tonight?"

Isa rolled her eyes. "I haven't seen to them tonight. With the miracle shit happening, I've spent most of my day keeping people from trying to make off with that fucking statute. I think Jonas and Lucy are handling things."

Quentin nodded thoughtfully. "Tonight's going to be a big one. And I think we should make it as big as possible. Really live it up."

"Why's that?" Isa asked, cocking her head to the side. "Shouldn't we be focused on security and keeping things from getting out of hand?"

Before Quentin had a chance to answer, Razia came in from the garden. She looked disturbed, and Quentin's stomach dropped.

"Maralanna and her goons are gone for now," Razia said, with a visible effort to keep herself collected. "She gave us an offer. If we can stay quiet and not cause trouble, she can work on people and get us officially recognized as part of the Temple. Obviously, this is inconvenient."

Quentin barked out laughter. "That's an understatement. I take it they wouldn't look kind on us murdering a senator. And we don't have much time left. There's only ten days left before our deadline. We still need more information, and to dangle the bait in front of him to even get us close to Zervas."

Isa crossed her arms over her chest and tapped out her impatience on the floor. "I have a few possible volunteers to scout the area tomorrow. Now, tell me why you think going big tonight is a good idea, and not a massive risk."

"We want to show the world a gesture of love, generosity, and excess," he said. Razia's eyes lit up, and he knew that she was on the same page as him. "And then, aside from what we pay our people, all the profits go to the temple as a huge bribe to get them interested in giving us a chance."

"Why Quentin," said Razia, putting her hand on his arm, "you're getting craftier in your old age. That's a fantastic idea, however, Isa isn't wrong about it being a serious risk. Emotions are running pretty hot right now. It wouldn't take much for a brawl to break out in the middle of fun."

Again, his thoughts returned to that night in the Darkstar's company, and how similar the statue of the Pierced Heart had felt. He didn't want to be arrogant or presumptuous, but it seemed like they had the favor of at least two gods, for whatever reason. That didn't necessarily mean anything, but his gut told him it did. And after thirty-one hard years, he'd come to trust that intuition.

"There's risk," Quentin admitted. "But there's always risk in what we do. I don't want to be reactive and conservative. Fortune favors the bold, and I'm willing to act. But if both of you think this is a bad idea, we won't. What do you say?"

Isa and Razia shared a look. There would always be friction between them, but sharing him had forged a stronger bond between them. They more than anyone understood how the business worked, and knew the best and worst of people.

"We'd need to call everyone, and even some of our associates on the street," Isa said, thawing just a little. "We already have too many people around here. If we're doing this, we'd need to shut down part of the Boulevard, and have enough people not getting shitfaced and wild to keep the peace."

"All of that is true," said Razia, "but this could be the perfect time to double up. We can call on the Swints to get their most influential friends to get a private party, where we can keep -- "

Quentin held up a hand. Razia blinked in surprise, but stopped talking.

"We go easy on that. We might have an agenda, but I want it to be an honest party. Invite the Swints and get their friends in on it, sure, but don't work them over. This is our generosity at work. This is us sharing in the blessings from the gods. But it will help get us noticed by Zervas."

Isa smirked, and then laughed. "I know exactly what to do to get noticed by him. I think we can do this."

"What did you have in mind?" Razia asked.

While Razia was usually the ambitious, crafty one, Quentin had to admit that Isa had her moments. The Temple's representative was a complication they didn't need, but it also afforded them an incredible opportunity.

Ten minutes later, they had their plan, their roles, and a use for the shards Omar had paid him for the job. All that remained was sending out the word, and organizing a few hundred people on short notice.

Luckily, parties were what Orchrisus did best. Underneath the darkness and violence of Carlossa's biggest city was a population that thrived under adversity, and channeled all of their pain and frustration into a celebration of life. They were defiant in the face of the harsh environment out to wear down everyone and everything, one tumultuous storm at a time.

By the time night came, it felt like half the north side was there, or nearby on the Boulevard, where Jenna and some others quickly set up a temporary station to help distract some, and drive the bigger spenders to the Garden.

Quentin dressed his best and did his favorite non-violent part of the job: he walked around, shaking hands and urging people on to have fun.

It had been the part of his new life that scared him the most at first. Too many years as the object of suspicion, scorn, and distrust had left their mark. And now it had been nearly half a year of Razia throwing him out to the deep end and trusting he could swim. The funniest part to him was that she'd been right: Quentin excelled at this in the right circumstances.

"Quintius! There he is, our good friend and king of the whores," the silk merchant Hattori crowed as he came by. He was a heavyset Mooran man who wore a robe that matched the stripes of the scythemaws that roamed the jungle between Orchrisus and Bellamoore. It was as ostentatious as it was gorgeous.

"At your service," Quentin replied, pausing to let one of his girls run by, squealing in faux-terror as a naked old man chased after her, sloshing wine everywhere. "Behold my kingdom," he said with a crooked smile.

Hattori burst out laughing and clapped his arm; he was clearly drunk and too short to reach Quentin's shoulder easily. "What're the chances of renting a few of your flowers for a week or longer?"

Quentin smiled thinly. "Brother, you couldn't afford it. Three days is the maximum for a reason. You aren't just renting our time, but our security as well. You want my honest advice?"

"Always," said the fat man, mopping sweat from his brow with a piece of cloth. "Honesty's as valuable as silk, but far more rare."

Quentin made a show of looking around the busy courtyard. "We're expanding all the time. You want to throw a big party? Rent an entire one of our houses for a night or two. If you do that, you'll not only get the most fun, but the most prestige. You don't want a private party, my friend. You want to show off in front of everyone that you are a friend and guest here."

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

Not everything had to be a fight. The best part of trying to convince others to spend their time and money here was that Quentin believed everything he said. Razia had called it one of his greatest strengths. Sharing their vision carried with it a special joy that often eclipsed a good scrap.

"I'll take it under advisement," Hattori said imperiously. "Some of my clients, they like their privacy."

The moonkissed man smiled and shook his head. "There's no anonymity like hiding in plain sight. Anyone seen here shows their taste and lust for life. I'll tell you what: when you rent out one of our houses, the wine will be on us."

Hattori lit up like a firework. "Well now," he said, "that's a hell of an offer. Gimme a few days, and I'm sure we can come together on something."

Quenin bowed his head respectfully, and the man wandered off, calling out as he spotted another familiar face and went to bother them instead.

Seconds later, one of their newer girls, Emily, came up to him and tugged on his toga. "Hey, Mr. Q, Razia told me to tell you that the Swints are here, and Delia's looking for you."

He suppressed a groan, and nodded. "Thanks for the warning. How are you doing?"

Emily looked around, and then shrugged with a grin. "It's a hell of a party. Think this is going to get as out of hand as the Palgrun event?"

"Gods, I hope not. Drink plenty of water, and don't be shy to call for help if you need it."

"If anyone can hear me over all this," Emily muttered. Quentin had to strain to hear her over the music, mania, and mirth, which of course proved her point. She left without another word.

Quentin dipped away to a table and grabbed a bottle of wine. He popped the cork out and drank straight from the bottle, sighing at the feeling of relief from the bittersweet vintage. Big events were always better with a drink in hand, and it kept him looking festive and fun, instead of brooding and worried.

He made a stop at every one of their houses in the square, popping in to each main room filled with revelers in various states of undress and debauchery. Plenty of people played in the open, but there were still a few closed doors where private parties took place. More importantly, each house was packed to capacity and then some.

They'd called on every employee they had for this one, Shades and Nightflowers alike, including many of their associates on the street who were all too happy to get paid to party and join in the celebration.

To his surprise, his father showed up as well. Quirrinel Quintius was perpetually astonished at the change in his son's life, and he wandered in with the same faraway, dazed look in his eyes, like a kid seeing unlimited candy. He caught Quentin once he returned to the courtyard.

"Hey Dad," Quentin said, reaching out. His father clasped him by the wrist and then pulled him in for a brief hug.

"This is bigger than it's ever been, isn't it?" Quirrinel shouted over the din, looking around wildly. They had quickly constructed a temporary stage in front of the statue of the Pierced Heart, and a live band played just outside it. Their real job was yet to come.

"It is," Quentin confirmed, "and it's only going to get better. I expect this one to last until sunset. Anything I can get you?"

Quirrinel flushed and looked away, the way he did each time. The man wasn't a prude, but Quentin liked to think he understood how awkward it must be to ask your son for a companion for the night. There'd never been anyone for him after Sofia, but all men grew lonely now and then.

"Dad, don't worry about it," Quentin said, throwing his arm over the man's shoulders. He turned them around and gestured with the wine bottle towards each house. "You know you'll get whatever you want here. If you're not in the mood for anything in particular, we've got something special planned tonight."

"More special than a miracle?" he asked, cocking a brow.

"Depends on how you look at it," said Quentin, "but I'm confident that we're going to satisfy, either way. We always do."

A waving hand in the crowd caught his attention. Razia stood near the stage, and when Quentin looked over, she jerked a thumb behind her. Quentin nodded. It was almost time for the main event.

"Get yourself a drink, and wait here. We're putting on a show soon. One that's going to change Orchrisus…"

Quirrinel looked thoughtful, but didn't argue. Quentin patted him and pushed his pay through the crowd to get to Razia. "Everyone in position?"

"Almost," she said. "Isa's got the crew ready, but we're waiting for Kavan to bring in a mutual friend of Zervas and him to watch."

Quentin smiled. There was always a chance that their presentation wouldn't do anything, but there was joy in the attempt. Either tonight would bring them closer to their goal of assassinating Zervas, or it would be a good time for all. If it was both, all the better.

"Then let's get it done. I'll wait a few minutes and give the announcement."

Razia nodded, then grabbed him by the front of his stole and kissed him. He savored it, and then let her go get the other part of their scheme going.

To kill time, he circled the courtyard once more and checked with all the guards, making sure they were sober and paying attention. One man reeked of booze, and Quentin sent him home with his tail tucked between his legs. He stopped to send a young Mooran woman to go find his father and both bring him back to the courtyard, and to cling to him for the night.

Finally, he spotted Isa, who led a train of Ramali Nightflowers to the stage. They were dressed in their finest colorful silks, barely concealing their dark, mostly slender bodies. Quentin went to the band and made a cutting motion at his neck. They stopped playing, save for one man who played a long, trilling sound on their horn to get the crowd's attention. It took a few blasts, but the undercurrent of conversation died down to a dull roar.

"Ladies and gentlemen, citizens of Orchrisus," Quentin called out. It was hard, as his voice was naturally soft and not great at force or volume, but he stood a head taller than most of the people there, and he stood in the center of the stage, making him easy to spot.

"Thank you for coming to our celebration of the Pierced Heart, and sharing in our worship. We were blessed with the presence of the god themself, and it is something we take seriously. Every night, we celebrate the god of pain and goddess of sex, intermingling their disciplines the best way we can.

"And now, tonight, to honor Dolas, we have a special showing from our Ramali flowers. They wish to perform a traditional rite of theirs, called the Dance of Life. So join me in a round of applause, and enjoy!"

He clapped his hands together, and others joined in, albeit half-heartedly. Few people wanted to stop what they were doing, but most knew that whatever it was, they were in for a treat. Quentin stepped off the stage, making room for Isa and a dozen of her compatriots. Most were women, but there were three men dressed similarly, with bare midriffs and silks in a revealing, feminine style.

Isa proudly stood at the front, and motioned for the band to start playing. Strings, flutes, and horns started up a slow, mournful tune as the dancers spread out, forming a circle facing outward. They remained still, until the drummer joined in with a slow, pulse-pounding beat Quentin felt in his chest.

Isa clapped her hands together, and the sound echoed in the hot night. She turned a gentle circle, and one by one the others in the circle followed, just a few seconds off from one another. The strings wailed, and the dancers continued their slow revolution until Isa faced forward once more. Her hands remained steepled together, until the metallic rattle of a riq sent her into sudden motion.

With her hands now above her head, she moved the center of her body, rolling her stomach around in tight circles while the rest of her body remained steady and unmoving. One by one, her backup dancers shadowed her until the entire group wiggled.

Isa took a step sideways, still rolling her exposed belly, and the entire stage rotated with her. The music picked up speed, and so did they, taking tiny steps in time with the beat, while their bodies rolled with the melody. Opening her mouth, the dusk-girl let out a wordless cry, ululating with grief and joy together, and the others joined her and beseeched the night.

Quentin watched, rapt with attention. He'd seen this only once before, as a child. His parents had taken him to a festival on the Boulevard, and a troupe of Ramali nomads had performed for spare shards. When faced with the choice of giving them his few qala pieces in honor or getting himself a honey bun, he'd chosen to forgo the sticky treat in favor of showing his respect.

Although they had an agenda, he felt no different this time. His lover spun and gyrated to the music while her shadows followed, turning around the stage faster and faster now.

Once Isa was back in the center, she pulled on her top, and the silks came undone. She never stopped moving though, and as she exposed her breasts to the world, so did the other Ramali men and women, pausing only to throw their silks in a pile in the center.

Even if no one else cared for it, Quentin did. They were all so beautiful, growing more so with their chaotic movements and increasing nudity. The dance continued until they were all down to just a wrap giving them just a hint of modesty. The band played harder than ever, reaching a fever pitch until the first of the dancers collapsed.

She was a young woman, still a teen but old enough to work at the Moonlit Garden. With a strangled cry, she fell into a sweaty heap among the silks. For the first time since the dance started, someone from the crowd howled their approval and respect.

And another joined in, and another, until the voices of the performers and the audience mingled together into a cacophony of fire and earth, the passion of summer distilled into an act of mutual worship.

One by one, the dances fell into the pile, just far enough out of the way to not impede the whirling dancers, losing themselves in their art. They continued until it was only Isa, still spinning and howling, hair and sweat flying with the effort.

The music cut out, but Isa kept going. Her voice rose until it broke the night, and she too let herself drop, in the same center position that she'd started in.

Then, all was silent, until the sky roared, and the first few drops of rain fell in the courtyard.

It came slowly at first, and then it poured as only a sudden summer storm could. Quentin spread his arms and laughed. Even if no one else noticed, it felt like the gods did, like the Pierced Heart themself was watching and approved wholeheartedly.

His laughter broke the silence, and others screamed their praises and joy. The dancers remained where they were, catching their breath, but Isa raised up enough to look around with a satisfied smile.

Before he knew it, Quentin was swarmed by members of the audience. Merchants, priests, arbiters, and senators. Only the most important and visible people of the city got to enjoy that show. And with any luck, they would talk. The Moonlit Garden wasn't notable for their Ramali flowers, but maybe now they would be.

And if having a handful of beautiful Ramali on call wasn't enough, then their little act of worship would get Zervas' attention. It wasn't enough to just get his attention, they needed his curiosity and pettiness. Maybe this would do it, maybe not.

Quentin pushed past his admirers and offered his hand to Isa, who lounged there with a satisfied smile. Her slender, toned body pleased him, as did her enthusiasm for their plot.

"How'd I do?" Isa asked, taking his hand and climbing to her feet. Thunder crackled, and the rain fell in buckets, warm but still cooler than the summer night.

"The bastard won't be able to resist the bait," said Quentin, smiling.

"Then by this time next week, we'll be celebrating his death. But…" She faltered, and looked over her shoulder at the statue. Its arms remained outstretched to the heavens, like it welcomed the rain. "I would like to do this again. I felt Them, this entire time. They watched, and I think They know what we have planned."

A knot formed in Quentin's stomach. "And?"

Isa grinned fiercely. "I think They're not opposed to a bit of pain and suffering in the name of love."

Quentin took a deep breath, and stared at the statue. That feeling of doom from earlier remained, but maybe…

Maybe it wasn't their doom.

He took Isa in his arms, and under the pouring rain, in the middle of the biggest party they'd ever thrown, they danced together.