The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1)

by D. K. Holmberg

  Lanterns that lined the walls weren’t really necessary. They gave off a bright and almost cheery light, adding to the shafts of sunlight streaming along the walls.

  That wasn’t even the part of it that surprised him the most.

  The smell was different.

  In Volthan, the prison had a stench, though it was one of the mass of men. The stench of sweat permeated the prison, the unwashed prisoners giving it an odor. It still was nothing like what he’d known in Declan.

  In hindsight, Declan was the scent of death.

  He hadn’t known the death would be his, or that it would be a slow death, only that it would be death. Some of it might have come from those prisoners punished and sentenced to death like him. He imagined the fear lending a particular odor to the prison. Other aspects of the stench seemed like that of rot. A stink that Finn hadn’t been able to pinpoint, nor had he really wanted to. All he’d wanted was to ignore it.

  The debtor’s prison just didn’t stink.

  “What is it?” Master Meyer asked.

  “Nothing.”

  “Each prison is different.”

  “I know.”

  “Do you?”

  Finn nodded.

  “How many different prisons have you been a part of?”

  “Volthan and Declan.”

  “Volthan can be unpleasant. I suspect you were assigned to a chain?”

  Finn nodded, wondering if Meyer remembered being the one to sentence him to that fate. Probably not. He must sentence hundreds each year. Hard to remember one more boy.

  “Not a bad punishment, though I doubt it changes many men’s minds. It’s not something those who are sentenced to it fear.”

  Finn could only shrug. The executioner was right. Most on the chain gang he served under hadn’t reformed. Finn knew many of them had immediately returned to their crews, though it wasn’t as if they had many options when they were let out. Most who’d been caught had done what they thought they had to to get by. Finn knew that he had.

  The executioner turned along the hall, taking a side corridor.

  “Do you have to let anyone know that you’re here?”

  “Do you think I should?”

  “I don’t really know. Do they care that you’re here alone?”

  Meyer turned to him. “As master executioner in the city, I’m in charge of all the prisons. One aspect of my job is that I’m responsible for all sentencing. That can be big and small. Most know only about the big.”

  “The Gallows Festivals.”

  The executioner’s face soured at the term. “If you must call it that.”

  “What would you rather me call it?”

  “A sentencing. That is what you must begin to refer to it as. Each prisoner is given a sentencing. Yours was the rope. I can’t change that—”

  “Only, you did.”

  “Yes. Well, in your case I did, but that is the exception. I invoked my right.”

  “Why?”

  It was the question Finn had been wondering about ever since he’d been saved from death. Why him? Why would the executioner have been willing to protect him? Finn didn’t feel as if he deserved that saving. Though he didn’t think he deserved the punishment they’d given him.

  “It doesn’t matter.” The executioner continued on through the hall. “You’ll find that some of the prisoners require additional questioning. Most can be questioned by inquisitors, though some must be questioned by those with more experience. And authority.”

  “You mean there are those who must be tortured.”

  “Interrogated. I would rather question and release than put the city at risk by releasing someone who might commit another crime against the crown.”

  They stopped at a cell. Meyer pulled his keys out and slipped one into the lock of the cell.

  “You don’t need any guards with you?”

  “Do you think we need them here?”

  Finn looked along the hall. This hall was as well-lit as the other parts of the prison. No sunlight came through there, though there were still lanterns lining the hall, giving off much more pleasant light than he had seen at any time in Declan. There wasn’t the sound of anyone calling out. No shouts like there had been in Declan. Not even the ongoing gossiping that he’d heard in Volthan.

  “I guess not.”

  Meyer jingled the keys again and pulled the door open.

  Finn looked past him. The man inside the cell was dark-haired and had a massive belly. He looked over at the executioner with annoyance.

  “You here to release me?”

  “Not release. You are Jon Habrans?”

  “You know I am, or you wouldn’t have asked. Who are you two?”

  “I am Master Meyer.” Jon immediately tensed. He recognized the name of the executioner. Before his sentencing, Finn didn’t think that he would have recognized him. Would it have mattered had he heard the executioner’s name? “I am here to ask you a few questions.”

  “I told the Archers the truth. You can just go to them. You don’t have to do anything to me.”

  “My notes from the Archers are incomplete. I would like to ask a few clarifying questions.” He motioned for Jon to take a seat. Finn hadn’t noticed that Jon had a small cot, much like the one that he’d been given in Declan after he’d been condemned. Jon took a seat. He was a large man, and the mattress bowed slightly under his weight. “You stand accused of stealing twenty fils from Mistress Krell. Is that true?”

  Finn looked over at Meyer. That was what this was about? Twenty fils? Finn could steal twenty fils in a single swipe if he targeted the right person. How could they be concerned about such a small sum?

  “I told them that I’d pay it back. You understand that I can pay that back, Master Meyer. You don’t need to—”

  “The crown demands that I obtain the answers. Do you deny that you took twenty fils?”

  Jon hesitated, but only a moment. Finally, he shook his head. “I don’t deny it.”

  Finn could have practically seen his mind working as he’d tried to decide how he would answer. On the one hand, admitting to stealing meant a certain punishment. Depending on the amount, and any history of the same, the punishment could be severe. On the other hand, admitting anything to the executioner seemed like a bad idea.

  “Would you confess the reason behind your violating the trust of Mistress Krell?”

  Jon licked his lips and ran meaty hands through thinning hair. A bead of sweat had already started to form on his brow, and he wiped it away. “I… I suppose I don’t have a good reason, Master Meyer. She’d forgotten about the difference, or so I’d thought.”

  “When she called it to your attention…”

  “I should have paid her what she was owed.” He bent his head forward.

  It was a good act. Finn had seen better.

  Meyer nodded slowly, as if he bought what Jon was selling. Knowing when someone lied was something his time working with Oscar had given him. Maybe despite all the time that Master Meyer spent around criminals, he still didn’t have that ability.

  “I will pass on what I’ve uncovered to the magister. When he suggests his sentencing, pray that he’s merciful.”

  Jon bobbed his head low.

  Was that a smirk on his face?

  It was enough for Finn to almost laugh. Almost. Were he to do so, he thought he would disrupt the sanctity of this visit.

  “I’ve been praying the entire time I’ve been here, Master Meyer. The gods have to listen to me eventually.”

  Meyer motioned for Finn to move, and they left the cell, locking it behind them. The door was different from the cells within Declan. Solid wood with iron running along its length for reinforcement; Finn doubted even that much was needed in the debtor’s prison. There probably weren’t all that many attempting to break out of it.

  “Come along. We have a few more to visit before we pass on the information to the magister.”

  “You actually do?”

  Meyer fro
wned at him. “It is my responsibility to acquire as much information about the innocence or guilt of those imprisoned within the king’s prisons. As lead inquisitor, I am ultimately responsible for ensuring the appropriate questioning of those within our control.”

  He made his way down the hall, and Finn hurried to keep up. “Did you believe him?”

  Meyer held his gaze a moment. “Did you?”

  Finn shook his head. “I’ve seen better acting in street theater. He wanted you to think he was contrite, but I didn’t have the feeling from him that he was.”

  “You would trust your feeling?”

  Finn shrugged. “I trust that I’ve seen men like him before. Not that he’s lying about all that much money, but—”

  “The twenty fils was more than Mistress Krell made in two months’ time doing honest work. What do you think of how much he took from her now?” Finn said nothing. “What if I told you it was more than she made in a year’s work?”

  “I’d think that she needed a better job,” Finn muttered.

  The executioner stared at him. “That may be, but it doesn’t change that he took what amounted to a fortune to her. The actual value matters little, neither to me nor in the eyes of the law. What matters is the one he wronged.”

  “And you coming here did what?”

  “It gave him a chance to be honest with his intentions. That he did not…”

  “You knew?”

  Master Meyer frowned. “I have been at my job for the better part of three decades. In that time, I’ve interviewed hundreds of condemned, thousands of common criminals like Jon Habrans. I have come to know the difference between a man who feels remorse and one who does not. You will learn to identify the same. Knowing a con and knowing the emotion behind it are different.” Meyer regarded Finn a moment. “It’s likely that he feels the way you do—that he only took a small amount of coin, so there was no harm in it. Ask Mistress Krell about the harm she sustained. I’m sure she will tell a different story.”

  Finn shouldn’t be surprised that Meyer had known the act, though he was surprised by the passion in the way he spoke. He cared about his job.

  He might have been assigned to work with him, but there wasn’t any way that he’d ever be able to care for what he would have to do the way Master Meyer did. If he couldn’t, did that mean Meyer would recognize it? Would he report that to the king when he visited?

  Finn would have to be a much better actor to convince him if he wanted to live. Either that or make a run for it. Before he did, he wanted to visit his sister and mother, maybe even tell them why he had to leave so they understood.

  Meyer waited for him at the end of the hall, watching him. Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that Meyer knew his thoughts.

  The streets were quiet. Finn glanced around him, feeling self-conscious, not only in how he was dressed but also worried that Meyer had followed him. After visiting another prison—this one Gayel’s Prison for women—Finn had wanted to be out in the open. Maybe it was nothing more than thinking about the way that his father must feel trapped the way he was, or maybe it was the anger he saw in everyone’s eyes within the prison, as if he were the one responsible for what had happened to them, despite how Meyer was the one who kept them imprisoned, not him.

  A steady wind blew, carrying a cold chill to it. The Sinner’s Cloth wasn’t warm enough for the weather. He supposed that he could ask Meyer for warmer clothing, a cloak or something like it, but he also supposed this was all part of a test.

  Returning to the crew pulled on him, but he couldn’t do that. Yet.

  First, prove he could stay with Meyer. That meant convincing him—and King Porman.

  He could visit his home and check on his mother. Meyer would understand.

  When he reached his family home, he raised his hand as if to knock before shaking his head and muttering to himself about how stupid he’d been.

  The air inside the home had a medicinal odor to it that covered something else. Something worse. The time in the prisons had been just as bad, though in a different way. What he smelled now was foul and unpleasant.

  What had Lena been offering our mother these days?

  Finn headed toward the small room at the back of the home and pressed the door open, looking inside.

  His mother lay atop the sheets, a thin gown all that covered her. Her pale skin seemed to glisten with a faint sheen of sweat, though the air in the home was cool. A mug rested on the table next to her, along with a tray of half-eaten food. Most of it looked like scraps. Nothing more than that.

  When was the last time that she’d eaten anything of substance?

  Finn pulled a chair over to sit next to her. Though she rested comfortably, a faint tremor persisted in her hands. She gripped the sheets on either side of her, fists balled up, and the fabric squeezed into them.

  He touched her arm softly. It was damp and warm. The moment that he touched her, he felt the tension within her arms.

  “Easy, Mother,” he whispered.

  She could feed herself, or had been able to, though she hadn’t spoken in months. She hadn’t walked in years.

  Turning to the tray next to her, he lifted the mug and sniffed it. The liquid was a greenish-brown and had a strange spicy aroma to it. The temptation to sip it to see what his sister had been giving his mother came to him.

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Lena said.

  Finn looked over. “You’re here.”

  “I’m here. Where did you think I’d be?”

  Finn turned back to his mother. “I didn’t know. It was late enough that I thought you’d be here, but since you got your job…”

  “Yes. My job.” She grabbed a chair from near the wall and dragged it over to sit next to him. “What are you doing here?”

  “I wanted to see how you were doing. How she was doing.”

  “The same as she’s been the last month. Worse than she’d been the month before. She’s getting worse, Finn.”

  “I know. I wish there was something we could do. I know Father wanted to help her.”

  Lena’s brow darkened. “He tried, but he couldn’t help her, could he?”

  “You know he did everything that he could.”

  “The same way that you did everything you could.”

  Finn breathed out. He had no idea if Lena knew what had happened to him, but with her accusation, he didn’t think so. She didn’t even seem to notice how he was dressed. “I’m going to find a way to help,” he said to her.

  She looked tired, and she frowned at him before shaking her head.

  “Did you bring more coin?”

  Finn looked over. “I didn’t think you cared for my way of acquiring it.”

  “I don’t. You’re going to end up just like Father.” Finn tensed, waiting for her to mention the Gallows Festival. “If she ever does come around, it’s going to kill her.”

  Finn thought they were probably beyond that now. As he looked at his mother, he couldn’t imagine what a physician would be able to offer to her, if anything. She didn’t come around, she didn’t eat anything more than what Lena poured into her throat, and she continued to grow weaker. Eventually, she would waste away.

  “I don’t have anything more.”

  “You don’t? I thought…” She let out a long sigh. “I guess it doesn’t matter.”

  Finn looked down at the mug. “What is this?”

  “I tried something different.”

  “A different apothecary?”

  She looked up, defiance in her eyes. “No.”

  “Not an apothecary?” He brought the mug up to his nose. The strange smell lingered in his nostrils. If it wasn’t an apothecary, there was only one place where she’d get something like this. “Lena! You know how Mother felt about the hegen. The gods only know what they put into their magic—and what it will take from her.”

  Lena glared at him before it softened. “I know how she told us she felt, but I also know that she would have wanted to live were she given
a chance. And it’s not her who pays the price.”

  Finn shot her a look before holding the mug up to his nostrils. The hegen used their strange kind of magic, though most claimed it was barely effective. Finn didn’t know if it would even do anything. At this point, it was possible that anything that she might give their mother wouldn’t change anything for her, anyway.

  “What is it?”

  “You’re not mad?”

  Finn sighed. “I don’t know that I get to be mad about this. You’re the one who’s been sitting with her most days.” He should have been there for her. For them both. “What is it?”

  Lena took the mug from him and started to swirl it around. “It’s an elixir they gave me. I had to describe her symptoms to the hegen healer, and then they made a specific compound.”

  “What was the price?” When it came to the hegen, there was always a price. Most of the time, it was money. There were times when they required something more. That was what Finn feared.

  “Three fils. That’s it.”

  Finn thought about visiting the prison with Master Meyer and the man who’d stolen twenty fils. That had been a lot of money for the woman he’d stolen it from. Twenty would be a prize to Lena as well. But that wasn’t the only fee the hegen would require.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” Lena said. “She keeps getting worse. I’ve tried to be patient. I know that’s what you would want—”

  “I want her to get better too.”

  “Would you have done it?”

  Finn closed his eyes. It had been so long since he’d had his mother with him that he didn’t know. Everything that he’d done, the entire course of his life, had been tied into the illness that consumed her. It had changed everything for him. First with the way that his father had gone away from the honorable work he had done as an assistant to one of the local cartwrights, and then leading Finn to follow him, to beg Oscar to work with him. To teach him. The Hand hadn’t needed that much coaxing.

  “I did what I had to do to help her, so I suppose it only makes sense that you’ve done the same.”

  Lena watched him. “I won’t go back if you don’t want me to.”