Capture, then torture and nearly dying, and now apprenticed.
All while they were free pulling jobs without him.
They were his crew. His family, in a way. Only, it didn’t feel that way now.
“Now that we have Shuffles plugged into the system, we might be able to expedite some of our plans. What do you say, Shuffles?”
Finn looked down at his mug, sipping at it. “I’m not sure I can be of much use. He doesn’t let me do a whole lot. Mostly errands.”
“Errands for now, but in time he will pull you into more. If you’re to be his apprentice, then you’ll get dragged into inquisitions. Imagine the kind of things we can learn.” The King glanced over to Wolf. “With enough notice, we might even get the jump on things.”
Finn continued to look down at his mug. “It might be a while,” Finn said. “I get the sense that he is bringing me along slowly. Chores, mostly. I did get to learn how he oils his sword.” He said the last with a hint of a laugh.
Wolf leaned forward. “You saw Justice? What was it like?”
“What was it like?” the King asked. “It’s a damn sword. What do you expect to be like?”
“It’s not just a sword,” Wolf said. “Justice has been part of Verendal for centuries. At one point, the blade supposedly was used by Harold the Just—where the sword truly got its name—when he defended the city from the attack of Alainsith. It’s because of that blade the magic in the forest outside the city stops there rather than squeezing us here.”
“The executioner wouldn’t have a sword like that.”
Wolf shrugged. “I’m just telling you the stories I’ve heard. Of course, a blade like that is bound to have stories told about it. Think about how many men it’s killed over the years.”
“And women,” Annie said.
The King laughed softly. “Not too many women get the honorable death, though.”
“There have been a few.”
“Name one,” the King said.
“Rebecca the Seamstress.”
“You’re making that up,” Oscar said.
The longer Finn sat there, the more Oscar started to come around, but he still looked at Finn, watching him as if there was something more troubling that he feared to share.
“I’m not making it up. Rebecca the Seamstress was one of the oldest tavern owners. Do you know why they called her the Seamstress?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell us,” Wolf said.
“They called her the Seamstress because she used to cut parts off of her victims and stitch them together.”
Wolf frowned. “Somebody like that wouldn’t be given the sword.”
“They would if they were nobility.” Annie got up, and she tapped the table, looking over at Finn. “I’m glad you were given a second chance, Finn.”
She headed away, and Finn watched her as she disappeared to the back of the tavern and then behind the door leading into the kitchen.
The King and Wolf continued their conversation, and Finn listened, though only halfheartedly. He drank from his ale, and realized that the two of them were discussing another job.
“Think about it, Wolf. With Shuffles here, we might even get details we weren’t able to before.” He glanced over to Finn. “Hell, he might even know the layout of the palace.”
His memory of the palace was vague, little more than a snippet of it. He didn’t want to reveal to them that he’d been too nervous to pay much attention to what he’d seen in the palace. Oscar or Wolf probably would have taken details of the layout, and would have been able to determine just how many Archers were stationed around the yard, and would have known the dimensions of the garden just by walking through there.
The longer he sat there, the more he began to question if he should even be here.
Meyer would be angry.
But he’d needed the crew to know he was alive. And safe.
Finn finished his ale and got to his feet. “I had better get back to Master Meyer.”
The King regarded him with a smile. “You’re coming back, right? Not leaving us to worry about you for another few weeks?”
“I'll come back when I can.”
The King tapped the table, turning to Wolf and chuckling as if there had never been any doubt.
When he reached the door, Oscar joined him. He leaned in closer. “You don’t have to come back,” he whispered.
“These are my friends.”
“This was your crew,” Oscar said, as if that was different. “Use this chance that you’ve been given. Take advantage of it. I know it’s not what you wanted, but…” Oscar looked up, meeting his gaze. “It’s the kind of chance your father would’ve wanted for you.”
Finn frowned. “My father wouldn’t have wanted that for me. He wanted me to find something more than he ever could do.” He didn’t tell Oscar that his father had wanted him to be honorable. He didn’t need to.
“Trust me, Finn. Your father would want this for you.”
Finn stepped out of the Wenderwolf when somebody grabbed him by the shoulder. He spun, tensing immediately.
Rock stood behind him. His normally smiling face was pinched, and his wide eyes squinted as they looked at Finn. His jacket was stained with what Finn hoped was ale and not blood, and a dark bruise shadowed one cheek.
“Why didn’t you come sooner?” There was hurt in Rock’s voice.
Finn glanced behind him, looking to the tavern for a moment before turning his attention back to Rock. “I didn’t have a chance. I couldn’t get away before tonight.”
“Are you back, then?”
Finn looked to the open door of the tavern where he could see Oscar’s back. It seemed to him that Oscar listened. “In the crew? Not for a while. That doesn’t mean we can’t talk over ale.”
Rock let out a heavy sigh. “I guess that’ll have to do. You’ll have stories, I bet.” He punched Finn in the shoulder. “I don’t know what happened other than what Wolf told me. The King doesn’t want to talk about it. I think it bothered him when you got pinched.”
Finn wasn’t so sure about that. “I’m sure what Wolf told you is true. When I got caught, I was sentenced to hang, and the executioner saved me.”
“So you’re with him now?”
Finn had gotten to know Rock as well as any on the crew in the time he’d been working with them. Oscar was his oldest friend, but Rock…
Rock was Finn’s friend, not just someone who felt he owed Finn’s father a favor.
“I have to be. If I don’t stay with him, then I end up back on the Stone.”
“We could protect you. We are your crew, after all.” Rock spread his hands to either side, and he shrugged. “I’m sure the King has ways of keeping you safe. We can figure it out as a crew.”
What did it mean that Oscar wanted him to stay away, but Rock wanted him back?
Finn started to nod, but he already began thinking about what Master Meyer might say if he heard Finn talking this way. “I can’t do that to the crew.”
“You wouldn’t be doing anything.”
Finn looked to the door. “The King wouldn’t want the heat me hiding out here would bring. It’s better this way for now. I’ll come around like I said. Besides, I still need to hear how you nearly got pinched.”
Rock’s face clouded. “Damn thing. For something stupid, too. Fucking Client wanted a bowl and some jewelry—”
“A bowl?” Finn asked. How many could the Client want?
Rock nodded. “I think he’s a collector. They’re not gold or nothing, so I can’t see how he’d sell them, but the King says they’re valuable to the right person. Gods if I know why. Don’t care, either. The last job paid ten drebs.”
“You got it, then?”
Rock nodded. “We got it. Well, Wolf did. That bastard can be sneaky, you know.” He glanced behind him before turning his attention back to Finn. “I’m glad you didn’t hang, Shuffles. Gods, but you’re the only one on this crew I couldn’t stand to lose.” He releas
ed Finn’s shoulder, and a smile spread across his face. “I hope you plan on coming back tomorrow.”
“I hope so. I have more flexibility now. I had to prove myself first.”
“Sort of like with our crew.”
Finn glanced to the door. “Something like that. Although, I wonder if Master Meyer is even harder to please than the King.”
Rock chuckled, and he took a step back, holding his hand on the door. “Tomorrow, then.”
Finn nodded. “Tomorrow.”
As he headed out into the night, leaving the crew, he felt conflicted. When Meyer had saved him, Finn quickly understood that he had to serve, but coming back to the Wenderwolf made it harder for him to know the right thing to do.
He had friends in the crew, and he didn’t want to let them down.
But another emotion crept in.
Meyer had saved him. Finn didn’t want to let the executioner down, either.
Chapter Fourteen
Finn didn’t sleep well.
The poor sleep reminded him of how badly he’d slept while in the prison, though he didn’t know why that should be. He tossed and turned, dreams drifting to him, flashes of memories of his father, mother, and sister. They were happier in all of them.
When he came awake, he looked around the small room, remembering where he was.
This would be his fate now.
Finn sighed and got dressed before heading out into the small house. It was dark, early enough that it seemed Master Meyer still slept.
His first task was to get clothes.
That was what Meyer had asked of him, though he didn’t know if it was too early to visit the tailor. Most shops wouldn’t be open quite this early. Instead, when Finn reached the kitchen, he decided that he could be responsible for breakfast again. He might as well start the day off on the right foot.
Not just the day. The apprenticeship.
He sorted through the cabinets, found a pan, set it on the stove, and got a fire going and the pan hot. Scooping some lard, he let it sizzle in the pan, the smell pleasing. When it was hot enough, he cracked the first of the eggs and started frying them.
“I expected you to sleep longer,” Meyer said, joining him in the kitchen, fully dressed for the day in his leathers.
Leathers. Did that mean today was an execution day?
“I couldn’t sleep,” Finn admitted.
“Does that have anything to do with where you went after we parted last night?”
Finn glanced toward him.
How much did Meyer know?
Probably nothing. He was intuitive. Finn had seen that in the time that he’d been working with him. It didn’t take much for Meyer to guess what prisoners—and now Finn—were up to.
It was the reason he had to be careful with Meyer.
“I didn’t do anything that would dishonor you.”
“That wasn’t the question.”
“I don’t know,” Finn said. He flipped the first of the eggs. Something was comforting about cooking. The smells, mostly. When standing in front of the stove with a hot pan, the smells were his favorite part.
“You went back to your crew.”
He didn’t look back at him. “You knew?”
“I suspected you would. How did it feel?”
Finn stared at the eggs. At least with him cooking, the eggs wouldn’t be burned the way they’d been when Meyer had cooked them. Finn scooped three eggs off the pan and set them on a plate, handing it to Meyer. “Off.”
Taking the rest of the eggs for himself, he sat across from Meyer and ate slowly.
“When a man encounters change, he often finds those who haven’t changed struggle to keep up with him.”
“I haven’t changed.”
“No? Then perhaps I’m mistaken.”
“You kept me from the rope, but how else have I changed?”
Meyer took a big bite and chewed slowly. When he finished, he set his fork down, looking at Finn. “Only you and the gods can know how you’ve changed.”
“You said I had.”
“I said it was likely.”
“Why?”
Meyer sighed. “You were given a chance to leave. At any point over the preceding days, you could have attempted to run. Something inside you kept you here. Why do you think that is?”
“Because I would have been caught and hanged anyway,” he said quickly. Probably too quickly.
Meyer laughed. “Maybe. The Archers were looking for you, but I imagine a thief with your background would have found a way.”
Finn grunted. “I don’t have the background you might think.”
“You are a known associate of the Hand.”
He’d mentioned that before. How much more does Meyer know and not share? “He’s a friend. Not an associate.”
“Is that right? Perhaps that makes it better. Or worse.”
Finn waited for Meyer to ask him more about Oscar, or his crew, but the questions never came.
He ate in silence, and when he was done, he took both his plate and Meyer’s to the basin near the stove and set them there. He imagined he’d be responsible for washing them later.
“I’m going to the tailor,” he said.
Meyer nodded to him. “You can find me back here when you are done.”
“Not the general store?”
“Not yet.”
Heading out, Finn made his way along the streets, moving toward the Verlan section, where Beshear’s was. There weren’t many people out quite yet, though the sun was up, giving off just a hint of warmth, barely enough with the thin fabric he wore.
Shops on either side of the street were far nicer than the ones he’d known when he was younger. Finn stopped at the tailor, looking up at the sign, then toward the window. The clothing visible in the window looked expensive.
This was where Meyer wanted him to come?
He shrugged to himself and knocked on the door of the tailor before pushing it open. A soft bell over the door jingled when he went inside, and Finn looked up at it. The bell was shaped like the bell in Elia Tower, and he smiled at the thought of it ringing so softly.
“How can I help…” The older man who came from the back of the shop frowned when he looked at Finn. He shifted a cloth tape measure around his shoulder, his mouth pressed together in a thin line as he studied him until his expression softened. “You must be Finn Jagger. Master Meyer suggested you would be coming by. I didn’t expect you so early, but…”
Finn nodded. “I’m sorry if this isn’t a good time. I can return at a better time for you.”
Master Beshear waved his hand. He was an older man, thin, with wispy hair, and thin lips. A cloth tape measure draped around his neck. “This is as good a time as any. Besides, I don’t want to disappoint Master Meyer.”
Finn smiled at that.
What reason would the tailor have in not wanting to disappoint an executioner?
“Come in. I was to measure you for two sets of clothes, along with a cloak.”
“Two sets?” Finn asked, looking over to the window. He wasn’t as good a judge of clothing expenses as he was with other things, but two sets would be more money than he had. Adding on a cloak would be much more than what he had. “I would be fine starting with only one.”
He could wash it regularly. Finn suspected that was Meyer’s concern, but with his access to the well, and the washbasin that Finn had seen in his home, he could keep the clothes as clean as he needed without spending too much.
“Nonsense. Meyer has already paid for them. Come along, Mr. Jagger.”
Finn followed the tailor to the back of the shop, where he had Finn stand. He quickly made measurements of his legs, waist, hips, and chest before working the tape down Finn’s arms.
“How often do you work with Master Meyer?”
Beshear shifted the tape back over his shoulders. “I’ve known him for quite a few years. Long before I moved to this section.”
That explained why Meyer would have sent him there.
It was strange to think that Meyer would choose a tailor in this section of the city, though Finn didn’t really know what sort of people Meyer consorted with. He didn’t really know all that much about him to begin with—other than that he took his job seriously, and he wanted Finn to do the same.
Beshear disappeared through a door for a few moments and returned with a shirt. “Let’s try this. It might be a little large, though I think it will work for now.”
Finn peeled the gray shirt off. There was something almost freeing about taking off the clothes he’d been sentenced to wear on his way to his hanging. Clothing that he’d grown to feel not necessarily comfortable in but at least familiar with.
When he slipped on the shirt, he sighed.
The fabric was soft.
“What’s it made of?” he asked, running his hands along the shirt.
Meyer would want me to have something like this?
“A wool and cotton blend. It’s a fine fabric. Not as soft as some that I bring in, but with the kind of work you’ll be doing”—his mouth soured as he said it—“it’ll keep you warm when you need and will breathe in the hotter weather. By summer, I can make a few more for you if you’re satisfied with my work.”
Finn shifted the shirt. It fit him well—better than any shirt he’d ever worn.
Beshear started to pinch the fabric around the sides, then along the sleeves, and then at the neck. “As I suspected. Not quite what you need, but it’ll work for now. I should be able to have two of these ready for you by the end of the week.” When Finn started to peel the shirt off, already feeling remorse at losing the soft fabric, Beshear waved his hand. “Keep this one for now. I think you’d probably prefer this to what you’d been wearing.”
Finn looked at the gray shirt lying on the floor next to him. “It’s a little nicer than what I had,” he said, looking over to Master Beshear.
The tailor chuckled. “You might want to hold on to that. Working clothes, and all. Now to find you trousers. The fit will be a little bit different than with the shirt. At least with the shirt, we have less variety. You have a relatively slim build, and I wonder if I have trousers that will fit your waist.”
The Executioner's Right (The Executioner's Song Book 1) Page 19
