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

by D. K. Holmberg

  “I will have the same conversation with the warden,” he said.

  Meyer guided Finn through the prison and stopped outside of a room with a heavy door. Inscriptions on the door suggested that the man inside served at the behest of the gods and the king.

  He knocked but didn’t wait for the door to come open. Instead, he pushed the door open and headed inside.

  The warden was younger than Finn would’ve expected. Dark black hair. Deep brown eyes. Even a dark beard on his broad face. He looked up from a stack of papers, a long quill in hand, irritation flashing for a moment until he realized who was there.

  He jumped to his feet, tipping his head in a brief nod. “Master Meyer. I knew you were visiting today, but I didn’t expect to have a visit from you myself.”

  He glanced around nervously, and Finn smiled to himself.

  What was the warden doing that would make him so nervous?

  “You have been questioning Gabe Freeland?”

  The warden’s eyes narrowed briefly. “I have been instructed to obtain as much information from our prisoners as I can.”

  “Under whose authority?”

  “Why, the viscount. He mentioned the king wants crime controlled in the city while he’s negotiating with the Alainsith. Said he’d be in the city more often than usual and that I should—”

  Meyer stiffened. “You won’t question him further until I return.”

  Meyer turned, nodding to Finn, and Finn followed him out.

  The warden tried to yell something after him, though Finn couldn’t tell what it was. Meyer ignored it.

  They headed out of the prison and made their way through the streets. It was early enough in the day, and quite a few people were out.

  Finn looked over to Master Meyer when they were far enough away from the prison. “You don’t like the warden all that much.”

  “It’s not a matter of liking him. It’s a matter of him doing more than what he is responsible for.”

  “He’s not responsible for the prisoners?”

  “The warden is responsible for the well-being of the prisoners under his care. He is not responsible for obtaining information from them.”

  “Why not?”

  “The warden does not attend the sentencing.”

  He looked behind him. The prisons didn’t operate at all the way Finn thought they had. “Wouldn’t he be able to pass on information if he obtained it?”

  “Assuming he did obtain that information,” Meyer said.

  “You don’t think he did?”

  “It is my responsibility as chief inquisitor to make sure that everything obtained in the service of the king is done so in a way that upholds the law. With what has been taking place in the city, I must be particularly cautious.”

  “What has been taking place in the city?”

  Master Meyer looked over to Finn, and for a moment, he wondered if he would say anything more. “The warden is not wrong. The king is in the city negotiating with the Alainsith, and there have been attacks on high-level targets.”

  “Why would he need to negotiate with the Alainsith?”

  All of this felt beyond Finn, as if it were stories he might share with the crew in the Wenderwolf. He could imagine how Oscar would laugh, Rock would probably make fun of him, and the others would add their own stories.

  “The peace is tenuous and has been since those who followed King Ordol the Pious thought they could work the treaty in their favor. Too many have been tempted to break it to access the lands west of Verendal for the gold rumored to be in the Ives Mountains beyond there.”

  Finn hadn’t known about gold, but men did foolish things for wealth. He had.

  “How often does he have to meet with them?”

  Meyer shook his head. “I don’t worry about such things.”

  “But you know—”

  “I might know why the king is here, but that doesn’t mean I worry about it. King Porman will ensure the peace with the Alainsith remains.”

  They continued walking a little further. “What happens if it doesn’t? Will they use their magic to nearly destroy us the way they did when Yofun—"

  Meyer snorted. “Those are stories, Finn. And even if they’re true, they’re from so long ago that it doesn’t matter. We have peace. Nothing will disrupt it.”

  “Stories have to come from somewhere,” Finn said.

  “They do. And who’s to say what the Alainsith could do if they attacked? If they wanted to destroy us, it might be they could, but we’ve given them no reason.”

  “You did say there have been high-level targets,” Finn said.

  Meyer frowned and nodded.

  “Like what?”

  He glanced to Finn. “Such as the viscount.”

  It was more than just that, and Finn knew it. There was the attempt on the palace. Maybe others. Could it be tied to the Client?

  “Why do you think it’s happening?”

  “That is not for me to decide. Nor for you. Our job is to find whatever information that we can to ensure that justice is served.”

  “If there’s something more taking place in the city with the Alainsith coming—”

  “If there is, it is not our responsibility.”

  Finn followed Meyer, not really wanting to let it drop but getting the sense that he didn’t want to say anything more. They reached a dirtier section of the city, part of the Olin section, though not near the tavern where his crew operated. Finn noticed a house in the distance with a rope around it.

  “This is where the woman was killed,” he said.

  Meyer nodded. “It is.”

  “Why are you coming here?”

  “I’ve told you my responsibility.”

  “I guess I understand that; it’s just…”

  Even though he understood that it was Meyer’s responsibility, he still hadn’t expected him to make a visit to the scene of the crime.

  “Didn’t you say he was found with her blood on him?”

  “So it would appear.”

  “He wasn’t completely honest with you when you questioned him,” Finn said.

  “Are you certain of that?”

  Finn shrugged. “Certain enough.”

  “Would you stake his life on it?”

  “I—”

  “Would you stake your life on it?”

  Finn shook his head. “No.”

  “Very good.” Master Meyer turned away, heading toward the home and pausing in front of it. “Now, you might be right that he wasn’t truthful with me, but lying about his affair with Mistress Vils is an entirely different matter than lying about killing her. A crime, at least in the eyes of her husband, but not the same crime that he has been accused of.”

  Meyer stopped at the rope that surrounded the home, marking it off. It would be difficult to miss the rope. Woven of a bright yellow and black, it served as a warning. Finn had seen rope barricades like that before, but he’d never dared step beyond them.

  Most of the time, the barricades came after he had been someplace. The Archers used them during their investigations.

  Meyer lifted the rope and climbed underneath it, waiting for Finn to follow him.

  Finn hesitated a moment, no more than that, and climbed underneath the rope to join him.

  “Now. We will see what we can uncover here. She was murdered here, at least according to the Archers who investigated her. Her husband found her yesterday morning and raised the alarm.”

  “What do you think you might find that Archers overlooked?”

  “I don’t know. That is why we are here.”

  Meyer began to make his way around the inside of the home, looking at shelves, picking through everything. Finn stayed out of his way. He trailed behind him. When they reached the back room, he cringed at a puddle of congealed blood.

  When he motioned to it, Meyer only nodded.

  “You knew that was there?”

  “I knew there would be blood still here,” Meyer said. “The Archers hav
e investigated, but there has been nothing done to clean up this residence.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because the investigation has not concluded,” Meyer said. Finn looked away from the blood. Meyer chuckled. “You are going to need to tolerate the sight of blood much better than that.”

  “How?”

  “That is for you and the gods you worship to decide. If you are going to continue in this position, you’re going to need to find a way to stomach more than just the sight of blood.”

  Meyer moved away, reaching for something in the corner of the room.

  “What is that?” Finn asked.

  “I suspect that this is the weapon used to murder her,” he said.

  “Why would the Archers have left it?”

  “They should not have,” he said.

  Finn studied the knife. It was a simple knife. A black handle. A serrated blade. Nothing outstanding about it that would otherwise draw attention.

  “She was stabbed?”

  “Many times,” Meyer said.

  “Here?”

  Meyer nodded again.

  His attention was distracted, and he looked around the inside of the room, leaving Finn to frown, studying the pool of blood, the knife, as he continued looking everywhere around him.

  Something about this didn’t feel quite right.

  “Why would Gabe Freeland have stabbed her here?”

  “I’m not convinced he did,” Meyer said.

  “If he didn’t stab her here, then where…” Finn raised his eyebrows. “You don’t think that he did it.”

  “Gabe Freeland may be many things. Adulterer. Thief”—he glanced toward Finn briefly, arching a brow—“but a murderer doesn’t fit either the man I saw in the prison or the man that I heard about from those who have known him.”

  “You’ve already questioned people who know him?”

  “A few. It’s often easy to know about a man based on who they associate with. Wouldn’t you say that’s true?”

  Finn frowned. “Not always.”

  “Hmm.”

  Finn looked around the inside of the room. “Unless he enjoys killing, it doesn’t make sense that he would stab her many times.”

  “Why not?”

  “How many times was she stabbed?”

  “Over two dozen. The coroner had a difficult time counting exactly how many times it was, though it was enough that he eventually stopped keeping track.”

  Over two dozen. That didn’t feel right either.

  “Let’s say Gabe Freeland did it,” Finn said, and Meyer tipped his head, nodding to him. “Maybe she decided to end things with him, and he got angry with her.”

  “Perhaps.”

  “He was found with her blood on him.”

  “After having been at the tavern and drinking. None of the men at the tavern that night felt that anything was off with him. Most men, unless they are career-hardened criminals, don’t go to a tavern after killing someone.”

  “What if he went to the tavern before killing her?”

  “Perhaps,” Meyer said.

  “Who do you think was responsible?” Finn asked.

  “You have already suggested the answer,” Meyer said.

  “I did?”

  “A crime of passion, much as you claimed. Who else would be likely to have been involved in a crime of passion against someone who carried on with an adulterous affair?”

  “Her husband,” Finn breathed out.

  “Exactly.”

  He looked around the room, his gaze finally settling on Meyer. “You already knew that before coming here.”

  “I suspected.”

  “Then why come here?”

  “Because I didn’t know.”

  “You wanted me to know that you didn’t execute innocent people.”

  “I try my best not to.”

  Meyer turned away, and he left Finn with more questions.

  City Hall looked different this time from how it had the last time Finn had been there. Perhaps it was that he came as Master Meyer’s assistant, or perhaps it was that he didn’t fear his fate quite the same way. He understood he had to succeed and that if he didn’t, he would end up hanging regardless, but he had time.

  “Do you come for each sentencing?” Finn asked.

  “Only those where I have been a part of the questioning.”

  “Such as this?”

  “As we’ve discussed, I’m a part of the questioning in all capital cases.”

  Finn nodded. As they entered the jurors’ chamber, a chill washed over him. It reminded him of when he had been there, making him uncomfortable. He might be dressed differently from how he had been, and he might be now apprenticed to Master Meyer, but the memory of that time was all too recent.

  Gabe Freeland sat in the same chair Finn had occupied. He was dressed in drab brown clothes, at least not the gray Sinner’s Cloth. He looked around the inside of the jurors’ chamber with wide eyes, taking in everything, never settling his gaze.

  “Poor Bastard,” Finn muttered.

  Meyer glanced over to him. “Don’t sentence him yet.”

  The magister was already seated on the bench, along with several of the jurors. They looked at Finn, several of them narrowing their gaze as they did, though none said anything. All were dressed in the formal clothing of their office, the men wearing their hats, the cloaks of office, and watching while Meyer entered. The only one not present was Bellut.

  The magister nodded at Meyer. “We have a majority of the jurors present, Master Meyer. What are your findings?”

  “In the matter of Gabe Freeland and the death of Mrs. Lorna Vils, I have come to the conclusion that Mr. Freeland is not guilty of her murder.” Gabe looked up, glancing at Master Meyer. “He is guilty of maintaining an affair with a married woman, but once we have the Archers gather Mr. Vils, I suspect we will have our murderer.”

  “Her husband?” the magister asked.

  “A crime of passion, unfortunately,” Master Meyer said.

  The magister turned to the others on the jury. “How would the jury decide?”

  The jurors turned to each other, whispering softly, before the man situated next to the magister leaned close. He whispered to the magister.

  The magister nodded. “In the matter of Gabe Freeland and the death of Mrs. Lorna Vils, the jurors find him innocent. In the matter of Gabe Freeland and his adultery with Mrs. Lorna Vils, the jurors find him guilty. Five lashes will do, Master Meyer.”

  Meyer nodded.

  “Archers, remand him to Volthan Prison until such time as the sentencing can be carried out,” the magister said.

  Finn looked over to Gabe Freeland, but he didn’t seem any more at ease than he had been before. He should be. He was going from Declan to Volthan, which meant that he wouldn’t suffer nearly as much as he had in the previous prison. He probably didn’t know or appreciate that.

  The Archers came from the back of the room and escorted Gabe Freeland from the sentencing hall. When they were gone, Meyer nodded to Finn. They had started to turn when the door opened, and Bellut entered.

  He swept into the room, wearing the maroon-and-black striped robe of office. “You have already sentenced the condemned?”

  “He wasn’t guilty, Master Bellut,” the magister said.

  As Bellut took a seat on the jury, he looked over to Meyer. “Not guilty? Surely, you understood the reports the warden has sent.” Bellut pulled a folded stack of papers from inside his robe.

  Finn looked to Meyer, curious how he would react. At least he knew who had been pushing the warden for information.

  “I understood the reports quite well,” Meyer said. “Much like I understood the investigation that revealed he had been seen in the local tavern until late; far beyond the time when Miss Vils would have been murdered. Additionally, the nature of the crime was one that suggested passion. When we find Mr. Vils, we will have the guilty party.”

  Bellut took a seat next to the other jurors, his
mouth pressed into a tight frown.

  “If there is nothing more for me, then I will take my leave,” Master Meyer said.

  “Thank you for your report,” the magister said.

  The executioner guided Finn from the chamber, and as they reached the door, Finn felt someone watching him. He looked back to see Bellut studying him, but then he nodded briefly.

  Once they were out in the street, Finn followed Master Meyer. “What now?”

  “Now we must find Mr. Vils. Question him, and ensure justice has been served.” He looked over to Finn. “That is how we serve the king.”

  “What about Bellut and the warden?”

  Meyer took a deep breath as he glanced back at City Hall. “That will be addressed separately with the magister. I am master executioner in the city until either King Porman declares otherwise, or…” He shook his head. “Let’s go.”

  There was more to it, he was sure, but Meyer wasn’t saying anything.

  Finn had no choice but to follow.

  Chapter Seventeen

  “The whole thing was odd,” Finn said, staring at the mug of ale in front of him. The Wenderwolf was quiet, not nearly as raucous as it often was. He had come looking for the rest of the crew, feeling confused and conflicted about his responsibilities, and had only found Oscar. He’d tried not to look disappointed that it had been Oscar and not Rock.

  “What exactly about it was odd?”

  Oscar leaned back, dressed in his darks, and remained quiet. Even like that, there was something on edge about him, the way there often was.

  It might be in the way Oscar looked around him, his gaze darting from one place to another, never settling long enough for him to look at Finn for long. It might be in the way he tried to appear casual, though he doubted that Oscar was as relaxed as he appeared.

  Finn leaned forward, lowering his voice.

  “I don’t know. It might be just that he wanted me to see how he investigates things.” They hadn’t found Vils, though they’d searched the city for him. Now Meyer had the Archers looking. If Vils knew what fate awaited him, Finn doubted he’d stick around the city for long.

  “You think it’s more than that.”

  “Like I said, I don’t know.” Finn stared at the mug of ale for another moment before tipping it back and drinking. Annie had brought it over the moment that he’d come into the tavern, smiling at him. She had disappeared to the back of the tavern afterward, and Finn hadn’t seen her since then. “Something’s bothering me about all of this, Oscar.”