“Come,” he said.
Finn hurriedly finished, and he got up, grabbing his pack, leaving half of his plate uneaten. He followed Meyer out of the door and paused. It was still early morning, but the sun was shining down, a bit of warmth in an otherwise crisp day. A breeze gusted out of the north, carrying some of the smells of the nearby forest, mingling with a hint of lilac, but also an earthy odor. He breathed it in slowly.
Meyer glanced over, shaking his head. “I thought you were a city boy.”
“I am.”
“Not when you breathe in like that, you aren’t.”
“It smells so different here.”
“Not the same filth as in Verendal,” Meyer said.
“I suppose so.” Finn took another deep breath, looking at the buildings lining the narrow road. When they’d come in the night before, Finn hadn’t paid that much attention to the village itself. It was simple. Many of the homes were taller than he would’ve expected, stretching two stories high, with steep roofs, lining the narrow road in front of him. Many had lawns around them, something unthinkable in Verendal. The stream burbled nearby, and he listened to it for a moment before turning his attention back to Meyer. “Where now?”
“They keep a prison on the edge of the village.”
He motioned for Finn to follow, and he did so, walking past one townsperson, who eyed him strangely, before hurrying after Meyer. They neared the stream, and Finn paused in front of it, listening to the sound of the water as it rushed past the stones, the steady splashing of the stream carrying out into the early morning. Meyer crouched down next to the stream for a moment, resting his hand in the water.
“What is it?”
Meyer shook his head. “Nothing.”
He got up, shaking his hand and wiping it on his pants as his gaze drifted out into the forest, looking toward the trees. What did he see? Finn stared but didn’t know just what Meyer was paying attention to. He looked back to the village, noting the small central church, its spire rising higher than any other building in the village. That was unusual in Verendal. The palace strained to be of equal height to any church there, putting the king on equal footing as the gods.
Meyer guided them farther along the stream, heading gradually around the outskirts of the village. It wasn’t until they curved around a little bit farther that Finn began to get a sense of where they were heading.
A stone building, so different from most of the others in the village, came into view. The building itself was small, situated on the edge of the stream, and nestled near the outskirts of the village, close to the forest. Meyer nodded to the building.
“Why there?” Finn asked.
“This is one of the oldest buildings in the village,” Meyer said. “The people have converted it over time into various different purposes, and now it serves as something of a prison, though it hasn’t always done so.”
“It seems like a strange place for it.”
Meyer swept his gaze around the inside of the village. “All of this used to be different. These lands were different.”
“By different, I presume you mean Alainsith?”
“All of this once was their land,” he said.
Finn stared at the brick building with renewed interest. “You’re saying the building itself was Alainsith?”
“It is one of the oldest,” Master Meyer said.
As they approached, Finn studied the building itself. Most of the buildings within Verendal were old, many of them a hundred years or more old, but there were some that were even older, built long before the men in Verendal claimed the city, building it to the massive scale that it was now. The city had grown and prospered over the years, spreading beyond its initial borders, reaching even greater scale over time. He had grown up knowing that about Verendal but never really thinking much about it otherwise. There wasn’t much to think about when he was a thief simply trying to navigate the streets of the city, attempting to survive. There were other buildings, though, that had been repurposed. City Hall was one such building, and it shared some features with this. Made of a pale white stone, it looked as if it blended into the forest, or perhaps it had been grown there, some god having pulled the stone free of the riverbed, piling it into the shape of the building. The edges of the building were curved and it gave it something of a smooth, almost natural appearance.
Meyer fished a key out of his pocket and carried it over to the main door.
“No guards here?”
Meyer glanced over to him. “What do they need to guard?”
“The prisoner.”
“The prisoner isn’t going anywhere. The building itself is stout enough they wouldn’t be able to run.”
Strange writing was etched into the stone over the doorway, and Finn regarded it for a moment, trying to make out the words and failing. Meyer pushed the curved door open and stepped inside.
A lantern glowed with a soft light, hanging on one of the stone walls. Finn had to duck his head to go into the door, and he had to stay slightly stooped over as he moved through the hallway, following Meyer. The building was made of the same pale white stone as the outside of the building. Even the floor was covered in that same stone. Meyer took the lantern off the hook near the door and guided Finn along the hallway. They reached a point where the hall opened up, and he motioned off to their left. Once they stepped beyond the stone hall, it opened, but then there were wooden walls that were built, and they seemed so out of place considering the stone. One of the walls had rows of bars worked into it.
Meyer approached, glancing at the person in the cell, and it took Finn a moment to see through the shadows in the back of the cell, but when he did, he frowned.
It was a woman.
“What did she do?” Finn whispered.
“She stands accused of killing a man,” Meyer said.
Finn had seen killers many times since he began serving Master Meyer and had started to feel there was a general type to them. Not all of them looked the same, but there was a hardness to someone willing to kill. A darkness in their eyes, and something more, something Finn had never managed to put his finger quite on. Killers had a seething sort of anger deep within them. Not all of them, certainly, but enough.
There were other killers harder for him to identify. They were those who got caught up in the crimes of passion, anger or rage flaring within them briefly but then fading. Many of them never knew they had the potential for violence, or if they did, it was deeply buried within them. It was something that could be elicited during questioning, though, and Meyer had trained him on drawing that anger and violence out, though often it took days and weeks in order to do so. Those were some of the more challenging interrogations but necessary. Mostly necessary so that he could understand whether or not a person truly had the capacity for violence.
Then there were people who looked completely innocent and possibly were.
That was what he thought of this woman.
She had dark hair and couldn’t be much older than Finn. Her face was dirty, and her hair was little ragged, but still Finn could tell that she would be a great beauty were she clean and dressed as she probably normally was. She cowered in the back of the cell, leaning back against the wall, her knees drawn up to her chest, her eyes darting around, and said nothing when they approached.
A tray of food looked to be untouched, resting on the ground not far from her feet. She barely looked up as they approached.
“Jasmine Melth?” Meyer asked.
She didn’t respond.
“My name is Henry Meyer; I’m the king’s executioner. I’m here to ask you questions.”
“They’ve already asked me all their questions,” she said, her voice little more than a whisper.
“I’m here to ask a few more,” Meyer said.
“I don’t have any answers.”
“I’m not certain that’s true,” Meyer said. “You know what they have accuse you of doing?”
“Killing Matthew Avard.”
For the first time, Jasmine looked up, and something within her demeanor shifted. It might have been the intensity in her eyes, or it might have been simply the fact that she looked up and met Meyer’s gaze, but in that moment, Finn suddenly doubted. There was something about the way that she looked at Meyer, a defiance, that he had seen in other, similar criminals.
“I didn’t do what they accused me of,” she said.
“What did you do?”
“I didn’t kill Matthew,” she said.
She lowered her gaze, staring at the ground in front of her. She still hadn’t moved otherwise, her knees drawn up to her chest, her arms wrapped around them, though now she started to rock a little bit.
“What evidence do they have against her?” Finn asked.
“They claim to have found her in the victim’s home,” Meyer said.
“Just that?”
Meyer turned to Finn. “You don’t think that’s enough?”
“Finding somebody in a home isn’t enough reason to accuse them of killing someone.”
“It is when they’re covered in their blood,” Meyer said.
“I tried to help him,” Jasmine said. “I did everything that I could, but he was already gone. They had taken him.”
“Who do you think took him?” Master Meyer said.
Jasmine looked up briefly, a hint of panic in her eyes that faded. “I… I don’t know.”
There was enough hesitation that suggested she had something in mind.
“Who do you think were responsible?” Finn asked.
Meyer had been pushing Finn to take an increased role, and regardless of what happened with Sweth, Finn still felt as if he needed to keep digging and pushing, looking for answers. In this case, maybe it was more about Jasmine than it was about the crime itself.
“I don’t know.”
There was no hesitation this time. If she truly didn’t know, then pushing wouldn’t accomplish anything other than to coax her into coming up with an answer to try to appease them. If she were guilty, then he would’ve expected her to have come up with her own explanation already.
“Did you know him?”
“We were close. Once.”
Meyer regarded Jasmine for a long moment before turning to Finn. “What would you do next?”
He considered what Meyer would do if he were the one investigating. Finn thought about what he would do if they were still in Verendal, and investigating a crime that had happened there. He knew exactly what he would do at that point. “I’d like to see where the crime was committed,” Finn said.
“Very well.”
Meyer watched her for another moment before shaking his head and turning away.
When they were back outside, Meyer secured the door, locking it again.
“What did the townspeople tell you?” Finn asked.
Meyer pulled out a folded paper that he handed to Finn. It was thick parchment paper with a jerky sort of handwriting, barely legible, detailing the crimes that Jasmine had been accused of. Murder of this Matthew Avard. Found covered in his blood. A dagger resting near her. And a history between them.
Finn glanced back to the door of the prison, frowning. “It would’ve been helpful to have known about the history between them.”
“She told you the history.”
Finn shook his head. “She said they’d been close.”
“What does that mean to you?”
“I don’t know. They were friends? Lovers?” Finn looked back behind him.
“Probably,” Meyer said.
“How long have they held her there?”
“We received word earlier this week, so no more than that,” Master Meyer said.
“Do you think they would have cleaned up the crime?”
“It’s difficult to know. Within Verendal, we have a tradition of waiting until the investigation is complete and sentencing has been carried out before anything is removed, but in the outside towns and villages, you will find different traditions.”
“You know how to find it?”
Meyer nodded, guiding Finn along the outskirts of the village again before taking a cobbled street. There were more people out now as the morning grew later, and all of them looked at Master Meyer and Finn with suspicion in their eyes. None paid much attention to them otherwise.
“Have you ever not carried out a sentencing when you were summoned to do so?”
“It’s infrequent, but it does happen,” Meyer said.
“What happens then?”
“The townspeople typically rebel.”
“Even if you find evidence that the accused was innocent?”
“There’s a measure of pride within these places, Finn.”
They stopped at a two-story home not far into the village. Meyer glanced along the street, looking in either direction, before settling his hand on the door.
“This is the place?”
He nodded. “This is the place.”
Meyer tested the handle and pushed the door open. Once inside, he paused. Finn stayed just outside, giving Meyer a chance to look around before motioning for Finn to join him.
Finn did so, stepping a little farther into the home, then pausing.
The air stank.
He had investigated several crimes with Master Meyer before, and he had come to know the stench of death. This had a very distinct odor to it, and he wrinkled his nose, wishing for a face covering to keep from having to smell the foulness of death.
“It doesn’t smell like they cleaned anything here,” Finn said.
“No. It does not,” Master Meyer said.
A light blazed inside the home, and Master Meyer was illuminated. He held a lantern, resting it above a small table just inside the entryway. He turned the lantern, sweeping around, and Finn stepped inside, resisting the stench there.
He followed Meyer.
There was a small trail of blood along the inside of the home, but it wasn’t until they got into the hearth room that there was even more blood. It pooled on the stone, splattered on the walls, and covered a table nearby.
“What do you see here?” Meyer asked.
“Besides the blood?”
Meyer shot him a look. “Besides the blood.”
“There is considerable splatter.”
“There is. What does that suggest to you?”
“Typically with that much splatter, it means the crime was violent,” he said.
There was a difference between violent crime and the violence of crime. He had seen criminals wanting to remove a threat to their success, and typically those were quiet crimes, little more than bloodless affairs. It was sort of how the Lion had been killed, his body dumped into the river, left with no way of tracking who might be responsible. When there were crimes like this, they were typically different, wrapped up in the passion of the crime, the anger and violence of it, and were less likely to be someone who had calculated or planned for the event.
Finn paused in front of the largest pool of blood before moving onward, looking at the table, even the hearth itself, splatters of blood everywhere.
“All of this from a knife?” Finn asked.
“You don’t think a knife could do it?”
Finn pressed his mouth together, considering. “I suppose if they were to strike one of the arteries, the force from that might lead to this, but…”
None of it gave him enough answers to believe in Jasmine’s innocence.
“There’s not enough here,” Finn said.
“No,” Meyer said.
“What now?”
“Now we ask those who were involved.”
“What do you think they will say?”
Meyer shrugged. “It’s possible they won’t say anything at all, but it’s also possible that they have more information for us.”
“Why go through all of that?” Finn frowned at Master Meyer. “If she’s guilty, why would you go through so many steps?”
Meyer coc
ked his head to the side, watching Finn. “Do you believe her to be guilty?”
Finn took a deep breath, letting it out slowly. “I don’t really know. I look at this, and I see a crime of passion, which suggests to me somebody like her could have committed it. Without an alternative explanation, it is difficult to know whether she is guilty or innocent.”
“Without having enough proof, do you think we should sentence her?”
“No, but I think you’re going to have a hard time convincing the townspeople of that.”
“I agree. Which is why we must make sure we are doing everything in our power to find the answer before we carry out a sentence that might lead to a potentially innocent woman dying.”
“What if she’s not innocent?”
A flicker of concern cross Master Meyer’s face. “It’s possible that she did it, but…”
“You don’t think she did.”
“Do you?” Meyer asked.
“There was a moment when she was looking at you where I thought she could be guilty of it, but only that moment.”
“I’ve told you how many people I have sentenced,” Master Meyer said.
“You have.” It was an enormous number, and with that level of experience, Meyer would obviously know whether someone was guilty or innocent fairly quickly, so for him to have any measure of hesitation was reason for Finn to share in it. “I don’t know that your experience is going to sway them, either.”
“Perhaps not,” Master Meyer said. He looked around the room again before heading out, carrying the lantern with him. Finn joined him outside, and Meyer closed the door behind them, pulling it tight. “If she is guilty, I will carry out the sentence as requested, but I need to be convinced of her guilt.”
“And if you’re not? What would you do then?”
Meyer didn’t answer. Instead, he headed along the cobbled road, deeper into the village.
Chapter Twenty-Two
The town hall was a simple structure and almost cozy, situated as it was in the center of the village, with the nearby church rising toward the sky. This was the place where they had encountered the woman, though in the daylight, the bright sun shining down, there was a little bit less of a feeling of unwelcome.
The Executioner's Apprentice (The Executioner's Song Book 2) Page 26
