The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4)

by D. K. Holmberg

  “And that was never my intention,” Finn said.

  “I know.”

  He took a deep breath and looked around the room. “I have other things I need to be doing. Will you be okay here?”

  “Of course,” Lena said.

  “Will you send word when anyone comes around?”

  “I’m not sure I will even need to. I suspect Henry will continue to stop by.”

  “Probably,” Finn said.

  Even though Meyer would come by here, Finn still felt as if he needed to be involved in the questioning. Meyer would want that.

  Finn was the reason they had risked themselves coming here. He was the reason they had saved these men. And he was the reason they had somebody to question. Hopefully they would get answers that would provide them with information about who had precipitated the protests.

  Finn nodded to Lena, but she had already turned away, continuing her work as she weaved through the beds.

  As he neared the door, Wella looked over to him. “Leaving so soon?” She held out a jar of pale-white powder, twisting it in her hand. Her gray dress flowed down, brushing along the floor, and her stooped back seemed even more hunched than usual.

  “I have other things I need to be doing,” Finn said.

  Wella cackled. “An executioner’s duty is never done, is it?”

  “I suppose not,” Finn said.

  “And what does Henry have you doing today?”

  Finn shrugged. “It’s not so much what he has me doing as it is what I’m choosing to do.”

  “I see,” she said, giving him a knowing look.

  It reminded Finn of Arlington’s irritation when he’d asked for modifications to the prison. Meyer hadn’t gone to him yet. Finn wondered how Meyer would get along with the warden after he did.

  Finn shook his head. “I’m no master executioner.”

  “Not yet,” Wella said.

  “What do you have there?”

  “Seeing as how you brought in so many injured, I thought it might be best if I mix up a little more sedative. These men are going to suffer if I don’t.”

  “There are some who think they deserve to suffer.”

  “As I’m sure there are some who thought they should have been left to die,” Wella said. She held Finn’s gaze, and he wondered if she knew what had happened, and whether she knew that Meyer had suggested they leave the men behind.

  If she did, why was she looking at Finn that way?

  “They have answers that might help explain what’s taking place in the city.”

  “Is that the only reason they deserve to live?”

  Finn sighed. She knew how he felt. “Not the only reason.”

  “The hangman who heals. It’s a shame so few see that side of your profession.”

  “There are enough who know,” Finn said.

  “But only those who need to. The ones who don’t know probably should.”

  Finn grunted. “Now you’re speaking in riddles.”

  “Maybe,” she said, cackling again. “Your sister has proven herself yet again.”

  “She doesn’t always feel that way,” Finn said, turning and looking over to Lena, who was hunched over one of the injured. She was moving bandages again—peeling them away, applying ointment, then dressing the wounds once more. “She doesn’t feel like she has her place.”

  “Then she must make one for herself.”

  He regarded Wella for a moment, an idea coming to him. “Can you help her?”

  “Can anyone help a person make their way in the world?”

  “Yes,” Finn said.

  “If they were helped along the journey, they wouldn’t reach their destination.”

  “And if they weren’t helped, they may never reach it.”

  Wella laughed and turned away, mixing another series of powders. “Go and do what you must, Finn Jagger.”

  “Thank you for helping,” Finn said as he reached the door.

  Wella nodded and began to hum to herself, whistling under her breath as she shifted from one foot to another, as if dancing in place.

  Finn didn’t how to react to Wella anymore. She had been his first instructor in apothecary medicine, teaching him about mixing various powders, medicines, lotions, and ointments. It was because of her that he had developed the nose he had for the various compounds involved in creating healing balms. If not for her, Finn didn’t know if he would have the same depth of knowledge he had acquired. Lena had thanked him for caring, but maybe Finn needed to do a better job of thanking those who’d worked with him.

  He paused at the door, and seeing her dancing in place, he decided perhaps he should do so another time. She seemed busy and distracted, the same way Finn was distracted.

  He headed out the door and up the stairs. From there, he made his way to the main level of the old prison, which reminded him of Declan. The walls were plain stone, the halls were dark and narrow, and there was a sort of oppressive feel to everything around him.

  When he reached the door leading to the outside, he pulled it open and stepped into the cool daylight. The northern breeze still gusted, carrying the crisp, almost biting cold he’d been feeling for the last few weeks. Finn pulled his cloak around his shoulders, wishing he had dressed better for the weather.

  They needed to question the injured, but first the injured had to come around enough for him to have the opportunity to do so. Until they did, Finn wasn’t going to learn anything from them.

  Even after they did, would it make a difference?

  Nearly a hundred citizens had died in the protests—trampled, burned, or beaten by Archers. Several Archers had died too, most of them burned or trampled, but even a single Archer dying had raised the ire of the king in the past. Finn wondered how the king would react to the news this time.

  He found his gaze drawn toward the Heshian palace in the distance. The protesters must have known the king was in the city. Somehow. That knowledge posed a danger to the city, to the kingdom, and to the king himself.

  Finn typically didn’t worry about the king, but if the protesters had come out because they had known the king had come to Verendal…

  Finn would end up even more involved than he was now.

  He took another deep breath.

  He had to get back to his regular tasks.

  While questioning those involved in the protests was a part of his regular tasks, it wasn’t all he needed to do. One of the things Finn had learned in the time he’d been working with Master Meyer was that he had to ensure he didn’t ignore any aspects of the job; he couldn’t sacrifice one thing for the sake of another. He had done that before, and had allowed one disruption in the city to blind him to others.

  What he needed was information.

  Finn hurried through the streets, making his way past familiar shops. Many of them were left with shattered windows from the protests, forcing store owners to keep their shops boarded up or risk having them looted. Only those who had the means to do so were able to get their shops restored quickly.

  When he passed a few people, they veered across the road, staying as far away from him as possible, and even the men cast nervous glances all around them, as if Finn might attack. He was dressed better than most within this section of the city, but was not expecting a response like this. Every so often, shouts rang out behind him or in the distance, and once he heard a shout that seemed to come from an alley nearby.

  All of it left him tense and uneasy. He could easily understand how it would make those who had to live in this section feel much the same way. At least Finn could get out and go elsewhere. Others who lived here, like the child who scurried past him now, were stuck. Several of the buildings he passed had the marking of the black rose—some had it on posters like he’d seen before, but one looked as if it had been burned into the side.

  As Finn was making his way through the street, he caught sight of a familiar face. Her golden hair was recognizable from where he stood, and as Jamie made her way toward him, he
stopped until she looked up and noticed him.

  “Mr. Jagger,” she said. “My father spoke highly of you after you left. He was surprised that the king would care so much about his debt.”

  Finn tipped his head politely, looking around him. It seemed more dangerous in the streets of Verendal these days, which made him worry for her being out here on her own. “We try to resolve all debts,” he said. “I’m just doing what the king asks of me.”

  She frowned, her brow furrowing, and it seemed as if a shadowy look crossed her face. “I can’t imagine that’s easy for someone like you.”

  “Someone like me?”

  She waved a hand, motioning up and down his body. “Someone who comes from a place of… well, wealth, I suppose.”

  Finn started to smile. It was now the second time someone had thought that about him. Meyer wanted him to dress the part of the executioner, but he also wanted him to be able to blend in. There was a benefit in doing so.

  “I come from the Brinder section. I didn’t have much when I was growing up.” He shrugged. “I’ve had to work for everything.”

  She nodded. “That might explain why my father liked you, then.”

  “Is that right?” He wanted to ask whether she liked him, but that didn’t feel proper.

  “Are you on the job?”

  “Unfortunately.” He realized what she was asking. “I should have an update for your father soon, I hope.” It wasn’t entirely true, but it felt better than telling her that they might not ever see compensation for Reginald’s theft from him.

  She twisted the fabric of her cloak and smiled tightly. “I have somewhere I need to be going, Mr. Jagger. I hope you understand?”

  He nodded, watching her go for a moment before tearing his attention away.

  By the time he reached the Wenderwolf tavern, Finn had counted dozens of shops that had needed to be boarded up. There was a strange suspicion in the streets, people glancing in every direction as others passed them, many of them darting off to the side of the street to avoid anyone getting too close. The entire city was on edge.

  It saddened Finn to see the city get to this point, that there would be so much upheaval here, but at the same time, he understood. Everyone had their breaking point. Eventually, even the city itself had its breaking point. And the fact that an Archer had killed another man in one of the poor sections of the city—even if he’d been guilty of stealing—had tipped them over the edge.

  The Wenderwolf tavern was situated in one of those poorer sections, though the Olin section wasn’t quite as rundown as some of the others were. The tavern itself was well-kept, though Finn was a bit disappointed to see one of the windows had been shattered and boarded over, but the others were intact. Paint had been thrown on the side of the tavern, leaving a red splotch that looked like blood. For a moment, Finn thought it was blood, but the pattern was off and the color a bit too pale.

  Music drifted out of the tavern, and he pushed open the door, stepping inside and pausing for a moment for his eyes to adjust. It was still early, so Finn didn’t expect to find much activity there, but he hoped he could find Oscar, mostly so he could see if he knew anything about the protests. It was the only way he knew how to get in touch with him. If Oscar were to stop coming to the Wenderwolf, Finn wondered if he’d lose touch with him completely.

  He didn’t recognize any of the waitresses working today, though they were dressed in the way Annie preferred: always a bit revealing, with considerable cleavage showing—a way of drawing people in and keeping them there.

  Finn took a seat. A young, blonde-haired woman sidled up to the table, leaning forward and winking at him. She offered him a full-lipped smile. “What can I get for you?”

  “I’ll take a mug of ale, and let Annie know that Finn Jagger is here to see her.”

  The woman straightened immediately and crossed her arms over her chest. “What are you here to see Annie about?”

  “Just one friend wanting to talk to another,” Finn said.

  She regarded Finn for a long moment, and looked as if she wanted to argue, but then she spun around, heading toward the kitchen.

  Though he had been back to the Wenderwolf many times over the years, he still had an uneasy feeling coming here. Annie treated him about as well as he expected her to, but the tension between them lingered, despite how she’d helped him.

  So much had changed for him since he had become the executioner.

  Now he was a journeyman, which meant he had a place within the kingdom, regardless of whether it was in Verendal. No longer was he a thief on a crew.

  But it wasn’t just Annie with whom he had felt some tension. Finn had drifted apart from Oscar as well.

  There were times when he missed Oscar and wished he could know his old friend better than he did, but he felt that way about many things these days.

  “I hear you came asking for me.”

  Finn looked up to see Annie sliding into the booth opposite him. She was two decades his senior, though her hair was still dark and her eyes bright, if lined with wrinkles. She had on a pale-yellow dress underneath a white, flour-stained apron.

  “Annie.”

  “Finn Jagger,” Annie said. “I haven’t seen you in the tavern in a few months.”

  Finn frowned, looking around. The Wenderwolf still had a comfortable familiarity, despite the fact that he hadn’t been here in a while. Could it really have been a few months though? It seemed like only a week had passed since his last visit, but his assignments often pulled him away, and between errands, questioning, and journeys outside of the city, Finn often found himself distracted. That said nothing about the studying he did, trying to master healing and apothecary medicine.

  “I didn’t realize it had been that long,” he said.

  “I’m not the only person who’s noticed how rarely you visit these days.”

  “That’s why I’m here.”

  Annie cocked her head at him. “You came to apologize to the Hand? I’m sure he’ll be pleased to hear that.”

  “I’m sure.”

  Annie laughed softly. “Not apologize, then. And now all of this,” she said, spreading her hands off to the side.

  “This isn’t my fault,” he said.

  “Who ever cast blame?” Annie said. “I was just remarking on the fact that we now have this.” She leaned forward, and the waitress who had first greeted Finn came over to the table, sliding a mug of ale in front of him and looking over to Annie briefly before turning and heading back to the kitchen.

  Finn frowned, looking from the waitress then back to Annie. “An interesting new hire you have.”

  “Who said she was new?”

  “I might not have been around her quite as much as I used to be, Annie, but I recognize your kind of girls.” It finally occurred to Finn what had felt off about that woman. She had been similar to the kind of girls Annie preferred, but not the same. “Guards?”

  “Careful, Finn,” Annie said, lowering her voice.

  “You don’t want others knowing?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “I think I do.” He looked around the inside of the tavern and realized it wasn’t just that one woman who had seemed a little strange. Most of them were buxom, lovely, and could easily have worked for Annie before, but all of them had something a little peculiar about them. Perhaps it was the edge to them, but regardless, Annie was worried. Her protections would be effective though. Guards disguised as servers would certainly provide a measure of security that others wouldn’t expect.

  “Do you care to tell me why I have the pleasure of your visit?” Annie asked.

  Finn pulled the mug toward him and took a long sip, then set it back on the table. Annie’s ale was always some of the best in the city. Maybe it was just the familiarity of it, more than anything else, but Finn had always appreciated it.

  “Did you hire them before the attack or after?” Finn asked.

  “Which attack?”

>   “The one on the city.”

  Annie leaned back, crossing her arms. “That’s why you’re here.”

  “I’m looking into what happened.”

  “Some stupid bastards got a bug in their ass that they deserved more from the king.” Annie shrugged. “It happens from time to time, so I’m not terribly surprised it would happen now.”

  “It happens that protests are organized to the point where men decide to attack Archers?”

  “After all that the Archers have done lately? Why does that bother you?”

  They had been more violent during their arrests. Junker had been the catalyst, but he wasn’t the only one who’d suffered.

  “What bothers me is that a hundred men died because of those attacks,” Finn said.

  “How many else have died throughout the city for other reasons?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. Probably just as many.”

  “And who are the murderers?”

  “You’re going to say it’s the king.”

  Annie shook her head slightly. “I would never make that claim. I know better than to make the mistake of speaking against the king.”

  “I didn’t say you were speaking against the king.”

  “Making comments like that certainly suggests that I am,” Annie said. “Besides, all I was getting at is that we face other threats in the city.”

  “It depends on your line of work,” Finn said.

  “And what about in your line of work?” Annie asked.

  “I serve the king,” Finn said.

  “Of course you do, Finn,” Annie said. “I wouldn’t assume anything else.”

  Finn leaned forward. “I’m not trying to cause trouble with you, Annie.”

  “I know you’re not.”

  “I’m just trying to do the right thing.”

  “And what do you think that is?”

  Finn shook his head. “I don’t know. I’ve got men who nearly died who I’m waiting to question so I can understand what’s taking place in the city—because I can assure you that what is happening here is certainly coordinated in some way.”

  “What makes you think anyone would intend to coordinate a protest in the city?”

  “Just what I’ve seen,” Finn said. “What can you tell me about the black rose posters hung around the city?”