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

by D. K. Holmberg

  He headed back through the door and was gone a little longer. When he was gone, Finn ran his hand along the shirt, enjoying the feel of the fabric, tracing his finger along the collar. This was to be his?

  Most of the shirts he had over the years were soft because of how often they had been washed and worn, not because of the weave and the fabric.

  He leaned toward it, smelling. It even smelled cleaner.

  “I think these should work, at least until I can have something custom-fit for you.” The tailor came out of the back and held out trousers for Finn.

  He took them, noting that the fabric was the same as the shirt. Finn slipped off the gray pants and into the new trousers, marveling at how much better they fit than the gray pants had.

  “These will work,” Finn said.

  Master Beshear knelt next to Finn, and he began to move the pants, tugging on the hem, along with the waist, before standing and clucking to himself. “They will be adequate. At least for now. Master Meyer was adamant that you have something to wear for now.” He turned away before pausing. “Oh. The cloak. That should be a little bit easier. It doesn’t have to be custom-fit quite the same way. Why don’t you come with me? You get to choose your style.”

  Finn followed him, and the tailor brought him to a section of the shop where he paused, motioning to a row of different overcoats.

  They came in different colors, styles, and fabrics.

  Finn ran his hand along each of them, marveling at the sensation of the fabric, the way that each of them felt different from the next. He pulled out one before putting it back. He didn’t care much for the pale green fabric. A dappled green one did draw his eye, and Finn looked at it, holding it up.

  “An excellent choice. The fabric will shed water and should provide considerable protection from the wind. Why don’t we make sure that it fits?”

  Finn pulled it on, slipping his arms through and pulling the hood up. He looked down, noticing how the overcoat hung toward the ground.

  It was almost as if it had been made for him.

  “This will be adequate,” the tailor said.

  If this was adequate, Finn wondered what it would be like when something was more than adequate.

  “Thank you,” he said.

  “I need a week. I will have two shirts ready for you, along with two pairs of trousers. If there is anything else that you need, I am more than happy to be of service. I hope that you—and Master Meyer—will continue to utilize my services.”

  Finn collected his other clothing and stood for a moment looking around the inside of the tailor shop.

  What must it be like for people who were able to shop in a place like this frequently?

  Maybe he was now able to be someone like that.

  It didn’t feel like it to him. The ten fils Meyer promised him for his monthly pay wasn’t that much, certainly not enough to pay for clothing like this.

  How much did Meyer get paid?

  “Mr. Jagger? If you wouldn’t mind, please send word to Master Meyer that I require additional supplies.” He flashed a smile. “He will know what I mean.”

  Finn looked at him, confusion filling him for a moment before nodding. “Thank you,” he said again.

  Back on the street, he wasn’t sure what he needed to do. He carried the gray shirt and pants of the Sinner’s Cloth bundled up under his arm and shifted the bundle so that it was beneath the overcoat.

  Heading through the streets, back toward Meyer’s home, he felt… different.

  No longer quite as conspicuous as he had been, but it was more than just that. It was wearing clothes that were far nicer than anything that he had ever worn before. He felt almost honorable.

  Once inside Master Meyer’s home, the executioner met him at the door and regarded his new clothing while nodding. “Much better.”

  “Master Beshear wanted me to tell you that he needs additional supplies.”

  “Very well.”

  “What sort of supplies?”

  “That is between him and me,” Meyer said. “Come along. It’s time to start.”

  “Errands?”

  Meyer shook his head. “Training.”

  He motioned for Finn to follow, and they headed out into the garden, where Finn found seven large pumpkins set off to the side. He didn’t take Meyer for the kind to decorate. The garden had a purpose, but Finn didn’t feel that it was decorative.

  “Wait here.” Meyer went back into the house before returning with Justice and holding it out to Finn. “Take it carefully.”

  Finn did so. Was he to clean it? This was his training? Meyer had already shown him how to clean the sword.

  “How would you hold a sword?”

  Finn gripped the hilt of it. He’d seen many swords but had never held one before. “Like this?”

  Meyer stopped behind him, shifting Finn’s hands. When he did, the grip made more sense. “Hold here and here. It gives you a wider base. Justice is a longsword, and to wield her, you need to maintain your grip in a way that gives you the most strength.”

  Finn tensed. He wasn’t a child, though Meyer positioned himself as if he were.

  When Meyer stepped back, Finn held the sword. It was long. Unwieldy. And Finn couldn’t shake the thought that this sword had beheaded countless people.

  He almost dropped it.

  “Careful. Don’t think about where the sword has been. Think about the blade. The way it feels in your hand. How it must be an extension of your arm.”

  How had Meyer known what I’d been thinking?

  “I don’t know if it can be an extension of my arm.”

  “Not at first. No man can wield a sword without practice. Think of the Archers. They practice daily, and they don’t need the same accuracy as I must have. If they miss their target, they get another strike. If I miss mine, the people are outraged.”

  “But your target isn’t moving.”

  “No? Just wait until you stand before one of the condemned, holding Justice before you, your arms trembling. The man before you trembling. Do you think it’s easier or harder to kill in such a manner?”

  Finn would have said easier, but perhaps it wasn’t.

  “Now. You will practice.”

  “I’ll what?”

  “Practice. The pumpkins will be your first target. Your aim is to cleave them in half with a single blow. When you can do that ten times in a row, you will move on.”

  Finn looked down at the pumpkins. “But there are only seven here.”

  Meyer snorted. “If you’re successful today, I will find more pumpkins.”

  He lifted one, and for a moment, Finn feared Meyer was going to have him slice through the pumpkin while the executioner held it, but then he set it on one of the garden boxes. It was about waist-high, not all that high, but better than trying to hack at the pumpkin while it was on the ground.

  “Let’s see your technique.”

  Finn couldn’t deny the curiosity of how it would feel to swing the sword, especially after hearing some of the rumors the night before. He’d have to ask Wolf more about Justice.

  Stepping back, Finn brought his arms up and twisted, swinging the sword around…

  And missed.

  He looked over to Meyer.

  “You can’t put so much force behind your movement, or you’ll miss every time.”

  Finn swung the sword again.

  This time, he caught the top of the pumpkin.

  The blade barely bit into the skin.

  “You have to be stronger than that. It’s a balance of understanding how hard to swing and how to do so with the proper form. This is not sword fighting. This is a stationary object. There’s no blocking, no forms to memorize. Not the way the Archers train.”

  Finn glanced over at him. By the way he said it, he had to wonder if Meyer had trained with the Archers.

  “Try again.”

  Finn did so. Each time he tried, he found he gained a little better understanding of what he had to do. He trie
d to swing the sword with control, and though he hit the pumpkin, he didn’t cause much damage. When he swung with more force, the sword didn’t have any aim.

  His arms ached.

  He still had only worked on the one pumpkin.

  “You will need to keep trying. I don’t expect you to master this today, but you must master it.”

  “How long do I have?”

  Meyer shook his head. “Not long enough.”

  He left Finn in the garden, and Finn turned to the pumpkin and kept practicing.

  He’d never thought he was weak, but working with the sword in this way left his arms burning. Justice was a heavy sword, weighing enough that he felt he couldn’t swing it with the control he wanted.

  After practicing for the better part of an hour, he still hadn’t managed to split more than a few of the pumpkins. His aim needed work. He’d cut through them, but if Meyer’s goal for him was to have him cut through ten of them in a row, Finn would need more time to master it.

  Meyer joined him in the garden again, noting the pumpkins. “Clean the blade and join me inside.” He set the satchel with rags down near the bench.

  “Am I to oil it?”

  “How often did I instruct you to oil the blade?”

  “Once a week.”

  “Then clean the blade and join me.”

  Finn grabbed a rag from the satchel and carefully wiped the bits of pumpkin off the sword. While he did, he admired the steel. The edge was sharp, and he imagined that Meyer honed it regularly. The metal gleamed as he wiped it clean, and swirls of gray worked along the surface. Though his father had made sure he could read well, the writing engraved on the edge of the blade was done in a language he couldn’t read. Both Meyer and Wolf had mentioned the sword was hundreds of years old, so it shouldn’t surprise him the language would change over time.

  When Justice had been cleaned and resheathed, he carried it inside to find Meyer waiting. He took the sword from Finn without a word and placed it into the closet where he stored it.

  “You’ll clean up the mess when we return.”

  Finn glanced toward the garden before nodding. “Where are we going?”

  “We have a few places we need to go this morning. Keep up.”

  Finn followed him.

  He expected that Meyer would lead him toward the center of the city. Despite living on the border between sections, most of the shopping he’d done with Meyer had been in the merchant section. Instead of there, he headed out toward the Olin section.

  Finn frowned to himself.

  Was that intentional?

  Meyer had already implied that he knew what Finn had done the night before. That he knew he’d gone to visit with his crew.

  Is he going to Olin as a way to prove that I can’t return to my old life?

  The streets there were narrow and curled around, much like in every other part of the city. They created a maze, making it difficult to head directly through the city, another line of defense for the palace. Many of the buildings they passed were homes, though not all of them were. Occasional shops with doors cracked and waiting for customers interrupted the homes, though Finn suspected most shop owners lived in the nearby homes. As they neared the wall, the buildings crammed even closer together, using all the space available within the wall's protection.

  “Why out here?”

  “Do you know this part of the city?” Meyer asked.

  “Better than some of the other places you’ve led me.”

  As Finn looked around, familiar shops greeted him. Now that they were close to the wall, he recognized Tevel’s butcher, the Ghiland bakery, the candlemaker…

  Meyer stopped in front of an unassuming building. The storefront was wider than many nearby, taking up space for what would have been two buildings around it. There was no sign and nothing that really indicated it was a store.

  “What is this place?”

  “Come along.”

  Finn hurried inside. It was an apothecary.

  Compared to the tailor’s shop that he visited earlier that day, it was dingy and dark. Rows of shelves that seemed to lack any sort of organization. The air stank, a funky odor that felt as if it permeated not only his nose but also his new clothing.

  Finn wrapped the cloak around himself protectively.

  He doubted it would do much of anything, but he still felt compelled to do it, holding the cloak tightly so that the stench of the apothecary didn’t fill everything around him.

  Could this be the kind of place that my sister had gone to for Mother?

  Finn had no idea where Lena had visited, only that the concoctions she had brought home had been of little use. Nothing that she had tried had made much difference when helping their mother recover from her illness. At this point, Finn doubted that anything would be of much use to help their mother recover. It might only be that they would be able to delay her passing, not heal her.

  Meyer wandered through the apothecary, stopping in front of the counter near the back of the shop.

  Finn looked all around him as he made his way toward the back, where Meyer waited. On one of the shelves, he noted what looked to be dried fingers. A clear jar of gray powder sat next to them. Many of the shelves held leaves, or oils, or other combinations of things.

  The apothecary came from the back of the room and joined Meyer. “Master Meyer. What can I do for you today?”

  She was an older woman, with bright eyes and gray hair tucked into a bun. A striped shawl hung over her shoulders. Her voice was sharp and robust, surprising given the way she appeared.

  “Wella. I would like to introduce you to Finn Jagger.”

  She looked over at Finn, studying him. Though she was older, there was something in the way she regarded him that suggested she saw him clearly. She tapped on the floor with a short cane and cackled softly.

  “A new apprentice? The court didn’t saddle you with one of their own?”

  “No,” he said.

  “What did the boy do to deserve this fate?”

  “Does it matter?” Master Meyer asked.

  “Not to me. Perhaps to him. And the gods.” As she said it, she cackled again, her voice a strange and irritating sound that reminded him of Hector in Declan prison.

  “I need a few items from you.”

  “Name them. You know the price.”

  Meyer nodded. “Thistledown. Reglar. Ferun oil. Jasper berry. Fennel. Crispon leaves. Thender bark. And a dropper.”

  Wella cocked her head to the side, studying Meyer. “An interesting selection. What have you done to your Poor Bastards now? Based on what you’re requesting, it seems as if you starved them, though that doesn’t suit you, Master Meyer.”

  Finn only recognized a few of the items that he’d asked about. Thistledown was relatively common. Jasper berry as well. The others were not nearly as common, and he had no idea what crispon leaves or thender bark were. Probably something that came from the forest outside of the city, but who would venture out there?

  “Do you have them?”

  “Do I have them?” she scoffed. “You know that I do. Now, when will I be repaid?”

  “You know that I’ve always paid my debt,” he said.

  She smiled at him. “Always in the past, but will you always in the future?”

  “A man can’t predict the future,” Master Meyer said.

  “Only the gods,” she said, laughing again.

  She leaned on her cane as she wound past the counter and began to make her way through the apothecary shop. She paused at several different shelves, taking items from them, tucking the items under her arm, before heading back to the counter.

  Reaching under the counter, she set waxed paper on it and began to spoon the items together. “I could mix them for you, Henry.”

  “That’s not necessary,” Master Meyer said.

  “Interesting.” She looked up. “I am most curious as to what you need this concoction for.”

  “I’m sure you are.”

&n
bsp; She grinned, revealing only a few teeth remaining in her mouth. “Be careful with the crispon. It’s still fresh, and you will need to try it out before you use it.”

  “I know,” he said.

  “Of course you do.” She finished packaging the various items that Master Meyer had requested and folded the waxed paper up, stacking them. She looked over to Finn, holding his gaze for a moment. “Will you be sending him to me?”

  “Not quite yet, Wella.”

  She sniffed. “Not yet, but eventually.”

  “Eventually.”

  She cackled again. “I will look forward to working with this one. Look at him. So young. So innocent.”

  “Not innocent.”

  “No? Ah. Then the rumors of the festival gone awry are true.”

  “It didn’t go awry.”

  “Perhaps not for you, but for those who thought to profit off of it, it went awry.” She laughed again and watched Finn, studying him. “Not that it matters. The magister has been free with his gifts these days. Hasn’t he?”

  Master Meyer’s face darkened for a moment. “I will send the usual, I presume?”

  “The usual will be adequate for now, though in the coming weeks, I might have a different requirement.”

  Meyer nodded, and he pressed on Finn’s back. “Thank you for your help, Wella.”

  Finn took one last look at the inside of the shop before heading out.

  Once out, Master Meyer guided him back to the streets, weaving a different way from how they had come, but it wasn’t long before Finn realized where he was leading them.

  Back toward Master Meyer’s home.

  That was the only purpose for our journey?

  Once inside, Meyer began to take the items from the waxed paper out, then took a bowl from the shelf and began to pinch the combination together. When it was done, it was a slurry that he added water to liquefy it even more.

  “Here,” Meyer said.

  “What is it?” Finn asked.

  “This is for your mother.”

  Finn stared at it. “I’m not sure I can give her this.”

  “From what you’ve said, you have tried various other concoctions, and none of them have been effective. I suspect your sister has even gone to the hegen.” Finn tried to keep his face neutral. “You don’t have to tell me one way or the other. I don’t know how effective this will be, but it should slow the progression. If it works, and if you begin to trust me, I might have something more that I can try for her.”