Finn watched him, and he had another realization. Here he thought that Meyer had not been looking into what had happened, but from the expression on Meyer’s face, the tension in his eyes, that wasn’t the case at all.
Meyer had been digging into it.
What he’d found left him nervous.
“I could help,” Finn said.
“No. You have your assignment. Didn’t you tell me you believed Sweth to be innocent?”
“Maybe not completely innocent. He had several affairs with married women on his street, and he’d embezzled some money from Master Johan, but I don’t think he started the fire.”
“Then he’s innocent of the crime he’s accused of committing. The others can be sorted out later, but if he is presented to the jurors for sentencing of the fires, we have several minor inquisitors”—Finn didn’t have much experience with the other city inquisitors, only being aware that they all reported to Meyer—“along with the warden, who have submitted their claims of his guilt. That will weigh heavily against him unless we have something more to offer them.”
Something more meant an alternative person to be sentenced.
“I can help with what you’re looking into,” Finn said carefully. “You know that I can. I still have connections—”
“It’s those connections I fear, Finn.” He shook his head, glancing over to Wella’s apothecary. “I seem to recall the last time you thought to use your connections, you very nearly ended with both of our lives in danger.”
“You aren’t in the same danger now,” Finn said.
Meyer studied him. “Am I not?” He nodded to Wella’s apothecary. “Go ahead and gather what you came here for. I will meet with you later.”
“You don’t need to go in?”
“If you intend to visit with Wella, I don’t think I am needed.”
He started off down the street, and Finn stared for a moment. Meyer was nervous. He hadn’t said it, but Finn believed he had started investigating Bellut and the magister. Maybe he had been investigating them ever since the discovery. If only Meyer would have involved Finn in it. He thought he could offer him help, but would Meyer even accept Finn’s help?
Probably not.
He sighed. He had to stick to his assignment. That didn’t mean he couldn’t keep digging a little bit. It was possible he might find something about what Bellut and the magister had been up to, and if he did learn anything, then he could report it to Meyer. Meyer couldn’t be mad at Finn then, could he?
Knowing Meyer, he would still find some reason to be disappointed in Finn for bringing up that kind of information, though it would hopefully help with their investigation.
He pushed open the door to Wella’s shop.
The smell of the apothecary struck him immediately. It was the same as it often was, though this time there was a bit more of a pungent spice to it than usual. It seemed to cover an undercurrent of rot, as if some of her supplies had started to go stale. He wrinkled his nose as he swept his gaze around, looking for Wella. Normally, the moment he came into the shop, she tottered out of the back and found him, but this time there was no sign of her.
Finn wandered along the rows of shelves, pausing in front of one jar with a thick, black-looking liquid inside it. He held it up to the dingy light in the apothecary, trying to make out what might be in this bottle. He set it back down and moved on, grabbing for another jar, this one with a pink-colored paste inside. He sniffed at it, noting a hint of cinnamon, maybe some tareth berry, but not much else that he detected without tasting it.
One shelf consisted entirely of jars of different leaves, all of them dried and all of them different sizes and shapes. Another shelf consisted of powders. Some more finely ground, like pepper; others were coarser, small pebbles. They were of different colors and smells, and seemed to battle with each other for prominence on the shelf.
A jar of fingers occupied an entire shelf. Finn didn’t need to take the top off of the jar to examine the fingers inside. He could see them quite clearly. He wondered how many of them were people he had sentenced over time. Wella had other human remains.
He reached the end of the cabinets and waited.
Her shop wouldn’t have been unlocked unless she were there, though maybe she was in the back doing something. Finn had never been to the back of her shop and didn’t know what she did there, or what she even had stored there. Maybe there were even more exotic items in the back of her apothecary shop; things that she didn’t want to keep displayed like she did out there.
He smiled at the thought. He could imagine horrific items. Complete hands or feet or even more disgusting things like condemned men’s manhoods. That had value to some. Finn had heard the rumors about how people claimed the part to use for their own fertility, believing that burning it and mixing the ash into a drink would bring fertility to themselves. The idea that would make a difference in fertility seemed ridiculous to Finn. It seemed far easier—and safer—to simply go to the hegen and ask for one of their magic concoctions. It might incur a cost, but at least it wasn’t as obviously disgusting.
Movement from the back of the shop caught Finn’s attention, and an older man hobbled out, leaning on a cane. He had a sharply stooped back, graying hair, and flat silver eyes. They swept over the inside of the apothecary shop before settling on Finn. There was something unsettling about his gaze.
“You will come back if it is not effective,” Wella said, emerging from the back.
“I will come back. You know how disappointed I will be if this does not work.”
“And you know that I have done my best. Not all of my concoctions work immediately.”
He grunted. “No. Too many of your kind find that you are happier making excuses for when things don’t go well.”
“They are not excuses, Mr. Reames.” Finn recognized the hard irritated note in Wella’s voice, even if Mr. Reames did not. “Seeing as how you’ve decided to only pay in part, I think you’re lucky I haven’t offered you only partial healing as well.”
Reames frowned, before looking over to Finn. “What’s wrong with you?”
“Don’t bother the executioner,” Wella said.
He grunted. “Executioner? I’ve seen the executioner. Tall man. Short hair. Wrinkles. You’re no executioner.”
“This is his apprentice. Quite skilled, from the rumors I hear.”
“Is that right?” Reames eyed Finn with renewed interest. “How many men have you hanged?”
Finn glanced over to Wella, before turning back to Reames. “I’ve been privy to two dozen executions.”
“Two dozen. What man in the city hasn’t been privy to at least two dozen executions? I’m asking how many of you hanged?”
“I’ve participated in two dozen executions,” Finn said.
Reames straightened slightly, leaning on his cane a little bit. “Two dozen, eh? Not bad. I bet the old executioner has done nearly a thousand.” He glanced over to Wella. “Maybe twice that. He’s been here a long time, you know. I hear he came here to hide. Not that I can blame him. Given what happened to his wife and child, after all.”
“That’s enough,” Wella said.
“So says you. A man has a right to talk, especially if he has a chance to visit with someone who might know.” Reames grinned at Finn, showing a mouthful of crooked teeth. “What do you say? Your master tell you anything about what happened to them?”
Finn held Reames’s gaze. “Whatever happened is his business.”
“His business,” Reames scoffed. “If you ask me, it’s all of our business. He trots around the city looking like he owns it.”
“No one asks you,” Wella said, grabbing a short cane from behind her counter and whacking Reames on the arm. She must have struck him hard enough, as he winced and glared at her for a moment. “And you and I both know the executioner serves as the king’s arm of justice.”
“The king. I’d rather follow the gods’s justice.”
“You can follow whatever
justice you want, just so long as you leave my shop. You return with my payment as well. This is the last time I’ll take you in without payment.”
“We both know that’s not the case,” Reames said, grinning at Wella. “If this don’t work—”
“If it doesn’t work, I have already told you to return. Now be gone.”
Wella made a show of swinging her cane at him again, and Reames grunted, tapping his cane on the ground as he staggered through the rows of shelves before reaching the door and pulling it open. He paused in the doorway, looking back at Finn, something flickering in his eyes that Finn couldn’t quite read, before he stepped out onto the street.
When the door closed, Wella breathed out slowly. She could be good-spirited, and she could be a little bit eccentric, but he’d never seen her frustrated like that.
“I didn’t expect to see you quite so soon. You typically only come once or twice a week.”
“I have a few questions,” Finn said. He looked toward the door and chuckled to himself. “Maybe more than a few questions.”
“Don’t you go and let him get in your head.”
“He didn’t get in my head.”
“I can see that look in your eyes, Finn. It’s the one that will end up with you asking the wrong kind of questions.”
“The wrong kind?”
“The kind that leads to you upsetting Henry.”
“I’m not supposed to ask questions to Master Meyer?”
Wella leaned forward on the counter, looking across it at him. “Not that kind.”
“Is it true?” Finn stood behind the counter, keeping a bit of distance between him and Wella, but feeling as if even more distance had formed. Maybe pushing her about this was the wrong strategy. “I didn’t realize he hadn’t always been here.”
“That’s not how the Executioner Court works,” Wella said.
Finn grabbed a jar off the shelf nearest him and tipped it up to his nose. It was a sandy substance, though it smelled almost sweet. He started to dip his finger into it when Wella smacked his other hand.
“You won’t like that if you do it.”
“What is it?”
“We used to call it fire ash. Probably not something you had much experience with. Comes out of the south.”
“So, it’s not just actual ash?”
“Gods, no.”
“I haven’t even heard of it,” he said.
“I’m not surprised about that, either. Fire ash doesn’t have too much in the way of practical uses.”
“What do you mean?”
“Some think it can bring them luck. They sprinkle it over their gardens, especially if they’ve had a poor harvest, wanting to expunge the past. Others will sprinkle it around their homes, thinking that it might push out demons that have cursed them.” Wella shook her head. “Can’t say that I know if either of them are true, but the powder itself is caustic. It would burn your fingers.”
“Does it have any other practical purposes?” Something that might burn like that might be beneficial for some of his questioning. Finn wondered if Meyer knew about fire ash. Using something like that in the prisons might offer them the opportunity to ask questions and get answers that they wouldn’t have otherwise.
“Nothing you would be concerned about,” she said softly.
She took the jar from him, stoppering it, and set it on the shelf and away from him. “Do you care to tell me why you are here?”
Finn looked back toward the door. He couldn’t get past what Reames had said to him. He knew Meyer had secrets. And he knew Meyer had a family that he must have lost, but Finn would’ve expected that to have been something that had happened after he came to Verendal. Why else would his bedroom have been set up the way that it was?
“You really won’t talk about it with me?” Finn asked, turning back to Wella.
She sighed, shaking her head slowly. “I’ve known Henry since the very first day he came to the city. He was just a journeyman then. Came to work with the old master executioner, a man by the name of Fortin Range. A skilled man, diligent, but nothing like Henry. Henry has proven himself not only skilled at his task but also beyond reproach. I doubt you would find anyone in the city who could claim he does not serve the king to his best ability.”
In the time Finn had been serving Master Meyer, he had seen that. Meyer certainly had proven himself over time to be a man of honor, of dignity, despite the trappings of the job. It was something that had appealed to Finn when he had first apprenticed with him. Meyer had given Finn the belief that he could do and be something more, and it didn’t have to be a mindless executioner.
“What happened to his family?”
“None really know. All I can say is that they were lost before he came. He spoke about them a bit more in those days, but as you can imagine, that has changed over time.”
“I see.”
Wella frowned at him. “Do you?”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
She cackled and slapped the counter in front of her. “How is it that you don’t recognize the connection?”
“What connection is that?”
“The connection between his past and your future?” Wella grabbed a stool from behind the counter and took a seat. She clasped her hands, looking up at him. “Do you think he chose you because of your good looks?” She cackled again. “Or perhaps you think he chose you because he liked you. Or maybe you thought he chose you because he believed the jurors had your sentencing wrong.”
Finn shrugged. “I suppose I did think that.”
She laughed again. “Perhaps that’s true. It’s possible he did see a wrong had been committed, and decided to do whatever he could to right that wrong.”
There was more to Finn’s suspicion than just that, though. As he looked at Wella, he wondered whether or not she would even acknowledge it to him. He figured it couldn’t hurt to ask, though. She might not know the answer, but if he didn’t ask, he might never learn the truth.
“To be honest, I started to question whether it was tied to the hegen.”
She frowned. “Why would hegen care anything about you?”
“I don’t know. I thought maybe they decided to use me.” He still had the most recent card, and though he didn’t know what the crown on it represented, he suspected. Esmerelda wouldn’t tell him, and despite him digging, he doubted that he would find those answers very easily.
“I can’t say whether or not the hegen were involved, but that wasn’t my impression. When he first exerted his right with you, I wondered why. All these years, and Meyer had never been one to go outside of the trappings of his office.” He chuckled. “I suppose he still didn’t. He simply went back in time, using an ancient right that had not been used for a long time.”
“And you don’t think the hegen were involved?”
“Maybe they were,” she said, shrugging. “I know Meyer has rapport with them that Fortin never did. Fortin always tried to chase them away after the executions. Made me getting supplies a little bit difficult.” She leveled her gaze on the jar nearest her, and Finn glanced over to see it filled with toes. “Henry arrived and must’ve had a different experience with the hegen. He accepted them, normalized them, to an extent.”
“I don’t think he completely normalized them,” Finn said.
“Not for those within the city, but for those who tried to keep the hegen from collecting prizes following the execution, he most certainly did.” She cackled again. “But none of that matters. I think the only thing that really matters is that he saw a little bit of himself in you. Didn’t know that at first, not when I first met you, but the more I learned about your mother and sister…”
Finn frowned. Could that be it? Could it be that Meyer had only chosen him because of his family connection? Depending upon what happened to Meyer’s wife and daughter, maybe that did fit. Maybe he saw in Finn an opportunity to help someone when he hadn’t been able to be helped.
Perhaps it didn’t even matter
.
That wasn’t entirely true. If the hegen were involved, Finn thought it absolutely mattered. If they were using him, and using Meyer to get to him, then it mattered to him. If there was another reason, and if it were only about what Meyer wanted, then perhaps he shouldn’t push quite so hard to try to understand.
“Don’t go talking to him about it,” Wella said. “He hasn’t spoken of them in a long time. I know that kind of grief in a man. I know what it does to them. And I know what bringing up the past can do.”
“Bringing up the past can help them heal,” Finn said.
“Heal? Or crack?” She got to her feet again. “None of that is the reason that you came here, though. Why don’t you tell me what you’re looking for and I can see if I can help you find it.”
Finn let out a long sigh and tried to shake away the thoughts filling him. Wella was right. He couldn’t go and question Meyer about any of this. He knew Meyer well enough to know he wouldn’t take it very well. He might even get angry. It was one more question he might not ever know the truth about.
“He tasked me with helping a woman.”
“Helping?” Wella leaned forward, grinning. Her breath smelled of mint. “By that, you mean healing. It’s about time he started to introduce you to that aspect of your responsibilities.”
“He’s taught me other parts of healing,” Finn said.
“Other parts, but they are all applicable to your responsibility in the prison. What I’m getting at is a different kind of responsibility. Not everyone can afford to go see the physician.” Wella shook her head. “And I’m never going to be the one to tell you I have the same knowledge and experience as the executioner. Mine is here in the shop, mixing compounds and offering different medicinals, but Henry sees things that I don’t.” She tipped her head to the side. “What is it? What did he ask you to help with?”
“Fatigue,” Finn said.
She chuckled. “That’s an odd one to start with.”
“I’m sure Master Meyer had his reasons.”
“Most definitely. Knowing Henry, he must have something he intends for you to learn from it. Not just about the healing, that is. If I know him, he intends for you to gain a different lesson from it. What do you think it might be?”
The Executioner's Apprentice (The Executioner's Song Book 2) Page 15