When We Were Executioners

by J. M. McDermott

  “What’s her name?” said Djoss.

  The crier ignored Djoss. The crier kept calling out new names. He had finished the executions, and was now listing the people to be locked in the saddles and ridden about town. Djoss stopped the first person he found. “Do you know the ofdemon’s name?!” he shouted.

  “Toss off!” said the man. He pushed away from Djoss.

  Djoss grabbed another person, a woman. She slapped him.

  Djoss shouted at the crier, “Hey, you!”

  “Toss off!” shouted the crier, “I’m working!”

  “Where do they keep the ones they’re going to kill?”

  “Don’t you know? See me there soon you keep bothering me. I’ll smash your head up. Head to the King’s Old Palace, other side of Dogsland River.”

  “What’s it look like?”

  “Stick around a little longer and I’ll show you.”

  Djoss asked everyone around him for directions. They pointed North, across the river, and into the mainland, where the swamp mingled with the city and the wall.

  Djoss ran.

  * * *

  Three different layers of king’s guard let Djoss through to see the girl. They didn’t even ask for bribes. Corporal Christoff didn’t look up when Djoss clumsily tried to sneak past his desk in the last room.

  They were expecting some tough to rescue the girl. They assumed Djoss was their fellow.

  Djoss climbed down three flights of stairs following the directions he got from the third guard. He made it all the way to the bars.

  Jona was sitting next to an open cell. He looked up at Djoss. “Salvatore send you?”

  “Who?” said Djoss.

  “Worthless sneak thief, that Salvatore. Can’t even save his own girl,” said Jona. “Has to send someone. Right then, go on. She’s in there.”

  “Who is?”

  “The girl. Salvatore’s girl. You’re here for her, right? Go on in, and get her.”

  Djoss had been around enough to know he’d best hop in and check the girl out, and the rest of the mystery was best not unraveled right then. Djoss set his eyes low, walked in, and aimed at the shadow weeping in the back of the room. There was a girl, long black hair and puffs of dust when her chest heaved. Her hair was black, but in this filth it could’ve been anything wrapped in black filth.

  He saw it wasn’t his sister from where he stood. He went in anyway. He wanted to see the second of-demon he’d ever seen in his life.

  She took a deep breath at Djoss’ footsteps behind her. Her tears dried up, and her face chilled pale. “Did Salvatore send you?” she said. She looked up at Djoss with plaintive eyes, her hand upon his filthy boot.

  “He did,” said Djoss.

  “He should’ve come himself. Why didn’t he come? Who are you?”

  “I’m Djoss Nolander,” he said, “pleasure to meet you.” He offered his hand.

  The girl looked at it like a dead fish. “Where’s Salvatore?”

  Djoss sat down across from her in the straw and filth. “I don’t know,” he said.

  “I want you to go find him, and tell him that he has to come for me. I know he’ll come for me. I just know it. He loves me. He would never leave me to die like this. Imam’ll find a way. He’ll save me when I least expect it. When will he save me? You have to know him. You must know him. I won’t leave without him.”

  Djoss leaned forward and looked at the girl, closer. “I’ll find him,” he said. “Where can I find him?”

  “Don’t you know?”

  “I’m sorry…”

  “I will not leave this cell. Without Salvatore, I am a dead woman, and all glory belongs to Imam. I know Salvatore’ll come for me. And if he doesn’t, I won’t…” she started to sob again, “I won’t know a body on the streets. I won’t know a soul, without him. I’ll have nowhere to go...”

  “You can come with me, if they’ll let you,” whispered Djoss. He touched her face. “You’re not alone, you know. There’s another girl like you. I was looking for her when I found you.”

  She threw his hands away. “Get out!” she shouted. “Don’t touch me!”

  Jona leaned in at the two in the cell. “Hey, street meat, you saving the girl, or what? All I hear is talk talk talk in there, and nobody’s saving the girl.”

  Djoss stepped out of the cell, his face pale. “She’s the of-demon?” he said.

  Jona nodded. “Tested her blood myself, twice. Beautiful thing, yeah? Never know how evil takes in a body. Probably all rocks and brimstone inside of her. Bet she has beast guts, or all teeth between her legs.”

  “I bet,” said Djoss, “You know this Salvatore fellow?”

  “What’s it to you?”

  “Do you know him?” said Djoss.

  Jona nodded. “I know him,” he said, “She won’t leave without him. I told the girl her fellow was waiting upstairs, but she wouldn’t believe me. She won’t leave unless he comes for her. Silly thing, to burn a girl just because she was born a little evil, if you ask me. Plenty of people are born evil, right? I can walk a block and tell you every kid that’ll hang before he’s got a beard. Don’t roll ’em, before they earn the rope, right?”

  “Well, the girl…”

  “Well, the girl’s a dead woman if Salvatore doesn’t come for her.” Jona stretched his neck. “Look, I don’t know you, fellow. If you don’t know where Salvatore is, best to walk the job. I wouldn’t get involved in this, were I dumb like you. Nasty, nasty.”

  “I’ll take her with me,” said Djoss, “I’ll take her over my shoulder and kicking, but tell me where Salvatore can take her off me.”

  Jona stopped. He cocked his head. He looked up at the hulking figure of the dirty, pens-stinking bouncer. Jona stood up. “That’s your game?” He whispered, cruelly. He pushed Djoss against a wall, hard. Djoss bounced back and put his hands up. He was smart enough not to punch a king’s man in the king’s prison. Jona kicked and shoved Djoss back up the stairs. “You want to see the of-demon up close before she’s burned? You want to taste a spot of evil, just to see? See if she’ll ride you one last time? That what you think? An ugly sack of street meat like you, and you think some condemned of-demon might ride you just for kicks? Think you save her and she rides you? Take her off and have her and then let the some monkey buy her off you?”

  Djoss didn’t mind getting hit by a king’s man. He stepped backwards up the stairs where Jona, muttering and striking, pushed him. Djoss was back in the streets. His body was puckered in bruises from Jona’s sharp fists. Djoss jogged away into the night, alone.

  “You go find Salvatore,” shouted Jona, at Djoss’ back, “If you don’t, I’ll hunt you both down myself.”

  * * *

  Djoss did the only thing he could think of. He went home. It was a long walk.

  When he got home, no one was there. He got water from the well. He watered the flowers and set the rest to boil some water for rice and tea. He had a few sausages left over, made with pork and some berries and lots of sawdust. He ladled out the boiling water for his pot of tea, and then he threw the sausage and the rice into the rice pot.

  He ate alone, staring at the door. When he was done, he laid down in his bed. He closed his eyes, and breathed deep.

  * * *

  Djoss pulled himself from the bed. He rubbed his forehead. He looked around to see if Rachel had returned. He had cooked enough rice for them both. He didn’t know how to cook just enough for one. He ate most of what was left, and covered the rest with a cloth in case Rachel came back later.

  He looked outside at the street below them. He called out to one of the street vendors, and he asked the vendor if she had seen Rachel. The vendor didn’t know who Djoss was talking about.

  Djoss took more money from his little stash. He hit the streets again. First he swung down to his tavern to grab another layabout to pick up the gig for just one night. The boss told Djoss that if Djoss kicked one more night, he’d be gone. Djoss told the boss off and stuff the lot of them. />
  Djoss hit the taverns he knew, and the cafés he knew, and the places he thought she might know. He found a few familiar faces, but that’s all. They hadn’t seen the girl.

  He figured he should retrace his steps into the city. He went back to the first apartment, at the baker’s shop. He hopped inside, and caught the baker’s wife sweeping up and closing down. He asked her if she’d seen Rachel. The woman said, “Who?”

  “My sister,” said Djoss, “We lived here a while ago. Thought she might turn up for some bread or something.”

  “What she look like?”

  “Senta, and a woman like a younger, thinner, prettier me.”

  “No Senta came in today. You buying anything?”

  “No.”

  “Then let me finish up. We’re closing down for the night. Be open tomorrow right at sunrise. Fresh bread, then.”

  He stepped out of the place and looked around. He wanted to go back further, to Turco’s crate city. The closer he got, the more it occurred to him that there probably were no crates anymore. That kind of home is ephemeral, and rain and rot and sickness swept in and melted the whole thing into the sewers. The place was probably just a mudpit now, where Turco lit cookfires at the edge of a river and a few stalwart vagabonds lingered around a fire in a muddy field.

  Djoss stopped at a street vendor and tossed a coin and said the name, “Turco, the fellow from Dunn. One of them Three Kings painting three crowns. You seen him around?”

  The vendor nodded. He pointed towards an alley. Djoss nodded. He walked towards the alley, and he remembered it now. This was the place where there had been crates. Now, he could see the rotten wood in heaps, fallen and covered in thick, green moss. Turco smoked a pipe against a warehouse wall. He smiled at Djoss. “Hello,” he said, “You’ve been missing, Djoss. Dog’s been counting. Didn’t know he could count, but he’s been doing fine, I think. Mudskippers help him.”

  Turco reached into his pocket for an extra pipe. He offered it to Djoss.

  Djoss took the pipe. “Thanks,” said Djoss, “Where’re the fellows? Where’s Dog and the mudskippers?”

  “Out and about,” said Turco. Turco pulled a match from another pocket. He slipped some spare weed into the pipe, and flicked a match. He held it out to Djoss.

  Djoss took one puff, and knew he had made a mistake taking the pipe. He coughed. His head spun. He leaned back into the wall. He shoved the pipe back in Turco’s hands. “Thanks,” he said, “I needed that.”

  Djoss slid down the wall. He looked up at the sky. It moved. He felt coughs rising up from his chest like sweet butterflies. “Elishta,” he said, “What kind of weed is that?”

  “Good stuff. Not the common stuff we been smoking on the corners, all mixed up with lettuce and chicory and whatever else to fool us with. This is the stuff we run around to the pipes. This is the raw demon. This is the burnt tongue of Imam and Erin all in you.”

  “I’ve never had any that tight before,” said Djoss. He looked at his hands. His hands seemed far away. “Nothing that tight. Where did you get that?”

  “You’ve been running it out and about with the mudskippers. Three Kings, three crowns rolling a racket with this stuff. Good stuff, right? This is off the tip top.”

  “Amazing,” said Djoss. He watched his hands shrink in front of him. The sky was purple. The air he breathed was thick with joy. His coughs faded into a hum in his throat, like a hiding smile on the back of his tongue. “My sister’d kill me. Headcheese can break a fellow’s skull. Break it in half. Amazing stuff.”

  “Right, that. You ready to help cut it?”

  “No,” said Djoss, “You see my sister anywhere?”

  “No. I know a fellow who might have seen her.”

  “Really? Who?”

  “Don’t know his name. He knows everyone in the city, though, if they’re worth knowing. He’s a Senta, too, but he keeps his head growing and growing with the names and places where people are, and this good stuff.” He lifted his pipe to his lips. “Good stuff, yeah. He knows everyone to know, and everything, too. He knows me. He knows you.”

  Djoss held out his hand for the pipe. “Hey, let me try that again.”

  “Careful,” said Turco. He handed Djoss the pipe.

  Djoss took a long hit, until his lungs burned and he coughed away the pain until the glow rolled in like a cool breeze on a hot day. He smiled. “Where is this fellow?”

  “I’ll take you,” he said, “How much money you got?”

  “Some,” said Djoss, “How much it cost?”

  “We’ll see when we get there,” said Turco, “Finish that pipe for me and we’ll go.”

  * * *

  Turco took Djoss by the hand, because Djoss wasn’t walking straight. Turco led Djoss to a tavern by the water. The sign out front had a picture of a woman standing next to her own head. The Silent Woman, it was called. He led Jona inside. Turco waved at a fellow behind the bar, and the fellow waved Turco past the bar, and into the kitchen. Once there, Turco knocked six times on a wall next to the counter. The wall opened. Turco took Djoss’ money from Djoss’ own pockets and handed it to the bouncer of the lower room. The bouncer counted the coins, nodded, and gestured down with his thumb.

  Candlelight surrounded a pool of pillows. Men and women lay in heaps on the pillows. They clutched at the thin ends of a huge hookah, like a giant glass tree reaching out rubber branches to the men laid low on the pillows. A mound of slowly churning pink weed smoke bubbled up through the water. Men sucked on the little hoses.

  Turco snagged one of the limbs, and handed it to Djoss. “Here,” he said, “Try this.”

  Djoss took a drag, and the universe opened in his skull. He fell backwards onto the pillows. His mouth opened.

  Turco laughed. “Welcome to Elishta,” he said, “Folk like us only get one shot at the right life. This is it.”

  Djoss slowly dragged himself up to sitting. He took another quick sip from the limb of the tree. “Where’s the fellow who knows where Rachel is?” he said, after three tries at speaking.

  Turco looked around. “I guess he isn’t here, yet. Just stay tight. He’ll get here.” Turco slipped a limb off the hookah. “Everybody says this stuff is bad. I don’t know why. Way I see it, we spend our whole lives wishing for happiness and never getting it. Here I am, and I drink the smoke of this here wishing tree, and I wish for happiness and I get it. Where else guys like us be happy?”

  “When will the fellow get here?” said Djoss, like he hadn’t heard a word.

  “Relax,” said Turco, “He’ll get here.”

  * * *

  Whether the fellow ever arrived or not is unknown to everyone. Turco had used Djoss’ money to buy himself into the hookah.

  When Djoss came back down from the bliss, he was lying in a gutter, in a hard, cold rainstorm, in the middle of the night. Muddy water full of all the filth of the city streets flowed past him. He was choking a little on the rain. He sat up, soaking wet.

  He tried to remember where he was. He looked to one side, and saw the ocean on the other side of the street. He looked the other way, and saw a tavern. He stood up, but his legs were full of smoke, and he had to sit back down again, splashing, into this tiny street river. He waited until he could feel the blood in his body. His whole body had fallen asleep, and he had to let the blood return to parched limbs.

  He stood up. He stumbled over to a wall next to him. He leaned into the wall. He staggered back to his apartment, stopping for directions twice. He didn’t know what day it was. He stopped to puke four times. His whole body ached. He wanted to buy some food, but he couldn’t find any money in his pockets.

  On his way home, he passed the square where they had burned the girl. Rain poured over the smoldering ruin. Two king’s men—privates with barely any facial hair—stood next to the damp, burned corpse, throwing dice to see who had to actually touch the corpse when they cut her hands free, and they needed to pull the melted flesh from the stake where it had melted in like glu
e.

  Djoss sat down and looked up at the body. He sat there, and thought about his sister. He thought about the girl he saw, in the prison. He thought about his mother.

  He broke down into tears. His tears weren’t acid, but they still burned down his face like every one of his nerves was broken and burning.

  The rain stopped. The seasons turned, but they didn’t turn fast. The rainstorms would return again, but for now, they were only an occasional force off the ocean.

  CHAPTER XVIII

  When we leave this city, we won’t know where to go. We haven’t made any plans.

  Don’t leave, then.

  We will, Jona. I should find a way out while we still can.

  Rachel walked in a straight line, looking for the city walls. When she got frustrated with that, she turned a corner. Then, she turned another corner. She walked up the first hill she encountered, climbing up and towards a river on the other side of the valley. This river had a large bridge, overgrown with city life and lined with low huts and tents. Shrewd men lined the edges of the bridge with outhouses that hung just over the lip of the bridge, available for a fee. Steady filth dripped in bursts onto the river boats like a slow, oozing waterfall.

  Rachel walked over the bridge, past the many dirty shops and hot corn vendors and tinkerers selling scrap warped into tools and baubles and the ragmen with their cheap used cloth and cheap paper.

  She was hungry, and tired. She stepped into an inn on the other side. She invented fortunes for strangers in the inn’s tavern until she had enough money to spend the night.

  She could barely make out a glimmer of the Unity. She was a charlatan to these drunk men and she didn’t care. She had a room on the second floor of the inn. It had a bed, and a bathtub. She didn’t have enough money to take a bath—nor did she want to risk a servant’s assistance—so she fell back onto the bed and stared at the ceiling. She listened to two people making love through thin walls, and it reminded her of Jona. She clutched at her stomach, and thought about him.