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

by D. K. Holmberg

  And he also knew it wouldn’t have made a damn bit of difference. As he pulled the door open, glancing out to the iron masters, he wondered if perhaps that was the point.

  Regardless of who was a part of the Black Rose movement, or why they organized the protests, they fed on emotions that existed within the city. They were emotions that a part of Finn still held, even though he had escaped from that fate—at least, mostly—but just because he had didn’t mean that others could.

  And how was he supposed to carry out the king’s justice when he wasn’t completely convinced that it was justice?

  Chapter Twenty-Four

  Finn hadn’t been back to the Brinder section in a while. There wasn’t much reason to, most of the time. He didn’t have anything in the section anymore. His sister was with him at Master Meyer’s home, and he didn’t have any friends in the section. He did have a few friends there when he’d been growing up, but by the time he had started working with the crew, Finn didn’t interact with anybody in his old section.

  It was strange coming back here. Stranger still was knowing he didn’t fit there the way he once did. Even his clothing didn’t fit, which made Finn question whether he should change into clothes that were more suited for the Brinder section. He had on flowing pants, a custom-stitched shirt, and a black-dyed leather belt. All of that would’ve been far too expensive for him to have afforded when he was younger.

  Not that Finn hadn’t been able to afford anything. Stealing had afforded him a lifestyle and a measure of comfort that he wouldn’t have been able to have otherwise, though Finn wasn’t necessarily proud of the fact that he had been a thief. He had learned much, though—how to survive, how to fend for himself, and he had learned that he was the only one who would care for him. The world didn’t care for him, and the gods certainly didn’t care for him.

  Only, Finn had been wrong. Others did care for him.

  Oscar had always cared about him, though Finn had taken that for granted. He had ignored his oldest friend’s intention, mistreating it and abusing it, much like he had mistreated and abused so many other things when he was young. Time had given him insight and wisdom, but not all would get that time. Finn almost hadn’t. The boy certainly wouldn’t.

  There was no reason for him to come to the Brinder section. Nothing that would provide him with any greater insight as to what Walter had been doing. Still, Finn couldn’t help it. He felt compelled to come out here to see what had taken place—and perhaps also to be reminded of who he had been.

  He’d finished his errands at Tahn’s general store before coming here, which was probably a mistake. His satchel nearly burst with items that he and Meyer needed, along with a few extras he’d purchased.

  The streets were narrower here than in many of the other sections, and the houses more rundown. They were almost to the outer wall surrounding the city, and the slaughterhouse in the section that gave it much of its stench. Even now, Finn could smell the odor from the slaughterhouse, a mixture of the coppery scent of blood and the overwhelming stink of meat and death. Several butchers and smokehouses surrounded the slaughterhouse, as if to try to smoke out its smell, but they didn’t manage to succeed.

  Thankfully, there weren’t many people out in the streets. Considering recent events, especially the protest and how the Archers had suppressed it, Finn wasn’t surprised. But he was surprised by the heaviness of the patrols in this area. Most of the time, the Archers left the poorer sections of the city alone. Partly that was out of graft. Many of the Archers in these outer sections were paid—well, bribed—to shift their patrols, to avoid crews that might be operating, but now he wondered if the Archers would finally stop that behavior.

  It was difficult for them to avoid it, though. Archers were not paid well, and while Finn didn’t know exactly how much they made, he understood the need to supplement income. How could a man provide for his family when he could barely afford food?

  Finn headed toward the old temple.

  That was where the protests had congregated. That was where the Archer had died.

  That was where he needed to go.

  Mostly, he felt he needed to go so that he could see where the Archer had died and he could feel as if he had done his due diligence to ensure he had looked into all aspects of what Walter had told him.

  Finn should have known better than that, though. He should know that heading here now, allowing himself to be drawn out here, had little bearing on anything else.

  It wasn’t what he needed to be doing. It wasn’t the way the Hunter needed to be searching. The Hunter needed to be looking for answers. He needed to be investigating Jonrath—what he told him and his influence on coordinating these attacks.

  Finn slowed and frowned to himself. In the distance, a lamplighter lit one of the rare streetlights in the Brinder section, holding the flame high overhead, his hands trembling and his gaze drifting in either direction, as if he was afraid he might get jumped.

  Even such simple work was dangerous in these times.

  What if he brought Walter and Jonrath together to see what they might say to each other? It might lead him nowhere, but there was the possibility that idle conversation would give him answers he hadn’t uncovered anywhere else.

  He could certainly arrange for them to have cells close together, and perhaps he might find some answers by doing so. He could pitch the iron masters nearby and see if they might overhear anything.

  He didn’t know how much time he would have though. Once the jurors met to discuss Walter, he suspected the sentence would be swift. They would have two days, three at the most, to prepare the gallows for the festival, and then what?

  Given the current climate, Finn was uncomfortable with what might happen. A festival would draw attention, and it would bring out the kind of people who would likely still resent the injustices in the kingdom. The festival would certainly further the belief that the king doesn’t care about those in the outer sections.

  Most of the time, the gallows festivals were meant to be a way of encouraging people to reflect upon their own behavior and deter crime, but if they were to hang Walter publicly…

  Finn didn’t know if it would still have the desired effect. Given everything that had been going on in the city, it might actually work against them. He would have to talk to Master Meyer about it.

  Finn headed onward. When he reached the streetlight, he looked up. Night had not yet started to fall, but the lamplighter was already out?

  It suggested that not only was the lamplighter concerned, but the section chiefs were concerned enough to permit the lamplighters to come out this early. It meant using more oil, but if it prevented further attacks…

  Several of the buildings along the street had their windows caved in. The people here didn’t have the same wealth as others had in different sections, and many of the damaged windows had been left open, not boarded up in the same way the others had been.

  Finn passed a row of houses that reminded him of where he’d grown up—they were damaged in some places and looked as if the people who lived there wouldn’t be safe, not with their windows cracked open like that.

  None of this would be safe.

  None of this would be fixable, either. The people in the Brinder section didn’t have the money to do so. The poor became poorer. And that alone was depressing to Finn. So far, all of the attacks had been in the poorer sections of the city—none had occurred in any of the wealthier sections.

  Maybe that was only because of the Archers who guarded those sections, and the fact that many of those central sections of the city had hired their own security, but what if there was something else to it?

  Finn had to stop seeing shadows that weren’t there; he had to stop seeing connections that didn’t exist. It was a crime of convenience, little more than that. They committed the crime because this was where they could do it. This was where the people had gathered. This was where the people were angriest.

  He found himself heading toward
the old temple and stared when he finally stopped at it. It was growing dark, the day starting to fade, and he hadn’t given much thought to this place in many years. He remembered when he was a child climbing over the stone and the mossy surface, jumping down the street. This was one of the few places where children’s laughter could be heard. Few people grumbled when kids ran around the old temple. The old gods weren’t celebrated here anymore, and even if they were, the temple itself had faded into disrepair. Still, the stone was mostly intact, though much of the stonework of the old Alainsith buildings remained intact.

  He didn’t see any sign of violence here.

  Whatever had happened was gone. The evidence faded. There was nothing other than the emptiness of the streets. Finn clasped his hands together, staring.

  As he wandered through the temple, he couldn't shake the feeling of something bothering him. This was the kind of thing that Meyer would never have done, but it was the kind of irritant that Finn simply couldn't ignore.

  He didn't understand what bothered him, exactly, and he didn’t know why, but something prompted him to look.

  As he studied the broken remains of the ancient temple, he saw that it was starting to crumble—not quite like what he saw in the village outside of the city, nor like the Alainsith building he’d seen when he'd been with Esmerelda. There was something about this that left him feeling a bit unsettled.

  “Even now, you keep coming out here.”

  Finn spun, turning toward the voice that came out of the darkness, and shook his head. “Dammit, Oscar. What are you doing?”

  “The same as you, I suppose. A friend of mine asked me to see what I could uncover.”

  “This friend of yours doesn’t want you to put yourself in any danger,” Finn finally said.

  “There’s no danger, Finn.” Oscar looked toward the distant streetlight. “I know you think there’s some mysterious connection taking place, but that’s not what I’m finding. People are angry.” Oscar shrugged. “People are always angry, but for whatever reason, they decided to do something about it this time.”

  “It’s one thing to be angry,” Finn said, “but now people are dying.”

  “People are always dying too.”

  Finn just shook his head. He wasn’t nearly as pragmatic as Oscar. Maybe that was part of the problem.

  “You know that’s all they want,” Oscar said. “That’s the entire purpose behind the movement. I know you want to think there’s some grand conspiracy behind everything, the same way I’ve heard the Hunter believes there’s a grand conspiracy behind everything, but I’ve started to think this is nothing more than what it appears. Oh, the Black Rose might be real enough, but this is about men and women fed up with their station.” Oscar watched him for a moment. “Time was that you felt the same way.”

  Finn regarded him, unsure what he could say in response. Maybe there really wasn’t anything to say in response. Oscar was right. There had been a time when Finn had felt much the same way. To be honest, he still understood those sentiments even now. The people in the outer sections, the poorer parts of the city, had very little, and they rarely had an opportunity to rise beyond their station. Those who did…

  They ended up abused. They struggled. Or they remained shunned, much like Finn was typically shunned.

  None of that made it any better, though. None of that solved problems. All it did was cause more problems.

  He looked over to Oscar, and all he saw was his friend and the disappointment in his eyes, along with a reflection of the anger that Finn had once felt. It was an anger he had seen in the protesters.

  Oscar was like all of those protesters.

  He was a thief trying to rise above his station in life. That was the reason behind his club. If not for his thieving crew, and the days spent in the underbelly of the city, Oscar wouldn’t have even had that opportunity.

  “It has to stop, Oscar.”

  “I’m not sure it can be stopped,” he said. “Short of the king taking more decisive action, I doubt anything can be stopped.”

  Finn couldn’t shake the feeling that there was more to the situation than what there appeared to be on the surface—not only because of the wand he had recovered from Jonrath, but also because of the men who had circulated through the crowd, directing the protestors.

  “Were you here before?” Finn asked.

  “No. I was at the Wenderwolf. Heard there was a gathering though. I think most in the sections heard.”

  “An Archer was killed.”

  “You mean another.”

  Finn nodded. “We don’t know who killed the last ones, but we know those were revenge killings. The Archers kept a handle on that.” For now, Finn thought, though he wondered how long that could be the case. “This one is different. The boy responsible is probably going to hang.”

  Oscar took a step toward him, the wind catching his gray cloak hanging around his shoulders. “Why does it look like that bothers you?”

  “I’m not sure why. He was from this section. He got caught up in the crowd. He threw a rock. And—”

  “And you can’t do anything to help him.”

  Finn looked over, nodding. “There’s nothing that can help him. He committed the crime.”

  “He reminds me of someone else I know.”

  “I committed the crime, as well,” Finn said.

  “Not one that deserved hanging.”

  Finn turned toward the temple, shaking his head. “I know.” That was what bothered him the most. “If the boy was caught up in the crowd, I’m not sure he deserves hanging, either.”

  “Even though he killed a man?”

  “Even though,” Finn said softly.

  “I doubt the king is going to be too pleased with that assessment.”

  “I don’t make the decision,” Finn said. “I present him to the jurors, recommend sentencing, but…” Finn shook his head again. He had little doubt how the jurors were going to react in this case.

  The jurors were comprised of men and women from the wealthier sections. There were no representatives from the poorer sections, and though the magister was there to ensure the king’s rule of law was applied equally, that didn’t always happen.

  “I remember coming out here with your father.”

  “My father again?”

  “I haven’t given up on him,” Oscar said.

  “I haven’t either,” Finn said softly.

  “Haven’t you?”

  Finn shot him a hard glare. “There’s only so much that I can do in my position. You’re better equipped to help him than I am.”

  “I know,” Oscar said.

  “Why did you and my father come out here?”

  “It was an easy place to meet. And before we’d established ourselves, it was an easy place to hide.” He nodded to the stone. “These old buildings are stronger than you would think.”

  “They’re Alainsith,” Finn said.

  “Is that right?”

  “There are Alainsith buildings all throughout the city,” Finn said.

  “Not too many like this,” Oscar said. “Most of those are near the palace.”

  Finn nodded. Most of them were. City Hall was one of the largest of the Alainsith structures, and the king had turned it into something of prominence within the city.

  “You only came out here to figure out whether this boy did it?” Oscar asked him.

  “No. He admitted to what he did.”

  “Then why did you come here?”

  “I don’t know,” Finn said. “Maybe because I want to know that there’s a reason behind things, or maybe because he reminded me of myself, or maybe because all of this has me questioning my purpose.” He said the last part of his statement softly, and he looked over to Oscar, shaking his head. Or maybe because he wasn’t the kind of Hunter who the king—or Meyer—believed him to be. He had his own way of searching and following up on what bothered him. “It probably shouldn’t, but I can’t help it. With everything that’s been goi
ng on, I start to wonder if I’m really serving justice or not.”

  “You have to decide what you want to follow.”

  “I thought I knew,” Finn said.

  “And now?”

  “Some think the king’s authority is absolute,” Finn said. “Others believe the king serves on behalf of the gods.”

  “I think the king follows his own guidance,” Oscar said.

  “He does, and I guess the question is whether we serve him, or whether we serve the people he’s supposed to rule.”

  What was more, Finn wondered if he could do both.

  He felt as if he needed to somehow find a way to do both, though he didn’t know what that would take or how he could even do it.

  “You don’t have to follow me,” Finn said to Oscar.

  “I wasn’t following you,” Oscar replied.

  Finn arched a brow at him. “You wouldn’t have found me so easily otherwise.”

  Oscar grunted softly and stepped toward Finn. “You really aren’t all that difficult to find, Finn. You head through the streets, dressed the way you are, and don’t even pay any attention to the Archers.” Oscar turned from side to side, glancing in either direction along the street, and hunched slightly, as if to conceal his height. “Not too many people in this section don’t even give the Archers a second look. You look like you’re royalty yourself.”

  “You know that’s not true.”

  “I know you have protection that others don’t.”

  “If I committed a crime, I would face the same sentencing as anyone else.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “You know I would.”

  “Let’s see. Here’s a man who has broken into the viscount’s manor and sentenced to hang. He was rescued, then given the opportunity to serve the king directly.” Oscar looked over to him. “He is given access and resources that others would kill for, and with those access and resources, he’s uncovered… what, do you think?”

  “A plot against the kingdom,” Finn said. “An attempt to destroy much of the city.”