The Executioner's Apprentice (The Executioner's Song Book 2) Read online

  He was going to have to question more, but how?

  Chapter Seventeen

  Sweth didn’t cry out nearly as much today. Finn had used a little bit of fire ash that he had acquired from Wella, applying it to the end of one of the metal rods, trying to uncover answers, though Sweth was stubborn enough that he refused to provide them.

  “All I need is little bit more information,” Finn said. “Do you know anything about them?”

  Finn had read off the names of the missing. He had narrowed it down to six that he hadn’t found any answers to, including the mysterious Fol. Whoever owned that property didn’t appear.

  “I told you. I didn’t know anybody on the street. I’d only lived there for a little while.”

  “You said that a few times,” Finn said, nodding to him and crouching down in front of him. “Why don’t you and I talk about that little bit more. What brought you to the Jorend section?”

  “I needed a place to stay. It was available.”

  “Did you know the owner? A Mr. or Mrs. Fol?”

  “Don’t know who I rented from. I just needed a place to stay.”

  He had hesitated just a moment, long enough that Finn knew there was more to it.

  “Tell me more about where you were before you came to Jorend.”

  “Why does it even matter?”

  Finn smiled tightly at him. “Consider me curious. It matters.”

  “I hadn’t been there long.”

  “Where in the city were you before?”

  He hesitated, and Finn took one of the metal rods, dipped it in the fire ash, and pressed it into his leg.

  Sweth screamed this time.

  “I was in Yelind!”

  Finn froze.

  That wasn’t even in the kingdom. They were to the south and had warred with the kingdom over the years, though there had been peace recently.

  “What were you doing here? What brought you to Verendal?”

  “I needed to get away. Is that so bad?”

  “It wouldn’t be if I believed you,” Finn said.

  “I just came for steady work. I lost…”

  “You lost what?”

  Sweth looked up. His eyes had a haunted expression in them that couldn’t only be from what Finn did to him.

  “My family.”

  Finn swallowed. Was he telling the truth? “You could have been a scribe anywhere. You came to Verendal for a reason.”

  Sweth held his gaze. “Not in Yelind. Not after…”

  Finn wanted him to say more. “Are you really a scribe?”

  “I worked for Johan. What do you think?” he muttered.

  If he was a scribe, why would someone from Yelind end up in the kingdom?

  There were always rumors of skirmishes between the kingdom and Yelind, fighting for land or the iron found in the south, that came with merchants who dared travel between the two lands.

  “Why didn’t you want me to know why you were from Yelind?”

  He looked up. “I know how you people view mine.”

  “Did you start the fire?”

  He looked down.

  “It started in your home. Tell me what brought you to the city?”

  “The chance to start over. That’s all!”

  Finn took another rod and dipped it in fire ash. Could it be some plan to attack the city?

  Not with somebody like him. There was no reason for that.

  He was a scribe.

  Wasn’t he?

  Finn probed, pushing another rod through his leg, listening to Sweth scream. He tried to ignore it, but there was no ignoring the agony in his voice.

  “Were you here to hurt people from the kingdom?” Finn asked. “Did you intend to kill these people?”

  The scream of the person he hadn’t saved came back to him. That and the memory of smoke and heat that had prevented him from doing anything.

  “I didn’t start the fire,” Sweth said.

  Finn caught the catch in his denial.

  “I only wish I could believe you. Until you tell me what I need to know, I will keep at this.”

  Finn pulled the chair from the far side of the room over, sitting in front of Sweth. Sweat dripped down from Sweth’s brow, and tears streamed from his cheeks. His jaw clenched, as if he were trying to bite back the pain Finn subjected him to.

  When he had questions about Sweth’s innocence, it had been harder for him to use these techniques, but learning that he might have involvement, Finn found it increasingly easy for him to carry it out.

  At this point, he wanted the answer so he could end this investigation. He grew tired of digging into Sweth’s involvement in the fire, but knew that he needed to wrap it up in an acceptable way that provided answers and would then provide a satisfying solution to what had taken place.

  “What happened to your family?”

  He shook his head.

  “If that’s what you want.” He started to reach out with a rod when Sweth shook his head.

  “They died. An accident. That’s all it was. I wanted to get away.”

  “And you came to Verendal? There are easier places to go in Yelind.” Finn didn’t know Yelind, but he couldn’t imagine crossing the border would be easy.

  “Because that was the work,” he said.

  “Your work, or that of king of Yelind?”

  “I told you—”

  The door came open, and Finn looked over to say something to whichever of the iron masters popped their head in, but it wasn’t any of them. Instead, it was Master Meyer.

  He was dressed in his more formal jacket and pants, and he glanced from Finn to the jar of fire ash and to Sweth, an unreadable expression on his face. “Bring him.”

  “What’s going on?” Finn asked.

  “It’s time.”

  “Time? I haven’t gotten the information I needed.”

  Meyer held something out. It was a blackened object, though it looked something like a lantern, though not any lantern that Finn had ever seen before. “This was found in his home.”

  “What is it?” It looked something like a bucket, though it had been burned, leaving only a hint of a handle. The shape was strange, slightly oblong, and it had a terrible stench to it.

  “A fire starter. At least, that’s what all who have examined it feel it is. Found by the crews cleaning the city.”

  “So…”

  “So he is to be sentenced.”

  “We don’t know everything.” Finn lowered his voice, leaning toward Meyer. “He’s from Yelind.”

  “It doesn’t matter where he’s from.”

  “What if he’s here for some nefarious reason?”

  “He is to be sentenced,” Meyer said.

  Finn sighed. He wanted to argue, but at this point, he didn’t feel as if he could even do that.

  “Given the nature of the crime, and how many have perished, we are to expedite this.”

  “You’re disappointed in me,” Finn said.

  “I’m not disappointed. You’ve done what I asked. You’ve done more than what I asked, in fact.”

  “But I haven’t gotten a confession out of him.”

  “We have enough evidence to convict,” Master Meyer said.

  Finn was conflicted. While he agreed that they had enough evidence to convict Sweth, there was some part of it that left him unsettled. Maybe it was just his inability to get a confession out of Sweth. He felt as if he had let Master Meyer down.

  He removed the cuffs from Sweth’s ankles, setting them back on the counter. He pulled the rods out and cleaned them, setting them neatly into place as well. He left the fire ash, thinking that if he were to need it again in the future, at least it would be there. There didn’t seem to be much other purpose in something like that, regardless of what Wella might claim. When he was done, he unstrapped Sweth and motioned for him to follow.

  “What now?” Sweth asked.

  “Now we’re going to go.”

  “Who was that?”

  “
The master executioner.”

  Sweth glanced from Finn to Meyer’s back. “The master executioner. What are you?”

  “His apprentice.”

  Sweth started to laugh. “Here I thought I was dealing with the real executioner.”

  There was a hardness in his voice that Finn hadn’t expected. It was almost as if Sweth were taunting him. Finn grabbed him, guiding him forward.

  One of the iron masters was there, an older iron master by the name of Grady, with a bulbous nose, wide-set eyes, and close-cropped hair. “You need me to bring him back to his cell?” Grady asked.

  “No. We’re to escort him to City Hall.”

  Grady glared at Sweth. “Good. It’s about time. Bastard killed thirty people.”

  “It was no more than six,” Finn said.

  “Still. That’s enough. Bastard like that deserves to hang. Maybe worse.”

  Was that what they were going to have to do?

  He didn’t want to consider the various possibilities of what the jurors might sentence him to. Certainly not an honorable death. He wouldn’t die by the sword. There had been a few of those in the time since Finn had served with Master Meyer, and he always kept the sword Justice gleaming and sharp for just that purpose, but it was rare. Most got the rope. There had been no other exotic executions, though from Finn’s reading, he knew there were other sentences. He’d read about quartering, though had never even seen it in Verendal. He had once seen someone accused of witchcraft burned to death, though that was rare enough. It was strange, especially now that he knew about the hegen, but perhaps it was the form of witchcraft that mattered. And then there was the one time when somebody was sentenced to die by drowning. They used the river for it, and he remembered it only because he had been young enough that he had tried to avoid watching, but there had been a crowd near their home, and he had no other choice but to go around it, and had caught a fleeting glimpse of the drowning.

  Meyer walked with Finn, each of them keeping an arm on Sweth. Given what Finn had done during his questioning, there was little chance that he was going to run. Finn remembered just how badly it hurt with the braces around the ankles, and having rods shoved through his calf made it so he would be even less likely to run.

  As they approached City Hall, Sweth started to slow. Finn jerked him forward, and Meyer glanced over.

  “What happens in here?” Sweth asked.

  “You have an opportunity to speak on your behalf,” Meyer said.

  “What about you?”

  “We are to present our findings to the jurors,” Meyer said.

  “Findings? I didn’t say anything!”

  “It’s what you didn’t say,” Meyer said.

  It was more than that, but even that might not matter. At this point, the only thing that mattered was getting enough information about what Sweth had done, and whatever role he might’ve had in the fire, and then…

  Then he had to convince the jurors.

  They both did.

  Finn wanted more time, though he had seen the jurors push like this a few other times. It was uncommon, but in cases like this, particularly in cases where there was a question that felt like a public need, there was more of an urgency to the sentencing.

  In this case, it felt like there was an incredible urgency.

  They guided him into City Hall and into the jurors’ chamber. Not all of the jurors had arrived. Several of them had, and Isabel, Horace, and Barth glanced from Finn and Meyer to the prisoner.

  “Where’s the magister?” Finn asked.

  “He will be here,” Isabel said.

  The others came and took a seat, including Bellut. When he arrived, he glared at Finn for a long moment before settling his gaze on the prisoner. “We may begin,” Bellut said.

  “We should wait for the magister,” Horace said.

  “He sent word that he was preoccupied. He trusted the jurors to make a decision in his stead. He has made sure to provide some guidance.”

  Finn glanced to Bellut. In the times that he’d been coming to the jurors’ chamber, this was the first time the magister hadn’t been involved in a sentencing. As the leading legal scholar from the university, he was considered the representative for the king, the one person who could offer guidance as to the rule of the law.

  “Begin,” Bellut said.

  “This is a bit unusual,” Horace said.

  “Unusual or not, the accused stands before us having burned an entire section of the city to the ground. Should we wait for the magister?” Bellut swept his gaze along the line of jurors. “We have many people who’ve died in that fire. Rumors are that there were at least a dozen—”

  “No more than six,” Finn said.

  Bellut turned his attention to Finn, glaring. “Six? That stands in disagreement with my reports.”

  Finn bit back the irritation he had. He couldn’t say anything to Bellut openly, but he could defy him. “I can show you the map of the street, along with the people who lived there. I have taken reports from almost everyone on the street, and have accounted for all but six.”

  “Still,” Bellut said, as if annoyed it were only that many. “Six lives. Lost because of this man.”

  “I didn’t kill anyone,” Sweth said.

  Finn glanced over, shaking his head. “You should be quiet,” he whispered.

  “They don’t have all of the information.”

  There was something odd about the way he said it.

  Bellut chuckled. He had a narrow face and thin lips, and Finn despised looking at him. Still, as he was one of the jurors and sat at the behest of the king, serving the viscount, Finn still had an obligation to answer to him.

  “Whatever information you feel we need is unnecessary.” Bellut looked at the others seated at the table with him before turning his attention to Meyer. “What can you report?”

  Meyer nodded. “What I can report is that we’ve gathered information. My apprentice will present for you.”

  Bellut turned his irritated gaze on Finn, and Finn made a point of ignoring it, focusing instead on Isabel to keep from paying attention to him. She was dark-haired, older, and stern in appearance.

  Finn stepped forward. “I was tasked with the investigation into the fire. I’ve found evidence of the fire originating in the residence of David Sweth.” Finn glanced over Meyer. “There has been additional evidence of some sort of fire-starting device there.” He turned to Sweth. “He had only been in the Jorend section for a few months.”

  “A few months?” Horace asked. “Where was he before?”

  “As far as I know, he came from Yelind.” There was a gentle murmuring from the others around him, and Finn looked at them. “He was reluctant to admit that.”

  “That seals it,” Horace said.

  “He must’ve been sent by those bastards. Yelind has been unstable recently. There have been skirmishes along the border. They’ve been making a play for our silver,” Isabel said.

  “Skirmishes?” Bellut asked.

  “I received word from my caravans of the same,” Horace went on. As head of the merchant guild, he would have access others didn’t. “Typically, they’re unrestricted, but trade has been challenging. Yelind has decided to take action.”

  “They wouldn’t attack the kingdom,” Bethany said.

  She was a little bit younger than Isabel, but had just as stern an expression. Maybe she wasn’t like that outside of the jurors’ chamber, but she had always seemed irritable when she was here.

  “Who is to say?” Horace asked. “They likely believe the kingdom is distracted, and unfortunately, we’ve been lately.”

  “The situation with the Alainsith has been settled,” Bethany went on. “I have it on good authority—”

  “Whose authority?” Barton asked.

  “Never you mind,” Bethany went on.

  Finn found himself staring at Bellut, and for the first time since they came to the chamber, Bellut ignored him, looking instead at Sweth.

  Whe
n Finn had dealt with Bellut as the Client, he’d known he was responsible for setting up the crimes, and attacking the palace, and trying to instigate conflict between the kingdom and the Alainsith. But not alone.

  Could he have been working with Sweth?

  A fire like the one in Jorend could be dangerous to the whole city.

  Finn had to keep rational. Destroying the city hadn’t been what Bellut had wanted. He’d gone after the king and had intended to disrupt the Alainsith treaty. Finn didn’t know why, and the search for answers in Jorend had kept him away from looking deeper.

  “We need to vote,” Horace said.

  “This one will be very straightforward,” Isabel said.

  “I concur. Perhaps we didn’t need the magister here for that.”

  “Not for something like this. Of course not,” Bellut said.

  Finn glanced from one to the other, feeling a growing uncertainty.

  Finally, they turned back, and Bellut leaned forward. “The jurors have decided. According to the laws of the city of Verendal and the demands of King Porman, we of the jurors declare you guilty of the crime of arson in the Jorend section. You are guilty of the crime of killing at least six people through the fires in the Jorend section. And you will be sentenced to die by fire.”

  Finn looked over to Sweth. He had an unreadable expression on his face, though it seemed to be one of acceptance, as if he had known this was coming.

  The jurors all got to their feet. Meyer motioned for Finn to follow, and they guided Sweth out of the chamber. They were quiet the entire walk back to Declan, and quiet as Finn guided him into the cells, where the iron managers took possession of him again, and quiet when Finn returned, rejoining Master Meyer outside of the prison.

  “Have you had many sentences like that?”

  Meyer shook his head. “Not many. In this case, I suspect it’s probably fitting, but that doesn’t change the difficulty of it.”

  “Fitting?”

  “This will be a bit more challenging to prepare. I will source the necessary lumber for the pyre and walk you through the process.”

  “I thought you said we should be after justice and not vengeance.”

  “That is what the law demands.”