The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 21

  “Several.” The king looked up at the swords. “There was a time when claiming the weapon of your defeated foe was considered a prize.” He shook his head. “My father thought that way, though that was because he believed everyone was his foe.”

  “Even the Alainsith?” Finn asked.

  When the king looked over to him, he realized he should be more careful.

  “The Alainsith treaty has been tenuous. My father believed they were more of a threat than they presented, though not all of the men who served beneath him believed the same. Nor did I.” He looked up and took a deep breath. “We have suffered over the years for our arrogance of believing we can understand them. They are different from us. Gods, they live lives three times as long as we do. How can we ever think we can understand what they are like?” The king turned to Finn. “One of the things I felt we needed to do when I began my reign was try to forge a peace—a real peace—with the Alainsith. We needed to be done with foolish fighting that would get us nowhere. We needed to ensure both of our peoples could thrive. Doing so has not been easy, and it has taken a considerable effort on my part, but I think it has been worth it.”

  The king turned away from the swords and sipped at his wine. “We must know who is responsible for these attacks,” he said softly.

  “We are doing all we can, sire,” Meyer said.

  “Then you must do more.” His gaze lingered on Finn a moment. Then the king took a deep breath, looking at the swords again. “We don’t need more blades of our vanquished foes hanging on my wall. What we have is enough.” He turned and looked from Meyer to Finn. “We have seen Yelind attack. We have faced a magic that has tainted this great kingdom. And now this. I can’t help but feel as if they are related.”

  The way the king looked at Finn and Meyer suggested they had no choice but to find those answers. That was their duty.

  They were supposed to find the truth. They were the lead investigators for Verendal.

  “I expect this resolved quickly. You know what must be done.” The king looked at Meyer for a long moment.

  Meyer gripped the wine glass, holding on to the stem tightly and twisting it in his hand.

  The king turned away from them. “Enjoy the wine.”

  He headed to the door, pressing his hand up against the hidden section of wall. It slid open and he stepped through. The door closed, leaving Finn and Meyer standing in the room by themselves.

  “What was that about?” Finn asked. “He called us here to tell us to do our job?”

  “No,” Meyer said softly. He stared up at the row of swords lining the wall, his gaze skimming along them before he turned to Finn. “He called us here as a reminder to me.” Meyer stared at the doorway where the king had disappeared. “And perhaps to admonish me for sending you away during a time like this. Here I had thought it would keep you from interfering with the Archers during the protests.” Meyer breathed in deeply.

  That was why Meyer had sent him from the city?

  Finn thought it was because he was the journeyman, but he also had proven himself to be too stubborn at times. Finn had a hard time letting some things go when he knew he should. “What do you mean?”

  “The king,” Meyer said. “The meeting was about you. He needs the Hunter.” He looked up, holding Finn’s gaze. “Find the Black Rose.”

  Chapter Seventeen

  Finn and Meyer parted ways outside of the palace, with Meyer heading off to run errands. It left Finn feeling strangely freed. He had become so accustomed to being the one to gather supplies and collect items from apothecaries, or visit general stores for different supplies, that he wasn’t quite sure what to do now that Meyer had taken off to do it.

  He needed to be the Hunter.

  That was what the king wanted of him.

  He’d gained the nickname through his dogged determination to find the truth, following instinct as much as the clues laid out before him, but that had been during a unique circumstance. Finn had done that when he had been after Bellut and the magister, looking for a bit of vengeance as much as anything else. It had been about revenge for him.

  It couldn’t be about that now.

  Finn didn’t even know if he wanted it to be about that now.

  He had been the Hunter while looking into Holden and the danger of witchcraft. That had helped him understand a different threat to the kingdom, one that Finn still didn’t fully understand now.

  This time, he felt as if he were asked to serve in a specific way.

  They wanted his stubbornness. In that regard, he was like his father, a man Oscar had nicknamed the Goat. He knew where he needed to go. While Meyer was off gathering supplies, it was time for Finn to start questioning the men they’d saved.

  It was time to uncover the truth of the Black Rose.

  He wondered how Lena would react. What would she think seeing how her brother had to question men and discovering how skilled he’d become at doing so? What would Lena think of him?

  He was headed to the old prison when he glimpsed shadowy movement nearby. Finn ducked into a side alley.

  “You’re still soft,” a voice growled from the other end.

  Finn walked over. “And you’re still too obvious,” he said to Oscar.

  Oscar remained in the shadows, though Finn didn’t need to see him clearly to know it was him—the slight stoop to his back to conceal his height, the narrow frame, and the dark cloak that hung from his shoulders all revealed it was him, though the cloak cast him in even darker shadows.

  “Obvious? I’ve been following you ever since you left the damn palace.”

  Finn had been caught up talking to Master Meyer.

  He had gotten soft.

  Then again, there had been no reason for him to keep up his skill. He didn’t have to worry quite as often these days, and even if he did, he had others he could call upon for assistance if he was in trouble in the city.

  “You told Annie you wanted to talk,” Oscar said.

  He had, and now he had even more reason to.

  A thief like him would be connected to the Verendal underground in ways Finn was not—at least, not any longer. For Finn to understand the Black Rose and what they intended, he needed someone like Oscar.

  And others like him, too.

  That was something to think on later. Maybe he could start to come up with his own stable of informants. He knew Meyer had a few, though it was difficult to find anyone in the city who was eager to meet with the executioners.

  “I figured you’d visit me at Meyer’s home,” Finn said.

  “Where’s the fun in that?”

  “Why does there have to be fun in anything?” Finn asked.

  “If you’re not enjoying what you’re doing, then why do it?” Oscar asked in return.

  “Says the thief.” Finn nodded to the street. “Would you mind joining me out of the alley?”

  “I’ll join you.”

  “Do you want to sit at the Wenderwolf?”

  “No.”

  Finn started to smile. “Can we go someplace else to talk?”

  Oscar took a step toward him and chuckled. “You don’t like talking in alleys anymore?”

  He looked around. The smell of smoke lingered in the air. He could almost imagine it infused with the blood of the men who’d died. “I would much rather us have a conversation somewhere else, if I’m being honest.”

  “Honesty from Finn Jagger. Will wonders never cease?”

  “I’ve been honest with you,” Finn said.

  “Maybe you have,” Oscar said, stepping into the faint gray daylight and flashing a smile that tugged on the long scar on his cheek. “But have you been honest with yourself?”

  Finn chuckled. “Always the same Oscar.”

  “You’d be disappointed if I changed too much,” Oscar said.

  “Where would you have us go, if not to the Wenderwolf?”

  “I might have a place,” Oscar said.

  Oscar turned away and headed down the alley, disap
pearing into the darkness before Finn had a chance to argue with him. Finn looked toward the street. This wasn’t what he needed to be doing, but at this point, he wasn’t entirely sure what he needed to be doing. Question the men involved in the attack, but then what?

  The king wanted the Hunter. Which meant he had to use all his contacts to help him be that person. Including Oscar.

  Finn ran a hand through his hair, pushing it out of his face, and jogged after Oscar.

  There was a time when he’d been comfortable navigating through the alleys. Probably more comfortable than Oscar was. When they’d worked together, Finn had grown not only comfortable, but competent at moving quickly and silently through them, having mapped most of them in his mind so he could get through the streets and avoid any Archers. That had always been the goal when he’d been working with the crews: avoid detection.

  He caught up to Oscar at the end of the alley where it opened up on to Silven Street, a wide road that ran parallel to Porman’s Path leading through the city. Unlike Porman’s Path, Silven took more of a straight shot as it cut through the city.

  “I wasn’t sure if you were going to come,” Oscar said.

  “I was the one who suggested we talk. Remember?”

  Oscar flashed a bit of a smile. In the overcast light, the scar gave him something of a grotesque grin. “Come along, Finn. Let’s see if you can keep up.”

  Oscar started off, moving at a quick clip.

  Finn didn’t think he’d have any trouble keeping up with him, but the farther they went through the street, the more he realized that Oscar’s movements had a different sort of purpose. He veered around a pair of Archers patrolling, twisting so they couldn’t look at his face, then ducked down a narrow side street before returning to Silven. There weren’t as many people out as there usually were. Those who ventured out seemed subdued, as if they didn’t dare make too much of a commotion given the recent upheaval. Finn kept pace with Oscar, though the taller man’s loping gait made it more difficult than he would have expected.

  “Not going to be easy pulling jobs,” Oscar muttered when they crossed another intersection and another pair of Archers who were out patrolling. One of them bore the stripes of rank on his shoulder, denoting him a palace Archer.

  “I don’t think you should be telling me about any jobs you’re doing.”

  Oscar looked over to him. “Now I didn’t say anything about the jobs. Just that it’s going to be harder to pull them. You’re the one who decided to make it into something it didn’t need to be.”

  Finn just shook his head. The conversation with Annie came back to him. She didn’t want Finn to get Oscar involved in what he’d be doing, but that was because she knew Oscar would probably want to help Finn. However, Finn wasn’t sure if that was the case. Since he’d become an executioner, Oscar had come to Finn less and less often, though he’d still offered Finn help when it had been needed.

  “I’m not trying to make it into anything,” Finn said.

  Oscar flashed a tight smile. There was a heat in it that made it look forced, but it could be hard to tell with Oscar. Since Oscar had taken on a more prominent role with his crew—becoming the crew leader, Finn suspected though had never proven—he had a hardness to him that he hadn’t when he’d been running with other crews.

  “It’s always something, Finn.”

  They stopped at a narrow building with two unmarked shops on either side of it. The wooden storefront needed to be painted: where it wasn’t peeling away altogether, the red color it once had been was now faded to pink. Iron bars crisscrossed over the windows, making it less likely they’d get broken in any sort of protest, though they were far enough away from any of the major streets that it shouldn’t have been too much of a concern.

  “What is this place?” Finn asked.

  “You don’t like it?”

  Finn looked along the street. It curved in either direction, making it difficult to see much beyond the bend. Many of the buildings looked to be houses, most as narrow as the building they were in front of, though there were some with shops on the ground level. The wind gusted along the street, carrying the bite of the northern cold, but there was something else within the wind that Finn couldn’t quite place. A strange odor. Maybe that came from this section, though they were in the Oldan section, which wasn’t known to be one of the poorer parts of the city. There were middle-class merchants here, the kind of people he wouldn’t expect Oscar to spend time around, mostly because they wouldn’t want to encourage thievery. The people in this section would be hard workers, and many of them would believe they could make it into one of the nicer sections, if only they had the opportunity.

  “It’s nice enough.”

  “It’s more than that,” Oscar said.

  He pulled a key out of his pocket, unlocked the door, and they stepped inside.

  Finn had expected a tavern. When he’d met with Oscar in the past, they had always met at taverns. That was where the shady work of the crews took place. He hadn’t expected Oscar to have a key, and certainly didn’t expect him to have what amounted to some sort of private club.

  The room was darkened, but it didn’t take long for Finn’s eyes to adjust.

  Everything about the room spoke of comfort. A thick, plush green carpet covered the floor. Leather chairs were arranged throughout the interior, and a darkened hearth filled the space along the far wall. Tables were placed between the chairs, many of which were angled to form an arrangement so people could sit together, though some were situated apart to give somebody a chance to sit by themselves, in isolation, or perhaps just to relax. A stack of dice on a table in between three chairs caught Finn’s attention, as did a pile of playing cards.

  “This is a business venture I’m getting into.”

  “It looks like…” He had a hard time coming up with what it looked like. “Some sort of club?”

  Oscar shrugged, motioning for Finn to sit with him in the center of the room. He grabbed a lantern off of one of the tables, quickly lighting it so it cast a warm glow over the entirety of the room.

  “Are you trying to push Annie out of business?”

  “Do you really think a place like this could compete with the Wenderwolf?”

  Finn shrugged as he took a seat. The chair was comfortable, almost swallowing him. He settled back, crossing one leg, and looked over to Oscar. “Maybe not compete, but there’s something about this place…”

  Oscar grunted. “There’s something about it, all right.”

  “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “I wanted a place for men to gather.”

  “A men’s club?”

  “Something like that,” Oscar said.

  “You wanted a place for your crew to get together.”

  Oscar shook his head, glancing toward the door. “Not in this section of the city. They wouldn’t tolerate those kinds of people here for very long.”

  “They would if they didn’t know.”

  “That’s not the kind of clientele I intend to attract here.”

  Finn leaned forward. The lantern light reflected off of Oscar’s face, making the scar far more pronounced than it had been before. “You want to become an honest businessman.”

  “And if I do?”

  Finn smiled, but a part of him hesitated. He’d come to Oscar looking for his connections to the underground. If he’d decided to go honest, should Finn pull him back?

  “I never expected Oscar Richter, the Hand, would want to become honorable.”

  “We can’t stay the way we have been,” Oscar said softly, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. “After I was jumped, I decided maybe it was time for me to get out of that kind of work.”

  “That’s why Annie didn’t want me to pull you back in.”

  “Annie wants me to be safe. She figures she knows what I’d been up to before, and she doesn’t want me to get involved in it again.”

  Finn knew the answer to his own question without even t
hinking. He couldn’t demand anything of Oscar. “You shouldn’t get involved in it again.”

  “Not you, too,” Oscar said, winking at him. “Besides, this way, I can still use my connections, but I can look a little bit more honorable.”

  Finn frowned at him. “You aren’t giving up your position on the crew?”

  “Oh, I’m not going to be leading crews anymore, but once you have a foot in that world, you never really leave it, do you?”

  Oscar watched him, a lingering question in his eyes that suggested something beyond what he had actually asked.

  “So you’re saying I never left my crew?”

  “Only if you feel that way.”

  There was a time when such a comment would have bothered Finn, but not any longer. Now he had a different crew, though perhaps it was no less dishonorable.

  “You want to tell me what you talked to the king about?” Oscar asked.

  Finn looked around the inside of the room. He could imagine the place bustling with activity—people sitting around, gaming, drinking, even the din of conversation.

  “It doesn’t matter.”

  Oscar looked over to him. “You wanted to see me. I figure it has something to do with whatever the king wanted you for. Now, if you don’t want to tell me, that’s your prerogative, but I’m not going to be able to help you unless I know what sort of trouble you’ve gotten yourself into, Finn.”

  “What makes you think I’ve gotten myself into any sort of trouble?”

  “I don’t know. The fact that you came to me suggests there is some sort of trouble.”

  His friend was showing him that he wanted out. That was clear based on where Oscar had taken him to talk. And if that was what Oscar wanted, then who was Finn to force him to stay inside of the world he’d wanted to leave? All Finn had to do was ask and Oscar would help—but he didn’t think he could ask.

  There might be something Oscar could help with that wouldn’t pull him in a way Finn didn’t want to. Finn reached into his pocket and pulled out Reginald's journal, setting it on the table between him and Oscar. Oscar frowned at him.

  “I'm not going to ask you to do anything dangerous here,” Finn said with a smile. “I just want to know if you could make any sense of this.”