The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 26

  “I take no pleasure in this.”

  “I see it in your eyes,” the man said through gritted teeth. “I see that you do.”

  “The only thing you see is my determination,” Finn said. It was the determination of the Hunter. That was what he had to be, even if he didn’t want to.

  He pulled the wand out and smiled sadly at Jonrath. He couldn’t really use it—Finn understood that pain gave power to it, but the man might not—but it served as a threat.

  “We will continue on to the next technique.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  Finn sat at the worn wooden table inside the kitchen of Master Meyer’s home and looked around him. A hot mug of steaming tea rested in front of him—that was all he’d managed to do so far this morning: make tea. He hadn’t even bothered starting breakfast. The dishes stacked in the basin waited for either him or Lena to put them away—Meyer didn’t have to put up with such drudgery anymore—and a loaf of day-old bread rested on the counter, almost enough for him to get up and toast a slice, but he didn’t have the energy yet.

  For a home the size of Master Meyer’s, the kitchen was a large room. It was a place where they often congregated, where conversation would often lead to questions and assignments, and where Finn had studied in his years working with Meyer.

  Finn needed answers, and he’d hoped that coming here would help him uncover what he needed, but no answers had been forthcoming yet. So he sat, hands cupped around the mug of tea, lost in thought.

  The kitchen was quiet at this time of day, his sister not yet up—or if she was, she hadn’t come down for the morning. She had been up late working with the injured, and when he’d last seen her, she was exhausted from the time spent with them, so it didn’t surprise him that she’d still be sleeping.

  Finn was tired from everything, especially after interrogating the prisoner far too late into the night. He was feeling wiped, but he didn’t think he had the luxury of sleeping in any longer than he had. Already, he’d spent too much time sleeping and not enough time trying to figure out what the others had intended for Verendal.

  Footsteps coming down the stairs caught Finn’s attention, and he turned to see Meyer coming into the kitchen. His eyes were drawn, wrinkles forming in the corners of them, and dark lines worked beneath the hollows of his eyes.

  “I didn’t expect to see you up,” Meyer said.

  “I couldn't sleep well,” Finn said, leaning back in the chair. “I had too much on my mind.”

  Meyer frowned, glancing to the mug of tea. “Want to talk about it?”

  Finn sighed then shook his head. “I’m not so sure it’ll help.”

  “You discovered something.” Meyer took a seat at the faded wooden table, resting his elbows atop it and frowning again. The table was probably older than Meyer himself.

  “It might not even be anything.”

  Finn pulled the wand from his pocket, resting it on the table.

  “What is that?” Meyer asked.

  Finn looked up from it. “Have you seen anything like this before?”

  Meyer leaned forward, looking at the rod. “Not that I can identify.”

  “I have.” Finn rolled it across the surface of the table. He’d cleaned it after using it on the man, though he didn’t know if the way he’d used it would have added power to it. It was possible that by tormenting him, he had done exactly what Jonrath wanted. One of the few things he knew about witchcraft was that its power came from places that Finn didn’t want to understand. Pain. Torment. “When you were injured. There were things like this used in the attack on the city.”

  Meyer clasped his hands together. “You fear it’s witchcraft.”

  “I'd like to think there is some other explanation, but that’s what Esmerelda said about this.” He pulled the wooden coin from his pocket and set it on the table. “She believes it has some residual power.”

  Meyer nodded slowly. “If that’s the case, what purpose would the protests serve?”

  “I've been trying to figure that out. Witchcraft needs power, and from what I’ve learned, their power comes from pain and darkness.” Maybe that was all it was. Use the protests to find a way to increase the pain in the city…

  Even that seemed a stretch. How would they harness that kind of power?

  “What have you considered?”

  Finn looked across the table, smiling slightly. He couldn’t tell if Meyer was asking him or testing him. At this point, it could be either. Given what Finn had gone through, he thought he’d earned a measure of respect as they’d worked together, but there was also the possibility that Meyer still thought Finn needed to be tested.

  He was still a journeyman executioner. Finn didn’t know what would come next, or even whether there would be anything coming, but it was Meyer’s responsibility to ensure Finn was prepared. How else could he do it but through testing?

  “Probably more than I should have considered,” Finn said. “I’ll focus on the protesters, though. That’s what the king wants.”

  Meyer frowned a moment before nodding.

  “There’s something else. I know you want to keep the prison a secret, but I’d like you to station some Archers there to keep Lena and Wella safe.” And Esmerelda, when she went to help, though Finn doubted she would need the same level of protection—if any.

  “I suppose you’re right. I’ve avoided it to keep from drawing any attention to the protestors, but I think we don’t have much choice.”

  Finn had been somewhat concerned that Meyer would resist. He’d hoped he wouldn’t, especially since Finn knew Meyer had a fondness for Lena.

  “What else did you uncover?” Meyer asked.

  “Other than when I questioned him in Declan, he barely even told me his name, and I’m not convinced the name he gave me is really his. He knows of the Black Rose though.” He took a deep breath. “I’ll get through to him as quickly as I can. The king gave us only a little time to finish this. We need to get it done before…”

  The problem was that he didn’t know what it would be before.

  Another uprising? Another protest?

  “Let me make breakfast,” Finn said. Maybe the work would help clear his mind.

  Finn grabbed the lard, sausage, and eggs and set them on the counter, working quickly to get breakfast sizzling on the stove. Meyer joined him. Neither of them said anything as they worked in a comfortable sort of silence.

  Finn looked over when his sister came down, coming over to help them, but he shook his head. “We’ll make breakfast. You can sit.”

  Lena brushed a strand of hair back from her face, looking over to Meyer. “You shouldn’t have to do that. Let me help.”

  He guided her to the table, forcing her to sit. When he returned to the stovetop, Meyer had a plate already prepared, and Finn took it and set it in front of Lena. “Trust me. You are helping.”

  Lena glanced to Meyer again before looking up at Finn. “I could do more…”

  Finn patted her on the shoulder. “Just eat.”

  He turned back to the stove, where Meyer had finished preparing the rest of the eggs and sausage. Finn hadn’t done much of anything either. Meyer handed him a plate, which Finn took then sat down with.

  In all his time working with Meyer, Finn didn’t remember the last time Meyer had made him breakfast. Even though Finn had been the one to start the cooking, it had been Meyer who really did it all. As Finn took his first bite, he understood why Meyer hadn’t usually cooked. The eggs were harder than Finn preferred, the sausage burned.

  “Maybe I should have left it to you,” Meyer muttered as he took a bite.

  Lena smiled. “I think it tastes wonderful.”

  “I think it tastes like a brick,” Meyer said.

  Finn smiled slightly. “I think you’re overselling it,” Finn said, glancing over to Meyer. “I think it tastes worse than a brick.”

  Meyer glowered at him. “I should know better than to get in the way of your work.”

 
; “It’s supposed to be my work,” Lena said softly.

  Meyer grunted. “For as much as I like your cooking, you’re far more valuable doing other things.” He nodded to Finn. “Him, on the other hand… He needs to perfect all aspects of his responsibilities.”

  Finn just smirked at him. He finished the eggs and the overly crisp sausage, then carried his plate over to the basin.

  “I would love to spend time learning to cook from the master this morning, but there are other things I need to be doing.”

  Meyer looked up. “What else do you intend to do today?”

  “I thought I might go back to visit Declan, see if I can’t uncover anything with this man, and from there, maybe return to the hospital ward and figure out who the men were trying to protect. One of them has to know about the Black Rose and has to eventually talk.”

  Lena sat up. “What if none of them know anything? They’ve all been sedated enough that they would say something though. They certainly share a little too much with me.”

  That would work with some of them, but the man who’d attacked him hadn’t been fully medicated. “Maybe most of them,” he agreed, “but not all.”

  “Not all react to treatment the same way, Finn,” Meyer said.

  “Or they had built up an immunity to it,” Finn replied.

  “An immunity to sedatives? That seems to be a bit of a stretch,” Lena said.

  Finn shrugged, glancing over to Master Meyer, who sat with his hands resting on the table, looking over at Finn. He could see the look in Meyer’s eyes, the question written there.

  “If they know what sort of medications might be used, they could counter their effects.” Finn glanced over to Lena. “What were you using on them?”

  “A fairly standard regimen,” Lena said. “We had a mixture of ostia and melander and clorath and—”

  Finn started to laugh. “A fairly standard mixture? There’s nothing standard about that.”

  “Well, perhaps not in acquiring the supplies, but it is certainly a fairly standard concoction. Wella had the supplies, and we used them to try to ensure the poor men wouldn’t suffer too much.”

  “Maybe that’s where I need to start,” Finn said.

  “With testing it?” Lena asked.

  Finn shook his head. “With Wella.”

  “You can’t think she has anything to do with it,” Lena said.

  Finn didn’t. He’d known Wella too long, and she had assisted Meyer for such a long period of time that he couldn’t imagine her getting involved in something that would cause harm to either Master Meyer or Finn. That wasn’t to say that she didn’t have knowledge of different techniques that might cause problems for them, but if not for her, he wouldn’t have uncovered the strategy for stopping the fire ash.

  “What she does have is the kind of knowledge we’ll need in order to determine if they could have neutralized the effects of the sedative.”

  “Well, there are a few different compounds that might be effective,” Lena said, resting her elbow on the table and leaning forward. She pinched her chin. “I suspect you could use a combination of thelen berry along with ghelum root, but both of those are somewhat difficult to acquire.” Lena leaned back. “I can look into it as well.”

  “That would be great,” Finn said. He didn’t need to say anything about ensuring Lena made certain to keep working with the men. She would do it regardless. And having his sister’s mind employed in other ways would only keep her engaged with what they were doing and what they needed to uncover.

  She pushed the plate away. “I’m sorry, Henry. I know you mean well…”

  “I meant well, but we can both agree that what I meant and what I managed to accomplish are vastly different things.”

  Lena smiled, reaching across the table and patting his hand. “You do many other things well. You don’t have to be an expert in breakfast.”

  “I’m just glad I have him around to take care of things.”

  Lena frowned. “Just him?”

  Meyer shook his head. “Glad I have you around, too,” he said.

  Finn groaned. “I’m leaving before the two of you decide to remind me of how much more I need to do.”

  He grabbed his cloak out of the closet, his gaze lingering on the two executioner blades in the back, both of them stuffed there unceremoniously, before closing the door. The only blade that had value was Justice. It was an ancient sword, one that had been in the kingdom for centuries—not at all like the sword Finn now used. His was a new creation, made for him, yet there were times when Finn preferred to use his sword rather than Justice. Not that he didn’t appreciate the weight of Justice or value its history, but there was something refreshing about not having to consider the expectations associated with the old sword if he used it.

  He closed the door behind him as he stepped outside.

  The wind gusted along the street, carrying the cold in the air that had been there for the last few weeks. The cold seemed to be coming with an increasing fervor, and Finn could imagine that within another few weeks they’d see the first snowfall. It was a time when things in the city tended to slow down, if only a little bit. Maybe that was all they needed. Let the seasons change, let the cold come on, and the people in the city who had begun their protests would find themselves distracted by the shift. It would be easier to stay indoors during those times.

  Wella’s apothecary shop wasn’t terribly far from Meyer’s home. It was close enough that Finn would know the path even if he were blindfolded. The streets were active, as they often were, but the people were more subdued than usual. Most of them walked in pairs, as if they needed the support of somebody with them, and even they hurried along the street, saying nothing, moving with a steady, determined pace. It seemed as if they wanted nothing more than to be out of the street and to be wherever their destination was. People looked askance at Finn as he passed them, and some even quickened their step as he approached.

  The level of suspicion out in the city was elevated far more than it ever had been.

  He found several other markings of the Black Rose etched onto buildings and a few posters. More than he had noticed before.

  Finn slowed each time he saw one. Someone was putting these markers around the city, but for what reason?

  As he reached Wella’s shop, he heard a shout at the end of the street.

  He hurried along the street, and when he reached an intersection, he found a small crowd gathering. One of the protesters whistled.

  Soon more whistles rang out, a half-dozen, then a dozen.

  The crowd began to build.

  Finn shook his head.

  How long would it be before the Archers arrived?

  As soon as they appeared, the protests would be quashed, and unfortunately, he feared there would be lives lost, the same way there had been before. He wanted to wait, to see who was here, but as the crowd continued to swell, and people started to push and shove, Finn decided that this wasn’t where he wanted to be.

  Let the Archers deal with it.

  He wouldn’t be able to get near enough to the man who’d whistled to start the protest anyway—and getting near him would only matter if the man had anything to answer for.

  Finn heard the protesters shouting—some decrying the king, while others dared the Archers to attack—and as he backed along the street he’d come down, he saw smoke beginning to rise.

  More fires.

  So much for the colder weather preventing the protests.

  When he reached Wella’s shop, he ducked inside.

  It was gloomy, and the air smelled of all the various medicines, herbs, leaves, roots, and oils that she gathered, all of them making her apothecary shop unique. He hurried toward the back of the shop, passing by a row of jars that contained human remains. There was one jar with only fingers, another only toes, and still another that held eyeballs. All of them had been harvested from men—and a few women—who had been sentenced.

  Wella came tottering out from th
e back of the shop, running her hand through her hair as she looked over the counter and toward Finn.

  “Finn.” Relief swept through her voice.

  “The protesters are gathering outside your shop,” Finn said.

  “I noticed,” she said. “I heard the shouting and went to take a look…” She shook her head. “They don’t know what they’re doing, and if they did, perhaps they would act differently.”

  “Some of them do know what they’re doing,” Finn said.

  Wella sighed. “What can I do for you? I thought, with everything taking place, Henry might decide to slow his purchases.”

  “I’m not here for supplies.” She frowned and Finn shook his head. “That’s not to say that I wouldn’t purchase any.” He needed to keep Wella happy, and happiness involved her staying in business. Finn knew that he and Master Meyer were some of Wella’s best customers, and because of that, he felt an obligation to ensure she stayed open. Besides, there were too many apothecaries in the city that he didn’t trust quite as much as he trusted Wella. She had far superior supplies. “I just came to ask about the sedative you’ve been using on the wounded men.”

  “What about it? It’s a simple concoction.”

  “You sound like Lena,” Finn said.

  “Well, your sister was the one to suggest it. Not that I wouldn’t have considered it,” Wella added quickly, “but I must say, the idea behind it was a bit unusual.” She shrugged. “I should have considered it myself, especially in light of the shortage of supplies.”

  “What supplies?”

  “Well, we have dealt with a shortage in orphum, which, as you know, is the most often used sedative.”

  Finn nodded. He had been surprised that his sister hadn’t used that on the prisoners, but if they had difficulty acquiring it, then it made more sense that she hadn’t.

  “I’ve never known there to be a shortage of it,” Finn said.

  Wella’s face clouded. “No. There should not be. It’s such a common root, and easy enough to acquire, but…” She shrugged. “We are at the whim of Heleth when we search for medicinals. We must make do with what she provides.”