The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 28

  There was too much at stake otherwise.

  “I figured that you would dig regardless,” Finn said.

  “Might be that I would,” he said.

  “What did you find? Have you discovered anything about the Black Rose?”

  Oscar watched him for a long moment. After a while, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled something out, setting it on the table.

  It was a small pamphlet stamped with the symbol of the Black Rose.

  “What is that?” Finn asked.

  “That’s what I found,” Oscar said.

  “And?”

  “Look through it. Tell me that you disagree.”

  Finn frowned.

  He pulled the pamphlet toward him and opened it.

  Finn had learned to read at a young age, and he had been forced to read even more in the time he had been working with Master Meyer. Most of the time, he read about anatomy and healing—plenty of different ways to help people. He almost never read about torture, techniques for execution, or anything along those lines. It simply wasn’t necessary.

  This was simple. Not at all like some of the apothecary medicine texts he had read. Those could be complicated, and written in ways to make the author sound more intelligent than they might otherwise. This pamphlet seemed as if it was designed to be read by someone with almost no education.

  It was designed for those in the outer sections.

  “This describes the Black Rose movement,” Finn said, flipping through the pages.

  Oscar nodded. “That’s exactly what it describes.”

  Finn looked up. “Where did you get this?”

  “They are all over the city. Any place you see one of the posters on the wall has these,” Oscar said. He shrugged and reached for it back, but Finn held on to the pamphlet. He had only skimmed it, but he immediately understood its purpose. It was the movement’s way of getting others to side with them.

  But there was very little convincing they had to do. It spoke of wrongs that men had suffered under the king. It spoke of abuses, the way that those with money took advantage of those without. It spoke of how difficult it was for someone to gain footing in the world, especially in Verendal.

  All of it hit home for Finn.

  “You understand what you’re going against,” Oscar said.

  Finn sighed. “I understand.”

  “Still think you are in the right?”

  “We can’t have people killing themselves.”

  “Sometimes the only way to change things is through violence,” Oscar said.

  “Do you really believe that?”

  “When it comes to pushing against those who have…”

  Finn fingered the pamphlet. “When I was on the crew, we didn’t have any problem taking from those who had more than us.”

  “I still don’t,” Oscar said.

  “Meyer has trained me to try to find a balance.”

  “Not in your position,” Oscar said. “There is no balance. You serve the king, or you don’t. That’s it. And if you don’t, then you are against him.” He nodded to the pamphlet. “Which means that you would be with them.”

  “I don’t know,” he said, shaking his head.

  “You wanted me to see what I could find, so I’m telling you what I could find. And you can make up your own mind. You’re a smart man, Finn. I’m sure you can look through there and come to terms with what you feel.”

  Finn wasn’t entirely sure what he was supposed to feel.

  The movement fit with his experience.

  Had he seen this pamphlet even five years ago, it might’ve called to him even more.

  But he had seen things.

  He had done things.

  There were ways the king protected the people that they didn’t even know about.

  Maybe they couldn’t understand.

  At least, that was what Finn had to tell himself.

  “When you are running around and interrogating your prisoners, I want you to think about that,” Oscar said.

  “I will,” Finn said.

  He started to get up, and Oscar watched him.

  “Tell Annie that I appreciate you providing this for me.”

  “That’s it?”

  “I plan on finding who printed it.”

  Oscar snorted. “Don't bother. I recognize the typeface. The printing house that used it burned down a year ago. And the owners died in the fire. More likely than not, someone scavenged the equipment and is printing it out of their home.”

  One more lead gone before he even had a chance to dig.

  Finn stuffed the pamphlet into his pocket. He would look at it later. Meyer would need to see it.

  How had they not come across it until now?

  The answer came to him easily. It was the same reason that the men had accosted him, seeing him as rich.

  It was in his clothing—the way he was dressed.

  Meyer had ensured Finn was dressed appropriately to serve as an executioner, but it had separated him from his roots. Finn had been all too eager to embrace the style of dress when he had first taken up the job, but it had made him stand out, setting him apart.

  Finn turned to the door. “Be careful when you’re out in the streets,” he said to Oscar.

  “I always am.”

  He swung his gaze to the kitchen, but there was no sign of Annie.

  He left. When the door closed, there was a feeling of separation once again. He stood in the small square outside of the Wenderwolf and noticed several buildings with the poster for the Black Rose on them.

  It was a movement that had to be funded somehow. Somebody had paid for those posters. Somebody had paid for the pamphlets. Maybe that was where he should start.

  He finished the rest of his errands with his mind churning. He didn’t have the desire to go to Declan and interrogate anyone, so he avoided it. There were plenty of other things he could do anyway. He paused every so often, pulling out the pamphlet and flipping through the pages. He tried to make sense of what was there and whether it would provide any insight as to who had written it, but there was nothing. It was not even printed on high-quality paper.

  He paused at the river, staring at it as the sunlight shone down. A couple of barges had made their way farther to the northwest, carrying goods to the city. They were always unloaded in the central part of the city. Never on the outside. Finn tried not to think about that.

  He pulled the pamphlet out and flipped through its pages again.

  Why would the protests have begun now?

  Oscar wanted him to believe that the people were just angry. It was an anger he understood, but there was more to it.

  Unless there wasn’t.

  They had known the king was in the city. That was when the protests had begun in full. They hadn’t been instigated. Not with any real intent. It had just been an uprising.

  That was the part of all of it that troubled Finn.

  Men had been unhappy with their place in the world for years. It was something Finn understood. When he had worked with the crew, he had been unhappy with his place in the world, wanting to move beyond poverty, to find a way to not have to fight for scraps of food, for healing for his mother, or for a place to stay.

  Something else had triggered people.

  And maybe it was simply the movement coalescing.

  When he heard the evening Giver’s bell, Finn stuffed the pamphlet back into his pocket.

  It was time to meet Jamie.

  He had to push all of the thoughts of what he had been dealing with out of his mind. Now was not the time. Now was when he wanted to enjoy his evening.

  He looked down at himself. He should have returned home, changed his cloak and shirt, but then he hadn’t done anything that would have dirtied him too much. Besides, he wasn’t going to be able to take Jamie too many places within the city—not with the city as it currently was.

  He met her near the Giver’s bell.

  She had on a pale-blue dress and clutched
a bag in her hands. A wide smile spread across her face.

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

  Finn grinned at her.

  “Of course I was. You told me to meet you at the bell.”

  She looked up at the tower. It stretched high overhead, sending a shadow streaming across the ground. “I didn’t want to show up late. What should we do?”

  Finn had been preoccupied and hadn’t come up with a plan.

  “We could walk.”

  She arched a brow at him. “Is that safe?”

  “There are quite a few Archers out,” Finn said. “But I think we should be safe.”

  “You would probably know. I imagine you know the Archers, as well.”

  “I know some,” he said. Meyer’s words came back to them, a reminder not to talk about his work. “I can show you some of my favorite parts of the city.”

  “I might be afraid to ask what those are.”

  “I like walking along the river.”

  She regarded him. “I’ve never found walking along rivers to be all that peaceful, but partly that comes from having to traverse them while traveling with my father.” She chuckled. “He doesn’t really give much thought to how difficult a journey is going to be when we take it. Oftentimes, we end up searching for just the right species of wood, and all he wants is a branch.” She shook her head, smiling to herself. “But with one branch, especially of the right species of wood, and with his skill, he can sell it for so much more—at least, most of the time.”

  Don’t talk about your job.

  That was Meyer’s advice. He couldn’t talk about what Reginald owed her father, or anything more about him. That would only draw up more questions about what he had been up to.

  “I find the river peaceful. At least as it flows through here. I’ve seen other rivers in my journeys that are wilder. I probably haven’t traveled nearly as far as you and your father have though.” She joined him, walking alongside him and looking up at him every so often. “When I was younger, I used to come to the river—never any farther. My father had warned me not to cross the river. He always told me that the Archers would shoo me away.” Thinking of that made him smile.

  “Tell me about your family,” she pressed.

  “My father is in prison somewhere,” he said. “I don’t know where. I don’t know what he did. And I don’t know if he’s still alive.” He probably shouldn’t have led with that. “My mother passed away a few years ago. She was sick. We did everything we could for her, but I think she was ready to go at the end. And my sister lives with me.”

  “She lives with you?”

  There was something in the way she said it that caught his attention, though Finn wasn’t sure what. “We both live with Master Meyer.”

  “Doesn’t he have a family?”

  “He lost his family. I think he likes having us around, though he would never say it. He took us in when I started working for him, and he’s training my sister in healing.”

  “She’s lucky,” Jamie said.

  Finn nodded. “She really is.”

  “When I was younger, I remember my father toiling away in a small shop. It was barely larger than a closet. Our room was above it. A single room. There were four of us.”

  Four. That meant she had a sibling.

  And she’d said “were.”

  “You can ask about them,” she said softly.

  “That’s not my place,” he said.

  “My older sister had an accident when I was young. She fell.” She shook her head and swallowed. She still struggled with it, regardless of what she claimed. “I didn’t get to know her. My father tells me stories. My mother did, too, until she got sick. Like your mother. We couldn’t afford the medicine she needed, and…” She looked up at him. “You were afraid to ask about her, too.”

  Finn swallowed. “I suppose I was.”

  “Are you always afraid to ask questions?”

  “Not usually.”

  They reached one of the bridges leading across the water, and though Finn hadn’t intended to, he had brought her toward one that had been blocked by protests at one point. He turned away, and Jamie watched him.

  They passed several children huddled near an alley, and Jamie turned her attention to them for a moment before pulling Finn ahead to a fruit stand. She bought several apples, some pears, and a full bag of what looked to be overly ripe blueberries.

  “Are you hungry?” he asked when she’d finished haggling with the man.

  “They are.” She brought the fruit over to the children, who took it but darted into the shadows of the alley immediately afterward.

  They walked in silence for a few more moments. When a pair of patrolling Archers appeared in the distance, she shrank in closer to him.

  Finn looked over, and she smiled sheepishly.

  “I don’t like the way things have gotten,” she whispered.

  “I can’t say that I do either,” Finn said, looking along the alley where the children disappeared. It was a direction he’d once taken many times. From here, he knew how to reach a section of the city that was several streets over, then he could take a different path that would even reach her father’s shop. “All I can tell is that people are tired of what they perceive as injustices. I’ve been trying to look into the Black Rose movement—”

  “You think it’s tied to that?”

  “I don’t even know anymore,” he said. He tried to keep his frustration out of his words. “But people are getting hurt. That’s what matters to me.”

  “There have been rumors,” she said. “They reach us even in my father’s shop. I heard some Archers were caught in one attack.”

  She looked over to him, and Finn nodded before guiding her across the street, into another alley. He hadn’t seen anything along the other street, but he wasn’t going to take any chances of getting caught in a protest. He could protect her from that.

  “Archers. Protesters. Too many.” And there wasn’t anything Finn could do about it. He’d been trying, and felt helpless at this point. Not that he could say that to Jamie. “Has your father been impacted?”

  “In a city like this, I don’t see how anyone couldn’t be impacted,” she said, her voice low. They reached another street, and Finn guided her to another alley farther down. “The hard part is that I understand.”

  Finn was quiet as they entered the turned the corner away from the Archers. “I understand what they want too. If I hadn’t left my section, I think I might be a part of the protests.”

  “You wouldn’t be now?” She looked up at him.

  “There are other ways to accomplish change.”

  She looked as though she wanted to debate with him, but instead smiled widely at him. “I’m happy to walk wherever you want to go, Finn, but I’d be just as happy to sit, have a drink, and just talk.” She looked around. “With the city the way it is, that might be better, anyway. I don’t know if you have a place that might work, but…”

  He held out his arm, and she looped hers through it. “I might have a place.”

  She smiled at him.

  And he smiled back.

  He could already imagine Oscar’s teasing, but it was the first place he thought of, and the only place he’d want to sit and share a drink with her.

  They passed by City Hall, and Jaime pulled on his arm, but not before he noticed the corner of the building had crumbled. Had it always been like that? He paused, looking down, when shouts in the distance caught his attention.

  Finn straightened and stiffened. Another protest.

  How had he thought he could have an evening to himself?

  “I’m afraid I might have to cut our night short.”

  Jaime looked up at him. “I understand.”

  “I wish I didn’t have to. Thankfully, I think I’m close to answers. Once I get the prisoner I have in Declan to…”

  Another shout rang out, followed by a brief flash of light. Flames danced against the night. It sile
nced Finn, who realized that he’d been talking to her almost the same way he’d talk to Esmerelda. Jaime didn’t want to hear about Jonrath.

  Jaime squeezed his arm. “You should go. I can tell you need to. We can do this another time.”

  He took her hands, squeezing them briefly. “I am sorry.”

  “Another night, then.”

  He nodded, hating that it had to be over so soon. If he could get the answers he needed, then the protests wouldn’t keep him from the next night he planned with Jaime.

  Now Finn just had to get Jonrath to talk.

  Chapter Twenty-Three

  Finn sat in front of Jonrath once again.

  After having met with Wella, Finn had shifted the direction of his questioning. No longer did he simply want to know who he was, but he wanted to know more about who funded the Black Rose. However, in order to learn that, he couldn’t simply come out and ask him.

  “When we talked last, you told me your name, but little else.”

  Jonrath jerked on the leather bindings around his wrists and ankles. “You aren’t going to find out anything else about me.”

  “Not unless you share it with me. Remember, we will have a conversation, if you permit it, but otherwise…” Finn’s gaze drifted intentionally to the cabinet behind him, lingering there for a long moment, and when he turned back to Jonrath, he shrugged. “It is your choice.”

  “Go ahead. Do what you need to do to get your rocks off.”

  “All I want is a conversation,” Finn said.

  “You don’t give one shit about a conversation,” he said.

  “You’re right. I give much more than that. I would much rather have a dialogue with you than go through all of this.”

  “Even if I told you something, you aren’t going to believe me.”

  “I will believe you if you tell me the truth.”

  “Whose truth?”

  “There is only one truth,” Finn said.

  Jonrath leaned his head back and laughed bitterly. “See? You tell me all you care about is the truth, but you don’t care about the fact that the truth is different depending on which way you look at things. My truth is different from your truth, and I guarantee you that my truth is not the kind you care anything about.”

  “Why don’t we stick with facts and worry less about the truth?”