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

  He checked the wardrobe, but it was empty other than a change of clothes that looked like they would fit Reginald, then he pulled back the sheets before lifting up the mattress and finding a black leather-bound book and a wooden marker.

  Finn grabbed them and headed back to the other room, taking a seat at the table and flipping open the book. It was a ledger.

  He had started to think that maybe this wasn’t even Reginald’s home. The debtors’ prison hadn’t had many belongings for him, so anything he learned about him would be found here.

  His gaze skimmed across the ledger. He had grown accustomed to reading ledgers like this, and as he looked through it, he found a list of names and businesses.

  What reason would Reginald have for keeping a book like this? Finn would be busy going through this whole list of names, but all he had was the book and the wooden marker.

  Finn had to believe that both had been important to Reginald, considering the sparseness of his home.

  Now it was up to the Hunter to figure out why.

  Chapter Three

  Finn stopped at the outside of the small shop on the edge of the river in the Yanish section. The storefront was simple. Judging from the scent of sap and metal, and the wood shavings scattered on the porch, it likely belonged to a carpenter. It was on a narrow street in one of the southern parts of this section. The shops all around were quiet at this early evening hour, and as the cool breeze gusted along the street coming out of the north, Finn pulled his cloak around him. Thankfully, the wind alleviated the city’s stench.

  Finn had spent the last two days visiting the men from Reginald’s ledger. None were helpful. Reginald had owed money to each of them, but not so much that it would have been worth sending him to the debtors’ prison for. This was the last place on the list, and Finn wasn’t even sure it was the right place.

  He knocked, then stepped back. He didn’t want to intimidate or antagonize anybody. This was to be a cordial visit.

  The door opened a crack, and a golden-haired young woman peered out through it. “May I help you?” she asked, her voice soft and tinted with a bit of an accent that Finn couldn’t quite place.

  “I'm looking for a Master Harry James.”

  “That’s my father,” the woman said, a question in her piercing blue eyes.

  “Is he available to speak with?”

  She glanced behind her for a moment before looking back, then nodded slowly. “May I ask what this is about?”

  “I just need to speak with him about a business transaction he had been a part of.”

  The woman’s face fell. “What did he do?” she whispered.

  “He didn’t do anything,” Finn said.

  She frowned. “He didn’t? Then why are you here?”

  Finn forced a smile. “I just have a question for him. Nothing more than that.”

  “My father is a good man. He wouldn't do anything to harm anyone.”

  “I’m quite sure,” Finn said.

  She stepped aside and waved for Finn to come in.

  He stepped into the shop. The smell of sawdust hung over everything and a layer of it covered the floor.

  The young woman closed the door. “Let me go fetch my father. He’s just upstairs.”

  She hurried off, her footsteps light across the sawdust-covered floor, barely kicking up any dust. When she was gone, Finn looked around the inside of the shop. A long table occupied the center, and tools were placed neatly along the table’s surface: several saws, a couple hammers, pliers, and other tools Finn didn’t recognize.

  Stacks of lumber rested in one corner. Most of it was of uniform length and width, though there were some irregular pieces with a rougher bark texture on their exterior.

  He turned to the back wall. A row of glass-encased shelving ran along the wall, parallel to the table. Finn headed toward it, hunching over as he peered inside. Most of the work here was intricately done. He saw a bowl with detailed inlay, different diamond patterns of wood set together creating an interlocking weave along with the symbol for Heleth. It was done with as much skill as Finn had ever seen from any woodworker. There was a collection of small circular items too, all of them equally inlaid with a diamond pattern, the wood species seemingly different from each other. As Finn crouched to look at the next shelf down, a voice behind him caught his attention.

  “Can I help you?”

  Finn straightened, and he turned to see an older man with slumped shoulders and drawn eyes, though they had a hint of a sparkle within them. His hair was short, a fading yellow color, and it was obvious to Finn that he was the young woman’s father.

  “Are you Master James?”

  “I am. And who are you?”

  “My name is Finn Jagger.” The man’s eyes narrowed, and Finn pressed forward. “I have come to you to speak about a Mr. Reginald Smith.”

  “Why?” Master James asked.

  Finn hadn’t been sure that Master James would even recognize the name, but the slight rigidity to his posture suggested he did. “He stands accused of stealing. I’m investigating those who have reportedly lost something from him. Your name was on the list.”

  “He does owe me,” Master James said. “I wouldn’t have made a claim against him, though. It’s been long enough that I don’t even think of it.”

  “Yours would not be the only claim made against him.” At least, not now that Reginald was dead. The others had all put in their claims during the investigation, hoping for reimbursement from the crown for the crimes. It was rare, but occasionally those with enough of a claim were able to recover some of their money from the king, who would then have the claim against the debtor.

  “It’s not?” Master James asked, his gaze drifting to the ground before looking up at Finn.

  Finn shook his head. “Unfortunately, no. I have been looking into the various claims against him, and I came to yours.”

  “I’m not so sure it makes any difference,” Master James said.

  “What can you tell me about him?”

  He shrugged. “What am I supposed to tell you? He hired me to do some work for him a few months back—which I did—then he disappeared without paying me for it.”

  “Only he didn’t disappear,” Finn said. “Can you tell me the value of what you made for him?”

  “With everything I had invested with time and labor, it would be about three branna.”

  Three gold branna. Not a windfall, but more than what someone would normally spend on a carpenter. What exactly had Master James done for Reginald?

  “Is that typical for your work?” Finn asked.

  Master James made his way over to the corner. “I would have charged more, but he stopped paying…” He shrugged. “The cost mostly comes from supplies.” He looked down, nodding at the stack of wood. “The forest provides for access to simple stock. Pine. Oak. Elm.” He glanced over at Finn. “Those are useful in the right situation, but the kind of work I’ve become known for is a bit different. It requires species of lumber not easily found within the confines of the forest. That, and those who hire me often request something a little more exotic. Some of them bring me to the capital itself.”

  Finn looked down at the stack of wood. “So you’re importing it?”

  “Most of the time,” Master James said. He scratched at his shoulders, and a bit of sawdust drifted off of him. It surprised Finn that he would leave his shop as dusty and messy as he had. “There are times when I need to travel out of the city myself. I try not to do it quite as much these days, though I did it often when I was younger.”

  “I didn’t realize carpenters traveled to acquire lumber.”

  “As I said, Mr. Jagger, the type of work I do is valued.” He turned, clasping his hands in front of him. “May I ask how Reginald Smith was captured?”

  Finn shrugged. “He tried to avoid paying a general store owner. A rather well-known one.”

  That was the reason he’d attracted attention. He could have swindled any number of poorer m
erchants and managed to escape notice, but not Master Ihliar, who tended to cater to a wealthier clientele.

  “I see,” Master James said. “I imagine he doesn’t have the funds for the job he hired me for.”

  “I doubt he does,” Finn agreed. And he certainly wouldn’t have them now.

  “Such a waste of time,” he whispered.

  “What exactly did you make?”

  “Not my usual. Just a few small boxes.”

  “What do you usually make?” Finn asked. He hadn’t seen any boxes.

  “My specialty are inlays,” he said. “There is something quite delicate about them. I use different species of wood to create patterns. In this case, I used a wood so dark it could be black, and it creates a very particular appearance.”

  He thought of the circular wooden item he’d found in Reginald’s home, but it didn’t sound like James had made it for him. “Just that?”

  “I haven’t seen him in quite a few months. I would have declined additional jobs, Mr. Jagger, unless he paid upfront. Given the infrequency of my work these days, perhaps I would have still taken any job he offered…” The carpenter sighed. “I have to provide for my daughter,” he said, looking toward the back of the shop. “Jamie has tolerated my work over the years, though she has encouraged me to move where the work may be more plentiful.”

  “You don’t want to move?”

  “If I move, I lose the business I have. It takes time to establish yourself, and as you no doubt ascertained on your time coming to the shop, we aren’t the wealthiest of merchants. Others in nicer sections can charge much more.”

  “Even if their work isn’t as skilled as yours?”

  “There are few who can distinguish the difference between my work and another’s,” Master James said. “And when it comes down to cost, that often is the deciding factor. Some think only of how much coin it will be and want the best value. What that leaves out of the equation is the training and skill involved.” He nodded to the coin. “Something like that cannot be created by many within the city,” he said.

  “Not many outside of the city, either,” a soft voice said from the doorway.

  Finn looked over to see Master James’s daughter standing there, her arms crossed over her chest. She looked at her father with adoration in her eyes.

  “What my father doesn’t want to say is that there aren’t many men who can do his work.”

  “Jamie—”

  Jamie shook her head. “You don’t have to be modest, Father. I know what you can do. I know what your work is worth.”

  He chuckled. “If only others would see it.”

  Jamie looked over to Finn. “That’s the hard part of this kind of work, you know. Getting attention. There are others who come from the high-class sections where they’re given access to those with money we simply cannot obtain.” She glanced over to her father. “All he needs is an opportunity.”

  “It’s more than just an opportunity,” her father said. “It’s the chance to gain consistent work.”

  “If you could prove yourself…”

  Her father chuckled. “If I could prove myself to the king, perhaps that would make a difference, but unfortunately, the king isn’t hiring a man like me.” Master James looked over to Finn.

  Finn understood some of the pressures Master James experienced. He had to prove himself in the same way. “I’m sorry that Reginald Smith took advantage of you,” Finn said.

  “I wish he hadn’t. Each of these takes me about three days to make.”

  “How long were you working on his project?” Finn asked.

  “On and off for the better part of three months,” he said.

  “I will get to the bottom of it,” Finn said, though he doubted there would be much that could be done about it. Reginald had taken the money, leaving them with nothing. “There might be several other claims coming to the king,” Finn said, turning to the door. “I will put in my report that you should be compensated along with other claims upon him.” Now that he was gone, it was possible they’d be able to sell whatever property he owned and compensate his debtors.

  “That would be appreciated,” Master James said.

  He’d learned nothing useful.

  Just another mystery about Reginald—something that never sat well with Finn. He liked answers. He was the Hunter, after all.

  “Have a good evening. I’m sorry I disturbed your time,” Finn said.

  “It is not a problem, Mr. Jagger. I’m just thankful you had no reason to bring me in.”

  Finn nodded again, turning to the door, and stepped outside. Jamie watched him for a moment in the doorway before closing the door behind him.

  The day was still early, though at this point, Finn didn’t really have much else he needed to do other than taking care of some tasks in the city. Perhaps it was time to return to Master Meyer, maybe offer his healing services for the night, or perhaps even sit with his sister and study.

  Lena might like that. With Helda not coming around as often, she lacked companionship. He took a deep breath. There was one place he could go.

  He suspected Oscar would welcome him to the Wenderwolf tavern, but it was a little early for that. He stood in the street, and for a moment, he thought he felt movement near him, but then it was gone.

  Perhaps it was only imagined.

  It was times like these when Finn wished he had others he could socialize with. He’d tried befriending iron masters, had been friendly with the wardens, and even found a few willing women over the last few years, but nobody really wanted to socialize with an executioner. It left him with Master Meyer and his sister.

  It was times like these when Finn felt lost, despite knowing exactly what he needed to do. Perhaps he shouldn’t feel lost. He had an assignment, and he was comfortable with it—at least, as comfortable as anyone could be with the type of work he’d been asked to do. Without meaning to, Finn found himself near the outer wall of the city, looking through the Teller Gate.

  It had been too long since he’d gone searching for an understanding of the Alainsith outside the gate. He had taken several journeyman assignments—that wasn’t his issue—but after having saved the Alainsith man from certain death, Finn felt he would have gained a greater understanding of the culture. Except that hadn’t come.

  Perhaps that was what he needed to do. Get outside the city, look around, and see if he could uncover anything that would provide him with answers about the Alainsith. After his experience with them, he’d wanted answers.

  If nothing else, he could go to Esmerelda and the hegen, but he suspected she would warn him away. Finn tore his gaze away from the gate and headed back into the city, back toward his usual responsibilities.

  Now the light was fading quickly, and with his errands done and a full day of work behind him, Finn was tempted to return back to Master Meyer’s home and settle in for the night. It wasn’t that he had nothing to do. There was always something new to learn, something more he should be experiencing, even after serving all this time.

  What he really wanted was to settle in at a tavern and enjoy a mug of ale.

  He found himself drifting toward the Olin section, toward the Wenderwolf, knowing it was a mistake. He shouldn’t be heading there. Not at this point. Oscar wouldn’t refuse him entry, and he doubted that Annie would either, but it still felt odd returning. Maybe it shouldn’t. Oscar was his oldest friend, and these days, he often felt like his only friend.

  Finn reached the street that would take him to the Wenderwolf tavern before heading away. He passed a poster with a black rose on a white background, pausing for a moment and looking at it, then moved onward.

  There were other taverns he could stop in, and he crossed over the bridge leading toward the center of the city. The Veiled Thistle was an old tavern just on the other side of the river. Finn had started frequenting it over the last few months when he needed a place to go, though he had always done so on his own.

  It was quiet inside, not nearly
as boisterous as the Wenderwolf. No minstrels played as they did at other taverns, though there was a steady murmuring of voices. A few people looked up when he entered, but then looked away. Finn doubted that any recognized him. He fit in here, especially with the way he dressed now.

  He nodded to one of the servers and took a seat at a table along the wall, resting his hands on its polished oak surface. When the server brought him a mug of ale, he handed over a few coppers, more than he ever would’ve spent when he was younger, and they were scooped off the table.

  Finn leaned back, sipping at the ale.

  It was too bad he couldn’t go to the Wenderwolf, but it didn’t fit him anymore. He wasn’t part of the crew any longer. Though, if he was honest with himself, that wasn’t the only issue. Finn had grown more serious. It was because of the risk of the job, he knew, but he didn’t want to end up like Master Meyer, which was the reason he still came out at all.

  He pulled out the journal he’d found in Reginald’s home and flipped through the pages. Meyer had made it clear that allowing himself to get distracted by pointless leads was only a waste of time. And Finn knew it was true. He hadn’t been able to make sense of Reginald's notes.

  Loud voices at the table nearby caught his attention, and Finn looked up for a moment, watching the men wagering at cards before turning his attention back to the journal. He took another sip of his ale, feeling there had to be something here. He just had to find it.

  Chapter Four

  The journey to the paper mill outside the city had been a waste.

  Reginald’s journal had mentioned the mill several times, but the manager hadn’t known Reginald, and hadn’t cared that he’d died. He had been too busy to even care that he was talking to the executioner. Finn wasn’t accustomed to that, but hadn’t any real reason to push.

  And he’d wasted too much time. Getting to the mill took an hour by foot, so he’d borrowed a horse and now had to return it. The stable was on the edge of the Durn section. Most of the sections on the edge of the city were rundown, and Durn was no exception, though it had the advantage of catering specifically to city newcomers. Since the Durn section was close to Teller Gate, it had many of the same shops and suppliers that could be found farther inside the city, but they were cheaper, allowing visitors the option of avoiding travel into Verendal, even though there were plenty who viewed the city as a necessary evil.