The Executioner's Rebellion (The Executioner's Song Book 4) Page 31

  “What you call ‘a plot against the kingdom’ some would call a chance for a revolution.”

  “That’s not the kind of revolution they should be having,” Finn said.

  “Maybe not,” Oscar turned away. He stepped back in the shadows, moving away from the temple—away from Finn. “You need to stop thinking there is more to this than there is. You have an angry populace. That’s all this is.” Oscar tipped his head slightly, then he backed even farther away, disappearing into the shadows.

  Standing here in this section, looking all around, Finn still felt as if there was more going on than he knew. He didn’t see any sign of blood on the cobblestones, nothing to indicate the fallen Archer. There was nothing notable here. No sign of the commotion that would’ve come through. No sign of the protests, other than the broken windows along the street.

  No sign of anything.

  He made a small circuit around the temple, then stopped again.

  It was time for him to head back.

  The streets were dark. Quiet. Finn moved quickly along them, glancing every so often down side streets before hurrying forward to get back to Master Meyer’s home. He’d been away for too long.

  He hadn’t gone very far when he thought he saw someone behind him. At first, Finn thought maybe it was Oscar trailing him, but Oscar wouldn’t be quite so obvious.

  Finn knew the streets of the Brinder section; even though he hadn’t lived here in years, he still knew his way around them. He knew the alleys too. There had been a time when he’d run through these alleys, picking his way around them to sneak as quickly as he could. When he was younger, his father had practically encouraged it, and as he had gotten older, it was part of the game Finn had played with himself so he could know the city better. In his mind, he needed to know the alleys and streets better than any of the Archers in case he was pinched.

  When he turned a corner, he caught sight of shadows moving.

  Three figures headed along the street—Archers.

  They had a much different appearance than usual, and rarely patrolled in threes, though given the current climate, maybe it would be safer for them to have more patrols. Considering the potential for attack, he could understand why they would have wanted to do so, but that didn’t seem to be the case.

  Finn ducked into a nearby alley. He backed along it, wrinkling his nose at the foul odor—stale water mixed with mold, and trash piled up into the alley.

  He waited.

  He didn’t see anyone. Maybe they hadn’t been Archers.

  Archers would’ve made a steady circuit, and they wouldn’t have moved under the cover of darkness like those men had. Or women.

  Finn considered going farther down the alley, but it smelled terrible, and he had no interest in trudging along it. He waited until he was convinced there was no other movement, then he hurried forward, out into the street, and nearly collided with one of the figures he’d seen.

  It was three men.

  One of them had a small insignia on his cloak, and Finn stared for a moment, realizing almost too late what it was.

  The Black Rose.

  They have to be with the Black Rose.

  The man had his cloak’s hood up to cover his face and held a long wooden staff. The other two men were older and burly, with dark hair, dark eyes, and tattered, worn clothing that had no insignia.

  They could be from Brinder.

  “Lookee here. What do we have?” The man took a step toward Finn, leaning in, and Finn caught a wafting stench coming off of him.

  He backed toward the alley.

  “My name is—”

  The man didn’t give him a chance to answer.

  He lunged at Finn.

  He was quick—quicker than Finn would’ve expected given his size and the way he was dressed.

  Finn spun, turning to the alley.

  The other tried to block him off, not giving him any place to go.

  “You don’t look like any Archer,” the other said, his voice a low drawl. “But he’s got the smell of money.”

  “Probably an Archer.”

  They couldn’t really think he was an Archer, but knowing what had taken place earlier in the day, Finn wasn’t about to linger. He had the alley to his back and the two men blocking his way, but neither of them really drew his attention—not like the man holding the wooden staff with his hood covering his face.

  Someone with that insignia on his cloak would have to know something. If only Finn could capture him to learn what.

  “You shouldn’t be out,” Finn said.

  The man who had first spoken to him laughed. “See? Even speaks like he’s trying to be an Archer.”

  Finn looked along the street. There was no sign of any actual Archers, though given the time of day, and the protests that occurred earlier, there should have been some here. There should be some way for him to have safety, but…

  He was going to have to run.

  The other two men converged upon him, lunging toward him. Finn darted back.

  Doors opened along the street. Finn caught sight of them for only a moment before he turned and started down the alley. He raced along, reaching a side street, but the men were behind him, coming quickly.

  He wouldn’t have much time.

  Finn looked over his shoulder.

  From here, he wasn’t going to be able to reach Meyer’s home. He was going to need to take a different route back.

  Shouts rang out behind him.

  As he hurried along the alley, more doors along the street opened. A crowd was forming.

  Finn raced as quickly as he could, trying to stay ahead of the crowd, before veering in a different direction. Somebody threw something at him, striking him in the back.

  He stumbled, catching himself, then lumbered forward.

  He looked around. Panic started to set in.

  It was strange that he would feel so panicked in the Brinder section. He could take a right, and it would lead him toward the Olin section, and the Wenderwolf tavern.

  He would draw attention to the tavern if he didn’t get away from here.

  Finn had to get even farther ahead of the crowd.

  A wave of people began to follow him, and as he ran, he looked for signs of Archers, but there were none. Finn started taking side streets, heading toward the central section of the city. If he could reach that part of the city, he could find Archers.

  This is ridiculous. The idea that he would be running through the city, away from protesters, left him feeling as if he were a criminal himself.

  He whistled, trying to draw attention from some of the Archers.

  He caught sight of a bridge leading over the river and knew he could find Archers from there.

  Another group of protesters appeared in front of him, and Finn veered away, darting toward another side street. As he popped over the street, he looked toward the bridge in the distance, but a crowd had formed that prevented him from heading through.

  He reached another section where the crowd grew thicker and was forced back.

  He wasn’t going to be able to reach Meyer’s home until the crowd settled down. All around him were the sound of shouts and occasional screams, as well as flames that lit up the night sky.

  He couldn’t stay here.

  Maybe there was someplace else he could go.

  Finn hoped the hegen would welcome him while he waited out the protests. When it calmed down, he would have to get back to work.

  Chapter Twenty-Five

  Finn reached the Teller Gate and found it guarded by only a small number of Archers. He hurried through, pausing for just a moment to make sure nobody was following him before jogging into the distance. The hegen section glowed with pale light, and as he rushed over to it, he paused at the Raven Stone long enough to look at it for a moment, then tore his gaze away.

  He watched behind him, but saw no sign of anybody coming out of the Teller Gate.

  There was no reason for it.

  Finn reache
d the outskirts of the hegen section.

  Music filled the air, a stark contrast to what he had experienced in the city. There was a joyousness here, a festivity, a happiness, and as he headed in, Finn couldn’t help but feel as if a wave of relaxation struck him—as if the hegen section itself had some sort of magic that sent him into that state.

  He breathed out as he jogged along the street, hurrying toward Esmerelda’s home, and when he reached it, he knocked. It was late enough that he worried how she would react to his presence.

  The door opened and Esmerelda greeted him with a wide smile. She had on a white gown, cinched at the waist with a maroon sash, and her black hair hung loose around her shoulders.

  “Finn. I was not expecting to see you this evening.”

  “May I come in?”

  “Do you need something?”

  Finn looked over her shoulder. In the distance, he could see a hint of orange on the horizon, evidence of the flames in the city.

  “Safety. And I brought you something.”

  Esmerelda frowned.

  “I was bringing this for your school,” he started, pulling out the colored chalk he’d found in Tahn’s. “Then I got caught up in a protest in the city.”

  “I see,” she said, taking the chalk. “Thank you. The children will appreciate your gift.” She smiled and some of the pale moonlight reflected off her cheeks. “You may come in, but I’m afraid that I have been working with someone, so you may have to wait until we are completed.”

  She escorted him inside, where he found a man about his age, with pale skin and neatly combed black hair that matched Esmerelda’s. He wore a deep-blue jacket with yellow pants and sat in a chair in her kitchen, lounging back with a mug of tea.

  He glanced over to Finn. “Who might this be?” the man asked.

  Esmerelda nodded to Finn. “Themen, this is Finn Jagger. Finn Jagger, this is Themen Mavoy.” She headed into the kitchen, lifted a pitcher, and poured a mug of tea for Finn, which she then handed to him. “You may sit in the other room until we are finished,” Esmerelda said.

  Finn took the mug and carried it to a chair in the other room. Her home was always tidy, and this time was no different. She had the comfortable, brightly colored carpet, and the table ringed with chairs. A shelf beside it displayed strange carvings.

  Finn took the chair and sipped at the tea.

  There was a time when he would’ve hesitated to take tea from the hegen, especially from Esmerelda, but he trusted her.

  Obviously. He had found himself coming here, of all places.

  What did that say about him?

  It said that he felt safest with Esmerelda.

  At least, relatively safe.

  Finn glanced toward the window that looked over the street. A curtain was drawn, and he couldn’t see much, though the sound of music drifted along and came through the door. The hegen music was always buoyant and festive, filled with the sounds of horns and strings, along with the distinct, staccato sounds of the voices that sang with it. Finn tapped his foot as he listened.

  He tried not to listen to Esmerelda and Themen, but curiosity overwhelmed him.

  “You must focus,” Esmerelda said.

  “You don’t want me to focus,” Themen said. “In fact, I think you called me here for something else.”

  Finn glanced back before shaking his head and turning his attention back to the window. Esmerelda wanted a measure of privacy, he was sure, even if she would never demand that. She wouldn’t have allowed Finn inside if she was concerned about him overhearing anything.

  “I called you here because you are reported to have some talent,” Esmerelda said.

  “Is that what you call it?”

  Esmerelda fell silent.

  Finn suspected she said something more, though he couldn’t hear what it was.

  Themen laughed. “There it is. There’s the fire I expected out of you.”

  Finn couldn’t help himself; he looked over his shoulder.

  Themen seemed to sense him looking and he turned in Finn’s direction, grinning widely. He winked, then turned back to Esmerelda, leaning toward her, touching her knee.

  There was something far too familiar about the gesture for Finn. Not that he felt as if he had any ownership of Esmerelda, but he wouldn’t have expected her to welcome that kind of touch.

  Esmerelda got to her feet. “Seeing as how Finn has come and does need some assistance, perhaps the two of us can continue this conversation later.”

  Themen chuckled. “I’d like that. Would you like me to come back in an hour?”

  “I was thinking you would give it a few days,” Esmerelda said.

  “I don’t know if you really want me to wait a few days,” Themen said.

  Esmerelda tipped her head to the door. “I believe you can show yourself out.”

  He chuckled and sauntered toward the door, glancing over to Finn one more time before winking and stepping out into the night. He whistled as he did, his voice joining the hegen song.

  Finn got to his feet, holding on to the mug of tea. He turned to Esmerelda. “I’m sorry if I interrupted.”

  “I had the understanding that he had an interest in learning about the art, but…”

  “I think he’s interested in you,” Finn said.

  She sighed. “It might not be entirely his fault. There are some who believe it’s time for me to choose. You aren’t of the people,” Esmerelda said. “And I suppose you can’t and don’t understand.”

  “I understand feeling like you need to find someone.”

  Esmerelda watched him for a moment, then she turned away, heading back to the kitchen. “Would you like to take a seat?”

  “I shouldn’t have interrupted,” Finn said.

  “You should have done whatever you needed to do, Finn,” she said.

  “I wasn’t sure what to do,” he admitted. He joined her in the kitchen. He deeply inhaled the steam and scent of the tea, then breathed out in a sigh. “I was looking into a man who had died in the Brinder section, then I was nearly attacked.”

  “I believe that section is familiar to you.”

  “That’s where I was raised,” he said.

  “That is what I thought,” Esmerelda said. She poured another mug of tea and turned toward Finn, smiling tightly. “You look as if it troubles you.”

  “It troubles me that I didn’t feel safe there.”

  “Was it a safe section of the city?”

  Finn took a seat, and Esmerelda joined him, setting her mug of tea on the table. She looked at him, a brightness in her eyes.

  “No,” Finn said. “It wasn’t. At the time, I didn’t know any better, and it was only after I left that I really began to know anything about safety.”

  “A child should feel safe,” Esmerelda said.

  “Are the children of the hegen section safe?”

  “The hegen children are prized,” she said. She took a sip of her tea, setting it down again. “You saw the school.”

  “Is that where you learned?”

  Her eyes narrowed slightly before relaxing again. “My experience was different.”

  “You called it the art,” Finn said.

  “Yes.”

  “Not magic.”

  “You may call it magic, if that is more comfortable for you.”

  “I want to refer to it by its proper terminology.”

  Esmerelda smiled. “Very few people find that matters.”

  “Considering how much you have helped me, and how much of an interaction there is between my line of work and yours, I prefer to respect what you call it.”

  “You may call it magic, Finn. What is magic but the unexplained?”

  “But you called it art.”

  “I called it the art. There are many forms of art, as you have seen from the displays my people have created.”

  “The murals?”

  “Those are an example of one of the forms,” she said.

  “The music?”

&nb
sp; She smiled, tipping her head to the side, and drummed her fingers on the table for a moment, working them in time to the sounds that Finn could hear just beyond the walls of the home. “That is another form. My people find that there are many reasons to celebrate, and not all are tied to the gallows.”

  “I wouldn’t have accused them of that,” Finn said.

  “Perhaps not you, but others would have.”

  Finn chuckled. “You have craftspeople who have their own sort of work. You mentioned the weavers. All of the hegen’s work is art.”

  Esmerelda smiled. “Very good, Finn,” she said, lifting the mug to her lips and slowly taking a sip. “What is art but a celebration of life?”

  “Even though the kind of work you do deals with death?”

  “Death is one source of power. Death is a part of life, the endpoint, and it is through death that we can fully appreciate the power of life.”

  Finn smiled. “I wish I believed that. I deal in death. Unfortunately, I have a hard time thinking it connects me to life in any way.”

  “More than you realize,” she said.

  “What was it like when you learned it? The art, that is.”

  “Would you be interested in learning of the art?” There was a weight to the question as she watched him, an intensity he could feel, as if his answer mattered more than anything else.

  Finn chuckled. “I don’t think I have the same talent as you. I have my own set of skills, but I doubt I can do anything quite like you.”

  She regarded Finn before taking another sip of her tea. “It was isolating. When I learned the art, it was a different time. I lived in a different place.”

  “I thought you were always in Verendal.”

  “As you have observed, the people move. Some are born here and stay, and some migrate, looking for an opportunity to learn about and find their calling.”

  He’d learned that when he’d met Jasmine. Her parents had moved around, which was how she had ended up with her grandfather, then moved on here. “How long have you been in Verendal?”

  Finn hadn’t even considered that question before. He assumed she had been here her whole life, especially given her level of responsibility to the people.

  “Long enough,” she said.

  Finn waited for her to explain more, to share something else, but that was all he got.