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

  A butcher and a farrier were on either side of the stable, something Finn found unsettling. At least he never purchased from this butcher, though they weren’t all that far from the slaughterhouse, so perhaps he didn’t need to think that way. Another poster of the black rose was on the butcher’s store front.

  He would need to look into that too. Reginald had a similar marking.

  What did it mean though?

  He pulled on the bell on the side of the stable and a stableboy came running out of the back.

  “You weren’t gone long,” he said. The boy looked to be fourteen. He was dirty, and his shirt was a bit tattered and stitched, but working in manure was still more honorable than the kind of work Finn had done when he was this boy’s age.

  “Just a short errand,” Finn said, patting the horse’s side. He’d found that when he rode, his legs ached for the better part of a day afterward. They always managed to find him the fattest horse.

  “Will you be back again tomorrow?”

  Finn had gotten a reputation for traveling out of the city. They thought him a merchant, and he’d done nothing to clear them of that notion. It was easier that way. If they had known who and what he really was, he’d probably have a harder time with them. They’d likely still rent the horse to him, but they wouldn’t be pleased about it.

  “I haven’t decided.” He looked around the inside of the stable. Most of the stalls were empty. They were typically full in the mornings. He tried to get his pick of the horses, but they guided him instead, telling him that a man his size needed the right horse—as if he were that large. He’d grown more solid over the years, but he still wasn’t large enough to scare anyone, and he’d certainly never be confused with a bruiser. “I’d like something less stout the next time.”

  “Not much choice in that, I’m afraid,” the boy said. “They don’t all get the same activity. Some of them are better on longer trips, but those shorter rides you’ve been taking…”

  “Then I’ll just have to take a longer trip,” Finn said.

  Even when he’d been gone for a few days at a time, taking trips to some of the surrounding towns to serve as their executioner, he hadn’t found a horse he could really enjoy. How did some people love riding?

  “Of course. I can let Master Ungar know you’re thinking of doing so.”

  Finn sniffed. Ungar had been the one to give him the worst horse he’d ever ridden. It was a wonder that Finn had even bothered coming back to this stable, but it was the closest to the gate, and they hadn’t tried to overcharge him the way others in the city had.

  Finn started to turn when a shout outside of the stable caught his attention.

  He frowned, and the boy just shook his head. “Don’t mind them. They’ve been hollering like that all morning.”

  “Who has?” Finn asked, turning back to him.

  “Those fools who think to protest the Archers. Said they’re mad that Ole Junker got pinched.”

  Finn hadn’t known about any protest of the Archers. They hadn’t been protesting when he’d left, so for them to do so now seemed odd. But he knew about what happened to Junker. He’d been caught during a robbery and had died accidentally as the Archers tried to bring him to one of the prisons for questioning.

  “What sort of protest is there?”

  “I don’t know. I try to stay out of it. I’ve got enough going on in here, you know.”

  Finn smiled slightly. The boy was smarter than he gave him credit for. It was better to keep out of trouble, especially if it involved something that might land him in prison. Protesters in the city were typically dealt with quickly. The king always wanted to ensure that he maintained his grip on the action in the city, and if the protesters decided to cause trouble, the king would deal with them.

  It was a problem for Finn, though.

  If the protesters were dealt with, as he expected they would be, it meant that he would likely get pulled into questioning them.

  He sighed and started forward.

  “Here,” he said, pausing and grabbing a couple coppers from his pocket, then flipping them to the boy. “Thanks for your help.”

  The boy caught the coins out of the air and nodded to Finn.

  Maybe that would help him get a better ride next time, though Finn didn’t put a whole lot of stock in that possibility. More likely than not, the kid would come to expect it.

  He stepped out into the street.

  There had been a crowd as he had come through the Teller Gate, though Finn hadn’t paid that much attention to it.

  Perhaps that was a mistake.

  A crowd had a purpose, and now that he knew there was a protest, he followed the crowd’s movement, wandering along the street, looking for signs of where they were going and anything else he could discover. If he was going to be tasked with dealing with these protesters anyway—and Finn was increasingly certain that he would—then he might as well follow them now and learn what they were doing and planning.

  He caught up to them and heard their shouting and chanting.

  Finn looked over to the man nearest him and frowned. The man had long, dark hair and was a little bit lanky. He was dressed in a heavy cloak with a twisted symbol embroidered along the lapels. Finn doubted he was even from Verendal.

  That was odd.

  “What’s going on here?” Finn asked him.

  The man glanced over, a tight smile on his face. “Heard about the Archers and how quick they are to gather up innocents,” he said. “We’re making our voices known.”

  “We?”

  “Us. The crowd.” The man tapped his chest. “The king is going to hear us this time.”

  “I don’t know if the king cares so much about protesters,” Finn said, frowning again as he looked over to the man before turning his attention to the crowd. As the man said, the crowd was getting thicker, and a crowd like this could quickly become unruly.

  “He’s going to care about this.”

  The man whistled, and there came a series of loud whistles throughout the crowd in response. It rang up along the line, then somebody threw something at one of the buildings.

  A bottle, and flames began to creep along the building once it struck.

  Finn looked over but the man was gone.

  He’d slipped off into the crowd, and it was difficult to see anything. Finn stumbled forward, knowing he needed to help put the fire out before it spread—and it would spread rapidly in the wooden buildings in one of these outer sections. He’d seen it happen in the Jorend section once before, and an entire part of the city had practically burned up.

  The shouting in front of him grew louder.

  Finn hurried to the side of the street. The crowd continued chanting around him, and he knew he would get crushed here if he couldn’t get farther forward.

  More than that, there was a real danger in the section burning.

  Another bottle shattered and Finn looked behind him.

  They had thrown it at another building.

  Finn tried to push forward, but the crowd was too thick.

  Gods, this was a mess.

  Someone needed to get word to the fire brigade.

  Not that way.

  He’d get stuck.

  He could try a different way though.

  Finn backed away, moving in the opposite direction of the crowd. It was increasingly difficult to go anywhere. As the crowd pressed around him, it made it hard for him to do much of anything.

  He shoved his way through. Another bottle exploded.

  Fires rushed along the street, and Finn pushed ahead, trying to get out of the crowd. Somebody shoved him and he stumbled, slamming into a man. He was large, dark-skinned with dark hair, and dressed in a tattered cloak.

  He took one look at Finn and punched him.

  Finn twisted out of the way but collided with a mass of mottled gray and black hair. The owner, a woman in a particularly dirty brown dress, pushed him back and shrieked, “How dare you!”

  Finn r
ealized that he not only didn’t belong here, but he looked like he didn’t belong here. He had grown up in a poor section of the city, poverty-stricken himself, and had never truly felt like an outsider in these outer sections. But for the first time, he did.

  It was not only his clothes, but the rage he heard from the voices around him, the anger. A flicker of panic worked through him that he quickly tamped down.

  He murmured a quick apology, but the woman pushed him.

  Finn twisted with it, sliding back, and forced his way through the crowd, moving against the flow of traffic.

  He needed to get out of here. Find the fire brigade. Get the Archers coordinated.

  Finn stumbled backward in his attempt to get away from the crowd and get to the side of the street.

  Somebody shouted in the distance.

  Finn looked over, no longer trying to force his way back.

  The crowd screamed, and it seemed to have more to do with something that happened rather than the fires that were now raging along the buildings. It wasn’t only the fire that was too much, but the crowd pressing around him.

  Finn fought through and finally managed to reach the side of the street. From there, he slipped along an alley.

  His heart hammered.

  It was a strange thing for him to be afraid in this city, given the role he had taken on.

  The people continued to stream along the street. Smoke billowed up, filling the air, and Finn just watched.

  There was no way the fire brigade would be able to make its way here to put out the fires. Not with so many people creating chaos.

  The Archers wouldn’t be able to handle this, either.

  They would have to wait until the others cleared out, until the protest died down—if it ever would.

  Finn started along the alley when he heard a shout behind him. He turned to see two men coming toward him.

  “Where you think you’re going? Some highborn bastard in our section of the city thinks he can watch? Well, we’ll show you what we do with your kind.”

  Finn shifted his gaze from one man to the other, trying to decide how to react.

  He could try to fight. Neither of them looked all that large. One of them was only a little larger than the stable boy, though the other did appear a bit muscular. Both were dirty and had a strange desperation in their eyes.

  Neither appeared armed, which would normally make him feel he had the upper hand, but in this case…

  Finn knew it was better—and safer—for him to just get out of here.

  He turned, heading along the alley. Thankfully, though he had forgotten quite a bit in his days working the crews in the street, he had not forgotten how to navigate through the alleys.

  He knew how to intersect with the streets nearby, and he figured that if he could just get ahead of the crowd, just keep ahead of the protests, then he could avoid confrontation.

  Finn reached the intersecting street.

  The two men were still behind him, but now that Finn had emerged on the street—thankful there was no crowd here—he jogged forward.

  He glanced back to see the two men watching him from the shadows of the alley.

  Maybe he would take a bit more of a roundabout way back to Master Meyer’s home.

  Finn slowed to a walk. There were no signs of the protesters, though they were still in the same section. Smoke drifted nearby, and he could see the flames starting to crackle along the rooftops of the buildings, drifting above him, making it difficult to see much of anything else.

  Finn darted off to the side of the street and turned to see the crowd squeezing its way along the street he had just come down.

  The protestors were moving faster, louder, and more buildings were burning.

  What did they think to accomplish by burning these buildings?

  Finn took another alleyway, ignoring its stench and the standing water from the rain the night before, then emerged back in the Olin section. From there, it was easier for him to make his way to Master Meyer’s home.

  A line of Archers had started moving toward that section. The fire brigade, pulling one of their leather hoses, followed.

  He had nothing more he could do.

  Finn listened to the crowd, noting the noise, the chaos, the violence, and the smell of smoke that continued rising all around him, permeating everything.

  When he finally reached Meyer’s home, he stepped past the stone wall and breathed out a sigh of relief.

  There was a part of him that felt ashamed of his reaction—ashamed that he would feel concerned by the attack and feel the need to run—but he had seen the look in the people’s eyes and heard the violence in their cries.

  He had been around violent people enough during his service as the executioner that he recognized that violence, and he recognized that there wasn’t anything he would be able to do to stop it. If it persisted, the king would get involved. Was that what these people wanted?

  He headed inside, only to find that the house was empty.

  Lena wasn’t here. Meyer wasn’t here.

  Which meant they were out in the city.

  Chapter Five

  Finn had been pacing for the past ten minutes, and had just made up his mind to check Helda’s, when he caught a glimpse of Lena’s brown braids bobbing down the path.

  Finn breathed out a sigh of relief when his sister came home, clutching her cloak around her. Some of the strands from her braids had pulled loose and a bead of sweat worked across her brow. Lena quickly wiped it away without saying anything then hurried down the hallway. Finn jumped up from where he’d been sitting at the table and stopped her in the hallway before she started up the stairs to her room.

  “You’re back,” he said.

  “Finn? What are you doing here in the middle of the day?”

  “I just wanted to make sure you and Meyer were safe.”

  He didn’t need her to know he was just as concerned for himself.

  “You mean with the fire?” She glanced toward the door, shaking her head. “It seems like Verendal has had quite a few more of those these days.”

  “I was there when they started it,” Finn said. “The protesters were responsible.”

  “They started it?”

  “Where were you?” he asked, noting that she had a pack clutched under one arm. Her braids were pulled back with blue ribbons, and the satchel under the other arm looked to be filled with books. “You didn’t see the protest?”

  “Protests?” She shook her head. “I smelled something burning, but I couldn’t see much of anything. It was coming from the Inar section.”

  “What were you doing?”

  She looked away from him, a hint of color coming to her cheeks. “I had certain supplies I needed to acquire, Finn.” She headed to Meyer’s office, pushing the door open and dropping the satchel on his desk. “You’re not the only one in this household who has responsibilities.”

  It was almost enough to make Finn laugh. “I know I’m not, Lena. I just wanted to make sure you were safe.”

  “The city has dealt with protests before.”

  Finn took a deep breath, letting it out slowly, and looked toward the doorway. “Not like this one. I don’t know if we’ve ever seen anything quite like it.”

  “Was it really that bad?” Lena frowned as she pulled the books out of her pack and set those on the desk as well.

  “It was bad,” he said.

  She looked up at him, meeting his gaze. “I see. Do you know where Henry went?”

  He shook his head. “I don’t. That’s what I’m concerned about.”

  “Then you should go see if you can find him. You know the places he visits,” she said.

  Lena was always so matter-of-fact, and always seemed as if she knew exactly what she should be doing, though Finn wasn’t sure if chasing after Meyer in the streets was really what he needed to be doing.

  “I’ll wait here for him.”

  He went back to the kitchen, standing there for a moment,
before turning to the hall.

  Finn needed to be here to ensure that nothing worse took place. He wasn’t one of the Archers. He wasn’t even a soldier. But he was an executioner.

  That meant more than just carrying out sentencing. That meant knowing the crimes, investigating them, and uncovering what was taking place.

  In this case, Finn thought perhaps he did need to get back out to observe the protests, especially since he was increasingly certain he would be responsible for investigating what had taken place.

  He started back to the door before pausing.

  There was a part of him that wanted nothing more than to take his sword with him, but that would be a mistake. The sword was a representation of the king’s justice. Carrying it would only make him a target. Finn shook his head and stepped back out the door, nearly colliding with Master Meyer.

  “Good. You’re here,” Meyer said.

  “Tell me you saw the protest.”

  Meyer’s wrinkled face frowned. “I saw it. We need to go watch.”

  “Because we might get called in?”

  “Very good,” Meyer said. “With everything that’s taking place, we’ll likely be drawn into the investigation.” Meyer motioned for him to follow and Finn joined him.

  These days, most of the time, Finn investigated on his own. That Meyer would come him with him now suggested this was an even worse situation than Finn had known.

  “Where are we starting?” he asked Meyer.

  “They were targeting the outer sections first.”

  It wasn’t long before Finn started to see the flames in the distance begin to grow fainter.

  “I overheard a few comments when I got caught in the crowd. They seemed angry with the Archers over Junker’s death.”

  Meyer glanced over, shaking his head. “Anger can lead a man to do many things.”