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The rain season wasn’t supposed to start for another couple of weeks, but the winds were conveying a different story.
They had swept in during the night, and as Joss and Henrik rode into Galmoor, they huddled against their cloaks while navigating towards the town square. A crowd was already growing around the gallows, encircled by a few small booths selling food and wine to the onlookers.
Staying off to the side, Joss and Henrik sat perched on their horses, observing the citizens bustling around before them. Joss imagined what was going on in the Judgment Hall that very moment, staring at the rectangular building towering in front of them. It was almost fitting how the righteous men governing the town conducted business in the building that, buried underneath, jailed the condemned. She could almost see the proceedings occurring inside, given the fact this was a murder trial. She imagined how Master Hellis would have gone into the jailhouse to retrieve the Brodick lad, would have marched him up into the halls that would lead him into Judgment Hall where the prison magistrates awaited him. There, they would have read off the charges—illegal duel, murder of a noble—and the lad would have pleaded guilty, the six witnesses there to make sure he didn’t try to change his mind.
Her eyes wandered back to the permanent structure of the gallows, eyeing the beam where the ropes were tied and the silhouettes of the three hatches that would drop the bodies, allowing them to hang. In the past, the nooses would be shortened and each criminal would be placed on top of a stool that would then be kicked out from under them. Thanks to a few criminals who had tried kicking their executioners in order to fight their way out, the hatch had been introduced, a trap door that would open by the pull of a lever positioned just behind. Most gallows now resorted to using them, being easier and more efficient than the past methods. Another convenience was the extended platform, allowing several beheadings and hangings to take place on the same stage.
The only problem, Joss realized, was that there was no straw covering the platform like it should have been. Straw would soak up the blood from the beheadings, making things easier to clean. It was always the executioner’s job to prepare the site, proceed with the deaths, and then clean up the job afterwards. Seeing none made her wonder if Master Hellis had arrived later than expected, throwing behind his preparations. She knew that meant he’d have to use a water bucket to wash it down, which would do the job after it had made the platform a slippery mess. She cringed at the thought, even gladder it wasn’t her up there this time.
Drakon snorted, pulling Joss back to the present. The mob had grown, milling around while members of the town council walked past her, some seeing to it that the magistrates were doing their job while others remained missing, rarely making an appearance in public. Most of the men had their wives in tow, gliding by without glancing up. A couple did nod their heads in her direction, more out of respect for her lineage, while at least one eyed her questioningly, wondering why she was standing among the crowd and not on the gallows. Quinn was next to arrive, standing off to the side of the council members. He acknowledged her for a moment, and she could see in his expression scorn mixing with curiosity.
“It feels weird to be on this side,” Henrik mumbled, continuously eyeing his surroundings.
Joss would have agreed. It had been a long time since either of them had been spectators. But then she observed Henrik’s face, the way he eyed the crowds, and a small smile snuck its way onto her face. “She’s by the wine merchant,” she pointed out, which made Henrik look at her in surprise.
“I wasn’t looking—”
“And yet, you were,” Joss teased, watching as Henrik pretended not to look, but had already locked eyes on the blonde maiden who was meandering along the booths with her acquaintances, a couple of other girls and a handful of men their age. Joss repositioned herself in the saddle, seeing that even the squeak of the leather couldn’t deter Henrik’s gaze from Elora Tansy, the blonde, blue-eyed butcher’s daughter whose working-class heritage was still considered a step above what society saw in Joss and Henrik.
“You could try talking to her,” Joss coaxed, attempting to give normal advice, even though they both knew it wouldn’t amount to much. In fact, it would probably cause problems, given their stations.
“Yeah,” Henrik whispered, his face falling sullen, knowing that the closest he’d ever be to that girl was right where he was, a whole crowd in between them.
Joss watched as he stared after the maiden, feeling her heart sink with his. If he had been taken in by any other household, he might have had a chance with Elora Tansy. That’s what made it hard to watch, knowing this scene could have been different; avoided, even. Unfortunately, it had been Joss’s father who had given him a home, and with that he had shared the family’s stigma as well, sinking Henrik down into their rank. If only someone else had claimed you, Joss thought, pulling her attention away so Henrik could mourn his unrequited love in peace. Again.
Just as she began to let her mind drift back to protocols and other more logical things, the crowd began to stir, voices announcing the hour had arrived. She saw Master Hellis escape from the building with Lord Vaspin, circling around the crowd and marching up the steps of the gallows. Master Hellis missed a step but recovered, staggering to the other side of the platform as the magistrate greeted the town council. At first Joss thought Master Hellis must have twisted his ankle by how he teetered, but thought nothing more as he leaned back against the railing, waiting to do his job.
Then the condemned was led out, dressed in the typical white garment. The shouting started first, followed by the raised fists and the food throwing. Despite their excitement, a path cut through the crowd that aimed for the gallows, and there came the two mounted constables with two chaplains ahead of them. In the middle was the bound Brodick lad, walking with as much dignity as he could for a man on death row.
They moved with their own pace through the heckling crowd, names being screamed, profanity taking center stage. This part felt all too familiar, even while sitting on the opposite side. While Joss knew the antics of the crowd, she wasn’t used to watching them from the opposite side of the gallows. On a regular day, she would be focusing on the task at hand; checking the noose again, adding more wood to the pile, gripping the handle of the ax. Whatever the punishment was, she would be up there preparing for it, leaving the crowd in the backdrop.
Now, the crowd was the focus, a sea of heads and limbs that obstructed parts of her view between the gallows and where she sat on her horse. Master Hellis remained still where he stood while the magistrate greeted the prisoner at the steps. A few words were said by the chaplains as the constables dismounted, and once the exchange was made, the constables led the lad up to the platform.
Standing before the crowd, Lord Vaspin greeted the town, shushing them into silence before launching into the proceeding. “Orie Brodick, you have pleaded guilty to the murder of Larce Pier during an unauthorized duel, and as such, are condemned to death by beheading. If you wish to say your peace, say it now.”
The magistrate moved out of the way, and in his place Orie Brodick stepped forward. His speech was typical, and as he droned on trying to buy himself some time despite the heckling that started up, Joss’s eyes moved to Master Hellis. He was standing more rigid than normal, and for a moment she would have guessed he was holding himself up. Something in the pit of her stomach turned, and Joss scanned the crowd, wondering if there was anything else amiss.
Then she saw them, a small group of men leaning against the wall of a building, separating themselves from the crowd. They were watching the scene with some amusement, but something in their looks was unsettling.
The prisoner’s speech ended, and he was brought back to the center of the platform, dropping to his knees. The constables made their way back to the stairs to keep watch, a practice in case someone tried to intervene.
Joss stared at the men until Henrik nudged her arm. She looked at him, but he remained transfixed on the platform, his eyes wide in alarm. Following his gaze, Joss saw immediately what was wrong.
Master Hellis had moved towards the convict, his stride off, though he tried to keep it together.
“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?” Henrik whispered.
Joss glanced back at the group of men in the back, seeing how restless they were becoming. “Shit,” she breathed. “Are any of those men related to the victim?”
Henrik followed her gaze, and it took a moment for him to admit, “At least two of them are. You can tell by their features. They’re regulars at the Lazy Ox.”
Joss stared at him until he came to the same conclusion, cursing under his breath.
Without waiting for a reply, Joss moved Drakon forward, staying on the outskirts of the noisy crowd. Moving him into a trot, she rode until she reached Quinn, halting the horse and dismounting quickly as the jailer turned to confront her.
“The hell are you doing here?” he growled as Joss faced him, Henrik drawing close behind on his own steed before dismounting as well.
Before Joss could explain, a scream erupted. Quinn spun around, and Joss was given a clear view of Master Hellis standing over the prisoner, his executioner sword deep in the man’s shoulder. The Brodick lad’s screams overpowered the crowd, who seemed to cower despite a few still jeering and heckling out of habit. The executioner withdrew the sword, blood soaking the white garment. Stumbling back, there was no hesitation when he raised the sword and struck again, only hitting part of the neck.
The crowd grew quiet then, only a couple jeering, clearly not keeping up with the present. “Is he drunk?” someone shouted.
Quinn turned to Joss. “Grab your ax and follow me,” he said quietly, his teeth bared in fury.
Joss stepped backwards to the saddle, pulling the ax from its holder. Keeping it next to her leg, she followed Quinn towards the gallows, Henrik following behind. Passing the scene, Joss saw Master Hellis pull his sword back out, the prisoner gurgling on the ground in a pool of blood. “Kill him,” Lord Vaspin was hissing at the executioner, though keeping his distance.
“It’s been two strikes,” Henrik said from behind. Hearing him, Joss watched the executioner as they passed by, aiming for the stairs.
Master Hellis shook his head as if to get his bearings, and believing he had it, swung his sword down, this time hitting the prisoner partly in the head. The crowd yelled but grew quiet, their silence louder than their previous jeering.
Three strikes.
Quinn barreled up the stairs, the constables too stunned by the display to stop anyone. Master Hellis was trying to raise the sword again, when Lord Vaspin yelled, “Stand down!”
The blade came down, missing the prisoner entirely, who laid trembling as he bled out.
“Restrain him!” Quinn barked, sending the constables into a scramble. They grabbed at the executioner, who tried fighting but ended up stumbling sideways, losing his sword in the process. There were gasps and yells from the crowd, some cheering that the brute was finally being stopped.
Quinn looked to Joss, and with a quick nod of approval, Joss stripped the ax of its cover. Handing the pouch to Henrik, she crossed the deck, taking her stance next to the prisoner. Seeing the state he was in, she tried not to focus on him as a whole. She concentrated on his neck, where the second wound was.
Aiming the ax, she swung it upwards before slamming it down, severing the man’s neck completely. The thud of the blade hitting the wood on the other side sent a sigh of relief through the crowd; the very crowd that had just moments ago been cheering to see a killing.
Blood leaked from the stump as Joss sucked in a breath and grabbed hold of the man’s hair, lifting his head up off the ground as she felt her foot slip from the blood that was under her feet. As was customary, Joss held the head up high to show the beheading had been successful, proving to the witnesses that the deed had been done. Someone off in the distance clapped, almost in spite, and after a couple seconds, Joss sat the man’s head down next to the body, needing to be rid of it.
“Take care of the body.”
Joss froze by how gruff Quinn’s voice was as he turned from the scene and pounded down the stairs. She stared after him as Lord Vaspin escaped by, disappearing among the crowd. Some dispersed, but some stood around, still shocked by what had happened.
“Do you think they’ll make us inflict the punishment on Master Hellis?” Henrik asked, coming to stand next to her.
Joss shook her head. Even as trained death dealers, the guards of the jail were more than equipped to take their place, often the threat used if executions didn’t go according to plan. “Quinn will have the guards handle him,” she reminded him, knowing this situation was rare. Joss, regrettably, had seen it before.
Letting go of the breath he was holding, Henrik moved out of the way and two guards approached, carrying the blanket that the body was to be put in. Joss and Henrik helped roll the corpse onto the blanket, wrapping and tying him securely while his head was stuffed in a burlap sack for transporting. As they were finishing, Henrik retrieved a pail of fresh water from the local trough, returning as the body was being hauled off. Joss stayed behind to clean up the remnants, as was customary.
“Go check on Aric,” she told Henrik softly, as if he were a secret. “There’s not much to clean. It shouldn’t take long.”
Henrik knew better than to question her, seeing that she was concentrating and overthinking at the same time. Handing the pail to her, he collected his horse, leaving her behind to wash the platform.
With the crowd reduced to just a couple bystanders and a few pedestrians moving about, Joss tossed the water. Blood ran across the deck and dripped over the side. It took her a couple trips from the trough to finish the job, each time leaving her wondering what was going on in the jailhouse. Was Master Hellis being beaten as she worked the pump to fill the trough back up? Were they branding him with hot irons and running him through the rack as she rinsed the deck that would forever be stained?
Her stomach turned with how easily he had been betrayed. He must have been at one of the taverns, the victim’s family lurking and waiting for him. He had been preyed upon, and now he was being punished, all because he had come to do his job.
It was a reminder of what could go wrong, how fast the tables could turn. For Joss, it was a reminder of how life really was.
