When We Were Executioners (17 page)

I smelled Jona slithering under their rotten breath. Erin only knows exactly how many illnesses his demon-stain had caused. Most weren’t fatal. Sometimes another illness struck with strength while the body was weak from the stain of Elishta.

The ragpickers told me a few stories about boys that had died horribly out of nowhere, like Corporal Tripoli.

Everyone’s fine and fine for weeks. Then, one morning, some threshold breaks inside of one body, and death pours through them like cholera, or worse.

But, we’ll speak to that later. I say this so you may know this: we approached the knowledge of the Three Kings of Dogsland from the mouths of the ragpickers. With Jona, later on, I sought them from the other side.

* * *

When the summer rains fell, Rachel came to Dogsland with her brother, Djoss. They were Nolanders, with nothing to their name.

Corporal Jona Lord Joni, a King’s man and a killer, lived for months in the same city streets, unknown to his beloved Rachel. When Rachel and Jona finally met and knew each other for what they were, they spun together like threads beneath a weaver’s thumb.

Beasts always seek to merge into tribes from instincts more primal than sublime.

Sometimes this becomes love.

* * *

Rachel was watching from a window. She looked down at him, unable to sleep. She saw the children of the neighborhood part. She ducked back inside the shadows of her window before he could see her. She waited a few minutes. She didn’t know what she was afraid of, but she didn’t want him to see her. When she thought she was being stupid, she went back to the window, and he hadn’t even looked up to her building. He probably didn’t know where she lived, yet.

Jona walked the rounds with a dangerous-looking hooked halberd. When he found a dead body, he dragged it on the hook to the nearest large sewer grate. He hooked the grate open. Jona tugged the body into the grate, and closed it shut. The bodies piled up inside the sewers. In other neighborhoods, a body might be checked for identifying things—jewelry or papers—and perhaps the family would be contacted. In the Pens district—and the Warehouses and anywhere else the working poor might call home—bodies were pulled into the sewers before anyone got sick with the diseases of the poor.

This time of year, only light drizzle poured in off the bay. Without the powerful spring rains, the stench of the streets and the sickness never washed away.

When the bodies stank strong enough to reach a lamper high on his stilts, the lamper poured some of his noxious whale oil and kerosene into the sewer. He tossed a match behind the liquid, and let the oil stink melt away the body stink.

Bodies burned, shit burned, and discarded pieces of rotting meat burned, but no paper, no wood, and no clothes ever burned.

Ragpickers found their way into the underground, before any fires came. They plucked anything fibrous for the ragmen making paper by the river.

The fires stank. But, the fires burned down the worst of the stink. Fires never burned down enough stink.

Rachel, at her window, was used to the smell, by now. She watched Jona’s back. He was cheerfully moving through the streets, sweeping away the dead, as if they were never there. Any violence that claimed a man in the street was his own problem if a king’s man didn’t see it. It was at once comforting to Rachel, and frightening when she thought about it that way. Still, she was glad she was friends with a king’s man, if they were friends.

She was sure they were friends.

CHAPTER XX

What do you want to do?

I want to go to bed. I’m tired. I’m so tired. I worked all night.

Do you think your brother will be there?

No. I haven’t seen him for two days. He’s running with gangers now, you know. I don’t think he bounces anymore.

Everyone’s in with the gangers these days but you and me. Nothing to do. Maybe he’ll turn around on his own.

Maybe. We need some lemons. We’re out of lemons. Go buy some lemons.

* * *

The lazy sun, falling slowly through the sky while clouds rushed past, reached one sleepy finger through the window and onto the bed. Rachel curled closer to Jona to escape the hot sun. Jona stared at the ceiling. They had made love. They had talked. Rachel had fallen asleep. Rachel had woken up when Jona tried to move to escape. Rachel pressed into him. Her warm scales funneled Jona’s sweat into her mattress like tile roofs guiding rain to eaves. The scales nipped at his damp skin when she moved. If she pressed hard enough she might scrape him.

Jona ran a hand over her face. He could see that her eyes were open, looking down his naked body.

“The hottest part is almost over,” said Jona, “Dogsland’ll start cooling off soon.”

“Good,” said Rachel, “I’m so hot I can’t move.”

“When it cools off, the rains’ll come. Places’ll flood. People will drown in their own homes. Not really, but it’ll start to rain a lot, again. No one will drown. They’ll just wake up wet if they didn’t get their house ready. Roofs might cave in. Foundations carved bad might bust. Won’t stop the city. We’ll walk around with parasols and go on like there’s no rain. We’ll scrape out boots at our doorways and pretend there’s no mud. Ships’ll come just the same. Ships’ll go just the same. Things will go on until Adventday, about when the rain lets up a bit. Then it’ll come back, but it won’t be as strong. Then the rain will fade until it’s just the sun. But it will rain a while first.”

“When it rains everyone will be all muddy,” said Rachel, “and the stinking meat and blood will wash away so fast that the Pens won’t stink at all.”

“Oh, the Pens always stink. But you get used to it.”

“You should go. My brother might show up sometime.”

“I should. Let go of me, and I will.”

“I can’t let go of you, Jona.”

“I’ll stay, then.”

“But I should.”

The sun patch slowly crawled over the thin sheets. Rachel crawled with it, deeper into Jona’s skin.

The walls leaked the noises of the people in the building. Unconnected clanging of pots or boots or the creaking of footfalls or the chairs. Muffled voices—mostly women—spat gossip from window to window. Children in the narrow street, banged cans with sticks and sang songs.

A key in a lock.

Rachel’s eyes opened. Jona grabbed at his pants below the foot of the bed, but he was too late.

A giant stepped in from the street. A cloud of alcohol sweat spilled into the room behind him.

Rachel had the sheet pulled over herself. Not even a hooked toe peeked out from the edge of the bed. She looked up at her brother, her face pale. “Djoss,” she said.

Djoss took one step closer to the bed near the window. His fists clenched.

Jona grabbed for his boot. He had a knife in his boot. He jumped down to the floor, grabbing for his boots. He found one. He jumped up with the boot in his hand.

Djoss took one more step. He raised his fist. His face was blank as death.

“Don’t hurt him,” said Rachel.

Jona jammed his hand into his boot. He quickly felt around for his knife. “Tell him to stop and I won’t,” he said. No knife. He had the wrong boot.

“
I wasn’t talking to you!
” said Rachel.

Djoss took another torpid step. His lip curled.

Jona grabbed his other boot. He shoved his hand inside for his boot knife. He grabbed the handle. He whipped it around between him and Djoss. The knife was still stuck in the boot. The boot waved in the air. Jona flipped the button that held the knife down. He threw the boot at Djoss. Djoss knocked the boot away with his fist. He raised his fist.

Jona knelt down low with his knife in his hand, ready to lunge.

Rachel snapped her fingers. Fire spread over Djoss’ face.

“I said don’t hurt him!” she shouted.

Ice followed the fire, encasing Djoss’ head like a helmet. He punched at his head. A wind blew him back, through the open door into the hall. The door slammed shut.

“Jona, get dressed,” she said.

“Will he…”

“Jona, just get dressed. He won’t hurt you. Just get dressed and go.”

“What about…”

“Do it!”

Jona grabbed at his uniform. He put his boots on first. Then, he took them off, threw his pants on. He grabbed his uniform shirt.

The door opened again. Djoss stood there, burning. Tears welled up at the edge of his eyes.

Jona stood, looking at him in the doorway. Rachel shouted at Jona to go. Jona looked up at Djoss’ red eyes. “I’m sorry,” he said. He stepped into the hall.

The door slammed behind him.

He stood in the hall, listening at the doorway in case Djoss attacked Rachel. Rachel said, through the door, “Where have you been?”

He couldn’t hear Djoss’ answer. Then he heard a deep bass voice, like a human bear, “I’m going to get some sleep. Burn those before somebody gets sick. Is he sick from you?”

“No. He’s like me.”

“He says he is.”

“He is. I know he is. It’s all right. We’re careful. We’re more careful than you.”

The sound of a giant falling into a mattress. Leather pulling over skin. The sounds of the rest of the building overwhelmed the sounds from Djoss and Rachel’s room.

Jona walked down the hall. He pulled his shirt and jerkin over his shoulders. He realized that he had left his knife back in her apartment. He couldn’t go back for it.

He found half a small lemon in his pocket, still fresh and leaking bitter juice. He sniffed it. He bit it. He walked down the stairs, sucking on the lemon. In the street, he threw it into the gutter. He looked up at her window. He saw lines of laundry drying, dancing in sea breeze. He heard the street. He heard the wind blowing in from the ocean.

He waited, looking up at her window. Then, he walked away.

* * *

Jona was sitting on the fence again, waiting for her to come out with the wash. He sat there, waiting, and when he saw the night maid come out with the wash, it wasn’t Rachel. It was this other woman, with fat arms. She looked up at Jona, sneered at him, and went to work. “Nothing to steal round here, king’s man. Even the women are too cheap to steal.”

“I wasn’t trying to steal,” he said, “Looking for Rachel Nolander, the maid. She’s Senta. She here?”

“No,” said the woman, “She’s off.”

“Oh,” he said. He swung down from the fence. “Tell her I was looking for her.”

“I ain’t saying nothing to nobody,” said the maid.

“Yeah,” said Jona. Jona tossed her a coin. “Well your kind don’t count as somebodies, so you tell her.”

CHAPTER XXI

Sergeant Nicola Calipari and Geek bit thumbs at each other and laughed because of a joke they had just finished about a fellow that’d answer every question they asked him by biting his thumb at whoever punched him last. Jona walked in at the end of the joke with Jaime. Jaime clomped his heels and saluted.

Sergeant Calipari jumped to his feet. “What was that, Corporal?”

“Corporal Lord Joni and the Corporal Kessleri walked the Pens, sir!”

“Excellent, Corporal!” said Calipari, “Are the livestock safe in those Pens?”

“Sir, no sir!” said Jaime.

“What?” Calipari leaned into Jaime’s face, spitting on him a little, in good fun. “Why aren’t the livestock safe, Corporal?”

Jaime choked on laughter. It took him two tries to spit the words out with gravitas. “Any pig in a pen isn’t safe, sir! Pigs in pens are lunch, sir!”

Geek burped.

Jona grabbed the reporting papers from the desk, and moved items around the duty desk so he could sit down and write report. The worst he saw was some kid smugglers. When they were ghosted by the guard, they cut cargo and ran. Jona let them go. He dumped their lost pinks into the river.

Jona cut a goosefeather quill, and dipped it in the ink. He scribbled his report. Jaime waited for Jona to finish.

Jaime was telling the crew about this thing his kid used to do. Jona didn’t want to listen. When Jona finished his report, he handed the paper to Jaime. Jaime scanned quickly, while talking. Jaime initialed at the bottom, and placed the paper on Calipari’s desk.

Sergeant Calipari took the paper, initialed it, and stuffed it into a large envelope with all the other reports. He looked around him for a spare body. Jaime and Geek had both disappeared into the holding cells to drink brandy in an empty cell.

Jona held out his hands. “Sergeant,” he said, “I’ll take it in.”

“Corporal?” said Calipari. He leaned back in his seat. “You sure you don’t want me to get one of the scriveners?”

“It’s fine,” said Jona, “Let the kids go home early.”

“
You
want to run papers?” he said, “Look, if you got nothing going on, want to run a den with me and the kids instead? We bust one of the dens, we smash the pipes, and we run anyone we catch into the tank. Then we file a few reports. A little fun for the scriveners, huh?”

Jona nodded. Jona stood up. He unsheathed his sword, and checked the blade for imperfections. He flipped the blade back into his baldric. “Bats or teeth?” he said, “And you know how I feel about just bats.”

“I know, Corporal. Sorry, but bats. You can keep the teeth in your pants,” said Calipari, “You never know.”

Jona pulled a club from off the wall. He hefted it in his hand. He didn’t like it. He put it back for a different one, thinner with more weight at the end. “I’m not sitting with a scrivener,” he said. “Get me killed.”

“I’ll sit the scriveners around front, and you’ll watch for the back way,” said Calipari, “Always a few like to run for it. Break them. I’ll meet you in the middle.”

“Aye,” said Jona, “Which hole?”

“The Three-Legged Dog.”

“That pit?” said Jona, “Back way’s a pit, too. Easy to roll a fellow there.”

“Soft on me, Corporal?”

“Never,” said Jona. He gestured at one of the scriveners. “Just give me the new one. He’s fresh from training and still strong from it.”

The scriveners sat up taller hearing about the evening’s plans. Their quills slowed, and their backs straightened.

Jona caught the youngest private’s eye. Jona and the new private shared a grin. “Pike him and he’ll watch my back,” said Jona, “He’ll like pikes better than teeth.”