Read Online Dear Muse (Those Whom the Gods Wish to Destroy Book 1) by Shawn Mackey - Free Book Online
Authors: Shawn Mackey
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One of the assailants lay next to the bed with a candlestick through his eye. In the corner, the mayor stood atop his desk, fending Finney and another off his chair. Father shot one between the shoulders, while my uncle hit Finney in the elbow. He was aiming for the heart, he later told me under his breath.
While there was some movement from Gwen when they entered, by the end, she had gone completely still. The mayor, body covered with a half dozen gashes, repeated her name as Father handed him off to the doctor. As people poured into the house, my uncle informally announced that Gwen had been killed, as well as Bruce and probably Dennis.
I tried consoling my mother, who had lost her best friend in this community. Rather than sorrow, she snarled and pounced on top of Finney, managing a few blows before being torn away. Her loud sobs converted the last of Finney’s supporters, quashing any thoughts of leaving, let alone a coup. If he had picked better men, maybe things would have turned out differently. My uncle was the only one to keep the mob from tearing him to pieces on the spot.
The next day, there was a long meeting. I spent most of it with Mother, since class had been canceled. We waited more than an hour for the others to return with a formal announcement of Finney’s clear guilt and inevitable execution. I certainly looked forward to it. The assault was all too familiar to my family, a comparison my mother confided to me in her grief. My uncle finally came to the house, and before either of us could ask, he told me I was needed at the hall. Rather than question it, I wasted no time following him. On the way, he told me to be brave.
Finney requested my aid in his defense. I was the best with words, and according to the mayor, we were obligated to honor this request. They left us in private.
I cannot deny his cunning. Finney was to be flayed, drawn, and quartered. This was beyond his request, but he figured I could get it changed to beheading. That would be simple, I assured, if I had not wished to see his flesh torn strip by strip. He then spoke at length about the war, the price of treason, and my father’s crime. High treason to the crown, he called it. Without a perpetrator to execute, the crown had no choice but to wreak vengeance on the populace. All those deaths because my father could not face judgment.
But why kill the mayor? According to Finney, we were stranded on this island, a haven for war criminals. His insistence we stay, despite the instability, was nothing short of tyranny. With his death, anyone could unconscionably leave.
I gave this explanation, colored with a bit of fancy rhetoric, under the plea that Finney should be killed by beheading or his own doing. I slipped in the latter, and the audience broke into a collective nod of approval. Finney was given a draught of poison, and if found alive in the morning, subject to a public flaying. He immediately dumped the liquid and cursed me for my trickery. I did not add the possibility as suicide to be cruel, but as a reasonable alternative for both parties. Finney would rather bear the pain than damn himself to hell.
My uncle praised my fairness and half seriously remarked that I would likely be called in during future situations. This sparked a thought: could I have gotten Finney absolved? I did not doubt that, given a boat, he would have left this island never to return, and due to his stubborn nature, would have never given up our community, even under the pain of flaying. I nearly brought up the question to Aiden, but knew better. I had never seen him in such a pleasant mood.
Despite the end of Finney’s conspiracy, this is far from over. There are still twenty disgruntled citizens, a number that is certain to climb during the winter. If a small hardship was enough to ignite an assassination attempt, what would a genuine catastrophe cause? Leave those questions to the men in charge. For now, I have an execution to attend.
Entry
While there was some movement from Gwen when they entered, by the end, she had gone completely still. The mayor, body covered with a half dozen gashes, repeated her name as Father handed him off to the doctor. As people poured into the house, my uncle informally announced that Gwen had been killed, as well as Bruce and probably Dennis.
I tried consoling my mother, who had lost her best friend in this community. Rather than sorrow, she snarled and pounced on top of Finney, managing a few blows before being torn away. Her loud sobs converted the last of Finney’s supporters, quashing any thoughts of leaving, let alone a coup. If he had picked better men, maybe things would have turned out differently. My uncle was the only one to keep the mob from tearing him to pieces on the spot.
The next day, there was a long meeting. I spent most of it with Mother, since class had been canceled. We waited more than an hour for the others to return with a formal announcement of Finney’s clear guilt and inevitable execution. I certainly looked forward to it. The assault was all too familiar to my family, a comparison my mother confided to me in her grief. My uncle finally came to the house, and before either of us could ask, he told me I was needed at the hall. Rather than question it, I wasted no time following him. On the way, he told me to be brave.
Finney requested my aid in his defense. I was the best with words, and according to the mayor, we were obligated to honor this request. They left us in private.
I cannot deny his cunning. Finney was to be flayed, drawn, and quartered. This was beyond his request, but he figured I could get it changed to beheading. That would be simple, I assured, if I had not wished to see his flesh torn strip by strip. He then spoke at length about the war, the price of treason, and my father’s crime. High treason to the crown, he called it. Without a perpetrator to execute, the crown had no choice but to wreak vengeance on the populace. All those deaths because my father could not face judgment.
But why kill the mayor? According to Finney, we were stranded on this island, a haven for war criminals. His insistence we stay, despite the instability, was nothing short of tyranny. With his death, anyone could unconscionably leave.
I gave this explanation, colored with a bit of fancy rhetoric, under the plea that Finney should be killed by beheading or his own doing. I slipped in the latter, and the audience broke into a collective nod of approval. Finney was given a draught of poison, and if found alive in the morning, subject to a public flaying. He immediately dumped the liquid and cursed me for my trickery. I did not add the possibility as suicide to be cruel, but as a reasonable alternative for both parties. Finney would rather bear the pain than damn himself to hell.
My uncle praised my fairness and half seriously remarked that I would likely be called in during future situations. This sparked a thought: could I have gotten Finney absolved? I did not doubt that, given a boat, he would have left this island never to return, and due to his stubborn nature, would have never given up our community, even under the pain of flaying. I nearly brought up the question to Aiden, but knew better. I had never seen him in such a pleasant mood.
Despite the end of Finney’s conspiracy, this is far from over. There are still twenty disgruntled citizens, a number that is certain to climb during the winter. If a small hardship was enough to ignite an assassination attempt, what would a genuine catastrophe cause? Leave those questions to the men in charge. For now, I have an execution to attend.
Entry
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