Chapter Four Finlyr
chapter four
finlyr
The last thing I want is to get hard in front of all these people.
Although I’ve heard that it’s more common than you think.
Auto-asphyxiation. Not something I’ve ever tried, and there’s not much I’m not up for trying.
Well, it’s too late now. The rope’s digging into my wrists and neck.
You know, I’m not actually sure I would get off on this.
The Seaguardian turns towards me, his mouth pressed into a thin line as starched and white as his uniform. The clouds part and the sun catches the blue wave and sunrise sigil.
There’s nothing more noble than sailing the waters of Paranish and protecting the Bastion.
My mother said that so often it was almost a prayer. Maybe all men think of their mothers on their death days. This wasn’t how I hoped my homecoming would end, but I did suspect it would be painful.
‘Finlyr Pane,’ the Seaguardian begins. ‘You are accused of the crimes of piracy, treason, theft, smuggling, and impersonating a Seaguardian of Umasa – and fervent lasciviousness.’
‘Didn’t realise that last one was a crime.’
Some laughter escapes from the crowd and I turn and smile. They can’t help themselves; they love the spectacle.
‘Sir, I don’t think you understand the gravity of the situation.’
I look down at the gallows’ drop beneath me and give the Seaguardian a bemused smile. ‘I think I do, my man.’ I wink at someone at the front of the crowd, and they redden.
I try to take in the faces of everyone gathered here to watch me die.
Hangings are a crowd favourite; it’s more packed than a market or feast day.
The smuggling lifestyle commandeers a certain air of theatrics, or perhaps dramatic types are drawn to the vocation.
I’m certainly the latter. My pirating career was fairly lucrative, and I had no misapprehensions about the lifespan of a criminal – we rarely make it to our thirties.
I’ve been a bit down and out lately, but the majority of my life on the sea was glorious and bloody.
Until the Maelstrom. I won’t think of that now.
What’s done is done; my roster of deeds looks like it’s finally catching up with me.
I feel the rope cutting into my neck, and I stand a little straighter. It’s difficult to maintain proper posture – not that it will make much difference in a few minutes.
‘Do you have anything to say at this, the end of your life?’ the Seaguardian clasps his hands behind his back with the air of someone congratulating himself on a job well done.
Nestor’s at the front of the crowd with his line of Seaguardian comrades. That gold-trimmed jacket looks so proper now. It looked better draped around my shoulders.
I make sure I catch his eye as I say it: ‘I wish I’d fucked more.’
The crowd undulates, a barely perceptible shift as someone bobs and weaves between bodies.
At first, I think it’s someone angling for a better view in the front row.
Then I see that the person making their way to the front, right behind the line of Seaguardians, is a kid.
They’re close to the scaffold now, dressed in a dirty white shirt and loose britches, a hat pulled down low over their face.
I squint in the sunlight and watch them creep a hand inside Nestor’s jacket and palm something shiny.
My compass. All in the space of releasing a breath. Who the skies are they?
‘I have many regrets,’ I begin to say, conscious that the Seaguardian and the crowd are staring at me expectantly.
‘I have done many things throughout my time as a pirate that the law considers improper. But, my dear Paranishians, who decides the difference between a Seaguardian and a pirate? Don’t they both sail the open waters? ’
The Seaguardian’s mouth turns down as if pulled by string, and his eyes flash.
‘The Bastion. Correct, my good friend,’ I continue, despite my stony audience. ‘And who resides in the Bastion?’
‘You dare to add treason to your roster of sins?’ the Seaguardian splutters.
I cock my head to the side. ‘I thought that was already on my docket, no?’
Laughter finally breaks out again among the crowd, and I incline my head, casting my eyes down. They’re right by the gallows, face peering out from the gap between Seaguardians. I give them a questioning look, and they flash me a fiendish grin and slide a dagger down their sleeve. I narrow my eyes.
‘Finlyr Pane, if you have nothing to say for yourself—’ The Seaguardian raises a hand to the executioner, who stands ready to release the trapdoor.
‘Wait!’
The crowd lean forward with bated breath.
‘I would like to apologise to anyone who has been hurt by my crimes. Nestor, I’m sorry you weren’t man enough to keep up with my swordplay—’
‘Cease this nonsense!’ the Seaguardian snaps. He brings a hand down sharply by his side.
The executioner pulls the lever, and I find myself choking on my words.
I’m crashing down from a large swell on a ship’s deck.
That gut lurch, where your body anticipates the drop before your mind can even process what’s happening.
I feel the centre of my being is no longer my core, but my throat.
I don’t know if you’ve ever thought about how delicate a neck is, but images of tender flesh are seared in my mind in that moment.
I consider all the throats I’ve slit. Grab them by the hair and expose that soft, bare skin and throbbing veins.
It’s not an honourable death, but it’s a fast one. You bleed out fairly quickly.
This is not an honourable death. Neither is it elegant.
I don’t know if it’s a blessing my neck hasn’t snapped, because now I have to wait to suffocate to death.
If I could have de-gloved my entire body to get out of that noose, I would have.
It feels like hours, my brain flooding my body with a punch-drunk cocktail of chaotic drugs, and my vision darkens.
Then there’s a white blur, something shiny and silver spinning through the air and catching the light.
I fall hard onto my side, gasping for air. Then the screaming starts.
It is absolute chaos in Umasa’s town square, people running wild, surging in all directions. People trip on the weight of their skirts. Others are crushed under trampling feet. I can see this from where I’m lying, panting, on the ground.
‘Don’t panic,’ a honeyed voice says close to my ear, and someone helps me up. The stranger. I try to focus on them, staggering sideways before I double over and retch.
‘We don’t have time for that, Fin,’ they say impatiently. ‘Let’s go.’