Journeyman in Gray by Linus de Beville

Author:Linus de Beville [Beville, Linus de]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: UNKNOWN
Published: 2018-06-10T22:00:00+00:00

21. TRANSPORT

The crossbeam groaned, the saturated wood of the gallows straining beneath the weight of Master Olis. His face was ashen, his eyes hooded. His tongue, swollen and discolored, protruded from between tumid lips. As he rocked back and forth the loops of intestine that hung from the gash in his belly slid wetly across the boards of the platform. The wood itself was stained a deep burgundy. Rain pelted the corpse, darkening the rags it wore. Water ran down Olis’s face in thin rivulets and dripped from his bulbous nose. The Journeyman sat against the far wall of his cell, his borrowed cloak soaked through, watching as the man who had nearly sent him to his death swayed forward and back, suspended by a costly length of woven hemp.

The splash of boots in a puddle drew his attention from the pig farmer and the Journeyman raised his head. The Guildmaster, accompanied by a quartet of guardsmen, strode to the door of his cell. Wordlessly, one of the soldiers fitted a key into the lock and swung the door open. The iron hinges squealed in protest.

“On your feet,” said the Guildmaster and gestured that the Journeyman should stand.

Stiffly, he rose and stood swaying before the older man.

“Step forward,” said the Guildmaster.

The Journeyman stepped forward.

“Hands,” said the Guildmaster.

The Journeyman presented his hands. Manacles were locked on his wrists, the steel cold against his skin.

Two of the guardsmen took him by the arms and lead him out of the cell. Together they made their way towards the guardhouse at the far end of the stockade. As they went mud squelched beneath their feet and sucked at their boots.

When they reached the guardhouse the Journeyman was ushered through the door and into an anteroom. He halted before an expansive desk cluttered with papers. It was plain, carved of pine, and stained a deep reddish-brown. To his eyes the desktop looked very much like the stained boards of the gallows. Behind it sat a soldier, round faced and red-cheeked.

“Do not speak,” cautioned the Guildmaster. The Journeyman regarded him, then turned back to the soldier behind the desk. The man peered back at him, his expression lofty. Despite the ache in his joints and the chill in his bones, the Journeyman dearly wished he was at liberty to box the man’s ears. Alas, he must simply endure.

The Guildmaster and the soldier behind the desk exchanged paperwork and signatures. Afterwards a bundle was presented to the Guildmaster. The older man handed it to the Journeyman who took it, raising one eyebrow.

“Get undressed,” said the Guildmaster.

“I beg your pardon?” asked the Journeyman.

“Get undressed and put that on.” The Guildmaster’s tone was flinty, his teeth set. The Journeyman raised his arms, his wrists still manacled. From his pouch one of the guardsmen produced a key. After the manacles had been removed he began to strip off his sodden clothing. When he was fully disrobed he undid the twine that held the bundle closed.

One of the guardsmen, a grizzled fellow of indeterminate age with a pleated beard that hung to the middle of his chest, snorted.

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