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Just Desserts  by Lindelea


Chapter 16. Unfinished Business

'Cut them down!' the Steward's command rang out sharply. 'Must I tell you your business? The bells have rung!'

'He's not yet done,' Hunethon muttered under his breath, with a glance at Will. He nodded to the two guardsmen that the sergeant had detailed to take the place of the gallows guards for the rest of this day, and moving slowly, climbed the steps to the platform, walked across to the far end where the raggedly clothed ruffian dangled, and pulled at the end of the special knot to release the rope from the gibbet.

The guardsmen eased the body down, removed the noose, ducked under the platform to carry the corpse to the clear space before the scaffold, where they laid him. One guard unbound the prisoner's hands--no bindings were needed now. They'd wait an hour, and if no one came to claim the body, they'd roll him onto a litter and carry him to the graves that were dug and waiting in the wasteland. The grave-diggers worked by torchlight, the cover of darkness suited to their dark business, and they'd likely welcome the change from digging to covering-up, for only criminals were buried under the stars. Loved ones preferred burials under the light of the sun, and they did their own covering-up as a part of the ceremonies.

Hunethon wound up the first rope and hung it neatly on its waiting hook, and moving to the second position he stared down at the top of Will's head as he waited for the guardsmen to finish laying out the first law-breaker. He willed the high keening whisper of air, struggling in and out again, to stop, though he knew better. A man badly hanged might last many minutes.

The Steward was watching him, or else he'd have given the rope a sharp jerk in hopes of tightening the noose. If only the man would look away... but he didn't, and when the guards had ducked back under the platform, coming up in the hole left by the trapdoor under Will, he was still watching soberly.

'This one's not done yet,' one of the guards protested, taking Will's arm, but not lifting yet, to take his weight from the rope.

'Sunset bells have rung,' Hunethon said in a flat voice. 'We've got to take him down.'

'Tomorrow is another day,' the other guard said. 'What'll happen to him?'

'His name is on a death warrant,' Hunethon hissed. 'What do you think will happen to him?' He was in an evil temper. His head ached; his whole body ached, rather, and all he wanted was to crawl back into his bed with a cool cloth on his head and the door shut on the world and its demands, at least until morning, when he'd have more floggings to face than bore thinking about, and that just to start. He certainly hoped there'd be no other hangings, but then, his occupation had its busy times and its slow times just like any other. He could go days without hanging someone. The best thing about today was that it was over. Or nearly so.

Looking on the brighter side, if Balanurthon returned from the King's errand, whatever it might have been, then he could consummate this wretched business, and likely he'd break Will's neck on the drop, for he'd made a study of the matter, and had a name for competence in his grim profession.

Hunethon moved his hand to the tail of the knot and nodded urgently to the guardsmen. 'Take him,' he hissed. 'I don't want him spilling like a sack of beans onto the ground, not with the Steward and a horde of Halflings watching my every move.'

The guardsmen nodded and took Will by the arms, lifting him as Hunethon untied the knot with a sharp jerk, and then while one supported the limp weight, the other removed the noose. 'Poor fellow,' he said without thinking. And then it was duck-under-the-platform and lay the prisoner down next to the first.

They unbound Will's hands, and one of the guards whispered to the other, 'Why not just take him out to the fields with the other now? He's nearly done for as it is.'

'That would finish him for certain,' the other guard agreed, swallowing down sickness. 'Bury him alive? Sounds like something they would have done in the Dark Lands, before the light returned under Elessar.'

'That is not what I meant at all...' the first guard protested.

'What was that?' the Steward said, advancing, the hobbits in his train, having heard the name of the King.

'He's not done, sir,' the first guardsman said, straightening to attention. 'We were only wondering, what's to be done with him now?'

'Not dead?' Pippin said, hope warring with horror in his breast. 'But then... he's saved!'

'Saved?' the Steward said. 'I beg your pardon, sir, but I do not take your meaning.'

'He was hanged, as the law calls for, and survived. He has paid the penalty,' Merry said, his hand tightening on Pippin's arm.

'His name is on a death warrant,' the Steward said soberly, and to the waiting sergeant, he said, 'Detail eight of your men to take them to the dungeons. Balanurthon--or Hunethon--will finish the business in the morning, one or both, depending on what the King says about the old man.'

'Sir!' the sergeant said, and turned to give the order, but in passing Hunethon, who gazed stonily down at the bodies, he stopped long enough to whisper, 'Don't fret, lad. We'll lay him gently on the cold stones in the deepest dark, and if there's any mercy in the world his soul will give up the fight and fly to Mandos' halls before the morning light.'

'You ought to give up soldiering to be a bard,' Hunethon said sourly.

In the meantime, Jack's guards, at Sam's urging, brought the old man to lie beside his son on the soft grass before the platform, and Sam put his own cloak down beforehand to keep Jack's head and back from the chill of the damp ground.

'They won't finish the business, not if the King returns beforehand,' Pippin huffed to Merry.

Merry, however, wasn't listening; he'd heard the clopping of slow-trotting hoofs and turned sharply, only to stiffen in consternation. In the light of the lanterns borne by two of Turambor's sons, and of the torches that surrounded the gallows, he recognised Denny, and young Robin, and he could guess all too well the identity of the others with them, and the reason for the horse one of them led.

The little group of mourners, after hurrying from the marketplace to this grisly place, had paused at seeing the three bodies laid out side-by-side, and then Seledrith broke from her father with a gasp, running forward to throw herself on Will, clutching at him and sobbing wildly.

'Seledrith!' Turambor cried, following after, but he did not attempt to lift his daughter from her embrace.

Robin moved forward more slowly, Denny behind him, and stood a moment regarding Jack's still, pale countenance, before dropping to his knees, his hands covering his face.

Denny stared at the corpses in the flickering torchlight. Some trick of the light made them appear to be living, breathing. Strange it was, that only two of the faces were dark and distorted... but perhaps the old man's heart had given out under the strain, and there had been no need to hang him. Jack had been in fragile health ever since Denny had first met the old man, and his sons had taken great care of him, and only now did Denny know why.





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