The Hanging

Jason Stray wished the rope around his throat didn’t itch so much. He considered slipping his wrists out of their chains and scratching, but the guards might panic and try to secure him. It could delay his hanging and, well, that would ruin a perfectly nice day. Instead, Jason craned his neck back to take a final look at the sky. It was spotless, scrubbed clean of any cobwebby clouds. At this angle, the village’s chestnut roofs were visible, poking at the endless blue above them and blocking the endless blue behind them.

Jason inhaled sweet salt air and bid goodbye to the ocean too, just in case. Being on an island, he was never too far from the sea. It had backdropped his every adventure. By the time the officer started reading the sentence, Jason had addressed farewells to the rooftops on which he once leapt, the dock where he had first arrived all those years ago, and even the governor’s house where he’d lived as an honored guest. Not too shabby, Jason thought in regards to the places he’d been, the people he’d fooled, the lives he’d invented. It had been a good run. The best, in his opinion. Only one thing could make this sordid story into a legend.

“For the following crimes against the governor and subsequently, our lady the Queen,” the officer was saying. “I sentence you, Maximus Fitz, to hanging by the neck until death.”

Jason contained a smirk. Maximus Fitz was the latest of his manufactured personas. It amused him greatly that the officer had no idea the man he was truly addressing. Jason Stay’s name would remain unknown. For now.

“Theft of a frigate, theft of a cutter, theft of near two million gold pieces, impersonation of a nun, impersonation of a professor, impersonation of a…” The man paused and glanced at Jason in bewilderment.

Jason smiled politely.

“Of a… a brothel madam,” the man continued. “Impersonation of an officer of the Queen, impersonation of an imperial taste-tester, impersonation of His Majesty the Prince…”

The list drawled on, allowing Jason a quick glance around the courtyard. The crowd that had gathered wasn’t modest. He wished he could count them all to make the retelling of his death a more dramatic one. There were two… nay, three hundred souls present that day, murmuring and gawking as the conman met his end. Course, he’d need to revise that part. It wasn’t the end. This was the beginning, he knew. The beginning of something that these slack-faced idiots would likely never understand. But that didn’t have the same ring to it.

The officer cleared his throat, nearing the end of the lengthy list. “...third degree murder of at least one unidentified citizen of the Queen, and… tax evasion.”

The executioner tightened the rope, only making the scratchy thing itch more. Jason rubbed his neck against his shoulder. He’d pictured his final moments as more stoic, maybe glorious, but all he wanted now was the damn thing off his throat and a cold cup of mead in his hands. Had the sun always been this obtrusive? The chill of the dungeons had made him forget.

The officer rolled up the paper he’d been reading from and nodded curtly to the executioner who had large sweat stains beneath each arm. Poor man, Jason thought as the executioner gripped the lever that would spell out his doom.

Instinct arrived only then, careening into Jason’s chest and thrashing against his ribs, telling him to break free or at the bare minimum, panic. He was about to die after all. No matter, Jason told himself, watching the executioner’s hand bring the lever down. The platform beneath him fell downwards and his bare feet dropped freely into open air. Jason Stray shut his eyes so the last thing he’d see was the sky instead of a jeering throng of people. No matter, he repeated as the pain and panic overwhelmed him. If he’d done it all right, he would die today.

And tomorrow, he’d walk out of Hell.