On the Block

“Hey, deep breaths, big guy. In and out. Nothing to worry about, we’ll get through this together, I promise.”

Jorge looked down at the man with wide eyes, his vision partially obscured by the thick black mask draped over his head. The mask’s eye holes were unevenly spaced, forcing Jorge to constantly adjust it to see out of both holes simultaneously.

The man who spoke was kneeling before Jorge in tattered prison clothes and hemp bindings around his hands, his head resting on a wooden block spattered with tomatoes and rotten vegetables.

“What?” Jorge blurted. The crowd surrounding the stage murmured in excitement, while off to the left wing of the stage, the town chaplain performed his scaffold sermon.

“I can hear your breathing from down here.” The bound man continued. “You sound like your about to pass out. Slow, rhythmic breaths will do wonders during a panic attack, trust me.”

Jorge tried to follow the man’s advice, but his attention was yanked back to the massive crowd he stood before. The large axe he held in both hands made it difficult to keep his balance, and looking back over the thralls of cheering citizens before him made the world feel like it was spinning. He wished he brought gloves today. Maybe even nicer boots.

“It’s too many people.” Jorge responded, part to the man kneeling before him, and part to himself. “Why did they have to make such a big deal out of this?”

“You’re telling me.” The former lord said with a sigh, rotating his head on the block. “Part of me wants to feel flattered, but I’d hypothesize there’s more people here than attended my wedding.”

“I don’t like crowds.” Jorge admitted, eyes still locked on the citizens before him. “They make my palms sweaty.”

“Sweaty hands? Wait one minute.” The kneeling man shifted in place to try and turn his sights up to the large man above him. “Do you have stage fright?”

“I don’t know,” Jorge said, his axe throwing off his center of gravity. “This is my first time on stage. We typically do this in a courtyard, just a couple of spectators at most. I don’t think I’ve ever seen this many people before.

The citizens in the front row had already emptied their supplies of tomatoes and rotten vegetables they had brought to throw, the projectiles now sitting scattered around the hastily constructed scaffolding on which the stage sat. These matters were typically settled with the chopping block situated on the dirt behind the prison, but the now-ruling nobles decided this event needed more spectacle. People will travel to see the end of tyranny they had boasted.

“Hey, hey. Look at me,” the former lord said in a measured voice. Jorge managed to shift his eyes from the crowd to the man below him. Even after the pelting of fruit and the general hazing the past few days had brought the man, the indentations of a crown still marked his hair, years of wear leaving their final mark. The man wiggled in place to get a better look at Jorge, his hands flexing against the bindings as he tilted his body upward

“What?” Jorge repeated.

“It will do neither of us any favors if you pass out – or worse, miss.” The man continued. “So, let’s just take a moment, collect ourselves, and this will all be over soon, I promise.”

Jorge looked up at the chaplain standing just a few feet in front of them, now reading aloud the list of crimes the ex-lord had been deemed guilty of.

“God, if I have to listen to this full list again, I may just leap of the stage and let the crowd finish me.” The man straightened his back and tilted his head back to the crowd, twisting his hands in place in an attempt to get comfortable.

“Is this going to take much longer?” Jorge asked anxiously.

“Trust me, it is not a short list, and it feels longer every time they read it.” The ex-lord sighed, “I think they are just making up new crimes each time they review the list. Some they've got me dead-to-rights on, but I refuse to believe failure to properly report jester expenses was a real law until a week ago.”

Jorge could barely handle it. Every second he stood before the crowd felt like an hour. For the first time in his career, he was thankful for the black mask he wore; at least no one could see the sweat beading under his chin.

“Hey, hey, son, don’t focus on them. You and your sweaty palms will get through this.” The ex-lord said. “Picture them naked if you have to, that’s supposed to work, right?”

“Feels rude to me,” Jorge said, then paused and looked back down at the man.

“Are you not nervous?”

The man shifted, turning his head to get a full view of the crowd surrounding them.

“I’m as surprised as you are, but no. Maybe it’s exhaustion, maybe I’ve just known this was coming for years. But there is an almost liberating feeling of knowing you won’t have to worry about anyone else’s opinions shortly.”

“I’m afraid I don’t get that benefit.” Jorge sighed.

“My condolences to you.” The ex-lord smirked.

“Oh, sorry. I didn’t mean to be insensitive my lor-“

Jorge sucked in his breath, his adrenaline spiking as he realized the mistake he had just made. If any in the crowd, or worse, the nobles standing directly behind him heard Jorge still refer to the kneeling man by his old title, he may be accused of being sympathetic, or worse, a secret conspirator.

The kneeling man only laughed.

“Don’t worry, I promise not to blab. But hey, what is your name?”

“Jorge.”

“Look, Jorge. You’ve done this dozens of times before, there’s nothing to worry about. I want to see some real enthusiasm from you today. Just another day on the job, as they say.”

Jorge nodded along. The man was right – he had done this plenty of times before. And he was GOOD at it. The Executioner’s Guild had even made him employee of the month multiple times. Punctual, professional, doesn’t mind a mess was what had been written below his name on the board in the chairman’s office.

“It’s true,” Jorge admitted. “You yourself sent a number of people my way over the past decade.”

“A fact I have been consistently reminded of.” The ex-lord shrugged. “So again, take a few deep breaths. I want this task to be completed by a man with an enthusiastic swing. A pep-in-his-step. Can you do that for me, Jorge?”

Jorge did as instructed, closing his eyes and centering himself. He wasn’t simply a good executioner – he was a GREAT executioner. Everyone says so. His boss had even recommended him for a hangman’s professional development program. Jorge opened his eyes with renewed confidence, looking out over the crowd.

“When you think about it, this crowd has really gathered to see ME work,” Jorge said, his pride starting to swell.

“I like to think I myself am a bit of an attraction.” The bound man said as he nestled his head back into position on the block. “But yes, you certainly have a starring role. So be proud when you carry out your task.”

“Thank you for talking me through this.” Jorge smiled as he found his groove. “You were very helpful.”

“Happy to be of assistance.” The man said with a tired sigh. The chaplain had finished his speech and directed the crowd’s attention to Jorge. The chaplain raised his arm, signaling the executioner.

“You’ll have to buy me an ale to pay me back next time we meet.”

“Happy to oblige, my lord.” Jorge said with a smile as he lifted his axe with more vigor than ever before in his career.

The momentum of the axe carried upward. Jorge gripped tight, unaware of just how sweaty his palms had previously gotten. The now lubricated wood glided with zero friction directly out of Jorge’s grip, the renewed vigor used to lift the axe giving it propelled speed. The axe sped out of Jorge’s hand, soaring rapidly into the crowd of nobles behind the pair.

“My leg!” Jorge heard from behind him. Panic burst around him as nobles pushed and shoved past Jorge to get away from the screaming man.

“And that’s my cue.” The ex-lord said, leaping to his feet, his hands now free from the bindings he had been fidgeting with for the past fifteen minutes. The freed man started hustling alongside the scrambling nobles, fleeing down the steps into the crowd.

“Remember that ale you owe me!” Were the last words Jorge heard from the man as he blended into the chaos. Jorge scratched his head, the misaligned eye holes of his mask obstructing his view as pandemonium surrounded the stage.

This isn’t going to look good on the performance review.