Four and Twenty Blackbirds

stiff with ice.

And that would make sense, if he's using the water to remove magic we could trace.That would be why there was no blood, and no obvious bloodstains; they had been underwater long enough for the blood to wash out of their clothing.

And isn't that what all the advice-givers say? Rinse out blood with cold water to keep it from staining? He fought a hysterical urge to laugh.

Fenris nodded at the two silent figures waiting to one side; robed and hooded, these must be two of the Priests who collected the dead in Kingsford. They said nothing, but simply went to work; handling their charges respectfully, carefully and gently, as if the corpses they moved were of the highly-born, or were sleeping, not dead. Tal, watching them with surprise and admiration, found himself wishing that all those who cared for the dead were as compassionate as these two.

When they were finished, Tal walked along the row, carefully examining each one. Interestingly, one was male, and strangled, but the rest were all women, and had been stabbed. With a third of them, the mutilated ones, it was difficult to be certain, but he thought that the final, fatal wound was the knife-blow to the heart that was so characteristic of 'their' killer. In the case of the rest, except for the man, that was certainly so.

These victims were not musicians, but there were enough similarities in how they had died that Tal was certain that they tied in with their murderer, and he told Fenris so.

'You think perhaps that one was someone who walked in at the wrong time?' Fenris hazarded, pointing to the lone male.

Tal nodded. 'And those, the ones that were cut up—he's done this before, that Gypsy I told you about.'

'That was at the hands of a jeweler,' Fenris noted.

'As it always has been at the hands of a tool,' Tal agreed. 'But this time it does look as if he's done the work with his own hands, and I have to wonder why.'

Fenris leaned over one of the bodies to take a closer look. 'Interesting. I think you may be right. Maybe he didn't want to expend the magic he needed to use tools? But I can see something else here—these are all—well, human flotsam. They're not musicians. Is he getting desperate? Could that be why he didn't take tools?'

Tal considered that for a moment. 'He might be. We've made a fairly good job of warning real musicians off the street. But do remember—just because we haven't found tools, that doesn't mean he didn't use them—they may simply be under the ice downstream, and we won't find them until spring.'

'He may need power, and a great deal of it.' That was Ardis, her face so white and still it could have been a marble likeness. 'That would make him desperate enough to do the work himself, and to murder so many in so short a period of time.'

'Or he's taunting us,' Tal suggested. That was his private opinion. 'He's piled up all these victims to say —'Look at me! See what I can do, and you can't stop me!' He knows we're after him, and he knows we haven't got a single idea of who he is or where to find him. This is his way of thumbing his nose at us.'

Ardis shook her head dubiously. 'I don't know about that. I've never heard of a murderer flaunting himself —'

'People like this are different,' Tal reminded her. 'They have something to prove. They want to show that they're better, smarter than anyone else; it enables them to think of the rest of us as inferior. But at the same time, they have to havesomeone to impress. So—you get displays—' he gestured at the line of corpses '—though I'll admit the displays aren't usually this lavish.'

Ardis shuddered visibly. 'With this many victims—one person couldn't have moved all of them here in a single night. It would take at least two people; that means that hehad to help his accomplice. This may be the mistake we were looking for. I think that there will be traces of both of them here—maybe a less- practiced mage wouldn't be able to find those traces, but if they're there,I will. And once I have the 'scent,' I'll be able to find the men.'

Fenris blinked at her, at the fierce tone of her voice and stepped to one side. 'Your site, High Bishop,' he replied, in the most respectful of voices.

Tal stepped to the side as well, and watched her as she knelt down by the side of the first in line. He fingered the pen in his pocket as he wondered what she intended to do.

The pen—odd, he didn't usually carry it there, but this morning, he felt as if he wanted it there, like a luck- piece. The smooth surface was oddly soothing beneath his fingers, like the surface of the prayer-beads so many of the Priests carried—

Suddenly, with no warning at all, something seized complete control of him.

It felt as if his clothing—or the air surrounding him—had hardened around him like a shell. And the shell had a mind of its own. His throat was paralyzed, and the air over his face had hardened like a mask, keeping his features from moving. He watched, his heart beating in a panic, as his hand slowly came out of his pocket holding the pen