Four and Twenty Blackbirds

drinking when you wrote this bit of imaginative fiction?' he asked sarcastically. 'I'd like to get hold of a bottle or two myself.'

Tal considered any number of possible responses and confined himself to a civil one. 'You can't argue with the facts, Chief,' he replied. 'All the murders are in the records; they were all committed with the same kind of weapon, which always disappears.'

'They were all committed with aknifelike object,' the Captain corrected. 'We don't know what that object could be, and there is no evidence that it is the same or even a similar object in any two of the murders. The instrument of death could have been a file—or a piece of bar-stock—or an ice-pick—or, for that matter, an icicle! There is nothing connecting any of these murders except your half-toasted idea that the victims were all musicians of a sort, and that is too absurd to even credit. There isalso no trace of magic involved in any of these deaths, and theyhave been checked by a reputable Priest-Mage.'

Tal clamped his mouth shut on the things he wanted to say, for there was no point in going any further. Hewanted to point out that the examinations of the wounds of the victims showed identical characteristics consistent only with a triple-edged blade, and remind Rayburn that none of the weapons had ever been recovered, much less identified. He wanted to tell the Captain that the Priest-Mage was less interested in finding traces of magic than he was in getting his unpleasant task over with as soon as possible, and that this particular man was hardly as reliable and reputable as Rayburn painted him. He wanted to say all of these things, but he said none of them.

The Priest in question is in his position because he is out of favor with the current Bishop, and liaison with the constables is the lowest position a Priest-Mage can have. But I'm not supposed to know that. Rayburn wants this thing covered up, and it suits him to pretend that the man is careful and competent. The only question is, why is he so intent on covering this up?

'I hope you aren't planning a new career in sensational storytelling, Constable,' Rayburn continued, tapping the pile of papers with his index finger, 'because this is too far-fetched to attract any publisher.'

Tal dropped his eyes and studied the top of Rayburn's immaculate desk, knowing that if he wanted to keep his job, he was going to have to keep his temper.

But I'm beginning to wonder if this is a job worth keeping. Why is it worth Rayburn's while to sweep this under the rug?

Rayburn waited for him to say something, and when he did not speak, the Captain shook his head. 'I would have expected a piece of nonsense like this out of one of the green recruits, not out of a senior constable,' he said with an undisguised sneer. 'Really, you make me wonder if you are not ill with a brain-fever yourself! I hope you haven't been spreading this nonsense about—'

'I've told no one,' Tal replied stoically. No one else would have cared, you bastard, except a few idiots like me who want to do their jobs right, and they don't have any power or influence. The rest are all too busy playing politics, just like you. 'I saved it all for my report.'

'Oh, did you?' Tal's hands, hidden by the desk, clenched at Rayburn's tone. 'In that case, I won't have to order some punitive assignment for you for spreading rumors designed to cause panic or unrest.' Rayburn drummed his fingers on the desktop for a few moments. 'In that case, because of your fine record, I am going to forget I ever saw this.'

Tal looked up in time to see the Captain turn in his seat, take the report that he had labored over for so long, and toss it into the stove beside his desk. Tal stifled an oath as Rayburn turned back to him.

'Now, Iorder you to say nothing more about this,' Rayburn said with a cold core of steel underlying the false cordiality. 'I won't have wild rumors of death-cults or renegade mages circulating through the streets. Do I make myself clear?'

The weak blue eyes had turned as icy and flat as a dead fish's, and Tal said what he was expected to say.

Go to Hell, Captain.

'Yes, Captain,' he replied, trying not to choke on the two words.

Rayburn settled back into his chair with an air of satisfaction. 'This district is quiet, and I intend to keep it that way,' he warned Tal. 'Even if any of that nonsensewas true, I would order you to hold your tongue on the subject. Rumors like that are all that it takes to spark a riot, and Iwill not have a riot on my watch.' He waved his hand in a shooing motion at Tal. 'Now, get out of here, and don't let me ever see anything like this report again.'

Tal shoved the chair back, watching Rayburn wince as the legs grated on the floor, and left the office before he could say anything he didn't want Rayburn to hear.

He won't have a riot on 'his watch'! As if he paid any attention to his district at all!

He seethed all the way back to his rooms at the Gray Rose, and only long practice helped him to keep his stoic expression intact. Not even the Mintaks, notoriously sensitive to body-language and able to read trouble from the most subtle of expressions, had any idea that Tal was suffering from more than his usual moodiness.