Four and Twenty Blackbirds (44 page)

She nodded. "One of those things that you have to have connections for. I can get another from Arden, and considering who gave me that, I really ought to." She smiled crookedly. "We
are
supposed to discard everything from our past when we take final vows; I should have gotten rid of it long ago."

And was that reminder of what I am meant for him or for myself? 
 

He finished his notes and went away, intending to go across the river and try to catch Fenris in his office to set up that conference for the next day. She played with the quill pen that he'd ruined for several minutes, caught herself caressing the feather, and threw it angrily into the wastebasket.

She was having a serious crisis of conscience, there was no doubt of that. But second-guessing her life-decisions was not going to solve anything.

The cure for all of this is work,
she decided, and went back to that old file of defrocked Priest-Mages. There was something there, she
knew
it had to be there, if only she could figure out what it was. Thanks to Tal's investigative work, there were some she could remove from the file altogether—although she left the drunk in. The drunkard-act could have been just that, an act, intended for the benefit of Tal alone. No, she would not dismiss him just yet.

But if I'm going to keep him, perhaps I ought to reconsider some of the others I'd dismissed. 
 

She came to the file of Revaner Byless; she remembered him with extraordinary clarity, and every time she reread his file, she became more convinced that he fit the profile of their killer perfectly. But although the Black Bird had escaped, it was surely dead by now—

And how could he be doing all this as a bird, anyway? How could he possibly work magic? 
 

But—maybe he wasn't a bird anymore.

A sudden thought struck her with the force of a blow—the recollection of an incidental comment that Tal had made.

Dear and Blessed God—didn't Tal say that Visyr had seen some sort of odd bird around during the first murder? 
 

She scrambled frantically through her notes, but couldn't find any mention of it. She drummed her fingers on the table, wanting to leap up and take a horse across to Arden's Palace, rouse the poor Haspur from sleep, and interrogate him then and there!

I can't do that. It can wait until the morning. I can talk to him in the morning. The killer has already taken his victim, and he isn't going to take another for a while. It can wait until the poor creature is alert and able to actually remember things. What's more, there are other things I have to put into motion now, if it's him, and those can't wait at all. She wrote out a note to Visyr and had Kayne find her a messenger to take it over immediately.

If Revaner is alive and this is his work, then Robin and Talaysen's wife are in danger, terrible danger!
She'd tried to send oblique warnings once, but now she
had
to be more direct. She hastily wrote a letter to Talaysen and another to the Gypsy named Raven in the Duke's household who might know where Robin was or how reach her to warn her—then wrote a third to Arden asking him to send the first letter to Talaysen by special courier. As she finished her letters, the messenger Kayne had gotten out of the Guard-room presented himself, and she gave him all four missives.

Her work wasn't over for the night, and she knew it. Revaner! This would certainly explain the pattern of victims.

When we caught the blackguard, he was working with a Guild Bard named Beltren. I think we should have a little interview with Beltren, she decided, and reached for pen and paper again. She addressed the letter to the Guildmaster, and phrased it in such a way as to make them believe that she had a commission in mind for Bard Beltren. And I do have a commission for him, she thought sardonically, as she signed and sealed it, I do want to hear him "sing," as the thieves cant has it. I want to hear every note he can "sing" about Revaner. 

Now she had a last set of letters to write, all of them brief and to the point. It might be that Revaner was already gone on his way after Lark or Robin, and in that case, she had to warn anyone who would listen about the danger he represented. That meant any and every Free Bard and Gypsy she had ever come into contact with, for there was no telling what direction he might take, or where he might go. From the Free Bards resident in Kingsford to the Gypsy called Nightingale who was the High King's own special musician; all must have every scrap of information
she
possessed. Above all, they must watch for the Black Bird. . . .

She still did not know
how
he was doing the killings and there was no telling when or where he might strike. This, too, she told them. Admitting that she, and by extension the Church, was powerless in this situation was galling—but better a little loss of pride than another life lost.

This took precedence over any personal matters. She continued to work in a frenzy, long into the night, writing and dispatching letters to anyone she thought might be able to warn those at risk.

When it was all done, and every letter written, she sat for a moment with empty hands—weary, but still unable to sleep.

There has to be something more I can do. . . . 
 

Just as she thought that, a restless movement at her altar caught her eye, and she turned to see the flame flaring and falling like a beating heart.

There is something that I can do. 
 

She rose, deliberately emptying her mind and heart of any personal feelings, and retired to her private chapel to pray.

It was the one thing she could do for all those potential victims that no one else could.

With hands clasped before her and her jaw set stubbornly, she stared at the flame on the altar. Lay-people often made promises to God in the mistaken supposition that one could bargain with Him. She knew better; God did not make bargains. He seldom moved to act directly in the world, for He had given His creations free will, and to act directly would take those glorious or inglorious choices from them.

But she did ask for one, small thing. Let the killing end, she begged. And if there is a cost to ending it, let me be the one to pay it. As I am the servant of the Sacrificed God, let me be permitted to offer myself as a lesser sacrifice. Let no more innocents die; let the deaths end, if need be, with mine. 

Perhaps others might have stayed discouraged by the failure to either stop the murder or capture the murderer's accomplice, but Visyr was now more determined than ever to help. Bad enough to have one poor creature slaughtered right under his beak, but to have two? It was not
fair
! Whoever was doing this was not only a murderer, but a cheat who hid himself and did his evil work only through others! Other cultures had a right to their ways, and theories of honor were different place to place, but this was patently, universally
not acceptable.
 

He spent a restless night, not tossing and turning as a human would, but staring into the darkness, reviewing his memories, trying to think of any other information to be gleaned from his brief encounter with the knife-thief.

But he couldn't think of anything. Or to be more accurate, he
could
think of one thing, but it made him very uneasy and was discouraging, not encouraging.

If he had gotten a good look at the dagger-thief, the man in turn also got just as good a look at him. There was only one Haspur in Kingsford, and the fellow was probably quite aware of how much Visyr could see in a limited amount of time. Or, in other words, he had to know that Visyr could identify him in a moment, now.

He has surely discovered that our vision is hundreds of times better than a human's. And he must have deduced how accurate my memory is. After all, how else could I be making these maps for the Duke? Even if he didn't know it already, that fact is easy to find out. It was possible that Visyr was in danger himself now, and it wasn't going to be all that difficult to find him. As T'fyrr's experience showed, a Haspur made a good target, especially aloft. He would be safe enough in the Duke's palace, but nowhere else.

This is not a good thing. Not at all a good thing. The only way to make myself less of a target—besides being totally absent—is to somehow foster the idea that my interference has only been a matter of accident, not intent. Would Ardis and Tal Rufen agree to that, I wonder? 
 

Well, why shouldn't they? They had nothing to lose by it. The murderer might become more cautious if he thought that Visyr was spying from above, watching for him; they needed him to become careless, not more wary than he already was. They needed him to start taking risks, not go into hiding.
Perhaps I ought to even stop flying altogether for a while.
If the killer assumed that Visyr was only acting as any right-minded bystander would have, he should take only minor precautions. Perhaps he would simply make certain that he was not acting in the same area where Visyr was aloft.

Wouldn't he? Visyr wasn't entirely certain how a mad human would think, and the fellow must be mad to be doing this. Was it possible that a mad human would react to this situation by attempting to lure Visyr into an ambush so as to be rid of him?

But if he made himself less of a target, he not only would not be doing his job for the Duke, he'd be avoiding his responsibilities to the Justiciar.

He ground his beak; this was a most uncomfortable position to be in! Not only that, but it was one that went right against his nature. He
could
stick to safe and expensive areas of Kingsford and just go on with his mapping until the murderer was caught, but that wouldn't help find the killer, and although he had been reluctant at first to involve himself, now that he was in, he didn't want to give up.

It feels too much like failure, that's what it is. It feels as if I, personally, have failed. And I hate giving up! 

Besides, I'm not sure they can continue without me. Maybe that's false pride, but the only breakthrough they've had was because I was able to see the murder in progress and act on it. I have been involved in this mystery in a key way twice now, so obviously the Destiny Winds wish to push me in this direction. Defying those Winds can kill, or worse, leave me with the knowledge of my failure. Flying with those Winds could raise me up, and save the lives of innocents. Or kill me just as surely, but at least it would be in doing something right! 
 

He wrestled with his conscience and his concerns for half the night, or so it seemed. On the one hand, he wasn't a warrior; he never had been, and all of his reactions and attempts at combat thus far had been purely instinctual. Instinct wasn't a good quality to keep counting on in this case. On the other, how could he abandon these people?

He finally decided that the responsibility was great enough that the risk to his hide was worth it.

Well, it seems to me that the place for me to start is in looking for that black bird. It was at the first murder, and it was at the second. I don't know what it is, but it has to be involved somehow. The few people he'd spoken to about it, including Tal, had been mystified by his description, and absolutely adamant in their assertion that there was no such bird native to these parts. If it wasn't native, then what was it doing here? Its presence at one murder might have been coincidence, but not at two. And it had behaved in a way that made him certain that it did not want to be seen.

He felt himself relaxing enough to sleep once he'd made that decision, satisfied that he was going to take the right course. It would be easier to track another winged creature without exposing himself; after all, it couldn't fly as well as he, and he knew from his own experience how difficult it was for something his size to hide. And in the meantime,
he
had the probable advantage of much superior eyesight; he could fly at a considerable height and see it, where it likely wouldn't be able to see him. Even if it could, it was difficult to judge distance in the sky; it might assume he was a smaller bird, rather than a large one farther away.

He wondered what on earth this bird could possibly be. Maybe it was some sort of messenger to the accomplice; maybe it was the "eyes" that the mage used to view the scene. Whatever it was, it would probably lead him to the accomplice, if not to the mage himself.

The next morning, as soon as he was "publicly" awake, a message came for him from the High Bishop. It had evidently arrived in the middle of the night; in an uncanny reflection of his own thoughts, Ardis asked most urgently if he had seen a large black bird lurking about the two murder sites. And before he could form a reply, right after the arrival of the message came the High Bishop herself.

She didn't even return his greeting as she followed her escorting page into Visyr's rooms. "The bird—" she said, with intense urgency, looking as if she would have liked to seize his arm and hold him while she spoke to him, even though her hands stayed tensely clenched at her sides. "Tal said you saw a strange black bird at the first murder—did you see it yesterday as well? Was it big? Human sized? And incredibly ugly, with ragged feathers and a thin, slender beak?"

His eyes widened with startlement and he stared at her with his beak gaping open. "It did! It was!" he exclaimed. "How did you know? Did you see it? Did you know I was going to look for it today? How did you know what it looks like? I haven't described it that closely to anyone!"

"I know what it looks like because it isn't just a bird," she replied grimly. He waved her to a seat, and she took it, sitting down abruptly and gripping the arm of the chair as a substitute for whatever else it was she wanted to catch hold of. "It's a man—or it was. If the bird you saw and the one I'm thinking of are the same creature, it was a human—and a mage—and a Priest, before it ever was a bird."

Quickly she outlined what seemed to Visyr to be a most incredible story. If it hadn't been Ardis who'd been telling it to him, he would never have believed it, not under any circumstances. Oh, he'd
heard
of all the things that magic was supposed to be able to do, but it all seemed rather exaggerated to him. The only "magic" he had any personal experience of was not the sort of thing that could turn a human being into a bird! The kinds of magic he was used to could influence people and events, sometimes predict the future or read the past, or create impressive illusions. He'd heard of things that the Elves could do, of course, but he'd never seen anything of the sort—perhaps he had been among the Deliambrens too long, but he had a difficult time believing in things he'd never seen for himself, or seen sufficient proof of.