"Alright, lad. Just leave it by the fireplace and we'll call it a day, eh?"

Najitha shifted the last few logs in his arms and nodded silently to Timmons. He'd never been upstairs to the Captain's barracks office before, so when the Sergeant had asked him to help bring some wood up here for the fireplace, he'd accepted. He'd had little chance to look about the room the first two trips, but now as he lay his logs down with the others, he took the time to do so. Timmons was leaning over a large desk, inspecting some papers by the light of a candle. More reports, probably. Najitha found it astounding how many reports were constantly arriving and demanding the attention of Captain Blackthorn.

He looked past the desk, noting the map of Camelot and its' borders on one wall next to the desk. The window directly behind the desk looked out over the practice yard. No doubt the Captain watched his troops from there. And the far wall was peppered with holes, as if someone had struck it with a blade.

"He sometimes hurls a dagger at the wall. It's always best to knock before entering. Loudly." Timmons grinned briefly at the expression on the Inuit boy's face and then turned his attention back to the paper in his hand, reaching for quill and ink to add some notation to the Captain. Najitha whistled at that, then frowned. A small leather bag lay at the base of the marked wall, it's strings tied and tightly knotted, with a bit of dust on it's surface.

"What's that?" Najitha pointed.

"Hmm…what?"

"This!" Three strides across the room and the boy reached down for the bag, swiping it once to knock loose some dust. He stared as the contents made a clicking sound as if wood knocking together. Turning, he brought the bag over to the desk and set it down in front of Timmons. "What is this? A medicine bag?"

"Inquisitive little scoundrel, aren't you?" Timmons clucked his tongue, then reached over and deftly unbound the bag. "No, this is evidence. More like poison than medicine. These are from the murders." He tilted the bag, and a small pile of wooden blocks poured out.

"Murder with these? Did the killer throw them to kill people?"

Timmons scowled. "No. That might have been more merciful a death if a tad bit unlikely. No, he slit their throats. These were left as a calling card of sorts. And a messages as well. See?" He turned the blocks to display letters on each, the task keeping him from seeing the expression that had briefly flashed across the boy's face. "Bloody bastard was taunting us. And most like the O'Donnells as well."

"When did this happen? I have not heard you or the Captain speak of this? And who are the O'Donnells?"

"That's Lord Lerrad and Lady Elspeth. You know The Morrigan, right?"

Najitha nodded.

"Well, she's kin to Elspeth. And the Captain thinks the killer is Lerrad's daft brother, but hadn't gotten any cooperation from Lerrad in proving it. As to why you hadn't heard, it's been awhile since the last killing, which happened before Vert brought you to Camelot. What with all the other things since then, and there being no new killings, I guess we all sort of hoped the bloody bastard got hit by lightening or fell down a well or something. At any rate, he stopped." Timmons shook his head, then loaded the blocks back into the bag. "I think it gnaws at the Captain, that we may never catch the man. And yet, we might only get a chance if he kills again."

He set the bag down atop the desk. "But enough of gloom and doom. Come along, lad. Dinner awaits." He leaned over, blew out the candle, and then escorted Najitha out into the lit hallway.

********

"Ian?"

"Hmm? Yes?" Ian Blackthorn looked lazily up at his wife as he sprawled lazily on the floor. It had been a quiet night at the manor, and he and Skye had been enjoying the quiet of the study by the fireplace. But a few minutes ago, Skye had murmured something about a note to Lady Wenndolyne and had gone over to the desk to quickly write it. Now she seemed to be rummaging about it.

"The sealing wax? Where's your sealing wax? I swear, Ian Blackthorn, this is a disaster area!"

The half-elf pointed towards a pile of papers on the corner of his desk. "Look under that. I had to hide it from the boys. They were using it to…nevermind what they were using it for. I hid it afterwards."

Skye groaned and nodded, accepting Ian's word that she was better off not knowing what Calen and Conn had been up to. She leaned over, lifted the corner of the stack and reached for the stick of wax, then cursed as the papers toppled over to the floor below.

"Umm…find it, love?" Ian removed a sheet of paper from where it had settled across his face and looked up at Skye.

"Could you possibly do something with all this paper work, Ian? Like burn it?" Quickly sealing the letter, she then dropped to her knees and began gathering pages off the floor.

"Don't worry about that, shurrukai, we can do that in a bit. Come back over and sit with me. We have to work on being diligent." He reached out to lightly tap her arm, then sighed as he was ignored. "Alright, alright, we'll pick up papers first."

"Do you really need to bring this all back home with you, Ian? Or have you run out of space for it at the barracks office? Arista and I should go down there and clean the place out."

"Actually, there's less there than here. The office off the Hall is where most of it is; more convenient for me." He picked up some papers, straightened them, and turned to hand them to Skye. But his wife was staring intently at some document in her hand and didn't look up." What is it, love?"

She turned her hand so he could see the fine writing and the neat list of names. "Ian, is this the list from Flaxley?" She picked up another slip of paper nearby, with yet another list, this written in Ian's distinctive style, looking from one sheet to the other. "It is, isn't it? These are the victims, and they are here on the list from Flaxley!"

"Yes, it's the damn parish registry, for all the good it did us!" He rose to his knees and angrily flung the papers he had in his own hand into the fireplace. "He got away, Skye. He killed all those people, and he got away with it."

"We don't know that, Ian. He might have stopped for some reason we can't fathom and he's still about, waiting. Maybe he fell ill, and that stopped him for awhile."

"And maybe he was killed by an extremely hard acorn falling on his head. I only know he may have gone to ground or simply left, and he'll never pay for taking innocent lives. Damn him to whatever hell!"

Skye moved closer to her husband, her hand settling gently on the arm near her. "Beloved, there was nothing you could do. This killer, whoever he is, is insane, and there is no way any of us can know what goes on within his mind."

"We know who he is, Skye. And we also know who might be able to help stop him."

"Then you have to go and talk with him. Go see Lerrad."

Ian frowned. "My dear wife, ask me to fetch you down the stars and moon. Ask me to turn back the tides. I'd stand a better chance of that then having a civil discussion with Lerrad about his brother."

"And of course, you are always the very model of courtesy when you and he speak, are you not, Ian Blackthorn? You know very well that you need the O'Donnells to catch him, or at least to be sure he no longer is in Camelot." She leaned in and kissed him gently on the cheek. "You know I'm right."

He sighed, reached out and drew her into his arms, his hand stroking her hair as he rested his head on her shoulder. "Aye, I know. Doesn't mean I have to like it, though." He stared past her at the flames dancing in the fireplace. "I keep telling myself he's gone, but deep down inside, I don't believe it."

"He's out there, somewhere."

"Waiting."

Blackthorn 11/2002

(still in progress...)