"Lovely day, isn't `Thorn?"

The voice came from behind Ian, and out of the thick fog that had rolled in off Camelot Bay. "Only you would think this was a fine day, McDougal."

A figure stepped out of the alley to the left and chuckled as he fell into step with the half-elf. "Really, `Thorn, you must admit that this sort of day has endless possibilities. Everything shrouded in mist, each step a revelation of new realities!"

"Like assassins lying in wait in alleyways?" Ian countered.

Tyralor looked about with that irritating air of innocence. "Really? Where? You will protect me, won't you, Captain Blackthorn, sir?"

Ian sighed. "Alright, what is it? I'm sure you weren't waiting for me back there to merely grace me with your presence. Or is business that slow? You've been hard to find of late."

"Business, as you call it, is fine. I am merely particular as to what employ I put my talents to work in." There was a distinct note of humor in the smaller man's voice. "In some circles, `Thorn, it is considered a matter of pride when the artist's handiwork goes undetected. But you are correct. As much as I treasure our rare brief encounters, I am not here on my own tack, but to act on behalf of another. An ambassador of good will, you might say."

Ian lengthened his stride to step over a sudden large puddle and glanced again at his unlikely companion. "A diplomat, now, are we?"

"I'm a man of many talents, Captain." Tyralor stepped around the same puddle and caught up to Ian. "I come to you from one Henry, more commonly called Fat Henry, owner and barkeep of the establishment that bears his proud name."

Ian blinked. "Fat Henry sent you?"

"Yes, one and the same. Recent events have greatly upset the man. He asks me to convey to you his regrets over the incident at his tavern of last week, and swears he had no part in the attack on your person. In fact, he was not even aware the apprentices had chased you into his building, but was in bed…engaged in personal matters."

Ian laughed. "I know where he was and who he was with, and you may tell him he's not being held accountable. Is that all?"

"A most sensible decision, `Thorn. But that's not all. He sends you this as proof of his good intent." Tyralor gingerly held out a small piece of parchment. "It's where you might find the elusive Meredudd. or however you say the name. The Welsh need an easier language, don't you think? And I really must apologize for the state of this. Henry should really not eat while writing. That brown stain is gravy, by the way."

Ian stopped, took the scroll, and unrolled it. There was the name of one of the better known women of the Hook scrawled on it. "He's seeing her?"

"Yes, it seems true love, or at least lust, beats in your Welshman's breast. He has visited the woman every night since his return to Camelot. Henry hopes this will serve as proof of his high regard for your person."

"Oh, aye! I'm fair overcome with emotion." Ian closed the scroll and tucked it away in his cloak. "Tell him he has nothing to worry about as long as he runs a clean business."

"Oh, `Thorn! Clean and Fat Henry do not go hand in hand. I'll take that to mean he should not be doing naughty things, then. I'll relay it that way."

Ian nodded, then started walking again, thinking the matter closed. But Tyralor once more followed. "What else?"

"On a personal note, Blackthorn, might I ask how the hunt for your killer is going? Have you made any progress?"

"Oh, please, McDougal, you damn right well know who it is…"

"`Thorn! Please!"

"…it's Seamus O'Donnell. He's your own cousin, isn't he?"

"Is he my cousin?" Tyralor gave one of those infuriating smiles and Ian growled as he walked on. Kinship between the O'Donnells and the other man seemed to depend upon the circumstance. "I'm afraid I've never met him. Maybe I'll visit him in his cell when you've captured him?"

"If and when I capture him, you'd be the last person I'd allow to visit a prisoner."

Tyralor frowned as they walked out into the marketplace and shook his head. "Your trouble, Captain, is you think like a soldier. Very few who kill such as this one think in straight lines."

"He's an O'Donnell. No one in that family thinks in straight lines."

"Really, `Thorn, you wrong Lerrad and Els, you know. They don't think in straight lines, they think in curves, granted. But your Seamus, his mind is twisted, more like a tangled ball of string."

"Fine. Then in your professional opinion, where is he?"

"Look about you." Tyralor chuckled. "Not all killers lurk about in shadows, bloody knife in hand. They could be anyone: a merchant, a farmer, a scribe, even a sculptor." His lips twitched slightly on that last.

Ian looked around. "All I see right now is fog." He turned to add something, but McDougal was no longer beside him.

"Captain, he's hiding right in plain view. You just have to clear away the fog." The voice could have come from anywhere, the direction masked by the fog. "And the sooner you catch him, the better. That one makes all our lives the more difficult. Good hunting,` Thorn!"

"Tyralor! Do you know something? Come back here, damn it!"

But there was no answer. Ian cursed, then walked on, hoping the fog would clear.

Blackthorn 11/2001