The Thief Taker by C.S. Quinn

used one.
    ‘I think the killer calls the corners,’ said Charlie slowly. ‘But one by one. North for earth.’
    ‘What do you mean Charlie?’
    ‘I mean, I think the murderer makes a master spell. But he uses death, to mark the corners.’
    The facts were ordering themselves now. And Charlie had a feeling. The same he always got, when a case was starting to open itself to investigation.
    ‘Why do you think so?’ asked Marc-Anthony.
    ‘Maria’s Holbourne house was north for earth,’ said Charlie. ‘Her sister had been bound in hawthorn, to represent the element.’
    Marc-Anthony shrugged. ‘It seems a leap.’
    Charlie’s eyes flashed. ‘Call it a thief taker’s intuition.’ He paused for a moment. ‘And besides,’ he admitted, ‘it is the best theory I have. I can hardly go back to the scene and gather more information.’
    Charlie’s face was grim. ‘If I am right, then he must make the other corners,’ he said. ‘He would need four deaths, to complete his spell. Though what he hopes to conjure, I know not.’
    White ribbons. Candlewax. He returns.
    He turned to Marc-Anthony.
    ‘What comes after north for earth? It is east, is it not?’
    Marc-Anthony nodded. ‘East for air.’
    Air. Charlie’s mind raced over what might be needed for such a ritual.
    Feathers. Birds.
    ‘I will go to the bird market,’ decided Charlie. ‘I know people there. Someone might tell me something. Perhaps they even sold feathers for spells, before it became too dangerous.’
    ‘Your Health Certificate is not good enough to get you into that part of London,’ said Marc-Anthony. ‘If you try a forgery in Regent’s Park you’ll be arrested.’
    ‘Perhaps the checks are not so strict everywhere,’ said Charlie, sounding more confident than he felt.
    ‘But how will you get back into the west?’ asked Marc-Anthony. ‘Every gate will be guarded now. You’ll be arrested the moment you step across London Wall.’
    Charlie gave Marcus a hopeful smile. ‘I need to borrow your boat .’

Chapter Thirteen
     
    Charlie rowed the boat carefully away from Blackfriars slums.
    The slum was the only part of London where even mercenaries would not venture. Squalor and desperation was such that residents would slit a throat for a halfpenny. Blackfriars operated as its own lawless hell, and no sane man ventured beyond the outlying filthy refuse which delineated its borders.
    Keeping a careful eye on the bank Charlie rowed on, past the public boat-docking steps at the Strand and Charing Cross.
    Slum-dwellers sometimes swum out and stole boats from solo rowers, and he couldn’t risk Marc-Anthony’s craft.
    The Thames was London’s lifeblood, and every citizen depended on river water to drink, cook and wash with. But for slum dwellers it was also their trade.
    He docked at Horseferry, handing a penny to the waterman to guard the row-boat. Then he set off north.

     
    The bird market was unusually subdued as Charlie approached. Around half the stalls were absent, and those who still traded held only a few birds.
    He passed a wooden cage, which held a handful of twittering starlings. The birds were caught in Hyde Park, and when he and Lynette had first fallen in love Charlie had bought her a starling, so they might free it together.
    Lynette had wanted to keep the creature. He should have known then.
    Halfway along the dirt-track market was a wooden desk with an officious-looking clerk behind it and two heavy-set guards.
    Charlie swallowed. The clerk was scrutinising each Health Certificate , comparing each stamp carefully.
    To get to the rest of the bird sellers he needed to pass through.
    Charlie’s hand slid to his coat. Here the checks were far more thorough than in the East. The name on his certificate was false. He had to hope his description hadn’t been circulated to the guards.
    ‘Psst!’
    A sudden noise drew his attention. He cast around in confusion and then he saw the source.
    At a nearby stall Charlie spotted