Nothing.
He beat up and down the river, from the bridge to the end of the docks and back, and there were still no signs of the man. If he had hoped to escape in any way except into death, he had been cheated of his hope.
Someone beckoned frantically to him from the crowd on the docks; he caught the movement in his side-vision, and turned his head. It was a constable, and he obeyed the summons, flying with wings that felt heavy with more than mere fatigue.
"Are you the bird-man in service to the Duke?" the constable called, as he came within shouting distance. Visyr waited for a moment as it was difficult to speak and concentrate on landing at the same time. He fanned his wings hard, blowing up quite a wind as he powered in to a landing, and the hair and garments of those waiting on the dock whipped wildly about for a moment. He made quite a creditable landing, considering how little room they'd left him, a landing that restored some of the confidence he'd lost in failing to catch the murderer.
"I am," he answered, in his most authoritative and deep voice, flipping his wings to settle them. That voice always surprised humans who'd never heard a Haspur speak and expected a harsh scream or a fluting whistle. "I am profoundly regretful that the miscreant escaped me. Sadly, I cannot swim, so I could not pursue him."
"Escaped? He practically tore himself in half to get away!" one of the spectators said. "And he dove right under the ice when he tore loose!"
The constable looked up at Visyr, a little startled by both the voice and by Visyr's height. "Did you—see any signs of him in the water?"
Visyr shook his head. "None, I am sorry to say," he replied. "I believe he is beneath the ice."
A grizzled old fellow in the garb of a river-man hawked and spat into the river. "He'll be there a while. Current there'll take him in to shore away from the docks. You won't find him till the thaw."
"Or if we get a Justiciar and locate the body, then chop through the ice to get him," the constable said with resignation. "Which is probably what's going to happen. That was a Free Bard he murdered; the Duke won't rest until he knows why." He turned back to Visyr. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to take you to the station to make a statement."
Visyr jerked his beak up in the Haspur equivalent of a shrug. "I expected as much, constable," he replied with equal resignation. "Lead on."
Fortunately, the station wasn't far, because Visyr attracted many stares and a lot of attention as he walked. But it wasn't a single statement that Visyr made, it was several. He was required to repeat his story twice for lower-level constables, then for Captain Fenris himself, then, just as his temper was beginning to wear thin, two new humans were ushered into a room that was beginning to seem far too small. His wings were starting to twitch, and it was harder and harder to get full breaths. He knew why, of course, for what Haspur would ever voluntarily confine himself to a room that wasn't big enough to spread his wings in? Humans didn't know that, though, and he kept reminding himself to be charitable, although it was very difficult. He faced the newcomers with a distinct sense that his patience was at an end.
One, a woman, wore the robes of a Priest, in scarlet, and the other a scarlet and black uniform. It was the latter who peered at him with a slight frown then said, abruptly, "Sirra Visyr, would you care to move to another venue? Are you feeling confined here?"
"Yes!" Visyr replied, with surprise. "And yes! How did you know?"
The man in the uniform glanced at the woman who nodded briefly, thus telling Visyr immediately who was the superior here. "You were twitching, and your eyes were pinning, and since we aren't questioning you at the moment, it had to be because of the room. I have Mintak friends, and they have spoken of Haspur particulars," the man said as he opened the door for Visyr and held it open for the woman.
Visyr nodded; he knew he had been twitching his feathers, but he hadn't been aware that his eyes were pinning—the pupils contracting to mere pinpoints then dilating again rapidly. Many birds as well as Haspur did that in times of acute stress.
And Mintaks, taller than humans, felt uncomfortable in places with low ceilings, so the man would have known how to interpret those signs of stress for what they really represented. Still, it was surprising to find a human in one of the Human Kingdoms who was sensitive to what made nonhumans uncomfortable.
Rather than leading Visyr to another room in the station, the man led them out into the street; as they paused in the doorway, though, it was the woman who spoke. She had a low voice, pleasant, though not particularly musical. "Have you any objections to going across the river with us?" she asked.
"To the Abbey and the Cathedral?" Visyr looked up and down the street, thinking about the last time a Haspur fell into Church hands. "And if I say I do?"
"You can go back to the Ducal Palace, of course," she replied dryly. "We'd rather that we were able to question you while all of this is still fresh in your mind. We aren't barbarians here, no matter what may go on elsewhere. But you should know that no matter how irritated you are with all of this, the Duke will most probably ask you to make a statement for us. He feels very strongly about the Free Bards. Now, with his permission it could be done at the palace, but by then, the incident will be a day or more older in your mind."
They couldn't know just how accurate Haspur memory was, of course; Visyr considered that option, and also considered the fact that he had been curious for some time about the Abbey and the human Church and that this was an excellent chance to ask some questions of his own. The fact that the Duke would definitely want his involvement was another consideration. He could not imagine that the Duke could be coerced by anyone, not even a Church official, after what he'd been told about the Great Fire, so it was unlikely that this Priest was using the statement as a bluff.
"If this is any reassurance to you," the woman said, still in that ironic voice, "I give you my word that you need not fear the kind of 'welcome' that T'fyrr received at the hands of Bishop Padrik."
So she knows about that."And whose word would I be taking?" he asked boldly, as passersby glanced at them with curiosity, then stared harder, then abruptly looked away. That was an interesting action—they did not act as though they were afraid of attracting attention, but as if they did not want to intrude upon someone they respected. Visyr often saw the same reaction when he walked out with the Duke.
She smiled, as if his question did not offend her in the least, though the man looked a bit irritated. "The word of High Bishop Justiciar Ardis," she replied mildly.
He felt as if he had been hit with a blast of wind shear. The High Bishop? The Duke's cousin? She had come herself to question him?
This must be a more serious situation than I thought.
There could be no doubt of it, now that he looked at her more closely. The family resemblance was not to be mistaken, especially not for someone whose job it was to estimate relative proportions as well as exact measures. She had the same cast of features as her cousin. . . .
"Ah, I beg your pardon, High Bishop," he said, snapping out of his introspection and minute examination of her features. "Of course I have no objections. Do you mind if I fly over, though? I shall be able to shake off the last of my feeling of being confined."