There were fiddles lined in a row.

Mention shivered at the sight of them. Eight fiddles. And in front of each, in a small puddle of blood, was a tooth.

Mention rubbed at the knots in his neck. The drive here had been hell. The traffic worse than he had ever experienced, and then, well, half an hour before he could find a park. Could have walked over from the office. Couldah, shouldah, wouldah.

"Mr Coaldrake," the voice startled him from his knotted reverie, and the rough pressure of his fingers. He winced. The speaker, dressed in a Fiddler's white suit frowned. Mention recognised him at once, Audi Pax, senior Administrative Officer of the Collective.

"I was expecting you earlier," Audi said.

Mention smiled thinly at that. "What happened here?"

"We were hoping you could tell us."

"What were their names?"

Audi pulled a note from his pocket. "It's all here," he said. "As you would understand, we don't want the police involved."

"I understand alright," Mention said. He was hating this more than ever. Someone was killing Fiddlers. Who could be that insane?

He rather suspected he would find out soon.