The Vondish Ambassador by Lawrence Watt-Evans

Chapter One

A stiff east wind was blowing, bearing the scent of salt and decay from the beaches beyond the city wall. Such a breeze was chilly and uncomfortable, but it could bring ships into port quickly, cutting travel time, and that might mean happy merchants looking for laborers to unload their cargo.

Captains and owners pleased by a quick passage tended to pay well, so Emmis of Shiphaven trotted up New Canal Street with an eye on the sea, watching for any inbound vessel, rather than following his usual morning routine of a stroll up Twixt Street to Shiphaven Market. If that unseasonable wind dropped, leaving ships becalmed in the bay, any hope of being overpaid by cheerful merchants would drop with it.

The richest cargoes were usually landed at either the Spice Wharves or the Tea Wharves, across the canal in Spicetown, but the Spicetown dockworkers had their own little bands and brotherhoods, and Emmis was not particularly welcome there. The Shipping Docks and Long Wharf in Shiphaven were more informal, if only because the work wasn't as steady; nobody there would mind an extra pair of hands.

He reached the mouth of the canal and walked out on the seawall, peering out through the tangle of masts and yards at the Spicetown docks, trying to see whether any ships were running before that lovely wind. He shaded his eyes and gradually swiveled his head to the left.

There! A ship with red and gold sails, hauled over on the port tack, a long multicolored banner streaming from the mizzen. She looked to be southern-rigged, which meant she was from somewhere beyond the river-mouth at Londa in the Small Kingdoms, and she was clearly heading toward Shiphaven, from the look of it steering for either Pier Two or Pier Three.

Emmis turned and trotted west along the seawall to Pier One, where he cut over to the street; he kept a careful eye out to sea, watching the ship's approach.

Pier Two, he decided. Even with the strong wind, then, he didn't need to hurry; he would be there before the ship came in. He slowed his pace to an easy amble.

The ship was starting to reduce sail now, slowing for her final approach. Emmis watched with mild interest, seeing how well the crew handled their duties – that might tell him something about how he might get the most money from them for the least work.

They did well enough; the mainsail was furled quickly enough, without any corners flapping free. The jibsails came down smoothly, then the topsails, until only the topgallants were still drawing.

When the vessel finally neared the dock, out past the elbow in Pier Two, Emmis was seated comfortably on a bollard, waiting. Rather to his surprise, no one else had appeared on Pier Two; presumably the other Shiphaven laborers had all either already found work elsewhere, or decided to stay inside, out of the wind.

Emmis stood as the ship came gliding slowly in, and raised a hand. A crewman stood in the bow holding a line; seeing Emmis's signal, he nodded and began swinging the rope, building momentum. When he flung it Emmis was ready and waiting; he grabbed the painter and threw a loop around the bollard he had been sitting on, securing it with a neat half-hitch.

Then he trotted toward the stern, where another crewman was readying another line.

A few moments later the ship was secured alongside the dock, sails furled and gangplank out. Emmis waited by the plank – he knew better than to board any ship without explicit permission from its master, and as yet he had not spotted this vessel's captain. The man at the wheel wore the same faded white blouse and blue kilt as any other sailor, without so much as a hat to set him apart, and Emmis assumed he was merely the helmsman.

There was no sign of a pilot, which might be why the ship was here rather than across the canal in Spicetown; the Newmarket sandbars could make getting to the eastern wharves tricky. The more experienced foreign navigators often made the approach themselves, rather than paying a pilot's fee, but no one here looked very experienced. Judging by the visible excitement among the crew of this vessel, Emmis doubted most of them had ever been in Ethshar of the Spices before.

Then a hat appeared amidships, rising above the coaming of the main hatch – a large black hat trimmed with a red satin band and a magnificent plume. It was followed by the head wearing it, and the rest of its owner, climbing up the ladder from the deck below.

Emmis watched with great interest as this figure emerged.

He was rather short, with dark hair and a brown complexion; his beard appeared to have been trimmed recently, but had clearly not taken to the idea and bristled unevenly. He wore a red velvet coat trimmed with gold braid, black piping, and gold buttons, and below the coat were fine black breeches.

Coat and breeches both had the look of new and unfamiliar garb.

His boots, when they finally appeared, were well-made and, unlike the rest of his attire, well-worn.

Several of the sailors – not all, but probably a majority – bowed to this person as he stepped over the coaming onto the deck. Emmis did not go that far, but he straightened up respectfully.

The man in the red coat waved a brief acknowledgment of the bows, then stamped toward the gangplank.

As he approached Emmis continued to eye him with interest. The foreigner was at least forty, perhaps over fifty, though his hair showed only the faintest hints of gray. He had the slightly saggy look of a man who had once been fat but had lost weight, not from healthy exercise but because he wasn't eating well. The fancy clothes fit him well, and had obviously been tailored for him recently, but he didn't look entirely comfortable in them.

He paused at the gangplank and looked along the pier, from the seaward end to the warehouses on East Wharf Street. He took note of the sailors who had secured the lines, of the handful of other workers finally making their way out from shore, and of Emmis, standing there ready.

"Who are you?" he demanded, speaking Ethsharitic with a slight accent.

Emmis did bow now. "Emmis of Shiphaven, at your service," he said.

The foreigner marched across the gangplank and stepped off onto the pier, then turned to face Emmis.

"Do you mean that, or are you being polite?" He had an odd way of drawing out certain consonants; Emmis did not think he had ever heard this particular accent before.

Emmis blinked. "My services are indeed available," he said. "For a reasonable charge."

The foreigner cocked his head to one side. "We will decide later on what is reasonable, but you're hired."

Emmis smiled. "To do what, my lord?"

The stranger did not smile back. "Don't call me that," he snapped. "I'm not a lord."

Emmis wiped his own smile away. "My apologies, sir. I saw them bow."

The foreigner waved that away. "Apology accepted." He turned and shouted, "Fetch my baggage!"

Two of the sailors hastened to obey.

"Come on," the foreigner said, beckoning for Emmis to follow him toward shore.

Emmis did not move. "Sir?"

The foreigner stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"You have not yet told me what my duties are to be, nor my pay. I can't consider myself employed until I know more."

The foreigner nodded. "A reasonable..." He seemed to grope for the right word without finding it. "A reasonable thing," he said at last. "Od'na ya Semmat?"

Emmis blinked. "What?"

"You don't speak Semmat?"

"I never heard of Semmat."

He nodded. "Trader's Tongue? Ksinallionese? Ophkaritic? Thanorian?"

"I've heard of Trader's Tongue, and maybe know a few words," Emmis said warily. "If you're looking for a translator, I might be able to find you one..."

"Ah!" The stranger flung up a hand. "There! You see? You know your duties!"

The little knot of other laborers had reached them; the foreigner waved them past, toward the gangplank, where the sailors welcomed them aboard and began directing them. Brass-bound trunks and leather handbags were starting to appear on the dock, lined up beside the gangplank.

"No, sir," Emmis said. "I don't know."

The foreigner sighed. "You live here, yes? In Ethshar of the Spices?"

"Yes. I was born here, over near Olive Street." He gestured in the direction of his parents' home. "And I live behind Canal Square."

"You know the city well?"

"I suppose so, yes."

"Then I hire you! To know the city for me. To tell me what I need to know, and take me where I want to go."

"A guide? You want to hire me as your guide?"

The foreigner smacked himself on the forehead with the heel of one hand.

"Guide! That's the word. I couldn't think it. In Semmat it's almit, in Trader's Tongue it's elfur, and I could not remember the Ethsharitic. Guide, of course. Yes."

Emmis hesitated. He did not particularly like the idea of showing this overdressed barbarian around the city's sights; he would probably want to see the Arena and the Wizards' Quarter, halfway across town, and might be upset that he couldn't meet the overlord face to face. He would perhaps want to poke around parts of the Old City that Emmis did not care to visit. And people from the Small Kingdoms were notoriously stingy, unfamiliar with the prices charged in the big city...

"I will pay a round of silver a day," the foreigner said, interrupting his thoughts. "To start."

"Ten bits," Emmis said automatically. "To start." Apparently this foreigner wasn't stingy, as a daily round of silver was generous to the point of extravagance, but that was no reason not to dicker.

Only after he had responded did Emmis realize what he had done.

"Done!" The foreigner held out a hand.

Emmis grasped it, surprised to be doing so, though the thought of all that silver stifled any regrets. "May I ask your name, sir, and what brings you to Ethshar?"

The foreigner's mouth quirked upward. He turned for a moment, and pointed out several other workers. "You, you, you, and you! Bring those bags –

my guide here will tell you where. And... Emmis, you said?"

"Yes, sir."

"Get that one," he said, pointing to a leather traveling case, "and lead the way to a reasonable lodging."

"For one night, or a longer stay?"

"One or two nights, for now."

As he picked up the leather bag Emmis considered which inn might be willing to give him the best commission without overcharging his new employer too grotesquely. He heaved it up on his shoulder – it was heavier than it looked – and began walking toward land.

The foreigner fell in beside him. "As for my name and purpose," he said,

"I am called Lar Samber's son, and I am..." He cleared his throat. "...I am, by appointment of the Imperial Council and of the Regent Sterren of Semma, the ambassador plenipotentiary from the Empire of Vond to the court of Azrad VII, overlord of Ethshar of the Spices and Triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars."

Emmis almost dropped the bag. "Ambassador?" he said.

"It's the right word, isn't it?" Lar said worriedly. "I practiced saying all that so much..." He shook his head. "I have no knowledge what

'plenipotentiary' means; Sterren didn't think there was any such word in Semmat, but he said it was important. He said 'ambassador' was the Ethsharitic for espovoi, a messenger from one ruler to another."

"That's what it means," Emmis agreed. He glanced back over his unencumbered shoulder to see a line of laborers hauling Lar's other luggage, but no sign of any other retinue. He would have expected an ambassador to have an entourage of aides and underlings, especially an ambassador from an empire.

Admittedly, Emmis knew that Vond was a very young empire, having only been formed two or three years ago, and not really very large, but still – one man, unaccompanied?

"Did you bring your family, sir?" he asked.

"Don't have any," Lar replied. "No staff, so you can stop looking. Just me, my belongings, and my orders – and enough of the Imperial Treasury to hire you, and to pay my expenses for some time. And you'll forgive me for saying this, but since I have only just met you I think I must – the money is well hidden and carefully warded, with the most potent protective spells the Empire's wizards could find, so don't think you might rob me."

"Oh, I wasn't! I assure you, I wasn't!" Emmis said hastily. Then he smiled. "But I would have soon, so it's just as well you warned me," he said.

Lar smiled back.

"Emmis, my new friend," he said, "I think this is the beginning of a long and wealthy... no, not that word. A long and profitable relationship!"

Chapter Two

The Crooked Candle was not the best inn in Ethshar, nor the best inn in Shiphaven, nor even the best inn on Commission Street. It was, however, fairly close to Pier Two, and known for its generously-sized rooms. From the top floor one could even, if one leaned out the right window far enough, glimpse the sea to the north, and Shiphaven Market to the south.

"I don't expect we'll stay here long," Emmis said, as he dropped the last of the smaller bags atop the largest of the trunks. "You'll want somewhere closer to the Palace, won't you?"

"Will I?" Lar asked, apparently quite sincerely.

Emmis blinked. "Well, I thought so," he said. "I mean, aren't you here as your country's representative to the overlord's government?"

"Yes, I am," Lar agreed. "Among other things."

"The government is in the Palace, and that's at least a mile from here, through some crowded streets and on the far side of the canal. I'd think you'd want somewhere closer. I don't know if you can afford a place in the New City, but something in Spicetown or the Old Merchants' Quarter ought to do."

Lar smiled at him. "Emmis, friend," he said, "those names mean nothing to me. I don't know anything about your city. Lord Sterren tried to explain some basic facts, but we didn't talk about the names of streets. It was easier to let me come here and learn it for myself. You say it's a mile to the Palace?"

"At least. You'd go across Shiphaven Market, then down Twixt Street to Canal Square and out Upper Canal Street, then turn right on Commerce Street and go south to one of the main streets in the Old Merchants' Quarter – that's the part of the city southeast of Shiphaven..."

"What's Shiphaven?"

Emmis's mouth opened, then closed. He swallowed, took a deep breath, and started over.

"This part of the city, at the west end of the waterfront, is called Shiphaven. It extends from the New Canal in the east to the city wall and the overlord's shipyards in the west. Everywhere you've gone since you got off your ship has been in Shiphaven."

Lar nodded. "Do I really need to know this?"

"I don't know," Emmis said. "I think it would be useful, certainly, but I don't know whether you need it."

"People refer to these portions of the city often?"

"Yes, of course!"

"Very well, then. I'd never before been in a city large enough for such things to matter, but I saw from the ship just how large Ethshar of the Spices is. I'll believe you when you say this is important. You were telling me how to get to the Palace from here?"

"Yes," Emmis said. "I was. You'd go through Shiphaven Market – you saw that, I think – and southeast along the full length of Twixt Street, which runs from Shiphaven Market to Canal Square."

"Is Canal Square in Shiphaven?"

Emmis hesitated, considering the question, then turned up an empty palm and said, "Yes." It really didn't seem worth explaining that Canal Square was almost where Westgate, Shiphaven, Spicetown, and the Old Merchants' Quarter met, when really, it was in Shiphaven. "It's not a square, though. It's triangular."

"Of course. Go on."

"From Canal Square you'd take Upper Canal Street east to the first corner, and turn south on Commerce Street," Emmis continued. "That goes into the part of the city called the Old Merchants' Quarter."

"Is there a New Merchants' Quarter, then?"

"Yes, but that's farther south, you don't go that far. You turn east off Commerce Street before you get there."

"I see."

"Then you have a choice, though. You can go east on Warehouse Street, or Cheap Street, or Bargain Street, or High Street. High Street isn't the shortest route, but it would probably be fastest; you certainly don't want to go any farther than High Street."

Lar nodded. "How will I know when I see High Street? Are there signs, perhaps?"

"No, of course not," Emmis said. "You just know. Or you could ask someone." He paused and thought for a moment. He had never really paid any attention to how he recognized the familiar streets, after living all his twenty-two years in the city, but obviously there must be landmarks of some sort. "Or... well, it's called High Street because it runs along a bit of high ground. As long as you're going uphill on Commerce Street, you aren't there yet. If Commerce Street starts to slope down, you're past it."

"Ah! How reasonable. Say more."

"You walk east on High Street until the third fork – the first one is Cut Street going off to the south, and then Old Merchant Avenue goes off to the north, and then next after that is where Merchant Street cuts diagonally across High Street, and you turn northeast on Merchant Street, along the foot of the hill. You'll see the mansions and garden walls of the New City on your right, along Merchant Street, with the Old Merchants' Quarter on your left –

you can't miss it."

"The New City is on the hill you mentioned?"

"Yes. You might have seen it from the sea, before you came ashore."

"I might have, yes. It's part of Ethshar of the Spices?"

"It's right in the middle of Ethshar of the Spices!"

"But it's called the New City?"

"Yes! Because it's newer than the Old City, but most of the city is even newer."

"Ah. So, I am on Merchant Street – what then?"

"Then you just walk down Merchant Street to Palace Square, and there's the Palace on the other side of the Grand Canal, across the bridge."

Lar nodded. "Tell me something, Emmis," he said. "How do you remember all that?"

Emmis's mouth opened, then closed. He stared at the foreigner in bafflement.

"Never mind, then," Lar said, with a wave of his hand. "You know the city well?"

"Parts of it," Emmis said. "Don't ask me to find my way through Fishertown or Newgate."

"What if I wanted to find a warlock?"

"Oh, Warlock Street is in the Wizards' Quarter. There are a few warlocks elsewhere, but that's the easiest place."

"And where is the Wizards' Quarter?"

Emmis sighed. He had just known the foreigner would want to see the Wizards' Quarter. "You follow the directions I gave you before, but instead of turning on Merchant Street you stay on High Street right through the New City, over the hill to Arena Street. You turn right on Arena Street and just keep going, past the Arena. If you get to Southgate you've gone too far. Once you're in the Wizards' Quarter just read the shop signs and notice boards until you find warlocks."

"It's more than a mile?"

"Three or four miles, I'd say. Arena Street is long."

"All inside the city walls?"

"Yes, of course."

Lar shook his head in amazement. "A city this size is hard to believe!"

"It's the largest in the World," Emmis said, with a touch of civic pride. Then his natural honesty compelled him to add, "Although some people say Ethshar of the Sands might be larger."

"I think you were right. I won't stay in this... house? No, this inn. I won't stay in this inn for long. Can you find me a place between the Palace and the Wizards' Quarter?"

"I think so," Emmis said warily.

"I will be talking to several magicians."

"I thought the Small Kingdoms had their own magicians."

Lar grimaced. "Yours are better," he said. "Much better."

"I thought the Small Kingdoms didn't like magicians."

"That's why yours are better."

"Oh." Emmis could hardly argue with that. "But then why do you want to talk to them?"

Lar sighed. "Emmis," he said, "sometimes we must do things we don't like. But also, the Empire of Vond is not like the other Small Kingdoms. It was created by the Great Vond, who was a magician from Ethshar, and it is ruled now by Lord Sterren, who came from Ethshar. We have different ideas from our neighbors."

"Oh," Emmis said. He chewed his lower lip to keep himself from frowning, hoping that he looked thoughtful rather than disapproving.

He hadn't really known how the Empire of Vond had come about. A couple of years ago stories had started arriving of someone conquering a dozen or so of the Small Kingdoms and uniting them, but Emmis didn't remember any mention that the conqueror came from Ethshar.

Ethsharites weren't supposed to meddle in the Small Kingdoms. Everyone knew that. When the first three overlords had created the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars after the Great War they had deliberately excluded certain other lands. The Baronies of Sardiron were excluded because they carried the lingering taint of the old Northern Empire; the northern coasts, Tintallion and Meroa and so on, were excluded because they were too cold and empty to be worth bothering with.

And the Small Kingdoms had been excluded because they were a bunch of madmen and fools, always bickering among themselves, a source of nothing but trouble. The people of the Hegemony prided themselves on their common sense, and common sense was obviously in short supply in the Small Kingdoms. Emmis had seen that for himself in talking to sailors from the Small Kingdoms. He had heard Kushinese speak scathingly of Amessans, Amessans denounce Meyans, Tantasharites insult Londans, Imryllirionese abominate Morrians, and to him and the other Ethsharites all those various nationalities were indistinguishable. Oh, a Perelian might be a little paler than an Ashthasan, a Mergan might have a slightly different accent than a Weidamonite, but really, they were all barbarians alike compared to the good people of Ethshar. Their major redeeming feature was that they were so fragmented they were harmless, far more interested in squabbling among themselves than bothering Ethshar.

And Ethshar left them carefully alone, so as not to risk becoming a common foe they might unite against.

At least, that's what the old men on the docks had told Emmis, and when he had asked his father, the old man had shrugged and said, "I suppose there's some truth to it."

Yes, the Empire of Vond had united about a dozen of the Small Kingdoms a few years ago, but it was far off on the southern edge of the World, at the other end of the Small Kingdoms, and the conquests had stopped after a few months, so no one in Ethshar had paid very much attention to it – but maybe they should have.

This man, this ambassador – why had he really come to Ethshar? Why did Vond need an ambassador? Emmis was fairly sure that most of the Small Kingdoms didn't bother with such things.

And why was this Vondish ambassador so interested in magicians?

"Should I look for an inn on Arena Street, or do you think you might want to rent a house, or even buy one?" Emmis asked. "How long do you expect to stay in Ethshar?"

"I don't know," Lar replied. "Rent a house, perhaps?"

Emmis nodded. "Then I'll start looking," he said. "And you can stay here until I find one."

"That sounds good," Lar said. He took off his hat and tossed it on the bed. "That sounds very good."

"How big a house do you want? Will you have a staff? Are more of your people coming?"

Lar's mouth quirked.

"No," he said. "Just me. You're my staff."

"Oh." Emmis frowned. "Well, do you want others? A cook? A housekeeper?

Will you be entertaining often?"

Lar turned up an empty palm. "Emmis," he said, "I don't know these things. I have never been in Ethshar of the Spices before today. I have never been an ambassador until this journey. In the Small Kingdoms ambassadors are given rooms in the royal castle, and attended to by the castle staff. They do not have their own cooks or housekeepers. A secretary, perhaps, or an aide.

But my regent tells me this is not how it is done here – ambassadors do not live in the overlord's palace, but in the city. Very well. I did not bring a secretary or an aide. You are my aide. I am paying you very much money – I am not a complete fool, I know that even here ten bits in silver a day is not reasonable. I am paying you so much so that you will figure these things out for me. I can spend... well, I have a certain amount of money, and no more. I will pay you what I have promised, and I can pay for some more than that, but I cannot be..." He paused, groping for a word, then rephrased. "But I must be reasonable," he said. "You must pay for much from the money I pay you."

Emmis could hardly complain about that, since Lar was quite right that ten bits a day was outrageously generous, but it did call for an adjustment in his plans. He had been imagining himself as the head of a grand household high in the New City, but now it did not sound as if the ambassador's funds would stretch that far.

Well, he would make do.

"You don't know how long you'll stay?"

Lar shook his head. "No. I have instructions from Lord Sterren that I must follow, and when that is done I can go home. I don't know how long that will be. Perhaps a month, perhaps a year, perhaps a life."

"What is it he wants you to do?"

Lar smiled crookedly. "I am not to tell. Perhaps when I know you more."

"That makes it difficult for me to help you."

"I know. For now, do what I say, and we will see what happens."

Emmis turned up a palm. "All right. You want a place between the Palace and the Wizards' Quarter, appropriate for an ambassador but not too expensive.

What else?"

"You must make an introduction to the overlord. Lord Sterren does not want me to be secret, even if my instructions are." He sighed. "He didn't want me to try to be secret. He didn't think I could do it, here in Ethshar."

Emmis looked at the gaudily-dressed foreigner, with his sun-darkened complexion and curious accent. He would certainly not pass as a native Ethsharite.

"And he wanted me to be able to speak for the Empire of Vond, if need is, not just ask questions," Lar continued. "So I am an ambassador, not a spy."

"You want an introduction to the overlord." Emmis frowned. "I'm just a laborer, sir; I've never met the overlord."

"You are an ambassador's aide. That should be enough."

"Maybe," Emmis replied. "Maybe."

Chapter Three

The guard on the bridge listened politely. When Emmis had said his piece there was a moment of thoughtful silence; then the guard said, "A Vondish ambassador?"

"Yes."

"And he wants an audience with the overlord?"

"Yes."

The guard glanced up over his shoulder at the golden marble walls of the palace. "I suppose that seems reasonable," he said. "I'll pass the word, but it may take some time to get an answer. Can you come back tomorrow, about this same time? I should have an answer for you by then."

"You can't find out sooner?"

The guard turned up an empty palm. "I might," he said. "I don't know.

It's not an emergency, and so far as I know it's not a standard situation where there are procedures in place. We do see ambassadors sometimes, from Sardiron or Tintallion, but I don't know just how that works. They usually have appointments made in advance."

"Well, that's what I'm trying to do, make an appointment," Emmis protested.

"Yes, but they usually do it with an exchange of letters, or with magicians sending messages, they don't just walk up to the door here."

"I didn't know who to address a letter to!"

"Well, I don't, either, but the ambassadors we've had here before apparently do," the soldier explained. "So I'll have to find out, and let you know, and I don't know how long it will take, so could you please come back tomorrow?"

Emmis sighed. He started to turn away, then stopped. He took a deep breath, and turned back.

"Am I doing something wrong?" he said.

Startled, the guard said, "I don't think so."

"I'm not making some horrible mistake in protocol, or being rude somehow?"

"No. I really just don't know the procedure."

"Keeping an ambassador waiting like this doesn't seem right, somehow, so I thought maybe I'm doing something wrong," Emmis explained. "I mean, I'm new at this; the ambassador hired me as his local guide on a whim, and I haven't had any training at all, I'm just making it up as I go. If there's anything you can tell me about how I should be doing this..."

The guard looked at him helplessly. "Honestly, I don't know," he said.

"The only time I've seen any ambassadors, they've shown up on the bridge and said they were expected, and sure enough the names would be on the daily orders, so I let them in. I'm only a sentry, not some sort of official."

"But you've never had a... a diplomatic aide come up to you like this?

Or heard any of the other guards talk about it?"

"No. Never."

"Then I'm probably doing it wrong." Emmis sighed again. "Well, thank you. I'll be back tomorrow morning, then." He turned away with a polite nod, and this time kept going, ambling back across the red stone bridge, past the two outer guards and into the plaza beyond.

Perhaps he should have spoken to a magistrate, he thought, instead of the palace guards. At least he hadn't followed his original plan of marching down here with the ambassador in tow, expecting to be admitted immediately.

What's more, he had found a house for rent just off Arena Street, and he had found it in less than a day. It wasn't actually in the New City, where the lords and ladies lived if they didn't live in the Palace itself, it was, if the truth be told, in Allston, but it was almost in the New City, and not all of Allston smelled of fish or sawdust or glue. Emmis hadn't smelled anything inappropriate when he inspected the property, and the wind hadn't seemed to be in an odd quarter.

So now it was back to the Crooked Candle to report to the ambassador.

With any luck they could be settled into the house on Through Street by nightfall. He trotted across the plaza and through the midday crowds to Merchant Street, then up the gentle slope to High Street.

This whole business still didn't seem entirely real; he kept thinking it would all turn out to be a prank, or a misunderstanding, but then he felt the bulge in his purse as it slapped against his thigh, listened to the jingle of silver as he walked, and told himself that at least the money was real. If Lar turned out to be a madman rather than an ambassador, or if the overlord had him cast into a dungeon as an enemy of the Hegemony, at least Emmis would have something to show for it.

He turned right onto High Street, into the Old Merchants' Quarter, and hurried on, ignoring the calls of hawkers and the scent of herbs and spices, eager to return to the familiar streets of Shiphaven.

Half an hour later he marched through the taproom of the Crooked Candle, ignoring the rather sparse lunchtime crowd, and climbed the three flights of stairs to the ambassador's room on the top floor.

The door, which had been standing open when he left that morning, was closed; he hesitated, then knocked.

No one answered, and all his worries about fraud or insanity, which he had been able to hold at bay until now, suddenly tumbled in on him.

"Lar? Sir?" he called, as he rapped on the wood again. He tried the latch, but the door was locked. He groped for an appropriate title for an ambassador, and called, "Your excellency?"

Still no response. He dropped his hand to his purse – the possibility that those coins weren't really silver at all, but some lesser substance enhanced by a bit of magic, had finally occurred to him. He frowned.

If that was the case, well... all he had really lost was a day's work, give or take a few hours, and a little of his self-respect. He could stand that. At least he hadn't bragged about his new job to anyone; by the time he had gotten Lar settled in the Crooked Candle, answered hundreds of questions about the city, discussed rents and wages, and carefully gone over the plans for today, he hadn't felt like talking to anyone else. He had eaten supper with Lar downstairs here, then gone back to his attic room in the tangle of uncertainly-named streets behind Canal Square, where he had looked over the foreign silver carefully, gotten out his best clothes to air overnight, and then gone to bed early, so as to get an early start today.

He had spoken to his landlady in passing, on his way up to his room, mentioning that he had a new job that might force him to move out, but he didn't think he had told her anything that would embarrass him. He hadn't run into any of his friends or family.

And today he had breakfasted with the ambassador here at the inn, then set out on his business. He had not told the owner of the house in Allston who his employer was, merely that it was a foreigner with business at the Palace.

He had told the guard at the Palace the whole story about the Vondish ambassador, but he could live with that.

"Are you looking for the man with the red coat and the fancy hat?"

someone asked.

Startled, Emmis turned to find a young woman standing at the top of the stair. "Uh?" he said.

"The foreigner with the plumed hat," she said. "Are you looking for him?"

"Yes," Emmis answered.

"He went out about an hour ago. I'm not sure when he's coming back, but he left all his things, so I'm sure he'll be back eventually."

Emmis glanced at the locked door, then back at the young woman, who, he realized, was wearing a beer-stained white apron and had her hair tucked up under a mobcap. "Oh," he said. "Do you work here, then?"

"Sometimes. My uncle owns the inn, and I help out when he's short-handed."

"You're sure he'll be back?" he said, nodding toward the door.

"He didn't take his belongings, so I'd say so, yes."

Emmis's hand squeezed his purse; the silver, if it was really silver, was still there. And the girl said Lar's luggage was safe inside the room.

Lar was probably real after all, and he had been worrying about nothing.

The ambassador had surely just gone out on an errand of some sort, perhaps to buy a few things in Shiphaven Market.

Not that Emmis had seen him when he had passed through the market a few minutes before. "Did he say where he was going?" he asked.

She shook her head. "No. Not a word."

For a moment Emmis stood silently staring at her, trying to think of something useful to ask her, but nothing came to mind.

The girl stared back. "The other foreigners might know something," she said at last.

Emmis blinked. "Other foreigners?"

"Downstairs, eating lunch," she said. "Four of them."

"Are they Vondish, too?"

She turned up both palms. "I have no idea," she said. "I just know they're foreigners from the way they talk."

"Oh." He took a final look at the locked door, then said, "Could you introduce me, perhaps? My name's Emmis of Shiphaven."

"Of course. My name's Gita, by the way. Come on." She turned and beckoned, and led him back down to the common room.

The four foreigners were three men and a woman, seated at a large table to one side of the room. The woman was middle-aged and full-figured, wearing a white blouse embroidered in two shades of blue; the men wore brown cloaks with hoods thrown back. All four had the dark hair and dark complexions common in the far south, but were otherwise unremarkable.

Gita took his hand and led Emmis directly to them.

Emmis was unsure what they had been doing when he first entered the room, whether they had been talking amongst themselves or not, but the moment Gita started toward them they had all turned and stared silently at her approach, and at Emmis behind her. That did not strike him as entirely normal behavior, but after all, they were foreigners, and couldn't be expected to have any manners.

Then the woman smiled at him, and while she was at least a decade older than he was and no great beauty to begin with, that at least made him feel less like an intruder. "Gita, my dear," she said, speaking Ethsharitic with a truly barbarous accent, "is this the young man you told us about?"

"Annis, this is Emmis of Shiphaven," the innkeeper's niece said with a curtsey, and Emmis suddenly found himself thrust forward, and his hand released.

The three men still hadn't moved or spoken, but the woman waved at a vacant chair. "Have a seat, Emmis of Shiphaven!" Her accent was thicker than Lar's, but Emmis did not think it was the same; she spoke her vowels through her nose. While she was obviously from the Small Kingdoms, he didn't think she was from the same one that had produced the Vondish ambassador.

There was clearly something going on here that he didn't understand, but none of these people looked particularly dangerous, and no one was likely to do anything violent here in a public house. Warily, keeping his eyes on the woman, Emmis sat down.

"I am Annis the Merchant," the foreign woman said. "I hope you don't mind that I sent Gita upstairs to see if you would join us."

Emmis gave the innkeeper's niece a quick glance, but she was hurrying away toward the kitchen, carefully not looking at him.

"Ah," Emmis said. "You did that?" Gita had done an excellent job of getting him here without mentioning that she had been sent to find him.

"Yes. And of course you want to know why."

"Well, yes."

"Of course. You would be a fool not to wonder, and I'm sure you are not a fool." She smiled again. "Are you?"

Emmis did not care to answer that. "Who are you people?" he asked. "What do you want with me?"

"I told you, I am Annis the Merchant. These three are, if I have the names right, Neyam, Morkai, and Hagai, all of them from Lumeth of the Towers."

The three men shifted at the sound of their names, and it occurred to Emmis that they might not understand Ethsharitic. They gave no sign they were following the conversation. Emmis did not think he had ever heard of Lumeth of the Towers, which meant it was almost certainly one of the Small Kingdoms.

Emmis did not know much about the lands outside the city walls, but he was fairly sure he had at least heard a mention of every nation outside the Small Kingdoms, from Kerroa to Shan on the Desert, or from the Pirate Towns to Srigmor.

But he hadn't heard of all the Small Kingdoms simply because there were too many.

"And where are you from?" Emmis asked. "You don't sound Vondish, and I notice you said they were from Lumeth, not we are."

"Ah, not a fool at all! I am from Ashthasa, on the South Coast."

Emmis had heard of Ashthasa, and even met a few Ashthasan sailors, and now that she said the name, her accent did seem to fit, and her coloring was dark enough. She might be telling the truth.

One of the Lumethans said something in what sounded like Trader's Tongue, and Annis made a quick, brief reply. Emmis thought she was telling him to shut up until he had been introduced, but Emmis's command of Trader's Tongue was almost as weak as he had told Lar it was, and Annis spoke Trader's Tongue with that same thick Ashthasan accent she had in Ethsharitic, so he was not at all sure of his interpretation.

"They don't speak Ethsharitic, do they?" he asked.

Annis smiled at him again. "If they do, they won't admit it," she said.

"I take it you don't speak Trader's Tongue? Morkai wanted to know what we were discussing, and I said we were still on introductions."

That matched what he had heard reasonably well. "Shall we get beyond the introductions, then? What did you want with me?"

"To the point. You are working for the Vondishman? The one in the red coat and plumed hat?"

Emmis wondered whether the woman was exaggerating her accent; if she knew the Ethsharitic word for "plumed" she had to be pretty fluent.

"He hired me to find him a residence, yes." Emmis didn't see any reason to admit to more than that.

"Ah, is that where you were today?"

"Yes."

"Did you find him one?"

"I did. Why do you want to know?"

She leaned back in her chair. "Do you know where Ashthasa is?"

"You just told me – it's on the South Coast, in the Small Kingdoms."

"But do you know where it is relative to the Empire of Vond? And how big it is, and how big the Empire of Vond is?"

"No," Emmis admitted.

"Our entire eastern frontier is with the Empire," she said. "It was our border with the kingdom of Quonshar, until the Great Warlock conquered Quonshar three years ago, together with all the lands beyond. Where there were once eight other kingdoms along the coast to the east of Ashthasa, there is now only the empire, reaching from our border to the very edge of the World, and Quonshar is merely the westernmost province of Vond. There are more than a dozen other provinces in the empire, and while Quonshar is one of the smallest provinces, all by itself it's larger than Ashthasa. If the empire should decide to extend its borders ever so slightly, my homeland would vanish, and become Vond's eighteenth province; we could not possibly resist them effectively."

Emmis glanced at the three silent men.

"And Lumeth of the Towers – well, it's inland, not on the coast. It's one of the larger lands in the Small Kingdoms, though of course it's nothing compared with the Empire of Vond, or the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars. A few years ago it bordered on nine other kingdoms; four of them are now provinces of Vond, and Lumeth is half-surrounded. If you were to look at a map of the empire – you know what a map is?"

"Yes," Emmis said. "I've seen maps."

"Good. Well, if you had a map of the Empire of Vond, you would see that it's shaped a little like a half-moon, with the sea and the desert around the curve to the south and east, and the rest of the Small Kingdoms to the north and west of the flat side. Except that the border isn't straight. There's a piece broken off the western tip – that's Ashthasa. And there's a bite out of the middle – that's the southern part of Lumeth. So they're worried about the empire just as my own people are."

"Oh," Emmis said.

"So we are all very, very interested in everything the empire does, and when the Imperial Council and the Regent send an envoy to Ethshar of the Spices, well, naturally, we want to know who he is, and what he's doing, and why. I am telling you this openly to save time; I could have made up some elaborate story, but why should I? You have no ties to Vond, and we are not asking you to do anything terrible. We just want to know whether you can tell us anything about why this Vondishman is in Ethshar."

Emmis glanced at the three silent Lumethans, then looked Annis in the eye.

"What's in it for me?" he asked.

Chapter Four

Emmis had never greatly concerned himself with ethical issues. Unloading freighters generally did not present a lot of difficult moral choices.

One of the rules he and the other dockworkers lived by, though, was that you finished the job you were on before you took another one, even if the new employer offered higher pay. Walking off one job to start the next meant you weren't trustworthy, weren't reliable.

And you didn't steal from the people who hired you. That was even worse.

A thief who got caught would never work on the waterfront again.

But if the captain left you sitting on the dock while he got the paperwork done or dickered with a buyer, there was no rule that said you couldn't answer a few questions for interested merchants, or that they couldn't give a hard-working young man a copper bit or two in exchange for telling them just how many planks of planed hickory, or crates of tarragon, you and your fellows had really hauled out of the hold, even if it didn't match what the owner claimed he had available.

It wasn't as if Lar had told him anything important, after all. In fact, Lar had specifically refused to tell him just what the actual purpose of his stay in Ethshar was, and if Lar was keeping that secret, then presumably anything Lar had told him was not secret.

So why not pick up a little extra money while he waited for the ambassador to come back from wherever he had gone? That was what Emmis told himself while Annis and the three Lumethans argued in Trader's Tongue.

He kept an eye on the front door as they bickered; if Lar should walk in just then, Emmis wanted to be ready to put some distance between himself and the four foreigners. He also listened, though, while trying not to let on that he could understand about one word in five of the debate.

The Lumethans seemed to find his willingness to talk to them suspicious, while Annis appeared to be arguing that it was plain old Ethsharitic greed, that Ethsharites would sell their own children if the price was right. They also seemed to disagree as to whether the costs should be split two ways or four, by country or by individual.

And there was the question of how much to offer him, up front or in installments – Emmis did know all the numbers in Trader's Tongue, and was reasonably pleased by what he heard.

Finally, Annis turned back to him and said, "Two rounds for what he's told you so far, and another round for every new item you bring us."

"Silver?"

Annis looked genuinely shocked. "Gods, no!" she said. "Just copper!"

Emmis turned up a palm. "It was worth asking." It hadn't really been, as far as any honest doubt might be concerned, but it did make plain to these four that while Ethsharites might be greedy, they weren't cheap. He had also understood enough of the Trader's Tongue to know that two rounds was the opening bid, not a final offer – for one thing, he was fairly certain that they had compromised on a three-way split, and eight bits didn't divide by three. "Perhaps half a dozen rounds?"

"For a litle conversation?"

"Four rounds, then?"

"We'll meet you halfway. Three rounds to start, a dozen bits for each additional item."

That was what he had expected. "Good enough," he said. "Though perhaps some items might be worth more? After all, isn't your entire kingdom at stake?"

"They might be," Annis conceded.

"Buy me a beer, then, to moisten my throat while we speak, and you have a deal."

Annis beckoned to Gita, mimed gulping beer, and pointed at Emmis. Gita nodded, and bustled away.

That done, Annis folded her hands on the table and leaned forward. "Now, lad, tell us about the Vondishman."

"Until my beer gets here and your money's in my hand, tell me first what you already know, so I won't waste your time. How did you know to talk to me?

How did you know he was here at all?"

Annis smiled, and reached down to her purse as she said, "Our governments keep an eye on things in the Vondish ports, of course, and your man didn't make any secret of his departure, or where he was going, so Prince Sammel invested in the services of a magician, who located the Vondishman, and the Prince sent word to me that I'd find him here at the Crooked Candle." She dumped a handful of copper on the table, and began counting out eight bits. "I came here and waited, and sure enough, there he was at breakfast this morning, and there you were with him, and that was when I decided I wanted to talk to you, and paid Gita here..." She nodded toward the serving girl, who was just then lowering a tray of well-filled beer mugs over Emmis's shoulder. "...paid her to bring you to me." She pushed the little pile of coins across the table, and Emmis began counting them into his own purse.

"And them?" Emmis paused in his counting and gestured at the Lumethans, who were digging into their own purses for their share.

"Oh, they showed up later this morning, and started asking everyone stupid questions in Trader's Tongue or Lumethan or Gajamorish, and I'm sure you can guess how helpful that was. You'd think Lumeth could have found someone who spoke Ethsharitic! Anyway, I talked them into joining me so that they wouldn't alert the entire city with their babbling."

Emmis nodded, and watched the Lumethans push forward a stack of coins.

"So how did you meet the Vondishman, and why did he hire you?"

Emmis took a swig of beer, and began describing how he had met Lar Samber's son, and what had happened thereafter.

It didn't take long, since after all, most of their time together had been spent in Emmis teaching Lar a few things about Ethshar, rather than Lar saying or doing anything that would interest the Prince of Ashthasa, or that might concern whoever was in charge of things in Lumeth of the Towers. He had barely finished his first beer when he ran out of things to say.

He glanced at the Lumethans, who had listened to all this without giving any indication they understood a word of it. They were being very patient, Emmis thought. They probably trusted Annis to relay the important parts after Emmis had left.

"Ambassador," Annis said, leaning back in her chair and staring at him.

"Yes," Emmis said. "Ambassador plenipotentiary."

"But he's interested in magicians."

"Warlocks in particular."

"How do warlocks concern an ambassador?"

"I have no idea. Didn't you say, though, that the Empire of Vond was created by a warlock?"

"It was. By Vond the Great. That's where the name comes from."

"What happened to him? Is he still running things?"

Annis shook her head. "No. He flew away to the north and never came back

– but he might return someday, which is why the empire has a regent instead of an emperor."

"Flew off to...? Oh." Suddenly the history of the Empire of Vond made sense.

Emmis didn't know much about magic, and what he did know mostly came from idle conversation with sailors and dockworkers, so he knew more about wind elementals and propulsion spells than he did about love charms or any of the more usual enchantments – not that he could be sure any of what he knew was accurate; seafarers' gossip was not exactly famous for its reliability. He knew sailors didn't think witchcraft was good for anything but healing, that wizardry was the best way to help a vessel cross the sea, that ships passing near the Pirate Towns often carried demonologists to defend themselves.

He knew that sometimes warlocks would take ship heading south, bound for anywhere in the World that was farther away from Aldagmor.

There was something in the mountains of Aldagmor, sixty leagues north of Ethshar, that gave warlocks their power – and after they had used a certain amount of that power, demanded they pay for it with their lives. The warlocks named it the Calling, and any warlock who heard it felt an irresistible compulsion to go to Aldagmor. Some walked, some rode, but most flew. Nothing could hold them, once they heard the Calling; they would use their magic to shatter locks or chains, burst any bonds, in their desperation to make that journey to Aldagmor.

And none of them ever came back.

No one knew what was out there in the mountains; no one had ever come back from there, not since the Night of Madness when warlockry first appeared, a few months before Emmis was born.

Sane warlocks resisted the Calling as long as they could, and the farther they were from Aldagmor, the longer they could hold out. Every old sailor had a tale or two about warlocks who had fled to the Small Kingdoms or the western coasts, trying to put more distance between himself and whatever it was that was summoning them.

The Empire of Vond, if Emmis understood the geography correctly, was at the far end of the Small Kingdoms, on the southern edge of the World and the edge of the Great Eastern Desert. It was, in fact, as far from Aldagmor as it was possible to get in that direction.

This Vond the Great Warlock must have gone there trying to escape the Calling, and built himself an empire for some reason, perhaps just as a distraction, but then the Calling had gotten him anyway. He had gone to Aldagmor, and would never come back – but the people he left in charge of his empire didn't want to admit that, so this Sterren of Semma person called himself "regent" instead of "emperor."

Annis didn't seem to realize that. She had said that Vond might return someday, but as Emmis understood it, that wasn't going to happen. Warlocks didn't come back.

"If the ambassador is looking for warlocks here in Ethshar, do you think it might be Vond himself that he's looking for?" Annis asked. "Could the Great Warlock be hiding in the Wizards' Quarter?"

"Um?" Emmis had been lost in his own thoughts, and had to think a moment to realize what the Ashthasan was asking him. "Oh. No, I don't think so."

"He was from Ethshar."

"Yes, but I don't think he came back here." If she didn't know about the Calling, or thought it was reversible, he didn't see any reason to explain it to her. It wasn't any great secret in Ethshar, and if the news had never reached Ashthasa – well, in that case they clearly didn't have any warlocks there, so she didn't need to know.

But Emmis now had an idea what Lar's secret mission might be. If the Empire of Vond had been created by a warlock, and that warlock was gone, maybe the ambassador was here looking for a new warlock. There were certainly plenty of them in the city, and any who had reached the nightmare threshold, the point when the Calling had started to trouble their dreams but had not yet affected them when they were awake, would probably be very interested in a trip to the southern edge of the World.

What did the empire need a warlock for, really?

Annis had apparently followed a similar line of reasoning, because at that point in his thoughts she said, "Do you think the Vondishman might be looking for another warlock?"

"I don't know," Emmis said. "He might be. Is there some important magic that they need done?"

Annis turned up both palms. "Who knows?" she said. "The Imperial Council does not exactly send bulletins to all its neighbors."

One of the Lumethans asked her a question in Trader's Tongue before Emmis could think of anything more to say. Annis replied, giving Emmis time to mull over his theory.

If the empire had sent Lar to fetch them a new warlock because Vond had been Called, they presumably had some use for a warlock. Their first, Vond himself, had apparently used his magic to conquer the seventeen kingdoms that now made up the empire named for him.

So did this mean they wanted a new warlock so they could expand the empire further? That was probably what Annis and the Lumethans would think; they were already worried about a new wave of Vondish conquest.

Emmis thought that if he were going to embark on a career of magical conquest, he wouldn't use a warlock. Yes, the Calling meant that eventually he would go away and you would have the empire to yourself, but what happened if the Calling got to him in the middle of a battle? Your magical support might suddenly fly away on you, which would probably not do anything to increase your chances of living a long and happy life as emperor.

Witches weren't powerful enough to be conquerors, and generally had fairly strict rules about what they would and wouldn't do, in any case.

Theurgists couldn't do anything the gods considered evil, and while the gods'

standards sometimes seemed arbitrary, conquering other countries would almost certainly involve violating them. Demonologists – well, demonologists were scary. You couldn't trust demonologists, or the demons they more or less controlled. A demonologist might decide that he'd make a better emperor without you, or one of the demons might decide you looked tasty. Scientists and herbalists and ritual dancers and all the other minor schools of magic –

well, people considered them "minor" for a reason.

No, if Emmis were going to take up conquest, he would hire wizards.

Wizards didn't have to argue with gods or demons, they had all the magical power one could want, but the Wizards' Guild wouldn't let them be rulers themselves, so you didn't need to worry about being deposed by your magicians.

And if they got out of hand in some lesser way and the Guild wouldn't intervene, you could cut off the supply of the ingredients they needed for their spells – a wizard without his bottles of dragon's blood and boxes of mummified toads wasn't any more of a threat than a witch.

Of course, the Guild might not allow them to take the job in the first place.

Emmis glanced around the room to see if there were any wizards around; he didn't seriously intend to ask about Guild rules, but he was just wondering...

And there was Lar in the door, heading for the stairs. The hat was unmistakable.

Emmis got to his feet so quickly he almost knocked over his chair. "Time to go," he said. "My money?"

Annis pushed over the remaining coins, and Emmis snatched them up before hurrying after his employer.

"Your excellency!" he called, shoving the coins into his purse.

Lar turned at the foot of the stairs. "Oh, there you are!" he said.

"I've been waiting here for some time," Emmis said.

"Oh? I went out to see the city. I went to the market, and to the docks to see the ships. I'm sorry if you were worried."

"Oh, I wasn't worried," Emmis said. "Just eager to get on with things. I found you a house to rent, over near Arena Street."

Lar smiled, and started up the stairs. "Good," he said over his shoulder. "And a meeting with the overlord?"

"Well, that's a little more difficult," Emmis said, following Lar up the stairs. "I have to go back tomorrow and talk to the guard at the palace again."

Lar glanced back at him, and Emmis quickly added, "But I'm sure we'll manage something."

"I am the representative of an empire," Lar said. "I know it isn't much of an empire compared with the Hegemony of Ethshar, but still, it would be reasonable for the overlord to see me."

"I know, I know!" Emmis said. "And he will, I'm sure. It just may take a while to arrange."

"But you have a house?"

"Yes. We can move you in this afternoon, if you want, though of course you'll have to pay a month's rent first."

"Of course."

"I didn't hire a wagon for your things because I thought you might want to see it first," Emmis added. "I mean, you weren't very specific in your instructions, so you may not find it suitable."

"Oh, I'm sure it will be reasonable," Lar said.

"I'd be happier if you looked it over before bringing everything."

"If you want." They had reached the top floor, and the ambassador was reaching for the key on his belt.

"By the way," Emmis said, glancing back down the stairs, "I thought you might want to know – there are some other foreigners here asking about you."

Lar stopped, key in hand, and turned to look at Emmis. He cocked his head to one side, and his hat tipped, looking as if it was about to fall off.

"Are there?"

"Yes," Emmis said. "I talked to them while I was waiting for you."

"And what did you tell them?"

"That you are the Vondish ambassador, and you hired me to find you a house to rent."

"You said nothing of warlocks?"

"What is there to say? You haven't told me why you want to meet warlocks."

"These foreigners – do you know where they are from?"

"Lumeth of the Towers and Ashthasa, they told me."

"Ah. G'dye zas." He turned his attention back to the door, sliding the key into the lock. A moment later he had it open and had stepped inside; he gestured for Emmis to follow him.

Emmis obeyed.

The ambassador looked up at him, then leaned back out the door, looked both ways, and closed it, gently but firmly. He tossed his hat on the bed, then turned back to Emmis.

"How much," he asked, "are they paying you to spy on me?"

Chapter Five

Emmis didn't bother pretending to be shocked. "A fair price," he said.

"Do you really need to know exactly?"

"If I am to match it, yes."

"Why would you need to match it? You already hired me, and you're paying me far more than they are."

"You did not tell me about them to start the bidding?"

"No. I told you because it's your business, and I work for you."

Lar cocked his head to one side. "Then you won't... I don't know the words. Dargas ya timir?"

"You're my employer," Emmis said. "I'm working for you. I'm also letting them pay me for talking to them, because you didn't tell me not to, and nothing you've told me seemed to be a secret. If there is something you want me to keep secret – well, you can always just not tell me, or we can agree on a price at the time. Some secrets I wouldn't charge for; others, well, I hope you have plenty of silver. If you're planning to assassinate the overlord, and you're fool enough to tell me, I don't think you could carry enough silver to keep me quiet. If you don't want me to tell them what you ate for breakfast, well, I'll throw that in for free."

"And what if I want to know what they said?"

"Oh, I think that's included in my salary."

"Ah. Then tell me."

Emmis did, as best he could recall.

Lar listened intently, then asked, "She thought Vond might be here, in Ethshar?"

"So it would seem."

Lar did not immediately reply, but Emmis saw his expression and said,

"Yes, I know that's impossible. I've heard about the Calling."

"Do you think the Lumethans really didn't understand Ethsharitic?"

Emmis turned up a hand. "I never caught them out, but maybe they're just good at hiding it. Does it matter?"

"Probably not." Lar sighed. "What I would really like to do is to simply go and tell them the truth. The regent and the Imperial Council do not want to expand the empire any further, and my business here has nothing to do with Lumeth or Ashthasa."

"Why not tell them?"

"Because they wouldn't believe me. After all, if we were planning to conquer them, wouldn't we say we weren't?"

Emmis had never given the matter any thought, but now that Lar pointed it out, it was obvious. "Oh," he said.

"You could tell them," Lar said thoughtfully.

"Why would they believe me?"

"You're their paid informant, aren't you? They want to believe you."

Then he shook his head. "But you're right, they wouldn't. Not completely."

For a moment the two men stood silently; then Lar turned up a palm.

"Well, we'll let that go for now. You may sell them any information they want, for now – I don't think you know anything I want to keep secret. If that changes, I'll tell you."

"Thank you."

"Now, you found me a house?"

"Yes. It's just off Arena Street, between the Palace and the Wizards'

Quarter."

"How far is that from here?"

"Ah... two miles, perhaps?"

"You know, I'm really not inclined to walk that far and back to inspect it. You found it reasonable?"

"Well... yes, I suppose. But I would really..."

"I trust you. We will need transportation for my belongings."

"Yes," Emmis said, hesitantly. He would have preferred that Lar not trust him quite that much, as he hadn't really even looked inside the house.

But he could hardly argue that Lar needed to have less faith in him when he had just confessed to selling information to his employer's enemies – or if not actual enemies, at least people who had no reason to wish him well. "If you're sure you don't want to look at it first..."

"I'm sure."

The next half-hour was spent making plans, and after that Emmis trotted up to Warehouse Street to hire a wagon, a team of oxen, and a driver. Lar had suggested hiring a flying carpet or some other magic, but Emmis had quoted a few prices that convinced him otherwise.

Of course, Emmis had made those prices up; he had no idea what a magician would charge, but he knew what teamsters charged for the use of a wagon, and he knew that nobody in Ethshar would ever hire a magician instead of a teamster for this sort of hauling. Lar might not have any great interest in keeping his presence a secret, and might be eager to meet magicians, but Emmis couldn't believe he would want to make himself a laughingstock and a target for swindlers. Paying a wizard or warlock to move a few trunks would label him a rich idiot, and rich idiots inevitably attracted people eager to make them a little less rich.

When he rode the wagon down Commission Street, Emmis found Lar waiting outside the inn with his luggage and a dozen hirelings he had recruited in the Crooked Candle; loading the wagon took just a few moments with so large a crew helping. The driver, who ordinarily would have considered it part of his job to assist, barely had time to get down from his bench before all the baggage was being shoved over the sides; he decided he would do best to step aside and let the pot-boys, dockworkers, and serving wenches earn their copper bits. He stood back with Emmis, calling advice.

"Push it up to the end!"

"Not on top of that one, you'll squash it!"

"Here, shove it under the bench."

When everything was securely stowed and Lar was distributing the promised coins, the teamster climbed back to his place and looked down at Lar and Emmis.

"There's room for one up here. The other will have to ride in back, on the load."

Lar looked up from his dwindling handful of money at Emmis, who immediately said, "I'll ride in back. He's the boss here."

"But you're the one who knows where we're going," Lar pointed out.

"Well, yes," Emmis said, "but I can give directions from the back."

"Of course you can," the driver agreed. "Up you go, then, sir, and the young man will ride in back. It's comfortable enough, sitting on a trunk."

Lar hesitated. "Will we be able to hire people to unload it when we get there?"

Emmis hesitated, and before he could reply the driver said, "Where are you going?"

"Arena Street," Lar answered, one foot on the step up to the bench.

"Allston," Emmis said. "On Through Street, just off Arena."

"Ah." The teamster scratched his beard. "Don't know the neighborhood."

Lar looked alarmed. "But you can take us there?"

"Oh, of course I can! I just don't know who you'll find looking for work there – Allston's a chancy sort of place, different from one block to the next."

"A... what?" Lar frowned. "I don't know that word, 'chancy.'"

"Don't worry about it," Emmis said, vaulting up over the side. "We can unload it ourselves, if we need to."

"Of course we can! Come on up, sir!" The driver reached out a hand.

Lar still did not look happy, but he took the proffered hand and clambered onto the bench.

Once he was securely seated, the teamster shook out the reins and called to the oxen, who began plodding forward. The wagon, which had settled into the street under the weight of its load, jerked free and began rolling up Commission Street.

Emmis watched the city roll by, casting frequent glances at the backs of his employer and the driver. In Shiphaven Market Lar seemed to flinch every few seconds as merchants waved their wares at him, or children scurried in front of the oxen, but there were no collisions or other misfortunes. The Vondishman's hat wobbled so much he eventually took it off and held it on his lap.

When at last the wagon emerged onto Twixt Street, Lar turned and leaned over the back of the bench. He beckoned to Emmis.

"Yes, sir?" Emmis said, leaning close.

"Was there some reason you hired oxen, rather than horses? This trip will take hours!"

Emmis blinked in surprise. "About an hour, I'd say. Horses? Horses can pull wagons?"

Lar blinked back at him not merely in surprise, but in shock. "Of course they can!"

"They don't here in Ethshar," Emmis said.

"I can explain that, sir," the driver said over his shoulder. "Couldn't help overhearing." He tapped at his ear.

Lar turned, listening.

"Horses are more expensive, take more care than an ox," the teamster said. "“Can't haul as heavy a load. And they don't like the crowds and noise."

"They're faster," Lar said.

"Oh, yes, they are," the driver agreed. "And that's part of why they aren't welcome inside the city walls. A horse can trample and kick and do all manner of damage if it's upset, it can run away with a cart, where with a team of oxen – well, it doesn't happen. You saw those kids in the market; if I were driving horses some of them might've been stepped on, or started the horses rearing. I've heard a few folks use horses for hauling outside the walls, where it's quieter, but here in the city you won't see them pulling a serious load. Rich folks ride them, of course, but that's different, if they get thrown off it's just their own bones that get broken, not anyone's cargo, and you don't have wagon wheels bouncing off the walls on either side of the street. And they use them to pull their fancy carriages, but that's just for show."

"But oxen are so slow – what if you're hauling something a long way?"

"Well, if one's in as much of a hurry as all that, I suppose you'd hire a magician, not a horse. You'd need a few rounds of gold, though. And really, what is there in Ethshar that you'd need to move as quickly as that? A good team of oxen will get you anywhere in the city between breakfast and supper –

no, not supper, lunch. Southgate to the shipyards, Crookwall to the lighthouse, I'd wager there's not a run that you couldn't finish in three hours with a good team."

Lar did not look convinced, but he turned forward again.

They made what Emmis considered good time, up Twixt Street and through Canal Square, where Lar seemed astonished by the sight of the New Canal, though Emmis couldn't imagine why – surely they had canals in the Small Kingdoms!

The wagon had minor difficulties in negotiating the turn from Upper Canal Street onto Commerce Street, almost running over the flowers around the corner shrine in order to squeeze past a pair of arguing merchants, but otherwise the journey progressed without incident, the oxen plodding on peacefully through the crowds while the driver hummed quietly to himself and Lar stared at the buildings on either side, looking at the signboards and the window displays, hearing the cries of hawkers and the arguing of customers, smelling the hundred smells of the city – most prominently allspice, turmeric, smoke, seawater, and decay.

Emmis had plenty of time to think as he rode, and he spent it considering his current position.

He was an ambassador's aide. He still didn't understand exactly how he had gone from freelance dockworker to being a diplomatic agent, but it seemed to have happened. The job paid well, and didn't seem terribly demanding, but Emmis couldn't help wondering whether there was something he was missing. Why was he being paid so generously? Why hadn't Lar brought a whole entourage with him from Vond? Was there something dangerous about this job? What was his real mission?

For that matter, who was Lar? Why had he been chosen as ambassador? As Emmis understood it, and nothing the palace guard had said had prompted him to doubt this, ambassadors were traditionally chosen from the nobility, from surplus princes or the sons of courtiers, while Lar had insisted he wasn't a lord of any sort.

He should have asked these questions sooner, he thought, but he wasn't accustomed to asking any questions at all beyond, "What's it pay?" and "Where did you want this one?" Working the docks generally didn't require a great deal of introspection.

This diplomatic aide stuff, though, brought a seemingly-endless supply of questions and mysteries. For example, who were Annis and those three Lumethans? Oh, they were government agents, obviously – spies, to be blunt –

but why those four people in particular? How had they gotten to Ethshar? Had they followed Lar's ship, and arrived just after him? Emmis didn't recall seeing any ships at the docks that looked likely to have brought them.

And what sort of idiot would send spies who couldn't speak Ethsharitic?

The Lumethans must be feigning ignorance.

If so, they did it well.

The wagon turned onto High Street, where the traffic moved a little more quickly; on Commerce they had traveled faster than the crowds, but here they were slower, even though the oxen maintained the same steady pace. The street was broader, the buildings on either side higher, and it smelled a little better – less decay, and a bit of incense and cooking oil.

"I can't believe the size of this city," Lar muttered, as he stared at the street stretching ahead of them. "How do all these people eat?"

"Wagons bring in food from the farms, ships bring it in from farther away," the driver said. "And magicians keep it fresh. Boats out of Fishertown and Newmarket and Seacorner bring in fish, the beachfolk dig clams, plenty of people keep a few chickens. We get by."

"It's amazing."

'"It's Ethshar."

They rolled on through the crowds, across the Old Merchants' Quarter, across the broad diagonal of Merchant Street, then up the slope into the New City.

There were no more shops here, of course, just grand houses behind their lavish facades or imposing walls and fences. Lar seemed impressed.

"Is this where the overlord's family lives?" he asked, as they passed the first cross-street.

The driver snorted. "Not a bit of it," he said. "They live in the Palace, of course. These are for the rich, not the powerful – merchants and wizards and the like who have so much money they don't need to work for more.

Or their heirs. Mostly, anyway – it's not all houses." He jerked a thumb over his left shoulder. "There on the corner of Coronet Street is where the Council of Warlocks meets, for example, and some of these others are clubs and secret societies and so on, as well."

Lar, who had been slouching comfortably against the back of the bench, sat bolt upright so suddenly that he knocked his hat from his lap, and almost overbalanced as he snatched at it to keep it from tumbling onto the street.

"Warlocks?" he said.

"The Council of Warlocks, yes. But they don't let outsiders in – if you can't open the locks with magic, you can't get inside. I'm told there aren't any keys anywhere."

Emmis frowned. "If you want to hire a warlock, sir, you'll want to go to the Wizards' Quarter," he said, pointing ahead and to the right.

Lar glanced at him, at his pointing finger, then back at the walled yard and tall mansion on the corner of High Street and Coronet. He made a noncommittal noise.

Emmis didn't like the sound of it.

He had never had any dealings with the Council of Warlocks, and didn't want to. He had heard of it, and as he understood it, it wasn't exactly a social club. The Council existed to keep warlocks in line; if a warlock cheated you, or harmed you without cause, and wouldn't make it good, and you pressed your complaint long enough, it would reach the Council – and the warlock would either make it good, or never be seen alive again.

It worked the other way, as well. If you wronged a warlock, and for some reason he couldn't handle it himself, and word reached the Council – well, you might survive, but it wasn't at all certain you'd be happy about it if you did.

The Council existed because all the guardsmen and magistrates in Ethshar couldn't be sure of defeating or punishing a really powerful warlock, but a dozen other warlocks could.

A good wizard might be able to, or a demonologist, but magicians, like most people, preferred to deal with their own kind. The Wizards' Guild handled the wizards, the Council of Warlocks handled the warlocks, the priesthoods looked after theurgists, there were supposed to be secret societies that watched out for witches, and so on.

And the smart thing for everyone else to do was to stay well out of their way.

Emmis decided he would have to explain this to Lar. The silly foreigner probably just didn't have much experience with real magicians; the Small Kingdoms were said to be rather short of them.

Lar finally turned his gaze forward again as the wagon bumped across the shallow ruts of Center Avenue and started down the eastern slope.

A few minutes later they were on Arena Street, and Emmis had to devote his attention to directing the driver around the corner onto Through Street and up to the right house.

As they pulled up, Emmis eyed the place critically. It had seemed big and luxurious that morning, but now, after riding through the middle of the New City, it seemed rather modest by comparison with the mansions they had passed. It was two stories, with a yellow brick facade, nine broad, well-glazed windows, and a grand green door. A shrine to an open-handed goddess in a green robe and golden tiara was built into the wall just to the right of the entry, but the offering bowl at her feet was cracked and held nothing but dust. The upstairs shutters were all closed, and in need of paint; the downstairs shutters were in varying positions and states of disrepair.

Lar glanced at the shrine and said, "I'll want to have a theurgist look at that."

Emmis nodded. "The landlord may know one. I'll fetch him." With that, he vaulted over the side of the wagon and headed for the owner's home, three doors up the street.

"And see about someone to help us unload," Lar called after him.

"Of course, sir," Emmis called back. Then he stopped and turned. "Is this satisfactory, then?"

"Oh, it will do fine. Go get the keys." Lar waved a hand at him.

Emmis bowed, and hurried on.

Chapter Six

The landlord provided three nephews and a neighbor to help with the baggage. By nightfall everything had been transferred from the wagon to the house, and the driver had been paid and dismissed.

The house had five bedrooms, all upstairs, one at each corner and one at the back, overlooking a courtyard shared with half a dozen other homes. The front rooms were the largest, so one of those was designated the ambassador's bedchamber and the other his study. The center-rear bedroom was the smallest, so Emmis claimed that for himself.

The whole place was badly in need of dusting, and although the landlord's promise of complete furnishing had been kept, the furniture left a great deal to be desired. The upholstery on the velvet sofa was stained and split; the dining room table had only three chairs, one of which was broken.

Even the pieces that were undamaged were sparse and cheap.

Emmis concluded that this explained the reasonable rent the landlord had been willing to accept, and that he should have inspected the inside, as well as the outside, before agreeing to terms. He had certainly known to demand to see his own room back in Shiphaven before committing to renting it, two years ago, but it had seemed presumptuous to insist on anything of the sort with so fine a place as this.

He would know better next time.

Lar grimaced at the sight, but then said, "Well, I will try not to entertain any guests until you've fixed the place up."

Emmis started to protest that he had no intention of fixing anything up, but then he remembered his position. He had signed on to do whatever Lar needed done, and it appeared that would include refurbishing this makeshift embassy.

Besides, he should have inspected it. "Yes, sir," he said.

"I'm ready for supper. Is there any food in the kitchen?"

Emmis had already checked. "No."

"Is there an inn nearby?"

"Yes. We can either go north toward the Old City, or southeast toward the Arena."

"The Wizards' Quarter is south?"

"Yes."

"Then south it is."

"The Palace is north, next to the Old City."

"South," Lar repeated.

"Yes, sir."

This fascination with magic wasn't healthy, Emmis was sure, but there wasn't anything he could do about it, especially since the ambassador's secret orders apparently required him to investigate magic. Accordingly, he waited as Lar locked up the house, then led the way around the corner and up Arena Street.

He caught a glimpse of a robed figure at the corner, apparently watching them as they emerged. He couldn't be entirely sure, since Through Street was unlit and the torchlight from Arena Street was behind the other man, but he thought it might be one of the Lumethans; naturally, they would have followed the wagon, or found some other way of locating the ambassador's new residence.

The possibility that they were using magic to track Lar – not merely hiring it, but using it themselves – occurred to him. If the three of them were magicians, perhaps that was why the government of Lumeth had sent spies who didn't speak Ethsharitic. Their magic would be more important.

They might have used magic to transport themselves to Ethshar in the first place, too. That would explain how they had arrived so soon after Lar's ship.

When Lar left the door, the robed figure ducked around the corner, out of sight, and Emmis did not worry about him further. He didn't mention it to Lar, for fear he might make a scene; Emmis was hungry, after all the hauling of luggage, and did not want anything to delay his supper.

Unfortunately, finding that supper proved more of a challenge than he had expected; Through Street was entirely residential, and while Arena Street had its share of shops and businesses, they weren't selling food. The pair ambled several blocks along the torchlit avenue without finding an appropriate establishment, and he and Lar were within sight of the Arena itself by the time they finally found an inn Emmis considered suitable. The Pink Pig seemed to cater more to the neighborhood drinkers than diners or travelers, but the landlord had no objection to selling the two men pork chops and stewed carrots with their beer.

"I didn't notice any magic shops on the way here," Lar remarked, as they waited for their meal. "Though it's hard to be sure at night."

"I don't think there were any," Emmis said. "The Wizards' Quarter is the other side of the Arena, past Games Street. A few magicians have their businesses in the Arena district, but mostly on the side-streets."

Lar stared at him silently for a moment, then shook his head. "This city is so big!" he said.

Emmis's hunger had affected his temper, and he retorted, "You know, there's a reason we call them the Small Kingdoms, and it's not that Ethshar is so very huge."

"You said this was the largest city in the World," Lar replied.

"It is," Emmis admitted, "but not by much. Ethshar of the Sands and Ethshar of the Rocks are almost as big, and the bargemen tell me that even Sardiron of the Waters is..." He caught himself before telling an outright lie. "Well, Sardiron is bigger than anything in the Small Kingdoms, anyway.

The Tintallions, Shan on the Sea – it's not that Ethshar is immense so much as that you're used to tiny."

That led to an awkward silence, and Emmis looked around the room, rather than meeting Lar's eyes. Searching for some sign of their food provided an obvious excuse, but it was when he turned his gaze away from the kitchen, toward the door to the street, that something caught his eye.

The light was better than it had been on Through Street. That was definitely one of the Lumethans sitting at the table in the front window.

Emmis thought it was the one who Annis had introduced as Hagai, and he was fairly certain it was the same man who had watched them leave the rented house.

At this point saying something would no longer delay their food, so Emmis leaned forward, putting his fist on the table with the thumb pointing at the Lumethan.

"By the way, we're being followed," he said.

"What?"

"We're being followed. By one of the Lumethans I met this morning. He's sitting at the table in the window, in the brown robe."

To Emmis's surprise, Lar did not immediately turn and stare at the Lumethan. He cast a quick glance at the door to the street, then looked back at Emmis. "You're sure?"

"Yes."

"He wasn't here before us?"

"I saw him back on Through Street, when you were locking the door."

"But you said nothing until now."

"I was hungry. I was afraid you'd want to do something stupid."

Lar smiled a tight little smile. "You have interesting... I don't know the word. Interesting reasons for things."

"I'm just an honest laborer," Emmis protested. "If you want someone clever, you hired the wrong man."

"Oh, I don't think so. I think you're clever enough. So we're being followed."

"Yes."

"Did he follow the wagon from the Crooked Candle, do you think?"

Emmis turned his fist over and opened it to show an empty palm. "I don't know," he said. "He might have known where to go from something I told Annis."

At that point a rather sweaty boy of twelve or so appeared with a platter; he set it down and pushed two plates of pork and carrots onto their table. Lar handed him a coin, and boy and platter vanished.

Emmis promptly started eating. Lar stared at him for a moment, then followed suit. Neither spoke until Emmis's plate was empty. Then the younger man straightened in his chair and said, "I think his name is Hagai, but I'm not sure."

Lar looked up from spearing his last lump of carrot. "Is he watching us?"

Emmis glanced in the right general direction, then back at Lar.

"I think so. I'm not certain. He's being casual."

"But he's still there."

"Oh, yes."

"You think they're worried that I'm going to bring a new warlock back to Vond? That we're going to use more magic to start conquering our neighbors again?"

"If I had to guess what they're worried about from what they told me, yes, that's what I would guess."

"That's almost funny, really."

Emmis blinked. "It is? Why?"

"Because of my real mission." He glanced toward the door, and toward the table in the window where the Lumethan was sipping at an empty beer mug. Then he turned back to Emmis, looking tired and thoughtful. After a pause, he said,

"I'm going to trust you, Emmis. If they're following me and watching me, I'm not going to be able to keep all my secrets anyway, so I'm going to tell you a few things. If the Regent doesn't like it, he should have sent more people or used some magic to make my job easier."

"All right," Emmis said. "What is it?"

Lar leaned forward. "My mission is to make sure that more warlocks don't come to Vond," he whispered. "Vond the Warlock was a monster, a killer, and we don't want another one. I'm here to convince the Council of Warlocks to forbid their people to set foot in the Empire, or if I can't do that, I'm to hire other magicians to keep warlocks out."

Emmis considered that for a moment, then leaned forward himself and whispered, "Why is that a secret?"

Lar snorted. "Because if warlocks who are worried about the Calling find out that we're trying to keep them out, what do you think they'll do?"

"I don't know; what?"

"Well, some of them will try to get into the empire before we can stop them. Remember, Vond is a long, long way from Aldagmor."

"But the Calling got Vond himself, didn't it?"

"The Calling got Vond, yes, but only after he built an empire single-handed. He was using more power than any warlock I ever heard of, probably more than anyone since the Night of Madness. If a warlock settled in Vond and didn't assume he was safe, if he was careful, if he didn't go carving palaces out of bedrock and throwing entire armies around, he might live there for years before he was Called – and we don't want that."

"Why not?"

Lar looked at Emmis as if reconsidering his earlier remark about Emmis's cleverness. "Because," he said, "when he does hear the Calling, what's he going to do?"

"Fly off to Aldagmor."

"Yes, but before that – when he's hearing the Call, but hasn't yet given in to it."

"I don't know," Emmis said, annoyed. "I've never met any warlocks like that."

"They go crazy, Emmis. They do magic in their sleep. They lose their tempers and smash things without meaning to – including people, or maybe entire villages."

Emmis had, in fact, heard stories about warlocks gradually going mad as the Calling overwhelmed them, but there was a flaw in this theory.

"If Called warlocks are so dangerous, why haven't they smashed Ethshar?"

he asked. "We have plenty of warlocks here."

"Maybe because something keeps them in check," Lar said. "Such as other magicians. Which we don't have in Vond, really." He hesitated. "And there's more to it, but that part really is secret. Just believe me when I say we don't want any warlocks in the empire, ever again."

"Well, why don't you just tell the Lumethans that?" He gestured in the general direction of their uninvited companion.

"Because we don't want any warlocks to find out, remember? The Lumethans might not believe us, and even if they did they might just decide it would be amusing to see what happens if they send a dozen warlocks across the border.

They don't like us and they don't trust us, and I don't blame them."

"How are you going to convince the Council of Warlocks to forbid their members to go to Vond when you can't tell them why?"

Lar threw up his hands. "I don't know!" he snapped. "I'm just doing what Lord Sterren told me to do as best I can, and no, it isn't as simple as I'd like."

Emmis was still struggling to make sense of the situation. "There have been warlocks around for more than twenty years, though, so this can't be a new problem," he said. "How many have gone from Ethshar to the Empire of Vond?"

Lar looked uncomfortable.

"Well... two," he said. "That I know of."

"Two? Two?" Emmis sat back. "That's not exactly an overwhelming number, you know. If you're so far from Aldagmor, why haven't there been hundreds?"

"I don't know that, either," Lar said. "That's another thing I'm supposed to find out when I talk to the Council of Warlocks." He glanced at Hagai, then blinked. He stole another look at the Lumethan.

"How loud have we been speaking?" the ambassador asked quietly.

"Not very loud," Emmis said.

"So he couldn't have heard us?"

"Not unless he's a witch."

"Oh, for... witches could hear us?"

"Well, of course. Their magic enhances all their senses – they can even hear unspoken thoughts, sometimes, if conditions are right. And while he isn't one, because we'd see him doing it, a wizard somewhere could be watching and listening with a scrying spell and we'd never know it."

"Zag i mar!" Lar swore. "Magic!"

"You think he might be a witch? Or they might have hired a wizard?"

"Why not? Mar i zag!"

Emmis tried to be reasonable, tried to keep Lar from becoming too obviously upset. "But you don't know," he said. "Yes, if he's a witch he could hear us, but we don't even know whether he understands Ethsharitic! He claims not to, after all, and why would he lie about that?"

"To make himself appear harmless!"

"But, sir, really, if they wanted to, they could hire a wizard to find out what instructions the Regent gave you in the first place. I mean, unless you had protective magic preventing it. You can't keep secrets for long once magicians are involved, not if there's someone with money who's determined to find them out."

"I doubt there's a wizard anywhere in the Small Kingdoms who could scry that well," Lar said, in tones of disgust. "Wizards who are any good at what they do can do better than living in a kingdom a few miles across, where the only people with any money to spend on magic are the ones who call themselves kings, and where they can't get half the ingredients they want for their spells. Witches, though – we do have witches. They like little villages and scruffy peasants."

"They could hire a wizard here," Emmis pointed out, amused that Lar knew the Ethsharitic word for "scruffy." "They wouldn't need to have one back in Lumeth. It probably wouldn't even need to be a wizard. I'd guess that a theurgist could find out about your mission, too. Maybe even a sorcerer, or a scientist."

"That's probably true." Lar sighed. "You know, I retired a couple of years ago; I had a little money put aside, and I was going to just live quietly, minding my own business. Then Lord Sterren got worried about other warlocks, and he didn't trust anyone else to deal with it, so here I am. I'd much rather be back home tending my garden."

Emmis had no useful comment to make about that; he thought gardening sounded horribly boring, but he wouldn't want the ambassador's job, either. He looked down at the plates, both now empty. "Shall we head back to the house?"

he asked. "There's still plenty of unpacking to do."

"No," Lar said. "We came this way to eat for a reason. We're going to the Wizards' Quarter for a look around. And if our robed friend follows us, well, so be it." He pushed back his chair and reached for his purse.

"As you please," Emmis said. He didn't see what visiting the Wizards'

Quarter at this hour would accomplish, but he was in no hurry to haul boxes hither and yon.

Together the two men ambled out the door of the inn, and turned south, toward the Arena. When they had gone half a block Emmis glanced back over his shoulder.

As he had expected, Hagai was following them, fifty feet back.

Chapter Seven

The Arena was unlit; the next show was not scheduled until the first of Newfrost, more than a sixnight away. Even so, Lar was visibly impressed by the vast dark shape that loomed above them as they passed.

The notice boards on the corners were lit, though, with two lanterns hung above each of them. They stood out all the better against the blackness behind them.

"What's that?" Lar asked.

Emmis explained. "Didn't you see the one in Shiphaven Market?" he asked.

"I didn't," Lar admitted. "There was so much happening there!"

"Don't they have notice boards in Vond?"

Lar shook his head. "Most people in the Small Kingdoms can't read." He looked at the tangle of messages and advertising tacked to the rough boards.

"Do you think there might be anything there about warlocks?"

Emmis turned up a palm. "Openings for apprentices, perhaps." He glanced over his shoulder at Hagai, who was hanging back, trying to blend with the other pedestrians and not doing a very good job of it. "Stopping to look would be awkward for our friend."

Lar grimaced. "I wouldn't want to be rude. Perhaps another time." They strolled on past without stopping.

The incident got Emmis thinking as they walked, though. If Hagai was a witch, he ought to be able to do a better job of not being noticed. Witches could usually sense what other people were going to do before they did it; the good ones could allegedly actually hear people's thoughts. If Hagai was a witch then he surely knew he had been spotted, but he was still pretending to be just another passerby.

So he probably wasn't a witch.

He might be some other sort of magician, though.

Emmis wondered whether he should say any of this to Lar. The ambassador had said witches were fairly common back where he came from, though, so he ought to be able to figure it out for himself.

Or perhaps not. Just because witches were common didn't mean Lar knew anything about them.

He had not reached a conclusion by the time they crossed Games Street five long blocks later.

"This is the Wizards' Quarter," he said. "The next cross-street is Wizard Street. Warlock Street is a little further on."

"I see," the Vondishman said, looking around with interest.

In most respects this stretch of Arena Street was much the same as the rest – a broad avenue of hard-packed dirt lined with three- and four-story buildings, most of them stone for one or two floors and half-timbered above, with tiled roofs and assorted gables and overhangs. Balconies were common but not universal. Large torches were mounted in brackets at every corner, providing light; Emmis knew the city guard replaced those daily, as they usually burned away to nothing somewhere between midnight and dawn. Many of the ground-floor doors had signboards or lanterns or both above them; many of the windows were big, many-paned things holding displays of one sort or another. Some were lit, while others were not – not every magician stayed open for business this late.

North of Games Street the window displays had generally been of fabrics, or furniture, or kitchenware, or other commonplace goods. Here, though, they were a little less ordinary. One window held strangely-shaped bottles of multi-colored liquids, while another displayed only a dusty stuffed dragon – a mere baby, perhaps seven feet from the tip of its nose to the tip of its tail, and a wingspan Emmis judged to be no more than ten feet, though it was hard to be sure, since the wings weren't extended. A third held nothing but a dinner plate that was inexplicably sending up an endless shower of sparks, a spray reaching perhaps a foot high, and that changed color every few seconds.

One did display kitchenware, in the form of a teapot and half a dozen cups, but the teapot was ambling about on stubby little china feet.

Several windows had no displays at all, just velvet curtains.

And some held cards listing spells offered for sale, often in runes so ornate they were hard to read. A few of these glowed without need of any visible light source. Lar stopped to read one of these cards, and Emmis stopped beside him.

It was a fairly modest list – Fendel's Rune of Privacy, the Spell of the Spinning Coin, the Greater and Lesser Spells of Invaded Dreams, Eknerwal's Preserving Spell, Fendel's Infatuous Love Spell – concluding with, "and Many Diverse Others."

"That's a wizard's shop?" Lar asked.

"Yes," Emmis replied, even before looking up at the signboard over the door that announced, "Edarth of Ethshar, Master Wizard."

"What about that?" The Vondishman pointed at a shop window illuminated by a glowing sphere about a foot in diameter. The globe was surrounded by a dozen gleaming constructions of crystal and metal ranging from a thumb-sized amulet to an open-work contraption the size of a large dog, none of them with any recognizable purpose.

"I think that's a sorcerer," Emmis said.

Lar stared for a moment, then turned away shaking his head. "We don't have anything like that in Vond!"

The two of them continued down the street, with Emmis occasionally looking over his shoulder to be sure Hagai was still there, and soon reached the corner of Warlock Street.

"There it is," Emmis said, gesturing.

Lar frowned. "It's dark," he said.

Emmis had to admit that he had a point; where about half the shops on Arena were lit, almost none on Warlock Street were. "I suppose they don't want to work as late," he said. "You know the proverb – working on Festival means good money but it's bad advertising."

"Bad what?"

"Advertising." Emmis sighed. "I don't know the word in any other languages. Signs, notices, things like that."

Lar looked confused. "I don't think that's a proverb back in the empire," he said. "At least, I can't place it."

"Maybe not."

"And it isn't Festival for months, so I don't..."

"Never mind," Emmis interrupted. "Just forget it. All I meant is, warlocks don't seem to work late. I suppose they don't need to; they don't need to pay for any ingredients, or buy herbs, or appease any demons."

"They still need to buy food and pay taxes, don't they?"

Emmis grimaced. "Honestly, I'm not sure. There's a rumor that warlocks can live on their magic, like someone with a wizard's bloodstone, and if I were a tax collector I don't think I'd press a reluctant warlock very hard."

Lar's expression changed. "And... well, they try not to use more magic than they must."

"Yes. The more magic they use, the sooner they're Called."

Lar walked along Warlock Street and looked over the unlit signboards and darkened windows, with Emmis tagging close behind, while Hagai hung back, apparently still unaware that he had been spotted.

There were no stuffed dragons or crystal structures here; most of the windows held nothing but shutters or black curtains, though Emmis supposed that might be different by daylight. The signboards mostly simply gave the proprietor's name. Some appended the word "warlock," but none claimed any further title; no one here called himself a master.

"Not very informative," Emmis remarked. "Perhaps we should come back tomorrow."

"Tomorrow I am to meet with the overlord, am I not?"

"I don't know," Emmis said. "Tomorrow I talk to my contact at the Palace, and find out whether he's arranged anything."

"Ah." Lar stopped in front of one of the handful of illuminated shops, where a card stood in the window. "ISHTA OF FRESHWATER," proclaimed the large runes at the top. Beneath, smaller, elaborately-curled runes added, "Healing a Specialty - man, woman, child, or beast. Antiquities Restored. Porcelain & Other Valuables Repaired."

"It would seem at least one warlock works late," he said.

Emmis made a noncommital noise.

Lar marched up and tried the door; it opened with a light push, and he stepped inside. Emmis reluctantly followed.

They found themselves in a good-sized, well-lit room where half a dozen people were clustered around a table at one end.

"...told you, there's a piece missing," a woman was saying. "See, right there?"

"No," another voice said, a male one.

"It's tiny," replied a third, one that sounded like a child.

"Yes, it is," the first agreed, "but it's definitely missing, and if I replace it out of thin air I can't guarantee it'll match perfectly."

"But we'll never find something that small!" a fourth voice said –

another woman, Emmis thought. "Someone's probably stepped on it and crushed it, or the cat might have eaten it!"

"I can make a replacement," the first woman said. Emmis was fairly certain the voice was coming from a black-clad figure, presumably Ishta of Freshwater. "I just want you to understand that it may not be exactly as it was before. Without the original piece I can't just rebuild it, I need to make a new piece, and since I never saw the missing bit, it may not match exactly."

"You can't use your magic to make it match?" the man demanded.

"No. I'm a warlock, not a wizard. I can move and shape things, down to the very tiniest particles, and I can see and feel things you cannot, but I can't simply make the damage unhappen. A wizard probably could, with the right spell, but it would almost certainly cost you more than my fee." She glanced over her shoulder at Lar and Emmis, then turned back to her customers. "Why don't you discuss it, and I'll be right back?" Without waiting for an answer she turned and left the table, striding briskly toward the two men just inside her door.

She was short and a little thinner than average, with a pointed chin and dark, piercing eyes, and she wore her waist-length hair loose. She stopped a few feet away and looked up at the new arrivals. "Yes?"

"Hello," Lar said, as Emmis inched back to make it plain that he was not in charge. "I had a few questions I was hoping you could answer."

"Then ask them," the woman said.

"You're Ishta the Warlock?"

"Yes."

"I have a grandson of an age to be apprenticed," Lar said. "We were thinking of sending him to Ethshar to learn warlockry."

Ishta held up a hand and glanced back at her customers, who were whispering amongst themselves. "That's a subject that deserves my full attention. Let me finish with these people, and then we can discuss it."

"As you please."

"You can't even see where it's missing!" one of the other women shouted, before Ishta could say anything more; the warlock turned and glided back to the table.

Emmis bit his lip; Ishta had glided back, her feet an inch or two off the floor, rather than walking. Any doubt about whether she was a real warlock had just vanished; only a warlock could fly so casually.

And any thought of asking Lar whether he really had a grandson vanished, as well – warlocks were more sensitive in certain ways than ordinary people.

That didn't necessarily mean Ishta could hear a whisper from across the room, but it might.

"Just fix it," the man said. "If it isn't perfect, we'll worry about it then."

"Very good," Ishta said. "I'll have it for you by midday tomorrow."

"You can't do it tonight?" the child's voice whined.

"Tomorrow," Ishta said firmly. "Now, if you will excuse me..." She began herding the entire party toward the door.

Lar and Emmis stepped hastily aside as a middle-aged man, a middle-aged woman, a young woman, a youth, and a boy of perhaps ten were marched out onto Warlock Street. Ishta closed the door behind them, then turned to the ambassador.

"Would you care to sit?" she asked, gesturing toward chairs near the table.

"Thank you," Lar said, with a partial bow.

A moment later the three of them were seated, Ishta and Lar facing each other, while Emmis was slightly to one side, next to the table. Emmis took the opportunity to study the object on the table, obviously the item Ishta had promised to repair.

It was an elaborate ceramic sculpture of a tree, about two feet tall, with a girl seated in the branches and a young man standing below and looking up at her, all delicately painted in colors a little brighter than nature. The level of detail was astonishing; the tree's leaves were individually modeled, veins painted on each, and tiny ripe fruit hung from the branches here and there. The girl's hand, clutching at the realistically-textured tree bark, had every fingernail clearly depicted; one of her sandals hung loose, while the other was secure. The man's clothing was so carefully done that Emmis thought he could count the coins in the purse on his belt.

"Their cat knocked it off the shelf," Ishta said, following his gaze.

"I've put it back together, but if you look, there's a bit missing just here."

She pointed at the girl's right ear. Sure enough, half the earlobe was gone, and a curl of hair behind the ear was snapped off short. "I'll have to conjure that out of dust in the air. It's not all that difficult to find the right material, but blending it in smoothly and getting it just the right shape will be tricky."

"Oh," Emmis said.

She smiled at him, then turned to Lar. "Now, you said your grandson was looking for an apprenticeship?"

"Yes," Lar said. "He says he wants to be a warlock. I don't know where he got the idea, since there aren't any warlocks in Semma, but he's very sure."

"You're from Semma?" She glanced at Emmis.

"I am," Lar said. "Emmis isn't. He's my wife's cousin's son; they live in Shiphaven. Emmis is my guide."

"Where is Semma?"

"In the Small Kingdoms, far to the south, near the edge of the World,"

Lar replied.

"And your grandson is there?"

"Yes."

"But he would come to Ethshar?"

"For his apprenticeship, yes. But we thought he would come back when he's a journeyman."

Ishta nodded. "I haven't trained any apprentices," she said, "but I'm ready to try."

"You're a master warlock?"

"We don't..." Ishta hesitated. "We don't have formal ranks like wizards or smiths, but I'm qualified to train an apprentice."

Lar looked uncertain – though Emmis recognized the expression as feigned, and hoped that the warlock didn't. "Is there a Guild? We don't – we have no warlocks in Semma, we don't know how it is. I heard about a council..." His voice trailed off.

"The Council of Warlocks isn't really a guild. It doesn't set standards for taking apprentices."

"Ah."

Emmis pretended to study the tree again as he listened.

This was educational, he thought. He hadn't known whether the Council set standards or not.

"We do have several questions," Lar said, after a moment of awkward silence.

"Of course," Ishta said. "Feel free to ask. There will be an initiation fee, but no other charges. If the boy proves completely unsuitable the fee will be refunded, but that's quite rare; perhaps one applicant in a hundred, if that, is unable to become a warlock. If our personalities prove incompatible after initiation, I will arrange for another warlock to take him on in my stead – he can't be sent home or put to another trade, as the process of becoming a warlock is irreversible.* You understand that?"

"I do now," Lar said.

"You may have heard that among wizards, apprentices who are found unfit by the Wizards' Guild are killed. I don't know whether that's true for wizards, or for any of the other magicians, but rest assured, warlocks don't do that. Warlockry has its dangers, certainly, but we don't intentionally kill even the most incompetent apprentice."

"How... how reasonable," Lar said, clearly dismayed by the turn the conversation had taken. Emmis didn't think he was faking this time.

"You said you had questions?"

"Yes! We live in Semma, as I said, and there are no warlocks there..."

"You said that."

"Yes. Well, that's my question – why are there no warlocks in Semma?"

Ishta blinked at him.

"I mean, is there a reason there are no warlocks there? Would Kelder not be able to come home?"

"I don't see why not," Ishta said. "That is, I don't know what your local laws are, but there's no reason I know that a warlock couldn't live there."

"But then why aren't there any?"

"I don't know for certain," Ishta admitted. "You must understand, I was only six on the Night of Madness, and only became a warlock when I was twelve, years afterward, but I've heard stories. I don't know whether they're true."

"What sort of stories?"

"What I heard was that after the Night of Madness, before things settled down again, all the warlocks in the Small Kingdom were killed or exiled. The kings and lords thought they were too dangerous, too unpredictable, so they killed any they could catch and drove the rest away."

"Some places, yes," Lar said. "I remember some of that. I don't think it happened in Semma."

Ishta turned up an empty palm. "If Semma is far enough to the south, perhaps there were simply no warlocks there to begin with."

"But wouldn't some have moved there?"

Ishta frowned. "Why?"

Lar was visibly discomfited. "The thing – the Calling. I have heard about that, and isn't it worse farther north?"

Ishta sighed. "You know about the Calling?"

"Yes. I've heard that it draws warlocks to the north, and is weaker the farther south one goes."

She shook her head. "It's not north or south," she said. "It depends entirely on how far you are from a certain spot in Aldagmor. You're right that it would be weaker in the southern Small Kingdoms, but the stories haven't made us feel welcome there. When warlocks flee the Calling we usually go west to Ethshar of the Rocks, or Tintallion of the Isle, not south. And most of us don't flee. There is no safe place anywhere in the World, and most of us prefer to stay in our homes and fight it there, with our friends around, not go running off into the wild somewhere to live among strangers."

"The Calling can be fought?"

"To a point." The warlock appeared uncomfortable saying this. "I'm told it can help to have other warlocks around, which is another reason not to flee to your Semma. You understand, though, this isn't something we discuss freely with outsiders."

"Of course, but if my grandson is going to hear this Calling someday, I want to know about it."

"He may never hear it, if he's careful. I have been a warlock for sixteen years, and haven't heard it at all yet. I use my magic to do delicate, small-scale work precisely because it's sheer magical power that attracts the Calling; the things I do require intense concentration, but very little raw energy. You won't see me flying about the streets, flinging magic around."

Emmis remembered how she had glided across the room without touching the floor, but said nothing, and tried to let his face show nothing. She might not even know she had done it, and he had no idea how she would react if he mentioned it.

She was not yet thirty, and she was using magic without realizing it.

She might not have heard the Calling yet, but Emmis would not have wagered a copper bit on her chances of reaching sixty.

"I see," Lar said, with a quick glance at Emmis. "Let us suppose, though, that we were to apprentice him to a less cautious warlock; what would happen if his master was Called before he turned fifteen?"

"Oh, another warlock would take him on to complete his training. It's happened, I won't deny it. But I'm safe enough."

"And if he made journeyman, and then came home to Semma, he would be less... I don't know the Ethsharitic. The danger would be less?"

"A little, yes. And his magic would be weaker, as well, though it would strengthen with use."

"Would it?"

"Oh, yes. The more magic a warlock uses, the more power he has available. It's very tempting – but yielding to temptation means the Calling, so we resist."

"Your magic – what does it do, exactly?"

"Oh, at the most basic level, warlockry is just the ability to move things without touching them. But it can be used in thousands of ways, because we also have the additional senses to let us perceive what things really are.

Everything around us is made up of smaller things, of tiny particles, and we warlocks can sense where they all are, and we can see how to move some of those particles and not others. We can create heat by moving anything, even the air, against itself; we can make light by... by pushing the air inward; we don't really have the words to explain it. I can heal wounds by making the edges flow and grow back together; I can repair broken things by making the space between the pieces go away. I can cure some diseases by killing the tiny little creatures in the blood that cause them, or by drawing out poisons. But really, it's all just seeing what's there and moving it into the places and shapes I want it in."

"You can teach my grandson how to do this?"

"I can change something in his head so that he will be able to do it, yes. That only takes a moment, and then, once he can hear the power and draw upon it, I will train him to use it safely and effectively. That training will last the three years of his apprenticeship."

"And after that, he can come home to Semma?"

"Or he can stay here in Ethshar, as he pleases, yes."

"There's no reason he couldn't come home? The Council of Warlocks wouldn't object?"

"They wouldn't object. Why should they?"

"I don't know. It just seems odd that there are no warlocks in Semma."

Ishta turned up an empty palm. "It just happened that way."

"I see." Lar pushed his chair back and rose; Emmis hastily followed suit. "Thank you," Lar said, bowing.

"You're quite welcome. Will your grandson be coming to see me, then?"

"We'll need to discuss it amongst the family."

"Of course." Ishta got to her feet as well.

"Thank you again. We'll be going."

"Of course," she repeated.

A moment later Lar and Emmis were out on the street, marching back toward Arena Street. Emmis looked around, but Hagai was nowhere to be seen.

He probably got bored, Emmis thought. He had no way of knowing how long they might be in the warlock's shop.

"I think I'd like to talk to a wizard next," Lar said.

"I thought we'd be going home," Emmis said.

"Wizard first," Lar said.

Emmis looked back to see Ishta's door close, and a moment later her window went dark.

He sighed. "Wizard Street is that way," he said, pointing.

Chapter Eight

"We've passed a dozen open shops," Emmis said. "Was there something specific you're looking for?"

"Yes," Lar said. "I want a wizard who answers questions."

"You mean a seer?"

"Something like that, yes."

Emmis looked up at the signboards above the doors ahead. "TARISSA the FAIR," read the nearest, "Love Spells & Potions, Aphrodisiacs." The next announced, "KARDIG of SOUTHGATE, Curses Cast & Removed." He had to admit neither of those sounded very promising.

They were walking east on Wizard Street. It was late enough now that most of the shops were dark, the signboards unlit. "Perhaps we should come back in the morning," Emmis suggested.

Lar shook his head. "Tonight," he said.

"Why? Why is it that important? You said you could take as long as you needed for whatever it is you're doing."

"Yes, but tomorrow someone may be following us again."

Emmis blinked. "What?"

"That Lumethan is gone – hadn't you noticed?"

"Well, yes," Emmis admitted.

"You told them I was interested in warlocks, and I wasn't talking about anything very secret with Ishta in any case, so I didn't mind him following us there. He's welcome to anything he can learn from her. What I want to ask a wizard is a little different, and I don't want the Lumethans to know about it, so when we left Ishta's shop and I saw that he was gone, I knew I want to talk to a wizard tonight, before the Lumethans come back. They won't expect me to visit two different magicians about two different things in the same night –

that's why he didn't stay, I'm sure. He probably went to tell the others that they should talk to Ishta tomorrow."

"Why didn't he stay to talk to her tonight, then?" Emmis asked. "I know she put out the lamp, but he left before that. He didn't wait around to talk to her after we left."

"Because he doesn't speak Ethsharitic, remember?"

"Unless he does."

"Even if he does, he probably wants to... I don't know the Ethsharitic word. Shichak. He wants to talk to the others before he does anything."

"Confer?"

"Probably. That sounds reasonable."

"So you want to talk to a wizard while we aren't being followed. Are you sure you want me here?"

Lar turned and looked Emmis in the eye, considering. Then he said, "I may ask you to leave. We will see. And you are not to tell the Ashthasan anything about this."

Emmis nodded. "Fair enough," he said. "But I don't see many shops open here. Perhaps we should try a side-street. Or must it be a wizard? Witch Alley is just over that way." He pointed to the north.

Lar frowned. "I think a wizard would be better."

"As you please, then." Emmis scanned the shops ahead. "Perhaps there?"

He pointed.

"What does it say?" Lar said, peering into the gloom.

"I think the name is Kolar the Sage," Emmis said. "The one with the big blue eye?"

"Ah." Lar nodded.

A moment later Emmis tried the Sage's door, only to find it locked. He hesitated, and looked up at the sign again, and then at the window.

A lantern hung on the bracket beside the sign, illuminating it, and the candle within the lantern still had an inch or two of wax remaining. Black velvet curtains were drawn behind the window, but a crystal ball stood on an iron tripod between the curtains and the glass, and glowed faintly blue.

"Maybe he just forgot to dowse the lantern," Emmis said.

"The ball is still glowing," Lar said.

"That may be permanent, not something he can turn on and off."

"Wouldn't he be careful about leaving the lantern lit, then?"

"Sir, while I understand you're impatient and want to get on with your job, and that it would be better to do it while Hagai isn't following us, it's getting late, and if this Kolar were really a powerful seer he would have known we were coming and would be ready and waiting for us."

Lar turned to stare at Emmis. "Are there really wizards who do that?"