"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 o
f 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?"
La
r 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."
The Vondish Ambassador Page 5
