"It sounds to me as if the Lumethans just hired a couple of thugs from the Hundred-Foot Field," Imrinira said.
Emmis shook his head. "The one with the stick was too well dressed for that. The other one, maybe."
"How would anyone from the Small Kingdoms know how to find assassins to hire here in Ethshar?" Zindré asked.
"Annis said Hagai is a theurgist," Emmis said. "Maybe he asked a god."
The others exchanged frowns. "Would a god tell him that?" Lar asked.
"I don't think so," Zindré said. "But I'm no priestess. If he phrased his question right, maybe he could get an answer."
"They've been paying a tavern wench for favors," Emmis said. "Maybe she knew of someone."
"That could be," Zindré agreed.
"Does it matter?" Sella asked. "As long as there's no magic involved, and the assassins aren't working for the overlord, the guards ought to be able to handle it. Just go to Camptown or the Palace and tell someone."
Emmis nodded. "I think she's right."
"For now," Lar said. "But if they really want me dead, they'll hire someone the guard can't stop. The stories say ordinary guards can't stop Demerchan, or they could hire a magician."
"Well, we'll just have to convince them they have no reason to kill you!" Emmis said.
For a moment no one spoke; then Lar asked, "How?"
Chapter Twelve
The conversation trailed off after that, and a few minutes later Lar and Emmis were turning the corner onto Games Street, bound for Camptown to talk to the guards. On either side they saw broad, open doors into gaming halls or card rooms of one sort or another; the murmur of voices and the smell of oushka reached them.
"Is it far to Camptown?" Lar asked.
Emmis turned up an empty palm. "I don't know," he said. "I've never been there."
Lar glanced at him. "Never?"
"Never. If I needed a guardsman, I could find one in the shipyards or the markets, or the towers at Westgate, or the Palace. Camptown's the far end of the city from Shiphaven."
"Then why are we going there?"
"Because it's closer to here," Emmis said. "We aren't in Shiphaven, we're in the Wizards' Quarter. We could have gone up to Southgate, but that's the opposite direction from the house. If there were a show at the Arena, we could find guards there, and it would be right on our way, but there's no show. So Camptown seemed best. Or we may just find a guard along the way."
"Maybe I should just buy another sword and defend myself," Lar muttered.
"You could," Emmis agreed, "but the guards are paid to protect the city, and that includes you, so why not?" He pointed. "Besides, it looks like we won't need to go all the way to Camptown."
"Hm?" Lar followed the pointing finger. "Is that a guardsman?"
Emmis threw his employer a baffled glance. "He's wearing a helmet and breastplate, isn't he? Of course he's a guardsman!"
"But his kilt is bright red, and he doesn't have a sword!"
The man in question was standing in front of one of the shops, holding a smaller man against the wall by the front of his tunic. He wore the yellow tunic, red kilt, and polished breastplate and helmet of the city guard, and a businesslike truncheon hung from his leather belt.
"Well, of course it's red," Emmis said. "What other color would it be?"
"Green. Don't Ethsharitic soldiers wear green kilts?"
"Not that I ever saw. I think the idea is to have them stand out in a crowd."
That was certainly happening in this case; a small crowd was gathering around the guardsman and his prisoner, though they were being careful to stay well out of reach. The guardsman's bright uniform definitely stood out – as did his height, as he was a very large man. Emmis was a big, strong man himself, but he did not think he would be any match for this fellow.
"They did in the old pictures."
"They haven't in my lifetime. And they hardly ever carry swords on the street."
He and Lar kept walking as they talked, and were now drawing within earshot of the soldier.
"...won't mind if we take a look in your purse, then?" The guard's voice was a low rumble, but not angry or hostile.
"I had that money when I came in!" the man pinned against the wall protested.
"Would you care to tell a magistrate that? With a witch in the room?"
"I don't... why should I? I just stopped in to see what the game was like! You have no business making these unfounded accusations!"
"Well, if I'm wrong, I'll apologize very politely, and give you two bits from the beer fund for your trouble. If I'm right, and these two young men who pointed you out to me are telling the truth, well, then you'll be right there in front of the magistrate, who can decide whether to make additional charges for wasting his time and costing him the witch's fee."
The pinned man stared up at the guardsman's smiling face, then slumped. "You'll let me go if I pay back the money?"
"Hai, I don't want to waste the magistrate's time any more than you do," the soldier rumbled. "I'm sure these players will be reasonable. I do understand the temptation, believe me – they should know better than to leave their stakes out in plain sight, unguarded, like that. They probably thought that it would be safe enough there in a respectable gambling hall, with me standing by the door, and as it turns out it was, but still, it was asking for trouble. Which I would tell the magistrate when he figured up his fee."
"All we want is our money," someone called from the door of the shop. "If we get it back he can go."
"There, you see?"
The thief lifted his purse. "I had seven bits of my own," he said miserably.
The guardsman released his grip on the man's tunic. "We'll leave you four, if that's all right." He reached for the purse.
"Three bits to avoid a flogging?" someone called from the crowd. "What a bargain!"
"Good enough," the thief said. He handed over the little leather pouch.
"You should probably stay out of this gaming house for a few sixnights," the guardsman said, as he spilled coins out onto his hand – mostly copper, but Emmis saw the unmistakable glint of silver, as well. The soldier plucked one triangular copper piece from the little pile and popped it into his own purse, then counted out four more and returned them to the bag, which he handed back to its owner. "In fact, I'd be careful about this whole block. I'm sure you understand."
"Yes."
"Then you can go."
The guard straightened up, and watched as the thief turned and ran, past Emmis and Lar. Two young men burst from the shop door and trotted over eagerly. The soldier turned and dumped the remaining coins into the first man's outstretched hands. "You two split that up," he said. "And I'd recommend playing somewhere else tonight."
"Yes, sir," the pair chorused.
That business attended to, the guardsman started to turn away, but Emmis reached out. "Excuse me, sir," he said.
Startled, the soldier turned, one hand falling to the truncheon on his belt.
"I'm Emmis of Shiphaven," Emmis said, "and this is Lar Samber's son, from the Empire of Vond, and we could use your help. Someone's trying to kill us."
The guard frowned. "Why?"
"It's a political thing, from back home," Lar said. "I never thought they would dare try anything here in Ethshar!"
The guard studied Lar's hat, which was definitely not anything he would normally see on the city streets – certainly not on Games Street, at any rate. "You're sure?"
"Sure of what?" Lar asked.
"That they're trying to kill you."
"Yes!" Emmis said. "They broke into our house, and one of them took a swing at me with this... this sword-thing."
The guardsman stared at him for a moment, then glanced back at the door of the gambling hall. He sighed. "Wait here," he said. He turned and marched to the door, where he bellowed inside, "Hai, Kelder! Send someone up to the camp and tell the Lieutenant I'm investigating a break-in. You're on your own until either I get back, or he posts a replacem
ent – but don't worry, I'll take it as a personal insult if anyone tries anything while I'm gone. A very personal insult. And you all remember what happened to Terrek when he insulted me."
There was a muffled chorus of acknowledgment; then the guard turned back to Lar and Emmis. "Let's go," he said.
Lar hesitated, looking up at the guard's face, then over at Emmis, as if asking him a silent question.
Emmis had no idea what the question was, so he merely looked impatient, and gestured for them to go.
They went.
The three of them headed west on Games Street at a brisk pace; as they made the turn onto Arena Street, Emmis could not resist asking, "What did happen to Terrek?"
"They think he'll be able to walk again by Festival," the soldier said. "Sooner, if he can afford a magician to heal his legs. Which he can't, after paying for the other damage."
Emmis decided he didn't need further details.
"As long as we're telling each other things, suppose you two tell me what happened to make you think someone's trying to kill you."
Lar and Emmis exchanged glances. Then Lar said, "I think this one is for you to tell."
Emmis sighed. "Lar, here, hired me as his local guide, right on the Shiphaven docks, as soon as his ship tied up," he said. "I found a house he could rent, in Allston – that's where we're going. He's here representing the Empire of Vond in... well, in things I don't know about, as they aren't my business, but apparently some of Vond's neighbors aren't happy about it. I met these four foreigners at an inn over in Shiphaven, and they paid me to tell them what he was up to, and I didn't see that it could do any harm." He hesitated.
"I didn't mind," Lar said. "He didn't know anything secret."
"So I talked to them, and then I saw one of them following us when we were in the Wizards' Quarter last night," Emmis continued. "And today I was back at the inn, the Crooked Candle on Commission Street – I'd been visiting my family in Shiphaven, and stopped in, and there was one of the foreigners, the Merchant she said her name was, from Ashthasa, and she told me they'd hired an assassin to kill Lar. I ran back to the house to warn him, even though I thought it was probably too late, but it wasn't, because his business in the Wizards' Quarter took longer than anyone had expected. And when I got to the house, these two men were waiting for me, one on the street out front, and one already inside the house, and when I opened the front door they both came for me. I got inside and slammed the door before the one on the street could get in, and then ducked when the one inside swung his walking stick at my head. And the end came off the stick, and it had a knife-blade inside, but where I'd ducked under it I was able to knock him down before he could stab me and run out the back door and slip away. Then I came to the Wizards' Quarter to find Lar, and then we started along Games Street to Camptown, and found you."
"You said the house is in Allston?"
"On Through Street, half a block northeast of Arena."
"So how long ago did this attack take place? That's a bit of a walk."
Emmis suddenly realized he had no idea what time it was. He looked up; the sky was dark enough for the first stars to be appearing, but neither moon was visible, so he couldn't use the lesser moon's crescent to estimate the hour. "The sun hadn't set yet when it happened," he said.
"Then it's been a good hour, at the very least," the soldier said. "Chances are that whoever it was fled the place long ago."
"Oh," Emmis replied. He had to admit that the man was probably right. "But they might come back," he said, "or they might be watching the house."
"That's true, and one of your neighbors might have seen something, so I'll come take a look, but I'm not expecting much to come of it. If it's true your foreign friends have hired assassins, I'd suggest you keep a very good watch. Hire yourself some bodyguards, perhaps. Maybe sleep somewhere else for a few nights."
The three walked on in silence for a moment as Lar and Emmis considered this. As they neared the Arena Lar said to Emmis, "Maybe we should find you a sword."
"What? I'm a dockworker, not a soldier!"
"You've got the build of a fighter," the guardsman remarked.
"A brawler, maybe, not a swordsman! I've never held a sword in my life!"
"No one's expecting you to take up fencing," Lar said. "I just thought it might discourage intruders."
"You do look like a fighter," the guard agreed. "Usually, that's all it takes. No one wants to take on a man with a sword – you can't tell by looking whether he knows how to use it or not."
"You aren't carrying a sword," Emmis pointed out.
"That's because I don't want to kill anyone," the soldier replied calmly. "If the red kilt and breastplate aren't enough to warn someone off, a sword probably wouldn't do it, either." He patted his truncheon. "A whack on the head with this will take a man down, but he'll probably still be able to get up the next morning, and I won't have to apologize to his grieving family. Not to mention I'm less likely to get blood everywhere. And it's easier to use in a crowd."
"You could carry both," Emmis pointed out.
"Then I'd have to think about which to use, and there are occasions when taking time to think about anything is a bad idea."
"Not to mention the cost," Lar said.
"Not to mention that," the guardsman agreed, with a nod and a smile. "Or worrying about bumping into things with it, or whether someone might get it away from me while I'm using the truncheon. If I were posted along the wall, at any of the city gates, I'd have a sword, but on Games Street it just isn't a good idea."
For a few paces the conversation dropped, but then Emmis said, "The man in the blue tunic has a sword. Or a stick with a blade, anyway."
"Blue tunic? You got a good look at this fellow, then?"
"Reasonably good," Emmis said. "It was a bit shadowy and it all happened quickly."
"So what did you see?"
"Curly hair, pointed beard, blue tunic, black breeches, black boots, tall, thin, a bit hollow-cheeked. That's about all."
"What about the other one?" Lar asked.
Emmis shook his head. "Nothing," he said. "Brown tunic, I think, but it might have been gray. Hair and beard could have used trimming. That's all."
"Any idea how one of them got inside the house?"
Lar cleared his throat. "I may not have locked the back door," he admitted.
The soldier grimaced.
"He's a foreigner," Emmis pointed out.
"You aren't," the guardsman said. "You should have warned him!"
Emmis accepted the criticism silently.
"Were your attackers foreign?"
Emmis spread his hands. "I have no idea," he said. "They didn't say anything, so I didn't hear any accents, and they didn't dress any differently than we do. They could have been brought in, or they could have been hired here, I don't know."
The soldier cast a quick glance at Lar's velvet coat and elaborate hat, but did not comment Instead he asked, "You said you talked to the foreigner who hired them?"
"Well, I talked to a foreigner. She said it was one of the others, a Lumethan named Neyam, who did the actual hiring."
"Could you find either of them again? The woman you spoke to, or the one who did the hiring? Would you know them if you saw them?"
"Oh, I'd definitely recognize her. Neyam, maybe not – I only saw him once, and he had a hood up. But Annis the Merchant, the Ashthasan, absolutely, I'd know her if I saw her. We spoke at the Crooked Candle, in Shiphaven, north of the market; I don't know whether that's where she's staying." He frowned. "If she isn't there, I wouldn't know where to find them."
"How determined to you think these people are?"
Emmis turned up a palm. "I don't know," he said.
"How much money do they have?"
"I don't know that, either. Some. They paid me generously, but they dickered about it."
"So if this first attempt fails, do you think they'd try to hire a magician to finish the job?"
"Oh," Emmis said, feel
ing his guts twist.
"They might," Lar said. He and Emmis exchanged glances.
"Then you'll need to talk to a magician yourselves about some protective spells," the guardsman said.
"That would be reasonable," Lar agreed.
All three fell silent for the next few blocks, in fact none of them spoke again until they turned onto Through Street.
When they rounded the curve, though, Emmis said, "Oh."
Lar said something long and nasty-sounding in Semmat.
The guardsman grinned broadly. "Well, it's been awhile since I've seen a real torch-bearing mob!" he said.
It wasn't really much of a mob, Emmis thought. There were only a little more than a dozen people standing in the street in front of the yellow house, and only four or five of them had torches.
"In the name of Azrad VII, overlord of the city and triumvir of the Hegemony of the Three Ethshars, what's going on here?" the guardsman bellowed, striding forward. Lar and Emmis hastened to follow him.
A dozen voices replied at once as the entire mob surged toward him. The guardsman held up a hand for silence, then chose a man in the crowd. "You," he said. "What's going on?"
"We don't know!" the man answered. "Earlier today someone came running out the back of that house, and then a man with a sword came running out after him, and another man was at the front, and they all left the doors standing open and ran off. Someone got the landlord, because we couldn't find the tenants..."
At this point he was interrupted by several voices as various people pointed at Emmis and Lar and shouted, "Those two!" or "There they are!" or similar phrases.
"I'm the landlord," someone else said, stepping forward, and Emmis was relieved to see that it was their landlord, and not some further complication. "We thought one of my tenants might have been murdered, or kidnapped."
"We searched the house," the first speaker said, "but we didn't find anyone in there, or any blood or anything, so we talked it over and sent someone to fetch a guardsman from the Palace, and then we were waiting for you, and here you are."
"Except I didn't come from the Palace," the soldier said. "These two found me on Games Street." He turned and looked at the house.
The front door was still standing open. Emmis wondered how many of Lar's possessions had disappeared so far. His own, of course, were probably all gone, left on the floor of the Crooked Candle.
The Vondish Ambassador Page 11
