The Vondish Ambassador

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  "You'll need to pay, of course," Lar had said, handing him a purse.

  Emmis had not yet looked inside, but he had felt the surprising weight of that purse, and he suspected he was carrying a couple of rounds of gold – far more than the cost of identifying a shrine. Which made the guard's presence a little more reassuring. Ordinarily Emmis was perfectly capable of defending himself from the city's more unsavory residents, but a purse full of gold was a considerably greater temptation than he usually offered.

  Ahan's presence might make it difficult to ask any really interesting questions, but Emmis intended to try.

  They passed Wizard Street, then Sorcery Street, then the mysteriously-named Gaja Street, and Ahan had still not said a word. Emmis glanced down Warlock Street, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of Ishta, but he did not.

  Then finally they reached Priest Street, where he turned right – and stopped.

  Ahan almost ran into him, but still said nothing.

  "Do you know any of these people?" Emmis asked, with a gesture at the signs and shop-fronts.

  "No," Ahan said. "Should I?"

  "You never bought a prayer, or consulted a god's oracle?"

  "No. My mother did when I was a child, but she dealt with an old man in our own neighborhood, she didn't come here."

  Emmis sighed, and looked along the street again.

  Theurgists were a little different from most other magicians; it wasn't always the magician's name on the signboard. Many of the signs instead announced the name of a temple or shrine, such as the Temple of Divine Peace, or the Sanctuary of the Priests of Asham.

  Emmis had no idea who or what Asham was – perhaps a god, perhaps a high priest, perhaps a place, or a cult or, for all Emmis knew, a rock someone had decided was holy. He did not want to take the time to find out what Asham was, or what sort of divine peace might be offered; instead he looked further, hoping for more informative names.

  Kirsha the Immaculate didn't sound especially promising, nor did High Priest Senesson of Southmarket. The Temple of True Healing at least gave him some idea what services it might provide, but was not what he wanted.

  He began walking down the street, looking at the window displays – unlike the other streets, many of the buildings here didn't have ground-floor windows, but some did. He ignored shrines and fountains and altars; those didn't tell him anything. Many of the businesses were quite elaborately decorated, with gods and goddesses painted on doors or panels, with glittering tapestries hung in windows; bright enamel and gleaming gilt were everywhere. Shrines were common on most streets in Ethshar, but here they proliferated wildly, with idol-filled niches seemingly every few feet, sometimes two or three built into a single wall one above the other.

  Amid all this gaudy spectacle one shop caught his attention, and he stopped.

  It was indeed a shop, rather than a temple, with a relatively plain wooden door painted purple, flanked by largely-empty display windows curtained with maroon velvet. If not for the signboard Emmis might have thought the proprietor was some other sort of magician entirely, since after all, there was no law saying that only theurgists could operate businesses on Priest Street. It was merely custom for the various sorts of magician to sort themselves out into individual streets, and several streets did mix multiple varieties.

  This shop was so plain in comparison to its neighbors that it seemed to belong somewhere else entirely – among the warlocks, perhaps.

  The sign above the door, however, read CORINAL THE THEURGIST, and a gilt-edged placard in the left-hand window proclaimed, "Practical Prayers for Many Purposes: We Can Summon More Than A Score of Deities!" Smaller print at the bottom added, "If We Cannot Aid You Directly, We Offer An Inexpensive Referral Service."

  That sounded like exactly what Emmis needed. He crossed the street and tried the door.

  It opened easily, and he peered in to what appeared to be a deserted study. Three high-backed chairs were arranged around a low table, and the walls beyond were lined with bookshelves. Although it was full daylight outside most of the room was dim – the curtains were drawn. An oil lamp was burning in a bracket above the table, however, casting a pool of light.

  "Hello?" Emmis called.

  A head suddenly appeared around the side of the chair most nearly facing away from him, as a white-haired old man turned to look at him.

  "Oh, hello, there," the old man said. "Come in!"

  There was a thump as he closed a thick book, another thump as he set it on the table, and by the time Emmis and Ahan had stepped into the shop the old man was rising from his chair and approaching them, hand extended. He was short, but solidly built, despite his obviously advanced age.

  "I'm Corinal," he said. "How can I help you?"

  Emmis blinked at him. "This looks more like a library than a magician's shop," he said.

  "I like to read," Corinal said mildly.

  Emmis nodded. "Of course," he said. "But you're a theurgist?"

  The old man smiled crookedly. "It says so on my sign, certainly, and wouldn't it be foolish to advertise that if it weren't so?"

  Emmis shook the offered hand, and returned the smile a bit sheepishly. "I had a question or two," he said.

  "Questions I can answer, or questions requiring divine assistance?"

  "Probably requiring divine assistance," Emmis said.

  Corinal nodded. "I'll see what I can do to get you your answers, then." He glanced at Ahan, who had closed the front door and was now standing with his back to it. "Might I ask one of my own first, though?"

  "I... yes, of course," Emmis said.

  "Why is this soldier here?"

  Emmis turned up an empty palm. "Ask him," he said.

  Corinal turned to Ahan. "Well?"

  Ahan cleared his throat. "Lord Ildirin has ordered me to accompany this man wherever he goes, to guard him against attack, to prevent him from committing any illegal acts, and to report back on his actions."

  "Bodyguard, jailer, and spy, all on just two feet, then?" Corinal asked. "And why does Lord Ildirin care what becomes of him?"

  "I do what I'm told, sir; I didn't ask why."

  "This is Lord Ildirin, the overlord's brother... no, I'm sorry, the new overlord's uncle?"

  "Yes, sir."

  He turned back to Emmis. "Do you know why Lord Ildirin has decided you require such attention?"

  "Because I work for the Vondish ambassador to Ethshar, and stopped an assassination attempt on him yesterday."

  "Oh, really? That's charming! Honestly, I'm delighted to hear that. A Vondish ambassador, you say? From that upstart empire south of the Small Kingdoms?"

  "Yes."

  "And Lord Ildirin thinks the assassins might decide to retaliate against you for your interference, or perhaps you're secretly working with the assassins, or perhaps there aren't any assassins and this is all part of some complicated scheme you're involved in, or all of these at once, and so he's assigned this fine fellow to follow you around and make your life difficult until he's more nearly satisfied that he knows what's happening?"

  "Something like that," Emmis agreed.

  "And you've decided to come ask me your questions anyway? Then you have nothing to hide?"

  Emmis grimaced. "I haven't done anything wrong," he said. "And I thought I'd have an easier time dealing with you with this guard at my elbow than I would trying to dicker with cabinet-makers and cutlers."

  "You are wise beyond your years, young man. Come in, sit down, both of you, and tell me what you want to know." He gestured toward the chairs.

  A moment later the three of them were seated around the table; Emmis could see that the book Corinal had been reading was entitled The Pursuit of the Shatra. He had no idea what a shatra was, or why anyone would pursue one; the book looked very old.

  "Now, what did you want to ask me?" Corinal asked.

  "Ah. The ambassador has rented a house on Through Street in Allston, and the house has a shrine by the door. We wanted to know whose shrine it
is, and what would be appropriate for us to do with it."

  "Oh, an easy one. That's exactly the sort of question best answered by Unniel the Discerning, goddess of information about theurgy, sorcery, and certain other topics. I can summon her for half a round of silver."

  Emmis automatically said, "I'll pay two bits," but in fact he was relieved. As magical prices went, four bits in silver for anything was a bargain.

  "Three bits in silver and one of copper," Corinal countered.

  "Three silver bits," Emmis said. "No copper."

  "Don't expect me to be so flexible on more difficult matters, should any arise," Corinal said, reaching up for something from one of the shelves. "Unniel is easy, though, so you have a deal. Tell me about this shrine, and just where it is." He pulled out a thin book that had a quill inserted in it like a bookmark, set it on the table, then reached up again and found a small bottle of ink.

  "It's on Through Street just a few doors east of Arena Street," Emmis said, watching as Corinal opened the book and laid it flat on the table. The right-hand page was blank; the left-hand one had a few illegible words hand-written at the top. "It's a yellow house we rent from Kather of Allston, and the shrine is just to the right of the front door."

  Corinal uncorked the ink bottle, dipped the quill, and began writing in the book. "Go on," he said.

  "The idol is a goddess – or a woman – in a green robe and a golden crown. Her hands are down and open, as if she's giving something, but she isn't smiling. There's an offering bowl at her feet, but there's nothing in it but dust."

  "I think I know this one without even asking," Corinal said, nodding. "You can have my guess for two bits, or I'll ask the goddess Unniel for you for three."

  Emmis hesitated, then said, "I think you'd better consult the goddess."

  Corinal scribbled another few words, then looked up from the book. "And what else did you want to ask me? If anything else is in Unniel's bailiwick, I might as well ask her everything at once."

  "You can do that?"

  "Of course!"

  Emmis glanced at Ahan. "I had several other questions, actually, but I don't think any of them have anything to do with theurgy or sorcery."

  Corinal also cast a glance at the guardsman, then grinned, his thinning beard seeming to spread itself wider as he did. "Would you like to drive Lord Ildirin mad with curiosity, then?"

  "What?"

  The theurgist turned the book to face Emmis, then handed him the quill. "Write your questions here," he said. "I'll sort them out and give you a price, and you won't need to say a word this fine soldier will hear."

  Emmis looked from Corinal to Ahan.

  "I won't stop you," Ahan said. "And I won't try to read it, because I can't read very well. But I'll tell Lord Ildirin about this, and he may not like it."

  "Well, we'll have all the questions written down for him, won't we?" Corinal said. "He can come and pay me for them. Not for the answers, of course – you know the rules about customer privacy."

  "I'll tell him some of the answers myself, if he wants them," Emmis said. "I want to know who the assassins I fought were, and where we can find them, and where the three Lumethan spies are..."

  Corinal held up a hand. "Write it down!" he said. "Write it all down."

  Emmis lifted the quill and looked at Ahan, who turned up an empty palm. "I won't stop you," he repeated.

  Emmis nodded, dipped the quill in the ink, and began writing.

  The list took a surprisingly long time. As soon as he had finished one question, he thought of another, and another.

  After a few moments of watching his customer scribble, Corinal had picked up The Pursuit of the Shatra and resumed his interrupted reading.

  Ahan simply sat and waited, and in his meditative silence looked more like a theurgist than did Corinal.

  Chapter Seventeen

  There was a sudden feeling of pressure, as if the air itself had become heavier; Emmis's ears ached. A golden light appeared in the crack beneath the door to the theurgist's inner chamber.

  "It would seem the spell worked," Ahan remarked, startling Emmis. The guardsman was not in the habit of speaking unnecessarily, but he had volunteered this comment without any prompting at all.

  "Not necessarily," Emmis said. "He made something happen, but it might not be the god he wanted."

  "True." Ahan nodded.

  Emmis could not think of anything more to say, so the two fell silent again, and sat waiting in Corinal's parlor – or rather, Emmis sat, and Ahan stood.

  The strange pressure in the air persisted, as did the glow, though odd shadows sometimes moved in the golden light. Emmis was not sure whether he could hear faint voices through the door, or whether he was imagining it; he certainly couldn't make out any words. He was tempted to get up and put an ear to the closed door, but Ahan's presence deterred him, and the knowledge that there was probably a god or goddess on the other side, and that the deity would know he was there, was downright intimidating. From what little Emmis knew of the attitudes of the gods he didn't think the god would mind, but there was still something disturbing about the idea.

  He and Corinal had, after some dickering, settled on five silver bits for any answers Unniel could provide to the long list of questions Emmis had written, regardless of how many that might be, so long as it was three or more. Two questions would cost four bits, and one would be just the three he had paid in advance.

  Emmis would then have the option of paying Corinal to invoke another god to answer questions Unniel could not, and Corinal had therefore appended a final question to the list: "Which gods or goddesses may best be able to answer any of the questions above that you have not answered fully?"

  Any other invocation would cost more; Emmis fully understood that. He patted the purse Lar had given him; he had quietly counted its contents while Corinal had been preparing to invoke Unniel, and knew that it held three rounds of gold. That ought to be enough for almost any god in the pantheon.

  And they might need almost any god in the pantheon; Emmis had let himself be carried away by the opportunity, and had asked questions about assassins, Annis, Hagai, Neyam, Morkai, the Empire of Vond, Vond the Warlock, Lar, Lumeth of the Towers, Ashthasa, warlockry, warlocks, Lord Ildirin, Azradelle the Tomboy, Gita, his luggage, swords, cookery, kitchen supplies – he had never consulted a theurgist before and might never have the chance to consult one again, so he had gone a little overboard.

  He wondered what Corinal thought of some of those questions; Emmis wondered just how much of a fool he had made of himself. He stared at the closed door, trying to imagine what was on the other side. What did Unniel look like? The traditional idols always showed goddesses as beautiful women, usually tall and thin and inhumanly perfect, but otherwise human in appearance. Was that right, though? He had heard that it was not, that goddesses were hard to look at, hard to see clearly; they were somehow both there and not there at the same time. The painters and sculptors had no way to represent them accurately, so they did their best to depict what they could see.

  If he flung open that door, what would he see? A tall, glowing woman, or something else entirely? Why did the gods never appear in public? Why did theurgists work behind closed doors?

  He should have put those questions on the list, he decided, with a wry grimace.

  He realized, suddenly, that he did not know how long he had been staring at the closed door; something strange had happened to his sense of time. He turned and glanced at the curtained windows, and saw that no daylight was visible through them.

  The voices he hadn't been sure he was hearing had stopped, and the pressure in the air was lessening; his ears were ringing.

  Then the golden glow vanished, and he heard footsteps. He rose from his seat.

  The door opened to reveal Corinal silhouetted in perfectly ordinary lamplight. He stepped out into the parlor, smiling wearily. A trickle of blood was seeping from one nostril into his beard; he held the book where Emmis had written his q
uestions in one hand, and a sheaf of paper or parchment in the other.

  "Well, that was interesting!" he said, a little too loudly. "I have never before had Unniel's company for so long. She found your list of questions rather challenging, I think." His voice cracked a little on the final phrase.

  "Are you all right?" Emmis asked, suddenly concerned for the old man.

  "Oh, I'll be fine," Corinal said, waving him away. "Let us just say that the presence of the divine can be wearing on us mere mortals."

  Suddenly feeling guilty that he had apparently endangered the theurgist's health, and perhaps his life, for a few bits in silver, Emmis said, "Is there anything I can do for you?"

  "You can step aside and let me sit down, my boy. I've been chatting with Unniel for fifty-odd years now, ever since I was an apprentice; I've nothing to fear from her." He grimaced. "However, I normally only speak with her for a few minutes at a time, no more than a quarter of an hour, while you, sir, with your infernal list, kept her occupied and in my study for half the afternoon."

  "I'm sorry..."

  "Don't be," Corinal interrupted, as he settled onto a chair. "It was most instructive!" He dropped the book on a table and lifted his sheaf of paper. "Let me tell you some of what she said, though I won't promise this is in any particular order."

  Emmis glanced at Ahan. "Couldn't I read it, perhaps?"

  Corinal shook his head. "I scribbled it down as quickly as I could, and I doubt you could read it. My handwriting is not one of my more impressive accomplishments." He lifted the papers. "Your doorway shrine is, as I suspected, an idol of Piskor the Generous; as long as that house is under her protection, no one within its walls shall starve, and all drinking water therein shall be pure and wholesome. To maintain her blessing you should place a copper bit in the bowl at least once a year; if it's stolen, that's fine, the goddess will consider it well spent. Should the goddess intervene directly on your behalf, extending your food supplies or cleansing your water of disease, you may be called upon, through dreams or other divine messages, to perform certain minor services on her behalf for the poor and unfortunate of the city – distributing food in the Hundred-Foot Field, perhaps. Nothing too onerous. You do not want to shirk these duties, should you be summoned; not only will Piskor's protections be withdrawn, but you will find your neighbors becoming hostile."