The Vondish Ambassador loe-10

by Lawrence Watt-Evans

  “I’m just the apprentice, not the seer,” she replied. She stepped aside. “Come in.”

  Emmis obeyed, and found himself in a cheery shop that could have belonged to either a witch or an herbalist — dozens of bunches of dried plants hung from the overhead beams, and the shelves along the back wall were cluttered with bowls, mortars, alembics, glass balls, jats, and bottles. A teapot and sugar bowl stood on a small table in the center of the room, surrounded by cups; the table in turn was surrounded by half a dozen overstuffed chairs, most of them occupied.

  Lar was sitting in one of the chairs, a teacup in his hand; his hat and coat hung on a coat-rack by the fireplace.

  Three women sat in the other occupied chairs. One was a plump, rosy-cheeked woman of fifty or so, in a green tunic and flowered skirt; she was seated facing the door and smiling broadly at Emmis and Teneria. To her right sat a tall white-haired woman in a dark red wizard’s robe; to her left was a tiny little woman in black.

  These were presumably Imrinira, Zindrй, and Sella, but Emmis was unsure which was which, though he supposed the women in red was probably Imrinira.

  “Come sit down,” the woman in the green tunic said. “I know you don’t want any tea yet, but honestly, Emmis, you don’t need to be in that much of a rush. Sit down, and we’ll explain matters to you. They won’t find you here.”

  “Go on,” Teneria said, giving him a gentle shove.

  “Don’t your feet hurt, after all that running?” the middle woman asked.

  Emmis had not allowed himself to notice that, but now that she mentioned it he became aware that yes, his feet were a little sore. He was accustomed to doing plenty of walking and lifting, but not so much running. Reluctantly, he shambled to one of the two empty chairs and lowered himself into it.

  This whole performance was exactly the sort of thing he had half-expected from Kolar, and not received. Now that it was actually happening, though, he found it very uncomfortable.

  “You know why I’m here?” he asked, as he settled onto the worn upholstery. There was a faint click behind him, as Teneria closed the front door.

  “You’re here to warn the ambassador here about people who are looking for him,” the middle woman said. “They’re trying to kill him, I think?” She set down her cup. “I’m Sella, by the way. This is Zindrй, and you’ve already guessed Imrinira.”

  “It’s good to see you,” Lar said. “Now, who’s trying to kill me?”

  Emmis glanced at Sella. “She hasn’t already told you?”

  “I didn’t know,” Sella said. “All I know about the matter is what I’ve seen in your mind. I knew you were coming because every morning I use my magic to learn who will walk through my door in the course of the day, but I can’t see every detail of what will happen, only who will come. Until you arrived and I heard your thoughts, I had no idea just what warning you were so eager to deliver.”

  Emmis gave a nod, accepting her explanation, then turned back to Lar. “The Lumethans hired assassins,” he said. “Annis of Ashthasa told me they had, and I hurried back to warn you. Two of them were waiting at the house when I got there, one inside and one outside, but I managed to get away, and I came here to find you.”

  He might ordinarily have hesitated before revealing all this in front of strangers, but Sella had already made clear that she could hear everything he thought, so there was no point in trying to keep secrets. The other two might not be quite so gifted, but they were magicians themselves, and could undoubtedly find out if they wanted to.

  “They hired assassins?” Lar replied, visibly shocked. “Why?”

  “Because they believed what you told Ishta,” Emmis said. “They think you’re sending your grandson to be apprenticed to a warlock. And they think there must be others, as well, and you’re going to create an army of warlocks, to replace Vond and expand the empire.”

  “I don’t have a grandson!”

  “That’s not what you told Ishta, remember? Hagai followed us there, and then went back with Annis as his interpreter and talked to Ishta, and they all believed your story about a grandson.”

  Lar frowned thoughtfully. “Oh,” he said. “Did you tell them the truth?”

  “No! I didn’t tell them anything! I didn’t know what I was allowed to say. And I only spoke to Annis, the Lumethans weren’t there, and they’d already hired the assassins.”

  “They really hired assassins?”

  “They really did. A tall man with a blade in his walking stick, and another one I didn’t get a good look at.”

  “And they’re waiting back at the house we rented?”

  “They were last I saw, yes.”

  Lar looked at the magicians. “I didn’t expect anything like this! Do you have any suggestions?”

  “I have no idea what you’re talking about,” the wizard said. “Who is Ishta, or Annis, or Hagai? What does this have to do with Vond the Warlock, or the Lumeth Towers?”

  “Does it matter?” Zindrй asked. “Obviously, you need to tell the city guards. They’ll take care of these assassins.”

  “And don’t go back to the house until after you have spoken to the guard,” Sella added.

  “But my sword is there,” Lar said.

  Emmis and Imrinira said in unison, “You have a sword?”

  “Get the guard first,” Sella told him. “Then get your sword.”

  “There were just these two?” Zindrй asked Emmis.

  “I only saw two,” Emmis said. He was oddly reassured by how swiftly the witches had accepted his story. Everyone knew that witches could tell truth from falsehood — well, at least the witches who were good at their job — and Sella and Zindrй clearly thought he was telling the truth.

  “Any sign of magic?” Zindrй asked.

  “Not that I saw. The outside man pretended to be sleeping, and the inside man had that stick with the blade on the end, but I didn’t see any magic. Nothing glowed, or moved in ways it shouldn’t.”

  “Do you think they were Demerchan?” Lar asked.

  “What?”

  “Demerchan is a cult of assassins that operates in the Small Kingdoms,” Sella explained. “I’ve never heard of them doing anything here in Ethshar of the Spices, though.”

  “How could I tell if they were this... whatever it is?”

  Sella and Lar exchanged glances.

  “I don’t know,” Lar admitted.

  “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?” Zindrй 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,” Zindrй 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,” Zindrй 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 Campt
own 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 replacement — 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, hir
ed 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.