Which meant, of course, that they would be the present overlord's aunts and uncles.
The guard did not seem troubled by Emmis's apparent ignorance, though. "Two of them, actually," he said. "Lord Clurim and Lord Ildirin. There used to be a third, Lord Karannin, but he died eight or nine years ago, before the overlord's father."
"So is this Lord Ildirin in charge of ambassadors, then?"
"As I understand it, old Lord Ildirin is in charge of whatever he wants to be in charge of that no one else is handling. I think the captain called him a minister without portfolio, whatever that means."
Emmis looked down at the parchment.
He had no idea what it said, but if it came from the overlord's own uncle then it deserved respect. He peered at the wax seal, which was stamped with the three ships at anchor that were sometimes used to represent the city, encircled by what were probably intended to be bay leaves. There were no runes, no name.
Still, it looked very official.
"Did he say anything?" Emmis asked.
"Just to give you that when you came back."
Emmis still hesitated. He was tempted to open the parchment right then and there, but it wasn't addressed to him, it was addressed to Lar. He would deliver it to the ambassador still sealed.
"Thank you," he said, and turned away.
Back at the house he looked up and down the street, but saw no sign of Hagai or the other Lumethans. He was unsure what that meant. He took a final glance around before stepping inside, then closed the door carefully behind him.
He found Lar rummaging through the kitchen, putting some of Emmis's purchases in the cabinets and setting others aside to make lunch. He glanced up as the younger man entered.
"Do I have an appointment with the overlord?" he asked, as he set a loaf of bread on a cracked cutting board and looked around for a knife.
"I don't know," Emmis said. He held out the parchment. "This is for you."
Lar turned, paused, then accepted the document. "What is it?" he asked.
"I don't know," Emmis said again. "Lord Ildirin sent it in response to your request for an audience."
"Lord Ildirin? Not Lord Azrad?"
"Lord Ildirin is the overlord's uncle. He handles certain matters for Lord Azrad."
"Ah." Lar studied the inscription and the seal, then broke it open and unfolded the parchment.
Emmis stood and watched as the ambassador read. As he had told Kolar, Lar read Ethsharitic slowly; once or twice he seemed to stop completely, and his lips moved as he worked out a difficult word.
At last he finished and looked up at Emmis.
"Well," he said.
"Well, what?"
"Did anyone tell you what this is?"
"No," Emmis said, slightly annoyed, and wanting to tell his employer to get on with it.
"This is a request for credentials and a protocol," Lar said.
Emmis frowned. "What's a protocol?"
"I was hoping you could tell me," Lar said with a grimace. "For that matter, what are credentials?"
"Oh," Emmis said. "That's… that's the papers that prove who you are. A letter from your regent, maybe?"
"Oh, I have those! That's right, I had forgotten – Lord Sterren did teach me the word. That's all right, then. But a…" He squinted at the parchment. "…a written protocol for the establishment of relations between our nations?"
"May I see it?" Emmis asked, reaching for the parchment.
Lar handed the document over.
Emmis puzzled over it; the runes were unnecessarily florid, as was the language. Still, he thought he understood it. He read it through twice, then folded it up and handed it back.
"He wants you to write up an explanation of what you want from the overlord," he said. "You're to send that, along with your address here and some proof that you really were sent by the Empire of Vond, to the Palace, and once Lord Ildirin is satisfied that you are who you say you are, and that you're here as a friend, he'll see you in person. If that goes well, then you can see the overlord."
Lar considered that, then nodded. "It's a start," he said. "It's reasonable." He turned back toward the counter. "Have you seen a bread knife around?"
In the end they hacked the bread into chunks with Emmis's belt-knife, as the kitchen had not come equipped with any cutlery at all. They ate an improvised lunch while standing at the counter – the kitchen had no intact chairs, and eating in the dining room seemed like more trouble than it was worth.
As they ate they planned out the afternoon, and discussed what would go into Lar's protocol. Lar, it was decided, would go back to the Wizards' Quarter and observe Kolar's spell, assuming that Hagai or another Lumethan had not turned up, and would then return to the house and begin writing out his explanation for Lord Ildirin. Emmis would go back to Shiphaven to collect the rest of his belongings from his rented room, and to let his family know where he was now living. He might also make sure that Hagai had gotten back to the Crooked Candle safely, and when that was done he would then return to the house and set about putting it in order and supplying it with such essentials as bread knives and kitchen chairs. A theurgist to inspect the doorway shrine could wait a day or two; Lar was fairly certain they would be making further trips to the Wizards' Quarter.
"You could find one yourself when you're there today," Emmis said.
"I would prefer to have my guide with me for that," Lar replied.
Emmis nodded. "All right." Then he stood and brushed crumbs from his tunic. "I'll go now, if you don't mind," he said.
"Go," Lar said, with a wave.
Emmis went. There was still no sign of anyone watching the house.
He reached his old residence behind Canal Square without incident, argued with his landlady for half an hour before finally agreeing on how much he would pay to settle his account, gave her the agreed-upon sum, and then climbed the narrow stairs for one last time.
He did not really have much to collect here; he had lived simply, and had never really intended the room to be his permanent home. His clothes could all, with moderate effort, be stuffed into a duffel bag that could easily be carried over one shoulder; his food supplies and such personal belongings as quills and candle-stubs all fit in a second and final bag, this one a fold-top leather satchel. The furnishings, including the linens, had all come with the room, and would stay with it.
He took a final look around, to be sure he had everything he wanted, and the window caught his eye. He crossed the fraying bit of rag rug and opened the casement, then leaned out cautiously.
The cry of seagulls reached him, faint and distant, as did the salt smell of the sea. Wood smoke, spices, and decay were a stronger scent. Off to the left he could see through a gap between the houses to sunlight sparkling on the New Canal; below him was the muddy courtyard where the neighborhood well stood at one end, the privies at the other, and half a dozen unbreeched children played between. Strings of laundry hung from the eaves of a house in the southeastern corner, providing a little bright color to the courtyard – most of the houses here were roughly two hundred years old, and darkened by centuries of smoke and weather.
This hadn't been a bad place to live, he told himself. Did he really want to give it up for the back bedroom on Through Street?
He had never expected to live in Allston. He had always assumed that if he ever left Shiphaven it would be for somewhere exotic, like Tintallion of the Isle, or someplace luxurious, like the New City. A big yellow house in Allston, just off Arena Street, had not been anything he considered.
But that room was no more permanent than this one had been. It was a place to stay while he earned money, until he knew what he wanted to do, and where he wanted to live. It was somewhere out from under his parents' roof, to prove he could stand on his own feet.