Emmis had been interested to see that this was not a fancy nobleman's sword intended for display; it was a serious, workmanlike weapon, with a blade of smooth gray steel and a simple black leather grip.
Finally everything was secured, leaving only Lar and Emmis in the house, looking at one another.
"I'm going to bed," Lar said.
"What about the protocol?"
"It will have to wait until tomorrow. I'm exhausted."
"And what happened in the Wizards' Quarter today? Did Kolar give you your answer?"
"That can wait until tomorrow, too. Good night, Emmis."
"Good night, sir."
He watched as the ambassador shuffled wearily to his room, entered, and closed the door behind himself. Then he stood in the hallway by the head of the stairs, listening to the faint sounds of the city outside – even at this hour, it was not entirely silent.
This was his city, even if it wasn't Shiphaven. This was still Ethshar of the Spices. People here did not casually hire assassins to kill their enemies, and then admit it to strangers. What kind of place was Lumeth, or Ashthasa, that those foreigners would even consider assassinating someone who had done them no harm? What kind of people were they, that Annis would admit her part in this crime to him, and apparently expect him to do nothing about it?
Emmis wasn't a fool, and he didn't consider himself particularly naive. He knew that people sometimes murdered each other in Ethshar. He had seen a few of them hanged for it. He knew that thieves sometimes stabbed people to death in dark alleys, that burglars sometimes killed victims who woke up at the wrong time, that the poor homeless beggars in the Hundred Foot Field sometimes killed one another over nothing, that drunken brawls sometimes ended in a death or two, that feuding magicians sometimes went too far, that even lovers' quarrels could turn lethal.
But to hire a team of killers because someone talked about apprenticing his grandson to a warlock – that was insane.
At least he knew he hadn't imagined it – the neighbors had seen his attackers, and there was the mark on the wall, and the broken cap from the sword-stick. The guards had believed him. They took word back to their superiors at the Palace and in Camptown. They would look for Annis and the Lumethans, and when they found them they would see to it that the foreigners didn't try anything like this again.
And it might help get Lar his appointment with the overlord. This incident would demonstrate that the ambassador was someone important enough to worry about.
He still hadn't written that protocol, of course.
He would write it tomorrow. Emmis frowned slightly; what would he do, while Lar was writing that thing? Did he need to stay around, to correct Lar's Ethsharitic? The ambassador usually seemed capable enough with the language.
Emmis paused. Did he need to stay around at all? He hadn't signed on to fight off assassins. He could just quit, and go back to Shiphaven, and work on the docks. He could find another room somewhere.
But all his belongings were lost; landlords would look on that with great suspicion. He could get his sisters and neighbors to vouch for him, but still, it wouldn't look good.
Besides, what would happen to Lar if he did that? And the Vondishman paid better than any shipowner or merchant who had ever hired Emmis.
And Emmis wanted to know what in the World was going on, with these magicians and assassins and mysteries!
He would stay, he decided. At least for now.
And with that settled, he finally went to bed, leaving his clothes carefully draped across the furniture to air out, since he had no others to wear.
The world looked very different in the morning sun, after a night's rest, and Emmis was almost cheerful as he dressed. His tunic hardly smelled at all, despite the sweat-stains, but he still told himself he would have to wash it soon, and he would want to buy another at the first opportunity. Tailor Street was just three blocks to the east; he had never bought anything there, but earning ten bits a day in silver, he could afford it now.
He ambled down to the kitchens, seeing no sign that the ambassador was out of bed yet, and set about assembling a suitable breakfast. He had the fire hot and had just put the teakettle on when Lar appeared in the doorway.
"What do we have?" he asked.
"Boiled ham," Emmis replied. "Or sardines, if you prefer."
"Ham will do fine."
A few minutes later they were sitting in the dining room with mugs of tea and plates of ham; there were still no chairs in the kitchen.
"Good tea," Lar remarked. "Much better than the herbal stuff Sella makes."
"What happened in the Wizards' Quarter yesterday?" Emmis asked. "Did you get your question answered?"
Lar shook his head. "No. Kolar's spell just made a… a nothing, a mess."
"Swirls, he called it. But what about Imrinira?"
Lar set down his mug and turned up a palm. "She couldn't help much," he said. "She tried a few things. Mostly the Spell of the Eighth Sphere."
"What's that do?"
"It makes runes appear in a black crystal sphere," Lar said. "But it can only answer yes-or-no questions, and not all of those. It did tell us that strong magic was interfering with Fendel's Divination, that it wasn't anything Kolar did wrong, but any time we tried to ask it a question about… about the hum itself, rather than about Kolar's spell, the reply was so hazy we couldn't read it. The magic was interfering again."
"Ah."
"So we went to see Imrinira's friend Zindrй, to see whether witchcraft might work where wizardry didn't. They have an agreement – when Imrinira needs witchcraft she goes to Zindrй, and when Zindrй needs wizardry she goes to Imrinira. But Zindrй couldn't do anything with this, so she took us to Sella, who was expecting us. She said that witchcraft wasn't going to help very much, but that other magicians could answer all my questions, and some of them were wizards – I just had to ask the right people the right questions. But then she called her apprentice in and whispered to her, and said that you would be along in a moment, and then you were, and you know the rest."
"Oh." Emmis considered this for a moment. "So what did Imrinira say, when Sella said that magicians could answer your questions?"
"She said that she couldn't, but that if the interference came from a protective spell of some kind, then the wizard who cast it could probably tell me why it's there."
"Does it come from a protective spell?"
"I don't know." Lar picked his mug up again. "I didn't get a chance to ask her about that."
"So are you going to go back and ask more questions?"
"Not right away," Lar said. He sipped tea. "I need to think about what questions to ask. And I need to write that protocol."
Emmis nodded.
"Besides, my first trip to the Wizards' Quarter got assassins sent to kill me," Lar added. "Who knows what will happen if I keep going back?"
"What more can happen?" Emmis asked. "They're already trying to kill you."
"They might do a better job of it."
"How?"
"Hire magicians. Or Demerchan."
"Perhaps you should get some protective spells of your own," Emmis suggested. "Talk to a theurgist about that door shrine – it might be useful."
"It might. But first I need to write my letter to Lord Ildirin."
Emmis sighed. "Please yourself. I suppose I could see about buying some decent furniture while you do that, and I do need more clothes."
"You left yours at that inn in Shiphaven?"
"Yes. So I'm sure they're long gone."
"Not necessarily. Might the innkeeper have kept them for you?"
Emmis frowned. "I doubt it," he said.