Lar's mouth quirked.
"No," he said. "Just me. You're my staff."
"Oh." Emmis frowned. "Well, do you want others? A cook? A housekeeper? Will you be entertaining often?"
Lar turned up an empty palm. "Emmis," he said, "I don't know these things. I have never been in Ethshar of the Spices before today. I have never been an ambassador until this journey. In the Small Kingdoms ambassadors are given rooms in the royal castle, and attended to by the castle staff. They do not have their own cooks or housekeepers. A secretary, perhaps, or an aide. But my regent tells me this is not how it is done here – ambassadors do not live in the overlord's palace, but in the city. Very well. I did not bring a secretary or an aide. You are my aide. I am paying you very much money – I am not a complete fool, I know that even here ten bits in silver a day is not reasonable. I am paying you so much so that you will figure these things out for me. I can spend… well, I have a certain amount of money, and no more. I will pay you what I have promised, and I can pay for some more than that, but I cannot be…" He paused, groping for a word, then rephrased. "But I must be reasonable," he said. "You must pay for much from the money I pay you."
Emmis could hardly complain about that, since Lar was quite right that ten bits a day was outrageously generous, but it did call for an adjustment in his plans. He had been imagining himself as the head of a grand household high in the New City, but now it did not sound as if the ambassador's funds would stretch that far.
Well, he would make do.
"You don't know how long you'll stay?"
Lar shook his head. "No. I have instructions from Lord Sterren that I must follow, and when that is done I can go home. I don't know how long that will be. Perhaps a month, perhaps a year, perhaps a life."
"What is it he wants you to do?"
Lar smiled crookedly. "I am not to tell. Perhaps when I know you more."
"That makes it difficult for me to help you."
"I know. For now, do what I say, and we will see what happens."
Emmis turned up a palm. "All right. You want a place between the Palace and the Wizards' Quarter, appropriate for an ambassador but not too expensive. What else?"
"You must make an introduction to the overlord. Lord Sterren does not want me to be secret, even if my instructions are." He sighed. "He didn't want me to try to be secret. He didn't think I could do it, here in Ethshar."
Emmis looked at the gaudily-dressed foreigner, with his sun-darkened complexion and curious accent. He would certainly not pass as a native Ethsharite.
"And he wanted me to be able to speak for the Empire of Vond, if need is, not just ask questions," Lar continued. "So I am an ambassador, not a spy."
"You want an introduction to the overlord." Emmis frowned. "I'm just a laborer, sir; I've never met the overlord."
"You are an ambassador's aide. That should be enough."
"Maybe," Emmis replied. "Maybe."
Chapter Three
The guard on the bridge listened politely. When Emmis had said his piece there was a moment of thoughtful silence; then the guard said, "A Vondish ambassador?"
"Yes."
"And he wants an audience with the overlord?"
"Yes."
The guard glanced up over his shoulder at the golden marble walls of the palace. "I suppose that seems reasonable," he said. "I'll pass the word, but it may take some time to get an answer. Can you come back tomorrow, about this same time? I should have an answer for you by then."
"You can't find out sooner?"
The guard turned up an empty palm. "I might," he said. "I don't know. It's not an emergency, and so far as I know it's not a standard situation where there are procedures in place. We do see ambassadors sometimes, from Sardiron or Tintallion, but I don't know just how that works. They usually have appointments made in advance."
"Well, that's what I'm trying to do, make an appointment," Emmis protested.
"Yes, but they usually do it with an exchange of letters, or with magicians sending messages, they don't just walk up to the door here."
"I didn't know who to address a letter to!"
"Well, I don't, either, but the ambassadors we've had here before apparently do," the soldier explained. "So I'll have to find out, and let you know, and I don't know how long it will take, so could you please come back tomorrow?"
Emmis sighed. He started to turn away, then stopped. He took a deep breath, and turned back.
"Am I doing something wrong?" he said.
Startled, the guard said, "I don't think so."
"I'm not making some horrible mistake in protocol, or being rude somehow?"
"No. I really just don't know the procedure."
"Keeping an ambassador waiting like this doesn't seem right, somehow, so I thought maybe I'm doing something wrong," Emmis explained. "I mean, I'm new at this; the ambassador hired me as his local guide on a whim, and I haven't had any training at all, I'm just making it up as I go. If there's anything you can tell me about how I should be doing this…"
The guard looked at him helplessly. "Honestly, I don't know," he said. "The only time I've seen any ambassadors, they've shown up on the bridge and said they were expected, and sure enough the names would be on the daily orders, so I let them in. I'm only a sentry, not some sort of official."
"But you've never had a… a diplomatic aide come up to you like this? Or heard any of the other guards talk about it?"
"No. Never."
"Then I'm probably doing it wrong." Emmis sighed again. "Well, thank you. I'll be back tomorrow morning, then." He turned away with a polite nod, and this time kept going, ambling back across the red stone bridge, past the two outer guards and into the plaza beyond.
Perhaps he should have spoken to a magistrate, he thought, instead of the palace guards. At least he hadn't followed his original plan of marching down here with the ambassador in tow, expecting to be admitted immediately. What's more, he had found a house for rent just off Arena Street, and he had found it in less than a day. It wasn't actually in the New City, where the lords and ladies lived if they didn't live in the Palace itself, it was, if the truth be told, in Allston, but it was almost in the New City, and not all of Allston smelled of fish or sawdust or glue. Emmis hadn't smelled anything inappropriate when he inspected the property, and the wind hadn't seemed to be in an odd quarter.
So now it was back to the Crooked Candle to report to the ambassador. With any luck they could be settled into the house on Through Street by nightfall. He trotted across the plaza and through the midday crowds to Merchant Street, then up the gentle slope to High Street.
This whole business still didn't seem entirely real; he kept thinking it would all turn out to be a prank, or a misunderstanding, but then he felt the bulge in his purse as it slapped against his thigh, listened to the jingle of silver as he walked, and told himself that at least the money was real. If Lar turned out to be a madman rather than an ambassador, or if the overlord had him cast into a dungeon as an enemy of the Hegemony, at least Emmis would have something to show for it.
He turned right onto High Street, into the Old Merchants' Quarter, and hurried on, ignoring the calls of hawkers and the scent of herbs and spices, eager to return to the familiar streets of Shiphaven.
Half an hour later he marched through the taproom of the Crooked Candle, ignoring the rather sparse lunchtime crowd, and climbed the three flights of stairs to the ambassador's room on the top floor.
The door, which had been standing open when he left that morning, was closed; he hesitated, then knocked.