"There are ways," Ithinia said, gesturing with her dagger. "I'm not the only one who knows simple detection spells. Fendel's Assassin has been in use for centuries, and there's been plenty of opportunity to experiment with it, and learn just how it does and doesn't work."
"Then why hasn't anyone ever tried petrifaction before?" Ildirin demanded. "Emmis is a clever lad, but surely there have been other clever people involved in all that experimentation!"
"Of course there have," Ithinia retorted. "Someone may have tried Fendel's Superior Petrifaction before, and I just hadn't heard of it. Or it may be that the particular combination of circumstances we have here has never arisen when someone clever was around, or it may be that the victims found equally clever and more effective ways to deal with the killer. As I said, there are no certain defenses against Fendel's Assassin, but there are a dozen ways around it if the wizard casting the spell hasn't been careful in his instructions. The Cloak of Ethereality, for example, would probably be more useful than petrifaction under most circumstances."
Emmis turned to stare at the wizard. "Then why didn't you use that?" he said.
"You didn't ask," Ithinia said. "Lord Ildirin wanted me to use Fendel's Superior Petrifaction, so I used Fendel's Superior Petrifaction." She turned up an empty left palm. "Besides, there would be difficulties with the Cloak of Ethereality in this case; the circumstances are not quite the usual situation. And just for my own curiosity, I wanted to see whether the Petrifaction would work – which, as you saw, it didn't, until I also cast a simple sleep spell, Felshen's First Hypnotic. You should be glad that the assassin wasn't told to smash in your friend's head with a sledgehammer – I doubt even granite would hold up to that. And you might want to thank me for taking the trouble to use granite – white marble is the standard stone for this spell, and it's not clear whether that would have survived. Sandstone is even easier, and the Vondishman's head would not still be attached if I had used that."
Emmis swallowed. "Thank you, Guildmaster," he said.
"Now, I would suggest you give the thing its honey. Didn't you send one of the guards to get some?"
"He hasn't come back yet," Emmis said.
Ithinia was obviously surprised by that. "Where did you send him? Southgate?"
"Cut Street Market," Emmis told her.
"Cut Street?" She shook her head. "They close early this time of year, and I'm not sure you'd find honey there in any case. Southmarket or Westgate would be better, if you insist on a proper market, or if you want somewhere closer, one of the shops in Allston or the Merchants' Quarters."
"Oh," Emmis said. "I didn't know."
"Apparently Zhol didn't, either," Ildirin remarked.
"Or something happened to him," Emmis said.
Ildirin cocked his head. "Zhol is one of my guards; he's carrying a sword and a club and knows how to use them both. What would happen to him on the public streets?"
"I don't know," Emmis said. "But he hasn't come back, and it's been hours."
"Perhaps he came across some matter that required his attention," Lord Ildirin said. "A disturbance he felt it necessary to deal with, for example."
Emmis glanced at Ahan. "Would he do that, though? I mean, would he intervene, instead of going on with his errand?"
"He's a human being, and a guardsman; who knows?" Ildirin said, showing an empty palm.
Emmis looked uneasily at his petrified employer. "Guildmaster," he said, "are you sure you can't spare me any of your own honey, so that we can get on with this business?"
"Quite sure," she said. "I checked my supplies; I have scarcely a spoonful remaining, as it happens. In fact, I would appreciate it if you could buy a jar for me, as well."
"Oh," Emmis said.
"There's a wizards' supplier named Tanna on Ginger Street, in Spicetown, who carries a dozen varieties of honey," Ithinia said. "She's expensive, of course, but if you need honey made from a particular flower, or by a particular strain of bee, or whatever, she's the best source."
"I just need ordinary honey, don't I?" Emmis said. "I'll try the Old Merchants' Quarter. It's a bit closer."
"As you please."
"I would suggest you leave immediately," Ildirin said. "Before everyone's in bed."
"Now?" Emmis stared at him. "But everyone is probably already in bed! I was thinking it could wait until morning – I do have until noon…"
"I do not want your petrified friend cluttering up my parlor all night," Ithinia said.
"And I'd like a chance to speak to the Guildmaster in private," Lord Ildirin said. "If all else fails, there are all-night sweet shops in Camptown, for the whores and soldiers, and you could buy a bag of honey drops."
"Oh." Emmis looked from Ildirin to Ithinia and back; neither face seemed welcoming. "All right, then, I'll go."
"Hurry back with the honey," the wizard said.
"Zhol might be back any minute."
"Or he might not," Ithinia said. "Go."
"Can't you find him, with your magic?" Emmis asked.
"That's a good question," Ithinia said. "I may find out while you're gone."
Emmis sighed. "Yes, Guildmaster."
A moment later he stepped out the front door onto Lower Street, and shivered – the night air was chilly, and a sharp breeze was blowing from the east. Emmis thought he could smell the peculiar and distinctive odor of the Old City on the wind.
The remaining guard on the door, a man called Shakoph, gave him a worried look. "What's going on in there?" he asked.
"The spell worked," Emmis said, "but we need that honey to make the creature go away."
"Zhol isn't back yet," Shakoph said. "I don't know why."
"I know," Emmis said. "And we'll worry about that once we're done with the ambassador's assassin, but right now I need to go find honey somewhere."
Shakoph looked along the empty street, and up at the overcast night sky. "Good luck with that," he said.
"Thank you," Emmis said. He turned west, and headed toward the Old Merchants' Quarter at a brisk trot.
He had gone about a block, just past the intersection with Old East Avenue, when he heard voices behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.
Someone was talking to the guard at Ithinia's door, a man in a nondescript dark tunic; it was hard to see details in the faint, patchy light that came from the windows and lampposts.
It wasn't Zhol, Emmis saw – just some passerby, probably curious about what a guardsman was doing there. Nothing to do with Emmis or Lord Ildirin or the ambassador, surely. Emmis turned west again.
He had gone another five blocks and turned the corner onto Merchant Street when he heard the footsteps behind him. He paused, and looked around.
Merchant Street was lit by well-spaced torches, much as Arena Street was on the other side of the New City, but it was largely deserted at this hour – Emmis thought it must be almost midnight, and most merchants and their customers were long since abed. A cart creaked faintly in the distance, down toward the Palace and the Grand Canal, and far up the slope to the south he could hear a woman's laughter, probably coming from an open window somewhere.
And in the shadows of Lower Street, where he had just come from, he could see a tall, thin figure carrying a walking stick. Emmis frowned.
Then the figure stepped out into the torchlight of Merchant Street, and Emmis got a good look at him – tall, thin, curly hair, pointed beard…
"You!" he said, backing away.
"Me," the man with the sword-stick said, raising his weapon.
Chapter Twenty-One
"You cost us a good job," the would-be assassin said, approaching Emmis warily and keeping the exposed blade of his stick pointed at Emmis's heart. "We could have lived half a year on what that Lumethan madman was paying!"