The Vondish Ambassador

Epilogue

Emmis looked around the room with satisfaction.

It wasn’t especially large, but he didn’t really need a lot of space; his work was out there on the docks, not here in his office.

The view from the broad bay window overlooking Sea Street was magnificent. It faced out toward the westernmost of the Tea Wharves, and toward the harbor beyond; to the left he could see across the New Canal to the Shiphaven docks, while to the right, beyond the three Tea Wharves, were the Spice Wharves, extending out of sight around the curve of the waterfront. His front door, down one flight, opened around the corner on Tea Street; from there a right turn would bring him back to Sea Street and the Spicetown waterfront, while a block away to the left was a fork where the right-hand branch led across Bridge Street to Shiphaven, and the left pointed him directly toward the Palace and Lord Ildirin.

In the office itself he had a chest of drawers to keep his records in, and a big oak desk, and a few comfortable chairs, where he could interview anyone who wanted to emigrate to Vond. He had never had his very own office before; he liked the idea.

The bedroom at the back, overlooking Tea Street, wasn’t really much bigger than the one he had had behind Canal Square, but it was closer to the ground and far less drafty.

So far, he liked his new job. There wasn’t really all that much to it yet, since there weren’t that many ships bound for Vond, but the Empire and Lord Ildirin both said that would be changing.

He had had some reservations about working in Spicetown, but in the end that had come to nothing; Azradelle and Pergren had more or less forgiven him for the incident at their wedding, though he still didn’t expect any dinner invitations, and as long as he wasn’t loading or unloading cargo the Spicetown dock brotherhoods had no objections to his presence.

The journey back from Semma had gone smoothly. Ithinia had not missed a note, and they had emerged safely back in her garden. Tithi, the only prisoner who had been brought back, had successfully pleaded that he personally had not actually killed anyone, despite his aiding Kelder, and had thereby avoided hanging, but it would be some time yet before he recovered from the three floggings he had received instead. Emmis had a suspicion that when he was healed, Lord Ildirin intended to use the man as an informant — Tithi really did have a remarkable ability to go unnoticed and look unimportant.

Shortly after his return Emmis had spent a day in Corinal’s study, going over the rest of those answers Unniel had provided; he intended to go back with a few more questions once he had everything settled here. He was carefully not pursuing anything about the Lumeth towers or the second source of warlockry, but some of the other topics were still of interest, and his brief travels had started him wondering about a few other things, as well.

Some of it was even relevant to his work.

He was just turning toward the door when a knock sounded.

That was unexpected; Ahan wasn’t due back for hours. He opened the door.

Gita was standing on the landing.

“Hello,” Emmis said, startled.

“Hello,” she replied.

For a moment they stood silently staring at each other; then Gita said, “May I come in?”

“Of course!” Emmis stepped aside and ushered her in, settling her in one of the chairs. Then he took his own seat behind the desk. “What brings you here?” he asked.

“I’m tired of working for my uncle,” she said. “I don’t want to wait tables at his inn any more.”

“Ah,” Emmis said. “Were you thinking of moving to Vond, then?”

She cocked her head. “No. Why would I do that?”

“I don’t... well, then why are you here?”

“I went to see Lord Ildirin,” she explained. “I thought perhaps I could get a job in the Palace. In the kitchens, maybe.” She shook her head. “Did you know that half the palace servants have been there for generations, and the other half is orphans from the Hundred-Foot Field? Some of those people can trace their ancestry to Azrad the Great’s personal staff, and others don’t know who their own mothers were, let alone any of their other ancestors.”

“I didn’t know that, no,” Emmis said, puzzled.

“But Lord Ildirin said that you might need an assistant.”

Understanding dawned.

Emmis looked at her, at the round face and generous bosom, and remembered how she had carefully saved his belongings for him when he had run off without them. He didn’t really know her, but he thought he might enjoy changing that.

“So you want a job?” he asked.

She nodded.

He smiled. “I think we can arrange something,” he said.

She smiled back. “I’d love that,” she said.

And Emmis was fairly certain that neither of them was only discussing employment.