The Vondish Ambassador

Chapter Six

The landlord provided three nephews and a neighbor to help with the baggage. By nightfall everything had been transferred from the wagon to the house, and the driver had been paid and dismissed.

The house had five bedrooms, all upstairs, one at each corner and one at the back, overlooking a courtyard shared with half a dozen other homes. The front rooms were the largest, so one of those was designated the ambassador’s bedchamber and the other his study. The center-rear bedroom was the smallest, so Emmis claimed that for himself.

The whole place was badly in need of dusting, and although the landlord’s promise of complete furnishing had been kept, the furniture left a great deal to be desired. The upholstery on the velvet sofa was stained and split; the dining room table had only three chairs, one of which was broken. Even the pieces that were undamaged were sparse and cheap.

Emmis concluded that this explained the reasonable rent the landlord had been willing to accept, and that he should have inspected the inside, as well as the outside, before agreeing to terms. He had certainly known to demand to see his own room back in Shiphaven before committing to renting it, two years ago, but it had seemed presumptuous to insist on anything of the sort with so fine a place as this.

He would know better next time.

Lar grimaced at the sight, but then said, “Well, I will try not to entertain any guests until you’ve fixed the place up.”

Emmis started to protest that he had no intention of fixing anything up, but then he remembered his position. He had signed on to do whatever Lar needed done, and it appeared that would include refurbishing this makeshift embassy.

Besides, he should have inspected it. “Yes, sir,” he said.

“I’m ready for supper. Is there any food in the kitchen?”

Emmis had already checked. “No.”

“Is there an inn nearby?”

“Yes. We can either go north toward the Old City, or southeast toward the Arena.”

“The Wizards’ Quarter is south?”

“Yes.”

“Then south it is.”

“The Palace is north, next to the Old City.”

“South,” Lar repeated.

“Yes, sir.”

This fascination with magic wasn’t healthy, Emmis was sure, but there wasn’t anything he could do about it, especially since the ambassador’s secret orders apparently required him to investigate magic. Accordingly, he waited as Lar locked up the house, then led the way around the corner and up Arena Street.

He caught a glimpse of a robed figure at the corner, apparently watching them as they emerged. He couldn’t be entirely sure, since Through Street was unlit and the torchlight from Arena Street was behind the other man, but he thought it might be one of the Lumethans; naturally, they would have followed the wagon, or found some other way of locating the ambassador’s new residence.

The possibility that they were using magic to track Lar — not merely hiring it, but using it themselves — occurred to him. If the three of them were magicians, perhaps that was why the government of Lumeth had sent spies who didn’t speak Ethsharitic. Their magic would be more important.

They might have used magic to transport themselves to Ethshar in the first place, too. That would explain how they had arrived so soon after Lar’s ship.

When Lar left the door, the robed figure ducked around the corner, out of sight, and Emmis did not worry about him further. He didn’t mention it to Lar, for fear he might make a scene; Emmis was hungry, after all the hauling of luggage, and did not want anything to delay his supper.

Unfortunately, finding that supper proved more of a challenge than he had expected; Through Street was entirely residential, and while Arena Street had its share of shops and businesses, they weren’t selling food. The pair ambled several blocks along the torchlit avenue without finding an appropriate establishment, and he and Lar were within sight of the Arena itself by the time they finally found an inn Emmis considered suitable. The Pink Pig seemed to cater more to the neighborhood drinkers than diners or travelers, but the landlord had no objection to selling the two men pork chops and stewed carrots with their beer.

“I didn’t notice any magic shops on the way here,” Lar remarked, as they waited for their meal. “Though it’s hard to be sure at night.”

“I don’t think there were any,” Emmis said. “The Wizards’ Quarter is the other side of the Arena, past Games Street. A few magicians have their businesses in the Arena district, but mostly on the side-streets.”

Lar stared at him silently for a moment, then shook his head. “This city is so big!” he said.

Emmis’s hunger had affected his temper, and he retorted, “You know, there’s a reason we call them the Small Kingdoms, and it’s not that Ethshar is so very huge.”

“You said this was the largest city in the World,” Lar replied.

“It is,” Emmis admitted, “but not by much. Ethshar of the Sands and Ethshar of the Rocks are almost as big, and the bargemen tell me that even Sardiron of the Waters is...” He caught himself before telling an outright lie. “Well, Sardiron is bigger than anything in the Small Kingdoms, anyway. The Tintallions, Shan on the Sea — it’s not that Ethshar is immense so much as that you’re used to tiny.”

That led to an awkward silence, and Emmis looked around the room, rather than meeting Lar’s eyes. Searching for some sign of their food provided an obvious excuse, but it was when he turned his gaze away from the kitchen, toward the door to the street, that something caught his eye.

The light was better than it had been on Through Street. That was definitely one of the Lumethans sitting at the table in the front window. Emmis thought it was the one who Annis had introduced as Hagai, and he was fairly certain it was the same man who had watched them leave the rented house.

At this point saying something would no longer delay their food, so Emmis leaned forward, putting his fist on the table with the thumb pointing at the Lumethan.

“By the way, we’re being followed,” he said.

“What?”

“We’re being followed. By one of the Lumethans I met this morning. He’s sitting at the table in the window, in the brown robe.”

To Emmis’s surprise, Lar did not immediately turn and stare at the Lumethan. He cast a quick glance at the door to the street, then looked back at Emmis. “You’re sure?”

“Yes.”

“He wasn’t here before us?”

“I saw him back on Through Street, when you were locking the door.”

“But you said nothing until now.”

“I was hungry. I was afraid you’d want to do something stupid.”

Lar smiled a tight little smile. “You have interesting... I don’t know the word. Interesting reasons for things.”

“I’m just an honest laborer,” Emmis protested. “If you want someone clever, you hired the wrong man.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. I think you’re clever enough. So we’re being followed.”

“Yes.”

“Did he follow the wagon from the Crooked Candle, do you think?”

Emmis turned his fist over and opened it to show an empty palm. “I don’t know,” he said. “He might have known where to go from something I told Annis.”

At that point a rather sweaty boy of twelve or so appeared with a platter; he set it down and pushed two plates of pork and carrots onto their table. Lar handed him a coin, and boy and platter vanished.

Emmis promptly started eating. Lar stared at him for a moment, then followed suit. Neither spoke until Emmis’s plate was empty. Then the younger man straightened in his chair and said, “I think his name is Hagai, but I’m not sure.”

Lar looked up from spearing his last lump of carrot. “Is he watching us?”

Emmis glanced in the right general direction, then back at Lar.

“I think so. I’m not certain. He’s being casual.”

“But he’s still there.”

“Oh, yes.”

“You think they’re worried that I’m going to bring a new warlock back to Vond? That we’re going to use more magic to start conquering our neighbors again?”

“If I had to guess what they’re worried about from what they told me, yes, that’s what I would guess.”

“That’s almost funny, really.”

Emmis blinked. “It is? Why?”

“Because of my real mission.” He glanced toward the door, and toward the table in the window where the Lumethan was sipping at an empty beer mug. Then he turned back to Emmis, looking tired and thoughtful. After a pause, he said, “I’m going to trust you, Emmis. If they’re following me and watching me, I’m not going to be able to keep all my secrets anyway, so I’m going to tell you a few things. If the Regent doesn’t like it, he should have sent more people or used some magic to make my job easier.”

“All right,” Emmis said. “What is it?”

Lar leaned forward. “My mission is to make sure that more warlocks don’t come to Vond,” he whispered. “Vond the Warlock was a monster, a killer, and we don’t want another one. I’m here to convince the Council of Warlocks to forbid their people to set foot in the Empire, or if I can’t do that, I’m to hire other magicians to keep warlocks out.”

Emmis considered that for a moment, then leaned forward himself and whispered, “Why is that a secret?”

Lar snorted. “Because if warlocks who are worried about the Calling find out that we’re trying to keep them out, what do you think they’ll do?”

“I don’t know; what?”

“Well, some of them will try to get into the empire before we can stop them. Remember, Vond is a long, long way from Aldagmor.”

“But the Calling got Vond himself, didn’t it?”

“The Calling got Vond, yes, but only after he built an empire single-handed. He was using more power than any warlock I ever heard of, probably more than anyone since the Night of Madness. If a warlock settled in Vond and didn’t assume he was safe, if he was careful, if he didn’t go carving palaces out of bedrock and throwing entire armies around, he might live there for years before he was Called — and we don’t want that.”

“Why not?”

Lar looked at Emmis as if reconsidering his earlier remark about Emmis’s cleverness. “Because,” he said, “when he does hear the Calling, what’s he going to do?”

“Fly off to Aldagmor.”

“Yes, but before that — when he’s hearing the Call, but hasn’t yet given in to it.”

“I don’t know,” Emmis said, annoyed. “I’ve never met any warlocks like that.”

“They go crazy, Emmis. They do magic in their sleep. They lose their tempers and smash things without meaning to — including people, or maybe entire villages.”

Emmis had, in fact, heard stories about warlocks gradually going mad as the Calling overwhelmed them, but there was a flaw in this theory.

“If Called warlocks are so dangerous, why haven’t they smashed Ethshar?” he asked. “We have plenty of warlocks here.”

“Maybe because something keeps them in check,” Lar said. “Such as other magicians. Which we don’t have in Vond, really.” He hesitated. “And there’s more to it, but that part really is secret. Just believe me when I say we don’t want any warlocks in the empire, ever again.”

“Well, why don’t you just tell the Lumethans that?” He gestured in the general direction of their uninvited companion.

“Because we don’t want any warlocks to find out, remember? The Lumethans might not believe us, and even if they did they might just decide it would be amusing to see what happens if they send a dozen warlocks across the border. They don’t like us and they don’t trust us, and I don’t blame them.”

“How are you going to convince the Council of Warlocks to forbid their members to go to Vond when you can’t tell them why?”

Lar threw up his hands. “I don’t know!” he snapped. “I’m just doing what Lord Sterren told me to do as best I can, and no, it isn’t as simple as I’d like.”

Emmis was still struggling to make sense of the situation. “There have been warlocks around for more than twenty years, though, so this can’t be a new problem,” he said. “How many have gone from Ethshar to the Empire of Vond?”

Lar looked uncomfortable.

“Well... two,” he said. “That I know of.”

“Two? Two?” Emmis sat back. “That’s not exactly an overwhelming number, you know. If you’re so far from Aldagmor, why haven’t there been hundreds?”

“I don’t know that, either,” Lar said. “That’s another thing I’m supposed to find out when I talk to the Council of Warlocks.” He glanced at Hagai, then blinked. He stole another look at the Lumethan.

“How loud have we been speaking?” the ambassador asked quietly.

“Not very loud,” Emmis said.

“So he couldn’t have heard us?”

“Not unless he’s a witch.”

“Oh, for... witches could hear us?”

“Well, of course. Their magic enhances all their senses — they can even hear unspoken thoughts, sometimes, if conditions are right. And while he isn’t one, because we’d see him doing it, a wizard somewhere could be watching and listening with a scrying spell and we’d never know it.”

“Zag i mar!” Lar swore. “Magic!”

“You think he might be a witch? Or they might have hired a wizard?”

“Why not? Mar i zag!”

Emmis tried to be reasonable, tried to keep Lar from becoming too obviously upset. “But you don’t know,” he said. “Yes, if he’s a witch he could hear us, but we don’t even know whether he understands Ethsharitic! He claims not to, after all, and why would he lie about that?”

“To make himself appear harmless!”

“But, sir, really, if they wanted to, they could hire a wizard to find out what instructions the Regent gave you in the first place. I mean, unless you had protective magic preventing it. You can’t keep secrets for long once magicians are involved, not if there’s someone with money who’s determined to find them out.”

“I doubt there’s a wizard anywhere in the Small Kingdoms who could scry that well,” Lar said, in tones of disgust. “Wizards who are any good at what they do can do better than living in a kingdom a few miles across, where the only people with any money to spend on magic are the ones who call themselves kings, and where they can’t get half the ingredients they want for their spells. Witches, though — we do have witches. They like little villages and scruffy peasants.”

“They could hire a wizard here,” Emmis pointed out, amused that Lar knew the Ethsharitic word for “scruffy.” “They wouldn’t need to have one back in Lumeth. It probably wouldn’t even need to be a wizard. I’d guess that a theurgist could find out about your mission, too. Maybe even a sorcerer, or a scientist.”

“That’s probably true.” Lar sighed. “You know, I retired a couple of years ago; I had a little money put aside, and I was going to just live quietly, minding my own business. Then Lord Sterren got worried about other warlocks, and he didn’t trust anyone else to deal with it, so here I am. I’d much rather be back home tending my garden.”

Emmis had no useful comment to make about that; he thought gardening sounded horribly boring, but he wouldn’t want the ambassador’s job, either. He looked down at the plates, both now empty. “Shall we head back to the house?” he asked. “There’s still plenty of unpacking to do.”

“No,” Lar said. “We came this way to eat for a reason. We’re going to the Wizards’ Quarter for a look around. And if our robed friend follows us, well, so be it.” He pushed back his chair and reached for his purse.

“As you please,” Emmis said. He didn’t see what visiting the Wizards’ Quarter at this hour would accomplish, but he was in no hurry to haul boxes hither and yon.

Together the two men ambled out the door of the inn, and turned south, toward the Arena. When they had gone half a block Emmis glanced back over his shoulder.

As he had expected, Hagai was following them, fifty feet back.