The Vondish Ambassador

The more heroic thing might be to stay and fight, to try to take the assassins out of action somehow, but Emmis was no hero. He had no idea how he might single-handedly defeat two men, especially not when one of them had that diabolical sword-stick.

He didn't even know whether there were just the two. After all, neither of them was Neyam of Lumeth. There might be a whole gang lurking around Through Street.

Emmis squeezed through one of the narrower alleys and emerged onto an unfamiliar street; he paused for only a fraction of a second to get his bearings, then turned and headed for Arena Street, hoping that he had enough of a lead that the two assassins would not be able to follow him to the Wizards' Quarter.

Chapter Eleven

Emmis saw no sign of pursuit. He attracted a few stares as he ran headlong down Arena Street, but no one seemed to be following him, or taking more than a casual interest.

Still, when he reached the Arena district he turned left onto Camp Street, as if he were heading for Camptown to fetch guardsmen. Once he was around the corner he slowed to a walk and straightened his clothes, trying to look like an ordinary townsman out on business, rather than a fleeing lunatic.

He was not going to Camptown, though; he turned right on Hawker Street, past the Arena, and picked up his pace, hoping as he did that Lar was not walking down Arena Street, a few blocks to the west, as he did. He was assuming that the ambassador was still in the Wizards' Quarter, that his business there had taken longer than expected, or he had decided to do something else after Kolar's spell was done. Emmis he was hoping he could find him before he went home and ran into the assassins.

It was a good thing that Lar was so easy to spot, with that red coat and big hat.

Emmis turned right again, across the entry plaza at the south side of the Arena, past the notice boards – and no, Lar was not there reading the notices, nor was he visible in the crowds on Arena Street.

Emmis frowned, and then ran and jumped, pulling himself up on a cornice on the face of the Arena so that he was hanging from the stone three or four feet off the ground, his feet braced against a pillar, as he peered up and down Arena Street.

There were hundreds of people in sight, male and female, young and old. Dozens of them wore hats, from the bright little caps of the fashionable ladies to the battered, broad-brimmed straw hats of farmers in town for the day, but nowhere did he see a big black hat with a red satin band and a curling white plume.

He also didn't see a tall man in a blue tunic, carrying a black and silver stick; that was a relief. He wished he had gotten a better look at the other assassin, but his only clear impression was that the man had been nondescript, wearing tunic and breeches of some ordinary color like brown or gray.

He dropped back to the ground, hoping he hadn't drawn too much attention, and hurried on along Arena Street.

Ten minutes later he was on Wizard Street, knocking at the door of Kolar's shop.

This time Kolar was wearing a proper wizard's robe when he answered the door, a flowing floor-length black garment with bands of midnight-blue velvet on the sleeves. A rather elegant blue velvet cap adorned the wizard's head.

"Ah, the assistant!" he said, before Emmis could catch his breath. "Did Lar forget something?"

"He was here?" Emmis demanded. "But he's not now? When did he leave?"

Startled, Kolar said, "I don't really know. Some time ago. Is there a problem?"

"Yes," Emmis said. "Did he say where he was going? Because he didn't go back to the house."

"Well, no – he was going to try another wizard first, and if that didn't work out, perhaps a witch."

"What?" He blinked. "Why does he need another wizard?"

Kolar sighed. "Because the spell didn't work," he said. "I performed it twice, with the wording we agreed upon, and both times it felt just fine, but there was no answer to his question."

Emmis frowned. "How do you mean, no answer?"

"I mean, the smoke didn't form runes, just meaningless swirls. It certainly wasn't any sort of writing I know, and I'm reasonably fluent in three dead languages, as well as Ethsharitic. Lar said it wasn't anything he knew, either, and he apparently knows half a dozen tongues."

"But how can that happen?" Emmis asked. "The spell went wrong?"

Kolar shook his head. "I don't think it did," he said. "I told you last night that Fendel's Divination would answer the question if there is an answer and nothing interfered. It didn't answer, so if there's an answer, then something interfered."

"But what? What could have interfered?"

Kolar turned up an empty hand. "How should I know?"

"Because you're a wizard! Knowing these things is your job!"

Kolar shook his head again. "It's not like that," he said. "Knowledge isn't free. Magic interferes with other magic, and trying to find out exactly which magic is interfering can be difficult and dangerous. Nobody's paying me to make the effort or take the risk."

This was frustrating, but Emmis realized it wasn't really important. "All right, fine," he said. "Then you don't know what went wrong, but you sent the ambassador somewhere else. Where did you send him?"

"I suggested he try Imrinira of Sabar, over on Stopped Street," Kolar said, pointing vaguely in a direction Emmis thought was east.

Emmis had never heard of Stopped Street, and its name did not make its location obvious. "How do I find her?" he asked.

"Turn left at the next intersection – well, it's Stopped Street in both directions, but Imrinira's shop is to the left. There's a very long block, then you'll cross Flight Street, and it's the fourth shop on the left."

"Thank you." He turned, and hurried up the street.

Kolar's directions were simple enough, though they hadn't mentioned how much Stopped Street curved, and a few minutes later Emmis was knocking on the shop door beneath a sign that read "IMRINIRA THE MAGNIFICENT: Truths Uncovered amp; Fantasies Made Real."

Only while he was waiting for a response did he glance at the broad shop windows on either side; he almost wished he hadn't. The creatures milling about in the displays were no part of any fantasy he had ever had, except perhaps in nightmares – multi-colored, many-legged things that flickered and shimmered in very discomforting ways. Some of them were undeniably beautiful, particularly the winged ones, but they still weren't anything he cared to encounter.

He looked up, to avoid watching the things in the windows and to be sure he had not imagined that the lanterns illuminating the sign were still lit, and noticed how big the building was. Four stories high, and wider than most – if Imrinira owned the entire place she was obviously doing well for herself.

He knocked again.

The door finally opened, and a young man peered out – a youth, really, perhaps sixteen or seventeen. "May I help you?" he asked.

"I'm looking for my employer," Emmis said. "I was told he came to consult with Imrinira of Sabar, at this address."

"Your employer?"

"Shorter than me, red velvet coat, fancy hat? I'm not sure what name he would have given."

"Oh, yes. He called himself Lar the Ambassador. Speaks with an accent?"

"Yes. He's Vondish. Is he still here, by any chance?"

The youth shook his head. "No, I'm afraid he and my mistress went to consult with Zindrй the Pale."

Emmis wanted to scream with frustration. He had been hoping that they were in a back room somewhere. "When?"

"Oh, I couldn't say exactly. Less than an hour."

"Where can I find this Zindrй, then?"

"In Witch Alley, of course. You go back that way, turn right on Flight Street, then take the first left. I'm not sure which shop is hers, but the alley isn't that long."