“And what if I want to know what they said?”
“Oh, I think that’s included in my salary.”
“Ah. Then tell me.”
Emmis did, as best he could recall.
Lar listened intently, then asked, “She thought Vond might be here, in Ethshar?”
“So it would seem.”
Lar did not immediately reply, but Emmis saw his expression and said, “Yes, I know that’s impossible. I’ve heard about the Calling.”
“Do you think the Lumethans really didn’t understand Ethsharitic?”
Emmis turned up a hand. “I never caught them out, but maybe they’re just good at hiding it. Does it matter?”
“Probably not.” Lar sighed. “What I would really like to do is to simply go and tell them the truth. The regent and the Imperial Council do not want to expand the empire any further, and my business here has nothing to do with Lumeth or Ashthasa.”
“Why not tell them?”
“Because they wouldn’t believe me. After all, if we were planning to conquer them, wouldn’t we say we weren’t?”
Emmis had never given the matter any thought, but now that Lar pointed it out, it was obvious. “Oh,” he said.
“You could tell them,” Lar said thoughtfully.
“Why would they believe me?”
“You’re their paid informant, aren’t you? They want to believe you.” Then he shook his head. “But you’re right, they wouldn’t. Not completely.”
For a moment the two men stood silently; then Lar turned up a palm. “Well, we’ll let that go for now. You may sell them any information they want, for now — I don’t think you know anything I want to keep secret. If that changes, I’ll tell you.”
“Thank you.”
“Now, you found me a house?”
“Yes. It’s just off Arena Street, between the Palace and the Wizards’ Quarter.”
“How far is that from here?”
“Ah... two miles, perhaps?”
“You know, I’m really not inclined to walk that far and back to inspect it. You found it reasonable?”
“Well... yes, I suppose. But I would really...”
“I trust you. We will need transportation for my belongings.”
“Yes,” Emmis said, hesitantly. He would have preferred that Lar not trust him quite that much, as he hadn’t really even looked inside the house. But he could hardly argue that Lar needed to have less faith in him when he had just confessed to selling information to his employer’s enemies — or if not actual enemies, at least people who had no reason to wish him well. “If you’re sure you don’t want to look at it first...”
“I’m sure.”
The next half-hour was spent making plans, and after that Emmis trotted up to Warehouse Street to hire a wagon, a team of oxen, and a driver. Lar had suggested hiring a flying carpet or some other magic, but Emmis had quoted a few prices that convinced him otherwise.
Of course, Emmis had made those prices up; he had no idea what a magician would charge, but he knew what teamsters charged for the use of a wagon, and he knew that nobody in Ethshar would ever hire a magician instead of a teamster for this sort of hauling. Lar might not have any great interest in keeping his presence a secret, and might be eager to meet magicians, but Emmis couldn’t believe he would want to make himself a laughingstock and a target for swindlers. Paying a wizard or warlock to move a few trunks would label him a rich idiot, and rich idiots inevitably attracted people eager to make them a little less rich.
When he rode the wagon down Commission Street, Emmis found Lar waiting outside the inn with his luggage and a dozen hirelings he had recruited in the Crooked Candle; loading the wagon took just a few moments with so large a crew helping. The driver, who ordinarily would have considered it part of his job to assist, barely had time to get down from his bench before all the baggage was being shoved over the sides; he decided he would do best to step aside and let the pot-boys, dockworkers, and serving wenches earn their copper bits. He stood back with Emmis, calling advice.
“Push it up to the end!”
“Not on top of that one, you’ll squash it!”
“Here, shove it under the bench.”
When everything was securely stowed and Lar was distributing the promised coins, the teamster climbed back to his place and looked down at Lar and Emmis.
“There’s room for one up here. The other will have to ride in back, on the load.”
Lar looked up from his dwindling handful of money at Emmis, who immediately said, “I’ll ride in back. He’s the boss here.”
“But you’re the one who knows where we’re going,” Lar pointed out.
“Well, yes,” Emmis said, “but I can give directions from the back.”
“Of course you can,” the driver agreed. “Up you go, then, sir, and the young man will ride in back. It’s comfortable enough, sitting on a trunk.”
Lar hesitated. “Will we be able to hire people to unload it when we get there?”
Emmis hesitated, and before he could reply the driver said, “Where are you going?”
“Arena Street,” Lar answered, one foot on the step up to the bench.
“Allston,” Emmis said. “On Through Street, just off Arena.”
“Ah.” The teamster scratched his beard. “Don’t know the neighborhood.”
Lar looked alarmed. “But you can take us there?”
“Oh, of course I can! I just don’t know who you’ll find looking for work there — Allston’s a chancy sort of place, different from one block to the next.”
“A... what?” Lar frowned. “I don’t know that word, ’chancy.’”
“Don’t worry about it,” Emmis said, vaulting up over the side. “We can unload it ourselves, if we need to.”
“Of course we can! Come on up, sir!” The driver reached out a hand.
Lar still did not look happy, but he took the proffered hand and clambered onto the bench.
Once he was securely seated, the teamster shook out the reins and called to the oxen, who began plodding forward. The wagon, which had settled into the street under the weight of its load, jerked free and began rolling up Commission Street.
Emmis watched the city roll by, casting frequent glances at the backs of his employer and the driver. In Shiphaven Market Lar seemed to flinch every few seconds as merchants waved their wares at him, or children scurried in front of the oxen, but there were no collisions or other misfortunes. The Vondishman’s hat wobbled so much he eventually took it off and held it on his lap.
When at last the wagon emerged onto Twixt Street, Lar turned and leaned over the back of the bench. He beckoned to Emmis.
“Yes, sir?” Emmis said, leaning close.
“Was there some reason you hired oxen, rather than horses? This trip will take hours!”
Emmis blinked in surprise. “About an hour, I’d say. Horses? Horses can pull wagons?”
Lar blinked back at him not merely in surprise, but in shock. “Of course they can!”
“They don’t here in Ethshar,” Emmis said.
“I can explain that, sir,” the driver said over his shoulder. “Couldn’t help overhearing.” He tapped at his ear.
Lar turned, listening.
“Horses are more expensive, take more care than an ox,” the teamster said. ““Can’t haul as heavy a load. And they don’t like the crowds and noise.”
“They’re faster,” Lar said.
“Oh, yes, they are,” the driver agreed. “And that’s part of why they aren’t welcome inside the city walls. A horse can trample and kick and do all manner of damage if it’s upset, it can run away with a cart, where with a team of oxen — well, it doesn’t happen. You saw those kids in the market; if I were driving horses some of them might’ve been stepped on, or started the horses rearing. I’ve heard a few folks use horses for hauling outside the walls, where it’s quieter, but here in the city you won’t see them pulling a serious load. Rich folks ride them, of course, but that’s different, if they get thrown off it’s just their own bones that get broken, not anyone’s cargo, and you don’t have wagon wheels bouncing off the walls on either side of the street. And they use them to pull their fancy carriages, but that’s just for show.”