Emmis glanced sideways at the guardsman.

Lord Ildirin had said the man's name was Ahan, and had assigned the guardsman to accompany Emmis to the Wizards' Quarter. He had insisted that Emmis go away while he discussed matters of state with the ambassador, and Lar, after his initial surprise and reluctance, had agreed.

"It's nothing you'd be interested in," he had said.

That might well be true, but Emmis still resented being ordered out of his own new home. He had insisted on taking the time to put his miraculously-recovered luggage in his own room, with the door securely locked. He had also insisted on a few words with Lar before allowing himself to be escorted out the front door.

Escorted he had been, though. Emmis and Ahan had then walked from Through Street up Arena to Wizard Street, and in all that time the guard had not said a word.

The other guardsman, the one Emmis and Lar had found on Games Street the night before, had been chatty and reasonably friendly; this Ahan, though, seemed to feel that talking on duty violated proper procedure. Even smiling seemed beyond him.

Emmis could not decide whether that was a good thing or a bad one. It meant that he didn't need to explain anything, and could rest his voice after Lord Ildirin's long interrogation, but it also made him a little nervous. What was the man thinking, behind those expressionless features?

It probably didn't matter, Emmis told himself. Lord Ildirin had told Ahan to accompany Emmis, so Ahan was accompanying Emmis; he hadn't told Ahan to do anything else, so far as Emmis knew, so Ahan presumably wasn't going to interfere in any of Emmis's business.

Of course, if Ahan weren't along, Emmis might have gone somewhere other than the Wizards' Quarter. The house still needed more furniture and kitchenware, and another trip to the market to replenish the pantry would not be a bad idea.

But trying to dicker with carpenters or farmers with a soldier standing at his shoulder did not appeal to Emmis. Magicians would be less intimidated, and he really did want to talk to a theurgist about that doorway shrine; even if he couldn't work in any other questions, it would be good to settle that.

And other questions were certainly a possibility. Lar's instructions, when they had discussed Emmis's intentions, had been interestingly vague, probably because Ildirin and two guards had been within earshot. Lar had agreed that the shrine needed to be identified, and the proper treatment of the idol therein determined, but then he had added, "And of course, if anything else comes to mind, you could ask the theurgist about that, as well."

"Anything else?"

"Yes – whatever you think we might need to know."

"Ah," Emmis had said.

That could cover a very broad range of subjects indeed, from Annis the Merchant to the towers of Lumeth, from Vond the Great Warlock to hiring assassins. Emmis wasn't sure just which of those questions Lar most wanted answered, but he couldn't very well ask with Lord Ildirin and his men there.

"You'll need to pay, of course," Lar had said, handing him a purse.

Emmis had not yet looked inside, but he had felt the surprising weight of that purse, and he suspected he was carrying a couple of rounds of gold – far more than the cost of identifying a shrine. Which made the guard's presence a little more reassuring. Ordinarily Emmis was perfectly capable of defending himself from the city's more unsavory residents, but a purse full of gold was a considerably greater temptation than he usually offered.

Ahan's presence might make it difficult to ask any really interesting questions, but Emmis intended to try.

They passed Wizard Street, then Sorcery Street, then the mysteriously-named Gaja Street, and Ahan had still not said a word. Emmis glanced down Warlock Street, wondering if he might catch a glimpse of Ishta, but he did not.

Then finally they reached Priest Street, where he turned right – and stopped.

Ahan almost ran into him, but still said nothing.

"Do you know any of these people?" Emmis asked, with a gesture at the signs and shop-fronts.

"No," Ahan said. "Should I?"

"You never bought a prayer, or consulted a god's oracle?"

"No. My mother did when I was a child, but she dealt with an old man in our own neighborhood, she didn't come here."

Emmis sighed, and looked along the street again.

Theurgists were a little different from most other magicians; it wasn't always the magician's name on the signboard. Many of the signs instead announced the name of a temple or shrine, such as the Temple of Divine Peace, or the Sanctuary of the Priests of Asham.

Emmis had no idea who or what Asham was – perhaps a god, perhaps a high priest, perhaps a place, or a cult or, for all Emmis knew, a rock someone had decided was holy. He did not want to take the time to find out what Asham was, or what sort of divine peace might be offered; instead he looked further, hoping for more informative names.

Kirsha the Immaculate didn't sound especially promising, nor did High Priest Senesson of Southmarket. The Temple of True Healing at least gave him some idea what services it might provide, but was not what he wanted.

He began walking down the street, looking at the window displays – unlike the other streets, many of the buildings here didn't have ground-floor windows, but some did. He ignored shrines and fountains and altars; those didn't tell him anything. Many of the businesses were quite elaborately decorated, with gods and goddesses painted on doors or panels, with glittering tapestries hung in windows; bright enamel and gleaming gilt were everywhere. Shrines were common on most streets in Ethshar, but here they proliferated wildly, with idol-filled niches seemingly every few feet, sometimes two or three built into a single wall one above the other.

Amid all this gaudy spectacle one shop caught his attention, and he stopped.

It was indeed a shop, rather than a temple, with a relatively plain wooden door painted purple, flanked by largely-empty display windows curtained with maroon velvet. If not for the signboard Emmis might have thought the proprietor was some other sort of magician entirely, since after all, there was no law saying that only theurgists could operate businesses on Priest Street. It was merely custom for the various sorts of magician to sort themselves out into individual streets, and several streets did mix multiple varieties.

This shop was so plain in comparison to its neighbors that it seemed to belong somewhere else entirely – among the warlocks, perhaps.

The sign above the door, however, read CORINAL THE THEURGIST, and a gilt-edged placard in the left-hand window proclaimed, "Practical Prayers for Many Purposes: We Can Summon More Than A Score of Deities!" Smaller print at the bottom added, "If We Cannot Aid You Directly, We Offer An Inexpensive Referral Service."

That sounded like exactly what Emmis needed. He crossed the street and tried the door.

It opened easily, and he peered in to what appeared to be a deserted study. Three high-backed chairs were arranged around a low table, and the walls beyond were lined with bookshelves. Although it was full daylight outside most of the room was dim – the curtains were drawn. An oil lamp was burning in a bracket above the table, however, casting a pool of light.

"Hello?" Emmis called.

A head suddenly appeared around the side of the chair most nearly facing away from him, as a white-haired old man turned to look at him.

"Oh, hello, there," the old man said. "Come in!"

There was a thump as he closed a thick book, another thump as he set it on the table, and by the time Emmis and Ahan had stepped into the shop the old man was rising from his chair and approaching them, hand extended. He was short, but solidly built, despite his obviously advanced age.