"He's a human being, and a guardsman; who knows?" Ildirin said, showing an empty palm.

Emmis looked uneasily at his petrified employer. "Guildmaster," he said, "are you sure you can't spare me any of your own honey, so that we can get on with this business?"

"Quite sure," she said. "I checked my supplies; I have scarcely a spoonful remaining, as it happens. In fact, I would appreciate it if you could buy a jar for me, as well."

"Oh," Emmis said.

"There's a wizards' supplier named Tanna on Ginger Street, in Spicetown, who carries a dozen varieties of honey," Ithinia said. "She's expensive, of course, but if you need honey made from a particular flower, or by a particular strain of bee, or whatever, she's the best source."

"I just need ordinary honey, don't I?" Emmis said. "I'll try the Old Merchants' Quarter. It's a bit closer."

"As you please."

"I would suggest you leave immediately," Ildirin said. "Before everyone's in bed."

"Now?" Emmis stared at him. "But everyone is probably already in bed! I was thinking it could wait until morning – I do have until noon…"

"I do not want your petrified friend cluttering up my parlor all night," Ithinia said.

"And I'd like a chance to speak to the Guildmaster in private," Lord Ildirin said. "If all else fails, there are all-night sweet shops in Camptown, for the whores and soldiers, and you could buy a bag of honey drops."

"Oh." Emmis looked from Ildirin to Ithinia and back; neither face seemed welcoming. "All right, then, I'll go."

"Hurry back with the honey," the wizard said.

"Zhol might be back any minute."

"Or he might not," Ithinia said. "Go."

"Can't you find him, with your magic?" Emmis asked.

"That's a good question," Ithinia said. "I may find out while you're gone."

Emmis sighed. "Yes, Guildmaster."

A moment later he stepped out the front door onto Lower Street, and shivered – the night air was chilly, and a sharp breeze was blowing from the east. Emmis thought he could smell the peculiar and distinctive odor of the Old City on the wind.

The remaining guard on the door, a man called Shakoph, gave him a worried look. "What's going on in there?" he asked.

"The spell worked," Emmis said, "but we need that honey to make the creature go away."

"Zhol isn't back yet," Shakoph said. "I don't know why."

"I know," Emmis said. "And we'll worry about that once we're done with the ambassador's assassin, but right now I need to go find honey somewhere."

Shakoph looked along the empty street, and up at the overcast night sky. "Good luck with that," he said.

"Thank you," Emmis said. He turned west, and headed toward the Old Merchants' Quarter at a brisk trot.

He had gone about a block, just past the intersection with Old East Avenue, when he heard voices behind him. He glanced over his shoulder.

Someone was talking to the guard at Ithinia's door, a man in a nondescript dark tunic; it was hard to see details in the faint, patchy light that came from the windows and lampposts.

It wasn't Zhol, Emmis saw – just some passerby, probably curious about what a guardsman was doing there. Nothing to do with Emmis or Lord Ildirin or the ambassador, surely. Emmis turned west again.

He had gone another five blocks and turned the corner onto Merchant Street when he heard the footsteps behind him. He paused, and looked around.

Merchant Street was lit by well-spaced torches, much as Arena Street was on the other side of the New City, but it was largely deserted at this hour – Emmis thought it must be almost midnight, and most merchants and their customers were long since abed. A cart creaked faintly in the distance, down toward the Palace and the Grand Canal, and far up the slope to the south he could hear a woman's laughter, probably coming from an open window somewhere.

And in the shadows of Lower Street, where he had just come from, he could see a tall, thin figure carrying a walking stick. Emmis frowned.

Then the figure stepped out into the torchlight of Merchant Street, and Emmis got a good look at him – tall, thin, curly hair, pointed beard…

"You!" he said, backing away.

"Me," the man with the sword-stick said, raising his weapon.

"You cost us a good job," the would-be assassin said, approaching Emmis warily and keeping the exposed blade of his stick pointed at Emmis's heart. "We could have lived half a year on what that Lumethan madman was paying!"

Emmis tried to think what he could do. Charging the man here in the open street, the way he had in the entryway of the house on Through Street, wouldn't work; there was plenty of room for him to dodge, and he would be charging directly onto the point of that sword-stick.

He could turn and run, yelling; he might be able to outrun the man, and shouting might rouse someone to his aid. His attacker was tall, though, and those long legs might mean speed. Emmis had eluded him before, but the circumstances had been rather different.

Still, flight seemed like the best choice – but then he heard a sound behind him. He turned to see a man in a brown tunic emerging from Coronet Street, a man who held a dagger in each hand.

The other assassin. He was trapped between them.

Emmis drew his belt-knife; at the very least he didn't intend to make this easy for them. He turned his back to the wall of the nearest shop, glancing quickly back and forth between his two foes.

The tall one with the stick was moving in quickly, blade raised to strike; Emmis readied his own knife to attempt a parry.

And then the stick suddenly snapped in two, and the attacker stopped in mid-lunge in an utterly unnatural fashion. The piece of stick with the blade went spinning harmlessly aside, and the handle was ripped from its owner's grasp.

"Honey!" a hideous voice growled. "He has promised honey! No harm must come to him until he has kept his vow!"

The tall man staggered back, stunned; on the other side the man in the brown tunic said, "Magic!" and turned to run.

Emmis hesitated for only an instant, then stepped forward and grabbed the disarmed man's tunic with one hand, while his other held his belt-knife to the man's throat. Behind him, he heard running footsteps fading as the other man fled.

"Keep your hands well away," Emmis snapped, pressing his blade hard enough to indent his foe's skin, but not to draw blood. "Don't try anything – and if your friend doubles back, you're a dead man."

"All right," the tall man said. "All right!"

"The thing that broke your stick is called Fendel's Assassin," Emmis growled, pushing his face up close to his attacker's. "It's still here, watching and listening, and it can rip a man's head off with its claws."

"I believe you!" He clapped a hand to his face, and Emmis noticed for the first time that he had a fresh gash on his cheek, half-hidden by his beard. The creature's claws must have slashed him there.

Emmis shuddered. "Now, who are you, and why did you attack me?" he demanded.

"Kelder of Newgate – I swear, my name's really Kelder. Some foreigner was in the Hundred-Foot Field looking for someone who could kill this Vondish ambassador, and Tithi and I, we've been trying to make a name as bonebreakers, so we volunteered for the job, but then you turned up instead of the target and stirred up the neighbors and we ran for it before the guards showed their faces."

"So why are you here?"

"You cost us a job! The foreigner in the robe wouldn't pay us, or give us another chance – he even tried to demand the earnest money back, said he'd hire a wizard instead, that magic was more reliable than a pair like us. We've got our reputation to think of; we had to kill you and the Vondishman, and anyone else who got in the way, or no one would ever take us seriously again. So Tithi followed you to Lower Street, then fetched me, and we were trying to pick you all off one by one. We followed that guard to see what he was up to and then ambushed him on his way back, and then you came out next and we…"