Emmis suddenly felt sick. "What guard?"

"The one who was at the door earlier."

"You mean Zhol?"

"How would I know his name? He was a guardsman. Breastplate, red kilt – he had a sword as well as his club, but he didn't have time to draw it, I got him in the throat from behind while Tithi had him distracted."

"You killed a guardsman?"

"I told you, we were trying to make a name for ourselves!"

The sick shock Emmis had felt at the news of Zhol's murder was turning to fury. "Oh, there's a name for people who kill guards, all right! The name is idiot! You kill a guardsman, you've made ten thousand sworn enemies who won't rest until they see you hanged!" He pressed his knife harder, and drew a thin line of blood. "Where'd you leave him? You're sure he's dead?"

The man's terrified expression suddenly changed, and the hand that had been held to his cheek suddenly dropped to Emmis's wrist; the other hand, which Emmis had stopped watching, came up in a fist and slammed into his belly.

Kelder, if that was really his name, was strong for someone so thin, but six years working on the docks had made Emmis strong by any standard; the punch to the gut hurt, but he did not double over, and the grip on his wrist was not enough to loosen his hold on his belt-knife. He pulled with his left hand and pushed with his right, trying to force the blade into the man's neck.

But then something else moved. As Kelder drew his fist back for another blow, his arm twisted unnaturally to the side, and Emmis heard bone snap. Kelder gasped in agony.

"No harm must come to him until he has kept his vow!" the creature's voice repeated.

Kelder let out a sob of pain and rage and tried to step back, but Emmis was still clutching his tunic. He released his hold on Emmis's wrist.

"Please," he said.

"Where is he?" Emmis hissed, still holding his knife to the other man's throat.

"What's going on here?" a new voice demanded. Emmis turned his head – not far enough to take his eyes entirely off Kelder, but enough to see who was speaking.

It was a guardsman, not one he recognized, in the familiar red kilt and gray breastplate; he had his truncheon in hand. He carried no sword, but a small tin lantern hung from his belt, the mark of a night watchman.

It wasn't lit, though – Merchant Street had enough torches that it wasn't needed.

"This man says he killed a guard," Emmis said. "I'm trying to get him to lead me to the body."

"What's wrong with his arm?" the guardsman said, eyeing the pair warily.

"I broke it," Emmis said.

"He didn't break it!" Kelder said. "His invisible monster did!"

Emmis glared. "Does that matter? Guardsman, he says he killed one of Lord Ildirin's elite guards, a man named Zhol, and I want him to lead me to the body. Zhol may not be dead; he might need help!"

"I didn't kill anyone!" Kelder announced. "This man attacked me!"

Emmis sighed. Kelder's instinct for self-preservation had obviously kicked in, and he had realized that if he admitted to killing Zhol he would indeed be hanged.

"He slashed my cheek and broke my arm and held a knife to my throat!" Kelder embellished.

"Guardsman, he attacked me," Emmis said. "And I'll be happy to accompany you to a magistrate and let him and his hired magicians sort it out."

"I don't have time for that," Kelder insisted. "I'm a respectable citizen of Ethshar, and this ruffian broke my arm! I need a witch!"

"A witch can tell who's telling the truth," Emmis suggested.

For a moment Kelder's expression slipped from pain and righteous anger to guilty terror; then he caught himself. "I'm sure," he said. "But right now I need someone to set my bones, or heal my arm. Perhaps a warlock or a wizard would do?"

"What was that about an invisible monster?" the guardsman asked.

"It's called Fendel's Assassin," Emmis said. "It's a long story, and Zhol might be lying somewhere bleeding to death."

"This Zhol's a guardsman?"

It finally registered with Emmis that this particular guardsman was not exactly quick-witted, or at any rate would never qualify for Lord Ildirin's escort. "Yes," he said, "and this man knows where he is." He turned to Kelder. "And he had really better tell us now where Zhol is, or I'll tell the invisible monster to break his other arm."

Kelder looked worried, but did not reply immediately, so Emmis added, "I think the monster would also like to know that Zhol had the honey I had promised it."

"Honey?"

The guardsman started at the inhuman voice that came from empty air. Then Kelder was torn from Emmis's grasp and dragged upright until his toes barely touched the ground. "Tell!" the creature said.

"Aggkh!" Kelder said.

"Perhaps you should lower him so he can talk," Emmis suggested.

The guardsman frowned at Emmis. "You're a warlock?"

"No," Emmis said, exasperated. "I'm not any sort of magician, but I did promise this thing the honey that Zhol was carrying. Now, where is he?"

"Alley!" Kelder said, as the grip on his throat loosened. "Alley near Southmarket!"

"Lead the way," Emmis said, sheathing his belt-knife.

"Wait a minute…" the guardsman began.

"We don't have a minute!" Emmis shouted. "Zhol could be bleeding to death!"

Kelder suddenly crumpled to the ground as the creature released him. "Lead," that ghastly voice said.

"Lead," the guardsman agreed. "Come on, you." He prodded Kelder with his truncheon.

Kelder screamed as his broken arm folded under him; Emmis started back, but the guardsman reached down and grabbed the fallen assassin by the shoulder and hauled him upright. "Which way?" he demanded.

Kelder whimpered, and pointed.

The three men – and presumably the invisible monster, though Emmis couldn't be sure of that – made their way through the late-night streets, with the guardsman supporting the reluctant Kelder, who directed them down Merchant Street to Cut Street Market.

They saw a few people as they walked, but always at a distance; the few who noticed the three men generally took one look at the guardsman hauling a captive and decided they would rather be somewhere else.

The market, when they reached it, was deserted and dark – hardly surprising, as Emmis estimated it must be about midnight by now.

"He came here first," Kelder explained, "but of course everything was closed, so he went down Embroidery Street. Listen, I really think…"

"Shut up," Emmis told him.

This, he realized, was not at all the most direct route to Southmarket, or presumably to where Zhol was; instead they were retracing the route that the guardsman had taken, with the pair of would-be killers following him. He didn't bother to protest, though – having gone as far out of their way as Cut Street Market, the route from here was probably about as direct as one could get in Ethshar.

As they marched south on Embroidery, and then turned east on Carriage Street, Emmis kept urging the other two to go faster. "It's his arm that's broken, not his leg," he pointed out.

"I'm in pain!" Kelder protested.

"So is Zhol, if he's still alive."

"I don't think he is," Kelder said, with a wary glance at the guardsman's face.

Emmis glared at him. "You better hope Zhol is still alive," he said. "It's the only way you'll escape the noose."

Kelder looked unconvinced; he clearly thought he and his partner had killed Zhol. Emmis still held out some hope, though; the pair were obviously not very good at their job, or much of anything else so far as Emmis could see, so they might well have misjudged how effectively they had dealt with Lord Ildirin's guard.

When Carriage Street dead-ended in a T intersection in a neighborhood Emmis had never seen before they turned south again for a block, then east, then south on what Emmis thought might be an unfamiliar stretch of West Avenue, which curved down the slope to Southmarket.