"Shouldn't we have my arm tended to first?" Kelder whined.

"No," Emmis said. "Would you rather worry about your arm, or your neck?"

Kelder just whimpered in reply.

Emmis wondered whether Kelder was really suffering as much as he appeared; he knew the man was a liar, but surely he had the sense to see that his best chance of survival was finding Zhol alive, and would understand that dawdling was counter-productive.

Or was it, from Kelder's point of view? Perhaps he was hoping someone would intervene on his behalf – his partner Tithi, for example.

Or the Lumethans. Emmis frowned, and started looking around more carefully at the alleys and rooftops. Tithi probably didn't have the nerve to attack two grown men, even if he didn't think the invisible monster was still around, but he might have had the nerve to find the Lumethans and ask for their help.

Hagai was a theurgist, and the other two might be magicians, as well, for all Emmis knew. They might be a real problem if they did come to Kelder's assistance.

Southmarket, when they finally reached it, was as dark and almost as empty as Cut Street Market had been; a few stalls stood along the sides, but all were securely closed up for the night, with heavy bars and sturdy shutters guarding whatever might be inside. There were parts of the city that stayed bright and active all night, but they were in Camptown or Westgate, not here in the respectable neighborhoods of Southmarket and Freshwater.

"This way," Kelder said, pointing east.

Emmis began to wonder if the scoundrel was really leading them to Zhol at all. Perhaps this was all a diversion of some sort? Were Tithi and the Lumethans and an assortment of hired thugs besieging Ithinia's house even now, trying to kill the ambassador?

No, that was absurd, Emmis told himself. No one would attack the home of a powerful wizard – well, no one but an equally powerful magician, and Emmis doubted that any of the Lumethans qualified. When he had met them at the Crooked Candle they simply hadn't had the air of authority, of power, that high-order magicians always seemed to have.

But even so, he wondered what was happening back on Lower Street. Was Lar still a stone statue in Ithinia's parlor? Were Ildirin and Ahan and Shakoph worried about Zhol and himself? What had Ildirin wanted to discuss with the Guildmaster?

Kelder had led them out of the market and up Circus Street – Emmis remembered it from a long-ago day when he and his sisters had met up with a friend's cousins in Freshwater, then cut through Southmarket on the way to a performance at the Arena, the eight of them laughing and teasing one another.

It looked very different by night, but he still recognized it.

But then they turned north onto… Canal Avenue, was it? Emmis wasn't sure.

"There," Kelder said, pointing. "That's the alley. Tithi lured him in and I stabbed him."

The guardsman started to say something and to shove Kelder forward, but Emmis ignored them and ran to the narrow opening Kelder had indicated.

The alley beyond was almost totally black; there were no lit windows, no torches, no moonslight, and the dull glow reflecting off the overcast did little to help.

"I need a light," Emmis said, peering into the gloom. "Give me your lantern."

"It's not lit," the guard said, as he awkwardly unhooked it from his belt, using just one hand because his other was still locked onto Kelder's shoulder.

"I'll manage." He took the lantern, then fished in his belt-pouch for flint, steel, and tinder.

As he knelt in the mouth of the alley, struggling to strike a light, he listened closely, hoping to hear breathing in the darkness around the corner, breathing that would mean Zhol was still alive.

Even better, perhaps, would be if Zhol was not there at all, if he had recovered enough to make his way out of the alley to find help – but if he wasn't there, how would they find him? If there was no sign he had been there, would that mean he had recovered, or that Kelder had lied?

Then the tinder caught, and he opened the lantern and carefully held the spark to the wick within. It caught, and light flared up.

Emmis lifted the lantern high, and peered into the alley.

Zhol was there, lying face-down in the dirt – and in a pool of dried blood.

There was no question at all – he was dead.

"You really killed him," Emmis said, as he approached Zhol's body with the lantern held high. "You bloody, pox-ridden fool, you killed him!"

"I told you," Kelder mumbled from behind. His voice sounded weak and strained, presumably from the pain of his injury, but Emmis suspected that was exaggerated. Broken arm or not, Emmis was sure the murderous fool was looking for a chance to escape, and probably hoped to lull the guardsman into carelessness. He had undoubtedly retraced his steps, rather than coming here directly, to give himself more time to find a way to slip away – or to give his allies more time to find and free him.

And he had probably shown them where the body was as a distraction or delaying tactic, as well. He must have known Zhol was dead.

Emmis had hoped to find Zhol still with a spark of life in him, but surely no one could lose that much blood and live – and that was ignoring the visible, ragged, no-longer-bleeding hole in the back of Zhol's neck, and the general appearance of the corpse. Zhol looked far more definitely dead than did the petrified Lar, back in Ithinia's parlor.

For one thing, Emmis was fairly sure that some of the marks on Zhol's outflung hand were rat bites – rat bites that hadn't bled, meaning they were inflicted after death.

That was not a happy thought. His mouth tightened.

"You did that?" the live guardsman demanded.

"I told you," Kelder repeated feebly.

"Then you're a dead man. Come on, we'll find a magistrate."

"At this hour? Couldn't I… go home, for tonight, and you…"

"Come on!" the guard insisted. "And you, too, as witness!"

Emmis turned, startled. "Me? But I need to get back to Lower Street! Lord Ildirin and Guildmaster Ithinia are waiting for me!" As he turned, the lantern-light sparkled momentarily off something; Emmis paused, and tried to locate the source of the glitter.

The lantern's light was dim and uneven, but he spotted it quickly – a glass jar lay on the ground, half-hidden by a pile of weathered rubbish. Emmis stooped.

"Lord Ildirin?" the guardsman said. "What are you doing there?"

"I was helping Lord Ildirin negotiate with the Vondish ambassador," Emmis said.

"No, I mean what are you… what do you have there?"

Emmis picked up the jar; it was cracked, but had only leaked a little, and still held at least half a pint of thick golden liquid.

"He bought that in Southmarket," Kelder wheezed. "We thought it might be… I don't know, something else, even though we saw him buy it, but it's just honey. I wanted to keep it anyway, but Tithi threw it against the wall and cracked the bottle, so I left it."

"Honey," Emmis said bitterly. "Zhol died for this." He held up the jar and said, "Assassin, here's the honey I promised you."

"Honey!" The jar was snatched from his hand, the brass lid ripped off it, and for a moment it hung in the air, glittering in the lantern's light. Then the honey vanished with a loud sucking noise, and the empty jar fell to the alley floor and shattered.

"Was that enough?" Emmis asked.

Nothing answered.

Well, he told himself, either it was enough, or the creature was being difficult – perhaps its mouth was full. Either way, there wasn't much he could do about it.

"We need to get you to a magistrate," the guard said.

"What about the body?" Emmis asked.

"We'll come back for it."