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."

"But oxen are so slow – what if you're hauling something a long way?"

"Well, if one's in as much of a hurry as all that, I suppose you'd hire a magician, not a horse. You'd need a few rounds of gold, though. And really, what is there in Ethshar that you'd need to move as quickly as that? A good team of oxen will get you anywhere in the city between breakfast and supper – no, not supper, lunch. Southgate to the shipyards, Crookwall to the lighthouse, I'd wager there's not a run that you couldn't finish in three hours with a good team."

Lar did not look convinced, but he turned forward again.

They made what Emmis considered good time, up Twixt Street and through Canal Square, where Lar seemed astonished by the sight of the New Canal, though Emmis couldn't imagine why – surely they had canals in the Small Kingdoms!

The wagon had minor difficulties in negotiating the turn from Upper Canal Street onto Commerce Street, almost running over the flowers around the corner shrine in order to squeeze past a pair of arguing merchants, but otherwise the journey progressed without incident, the oxen plodding on peacefully through the crowds while the driver hummed quietly to himself and Lar stared at the buildings on either side, looking at the signboards and the window displays, hearing the cries of hawkers and the arguing of customers, smelling the hundred smells of the city – most prominently allspice, turmeric, smoke, seawater, and decay.

Emmis had plenty of time to think as he rode, and he spent it considering his current position.

He was an ambassador's aide. He still didn't understand exactly how he had gone from freelance dockworker to being a diplomatic agent, but it seemed to have happened. The job paid well, and didn't seem terribly demanding, but Emmis couldn't help wondering whether there was something he was missing. Why was he being paid so generously? Why hadn't Lar brought a whole entourage with him from Vond? Was there something dangerous about this job? What was his real mission?

For that matter, who was Lar? Why had he been chosen as ambassador? As Emmis understood it, and nothing the palace guard had said had prompted him to doubt this, ambassadors were traditionally chosen from the nobility, from surplus princes or the sons of courtiers, while Lar had insisted he wasn't a lord of any sort.

He should have asked these questions sooner, he thought, but he wasn't accustomed to asking any questions at all beyond, "What's it pay?" and "Where did you want this one?" Working the docks generally didn't require a great deal of introspection.

This diplomatic aide stuff, though, brought a seemingly-endless supply of questions and mysteries. For example, who were Annis and those three Lumethans? Oh, they were government agents, obviously – spies, to be blunt – but why those four people in particular? How had they gotten to Ethshar? Had they followed Lar's ship, and arrived just after him? Emmis didn't recall seeing any ships at the docks that looked likely to have brought them.