“Careful,” warned one of the younger Watchmen. “Any damage will earn you a fine. That’s been explained to your employer.”
“Not even a nick,” replied the insolent worker.
“That can’t be right,” said Sophraea, practically up on tiptoe to see clearly over the hedge, despite the combined tug on her skirts from the skulking Gustin and Briarsting.
The youngest Watchman saw her bobbing up and down behind the hedge, trying to pull free her skirt from her companions. “You, girl, what are you doing there?” he challenged her.
With a last firm jerk to set herself loose, Sophraea stood straight. “I’m Sophraea Carver,” she said. “I was just showing my friend some of the tombs my family worked on.” She grabbed Gustin’s collar and hauled him upright beside her.
“Amazing detail, even on the feet of that memorial bench,” the wizard added smoothly, even as he twisted out of her grip. Sophraea stepped out from behind the hedge in front of the Watch.
“I didn’t know Carvers came so small and cute,” said the youngest man, ignoring Gustin following her.
“She’s Leaplow’s sister,” hissed another guard to his companion. “The one that Kair tried to flirt with.”
The impending grin on the first guard’s face faded and his look grew decidedly blank. “Oh, well, then, we wouldn’t want to delay you on your business,” he said to Sophraea. “Give our best to your brothers.”
“And your cousins,” added the second young man. “To say nothing of your uncles.”
“Do I know any of you?” Sophraea asked the Watchmen.
“No, but you let our friend Kair carry your basket home from the market,” said the older one with a large bushy mustache.
Sophraea had a vague memory of a nice Watchman who once walked her home, only to be met at the door by Leaplow and Runewright. They’d probably shown him a shortcut through the City of the Dead, she decided with a sigh.
“Do you know my brothers?” she asked, just to be sure.
“We’ve had a few wrestling matches with Leaplow,” answered the youngest Watchman, rubbing his neck at the memory, “and those twins who go around with him.”
“Bentnor and Cadriffle,” Sophraea supplied. “They’re my cousins.”
“That’s them,” the youngest one confirmed with a wince of remembered pain.
“Cleaned up a few taverns behind your brothers and your cousins too,” added the leader of the group.
“Can’t mistake a place that the Carvers have passed through,” chimed in the third.
“Ah,” Sophraea said. “You do know my family.”
“So he’s a friend of yours?” asked the youngest Watchman, finally nodding at Gustin.
“I’m new to Waterdeep,” Gustin said, flourishing the small book that he removed from his tunic’s upper pocket. “Sophraea very kindly offered to show me some of the antiquities of this graveyard. I’m very interested in antiquities, being in possession of a very fine but unusual statue …”
His story trailed off after a sharp poke from Sophraea.
“Well, isn’t he the brave one,” whispered one Watchman to his companion. “At least they won’t have to take him far to do a walk through the graveyard.”
“I’m sorry?” said Gustin.
“Ignore them,” said Sophraea, not wanting to go any further into that discussion.
“Hoi!” yelled one of the forgotten workmen. “You lot coming with us or staying here to chitchat with the skirt?”
The oldest Watchman turned and directed a stern frown at the men waiting for them. “Get on with your business. We’ll be right behind you.”
“Should they be doing that?” asked Sophraea, watching the workmen stagger away with the memorial urn.
“They have permission,” said the oldest Watchman. He gave a curt order to the younger men who seemed to be inclined to stay and chat with Gustin about the girl that was standing next to him and her ridiculously large number of male relatives. The two younger watchmen gave Gustin sympathetic punches on the shoulder as they bid him farewell.
“But should they be doing that?” Sophraea repeated to their retreating backs. A chill breeze touched her cheek. Her sense of direction in the City of the Dead seemed to swell and expand, almost as if she could see the whole City from above. In that odd vision, the pools of shadow that marked the doorways into ancient tombs seemed blacker than ever before. There was a disapproving stillness, an echo of emptiness that muffled her hearing. And something more, a cold and growing anger that was spreading through the City, a fury barely contained, that burned like ice laid across her fast beating heart.
“Sophraea!” Gustin shook her shoulder lightly. “Sophraea, what’s wrong?”
With a start, the girl came back to herself. “I don’t know,” she told him. “But it doesn’t feel right here. It feels strange. Spooky.”
“It is a graveyard,” the young wizard pointed out. “It’s the famous City of the Dead. Isn’t it supposed to be haunted?”
“But it’s never felt like that to me! Not to any Carver.”
“Felt like what?”
“Threatening.”
But she couldn’t explain it better and finally gave up trying. Instead she led Gustin to the open doorway of the Vesham tomb. Inside, the niches, where the urns and caskets should have been displayed, were swept clean.
Outside, clear tracks in the mud showed the workmen had visited both tombs repeatedly. Equally solid bootprints on the edges of the main path bore witness to the City Watch’s careful observation of the work.
But it took Sophraea two more circuits of the plot, trailed by the curious Gustin, to realize where she truly was.
“This is where Rampage Stunk plans to build his monument,” said Sophraea slowly, staring at the two small tombs sitting close together.
“How do you know?” asked Gustin.
She pointed at the marker stakes surrounding both of the little tombs. “That’s the shape of his colonnade. He’s been talking about it forever with my father.”
Gustin murmured some words that Sophraea didn’t understand and sprinkled a little powder on the ground between the two tombs. The ground fizzled and sparked wherever the powder had landed.
“Somebody has been letting off spells close by,” stated the wizard.
“Can you tell what they were doing?”
He shook his head. “My ritual just shows magic happened here. It might be something that happened a long time ago or just yesterday. And I can’t tell what type of spell it was.”
Further examination of the earth around the tombs showed some disturbance, odd bumps in the lawn nearest the little brick-and-mortar tomb.
“But I can make some guesses,” said Gustin after getting on his hands and knees in the wet dirt. “This looks like something happened underneath here.”
“Underneath?” Sophraea stared at the ground between her boots. In her head, she was paging through the family ledger, trying to remember what tunnels would run under this section of the City of the Dead.
“A magical explosion?” speculated the lanky wizard. He stood up and beat the mud off his knees. “The ground was definitely pushed up from below.”
“Rodents? Lizards?” Briarsting ventured. “Anything can be digging down there.”
“No,” said Sophraea, turning about to take a hard look at the close packed tombs on every side. “Not here. Spells would have been laid down when these tombs were built to keep out any vermin.”
“Well, then,” said Gustin, “that’s the magic that my spell detected.”
“No,” Sophraea said with a shiver, remembering the icy anger she felt near the empty tomb, “I think you were right the first time. Something is happening. Something new. Something underground.”
With one final pat on the topiary dragon’s nose, Sophraea and Gustin took their leave of Briarsting. The thorn promised to come to the Dead End gate if he heard or saw any more unusual activity in the City.
“It will be good t
o be on patrol again,” the little man said to Sophraea. “It gets a bit lonely out here in the winter with only the Walking Corpse wandering through on occasion.”
“Lord Adarbrent?” asked Sophraea, remembering the last time that the old nobleman disappeared down the pathways in the City of the Dead.
“He’s got family close by,” said Briarsting. “Big mausoleum, the Adarbrents have.”
“Green marble, iron door, two memorial urns in the shape of sailing ships flanking the entrance, and the name picked out in gold leaf above,” said Sophraea, without even thinking.
“Bit unnerving how the Carvers all do that,” remarked Briarsting to Gustin. The wizard nodded.
“Lord Adarbrent has been visiting us for years,” said Sophraea. “He and my father discuss it all the time. One of the urns cracked during a heavy freeze and we replaced it. Lord Adarbrent wanted it to match the broken one exactly. He wants everything to always look exactly as it did.”
“Not a man fond of change?” ventured Gustin as they walked away.
“No,” said Sophraea, with a last wave to Briarsting and the topiary dragon. “He’s very famous for his resistance to change. Lord Adarbrent is always marching around the city and muttering at people about the history and the importance of this bit of Waterdeep or that bit. Or telling them that there are forces out to change Waterdeep all together.”
“Sounds like an absolute terror.”
“Oh no,” argued Sophraea. “He’s always been very kind to me. When he notices that I’m there. Just, well, changes upset him.”
As they walked along the path toward the Coffinmarch gate, Gustin kept up a steady stream of chatter, asking Sophraea about the nobles of Waterdeep. She barely heard him, she was so lost in her thoughts. Could someone really be rash enough to raise the dead with magic? For that was what she was sure she had felt. Not the usual comfortable wandering of one or two ambulatory spirits. No, this was something darker, angrier, rousing even those dead who wanted to be left alone.
But she didn’t know exactly what was going on. She wanted to talk to her family but she did not know what to tell them. That she stood in the middle of the City of the Dead at the start of winter and felt cold? They’d pat her on the head and probably buy her a warmer cloak. Oh, and her mother would remind her to take one of her bigger brothers with her when she went walking through the graveyard at twilight.
She needed to know more. She needed to understand what she had felt so she could explain it properly. And, if it was magic, she needed a wizard to help her.
“So, if we want to tell what was really going on, we need to go under the tombs,” mused Sophraea out loud.
“I’m not going to start digging up the ground here. Who knows what spooks that would raise!” responded Gustin with an exaggerated wave of his hands.
“There were other ways to get under the City of the Dead,” countered Sophraea, “but we’ll have to go through the house. There’s no help for it. I will have to introduce you to my family.”
“But I’ve already met your father and your uncle and at least a couple of other Carvers …” said Gustin as Sophraea steered him back toward the Coffinsmarch gate.
“That’s not quite the same as being approved by my mother, and my aunts, and my grandmother,” replied Sophraea, “but I can’t take you through the house without somebody seeing you. We need to think of a good explanation of why you were visiting me other than courting.”
Gustin’s mouth dropped open. “Courting!”
“It’s the first thing that they will assume,” said the exasperated Sophraea. “I know. I’ll say that I found out that you were a language teacher and I need to brush up on my … noble Cormyr … to get the job in the dressmaker’s shop.”
“But I don’t know any noble language of Cormyr,” protested Gustin. “I’m not even sure there is one.”
“Just don’t tell my family that!” said Sophraea.
“And just think of all the grief that you’ve been giving me about my statue,” huffed Gustin, trotting alongside the girl. “At least I’m not telling fibs to my family!”
“No, you just tell them to the entire city at large!” she retorted. Sophraea blushed a little, because she really didn’t approve of telling falsehoods, but anything was better than her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother making assumptions about a young man visiting her. And, what would be more painful for Gustin, telling those assumptions to the Carver men.
Sophraea convinced herself that this one small lie was just a strategy necessary to get to the bottom of the strange doings in the City of the Dead.
Still arguing, Sophraea and Gustin left the City of the Dead, completely missing the tall, thin, and very elderly man standing in the shadowed doorway of a green marble mausoleum.
Once they were gone, Lord Adarbrent walked quickly to the Mairgrave tomb. He unlocked the bronze door and addressed the pale ghost standing inside.
“It will be well,” he promised in his slow and formal manner. “They know nothing about our revenge and they may even prove useful.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
It’s waterfowl stew again,” said Reye, stirring the pot. “And there’s more than enough in the pot for a guest.”
When Sophraea pulled Gustin into the kitchen and stammered out her explanation of tutelage in exchange for the occasional meal, Reye only asked, “Does this mean you’ll stay at Dead End House for a little longer?”
“Until the lessons are done,” Sophraea hedged.
“That’s good,” her mother replied and Sophraea squirmed. Reye had said less about her plan to leave Dead End House than any other member of her family. But that was Reye. Unlike the rest of the family, she tended to keep her opinions to herself.
Sometimes Sophraea wondered if the whole family wasn’t so set against her leaving to become a dressmaker, she might have reconsidered working in the Castle Ward. But she’d announced her decision on too many occasions to change her mind now. At least nobody was raising a fuss about Gustin.
Leaplow leaned over the stewpot to take a sniff. “Like everything else in Waterdeep, it’s more a promise of fowl than anything else,” her brother said, ducking a swat of Reye’s spoon.
“Take a seat and wait your turn,” scolded his mother.
“Tip what’s left of the roast fowl into the soup, boil it until the bones float free, and then add vegetables and keep adding vegetables and water all winter,” said Gustin, following Leaplow to peer in the pot. “As well as whatever herbs are handy and salt to taste.”
At Sophraea’s look of surprise, the wizard smiled. “We used to do it the same way where I grew up. We got our birds off the river or in the woods. Funny to smell it here though. I thought the food in Waterdeep would be more exotic.”
“You think we all dine on dragon soup and roast cockatrice?” chuckled Myemaw as her hands flashed above the vegetables, sorting them out, chopping down with her sharp little knife, and then tipping the whole collection into the stewpot.
“In this guidebook that I have, one that was written here,” began Gustin.
“You should never believe anything printed in Waterdeep.” Sophraea’s grandmother tapped her palm with the flat of the knife. “Most authors will tell incredibly outrageous lies to get you to part with your coin. Cut your gold out of your purse faster than any member of the thieves’ guild.”
Gustin sat on the nearest stool, thrusting his long legs under the broad table. Soup, bread, and assorted pickled vegetables were passed in heaping bowls up and down the line of Carvers.
“Outrageous or not, there are wonderful stories in my guidebook,” he said to Myemaw. “I found it when I was small, in a stack of old paper that my uncle intended to use in the outhouse. Every chance I could get, I’d read that book. I just knew that Waterdeep was the city for me.”
“Oh dear boy,” chuckled Myemaw filling his bowl to almost overflowing, “the whole world thinks that.”
Most of the men kept their noses in their meal, eat
ing steadily, but Sophraea’s uncle Judicious chatted with the latest addition to their dinner table.
“Been in Waterdeep long?” the older man asked Gustin.
The wizard shook his head and snagged the heel of a loaf off a nearby plate to crumble into his soup. “Just long enough to find lodgings and start a couple of small business ventures.”
“I swear the city has more strangers in it than native-born,” Judicious continued. “It’s why I never felt the need to travel. Everyone always comes here. If I want to see all the world’s folks, I just stroll down to the harbor.”
“Actually, he never traveled because he could never carry away all those tools in his workshop,” said Myemaw. “And Judicious would never leave any of his tools behind.”
“I have the best locks and locksmith tools in Waterdeep,” explained Judicious. “More than one of my designs for the mausoleums has been adopted by others for the finer villas and mansions in the North Ward.”
“If you get him started on locks,” warned Sophraea as she passed Gustin another plate of bread, “you’ll be here until breakfast.”
Gustin emptied the second plate as quickly as he had the first. “If the food is always as good as this, I’d be very content.”
But, finally, even the wizard had to declare himself full.
“We should start our lessons,” said Sophraea, piling up Gustin’s soup bowl and bread plate to hand to her cousin Bentnor for washing. Bentnor passed it off to Cadriffle, who turned to pass it off to someone else, only to find the rest of the men already had slid out of the room. With an exasperated sigh, he headed for the tub of soapy water waiting in the corner of the kitchen.
“The smallest parlor should be empty,” said Reye.
“That’s a good idea,” said Sophraea, not looking directly at her mother. “We’ll go there.”
Sophraea immediately pulled Gustin toward the back of the house. She pushed open one door and showed him the small, neat parlor that was almost never used in the winter. The family preferred the big common room off the kitchen during the coldest months, she explained to Gustin, as the heat from the two kitchen chimneys kept that room nicely warm. “As does having a dozen Carvers stuffed in there at any given time,” she added.
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