City of the Dead

by Rosemary Jones

  “It was a trap,” he mumbled through his hands clamped over his hairy face. “We got down in a tunnel and then it filled with mud and sucked me in. I thought I’d drown, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t see. Though I was almost dead, I managed to fight my way back up to the surface and I wasn’t in the tunnel anymore. I was in the harbor staring back at Waterdeep.”

  “So you lost them!” said Stunk.

  “But I recognized her,” growled Furkin in his mostly human form. “I thought she didn’t smell like any moon elf. She’s the stonecutter’s daughter. The one we saw outside Lord Adarbrent’s mansion.”

  “Sophraea Carver,” sputtered Stunk, who had an excellent memory for names. “Gather the guards. We’re going to Dead End House. I have had enough of the Carvers and their alliance with that old man!”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE

  Underneath the City of the Dead, Sophraea’s odd sense of place and direction surfaced again. With unerring steps, she led them to the exact spot where she had first found the brocade shoe.

  Replacing the shoe in the center of the passage, she backed away from it.

  Gustin frowned as he studied the battered focus of the ritual that had stirred up the noble dead of Waterdeep.

  “Well,” said Sophraea, “now what?”

  “That’s just it,” the wizard replied. “I don’t feel anything here. It’s not like it was when we were above ground. I could feel magic there.”

  “And here?” the exhausted girl asked him. The events of the day had finally worn her down. She wanted to collapse in a corner, perhaps sleep for a few days, or maybe just go back to Dead End House and let her mother and Myemaw fuss over her. Outrunning Stunk’s men, battling the werewolf, and even trekking so far through the cold and dark tunnels made her sympathize with Gustin’s oft-spoken desire to sit in the kitchen next to Myemaw’s soup pot.

  Nearby, Feeler and Fish waited patiently to escort them back home.

  But first Gustin had to reverse the ritual and send the dead back to their graves.

  Sophraea asked again, “What now?”

  Gustin shrugged. His face reflected the same frustration that she felt. “There’s nothing here,” he said.

  “But we found the shoe here,” Sophraea protested.

  “We did,” he agreed, “but this is not where the curse began. I wish I could explain it better. It’s just what I feel—like the way that you know where we are right now.”

  “We have to do something,” Sophraea said.

  Gustin nodded, “I’ll try a reversal. But, without a specific starting point, I don’t know if this will work.”

  His eyes gleamed under his long lashes as he pulled out his guidebook and his wand. His motions were quick and efficient, none of the large gestures he normally made. A flickering red light gradually outlined his lanky frame. Even Sophraea could feel the crackle of magic in the air as Gustin opened his book and raised his wand above his head.

  An agitated Feeler backed farther away from the wizard, his long tentacles sticking straight out from his head as if electrified by the energy of the wizard. Fish gawped at them, his split tongue flickering over his double row of shark teeth. Each lick of his tongue sent a shower of sparks dancing out of his open mouth.

  The red light brightened around the wizard. For a brief moment, it appeared as if Gustin Bone was on fire. Then, just as quickly, the light winked out, extinguishing not only the spell but also other sources of illumination. The usual pale glow of the tunnel walls disappeared and even the gravediggers’ sturdy lantern flared and then went out, leaving them all blinking in total blackness.

  Out of the darkness came Gustin’s voice. “That’s the first time that ever happened!” he exclaimed.

  Sophraea put out both her hands and stumbled toward Gustin, going in the direction of his voice. Each step was terrifying as she walked blindly forward. She lost all sense of where she was, how far away the walls of the tunnel were, or even whether the floor was slanting up or down. Dizzy in the darkness, Sophraea groped with slow steps toward where she hoped to find the wizard.

  “Gustin!” she called.

  “Here!” he answered but she couldn’t tell if he was directly in front of her or just a little to her right.

  “My tinder won’t work,” called Feeler.

  “Gustin, what did you do?” Sophraea said with feeling.

  “Extinguishment,” the reply came.

  She was certain now that he was standing a little to her right and adjusted her creeping course accordingly.

  “I didn’t think that ritual would be quite so complete,” complained the wizard. “I’ve put out everything it seems.”

  “For how far?” asked Sophraea. “Maybe we could back down the tunnel until we reach an area with light.”

  “I don’t know how far,” admitted Gustin. “Maybe it is just this section. Or maybe it has spread. It felt like it was spreading at the end.”

  “Spreading!” She had visions of Waterdeep plunged into deep twilight and more terrible night as every source of light went out. A ritual like that would throw the city into chaos. And what would the Blackstaff do to the wizard who had cast it? Gustin would be lucky if they let him out of the dungeons in time to celebrate his first century.

  “You’ve got to stop it,” she urged him.

  “I’m trying,” came the slightly testy sounding voice of the wizard, now definitely closer to her right hand. Sophraea snatched at the sound of his voice and grabbed a handful of cloth. She heard a muffled, “Hmph, let go of my shirt, you’re pulling it against my throat, I’m choking!”

  Ignoring Gustin’s complaints, she threw both arms around the wizard, anchoring herself in the disorientating darkness with a hard hug to his ribs. The wicker basket swinging from her arm banged against his back.

  Gustin coughed and sputtered, “I appreciate the sentiment.” A few quick pats landed on her head. “But I have to free my arms. I need to use them.”

  “Just don’t move away from me,” Sophraea commanded. “If this doesn’t work, we need to find Feeler and Fish and lead them out of here.”

  “We’re close to you,” Feeler called, a slithering noise undercutting his words. It sounded as if the tunnel was being crisscrossed by snakes sliding over each other. Sophraea sincerely hoped it was just Feeler’s odd tentacles waving on top of his head.

  A moment later, the gravedigger confirmed her deduction. “I can feel your body heat with my tentacles,” he said. “If you stay still, I should be able to come to you.”

  “Urgh,” said Sophraea, trying not to think about Feeler’s waving tentacles honing in upon her warm-blooded body.

  “Just let me try this before anyone else grabs me,” Gustin pleaded but he didn’t pull away when Sophraea hugged him even harder.

  “Do what you must,” she said, “and I’ll hang onto you. No matter what happens, we can all get out of here together.”

  She felt more than heard the big sigh that shook Gustin’s chest. Once again, he muttered and waved his arms in complicated gestures. A pale lavender glow illuminated the very tips of his fingers and the end of his nose. A few more pink sparks shot off the top of his head.

  In the light that Gustin cast from his own magic, Sophraea could see the dark outlines of Feeler and Fish barely a few steps away from her. Fish, who could see better in the low light than any of them, waved at her. Catching Feeler’s hand, Fish started toward Gustin and her. With some relief, Sophraea grabbed Fish’s scaly fingers in her own hand, squeezing them tightly. Even if Gustin’s spell failed, they could still form a human chain and grope their way out of the tunnels if they had to.

  But the light swelling outward from the wizard’s hands and head warmed and darkened into a crimson aura, continuing to grow in strength. As the circle of illumination spread, the tunnel walls began to glow again and the flame in Feeler’s lantern sprang to life.

  A few moments later, the tunnels had been fully restored to the normal poorly lit conditions found in the sew
ers of Waterdeep.

  “It worked!” Sophraea cried and gave Gustin one more one-armed hug around the waist before quickly releasing him and stepping away. Her cheeks were flushed and she felt a little warm, a condition that she decided was due to the excitement of being able to see again.

  Gustin suffered no such shyness. He stuffed his wand and book back into his tunic, grabbed Sophraea, and pulled her into a strong embrace, lifting her off her feet and spinning her around. He only let go upon hearing a hollow cough from Feeler.

  “Sometimes, even I think I’m a genius,” Gustin exclaimed with a grin as the light in the tunnels grew ever brighter. “But, just in case this goes out again, let’s leave now.”

  As she turned to lead them back to Dead End House, Sophraea tripped over the brocade shoe lying discarded upon the ground. She scooped it up and showed it to Gustin.

  “What should we do with this?” she asked.

  The wizard scratched his bearded chin and frowned. “I’m still certain that it is the key to reversing this curse,” he said. “Maybe we need to destroy it. Burning? Burying? Immersion in running water?”

  “Which one?” Sophraea asked.

  Gustin gave one of his rippling shrugs. “It’s hard to know,” he admitted, “without the original spellbook.”

  “And that’s with Lord Adarbrent.”

  “We think,” the wizard pointed out.

  She answered with a shrug of her own.

  “So what do we do with this?” Sophraea asked, contemplating the tarnished shoe in her hand.

  “Take it with us,” Gustin decided, plucking it out of her hold and once again wedging it under his belt.

  A movement at the entrance of a tunnel caught her eye. Something large and distinctly bony was emerging from one of the tunnels that led farther under the City of the Dead.

  “Gustin,” Sophraea exclaimed, “the curse is still working!”

  “We can’t be sure,” he said.

  “I am certain,” replied Sophraea, seeing two more corpses line up behind the bony skeleton in velvet robes. The dead made their stately way through the tunnel toward them, marching stiffly, staring straight ahead. “Gustin, I think we should go now!”

  The dead, unlike the ones encountered at dawn, seemed to be advancing with a steadier tread. One bore a rusted antique sword and made the occasional slow slashing motion with it. Another held aloft a tattered but obviously antique banner bearing the insignia of a long dead religion. Once again, the most noble of Waterdeep’s corpses were on the march toward Dead End House. And this time, they were taking the lower route to the basement door.

  Gustin finally spotted the increasing army of dead accumulating in the tunnels. He grabbed at Sophraea and began pulling her away from the corpses on parade.

  Feeler gave a shout. Fish dropped back a step or two. More corpses appeared at other entrances to the tunnel. Many of these dead wore rusted armor and rotted leather, and carried shields or spears.

  “They’re taking portals now,” exclaimed Feeler. “These must be from the heroes’ graves.”

  “You mean all the dead are heading toward Waterdeep?” Sophraea was appalled. The ancient nobility roused out of the tombs within the walls of the City of the Dead were a fair number. What if all the corpses from the outlying graveyards started tele-porting through tunnels and into the City of the Dead above them! Eventually the sheer numbers would overwhelm any defenses set into the walls or gates.

  Gustin groaned. “I didn’t end the curse! I think I strengthened it.”

  “Come on,” Sophraea said to Gustin. “We have to get home and warn everyone.”

  It took her less than a moment to get her bearings. The tug of each monument in the City of the Dead felt stronger than ever before.

  Sophraea pointed to a narrow feeder tunnel that they had passed once before. She ran to it and peered through the entrance. “I don’t see any moving skeletons or other revenants. I think it would be safer to go this way to Dead End House.”

  “I don’t think we can avoid this,” Gustin muttered. The tunnels behind them echoed with the steady tramp of marching feet. Feeler and Fish dropped back, keeping a wary watch over their shoulders. So far, none of the dead had reacted to them. Instead, the corpses seemed to be hurrying to a predetermined destination.

  With her sight of the City of the Dead above them filling her vision, Sophraea could barely see the tunnel walls around them. She could feel a tug in her breastbone pulling her toward her family home and the gate above, the only exit the dead could use to escape the graveyard.

  “Perhaps we’re going the wrong direction,” said Gustin, when Sophraea led them through the corkscrew turns of the narrow tunnel. “This isn’t like the way that we used the last time.”

  “No, this is the right way,” said Sophraea, acutely aware of the dead filling the tunnels behind them and the graveyard above them. Like the tide moving water in Waterdeep’s harbor, Gustin’s amplification of the curse was drawing them nearer and nearer.

  “I still think we are going to have problems when we get there,” said Gustin, his shoulders twitching as if he too could feel the growing numbers of the dead walking above them as well as behind them.

  Sophraea was right about the tunnel leading back to Dead End House. It joined the main tunnel just a short way before the basement door.

  Gustin was right about their problems increasing.

  An army of the dead stood facing the door, weapons raised as if poised to attack.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  Row upon row of skeleton soldiers stood at attention in front of the basement door of Dead End House. The skeletons faced the door as though waiting for it to open.

  “How do we get past them?” said Sophraea.

  She stared, appalled, at the rows of shining spines revealed by holes in their decrepit armor. Every skeleton was outfitted in a motley collection of rusting plate and rotting leather. Each carried a pitted sword or a bent spear.

  “They look pretty brittle,” whispered Gustin in her ear. “Maybe we could bowl them over.”

  “With what?” she snapped back a little louder than she meant to.

  The noise didn’t seem to matter to the skeletons. No heads turned under dented helmets to seek them out. Instead the entire bony squadron looked uncomfortably like they were waiting for someone to come along and command them. Perhaps an angry hero returning from the far fields, she thought.

  “I may be able to raise up a little wind,” Gustin said, “but that spell is better outside than inside.”

  “What will it do down here?” Sophraea whispered. “Don’t know,” said Gustin. “Haven’t ever tried it inside before. Should be interesting.”

  “We would do better to summon the door’s watcher,” suggested Feeler. His fellow gravedigger Fish hissed and shook his scaly head. Feeler frowned at him and shook his own head back, the tentacles writhing in agitation around his face.

  “The watcher will let Sophraea pass,” Feeler said to Fish’s unspoken objection. “And the rest of us who dwell at Dead End House. It knows its duty.”

  Fish pursed his lips and made a slight popping sound.

  Feeler shrugged, “Sophraea can call it; she’s a Carver.”

  “I’ve never even seen it,” Sophraea objected.

  Vaguely, she remembered the uncles talking once or twice about whistling for the door’s watcher but she thought that was an adventure that belonged to their youth. Neither she nor any of the family in her generation had ever needed to invoke the guardian who watched over Dead End House’s lowest entrance.

  “Any Carver can command it,” said Feeler. “But you need a whistle to wake it.”

  “Is there one on this side of the door?” Sophraea asked. As far as she knew, two whistles were in the house. Like all the children, she had been shown the one on the hook in Feeler’s rooms and the other one hanging near Myemaw’s kettle in the kitchen. As she recalled, they’d all been firmly told the silver whistles were not toys and m
ust never be used except under the direst of circumstances.

  Having a squadron of skeletons assembled for the invasion of Dead End House probably counted as dire enough, Sophraea decided.

  “There’s one whistle concealed in a hollow rock in this tunnel, for any Carver who might need it on this side of the door,” revealed Feeler.

  “Really? No one ever told me that!” she exclaimed. “You’d think they might have done.”

  “And where’s the rock?” asked Gustin in a suspicious tone of voice.

  Feeler pointed silently at the closest skeleton. One of the dead guard’s booted feet rested on a smooth gray stone that stuck up a little from the floor.

  “Of course that’s where it is.” Gustin sighed.

  Sophraea hefted the basket full of bricks and shook them in front of his face.

  “How good are you at throwing?” she asked Gustin.

  With a grin, he reached into her basket and pulled out one of the half bricks.

  “I used to knock nuts out of the trees by throwing stones at them,” he said. “And I was pretty good at skipping stones too.”

  Sophraea pulled another half brick out of the basket and tossed it twice in her hand to get a feel for the weight.

  “I used to be able to hit Leaplow at one hundred paces with his battered old ball,” she recalled.

  Gustin handed the remaining two chunks of brick to Feeler and Fish.

  “Ladies first,” he said gallantly.

  “Shove them back as much you can,” Sophraea said, “I’ll go for the whistle.”

  “We will defend you while you summon the watcher,” Feeler said. Fish nodded.

  “Very well,” said Sophraea, “on the count of three. One, two …”

  “Three!” they all yelled.

  Sophraea’s brick scored a direct hit on the booted skeleton standing on the hollow rock. The brick struck the helmet with a clang. The skeleton’s whole head flew off and rolled past the row of skeletons standing in front of it.