City of the Dead (26 page)

“So if we just put it back, then the dead won’t walk?”

Gustin gave one of his long rippling shrugs that started at his shoulders and ran all the way down to his hands turning palm up. “It might not be that simple,” he said. “There may be a countercharm or other spell that’s needed. I wish I could see the spellbook that he used.”

“Perhaps we should go to Lord Adarbrent today and ask him for the book,” Sophraea mused.

“You think just knocking on his door and asking politely will get him to end this feud with Stunk?”

Sophraea pushed her hood back so she could see the wizard clearly. “Actually,” she said slowly, “he might. If nothing else, Lord Adarbrent is a man of honor. I doubt he meant to involve our family quite so deeply in this war with Stunk. He’s always been a good patron and a friend to my father.”

“Do you really think a nobleman would care that much about what happens to a tradesman’s family? I’ve seen aristocrats before,” Gustin replied, “and none of the breed have ever struck me as having much regard for the lower orders.”

“But Lord Adarbrent doesn’t see us like that. He doesn’t see anyone like that,” she continued, remembering the old man with his tentative offer of sweets to a lost child and, later, his long stories told over the family ledger. “He sees us all as a part of Waterdeep. We keep this city’s traditions alive.”

At Gustin’s slight smile at her choice of words, Sophraea shook her head. “No, this place, the City of the Dead, is important to Lord Adarbrent and so we’re important because we keep it as it has always been kept. We built the first wall around it, we carve the tombs, and, he knows, as long as we are here, the City will have someone caring for it who loves it as much as he does.”

“You talk as if he’s fallen in love with a graveyard,” said Gustin.

“No, he’s in love with Waterdeep. He always has been,” said Sophraea with revelation. “Waterdeep is Lord Adarbrents one great passion. And, for Waterdeep’s sake, I think I can get him to give up that spellbook. Maybe we shouldn’t be going to Dead End House now. Maybe we should go to Lord Adarbrent immediately.”

As she turned to go toward one of the public gates, a flash of gray fur caught her eye. Unsure of what she’d seen, Sophraea slowed down, turning in place. Now she could clearly see a giant gray paw sliding out from behind a black marble urn. A tip of furry ear was visible through the urn’s curved handles and a twitch of the bushy tail could be seen near the base.

She clutched the basket’s handle with both hands and took a deep breath. It couldn’t have been a wolf. There weten’t any wolves in the City of the Dead. Ghosts, ghouls, haunts, walking corpses, undead, and restless dead, all those dangers she had been warned

about since she was a small child. Those were ordinary threats, like thieves in the marketplace. If you were careful and wise, and avoided certain parts of the graveyard after dark, you could spend your whole life traipsing back and forth quite safely through the City of the Dead. Her family did it every day.

Even outsiders, strangers to Waterdeep like Gustin, could wander the paths in the daylight hours with no fear of attack.

But nobody had ever warned her about wolves. Such a creature didn’t belong in the City of the Dead. She couldn’t have seen a wolf.

Drawing a deep breath, Sophraea concentrating on using that peculiar sense that let her see throughout the City of the Dead. And, there, right behind a memorial urn, she distinctly perceived something with four large paws, an even bushier tail, and, oh dear, numerous sharp teeth!

Before she could warn Gustin, Sophraea caught a glint of metal behind the wolf. A very large man in a helmet crouched behind a gravestone that wasn’t quite large enough to hide him fully.

In her vision, the wolf dashed around the urn and dived under a nearby hedge separating one family’s plot from another’s.

“Gustin!”

The wizard halted beside her, seemingly unaware of her concern. With a shake of her head, Sophraea tried to see the graveyard as Gustin would see it. Dripping hedges close to the path, a few tombs, no sign of life at all. Their pursuers were still too far away and too well hidden for Gustin to see them. Of course, that must mean that their pursuers couldn’t see them either. At least she hoped that was true. Then she remembered that wolves tracked by scent.

Trying to keep her voice calm, Sophraea asked Gustin, “Do you have any spells against wolves?”

“Nothing particular,” he answered. “Why?”

“How about men in armor?”

“I have that one I used during the street fight that makes weapons slippery.” Gustin looked over his shoulder. “What do you see?”

“Don’t turn,” she said as she started quickly down the path.

Her odd double vision setded more firmly over her. In one sense, she was still firmly anchored to the Sophraea scrambling down the gravel path in the graveyard. But another Sophraea seemed to be floating high above the tombs. That disembodied Sophraea clearly saw the slinking gray wolf tracking them along the wet path and, to her dismay, more than the one armored man behind it. There was an entire group of Stunk’s bullyblades tagging along behind the beast.

“They followed us,” she warned Gustin. “Stunk’s men.”

The wizard quickened his pace and didn’t look back.

“How many?” he asked as a crackle of white lighting sparked off the tips of his fingers. He kept his hand low and close to his chest so their pursuers could not see.

“Half a dozen, not more. One is a wolf.” Sophraea stumbled along, her double vision causing her to feel slightly dizzy. For one wobbly moment, she felt as if she trod on the bronze roof of a nearby mausoleum as well as by Gustin’s side.

“To my right or to my left?” Gustin asked.

“What?” Now one Sophraea jogged around a corner while the other, the floating Sophraea, danced unseen above the head of the gray wolf. The beast snarled below her phantom toes, snapping left and right at the empty air, the hair clearly rising on the back of its bristly neck. The creature couldn’t see her phantom above it, she decided, but somehow it knew she was there.

One of the armored fighters yelled at the wolf, his mouth moving silently as apparently her expanded senses didn’t extend to hearing. But from the man’s angry gestures, Sophraea could tell that he was urging the group on.

“Stunk’s men. Are they on my right or my left? Can you tell?” Gustin asked again.

She blinked. Before her, two tall evergreens marked the entrance of a grotto. Her other sight showed the same trees rising behind a long colonnade memorializing the fallen heroes of a long-forgotten war. Stunk’s men used the marble columns to hide their approach, but they were almost level with the two people hurrying toward the evergreen grove. With a start, Sophraea realized that she was seeing herself and Gustin.

“On your right, on your right!” she cried and pointed to the columns.

Gustin whirled and flung the spell over Sophraea’s head. It cracked through the air, a whip of raw energy. Someone yelled. A red-haired goon leaped up from his hiding place, shouted to see the wizard staring directly at him, and dived back behind a column.

“Stone, stone,” Gustin muttered, his eyes burning emerald bright. “Those columns are all stone, yes?”

“Pure marble,” Sophraea agreed. That particular memorial had been built by her great-great-grandfather and had been more recently polished and repaired by her uncles. It was supposed to be one of the greatest examples of that period’s monuments. Uncle Sagacious, in particular, often took his sons there to show them what “fine carving truly meant.”

“Get behind me.” Gustin pushed at her. “If one moves, the rest should fall. But get clear.”

“What are you talking about?” She shifted down the path. With all her attention centered on the wizard, Sophraea suddenly realized that she could no longer see through phantom eyes. Her sense of where Stunk’s men were hiding disappeared.

Gustin pulled out his guidebook to Waterdeep and opened it to the center. Once more the ordinary words and woodblock illustrations began to melt into new and stranger shapes as the young wizard held the book high in one hand. With his free hand, Gustin traced corresponding symbols in the air.

Sophraea saw the nearest column wobble and then sway on its base.

“Jump, jump,” commanded Gustin, both his hands now waving up and down.

The column began to rise and then abruptly fall, a weird hopping motion that went higher and higher. Each time it fell back with a shuddering crash against its base.

The third time, a huge crack in the base appeared. The column smashed back in place and then toppled to one side, striking the column next to it. That struck its neighbor and so on, until the entire colonnade hurtled to the ground, encircling Stunk’s surprised men in a high wall of rubble.

Sophraea stared, speechless with shock. The marble columns, what had Gustin done to them? What would her uncles say?

A pair of gray ears and enormous paws popped over the top of the debris. Gustin sent another ball of magical energy zinging past. With a yelp, the wolf dropped back behind the barricade.

And Sophraea realized that all her uncles would say is, “He saved our Sophraea’s life. Well done!”

“We better run, that last spell was more show than damage,” Gustin said.

“Come on,” she said. “We need to get to the Dead End gate!”

With a last whip of energy back at Stunk’s men to discourage them, Gustin followed Sophraea as she twisted off the main public path and raced down the little used way to the maze known as the. Thief s Knot.

Shouts and a wolfs howl sounded behind them.

Nobody ever visited the maze, Sophraea reasoned in her head. Most of the maps of the City of the Dead didn’t even show it. She could slow down their pursuers there and take the back path to Dead End House.

And once they were through the Dead End gate, they would

be safe. Stunk’s men wouldn’t be able to find it or use it to exit the City of the Dead.

They pounded down the path. Sophraea concentrated hard on only seeing the ground in front of her feet. She could hear the wolfs panting and the pursuit of their enemies quite clearly behind her.

Through complicated twists and turns, Sophraea raced into the memorial maze planted in the City of the Dead to honor a particularly wily leader of the thieves’ guild.

The tall hedges closed around Gustin and Sophraea. With a quick hop, she sidestepped a revolving stone meant to trip up the unwary. She yanked Gustin out of the way of a branch that whipped by their faces.

“Look out,” Sophraea pushed the wizard back before he could trip a set of bells cleverly concealed behind a small piece of garden statuary with a pointy hat, which was noted in the Carver’s ledger as an exact copy of the Master Thiefs most revered opponent. Time and weather had softened the famed thiefcatcher’s stern features and left the stone gnome with almost an expression of amusement.

Gustin’s bright eyes widened as he sidestepped the alarm. Sophraea realized that his earlier illusion of disguise was fraying. His eyes were clearly green and he seemed thinner. She wondered if she continued to look like a moon elf or if she had reverted to Sophraea Carver. Glancing down at her basket, still weighted with the bits of broken brick, she saw that it seemed to waver between velvet ribbons and wicker handle on her arm. The sight made her almost as dizzy as her double vision earlier.

“Where are we?” Gustin stuck close to Sophraea, matching her almost step for step as they followed the curving briar hedge. His quick walking pace was the same as her running stride.

“The Thief s Knot,” she answered. “We used to come here as children on hot days. It’s always shady here. Leaplow and the twins loved

jumping out at the rest of us and trying to make me scream.”

Another twist of the path took them by the perpetual flame, burning to light the way of any thief lost in the eternal night.

Then they passed under the arch carved with copies of evety piece of jewelry that the Master Thief had ever stolen. The decorative gems had long ago been looted by his mourners, but the stonework still marked the entrance to the center of the maze. The center was perfectly round and felt hushed. Even the wind couldn’t penetrate the tall hedges. Once Sophraea had rather liked the silence and even come here to escape the noises of the household and workshops.

“Now!” someone shouted and broke the peace.

She and Gustin froze, staring wildly at each other. Someone else was in the maze, quite close, and whoever it was sounded angry.

“Try it now! Come on, you coward, get up, there’s no one here to help you!”

Gustin started to push her behind him.

Sophraea sighed. “Don’t bother,” she said, “I know rhat voice!”

Then she shouted, “Leaplow!”

Marching between the hedgerows of the maze, she turned a corner and stopped.

Her youngest brother stood with his feet apart, straddling a lump of twisted coat and cap. A thin trickle of blood ran from his nostril and the flesh atound one eye was turning purple. When he saw her, he lowered his clenched fists, grinned and said, “And who would you be, little elf girl?”

His victim rose on one elbow, looked up through streams of blood that covered his face. He looked terrible but at least he was alive.

“Are you going to kill that man?” she demanded.

Leaplow shook his head. “Of course not. We are settling a wager. As soon as he pays me, I will help him back to the Coffinmarch gate.”

The soft hair, the wide shoulders, the familiar grin, oh dear, no wonder Briarsting thought he saw Sophraea’s father, still a young man, in the City of the Dead the night before.

“Have you been patrolling the graveyard?” she demanded.

“Moon elf, do I know you?” Leaplow said.

“Why were you roaming the City of the Dead at night?” she insisted.

Leaplow scratched his head. She could see the bruises on his knuckles. “Last night, after the dead passed through our gate, I heard a noise. So I went into the graveyard. I thought I could catch whoever was stirring things up. And then there was this girl, I know she’s dead, but she’s a fine dancer and I thought if I saw her again …”