City of the Dead (9 page)

“I’m sorry that we disturbed you,” said Sophraea. “I didn’t think that there was a topiary beast left in the City of the Dead.”

The little man seemed mollified and even inclined to chat. “We don’t have any visitors these days,” he said. “Just the odd person wandering by and looking for something else.”

“Have you seen any wizards here lately?” Sophraea was almost certain that the lights that she’d seen in the City of the Dead were signs of magic, although she couldn’t imagine why a wizard would want to venture into the graveyard after dark. The dead tended to punish those who cast spells near their graves. And the Blackstaff took an even dimmer view of unauthorized magic in a place so prone to peril.

“Haven’t seen any wizards where they shouldn’t be. Other than him.” The thorn pointed rather rudely at Gustin, who made a face back at the little man.

Sophraea settled herself comfortably on a memorial bench set near the topiary dragon. She rummaged through her basket, pulling out a little of the dried fruits to share with both Briarsting and Gustin. “I’ve been seeing a light in the City of the Dead, usually in the middle of the night. Perhaps it’s the dragon or another guardian.”

“It’s not us,” Briarsting said. “He doesn’t glow in the dark and I don’t light fires near him. Too many dry leaves this time of year.” The dragon sat back on its haunches and waggled its ears as if it knew they were talking about it.

“How about ghosts?” asked Gustin.

“They don’t usually glow that brightly,” started Sophraea only to be interrupted by Briarsting.

“It might be one of the more substantial dead,” said the thorn. “Two tombs were opened recently. The remains were removed to other parts of the graveyard. And the dead can take offense at such actions. Especially if the removal is being done by amateurs.”

“Amateurs?” Sophraea asked. “If a family requests a removal, it’s usually us or one of the other funerary families.”

“Why would anyone move coffins and urns?” asked Gustin, pinching a little more of the dried fruits and nuts out of Sophraea’s basket.

“To make room,” said Sophraea, with the certainty of one raised in the funeral business. “The old tombs are all full. Sometimes, when a new family member dies, somebody has to be … well… shifted to another location.”

“First come, first removed. Last come, last interred,” joked Gustin.

“It’s not something that is done lightly!” Sophraea said. “You

wouldn’t believe the arguments that some families get into about who should go and who should stay. And if the dead decide to get involved in the decision, then it can be a real quarrel.”

“The dead do that?” Gustin paused, a handful of fruit halfway to his mouth, and looked over his shoulder at the seemingly peaceful tombs.

“Sometimes, the dead want to travel,” Briarsting informed him. “Sometimes they don’t. But I don’t think it was anything like that. With those kinds of removals, the difficult kinds, you get Carvers, for one thing, supervising the opening and the closing. And I didn’t see any of your lot around.”

“No, we haven’t done anything like that for ages,” Sophraea began.

“Didn’t a Carver open up something in the south end last spring?” asked Briarsting.

“Leaplow,” sighed Sophraea.” “That was not official. And that’s been all properly sealed since.” Then she remembered the fat Rampage Stunk. “There’s a client now who’d like a couple of tombs opened, but nobody has started any work yet.”

“Didn’t think I’d seen your lot around here. Where there’s Carvers, there’s always a nice funeral afterward, with the new resident being laid to rest and all, everything done just right,” concluded the thorn, snatching the last of the fruit out of the basket before Gustin could get to it.

Sophraea resigned herself to stopping at the fruit seller’s place on the way home.

“Still, there have been workmen nearby,” Briarsting said, settling back on the bench. “Amateurs. Clearing out a tomb, like I said.”

“Which tombs were opened?” Sophraea asked.

“Markarl and Vesham.”

“Those certainly are Carver-built tombs. Old ones too. Both are down in the ledger. A bit north and east of our gate,”

Sophraea said. “That would be close to where I saw that light the first time.”

“They’re working there right now,” said Briarsting.

“Then we should go take a look,” Sophraea said to Gustin. “I don’t understand why Father or one of my uncles hasn’t reported this to the Watch. They know it’s not safe to trespass here. There’re laws for a reason. And only Carvers should work on Carver tombs.”

The bronze door on the Markarl tomb was locked tight but the Vesham tomb stood wide open.

Two burly men wrestled a marble urn through the door with grunts and some groans. The piece was heavy and the wide curling handles had to be angled precisely to fit through the door.

“Smash it into pieces,” grumbled one man. “That would make it easier to clean out!”

Sophraea started forward to stop such vandalism, but the topiary dragon caught her skirt on its thorny teeth and dragged her behind the evergreen hedge that marked the boundary of the plot nearest to Mairgrave.

“What are you doing?” she scolded the bushy beast.

“Shh,” said Briarsting, laying one green finger against his lips. “It’s the City Watch.”

Gustin, who was almost bent double to hide behind the low hedge, added, “The little man says that the Watch has been coming by on regular patrols and they know all about those tombs being open.”

“Well, they can’t approve of this,” Sophraea stated firmly. She popped up to peer over the branches at a trio of sturdy men in armor rounding the corner. Two were tall and rather young, but the third was an older man with a huge salt-and-pepper mustache clearly visible beneath his helmet. She waited for outcries and the scuffle that usually occurred when thieves clashed with Waterdeep’s defenders.

Instead, to her surprise, one of the men hauling on the urn simply said, “Oh, you’re back. Give us a hand then. It’s heavy.”

“Shift it yourself,” replied the mustached Watchman with a frown. “We’re not here to help you. We’re only here to make sure that you do not take more than you are allowed. And that you take proper care of what you remove.”

“Like we want an enormous stone vase full of old ashes.” With another grunt and shove, the workmen finally freed the urn from where it was caught in the doorframe. They staggered onto the path and set it down with a thump.

“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 bobbi rig 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.