City of the Dead (7 page)

down the steps with a shout and wildly waving fists, Sophraea knew someone or something was telling her to stay out of the City of the Dead. Dangerous magic was brewing on the other side of the wall, old shadows were stirring, and even a Carver should tread warily after dark in the graveyard.

“Find a wizard,” Volponia had advised her. The old pirate knew what she was talking about, Sophraea decided. There was trouble simmering within the walls of the City of the Dead, magical trouble that would take more than a mallet and a pack of unruly relatives to quell.

Sophraea was still mulling over the previous evening’s events when her mother Reye thrust a shopping basket into her hands. “With that midnight supper last night,” said Reye, “we have nothing left in the house for tonight. See what you can find in the market. Take Leaplow if you need some help.”

“I’d rather go by myself,” said Sophraea, thinking she might cut down to Coffinmarch and call on Egetha. The woman wasn’t the right type of wizard, at least according to Volponia, but she must know other magic-users in Waterdeep.

Reye started to protest, then shook her head. “I keep forgetting how old you are. You’re right. It would probably be easier shopping without Leaplow. But keep …”

“My money hidden and don’t talk to strangers!” Sophraea grinned at her mother.

“Go on, go on.” Reye flapped her hands at her only daughter. “I obviously can’t teach you anything.”

Sophraea just laughed, pulling her second best cloak off the peg by the door. Outside a low dark sky threatened an eventual downpour. However, even though the chimney tops were lost in the clouds, the rain held off as Sophraea walked quickly to the market.

Once there, she found barrel after barrel filled with slightly s°ggy root vegetables. Winter storms kept the more distant traders away and the selection coming from nearby farms was the usual boring winter fare.

While bargaining with one vendor who at least had some greens

that were supposed to be green, Sophraea heard a familiar voice behind her.

“I haven’t the full price yet,” said the lilting accents of Gustin Bone. “But give me just a little time and I can pay for the room all winter.”

Peeking around a pile of dried fruits, Sophraea saw Gustin deep in conversation with the neighborhood silversmith.

“I get a good price for that room most seasons,” said the man who was as round and heavy as one of his bowls. “Seeing as it opens onto the alley and there are no stairs.”

“Certainly, you should charge more for such, a prize,” agreed Gustin, smoothing back his well-trimmed beard. “And I will be happy to pay once I get my little exhibition open.”

“A spell-petrified hero,” said the silversmith. “Can’t say that I have ever heard of such a thing.”

“Shh, shh.” Gustin laid his finger to his lips with exaggerated caution. “Don’t want the citizenry of Waterdeep to hear too much before we are ready.”

“We?”

“Well, I’m thinking a small portion of the viewing fee should belong to you by rights; it being your room and all. Of course, in return, you might agree to a smaller deposit on the room. A little less now, as it were, for much more later.”

The silversmith smiled that smile so often seen upon the streets of Waterdeep, the one that says “I know you’re trying to get the best of me, but I’m sure that I can get the best of you.”

Gustin returned the silversmith’s smile with one equally as bland.

“Well, it’s hard to rent a room in winter,” said the silversmith finally. “And people will pay to see the oddest things, just for entertainment.”

‘ “I tell you, the ladies will weep with sympathy for such a brave paladin turned to stone in his prime,” Gustin said. “And the

gentlemen will pay to let them in to take a look. Especially when the gentlemen can comfort them afterward.”

“Very well, I’ll take what you have now and a portion of the fee later.”

“Quite the best business decision that you’ve ever made.”

In perfect accord, the two men nodded at each other, spat into their hands (at which Sophraea rolled her eyes in disgust), and shook upon the bargain.

His business successfully concluded, the satisfied Gustin went whistling past the outraged Sophraea. She swung her basket in front of him, knocking him hard in the stomach.

“Oof!” Gustin stopped abruptly. “Sophraea Carver. I didn’t see you there. Do you need help carrying that basket home?”

His voice was still as cheerful as ever, but his face fell when Sophraea began to scold.

“You’re a cheat!” she said to him. “My father is carving you that stone man. It was never any living hero. Spell-petrified paladin, I don’t think so!”

Gustin dragged the sputtering Sophraea into a nearby alley.

“Hush,” he said. “You don’t understand.”

“I understand very well,” returned Sophraea. “You’re just another adventurer trying to cheat a little coin out of our pockets. The ladies will weep … Well, they should if they waste their money on your foolishness.”

“My foolishness is very harmless entertainment,” retorted Gustin. “And they will come, especially after my hero walks through the market here, seeking to return to his family home.”

“It’s the silversmith’s spare room!”

“I’ll say that his family lived there many generations ago and he has spent all these long years seeking his way home, one last tiny spark of a living soul trapped inside the stone, driving him to his final resting place.”

“Oh, that’s terrible! Who is going to believe that?”

“Well, the citizens of Marsember, Arabel, and Daerlun, for a start,” huffed Gustin. “It’s how I make my living. Displaying the rare artifacts of a more magical time, before the Spellplague swept through the world. A tragic petrified hero always packs them in, especially after I get the chapbook printed telling about his great deeds and battles. A simple piece that can be bought on the way in or the way out.”

“But my father is carving the statue now. How can you have done this in Marsember and those other places?”

“Different statue, obviously,” said Gustin with exaggerated patience. “But the wagon tipped over on the way here, the statue broke, and pieces were never as interesting as a whole body. I have to say, what your father is doing is much more lifelike than my last hero.”

“I still think it’s a terrible cheat-. And why would anyone pay to see such a thing?”

“It’s the marching through the streets that usually does it, I tell you. I know you have more of a history here of walking statues, but in Cormyr, most folks are impressed with that kind of magic.” He grinned at her, his humor obviously restored. His green eyes twinkled, inviting her to share the joke with him.

Flabbergasted by his unrepentant attitude, Sophraea just fumed for a moment. Then she spun on her heel. “I’m going to tell my father,” she said as she started out of the alley.

“No, wait.” Gustin grabbed at her arm and pulled her back.

“Hey, let her go!” Binn, the one-eyed butcher’s boy, skidded into the alley, aiming a wild punch at Gustin. The young man ducked. Binn threw his delivery aside to go after him.

Sophraea screeched as a greasy, bloody package splattered against her. She shoved the disgusting thing away, yelling at Binn, “Don’t. I can take care of myself.”

The butcher s boy was too caught up in his heroics to pay any attention to the maiden that he thought he was rescuing. He swung another punch at Gustin, who being a good head and shoulders taller than the lad, just leaned out of the way.

Sophraea pinched Binn’s arm, hard, to make him listen.

“Ouch!” The boy rubbed the bruise on his upper arm. “That hurt, Sophraea.”

“Serves you right for not listening to the lady.” Gustin had retreated strategically behind Sophraea only to let out his own yelp when her elbow poked back into him.

“Both of you just stop it,” she stated firmly. “Binn, it was very nice of you to defend me. But I need to talk to this man. Alone.”

“You’re sure you don’t want me to fetch some of your brothers?” asked Binn, staring with malice at Gustin.

“No!” said Gustin and Sophraea together.

Binn picked up his package of meat, dusted it off with one casual slap against his leg, and left.

“I’m not sure that I’d eat anything that came from that butcher,” mused Gustin.

“We don’t,” said Sophraea. “We get our meat two streets over.”

“That’s a relief.”

“Not that you’ll be eating any of it,” said Sophraea firmly. “I’m not invited to supper?” Gustin grinned at her. “Even after I defended you from that homicidal butcher’s boy?” “You didn’t defend me. I defended you.” “Well, I was just getting ready to …”

“And I’m still going to tell my father about the trick that you’re planning with that statue. He’s a very honest man and I’m sure that he won’t approve.”

“Please don’t do that.” Gustin looked quite crestfallen. “He might stop working on it.”

“But you can’t expect us to help you trick people out of their money,” said Sophraea stepping out of the alley and back into the bustle of the market.

“It’s not easy being a wizard these days,” Gustin pleaded as he followed her out of the market. “There’s just not as much money in magic as there used to be! I need that statue.”

Sophraea paused in her angry march down the street. She gave Gustin a straight stare, ignoring the people pushing around them. “Are you a good wizard?” she asked.

“Better than some, worse than others.” Gustin paused, a suspicious look dampening his grin. “Why do you ask?”

“I could use a wizard,” answered Sophraea with a rather nasty smile.

Gustin Bone absolutely refused to go into the City of the Dead at night.

“I am not suicidal,” he told Sophraea, “and, even in the hinterlands, the tales of the strange haunts occupying Waterdeep’s largest graveyard are well-known.”

“Nonsense. It’s not like that anymore,” Sophraea said, with more confidence than she felt. After all, something strange was stirring in the graveyard and, even though she was a Carver, she’d rather not be stumbling around the tombs in the dark. “But we can go in daylight if you prefer.”

Not wishing to explain her mild blackmail of the wizard to her family, Sophraea arranged to meet Gustin two days later at the Coffinmarch gate, the largest and most public of all the gates into the City of the Dead. She arrived well before he ambled into view. Nobody paid any attention to the short girl impatiently tapping her toe against the cobblestone.

Sophraea fidgeted in place, fussing with the linen cloth covering the contents of her shopping basket. As always, they were out of something needed at Dead End House. That day, it was dried fruit for a sweet loaf that Reye wanted to bake. Sophraea had stopped at the fruit seller’s shop, certain that the old lady’s careful measuring and weighing of the contents would make her late. .

Instead, she was on time and the wizard was missing.

Gustin strolled casually up the street, waving a cheerful greeting at her.

“You’re here bright and eager and early to go ghost hunting,” he said.

“Shh!” said Sophraea. “I don’t want to give my business to the entire street. And, besides, I don’t know that it was a ghost.”

“Oh it has to be a ghost,” replied Gustin, walking beside her to the gate. “Everyone visits the City of the Dead to see the ghosts, hunt for treasure in the tombs, and marvel at the monuments.”

“Hunt for treasure! Where did you get such an odd idea?”

“It isn’t true?” Gustin reached into his tunic and withdrew a small battered book. “I’m sure it says something in here about treasure in tombs…”

“Anyone caught looting in the graveyard would be severely punished by the City Watch,’” Sophraea said firmly.

“But if they weren’t caught?”

Alarmed by this line of questions, Sophraea’ stopped in the middle of the walk, ignoring the’exclamation of a fat dwarf who nearly trod on her heels. The dwarf sidestepped into the gutter and splashed past them. Sophraea shook her head severely at Gustin. “Don’t even think about stealing from a tomb. There are other guardians besides the Watch!”

Gustin shrugged and then grinned at her. “I never liked stealing. It too often proves less rewarding than you’d think. Every time you take something, odds are that you’ll end up cursed, pursued, or just plain unlucky.”

“I thought you were a wizard, not a thief,” said Sophraea, wondering if she should go strolling through the City of the Dead with this outrageous young man.

“Absolutely, I’m a wizard. But magic is not the most lucrative of careers, at least not for me. I like to eat every day, several times a day if I can,” said the tall and very thin Gustin Bone.

“So you tell lies about stone statues?”

“I give people an entertaining story and if they choose to give me

coin in return, I’m happy to have it. Nobody is hurt by the exchange and I can pay for my meals.’*

A true child of Waterdeep, Sophraea couldn’t argue too much with Gustin’s desire for gold in his purse. Fortunes rose and fell all around them, as certain as the waves in the harbor, and many in Waterdeep did not hesitate to do real harm to others in their pursuit of wealth. In comparison, Gustin Bone’s threat to the citizens’ purses was rather mild.

The usual winter drizzle limited the number of people wanting to explore the pathways inside the City of the Dead. Even the members of the Watch on guard had retreated as far under the wall’s overhang as they could and still remain at their posts. All of them were well-wrapped in their cloaks against the cold.

“There are better places to take your girl,” said the tallest one with a wink at Gustin.

“Drier,” mumbled the shorter fellow trying to huddle deeper into his cloak. ŚŚ

“I wouldn’t give much for a man who took me walking in such a gloomy place,” added the woman, who looked at Sophraea with sympathy.

With an indignant sputter, Sophraea started to explain that she wasn’t out walking with the wizard, at least not in the romantic sense of the word. Gustin just tucked her arm through his, smiled sweetly at all three Watch members, and said, “Well, I thought about a stroll through the Sea Ward, but you know the ladies. Some of them find monuments quite moving.”