City of the Dead

EIGHT

11'$ waterfowl stew again," said Reye, stirring the pot. "And there's 1 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, eating steadily, but Sophraea's uncle Judicious chatted with the latest addition to their dinner tabic.

"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. -

"I've noticed your family tends to the large size," he replied.

"All except me and Myemaw," agreed Sophraea, crossing the parlor to pull open the not-very-secret door built to look like a fireplace cupboard. A stack of candles sat on the table at the top of the twisty dark staircase leading down. Looking up at the wizard, Sophraea asked, "Can you keep track of time in your head?" "Fairly well," replied Gustin.

"We can't be gone forever," warned Sophraea, lighting a candle and shoving it into a holder. "But there's always a lot of chatter and chores after a big meal. We should have time to get under the tomb if we hurry."

"So where does this stair go?" asked Gustin, following close behind Sophraea. Shadows cast by her candle flickered upon the wall beside him. Within two turns of the stair, a glance back over his shoulder showed the door to the neat little parlor was lost to view.

"To the lowest basement," she replied. "Step carefully, sometimes things get loose down here." "Things?" said Gustin.

"You know, corpses that aren't quite settled in their coffins yet. Unusually large reptiles slipping in from the sewers," said Sophraea as she drew back the bolt of a door bound with three bands of iron. It swung open silently on well-oiled hinges. The air from the lower depths smelled drier than many dungeons that he had been in, but still had that tang that let him know they were heading underground.

"But the boys did a cleaning down here a few days ago," Sophraea continued, "all the way down the stairs to the bottom basement. Myemaw insisted."

"Did they find anything?" asked Gustin, trying to sound as nonchalant as her. One thing he had figured out on his first day in Waterdeep was to never show any surprise or astonishment to its citizens. Even though every step down the most ordinary street made him tighten his jaw muscles just to keep his mouth from dropping open at the sights and sounds of the city.

Look at their earlier walk through the City of the Dead. A functioning topiary spell, a casual conversation with a thorn about the possibility of the dead moving around on their own, and the sure signs of some major ritual or curse surrounding those two tombs. That was just in the north end of the graveyard, the area that his guidebook said was quiet and of little interest to travelers.

And look at the girl tripping down the stairs so lightly in front of him. None of what they had encountered had surprised her. Perhaps startled or more likely annoyed, especially when she landed under that topiary dragon's paw. But she'd remained completely calm in that Waterdhavian way that made him feel like he was twelve again and had just rolled off a farm wagon with hay still stuck to his hair.

"Mostly they cleaned out some rodent nests," she answered his question. "And a couple of lizards. But nothing too nasty."

Gustin reached into his tunic, tapping for a reassuring moment his guidebook to Waterdeep. But he didn't need the large spells and rituals hidden there. It was just a gloomy staircase leading into a basement stacked with coffins and corpses. Perhaps a few rodents or a lizard. Nothing to bother a well-traveled young wizard like himself. Sophraea wasn't the only one on this staircase who could exhibit an unruffled attitude.

A scrabbling of claws sounded overhead. A glance toward the ceiling revealed a flick of a scaled tail before whatever it was disappeared back into shadows.

"See," said Sophraea. "Just a lizard or two. You get them down at this level. They help keep down the bugs."

"I don't mind bugs," he said, shaking his wand out of his sleeve. He tapped one end against the back of his left hand and a small white flame sprang up. At least that allowed him to see his feet as they followed Sophraea round another bend in the stairs.

She stopped to unbolt another thick wooden door. "Last one between the stairs and the basement proper," Sophraea said.

"I keep forgetting this is so heavy," she added, pulling the massive door toward her. Gustin reached easily over her head and grabbed the door's edge to shove it open with his free hand.

They emerged in a dark cellar room, lit only by one guttering candle on a table near the door. Two men sat at the table, making loud slurping noises as they finished the last drops of something dished out of the iron kettle resting between them. Even in the dim light, neither could be mistaken for fully human. One had tentacles instead of hair and the other had scales instead of skin.

The big man with tentacles writhing around his head pushed back his chair, rising quickly as soon as he spotted them in the doorway. The smaller man, who resembled a two-legged fish, pursed open his mouth as he turned in his chair toward the girl, revealing a double-row of sharp pointy teeth.

The tentacled man hurried forward, his arms opened wide, a dripping fork in one hand.

Gustin grabbed the girl in front of him and, ignoring Sophraea's squeak of protest, pulled her behind him. He joggled her hand, causing her to drop her candle. The little flame winked out, leaving the basement full of shadows, the only light the single candle burning on the table.

The stranger's tentacles fanned out around his head, whipping back and forth like a snake about to strike. The one with two rows of teeth sprang out of his chair to follow his companion.

Gustin's hand flew up and the flame flared at the end of his wand.

Sophraea latched onto his wrist, shoving down his hand. "Wait," she cried as she had in the graveyard when she wanted to protect the topiary dragon.

He began to pull away but Sophraea shifted her grip, pushing at his wand to direct the flaming tip away from the man advancing toward them.

"Don't… be careful…" Gustin warned the girl.

Trying to take the wand out of Sophraea's grasp without hurting her, Gustin lost his own grip on it. In fact, as had happened once or twice before, he was sure that the cursed thing twisted deliberately under his Angers. With its usual spite, the wand spun out of his hand. Swearing under his breath, Gustin made a flailing grab for it. The flame detached itself from the end of the rod, rolled itself into a ball of sparks, and whizzed out of reach.

Sophraea squeaked as the ball of sparks sped past her nose. The strange little ball ricocheted off the wall, and bounced back over his head. He waved his arms wildly, trying to deflect it away from his hair, trying to call up a shield between them and the out-of-control ball of sparks as quickly as he could. The spluttering ball of light flew upward, colliding with the ceiling.

With a sharp crack, a chunk of plaster broke loose and fell from above, hitting him squarely on the top of his head.

His knees buckled and he fell back onto the sputtering Sophraea. Just like a farm boy falling off the barn roof, he thought a little incoherently as he tumbled into the girl that he had hoped to impress with his quick wits and magic.

There wasn't much of her but what there was cushioned parts of him nicely as they both landed on the hard cold stone floor. Still, she wasn't very long and Gustin cracked his chin on the top of her head and, then, the back of his head on the stones below them.

After one more breathless squeak underneath him, Sophraea balled her hand into a tight little fist and punched his closest ear.

"Ouch," Gustin groaned. The girl might be tiny but she could hit hard.

"Get off me!" Sophraea cried.

And the big man with tentacles for hair lunged at Gustin.

For the second time that day, Sophraea found herself pinned to the ground by a large body. Gustin was a dead weight that wasn't actually dead. As a Carver, she knew the difference. -

"Sophraea, Sophraea, are you all right?" She looked up into the concerned faces of the gravediggers Feeler and Fish. She hadn't expected them to be in the basement. Usually they went out after dinner for a drink in the Warrens.

Feeler grabbed Gustin's shoulder and rolled him off Sophraea. Fish reached down a scaled hand to help her to her feet. After a quick "thank you" to Fish, she bent over Gustin. He struggled to sit upright with his head between his knees. Muffled groans emitted from him with greater drama than she felt was necessary. After all, he'd hit her on the top of the head when he fell and she could feel that lump forming. And she had not punched him that hard. When she tipped his head back, he blinked at her, looking somewhat cross-eyed.

Squatting down beside them, Feeler patted Gustin's arms and legs. His tentacles waved around his head, a sure sign that the big man was a bit upset by all the magic that had been whirling through the basement. To Sophraea, however, he spoke in his usual mild deep tones, "Nothing broken. Perhaps a bruise or two in the morning. He'll be fine."

Relieved but unwilling to show it, Sophraea asked Gustin sharply, "What was all that about?"

"Why did you grab me?" he countered. "Don't ever do that again! That's dangerous!"

"You were attacking my friends."

"I was just trying to give you some light. You dropped the candle."

"What sort of light makes a hole in the ceiling!"

Gustin shook the plaster dust out of his brown curls, wincing a little at the movement. "It's a wand with several uses, that's what it is. But you can't break my concentration or I lose my grip on it."

"What kind of wizard are you?" she demanded.

"Fairly good, by all standards," replied Gustin evenly as he crawled around on his hands and knees, patting the floor in front of him. With a grunt of satisfaction, he located his lost wand, tucking it back up his sleeve. "But this little item isn't all that reliable. It likes to slip out of its user's hand."

"Then why do you have it?" Sophraea asked as she climbed to her feet.

"Payment for a job. Never take magic items from another wizard. The cheap ones always cheat by giving you trash," said the young wizard with casual condemnation of his profession. "That's why I prefer to make my money in other ways."

Aware of Feeler and Fish listening carefully to every word that Gustin was babbling, she stopped him before he could say more about his schemes and introduced the two gravediggers to him.

"So," said Gustin with a cheerful grin, as if he had not just knocked a hole in their ceiling, "you live down here?"

"People don't bother us here. It's quiet," said Feeler while Fish nodded and lit another candle. Fish rarely spoke in front of strangers, Sophraea knew, because of the odd lisp created by his two rows of teeth and split tongue.

"I am sorry about interrupting your supper," said Sophraea.

"Not to worry," said Feeler, "you're welcome any time."

"We just need to use your door," she explained.

"YoUr parents know you're going into the tunnels?"

Sophraea gave the type of a shrug that might be taken for a "yes" in dim light. Feeler appeared skeptical'and Fish pursed his mouth in a disapproving frown. ¦ "I'll watch out for her, saer," said Gustin.

To Sophraea's frustration, Feeler looked straight over her head at the wizard. "You wouldn't want to know how deep we could bury the body that harmed this child," he said.

"No, saer," said Gustin sincerely. "I'm sure I wouldn't."

"I am perfectly capable of taking care of myself," asserted Sophraea. Really, just because the gravediggers had given her rides on their shovels when she was a baby, that didn't mean that she couldn't protect herself now. "It's not like I haven't been in the tunnels before!"

"With a pack of your brothers and cousins," said Feeler. "Not alone. That's different."

"He is a wizard. With a wand," Sophraea pointed out because she had a feeling that would impress them more than her usual argument that she was fully grown and quite able to navigate the tunnels on her own. "And we're only going a short way. I just want to show him something and then we'll come right back."

With a heavy sigh, Feeler agreed. "But take our lantern with you. Candles blow out too easily."

"But there're lights in the tunnels." Sophraea picked up the lantern even as she protested.

"But that's magic," Feeler said. "And, as your young man pointed out, some magical items are not always reliable. I know you won't get lost, but there're things out there that you don't want to meet in total darkness. What if you stumble across those sewyrms everybody keeps seeing down here?"

Sophraea started to tell the gravediggers that Gustin wasn't her young man, but realized that would plunge her into even more lengthy explanations. Instead, she nipped quickly out of the door that Fish opened, promising that she and Gustin would return shortly and keep a sharp eye out for reptiles and other threats. Gustin lingered in the doorway. "Sewyrms?" Gustin said to Feeler.

The man held his two hands far apart, indicating the size from nose to tail tip. "Big ones," he replied. "Some say that there's even a great albino sewyrm, down in the darkest, deepest sewers, living off the garbage. That it's grown so big that it can't even move through the tunnels anymore."

Sophraea snorted. "That's just story! Albino seawrym in the sewers of Waterdeep. Like nobody has ever heard that one before!"

"Well," the wizard began. "I don't think that I've…"

She grabbed Gustin's sleeve and tugged him through the door.

"We're just going a little way," she said over his shoulder to Feeler. "Just beneath the graveyard. It will be dry as dust and twice as safe as above ground."

"Come back quickly," the gravedigger prompted.

"We will," Sophraea promised.

The door shut firmly behind them. Sophraea nodded in approval as she heard the latch'click down. It would never do to leave Dead End House defenseless on the lowest level, a lesson drilled into her as soon as she started to beg her mother to be allowed to accompany her brothers through the tunnels leading from the basement to the upper streets of Waterdeep. And, although she would never admit it out loud, it was a little comforting to know that Feeler and Fish would wait by the door until they returned.

She gave a quick glance up to the dark outline of the door's watcher. One stony wing was folded halfway across its horned head and its bearded chin was tucked firmly into its shoulder.

"That has to be the ugliest statue that I've ever seen," remarked Gustin, holding the lantern a little higher to cast a light into the niche above the Dead End door.

Sophraea looked upon the ugly creature with affection. She could just make out the slightly notched left ear. Bentnor had jumped up on a bet with Leaplow to pat the watcher's paw. And, of course, once Bentnor did that, Cadriffle had to get high enough to tweak its nose. And once the twins had done that, Leaplow had to best them by twisting the left ear a bit askew. No wonder it kept its wing extended over its head after that!

She opened her mouth to explain the watcher to Gustin and then shook her head at her own foolishness. Such knowledge should only be shared with members of the family and the others who dwelled at Dead End House. No matter how friendly Gustin was, he could not be considered family.

"Come on," she said instead. "We don't have much time."

"So where exactly are we?" Gustin asked as Sophraea hurried down a short dark passageway.

"Into the old sewer tunnels, heading directly under the City of the Dead," she said. She paused for a moment, waiting for the special tug that signaled she was passing under the walls of the City of the Dead. "This is an access tunnel used mostly by the cellarers' and plumbers' guild. If you go the other way, it turns south toward Coffinmarch."

She went a few steps farther in and immediately knew exactly where they were.

"Good, there's the Deepwinter tomb," she glanced up but nothing could be seen in the lamplight except the dull masonry holding the earth above them. It was all instinct that guided her, but she was certain that they were directly below the big mausoleum.

If she closed her eyes, the tunnels around them disappeared. She could picture herself standing on the gravel path twisting through the rain-soaked shrubbery around the tomb's north corner.

"We'll need to turn at the next branching of the tunnels to reach the spot that we want," she told Gustin, opening her eyes and looking up at the wizard.

"Are your eyes blue?" he asked her.

Surprised, Sophraea shook her head. "No, brown, like the rest of my family. Why do you ask?"

Gustin tilted his head to one side, staring at her. "It's gone now. But, just for a moment, there was this flash of blue."

"Trick of the light," Sophraea guessed, heading into the tunnel that led them past the Deepwinter tomb and deeper under the City of the Dead. "Everything always looks a bit strange down here."

"You use these tunnels much?" Gustin moved easily at her side, his long legs easily covering twice the ground as her shorter, quicker steps.

"We all do. Feeler and Fish the most, because it's the quickest way in and out of the graveyard, and many of the portals that they use are below ground these days. The rest of us use the tunnel to Coffinmarch for a shortcut if it's raining too hard to go by the upper streets. Lots of families have entrances in their basements that lead to these tunnels."

She didn't try to explain to him how she felt like she was walking in two places at the same time, one Sophraea in the City of the Dead above them, the other Sophraea in the tunnels below. It was a slightly disconnected, somewhat floaty feelings but not altogether unpleasant.

As they rounded another turn, passing by a shadowed doorway, Gustin remarked, "I'm surprised they don't get more unwelcome visitors in their basements. This looks like the perfect arrangement for housebreakers."

"The underground doors are well guarded by stout locks and magic. Besides, we're under the graveyard here. That door just leads into the old Narfuth crypt. There's nothing there worth anything."

"Magical protections on the doors, really? I didn't feel anything in your basement."

"That's because you entered from above, as a friend of the family. The Doorwatcher would have known that and let you alone. Although"-a gleam of amused speculation lit Sophraea's dark eyes-"I suppose that could be why your spell rebounded so spectacularly on you."

"Can't wait to meet this Doorwatcher," said Gustin, but he sounded more intrigued than aggrieved.

"You already have," Sophraea started but then they rounded another corner. Huddled around a couple of torches, shadowy figures blocked the way. Gustin pulled Sophraea into an alcove and shuttered the lantern, leaving them in darkness.

"Best wait until they pass," Gustin whispered in Sophraea's ear, tickling her dark curls with his breath.

"Probably just some neighbors heading home from a party. The City of the Dead's gates would be locked by now and they are using these tunnels instead." But her explanation sounded weak to Sophraea. Most folks avoided going anywhere near the graveyard after nightfall, even underground. Something about how the group scurried together, hands clutching their dagger or sword hilts, and the constant glances back over their shoulders did not suggest a late evening party of revelers.

"I thought that halfling said that she would lead us to treasures," whined a slender man clad in black silk from head to heel. He passed close enough to where Sophraea and Gustin hid that they could hear the whisper of his trousers.

"Who would have thought her hands would be so cold," answered his female companion, a well-rigged fighter bristling with knives, sword, and even a short shield. Another tall man stalked at her side, well-armored and with a hint of ore in his scowling features.

The fourth man, more drably dressed than the others, stopped and stared back into the darkness. He looked straight at the alcove where Sophraea pressed back against Gustin. She held her breath. Gustin's hand tightened on her shoulder.

Then the swarthy bravo shrugged and turned to follow his companions, saying as he left that section of the tunnel, "Well, if there are not treasures to be had tonight, I'm for hot wine and a warm bed. Let's go."

The sounds of this odd quartet died away, leaving the tunnel empty and silent behind them.

Gustin eased out of the alcove, keeping a hand on Sophraea's shoulder to hold her back. He listened for a few cautious minutes and then unshuttered the lantern.

"So this is basically a highway for thieves as well as honest folk," he observed.

"I don't suppose the officials like it," said Sophraea with a shrug, "but you see worse on the streets above. Besides, thieves don't bother people like us." She made the last statement with more ferocity than veracity, but they were so close to the tomb that she couldn't bear to turn back. Something was pulling her, something like that odd sense of direction that she had within the City of the Dead, but stronger.

She knew she would find an answer just about… there.

Sophraea stopped so abruptly that Gustin nearly ran her over, flinging out one long arm to catch himself against the tunnel wall.

"What is it?" he said.

"The Markarl tomb," she said, "or just outside of it." With that queer double vision that had haunted her through the tunnels, she saw the little brick-and-mortar tomb that stood directly above them. But the always locked bronze door? Was it a litde ajar?

"So now what?" Gustin raised the lantern, casting a wider circle of light. At the very edge of the yellow glow something glittered.

Sophraea darted forward, finding a tarnished gold shoe. She picked it up, holding it high so Gustin could also see it clearly in the lamplight.

It was very small and obviously made for a lady. Fashioned in a style popular long ago, the shoe's brocade fabric was badly frayed along the edges and the thin vellum soles decayed.

"Where do you think it came from?" she said out loud.

"A corpse," muttered Gustin.

She clutched the little shoe in one hand, reaching out her other hand to touch the walls. Solid stone met her hand, dewed with the usual dampness encountered in that part of the tunnels.

Sophraea continued poking around the edges of the muddy passageway, which smelled more like sewer than crypt, not that it was easy to tell the difference.

"I don't think there would be a body this deep," she said. "This is a storm drain, only full in worst rains, but they'd never risk a body washing out from here. That's why the tombs and portals are above. The water is supposed to drain down and then out."

"So somebody dropped it passing through. Or the water did carry it here? And, by the way, how hard was it raining today?" Gustin peered at the dank walls, as if expecting water to suddenly come pouring in.

"Not that hard." Sophraea shook her head at a newcomer's lack of knowledge of Waterdeep's precipitation. "Something like that would take a true downpour. Not that mizzle we're getting right now."

The passageway seemed even more shadowed and dank. A cold and clammy feeling settled with a shudder upon her bare hands and face. As they retraced their steps to Dead End House, Sophraea felt compelled to look back over her shoulder. The tunnel remained empty behind them.

She glanced at the wizard beside her. He seemed completely unconcerned by the shadows flickering along the walls that made her start and stare. Of course, he was a wizard, one of those adventurers who had roamed everywhere from what little he had told her. Sewer tunnels under a graveyard wouldn't bother him. And, she thought, raising her chin and holding her head a little higher, she wasn't worried either. He needn't think just because she was younger, and shorter, and had never been outside the walls of Waterdeep, that a few thieves passing them in the tunnels or some oddly shaped shadows swirling across the ceiling above them would frighten her.

Then she heard the soft exhalation, like a woman trying to muffle a cry.

"Do you hear something?" Sophraea whispered to Gustin, resisting the impulse to clutch at his arm.

"My teeth chattering," he answered back. "It's freezing cold all of a sudden."

The damp cold of the tunnels intensified. Sophraea felt like one of the Carver cats on the days that the wind blew from the north. Something was making her skin prickle and she fought an urge to whip around and stare again into the shadows. In the same odd double vision that let her see where they were in relationship to the City of the Dead, she thought she could see something following them out of the passages. At the very edge of her hearing, she heard something like the soft light footsteps of a woman. Sophraea was sure of it.

"Stop," she hissed at Gustin, tugging at the edge of his sleeve.

"Not here," he hissed back as they reached the intersection with three tunnels, the shortest passage leading to the Dead End door. "There's somebody ahead of us."

She heard a sob.

"No," Sophraea insisted, "there's somebody behind us." They were directly below the Dead End gate. In her double vision, Sophraea could see the iron bars shake. The sound of a woman sobbing echoed in her head, somewhere above, somewhere behind. Her sense of direction gone dizzy, Sophraea tugged again at Gustin's sleeve. "We need to stop.".

"Not yet," said Gustin, grabbing Sophraea's hand and dragging her toward the Dead End door.

From the middle tunnel entrance burst the plainly dressed bravo who they had seen earlier. His sword was drawn. His expression was unpleasant.

"Stop!" cried the thief, unconsciously echoing Sophraea.

"Not likely!" yelled back Gustin, pulling Sophraea along at a clip of long legs that left her shorter strides nearly flying off the ground.

Over his shoulder, Gustin muttered a string of foreign words. Their pursuer faltered. Then with a growl like a wounded dragon, he pressed after them.

"That one never works on the run," gasped Gustin. "I've really got to stop trying it in situations like this."

"Are… you… often…" Sophraea panted.

"Yes. That's why I can talk and run. Keep going!"

They sprinted to the door, the burly fighter barreling behind them.

Sophraea and Gustin crashed into the door. Sophraea beat out the Carver's secret knock in rapid haste with her small fists, still clutching the old shoe.

"Hurry, hurry, hurry!" she whispered. -.

She could see their pursuer in her mind; imagine the slash of his sword's blade.

His outstretched hand brushed her shoulder.

Gustin swung around, his clenched fist crashing into the thief s face. That didn't stop their attacker. He fell back with a snarl, then lunged toward them, his sword slashing. Sophraea ducked, throwing herself against Gustin to knock him out of the way. As they fell sideways, the sword's blade hit the door at the height where her head had been.

She was sprawled against Gustin with her arms outspread. He tried to free his hands, caught between them. She struggled to get off him so he could use his wand.

Sophraea pushed her hand into Gustin's chest for leverage, then swung backward with her arm extended. She tried to close her fingers tightly around the lantern's handle, felt the jolt as it hit the thief. The lantern clattered to the floor.

This time the thief shrieked in pain. He wiped blood from his face and lunged toward her.

Sophraea screamed. Feeler and Fish flung open the door and Gustin tumbled inside the room. She fell toward their outstretched arms, almost reached them.

Seeing a tall man with writhing tentacles for hair and another with a double row of shark teeth, the thief hesitated. Then he saw the glitter of the gold shoe in Sophraea's out-flung hand.

The thief lunged at Sophraea, grasping her wrist and pulling her to him. Gustin, just as firmly anchored on the other wrist, pulled her toward the open door.

Feeling like the battered ball in one of her brothers' games, Sophraea let out a shriek higher than any since earliest childhood, when Myemaw had said "That child is small but she has champion lungs!"

All the men winced. Sophraea took advantage of the thief s momentary distraction to stamp hard on his instep with one pointed heel. He gasped and for a moment, froze with shock. Sophraea twisted around, turning as much as possible with the two men still hanging onto her wrists. A second kick, with her equally sturdy and pointed boot toe, caught the thief on the side of the knee, where his armor didn't cover the side of the tender joint.

The man let out a yell, much as Leaplow once did when a younger Sophraea had shown him the maneuver taught her by Cadriffle.

Dropping Sophraea's wrist, Gustin secured a firmer hold on her waist and lifted her away from the thief, even as the frustrated and furious man swung down his sword.

Feeler came flying out of the door to tackle the thief. The blade missed Gustin's head by a breath as he ducked and rolled away, but the pommel clipped his crown.

Sophraea and Gustin rolled together into the center of the basement.

The thief fought free of Feeler's grasp and sprinted away.

Once again sitting in a tangle of the wizard's long limbs on the basement floor, Sophraea found herself being examined in a concerned way by Feeler and Fish.

"Are you all right?" asked Feeler.

"Fine, fine," said Sophraea as she started to scramble to her feet, but stopped when Gustin swayed against her. She dropped the shoe that she had clutched so tightly throughout the chase to steady the young man.

"He hit my head," said the wizard in a blurry tone. Blood trickled down from the brown curls. "It hurts," he confided to her.

"Oh no," said Sophraea, recognizing these symptoms all too clearly from various mishaps in the Carver household. She waved one hand in front of Gustin's glazed expression. "How many fingers do you see?"

"Pretty ones," replied Gustin and promptly passed out on the cold floor of the gravediggers' room.