City of the Dead

ELEVEN

In Sophraea's troubled dreams that night, a lady walked. She was a very young lady, very pale, and her face was hard to see beneath the high-piled curls and fine lace hood she wore.

The lady's dress was spangled with brilliants, and her little feet glittered in gold brocade shoes. She danced through the paths of the City of the Dead, hurrying as if to a great ball. And behind her, in long lines, they came. The noblest of the dead, the revenants of the great families of Waterdeep, all dressed in the richest robes and most elegant costumes of the centuries.

In crimson lace and sapphire wool, in tawny leather and gilded armor, they came. Rows upon rows of the noble dead followed the dancing lady out of the City of the Dead and into the sleeping streets of Waterdeep.

A terrible crack, like the breaking of a bell, woke Sophraea from the nightmare.

After lighting a candle and pulling on a pair of slippers, she ran down the staircase in her nightgown. She was certain that the noise was real, although she grimly hoped that the rest of the dream was just nonsense stirred up by her worries.

Around her, the rest of the house slept in its usual rumble of snores and grunts.

She reached the courtyard door and pulled aside the locks. Drawing a deep breath to give herself courage, she twisted the handle.

"Sophraea?" the whisper came from behind her.

She spun around, one hand hard against her thumping heart.

A tall thin shadow slid down the staircase. "Sophraea?" whispered Gustin. "Is that you?"

With a cry of relief and annoyance, Sophraea fell upon the wizard. "What are you doing here?" she whispered.

"I heard this noise, something breaking. It woke me up," he said. Then, almost reluctantly, he admitted, "It's more than that. Sort of a feeling that I get. When I let off a spell or someone lets off one near me. This was really strong and unpleasant. Then I heard you go running past."

"How did you know it was me?"

"Your brothers do not run that lightly down the stairs."

"True."

She danced impatiently from slippered foot to slippered foot. Gustin was right, there was a tingle in the air, a disturbance that was more than winter drafts and bad dreams. It was like being in the City of the Dead, she decided, and knowing that there was a grave open just behind you. One wrong step could tumble you backward into the embrace of the dead.

"Why are you here?" Gustin whispered, interrupting her troubled thoughts.

"I heard something too," she admitted. "And I dreamed the dead were walking past the Deepwinter tomb toward our gate." "Oh," breathed Gustin, looking dismayed. "It was probably just a dream." "I sincerely hope so," said the wizard.

"I'm going outside," said Sophraea, drawing herself as tall as she could, "to see what is there."

"Do you really think that is a good idea?"

"Probably not, but I don't think I have any choice."

Taking a deep if slightly unsteady breath, — Gustin nodded and said, "I'm coming with you."

"You know," said Sophraea, patting his arm to reassure him and herself, "I do think that you are very brave wizard."

"Right now," said Gustin, unlatching the door and opening it for her, "I agree with you."

The courtyard was completely empty. Nothing stirred in the shadows, not even one of the Carver's many cats.

"There's nothing there," Gustin stated the obvious.

"Is that a good thing ot a bad thing?"

"I'm not sure. I've never had any dealings with the dead," said the wizard. "You're the expert there."

"I'm a Carver and I am not afraid," said Sophraea with greater bravado than truth, advancing into the courtyard, the candle held high in one trembling hand, "The dead don't bother us. We take care of them. They leave us alone."

"I'm a friend of a Carver, I don't want to bother the dead, I absolutely want to be left alone by the dead," Gustin stated as he followed her. Then he whispered to Sophraea, "Do you think that will do any good?"

With a cry of dismay, Sophraea stopped short of the Dead End gate. The iron bars were shattered in half, the pieces of the gate now hanging open from the lock and hinges.

"Something did come through here," she said. Then she started down the mossy steps into the City of the Dead.

"Wait," said Gustin, grabbing the back of her fluttering nightrobe and pulling her into the courtyard. "Where do you think you are going?"

"Maybe I can find Briarsting," she said. "He could rouse the guardians within the City of the Dead. Maybe they can bring the ghosts back before anyone finds out. Our family is going to be in such trouble if anyone finds out they came through here!"

"Sophraea, it is quite literally the dead of night," Gustin argued. "We have no idea what went through here or what is still stirring on that side of the wall. You cannot go into the graveyard in your nightrobe!"

Then the wizard let out a low moan.

"What is it?" Sophraea said, struggling to pull free from his grasp.

"This is your nightrobe, isn't it?" he moaned again, still clutching a handful of her skirt. "What you sleep in?"

"Of course," she said, finally tugging the sturdy confection of quilted silk and lace out of his hands. "What else would I be wearing?"

"Well, I got dressed," pointed out Gustin, taking Sophraea by the shoulders and steering her firmly back to the open doorway of Dead End House. "Of course, that's because I don't have… No, I am not having this discussion with you and I am not being found with you in your nightrobe."

"You're not in my nightrobe," Sophraea said, thoroughly confused by the conversation. "I am."

"Don't make it sound worse," said the young man, shoving her up the stairs and into the house. He was slightly hindered by the fact that he was trying to keep his eyes directed at a point somewhere above her head.

"Gustin, what are you talking about?" she exclaimed. "We have to do something about the noise we both heard."

"Sophraea," said the wizard firmly. "There is absolutely nothing we can do until morning. Not safely. In the morning, we can look for Briarsting and see what can be done. But now, for my sake, please, please go to bed, before one of your very large male relatives wakes up and catches me with you in your nightrobe."

"You know," she said mounting the stairs, secretly relieved that she wasn't in the middle of the City of the Dead, "you're not as brave as I thought you were."

"I am willing to face any number of the dead," whispered Gustin as he slid back into his room, "before I face your father, or your brothers, or your equally terrifying large uncles and cousins. Or, what's probably worse, Myemaw and her carving knife." He shut his door with a decisive click.

Sophraea stood there, tapping her foot against a floorboard, wondering if she should take just one more look at the shattered gate.

Gustin's door popped open again. "Besides, you do not want to encounter ghosts at night," he whispered, "not when they are at their strongest. Go to bed, Sophraea." His door clicked shut again.

Not completely ignoring the wizard's advice, Sophraea stayed within the walls of Dead End House, just creeping through the lower rooms, looking out the windows facing the City of the Dead to see if she could see anything.

Outside, the fitful moonlight revealed nothing. Eventually the clouds totally hid the moon, so outside was complete blackness. All she could see was the pale reflection of her own face peering into the darkened glass.

After one last restless circuit through the lower floors, checking to see that doors and windows were tightly bolted, Sophraea acknowledged she was exhausted. She went back to the main staircase.

At the bottom of the stair, Sophraea spotted her wicker basket, the one that she took to Lord Adarbrent's house. With a murmur of annoyance, she recalled the letter of recommendation lying completely forgotten at the bottom.

"I never gave it to him," she scolded herself. "Well, we had some distractions," she forgave herself a second later.

Pulling aside the cloth covering, she rooted for the letter. It crackled under her fingers. But something else was missing.

"The shoe!" exclaimed Sophraea. The brocade shoe, she was sure that Lord Adarbrent had handed it back to her. Yes, he had given it to her and she'd tucked it right down in the basket. Had it fallen out in the fight with Stunk's servants?

No, she was just as certain that she had checked the basket as they'd hurried back to Dead End House. And she remembered tucking the shoe a little deeper under the linen napkin she used to keep the contents dry. She hadn't wanted the Watchmen on the Andamaar gate to ask her about it.

After they'd gone through the Andamaar gate, they hadn't stopped, because it was dusk and Gustin kept making remarks about not wanting to be stuck in the City of the Dead after dark. As if she could miss a turn or not get them to the Dead End gate in record time!

Perhaps the shoe had rolled out after she dropped the basket in the corner by the stair. There'd been the usual scuffling crowd of Carvers all trooping into the house at the same time, intent on finding a hot supper. Bentnor, Cadriffle, and Leaplow had even started some nonsense with Gustin, shoving back and forth, about who had the right to go up the staircase first.

She hadn't been paying much attention then, just trying to get her cloak hung up and ignoring a sister-in-law's impertinent questions about "how ate those language lessons going? Isn't it odd that you need to do so much studying while walking around the city with the young man?"

Sophraea lifted her candle high, hoping to see the glitter of the tarnished brocade. For some reason, she was certain that it was important the shoe be found.

Farther down the hallway, she glimpsed something shining against the dark wood of the floor. In the light of her candle, Sophraea saw very clear footprints, the footprints of a lady dancing in circles. The footprints glowed with an eerie light and then disappeared.

Behind her, Sophraea heard soft footsteps. She whirled around, but there was nobody there. The candle shook in her hand, sending the shadows quivering across the paneled walls.

A distinct chill nipped her cheeks and Sophraea remembered Gustin's warning about ghosts being strongest at night.

She felt something brush her shoulder. Her candle blew out! Shivering in the dark hallway, she smelled a blend of melted candle wax and the thin drift of smoke from the wick. There was something else too. She stood very still, her breath shallow while she tried to recognize it. Yes, there was another scent, a mix of old brocade and the faint scent of rose oil.

Sophraea sprinted up the stairs, leaped into bed, and very firmly pulled the covers over her head.

Yet, even with her ears muffled under the pillow, she could still hear the dancing steps of the dead and their dreadful laughter as they made their way to a ball.