Somewhere in the charging back and forth, the lantern got kicked over and then extinguished with a howl from Leaplow as he trod with bare feet across the burning wick.
Sophraea was carried out of the center of the fray, still kicking and screaming, by her uncle Sagacious. He dropped her on the front doorstep with a strong admonition, "Stay here, poppet, before one of us hits you by mistake."
Then Sagacious and his wife Catletrho rushed back into the fight. She wielded a broom, he swung his fists, and the bullies fled howling before them.
Later, the women claimed that the brooms had won the day, chasing the bullies out of the courtyard and down the street.
It was the boots, added the men, that let the bandits get away.
Almost all the Carvers had extremely bruised toes from where the bullies had stomped down on their bare feet and made their escape. Leaplow also had a fine burn on his instep which Myemaw later insisted on smearing with butter and binding with a big white bandage, much to his embarrassment.
But at the height of the fight, the family raced down the street in pursuit of the thieves, leaving Sophraea and Myemaw forgotten on the front doorstep.
"Huh," said Sophraea, who was still clutching Leaplow's old mallet. "I could have fought them off."
"Yes," answered Myemaw in her practical way, "but why bother when you've got so many tall relatives who are having so much fun."
Sophraea's grandmother stood in the doorway throughout the fight, well-wrapped in a warm woolen robe. She had lit a candle in the hallway so the open door was clearly visible if the family needed to retreat. Obviously prepared for anything, Myemaw carried her knitting bag looped over her arm, with the extra long steel needles sticking out of the top. Even more deadly than the needles was the black ball of yarn that Volponia had given Myemaw years ago. At Myemaw's command, the yarn ball could entangle a dozen rambunctious adolescents, or any robber, and drop them trussed to the ground.
As was the family's emergency plan, Myemaw guarded the door, throughout the fight, ready to use the yarn and needles on any intruder who dared to invade the house.
"But they always set me out of the way," grumbled Sophraea.
"Only because they love you and because Reye yelled so much every time your brothers brought you home with a black eye or some other interesting scrape."
"Piffle," sighed Sophraea. "It's just because I am short. They all think I'm as fragile as Volponia's china ornaments. If I was taller, then I could be in fights and Mother would not fuss."
Myemaw did not argue. She just handed Sophraea her extra slippers. "Brought them with me," said the old lady. "Figured that you would have forgotten to wear any."
With a grateful hug, Sophraea slipped the warm sheepskin slippers over her cold feet.
There were still yells and other noise on the other side of the wall bordering the street, but no one was left in the dark and silent courtyard.
"I'm going up to the kitchen," said Myemaw, apparently satisfied that Dead End House was no longer in immediate danger of invasion. "Everyone will be too excited to go to sleep when they, get back. So I might as well stir up the soup pot and see if we have any wine to heat."
"I'll help you in a moment. But I want to check the graveyard gate and make sure it's latched and locked."
The old lady fetched a candle from the hall table and lit the wick from her own candle. She handed it to Sophraea. "Go on, but take that mallet with you too."
"Thank you for trusting me out on my own," her granddaughter replied.
With a smile wickedly reminiscent of her friend Volponia, Myemaw said, "I was always the shortest one until you came along, and it took a few years before those big Carvers learned exactly how well I could take care of myself and my family. You'll do just fine on your own. I've never doubted that. But don't do anything too rash. We only need one Leaplow in this family."
Sticking the mallet through the belt on her nightrobe, Sophraea sheltered the flickering flame of the candle with her curled palm as she stepped into the night wind.
As she walked to the graveyard gate, a memory niggled at her mind. There had been something familiar about the first thief, something about the way he sniffed the air. "He acted like that hairy doorjack of Stunk's," Sophraea said to herself.
But why the servants of such a rich man would bother stealing from a tradesman workshop, especially one filled with fine materials bought by their master, was a puzzle that Sophraea couldn't solve.
She found the graveside gate still locked. Peering through the bars, Sophraea could see no marks upon the mossy steps or the path revealed in the candlelight. The rain had stopped and the wind died down a little. Beyond her own small circle of light, the moon revealed a swirling white mist that clung to the bare black branches and blurred the edges of the tombs.
As she stared, Sophraea could make out pale shapes in the fog. But everyone saw shapes in the mist in Waterdeep. They were harmless mirages, nothing to worry about.
Except, one shape was a bit more solid than the others: a man carrying a lamp, that's what it looked like. A man in a broad-brimmed old-fashioned hat and long coat carrying a hooded lamp that only cast a dim light. A man leaning on a cane and looking directly at her.
Sophraea blew out the candle with a quick breath and drew back into the shadow of the wall.
The man lingered for a moment more, then walked away from the gate, following the path that led around the Deepwinter tomb and farther north into the City of the Dead. Another pale figure, glowing slightly around the edges, drifted through the fog and followed his dark shape away from the Dead End gate.
Sophraea put her hand on the latch, ready to unlock the gate and follow. But a strange chill touched her. Suddenly, she felt that it would be a very bad idea to go into the graveyard alone. She started to shrug off the foreboding when she remembered some of Leaplow's past misadventures. Those that the Carvers buried rarely bothered the family. Sometimes they even gave out a friendly warning or two, and only Leaplow was rash enough to ignore such signs.
As certain as she was that her brother would have bounded 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.
FIVE
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.