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.
"It will be good to be on patrol again," the little man said to Sophraea. "It gets a bit lonely out here in the winter with only the Walking Corpse wandering through on occasion."
"Lord Adarbrent?" asked Sophraea, remembering the last time that the old nobleman disappeared down the pathways in the City of the Dead.
"He's got family close by," said Briarsting. "Big mausoleum, the Adarbrents have."
"Green marble, iron door, two memorial urns in the shape of sailing ships flanking the entrance, and the name picked out in gold leaf above, " said Sophraea, without even thinking.
"Bit unnerving how the Carvers all do that," remarked Briarsting to Gustin. The wizard nodded.
"Lord Adarbrent has been visiting us for years," said Sophraea. "He and my father discuss it all the time. One of the urns cracked during a heavy freeze and we replaced it. Lord Adarbrent wanted it to match the broken one exactly. He wants everything to always look exactly as it did."
"Not a man fond of change?" ventured Gustin as they walked away.
"No," said Sophraea, with a last wave to Briarsting and the topiary dragon. "He's very famous for his resistance to change. Lord Adarbrent is always marching around the city and muttering at people about the history and the importance of this bit of Waterdeep or that bit. Or telling them that there are forces out to change Waterdeep all together."
"Sounds like an absolute terror."
"Oh no," argued Sophraea. "He's always been very kind to me. When he notices that I'm there. Just, well, changes upset him."
As they walked along the path toward the Coffinmarch gate, Gustin kept up a steady stream of chatter, asking Sophraea about the nobles of Waterdeep. She barely heard him, she was so lost in her thoughts. Could someone really be rash enough to raise the dead with magic? For that was what she was sure she had felt. Not the usual comfortable wandering of one or two ambulatory spirits. No, this was something darker, angrier, rousing even chose dead who wanted to be left alone.
But she didn't know exactly what was going on. She wanted to talk to her family but she did not know what to tell them. That she stood in the middle of the City of the Dead at the start of winter and felt cold? They'd pat her on the head and probably buy her a warmer cloak. Oh, and her mother would remind her to take one of her bigger brothers with her when she went walking through the graveyard at twilight.
She needed to know more. She needed to understand what she had felt so she could explain it properly. And, if it was magic, she needed a wizard to help her.
"So, if we want to tell what was really going on, we need to go under the tombs," mused Sophraea out loud.
"I'm not going to start digging up the ground here. Who knows what spooks that would raise!" responded Gustin with an exaggerated wave of his hands.
"There were other ways to get under the City of the Dead," countered Sophraea, "but we'll have to go through the house. There's no help for it. I will have to introduce you to my family."
"But I've already met your father and your uncle and at least a couple of other Carvers…" said Gustin as Sophraea steered him back toward the Coffinsmarch gate.
"That's not quite the same as being approved by my mother, and my aunts, and my grandmother," replied Sophraea, "but I can't take you through the house without somebody seeing you. We need to think of a good explanation of why you were visiting me other than courting."
Gustin's mouth dropped open. "Courting!"
"It's the first thing that they will assume," said the exasperated Sophraea. "I know. I'll say that I found out that you were a language teacher and I need to brush up on my… noble Cormyr… to get the job in the dressmaker's shop."
"But I don't know any noble language of Cormyr," protested Gustin. "I'm not even sure there is one."
"Just don't tell my family that!" said Sophraea.
"And just think of all the grief that you've been giving me about my statue," huffed Gustin, trotting alongside the girl. "At least I'm not telling fibs to my family!"
Rosemary Jones
City of the Dead
"No, you just tell them to the entire city at large!" she retorted. Sophraea blushed a little, because she really didn't approve of telling falsehoods, but anything was better than her mother, her aunts, and her grandmother making assumptions about a young man visiting her. And, what would be more painful for Gustin, telling those assumptions to the Carver men.
Sophraea convinced herself that this one small lie was just a strategy necessary to get to the bottom of the strange doings in the City of the Dead.
Still arguing, Sophraea and Gustin left the City of the Dead, completely missing the tall, thin, and very elderly man standing in the shadowed doorway of a green marble mausoleum.
Once they were gone. Lord Adarbrent walked quickly to the Mairgrave tomb. He unlocked the bronze door and addressed the pale ghost standing inside.
"It will be well," he promised in his slow and formal manner. "They know nothing about our revenge and they may even prove useful."
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."