To distract herself, Sophraea began to question Gustin on what to do next to quiet the noble dead ofWaterdeep.
"Replace the shoe where we found it in the underground tunnels," said Gustin. "I'm certain that it anchors whatever ritual curse was used."
"So if we just put it back, then the dead won't walk?"
Gustin gave one of his long rippling shrugs that started at his shoulders and ran all the way down to his hands turning palm up. "It might not be that simple," he said. "There may be a countercharm or other spell that's needed. I wish I could see the spellbook that he used."
"Perhaps we should go to Lord Adarbrent today and ask him for the book," Sophraea mused.
"You think just knocking on his door and asking politely will get him to end this feud with Stunk?"
Sophraea pushed her hood back so she could see the wizard clearly. "Actually," she said slowly, "he might. If nothing else, Lord Adarbrent is a man of honor. I doubt he meant to involve our family quite so deeply in this war with Stunk. He's always been a good patron and a friend to my father."
"Do you really think a nobleman would care that much about what happens to a tradesman's family? I've seen aristocrats before," Gustin replied, "and none of the breed have ever struck me as having much regard for the lower orders."
"But Lord Adarbrent doesn't see us like that. He doesn't see anyone like that," she continued, remembering the old man with his tentative offer of sweets to a lost child and, later, his long stories told over the family ledger. "He sees us all as a part of Waterdeep. We keep this city's traditions alive."
At Gustin's slight smile at her choice of words, Sophraea shook her head. "No, this place, the City of the Dead, is important to Lord Adarbrent and so we're important because we keep it as it has always been kept. We built the first wall around it, we carve the tombs, and, he knows, as long as we are here, the City will have someone caring for it who loves it as much as he does."
"You talk as if he's fallen in love with a graveyard," said Gustin.
"No, he's in love with Waterdeep. He always has been," said Sophraea with revelation. "Waterdeep is Lord Adarbrents one great passion. And, for Waterdeep's sake, I think I can get him to give up that spellbook. Maybe we shouldn't be going to Dead End House now. Maybe we should go to Lord Adarbrent immediately."
As she turned to go toward one of the public gates, a flash of gray fur caught her eye. Unsure of what she'd seen, Sophraea slowed down, turning in place. Now she could clearly see a giant gray paw sliding out from behind a black marble urn. A tip of furry ear was visible through the urn's curved handles and a twitch of the bushy tail could be seen near the base.
She clutched the basket's handle with both hands and took a deep breath. It couldn't have been a wolf. There weten't any wolves in the City of the Dead. Ghosts, ghouls, haunts, walking corpses, undead, and restless dead, all those dangers she had been warned about since she was a small child. Those were ordinary threats, like thieves in the marketplace. If you were careful and wise, and avoided certain parts of the graveyard after dark, you could spend your whole life traipsing back and forth quite safely through the City of the Dead. Her family did it every day.
Even outsiders, strangers to Waterdeep like Gustin, could wander the paths in the daylight hours with no fear of attack.
But nobody had ever warned her about wolves. Such a creature didn't belong in the City of the Dead. She couldn't have seen a wolf.
Drawing a deep breath, Sophraea concentrating on using that peculiar sense that let her see throughout the City of the Dead. And, there, right behind a memorial urn, she distinctly perceived something with four large paws, an even bushier tail, and, oh dear, numerous sharp teeth!
Before she could warn Gustin, Sophraea caught a glint of metal behind the wolf. A very large man in a helmet crouched behind a gravestone that wasn't quite large enough to hide him fully.
In her vision, the wolf dashed around the urn and dived under a nearby hedge separating one family's plot from another's.
"Gustin!"
The wizard halted beside her, seemingly unaware of her concern. With a shake of her head, Sophraea tried to see the graveyard as Gustin would see it. Dripping hedges close to the path, a few tombs, no sign of life at all. Their pursuers were still too far away and too well hidden for Gustin to see them. Of course, that must mean that their pursuers couldn't see them either. At least she hoped that was true. Then she remembered that wolves tracked by scent.
Trying to keep her voice calm, Sophraea asked Gustin, "Do you have any spells against wolves?"
"Nothing particular," he answered. "Why?"
"How about men in armor?"
"I have that one I used during the street fight that makes weapons slippery." Gustin looked over his shoulder. "What do you see?"
"Don't turn," she said as she started quickly down the path.
Her odd double vision setded more firmly over her. In one sense, she was still firmly anchored to the Sophraea scrambling down the gravel path in the graveyard. But another Sophraea seemed to be floating high above the tombs. That disembodied Sophraea clearly saw the slinking gray wolf tracking them along the wet path and, to her dismay, more than the one armored man behind it. There was an entire group of Stunk's bullyblades tagging along behind the beast.
"They followed us," she warned Gustin. "Stunk's men."
The wizard quickened his pace and didn't look back.
"How many?" he asked as a crackle of white lighting sparked off the tips of his fingers. He kept his hand low and close to his chest so their pursuers could not see.
"Half a dozen, not more. One is a wolf." Sophraea stumbled along, her double vision causing her to feel slightly dizzy. For one wobbly moment, she felt as if she trod on the bronze roof of a nearby mausoleum as well as by Gustin's side.
"To my right or to my left?" Gustin asked.
"What?" Now one Sophraea jogged around a corner while the other, the floating Sophraea, danced unseen above the head of the gray wolf. The beast snarled below her phantom toes, snapping left and right at the empty air, the hair clearly rising on the back of its bristly neck. The creature couldn't see her phantom above it, she decided, but somehow it knew she was there.
One of the armored fighters yelled at the wolf, his mouth moving silently as apparently her expanded senses didn't extend to hearing. But from the man's angry gestures, Sophraea could tell that he was urging the group on.
"Stunk's men. Are they on my right or my left? Can you tell?" Gustin asked again.
She blinked. Before her, two tall evergreens marked the entrance of a grotto. Her other sight showed the same trees rising behind a long colonnade memorializing the fallen heroes of a long-forgotten war. Stunk's men used the marble columns to hide their approach, but they were almost level with the two people hurrying toward the evergreen grove. With a start, Sophraea realized that she was seeing herself and Gustin.
"On your right, on your right!" she cried and pointed to the columns.
Gustin whirled and flung the spell over Sophraea's head. It cracked through the air, a whip of raw energy. Someone yelled. A red-haired goon leaped up from his hiding place, shouted to see the wizard staring directly at him, and dived back behind a column.
"Stone, stone," Gustin muttered, his eyes burning emerald bright. "Those columns are all stone, yes?"
"Pure marble," Sophraea agreed. That particular memorial had been built by her great-great-grandfather and had been more recently polished and repaired by her uncles. It was supposed to be one of the greatest examples of that period's monuments. Uncle Sagacious, in particular, often took his sons there to show them what "fine carving truly meant."