There was a restless mood in the parklike cemetery. The Watch patrols, walking their usual patrols, felt it. As angry talk swelled around them, they kept their mouths shut and pretended not to hear, where at other times they'd have stepped forward to warn and remonstrate.
Nor were they the only ones treading lightly in the cemetery. Highcoin folk who might on other occasions have loudly called on the Watch to chastise and more, kept their peace and walked warily, listening instead of airily voicing opinions.
"The Lords are driving Dyre down, building by building!"
Heads turned.
"What's that? What building?" a merchant bellowed, in a voice that rang out like a warhorn.
"The Lords are smashing the New Day!" someone else shouted, bringing inevitable calls of, "What's the New Day?"
Folk were gathering quickly, striding frown-faced from bowers behind more distant burial halls. In the darker shadows of the tombs, half-seen ghostly shapes stirred restlessly, called forth into the sunlight by the sudden anger and fear riding the air.
"The Lords are against us all!" a man roared, waving his belt-knife.
A woman standing near shrieked, "They can blast down all our homes, and take our coins from among our bones, and build anew!"
"They're hunting Varandros Dyre in the streets right now," a breathless cap-merchant gasped, trotting up the cobbled path from the nearest cemetery gate. Others, standing near, took up that cry.
"They'll kill us all, if they think we're of the New Day!"
"What's this 'New Day'?"
"Get home and get your coins before they bring the walls down on your children! Fetch your swords! This is it!"
"The Lords are hunting the New Day! The Lords are after us all!"
"What by all the blazing Hells is the New Day?"
That exasperated outlander's shout was lost in the rising roar of angry Waterdhavians drawing belt-knives and gathering nose-to-nose to shout rumors into dark truths, and dark truths into war-cries.
A Watch horn rang out-then another-and suddenly the crowd knew its foe.
Heads turned, eyes peered, pointing arms shot out-and in an instant the Watch became the hunted.
"This-this is not right!" an old noble growled, reaching for his sword. "Give me that, man!"
And he plucked a Watch-horn out of the hands of a paling, stammering officer and blew it as hard as he could, in the old, frantic dah-DAH, da-DAH blast that meant Aid! Aid here! All aid here NOW! That call was echoed in the streets around the City of the Dead, and helmed heads turned, peering down from the towers of the city wall along the east side of the cemetery.
"They're coming for us!" a cobbler shouted, waving a stool around his head like a club. "They'll hunt us down! Fight for your necks! Fight for your freedom! Fight for Waterdeep!"
"For Waterdeep!" the roar went up, as furious as any beast's howl, and all Watchmen within reach died in a few panting moments of furious hacking.
Watch-horns were sounding closer, now-and the high, clear song of a City Guard muster-horn rang out from a wall-tower.
Some folk cowered, but others bawled defiance and fury, and ran at all who stood against them. The old noble's blade bought the whimpering young Watchman a few moments more of fearful life ere they were both hacked down. Then everyone was running, racing amid the tombs as Watchmen and armored Guardsmen with drawn swords burst into the cemetery at every gate. Women and children screamed and wept and ran wildly across the sward, men snatched up cobblestones and funeral urns and turned to fling and overwhelm anyone in uniform-and swords were snatched from failing hands to be swung against the law-keepers.
"The New Day!" someone shouted. "For the New Day! Down with the Lords!"
"They killed Piergeiron! For Piergeiron!"
A fat man swung a captured Watch blade so hard that it burst apart in shards and sparks around him as it bent the sword it struck and drove a tall Guardsman head-over-booted-heels down a short stone stair into bushes, where shrieking women, clawing and kicking, overwhelmed him.
Guard-horns sang out over the tumult as astonished commanders stared open-mouthed over the sea of angry citizenry.
"'Tis a bloody war! A war within our gates!" one snarled, and blew the horncall that would summon the Watchful Order. Surely this fury must be spell-driven…
A few frantic breaths later, he blew his horn again, this time the call for his men to rally around. It was soon accomplished, for anyone who'd dared stray too far from his fellows had already been slain.
"This is madness!" he shouted, to those who were left. "If we try to stand, we'll be butchering fellow citizens until it's too dark to see! So: Sword-ring, blades out, and walk steadily back to the gate we came in by! We'll form a shield-wall outside the Deadrest!"
With his horn he told Guardsmen elsewhere what they was doing as screaming, curse-spitting citizens crowded close around his men again, striking with bench-slats, lamplighting poles, and anything else long enough to outreach a Guard's blade.
Hardened Watch and Guard officers cursed in amazement as they fought their way back to the gates.
"They've gone mad! Mad!" one snarled, and others nodded grimly, their eyes wide in sweating faces.
"That's it," a white-haired Guard officer snapped from his saddle, as blood-drenched Guardsmen staggered out through the gate in front of him. "Form two shield-walls, funneling back that way! Arrest all who leave, and at sunset, close this gate!"
The woman sitting cold-faced on the horse behind his lifted her hand in a swift gesture, and a sudden blue glow swirled around the officer's mouth. Abruptly, the sounds of other men shouting came out of it, and another cold order, from unseen lips: "Spread the word. I, Marimmon of the Guard, do so order: round up all who flee the City of the Dead before sunset-and close the gates at that time on those who don't. Fell magic's at work among the tombs! Ghosts or no ghosts, I'm not having this butchery spill out into the streets!"
CHAPTER TWENTY
Something-she never knew what-brought Naoni out of her reverie and abruptly to her feet with a small cry of dismay. The shadows had deepened alarmingly while she'd been lost in thought; the sky was already the soft purple of coming twilight. She gathered her skirts and ran down the path, plunging through the cold magic of the portal.
A strange din- battle? — grew louder as she hurried from the Rest toward the grander tombs, but Naoni never slowed. Better to dash through a scuffle than cower in the shadows and be locked in when the gates were closed at nightfall.
A flung cobblestone flew past her shoulder. She ducked hastily into the nearest tomb, spun around, and peered back out.
Ahead, men and women were throttling each other, punching and thrusting daggers into whoever was nearest, clubbing people bloodily to the ground with walking-sticks and bench-slats. More than once Naoni winced and turned away, feeling her gorge rise.
Only to turn back again, not daring to look away too long, lest someone come charging her way with murder in their eyes.
She felt sick. So many shouts of "New Day" and "Down with the Lords"… and now, so much blood.
Half the shopkeepers and crafters in Waterdeep seemed to be out there on the grass and now-trampled gardens of the City of the Dead, angrily trying to slay each other. Soon it would be dark, and the Watch patrols were nowhere to be seen. Were they just going to let people kill each other here all night?
Here, in with the restless dead?
Something cold touched her spine, sliding down to her hips in what was almost a caress, and Naoni whirled around, unable to stifle a little shriek of alarm.
There was no one there-nothing but a hint of movement in the gathering darkness of the tomb.
Naoni swallowed hard. The dead walked the City of the Dead after dark, 'twas said. She'd always thought that a scare-tale, put about to keep honest folk out of the walled cemetery by night, to cut down on carousing and trysting and knifings-but now she could see something grinning at her. Something not quite seen, not quite there… something with teeth that glinted as it came toward her, a shifting darkness in the darkness.