City of the Dead

FIFTEEN

Gustin kept patting her shoulder. Briarsting offered her a thin papery leaf and advised "Blow hard."

As for the topiary dragon, it collapsed in a sympathetic heap of quivering foliage at her feet.

Sophraea did not know what they were all so upset about. As she informed them repeatedly, she was hot crying. She was not.

"I am going to solve this," she stated for the third time, pleased that she managed the entire sentence without her voice breaking, cracking, or doing any of the other distressing modulations that had plagued the first two pronouncements.

"Well, of course," said Gustin just as briskly with one more pat. "And we are going to help you."

"Absolutely," said Briarsting, still tucking the leaf into her hand. "But what should we do next?"

"End the curse," said Sophraea with a decisive nod. "Obviously. If the dead stop haunting Stunk, then Stunk will stop hunting for revenge. At least, I hope so." She turned abruptly on the bench and poked Gustin in the chest. "You're the wizard. How do I end this spell?"

Looking as serious as she had ever seen him, Gustin said, "I've been thinking about that. I've been thinking about it ever since this began. I don't meddle with the dead. I have nothing in my very limited spellbook that even comes close."

From a distance that sounded deep within the cemetery, Sophraea heard a thin cry. She glanced at the other two. Neither made any sign of hearing what she heard.

"But you do have a spellbook? You understand magic," she continued. Wizards, her tone implied, should be prepared for anything, even a graveyard full of restless corpses intent on bringing trouble to her family's doorstep.

Gustin reached into his tunic and withdrew the guidebook to Waterdeep that he'd shown Sophraea earlier. Once again he carefully unfolded the crudely printed map bound into the back, laying it flat on the bench between them. He tapped one corner of the map and the streets and buildings swirled together in a rainbow of colors, then faded away to show line after line of tiny writing.

There it was again, a scream that strangled away. Neither Briarsting nor Gustin seemed to notice it. A soft nudge against her shoulder made Sophraea start and clamp her mouth closed to keep from gasping. She felt soft leaves brush her neck.

When she turned her head, her eyes looked straight. into one of the dragon's red berry eyes. It was wide open. The greenery of his brow drew into a deep wrinkle of worry. So she wasn't imagining the cry. The topiary dragon heard it too.

"All my spells," Gustin said, still looking down at his book. "All learned in bits and pieces, here and there. Animation of stone. That ritual is especially mine, but how is that going to help? Some defensive spells, which are not nearly as powerful as a good offensive spell. A few illusions, which work well. One spell that lets me run away from danger very fast. I'd be happy to use any of these in your service. But I don't see how it solves your problem."

Sophraea didn't see either. Round and round her finger, she twisted the ring that Volponia had given her. "There's a half a wish in this," she finally said, pulling the ring off and handing it to Gustin. "Could that stop this curse?"

"Half a wish?" He echoed, juggling the ring in the palm of his hand. "I doubt it. Wishes are magic based on hope. A half-hearted hope, like a half a wish, probably isn't enough to trump a good solid hate-filled curse. And the one thing that I can tell about this curse: whoever unleashed it really hates Rampage Stunk."

He gave the little silver ring back to Sophraea. She slid it on her finger with a sigh. It didn't seem right that a curse, one not even directed at her family, could create such havoc. But all Waterdeep knew that Stunk was seeking whoever had loosed the curse against him. No one had ever accused the fat man of being fair-minded. He was sure to blame the Carvers and even if they could drive off his bullies or appeal to the City Watch for protection, it would mean days or even tendays of disruption. And Stunk well might hire his own wizards. Dead End House had its protections, but Sophraea still worried about how much the family could withstand before somebody was seriously hurt.

The sound of booted feet crunching heavily down the gravel path propelled Gustin and Sophraea off the bench.

"Is it the Watch?" Sophraea asked as Briarsting leaped to the shoulder of the grieving stone woman overlooking the pool. From there, he hopped to the roof of a mausoleum.

"No," the green-skinned man called down. "It's a dwarf!"

The deep orange of the stout dwarf s waterproof hat and cloak marked him as a member of the cellarers' and plumbers' guild. In one hand he clutched a rake for clearing storm drains.

Sophraea started to murmur a polite greeting. The dwarf stared at her blankly.

"Do I know you, young lady?" he said slowly. "Forgive me my haste but I have urgent business at the Plinth. There will be a jump tonight."

Gustin stepped aside to let him pass. Sophraea watched the dwarf march steadily away from them. There was something odd about the sturdy hammerpipe, the faintest twinge of that same sense that always told her where she was in the City of the Dead.

If she narrowed her eyes and stared really hard at the dwarf, she could see the shadow of a much taller figure marching steadily away from them.

"I thought the Plinth was destroyed," remarked Gustin.

With a start, Sophraea broke her concentration on the dwarf. "Oh, yes, the Spellplague took down the Plinth." The dwarf had disappeared around a corner of the path. "But the dead don't always know current history."

"That was a dwarf. Not a corpse."

"That was a possessed hammerpipe," she corrected him. "There's no reason a member of the guild would be aboveground looking for a long-lost temple."

"Are you sure?"

"Come on, I want to see where he came from." Sophraea headed north on the path, following the clear footprints of the dwatf. She stopped at a leaf-clogged grate and the puddle stretching across the path. "I don't know any hammerpipe who would pass by something like that. No, some ghost has grabbed him."

"Shouldn't we do something?"

"You know exorcism spells?"

Gustin admitted he did not.

"They'll catch him at one of the gates," Sophraea said to soothe both Gustin and her conscience. "Or the City Watch will pick him up on their patrol. It will give them something to do."

Another turn of the path showed an open storm grate and a pile of tools lying next to it, obviously where the dwarf had been working. Sophraea took a hard look at the tomb nearest the grate and the family name carved deeply into the granite.

"One of the Lathkule," she said. "That explains it. A restless family and notorious possessors. This ritual has stirred up too many of the dead."

A gnome's head suddenly popped up from the open sewer line.

Like the dwarf, he was dressed in the orange of the cellarers' and plumbers' guild.

"Here! You, young person," shouted the gnome. "Have you seen my friend? We've found the problem down here."

Sophraea blinked in surprise at seeing this ordinary worker in the middle of the City of the Dead. "I think your friend went down that path," she pointed in the direction that the dwarf had taken.

The gnome scrambled the rest of the way out of the hole, then leaned back to call down. "Firebeard has gone off again. Can you get the clog up by yourselves?"

More muffled shouting could be heard from the hole.

The gnome cast a grimy eye over Sophraea and her companion. He tossed the end of a rope to Gustin Bone. "Haul on this, will you, tall guy?" he said. "Faster we get this cleared, the faster we can get out of here."

With a good-natured shrug, Gustin began pulling on the rope. Slowly, like an exhausted fish being hauled into a boat, a bundle of cloth and bones emerged from the hole. The richly dressed skeleton was followed by a contingent of gnomes and dwarves, all dressed in dark orange. One of the gnomes wore the additional trappings that marked her as a cleric of considerable rank.

"Don't call it a clog," scolded the cleric. "That's not respectful."

"Caused a back-up all the way to Wall Way, didn't it?" said the first gnome in unrepentant tones. "That's a clog in my book. But we got it back here. Now what do you want to do?"

"We need to settle these bones," said the cleric. The skeleton stirred in its muddy finery. With a shake of her head, the cleric reached into her pocket for a vial of glowing liquid. With a murmured prayer, she shook the holy water over the skeleton, which collapsed back on the ground.

Sophraea leaned over die bones to take a closer look. The heavily embroidered robes wrapped around the skeleton incorporated a number of heraldic devices that she recognized as decorating the nearby Irlingstar monument. Another deceased member of an ancient Waterdeep family had been wandering, she realized. Once the body had no doubt been bathed with perfumed water and wrapped with herbs tucked under his burial robes. Now his funeral clothes smelled of the sewers.

"It was kind of you to bring the bones back here," she told the collected members of the guild.

"It's the guild's rules," explained the cletic. "If something washes out of the City of the Dead, it has to be replaced properly. Anything else would cause serious problems. But we don't usually get them trying to dig their way out through a feeder line."

"How far from here did you find these bones?" Sophraea asked.

"Almost to the wall. Most of the lines directly under the wall are small or gated. This one had gotten stuck in one of the smaller tubes, just south and east of the Andamaar gate."

That would put the skeleton on a direct underground path to the Dead End gate, Sophraea thought but didn't bother to explain to the cleric. Instead she pointed out the Irlingstar site. "If you can get him laid down there," she said, "I'll send my uncle Judicious to put a dead safe over the grave. That should keep these bones from wandering again."

"You're a Carver," observed the gnome leader of the group. Sophraea nodded. "Good. Save us a trip and take a message to Astute that we're seeing more disturbances down below. Nothing as big as this, but we're getting more dirt falls from the City above into the lines." i "I'll let my father know. The City Watch is looking for the cause," she added.

The gnome leader snorted. "Like that group of soldiers understand anything about dirt and digging. Tell your father to send along that Feeler and Fish. I think a couple of graves on the far north are starting to collapse. They'll know what to do. I'd shore them up myself, but you know how it is. Guild rules. We're only supposed to work on the sewer lines."

"Who should they ask for at guild headquarters?"

"Tollemar, that's me, or Firebeard. We're in charge of the City of the Dead's sewers," said the gnome.

The cleric directed the other sewer workers on the digging and placing of the still slightly twitching skeleton in the Irlingstar grave.

"That should hold," she told Sophraea and Gustin after a long blessing over the bones. "But this one has been tough to settle. I had to use almost a full bottle of holy water to keep those bones quiet during the trip back here."

"We appreciate your help," Sophraea answered. "I'd suggest being out ofthe City before dark. Things have been…" She trailed off, not sure how to describe the constant march of the corpses and haunts out ofthe Dead End House's gate.

"Don't worry," answered Tollemar instead. "I'm not letting any of my people in or under the City after nightfall. Guild rules."

"Probably for the best," Sophraea agreed.

"Now, where did you see Firebeard?"

Sophraea pointed out the right path to follow the missing dwarf. The guild members carefully closed up the grate leading into the sewers, double-checked the lock, and then shouldering their tools, they marched after their missing friend.

Once the members of the cellarers' and plumbers' guild were out of sight, Briarsting and the topiary dragon emerged from behind the tomb where they had been eavesdropping on the exchange.

"If the dead are going into the sewers," said the thorn, "that's bad."

"I know," Sophraea said. "It means all the protections are crumbling."

"What protections?" asked Gustin.

"When they first dug the sewer lines under the City, the Blackstaff laid certain protections against the dead using those tunnels to escape. You still do get things down there, but usually not straight from a grave."

"But the wall continues to hold," observed Briarsting. "You heard the gnomes. That skeleton didn't get completely free."

"But for how long?" fretted Sophraea. "And what if they are trying to use the lower ways into Dead End House?"

Gustin shook his head. "I think the gate is still the only exit that the ritual allows them to use. After all, that skeleton got stuck. It didn't get out."

"That's not a lot of comfort. We need to settle the dead permanently and completely."

"There are great wizards in Waterdeep," said Briarsting slowly. "Ones who can command the dead."

"I'm not going to the Blackstaff," said Sophraea. "Nor to any of the wizards in the Watchful Order. It would be too many explanations and the family is sure to get into trouble about the gate."

"We can hire someone less legitimate," suggested Gustin.

"And how do we pay? I have a silver ring with half a wish," said Sophraea. "I don't think that's going to be enough fot the type of magic we need."

The topiary dragon waggled its ears and scratched at the earth with one forepaw.

"There are treasures still in this graveyard," Briarsting translated. "We could borrow a few gems."

"That's not a bad idea," said Gustin.

"No," said Sophraea firmly. "I'm a Carver. And the one thing that we never do is steal from the dead. It leads to uouble. k always does. What do you think happened to Fitlor?"

"I was going to ask you about that," Gustin began. "Didn't he used to sleep in my room?"

"He was a distant cousin," Sophraea emphasized. "And he took something that he shouldn't have, something he found when he was helping Leaplow repair a tomb."

"And then?"

"He went through a portal and never came back."

"Maybe he's just traveling," Gustin suggested hopefully.

"We'd like to think so. But we can't take things from the dead. It never goes well. Look what damage I've done just by removing that shoe!"

"Then why don't you bring it back?" suggested Briarsting. The two humans stared at him and the thorn shrugged. "Look, it's just logic. If taking it out caused the problem, maybe putting it back where you found it will quiet down the dead."

"That's brilliant!" said Gustin, shaking the little man's hand so vigorously that the thorn's feet bounced off the ground. "I should have thought of that. After all, I am the wizard. He's right. If we could get back what started the spell, we should be able to cast some type of basic reversal. I know a ritual that might work like that in a pinch."

"But I don't have the shoe. It disappeared from the house, the night that the dead started walking," Sophraea protested.

"Hmm," Gustin tugged his beard, a green flash burning bright under his long lashes. "Bet I know where it is. But you won't like it."

"Where?"

"Stunk's mansion."

"Oh, no."

"Makes sense. From a wizard's point of view. It's the token, the object that draws the dead through your gate. And keeps drawing them back to one specific place, Stunk's mansion. If it was still at your house, they'd be knocking on the Dead End door all night."

"So we have to go to Stunk's and ask politely to search his house for a shoe that was taken from the City of the Dead?" Sophraea asked.

Gustin nodded. "We could do it."

"How? His servants will recognize us immediately. Stunk knows me. And once he sees me, he'll assume that the Carvers are involved. Which means he will try to cut my family into tiny pieces." She heaved an enormous sigh. "All right, I'll go to the Watchful Order. Perhaps they will know some way to end this."

"No, no," Gustin said excitedly. "We don't need those wizards. I'll tell Stunk that I'm a ghost banisher from Cormyr, able to perform miraculous exorcisms. You can be my assistant. Nobody will stop us from removing a cursed item from his house. And when we do, the noble dead will stop bothering him. Stunk will be happy." Gustin grinned. "He might even pay us. And then I could pay your father for my statue. This could work!"

"But the minute we set foot on his doorstep, his servants will recognize us!"

Gustin pulled out his disguised spellbook. "Illusions! What do you want to be? Redhead, blonde? Halfling? Elf?" He unfolded the map from the back of the guidebook and began muttering, tracing blue and brown lines that transformed from Waterdeep's familiar streets and buildings into spiky symbols and rounded letters. The air began to sparkle around his wildly waving brown curls.

As the magic engulfed him, Gustin started to look much older than usual, balding on top, bushier beard on his chin, and burly. Only his eyes remained his normal bright green.

"You make a charming elf," he said as his hair slowly faded from brown to gray.

Sophraea blinked. The same sparkling light swirled around her.

She reached up her hands to touch the tops of her ears. Both ears felt as rounded as ever.

"They look pointed to me," said Briarsting, realizing what she was doing. "That's a good disguise. Your face is completely different. Moon elf, I'd say. You even look taller."

She stared down at herself, saw a colorful skirt hem and elegant shoes beneath the edge of a brilliantly embroidered cloak.

"So, are you ready to call on Stunk?" said the seemingly elderly and heavily built wizard.

Sophraea shook her head at the visual change in Gustin's appearance. It was a good disguise. Yet, to her ear, the excited optimistic lilt in his voice revealed clearly that the man standing before her was Gustin Bone. Well, perhaps Stunk's servants wouldn't notice that. She resolved not to talk much when they were in Stunk's house. His servants had encountered her far more often than the wizard.

"Let's take the Mhalsyymber gate," Sophraea suggested, setting off briskly, as if to outrace her second and third thoughts about Gustin's hasty plans.

"Hey," said Gustin, for once forced to quicken his own steps to keep up with her, "do we know where Stunk lives?"

"Of course." She shook her head at the newcomer to Waterdeep. "He bought three mansions in the North Ward, leveled them, and built his own mansion on Brahir Street. It's supposed to be one of the largest private houses in all of Waterdeep. It took them almost a year to build it to his'satisfaction."

Heading to the Mhalsyymber gate, Sophraea could not remember a time when the City ofthe Dead felt so strange. The usual whispers and rustles were gone. All around her, the still hush felt like it was extending to the very edges of the graveyard, probing the wall that still protected Waterdeep from those within the cemetery.

The topiary dragon glided smoothly beside them. Just before they came into sight of the gate, Briarsting halted the leafy guardian.

"He can't pass the wall," said the thorn. "But I can come with you if you need an extra sword."

Sophraea shook her head. "No, it will probably cause less comment if it is Gustin and me. But can you take a message to my family? Just don't let them know that I'm going to Stunk's." The last thing she needed was Leaplow or Bentnor and Cadriffle or her uncles to decide that she needed rescuing and to storm Stunk's mansion.

"Do you think that wise?" asked the thorn. "Better than Leaplow roaring after us," she said. "Ah, well," Briarsting admitted, "he's not the coolest of heads."

"Let my father know what the gnomes said," Soph raea instructed him. "About disturbances below. And that Feeler and Fish should be looking for unstable graves."

Then she had a second thought and added, "And if you see my mother, tell her that that you passed me on the way and I said I was going to the shops."

Before she returned home, she would think of a better explanation. But she hoped that Reye wouldn't be in the courtyard and Briarsting would only speak to her father. It was always easier to explain things later to Astute. Reye was far more skeptical of her excuses.

With a bird whistle, Briarsting sprang onto the neck of the topiary dragon, waved at Sophraea, and turned the beast back toward Dead End House. She watched them leave with a worried frown, wondering how badly things would go that night when the haunts started marching through the Dead End gate.

Gustin reached out and gave her shoulder a friendly squeeze. "It's still morning and early morning at that," he said. "We have plenty of time to get to Stunk's house and find that shoe. We could stop this curse before supper."

"I hope so," said Sophraea, but she lacked the wizard's confidence. A strange sense of anticipation shivered through her bones as they walked toward the gate leading out of the City of the Dead. She knew the restless dead were all around them, waiting for nightfall in their crypts, tombs, and graves.

If they didn't find a way to stop the curse, Sophraea realized, than tonight's parade of the noble dead would be even larger and more dangerous than before.

The streets of Waterdeep's North Ward were almost as deserted as the pathways of the City of the Dead. Except for a few servants hustling around, well-wrapped in wool cloaks against the cold afternoon wind, Sophraea and Gustin saw almost nobody on their journey to Brahir Street.

"Do you think that the hauntings are keeping everyone inside?" Sophraea worried as they marched along. The closer they came to Stunk's mansion, the more empty the streets. Not even a broadsheet seller was abroad, screaming about the latest scandals.

A splat of rain mixed with sleet hit the back of Gustin's neck and slid under his collar. "I think they're just all staying inside to enjoy hot fires, warm ale, and toasted sausages," he said with a shiver. "That's what I'd do if I was rich."

"Mulled wine," Sophraea suggested, pulling her hood even tighter around her ears. Illusion or no illusion, the tips of her ears were now burning with cold. "And spiced dark cakes. That's what Myemaw always makes on days like this."

"I continue to be impressed by your grandmother's grasp of proper nourishment for the occasion," said Gustin. "I would gladly give up warm ale for mulled wine and dark cakes. But I rather think your uncles and your brothers and your large male cousins would be with me on insisting that toasted sausages should be included in the feast."

"And cheese melted across bread crusts. That's their favorite in winter."

Gustin sighed with satisfaction. "Another excellent choice. Do you think Stunk will serve us refreshments?"

"I'm just hoping we don't end up being somebody's snack," Sophraea remarked.

They heard shouting from somewhere ahead of them. Voices rose, a mixture of noise and curses, the anger clear in the tones. For a moment Sophraea felt relief. At least there is some life out on these streets, she thought.

A large figure dashed from one dark alley opening to another, dodging out of sight. Concealed inside the usual long coat and cap, it could be anyone, but it certainly looked tall and broad enough to be a Carver.

"Something's happening," she said.

"Go carefully," Gustin answered.

More crashes came from nowhere, like mallets pounding on stone. Heavy running steps, boots dashing over cobblestones, more shouts, and then the noise rose with a pattern of bangs that sounded like large children running past a fence dragging a board against the metal posts.

At guarded gates up and down the road, armed men ran out into the street. They stared and turned and yelled questions to each other.

Yet, the street ahead was clear. Guards glanced about, something almost fearful in the poses of these big men well-armored against any threat. No one lingered outside, each hustling back to their posts.

"Here," said Gustin, plucking a broken half brick off the street. He slipped it into the basket that Sophraea carried. He grabbed another and added it to the first. "Take these. You should be prepared."

"What do I need those for? The basket's heavy," she protested.

"You never know when a half brick is going to come in handy," said Gustin, rooting around to see if there were any more on the street. He did find a couple of more broken shards of yellow brick, obviously fallen off some builder's cart, and slipped those to Sophraea's basket as well.

A couple of gnomes, carrying tool bags, hurried past them. One wagged his eyebrows at the other. "Visitors to Waterdeep," he said to his friend. "They really do believe the streets are paved with gold:"

"Come on," said the other. "Let's get back to Warrens."

"Don't you think that Stunk's guards will be suspicious of a basket full of bricks?" said Sophraea as the gnomes rushed out of sight.

"First of all, it doesn't look like a basket," said Gustin. He pulled back to look down at Sophraea. "More like a very small velvet lady's purse or amulet tied to your wrist. Secondly, I doubt they'll look that close. If they do, we have bigger problems than what you're carrying and we might need those bricks to help us escape."

Sophraea glanced down at her arm and blinked. She hadn't looked at the basket before. It was just there, as heavy on her arm as it always was when she went out. But when she looked down, all she saw was a cutwork velvet reticule dangling from two slender satin ribbons.

"But it still feels like a wicker basket," said Sophraea.

"And you still feel like Sophraea under that illusion," said Gustin, giving her shoulders a quick squeeze. "That's why we don't want anyone touching us. What they see and what they would feel won't match."

"Well, I don't want any of Stunk's servants laying hands on me," said Sophraea with a shudder, thinking of the hairy doorjack who kept coming to Dead End House.

The streets were quiet again; the only sound the heavy rain beating against the pavement and the rush of water through the gutters. Yet Sophraea could not shake her sense of unease as they hurried past the silent mansions. The dead passed this way each night, she thought, and that's why all the houses seem so barricaded now. There's fear behind those locked gates and curtained windows. No one wants to look out and see what is passing by.

"There really should be more people around," she said, voicing her concerns out loud.

"It's the rain," said Gustin, repeating his earlier assurance.

"No," she said. "It's something more." For the street felt to her exactly like one of the paths through the City of the Dead. She knew exactly where the noble dead congregated each night. She could feel it more clearly than the cold rain soaking her cloak.

"Stunk's house," she said to Gustin, pointing without error at the mansion that she had never visited before.

Unlike Lord Adarbrents enclosed courtyard and entrance directly onto his street, Stunk's mansion was set back behind a high wall.

The massive gate of gilded irorr was firmly closed, even though it was still daylight. Through its thick bars, Sophraea could see a large courtyard rilled with well-armored house guards. Rather than lounging around or even cleaning weapons as they might be assigned at some less paranoid merchant's house, these guards were obviously on duty, standing at set intervals and staring sternly into space.

A brick gatehouse bulged out of one side of the high stone wall surrounding Stunk's estate. A bell rope hung down from a tiny slit opening in the wall. Above it was a shuttered window.

"Shall we ring?" Gustin strode up to the rope.

"You're sure that they won't recognize us?" she queried. She still felt like Sophraea. No matter what Gustin said, she wondered if a close examination would quickly reveal her true features.

The wizard pointed at a large puddle forming along one side of the wall. "Look," he commanded.

Sophraea peered down into the murky waters. The dim reflection looked nothing like her. Instead, she saw a slender moon elf, as pale as she was naturally dark, with elegant and distinctly inhuman features, dressed in the finery of a lady ofWaterdeep. Nothing at all like black-haired little Sophraea Carver of Dead End House clothed in her second-best winter skirt and carrying a wicker basket full of broken bricks.

Drawing a deep breath to steady her nerves, Sophraea nodded at Gustin. "Pull that rope."

The wizard tugged and a jangle of brass bells sounded behind the shuttered window. A few moments later, the window popped open. A familiar and unpleasant face came into view. Stunk's hairy doorjack peered down at them. With a sniff and snarl, he said, "What do you want?"

"An audience with your master," replied Gustin while Sophraea stayed. down wind behind him. "I am a ghost banisher of great renown in Cormyr and other states far to the east. I hear that Rampage Stunk has need of my services."

"That's not for me to say," said the hirsute servant.

"But can you take a message to your master and tell him that Philious Fornasta awaits his pleasure," Gustin flipped a thin coin through the gatehouse window. The doorjack caught it with a quick snap of his hand.

"I'll take your name to the house," the doorjack said and slammed the gatehouse window shut.

"What do we do now?" whispered Sophraea to Gustin.

"Wait," the wizard replied.

They huddled in the lee of the wall, partially sheltered from the chill wind and sleeting rain. A man ran past them and banged on the gate. He held a doth to his head. Blood seeped out from under his lowered hat brim and ran down his rain soaked face, then dripped from his chin to his coat. If he saw them, he chose to ignore them, which was just as well. Sophraea didn't like the looks of him at all. He seemed familiar and at the same time, she couldn't place him.

T hope that doorjack hurries or we'll wash away from here," Gustin said, shifting so he blocked the worst of the wind. She pressed gratefully against the warmth of his back.

He spoke in whispers too low for the stranger's ears. Sophraea realized that Gustin, like herself, didn't like the man's appearance.

"I'd rather have someone other than that doorjack leading us to the house," she said. "He's been in and out of Dead End House more than a dozen times on errands for Stunk. He's sure to recognize us if anyone does."

"Not a chance," said Gustin. "These illusions are good for a day or more as long as…"

"As long as what?"

"We don't trip over any wards or guardians that dispel magic."

"Would Stunk have something like that?"

"We won't know until we trip over it. But if we do, I've got a spell ready to help us run away!"

Sophraeasighed. This plan to enter Stunk's mansion in disguise felt more and more dangerous. But she really couldn't see another way around their problems. If Gustin was right, and the shoe was hidden in Stunk's mansion, then they had to retrieve it today and end this curse. But she couldn't help the nagging feeling that she'd forgotten some important fact, something that she shouldn't have overlooked.

The massive gilded iron gate began to swing open. The well-oiled hinges gave out no sound. A tall guard beckoned at Sophraea and Gustin.

"You wish to see Rampage Stunk," he said.

The other man rumbled a few words at the guard and pushed past him and hurried around to the side of the house. The guard ignored him.

"We are offering our services in ridding the house of ghosts, haunts, and walking corpses," replied Gustin smoothly.

The guard crooked his head, gesturing them through the gate. Three more men stood close behind him. All were heavily armed and Sophraea noticed none took their hands off their sword hilts.

With that escort, they passed through the outer and inner courtyards, all filled with even more armored guards, eventually climbing the shallow steps to the main entrance of Stunk's mansion.

Inside the vast hall, they were seated side-by-side on a long, bare, and very hard bench. Two of the guards remained to watch them while two others followed a well-dressed servant to a closed door. More knocking and whispered instructions ensued. The first two guards disappeared through the door while Sophraea and Gustin waited.

The guards left with them moved down the hall, stationing themselves at the base of the stairs so they had a clear view of the front and back entrances. Stunk's bodyguards exhibited no more interest in the pair left sitting together on the cold marble bench.

"Didn't you say that Stunk just built this house?" Gustin whispered to Sophraea.

"Less than three years ago," she whispered back, understanding the wizard's raised eyebrows and look of comical confusion.

To give himself an air of ancient ancestry, Stunk had stuffed every nook and cranny of his long entry hall with relics of Waterdeep's past. Ancient stone statues, suits of armor, portraits of pale ladies and supercilious lords, enormous tapestries, shields painted with heraldic devices, and other monuments to Stunk's wealth could be seen everywhere.

Above them hung not one but three greatglories, the extravagant chandeliers burning brightly with candles set amid their crystal drops, despite the murky daylight streaming through Stunk's tall windows at either end of the long hall. The staircase leading out of the hall to the upper rooms was twice the size of the one in Lord Adarbrent's house. Every step was covered with a rich woven carpet.

"I think there're bits of gold in the floor tiles," said Gustin, staring down at puddles formed from his dripping boots. He sounded slightly awed.

"Look at the gleam of that carpet on the stair. More than half the weave is silk," whispered back Sophraea. "And those tapestries. They're ancient."

Like Lord Ardabrent's house, this entrance hallway was cold. But it was not the cold of ancient neglect and decay. Rather it was the chill of ostentatious display, a place meant to impress rather than welcome any guest.

Sophraea shivered in her damp cloak. "How long should we wait?" she whispered to Gustin. "How long will your spell hold?"

"Shh," he said, "they're coming back."

Two guards reappeared in the hallway and indicated that Gustin and Sophraea should proceed through the black door. As they followed, Sophraea heard running boots again. She felt Gustin's hand on her back and didn't turn completely but lowered her head and glanced to the side. Three men in rough clothes and heavy boots rushed out of the back of the hall and out the front entrance.

The guards led Gustin and Sophraea into another massive room, decorated with even more rare artwork. Stationed not so discreetly around the room were more guards.

Rampage Stunk was ensconced in a thronelike chair, near as possible to a roaring fire in a vast cavern of a fireplace. The fat man watched their approach with his head cocked to one side and a narrowing of his cold black eyes. His face was bright red and sweating under hair so black and stiff that Sophraea wondered if the corpulent merchant wore a wig.

A pair of gigantic slavering guard dogs with brass-studded collars asd enormous teeth crouched at Stunk's feet. The dogs growled as Gustin and Sophraea advanced closer to the merchant.

Sophraea was ready to retreat, but Gustin's spine straightened in front of her and he flashed an enormous smile.

"My lord, my lady," he said, bowing both to Stunk and to the thin woman seated in the shadow of a screen that shielded her face from the direct heat ofthe fireplace. "I have come to perform miracles and wonders, the banishing of ill luck, the turning of curses, the expulsion of ghosts, and any other infestation that may mar your fair home."

Gustin Bone's voice flowed up and down, a singsong accent quite unlike his usual cheerful tones and, to Sophraea's ears, quite unrecognizable as the optimistic wizard who frequented the Carver's courtyard. Gustin also refrained from waving his arms around as he usually did. Instead, he kept his hands crossed over the illusionary paunch of his belly.

Rampage Stunk also crossed his arms, but held them higher up, a barricade resting against his broad chest. The glare of his expression did not change throughout Gustin's long recital of his experiences in Cormyr as a banisher of ghosts. Once or twice his eyebrows twitched up in a patent gesture of disbelief but no other expression crossed his broad and frighteningly blank face.

Finally, Gustin's speech fluttered into silence in the face of Stunk's stony regard.

"You sound more like a charlatan than a wizard," pronounced Stunk in his deep and ponderous tones. "I've had some of Waterdeep's finest in this house over the past three days. Why should I take a mountebank damp out of the gutter?"

"If the finest in Waterdeep were unable to solve your problems," proposed Gustin boldly as the nearest guard dog sniffed his boots and licked its fangs, "perhaps the best of Cormyr is the solution. And, truly, you'll find no other wizard like me in Waterdeep." The second dog joined its fellow, making rumbling sounds deep in its throat. Gustin ignored both dogs, never letting his gaze drop from Stunk's face.

A faint smile twitched Stunk's lips. His own eyes dropped momentarily to the dogs creeping on their haunches closer to Gustin.

From her seat in the shadows, Stunk's thin and aristocratic wife spoke up.

"Those others did nothing for us. Hire this man. If he succeeds, pay him. If he fails, send him away," the lady said in her high nasal voice. "I am sick of seeing corpses at my window every evening and having revenants of long dead relatives appearing outside in the courtyard each night."

"But none of the dead have actually entered the house?" Sophraea spoke up, too curious to stay silent any longer.

"Not yet," admitted the lady, "the protections on our home are formidable. My husband paid for the very best. But none of our guests can enter nor can we leave after dark without encountering the dead outside. And certain incidents"-she emphasized the last word heavily while looking at her husband-"have increased. Flowers wither as soon as they are brought inside, fruit decays in the dish, and wine turns bitter in the glass."

"There are ghosts who can play such tricks," Sophraea told the lady.

"I am not pleased by such antics," she replied.

"That's a strong spell if they have such an influence just standing outside," Gustin said.

"We are searching the city for the wizard who brought about this curse," responded Stunk, snapping his fingers to bring the guard dogs back to heel at the foot of his chair. "I will find him and I will break him. And the one who I know is behind him!"

"You have been hunting for days," said Stunk's wife, "and if you do not do something soon about this haunting, I will have to abandon my air of noble calm and succumb to strong hysterics. And then who will host your endless dinners?"

Stunk growled, "Very well." Gustin started to speak but Stunk raised one hand, palm turned toward the wizard. "Don't talk. Don't interrupt. I'll tell you exactly what I expect. You will have only this one afternoon to make your examination of the house and set up what protections that you deem wise. If the dead return tonight, I will consider you a failure and you would be wise to avoid me in the future. If my lady is undisturbed tonight, you may collect your payment from her in the morning since she desires your services."

Stunk's wife simply pursed her lips at the beginning of her husband's rude but succinct summation, but did not speak until her husband was done. She then added: "I am not a merchant. I do not haggle like one. If I have a quiet night, you may present whatever bill you please to my servants. My word on it that you will be paid promptly."

Gustin bowed over his folded hands as the lady rose from her chair. "I am more than satisfied with the bargain."

Stunk's lady wife tucked her skirts tight against her legs, sweeping neatly around her husband to exit via a smaller, red lacquer door set in the far corner of the room. Trailing after her was a previously unnoticed retinue of three maidservants carrying various workbaskets and other household items. The three had been seated as far away as possible from the fireplace and Stunk in his great chair. They all rose in unison from the shadowy corner where they sat when the lady ofthe mansion passed in front of them. The last one out the red lacquer door closed it behind her with a definite. disapproving swish of her skirt and a sharp snap ofthe latch.

Stunk watched his wife and her maids go with the slightest of sneers on his heavy face. Then he turned back to the pair in front of them.

"You have your instructions. Do not waste my time," he said ponderously, dropping one hand down to pinch the back of a guard clog's neck. The beast snarled under Stunk's heavy hand, black lips pulling back to reveal pointed yellow fangs.

Gustin and Sophraea retreated with haste through the black door leading to the great hallway.

Once outside the heavy door and out of earshot of Stunk and his guards, Sophraea turned to Gustin. "You were wonderful," she said. "I couldn't have stayid so calm. Not with him staring like that!"

"Calm," moaned Gustin as he sank into an uncomfortable but obviously antique stone chair. "I am terrified. All I wanted to do in Waterdeep was see the sights, enjoy a small adventure or two, and make a little coin, not gain an enemy like that evil fat man!"