Rosemary Jones: City of the Dead

Sophraea's granny began to giggle. "Oh, and you in your tall boots, Volponia, stamping here and there and shouting like you were still commanding from your quarterdeck. Oh, we were all the scandals then!"

The two old ladies fell to chuckling over the gossip sheets until Volponia yawned and said, "I miss those days. When the mangiest dogs had a real bite behind their bark. Why even the ghosts of Waterdeep were grander creatures than the colored mists that float through the streets now!"

Inspired by this memory, Sophraea hurried upstairs to talk to Volponia about the strange light that she'd seen the night before and the bloody handprints on the family gate. The rest of the Carvers were still in-a buzz of argument over Stunk's visit and his proposal to tear down tombs within the City of the Dead, but the old lady would listen to her.

When a firm voice told her to '"hurry up and enter," Sophraea slipped around the door into the great room that filled three-quarters of the top floor of the tower.

With three sets of windows facing north, west, and south, even the usual pearly light of a cloudy Waterdeep twilight was sufficient to reveal every knickknack teetering on the dozens of small tables and shelves cluttering up Volponia's boudoir.

Volponia's bed was covered with embroidered silk quilts and had a canopy of tapestry curtains protecting the occupant from stray drafts. The bed also stood closest to the south window. The previous evening, when Sophraea had paid her last good nights to Volponia, the bed had been shaped like a wooden sled, covered with red woolen blankets and azure furs, and been positioned closest to the north window.

How or why Volponia changed her bed quite so literally, nobody knew. The old lady still owned a number of trinkets purloined from faraway places during her days as a pirate captain. Some, like the crystal bell that was always close to hand, kept her well-supplied with the comforts that she craved and made her a very light charge upon the family's resources.

The only demand that Volponia ever made was that the other turret bedroom, the one that shared the same floor with hers, "not be occupied by one of those great galumphing male Carvers. I love my nephews, my grandnephews, and my great-grandnephews, but they all take after my brother. He snored loud enough to wake every soul in Waterdeep and I have enough trouble sleeping without listening to such thunder every night."

So, as the only girl born in two generations and a silent sleeper, Sophraea occupied the other bedroom and received regular doses of Volponia's advice growing up. Also a fair amount of criticism as in "well, why are you standing dithering in the doorway. Step in or step out, but don't make a draft!"

Whisking her skirts around the tippy tables and wobbly china and crystal mementos with the ease of long practice, Sophraea hurried to the bedside and kissed Volponia's parchment dry cheek.

"I came to ask about a glowing light in the graveyard, not to be scolded," she said with mock severity as she plopped down upon the bed. The mattress was very firm, probably stuffed with horsehair, Sophraea guessed.

"A light in the graveyard?" said Volponia, hitching herself higher on her satin-covered feather pillows. "What was it?"

"I don't know," said Sophraea, "but it moved around the City of the Dead, from far to the north along the paths to our gate."

"Well, I can't see the City from my windows. Just a bit of the wall and watchtower. A dark night, last night, and a stormy one. I barely slept with all the rattle of the wind and rain. I'm sure I would have noticed any light if it had moved around the house."

"The rain woke me too. That's why I saw the light. It was definitely inside the City and never passed the gate."

"Perhaps it was the Watch upon patrol."

"No," Sophraea could be just as firm as Volponia. "I've seen the Watch chasing thieves through there before. Lots of torches and shouting, lots of lights. This was just one light, and it seemed to move around on its own."

Volponia frowned. "A haunt?"

"It didn't look like a spirit," replied Sophraea with the sophistication of a seventeen-year-old who had grown up in Waterdeep. "At least not the sort of ghost that you usually see. It was brighter, or moved differently. The things you see on the streets, the mists, they tend to float around. This looked like it went where it intended to go."

"Magic, perhaps?" Volponia speculated with a frown. "But it would take an unusually brave wizard to be casting spells in the City after dark. There are things buried there who don't like disturbances. And I can't see the Blackstaff being all that kind to anyone who meddled with magic inside the graveyard. Perhaps you should tell your father. He can always get a word to the right ear."

"Perhaps," agreed Sophraea, "if I knew what to tell him. It was just one light, and rather small. But there were these handprints on our gate today. Leaplow thought it was rust at first…"

"But?" asked the shrewd Volponia.

"I thought they were handprints, dark red-brown handprints, from somebody reaching from the City's side."

"The color of old blood?" Volponia spoke with the relish of a former pirate captain. "Just the sort of trick that ghosts like to play. Or those who mean you to think the dead are making trouble. You should talk to your father; Astute's no fool."

"He's busy. Stunk came today."

"A troublesome man, from all that your grandmother has told me," said Volponia. Although the old lady never left her bed as far as the family knew, she liked to hear the news and Myemaw was her major source of information.

"I don't like him," admitted Sophraea.

"If you really want to know what that light was, you should ask a wizard," Volponia stated.

"I don't know any," Sophraea replied. Then she thought of Gustin Bone, but she wasn't sure what he was. Did making all the laundry jump on the line make him a wizard? Maybe he was just an adventurer with some type of magic ring or conjuring piece. Such things were not unknown in Waterdeep.

"There's that old woman down on Coffinmarch, but everyone says she is crazy mad witch," Sophraea added, because she did know where Egetha kept her shop and she had no idea at all where Gustin Bone had come from or where he went.

"That's just your brothers' opinion of Egetha and that's just because she caught them sneaking around her back windows, trying to watch her conjure. But Egetha never did much more than sell beauty charms to old maids and protections for young men with mischief on their minds."

"Really, I didn't know that."

"Exactly how old are you? I keep losing track with your generation." "Seventeen."

"That's still too young for me to be discussing most of Egetha's stock with you. Go ask your mother if you're curious." Volponia fidgeted in her bed, obviously dismissing the topic to the disappointment of Sophraea's curiosity. But her next words caught the girl's wandering attention.

"The quality of magic may have sadly deteriorated from the days of my youth, as have a great many other things," said Volponia, "but there must still be a place where you can find a decent wizard for hire in Waterdeep."

"I'm sure I don't know where, Auntie," said Sophraea, "and I'm certain that I wouldn't know how to pay one if I did find him."

"When I was still captaining my own ships, you went to Sevenlamps Cut if you wanted a wizard, especially the cheap kind whom nobody would miss if they drowned or were eaten by sea serpents." Volponia sniffed. "If you asked around, you could find someone to hire out on the streets."

"Well, wizards cost money and I don't have that much."

"Promise to pay with a kiss." Volponia actually smirked. "Used to work for me when I was your age."

"I'm not going to kiss some smelly old wizard, you wicked thing!"