shoe back to Sophraea. 'Well, that's the answer to the question, isn't it?'
'I don't understand.'
'All the gates into the City of the Dead are well-guarded by the „City Watch and well-warded by the Blackstaff. Aren't they?' the old pirate asked Sophraea.
'Of course, I was just through the Coffinmarch gate myself. Three members of the City Watch and the wards very clear to see.'
'Where's the Watch below your window then? Where's the ward on the Dead End gate?' the old lady tapped one lacquered silver nail against her cup's rim.
'But our gate isn't a public gate. No one uses it except the family.'
'Exactly. Nice respectable family, the Carvers. Make the coffins, carve the headstones, arrange for the graves to be dug, and polish up the tombs when needed. So if they go and carve themselves their own private gate into the City of the Dead, what's the worry?'
'Are you saying our gate isn't protected?'
'Well, that gate was here, just a part of the yard and house, for as long as I can remember,' said Volponia. 'Just one of those odd bits of Waterdeep that most people don't even know about and, more disturbing for us, that somebody or something has remembered. If I wanted to go out of the City of the Dead and I wasn't allowed out, I wouldn't march up to one of those public gates. I'd go here. To the tradesman's gate with no wards or City Watch.'
'I tried to tell them downstairs,' said a worried Sophraea, 'but they just all say that the dead don't bother us.'
'Some of the men have heads as thick as the stone they carve!' Volponia stated firmly. 'No, the Carvers always are too comfortable with the City of the Dead. Since they haven't had any real trouble in a generation or two, they've largely forgotten about the precautions they should take.'
Volponia peered into her cup, as ifshe could see the past and the future swirling together in the steam. For all Sophraea knew, perhaps the old pirate could. Unexpectedly her ancient relative asked, 'Did you ever get that letter from Lord Adarbrent?'
'No,' Sophraea admitted, quite astonished to realize that she'd literally forgotten about the letter still sitting in the other pocket of her apron. But she had been so busy, with topiary dragons and chases through tunnels, that securing a dressmaker's apprenticeship seemed… well… not exactly important, she compromised to herself.
Downright dull, whispered back an inner Sophraea to her dismay.
'Waterdeep is getting a bit like the Carvers,' said Volponia, 'a little too complacent about the City of the Dead. Lord Adarbrent is old enough to remember what real trouble can be, never mind his constant muttering. He sees more and understands more than most people think.' 'Are you sure?'
Volponia nodded briskly and made a shooing motion with her hands. 'Go to the Walking Corpse,' she said, 'because there is nobody in all of Waterdeep with a better understanding of the dead. All his family and friends perished long ago.'
Downstairs, Sophraea ran into Gustin, who was sliding out of the kitchen, munching a roll dripping with honey.
'Well met!' he said upon spying Sophraea tripping down the stairs. 'Your grandmother suggested I go watch your father work on my statue.'
Eyeing the roll, Sophraea returned, 'Probably because she wanted some food left in the kitchen for lunch.'
'O, unkind maiden,' said Gustin, thumping his heart with the hand holding the roll and leaving a spot of honey on Leaplow's second best shirt. He licked a finger and rubbed it out. 'I'm sure that she was just trying to add to my education.'
'I hope you didn't add to hers and tell her what you're planning to do with that statue.'
'I really don't understand why you think your family wouldn't approve. Nice petrified hero stumping through the streets of Waterdeep, searching for his long lost love. It's just the sort of story most folk find very touching.' He grinned at her, his green eyes sparkling under his long black lashes.
'Right after which, you empty their purses.' All right, he had a nice smile, she was willing to admit that to herself. But that didn't mean she was going to let him twist her around. She'd grown up at the tail end of a pack of mischief makers, Leaplow being as big a flirt as he was a fighter, and she knew the breed when she saw it.
'Your family doesn't work for free and the animation of stone requires some costly ingredients,' said the young wizard with too much personal charm for her peace of mind continuing his argument. 'And this is one way to make magic pay. Which is what a wizard is supposed to do.'
'I'm not sure the Watchful Order sees it quite that way.'
'Organized labor, governmental types. They do tend to look down on us poor freelancers.'
Years of being teased by older brothers made Sophraea doubt Gustin's sincerity. 'Do you even believe half of the nonsense you spout?' she asked him.
The wizard smiled broadly at her and popped the last of the roll into his mouth. 'Half of it, certainly, at least half the time. Of course, depends on who is paying for the beer. I'm just as happy to argue the other side too. Magic must be carefully regulated, spells only taught by the best master to the best pupil, that's the only way to regain the trust of the populace after the Spellplague, and so on and so forth.'
'So is that what you truly believe?' she asked.
Gustin gave a long rolling shrug of his shoulders. 'I believe that there are wizards happy to point fingers at those marked by the Spellplague and mutter about how they wouldn't be caught dead working with them. And others who envy those powers so much that they seek the same down dangerous paths. Some look for new forms of magic in faraway places and some stay forever in the same place trying to recreate spells that their grandfathers cast and nothing else. The world has changed, everyone agrees on that, but none of the wizards that I've met can agree on how to live with those changes or without them. So I try not to worry about such things. I've taken my learning where I could and used my magic as best I could. And that's good enough for me.'
Blinking a little at this sensible speech from the irrepressible Gustin, Sophraea hung her apron on a peg by the door. She removed the golden shoe from its pocket and dropped it into her wicker basket.
'Where are you going?' asked Gustin.
'To see Lord Adarbrent,' she replied, taking her rain cape off another hook and swinging it around her shoulders. 'I want to ask him about this shoe.'
'You know,' said Gustin, casually borrowing another rain cape from the hall pegs. 'I don't think I have ever seen the inside of a Waterdhavian nobleman's house.'' The cape was Bentnor's and fell in great dark blue folds around the wizard. 'I'll be happy to escort you.'
'I don't recall asking for an escort.'
'Well, I could go watch your father at his carving. But I might start chatting to him about where I was last night, out in the tunnels, under the City of the Dead.'
'That might be more painful for you than me,' pointed out Sophraea, trying to keep her expression calm. No one in the family would ever harm her, and all would fly to her defense against any outsider, but the discussion of her behavior would go on for days! And her mother would look disappointed, and her father would sigh, and she would want to sink into the floorboards.
What was worse, they'd all think that she'd done it to flirt with this wizard and nobody would listen when she'd try to explain about the dead wandering inside the graveyard or in the tunnels below.
'Still, you have to admire my fearless honesty in the face of great personal danger,' Gustin continued to tease. 'Especially considering the stories that those Watchmen wanted to tell me about your brothers.'
'Oh, come along then!' She exclaimed and walked into the yard, only to halt at the sight of Rampage Stunk's hairy doorjack standing there. The man sniffed at her and licked his tongue across his large yellow teeth.
'Ugh,' said Sophraea, waiting for the man to move out of her way.
'I've orders from the master for your father,' the servant said to her.
'He's in his workshop,' she said, suddenly glad of the tall form of Gustin Bone behind her.
The servant's eyes flicked over the wizard. His nose wrinkled and his upper lip pulled back from his teeth as he snarled, 'Magic-user.'
'Oh, whenever I can,' Gustin replied with a wave of his hand. The silver wand popped out of his sleeve and sent sparks flying into the air. 'I could probably provide you with a nice little charm to keep the hair off your back
