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.
