City of the Dead by Rosemary Jones Read Free Book Online

could ever bear to see a ship making ready to leave the harbor, for fear that the lure of the wind and water would be too great for them.”
    Lord Adarbrent, Astute Carver often declared, was the only man in Waterdeep who knew the great City of the Dead better than the family. And Lord Adarbrent would hem and haw in his usual manner, murmuring “You are too kind. I have learned a great deal since I began my visits here.”
    That day, however, the elderly nobleman was almost curt in his exchange with Astute.
    “I need to look over your ledger,” he said far more abruptly than usual.
    “Certainly, my lord,” said Astute, pulling down the big book bound in black leather and setting it on his worktabie. “Can I fetch you a chair?”
    “No need,” said Lord Adarbrent as he waved him away. The old man leaned heavily on his gold-headed cane, carefully turning the crackling pages of the family’s ledger. “He’s gone too far … that upstart… this is a matter of honor.”
    Astute winked at Sophraea. In Waterdeep, old Lord Adarbrent was often called the Angry Lord for his mutterings as he stalked through the streets. Less kind souls also referred to him as the
    Walking Corpse for his dour physique. The Carvers rarely saw that side of his character, but obviously something had touched off the nobleman’s well-known fiery temper.
    Finally, with a hiss of rage, the old man turned away from the ledger. “Venal cur.” He glared out the workshop door as if he could see the person who annoyed him so through the walls and buildings of Waterdeep. “Well, that is what I needed to know.”
    He scratched his chin, a habitual gesture of contemplation for the old gentleman. “Now. What to do? What to do, indeed!” he muttered to himself.
    With an obvious start of recollection, Lord Adarbrent acknowledged Astute Carver. “I am sorry, more sorry than I can say, that I must leave so soon after arriving.”
    “You are welcome here, my lord, whether for a short visit or a long one.”
    “Very kind, very kind, I’m sure.” The old nobleman hesitated in the workshop doorway, as if trying to decide where to go next.
    Given the gentleman’s mood, Sophraea wondered if she should wait to ask him for his signature. A kitten wandered out from under her father’s workbench, part of the latest litter deposited there by the Carver’s striped mouser. The black-and-white furball tangled its tiny claws in her hem and purred. Even as she reached down to disengage the kitten, Sophraea decided she could not put off asking Lord Adarbrent for another day.
    The customers’ bell clanged. Two men entered through the street-side gate, the long and lanky Gustin Bone and the hairy doorjack of Rampage Stunk. Lord Adarbrent took one look at the latter man and spun sharply on his heel, striding across the yard to the gate leading into the City of the Dead.
    “My lord,” Sophraea started forward, dropping the kitten back with its littermates and pulling her letter out of her apron pocket. Two of her cousins carried a newly polished coffin out of
    Perspicacity’s workshop. Sophraea dodged around them.
    But she was too slow to catch Lord Adarbrent. He plunged through the gate and charged into the City of the Dead. Sophraea ran down the moss-covered steps leading to the gravel path, intent on catching the old man. But even as she rounded the Deepwinter tomb, she lost sight of Lord Adarbrent.
    With a sigh, she stuffed the letter back into her apron pocket and turned back toward home. The next time, she promised herself, she wouldn’t hesitate. She’d catch his lordship just as soon as he set foot in the Dead End courtyard and she would get that signature. She just couldn’t spend the rest of her life waiting. She needed to make her dreams happen.
    Yet, looking back at Dead End House looming over the cemetery’s walls, Sophraea felt the usual pang at the thought of leaving home. The long windows glowed a warm yellow, a Sign that the aunts were already