City of the Dead by Rosemary Jones Read Free Book Online Page A

lighting the lanterns to chase away the late afternoon gloom. She could swear that the wind brought her a sniff of wood smoke and supper cooking from the house’s crooked chimney.
    As Sophraea retraced her steps, a faint sound caught her attention. A whisper of a noise, not nearly as loud as the rain beginning to patter on the dead leaves littering the pathway or the wind scratching the branches together.
    Sophraea stood perfectly still, listening. It faded away even as she concentrated, the sound of a woman sobbing, a very young woman sobbing as if her heart was broken, “lost… lost… lost.”
    The crunch of very real feet on the gravel distracted Sophraea. Gustin Bone was hurrying toward her.
    “There you are,” he said with a smile lighting his bright green eyes. Then, as he took in the Deepwinter tomb behind her, those same eyes widened. “Ah, this isn’t your kitchen garden.”
    “Of course not,” said Sophraea, a little impatiently, distracted by trying to tell if the whisper she’d just heard was the usual moan to
    be expected in the graveyard or something else. “This is the City of the Dead. Why would you think it was our kitchen garden?”
    “I saw you go through that little gate in the wall,” Gustin continued, “and I thought… I mean, the big houses in Cormyr, they have gardens walled off where people grow their herbs and vegetables.”
    “We have a solarium on the second floor of the house for herbs,” Sophraea informed him, still only paying half attention to the young man. “And we buy our vegetables in the market.”
    Gustin slov.lv spun in place, taking in the multitude of tombs, the memorial statutes, the ornamental and somber shrubbery, and the urns stuffed with flowers weeping shriveled petals onto the ground below. On the roof of the closest tomb, grotesque carved figures hung over the edge, peering down on the pathway.
    “But this is the famous City of the Dead!” he exclaimed; “Aren’t all the gates guarded by the Watch? And aren’t the gates into it bigger?”
    “The public gates are very large and guarded, of course. But this is our gate, the Dead End gate. It’s just for the family,” said Sophraea marching back toward their gate. “To bring things through. It would be a terrible nuisance if we had to go all the way to the Coffin march or Andamaar gates just to take a marker to a grave.”
    “And what were you bringing here?”
    “Nothing. I was trying to catch …” Sophraea skidded to a stop and scowled at Gustin. “It’s none of your business. What are you doing here?” She emphasized the “you” in the exact same suspicious tone as Myemaw used when saying “And what are you boys planning to do tonight?”
    Gustin reacted just like her brothers. He shuffled his feet and mumbled, “Nothing … I just saw you and…”
    “Oh, come on,” said Sophraea. “If you want to see my father about your statue, he’s in his workshop.”
    “Of course,” said Gustin briskly. “That’s why I’m here. To see your father.”
    Sophraea shut and latched the Dead End gate. “He started your statue this morning,” she said, “selecting the stone and roughing out the shape. My brothers Leaplow and Runewright will do the preliminary work under his direction and then he’ll add the fine details later. It’s a handsome stone he picked. I think you’ll like it.”
    “I do want to see it,” said Gustin following her to the workshop. “I have heard that he’s very good at his work.”
    “The best in Waterdeep,” said Sophraea with no small pride. “All of the Carvers are. Well, except Leaplow, but he can be good when he thinks about what he is doing. But my father and my uncles are the most skilled. They know how important their craft is. It’s the last gift the living give the dead, a box to house the body, a stone to mark their passing, so they make their work beautiful.”
    “I never thought of it like that. And what do you do?” Gustin Bone asked-
    “I’m