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

not in the business. I’m going to be the first Carver to leave Dead End House and become a dressmaker.”
    “Gifts that the living give the living.” The young man dodged around a stone cherub with a broken wing waiting for repair and a stack of lumber seasoning for spring coffins. A Carver cat curled atop the lumber gave him an inscrutable look as he passed by.
    Sophraea giggled as she pushed open the door of her father’s workshop. “I guess you could call it that.”
    Inside Astute Carver and her uncle Perspicacity were pouring over some long scrolls. Rampage Stunk’s scruffy knave was still there, leaning insolently against Astute’s workbench and cleaning his nails with a long thin dagger. Sophraea could clearly see the stiff black hairs sprouting on the back of the man’s dirty knuckles.
    “We should have Myemaw look it over too,” said Perspicacity, “but I think it is legal.”
    “I am afraid that you are right,” agreed Astute. “But who would have thought that a family could sell off their deeds like that?”
    “It’s property,” said Perspicacity. “Just like a house or any land, I suppose. And it’s not like this one was close to them or would even remember who was lodged inside. The seller is a fourth cousin on the distaff side, I think. I’d have to look at the ledger to be sure.”
    “Well, they do say Waterdeep is changing and changing fast. But who would have thought…” Astute noticed his daughter and the young man close behind her. “I am sorry, saer, but I am just finishing some business here. Give us a moment more.”
    “No rush, no rush at all.” Gustin bowed slightly in the direction of all the men in the workshop. Stunk’s servant ignored him but Perspicacity gave the younger man a friendly nod. Gustin turned away to examine Astute’s chisels and mallets, all neatly hanging from rows of hooks set into the rough plaster walls.
    “Tell your master that we will begin the work as soon as the materials arrive,” Astute instructed the servant.
    “He will be displeased by any delays,” growled the man.
    “He would dislike hasty work done with shoddy materials even less,” replied the unruffled Astute. “Stunk only wants the finest, and that takes time, as any good craftsman knows.”
    The servant shrugged one shoulder. “Very well, I will give him your message.” He stowed his dagger in his shirt. Passing by the Carver’s open ledger, he paused to read a page.
    “That’s a curious book,” he said, flicking over the pages much more quickly than Lord Adarbrent. “A lot of old names. My master likes old histories. He might pay you something for this.”
    “It is not for sale,” Astute said with great finality and, turning his back on the hirsute doorjack, began to chat with Gustin about the stone that he had selected for the young man’s statue. Perspicacity joined the two men in their discussion.
    Only Sophraea noticed the servant tug sharply at a page in the ledger, digging in his yellow fingernails.
    “Stop that!” she cried, attracting everyone’s attention. “You will rip it!”
    The hairy man backed away from the book, his hand snaking toward the dagger in his shirt as the two big Carver men advanced upon him. Behind them, Gustin’s eyes glowed like twin emeralds.
    “Leave me alone,” whined the servant. “I didn’t do anything.”
    Astute snapped the covers of the ledger closed and put the book away on a high shelf. “Go on. Your business is done here.”
    The servant hurried to the door, barking in a whisper to Sophraea as he passed her, “Meddling girl, you’ll be sorry.”

FOUR
    If she had been asleep, the sound of sobbing would have woken her. As it was, Sophraea was already awake, staring at the ceiling of her room and thinking of what she would say to Lord Adarbrent. She was sure that he would sign the letter, but what if he said no? And what if the dressmaker didn’t think the Walking Corpse was quite the right type of reference? Of her own