Midnight sighed and tried to smile, though she felt lonely and abandoned. "You've done more than enough already," she replied softly.

Rhaymon pointed toward the left end of the ribbon. "I understand the entrance to the city is down there," he said. "I brought you here so you could approach the wall without meeting the denizens as they go to and from the gate."

Midnight took Rhaymon's hand. "Words cannot express my gratitude," she said. "I'll miss your company."

"And I'll miss yours," he replied. After a small pause, he added some last-minute advice. " Midnight , this is not the world of the living. What seems cruel and evil to you is the normal course here. No matter what you find in Myrkul's city, remember where you are. If you interfere with the denizens, you'll never leave."

"I'll remember your advice," she said. "I promise."

"Good. May the gods favor your path," Rhaymon said.

"And may you keep your faith," Midnight responded.

"I will," he answered. "I promise." With that, he turned and walked back toward the souls upon the Fugue Plain.

Midnight turned toward Myrkul's city and started walking. Two hours later, an eerie moan reached her ears and musty whiffs of rot plagued her nose. The magic-user continued at her best pace. The moan gradually became a suppressed wail, and the stench of decay grew stronger and hung more steadily in the air. The wall constantly grew higher and larger, and as Midnight got close to it, she saw that its surface swayed and writhed - as if it were alive.

The mage wondered if the wall was made of serpents. That would explain the absence of sentries. If the wall itself was menacing enough, Myrkul would not need guards.

Midnight continued forward, approaching within fifty feet of the wall. The suppressed wail changed into a cacophony of muffled sobs, the foul smell of decay grew so strong it nauseated her, and the magic-user saw that she had been mistaken about the writhing forms in the wall. What she had taken to be serpents were thousands of squirming legs.

The wall was constructed entirely of human bodies. Men and women were stacked fifty feet high, their bodies turned inward to face the interior of the city. The largest people gave the wall bulk and height, while the smaller ones chinked gaps and filled holes. They had all been sealed into place with a greenish mortar that reminded Midnight of solidified mold.

The hideous barrier was nearly enough to end Midnight 's journey. For a long time, she could only stand and stare in sickened shock. The magic-user had intended to climb over the wall, but could not bring herself to grapple the legs. Instead, deciding to the make use of her magic, she summoned and performed the incantation for levitation.

Immediately, her feet left the ground and she rose into the air. Every now and then, Midnight grasped a squirming leg and used it as a guide. A moment later, she pulled herself into a prone position just inches over the top of the wall, hoping to look like just one more body.

A squall of howls and screeches greeted her. The magic-user recoiled and covered her ears. On the other side of the wall, the cries of the dead had been muffled by the space between the Fugue Plain and Myrkul's city. But when Midnight had pulled herself onto the wall, she had crossed from the demiplane into Hades. The air inside the wall smelled rank and profane, with a caustic bite that scorched her nose and throat when she breathed. The dark gray sky cast only a dim light over the city. Here and there, pinholes of illumination penetrated the murky heavens. From what Rhaymon had told her, Midnight suspected that the tiny lights were gateways between Myrkul's domain and various spots in the Realms.

The city itself sat in a great bowl that sloped down from the wall toward the opposite horizon. The metropolis was so immense that, even from atop the wall, Midnight could only see that the far side disappeared into a haze of indistinguishable detail.

Closer to Midnight , a broad avenue circled inside the wall's perimeter. Twenty feet down the road, thirty whip-carrying denizens were driving several hundred slaves in Midnight 's direction. As the group passed beneath her, the magic-user saw that the slaves had remarkably similar, drab features: gray hair, yellow-gray skin, and expressionless gray eyes. But the people they carried had distinctive features. Here was a woman with buckteeth, there was a man with a large nose, and behind him was an obese woman with a triple chin.

Although the mage wanted nothing more than to free the slaves, Rhaymon's warning against interfering with the denizens remained fresh in her mind. Midnight simply turned her head away. After the slave train passed, she turned to watch the city again.

Inside the perimeter avenue stood a countless number of ten-story brownstone structures. These buildings had once been identical, but ages of decay and corrosion had twisted them into a plethora of different shapes. While some remained in pristine condition, many had deteriorated so badly they were little more than stacks of rocks that might collapse at any moment. Others had sprouted twisted minarets and crooked towers, and were now warped into shapes only vaguely reminiscent of their original form.

As Midnight studied the buildings, she observed that structures of similar condition were grouped together.

Then she noticed the city was divided into boroughs of more or less equivalent size. The areas with pristine buildings were divided into orderly blocks with straight, clean streets. Where the buildings were crumbling, the streets were so clogged with rubble that it appeared impossible to traverse them. In areas with twisted and grotesque buildings, the streets were crooked and narrow, curling and winding back on themselves with mazelike confusion. There was no sign of anything that might beBoneCastle, and Midnight did not know where to begin her search.

But she knew she had to get off this wall. After waiting for another caravan of slaves to pass, Midnight pushed herself over the city and floated down to the road that ran along the wall. She paused a moment to reconnoiter the area. One group of three denizens was tottering down the avenue after her, and two more were approaching from the borough directly ahead. Fortunately, both groups were over five hundred feet away, so she sprinted down the avenue away from them. After ten seconds of running, she ducked into a borough of deteriorated buildings that had looked abandoned from the wall.

The thoroughfares were cluttered with rubble and deserted. From the building's windowsills, sputtering yellow lamps cast putrid circles of light into the street. As Midnight passed one of the lamps, she inhaled a breath of the sulfurous vapor. She briefly choked and her skin stung where a wisp of black smoke had touched it.

The magic-user ducked down an alley and clawed over a pile of rubble half as high as one of the buildings. Then she tumbled down the other side and ran into the alley that connected with another street. She turned left and ran halfway down it. Finally, confident the denizens would never find her, Midnight climbed over another pile of rubble and stopped in a blind cul-de-sac.

She needed a guide. In a city of this size, it would be impossible to findBoneCastlewithout help. Even had she known the castle's location, the city was so alien it would be a simple matter to make a mistake and get killed. Midnight realized she would have to summon help. Immediately, the incantation for summoning monsters came to mind, along with all of the extraneous information about its creator and the theory behind its construction. It was not a monster she wanted, but after contemplating the original spell for a moment, Midnight saw how she could modify the incantation to suit her needs.

The spell was designed to call an unspecified monster to aid the caster. Instead of a monster, however, Midnight needed to call a person, but had no idea who. By adjusting a few finger manipulations and altering the intonation of the spell's verbal components, the mage thought that she could call someone who both knew his way around Myrkul's city and would be willing to aid her.

Midnight was a little frightened by what she was about to try. Normally, only the most advanced mages altered or created spells. But, considering the knowledge available to her and the stability of the magical weave in the plane, Midnight was confident of success.

After reviewing her adjustments, the magic-user performed the incantation. A moment later, someone began climbing over the rubble in the entrance to her cul-de-sac. Midnight waited anxiously, prepared to dash into a building if the visitor was not what she expected.

A balding climbed into view atop the rubble, then stopped and frowned at her. He had the same drab features, gray hair, yellow-gray skin, and expressionless gray eyes as the slaves Midnight had seen from atop the wall. In fact, the halfling was distinguishable from those slaves only in size.

Atherton Cooper had no idea how he had come to be in this alley. Just a moment ago, he had been laboring to mortar a struggling woman into the wall.

"Sneakabout?" Midnight asked, peering uncertainly at the short figure.

The halfling's frown deepened. He recognized something in the woman's voice and in the name she had called him. Then he remembered: Sneakabout was his name. "Yes - that's right," he observed. "Who are-"

The answer came to him before he finished asking it. He had once been friends with the woman who now stood before him. " Midnight !" he exclaimed, sliding down the rubble. "What are you doing here?"

The mage held her arms out to the halfling. "Not what you think," she replied. "I'm alive."

Midnight 's comment about being alive kindled a painful realization for Sneakabout and he stopped short of her arms. "I'm dead," he said, unpleasant memories flooding his mind. "Why did you let Cyric kill me?" he demanded.

Midnight didn't know what to say. She had not expected to meet Sneakabout, and was not prepared to justify saving Cyric to someone the thief had murdered. "I wouldn't make the same decision again," she said, dropping her arms.

"That's little consolation," Sneakabout hissed. "Look at what you've done to me!" He ran his hand down his body.

"I didn't let Cyric kill you!" Midnight snapped. "You threw yourself at his mercy!"

"I had to!" Sneakabout said, more memories washing over him. He looked away from Midnight 's eyes. "He had my sword. I had to get it back or go insane."

"Why?" Midnight asked. So she would he at the halfling's eye level, she sat down.

"It's an evil, cursed thing," he explained, still not looking at the mage. "If you lose it, you must recover it. The man I stole it from died trying to steal it from me, just like I died trying to take it from Cyric."

Midnight suddenly understood why Sneakabout was in the City of the Dead. By pursuing the sword, by living only for it, he had betrayed his god.

"So you're one of the False," she gasped.

Sneakabout finally turned to look her in the eye. "Yes, I suppose I am."

"What does that mean?" Midnight asked. "What is your fate?"

The halfling shrugged then casually looked away as if his fate was of little concern. "I'm one of Myrkul's slaves. I'll spend eternity mortaring the Faithless into the wall."

Midnight drew a sharp breath. "What are you worried about?" Sneakabout asked. He turned back with an irritated frown on his face. "I thought you worshiped Mystra? Not that being faithful is much better than being faithless when you're down here. The Fugue Plain is overflowing with the abandoned souls of most of the gods' faithful."

"I'm not worried about myself," the mage said. "A few weeks after he killed you, Cyric killed Adon... and Adon died with no faith in the gods."

"Then its the wall for him," Sneakabout said, shaking his head glumly. "I'll probably be the one that mortars him in."

"Is there anything that you can-"

"No!" the halfling snapped, waving his hand to cut off Midnight 's plea. "He chose his fate when he was alive. It can't be changed now. If that's why you summoned me-"

"It's not," Midnight said sadly, upset by the halfling's curt response. She wondered if he would be as unwilling to help her recover the tablet as he was to help Adon. Hoping to look more commanding, she stood. "You must take me toBoneCastle."

Sneakabout's eyes widened. "You don't know what you're asking! When they catch us, they'll..." He paused and considered his situation. The denizens could do nothing that was worse than what they were doing to him now.

"If you don't help me," Midnight said, taking the halfling by both shoulders, "the Realms will perish."

"What's that to me?" Sneakabout replied, backing away. "With luck, so will Myrkul's city."

"Help me get the Tablet of Fate and return it to Waterdeep," Midnight said, following Sneakabout. "I'll end your misery."

He stopped backing away. "How?"

"I don't know yet. But I'll find a way."

The halfling raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"Trust me," Midnight pleaded. "What do you have to lose?"

Of course, Sneakabout had nothing to lose. If the denizens caught him helping Midnight , they would torture him for eternity - but they were already doing that.

"All right. I'll help," the halfling said. "But realize that you've made a very important promise. If you don't keep it, you might be considered one of the False when you return."

"I know that," Midnight said. "Let's go."

Sneakabout turned and started over the rubble at the end of the cul-de-sac. For several hours, he led Midnight through a maze of twisting alleys and cluttered streets. Occasionally, they entered a region of straight clean avenues. The halfling always crossed these places quickly then led them back into a deteriorating or twisted borough.

Midnight was glad to have Sneakabout as a guide. Although vaguely aware that they were walking toward the low end of the city, she was completely lost. Even the halfling stopped now and then to ask directions of one of the False. He always confirmed his directions with two or three others.

"The False," he explained, "are not to be trusted. They'll send you straight into a pack of denizens just out of habit."

Finally, noticing that Midnight was stumbling with weariness, Sneakabout led her onto the roof of a decaying building. "You need to rest," he said. "We'll be safe up here."

"Thanks," Midnight replied, resting her head on her arms. As she looked up at the sky, the mage noticed pinholes of light that resembled stars.

Noticing where Midnight was looking, Sneakabout said, "Those are the gates to the Realms."

"Are you sure?" the raven-haired mage asked. From what Rhaymon had told her, she had concluded the same thing. But, since one of the dots would be her escape route, she saw no harm in being certain.

"What else would they be?" the halfling asked. "There are no stars in Myrkul's city."

"If that's an exit," Midnight queried, rolling onto her side, "what keeps the dead and the denizens from using it?"

Sneakabout shrugged. "What prevents men from going to the real stars? They're too far, I suppose, and there are certain barriers. You'd better rest - and eat something, if you have it."

"I'll rest," Midnight replied, realizing she hadn't eaten in what must be days. It did not matter. Even if she had possessed food, she could not have kept it down. The smell and the cries of the damned were simply too unsettling.

A few hours later, she and the halfling resumed their march toward the low side of the city. Sneakabout led the way through mile after mile of cluttered avenues and twisting alleys. Finally, he stopped on a lopsided bridge spanning a river of black ooze.

"We're almost there," he said. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," Midnight replied. Despite her anxiety, she was telling the truth. Thanks to Sneakabout, she felt as fresh as could be expected after wandering Myrkul's realm for the equivalent of almost a week.

The pair continued down the street, then turned into an alley that snaked through one of the chaotic boroughs. A few minutes later, an eerie moan began to drift up the narrow lanes. Sneakabout slowed his pace and moved cautiously forward. Midnight followed half a step behind.

The alley turned sharply to the left. The stench of rot and decay grew so strong Midnight began gagging. She tapped Sneakabout's arm and they stopped so she could get used to the odor. Several minutes later, they moved forward again. The alley joined a broad boulevard, and on the other side of the boulevard was another wall built from human bodies.

Having seen one of the hideous barriers did not minimize the effect of this one. It still turned Midnight 's stomach. Now, it also enraged and depressed her because Adon would share the fate of its hapless building blocks.

"This isBoneCastle," Sneakabout said. He pointed to a tall, ivory-colored spire that poked its crown above the barricade. "And that's the keep tower."

Midnight could not believe what she saw. Behind the wall, just a hundred feet away, rose a spiraling tower built from human bones. The tower ended in a steeple. Atop the steeple, lit by six magical torches and in plain view of anybody who could seeBoneCastle, was a stone tablet. The mage immediately recognized it as the twin to the one she had left with Kelemvor.

Like a hunter displaying a prized trophy, Myrkul had put his tablet where all his subjects could admire it.

"There it is!" Midnight whispered.

Sneakabout sighed. "So I see. How are you going to get it?"

"I'm not sure yet," the mage replied, studying the situation. "This is too easy - it doesn't make sense to leave the tablet unguarded."

"Don't make the mistake of thinking it's not guarded," Sneakabout said. "There are thousands of guards."

"How so?" Midnight asked.

"If we can see the tablet, so can all the denizens - and dukes and princes - within sight ofBoneCastle."

"Dukes and princes?" Midnight asked.

"Who do you think commands the denizens?" Sneakabout replied. "The dukes rule the boroughs. The princes rule the dukes. Each is more vicious than its vassals."

Midnight nodded. If Myrkul's court was like most others, there would be no shortage of dukes and princes nearBoneCastle. "What else?"

"The best way to guard a treasure is to lull the thief into thinking it's unguarded - then trap him when he tries to steal it. I'd expect a magical ward or two near the tablet."

Midnight did not bother asking Sneakabout how he knew so much about theft. Though he had claimed to be a scout, and had proven that he was when he was alive, it was no secret that many halflings learned the basics of thievery to survive. Right now, Midnight was grateful that he had. She would never have been foolish enough to go after the tablet without looking for possible defenses, but it was good to have the halfting confirm her suspicions. "Anything else?"

"That's enough," Sneakabout said. "A thousand guards and a trap or two will safeguard almost anything - unless you happen to have pretty potent magic at your disposal."

Though she knew the halfling had added this last comment to bolster her confidence, Midnight was hardly encouraged. "Let's hope it will be enough." She studied the tower for a moment, considering her plan of attack. "We'll turn invisible-"

"No good," Sneakabout interrupted. "The denizens especially the dukes will see through that without a second glance."

Midnight frowned then thought of another plan. "All right, then. We'll fly up there, I'll dispel the magical wards. Then we'll take the tablet and be gone."

Sneakabout considered this plan for a moment. "How long will that take you?" His use of the second person was deliberate. He knew he could not go with Midnight .

"Not long," Midnight said confidently.