Croaker:
Bomanz and Tokar stood in one corner of the shop. “What do
you think?” Bomanz asked. “Bring a good
price?”
Tokar stared at the piece de resistance of Bomanz’s new
TelleKurre collection, a skeleton in perfectly restored armor.
“It’s marvelous, Bo. How did you do it?”
“Wired the joints together. See the forehead jewel?
I’m not up on Domination heraldry, but wouldn’t a ruby
mean somebody important?”
“A king. That would be the skull of King Broke.”
“His bones, too. And armor.”
“You’re rich, Bo. I’ll just take a commission
on this one. A wedding present to the family. You took me serious
when I said come up with something good.”
“The Monitor confiscated the best. We had
Shapeshifter’s armor.”
Tokar had brought helpers this trip, a pair of hulking gorilla
teamsters. They were carrying antiques to wagons outside. Their
back-and-forth made Bomanz nervous.
“Really? Damn! I’d give my left arm for
that.”
Bomanz spread his hands apologetically. “What could I do?
Besand keeps me on a short leash. Anyway, you know my policy.
I’m stretching it to deal with a future
daughter-in-law’s brother.”
“How’s that?”
Stuck my foot in it now, Bomanz thought. He ploughed ahead.
“Besand has heard you’re a Resurrectionist. Stance and
I are getting a hard time.”
“Now that’s sick. I’m sorry, Bo.
Resurrectionist! I shot my mouth off once, years ago, and said even
the Dominator would be better for Oar than our clown Mayor. One
stupid remark! They never let you forget. It’s not enough
that they hounded my father into an early grave. Now they have to
torment me and my friends.”
Bomanz had no idea what Tokar was talking about. He would have
to ask Stance. But it reassured him; which was all he really
wanted.
“Tokar, keep the profits from this lot. For Stance and
Glory. As my wedding present. Have they set a date?”
“Nothing definite. After his sabbatical and thesis. Come
winter, I guess. Thinking about coming down?”
“Thinking about moving back to Oar. I don’t have
enough fight left to break in a new Monitor.”
Tokar chuckled. “Probably won’t be much call for
Domination artifacts after this summer anyway. I’ll see if I
can find you a place. You do work like the king here, you
won’t have trouble making a living.”
“You really like it? I was thinking about doing his horse,
too.” Bomanz felt a surge of pride in his craftsmanship.
“Horse? Really? They buried his horse with him?”
“Armor and all. I don’t know who put the TelleKurre
in the ground, but they didn’t loot. We’ve got a whole
box of coins and jewelry and badges.”
“Domination coinage? That’s hotter than hot. Most of
it was melted down. A Domination coin in good shape can bring fifty
times its metal value.”
“Leave King Whosis here. I’ll put his horse together
for him. Pick him up next trip.”
“I won’t be long, either. I’ll unload and zip
right back. Where’s Stance, anyway? I wanted to say
hello.” Tokar waved one of those leather wallets.
“Glory?”
“Glory. She ought to write romances. Going to break me,
buying paper.”
“He’s out to the dig. Let’s go. Jasmine!
I’m taking Tokar out to the dig.”
During the walk Bomanz kept glancing over his shoulder. The
comet was now so bright it could be seen, barely, by day.
“Going to be one hell of a sight when it peaks out,” he
predicted.
“I expect so.” Tokar’s smile made Bomanz
nervous. I’m imagining, he told himself.
Stancil used his back to open the shop door. He dumped a load of
weapons. “We’re getting mined out, Pop. Pretty much all
common junk last night.”
Bomanz twisted a strand of copper wire, wriggled out of the
framework supporting the horse skeleton. “Then let Men fu
take over. Not much more room here anyway.”
The shop was almost impassable. Bomanz would not have to dig for
years, were that his inclination.
“Looking good,” Stance said of the horse, tarrying
before going for another armful from a borrowed cart.
“You’ll have to show me how to get the king on top so I
can put them together when I go back.”
“I may do it myself.”
“Thought you’d decided to stay.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. When are we going to start
that thesis?”
“I’m working on it. Making notes. Once I get
organized I can write it up like that.” He snapped his
fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of
time.” He went outside again.
Jasmine brought tea. “I thought I heard Stance.”
Bomanz jerked his head. “Outside.”
She looked for a place to set teapot and cups.
“You’re going to have to get this mess
organized.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
Stancil returned. “Enough odds and ends here to make a
suit of armor. Long as nobody tries to wear it.”
“Tea?” his mother asked.
“Sure. Pop, I came past headquarters. That new Monitor is
here.”
“Already?”
“You’re going to love him. He brought a coach and
three wagons filled with clothing for his mistress. And a platoon
of servants.”
“What? Ha! He’ll die when Besand shows him his
quarters.” The Monitor lived in a cell more fit for a monk
than for the most powerful man in the province.
“He deserves it.”
“You know him?”
“By reputation. Polite people call him the Jackal. If
I’d known it was him . . . What could I
have done? Nothing. He’s lucky his family got him sent here.
Somebody would have killed him if he’d stayed around the
city.”
“Not popular, eh?”
“You’ll find out if you stay. Come back,
Pop.”
“I’ve got a job to do, Stance.”
“How much longer?”
“A couple of days. Or forever. You know. I’ve got to
get that name.”
“Pop, we could try now. While things are
confused.”
“No experiments, Stance. I want it cold. I won’t
take chances with the Ten.”
Stancil wanted to argue but sipped tea instead. He went out to
the cart again. When he returned, he said, “Tokar should be
turned around by now. Maybe he’ll bring more than two
wagons.”
Bomanz chuckled. “Maybe he’ll bring more than
wagons, you mean? Like maybe a sister?”
“I was thinking that, yes.”
“How are you going to get a thesis written?”
“There’s always a spare moment.”
Bomanz ran a dust cloth over the jewel in the brow of his dead
king’s horse. “Enough for now, Dobbin. Going out to the
dig.”
“Swing by and check the excitement,” Stancil
suggested.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Besand came to the dig that afternoon. He caught Bomanz napping.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Sleeping on the
job?”
Bomanz sat up. “You know me. Just getting out of the
house. I hear the new man showed up.”
Besand spat. “Don’t mention him.”
“Bad?”
“Worse than I expected. Mark me, Bo. Today writes the end
of an era. Those fools will rue it.”
“You decide what you’re going to do?”
“Go fishing. Bloody go fishing. As far from here as I can
get. Take a day to break him in, then head south.”
“I always wanted to retire to one of the Jewel Cities.
I’ve never seen the sea. So you’re headed out right
away, eh?”
“You don’t have to sound so damned cheerful about
it. You and your Resurrectionist friends have won, but I’ll
go knowing you didn’t beat me on my own ground.”
“We haven’t fought much lately. That’s no
reason to make up for lost time.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That was uncalled for. Sorry. It’s
frustration. I’m helpless, and everything is going
under.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It can. I have my sources, Bo. I’m not some lone
crazy. There are knowledgeable men in Oar who fear the same things
I do. They say the Resurrectionists are going to try something.
You’ll see, too. Unless you get out.”
“I probably will. Stancil knows this guy. But I
can’t go before we finish the dig.”
Besand gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Bo, I ought to make
you clean up before I go. Looks like Hell puked here.”
Bomanz was not a fastidious worker. For a hundred feet around
his pit the earth was littered with bones, useless scraps of old
gear, and miscellaneous trash. A gruesome sight. Bomanz did not
notice.
“Why bother? It’ll be overgrown in a year. Besides,
I don’t want to make Men fu work any harder than he has
to.”
“You’re all heart, Bo.”
“I work at it.”
“See you around.”
“All right.” And Bomanz tried to puzzle out what he
had done wrong, what Besand had come for and not found. He
shrugged, snuggled into the grass, closed his eyes.
The woman beckoned. Never had the dream been so clear. And never
so successful. He went to her and took her hand, and she led him
along a cool green tree-lined path. Thin shafts of sunlight stabbed
through the foliage. Golden dust danced in the beams. She spoke,
but he could not decipher her words. He did not mind. He was
content.
Gold became silver. Silver became a great blunt blade stabbing a
nighttime sky, obscuring the weaker stars. The comet came down,
came down . . . and a great female face opened
upon him. It was shouting. Shouting angrily. And he could not
hear . . .
The comet vanished. A full moon rode the diamond-studded sky. A
great shadow crossed the stars, obscuring the Milky Way. A head,
Bomanz realized. A head of darkness. A wolf’s head, snapping
at the moon . . . Then it was gone. He was
with the woman again, walking that forest path, tripping over
sunbeams. She was promising him
something . . .
He wakened. Jasmine was shaking him. “Bo! You’re
dreaming again. Wake up.”
“I’m all right,” he mumbled. “It
wasn’t that bad.”
“You’ve got to stop eating so many onions. A man
your age, and with an ulcer.”
Bomanz sat up, patted his paunch. The ulcer had not bothered him
lately. Maybe he had too much else on his mind. He swung his feet
to the floor and stared into the darkness.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about going out to see Stance.”
“You need your rest.”
“Bull. Old as I am? Old people don’t need to rest.
Can’t afford to. Don’t have the time left to
waste.” He felt for his boots.
Jasmine muttered something typical. He ignored her. He had that
down to a fine art. She added, “Take care out
there.”
“Eh?”
“Be careful. I don’t feel comfortable now that
Besand is gone.”
“He only left this morning.”
“Yes, but . . . ”
Bomanz left the house muttering about superstitious old women
who could not stand change.
He took a random roundabout route, occasionally pausing to watch
the comet. It was spectacular. A great mane of glory. He wondered
if his dream had been trying to tell him something. A shadow
devouring the moon. Not solid enough, he decided.
Nearing the edge of town, he heard voices. He softened his step.
People were not usually out at this time of night.
They were inside an abandoned shack. A candle flickered inside.
Pilgrims, he supposed. He found a peephole, but he could see
nothing save a man’s back. Something about those slumped
shoulders . . . Besand? Of course not. Too
wide. More like that one ape of
Tokar’s . . .
He could not identify the voices, which were mostly whispers.
One did sound a lot like Men fu’s habitual whine. The words
were distinct enough, though.
“Look, we did everything we could to get him out of here.
You take a man’s job and home, he ought to realize he’s
not wanted. But he won’t go.”
A second voice: “Then it’s time for heroic
measures.”
Whiny voice: “That’s going too far.”
Short of disgust. “Yellow. I’ll do it. Where is
he?”
“Holed up in the old stable. The loft. Fixed himself a
pallet, like an old dog in a comer.”
A grunt as someone rose. Feet moving. Bomanz grabbed his belly,
mouse-stepped away and hid in a shadow. A hulking figure crossed
the road. Comet light glittered upon a naked blade.
Bomanz scuttled to a more distant shadow and stopped to
think.
What did it mean? Murder, surely. But who? Why? Who had moved
into the abandoned stable? Pilgrims and transients used the empty
places all the time . . . Who were those
men?
Possibilities occurred. He banished them. They were too grim.
When his nerves returned, he hurried to the dig.
Stancil’s lantern was there, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Stance?” No answer. “Stancil? Where are
you?” Still no answer. Almost in panic, he shouted,
“Stancil!”
“That you, Pop?”
“Where are you?”
“Taking a crap.”
Bomanz sighed, sat down. His son appeared a moment later,
brushing sweat off his forehead. Why? It was a cool night.
“Stance, did Besand change his mind? I saw him leave this
morning. A while ago I heard men plotting to kill somebody. Sounded
like they meant him.”
“Kill? Who?”
“I don’t know. One of them might have been Men fu.
There were three or four of them. Did he come back?”
“I don’t think so. You didn’t dream something,
did you? What are you doing out in the middle of the night,
anyway?”
“That nightmare again. I couldn’t sleep. I
didn’t imagine it. Those men were going to kill somebody
because he wouldn’t leave.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Pop.”
“I don’t care . . . ”
Bomanz whirled. He heard the strange noise again. A figure
staggered into the light. It took three steps and fell.
“Besand! It is Besand. What did I tell you?”
The former Monitor had a bloody wound across his chest.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll be okay.
Just shock. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“What happened?”
“Tried to kill me. Told you all hell would break loose.
Told you they’d make a play. Beat them this round, though.
Got their assassin instead.”
“I thought you left. I saw you leave.”
“I changed my mind. Couldn’t go. I took an oath.
Bo.
They took away my job but not my conscience. I’ve got to
stop them.”
Bomanz met his son’s gaze. Stancil shook his head.
“Pop, look at his wrist.”
Bomanz looked. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s the point. His amulet is gone.”
“He
turned it in when he left. Didn’t you?”
“No,” Besand said. “Lost it in the fight.
Couldn’t find it in the dark.” He made that funny
sound.
“Pop, he’s bad hurt. I better go to the
barracks.”
“Stance,” Besand gasped.
“Don’t tell him. Get Corporal Husky.”
“Right.” Stancil hurried off.
The light of the comet filled the night with ghosts. The
Barrowland seemed to twist and crawl. Momentary shapes drifted
amongst the brush. Bomanz shuddered and tried to convince himself
that his imagination was acting up now.
Dawn was approaching. Besand was over his shock, sipping broth
Jasmine had sent. Corporal Husky came to report the result of his
investigation. “Couldn’t find anything, sir. Not no
body, not no amulet. Not even no sign of no fight. It’s like
it never happened.”
“I sure as hell didn’t try to kill
myself.”
Bomanz became thoughtful. Had he not overheard the conspirators,
he would have doubted Besand. The man was capable of staging an
assault for sympathy.
“I believe you, sir. I was just saying what I
found.”
“They blew their best chance. We’re warned now. Keep
alert.”
“Better not forget who’s in charge now,”
Bomanz interjected. “Don’t get anybody in trouble with
our new leader.”
“That rockbrain. Do what you can, Husky. Don’t crawl
out on a limb.”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal departed.
Stancil said, “Pop, you ought to get back to the house.
You’re looking grey.”
Bomanz rose. “You all right now?” he asked.
Besand replied, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry
about me. The sun is up. That kind don’t try anything in
broad daylight.”
Don’t bet on it, Bomanz thought. Not if they’re
devotees of the Domination. They’ll bring the darkness to
high noon.
Out of earshot, Stancil said, “I was thinking last night,
Pop. Before this got started. About our name problem. And suddenly
it hit me. There’s an old stone in Oar. A big one with runic
carvings and pictographs. Been around forever. Nobody knows what it
is or where it came from. Nobody really cares.”
“So?”
“Let me show you what’s carved on it.” Stancil
picked up a twig, brushed a dusty area clear of debris. He started
drawing. “There’s a crude star in a circle at the top.
Then some lines of runes nobody can read. I can’t remember
those. Then some pictures.” He sketched rapidly.
“That’s pretty rough.”
“So is the original. But look. This one. Stick figure with
a broken leg. Here. A worm? Here, a man superimposed over an
animal. Here, a man with a lightning bolt. You see? The Limper.
Nightcrawler. Shifter. Stormbringer.”
“Maybe. And maybe you’re reaching.”
Stancil kept drawing. “Okay. That’s the way they are
on the rock. The four I named. In the same order as on your chart.
Look here. At your empty spots. They could be the Taken whose
graves we haven’t identified.” He tapped what looked
like a simple circle, a stick figure with its head cocked, and a
beast head with a circle in its mouth.
“The positions match,” Bomanz admitted.
“So?”
“So what?”
“You’re being intentionally thick, Pop. A circle is
a zero, maybe. Maybe a sign for the one called the Faceless Man or
Nameless man. And here the Hanged Man. And here Moondog or
Moonbiter?”
“I see it. Stance. I’m just not sure I want
to.” He told Stance about having dreamed of a great
wolf’s head snapping at the moon.
“You see? Your own mind is trying to tell you. Go check
the evidence. See if it don’t fit this way.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“I know it by heart. It fits.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure I want to do it anymore.”
“Pop . . . Pop, if you won’t, I
will. I mean it. I’m not going to let you throw away
thirty-seven years. What’s changed, anyway? You gave up a
hell of a future to come out here. Can you just write that
off?”
“I’m used to this life. I don’t mind
it.”
“Pop . . . I’ve met people who
knew you back when. They all say you could have been a great
wizard. They wonder what happened to you. They know that you had
some great secret plan and went off to chase it. They figure
you’re dead now, ’cause anybody with your talent
would’ve been heard from. Right now I’m wondering if
they’re not right.”
Bomanz sighed. Stancil would never understand. Not without
getting old under the threat of the noose.
“I mean it, Pop. I’ll do it myself.”
“No, you won’t. You have neither the knowledge nor
the skill. I’ll do it. I guess it’s fated.”
“Let’s go!”
“Not so eager. This isn’t a tea party. It’ll
be dangerous. I need rest and time to get into the right frame of
mind. I have to assemble my equipment and prepare the
stage.”
“Pop . . . ”
“Stancil, who is the expert? Who is going to do
this?”
“I guess you are.”
“Then shut your mouth and keep it shut. The quickest I
could try is tomorrow night. Assuming I stay comfortable with those
names.”
Stancil looked pained and impatient.
“What’s the hurry? What’s your stake in
it?”
“I just . . . I think Tokar is
bringing Glory. I wanted everything out of the way when she got
here.”
Bomanz raised a despairing eyebrow. “Let’s go to the
house. I’m exhausted.” He glanced back at Besand, who
was staring into the Barrowland. The man was stiff with defiance.
“Keep him out of my hair.”
“He won’t be getting around too good for a
while.”
Later Bomanz muttered, “I wonder what it was all about,
anyway? Really Resurrectionists?”
Stancil said, “The Resurrectionists are a myth
Besand’s bunch use to keep themselves employed.”
Bomanz recalled some university acquaintances.
“Don’t be too sure.”
When they reached the house, Stance trudged upstairs to study
the chart. Bomanz ate a small meal. Before lying down, he told
Jasmine, “Keep an eye on Stance. He’s acting
funny.”
“Funny? How?”
“I don’t know. Just funny. Pushy about the
Barrowland. Don’t let him find my gear. He might try to open
the path himself.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I hope not. But watch him.”
Croaker:
Bomanz and Tokar stood in one corner of the shop. “What do
you think?” Bomanz asked. “Bring a good
price?”
Tokar stared at the piece de resistance of Bomanz’s new
TelleKurre collection, a skeleton in perfectly restored armor.
“It’s marvelous, Bo. How did you do it?”
“Wired the joints together. See the forehead jewel?
I’m not up on Domination heraldry, but wouldn’t a ruby
mean somebody important?”
“A king. That would be the skull of King Broke.”
“His bones, too. And armor.”
“You’re rich, Bo. I’ll just take a commission
on this one. A wedding present to the family. You took me serious
when I said come up with something good.”
“The Monitor confiscated the best. We had
Shapeshifter’s armor.”
Tokar had brought helpers this trip, a pair of hulking gorilla
teamsters. They were carrying antiques to wagons outside. Their
back-and-forth made Bomanz nervous.
“Really? Damn! I’d give my left arm for
that.”
Bomanz spread his hands apologetically. “What could I do?
Besand keeps me on a short leash. Anyway, you know my policy.
I’m stretching it to deal with a future
daughter-in-law’s brother.”
“How’s that?”
Stuck my foot in it now, Bomanz thought. He ploughed ahead.
“Besand has heard you’re a Resurrectionist. Stance and
I are getting a hard time.”
“Now that’s sick. I’m sorry, Bo.
Resurrectionist! I shot my mouth off once, years ago, and said even
the Dominator would be better for Oar than our clown Mayor. One
stupid remark! They never let you forget. It’s not enough
that they hounded my father into an early grave. Now they have to
torment me and my friends.”
Bomanz had no idea what Tokar was talking about. He would have
to ask Stance. But it reassured him; which was all he really
wanted.
“Tokar, keep the profits from this lot. For Stance and
Glory. As my wedding present. Have they set a date?”
“Nothing definite. After his sabbatical and thesis. Come
winter, I guess. Thinking about coming down?”
“Thinking about moving back to Oar. I don’t have
enough fight left to break in a new Monitor.”
Tokar chuckled. “Probably won’t be much call for
Domination artifacts after this summer anyway. I’ll see if I
can find you a place. You do work like the king here, you
won’t have trouble making a living.”
“You really like it? I was thinking about doing his horse,
too.” Bomanz felt a surge of pride in his craftsmanship.
“Horse? Really? They buried his horse with him?”
“Armor and all. I don’t know who put the TelleKurre
in the ground, but they didn’t loot. We’ve got a whole
box of coins and jewelry and badges.”
“Domination coinage? That’s hotter than hot. Most of
it was melted down. A Domination coin in good shape can bring fifty
times its metal value.”
“Leave King Whosis here. I’ll put his horse together
for him. Pick him up next trip.”
“I won’t be long, either. I’ll unload and zip
right back. Where’s Stance, anyway? I wanted to say
hello.” Tokar waved one of those leather wallets.
“Glory?”
“Glory. She ought to write romances. Going to break me,
buying paper.”
“He’s out to the dig. Let’s go. Jasmine!
I’m taking Tokar out to the dig.”
During the walk Bomanz kept glancing over his shoulder. The
comet was now so bright it could be seen, barely, by day.
“Going to be one hell of a sight when it peaks out,” he
predicted.
“I expect so.” Tokar’s smile made Bomanz
nervous. I’m imagining, he told himself.
Stancil used his back to open the shop door. He dumped a load of
weapons. “We’re getting mined out, Pop. Pretty much all
common junk last night.”
Bomanz twisted a strand of copper wire, wriggled out of the
framework supporting the horse skeleton. “Then let Men fu
take over. Not much more room here anyway.”
The shop was almost impassable. Bomanz would not have to dig for
years, were that his inclination.
“Looking good,” Stance said of the horse, tarrying
before going for another armful from a borrowed cart.
“You’ll have to show me how to get the king on top so I
can put them together when I go back.”
“I may do it myself.”
“Thought you’d decided to stay.”
“Maybe. I don’t know. When are we going to start
that thesis?”
“I’m working on it. Making notes. Once I get
organized I can write it up like that.” He snapped his
fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of
time.” He went outside again.
Jasmine brought tea. “I thought I heard Stance.”
Bomanz jerked his head. “Outside.”
She looked for a place to set teapot and cups.
“You’re going to have to get this mess
organized.”
“I keep telling myself that.”
Stancil returned. “Enough odds and ends here to make a
suit of armor. Long as nobody tries to wear it.”
“Tea?” his mother asked.
“Sure. Pop, I came past headquarters. That new Monitor is
here.”
“Already?”
“You’re going to love him. He brought a coach and
three wagons filled with clothing for his mistress. And a platoon
of servants.”
“What? Ha! He’ll die when Besand shows him his
quarters.” The Monitor lived in a cell more fit for a monk
than for the most powerful man in the province.
“He deserves it.”
“You know him?”
“By reputation. Polite people call him the Jackal. If
I’d known it was him . . . What could I
have done? Nothing. He’s lucky his family got him sent here.
Somebody would have killed him if he’d stayed around the
city.”
“Not popular, eh?”
“You’ll find out if you stay. Come back,
Pop.”
“I’ve got a job to do, Stance.”
“How much longer?”
“A couple of days. Or forever. You know. I’ve got to
get that name.”
“Pop, we could try now. While things are
confused.”
“No experiments, Stance. I want it cold. I won’t
take chances with the Ten.”
Stancil wanted to argue but sipped tea instead. He went out to
the cart again. When he returned, he said, “Tokar should be
turned around by now. Maybe he’ll bring more than two
wagons.”
Bomanz chuckled. “Maybe he’ll bring more than
wagons, you mean? Like maybe a sister?”
“I was thinking that, yes.”
“How are you going to get a thesis written?”
“There’s always a spare moment.”
Bomanz ran a dust cloth over the jewel in the brow of his dead
king’s horse. “Enough for now, Dobbin. Going out to the
dig.”
“Swing by and check the excitement,” Stancil
suggested.
“I wouldn’t miss it.”
Besand came to the dig that afternoon. He caught Bomanz napping.
“What is this?” he demanded. “Sleeping on the
job?”
Bomanz sat up. “You know me. Just getting out of the
house. I hear the new man showed up.”
Besand spat. “Don’t mention him.”
“Bad?”
“Worse than I expected. Mark me, Bo. Today writes the end
of an era. Those fools will rue it.”
“You decide what you’re going to do?”
“Go fishing. Bloody go fishing. As far from here as I can
get. Take a day to break him in, then head south.”
“I always wanted to retire to one of the Jewel Cities.
I’ve never seen the sea. So you’re headed out right
away, eh?”
“You don’t have to sound so damned cheerful about
it. You and your Resurrectionist friends have won, but I’ll
go knowing you didn’t beat me on my own ground.”
“We haven’t fought much lately. That’s no
reason to make up for lost time.”
“Yeah. Yeah. That was uncalled for. Sorry. It’s
frustration. I’m helpless, and everything is going
under.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
“It can. I have my sources, Bo. I’m not some lone
crazy. There are knowledgeable men in Oar who fear the same things
I do. They say the Resurrectionists are going to try something.
You’ll see, too. Unless you get out.”
“I probably will. Stancil knows this guy. But I
can’t go before we finish the dig.”
Besand gave him a narrow-eyed look. “Bo, I ought to make
you clean up before I go. Looks like Hell puked here.”
Bomanz was not a fastidious worker. For a hundred feet around
his pit the earth was littered with bones, useless scraps of old
gear, and miscellaneous trash. A gruesome sight. Bomanz did not
notice.
“Why bother? It’ll be overgrown in a year. Besides,
I don’t want to make Men fu work any harder than he has
to.”
“You’re all heart, Bo.”
“I work at it.”
“See you around.”
“All right.” And Bomanz tried to puzzle out what he
had done wrong, what Besand had come for and not found. He
shrugged, snuggled into the grass, closed his eyes.
The woman beckoned. Never had the dream been so clear. And never
so successful. He went to her and took her hand, and she led him
along a cool green tree-lined path. Thin shafts of sunlight stabbed
through the foliage. Golden dust danced in the beams. She spoke,
but he could not decipher her words. He did not mind. He was
content.
Gold became silver. Silver became a great blunt blade stabbing a
nighttime sky, obscuring the weaker stars. The comet came down,
came down . . . and a great female face opened
upon him. It was shouting. Shouting angrily. And he could not
hear . . .
The comet vanished. A full moon rode the diamond-studded sky. A
great shadow crossed the stars, obscuring the Milky Way. A head,
Bomanz realized. A head of darkness. A wolf’s head, snapping
at the moon . . . Then it was gone. He was
with the woman again, walking that forest path, tripping over
sunbeams. She was promising him
something . . .
He wakened. Jasmine was shaking him. “Bo! You’re
dreaming again. Wake up.”
“I’m all right,” he mumbled. “It
wasn’t that bad.”
“You’ve got to stop eating so many onions. A man
your age, and with an ulcer.”
Bomanz sat up, patted his paunch. The ulcer had not bothered him
lately. Maybe he had too much else on his mind. He swung his feet
to the floor and stared into the darkness.
“What are you doing?”
“Thinking about going out to see Stance.”
“You need your rest.”
“Bull. Old as I am? Old people don’t need to rest.
Can’t afford to. Don’t have the time left to
waste.” He felt for his boots.
Jasmine muttered something typical. He ignored her. He had that
down to a fine art. She added, “Take care out
there.”
“Eh?”
“Be careful. I don’t feel comfortable now that
Besand is gone.”
“He only left this morning.”
“Yes, but . . . ”
Bomanz left the house muttering about superstitious old women
who could not stand change.
He took a random roundabout route, occasionally pausing to watch
the comet. It was spectacular. A great mane of glory. He wondered
if his dream had been trying to tell him something. A shadow
devouring the moon. Not solid enough, he decided.
Nearing the edge of town, he heard voices. He softened his step.
People were not usually out at this time of night.
They were inside an abandoned shack. A candle flickered inside.
Pilgrims, he supposed. He found a peephole, but he could see
nothing save a man’s back. Something about those slumped
shoulders . . . Besand? Of course not. Too
wide. More like that one ape of
Tokar’s . . .
He could not identify the voices, which were mostly whispers.
One did sound a lot like Men fu’s habitual whine. The words
were distinct enough, though.
“Look, we did everything we could to get him out of here.
You take a man’s job and home, he ought to realize he’s
not wanted. But he won’t go.”
A second voice: “Then it’s time for heroic
measures.”
Whiny voice: “That’s going too far.”
Short of disgust. “Yellow. I’ll do it. Where is
he?”
“Holed up in the old stable. The loft. Fixed himself a
pallet, like an old dog in a comer.”
A grunt as someone rose. Feet moving. Bomanz grabbed his belly,
mouse-stepped away and hid in a shadow. A hulking figure crossed
the road. Comet light glittered upon a naked blade.
Bomanz scuttled to a more distant shadow and stopped to
think.
What did it mean? Murder, surely. But who? Why? Who had moved
into the abandoned stable? Pilgrims and transients used the empty
places all the time . . . Who were those
men?
Possibilities occurred. He banished them. They were too grim.
When his nerves returned, he hurried to the dig.
Stancil’s lantern was there, but he was nowhere in sight.
“Stance?” No answer. “Stancil? Where are
you?” Still no answer. Almost in panic, he shouted,
“Stancil!”
“That you, Pop?”
“Where are you?”
“Taking a crap.”
Bomanz sighed, sat down. His son appeared a moment later,
brushing sweat off his forehead. Why? It was a cool night.
“Stance, did Besand change his mind? I saw him leave this
morning. A while ago I heard men plotting to kill somebody. Sounded
like they meant him.”
“Kill? Who?”
“I don’t know. One of them might have been Men fu.
There were three or four of them. Did he come back?”
“I don’t think so. You didn’t dream something,
did you? What are you doing out in the middle of the night,
anyway?”
“That nightmare again. I couldn’t sleep. I
didn’t imagine it. Those men were going to kill somebody
because he wouldn’t leave.”
“That doesn’t make sense, Pop.”
“I don’t care . . . ”
Bomanz whirled. He heard the strange noise again. A figure
staggered into the light. It took three steps and fell.
“Besand! It is Besand. What did I tell you?”
The former Monitor had a bloody wound across his chest.
“I’m okay,” he said. “I’ll be okay.
Just shock. It’s not as bad as it looks.”
“What happened?”
“Tried to kill me. Told you all hell would break loose.
Told you they’d make a play. Beat them this round, though.
Got their assassin instead.”
“I thought you left. I saw you leave.”
“I changed my mind. Couldn’t go. I took an oath.
Bo.
They took away my job but not my conscience. I’ve got to
stop them.”
Bomanz met his son’s gaze. Stancil shook his head.
“Pop, look at his wrist.”
Bomanz looked. “I don’t see anything.”
“That’s the point. His amulet is gone.”
“He
turned it in when he left. Didn’t you?”
“No,” Besand said. “Lost it in the fight.
Couldn’t find it in the dark.” He made that funny
sound.
“Pop, he’s bad hurt. I better go to the
barracks.”
“Stance,” Besand gasped.
“Don’t tell him. Get Corporal Husky.”
“Right.” Stancil hurried off.
The light of the comet filled the night with ghosts. The
Barrowland seemed to twist and crawl. Momentary shapes drifted
amongst the brush. Bomanz shuddered and tried to convince himself
that his imagination was acting up now.
Dawn was approaching. Besand was over his shock, sipping broth
Jasmine had sent. Corporal Husky came to report the result of his
investigation. “Couldn’t find anything, sir. Not no
body, not no amulet. Not even no sign of no fight. It’s like
it never happened.”
“I sure as hell didn’t try to kill
myself.”
Bomanz became thoughtful. Had he not overheard the conspirators,
he would have doubted Besand. The man was capable of staging an
assault for sympathy.
“I believe you, sir. I was just saying what I
found.”
“They blew their best chance. We’re warned now. Keep
alert.”
“Better not forget who’s in charge now,”
Bomanz interjected. “Don’t get anybody in trouble with
our new leader.”
“That rockbrain. Do what you can, Husky. Don’t crawl
out on a limb.”
“Yes, sir.” The corporal departed.
Stancil said, “Pop, you ought to get back to the house.
You’re looking grey.”
Bomanz rose. “You all right now?” he asked.
Besand replied, “I’ll be fine. Don’t worry
about me. The sun is up. That kind don’t try anything in
broad daylight.”
Don’t bet on it, Bomanz thought. Not if they’re
devotees of the Domination. They’ll bring the darkness to
high noon.
Out of earshot, Stancil said, “I was thinking last night,
Pop. Before this got started. About our name problem. And suddenly
it hit me. There’s an old stone in Oar. A big one with runic
carvings and pictographs. Been around forever. Nobody knows what it
is or where it came from. Nobody really cares.”
“So?”
“Let me show you what’s carved on it.” Stancil
picked up a twig, brushed a dusty area clear of debris. He started
drawing. “There’s a crude star in a circle at the top.
Then some lines of runes nobody can read. I can’t remember
those. Then some pictures.” He sketched rapidly.
“That’s pretty rough.”
“So is the original. But look. This one. Stick figure with
a broken leg. Here. A worm? Here, a man superimposed over an
animal. Here, a man with a lightning bolt. You see? The Limper.
Nightcrawler. Shifter. Stormbringer.”
“Maybe. And maybe you’re reaching.”
Stancil kept drawing. “Okay. That’s the way they are
on the rock. The four I named. In the same order as on your chart.
Look here. At your empty spots. They could be the Taken whose
graves we haven’t identified.” He tapped what looked
like a simple circle, a stick figure with its head cocked, and a
beast head with a circle in its mouth.
“The positions match,” Bomanz admitted.
“So?”
“So what?”
“You’re being intentionally thick, Pop. A circle is
a zero, maybe. Maybe a sign for the one called the Faceless Man or
Nameless man. And here the Hanged Man. And here Moondog or
Moonbiter?”
“I see it. Stance. I’m just not sure I want
to.” He told Stance about having dreamed of a great
wolf’s head snapping at the moon.
“You see? Your own mind is trying to tell you. Go check
the evidence. See if it don’t fit this way.”
“I don’t have to.”
“Why not?”
“I know it by heart. It fits.”
“Then what’s the matter?”
“I’m not sure I want to do it anymore.”
“Pop . . . Pop, if you won’t, I
will. I mean it. I’m not going to let you throw away
thirty-seven years. What’s changed, anyway? You gave up a
hell of a future to come out here. Can you just write that
off?”
“I’m used to this life. I don’t mind
it.”
“Pop . . . I’ve met people who
knew you back when. They all say you could have been a great
wizard. They wonder what happened to you. They know that you had
some great secret plan and went off to chase it. They figure
you’re dead now, ’cause anybody with your talent
would’ve been heard from. Right now I’m wondering if
they’re not right.”
Bomanz sighed. Stancil would never understand. Not without
getting old under the threat of the noose.
“I mean it, Pop. I’ll do it myself.”
“No, you won’t. You have neither the knowledge nor
the skill. I’ll do it. I guess it’s fated.”
“Let’s go!”
“Not so eager. This isn’t a tea party. It’ll
be dangerous. I need rest and time to get into the right frame of
mind. I have to assemble my equipment and prepare the
stage.”
“Pop . . . ”
“Stancil, who is the expert? Who is going to do
this?”
“I guess you are.”
“Then shut your mouth and keep it shut. The quickest I
could try is tomorrow night. Assuming I stay comfortable with those
names.”
Stancil looked pained and impatient.
“What’s the hurry? What’s your stake in
it?”
“I just . . . I think Tokar is
bringing Glory. I wanted everything out of the way when she got
here.”
Bomanz raised a despairing eyebrow. “Let’s go to the
house. I’m exhausted.” He glanced back at Besand, who
was staring into the Barrowland. The man was stiff with defiance.
“Keep him out of my hair.”
“He won’t be getting around too good for a
while.”
Later Bomanz muttered, “I wonder what it was all about,
anyway? Really Resurrectionists?”
Stancil said, “The Resurrectionists are a myth
Besand’s bunch use to keep themselves employed.”
Bomanz recalled some university acquaintances.
“Don’t be too sure.”
When they reached the house, Stance trudged upstairs to study
the chart. Bomanz ate a small meal. Before lying down, he told
Jasmine, “Keep an eye on Stance. He’s acting
funny.”
“Funny? How?”
“I don’t know. Just funny. Pushy about the
Barrowland. Don’t let him find my gear. He might try to open
the path himself.”
“He wouldn’t.”
“I hope not. But watch him.”