The White Rose

Chapter Fourteen: THE STORY OF BOMANZ

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?"

Stancii 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."