Free Book 3 - The White Rose by Glen Cook Page A

of
disaster. The dream might be stillborn.”
    Stancil’s expression ran through a series of changes.
“But you’ve got
to . . . ”
    “I don’t have to do anything but be Bomanz the
antiquary. Your mother and I don’t have much longer. This dig
should yield enough to keep us.”
    “If you went ahead, you’d have a lot more years and
a lot more . . . ”
    “I’m scared, Stance. Of going either way. That
happens when you get older. Change is threatening.”
    “Pop . . . ”
    “I’m talking about the death of dreams, son. About
losing the big, wild make-believes that keep you going. The
impossible dreams. That kind of jolly pretend is dead. For me. All
I can see is rotten teeth in a killer’s smile.”
    Stancil hoisted himself out of the pit. He plucked a strand of
sweetgrass, sucked it while gazing into the sky. “Pop, how
did you feel right before you married Mom?”
    “Numb.”
    Stancil laughed. “Okay, how about when you went to ask her
father? On the way there?”
    “I thought I was going to dribble down my leg. You never
met your grandfather. He’s the one who got them started
telling troll stories.”
    “Something like you feel now?”
    “Something. Yes. But it’s not the same. I was
younger, and I had a reward to look forward to.”
    “And you don’t now? Aren’t the stakes
bigger?”
    “Both ways. Win or lose.”
    “Know what? You’re having what they call a crisis of
self-confidence. That’s all. Couple of days and you’ll
be raring to go again.”
    That evening, after Stancil had gone out, Bomanz told Jasmine,
“That’s a wise boy we’ve got. We talked today.
Really talked, for the first time. He surprised me.”
    “Why? He’s your son, isn’t he?”
    The dream came stronger than ever before, more quickly than
ever. It wakened Bomanz twice in one night. He gave up trying to
sleep. He went and sat on the front stoop, taking in the moonlight.
The night was bright. He could make out rude buildings along the
dirty street.
    Some town, he thought, remembering the glories of Oar. The
Guard, us antiquaries, and a few people who scratch a living
serving us and the pilgrims. Hardly any of those anymore, even with
the Domination fashionable. The Barrowland is so disreputable
nobody wants to look at it.
    He heard footsteps. A shadow approached. “Bo?”
    “Besand?”
    “Uhm.” The Monitor settled on the next step down.
“What’re you doing?”
    “Couldn’t sleep. Been thinking about how the
Barrowland has gotten so blighted even self-respecting
Resurrectionists don’t come here anymore. You? You’re
not taking the night patrol yourself, are you?”
    “Couldn’t sleep either. That damned
comet.”
    Bomanz searched the sky.
    “Can’t see it from here. Have to go around back.
You’re right. Nobody knows we’re here anymore. Us or
those things in the ground over there. I don’t know
what’s worse. Neglect or plain stupidity.”
    “Uhm?” Something was gnawing at the Monitor.
    “Bo, they’re not replacing me because I’m old
or incompetent, though I guess I’m enough of both.
They’re moving me out so somebody’s nephew can have a
post. An exile for a black sheep. That hurts, Bo. That really
hurts. They’ve forgotten what this place is. They’re
telling me I wasted my whole life doing a job any idiot can sleep
his way through.”
    “The world is full of fools.”
    “Fools die.”
    “Eh?”
    “They laugh when I talk about the comet or about
Resurrectionists striking this summer. They can’t believe
that I believe. They don’t believe there’s anything
under those mounds. Not anything still alive.”
    “Bring them out here. Walk them through the Barrowland
after dark.”
    “I tried. They told me to quit whining if I wanted a
pension.”
    “You’ve done all you can, then. It’s on their
heads.”
    “I took an oath, Bo. I was serious about it then, and
I’m serious now. This job is all I have. You’ve got
Jasmine and Stance. I might as well have