“Not bad. He’s ready to give up. Only came round once.”

“Men fu or Besand?”

“Men fu. Besand was there a half dozen times.”

They were working shifts. Men fu was the public excuse.

In reality, Bomanz hoped to wear Besand down before the comet’s return. It was not working.

“Your mother has breakfast ready.” Bomanz began assembling his pack.

“Wait up, Pop. I’ll go too.”

“You need to rest.”

“That’s all right. I feel like digging.”

“Okay.” Something was bothering the boy. Maybe he was ready to talk.

They’d never done much of that. Their pre-university relationship had been one of confrontation, with Stance always on the defensive... He had grown, these four years, but the boy was still there inside. He was not yet ready to face his father man-to-man. And Bomanz had not grown enough to forget that Stancil was his little boy. Those growths sometimes never come. One day the son is looking back at his own son, wondering what happened.

Bomanz resumed rubbing flakes off a mace. He sneered at himself. Thinking about relationships. This isn’t like you, you old coot.

“Hey, Pop,” Stance called from the kitchen. “Almost forgot. I spotted the comet last night.”

A claw reached in and grabbed a handful of Bomanz’s guts. The comet! Couldn’t be. Not already. He was not ready for it.

“Nervy little bastard,” Bomanz spat. He and Stancil knelt in the brush, watching Men fu toss artifacts from their diggings.

“I ought to break his leg.”

“Wait here a minute. I’ll circle around and cut him off when he runs.”

Bomanz snorted. “Not worth the trouble.”

“It’s worth it to me, Pop. Just to keep the balance.”

“All right.” Bomanz watched Men fu pop up to look around, ugly little head jerking like that of a nervous pigeon.

He dropped back into the excavation. Bomanz stalked forward. He drew close enough to hear the thief talking to himself.

“Oh. Lovely. Lovely. A stone fortune. Stone fortune. That fat little ape don’t deserve it. All the time sucking up to Besand. That creep.”

“Fat little ape? You asked for it.” Bomanz shed his pack and tools, got a firm grip on his spade.

Men fu came up out of the pit, his arms filled. His eyes grew huge. His mouth worked soundlessly.

Bomanz wound up. “Now Bo, don’t be...”

Bomanz swung. Men fu danced, took the blow on his hip, squawked, dropped his burden, flailed the air, and toppled into the pit. He scrambled out the far side, squealing like a wounded hog. Bomanz wobbled after him, landed a mighty stroke across his behind. Men fu ran. Bomanz charged after him, spade high, yelling, “Stand still, you thieving son-of-a-bitch! Take it like a man.”

He took a last mighty swing. It missed. It flung him around. He fell, bounced back up, continued the chase sans avenging spade.

Stancil threw himself into Men fu’s way. The thief put his head down and bulled through. Bomanz ploughed into Stancil. Father and son rolled in a tangle of limbs.

Bomanz gasped, “What the hell? He’s gone now.” He sprawled on his back, panted. Stancil started laughing. “What’s so damned funny?”

“The look on his face.”

Bomanz sniggered. “You weren’t much help.” They guffawed. Finally, Bomanz gasped, “I’d better find my spade.”

Stancil helped his father stand. “Pop, I wish you could have seen yourself.”

“Glad I didn’t. Lucky I didn’t have a stroke.” He lapsed into a fit of giggles.

“You all right, Pop?”

“Sure. Just can’t laugh and catch my breath at the same time. Oh. Oh, my. I won’t be able to move again if I sit down.”

“Let’s go dig. That’ll keep you loose. You dropped the spade around here, didn’t you?”

“There it is.”

The giggles haunted Bomanz all morning. He would recall Men fu’s flailing retreat and his self-control would go.

“Pop?” Stancil was working the far side of the pit. “Look here. This may be why he didn’t notice you coming.”

Bomanz limped over, watched Stancil brush loose soil off a perfectly preserved breastplate. It was as black and shiny as rubbed ebony. An ornate ornament in silver bossed its center. “Uhm.” Bomanz popped out of the pit. “Nobody around. That half-man, half-beast design. That’s Shapeshifter.”

“He led the TelleKurre.”

“He wouldn’t be buried here, though.”

“It’s his armor, Pop.”

“I can see that, dammit.” He popped up like a curious groundhog. No one in sight. “Sit up here and keep watch. I’ll dig it out.”

“You sit, Pop.”

“You were up all night.”

“I’m a lot younger than you are.”

“I’m feeling just fine, thank you.”

“What color is the sky, Pop?”

“Blue. What kind of question...”

“Hallelujah. We agree on something. You’re the most contrary old goat...”

“Stancil!”

“Sorry, Pop. We’ll take turns. Flip a coin to see who goes first.”

Bomanz lost. He settled down with his pack as a backrest. “Going to have to spread the dig out. Going straight down like this, it’ll cave in first heavy rain.”

“Yeah. Be a lot of mud. Ought to think about a drainage trench. Hey, Pop, there’s nobody in this thing. Looks like the rest of his armor, too.” Stancil had recovered a gauntlet and uncovered part of a greave.

“Yeah? I hate to turn it in.”

“Turn it in? Why? Tokar could get a fortune for it.”

“Maybe so. But what if friend Men fu did spot it? He’ll tell Besand out of spite. We’ve got to stay on his good side. We don’t need this stuff.”

“Not to mention he might have planted it.”

“What?”

“It shouldn’t be here, right? And no body inside the armor. And the soil is loose.”

Bomanz grunted. Besand was capable of a frame. “Leave everything the way it is. I’ll go get him.”

“Sour-faced old fart,” Stancil muttered as the Monitor departed. “I bet he did plant it.”

“No sense cussing. We can’t do anything.” Bomanz settled against his pack.

“What’re you doing?”

“Loafing. I don’t feel like digging anymore.” He ached all over. It had been a busy morning.

“We should get what we can while the weather is good.”

“Go ahead.”

“Pop...” Stancil thought better of it. “How come you and Mom fight all the time?”

Bomanz let his thoughts drift. The truth was elusive. Stance would not remember the good years. “I guess because people change and we don’t want them to.” He could find no better words. “You start out with a woman; she’s magical and mysterious and marvelous, the way they sing it. Then you get to know each other. The excitement goes away. It gets comfortable. Then even that fades. She starts to sag and turn grey and get lined and you feel cheated. You remember the fey, shy one you met and talked with till her father threatened to plant a boot in your ass. You resent this stranger. So you take a poke. I guess it’s the same for your mother. Inside, I’m still twenty. Stance. Only if I pass a mirror, or if my body won’t do what I want, do I realize that I’m an old man. I don’t see the potbelly and the varicose veins and the grey hair where I’ve got any left. She has to live with it.”

“Every time I see a mirror I’m amazed. I end up wondering who’s taken over the outside of me. A disgusting old goat, from the look of him. The kind I used to snicker at when I was twenty. He scares me, Stance. He looks like a dying man. I’m trapped inside him, and I’m not ready to go.”

Stancil sat down. His father never talked about his feelings. “Does it have to be that way?”

Maybe not, but it always is... “Thinking about Glory, Stance? I don’t know. You can’t get out of getting old. You can’t get out of having a relationship change.”

“Maybe none of it has to be. If we manage this...”

“Don’t tell me about maybes, Stance. I’ve been living on maybes for thirty years.” His ulcer took a sample nibble from his gut. “Maybe Besand is right. For the wrong reasons.”