“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.”