Book 3 - The White Rose by Glen Cook

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