Book 3 - The White Rose by Glen Cook Page A

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