Bomanz stared at his son. More boldly than he felt, he said, “I’m going in. It’s time to put doubts aside and get on with it. There’s the list. See if there’s an area of inquiry that I’ve forgotten.”
“Pop...”
“Don’t argue with me, boy.” It had taken him all evening to shed the ingrained Bomanz persona and surface the wizard so long and artfully hidden. But he was out now.
Bomanz went to a comer where a few seemingly innocuous objects were piled. He stood taller than usual. He moved more precisely, more quickly. He began piling things on the table. “When you go back to Oar, you can tell my old classmates what became of me.” He smiled thinly. He could recall a few who would shudder even now, knowing he had studied at the Lady’s knee. He’d never forgotten, never forgiven. And they knew him that well.
Stancil’s pallor had disappeared. Now he was uncertain. This side of the father had not been seen since before the son’s birth. It was outside his experience. “Do you want to go out there, Pop?”
“You brought back the essential details. Besand is dead. Men fu is dead. The Guards aren’t going to get excited.”
“I thought he was your friend.”
“Besand? Besand had no friends. He had a mission... What’re you looking at?”
“A man with a mission?”
“Could be. Something kept me here. Take this stuff downstairs. We’ll do it in the shop.”
“Where do you want it?”
“Doesn’t matter. Besand was the only one who could have separated it from the junk.”
Stancil went out. Later, Bomanz finished a series of mental exercises and wondered what had become of the boy. Stance hadn’t returned. He shrugged, went on.
He smiled. He was ready. It was going to be simple.
The town was in an uproar. A Guard had tried to assassinate the new Monitor. The Monitor was so bewildered and frightened he had locked himself in his quarters. Crazy rumors abounded.
Bomanz walked through it with such calm dignity that he startled people who had known him for years. He went to the edge of the Barrowland, considered his long-time antagonist. Besand lay where he had fallen. The flies were thick. Bomanz threw a handful of dirt. The insects scattered. He nodded thoughtfully. Besand’s amulet had disappeared again.
Bomanz located Corporal Husky. “If you can’t do anything to get Besand out, then toss dirt in on him. There’s a mountain around my pit.”
“Yes, sir,” Husky said, and only later seemed startled by his easy acquiescence.
Bomanz walked the perimeter of the Barrowland. The sun shone a little oddly through the comet’s tail. Colors were a trifle strange. But there were no ghosts aprowl now. He saw no reason not to make his communication attempt. He returned to the village.
Wagons stood before the shop. Teamsters were busy loading them. Jasmine shrilled inside, cursing someone who had taken something he shouldn’t. “Damn you, Tokar,” Bomanz muttered. “Why today? You could have waited till it was over.” He felt a fleeting concern. He could not rely on Stance if the boy were distracted. He shoved into the shop.
“It’s grand!” Tokar said of the horse. “Absolutely magnificent. You’re a genius, Bo.”
“You’re a pain in the butt. What’s going on here? Who the hell are all these people?”
“My drivers. My brother Clete. My sister Glory. Stance’s Glory. And our baby sister Snoopy. We called her that because she was always spying on us.”
“Pleased to meet you all. Where’s Stance?”
Jasmine said, “I sent him to get something for supper. With this crowd I’ll have to start cooking early.”
Bomanz sighed. Just what he needed, this night of nights. A house full of guests. “You. Put that back where you got it. You. Snoopy? Keep your hands off of stuff.”
Tokar asked, “What’s with you, Bo?”
Bomanz raised one eyebrow, met the man’s gaze, did not answer. “Where’s the driver with the big shoulders?”
“Not with me anymore.” Tokar frowned.
“Thought not. I’ll be upstairs if something critical comes up.” He stamped through the shop, went up, settled in his chair, willed himself to sleep. His dreams were subtle. It seemed he could hear at last, but could not recall what he heard...
Stancil entered the upstairs room. Bomanz asked, “What are we going to do? That crowd is gumming up the works.”
“How long do you need, Pop?”
“This could go all night every night for weeks if it works out.” He was pleased. Stancil had recovered his courage.
“Can’t hardly run them off.”
“And can’t go anywhere else, either.” The Guards were in a hard, bitter mood.
“How noisy will you be, Pop? Could we do it here, on the quiet?”
“Guess we’ll have to try. Going to be crowded. Get the stuff from the shop. I’ll make room.”
Bomanz’s shoulders slumped when Stancil left. He was getting nervous. Not about the thing he would challenge, but about his own foresight. He kept thinking he had forgotten something. But he had reviewed four decades of notes without detecting a flaw in his chosen approach. Any reasonably educated apprentice should be able to follow his formulation. He spat into a corner. “Antiquarian’s cowardice,” he muttered. “Old-fashioned fear of the unknown.”
Stancil returned. “Mom’s got them into a game of Throws.”
“I wondered what Snoopy was yelling about. Got everything?”
“Yes.”
“Okay. Go down and kibbitz. I’ll be there after I set up. We’ll do it after they’re in bed.”
“Okay.”
“Stance? Are you ready?”
“I’m okay, Pop. I just had the jitters last night. It’s not every day I see a man killed by ghosts.”
“Better get a feel for that kind of thing. It happens.”
Stancil looked blank.
“You’re sneaking studies on Black Campus, aren’t you?” Black Campus was that hidden side of the university on which wizards learned their trade. Officially, it did not exist. Legally, it was prohibited. But it was there. Bomanz was a laureate graduate.
Stancil gave one sharp nod and left.
“I thought so,” Bomanz whispered, and wondered: How black are you, son?
He pottered around till he had triple-checked everything, till he realized that caution had become an excuse for not socializing. “You’re something,” he mumbled to himself.
One last look. Chart laid out. Candles. Bowl of quicksilver. Silver dagger. Herbs. Censers... He still had that feeling. “What the hell could I have missed?”
Throws was essentially four-player checkers. The board was four times the usual size. Players played from each side. An element of chance was added by throwing a die before each move. If a player’s throw came up six, he could move any combination of pieces six moves. Checkers rules generally applied, except that a jump could be declined.
Snoopy appealed to Bomanz the moment he appeared. “They’re ganging up on me!” She was playing opposite Jasmine. Glory and Tokar were on her flanks. Bomanz watched a few moves. Tokar and the older sister were in cahoots. Conventional elimination tactics.
On impulse Bomanz controlled the fall of the die when it came to Snoopy. She threw a six, squealed, sent men charging all over. Bomanz wondered if he had been that rich in adolescent enthusiasm and optimism. He eyed the girl. How old? Fourteen?
He made Tokar throw a one, let Jasmine and Glory have what fate decreed, then gave Snoopy another six and Tokar another one. After a third time around Tokar grumbled, “This is getting ridiculous.” The balance of the game had shifted. Glory was about to abandon him and side with her sister against Jasmine.
Jasmine gave Bomanz the fish-eye when Snoopy threw yet another six. He winked, let Tokar throw free. A two. Tokar grumbled, “I’m on the comeback trail now.”