Book 3 - The White Rose Read Free

where to dig.
I’ll pay you commission. You won’t have to do anything.
That’s a damned fine axe, Bo. TelleKurre? I could sell a
bargeload of TelleKurre weaponry.”
    “UchiTelle, actually.” A twinge from his ulcer.
“No. No helpers.” That was all he needed. A bunch of
young hotshots hanging over his shoulder while he made his field
calculations.
    “Just a suggestion.”
    “Sorry. Don’t mind me. Jasmine was on me this
morning.”
    Softly, Tokar asked, “Found anything connected with the
Taken?”
    With the ease of decades, Bomanz dissembled, feigning horror.
“The Taken? Am I a fool? I wouldn’t touch it if I could
get it past the Monitor.”
    Tokar smiled conspiratorily. “Sure. We don’t want to
offend the Eternal Guard. Nevertheless . . . 
There’s one man in Oar who would pay well for something that
could be ascribed to one of the Taken. He’d sell his soul for
something that belonged to the Lady. He’s in love with
her.”
    “She was known for that.” Bomanz avoided the younger
man’s gaze. How much had Stance revealed? Was this one of
Besand’s fishing expeditions? The older Bomanz became, the
less he enjoyed the game. His nerves could not take this double
life. He was tempted to confess just for the relief.
    No, damnit! He had too much invested. Thirty-seven years.
Digging and scratching every minute. Sneaking and pretending. The
most abject poverty. No. He would not give up. Not now. Not when he
was this close.
    “In my way, I love her, too,” he admitted.
“But I haven’t abandoned good sense. I’d scream
for Besand if I found anything. So loud you’d hear me in
Oar.”
    “All right. Whatever you say.” Tokar grinned.
“Enough suspense.” He produced a leather wallet.
“Letters from Stancil.”
    Bomanz seized the wallet. “Haven’t heard from him
since last time you were here.”
    “Can I start loading, Bo?”
    “Sure. Go ahead.” Absently, Bomanz took his current
inventory list from a pigeonhole. “Mark off whatever you
take.”
    Tokar laughed gently. “All of it this time, Bo. Just quote
me a price.”
    “Everything? Half is junk.”
    “I told you, the Domination is hot.”
    “You saw Stance? How is he?” He was halfway through
the first letter. His son had nothing substantial to relate. His
missives were filled with daily trivia. Duty letters. Letters from
a son to his parents, unable to span the timeless chasm.
    “Sickeningly healthy. Bored with the university. Read on.
There’s a surprise.”
     
    “Tokar was here,” Bomanz said. He grinned, danced
from foot to foot.
    “That thief?” Jasmine scowled. “Did you
remember to get paid?” Her fat, sagging face was set in
perpetual disapproval. Generally her mouth was open in the same
vein.
    “He brought letters from Stance. Here.” He offered
the packet. He could not contain himself. “Stance is coming
home.”
    “Home? He can’t. He has his position at the
university.”
    “He’s taking a sabbatical.
He’s coming for the summer.”
    “Why?”
    “To see us. To help with the shop. To get away so he can
finish a thesis.”
    Jasmine grumbled. She did not read the letters. She had not
forgiven her son for sharing his father’s interest in the
Domination. “What he’s doing is coming here to help you
poke around where you’re not supposed to poke, isn’t
he?”
    Bomanz darted furtive glances at the shop’s windows. His
was an existence of justifiable paranoia. “It’s the
Year of the Comet. The ghosts of the Taken will rise to mourn the
passing of the Domination.”
    This summer would mark the tenth return of the comet which had
appeared at the hour of the Dominator’s fall. The Ten Who
Were Taken would manifest strongly.
    Bomanz had witnessed one passage the summer he had come to the
Old Forest, long before Stancil’s birth. The Barrowland had
been impressive with ghosts walking.
    Excitement tightened his belly. Jasmine would not appreciate it,
but this was the summer. End of the long quest.