The White Rose

by Glen Cook

  “We’ll bring them all down.” He indicated the Taken. “They aren’t real, like those of old.”

  Toadkiller Dog sneezed on Tracker’s boot. He looked down. I thought he would kick the mutt. But instead he bent to scratch the dog’s ear.

  “Toadkiller Dog. What kind of name is that?”

  “Oh, it’s an old joke. From when we were both a lot younger. He took a shine to it. Insists on it now.”

  Tracker seemed only half there. His eyes were vacant, his gaze far away, though he continued to watch the Taken. Weird.

  At least he admitted to having been young. There was a hint of human vulnerability in that. It is the apparent invulnerability of characters like Tracker and Raven that rattles me.

  Chapter Thirteen: THE PLAIN OF FEAR

  “Yo! Croaker!” The Lieutenant had come outside.

  “What?”

  “Let Tracker cover you.” I had only minutes left in my watch. “Darling wants you.”

  I glanced at Tracker. He shrugged. “Go ahead.” He assumed a stance facing westward. I swear, it was like he turned the vigilance on. As though on the instant he became the ultimate sentinel.

  Even Toadkiller Dog opened an eye and went to watching.

  I brushed the dog’s scalp with my fingers as I left, what I thought a friendly gesture. He growled. “Be like that,” I said, and joined the Lieutenant.

  He seemed disturbed. Generally, he is a cold customer. “What is it?”

  “She’s got one of her wild hairs.”

  Oh, boy. “What?”

  “Rust.”

  “Oh yeah! Brilliant! Get it all over with fast! I thought that was just talk. I trust you tried to argue her out of it?”

  You would think a man would grow accustomed to stench after having lived with it for years. But as we descended into the Hole my nose wrinkled and tightened. You just can’t keep a bunch of people stuffed in a pit without ventilation. We have precious little.

  “I tried. She says, ‘Load the wagon. Let me worry about the mule being blind.’”

  “She’s right most of the time.”

  “She’s a damned military genius. But that don’t mean she can pull off any cockamamie scheme she dreams up. Some dreams are nightmares. Hell, Croaker. The Limper is out there.”

  Which is where we started when we reached the conference room. Silent and I bore the brunt because we are Darling’s favorites. Seldom do I see such unanimity among my brethren. Even Goblin and One-Eye spoke with a single voice, and those two will fight over whether it is night or day with the sun at high noon.

  Darling prowled like a caged beast. She had doubts. They nagged her.

  “Two Taken in Rust,” I argued. “That’s what Corder said. One of them our oldest and nastiest enemy.”

  “Break them and we will shatter their entire plan of campaign,” she countered.

  “Break them? Girl, you’re talking about the Limper. I proved he is invincible before.”

  “No. You proved that he will survive unless you are thorough. You might have burned him.”

  Yeah. Or cut him into pieces and fed him to the fish, or given him a swim in a vat of acid or a dust bath in quicklime. But those things take time. We had the Lady herself coming down on us. We barely got away as it was.

  “Assuming we can get there undetected-which I do not believe for a moment-and manage total surprise, how long before all the Taken get on us?” I signed vigorously, more angry than frightened. I never refuse Darling, ever. But this time I was ready.

  Her eyes flashed. For the first time ever I saw her battle her temper. She signed, “If you will not accept orders you should not be here. I am not the Lady. I do not sacrifice pawns for small gain. I agree, there is great risk in this operation. But far less than you argue. With potential impact far greater than you suppose.”

  “Convince me.”

  “That I cannot do. If you are captured, you must not know.”

  I was primed. “You just telling me that is enough for the Taken to get on a trail.” Maybe I was more scared than I could admit. Or maybe it was just an all-time case of the contraries.

  “No,” she signed. There was something more, but she held it back.

  Silent dropped a hand on my shoulder. He had given up. The Lieutenant joined him. “You’re overstepping yourself, Croaker.”

  Darling repeated, “If you will not accept orders. Croaker, leave.”

  She meant it. Really! I stood with mouth open, stunned.

  “All right!” I stamped out. I went to my quarters, shuffled those obstinate old papers and, of course, found not a damned thing new.

  They left me alone for a while. Then Elmo came. He did not announce himself. I just glanced up and found him leaning against the door frame. By then I was half ashamed of my performance. “Yeah?”

  “Mail call,” he said, and tossed me another of those oilskin packets.

  I snapped it out of the air. He departed without explaining its appearance. I placed it on my worktable, wondered. Who? I knew no one in Oar.

  Was it some sort of trick?

  The Lady is patient and clever. I would not put past her some grand maneuver using me.

  I guess I must have thought about it an hour before, reluctantly, I opened the packet.

  Chapter Fourteen: THE STORY OF BOMANZ

  Croaker:

  Bomanz and Tokar stood in one corner of the shop. “What do you think?” Bomanz asked. “Bring a good price?”

  Tokar stared at the piece de resistance of Bomanz’s new TelleKurre collection, a skeleton in perfectly restored armor. “It’s marvelous, Bo. How did you do it?”

  “Wired the joints together. See the forehead jewel? I’m not up on Domination heraldry, but wouldn’t a ruby mean somebody important?”

  “A king. That would be the skull of King Broke.”

  “His bones, too. And armor.”

  “You’re rich, Bo. I’ll just take a commission on this one. A wedding present to the family. You took me serious when I said come up with something good.”

  “The Monitor confiscated the best. We had Shapeshifter’s armor.”

  Tokar had brought helpers this trip, a pair of hulking gorilla teamsters. They were carrying antiques to wagons outside. Their back-and-forth made Bomanz nervous.

  “Really? Damn! I’d give my left arm for that.”

  Bomanz spread his hands apologetically. “What could I do? Besand keeps me on a short leash. Anyway, you know my policy. I’m stretching it to deal with a future daughter-in-law’s brother.”

  “How’s that?”

  Stuck my foot in it now, Bomanz thought. He ploughed ahead. “Besand has heard you’re a Resurrectionist. Stance and I are getting a hard time.”

  “Now that’s sick. I’m sorry, Bo. Resurrectionist! I shot my mouth off once, years ago, and said even the Dominator would be better for Oar than our clown Mayor. One stupid remark! They never let you forget. It’s not enough that they hounded my father into an early grave. Now they have to torment me and my friends.”

  Bomanz had no idea what Tokar was talking about. He would have to ask Stance. But it reassured him; which was all he really wanted.

  “Tokar, keep the profits from this lot. For Stance and Glory. As my wedding present. Have they set a date?”

  “Nothing definite. After his sabbatical and thesis. Come winter, I guess. Thinking about coming down?”

  “Thinking about moving back to Oar. I don’t have enough fight left to break in a new Monitor.”

  Tokar chuckled. “Probably won’t be much call for Domination artifacts after this summer anyway. I’ll see if I can find you a place. You do work like the king here, you won’t have trouble making a living.”

  “You really like it? I was thinking about doing his horse, too.” Bomanz felt a surge of pride in his craftsmanship.

  “Horse? Really? They buried his horse with him?”

  “Armor and all. I don’t know who put the TelleKurre in the ground, but they didn’t loot. We’
ve got a whole box of coins and jewelry and badges.”

  “Domination coinage? That’s hotter than hot. Most of it was melted down. A Domination coin in good shape can bring fifty times its metal value.”

  “Leave King Whosis here. I’ll put his horse together for him. Pick him up next trip.”

  “I won’t be long, either. I’ll unload and zip right back. Where’s Stance, anyway? I wanted to say hello.” Tokar waved one of those leather wallets.

  “Glory?”

  “Glory. She ought to write romances. Going to break me, buying paper.”

  “He’s out to the dig. Let’s go. Jasmine! I’m taking Tokar out to the dig.”

  During the walk Bomanz kept glancing over his shoulder. The comet was now so bright it could be seen, barely, by day. “Going to be one hell of a sight when it peaks out,” he predicted.

  “I expect so.” Tokar’s smile made Bomanz nervous. I’m imagining, he told himself.

  Stancil used his back to open the shop door. He dumped a load of weapons. “We’re getting mined out, Pop. Pretty much all common junk last night.”

  Bomanz twisted a strand of copper wire, wriggled out of the framework supporting the horse skeleton. “Then let Men fu take over. Not much more room here anyway.”

  The shop was almost impassable. Bomanz would not have to dig for years, were that his inclination.

  “Looking good,” Stance said of the horse, tarrying before going for another armful from a borrowed cart. “You’ll have to show me how to get the king on top so I can put them together when I go back.”

  “I may do it myself.”

  “Thought you’d decided to stay.”

  “Maybe. I don’t know. When are we going to start that thesis?”

  “I’m working on it. Making notes. Once I get organized I can write it up like that.” He snapped his fingers. “Don’t worry. I’ve got plenty of time.” He went outside again.

  Jasmine brought tea. “I thought I heard Stance.”

  Bomanz jerked his head. “Outside.”

  She looked for a place to set teapot and cups. “You’re going to have to get this mess organized.”

  “I keep telling myself that.”

  Stancil returned. “Enough odds and ends here to make a suit of armor. Long as nobody tries to wear it.”

  “Tea?” his mother asked.

  “Sure. Pop, I came past headquarters. That new Monitor is here.”

  “Already?”

  “You’re going to love him. He brought a coach and three wagons filled with clothing for his mistress. And a platoon of servants.”

  “What? Ha! He’ll die when Besand shows him his quarters.” The Monitor lived in a cell more fit for a monk than for the most powerful man in the province.

  “He deserves it.”

  “You know him?”

  “By reputation. Polite people call him the Jackal. If I’d known it was him … What could I have done? Nothing. He’s lucky his family got him sent here. Somebody would have killed him if he’d stayed around the city.”

  “Not popular, eh?”

  “You’ll find out if you stay. Come back, Pop.”

  “I’ve got a job to do, Stance.”

  “How much longer?”

  “A couple of days. Or forever. You know. I’ve got to get that name.”

  “Pop, we could try now. While things are confused.”

  “No experiments, Stance. I want it cold. I won’t take chances with the Ten.”

  Stancil wanted to argue but sipped tea instead. He went out to the cart again. When he returned, he said, “Tokar should be turned around by now. Maybe he’ll bring more than two wagons.”

  Bomanz chuckled. “Maybe he’ll bring more than wagons, you mean? Like maybe a sister?”

  “I was thinking that, yes.”

  “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 adde
d, “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?”