“Bomanz, be quiet. Tell us about her, Stance.”
“You probably know something already. She’s Tokar’s sister, Glory.”
Bomanz’s stomach plunged to the level of his heels. Tokar’s sister. Tokar, who might be a Resurrectionist.
“What’s the matter now, Pop?”
“Tokar’s sister, eh? What do you know about that family?”
“What’s wrong with them?”
“I didn’t say anything was. I asked you what you know about them.”
“Enough to know I want to marry Glory. Enough to know Tokar is my best friend.”
“Enough to know if they’re Resurrectionists?”
Silence slammed into the shop. Bomanz stared at his son. Stancil stared back. Twice he started to respond, changed his mind. Tension rasped the air. “Pop...”
“That’s what Besand thinks. The Guard is watching Tokar. And me, now. It’s the time of the comet, Stance. The tenth passage. Besand smells some big Resurrectionist plot. He’s making life hard. This thing about Tokar will make it worse.”
Stancil sucked spittle between his teeth. He sighed. “Maybe it was a mistake, coming home. I won’t get anything done wasting time ducking Besand and fighting with you.”
“No, Stance,” Jasmine said. “Your father won’t start anything. Bo, you weren’t starting a fight. You’re not going to start one.”
“Uhm.” My son engaged to a Resurrectionist? He turned away, took a deep breath, quietly berated himself. Jumping to conclusions. On word no better than Besand’s. “Son, I’m sorry. He’s been riding me.” He glanced at Jasmine. Besand wasn’t his only persecutor.
“Thanks, Pop. How’s the research coming?”
Jasmine grumbled and muttered. Bomanz said, “This conversation is crazy. We’re all asking questions and nobody is answering.”
“Give me some money, Bo,” Jasmine said.
“What for?”
“You two won’t say hello before you start your plotting. I might as well go marketing.”
Bomanz waited. She eschewed her arsenal of pointed remarks about Woman’s lot. He shrugged, dribbled coins into her palm. “Let’s go upstairs, Stance.”
“She’s mellowed,” Stancil said as they entered the attic room.
“I hadn’t noticed.”
“So have you. But the house hasn’t changed.”
Bomanz lighted the lamp. “Cluttered as ever,” he admitted. He grabbed his hiding spear. “Got to make a new one of these. It’s getting worn.” He spread his chart on the little table.
“Not much improvement, Pop.”
“Get rid of Besand.” He tapped the sixth barrow. “Right there. The only thing standing in my way.”
“That route the only option, Pop? Could you get the top two? Or even one. That would leave you a fifty-fifty chance of guessing the other two.”
“I don’t guess. This isn’t a card game. You can’t deal a new hand if you play your first one wrong.”
Stancil took the one chair, stared at the chart. He drummed the tabletop with his fingers. Bomanz fidgeted.
A week passed. The family settled into new rhythms, including living with the Monitor’s intensified surveillance.
Bomanz was cleaning a weapon from the TelleKurre site. A trove, that was. A veritable trove. A mass burial, with weapons and armor almost perfectly preserved. Stancil entered the shop. Bomanz looked up. “Rough night?”
“Not bad. He’s ready to give up. Only came round once.”
“Men fu or Besand?”
“Men fu. Besand was there a half dozen times.”
They were working shifts. Men fu was the public excuse.
In reality, Bomanz hoped to wear Besand down before the comet’s return. It was not working.
“Your mother has breakfast ready.” Bomanz began assembling his pack.
“Wait up, Pop. I’ll go too.”
“You need to rest.”
“That’s all right. I feel like digging.”
“Okay.” Something was bothering the boy. Maybe he was ready to talk.
They’d never done much of that. Their pre-university relationship had been one of confrontation, with Stance always on the defensive... He had grown, these four years, but the boy was still there inside. He was not yet ready to face his father man-to-man. And Bomanz had not grown enough to forget that Stancil was his little boy. Those growths sometimes never come. One day the son is looking back at his own son, wondering what happened.
Bomanz resumed rubbing flakes off a mace. He sneered at himself. Thinking about relationships. This isn’t like you, you old coot.
“Hey, Pop,” Stance called from the kitchen. “Almost forgot. I spotted the comet last night.”
A claw reached in and grabbed a handful of Bomanz’s guts. The comet! Couldn’t be. Not already. He was not ready for it.
“Nervy little bastard,” Bomanz spat. He and Stancil knelt in the brush, watching Men fu toss artifacts from their diggings.
“I ought to break his leg.”
“Wait here a minute. I’ll circle around and cut him off when he runs.”
Bomanz snorted. “Not worth the trouble.”
“It’s worth it to me, Pop. Just to keep the balance.”
“All right.” Bomanz watched Men fu pop up to look around, ugly little head jerking like that of a nervous pigeon.
He dropped back into the excavation. Bomanz stalked forward. He drew close enough to hear the thief talking to himself.
“Oh. Lovely. Lovely. A stone fortune. Stone fortune. That fat little ape don’t deserve it. All the time sucking up to Besand. That creep.”
“Fat little ape? You asked for it.” Bomanz shed his pack and tools, got a firm grip on his spade.
Men fu came up out of the pit, his arms filled. His eyes grew huge. His mouth worked soundlessly.
Bomanz wound up. “Now Bo, don’t be...”
Bomanz swung. Men fu danced, took the blow on his hip, squawked, dropped his burden, flailed the air, and toppled into the pit. He scrambled out the far side, squealing like a wounded hog. Bomanz wobbled after him, landed a mighty stroke across his behind. Men fu ran. Bomanz charged after him, spade high, yelling, “Stand still, you thieving son-of-a-bitch! Take it like a man.”
He took a last mighty swing. It missed. It flung him around. He fell, bounced back up, continued the chase sans avenging spade.
Stancil threw himself into Men fu’s way. The thief put his head down and bulled through. Bomanz ploughed into Stancil. Father and son rolled in a tangle of limbs.
Bomanz gasped, “What the hell? He’s gone now.” He sprawled on his back, panted. Stancil started laughing. “What’s so damned funny?”
“The look on his face.”
Bomanz sniggered. “You weren’t much help.” They guffawed. Finally, Bomanz gasped, “I’d better find my spade.”
Stancil helped his father stand. “Pop, I wish you could have seen yourself.”
“Glad I didn’t. Lucky I didn’t have a stroke.” He lapsed into a fit of giggles.
“You all right, Pop?”
“Sure. Just can’t laugh and catch my breath at the same time. Oh. Oh, my. I won’t be able to move again if I sit down.”
