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?"