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. He lacked only one key. Find it and he could make contact, could begin drawing out instead of putting in.

Jasmine sneered. "Why did I get into this? My mother warned me."

"It's Stancil we're talking about, woman. Our only."

"Ah, Bo, don't call me a cruel old lady. Of course I'll welcome him. Don't I cherish him, too?"

"Wouldn't hurt to show it." Bomanz examined the remnants of his inventory. "Nothing left but the worst junk. These old bones ache just thinking of the digging I'll have to do."

His bones ached, but his spirit was eager. Restocking was a plausible excuse for wandering the edges of the Barrowland.

"No time like now to start."

"You trying to get me out of the house?"

"That wouldn't hurt my feelings."

Sighing, Bomanz surveyed his shop. A few pieces of time-rotted gear, broken weapons, a skull that could not be attributed because it lacked the triangular inset characteristic of Domination officers. Collectors were not interested in the bones of kerns or in those of followers of the White Rose.

Curious, he thought. Why are we so intrigued by evil? The White Rose was more heroic than the Dominator or Taken. She has been forgotten by everybody but the Monitor's men. Any peasant can name half the Taken. The Barrowland, where evil lies restless, is guarded, and the grave of the White Rose is lost.