gc.thewhiterose-第7节

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Great　Barrow。
　　　Along　the　sides　were　the　line　posts；　little　circles　representing　wooden　fetish　poles。　Most　had　rotted　and　fallen；　their　spells　drooping　with　them。　The　Eternal　Guard　had　no　staff　wizard　capable　of　restoring　or　replacing　them。
　　　Within　the　mound　proper　there　were　symbols　ranked　in　three　rectangles　of　declining　size。　The　outermost　resembled　pawns；　the　next　knights；　and　the　inner；　elephants。　The　crypt　of　the　Dominator　was　surrounded　by　men　who　had　given　their　lives　to　bring　him　down。　Ghosts　were　the　middle　line　between　old　evil　and　a　world　capable　of　recalling　it。　Bomanz　anticipated　no　difficulty　getting　past　them。　The　ghosts　were　there；　in　his　opinion；　to　discourage　mon　grave　robbers。
　　　Within　the　three　rectangles　Bomanz　had　drawn　a　dragon　with　its　tail　in　its　mouth。　Legend　said　a　great　dragon　lay　curled　round　the　crypt；　more　alive　than　the　Lady　or　Dominator；　catnapping　the　centuries　away　while　awaiting　an　attempt　to　recall　the　trapped　evil。
　　　Bomanz　had　no　way　of　coping　with　the　dragon；　but　he　had　no　need；　either。　He　meant　to　municate　with　the　crypt；　not　to　open　it。
　　　Damn！　If　he　could　only　lay　hands　on　an　old　Guardsman's　amulet　。　。　。　　The　early　Guards　had　worn　amulets　which　had　allowed　them　to　go　into　the　Barrowland　to　keep　it　up。　The　amulets　still　existed；　though　they　were　no　longer　used。　Besand　wore　one。　The　others　he　kept　squirreled　away。
　　　Besand。　That　madman。　That　sadist。
　　　Bomanz　considered　the　Monitor　his　closest　acquaintance…but　a　friend；　never。　No；　never　a　friend。　Sad　mentary　on　his　life；　that　the　man　nearest　him　would　be　one　who　would　jump　at　a　chance　to　torture　or　hang　him。
　　　What　was　that　about　retirement？　Someone　outside　this　forsaken　forest　had　recalled　the　Barrowland？
　　　〃Bomanz！　Are　you　going　to　eat？〃
　　　Bomanz　muttered　imprecations　and　rolled　his　chart。
　　　The　Dream　came　that　night。　Something　sirenic　called　him。　He　was　young　again；　single；　strolling　the　lane　that　passed　his　house。　A　woman　waved。　Who　was　she？　He　didn't　know。　He　didn't　care。　He　loved　her。　Laughing；　he　ran　toward　her　。　。　。　　Floating　steps。　Effort　took　him　no　nearer。　Her　face　saddened。　She　faded　。　。　。　　〃Don't　go！〃　he　called。　〃Please！〃　But　she　disappeared；　and　took　with　her　his　sun。
　　　A　vast　starless　night　devoured　his　dream。　He　floated　in　a　clearing　within　a　forest　unseen。　Slowly；　slowly；　a　diffuse　silver　something　limned　the　trees。　A　big　star　with　a　long　silver　mane。　He　watched　it　grow　till　its　tail　spanned　the　sky。
　　　Twinge　of　uncertainty。　Shadow　of　fear。　〃It's　ing　right　at　me！〃　He　cringed；　threw　his　arm　across　his　face。　The　silver　ball　filled　the　sky。　It　had　a　face。　The　woman's　face　。　。　。
　　　〃Bo！　Stop　it！〃　Jasmine　punched　him　again。
　　　He　sat　up。　〃Uhn？　What？〃
　　　〃You　were　yelling。　That　nightmare　again？〃
　　　He　listened　to　his　heart　hammer；　sighed。　Could　it　take　much　more？　He　was　an　old　man。　〃The　same　one。〃　It　recurred　at　unpredictable　intervals。　〃It　was　stronger　this　time。〃
　　　〃Maybe　you　ought　to　see　a　dream　doctor。〃
　　　〃Out　here？〃　He　snorted　disgustedly。　〃I　don't　need　a　dream　doctor　anyway。〃
　　　〃No。　Probably　just　your　conscience。　Nagging　you　for　luring　Stancil　back　from　Oar。〃
　　　〃I　didn't　lure　。　。　。　　Go　to　sleep。〃　To　his　amazement；　she　rolled　over；　for　once　unwilling　to　pursue　their　squabble。
　　　He　stared　into　the　darkness。　It　had　been　so　much　clearer。　Almost　too　crisp　and　obvious。　Was　there　a　meaning　hidden　behind　the　dream's　warning　against　tampering？
　　　Slowly；　slowly；　the　mood　of　the　beginning　of　the　dream　returned。　That　sense　of　being　summoned；　of　being　but　one　intuitive　step　from　heart's　desire。　It　felt　good。　His　tension　drained　away。　He　fell　asleep　smiling。
　　　Besand　and　Bomanz　stood　watching　Guardsmen　clear　the　brush　from　Bomanz's　site。　Bomanz　suddenly　spat；　〃Don't　burn　it；　you　idiot！　Stop　him；　Besand。〃
　　　Besand　shook　his　head。　A　Guard　with　a　torch　backed　away　from　the　brush　pile。　〃Son；　you　don't　burn　poison　ivy。　The　smoke　spreads　the　poison。〃
　　　Bomanz　was　scratching。　And　wondering　why　his　panion　was　being　so　reasonable。　Besand　smirked。　〃Get　itchy　just　thinking　about　it；　don't　you？〃
　　　〃Yes。〃
　　　〃There's　your　other　itch。〃　He　pointed。
　　　Bomanz　saw　his　petitor　Men　Fu　observing　from　a　safe　distance。　He　growled；　〃I　never　hated　anybody；　but　he　tempts　me。　He　has　no　ethics；　no　scruples；　and　no　conscience。　He's　a　thief　and　a　liar。〃
　　　〃I　know　him；　Bo。　And　lucky　for　you　I　do。〃
　　　〃Let　me　ask　you　something；　Besand。　Monitor　Besand。　How　e　you　don't　aggravate　him　the　way　you　do　me？　What　do　you　mean；　lucky？〃
　　　〃He　accused　you　of　Resurrectionist　tendencies。　I　don't　shadow　him　because　his　many　virtues　include　cowardice。　He　doesn't　have　the　hair　to　recover　proscribed　artifacts。〃
　　　〃And　I　do？　That　little　wart　libeled　me？　With　capital　crimes？　If　I　weren't　an　old　man　。　。　。　〃
　　　〃He'll　get　his；　Bo。　And　you　do　have　the　guts。　I've　just　never　caught　you　with　the　inclination。〃
　　　Bomanz　rolled　his　eyes。　〃Here　we　go。　The　veiled　accusations　。　。　。　〃
　　　〃Not　so　veiled；　my　friend。　There's　a　moral　laxness　in　you；　an　unwillingness　to　accept　the　existence　of　evil；　that　stinks　like　an　old　corpse。　Give　it　its　head　and　I'll　catch　you；　Bo。　The　wicked　are　cunning；　but　they　always　betray　themselves。〃
　　　For　an　instant　Bomanz　thought　his　world　was　falling　apart。　Then　he　realized　Besand　was　fishing。　A　dedicated　fisherman；　the　Monitor。　Shaken；　he　countered；　〃I'm　sick　of　your　sadism。　If　you　really　suspected　anything；　you'd　be　on　me　like　a　snake　on　shit。　Legalities　never　meant　anything　to　you　Guards。　You're　probably　lying　about　Men　fu。　You'd　haul　your　own　mother　in　on　the　word　of　a　sorrier　villain　than　him。　You're　sick；　Besand。　You　know　that？　Diseased。　Right　here。〃　He　tapped　his　temple。　〃You　can't　relate　without　cruelty。〃
　　　〃You're　pushing　your　luck　again。　Bo。〃
　　　Bomanz　backed　down。　Fright　and　temper　had　been　talking。　In　his　own　odd　way　Besand　had　shown　him　special　tolerance。
　　　It　was　as　though　he　were　necessary　to　the　Monitor's　emotional　health。　Besand　needed　one　person；　outside　the　Guard；　whom　he　did　not　victimize。　Someone　whose　immunity　repaid　him　in　a　sort　of　validation　。　。　。　　I'm　symbolic　of　the　people　he　defends？　Bomanz　snorted。　That　was　rich。
　　　That　business　about　being　retired。　Did　he　say　more　than　I　heard？　Is　he　calling　off　all　bets　because　he's　leaving？　Maybe　he　does　have　a　sense　for　scofflaws。　Maybe　he　wants　to　go　out　with　a　flash。
　　　What　about　the　new　man？　Another　monster；　unblinkered　by　the　gossamer　I've　spun　across　Besand's　eyes？　Maybe　someone　who　will　e　in　like　the　bull　into　the　corrida？　And　Tokar；　the　possible　Resurrectionist　。　。　。　　How　does　he　fit？
　　　〃What's　the　matter？〃　Besand　asked。　Concern　colored　his　words。
　　　〃Ulcer's　bothering　me。〃　Bomanz　massaged　his　temples；　hoping　the　headache　would　not　e　too。
　　　〃Plant　your　markers。　Men　Fu　might　jump　you　right　here。〃
　　　〃Yeah。〃　Bomanz　took　a　half　dozen　stakes　from　his　pack。　Each　trailed　a　strip　of　yellow　cloth。　He　planted　them。　Custom　dictated　that　the　ground　so　circumscribed　was　his　to　exploit。
　　　Men　Fu　could　make　night　raids；　or　whatever；　and　Bomanz　would　have　no　legal　recourse。　Claims　had　no　standing　in　law；　only　in　private　treaty。　The　antique　miners　exercised　their　own　sanctions。
　　　Men　Fu　was　under　every　sanction　but　violence。　Nothing　altered　his　thieving　ways。
　　　〃Wish　Stancil　was　here；〃　Bomanz　said。　〃He　could　watch　at　night。〃
　　　〃I'll　growl　at　him。　That's　always　good　for　a　few　days。　I　heard　Stance　was　ing　home。〃
　　　〃Yeah。　For　the　summer。　We're　excited。　We　haven't　seen　him　in　four　years。〃
　　　〃Friend　of　Tokar；　isn't　he？〃
　　　Bomanz　whirled。　〃Damn　you！　You　never　let　up；　do　you？〃　He　spoke　softly；　in　genuine　rage；　without　the　shouts　and　curses　and　dramatic　gestures　of　his　habitual　semi…rage。
　　　〃All　right；　Bo。　I'll　drop　it。〃
　　　〃You'd　better。　You'd　damned　well　better。　I　won't　have　you　crawling　all　over　him　all　summer。　Won't　have　it；　you　hear？〃
　　　〃I　said　I'd　drop　it。〃
　　　
　　　Chapter　Eight：THE　BARROWLAND
　　　
　　　Corbie　came　and　went　at　will　around　the　Guard　pound。　The　walls　inside　the　headquarters　building　boasted　several　dozen　old　paintings　of　the　Barrowland。　He　studied　those　often　while　he　cleaned；　shivering。　His　reaction　was　not　unique。　The　Dominator's　attempt　to　escape　through　Juniper　had　rocked　the　Lady's　empire。　Stories　of　his　cruelties　had　fed　upon　themselves　and　grown　fat　in　the　centuries　since　the　White　Rose　laid　him　down。
　　　The　Barrowland　remained　quiet。　Those　who　watched　saw　nothing　untoward。　Morale　rose。　The　old　evil　had　shot　its　bolt。
　　　But　it　waited。
　　　It　would　wait　throughout　eternity　if　need　be。　It　could　not　die。　Its　apparent　last　hope　was　no　hope。　The　Lady　was　immortal；　too。　She　would　allow　nothing　to　open　her　husband's　grave。
　　　The　paintings　recorded　progressive　decay。　The　latest　dated　from　shortly　after　the　Lady's　resurrection。　Even　then　the　Barrowland　had　been　much　more　whole。
　　　Sometimes　Corbie　went　to　the　edge　of　town；　stared　at　the　Great　Barrow；　shook　his　head。
　　　Once　there　had　been　amulets　which　permitted　Guards　safely　within　the　spells　making　the　Barrowland　lethal；　to　allow　for　upkeep。　But　those　had　disappeared。　The　Guard　could　but　watch　and　wait　now。
　　　Time　ambled。　Slow　and　grey　and　limping；　Corbie　became　a　town　fixture。　He　spoke　seldom；　but　occasionally　enlivened　the　lie　sessions　at　Blue　Willy　wit