"Pop! What are you talking about? You've given your whole life to this."

"What I'm saying, Stance, is that I'm scared. It's one thing to chase a dream. It's another to catch it. You never get what you expect. I have a premonition of disaster. The dream might be stillborn."

Stancil's expression ran through a series of changes. "But you've got to…"

"I don't have to do anything but be Bomanz the antiquary. Your mother and I don't have much longer. This dig should yield enough to keep us."

"If you went ahead, you'd have a lot more years and a lot more…"

"I'm scared, Stance. Of going either way. That happens when you get older. Change is threatening."

"Pop…"

"I'm talking about the death of dreams, son. About losing the big, wild make-believes that keep you going. The impossible dreams. That kind of jolly pretend is dead. For me. All I can see is rotten teeth in a killer's smile."

Stancil hoisted himself out of the pit. He plucked a strand of sweetgrass, sucked it while gazing into the sky. "Pop, how did you feel right before you married Mom?"

"Numb."

Stancil laughed. "Okay, how about when you went to ask her father? On the way there?"

"I thought I was going to dribble down my leg. You never met your grandfather. He's the one who got them started telling troll stories."

"Something like you feel now?"

"Something. Yes. But it's not the same. I was younger, and I had a reward to look forward to."

"And you don't now? Aren't the stakes bigger?"

"Both ways. Win or lose."

"Know what? You're having what they call a crisis of self-confidence. That's all. Couple of days and you'll be raring to go again."

That evening, after Stancil had gone out, Bomanz told Jasmine, "That's a wise boy we've got. We talked today. Really talked, for the first time. He surprised me." "Why? He's your son, isn't he?"

The dream came stronger than ever before, more quickly than ever. It wakened Bomanz twice in one night. He gave up trying to sleep. He went and sat on the front stoop, taking in the moonlight. The night was bright. He could make out rude buildings along the dirty street.

Some town, he thought, remembering the glories of Oar. The Guard, us antiquaries, and a few people who scratch a living serving us and the pilgrims. Hardly any of those anymore, even with the Domination fashionable. The Barrowland is so disreputable nobody wants to look at it.

He heard footsteps. A shadow approached. "Bo?"

"Besand?"

"Uhm." The Monitor settled on the next step down. "What're you doing?"

"Couldn't sleep. Been thinking about how the Barrowland has gotten so blighted even self-respecting Resurrectionists don't come here anymore. You? You're not taking the night patrol yourself, are you?"

"Couldn't sleep either. That damned comet."

Bomanz searched the sky.

"Can't see it from here. Have to go around back. You're right. Nobody knows we're here anymore. Us or those things in the ground over there. I don't know what's worse. Neglect or plain stupidity."