The Chronicles of Fone Bone Oathbreaker

D. G. D. Davidson

BONE is © 2006 by Jeff Smith.

Chapter 2: Back to Boneville

It is the Late city that first defies the land, contradicts Nature in the lines of its silhouette, denies all Nature. It wants to be something different from and higher than Nature... And then begins the gigantic megalopolis, the city-as-world, which suffers nothing beside itself and sets about annihilating the country picture.

--Oswald Spengler, The Decline of the West

"Well," Fone Bone said, "here we are."

And there they were--the holy city of Atheia. It was a little worse for wear than when they last arrived: the burned outer town lay on the ground as cold ash, and the walls, though they had survived the siege, were in disrepair. Inside the walls, the city still stank and ran with rats and fever.

A large crowd greeted them as soon as they entered the gate. News of the young queen's return had spread through the city when the Great Red Dragon arrived, and Atheia had hastily prepared: Veni-yan soldiers--their hoods conspicuously free of eye symbols--lined the Queen's Road while peasants filled rooftops and gazed from windows. Fone Bone noticed that the faces were drawn, haggard, and a lot less enthusiastic than they had been the last time they viewed the queen.

They met a ragtag delegation consisting of the old Headmaster, the Pawanian teacher who still gave Fone Bone the creeps, Mermie the tea lady, and the Great Red Dragon, who nearly filled the street with his bulk.

The Headmaster scowled over his enormous, hairy nose. "Your Highness," he addressed Thorn, "and Queen Mother," he said to Gran'ma. He looked at Bone, almost with surprise, and his scowl deepened. "And..."

"Prime Minister Bone," Thorn suggested.

Bone swallowed.

The Headmaster sucked in his breath, but then bowed deeply and placed two fingers against his forehead in salute. "Prime Minister Bone, of course," he said.

The Veni-yan took control of the cart as Thorn, Gran'ma, and Bone dismounted. Gran'ma whispered in the Headmaster's ear. The Headmaster nodded and motioned to the Dragon, who stubbed out his cigaret and lumbered toward the stables after the Veni-yan warriors.

The small delegation surrounded the queen and her companions and herded them toward Lord Tarsil's tower, now the temporary headquarters of the city's administration. Once behind the locked door, they spoke.

"Report, Cedric," Gran'ma said to the Pawan cook.

Cedric looked startled and turned to Thorn.

Thorn glanced at Gran'ma, but said to the cook. "Yes, report."

"Your name is Cedric?" Bone asked.

"Your Highness," Cedric said, bowing, "the situation in the city and the surrounding territories is...dire."

Thorn rubbed her chin. "What do you mean?"

Cedric walked to a small table and unrolled a map of the Valley. "The Locust and the war, Your Highness, followed by an unusually harsh winter. The damage from the ash plume, the damage from Mim's rampage across the valley, and the war that depleted the city's supplies, not to mention the stifling of trade with Pawa, all lead to a terrible food shortage."

The Headmaster cleared his phlegmy throat. "On top of that, Your Highness, the missing treasure left us unable to pay the soldiers. Most of the mercenaries abandoned us, though a few agreed to work on credit. Many of the Veni-yan remained out of loyalty, but most of the Vedu revolted when they found their soft living was no longer sustainable under our emergency conditions."

Thorn sucked in her lips as she thought.

Mermie added in her squeaky voice, "And, Your Highness, our relationship with Pawa, though restored, is not exactly friendly. Upper Pawa is the Valley's breadbasket, and it lay in the direct path of the ash. Though ghost circles preserved patches, much of the land was nonetheless devastated. Fall harvest was underway when the ghost circles struck and many crops were lost."

"When winter began, the Pawans had barely enough grain left over to trade with us," the Headmaster grunted. "The people grew restless and many wondered about your prolonged absence."

"The snows stopped us," Thorn argued.

"We realize that, Your Highness," the Headmaster replied, "but mobs, you know, are not always reasonable. We believed that with the Dragon we would have everything under control without you. We were wrong."

"And we thought the winter would be mild," Cedric apologized.

"There were a few upsets," muttered the Headmaster. "I'm afraid we had to impose martial law."

Gran'ma cracked her knuckles. Thorn rubbed her head and gave Bone a worried glance. He returned it with a frightened face full of clenched teeth.

"Your Highness," Mermie advised, "the people want to know that you are in power and that you will reign with a firm, wise hand. May I suggest you hold court? Set up your pavilion, make public proclamations, and allow the people to bring you their grievances for judgment."

"It would help your popularity if at this court you lifted the martial law," the Headmaster said. "Since the queen mother has informed me that the treasure is found and safely returned, and since spring is upon us, a few of our problems should end."

"With the treasure back," Gran'ma ordered rather than suggested, "rebuild the palace. You won't always be able to operate your court out of Tarsil's tower and a temporary canopy."

Thorn continued to bite her lip. "Fone Bone, what do you think?" she asked.

Bone felt his forehead go damp. "I, uh...sounds good to me."

Thorn nodded. "Get some paper and ink and some chairs, and let's put our heads together and draw up some solutions to the food shortages and the troubles with soldiers. We'll want something definite to bring to the court. And get the Dragon in here when he's done with the treasure or whatever you have him doing."

Mermie bowed and headed for the door. "Right away, Your Majesty."

"Grab a chair, Prime Minister Bone," Thorn told her friend. "I want that bone head of yours to give us a fresh angle."

Bone nodded and went to find a seat he could climb into.

88888

Days passed. In the evenings after meeting with advisors and officials and working on the proclamations, Thorn had to train. She had slept a scant six hours in the last three days, but the Headmaster insisted that she had to make up time. "Any queen of this Valley," he insisted, "must be able to move in two worlds at once."

"But I'm the Veni-yan-cari," she answered.

"And for that reason you are more dangerous if untrained," he said, knitting his ratty eyebrows together in a scowl. "Ideally, you would have learned under the Veni-yan at Old Man's Cave for eight months out of the year from age five until your coronation, but we do not have that luxury now, so you will learn under me when time permits."

Thorn was sullen. The Headmaster's mental exercises were painful. "Aren't I the queen?" she asked. "Can't I do what I want?"

The Headmaster grunted. "Young miss, you are queen of this Valley, and I will obey your orders reverently when we are in public, but behind closed doors I am Headmaster and you are pupil, and so it has always been. If you insist on acting like a child, then I shall thrash you like one. Is that clear?"

She didn't look up or answer.

The Headmaster's hard face grew milder. "You have much to learn, Your Highness, and I realize it is difficult. Weights for which you never asked have been placed upon your shoulders." He put a hand on her arm and gave her a small smile. "All is not lost. You shall grow into your role. Now, let us begin."

88888

Thorn was learning to respect the old Headmaster, but she was learning to dislike her own grandmother. Gran'ma Ben knew two things well: cows and war. Thorn already knew more than enough about cows, but Gran'ma insisted she know war as well.

"My mother didn't fight," Thorn argued during one of their many sessions on the practice floor.

"Your mother didn't have to," Gran'ma snapped. "She had others to fight for her--me, for instance. But even your mother engaged in the ritual battle. The people expect it, Thorn. They want to know that their queen can protect them."

The aderat, a fight between the queen and selected Veni-yan warriors, typically accompanied the monarch's public appearances. When Thorn first heard of the ritual, she thought it a needless show of brutality, and Fone Bone agreed. Thorn and Bone stood together in the middle of the practice floor while Gran'ma, sword in hand, paced around them.

"You're tellin' me the Veni-yan think it's an honor to fight th' queen and get their butts kicked?" Bone asked.

"Of course, Bone," Gran'ma replied. "It proves the queen has indeed learned the Veni-yan way and can fight like them. It is a means by which she and the warriors display their Dreaming Power."

"What if the queen loses?" Thorn asked.

"That happens sometimes," Gran'ma answered. "Normally, as long as she displays competence and prowess, it matters little. Now, however, the people are restless and know their queen is a Veni-yan-cari. It is important you win, but the six Veni-yan you fight will not pull punches. You know my own training gives me unusual strength and speed; your strength and speed, if you learn to control your powers, will surpass mine and surpass those of the Veni-yan."

"I've already done those kinds of things--" Thorn began.

Gran'ma shook her head. "Only when stressed! You've used your powers on instinct, but you must learn to control them. Could you levitate to the ceiling right now if I asked you to?"

Thorn thought about it and shook her head.

"A fully-trained Veni-yan-cari can levitate herself or other objects at will. You must learn these things, and you must learn them before you appear to the people the day after tomorrow. So," Gran'ma said, hefting a heavy sword, "get ready for a crash course."

Hesitantly, Thorn drew.

"Uh...maybe I better stand against th' wall or somethin'," Bone said as he got out of the way.

Thorn and Gran'ma battled around the room, increasing the speed of their strikes until their movements blurred. Gran'ma made a vicious swipe for Thorn's legs; Thorn leapt, flipped in the air, and landed behind Gran'ma's back. Gran'ma spun just in time to parry Thorn's blow.

"You would have cut my legs off," Thorn said through clenched teeth.

"Are you mad?" Gran'ma asked.

"Yes!"

"Good! Anger is powerful. Channel it!" Gran'ma attacked. At first, Thorn fell back, but then her face grew peaceful and she hit back hard until Gran'ma retreated.

"Jeez," Bone whispered as he watched. Something about the display chilled him. Gran'ma's overprotectiveness had changed, but into what? Was Gran'ma driving Thorn to make up for her own failures and Thorn's inexperience?

If she drove Thorn too hard, would Thorn break?

Bone's stomach clenched.

With a powerful swipe, Thorn knocked the sword from Gran'ma's hand. Gran'ma tumbled to the floor, breathing hard.

Lowering the sword, Thorn bent over to help her up, but Gran'ma responded by socking Thorn in the jaw. Stunned, Thorn fell.

Gran'ma stood and brushed herself off. "Never let your guard down before an opponent," she said. "If that had been one of the Veni-yan in the ritual, you would have been disgraced."

Thorn sat there, panting. As Gran'ma left the room, Fone Bone ran over and placed a hand on Thorn's shoulder.

"Hey..." Bone said.

"She...she never hit me before," Thorn whispered.

88888

That was two days ago. Queen's Square was now ready for the queen's arrival: the sellers' booths were gone and a large canopy overshadowed a portable oak throne in the square's center. The queen mother sat in a chair to the right of the vacant seat, and Fone Bone sat on the left. The court advisors and a host of the Veni-yan stood behind.

Thorn, feeling foolish in a leather jerkin, stood in the square's center and faced six hooded Veni-yan as around her the people of the city cheered and yelled and ranted.

The Veni-yan raised their swords and bowed. Thorn did likewise and poised for combat.

The fighting was swift. The Veni-yan were poorly trained and none of them was as competent as Gran'ma. Thorn whirled around the marketplace, carefully but rapidly placing her feet as she engaged each of the fighters in turn, testing them.

She remembered the Headmaster's training and eased her mind halfway into the Dreaming, sensing the interrelationships of the fighters around her. After some initial hesitation, she found she could sense what each of the six Veni-yan was doing even when he was out of her range of vision. She connected the sword to her Dreaming Eye and knew its exact length and balance as if it were an extension of her arm. She condensed the Dreaming around herself to enhance her strength...

One of the warriors behind her leapt high overhead. The crowd gasped. Thorn sensed the attack, disengaged from the two she was fighting, tucked, and rolled backwards out of the way. When the would-be victor descended to the ground, Thorn gave him a smack on the back with the flat of her blade. The people roared in admiration and banged their feet against the cobbles, chanting, "Har-ve-star! Har-ve-star!"

Thorn grinned. She could learn to like this.

In the ritual, an opponent was dispatched when disarmed. Thorn decided it was time to get rid of a few. She had crossed swords with each now and had sized up his strengths and weaknesses. She went first for the two poorest fighters. One she disarmed with a hard blow that wedged the tip of his sword between two cobbles in the pavement. For the other, she used the same trick she had used with Gran'ma and flipped in the air, landing behind him. She struck his blade with an overhand blow while simultaneously kicking his wrist. As she expected, he dropped the weapon.

Four to go, Thorn thought. She faced three at once, using her superior speed to block their attacks. The audience was again shouting her name and whistling. Thorn felt her arm straining and her hand numbing, but she could tell the one on her left was tiring. If she could find an opening--

Without even thinking, she spun and slashed a deep cut across the arm of the Veni-yan sneaking up behind her. He had been reaching into his cloak, but he swiftly withdrew his hand when he saw he was maimed. His blood dropped in large globs to the pavement.

The people hushed. The fists they had been pounding against walls, railings, and windowsills paused in midair. Against the laws of the ritual, the queen had drawn blood.

Thorn slashed again, cutting open the man's cloak. A dagger clattered to the pavement.

The Veni-yan she had been dueling grabbed the man. One picked up the dagger and sniffed it. "Poison," he said.

They yanked the man's hood off, revealing a bright red beard and keen, angry green eyes. One of the Veni-yan said, "That's Erasmus, formerly of the Vedu."

Erasmus struggled against the men holding him. "Dragon-worshipping scum!" he hissed. "You've not won yet, Harvestar!" He turned and shouted to all the people, "The Holy City of humans for the humans!"

Gran'ma ran to Thorn's side.

"Take him to the dungeon," Thorn said.

"Your Highness," Gran'ma whispered, "the penalty for an attack on the queen's life is death."

"Take him to the dungeon," Thorn repeated.

Erasmus gnashed his teeth as his eyes gleamed. "Filth!" he screamed. "You debase our city with dragon filth!" He managed to free an arm and point at the shocked Fone Bone while the Veni-yan struggled to hold him. "And there!" Erasmus screamed again. "You bring that thing into our city! He graces your throne during the day, Harvestar, but everyone in Atheia knows he graces your bed at night!"

Fone Bone didn't know what that meant, but he knew Erasmus was attacking Thorn's honor. As the noise of the crowd rose until it was deafening, he stood on his seat and shouted, "That's a lie! It's a lie!"

Thorn flushed. All the anger of the last few days came out. She grabbed Erasmus by the throat and lifted him. His eyes bulged, his face turned purple, and then his neck broke as Thorn tightened her grip. She let go and Erasmus sagged to the pavement.

Fone Bone stopped shouting, lowered his hands, and stared. The contortion in Thorn's face made her look like someone else, someone he didn't know. It reminded him of the way she looked when the Locust moved between them, and it frightened him. Super-strength, ritual battles, broken necks--was the power that flowed from the Dreaming good for nothing but war?

Thorn calmed, and as she did, the horror of what she had done struck her. She looked at her hand in disbelief. She turned it over, staring at it, gawking at the freckles, nails, and ribbed calluses as if they weren't hers, as if a stranger's hand had attached itself to the end of her arm.

Thorn didn't know how many people she had killed. She knew about Kingdok, and she had bashed a few skulls on the walls of Atheia, but she did not know how many people she had killed, and that struck her as sad, both that she had killed at all, and that she did not know who.

She had looked only two of her victims in the eye.

Kingdok.

And Erasmus.

She was shaking. Part of it was adrenaline leaving her bloodstream, and part of it was grief. Gran'ma wrapped a cloak around her and led her to the throne as the Veni-yan stumbled away with the body. As she sat down, Thorn realized the people were clapping, cheering, and stomping. They approved her action. She thought back to her own comments about the ritual battle, and she thought back to the Headmaster's comment about mobs.

Mobs. I rule a bloodthirsty mob. They like to see their queen fight, but more than that, they like to see her kill.

And maybe, she thought, they like to see her stripped down to a leather jerkin. She felt exposed and pulled the cloak tighter about her body. She had never been modest before, but she had never had occasion to be.

The Headmaster's whispers cut into her thoughts. His voice was beside her ear: "Your Highness, it would be a good idea to begin making your declarations."

She nodded.

Fone Bone watched Thorn with growing disease. Shallow, rapid breathing and clammy skin. Shock? He tried to remember; it had been a long time since sixth grade health class.

Thorn tried to compose herself. She took a few gulps of air and spoke.

"I apologize for the time I have been away from you, my people. You have suffered much for Atheia in the last few years, but the time of our darkness is ending. In my first official act as queen, I hereby lift the curfew and martial law imposed during my absence."

The crowd broke into a new applause that rumbled through the pavement.

Then Thorn lost it.

"And I, uh--" Her voice wandered off. Her eyes glazed, and she looked around as if she didn't know where she was. She looked at Bone, or rather she looked past him, and whispered, "...Fone Bone?"

Fone Bone's body broke into sweat. He hated public speaking, but he nonetheless stood in his chair and tried to cover. He looked at Gran'ma Ben and saw her frowning.

He swallowed and stared at the masses of people filling windows and lining roofs around the square. He cleared his throat. "Uh, hi there," he said. "I'm...um...I'm Fone Bone. Prime minister in these parts. Uh..."

He glanced toward Thorn and Gran'ma again and saw that Gran'ma's frown had deepened. He pressed on. "We decided...er, Her Highness, Queen Thorn Harvestar, decided that...that this whole ash plume thing sorta bites."

The faces around the square registered confusion. Gran'ma put her head in her hands.

"And anyways," Bone continued, "her Highness said, or decreed, or whatever you call it...that..." He thought back. The whole thing had been his idea after all, born of half-remembered phrases from ag class. He cleared his throat and spoke more confidently, "Farmers whose lands were only mildly affected by the ash are encouraged to till the ash into the soil and plant legumes--um, that's beans--to fix nitrogen...er, never mind why, just do it. Furthermore, it is necessary to clear streams and rivers choked with ash or fallen trees, and so Her Highness will organize teams, paid from the city treasury, to repair the waterways and build dams or retaining walls where necessary to prevent undercutting of the streambeds. Furthermore, since Her Highness, myself, most Veni-yan, and a few others can communicate with animals, a delegation will contact beavers and other aquatic animals to enlist their help in this important work.

"Furthermore, those lands so decimated by the Locust, the ash, or the war as to be unfit for farming shall be planted with grass and then over time with larger plants and trees as the state of the land allows, and they shall be recovered for farming or, barring this, become rangeland for cattle.

"Also, an official ambassador shall be named to Pawa in order that relationships between our two peoples may improve. And, uh...that's it."

The people murmurred and a only a few clapped.

"Sit...down...Bone," Gran'ma hissed through clenched teeth.

Bone sat and looked at Thorn. The color was returning to her face. She smiled weakly at Fone Bone, and then invited the people to approach the throne with their grievances and pleas.

That took hours. More than a few wanted the honor of coming to the queen for judgment, even if their matters were trifles. Several times, Thorn turned to Fone Bone and asked his opinion. On most occassions, she took the advice he offered. Bone watched the people walking away frustrated or unhappy. Bone imagined they were thinking of the accusation of Erasmus and perhaps beginning to believe it. Gran'ma's scowl grew harder and more pronounced.

When the sun was near setting, the Veni-yan stepped in front of the queen and pushed the people back. The lengthiest and most exhausting part of the ceremony was over. Only one thing was left.

It had been Thorn's idea. Footmen for the last several days had been gathering stories of civilian bravery during the war, and Thorn intended to decorate the bravest with honors and give them medals. The men and women chosen to receive the queen's graces marched forward, flanked by two Veni-yan with upraised swords.

When Fone Bone looked at the war heroes, his heart sank. The boyish figure in front was at first hard to recognize with his shirt on, but there was no mistaking his bushy blonde hair, his upturned nose, his self-satisfied attitude, and his stupid hat. At the front of the line was--

"Tom?" Thorn asked.

"Your Highness," he said, kneeling and touching two fingers to his curly locks. "Would you believe it? I was in Pawa gathering honey when the ghost circles hit. I joined other rebels and we harried Pawanian supply lines. Eighteen Pawans and twelve rat creatures dead by my hand, my liege, if my count is accurate."

"And it probably isn't," Fone Bone grumbled.

Still kneeling, Tom bowed deeply. As he raised his head, he whispered, "If I had only known I spent a bright spring afternoon in the arms of the crown princess." His voice was so quiet that only those immediately around the throne could hear.

Fone Bone gripped the arms of his chair until he thought his fingers would make permanent impressions in the wood. He looked at Tom kneeling and Thorn staring, and he realized as the organs in his middle seemed to give way to a cavern that things were about to change.

88888

"Ah," Phoney Bone said as the sprawling cityscape appeared in the broad valley before them, "Boneville."

"Wow, it sure is good to be home again," Smiley Bone said. The enormous grin that Phoney always found creepy spread from Smiley's nose to his chest.

"Yeah, yeah," Phoney said. "Before we waltz in, we better make sure th' townspeople have cooled their jets."

Phoney had been right about the desert journey. The cow cart and a straight path had cut their travel time by a third, but they had still run low on supplies midway through the trip. Phoney had insisted that they slaughter the cows. By that time, Smiley had already named both of the bovine beasts and claimed to be their lifelong friends, but Phoney could see the cows were done for. Smiley petted and consoled them as Bartleby, forced in spite of his own objections, gashed the cows' throats with his teeth.

As Phoney put it, Bartleby was the only sharp tool handy.

Bartleby warmed to the task when he tasted blood, of which he had eaten precious little when feeding on the diet of bread and fruit provided him by Smiley and Fone Bone. Bartleby skeletonized one cow while Phoney pulled off his shirt, found a chunk of flint, and set about the grisly task of cutting a few steaks off the other. Much as he hated labor, Phoney was willing to do it if it staved off starvation or dehydration. Earlier in the journey, he had instructed Smiley to milk the cows each morning to stretch the water supply. But as the cows bled onto the hot sands and Smiley wept nearby, Phoney knew he'd have to do this job himself.

Now, if there were only enough water to wash with...

After that, travel was on foot. The blood and meat were enough to sustain Bartleby for a few days, but the bones were less fortunate. Most of their luggage consisted of large, heavy boxes and cumbersome water bags. The bones drank their fill and then Smiley heaved the last bag over his shoulders. Phoney stuffed the voluminous pockets of his shirt with bread-thingies, gathered the rest into a crate, and tied the crate to Bartleby's back. Smiley suggested that Phoney carry the crate himself. Phoney ignored him.

With no cart, they had no shelter during the sweltering days. As they traveled under the stars, Phoney steered them near cliffs and overhangs so they could seek shade when the sun rose. As the water dwindled, their muscles ached and cramped. Smiley stooped lower and lower under the shrinking water bag. Phoney touched his bloodstained hands to the pockets with the dwindling supply of bread-thingies and thought to himself, If Fone Bone were here, it'd be another mouth to feed. We might not have made it.

But under Phoney's firm hand, they made it. Boneville lay before them.

Boneville was huge. Set in fertile lowland, its farms stretched to the south along the Rolling Bone River. The suburbs sprawled to the north, and the city center lay in between with its few modest skyscrapers and a hodgepodge of shorter buildings. To the east of the city center, along the river, was the Big Johnson Memorial Park and Interpretive Center where Phoney had given his ill-fated campaign speech over a year ago. Approaching the town from the southeast, the three friends gazed across the broad river, fresh with spring runoff, and into the green park where the apple trees were beginning to bloom. It was near dawn and the sky behind the city lightened to a mild blue tinged with purple. The flat glow of the skyscraper windows and streetlights became less pronounced.

Bartleby's hackles rose. "I-I'm scared, Smiley," Bartleby said in his high, raspy voice. His normally bulbous eyes were even wider than usual.

"Ah, don't be scared, pal," Smiley said, petting him. "You're gonna like Boneville."

"He's never seen a real city before," Phoney muttered. "Jeez, what are we gonna do with a giant rat in Boneville? Look, let's lay low 'til we get to th' river. We'll ford it and when we get in the park, let's stash th' rat and scope the town."

"Phoney!" Smiley admonished. "We can't just--"

"We're not," Phoney snapped. "It's only temporary. Bartleby, you think you can cut it on your own a few hours?"

"I guess so," Bartleby whispered.

"Ya see?" Phoney said. "Now, c'mon. My adoring fans await."

The Rolling Bone was broad, deep, and swift, and it gave the bones an opportunity to wash off the sweat--and in Phoney's case, blood and offal--of the desert. There were docks on either side of the river and Phoney borrowed a canoe for the brief crossing. "Bartleby," he ordered, "swim alongside to make sure we don't get pulled downstream. Smiley, row."

Smiley grumbled but did as Phoney said. As the rushing water slammed against the boat and Bartleby paddled laboriously, Phoney's floating unibrow lowered over his eyes in concentration. Smiley never used to grumble.

When they reached the opposite dock, Phoney tied up the boat. With dawn upon them, the bones and rat creature stole into the park under the shade of the trees.

"Hey, look, Phoney," Smiley said, pointing. "They got th' statue of Big Johnson Bone back on its base!" Indeed, the enormous bronze figure of the tough bone, standing tall in his deerskin clothes, was upright and seemed to have suffered little from Phoney's fiasco.

"Yeah, great," Phoney said. "Maybe th' townspeople have forgotten the whole thing."

They made their way past the reconstruction of Big Johnson's trading post and stopped near the row of dumpsters behind the modern, glassed-in interpretive center. "Bartleby, you stay here," Phoney said. Bartleby, fur still standing upright, nodded. Phoney grabbed Smiley's arm and dragged him toward Main Street while Smiley cast nervous looks back toward the park.

Phoney was relieved to be away from the oppressive, dead human architecture with its rustic materials and heavy, rigid lines. Bone skyscrapers soared into the air and flared outward as they did. Even the smaller, older buildings tended to expand upward from their bases like balloons. Many of the old brick structures had single doors and double upper story windows, together resembling mouths and eyes. The "eye" windows were complete with floating pupils that followed passers-by, and a few of the shops had arms that waved at Smiley and Phoney as they strolled down the street.

"Ah," Phoney said, inhaling deep, "Boneville. It's good to breathe th' smog o' th' city again. All that fresh farm air was givin' me a headache."

"I wonder how Fone Bone is doing," Smiley whispered as they walked onto the sidewalk beside Main Street's parade of one-room shops.

"What?" Phoney asked. "Who cares? What's wrong with him, anyways? What's he chasin' some human broad for?"

"Even you said she was incredibly good lookin'," Smiley answered.

Phoney rounded on him. "I never said that."

"You did," Smiley insisted.

"Huh, like you have the world's greatest memory," Phoney said. "Alright, so she was th' only young female in, what, a million miles? But when I had the chance to get outta there--bam! I was gone! Why can't Fone be like that? Why can't he respect bone women?"

At that moment, elderly Miss Crab-Bone rounded the corner, doing her daily shopping. She wore her usual shawl and her little straw hat with the flower hanging out of it, and she had an umbrella cane dangling from one arm. Phoney made a bow when he saw her.

"Well, hel-lo, Miss Crab-Bone," Phoney said, doing his best to be polite. "How nice to see you today."

She stopped, stared, and shook her umbrella. "Phoncible P. Bone, I do declare! Haven't they strung you up yet, you menace? Someday they'll run you out of this town for good, you conniving, money-grubbing thief!" She marched past in a huff.

"Stupid old bat," Phoney grumbled.

Smiley lit a cigar and puffed. "Looks like your popularity remains high."

"Stuff it, cheese-for-brains. Miss Crab-Bone's had it in for me ever since I was in her first grade class."

Miss Crab-Bone rushed back around the corner with someone in tow. Phoney's heart sank when he saw who it was--his nemesis, the mayor of Boneville, Rictus Bone.

Rictus Bone was not as enormous as the towering Smiley, but he was a head taller than Phoney and was almost as wide as he was tall. He took his role as community leader seriously and went about in a vest, coattails, monocle, and a high silk hat. Generous nose in the air, he disengaged from the near-frantic Miss Crab-Bone and strolled up to the Bone cousins.

"Well, well," he said, pulling the lengthy cigarette holder from his mouth, "if it isn't that criminal Phoncible P. Bone and his reprobate companion Smilesinal Bone! I rather wondered what happened to you two. We ran you out of town, what, over a year ago?"

"Somethin' like that," Phoney said, "and I seem to recall you declarin' a holiday so the kids could throw rocks at me. I won't forget that."

"Hmm hmm," Rictus chuckled with his lips pursed, "and I seem to recall you trying to remove me from office. I won't forget that." He adjusted his monocle and sniffed. "Ah, but I see your ways have caught up with you, Phoncible. You usually return in a grand car surrounded by the treasure reaped from your exploitations outside our fair city. Now you seem to have nothing but the star shirt on your back."

"Hey, gimme time," Phoney said. "I'm just gettin' started, and at least I don't have to embezzle money outta th' city treasury to make my wealth."

Rictus Bone started, but quickly resumed his haughty air, clamping his cigarette holder between his gold teeth. "Couldn't ever prove that, could you, Phoney? And do you think there is a bone in all of Boneville who believes you wouldn't embezzle funds, given the chance?"

Rictus gave Phoney an infuriating little wink and then turned to Smiley and looked him over. "You look fit, young Smiley, considering you smoke like a chimney." With a mayoral air, he clapped his hands on Smiley's shoulders. "It's good to have you back; the pigeons in the park have been getting restless."

Smiley gave Rictus one of his huge grins and made an exaggerated salute. "I'll get right on it, Mayor Rictus Bone, sir. I won't let the city down."

Rictus raised a floating eybrow toward the fuming Phoney, chuckled again in his peculiar manner, and turned away. "Come, Miss Crab-Bone," he called to the elderly bone lady, "you need fear no harm from these two, even if they are--what was that phrase you used?--incorrigible villains." He took Miss Crab-Bone's arm and the two headed down the street, fading into the early morning crowd.

Smiley smiled at the backs of the mayor and teacher. "Ah," he said, "Boneville."

"Shut up, Smiley," Phoney growled. "Rrrrr...if it weren't for those prunes, I woulda won that election. He bleeds Boneville dry and I get run outta town."

"Yeah, you dried ever'body out in a way Rictus prob'ly never thought of," Smiley agreed.

"Shut up," Phoney said, but his anger soon abated and he put a hand to his chin. "Hmm...I must say, though--Rictus has given me an idea. I'll give him a run for his money he won't forget. You with me?"

Smiley grinned again as he pulled on the cigar. "As always, Cuz. You know I like to help."

Phoney nodded. "Let's head over to Floyd's place and get the gossip. I'll know how to move from there."

Phoney headed toward the little barbershop, but Smiley grabbed his shoulder. "Phoney," Smiley admonished, "what about Bartleby?"

Phoney's mood grew worse and he felt his stomach sour. This rat creature was going to be trouble. The thing's presence had made Smiley into a rebel, and Phoney knew why: Smiley never had anything to care about before.

"He'll be fine while we're gone!" Phoney said, slapping Smiley's hand from his shoulder. "He's a big boy and ya gotta let 'im go on 'is own sometimes or you'll make 'im into a mamma's rat! Now, c'mon, we're goin' ta Floyd's!"

88888

Floyd Bone's little shop was near Round Square, Boneville's central hub, a park in the roundabout connecting Main Street with Big Johnson Way. When the cousins crossed Main and entered the square, Smiley Bone stopped to pay homage at the towering stone memorial to the victims of the Custard Pie Incident. He traced his fingers over the well-worn names of his parents, Happinal "Happy" Bone and Ameliaorana "Amiable" Bone. Smiley removed his little hat and his eyes watered. Much to Phoney's disgust, Smiley genuflected and kissed the stone's base.

"Why do you always do that?" Phoney asked in embarrassment as Smiley readjusted the hat on his head.

Smiley tipped his long nose into the air and said down to Phoney, "It's important to pay one's respects to one's ancestors, Phoney Bone."

"Yeah, well they never did nothin' fer us," said Phoney. "Everythin' that kept you an' that ungrateful Fone Bone alive was from me." He jerked a thumb at himself and spun around to head across the street. Smiley had to grab him and pick him up to keep him from walking into traffic.

At last, they darted across the busy roundabout and stood before Floyd Bone's famous old-fashioned barbershop. The shop was a centerpiece of Boneville, and the plaque over the door proudly boasted, "Floyd Bone's Tonsorium, est. 1808." A red-striped barber pole swirled beside the flaking paint on the doorframe. Phoney shoved the heavy door open and a bell hanging from the inside knob announced his arrival.

Floyd Bone XI, the tenth successor to the original Floyd Bone, was one of the few male bones with hair on his head. His hair billowed out in luxurious, tight strawberry curls, so from a distance he was frequently mistaken for a girl. Floyd was tall and thin, almost as tall as Smiley, and his face had unusual deep hollows at the cheeks. His nose was strangely small and his eyes oddly bright, and the nasty rumor around town was that one of the Floyds in that venerable line had produced these traits by a tryst with a human wench from Portsmouth, though Floyd XI denied it and even insisted he had a pedigree. When he wore his leather apron and held scissors and razors in his big hands, Floyd looked like some strange, primeval god of ritual hair removal. New customers often quailed at his appearance, but when he had them in the barber's chair, he put them at ease with his rumbling basso voice, his honest interest in their lives, and his encyclopedic knowledge of Boneville's latest shenanigans. As the cousins entered the shop, Floyd was clipping the blonde tresses of little six-year-old Dolly Bone. Floyd looked up only briefly and showed no surprise at the latest arrivals.

"'Lo, Phoney Bone, 'lo, Smiley Bone." His voice rumbled like the tide rolling in. "Back already? What kin I do ya for?"

"Trim the ol' unibrow and gimme a hot towel," Phoney said. "No rush, though."

"Nope, no rush," Floyd answered.

"Look," Dolly shouted to Smiley Bone. "Look, Mister Smiley! I lost anudder toof!" She opened her mouth to show the space where the tooth had been.

"Wow!" Smiley said as he bent down to see. "You sure are growin' up, Miss Dolly!" Floyd only smiled and paused in his clipping to ensure that he didn't make a wrong cut when Dolly moved.

Phoney let Smiley talk to the kid while he set about his true business. Floyd's was not just a place where those few bones blessed with hair or beards could get them trimmed: it was also a center of the town's gossip. Two old codgers, Dougie Bone and Gnarly Bone, always sat on the bench along the wall with folded newspapers in their laps and a half-finished game of Checkers between them. Gnarly Bone sometimes smoked his pipe, so the shop's close air contained the bitter, sharp smell of aged, whiskey-flavored tobacco as well as the musky scent of aftershave and hair oil. As Phoney expected, Dougie and Gnarly were there now. Those two, it seemed, were there when Boneville began and probably would be there when it crumbled to the earth.

Phoney sat on the bench next to Dougie Bone. "Got a plug on ya, Dougie?" he asked. Phoney didn't normally chew, but had learned it was a good way to start Dougie Bone talking.

Dougie nodded in his somber way, ran a hand through his gray beard, and then reached into the pocket of his overalls to find his tobacco. While Dougie was at it, Gnarly Bone pulled out his pipe and began tamping it. He lit up as Phoney and Dougie each tucked a pinch in his lip.

Phoney grimaced at the taste. It had been a while. "What's da scoop?" he asked. "How's Boneville been while I been out? Humans actin' up?"

Gnarly Bone pulled a trumpet out of his pocket and put it against his ear. "Eh?" he asked. "Humans?"

"Nah," Dougie said as he chewed. "Ain't seen a 'uman in Boneville fer ages. They stay down south in Portsmouth. Trade's back up, though. Guess they forgiven us fer when you took 'em to th' cleaners."

Gnarly, straining to hear, cackled dryly and coughed. "What was it ya did to 'em, Phoney Bone? I 'eard ya got away with all their cash at some institute 'r other you founded. What was it? The New Age School of Lozenges and Bungy-jumping?"

"Somethin' like that," Phoney said as he squirmed. He shuddered at those memories. That was his first serious encounter with humans and he learned things he never wanted to know. He killed the uncomfortable topic, saying, "But you'll never guess where Smiley an' I been. We found a valley across the desert, and there's humans there, too."

Gnarly and Dougie frowned over their tobacco. "Lotta the world's unexplored still," Dougie said. "Weren't the Valley o' th' Full-Figured Gals, were it?"

"Tha's west o' here!" Gnarly insisted. "Desert's to the east!"

Dougie shook his head. "Humans is trouble. Used ta kill us fer our skins. Savages, th' lot of 'em. Tha's why they 'ad ta turn ol' Big Johnson's tradin' post inta Fort Bone, an' tha's why alla bones are 'ere now 'stead o' spread out like we used ta be. Portsmouth humans don' mess 'round much, cuz they know we got guns. But if'n you saw other humans--savage humans--you kin bet they's trouble."

"Yeah, trouble, sure," Phoney agreed. "Lis'n, I'll tell ya somethin' interestin'. This Valley we was in, there weren't just humans in it. There was strange stuff. Really strange stuff. And if any bones were to come to my old mansion around, say, six in the evenin' next Tuesday, they might see somethin' pretty fascinatin'."

Gnarly and Dougie looked impressed, and they both nodded eagerly. Phoney grinned and rubbed his hands together. It had begun--rumors spread fast in Boneville, and they spread the fastest through Gnarly and Dougie Bone.

Dolly Bone, plump cheeks glowing under her new hairdo, slid out of the barber's chair and beamed at Smiley, who praised Floyd's craftsmanship. Floyd merely cleaned his scissors in the sink and said, "Next."

Phoney slid into the chair with a vicious smile across his face. Smiley, he knew, wouldn't like what Phoney had in mind, but Phoney knew how to control Smiley. Usually.

Ah, thought Phoney as Floyd began clipping his floating unibrow, Boneville.

Next: The Courtship of Thorn Harvestar