"My guess is that they don't even have any local laws," said Dante. "Anyway, we're not reporting anything. The man you killed was scum and we all know it."
"Good," said Silvermane. "Then I'll be on my way."
"I'd like to buy you a drink first," said Dante.
"I know you would," said Silvermane.
"You do?"
"Of course. You could only have one reason for talking to the Black Death, and now he's dead." He turned to the bartender. "Bring me a beer. A cold one." Then it was back to Dante. "Who did you want him to kill, and why?"
Dante uttered an embarrassed laugh. "I wasn't ready for such bluntness."
"There's a lot of evil abroad in the galaxy, and life is short," said Silvermane. "I have no time to waste. Who's your target?"
"It's not that easy."
"It never is—but I can't help you if you don't tell me what you want."
"I want someone to stand up for people who can't stand up for themselves," said Dante.
"That's what I do best," said Silvermane.
"So you say."
"Who's the enemy?"
"The Democracy."
Silvermane stared long and hard at him. "You don't look like a traitor."
"I'm not."
"Continue."
"There's a difference between being a traitor to your race and being opposed to the excesses of your government," continued Dante.
Silvermane stared at him and offered no reply.
"Well?" said Dante, uneasily breaking the silence.
"Well what?"
"What I said. Does it sound like something that might interest you?"
Silvermane continued staring at him. Finally he spoke. "Do you seriously expect me to believe that you were recruiting the Black Death to go to war with the Democracy?"
"No. I was interviewing him about eradicating a mistake—but he wasn't the man for the job. We were just about to leave when you showed up."
"What is the mistake?"
Now it was Dante's turn to stare in silence for a long moment, as he tried to decide how much to tell the tall man. "We chose the wrong man for the job."
"The job you're offering me?"
"The job I'm willing to discuss with you. I'm not offering anything yet."
"All right. Who did you choose originally?"
"A man known as the One-Armed Bandit."
"I've heard of him."
"Everyone has," Virgil put in.
"I heard he vanished from sight a few months ago," continued Silvermane. "I assumed he'd been killed. Eventually that happens to just about everyone in our line of work."
"The One-Armed Bandit is no more," said Dante. "But the man who was the One-Armed Bandit is still around."
"Oh?"
"These days he calls himself Santiago."
"The King of the Outlaws," said Silvermane. "If he wanted to attract attention, he couldn't have chosen a more obvious name. Tell me about it."
"We convinced him that it was time for Santiago to return to the Inner Frontier, to walk among Men again, to harass and harry the Democracy."
"The way I heard it, Santiago harassed and harried everyone for profit," said Silvermane.
"That's the way he wanted people to hear it," said Matilda.
Silvermane didn't have to be force-fed the proper assumption. "Okay, so he was a revolutionary. He didn't get very far. We've still got a Democracy."
"We need the Democracy," said Dante. "No one's trying to overthrow it."
Again the tall man surprised them with the speed with which he could assimilate what was being said. "So he was trying to lessen their abuses out here, and of course he had to convince them he was an outlaw. Even Santiago couldn't have held off the Navy."
Dante and Matilda exchange looks.
He's awfully fast on the uptake. Maybe, just maybe . . .
"That's it in a nutshell," said Dante.
"And what's the problem with the One-Armed Bandit?" asked Silvermane. "Has he gone overboard on the outlaw part?"
"I wish it was that easy," admitted Dante with a grimace.
"What is it, then?"
"We were on Madres a couple of weeks ago . . ." began Dante.
"That was him?" said Silvermane. "That made the news everywhere on the Frontier, as well as the Democracy. More than 300 kids slaughtered."
"That was him."
"What the hell got into him?"
"He says that's 300 kids that won't grow up to be 300 members of the Democracy."
"He's a fool," said Silvermane. "99 percent of the Democracy is just like the men and women who walked past my father when he was dying. They're not heroes or villains, they just don't want to get involved. Hell, they're what the Democracy's there to protect. If you've got a problem with the Democracy, eventually you emigrate and come out to the Frontier." He paused. "You've got yourself a real problem, and of your own making. I assume that without you, there'd be no Santiago."
"I was part of it," interjected Matilda. "It wasn't just him."
"We've been a century without Santiago," said Silvermane. "A trillion people have been born and died in that time, maybe more. Why is it that you two have decided to resurrect him?"
Matilda gestured to Dante. "He's the new Black Orpheus."
"Self-appointed?"
"I've got the original's manuscript," said Dante. "That's how I was able to find out what Santiago really was. I'm continuing his work—and if it's to be about anything besides a handful of misfits and losers, if there's to be any balance in the galaxy, then we need a Santiago."
"So you want me to become Santiago because it'll make a satisfying poem," said Silvermane noncommittally. He turned to Matilda. "What about you?"
"I'm his great-granddaughter."
"You want me to plunder the Frontier and then die so you can claim your inheritance?"
"It's simpler than that," she answered. "I need Santiago to take the heat off me, to give the Democracy a bigger target."
Silvermane smiled. "I was wondering if we'd ever meet, Matilda."
"I haven't told you my name."
"You didn't have to. I heard that Waltzin' Matilda was traveling with the new Black Orpheus. And you just told me as much yourself: if only Santiago will draw the Democracy's attention away from you, you have to be Waltzin' Matilda." The smile vanished as he stared at her. "I've been hearing about you for years. Given your accomplishments, you're younger than I expected."
"I started early."
Silvermane turned to Virgil. "What about you?"
"I'm with him," said Virgil, jerking a thumb in Dante's direction.
"Why?"
"It's too complicated to explain—or maybe too simple."
"Try."
"He's Dante. I'm Virgil."
"How many circles of hell have you led him through so far?" asked Silvermane.
"Sonuvabitch!" exclaimed Virgil, obviously impressed. "You've read it!"
"It seems to me there's an awful lot of poetry going on around here," said Silvermane. "But it seems that these days even poets wind up relying on the sword."