"An awful lot of people have died because I went out and did something," said Dante grimly. "You were almost added to the list."
"This is real life, not a book or a play," answered September Morn. "Things don't always work out the way men of virtue hope they will, and sometimes the effort is every bit as important as the results."
"It sounds good," said Dante, "but right about now I'd say we need some results."
"It would be nice," she said. "The Frontier could use a Santiago again." A pause. "To tell the truth, I could use him more than most."
"Oh?"
"There are some serious disadvantages to being a Living Monument," said September Morn as the waiter cleared the table and brought them their desert pastries and coffee.
"So you told me," replied Dante, watching the waiter retreat in utter silence to the kitchen.
"You mean having to stay here?" she said. "That's a minor annoyance."
"What's the major one?"
"When word of my official status got out, it didn't take long for anyone who heard about it to conclude that if they could steal me away, the government of Hadrian would pay quite a ransom to get me back."
"Have there been many attempts?"
"There have been a few. Nothing I couldn't handle." She paused. "Until now."
"Who's after you now?"
"Something even more formidable than your One-Armed Bandit," answered September Morn.
"I don't think there is anyone more formidable, except maybe Joshua Silvermane."
"I said something, not someone."
"Exactly who or what is it that's after you?" he asked, curious.
She took a bite of her pastry. "Fabulous stuff," she said. "You should try it."
"I will," he said. "But first tell me what's after you."
"Have you ever heard of Tweedledee and Tweedledum?"
"Dimitrios mentioned them once," said Dante. He chuckled and took a sip of his coffee. "Those names aren't exactly designed to strike fear into one's heart."
"Don't laugh!" she snapped angrily. "Their names may be childish, but there's nothing childish about them. They're they most dangerous creatures on the whole Frontier!"
His smile vanished. "What makes them so dangerous?"
"They conquer whole planets, just the two of them."
Dante frowned. "You're telling me these two aliens can defeat an entire military force?"
"Yes."
"And they're after you?"
"That's the word that's reached the planetary authorities," she replied. "That's why I was carrying the burner. When I heard that both you and the Bandit wanted to find me, I thought one or both of you worked for them."
"They work as a pair, this Tweedledee and Tweedledum?" he persisted.
"Yes."
"What do they look like? What makes them so formidable?"
"I don't know," admitted September Morn. "I've never actually seen them. All I know is what I've heard and read—and based on that, I hope I never see them. They conquer entire worlds, just the pair of them, and nobody who's tried to stand up to them has lived to tell about it." Her expression hardened. "And now they're after me."
Dante reached across the table and placed a reassuring hand on hers. "You saved my life," he said. "The least I can do is return the favor. No one's going to harm you."
She looked questioningly at him.
"I'll get Santiago to protect you," promised Dante. "The real Santiago."
35.
Mongaso Taylor, churchmouse poor,
Bites the hand that feeds him.
Embittered man, he will not save
The family that needs him.
Dante sat alone in his room, waiting for Silvermane's face to reappear. For almost a minute it had been popping into and out of existence, terribly distorted. Finally the signal came through, and his perfect features took shape.
"I got your message," he said. "I'm sorry about Dimitrios of the Three Burners."
"So am I," replied Dante.
"And the Bandit is really dead?"
"That's right." Dante smiled wryly. "The girl I came here to protect killed him and saved my life."
"I'm almost sorry," said Silvermane. "I was looking forward to meeting him."
"To killing him, you mean."
"If it had been necessary." He paused. "Well, you might as well come back to Valhalla. There's nothing to keep you there now, and I've got plenty of work for you here."
"I can't."
"Why not?"
"The girl," said Dante.
"The one who saved your life?"
"Right. She's in danger."
"Just a minute," said Silvermane, frowning. "I thought you told me the Bandit was dead."
"He is. But—I'm not quite sure how to put this—she's the most important person on the planet. Or maybe I should say the most popular, or the most revered, or . . ."
"I get the picture," interrupted Silvermane irritably. "What about it?"
"The planetary government would pay any amount to get her back if she was kidnapped."
"Are you suggesting we kidnap her?" asked Silvermane, who didn't look unduly upset by the proposition.
"She killed the Bandit," Dante pointed out, lighting up a smokeless Antarean cigar he had picked up in the hotel's gift shop. "She's on our side. We owe her."
"Okay, you're my man on the scene. If you feel we should protect her, go ahead and do it." A pause. "Have you got any idea who's after her?"
"A pair of aliens—I gather they're called Tweedledee and Tweedledum."
Silvermane's expression darkened noticeably. "You're sure?"
"That's what she tells me."
"Get off the planet right now."
"I don't know if I can do it that quickly," said Dante. "She's been declared a living monument, whatever the hell that means, and there's all kinds of red tape, and—"
"I'm not talking about her!" said Silvermane sharply. "Get your ass off Hadrian II right now!"
"I can't."
"Trust me, you're not in their league, Rhymer," said Silvermane. "You can't even protect yourself from them, let alone your ladyfriend."
"Then send help."
"I'll send someone. Just get the hell out of there."
"Not without her," said Dante, fighting back a surge of frustration. "She stood up to the Bandit and saved my life. I can't desert her."
Silvermane sighed deeply. "All right," he said at last. "I can't argue with that kind of loyalty."
"Thanks."
"And arguing with that kind of stupidity hasn't gotten me anywhere," he added sharply. "Where are you staying?"
"The Windsor Arms Hotel."