It took him almost a year to find Poor Yorick, who was living in a ramshackle hotel on Hildegarde, still spending every credit he made to feed his habit. Orpheus tried to convince him to travel the spaceways with him and illustrate his saga, but Yorick cared more for his next connection than for posterity, and finally the Bard of the Inner Frontier admitted defeat, bought the remainder of Yorick’s paintings, commissioned a painting of his Eurydice which would never be finished, and went away forever. He gave Poor Yorick only a single verse in his song; he wanted to do more, to tell his audience what a unique talent lay hidden beneath that wasted exterior, but he decided that an influx of commissions would only result in more drug purchases and hasten Yorick’s death.

It must be said on Yorick’s behalf that he tried to complete the painting of Eurydice, but the money he had received for it was spent within a week, and he had an ever-present hunger to feed. Since Orpheus had left him without any art to sell, he returned to forging, but every now and then, an hour here, a weekend there, he would work again on his embryonic masterpiece.

In fact, he was working on it when Schussler landed on Roosevelt III.

“Unpleasant little world,” said Cain when he and the Swagman had emerged from the cyborg’s interior and stood, shielding themselves from the planet’s ever-present rain, on the wet surface of the spaceport.

“It’s only fitting,” said the Swagman, heading off for the terminal. “We’re looking for an unpleasant little man.” He paused. “Whoever would have thought that Poor Yorick would be Altair of Altair’s most recent link to Santiago?”

“I had rather suspected you would,” said Cain with a touch of irony. “Especially after that speech about how I needed you.”

“That’s why you needed both Schussler and me. He knew Yorick was the man we wanted, and I know where to find him.”

“Isn’t it about time you shared that little tidbit of knowledge with me?” suggested Cain.

The Swagman shrugged. “I can’t give you an address. We’ll go into the city, hunt up the cheapest hotel in the poorest area, and wait.”

“And if he’s not there?”

“He’ll be there, or thereabouts,” said the Swagman. “If we have to, we’ll just follow the local dream vendor, and he’ll lead us straight to him.”

“What does Poor Yorick look like?” asked Cain.

“I really couldn’t say. I’ve never met him.”

“But you’re sure you know where he’ll be,” said Cain caustically.