“More power to you.” He shrugged. “Whose deal?”

“Mine,” said a journalist. He began shuffling the cards.

A well-dressed man entered the tavern just then, looked around, and walked directly over to the five cardplayers. They paid no attention to him until he stopped a few feet away.

“I beg your pardon,” he said, “but I wonder if I might join you?”

The four locals stared at him and made no reply.

“Suit yourself,” said Virtue.

“Thank you,” he said. “By the way, I’m told that there is an excellent game that’s in need of players.”

“Oh?” asked the prospector nervously. “Where?”

“Right there,” he said, pointing to an empty table at the far end of the room.

The prospector and the three journalists almost fell over each other racing to the other table. Virtue, confused, rose to join them, muttering, “What the hell’s wrong with this table?”

“Not you,” said the man firmly, seating himself on one of the hastily vacated chairs.

She stared across the table, studying him in the dim light of the tavern. He was tall, though not as tall as Cain, and quite well built without being heavily muscled. His hair was so blond that it appeared almost white, and his eyebrows were barely visible. It was impossible to guess his age. His cold, penetrating eyes were not quite blue, not quite gray, practically clear. The rest of his face was unmarked and rather handsome, but it was the almost colorless eyes that instantly commanded attention.

He was dressed in a dark gray outfit that seemed black at first glance; it was severely cut and exquisitely tailored. He wore a conservatively styled silver tunic beneath his coat, and his boots, while lacking the embellishments of the Swagman’s, nonetheless seemed more expensive. On the small finger of his left hand was a platinum ring that housed a truly fabulous diamond.

“You’re the Angel,” she said. It was not a question.

He nodded his head.

“I thought you’d look different,” she said at last, trying to buy time while everything came into sharper focus.

“In what way?”

“More like a killer.”

“What does a killer look like?” asked the Angel.

“Leaner and hungrier,” she said. Suddenly a thought occurred to her. “Are you here to kill me?”

“Probably not,” he said, pulling out a long, thin cigar and lighting it. “You don’t mind if I smoke?”

She stared into his colorless eyes and shook her head.

“Good,” he continued. Suddenly he leaned forward. “You’ve been following me for more than a week. Why?”

“What makes you think anyone’s been following you?” replied Virtue.

The Angel smiled—a cold, lifeless smile. “You reached Lambda Karos Two two days after I left and began asking questions about me. Your next stop was Questados Four. Again you inquired into my whereabouts. Now you’re here. What am I supposed to think?”

“Coincidence?” she suggested lamely.