She caught the coin, placed it in a pocket, and went back into the kitchen to fetch the cake.

“Delightful child,” said Father William. “She’s wasting her time here. I’ve offered her a job as my personal cook, but she turned me down flat.”

“Maybe she thinks you’re not likely to provide long-term employment at the rate you put food away,” commented Cain dryly.

“Nonsense!” said the preacher. “The Lord’s got important work for me, Sebastian. I plan to live a long, long time—which,” he added, “is more than can be said for bounty hunters who try to kill Santiago.”

“You’re a bounty hunter, too,” Cain noted.

“Ah, but I’m one of the smart ones. I’m not after Santiago.”

“Why not? The price on his head could build a lot of churches.”

“People have been trying to find him for thirty years or more without any success,” replied Father William. “He’s not worth the effort.”

Moonripple reemerged from the kitchen, carrying a rich-looking chocolate layer cake.

“This has been a very interesting afternoon,” remarked Cain as she set the cake down on the table.

“Has it indeed?” asked the preacher, looking down at the cake with the happy air of a child opening a present.

Cain nodded. “Yes, it has. So far I’ve met two people on Safe Harbor. One of them thinks Santiago is a hero, and the other is a bounty hunter who has no interest in him whatsoever.”

“Moonripple, my dear,” said Father William, ignoring Cain’s comment, “do you think if you looked high and low you might be able to find me some ice cream to go with this luscious cake?”

“I think you finished all our ice cream yesterday, sir,” she replied.

He looked crestfallen. “Check anyway, just in case.”

She shrugged and headed off to the kitchen.

“Moonripple,” repeated Cain. “Didn’t Orpheus write her up a couple years ago?”

Father William nodded. “She’s told me about him. I gather he offered her a job, too, and she didn’t take it. She’s a very independent young lady.”

“And a very well-traveled one, too,” said Cain. “I wonder what she’s doing here?”

“Why don’t you ask her?” suggested Father William, finishing his beer. “As for me,” he added, rubbing his pudgy hands together, “I don’t think I can wait for her to find that ice cream.” He picked up a knife. “Would you like me to cut you a piece?”

“No, thanks,” said Cain as the preacher cut a third of the cake away and placed it on his plate.

Father William stared at the cake for a moment, then picked up a piece and tasted it.

“Sebastian,” he said, his face reflecting an ecstasy usually reserved only for his communications with God, “you don’t know what you’re missing!”

“Twenty thousand calories, at a rough guess,” said Cain.