“A lot of people think I am dead.” said Santiago. Suddenly he chuckled. “You wouldn’t believe some of the stories they tell about me, Sebastian. I’ve heard that I was killed three different times last year, and that I laid waste to a little world called Silverblue out on the Galactic Rim. One story even had me assassinating some diplomat on Canphor Seven.”

“You’re also eleven feet tall and have orange hair.” remarked Cain wryly.

“Really?” asked Santiago, interested. “I hadn’t heard that one.” He shrugged. “Well, I suppose that’s the price of anonymity.”

“I’d hardly call you anonymous.” said Cain. “There are hundreds of men making full-time careers out of trying to hunt you down and kill you.”

“And here I am, alive and well.” said Santiago. “I’d say that’s a pretty good definition of living anonymously.”

“If you really want to be anonymous, why not scotch some of these myths and legends that have sprung up about you?”

“The more crimes the Democracy thinks I’ve committed, the more manpower they’ll divert from people who can’t defend themselves,” he replied. “But here we are, talking business again, after I promised to let you relax.”

“I don’t mind,” said Cain.

“We’ll have ample time for it tomorrow,” said Santiago. “Shall we talk about literature?”

Cain shrugged. “Whatever you like.”

“Good,” said Santiago as a pair of young men emerged from the kitchen and began serving them. “Have you ever read anything by Tanblixt?”

“I never heard of him.”

“He’s an it, not a him,” said Santiago. “A Canphorite, in fact—and an absolutely brilliant poet.”

“I’ve never been interested much in poetry,” said Cain.

“Excellent soup,” commented Santiago, sipping a spoonful. “Father William drinks it by the gallon.”

“It’s very good,” agreed Cain, taking a taste.

“I’ve also been rereading a number of novels written in the days when we were still Earthbound,” continued Santiago. “I’ve developed a special fondness for Dickens.”

“David Copperfield?” suggested Cain.

“Ah!” Santiago smiled. “I knew you were a learned man.”

“I just said I’d read it,” replied Cain. “I never said I liked it.”

“Then let me recommend one I’ve just finished: A Tale of Two Cities.”

“Maybe I’ll give it a try tomorrow,” said Cain. “If we’re still talking.”

“We will be,” Santiago assured him. “A few minutes ago you asked how I differed from all the other revolutionaries you’ve fought for. We’ll discuss it in detail tomorrow, but I’ll give you a hint right now, if you’d like.”

“Go ahead.”

“My cause was lost before I ever joined it,” replied Santiago with an enigmatic smile.

Cain was still considering that remark when he got up from the dinner table and went off to discuss literature with the King of the Outlaws.

23.

He lives on a mountain, a mountain of gold,