He let his robe drop to the floor and walked over to the tub.

“Come, my lovelies,” he crooned, and the two fali walked over and gently helped lower him into the water.

“I think I could do with a massage,” he said. “Do you remember what I taught you?” The fali immediately entered the tub and began massaging his arms and torso with their long, sensitive, alien hands.

“Would you like to join us, Mr. Cain?” asked Stern, suddenly aware that Cain had not yet left the room. “It isn’t an invitation I extend to many of my guests, and it certainly won’t break my heart if you should decline, but I suppose it’s the least I can do for a man who has just spent fifteen thousand credits for a useless tidbit of information.”

“Useless?”

“The Angel is after Santiago now, or hadn’t you heard?”

“I know.”

“And yet you paid me anyway?” said Stern. “You must be a very efficient killer, Mr. Cain—or a very overconfident one.” He moaned with pleasure as one of the fali began stroking his left thigh. “How many men have you actually killed?”

“Pay me fifteen thousand credits and I might just answer that question,” said Cain.

Stern laughed hollowly in amusement.

“I’m afraid not, Mr. Cain. What you have done in the past may eventually find its way into Black Orpheus’ songbook, as I myself have done, but you are simply another spear-carrier passing through my life—and an incredibly minor one at that.”

“And them?” asked Cain, indicating the two fali.

“They represent my fall from Grace,” said Stern with a smile. “Far more important than mere supporting players, I assure you. Someday I suppose I shall even give them names.” He turned to one of them. “Gently, my pretty—gently.” He took her hand and began guiding it gingerly.

Cain stared at the three of them for another few seconds, then turned and summoned the elevator. The sound of Stern’s voice, trembling with eagerness, came to him as the doors were closing:

“Here, my pet. Lie back and let me show you how.”

Cain descended to the main floor, walked out across the dusty thoroughfare, entered his own hotel, and shortly thereafter unlocked his room. He found Halfpenny Terwilliger sitting on his bed, playing solitaire.

“What the hell are you doing here?” he demanded as the door slid shut behind him.

“Waiting for you,” replied the little gambler.

“How did you know this was my room?”

“I asked at the desk.”

“And they gave you the combination to the lock?”

“In a manner of speaking,” said Terwilliger. “Of course, they probably don’t know they gave it to me.”

“All right,” said Cain. “Why are you waiting for me?”

“Because I know who you are now. You’re the Songbird, right?”

“I’m Sebastian Cain.”

“But people call you the Songbird?” persisted Terwilliger.

“Some people do.”