Moonripple arrived with the Swagman’s coffee, while Father William said a brief prayer for Virtue and then attacked his meal with even more gusto than usual.

Moonripple placed the tray behind the bar, then hesitantly approached Father William.

“Excuse me, sir,” she said tentatively.

“Yes, my child?”

“I realize it’s none of my concern, but I couldn’t help overhearing what you said, and I just wanted to know if it was true?”

“That the Swagman’s going to hell?” replied Father William. “Absolutely.”

“No,” she said. “That wasn’t what I meant.” She paused, nervously fidgeting with her apron. “Is it true that he is coming here today?”

“I hope not,” said Father William.

She started to ask something more, then shook her head and retreated to the kitchen while Father William returned his attention to the diminishing pile of food on his plate.

Virtue busied herself rechecking her equipment, while the Swagman sipped his coffee and tried unsuccessfully to pretend that it was Cygnian cognac.

Then the door opened and the Angel, clad in a strikingly somber outfit, stepped into the tavern. His pale, no-color eyes surveyed the room, missing no detail.

“You’re a few minutes early,” said Virtue.

He made no answer but chose a table that was next to a windowless wall and walked to it, elegant and catlike, never taking his eyes from Father William. When he reached it he pulled out a chair and sat down.

“I assume from your demeanor that you’re the Angel?” said the Swagman cordially.

“I am.”

“Good. They call me the Jolly Swagman. I have a mutually beneficial business proposition to put to you.”

“Later,” replied the Angel.

“It could mean a lot of money to you,” continued the Swagman persuasively.

“I said later.”

The Swagman looked into the Angel’s cold, lifeless eyes.

“I’ll tell you what,” he said hastily, getting to his feet and keeping his hands in plain view. “I think I’ll just go across the street and relax for a little while. We’ll talk later.”

The Angel paid no attention to him as he hurried out the door, but stared intently at Father William.

“I won’t let you kill him,” said the preacher, glaring at him while continuing to eat.

“I’m only here to talk to him,” replied the Angel.

“I don’t believe you.”

The Angel shrugged. “Believe what you want—but don’t do anything foolish.”

Father William continued glaring at him as Moonripple came through the kitchen door and approached the Angel.

“May I help you, sir?” she asked.

The Angel shook his head, never taking his eyes from Father William.

“He should be here any minute,” said Virtue.

“Will Cain be with him?” asked the Angel.

“No.” She paused nervously. “I have to ask you a question.”

“Go ahead.”

“Has Dimitri Sokol still got a hit on me?”

“No.”

“You’re sure?”

“Who told you otherwise?” asked the Angel.