“I was just curious.”

“It was the Swagman,” said the Angel.

“Was he telling the truth?”

“Does he ever?”

“Damn it!” snapped Virtue, her anger overcoming her fear. “I want an answer!”

He turned his head toward her slightly, still keeping Father William in his field of vision. “I already answered your question. If you didn’t believe me the first time, you won’t believe me now.”

They sat in silence for another minute. Then Father William finished the last of his breakfast, took the napkin he had tied around his neck, wiped his mouth off, and tossed it onto the table.

“You’ve had your warning,” growled the preacher ominously.

“You don’t have to die,” said the Angel. “There’s no paper on you.”

“The Lord is my shepherd, I shall not want!” intoned Father William, rising to his feet, the handles of his laser pistols glinting in the tavern’s artificial light.

Suddenly Moonripple, her eyes wide with horror, took a step toward the Angel.

“You can’t kill Father William!” she said in hushed tones. “He’s a servant of the Lord!”

“It’s his choice,” replied the Angel calmly, his gaze never leaving the preacher’s hands.

“Stand back, child!” said Father William.

“You can’t!” she repeated, rushing toward the Angel.

Father William reached for his pistols, and three long metal spikes appeared in the Angel’s right hand as if by magic. Moonripple hit his arm just as he was hurling them, but all of them found their way into Father William’s massive body before he could draw his pistols, and he collapsed with a surprised grunt.

The Angel got to his feet and swept Moonripple aside with his arm. She careened off the wall and fell to the floor, motionless.

“See if she’s still alive,” he ordered Virtue while he walked across the room and crouched down next to Father William. One of the spikes was buried in his chest, another protruded from his right arm, and the third was lodged in the left side of his neck, but he was still conscious.

“You were lucky,” said the Angel dispassionately, appropriating Father William’s pistols. “You owe your life to that child. Try not to move too much and you may not bleed to death.”

“Kill me now!” rasped Father William. “Or as God is my witness, I’ll hunt you down to the very depths of hell!”

“Stupid,” muttered the Angel, shaking his head. He frisked the preacher for concealed weapons, carefully withdrew the three spikes, stood up, and walked over to Moonripple.

“She’s breathing,” said Virtue. “But she’s got a hell of a bump on her head.”

He felt her head and neck with expert hands. “She’ll be all right,” he said.

“What about Father William?”

“He’s in better shape than he has any right to be,” replied the Angel. “That fat gives him a lot of protection.”

“Will he live?”

“Probably.”