The Return of Santiago: A Myth of the Far Future (16 page)

      
"Now I want you to tell me about the other honorable men you know: who they are, what they do, what they believe in?"

      
"You want to talk to a minister, not a bounty hunter."

      
"I know what I want to talk to," said Matilda. She sighed. "Okay, forget honorable. Who's the most formidable man on the Inner Frontier?"

      
"I am," he said, and when she made no comment, he continued: "I know it sounds egomaniacal, but if I didn't think so, if I didn't truly believe it, then I'd never be willing to go up against some of the men I have to face."

      
"Who else?"

      
"There are a lot of formidable men out here," answered Dimitrios. "Hootowl Jacobs, for one. I've heard about a character called Silvermane, out in the Quinellus Cluster. There's the Plymouth Rocker, there's Mongaso Taylor, there's the Black Death, there's a woman they call the Terminal Bitch who's supposed to be as deadly as any of them." He lit a thin smokeless cigar. "And there are some mighty formidable aliens too. From what I hear, there's a pair named Tweedledee and Tweedledum that might be deadlier than any of them."

      
"Well, that's a start," said Matilda. "How many of them are honorable?"

      
"Maybe one, maybe none, who knows? Mind if I ask you a question?"

      
"Go ahead."

      
"Why is the most accomplished thief on the Inner Frontier looking for an honorable man? That's kind of like mixing oil and water, isn't it?"

      
She laughed. "I don't think you'd believe me if I told you."

      
"Probably not, but why don't you tell me and I'll decide for myself."

      
"Fair enough. I'm looking for an honorable man to train and finance."

      
"What will you train him to be?"

      
"A dishonorable man."

      
He stared at her for a long minute. "That's an interesting notion. What are you looking for—a bodyguard or a partner?"

      
"Something much more than that," said Matilda. "I'm looking for a leader."

      
"Leaders are in short supply these days," replied Dimitrios.

      
"That's why we need one so badly."

      
"We?" he repeated. "As in you and me?"

      
"As in the whole Inner Frontier."

      
"We've never had one."

      
"Yes we have," said Matilda.

      
He stared at her curiously. "You're getting at something. I wish you'd come right out and say it."

      
"It's time for Santiago to return."

      
He chuckled. "You wouldn't like it much. He's been a rotting corpse for over a century."

      
"Maybe not," she said.

      
"Oh?"

      
"Maybe I'm looking at him right now."

      
"You've got me all wrong, Waltzin' Matilda," said Dimitrios. "Santiago was the King of the Outlaws. That's just the kind of person that I'm in business to hunt down and kill."

      
"What if I told you he wasn't what you think?"

      
"I'd ask what special insight you had into him."

      
"I'm his granddaughter."

      
He stared at her, then shook his head. "The numbers are wrong."

      
"All right," she said with a shrug. "His great-great- granddaughter."

      
"And you want me to go out and pillage and steal and kill for you?"

      
"No, I want you to do it for
us
."

      
"You and me?"

      
"The entire Inner Frontier."

      
"You keep saying that, but it doesn't make any sense."

      
"Have you got any coffee?" she asked. "Because what I have to tell you is going to take awhile."

      
He ordered the kitchenette to prepare it, then handed her a cup and finally sat down on a chair that hovered a few inches above the ground, and changed its shape to accommodate his long, lean body.

      
"All right," he said. "I'm listening."

      
She proceeded to tell him about Santiago—everything she knew about him, everything her family had said when no one was around to overhear, everything Dante Alighieri had found hidden in the pages of Black Orpheus' poem. It took her close to two hours. When she was done she stared at him, waiting for a reaction.

      
"I believe you," he said at last.

      
"Good. That means I haven't wasted either of our time."

      
"Let me finish," he said. "I believe what you said. I believe Santiago was a secret revolutionary. I'm even willing to believe there was more than one Santiago." He paused, considering his words. "I believe that the time is right for another Santiago. But I'm not your man."

      
"Why not?"

      
"I'll help you look for him," continued Dimitrios. "I'll work for him and I'l fight for him." He stared unblinking into her eyes. "But I won't
become
him."

      
"Think of the difference you could make."

      
"Someone else can make it. Not me."

      
"But why?" she insisted.

      
"Because I'm not willing to do the things Santiago has to do if he's to
be
Santiago. I won't give orders to kill innocent men and women. I won't be the one who sends out men to kill young soldiers who are only trying to protect the Navy's payrolls or weapons. I understand why it has to be done, but it's contrary to everything I believe in, everything I
am
. I'll help you as far as I can, I'll protect you while you and the Rhymer are searching for the next Santiago, I'll never betray you—but I won't be Santiago, not now, not ever."

      
"You're sure?"

      
He smiled again. "Santiago is capable of lying. I'm not."

      
"But you
will
help us?"

      
"I said I would."

      
"Have you any suggestions where we should go next?"

      
"It'll take some thought," answered Dimitrios. "Santiago has to be able to lie, as I said. He has to send men to their deaths. He has to commit enough crimes to convince the Democracy that he's a criminal and not a revolutionary, and he has to be brutal and efficient enough to discourage any criminals on the Frontier from trying to take over his operation." He shook his head and added wryly, "He could be every scumbag I've ever hunted down."

      
"But he's not," she pointed out. "With him, it's a facade."

      
"I know. But they're not traits you're likely to find in a minister."

      
"That's why we decided to start with lawmen or bounty hunters," said Matilda.

      
"Maybe," said Dimitrios dubiously. "The question is who you trust more: a man who's been an outlaw all his life, or a man who's willing to become an outlaw on five minutes' notice."

      
"I see your point."

      
"Tell me about the one they call the Rhymer," he said. "I know he spent some time in your dressing room on Prateep. What's
his
interest in all this?"

      
"He's the one who sought me out in the first place."

      
"Why?"

      
She shrugged. "He wants to write poems about Santiago."

      
Dimitrios considered her answer for a moment, then nodded his head. "I suppose Orpheus needs a Santiago as much as Santiago needs an Orpheus."

      
"And what do
you
need?"

      
"I need men who deserve to die for what they've done. Right now I need one named Hootowl Jacobs. I heard a rumor tonight that he might have gone to Innesfree II. That's where I'll be heading tomorrow."

      
"If he's the one we're looking for, you won't kill him, right?"

      
"If he's the one you're looking for, I'll have to reevaluate my pledge to you," said Dimitrios.

      
"What has he done?"

      
"You don't want to know."

      
"Whatever it was, he did it to a woman," she said. "I know that much about you. That's why I was willing to come alone to your room."

      
"I saw you take that drunk out with a spinning kick," said Dimitrios. "You handle yourself just fine."

      
She got to her feet. "Tell me where your ship is and I'll meet you there in the morning."

      
"You're coming along?" he said. "Don't you have any professional engagements?"

      
"I'll cancel them and pick up work wherever you're going."

      
"We might to better going in three directions—you, me, and the poet."

      
"I'm coming with you," she said adamantly.

      
He shrugged. "Suit yourself."

      
"So where's your ship?"

      
"There's only one spaceport. Be there an hour after sunrise."

      
She got to her feet and walked to the door, then turned back to him. "I can't help thinking it should be you. You're such a goddamned moral man."

      
"You don't want such a goddamned moral man," he assured her. "You want a man who understands his purpose and will do whatever he has to do to succeed. I'm not that man."

      
"Well, you might at least look a little sad about it."

      
"Why?" he said. "Whoever he is, he is—or soon will be—the most important man on the Inner Frontier. We both know he's out there somewhere. What could be more challenging that finding him?"

      
"Convincing him that he's Santiago?" she suggested.

      
"When we find him, he'll know," said Dimitrios with certainty. "Hell, he's probably busy
being
Santiago right now. All we have to do is find him and tell him what his true name is."

      
"You really believe that, don't you?"

      
"If he's Santiago, the one thing he's not is a fool. If he's got the abilities we're looking for, he's been honing them, getting ready to meet his destiny. Our job is to point it out to him and convince him we're right."

      
"Do you really think we will?" asked Matilda.

      
"As sure as my name is Dimitrios of the Three Burners."

11.

      
      
Hootowl Jacobs loves his life.

      
      
Hootowl Jacobs takes to wife

      
      
A woman here, a woman there—

      
      
A bigamist, but one with flair.

      
Dante wrote that verse about Hootowl Jacobs, but he was still new at the job, and he made a major mistake, one Black Orpheus never made: he relied upon other people's descriptions and recollections. He never met Hootowl Jacobs himself, and that was the real reason the verse was so flawed.

      
Hootowl Jacobs loved his life, all right, and he certainly was a bigamist from time to time, but therein lay the rub: Hootowl tended to fall in love only with ladies of property, and since he was aware that he wouldn't be awarded that property in a typical divorce proceeding, he "divorced" his wives in his own unique way: with a serrated hunting knife across their windpipes.

      
No one knew how many wives he had taken, though there were doubtless records of it somewhere. No one knew how many he had dispatched either, but he came to the attention of Dimitrios of the Three Burners when the total reached double digits.

      
Dimitrios was nothing if not thorough—it was the best way to keep alive in his line of work—so he began checking up on Jacobs. The man had killed women on Sirius V and Spica VI in the Democracy, on Silverblue out on the Rim, and on Binder X, Roosevelt III, Greenveldt, and at least four other worlds of the Inner Frontier.

      
His method was always the same. He'd show up on a world, a well-to-do widower (as indeed he was), and because of his economic and social station he tended to meet more than his share of well- to-do widows. He wasn't all that much to look at, and his manners weren't the type that would sweep a woman off her feet . . . but he would stress what they had in common, which was money and loneliness, and it wasn't long before wedding bells would be ringing and Hootowl Jacobs (who, after the deaths of his first three wives, never used his own name again) was a husband again.

      
He never rushed into his "divorces". The fastest was five months, the slowest almost three years. But sooner or later it was inevitable. A distraught, hysterical Jacobs would seek out the authorities, claiming some passing stranger had killed his wife. She was always missing some jewelry, so the motive was apparent. The legalities were usually concluded in two or three weeks—a new John Doe warrant, and a quick property settlement in favor of the grieving widower.

      
Hootowl Jacobs was not just the kind of man that Dimitrios longed to catch, he was the kind that the bounty hunter wanted to kill slowly and painfully with his bare hands. He knew that he was unlikely to get the opportunity, but he could hope.