Instead he moved so naturally that the shoulder bag seemed to have gone to the bed of its own free will.

Diko shuddered. She couldn't think why. Then she realized that it was because of Hunahpu, the way he was standing there with nothing in his hands, nothing on his shoulder, no thing that he could hold or fiddle with or clutch to himself. He had set aside the one accessory he carried, and yet seemed as calm and relaxed as ever. It made her feel the way she felt when someone else stood too close to the edge of a precipice, a sort of empathetic horror. She could never have done that. In a strange place, alone, she would have had to cling to something familiar. A notebook. A bag. Even a bracelet or ring or watch that she could fiddle with. But this man -- he seemed perfectly at ease without anything. No doubt he could fling away his clothes and walk naked through life and never show a sign of feeling vulnerable. It was unnerving, his perfect self-possession.

"How do you do it?" she asked, unable to stop herself.

"Do what?" he asked.

"Stay so ... so calm."

He thought about that for a moment. "Because I don't know what else to do."

"I'd be terrified," she said. "Coming to a strange place like this. Putting my life's work into the hands of strangers."

"Yes," he said. "Me too."

She looked at him, unsure what he meant. "You're terrified?"

He nodded. But his face seemed just as placid as before, his body just as relaxed. In fact, even as he agreed that he was terrified, his manner, his expression radiated the opposite message -- that he was at ease, perhaps a little bored, but not yet impatient. As if he were a disinterested spectator at the events that were about to take place.

And suddenly the comments of Hunahpu's supervisor began to make sense. She had said something about how he never seemed to care about anything, not even the things he cared most about. Impossible to work with, but good luck, the supervisor had said. Yet it was not as if Hunahpu were autistic, unable to respond. He looked at what was around him and clearly registered what he saw. He was polite and attentive when she spoke.

Well, no matter. He was strange, that was obvious. But he had come to make a presentation, and now was as good a time as any. "What do you need?" she asked. "To make your case? A TruSite?"

"And a network terminal," he answered.

"Then let's go to my station," she said.

"I was able to convince Don Enrique de Guzman," said Columbus. "Why is it that only kings are immune to my arguments?"

Father Antonio only smiled and shook his head. "Cristobal," he said, "all educated men are immune to your arguments. They are flimsy, they are meaningless. You are opposed by mathematics and by all the ancients who matter. Kings are immune to your arguments because kings have access to learned men who rip your arguments to shreds."

Columbus was shocked. "If you believe this, Father Antonio, then why do you support me? Why am I welcome here? Why did you help me persuade Don Enrique?"

"I was not convinced by your arguments," said Father Antonio. "I was convinced by the light of God within you. You are on fire inside. I believe only God can put such a fire in a man, and so even though I believe that your arguments are nonsense, I also believe that God wants you to sail west, and so I will help you all I can because I also love God and I also have a tiny spark of that fire in me."

At these words tears sprang into Columbus's eyes. In all the years of study, all the arguments in Portugal, and more recently in Don Enrique's house, no one had shown a sign of having been touched by God in support of his cause. He had begun to think that God had given up on him and was no longer helping him in any way. But now he heard words from Father Antonio -- who was, after all, a greatly learned man with much respect among scholars throughout Europe -- that confirmed that God was, in fact, touching the hearts of good men to make them believe in Columbus's mission.

"Father Antonio, if I did not know what I know, I would not have believed my arguments either," said Columbus.

"Enough of that," said Father Perez. "Never say that again."

Columbus looked at him, startled. "What do you mean?"

"Here at La Rabida, behind closed doors, you can say such a thing, and we will understand. But from now on you must never give anyone even the slightest hint that it is possible to doubt your arguments."

"It is possible to doubt them," said Father Antonio.

"But Columbus must never give a sign that he knows it is possible to doubt them. Don't you understand? If it is God's will that this voyage occur, then you must inspire others with confidence in it. That is what will bring you victory, Columbus. Not reason, not arguments, but faith, courage, persistence, certainty. Those who are touched by the Spirit of God will believe in you no matter what. But how many of those will there be? How many of those have there been?"

"Counting you and Father Antonio," said Columbus, "two."

"So -- you will not win your victory by the force of your arguments, because they are feeble indeed. And the Spirit of God will not overwhelm everyone in your path, because God does not work that way. What do you have in your favor, Cristobal?"

"Your friendship," he said at once.

"And your utter, absolute faith," said Father Perez. "Am I right, Father Antonio?"

Father Antonio nodded. "I see his point. Those who are weak in faith will adopt the faith of those who are strong. Your confidence must be absolute, and then others will be able to hold on to your faith and let it carry them."

"So," said Father Perez. "You never show doubt. You never show even the possibility of doubt."

"All right," said Columbus. "I can do that."

"And you always leave the impression that you know much more than you're telling," said Father Perez.

Columbus said nothing, for he could not tell Father Perez that his statement was the truth.

"This means that you never, never say to anyone, 'These are all my arguments, I've now told you everything I know.' If they ask you direct questions, you answer as if you were only letting a little bit of your knowledge escape. You act as if they should already know as much as you do, and you're disappointed that they do not. You act as if everyone should know the things you know, and you despair of teaching the uninitiated."

"What you're describing sounds like arrogance," said Columbus.

"It's more than arrogance," said Father Antonio, laughing. "It's scholarly arrogance. Believe me, Cristobal, that's exactly how they'll be treating you."

"True enough," said Columbus, remembering the attitude of King Joao's advisers back in Lisbon.

"And one more thing, Cristobal," said Father Perez. "You are good with women."

Columbus raised an eyebrow. This was not the sort of thing he expected to hear from a Franciscan prior.

"I speak not of seduction, though I'm sure you could master those arts if you haven't already. I speak of the way they look at you. The way they pay attention to you. This is also a tool, for it happens that we live in a time when Castile is governed by a woman. A queen regnant, not just a queen consort. Do you think God leaves such things to chance? She will look at you as women look at men, and she will judge you as women judge men -- not on the strength of their arguments, and not on their cleverness or prowess in battle, but rather on the force of their character, the intensity of their passion, their strength of soul, their compassion, and -- ah, this above all -- their conversation."

"I don't understand how I'll use this supposed gift," said Columbus. He was thinking of his wife, and how badly he had treated her -- and yet how much she had obviously loved him in spite of it all. "You can't be suggesting that I seek some sort of private audience with Queen Isabella."