Drawing of the Dark Read online

  The spectators had automatically stepped back at the new, harsh authority in Duffy's voice, and he now gave the innkeeper a stinging slap with the flat of his blade. 'Run,' ordered the Irishman, 'or by Manannan and Llyr, I'll cave in your head with the pommel!' Werner's nerve broke, and he bolted around the corner of the building.

  'And hear, this, servant!' Duffy shouted after him. 'You haven't the competence to order me out of your master's house. Aurelianus governs here, not you.'

  Whirling to face the throng of uprooted diners, the Irishman stabbed a finger at two of the Swiss mercenaries he'd gambled with that morning. 'You two,' he pronounced, 'will sleep out here in the yard tonight to make certain this doesn't recur. You may build a fire, and I'll see to it that blankets are sent out to you. Keep your swords ready to hand. Understood?'

  The bewildered landsknechten gulped, looked helplessly at each other, and nodded.

  'Fine.' The crowd parted for him as he strode back inside through the kitchen door. After a few moments Shrub fetched a bucket of water and timidly set about extinguishing the several small fires the explosion had started, while two of the older stable boys began calming down the surviving horses. Cheated of an explanation, the chattering knot of people slowly filed back inside, concocting wild theories of their own to account for the blast leaving behind the two mercenaries who began unhappily gathering up shattered pieces of wood for a fire.

  An hour later Duffy hung his clothes on a chair and got [ into bed. He blew out the candle with, it seemed to him, his last bit of strength.

  He was still a little awed by his spectacular rage earlier. I must be wound even tighter than I thought, he told himself. I've never before lost my temper so completely. It was as if I were someone else for a moment. He shook his head. I guess I'll put off until morning the question of who would want to blow up the brewery and bury poor old Gambrinus in his cellar.

  His eyes snapped open then, for the thought of the cellar had recalled to him completely the hitherto forgotten afternoon dream. He had been, he remembered

  now, pottering comfortably about in the old Irish cottage in which he'd spent his boyhood, but had after a while found one thing that didn't fit with his memories of the place: a trap door in the flags of the floor, still half-hidden by a rug someone had kicked aside. For some reason the sight of it filled him with fear, but he worked up the nerve to grasp its ring and lift it on its grating hinges. Climbing down into the cellar this revealed, he found himself in an archaically opulent chamber. His attention, though, was drawn to a stone bier on which lay the body of a man; a king, or a god even, to judge by the tragic dignity expressed in every line of the strong, sorrow-creased face. Duffy stood over the body - and then had recoiled all the way into wakefulness, glad of Shrub's knock at the door.

  Duffy now shook his head, trying to shake from it the memory of the last few seconds of the dream; for, though the figure on the bier was not alive, it had opened its eyes and stared at him.. .and for a moment Duffy had been looking up at himself, through the dead king's eyes.

  * * *

  Chapter Seven

  Bluto pushed the wind-blown hair out of his face and squinted along the barrel of the iron cannon. 'Give her a shove left,' he said. Two sweating, shirtless men seized the gun's trunnions and, groaning with the effort, pulled the barrel an inch or two to the left. 'Good,' said the hunchback, hopping up, 'I reckon she's in line. Give the ball a last tap with the rammer in case we've joggled it loose.'

  Duffy leaned back and watched as one of the burly men snatched up the rammer and shoved it into the muzzle. I'm damned glad it's not me wrestling these guns around in the dawn mist, the Irishman thought.

  'What are you shooting at this time, Bluto?' he asked.

  The hunchback leaned out over the parapet and pointed. 'Notice that white square, about half a mile away? Can't see it too well in this light, but that's as it should be. It's a wood frame with cloth tacked over it. I had these boys build it and run out there and set it up. We're pretending it's Suleiman's tent.' His assistants grinned enthusiastically.

  These poor crazy bastards enjoy this, Duffy realized. It's play to them, not work.

  Bluto hobbled to the breech and shook black powder into the vent hole. 'Where's my linstock, damn it?' he yelled. One of the gunnery men stepped forward proudly and handed him the stick with the smoldering cord coiled around it. 'Deus vult,' the hunchback grinned, and, standing well to the side, leaned over and touched the glowing cord-end to the cannon vent.

  With a booming crack that numbed Duffy's abused eardrums and echoed from the distant trees, the gun lurched backward, gushing an afterburn of nearly transparent flame. Blinking through the great veil of acrid smoke that now churned over the parapet, Duffy saw a spurt of dust and bracken kicked into the air a dozen feet to the left of 'Suleiman's tent'.

  'Ha ha!' crowed Bluto. 'Very respectable, for a first try! You there - yes, you - give the barrel a kick from your side, will you? Then sponge her out and get ready to re-load.' He turned to Duffy. 'I'm finally getting this city's artillery in order. In the first two weeks we were in town, all I did was scrape rust out of the bores. These idiots left the guns uncovered during the rains; didn't even put the tompions in the muzzles. I believe the council looks on these things as some sort of.. .iron demons, able to fend for themselves.'

  'Bluto,' the Irishman said quietly, 'you more or less have charge of Vienna's arsenal until the Imperial troops arrive, don't you? Right. Well, listen - have you noticed any thefts of powder?'

  The hunchback shrugged. 'I haven't checked the quantities. Why?'

  Duffy gave him a succinct version of the previous night's events. 'It blew out two stalls in the stable,' he concluded. 'Killed two horses and scared the hell out of every man and beast within three blocks.'

  'Good Lord, a petard,' Bluto said in surprise. 'Hung on the brewery door?'

  'That's right. I'm beginning to wonder whether, weird as it sounds, some rival brewery might be trying to put us out of business.'

  'But Herzwesten doesn't have any rivals,' Bluto

  pointed out. 'The nearest commercial brewery is in Bavaria.'

  'That's right,' admitted Duffy. 'Well, I don't know - a rival inn, a resentful monk...' He shrugged.

  Bluto shook his head in puzzlement. 'I'll run an inventory of the whole arsenal. Maybe powder isn't the only thing someone's been stealing.'

  'She's ready to load, sir,' panted one of the gunnery men.

  'Very well, out of the way.' The hunchback picked up the long ladle-pole and dipped it like a shovel into the powder cask. He hefted it once or twice. 'That's three pounds,' he judged, and slid it into the bore; when it clicked against the breech he turned it over and pulled the empty ladle out. Then he rammed the wad in, followed by the six-pound ball. 'Now then, gang,' he said with a grin, 'let's see if we can knock Zapolya's hat off. Give me the linstock.'

  'I thought you said it was Suleiman,' Duffy said, a little sourly. A year had gone by since the Hungarian governor had defected to the Turks, but Duffy had known the man long ago, and it still galled him to hear Zapolya and Suleiman equated as enemies of the west.

  'We figure they're both in there, playing chess,' Bluto explained.

  The hunchback touched off the charge, and again the cannon roared and heaved and coughed forth a great gout of smoke to hang over the battlements. A couple of seconds later a tree to the left of the target abruptly collapsed, slapping up another cloud of dust.

  'Closer still,' Bluto said, 'You - give her another kick.'

  Duffy got to his feet. 'I can't linger here all morning,' he said. 'We broach the bock tomorrow, and I've got things to do in the meantime.

  'See you later, then,' Bluto said, preoccupied with the

  gun. 'I'll drop by for a mug or two if it's on the house.

  'Why should it be on the house?' the Irishman demanded testily.

  'Hmm?' Bluto reluctantly turned away from watching his men sponge out the bore. 'Well, for God's sake, I
saved your life, didn't I?'

  'When?'

  'You forgetful bastard. A month ago, when you were attacked in the forest.'

  'You nearly killed me,' Duffy said. 'And it was you being attacked, not me.' -

  'Here, what are you apes doing?' the hunchback shouted at his assistants. 'Give me that.' He pushed the gunnery men away from the cannon and seized the sponge-pole himself. 'Three turns left and three right,' he told them. 'Or maybe you want a stray spark still in there when you put in the new powder, eh? Idiots.' His assistants grinned apologetically and shuffled their feet.

  Duffy shook his head and strode to the stairway that would take him down to the street. Truly a single-minded hunchback, he thought.

  When he reached the pavement and looked up from his boots, he groaned inwardly. Oh hell, he thought, it's the Englishman, Lothario Mothertongue. Can I duck out? No, damn it, he's seen me. Hello, Lothario,' he said tiredly to the tall blond man who was walking toward the stairs.

  'Hello, Duffy,' boomed Mothertongue energetically. 'I've come to inspect the artillery. Give yon hunchback a bit of advice on the placement of the guns.'

  Duffy nodded. 'I'm sure he'll be grateful.' Mother-tongue had been 'inspecting the artillery' daily ever since

  s arrival in town a week ago, and Bluto had twice had be restrained from shoving the man off the wall.

  'I'll

  tell you something, Duffy, in strictest confidence.'

  Mothertongue said more quietly, laying his hand on the Irishman's shoulder and glancing up and down the street. Duffy knew what he was going to say; he'd been saying it for days, in strictest confidence, to anyone who'd listen to him, and Duffy himself had heard it twice already. 'Certain authorities...' He winked mysteriously. '...have called me back from quite a distance to defeat these Turks, and I intend to do it!'

  'Good, Lothario, you do that. I'd like to stick around and talk, but I've got an appointment.' He performed a smile and walked past.

  'Quite all right. I'll be seeing you tomorrow.'

  Yes, Duffy thought glumly, I suppose you will. The damned bock is drawing everybody like a lighted window in a storm. Well, he told himself, see it through two more nights and you'll be square with old Aurelianus - you promised to be here Easter, and that's tomorrow. After that you can honorably decamp; take Epiphany and leave the city before they lock all the gates against the Turks.

  Children were skipping past him, shouting, 'Vikings! We're going to fight the Vikings!'

  Give 'em a boot in the backside for me, kids, Duffy thought wearily.

  When he stepped into the warmth of the dining hail a white-haired old man stood up from one of the tables. 'Mr Duffy!' he said cheerily. 'You made it here alive, I observe.'

  The Irishman stared at him. 'Why, it's Aurelianus!' he exclaimed. 'I didn't recognize you behind the eye-patch. How did that happen?'

  Aurelianus fluttered his pale hands. 'It's nothing. I didn't lose the eye, just injured it during a scuffle in Athens, two days.. .I mean two weeks ago. Yes. I'll be able to throw away the patch before long.' He waved at his table. 'But join me! We've much to discuss.'

  Duffy sat down. A few moments later Anna bad set two capacious mugs of beer on the table, and he sipped his gratefully.

  'Oh, sir,' Anna remarked to Aurelianus, 'there have been some very weird gentlemen asking for you lately. A tall man who appears to be from Cathay or somewhere, several black Ethiopians, a copper-skinned man dressed all in feathers -The old man frowned, then laughed softly. 'Ah, the Dark Birds are here already, eh? I'm afraid I shall have to disappoint them this time around. Steer them away from me if you can, will you lass?'

  'Aye aye.' Before returning to the kitchen she rolled her eyes at Duffy behind Aurelianus' back.

  'The girl tells me Werner isn't here,' said the old man. 'He's off somewhere, the guest of.. .did she say a poet?'

  'Yes,' assented the Irishman almost apologetically. 'It seems our innkeeper can whip out the verses like nobody on earth since Petrarch. I haven't read any of it, thank God.'

  'Poetry-writing.' Aurelianus sighed. 'At his age.' He took a long sip of the beer and thumped the mug down on the table. 'In any case,' he said, turning to the Irishman with a comfortable, if twitchy, grin, 'I trust your trip here was easy and pleasant?'

  Duffy thought about it. 'Neither one, I'm afraid.'

  'Oh? Oh!' Aurelianus nodded understandingly. 'You glimpsed, perhaps, some creatures of a sort one doesn't usually run into? Or heard odd sounds in the night that couldn't be attributed to wolves or owls? I thought of warning you about the possibility, but decided -The Irishman was annoyed. 'I'm not talking about glimpses or night-sounds. In Trieste I met a man with goat's legs. I was escorted through the Alps by a whole damned parade of unnatural beasts. Dwarfs saved my life. Flying things that called to each other in Arabic, or something, destroyed a caravan I was travelling with.' He shook his head and had another sip of beer. 'And I won't bore you with an account of all the plain, everyday men that tried to put arrows and swords through me.'

  Aurelianus' good humor was whisked away like a veil, leaving him pale and agitated. 'Good heavens,' he muttered, half to himself, 'things are moving faster than I thought. Tell me, first, about this goat-footed man.'

  Duffy described the nameless tavern in which he'd taken shelter on that rainy night, told him about the wine and finally, about his oddly built table-mate.

  'Was there,' Aurelianus asked, 'the sound of a mill?'

  'There was. You've been to the place?'

  'Yes, but not in Trieste. Any street of any Mediterranean city could have brought you to that place. You were.. .attuned to it, so you saw it.' He rubbed his forehead. 'Tell me about these Arabian fliers.'

  'Well, I was sleeping in a tree and heard them circling in the sky, speaking some eastern lingo to each other. Then they swooped across a lake and kicked the stuffings out of the caravan of a poor hides-merchant who'd given me a ride earlier.'

  The old man shook his head, almost panicking. 'They've been watching me for years, of course,' he said, 'and I guess I inadvertently put them on to you. Ibrahim is stepping up the pace, that's clear.' He looked imploringly at Duffy. 'Was there, I hope, some manifestation afterward? Those creatures don't belong here, and the very land knows it. Were there earth-quakes, a flood...'

  Duffy shook his head. 'No, nothing like - wait! There was a tremendous wind next morning.'

  'Blowing which way?'

  'From the West.'

  Aurelianus sighed. 'Thank the stars for that, anyway. Things haven't gone too far.'

  'What things?' Duffy demanded. 'Leave off this mystery talk. What's really going on? And what have you really hired me for?'

  'In due time,' Aurelianus quavered.

  'In due time you can find yourself another down-at-heels vagrant to be your bouncer!' Duffy shouted. 'I'm taking Epiphany and going back to Ireland.'

  'You can't, she owes me a lot of money.' He quickly held up his hand to prevent another outburst from the Irishman. 'But! Very well, I'll explain.' He got to his feet. 'Come with me to the brewery.'

  'Why can't you explain right here?'

  'The brewery is the whole heart of the matter. Come on.'

  Duffy shrugged and followed the old man through the servants' ball to the cellar stairs.

  'What do you know about Herzwesten?' Aurelianus asked abruptly, as they carefully felt their way down the steps.

  'I know it's old,' Duffy answered. 'The monastery was built on the ruins of a Roman fort, and the beer was being made even back then.

  The old man laughed softly, started to speak and then thought better of it. 'Gambrinus!' he called. 'It's me, Aurelianus!' Duffy thought the old man unduly emphasized the name; might Gambrinus otherwise have greeted him by another?

  The white-maned brewmaster appeared below. 'When did you get back?' he asked.

  'This morning. Hah,' he laughed, turning to the Irishman, 'they didn't think I'd make it by Easter. Well, Gambrinus, I have to cut thin
gs close sometimes, I admit, but I haven't outright failed yet. Not significantly. Have you got three chairs? Our friend here feels he's entitled to some information.'

  Soon the three of them were seated on empty casks around a table on which stood a single flickering candle, and each of them held a cup of new-drawn bock beer. Aurelianus waved his brimming cup and grinned. 'The bock isn't officially broached until to night, but I guess the three of us deserve a preview.

  'Now then,' Duffy said, more comfortably, 'what's the real story here? Are you a sorcerer or something? And even if you are, I don't see how that would explain things like the lit petard I found on the brewery door last night. So fill me in.'

  Aurelianus had gone pale again. 'You found a petard on the brewery door? Yesterday? That was the first day of Passover,' he said, turning to the old brewmaster.

  'I was the blood of the lamb, then,' Duffy remarked. 'I flung the thing away, so it just wrecked part of the stable.'

  'Things, you see, are much more accelerated than we'd supposed,' Aurelianus said to Gambrinus. More softly, he added, 'Mr Duffy saw Bacchus's tavern - even drank the wine! - and reported afrits looking for him at night. Ibrahim isn't holding back; there can be no further doubt that what he's preparing is a shot to the very heart, and it's cracking open the secret places of the world. Things are awake, and stepping out into the daylight, that used to do no more than occasionally mutter in their sleep.'

  'Hold it, now,' said Duffy irritably. 'That's the kind of thing I mean. Who's this Ibrahim? Do you mean Suleiman's Grand Vizir?'

  'Yes,' said Aurelianus. 'He is the chief of our enemies.'

  'Whose enemies? The brewery's?' The whole affair was making less and less sense to Duffy.

  'The West's,' Aurelianus said with a nod.

  'Oh.' Duffy shrugged. 'You mean the Turks. Well, yes. I'd call Suleiman the actual chief, though.'

  'I wouldn't,' Aurelianus said. 'Neither would Suleiman, I think. How much do you know about Ibrahim?'

  Duffy resolved to hold his temper until he got some coherent answers. 'Well,' he said, 'I know Suleiman appointed him as his Grand Vizir six years ago, when old Pin Pasha was tossed out, even though everybody thought the post ought to go to Ahmed Pasha. Ahmed was pretty angry about it - raised a revolt in Egypt and got beheaded for his trouble, as I recall.' He sipped his bock, wondering absently what its taste reminded him of. 'Oh, and I've heard it said that Ibrahim's a eunuch.'