The Drawing of the Dark

Page 20

'It seems he decided to pay the toll himself,' Aurelianus remarked lightly. 'Grab your dagger - and the little' sword if you like, though I don't think we'll have any more trouble - and let's go. This lamp won't light us all the way to the top as it is.'
Duffy resented Aurelianus' airy tone. 'A brave thing died here,' he said gruffy.
'Hm? Oh, the beastie with the big eyes. True the wages of courage is death, lad, but it's the wages of everything else, too. The common penny, the coin of the realm. Stop to mourn for every good man that's died for us and you'd never get from bed to the chamber-pot. Come on.
The Irishman braced himself on his numb hands, got his legs under him and shakily stood up. His vision was flickering, and he had to lean against the wall and stare at the floor, breathing deeply, to keep from fainting.
Your bed is waiting for you up there,' said the old man. 'Onward and upward.'
The light did wink out while they were on the tightly twisting stairwell, but they groped their way to the top with no further incidents. Duffy was nearly unconscious, and no more aware of his situation than if he'd been dreaming. None of his injuries actually hurt, though he felt hot and swollen and throbbing all over. After a long period of stair-shuffling, a change in the air-temperature
made him open his eyes and look around. They were in the dark, unused chapel again, faintly lit by the as-yet tenuous dawn.
'Why...' the Irishman croaked, 'why should they have.. .recognized me or my voice? Any of them?'
'You need a drink,' the sorcerer said, kindly.
'Yes,' he agreed, after some thought, 'but if I have one I'll be sick.'
Aurelianus reached under his robe. 'Here,' he said,
handing Duffy a straight, dried snake. 'Smoke this.'
The Irishman held it up and peered at its silhouette against the window, rolling it between his fingers. 'Is it' like that tobacco plant from the Evening Isles?'
'Not much. Can you get to your room all right?'
'Yes.'
'Take this too,' Aurelianus said, handing him a little leather bag sealed with a twist of wire. 'It's an ointment to prevent flesh from becoming infected. Wash your face before you go to bed and then rub this into those cuts.
With any luck they won't even leave scars.'
'God. What do I care about scars.' He plodded toward the door, opened it, and turned. 'Why did they all speak contemporary Austrian, if no one's been down there for so long?'
He couldn't clearly see the old wizard's expression, but Duffy thought he was smiling a little sadly. 'There was no Austrian spoken down there tonight, except for a couple of your whispers to me. All the conversations between us and those tunnel-rats was in an archaic Boiic dialect seasoned with corrupt Latin; and the thing in the well spoke a secret, nameless language that reputedly antedates mankind.'
Duffy shook his head absently. 'Then how did I understand...' He shrugged. 'Why not? Very well. I'll be talking to badgers in finger-language next, I don't doubt. Yes.
And what could I possibly have to say to them? Good night.'
'Good night.'
Duffy lurched away along the creaking boards of the corridor. Aurelianus stepped to the doorway and watched his unsteady progress; he saw the Irishman lean toward one of the still-burning wall cressets, puff the snake alight, and plod on, trailing clouds of white smoke.
* * *
Chapter Eleven
It was Easter morning, and the bells of St Stephen's rang solemnly joyful carillons out across the sunlit roofs of the city; another winter had been survived, and the several churches were filled with citizens celebrating the Vernal Equinox, the resurrection of the young God. At midnight all candles had been put out - even the tabernacle lights - and a new flame had been struck from the flint and steel in the cathedral vestibule and carried by altar boys to the other churches, in order to begin the new liturgical year with a renewed light.
On the secular levels, too , it was a big day. Sausage vendors had set up little grill-carts at every corner, and sent spicy, luring smoke whirling away through every Street; children, dressed up for mass in their finest doublets and dresses, scampered about St Stephen's square afterward, begging their parents for pennies to buy Easter cakes with; and the sellers of relics and sacred gifts had people waiting in line to buy holy cards, rosaries and bones of various saints - it was later estimated that six entire beatified skeletons changed hands that day. These branches of commerce enjoyed an ecclesiastical dispensation from the rule against working on Sunday, but other small businessmen had taken advantage of the obscuring crowds to peddle their own, unsanctified goods furtively. One of these, a self-styled troop outfitter, had parked his cart at a corner of the Tuchlauben and folded down its wooden sides, revealing racked assortments of swords, hauberks, halberds, helmets and boots, some of them in fact old enough to be plausibly offered as relics.
He had done a fair amount of business this morning, and brightened still more when he saw a battered-looking old warrior come weaving through the crowd, his gray head standing a full foot above the tide of passersby.
'Ah, you there, sir,' piped the merchant, hopping nimbly down from the cart's seat to land on the pavement in front of Brian Duffy. 'Do you call those boots?' He pointed at the Irishman's feet, and several people paused to look. 'I won't say what I'd call'em, since I suspect you'd swipe my head off, heh heh. But do you think you' can defend Vienna in those, charging - God forbid! - over the jagged rubble of our city's walls, as like as not? Say no more, sir, I can see you hadn't given it any thought, and now that you have, you agree with me. I happen to have a pair here that were made for Archbishop Tomori, but never worn because he was killed by the Turks before delivery. I see you and that courageous soldier of God have the same size feet, so why don't you just -'
'Save Tomori's boots for somebody with as little sense as he had,' Duffy advised gruffy. 'I might, though,' he added, remembering the sword he'd broken in his canal-fall the day before, 'be able to use a new sword.'
'It's the right man you've come to! This two-handed thing, now -'Might conceivably make some Jannisaries laugh themselves to death. Be quiet. I want a rapier, with a left-handed grip, a full bell-guard and quillons, heavy but with the balance point about two inches forward of the guard. Made of Spanish steel. A narrow blade with -,
He stopped, for someone had grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Turning irritably, he saw Aurelianus' crumpled-parchment face framed by a black hood. 'Damn it, wizard,' Duffy snapped, 'what's the matter now?'
'You don't need to buy a sword,' Aurelianus said.
'I've got a good one you can have.'
There were a few hoots from the crowd, and Duffy stalkingiy dragged the sorcerer several paces down the Street. When it no longer seemed that everyone was paying attention to them, he stopped and turned to the old man. 'Now, what are you saying?'
- 'Why do you walk so fast? I've been following you for blocks. I said I have a sword you can use. You don't have to buy one.'
'Oh. Well thanks, I'll take a look at it,' the Irishman said, trying to be reasonable, 'but I'm damned particular about my weapons - I wasn't really expecting to get one from that fellow. Hell, I usually have to have my swords made to my own specifications. And Jam left-handed, you know.'
I think you'll like this one,' Aurelianus insisted. 'You've, uh, liked it before.'
'What do you mean? Is it an old one of mine you've magicked from the bottom of some ravine or bay?'
'Never mind. Come back to the inn and take it.' Aurelianus took a step back the way they'd come.
Duffy didn't move. 'You mean right now? No. I'm off to the barracks to visit some friends. I'll look at it later.'
'These are dangerous times. I really wish you'd come get it now,' Aurelianus pressed.
'Well, what's wrong with this?' Duffy asked, slapping the scabbard of the sword he'd borrowed from Eilif. 'I'm beginning to feel moderately at home with it.'
'Why do you -' A child dashed past, yelling and waving a whirling firework on a stick. 'Damn it, why do you have to be SO difficult? Certainly, that sword will do against a pickpocket or a drunken bravo, but you're just as likely to run into other things, and the blade I'm offering you has special properties that make it deadly to them. Listen, guess who didn't show up at the inn for
his morning beer today, for the first time in months?' Duffy rolled his eyes impatiently. 'Methuselah.'
'Almost right. Antoku Ten-no, the bad-tempered Oriental. And I'm now fairly sure it was he who called those two devils last night and set them onto you.'
Duffy sighed. That morning he had, to his own delighted surprise, awakened from four hours of sleep clear-eyed and energetic; he remembered opening his casement to let the cold, diamond-crisp air flap at his night shirt, and remembered filling his lungs and expelling the breath in a shout of laughter that had echoed away up the Street as an escort for the melody of the bells, and drawn the startled glances of several boys on the pavement below. Aurelianus now seemed bent on deflating that exhilaration;
'Why me?' he almost yelled. 'You're the one that wouldn't give him his opium or whatever the hell it was he wanted. Why didn't he send his winged musicians to you? I don't believe you know nearly as much about all this as you pretend to. Why don't you just leave me alone, understand - and all your sorcerous cronies, too!'
The Irishman strode angrily away through the crowd, followed by wondering stares. An elderly, well-dressed man sidled up to the wizard and inquired as to the price of opium. 'Shut up, you fool,' Aurelianus told him, elbowing him aside and returning the way he'd come.
Six hours later the low sun was casting a rust-coloured light in through the three west-facing windows of the Zimmermann dining room. There was the usual pre-dinner clatter and laughter from the kitchen, but aside from the weary Aurelianus there was no one in the dining room. The table candles and wall cressets would not be lit for another hour or so, and shadows were proliferating in the corners and under the chairs.
The old sorcerer looked furtively around, then laid his fingers on the glass cup in which sat his table's candle. He lowered his head and frowned. After a minute he raised his eyes to the wick, which was still a curl of lifeless black; his eyebrows went up in uneasy surprise, and he bent his head again, frowning more deeply. Several minutes went by while wizard and candle were as unmoving as a painting - then a solid yellow flame shot with a rushing roar out the top of the cup, which cracked into several pieces, spilling steaming wax out onto the table top.
The front door had just opened, and Brian Duffy stood in the vestibule doorway, staring skeptically at Aurelianus. 'Was there some purpose in that, or are you Just clowning around?'
The sorcerer fanned at the cloud of smoke. 'A little of both. How was your day?'
Duffy crossed to Aurelianus' table and sat down. 'Not bad. Drank up a lot of French wine and traded reminiscences with the landsknechten. No devils of any note approached me. Did I miss anything around here?'
'Not much. I broke the news to Werner that you're still an employee here, and he shouted for ten minutes and then stormed out. Tells me he's going to celebrate the vanquishing of winter in more edifying company - which I take to mean he's going to spend the night reciting poetry at Johann Kretchmer's place again. Oh, and the Brothers of St Christopher set up their usual puppet show in the yard, as they do every Easter, but your crew of Vikings thought the puppets were homunculi - they smashed up the box and chased the monks away. The kids were all
crying, so I had to go out there and do juggling tricks to restore order.'
Duffy nodded with a satisfied air. 'All emergencies kept well in hand, eh? Good work.'
Aurelianus smiled. 'And I did have a long talk with old Werner. before he made his exit.'
'Oh? That seems a waste of time.'
The old man reached behind him and picked up a candle from another table. 'Not completely. He tells me you are a perfectly disastrous bouncer - says you encourage fights when they start and start 'em when they don't.'
Duffy rocked his head judiciously. 'Well. . .a case could be made for that point of view.'
'No doubt. At any rate, as your employer, I have a proposal to present to you. I'd like to double your salary and promote you out of the bouncer position.'
'To what position?'
Aurelianus shrugged and spread his hands. 'Bodyguard, shall we say?'
'Whose body? Yours?' He watched as the sorcerer produced a tinder box from under his robe, opened it, and took out flint, steel and a handful of tinder.
'No, mine can take care of itself. .I mean the King.' Duffy laughed. 'Oh, certainly. Hell, I can't imagine how Charles has got along until now without - no; I see. You mean this other king of yours.' Aurelianus nodded, watching the Irishman closely. 'The one living outside Vienna,' Duffy went on, 'who outranks Charles, though nobody's ever heard of him.'
'A lot of people have heard of him,' corrected Aurelianus, striking sparks into the tinder; 'damn few know he actually exists.'
'Very well, what's his name?'
'He doesn't really have a name. He's known as the Fisher King.' The tinder was alight, and he held a sputtering straw to the wick of the new candle. It caught, and in a moment was burning brightly.
Duffy abruptly had the feeling that this conversation had occurred before, perhaps in a dream. The sensation puzzled and obscurely frightened him. 'And he's in danger, is he?' The Irishman's voice was gruff.