Duffy nodded uncertainly, then picked up his old knapsack and climbed back up the stairs to the main floor.
The same serving woman he’d startled before was returning with an armload of empty pitchers. “Did you find him?” she asked, still a little uneasy.
“Yes.” Duffy smiled. “Now can you tell me where the innkeeper is?”
“Werner? Certainly. He’s the heavy-set gentleman drinking burgundy at the end of the bar in the taproom.” She squinted at him. “Didn’t you used to live around here?”
“I’m not certain yet,” he told her. “Thanks.”
I guess that dog-faced old fellow is the one, Duffy thought as he weaved his way through the crowded dining room to the raised, slightly offset area that was the taproom. The old, room-long monastic tables had been sawn into thirds and distributed about the hall in a less regimented way, and several obviously new chandeliers cast a bright radiance into every corner. I can almost see, Duffy thought with a grin, the outraged ghosts of old monks peering in through these windows.
He sat down beside the small-eyed man. “You, sir, are the innkeeper here?”
Werner stared at him mistrustfully. “Why?”
“I’ve got this letter—”
“Another freeloader! Aurelianus obviously wants to ruin us. Listen, if you intend to steal any lead or brass from the rooms, I swear to Christ—”
Duffy laid one hand softly but heavily on the bar, and Werner halted in his tirade. “I’m not a freeloader,” the Irishman said quietly. “Aurelianus hired me to keep the peace here. So stop shouting.”
“Oh. He did? Sorry. Let me see that.” Duffy handed him the letter. “Well, I see our cellar-hermit has approved it. Uh... five hundred ducats? That’s simply out of the question. Obviously a mistake. I’ll let you sleep here, somewhere, and you can eat with the kitchen help—tonight you can even drink as much beer as you like!—but this money is out of the—”
“You won’t meet the terms of the letter?” Duffy asked in a conversational tone.
“Certainly not. It’s some kind of mistake.”
Duffy stood up. “Then I’m leaving Vienna in the morning. Explain to Aurelianus when he gets here that I left because you wouldn’t comply with his written instructions. Right now I’ll take you up on that all-the-beer-you-can-drink offer.”
“Wait a minute,” Werner protested, getting flustered. “If you’re not taking the job... but... are you really leaving in the morning?”
“Bright and early.”
Werner gulped some of his wine unhappily. “Very well,” he said finally. “I’ll pay you. I guess he can’t blame me for his mistakes and Gambrinus’ carelessness. I’ll get the money tomorrow sometime. We can fix a wage for you then, too.” He glared at Duffy out of his pouchy red eyes. “But hear me—there will be no fights, not even a harsh word, in here. Understand? If I have to pay this kind of money for a bouncer, he’s going to do one hell of a good job.”
The Irishman grinned and clapped the innkeeper on the back. “That’s the spirit, Werner lad! I’ll earn my keep. You’ll bless the day I arrived.”
“Go drink your beer.”
Duffy stepped down to the dining room level and walked across to a table by the wall so that he could keep an eye on the entire hall. Looks like a fairly quiet place, he thought as he sat down; though I can see I’ll have to crack down on vandalism. Someone’s been carving on this table.
The thin serving woman was back, handing out foaming mugs and pitchers of beer, and Duffy beckoned to her. “Bring me a big mug of mulled ale, miss, and draw one for yourself—it’s on the house. I’m the new chucker-out here.”
She smiled wearily. “I’ll be happy to. You won’t get insulted, though, if I check that with Werner.” Then she cocked her head. “You’re Brian Duffy, aren’t you? The old landsknecht fencing master?”
He sighed. “Well, yes. I am. Who are you?”
“Anna Schomburg. Everybody figured you died years ago, fighting the Turks in Hungary.”
“Must have been somebody else. Uh, tell me, Anna, do you remember a girl named Epiphany Vogel?”
“Girl? Hah. Yes, I remember Epiphany Hallstadt. She got married, you know.”
“Where is she now?” Duffy kept his voice in a casual tone. “Where could I find her?”
“Right here, if you wait long enough. She works the morning shift.”
“Damn it, Anna, where’s my suffering beer?” came an impatient call from another table.
“Whoops.” Anna picked up her tray again. “See you later,” she said, and whisked away.
Duffy was stunned. Could this girl be telling the truth? If so, he thought, what an amazing coincidence! I never used to think much of coincidences, but these days I practically trip over them in the street. Well by God, I’ll wait right here until morning; pull my hat down over my face and then whip it off when she walks up to take my order. Guess who, Piff! Ho ho.
But why is she working here? In a damned inn? Hallstadt was rich. I guess the money dissolved away somehow, as God knows I’ve seen it do myself. Maybe old Hallstadt works here too, brushing out the dirty pitchers in some back room. How very far all of us mighty have fallen.
Two men had begun shouting at each other at the table nearest his. Uh-oh, time to earn your keep, the Irishman told himself as he quickly got to his feet. “Gentlemen!” he said. “What’s the trouble?”
The men actually paled when they stared up at the craggy, gray-stubbled face of the new bouncer, and saw the well-worn hilts of his dagger and sword.
“Well,” spoke up one of them after a moment, “Otto here says the Pope can’t predict the weather.”
Duffy looked shocked. “Whose mother?”
Otto blinked. “No,” he said, “I told him the Pope—”
“I don’t want to hear any filthy lies about the Pope and this gentleman’s mother,” Duffy said in a low but outraged tone of voice. “Are you drunk, to talk this way?”
“You misunderstand,” protested the first man. “We were—”
“I understand perfectly. Your disgraceful talk has offended everyone in the room”—Actually no one was paying any attention.—“and I think you two had better buy a round of beer for the whole lot, including me, by way of apology.”
“What? Good Lord, we don’t have that kind of money on us. Can’t—”
“Tell the innkeeper I said you could open an account. He’ll be pleased. And then keep your voices down. If I hear you squabbling again I’ll come over here and cut out your bowels.”
Duffy sat down again just as Anna set his beer on the table. “What did you tell those men?” she asked.
“Told them I’d knife them if they didn’t shut up. If Werner ever lets you take a break, draw yourself a beer and join me. Tell me what-all’s been going on during these three years.”
“All right. It’ll be a few minutes yet.”
Duffy watched her hurry away, and admired, as he always did, the sidling, half-on-tiptoes dance of an experienced barmaid carrying a tray across a crowded room.
Half an hour later Anna slumped down at his table. “Whew,” she breathed. “Thanks for the beer. It’s life and breath and mother’s milk to me at times like this.” She brushed a strand of damp hair back from her forehead and took a deep swig from her mug. “So where have you been for three years,” she asked, setting the beer down, “if not in hell, like everybody thought?”
“In Venice,” Duffy told her, “which is where I met Aurelianus, who gave me this job.”
“Oh, yes,” Anna nodded. “Our absentee landlord. I’ve only seen him once or twice—he gives me the creeps.”
“I can see how he might, holding burning snakes in his mouth and all. When did he get this place? I don’t remember seeing him around when I lived here.”