“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 hall 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 had 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 understanding. “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 that 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 earthquakes, 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’ hall 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 things 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 tomorrow 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.”