“God damn it,” Duffy snarled, hobbling to the shelter of a dry doorway.
Pounding hoofbeats echoed now from the same direction Zapolya had come from, and a moment later a horse and rider appeared and paused in the middle of the street. The firelight was dimming in the rain, so it wasn’t until the rider called for the guards that Duffy recognized him.
“Hey, Aurelianus!” the Irishman called; “Zapolya was just here! He ran away up the street.”
The wizard wheeled his horse and goaded it over to where Duffy stood. “Zapolya too? Morrigan help us. Did the guards go after him?”
“Yes, two of them.”
“Did you see Kretchmer? I was chasing him.”
“That was Zapolya! Look, that’s his fake beard on the street there.”
“Mananan and Llyr! I wonder if Kretchmer has always been Zapolya.”
Duffy rubbed his knee and limped a step or two on it. “Well, of course,” he snapped irritably. “Think about it—remember, Werner said Kretchmer wasn’t home, the night of Easter Sunday? That was the night Zapolya was at the Zimmermann with his siege bombard.”
Aurelianus shook his head. “A false beard, of all things.” He spat disgustedly. “Follow me. What, have you hurt your leg? Hop up behind me here, then, we’ve got to get out of the rain and do some talking.”
Duffy swung up onto the horse’s rump and they clopped down the street to the southern guardhouse, where they dismounted. “Hey, Duff,” said the captain who opened the door, “I saw you land one on that spy. Too bad you couldn’t get some muscle into the blow, you’d have split him.”
“I know,” said Duffy with a rueful grin as he and Aurelianus clumped inside and pulled a couple of chairs to a table in the corner. “What was he doing when the sentry challenged him?”
“He was trying to open that old ferrier’s door,” the captain answered. “The one that crazy man sneaked out through this noon. They bricked it up, but apparently nobody told old Redbeard; he was trying to pull the bricks loose when Rahn saw him.”
The Irishman and Aurelianus sat down and the captain returned with a jug of fortified wine he’d been working on. When he had left the room Duffy poured two cups and looked up at the sorceror. “What went wrong with your trap?”
Aurelianus gulped the liquor. “I should have had a whole landsknecht company. Kretchmer and Werner came back to the inn just a few minutes ago, and I let them scuttle halfway across the dining room before I gave the whistle that brought two armed men out of every door. I called to the pair that they were under arrest. Werner just stood and shouted, but Kretchmer—Zapolya!—snatched up a chair and brained one of my men, then drew his sword and disembowelled another. The rest of them cornered him, but he jumped through a window and sprinted east, so I got a horse and came after him.” He topped up his cup. “He’s fast.”
“I know,” said Duffy. The rain drumming on the roof had found a hole, and a drop plunked into Duffy’s wine. He moved the cup absently.
“Werner ran for the window when his mentor had gone through it,” Aurelianus went on, “and one of my eager lads put three inches of sword into his kidney. I don’t know if he’ll survive or not.” He looked up at the Irishman, a hard speculation glinting in his eyes. “There’s something you have to do tonight.”
“You mean catch Zapolya? Hell, man, he could simply hide and sneak out through one of the gaps, or lower a rope outside the wall at some secluded—”
“Not Zapolya. He’s a played card.”
The roof-leak thumped its slow drum beat four times on the table top. “What, then?” Duffy asked quietly.
Aurelianus was picking at the candle on the table now, not looking at Duffy. “This afternoon I got to wondering just exactly what spells were in Becky’s book. I have a—”
“What does it matter what spells were in it?” Duffy interrupted. “You and Ibrahim have blocked all the useful types of magic, haven’t you? That’s what you keep saying.”
Aurelianus shifted uncomfortably. “Well, all the major types, yes. But not, I’m afraid, the kind of barnyard conjuring Becky dealt in. Hell, in a tense cease-fire, do warring kings think to forbid pea-shooters? Anyway, I keep a bibliography of all my books, so I looked up Becky’s. I’d listed the entire contents page of the book, so I could see what each of her spells is supposed to do.” He looked at Duffy unhappily. “One of them is how to fox beer.”
Duffy was tired, and staring at the widening puddle on the table, and not concentrating on Aurelianus’ words. “So?”
“So, you say? Are you even listening? How to fox beer! Have you ever seen—worse, tasted—foxed beer? It’s ropy, thick, like honey; spoiled, undrinkable. Ibrahim, if he noticed that spell—and I think we’d better assume he did—can fox the Herzwesten vat, spoil the beer for decades, maybe forever! We might just be able to save the higher levels with hyssop and salt, but the bottom levels—the Dark, do you understand?—would be hopeless.”
“Oh. That’s right.” Duffy raised his eyebrows helplessly. “I don’t know what to tell you. Set up some shields against it now. Or draw a keg off and hide it somewhere. I certainly—”
“It would take at least twelve hours to arrange counter-spells—you think Ibrahim will wait? And hiding a keg of it won’t do. For one thing it has to mature right there, over old Finn’s grave, and for another, the spell will ruin any beer within its range—every drop of beer in the city will go foul, wherever it’s hidden.”
“Are you sure Becky’s spells work?” Duffy asked, trying to be helpful. “I’ve known a lot of country witches, and they were all out-and-out fakes.”
Aurelianus shook his head. “They work. Becky was the real thing. We have only one hook for hope. She was, as you say, a country witch, and her spells have a range of only about a mile. Also, nearly all of them have to be performed, at precisely noon or midnight. The natural laws that must be overcome are weakest at those moments.”
“So?” said Duffy stonily. By God, he thought, let him say it clearly.
The sorcerer pursed his lips and spoke harshly. “Ibrahim will try it tonight. He knows he can’t delay—for one thing, the moon’s waxing, and Becky’s spells were all dark-of-the-moon ones. And because of the limited range, he’ll have to come up quite close to the walls to cast it. What you’ll—”
Duffy swept the puddle on the table pattering onto the floor. “You want me to go try to stop him? While you and the old King get ready to escape through the tunnels, I suppose, in case I fail. Well, listen while I tell you something: no. Think again. Get yourself another reincarnated hero.”
The captain, who’d apparently been dozing in the next room, leaned his tousled head in through the doorway, wondering at the anger in Duffy’s voice. Aurelianus waited until he’d returned to his bench before replying. “That is not what I’m proposing,” he said quietly. “I... have decided that it would be best to make our final win-or-forfeit stand right here, in Vienna. It would, I’m afraid, be madness to think of falling back and re-grouping somewhere and hope for even half the advantage we’ve got here and now. After all, the Turks are at least several weeks behind schedule, and Ibrahim has failed to acquire Didius’ Gambit, and we’ve unmasked—unbearded, I should say—what must have been their chief spy.”