The Drawing of the Dark

Duffy frowned, as he was wont to do when strangers expressed interest in his plans. 'That's right,' he growled.

'It's awfully early in the season,' the man observed.

Duffy shrugged. 'Too early for some, perhaps.'

The innkeeper leaned in from the kitchen and nodded to Duffy. The boy says he's got all the rust out of your mail shirt,' he said.

'Tell him to shake it in the sand a hundred more times just for luck,' said Duffy.

'Aren't you afraid of the Turks?' spoke up a woman, apparently Baggy-hat's wife.

'No, lady. The Turks couldn't be this far north this early in the year.' And I wish I could say the same about bandits, lie thought. Duffy busied himself with his food,

and the other guests, though whispering among themselves; asked him no more questions.

They're right about one thing, he admitted to himself; it is early. But hell, I'll be prepared, the weather's good, and the Predil Pass is certain to be clear. It'll be an easy crossing - not like the last one, coming south in September and October of 1526, half-starved and with my head bandaged up like a turban. He grinned reminiscently into his ale. That's probably how I-made it alive through the Turk-infested wastes of Hungary - Suleiman's boys, if they saw me, must have seen that bandage and figured I was one of their own.

The innkeeper leaned in again. 'The boy says if he gives it a hundred more shakes it'll come apart.'

Duffy nodded wearily. 'He's probably right. Okay, have him beat the sand out of it, gently, and oil it.' He stood up, nodded civilly to his fellow guests, and walked to his room.

His rapier lay on the bed and he picked it up, sliding his hand into the swept-hilt guard. The worn leather grip had become contoured to his fingers, and drawing the blade from the scabbard was like pulling his arm out of a coat sleeve. He had buffed the old sword and oiled it, and the blade gleamed shiny black as he sighted along it and then flexed it a bit to get rid of an annoying recurrent curve. He whished it through the air once or twice. Take that, Turkish infidel.

A knock sounded at the door. 'Your hauberk, sir.'

'Ah. Thank you.' Duffy took the dispirited-looking garment and stared at it judicially. Why, he thought, it doesn't look that bad. Some of the iron links had broken away here and there and been replaced with knotted wire, and the sleeves were uneven and ragged at the wrists, but on the whole it was still a valuable piece of armor.

A little wooden box lay on a chair, and Duffy opened it and looked at the collection of threads, dust, lint, feathers and shredded wood. He poked his finger in it -good and dry, he noted approvingly. Under it all was a small, round piece of glass, which he made sure was not broken. He closed the box and slipped it into the inside pocket of his doublet.

Time to go, he told himself. He took off the doublet, put on two rust-stained cotton undershirts and pulled the hauberk over them, ignoring the rattle of a couple of links falling to the floor. He shouldered on his doublet, belted on his rapier and dagger, and, picking up his fur cloak and hat, left the room.

'Landlord! Here.' He dropped several coins into the innkeeper's palm. 'By the way, where can I buy a horse?'

'A horse?'

'That's what I said. A horse. Equus. You know.'

'I guess I could sell you one.'

A hardy beast? Able to carry me over the Alps?'

'Certainly, if you treat him right.'

'He'd better make it. Or I'll come back here and do something awful.'

Duffy concluded his examination of the horse with a long stare into its eyes. 'How much for him?'

'Oh...' The innkeeper pursed his lips. 'Sixty ducats?'

'Forty it is.' Duffy gave the man some more coins. 'I'm not kidding when I say I'll be back here, angry, if he drops dead.'

'He's a good horse,' the innkeeper protested. 'I've cared for him since he was born. Assisted at his birth.'

'Good heavens. I don't want to hear about it. Listen, I'll need some food, too. Uh. . .four, no, five long loaves of bread, five thick sticks of hard salami, a week's worth of whatever kind of grain the horse likes, two gallons of dry red wine, a bottle of really potent brandy.. .and a sack of onions, a handful of garlic cloves and two pounds of white

cheese. Put all that in four sacks and tell me how much it adds to my bill.'

'Yes, sir,' the innkeeper turned and started back toward the building.