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 earth-quakes, 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' ball 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.'>* * *
Chapter Seven
Bluto pushed the wind-blown hair out of his face and squinted along the barrel of the iron cannon. 'Give her a shove left,' he said. Two sweating, shirtless men seized the gun's trunnions and, groaning with the effort, pulled the barrel an inch or two to the left. 'Good,' said the hunchback, hopping up, 'I reckon she's in line. Give the ball a last tap with the rammer in case we've joggled it loose.'
Duffy leaned back and watched as one of the burly men snatched up the rammer and shoved it into the muzzle. I'm damned glad it's not me wrestling these guns around in the dawn mist, the Irishman thought.
'What are you shooting at this time, Bluto?' he asked.
The hunchback leaned out over the parapet and pointed. 'Notice that white square, about half a mile away? Can't see it too well in this light, but that's as it should be. It's a wood frame with cloth tacked over it. I had these boys build it and run out there and set it up. We're pretending it's Suleiman's tent.' His assistants grinned enthusiastically.
These poor crazy bastards enjoy this, Duffy realized. It's play to them, not work.
Bluto hobbled to the breech and shook black powder into the vent hole. 'Where's my linstock, damn it?' he yelled. One of the gunnery men stepped forward proudly and handed him the stick with the smoldering cord coiled around it. 'Deus vult,' the hunchback grinned, and, standing well to the side, leaned over and touched the glowing cord-end to the cannon vent.