The Drawing of the Dark

'Ah,' Duffy said, 'you're "subject to the will" of this Western King.'

Aurelianus' voice was barely audible. 'All of us are.'

'He's living near Vienna, you say? I'd like to meet him sometime.'

The old man blinked out of his reverie. 'Hm? Oh, you'll meet him, never fear. He's not well, though. He's injured, can't travel. But you'll be introduced to him.'

A few moments of silence passed, then Duffy stood up. 'Well, gentlemen, if that's that, I'll see you later. There'll be a big crowd tomorrow, and I've got to rearrange the tables and take down the more fragile wall hangings.' He drained his cup of beer, and realized at last why it seemed so familiar to his tongue -it had something, a hint, of the deep, aromatic taste of the wine he'd drunk in the phantom tavern in Trieste.

* * *

Chapter Eight

The last thing Duffy hoisted down from the dining room walls was a heavily framed painting of the wedding at Cana, and he peered dubiously at the smoke-darkened canvas as he carried it to the closet where he'd stashed the rest of the paintings, crucifixes and tapestries. Odd, he thought - this is the first time I ever saw the miraculous wine portrayed as a white. I'm not sure they had white wine in Palestine then. But in spite of the dimness of the scene, that's clearly a yellow stream they're pouring into Jesus' cup.

The Oriental had arrived, and was sitting at his usual table, sipping beer and occasionally turning on the Irishman a reptilian eye. Duffy had considered, and discarded, the idea of going down to the cellar to warn Aurelianus of the 'Dark Bird's' presence. After all, be thought now, he didn't caution me at all about my journey here - why should I do him any favors?

Duffy was noisily dragging the tables around into a more regimented formation - much the way the monks used to have the room arranged, he reflected - when Aurelianus opened the hail door and strode into the room.

'Aurelianus!' spoke up the Oriental, springing to his feet and bowing. 'It is a pleasure to see you again.'

The old sorcerer started, then after giving the Irishman a reproachful glance bowed in turn. 'It is likewise a pleasure to see you, Antoku Ten-no. It has been a long time since our last meeting.'

Antoku smiled. 'What are a few years between old friends?' He waved at the other bench at his table. 'Do me the honor of joining me.'

'Very well.' Aurelianus slowly crossed to the table and sat down.

And why, Duffy wondered idly as he slammed another table into place, the term 'Dark Birds'? I could understand calling the blackamoor dark, or the feathered man a bird - but how, for example, does old Pitch-'em-out-the-window Antoku qualify?

Finally the last table - aside from the one at which the two men were talking in lowered but intense tones - was in place, and Duffywas turning to leave when a bench rutched sharply as Antoku stood up. 'Are you trying to haggle with me?' he demanded of Aurelianus. 'If so, simply name your price and dispense with the usurer's tricks.'

'I'm being honest,' Aurelianus replied sternly. 'I can't help you this time.. .at any price.'

'I'm not asking for much -'I can't help you at all.'

'Do you know,' there was fear in the Oriental's voice now, 'do you know what you condemn me to? The flickering half-life of a phantom, a will-of-the-wisp oni-bi wandering forever on the shore at Dan-no-ura?'

'I don't condemn you to that,' Aurelianus shot back strongly. 'The Minamoto clan did, eight hundred years ago. I simply gave you a reprieve once.. .one which I can't now renew. I'm sorry.'

The two men stared tensely at each other for several seconds. 'I do not yet resign,' said Antoku. He started for the door.

'Don't think of fighting me,' Aurelianus said in a soft but carrying voice, 'You may be as powerful as a shark, but I am a sun that can dry up your whole sea.'

Antoku stopped in the vestibule. 'A very old, red sun,' he said, 'in a darkening sky.' A moment later he had gone.

Duffy's joking remark died on his lips when he glanced at Aurelianus and saw the lines of weariness that seemed chiselled into the stony face. The old sorcerer was staring down at his hands, and Duffy, after a moment's hesitation, left the room silently.

In the kitchen the Irishman drew a chair up to the open brick oven and began meditatively picking and nibbling at a half loaf of bread that lay on the bricks to one side.>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 to 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.'

Aurelianus had gone pale again. 'You found a petard on the brewery door? Yesterday? That was the first day of Passover,' he said, turning to the old brewmaster.

'I was the blood of the lamb, then,' Duffy remarked. 'I flung the thing away, so it just wrecked part of the stable.'

'Things, you see, are much more accelerated than we'd supposed,' Aurelianus said to Gambrinus. More softly, he added, 'Mr Duffy saw Bacchus's tavern - even drank the wine! - and reported afrits looking for him at night. Ibrahim isn't holding back; there can be no further doubt that what he's preparing is a shot to the very heart, and it's cracking open the secret places of the world. Things are awake, and stepping out into the daylight, that used to do no more than occasionally mutter in their sleep.'

'Hold it, now,' said Duffy irritably. 'That's the kind of thing I mean. Who's this Ibrahim? Do you mean Suleiman's Grand Vizir?'