The Drawing of the Dark

'To my father's wake. Be quiet and listen. My father committed suicide, and the local priest said everybody's ancestors would be dishonored if my father was to be buried in consecrated soil. It was just as well - I don't think the old man would have wanted it anyway. So a bunch of his friends carted his body to an old pagan burial ground a few miles outside of town.' He had another pull at his beer and continued. 'There was a little house there, with a table, so they dug a grave right out front, broke out the liquor and laid the corpse out on the table. But he was a hunchback, as I've said, and he wouldn't lie flat. It wouldn't do to celebrate the wake with him face down, either - bad luck or something - so they found a rope somewhere, ran it over Dad's chest, and tied it under the table so tightly that he was actually pressed flat. So, now that the guest of honor was properly reclining, they hit the liquor. By nightfall a lot of other people had shown up; they were all crying and singing, and one of them was embracing the corpse.. .and he noticed the bowstring-taut rope.

'Uh-oh.'

'Right. Nobody was watching him, so he sneaked out his knife and sawed through the rope. My father's corpse, with all that spring-tension suddenly released, catapulted right out the window. It scared the devil out of the mourners until the knife-wielder explained what he'd done. They went outside to bring the body back in, and saw that it had landed just a few feet to one side of the grave they'd dug. So they dragged him back inside, tied him down again, moved the table a little, made a few bets, and cut him loose again. Boing. Out he went. On the fourth shot he landed in the grave, and they filled it in and went home.'

'Good holy Christ!' Duffy exclaimed. 'I think your cousin was lying to you.'

'Maybe. But I want to be burned.'

'Look, just because something like that happened to your father -,

'Burned, Duff.'

'Oh, very well. I'll see to it, if I survive you.' They shook hands on it.

Looking over the Irishman's shoulder, Bluto remarked in a more casual tone, 'Hm! The mandarino is giving one of us the fish-eye.'

Duffy shifted around in his chair, and found himself once again meeting the cold stare of Antoku Ten-no. 'You're right,' he said, repressing a shudder as he turned back to Bluto. 'An unpleasant customer, beyond doubt.'

'Speaking of your customers,' said the hunchback, 'at what hour will you actually broach the bock tomorrow?'

'Can't get your mind off that, can you? Oh, tomorrow evening about five, I guess. I'll see you then, I assume.'

'Me and everybody else in Vienna.'

In the lamplit dimness of the kitchen hail several hours later Duffy strode up and down on the creaking boards, and hefted a sword with a dissatisfied air. 'Well,' he told Eilif, who sat on a barrel nearby, 'I'll be grateful for the loan of it until I can get a sword made for me, but I wouldn't want to stay with this one.'

The Swiss mercenary scratched his gray-shot beard. 'Why not?'

'Look,' said the Irishman, now rocking the rapier back and forth on his right palm, 'the balance is wrong. All the weight's in the blade. I'd need a ten pound pommel, and then it'd be too heavy to feint with.'

'What do you want to feint for? Hit 'em hard straight off, and keep hitting 'em hard.'

'I feel safer with the option. Also, look at that guard -it's just a loop of steel. Do you think a man couldn't get his point in under that, and clip off all my fingers with one poke?'>Bugge dropped to his knees, and the rest of the Vikings on board followed his example. 'Sigmund!' he gasped. 'My men and I greet you and await your orders.'

Duffy didn't understand Norse, but he understood that these Vikings had somehow mistaken him for someone -and who could that be? He simply stood there and looked stem, hoping some solution would present itself.

There was a commotion on the bridge above; several people shouted quit shoving! and then Aurelianus leaned out over the rail. 'What is this?' he called anxiously. 'I missed the beginning.'

Duffy waved at the kneeling northmen. 'They seem to think I'm somebody else.'

Bugge glanced timidly up, saw Aurelianus' white-fringed, eye-patched face peering down at him, and simply pitched forward onto the deck. 'Odin!' he howled. The other mariners also dropped flat, and the ones in the water, peeking now through the oarlocks, whimpered in the clutch of real awe.

'This is very odd,' Aurelianus observed. 'Did they say who they believe you are?'

'Uh. . .Sigmund,' said the Irishman. 'Unless that means who the hell are you.'

'Ah!' said Aurelianus after a moment, nodding respectfully. 'We're dealing with the real thing here, beyond a doubt!'

'What the devil do you mean? Get me out of here. I'm a laughingstock - covered with filth and carrying a broken sword.'

'Hang onto the sword. I'll explain later.' With more agility than Duffy would have expected, the eternally black-clad old man vaulted the bridge rail and landed in a relaxed crouch on the ship's central catwalk. Then, to the Irishman's further surprise, Aurelianus strode confidently to the prostrate captain, touched him on the shoulder and began to speak to him in Norse.

Duffy simply stood by, feeling like a clown, as the Viking captain and his crew got reverently to their feet. Bugge answered several questions Aurelianus put to him, and then crossed to where the Irishman stood and knelt before him.

'Touch his shoulder with your sword,' Aurelianus told him. 'Do it!'

Duffy did it, with as much dignity as he could muster.