The Drawing of the Dark

The Irishman spread his hands. 'It was.. .incredibly good. I'd have gone down for more, but it seemed to paralyze me.

The old man laughed quietly. 'Yes, I've heard of it having that effect.' He crossed to a couple of narrow chairs by the windows, sat down in one and waved at the other. 'Drop anchor. Drink? Snake?'

Duffy thought about it as he walked over. 'Snake,' he said, and kicking his rapier out of the way, perched on the edge of the chair.

Aurelianus opened a little box and handed Duffy one of the sticklike things. 'You've been fighting these days. How does it look? Was our thirsty friend correct about the walls?'

The Irishman leaned forward to get the snake's head into the flame of the candle Aurelianus held toward him. 'They've got miners and sappers under them, yes,' he said when he'd got it well lit, 'but your blackamoor is wrong in thinking that it's decisive. You've got to keep in mind that October is insanely late in the year for the Turks to be here - as far as supplies go, I suspect they're in worse shape than we are, and they still have to turn around and face a damned long trip home.' He puffed a smoke ring, grinned, and tried without success to do it again. 'The walls could probably be tumbled in a day or two; the question is, do they dare wait another day or two? To say nothing of the - I'd estimate - additional day or two of street-to-street fighting that would be necessary for them actually to take the city.'

Aurelianus waited a moment, then raised his white eyebrows. 'Well? Will they dare it?'

Duffy laughed. 'God, I don't know.'

'Would you, if you were in charge?'

'Let's see - no, I don't think I would. Already the Janissaries are probably on the brink of mutiny. They'll be wanting to get back home to Constantinople - for it will take months for them to get home, and even now they've waited too long to hope to elude winter. If Suleiman stays for the - let's say - additional week it would require to break and seize Vienna, he'd almost have to winter right here, and leave in the spring; and that's long enough for even Charles the Tardy to do something about it.' He shrugged. 'Of course guessing is just guessing. He may think he could keep his Janissaries in line and hold the city till spring, crumbled walls and all. It's hard to say. I think he's shown inexcusably bad judgment in hanging on here as long as he has.'

Aurelianus nodded. I suppose you're right, militarily speaking.'

The Irishman grinned sarcastically. 'Ah. But I'm all wrong spiritually speaking, eh?'

'Well, you've got to remember that Ibrahim is the one who finally decides, and his first concern is ruining the beer - when it comes to betting on the last card, he doesn't really care if Suleiman actually takes Vienna, or if the Janissaries all die on the way home, or if Charles bloodily evicts them all from here during the winter. If he can wreck the beer before the thirty-first of this month, when we hope to draw the Dark and give it to the Fisher King, he'll have done what he set out to do - and no cost will have been too dear.'

The Irishman stood up, trailing smoke. 'Then we'll have to rely on the homesickness of the Janissaries.'

'Tell me, are Bugge's Vikings proving to be of any use in the defense?'

'Well, no. Von Salm says they're unsuited for disciplined warfare. I suppose they'll be useful if it does come to hand-to-hand fighting in the streets, but right now they're just sitting idle and frustrated in a leanto by the north barracks. You might as well have kept them living here.'

'I couldn't. It seems one of them mauled Werner and pitched him down the stairs, and he insisted they be thrown out. Bugge denied it, but Werner was adamant. Poor fellow still limps.' He tapped the ashen head off his snake. 'You know, I still have hope that they'll figure in this in some significant way. They were sent here so.. .purposefully...'

'They're a bunch of old men.

'Yes. This is a war of old men. Oh, I know Suleiman is only thirty-four, and Charles isn't yet thirty, but the conflict is old, the true kings are old - and I am perhaps the oldest of all.'

Unable to think of a reply, Duffy turned to leave.

'Will you have a drink with me tonight in my room?' Aurelianus asked.

'No,' said the Irishman, recalling what had prompted him to leave five months ago. Then he remembered the harp-playing episode of the previous night, and he shrugged fatalistically. 'Oh, why not,' he sighed, 'I'm not really due back at the barracks till noon tomorrow. What time?'

'Nine?'

'Very well.'

Duffy left the chapel and made his way back to the dining room. The Zimmermann was too far north and west to attract many soldiers these days, and it was haggard citizens that filled the tables around him. A new girl was working, and he signalled her.

'I'll have a bowl of whatever Anna's got in the pot,' he told her, 'and a flagon of Werner's burgundy - oh hell; forget the wine, make it a flagon of beer.' Speaking of Werner had reminded him that he'd intended to talk to Aurelianus about Epiphany's job. I'll tell him tonight, he thought. 'Say, does Bluto come in here anymore?'

'Who, sir?'

'The man in charge of the cannons. He's a hunchback.'

'I don't think so.' She smiled politely and went onto the next table.

Duffy sat quietly waiting for his beer, savoring the weirdly wheaty aftertaste of the snake - which he'd ditched before entering the dining room - and ignoring the curious stares of the citizens around him. When the beer came, he poured himself a mug and sipped it slowly. After a while he noticed Shrub helping to carry steaming plates out to the tables.

'Hey, Shrub!' he called. 'Come here a minute.'