The Drawing of the Dark

When Duffy awoke, his pillow was littered with debris from his dream. He had seen this before, this apparent survival into daylight of a few dream-images, and he patiently patted the sheet where the things seemed to lie until they dissolved away like patterns of smoke. He swung his legs out of bed and rumpled his hair tiredly, as a startled cat leaped from the bed to the windowsill. What kind of dream could that have been, he wondered, to leave such uninteresting rubbish - a few rusty links of chain mail and Epiphany's old coin purse?

He stood up unsteadily, groaning, wondering what time it was and what he had to do today. To his intense disgust he noticed that he smelled of stale beer. Christ, he thought; in these past three weeks as the Zimmermann bouncer I think I've consumed more beer than any three patrons - four, probably, if you count what I spill on myself. He dragged on his trousers and shirt and went to see about having a bath.

Downstairs, the back kitchen door squeaked open and the innkeeper strode into the servants' hall, his square-toed shoes thumping impressively on the stone floor. He was elegantly dressed, looking almost cubical in a broad burgundy-velvet tunic slashed and paned with blue silk.

Anna leaned in from the kitchen. And where have you been all night, Werner?' she asked.

Werner cocked an eyebrow at her. 'It happens,' he replied, 'I was the guest of Johann Kretchmer. I don't suppose you've ever heard of him.'

Anna thought about it. 'Not the cobbler over on the Griechengasse?'

The innkeeper cast his eyes to the ceiling. 'A different Kretchmer, you idiot. The one I'm talking about is a famous poet.'

'Ah I'm not familiar with the famous poets, I'm afraid.'

'Obviously. He's published books, and has been personally complimented by King Charles himself!' He sat down on a hamper. 'Draw me a glass of the burgundy, will you?'

'Coming up.' Anna disappeared for a moment, and came back with a glass of red wine which she handed to him. 'So what are you to this poet?'

Werner pouted his lips and shrugged deprecatingly. 'Well.. .a colleague, actually. It seems he somehow got hold of some bits I wrote when I was a younger man -adolescent stuff mainly, not a patch on what I've done more recently - and he said.. .I'm quoting him now, mind you.. .that it showed a lyric grace the world hasn't known the like of since Petrarch.'

'Since when?'

'God damn it, Petrarch was a poet. What do I hire such ignorant girls for?'

Duffy, newly scrubbed and feeling much less like an illustration of the Wages of Sin, trotted down the stairs and stepped into the hall, where the smell of hot stew still hung in the air. 'Anna!' he called. What are the chances of getting some breakfast, hey?'

Werner got to his feet. 'We've packed up breakfast,' he snapped. 'You'll have to wait until dinner.'

'Oh, that's all right,' Duffy said with an airy wave, I'll just sneak into the kitchen and see if I can't dig something up.' He peered more closely at the innkeeper. 'My, my!

Aren't we adorned! Going to sit for a portrait?'

-'He's been visiting somebody who admires his poetry,' Anna explained. 'Some old bird named Petrarch, I believe.'

'Yes, he would be getting old these days,' Duffy assented. 'Poetry, eh, Werner? Some time you'll have to put a funny hat on and strap a pair of cymbals to your knees and recite me some of it. You got any dirty ones?' The Irishman winked hugely.

The bells in the tower of St Stephen's Cathedral rang while Duffy was speaking, and Werner pointed vaguely in their southward direction. 'It's ten o'clock you sleep until, eh? Well, enjoy sleeping late while you still can.'

Duffy knew Werner was expecting him to ask what he meant, so he turned back to Anna. 'Seen Piff around? I'm supposed to -'It may interest you to know,' the innkeeper interrupted coldly, 'that I'm having three bunks set up in your room. Four, maybe! Every day more soldiers are arriving in town, you know, and it's our duty to see that they're lodged. You don't object, I trust?'>But why is she working here? In a damned inn? Hallstadt was rich. I guess the money dissolved away somehow, as God knows I've seen it do myself. Maybe old Hallstadt works here too, brushing out the dirty pitchers in some back room. How very far all of us mighty have fallen.

Two men had begun shouting at each other at the table nearest his. Uh-oh, time to earn your keep, the Irishman told himself as he quickly got to his feet. 'Gentlemen!' he said. 'What's the trouble?'

The men actually paled when they stared up at the craggy, gray-stubbled face of the new bouncer, and saw the well-worn hilts of his dagger and sword.

'Well,' spoke up one of them after a moment, 'Otto here says the Pope can't predict the weather.'

Duffy looked shocked. 'Whose mother?'

Otto blinked. 'No,' he said, 'I told him the Pope -'I don't want to hear any filthy lies about the Pope and this gentleman's mother,' Duffy said in a low but outraged tone of voice. 'Are you drunk, to talk this way?'

'You misunderstand,' protested the first man. 'We were -'

'I understand perfectly. Your disgraceful talk has offended everyone in the room' -. Actually no one was paying any attention. - 'and I think you two had better buy a round of beer for the whole lot, including me, by way of apology.'

'What? Good Lord, we don't have that kind of money on us. Can't -'

'Tell the innkeeper I said you could open an account. He'll be pleased. And then keep your voices down. If I hear you squabbling again I'll come over here and cut out your bowels.'