The Drawing of the Dark

Duffy stood up. 'It's good to see you, Piff.'

'Yaaah!' she shrieked, flinging her keys across the room. She stared at him in utter horror for a second, then sighed and dropped unconscious to the floor.

For God's sake, Duffy thought as he ran across the room to the crumpled figure, I've killed her. But why did she speak to me if she didn't know I was here?

Bare feet thumped down the stairs. 'What have you done to her, you monster?' shouted Werner, who stood draped in a wrinkled white nightshirt on the first landing. He waved a long knife menacingly at the Irishman. 'Who'll serve breakfast this morning?'

'She's only fainted,' Duffy said angrily. 'I know her. I said hello to her and she was startled, and fainted.'

Other voices sounded now on the stairs. 'What's happened?' 'That gray-haired drunkard we saw last night just knifed the old lady who serves breakfast.' 'That's right. He tried to rape her.' 'Herr

Oh God, Duffythought, cradling Epiphany's head, this is the worst so far. Worse than the wedding. At least that had a little dignity, smacked of respectable tragedy. This is low farce.

Epiphany's eyes fluttered open. 'Oh, Brian,' she said. 'It really is you, isn't it? And I'm not crazy or haunted?'

'It's me sure enough. Pull yourself together now and explain to these citizens that I haven't murdered you.'

'What citizens...? Oh Lord. I'm all right, Mr Werner. This gentleman is an old friend of mine. I came upon him suddenly and it gave me a fright. I'm terribly sorry to have waked you.'

Werner looked a little disappointed. 'Well, in the future conduct your horseplay on your own time. That goes for you, too, uh, Duffy.' The innkeeper disappeared up the stairs, and the curious guests, muttering 'horseplay?' in several tones of voice, went back to their rooms.

Duffy and Epiphany remained sitting on the floor. 'Oh, Brian,' she said, leaning her head on his shoulder. 'I thought for sure you were dead. They said nobody but Turks survived the battle of Mohacs.'

'Well, damn few, let's say,' the Irishman corrected. 'But if you thought I was dead, why did you speak to me when you walked in? I didn't mean to scare you. I thought someone had told you I was in town.'

'Oh - old women get into silly habits,' she said sheepishly. 'This last year, since Max died, I've... when I'm alone.. .well, I talk to your ghost. Only a sort of game, you know. I'm not going mad or anything. It's just that there's more variety in it than in talking to myself all the time. I certainly never thought you'd answer.'

Half saddened and half amused, Duffy hugged her. Unbidden, the words of the old man in his Trieste dream came back to him: Much has been lost, and there is much yet to lose.

* * *

Book Two

'...Age to age succeeds,

Blowing a noise of tongues and deeds,

A dust of systems and of creeds.'

- Alfred, Lord Tennyson

* * *

Chapter Six

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.'