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he's a greater king than the Emperor, Charles V, eh? No doubt, no doubt! Hah.
Just another sad old phony, like those
British shopkeepers who claim to be druids, and dance, rather
self-consciously, at Stonehenge every midsummer's eve.
Duffy sighed. 'Yes, for double my salary I'll watch over this old king of
yours - just so these..
.what? "Pit-summoned defenders'?.. .keep their distance.'
'They're on your side.'
'Still, I don't want to meet any. And what do you mean, Suleiman three months
away? He's further off than that.'
'Not much further. His advance scouts left Constantinople today. He won't be
more than a month behind.'
'Today? How can you know already?'
Aurelianus smiled tiredly. 'You know me better than that, Brian.'
The street door rattled and creaked open, and the hunchbacked figure of Bluto
bulked against the late afternoon glow. 'Damn,' exclaimed the Swiss
bombardier, 'I thought I'd be the first in line.
I might have known you two would be here before anyone else.'
Aurelianus pushed back his bench and got to his feet. 'I was just chatting
with Brian. I'm not much of a beer drinker, actually - my share of the bock is
all yours.' He bowed and walked quietly out of the room.
Bluto crossed to Duffy's table and pulled up the bench at which Aurelianus had
been sitting.
'Speaking of beer...'
Duffy grinned. 'Yes. Anna or Piff is in the kitchen. Why don't you have them
pour us a last pitcher of the schenk beer, eh?'
'Good idea. My God, what happened to your face?'
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'I was attacked in my sleep by mice. Go get the beer.'
Bluto did, and for twenty minutes the two of them sipped cool beer and
discussed the possible
Turkish lines of attack, the weak points in the city wall, and various defense
arrangements.
'Charles has got to send reinforcements,' Bluto said worriedly. 'Pope Clement,
too. Can it be they don't see the danger? Hell, Belgrade and Mohács were
costly defeats, yes. They were the stepping-
stones to the Holy Roman Empire. But Vienna is the damned front door. If the
Turks take this place, the next spot to hold the line will be the English
Channel.'
Duffy shrugged. 'What can I say? You're right.' He poured the last of the beer
into Bluto's cup.
Shrub and a couple of the other yard boys had come in with ladders and were
hanging cagelike grilles over the wall cressets. The hunchback watched them.
'Really expecting a wild crowd tonight, aren't you?'
'Evidently,' Duffy agreed. 'Back when this place was a monastery they used to
drag kegs out and
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file:///F|/rah/Tim%20Powers/The%20Drawing%20Of%20The%20Dark.txt have the bock
festival in the street. It got pretty berserk sometimes. Easter, the bock
beer, and
Spring are all the same thing in everybody's mind, and they really dive into
it head first after a hard winter.'
Bluto drained his glass and stood. 'Say, Duff, it must be half past four now.
When should I make sure to be here, to be at least among the first in line?'
'I don't know. Supper time, I guess.' He too stood up and stretched, yawning
like a cat. 'Maybe
I'll trot downstairs and ask Gambrinus. See you later.' He ambled off toward
the cellar stairs, secretly hoping to get another advance taste of the Spring
beer.
Duffy could hear someone moving about in the darkness below as he descended
the stairs.
'Gambrinus!' he called, but there was no answer. Remembering the petard he'd
found on the brewery door, he closed his fingers around his dagger hilt and
took the remaining steps as quietly as possible.
When he stood at last on the damp paving stones, he peered cautiously around
the dim cellar, but didn't see anyone. Maybe I'm now having auditory
hallucinations to complement my moonlit-lake visual ones, be thought
unhappily. Wait a moment! Who's that?
A tall figure had stepped out of the shadows behind the brick chimney, and now
crossed to a door set in the wall next to the high-set copper tubs; in a
moment he had opened the door and stepped through into the blackness beyond.
The Irishman had caught only a quick glimpse of the stranger, but had noticed
that he was blond or red-haired, and wore a loose cloak fastened at the throat
by one metal button.
Duffy had his dagger out and strode to the door. 'Come out of there,' he
barked.
There was only silence from the dark room beyond, and an intensification of
the steamy malt smell.
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