Page 159 of The Drawing of the Dark

'...and a horde of Muspelheimers...'

'They call themselves mussulmen.'

'And they are menacing.. .who? The Aesir? The Celts?'

'Aye, and the Gauls and the Saxons and the Romans and everyone else west of Austria, which is where we are.'

Duffy frowned. 'We fight in Austria? Defending Saxons? Why don't we fall back and fortify our own lands, so as to be ready for them when they get there?'

'Because if they crash through here there may not be enough stones in all of England to build a wall they couldn't shatter. We can't let them work up the momentum. And they induct and train as soldiers the children of conquered nations, so the families we'd pass in our retreat would be the source of men we'd have to fight someday.' The old man sighed. 'It may indeed prove necessary to abandon Vienna and fall back - but it would be like falling back from the sundered walls of a castle to defend the keep itself. It's, not a move you'd make if there was any choice

'I see. Very well, then, we fight them here. I'll want maps of the local terrain, and an accounting of our army and a history of how the siege has gone so far. We do have cavalry, don't we? I could lead them in a -'

'It's trickier than that, Arthur,' Aurelianus interrupted gently. 'Listen - can you hover, awake, just below the surface of Duffy's mind, so that you could take over if I called you?'

'I think so. He might sense me, of course. You have a plan, do you?'

'Oh, no, no. I do have one option, but it's a thing,' and suddenly he looked old and frightened, 'it's a thing I'd.. .almost.. .rather die than do.'

Duffy's knees popped as his body stood up. 'It sounds like sorcery, and it sounds like something better left alone.' He walked to the door. 'It's late - I'll let you get some sleep. I think I'll walk around the city for a while.'

'You don't speak the language. Wait until morning and I'll give you a tour.'

'I think I'll manage well enough.' He smiled, opened the door and was gone.

* * *

Chapter Nineteen

Rain swept in wide sheets along the cobbled avenues, and the splashed-up mist on the stones as each gust went by looked like waves. The air in the Zimmermann dining room was a marbling of cold drafts carrying the dry-wine scent of wet streets and hot stale air smelling of grease and wet clothing.

At a small, otherwise unoccupied table in the kitchen-side corner, Lothario Mothertongue dipped black bread into a bowl of hot chicken broth, and chewed it slowly. His eyes were anxious as they followed the frequently interrupted course of the new serving girl. Finally as she was moving past him he caught her elbow. 'Excuse me, miss. Doesn't Epiphany Hallstadt usually work this shift?'

'Yes, and I wish she was here this morning. I can't handle all this alone. Let go.'

Mothertongue ignored the order. 'Where is she?'

'I don't know. Let go.'

'Please, miss.' He stared up at her earnestly. 'I have to know.'

'Ask Anna, then. Anna told Mrs Hallstadt something that made her upset, early this morning. And Mrs Hallstadt ran out without even taking off her apron. He may be dead, she yelled, and just ran out.'

'Who may be dead?'

'I don't know,' With the last word she yanked her arm free of his grip and flounced off.

Mothertongue got up and went looking for Anna. He was ordered out of the kitchen by the cooks, and earned

a few impatient curses by staying long enough to make sure she wasn't in there; he opened the side door and peered up and down the rain-veiled alley; he even barged in on a no doubt glittering conversation between Kretchmer and Werner in the wine cellar, and was rudely told to leave. When he returned to his table he saw her helping the new girl carry trays.

He waited until she was nearby, then called to her. 'Anna! Where is Epiphany?'

'Excuse me, gentlemen. She's off visiting her father, Lothario, and I don't know where he lives, so leave me alone, hm? Now then, sirs, what was it you wanted?'

For several minutes Mothertongue sat dejected, reflexively looking up every time he heard the front door creak open. After a while a tall man came in, his hair plastered down by the rain, and Mothertongue recognized Brian Duffyand waved, a little reluctantly. He pursed his lips then, for Duffy had returned the wave and was crossing the room toward him.

'Hello, Brian,' he said when the Irishman stood over him. 'I don't suppose you'd know where Epiphany's father lives, would you? Or that you'd tell me, if you did?'

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