[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
sound, of an old stone wall collapsing, and Epiphany pulled her mouth free and
gasped, 'You're on duty tonight, aren't you? And dinner is probably being
served this minute.'
'Damn duty and dinner,' the Irishman muttered thickly; then, 'Oh, hell, you're
right,' he said.
'Easter evening, the drawing of the bock, is what Aurelianus specifically
hired me to watch over.
For the money he's been paying me I guess I owe this much to him.'
He stood up reluctantly and looked down at Epiphany, who in the diminishing
light was an indistinct figure stretched across the bed. 'I'll be back
sometime,' he said.
'I hope so,' she answered in a small voice.
Chapter Twelve
Crowded into a shadowy corner, Duffy and Aurelianus watched three beer-crazed
shepherds jigging on one of the tables while nearly everyone in that quarter
of the dining room sang and clapped in accompaniment.
'Don't you think you should get those men down from there?' Aurelianus asked
anxiously.
Duffy shook his head. 'No. The celebration spirit would only break out in some
other activity, like maybe pitching beer mugs through the window. They're just
enjoying themselves, and they're paying you for the beer. Why interfere?'
'Well.. .all right. You're the chucker-out, after all.' The old man leaned
against the wall, apparently a little bewildered by the rowdiness of the bock
celebration. 'Are you quite up to all this?' he asked. 'Have you rested up at
all since our underground enterprise last night?'
'What? I can't hear you in this pandemonium.' Aurelianus repeated his last
sentence, louder. 'Oh!
Don't worry about me, I'm fine. These days it takes more than a few hobgoblins
to disorder me.'
'Good. It's a wise tolerance to cultivate.'
'It's what? I didn't - God help us.' Duffy shoved several people aside,
spilling their beer in all directions, and, taking a flying hop over a table,
bowled off their feet two mercenaries who bad begun trading knife-thrusts.
Before they could roll to their feet the Irishman had unsheathed his own
dagger and cut, with two quick flicks of the blade, their belts, so that their
hands now had to be occupied with holding their clothing together. They left
Page 85
ABC Amber Palm Converter, http://www.processtext.com/abcpalm.html
The room, red-faced, accompanied by howls of laughter.
'Mr Duffy!' Shrub cried, waving from atop the bar.
'In a minute, Shrub,' Duffy called, for on the other side of the room a
suddenly irate merchant was slapping his wife and calling her vile names.
Muttering a quick apology, the Irishman snatched up a brimming mug from a
table he passed, and then dashed its foaming contents forcefully into the face
of the misogynist shopkeeper; the man had just been filling his lungs for
another burst of abuse, and was choking now on a couple of ounces of beer he'd
inadvertently inhaled. Duffy lifted him from his chair by a handful of hair
and gave him a resounding slap on the back, then slammed him back down into
his seat. 'There y'are, sir,' said the Irishman cheerfully. 'We don't want any
of our patrons choking to death, eh?' He leaned down and said more sharply but
in a whisper, 'Or getting their ribs kicked in, which will happen to you if
you touch that lady again or say any more insulting things to her. Do I make
myself clear? Hah? Good.'
'Mr Duffy!' Shrub called again. 'There's a man to see you -The table on which
the shepherds were dancing collapsed then, spilling the three fuddled jiggers
against the bar, which fell over against the wall with a multiple crash. Shrub
leaped clear, but landed in a dish of roast pork on another table, and had to
flee from the wrathful diners.
A little while later Duffy saw Bluto edge through the front door, and waved.
The Irishman opened his mouth to shout that he'd squared it with the serving
girls about Bluto's free beer, then decided that such a statement, shouted
across the dangerously crowded room, could only cause a riot. I'll tell him
when I can whisper it to him, Duffy decided. I wonder who this man is that
Shrub tried to tell me about.
A youth with black curly hair was slouched against the wall, and pulled his
hat down over his eyes as Duffy sidled past. That's what's-his-name, the
Irishman thought, Jock, the lad Aurelianus sent
file:///F|/rah/Tim%20Powers/The%20Drawing%20Of%20The%20Dark.txt (64 of 132)
[8/31/03 4:59:41 PM]
file:///F|/rah/Tim%20Powers/The%20Drawing%20Of%20The%20Dark.txt out last night
to keep an eye on that precious king of his. I'd swear I've seen him somewhere
outside Vienna. Where?
[ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]