Soon the three of them were seated on empty casks around a table on which stood a single flickering candle, and each of them held a cup of new-drawn bock beer. Aurelianus waved his brimming cup and grinned. 'The bock isn't officially broached until to night, but I guess the three of us deserve a preview.

'Now then,' Duffy said, more comfortably, 'what's the real story here? Are you a sorcerer or something? And even if you are, I don't see how that would explain things like the lit petard I found on the brewery door last night. So fill me in.'

Aurelianus had gone pale again. 'You found a petard on the brewery door? Yesterday? That was the first day of Passover,' he said, turning to the old brewmaster.

'I was the blood of the lamb, then,' Duffy remarked. 'I flung the thing away, so it just wrecked part of the stable.'

'Things, you see, are much more accelerated than we'd supposed,' Aurelianus said to Gambrinus. More softly, he added, 'Mr Duffy saw Bacchus's tavern - even drank the wine! - and reported afrits looking for him at night. Ibrahim isn't holding back; there can be no further doubt that what he's preparing is a shot to the very heart, and it's cracking open the secret places of the world. Things are awake, and stepping out into the daylight, that used to do no more than occasionally mutter in their sleep.'

'Hold it, now,' said Duffy irritably. 'That's the kind of thing I mean. Who's this Ibrahim? Do you mean Suleiman's Grand Vizir?'

'Yes,' said Aurelianus. 'He is the chief of our enemies.'

'Whose enemies? The brewery's?' The whole affair was making less and less sense to Duffy.

'The West's,' Aurelianus said with a nod.

'Oh.' Duffy shrugged. 'You mean the Turks. Well, yes. I'd call Suleiman the actual chief, though.'

'I wouldn't,' Aurelianus said. 'Neither would Suleiman, I think. How much do you know about Ibrahim?'

Duffy resolved to hold his temper until he got some coherent answers. 'Well,' he said, 'I know Suleiman appointed him as his Grand Vizir six years ago, when old Pin Pasha was tossed out, even though everybody thought the post ought to go to Ahmed Pasha. Ahmed was pretty angry about it - raised a revolt in Egypt and got beheaded for his trouble, as I recall.' He sipped his bock, wondering absently what its taste reminded him of. 'Oh, and I've heard it said that Ibrahim's a eunuch.'

Aurelianus looked shocked and Gambrinus laughed.

'Talk of that sort is neither here nor there,' Aurelianus said sternly. 'But to move on: what have you heard about his.. .lineage, his nativity?'

The Irishman shook his head. 'Nothing. Though I have the impression he's of low birth.'

Aurelianus laughed this time, humorlessly. 'Lower than you know. He was born in Parga, on the Ionian Sea, and they'll tell you his father was a sailor; that may in a sense be true, but he was not a sailor of earthly seas.'

'What?' Damn this wizardly gibberish, Duffy thought impatiently.

'His real father was an air demon that visited his mother one night in the semblance of her husband.'

The Irishman started to protest, then remembered some of the creatures he'd seen lately. Keep your mouth shut, Duffy, he told himself. Who are you to say there aren't air demons? 'Go on,' he said.

'Such conceptions do occur,' Aurelianus said. 'Uh, Merlin, to choose the...handiest example, was such a hybrid. They have great, albeit tainted, spiritual power, and usually drift into black magic and similar unfortunate areas of endeavor. A few resist or are prevented from this course. Merlin, you'll recall, was baptized. Ibrahim embraced the Islamic faith.' Aurelianus frowned at Duffy. 'The powers of such half-human, half-demon people, though, are seriously depleted by sexual intercourse, and so they learn to shun attractive members of the opposite sex. That, you see - to do our enemy justice - is doubtless the basis of that libellous rumor you referred to a moment ago.

'Oh,' said Duffy uncertainly. 'Sorry.' Good Lord, he thought; I'm not even allowed to insult Turks? 'And you say this halfbreed is telling Suleiman what to do?'

'That's right. Ibrahim is subject only to the will of the Eastern King.'

'Damn it all,' Duffy burst out, 'make sense, will you?. If he's subject to Suleiman -'Suleiman is not the Eastern King. There are always higher levels. Charles is not the Western King.'

'He's not, huh?' Duffy was amused now. Aurelianus had gone too far. 'Who is? You?'

'No. But the man is living just outside Vienna.' Seeing the Irishman's skepticism, he went on, more harshly, 'You think, perhaps, that the only orders and authorities - and wars - are the ones you can see from your front doorstep? I had hoped a man of your experience would have outgrown such country village ways of thinking.'

After a moment Duffy nodded, genuinely abashed. 'You're right,' he admitted. 'Certainly I can't 'claim to know what is or isn't possible.'

'You of all people,' Aurelianus agreed.

'I'll grant you, then,' Duffy said, counting off the points on his fingers, 'that this East versus West struggle may be a higher - or deeper - thing than simply a dispute between Charles V and Suleiman about the ownership of some land. Also, I can't rule out the possibility that the weapons of war include magic. Fine! But what have I, or this brewery, got to do with it? Why was I so fiercely hounded - and peculiarly aided - on my way here?' Aurelianus leaned back, pressing his fingertips together. 'I must phrase this carefully,' he said. 'Uh... just as in swordplay it is more efficient to thrust for the heart than to pick away forever at the man's arm and fingers -

• 'That isn't always true, by any means,' Duffy pointed out.

'It's just an analogy. Be quiet. So a general can save time and trouble by striking directly at the heart of his enemy's kingdom.' He sipped the heavy bock. 'Did it ever occur to you to reflect on this brewery's name?'

'Herzwesten,' Duffy said thoughtfully. 'West-heart.' He frowned. 'Are you trying to say -'Stop talking and find out. Yes; this brewery is one of the main - there aren't words - focuses, hearts, pillars, of the West. The East, of course, has similar centres, but at present the East is on the offensive.'

Duffy was grinning in spite of himself. 'But why a brewery? I'd have thought.. .oh, a cathedral, a library...'

'Oh, no doubt,' said Aurelianus. 'I know. Those things seem older, more dignified, more characteristic of our culture. But they're not. Listen, three thousand years before Christ was born, a people came out of Spain and spread across Europe. They were nomads, strangers wherever they went, but respected - nearly worshipped because they brought with them the secret of beer-making. They spread the art of brewing with a missionary zeal - you can find their decorated beakers in graves from Sicily to the northern tip of Scotland. The fermented gift they brought to Europe is the basis of more beliefs than I dare tell you right now; but I will tell you that in the very oldest versions of the story, it was beer, not fire, that Prometheus stole from the gods and brought to man.'

Duffy blinked, impressed by the old man's speech. 'And that's why the Herzwesten is one of the most important centers, eh?'

'Possibly the most important.' Aurelianus peered at the Irishman, as if gauging how much revelation he could take at one sitting. 'Being Irish,' he said slowly, 'you've doubtless heard of Finn Mac Cool.'

Duffy nodded.

'There actually was such a man,' Aurelianus said. 'He was the High King of these people I was speaking of, the nomadic beaker people - call them Celts if you like, it's not entirely inaccurate - and he died here.' He pointed at the floor.

Duffy automatically peeked under the table. 'Here?'

'He's actually buried under this building,' Aurelianus told him. 'You mentioned the old Roman fort that used to stand here; it was built around this brewing cellar, which had been producing beer for two thousand years when the first Roman saw the place. The brewery was built thirty-five centuries ago, to be a marker over Finn's grave.' He paused. 'You don't know the derivation of the name Vienna, do you?'

'No.'

'It was originally called Vindobona - the city, you see, is even named after Finn.'

This is all very interesting, Duffy thought, but a trifle beside the point. He spread his hands. 'So?'

Aurelianus sagged like a dancer stepping offstage. 'So.. .you've had a history lesson,' he said tiredly. 'Anyway, all this is doubtless why you were attacked coming here: word must have reached Zapolya - Suleiman's man in Hungary - that you'd been hired to defend Herzwesten, and he sent assassins out to prevent you. Evidently you were aided by some of the old, secret folk; you're fortunate that they're loyal to the west, and recognized you.'

The Irishman nodded, but frowned inwardly. There's a lot you're not telling me, little man, he thought. All this was just a glimpse at one or two of the many cards you're holding. Am I one of the cards? Or a coin in the pot? Your answers have only raised more questions.

'What is all this to you, anyway?' Duffy asked.

'Why have you hired Bluto and me, and God knows how many others?'

'I'm not exactly a free agent. None of us is.'

'Ah,' Duffy said, 'you're "subject to the will" of this Western King.'

Aurelianus' voice was barely audible. 'All of us are.'

'He's living near Vienna, you say? I'd like to meet him sometime.'

The old man blinked out of his reverie. 'Hm? Oh, you'll meet him, never fear. He's not well, though. He's injured, can't travel. But you'll be introduced to him.'

A few moments of silence passed, then Duffy stood up. 'Well, gentlemen, if that's that, I'll see you later. There'll be a big crowd tomorrow, and I've got to rearrange the tables and take down the more fragile wall hangings.' He drained his cup of beer, and realized at last why it seemed so familiar to his tongue -it had something, a hint, of the deep, aromatic taste of the wine he'd drunk in the phantom tavern in Trieste.

* * *

Chapter Eight

The last thing Duffy hoisted down from the dining room walls was a heavily framed painting of the wedding at Cana, and he peered dubiously at the smoke-darkened canvas as he carried it to the closet where he'd stashed the rest of the paintings, crucifixes and tapestries. Odd, he thought - this is the first time I ever saw the miraculous wine portrayed as a white. I'm not sure they had white wine in Palestine then. But in spite of the dimness of the scene, that's clearly a yellow stream they're pouring into Jesus' cup.

The Oriental had arrived, and was sitting at his usual table, sipping beer and occasionally turning on the Irishman a reptilian eye. Duffy had considered, and discarded, the idea of going down to the cellar to warn Aurelianus of the 'Dark Bird's' presence. After all, be thought now, he didn't caution me at all about my journey here - why should I do him any favors?

Duffy was noisily dragging the tables around into a more regimented formation - much the way the monks used to have the room arranged, he reflected - when Aurelianus opened the hail door and strode into the room.

'Aurelianus!' spoke up the Oriental, springing to his feet and bowing. 'It is a pleasure to see you again.'

The old sorcerer started, then after giving the Irishman a reproachful glance bowed in turn. 'It is likewise a pleasure to see you, Antoku Ten-no. It has been a long time since our last meeting.'

Antoku smiled. 'What are a few years between old friends?' He waved at the other bench at his table. 'Do me the honor of joining me.'

'Very well.' Aurelianus slowly crossed to the table and sat down.

And why, Duffy wondered idly as he slammed another table into place, the term 'Dark Birds'? I could understand calling the blackamoor dark, or the feathered man a bird - but how, for example, does old Pitch-'em-out-the-window Antoku qualify?

Finally the last table - aside from the one at which the two men were talking in lowered but intense tones - was in place, and Duffywas turning to leave when a bench rutched sharply as Antoku stood up. 'Are you trying to haggle with me?' he demanded of Aurelianus. 'If so, simply name your price and dispense with the usurer's tricks.'

'I'm being honest,' Aurelianus replied sternly. 'I can't help you this time.. .at any price.'

'I'm not asking for much -'I can't help you at all.'

'Do you know,' there was fear in the Oriental's voice now, 'do you know what you condemn me to? The flickering half-life of a phantom, a will-of-the-wisp oni-bi wandering forever on the shore at Dan-no-ura?'

'I don't condemn you to that,' Aurelianus shot back strongly. 'The Minamoto clan did, eight hundred years ago. I simply gave you a reprieve once.. .one which I can't now renew. I'm sorry.'

The two men stared tensely at each other for several seconds. 'I do not yet resign,' said Antoku. He started for the door.

'Don't think of fighting me,' Aurelianus said in a soft but carrying voice, 'You may be as powerful as a shark, but I am a sun that can dry up your whole sea.'

Antoku stopped in the vestibule. 'A very old, red sun,' he said, 'in a darkening sky.' A moment later he had gone.

Duffy's joking remark died on his lips when he glanced at Aurelianus and saw the lines of weariness that seemed chiselled into the stony face. The old sorcerer was staring down at his hands, and Duffy, after a moment's hesitation, left the room silently.

In the kitchen the Irishman drew a chair up to the open brick oven and began meditatively picking and nibbling at a half loaf of bread that lay on the bricks to one side.