I became suddenly nervous and was almost on the point of turning back to see Prince Miroslav. I felt a great need to hear St Odhran’s common sense. The reason for my hesitation was the unwelcome suspicion that I was guided by a powerful, invisible force. If that were true, I had received no direct sense of it and could not tell if the force were benign or malevolent. Did I act in my own interest or the interest of others? I put an extra turn on my sash to hold Paracelsus’s sword. The ruby hilt was hidden by my coat. The other blade was back in my hand. I began to tread wearily forward. As I reached the bottom of the steps I saw the narrow street went on only another few yards, then widened into a cobbled square.
Thought left me again! I began sniffing the wind like a wolf on the seek. Libussa was close by, I would have sworn. The pain of separation from her increased even as I arrived in the square. I was yearning for her again.
I love you, Libussa.
My boots struck cobbles. Salzkuchengasse opened wider still. There were leafless plane trees growing at regular intervals on both sides. There was a costermonger’s and a chandler’s shop open for trade, though I saw nobody in them. Yet it was the most ordinary scene I had come across in the Deeper City. And across the road from the costermonger’s was a cheerfully lit inn, four storeys high. Its signboard, recently painted, went well with the homely, pleasant atmosphere of the place. The tavern was called The Friend Indeed and the sign showed one youth stretching out his hand to another, who had fallen down. The only unusual feature of that picture was that it was painted in exactly the same style, with the same rich colours, the same precision, as the ikon I had seen at Prince Miroslav’s. But then, I said to myself, it could be a common mark of all Mirenburg artists, deriving from painters who came from Byzantium.
I heard laughter from within The Friend Indeed. It occurred to me that all the struggling, mystification, supernatural twiddle-twaddle, lunatic cults and high-sounding metaphysical predictions might be over for me. The tavern was ordinary enough, after all. I looked forward to calling for a stein of ale and perhaps a pie.
I paused at the door to admire the handiwork of the sign. Above the picture was the lettering of the name, and below it, in small, neater letters, picked out in white, was another commonplace line of words, found on such publicans’ boards the world over. It was the name of the proprietor, an unusual one for these parts:
C.M. O’Dowd.
Chapter Fifteen
In which I take a tankard of porter at the centre of the world. An ordinary taverner speaks his mind. An old friend is restored. A question of dreams and reality. Rules of the house.
THIS IS DEVILISH queer, thought I, hesitating with one hand playing upon my pommel, the other taking a firmer grip on my sabre’s hilt. I could see through the windows there was nothing overtly sinister about the place. It was full of plainly dressed fellows in honest homespun, in broad-skirted brown riding coats, moleskin breeches and jackboots, bewigged, like most Mirenburgers, after the fashion of a generation earlier than mine, with slouch hats or tricornes and rather more ribbons and buckles than was thought good taste by the demi-monde. But none was armed. None waited, with leering eye, for the Ritter Manfred von Bek to come strolling in. Indeed, all the people there, including the serving maids, were the healthiest I had seen in the whole city. The tavern had the air of a sanctuary rather than a trap. Yet all had agreed that the Red O’Dowd came there a score of years since, with bloody steel to carve a ruthless path to kingship of the Deeper City. A Hun, the Goat Queen had said, who killed for pleasure or merely to command the Centre. Were tavern licences so rarely granted in this Mirenburg?
I bent to pull up the flaps of my boots until they rose towards my thighs, pulled back my hair and tidied it in a fresh knot, adjusting my neck-cloth and dusting down the rest of me. I was not wholly satisfied by my outlook, but it was the best I could produce. Without further ado I pushed open the doors of The Friend Indeed and, with a ‘good evening to ye, gentlemen’, strode up to the counter and ordered from the barman a tankard of their best, black porter.
It was when I felt in my pockets for coin I sensed the worst danger thus far – the threat of ignominious dismissal from the premises! But luckily I at last discovered a few schillings – more than enough for a whole evening’s swilling – and was at my ease again, with the pot in my fist, going to sit in an empty booth furthest from the door and nearest the stair. It was not so warm there, and the spot was unpopular, but I felt comforted with my face to the whole assembly.
The only peculiarity about those men was that they were all of about my own age; there were no youths and few above forty. They were at dice or played cards or grew animated around the dominoes. While none evidently bore arms, I began to gain an impression of soldiers (or possibly thief-takers) off duty. Taverns everywhere were patronised by their like, so I saw no special significance in that, save that I appeared to be the only stranger. The Friend Indeed possessed some of the character of an informal garrison. From what I could tell, there were no casual customers.
I was not, however, quizzed or threatened, nor given anything more than the most cursory attention. In return I showed little curiosity towards them. I was hoping Libussa was on her way, that she would soon burst through the door and greet me. My divine compulsion remained as strong as ever. I loved her.
An hour or two went by. The gaming and drinking around me was unabated, yet the atmosphere remained moderate. I took another pint of porter, which was of excellent quality, like that brewed by monks in the Low Countries and a fair match to our best German beers. I instructed a red-cheeked, buxom maid to bring me a plate of grouse pie and Muchwurst, the same as was advertised upon a board overhead. She complied. I enquired after beds. She told me she would ask the proprietor if any were available. Then, as I was eating, there came a heavy tread on the unseen stairs behind me and a second later a huge bulk filled the entrance to my booth. I put down my pie and stood as best I could between bench and board, giving a slight and unbalanced bow, for this was evidently mine host. His beard flared wildly about his great face like Jupiter’s aura, red and unkempt and curly as his locks. From all this redness – for his skin, also, had something of the brewer’s flush – glared two pale blue eyes. It was as if twin nuggets of ice were the core of flames.
‘You’d be wanting a bed,’ said he. He wore a heavy leathern apron from neck to knee, and was in shirtsleeves. His arms were brawny and muscles stood out upon his entire physique, pushing against the simple linen and wool of his attire.
‘I desired, Sir, to stay the night here,’ I said.
Looking carefully at me, he grunted. ‘Night? A Mirenburg night?’
‘Maybe ten hours at most. Do you rent chambers, Sir?’
‘We have ’em, aye.’ He frowned. ‘Most here are residents. Where are ye from, Sir?’
‘From the Upper City, just lately. I’m a few days at most in the Mittelmarch. I’ve seen no clocks and if it’s possible to tell time from those stars, I’ve not yet learned the trick, Sir.’
‘Fair enough.’ He seated himself on a corner of my bench. He was twice my size. A surly giant, thought I, and one best placated. ‘Then would ye know I’m the Red O’Dowd?’
‘I saw your name upon the board outside, Sir.’
He frowned again. ‘Ye’ve been travelling long, by the look of ye. And sleeping rough, eh?’
‘Perforce, Sir.’
‘So ye’ll not know much of the hostelries hereabouts?’
‘This is the first I’ve seen, Sir.’
‘’Tis the only one, really, in the Deeper City. The only true tavern, at any rate. And I’m the only ordinary taverner. I give clean beds, simple food and good ale at a fair price.’
‘I’ll vouch for the food and ale, Sir. I’m sure the bed, too, will be excellent.’
He cocked his head on one side. ‘Most folk are feared of coming here. They think the Red O’Dowd a monster…’
‘You’re large, Sir. And have a temper, if offended, eh?’
‘I’ve an Irish temper,’ said he soberly. ‘For I am an Irishman, you know. From Kerry. But raised in Cork. The temper brought me here in the first place, on account of the Great Rebellion.’
‘I know it, Sir. I fought with Lafayette.’
This puzzled the Red O’Dowd. ‘I don’t remember a Froggy.’
‘One of Washington’s greatest generals, Sir.’ I began to think him a kisser of the Blarney-stone.
‘Ah, Sir, we’re at cross purposes. Ye refer to America while I speak of Ireland. Of Cork to be precise. Or rather, to be entirely precise, of Clonakiltey and the Great Rebellion there.’
‘I’m unfamiliar with it, Sir.’
‘I forgive you, Sir. A great deal of English plotting goes to abolish the memory of Ireland’s history. We took on the British and we were betrayed, Sir. That was in 1762, before ever I arrived in this accursed Limbo. Betrayed by a woman, Sir, before we could as much as raise the money for the weapons. Which caused my God-fearing father to send me for a soldier so as to escape scandal. From which, after two years of it, I deserted.’
‘To the French?’
‘To the British, Sir, as it happens. On account of already serving with the French at the time, my father being a good Catholic man. ’Twas a troublesome and confusing period for us. It had become my ambition, even then, to settle somewhere after I’d raised the money for the purchase of an inn. One thing leading to another, and finding the British army no more congenial than the French, I resigned from that during an expedition to Wiltshire to put down the riots there. For a while after, Sir, I’ll not mince words, I worked Hampstead Heath and the Great North Road as a gentleman of the toby. Whence circumstances led me abroad again and service with various Balkan peoples against the Turks, then with the Turks and Poles against the Russians. It was during one of these campaigns I became lost in the Pripet Marshes, near Pinsk. When at last I found my way out I was somewhere in this Mittelmarch. Having little hope of salvation I joined forces with a group of Ukrainians in similar circumstances to myself. For a while I lived as a rural bandit. Eventually we came to Mirenburg. Learning that the Deeper City had no decent tavern of its own, I decided to provide one. This, as you see, I eventually did.’
‘What, Sir? You conquered this whole district simply to establish your inn?’
‘It’s a well-situated inn, Sir. And it is what I wanted for myself all along. ’Tis built upon a sweetwater spring, forever fresh.’
And so a mystery was explained. Certainly, it was the most mundane of solutions, yet welcome to me. I had become too used to claims of high destiny and supernatural ambition. ‘Well, Mr O’Dowd,’ said I, ‘I’m mighty glad to have found you.’
‘I hope you’ll be very comfortable, Sir,’ said he, ‘and recommend us, should you have the opportunity. There were, I discovered, certain drawbacks to the site.’
‘What would they be, Sir?’
‘Well, Sir, save for my men and a few others like yourself, there’s no trade to speak of. What’s more, until recently we were subject to raids, from bandits of one kind or another, who presumably wish to take over my property. It’s been troublesome for us, Sir.’
‘How have you maintained yourself?’
‘The tavern’s subsidised by our shops across the street, and by means of a small levy on local persons, whereby we guarantee to protect ’em against thieves. In that we’ve been successful and many hard cases have been brought to justice.’ The Red O’Dowd now had a melancholy air as he retailed his problems and their solutions. ‘I suppose you could say Fate’s not been wholly unkind to me, Sir. I had hopes of finding a wife, too, and raising a sizeable family, but so far nothing’s come of that ambition. There’s been much talk lately, Sir, of some great gathering of stars in the heavens, which will change the fortunes of many. I live in some optimism there. Perhaps when that occurs I’ll find more customers, more cash and more chance to go courting.’
‘You can hope, Sir. All must suffer some frustration in this world. At least you’ve achieved much of what you most desired.’
‘I don’t complain, Sir, though with so many anxious to lay hands on my property ’tis not always possible to rest easy at night. I have to quiz strangers, you understand.’
‘I understand, Sir.’
‘They try every means of taking my tavern from me. Security’s maintained by a force of bravos I’d rather have dismissed years since. Lord Renyard, who otherwise always seemed a decent enough feller for a fox, casts his eye on the place. He’s tried to take it off me once or twice. But I’ve heard he’s sick, possibly dead, so maybe I’ll see no more trouble from that quarter. It’s been quiet for some while.’
‘But you’ll not relax your guard just yet, eh, Sir?’
‘We’re defended excellently, in all aspects.’
‘You’ve supernatural aid in this?’
‘With God vanished from our Realm, Sir? How could you think so? I have the fish, of course. But she’s not as young as she was. And the helmet’s been of use, since the local people seem afraid of it. But otherwise what we’ve done has been done by our own efforts!’
I was now reconvinced the Grail did not exist. It was either a phantasm or it was anything a believer (even Lucifer) wished it to be. I could as easily call the tankard I was supping from a ‘grail’. This led me to ask after Libussa. ‘Has a young woman called at your tavern recently, Mr O’Dowd?’ I described her and her clothing.
He shook his head. ‘I’d have noticed if she had, Sir, for I’m still on the lookout for a wife. Indeed, our only customer aside from yourself is a young man who’ll becoming for his supper any minute, I shouldn’t doubt. A Herr Foltz, I understand, from Nuremberg. A scholar interested in our old architecture. Have you heard of him, Sir?’
‘The name has a familiar sound. It’s some years since I was last in Germany, however.’
‘Just so. Well, Sir…’ He rose ponderously. ‘I trust ye’ll accept a pint of porter on the house.’
‘No doubt of it, Mr O’Dowd. I thank you!’
He was on his feet. ‘And ye’ll recommend my inn?’
‘Enthusiastically, Sir. I find it very acceptable.’
He was pleased by this and beamed. ‘I’m flattered by your condescension, Sir.’ He looked up. There was another footfall on the stairs. ‘Ah, here’s the scholar gentleman now, Sir.’
And round the corner of the booth into my line of vision, between the great bulk of the Red O’Dowd and the table, stepped a spry young fellow in a suit of deep red silk, white linen and a wig powdered the faintest of pinks. He grinned at me as he made a leg. ‘Enchanted, Sir.’
‘Delighted, Sir,’ said I, almost laughing aloud with my joy, for it was my Libussa, back in mannish attire in her rôle as Duke of Crete, and full of good cheer.
‘Mind if I join you, Sir?’
‘Not at all, Sir. Most welcome.’
The Red O’Dowd, pleased that his guests were compatible, went to see the preparation of supper. Libussa sat herself across from me and in a low voice explained how there was no occult mystery to her disappearance. ‘A loose paving stone, a chute, and I was fifty foot underground. The moving flagstone was doubtless part of some antique defence. A trap for attackers. Emerging from the tunnels I simply asked directions to this inn, and here I am.’
‘But how did you change your costume?’
She put a finger to her lips. ‘My clothes were filthy after the fall, stinking of animal dung, I think, so I was anxious to change them. By luck I bumped into an old rake from the High Floors, as they call ’em. I accepted his invitation for a tête-à-tête, ate a good meal, drank some excellent wine, bumped him on the head, took some clothes and a portmanteau, borrowed his carriage and left him trussed for his wife to find. She was visiting relatives in the Lesser City. Due back tomorrow. Do you know what the time is, von Bek?’
‘You should have stolen your patron’s watch.’
‘He didn’t carry one. Few do, it seems, in the Deeper City. You fo
und your way here easily enough, eh?’
‘With no difficulty, after my conversation with Lucifer.’
She began to laugh and I derived considerable satisfaction in telling her the whole tale of my adventures and finished by slyly showing her the pommel of my sword. She was mightily impressed and looked at me, I thought, in a fresh light, more admiring. I doubted if I had ever been so happy. Libussa was in fine spirits. As we ate our supper she spoke lasciviously of the pleasures we should know in an hour or two. I did not question her earlier remarks concerning a period of celibacy. I felt buoyed upon scented clouds. ‘We’ll stay here tonight,’ she said, ‘and as soon as we have the Grail, we’ll be on our way. We must begin again…’
‘The Grail isn’t here, Libussa.’
She pushed her plate aside. She was amused. ‘Of course it is.’
‘You’ve had confirmation from the Red O’Dowd?’ I asked.
‘He knows nothing. He’s a good-hearted simpleton.’
‘He’d know the Grail, Libussa. He told me he has no supernatural objects here. I believe him.’
‘He may think he does not have it, but he is wrong!’
‘Libussa, how can you know?’
‘It cannot be anywhere else,’ she said.
Having no wish to argue with her and thus threaten the prospects of our night, I said nothing. I could only hope that in the morning, when she could not find the Grail, she would agree to return with me to Prince Miroslav’s, giving up the pursuit which had already ruined the sanity of Montsorbier and Klosterheim.
A little later, having told our landlord we had become such good friends we would share a room together, to carry on our conversation there, we ascended to the top of the house. The room was large and a great window let in the light of Mirenburg’s stars. They seemed clearer there than anywhere else. I stared at the huge, old suns, at the beautiful smoky colours, until Libussa seized me by the shoulders and turned me to face her. She kissed me gently upon the lips; the signal for another long celebration.
The City in the Autumn Stars Page 32