Read Lest Darkness Fall for Free Online Page B

the cup. "Good God, man, what are your insides made of? That's
volcano juice!" As his coughing subsided, a saintlike expression appeared.
"It does warm you up nicely inside, though, doesn't it?" He screwed
up his face and his courage, and finished the cup in one gulp.
     
                "Hey," said
Padway. "Go easy. That isn't wine."
     
                "Oh, don't worry about
me. Nothing makes me drunk."
     
                Padway got out another cup
and sat down. "Maybe you can tell me one thing that I haven't got straight
yet. In my country we reckon years from the birth of Christ. When I asked a
man, the day I arrived, what year it was, he said 1288 after the founding of
the city. Now, can you tell me how many years before Christ Rome was founded?
I've forgotten."
     
                Thomasus took another slug
of brandy and thought. "Seven hundred and fifty-four — no, 753. That means
that this is the year of our Lord 535. That's the system the church uses. The
Goths say the second year of Thiudahad's reign, and the Byzantines the first
year of the consulship of Flavius Belisarius. Or the somethingth year of
Justinian imperium. I can see how it might confuse you." He drank some
more. "This is a wonderful invention, isn't it?" He held his cup up
and turned it this way and that. "Let's have some more. I think you'll
make a success, Martinus."
     
                "Thanks. I hope
so."
     
                "Wonderful invention. Course
it'll be a success. Couldn't help being a success. A big success. Are You
listening, God? Well, make sure my friend Martinus has a big success.
     
                "I know a successful
man when I see him, Martinus. Been picking them for years. That's how I'm such
a success in the banking business. Success — success — let's drink to success.
Beautiful success. Gorgeous success.
     
                "I know what, Martinus.
Let's go some place. Don't like drinking to success in this old ruin. You know,
atmosphere. Some place where there's music. How much brandy have you got left?
Good, bring the bottle along."
     
                The joint was in the theater
district on the north side of the Capitoline. The "music" was
furnished by a young woman who twanged a harp and sang songs in Calabrian
dialect, which the cash customers seemed to find very funny.
     
                "Let's drink to —"
Thomasus started to say "success" for the thirtieth time, but changed
his mind. "Say, Martinus, we'd better buy some of this lousy wine, or
he'll have us thrown out. How does this stuff mix with wine?" At Padway's
expression, he said: "Don't worry, Martinus, old friend, this is on me.
Haven't made a night of it in years. You know, family man." He winked and
snapped his fingers for the waiter. When he had finally gotten through his
little ceremony, he said: "Just a minute, Martinus, old friend, I see a
man who owes me money. I'll be right back." He waddled unsteadily across
the room.
     
                A man at the next table
asked Padway suddenly: "What's that stuff you and old one-eye have been
drinking, friend?"
     
                "Oh, just a foreign
drink called brandy," said Padway uneasily.
     
                "That's right, you're a
foreigner, aren't you? I can tell by your accent." He screwed up his face,
and then said: "I know; you're a Persian. I know a Persian accent."
     
                "Not exactly,"
said Padway. "Farther away than that."
     
                "That so? How do you
like Rome?" The man had very large and very black eyebrows.
     
                "Fine, so far,"
said Padway.
     
                "Well, you haven't seen
anything," said the man. "It hasn't been the same since the Goths came."
He lowered his voice conspiratorially: "Mark my words, it won't be like
this always, either!"
     
                "You don't like