conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know a plot for a book about Vienna, Duffy, Aurelianus entitled The Drawing of the Dark?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Drawing of the Dark: The year is 1529, and Brian Duffy, a world-weary Irish mercenary soldier, is hired in Venice by the mysterious Aurelianus to go to Vienna and work as a bouncer at the Zimmerman Inn, former monastery and current brewery of the famous Herzwesten beer.\nMeanwhile, the Ottoman Turkish army under Sultan Suleiman I has achieved its most advanced position yet in their march into Europe, and is prepared to undertake the siege of Vienna.\nWith the Turkish army travels the Grand Vizier Ibrahim, a magician who intends to use horrific spells as part of the siege.\nDuffy spent time in Vienna years ago, and as he returns, he is haunted by memories of past events, and also finds himself having visions of mythical creatures and being ambushed by shadowy people and demonic monsters.\nUpon arriving in Vienna, Duffy reconnects with Epiphany Vogel, a former girlfriend, and her father Gustav, who is working on a painting he calls "The Death of st Michael the Archangel".\nIt seems the painting is never quite complete, and the elder Vogel is continuously adding additional detail to the work, causing it to gradually become more and more obscure.\nThen Duffy finds himself not only drafted into the city\'s defensive army, but also led by Aurelianus down mystical paths from the surprisingly old brewery to even more ancient caves beneath the city, in search of defenses against the approaching army and clues to Duffy\'s very nature.\nAs it turns out, Aurelianus knows more about Duffy and his past than Duffy himself knows, and his real purpose in hiring him is to protect the hidden Fisher King, secret spiritual leader of the western world, and to defend him and the West against the Turkish advance.\nAnd the real reason that Vienna must not be captured by the Turks is that it is the site of the Herzwesten brewery.\nIts light and bock beers are famous throughout Europe, but the dark beer, produced only every seven hundred years, has supernatural properties and must not be allowed to fall into enemy hands.\nMeanwhile, others are drawn to Vienna in anticipation of significant events.\nThe so-called "dark birds", magically sensitive individuals from far flung corners of the world, arrive in the city hoping for a sip of the Herzwesten dark, and a small group of middle-aged Vikings have improbably sailed their ship down the Danube River to Vienna, having sensed that the prophesied final battle of Ragnarok will take place there.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the first five paragraphs for this book?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The Drawing of the Dark
  Duffy, newly scrubbed and feeling much less like an illustration of the Wages of Sin, trotted down the stairs and stepped into the hall, where the smell of hot stew still hung in the air. "Anna!" he called. "What are the chances of getting some breakfast, hey?"
  The bells in the tower of St. Stephen's Cathedral rang while Duffy was speaking, and Werner pointed vaguely in their southward direction. "It's ten o'clock you sleep until, eh? Well, enjoy sleeping late while you still can."
  Duffy knew Werner was expecting him to ask what he meant, so he turned back to Anna. "Seen Piff around? I'm supposed to—"
  Werner gave the Irishman a hard stare, then turned and walked away toward the stairs, his ostrich-plumed hat bobbing behind his neck on a string like a bird on a difficult perch.
  When he had disappeared Anna shook her head at Duffy. "Why can't you ever be civil to him? You're only going to lose a good job."
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know another paragraph?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: The wizard frowned defensively, with a furtive glance down at the King. "Nothing. These lads didn't have the sorcerous talents to penetrate my magical camouflage... but I guess they had enough skill in forest-craft to follow someone who did." He had got his breath back now, and stepped briskly away from the trunk. "Round up those of our lads who can stand," he told Duffy, "and get them to carry the King to the wagon. I'd counsel you to jettison the dead horse, too. I'll see to the wounded." To the King he added, "Excuse me, Sire," then he started down the slope.
conversations.from: human
conversations.value: Do you know the last five paragraphs?
conversations.from: assistant
conversations.value: Merlin leaned in the wide notch and stared moodily down at the surface of the muddy Wiener-Bach. So long, Arthur, the magician thought. I wish we'd had a little leisure in which to talk, this time around. And so long, Brian Duffy, you disagreeable old Irishman. You were a lot of trouble, more than I expected, but I liked you. Werner never did... poor Werner, who succumbed to his wound this morning at about the same time you were casting off in Bugge's ship. Oh, and you were right about Zapolya, by the way. They found a bloodstained rope hanging outside the wall some where near the southern gate. I suppose he's on his way back to Hungary now.
  He sighed and looked up at the patch of dark clouds in the east that was giving way before the fresh wind. Yes, he thought, in spite of all the setbacks and reluctances, you two did what you were called on to do. You saved the beer, and therefore the King and the West. This Turkish attack this morning can accomplish nothing; it's the last desperate blow of a defeated opponent who is determined at least to leave as much ruin behind as he can.
  Merlin picked up the old longsword with both hands, stared at it as if to fix it in his memory for a while, and then tossed it spinning end over end toward the water below.
  He turned and ambled thoughtfully toward the stairs. I guess I'll be leaving for England in about a week, he calculated. I will leave the brewery once again in Gambrinus' capable hands... and there are things at home that could bear a bit of meddling with. Perhaps—
  The wizard smiled sympathetically. "Few of us have." He walked past to the stairs and stepped down them to the ash-dusty street. From the southeast the Turkish cannons began firing, but the wind blew most of the sound away, and to Merlin it sounded like nothing but plodding footsteps receding away in the distance.