The Soldier Spies (Men at War 3)

“Let’s hope you are luckier,” the Countess said as she started into the house.

“Let’s hope there’s some of his clothing here, and that it fits,” Fulmar said. “Particularly shoes.”

She turned and looked at him again, this time appraisingly.

“You’re a little larger than Manny was,” she said. “But there should be something. I gather you want to get out of that uniform?”

“They’re looking for an Obersturmführer who looks like me,” Fulmar said. “There was a Gestapo agent at the border who thought he had found him.”

“That close?” she asked.

“I think it’s been smoothed over,”von Heurten-Mitnitz said. “It was close, but I think it… is smoothed over.”

The Countess considered what he had said and nodded her head.

The Dyers, not knowing where to go and looking uncomfortable, waited for the others to catch up with them at the foot of what had been the servants’ stairway to the first floor. The Countess went up ahead of them. They came out in the large, elegantly furnished sitting room overlooking the square.

Fulmar immediately sat down on a fragile-looking gilded wood Louis XIV sofa and began to pull his black leather boots off.

The Countess looked askance at him, but von Heurten-Mitnitz sensed there was something wrong.

“Something wrong with your feet?” he asked.

“The goddamned boots are four sizes too small,” Fulmar said. “I soaked them with water, but it didn’t help a whole hell of a lot.”

When he had the boot off, he pulled a stocking off and, holding his foot in his lap, examined it carefully.

“Goddamn, look at that!” he said. The skin was rubbed raw and was bleeding in several places.

The Countess walked to the sofa, dropped to her knees, and took the foot in her hand.

“How did you manage to walk?” she asked.

“Why, cousin,” Fulmar said,“I simply considered the alternative.”

“You’ll have to soak that in brine,” she said. “It’s the only thing that will help.”

/> “By brine, you mean salt in water?” he asked, and she nodded.

“Before we do that, I would like a very large cognac,” he said, and pulled off the other sock. The other foot was worse. The blood from the sore spots had flowed more copiously, and when it had dried, it had glued the sock to the wounds. He swore as he pulled the stocking off.

The Countess walked to a cabinet and returned with a large crystal brandy snifter.

“I’ll heat some water,” she said. “And make a brine.”

“And pickle my feet,” Fulmar said dryly. “Thank you, cousin, ever so much.”

“Why do you call her ‘cousin’?” Professor Dyer asked.

“We are, by marriage,” the Countess said. “My late husband and Eric are, or were, cousins.”

“Your late husband?” the professor asked.

“The professor tends to ask a lot of questions,” Fulmar said mockingly.

“My late husband, Oberstleutnant Baron Manfried von Steighofen, fell for his fatherland on the eastern front,” the Countess said dryly.

“And you’re doing this?” the professor asked.