Before she lost her nerve, she opened the curtains and quietly raised the window. Duchess squirmed. Talons scraped Susan’s palms. She tossed her pigeon into the air.

Duchess beat her wings. She fluttered, then gained altitude.

Susan gripped the windowsill.

Duchess circled the birches. Instead of descending to her loft, she flew east. Toward the Channel.

Susan, unable to bear seeing her pigeon fly away again, lowered her head. The odds were against Duchess. The empty cubbies were all the statistics that Susan needed; it’d be difficult for her to make it to France, let alone return home. As she closed the window, a wave of guilt engulfed her body.

CHAPTER 38 - AIRAINES, FRANCE

CHAPTER 38

AIRAINES, FRANCE

Ollie, Madeleine, and Boar sat down for a dinner of stale gray bread and turnips fried in hot fat. A dust-coated glass jug, reminiscent of a vessel containing vinegar, sat in the center of the table. At the bottom of the jug was a thick layer of dead yeast.

Madeleine poured the tan liquid, careful not to disturb the sediment, into cups and slid them to Ollie and Boar. “I waited in line for three hours at the butcher for a minuscule strip of fat.” She sighed, then poured herself a drink. “Bartered the last of my truffles for this inedible baguette and what’s in this bottle. I believe it used to be apple brandy.”

Ollie sniffed his glass. Oaky fumes filled his nose. He took a bite of turnip, then washed it down with a sip. It didn’t taste anything like apples or any other fruit. The alcohol content was high, burning his throat and searing his empty stomach, as though he had swallowed a hot coal.

Boar scratched the bandage over his eyes, then ran his hands over the table as he found his cup. He gulped his brandy.

Madeleine refilled the lieutenant’s cup, then reached down to pat Louis on the head. “Tomorrow we’ll search for more truffles. And then get better food.”

The hog grunted.

As Ollie chewed stale bread, he watched the lieutenant drain his second cup of brandy, as if it were spring water. No grimace. No clearing of his throat. Boar, it appeared to Ollie, was self-absorbed, counting the days until he could remove the bandages. And as each moment passed, the man’s irritability grew. It would be another week before the bandages would be removed. And by then, Ollie suspected, the lieutenant would be a demon, if not the devil himself, to live with.