moment and then wiped a tear from his eye. “Good,” he said finally. “I’m glad he’s all right. The child born here has become a grown man. But where is Liechtenstein? And what exactly is a two-man bobsled?”
Grenzmann explained that Liechtenstein is a German-speaking country bordered by Switzerland and Austria.
“It’s a principality with a constitutional monarchy,” he added, “and full of people with plenty of money. Your baron must still be quite a rich fellow if his family has been living there all this time. I went skiing once in Liechtenstein. Very pretty.”
Grenzmann closed the heavy book. “And a bobsled is just a large sled, only much faster than the kind of sled that children use. As well as being a rich fellow, this Eduard must be a very brave one and, to that extent at least, a typical German. Believe me, it takes a lot of guts to catapult yourself down one of these courses on one of those sleds. I did the Cresta Run on a sled at Saint Moritz once, in 1938, and I don’t mind telling you, Max, it scared the living daylights out of me. Yes, I bet he and I would be great friends.”
Max didn’t contradict the captain but he rather doubted this: anyone who was capable of shooting a herd of almost extinct horses was not someone that any Falz-Fein could ever have called a friend.
“You know, I’m glad you came tonight, Max,” said Grenzmann.
He shrugged. “Thank you for asking me,” he said politely. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“As I think I told you before, it’s possible we may have to defend this place against the Red Army. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, I should like to know the complete lay of the land. That’s just good soldiering, Max. Anyway, as a result of that, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”
Grenzmann beckoned Max to join him at the framed map of Askaniya-Nova on the wall of the baron’s study.
“When I first arrived, you were kind enough to show me the boundaries of the reserve on this map.”
“Yes, I remember.”
Max went over to the map and waited patiently for the captain to explain himself.
Grenzmann grinned and pointed to a name at the bottom of the map. “Bruno Hassenstein. You can tell it was a German who made this map. It’s very detailed: a scale, contours, features—a beautiful piece of work. Nevertheless, there are one or two features of this map that puzzle me.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“Well, here of course is the big house, where we are now,” said Grenzmann. “Here are the lakes and the local villages—even the highest point on the steppe is neatly marked. This, I think, must be your famous blue cottage. Yes, even that appears on this map. But these featureshere are a mystery to me. They appear to be a collection of man-made structures—you see the little squares and the two little circles?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what these are?”
Max shook his head. “I’m not very good at reading maps, sir.”
“But it’s interesting, don’t you think?”
“If you say so, sir.”
Grenzmann tapped the glass covering the map with his finger. “I’ve looked for these structures when I’ve been out riding, but with no luck. Naturally, I’m reluctant to remove this map from the frame and take it with me.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could make a copy. But I thought it might just be easier to ask you.”
“My memory is not what it was, sir.”
“And yet you had no problem remembering the date that Eduard Falz-Fein was born. That’s curious, too, don’t you think?”
“To be fair, the birth of a child is an important date, sir. At least it was in this house.”
Max leaned toward the map and took a closer look, for form’s sake. He could tell that Grenzmann was not going to let this go. The German was like a terrier with a rat when there was something on his mind. And his piercing blue eyes always seemed to hint that he knew much more than he was letting on; it was, thought Max, very
Grenzmann explained that Liechtenstein is a German-speaking country bordered by Switzerland and Austria.
“It’s a principality with a constitutional monarchy,” he added, “and full of people with plenty of money. Your baron must still be quite a rich fellow if his family has been living there all this time. I went skiing once in Liechtenstein. Very pretty.”
Grenzmann closed the heavy book. “And a bobsled is just a large sled, only much faster than the kind of sled that children use. As well as being a rich fellow, this Eduard must be a very brave one and, to that extent at least, a typical German. Believe me, it takes a lot of guts to catapult yourself down one of these courses on one of those sleds. I did the Cresta Run on a sled at Saint Moritz once, in 1938, and I don’t mind telling you, Max, it scared the living daylights out of me. Yes, I bet he and I would be great friends.”
Max didn’t contradict the captain but he rather doubted this: anyone who was capable of shooting a herd of almost extinct horses was not someone that any Falz-Fein could ever have called a friend.
“You know, I’m glad you came tonight, Max,” said Grenzmann.
He shrugged. “Thank you for asking me,” he said politely. “I’m looking forward to it.”
“As I think I told you before, it’s possible we may have to defend this place against the Red Army. I hope it doesn’t come to that, but if it does, I should like to know the complete lay of the land. That’s just good soldiering, Max. Anyway, as a result of that, I’ve been meaning to ask you a question.”
Grenzmann beckoned Max to join him at the framed map of Askaniya-Nova on the wall of the baron’s study.
“When I first arrived, you were kind enough to show me the boundaries of the reserve on this map.”
“Yes, I remember.”
Max went over to the map and waited patiently for the captain to explain himself.
Grenzmann grinned and pointed to a name at the bottom of the map. “Bruno Hassenstein. You can tell it was a German who made this map. It’s very detailed: a scale, contours, features—a beautiful piece of work. Nevertheless, there are one or two features of this map that puzzle me.”
“Oh? Such as?”
“Well, here of course is the big house, where we are now,” said Grenzmann. “Here are the lakes and the local villages—even the highest point on the steppe is neatly marked. This, I think, must be your famous blue cottage. Yes, even that appears on this map. But these featureshere are a mystery to me. They appear to be a collection of man-made structures—you see the little squares and the two little circles?”
“Yes.”
“Do you have any idea what these are?”
Max shook his head. “I’m not very good at reading maps, sir.”
“But it’s interesting, don’t you think?”
“If you say so, sir.”
Grenzmann tapped the glass covering the map with his finger. “I’ve looked for these structures when I’ve been out riding, but with no luck. Naturally, I’m reluctant to remove this map from the frame and take it with me.” He shrugged. “I suppose I could make a copy. But I thought it might just be easier to ask you.”
“My memory is not what it was, sir.”
“And yet you had no problem remembering the date that Eduard Falz-Fein was born. That’s curious, too, don’t you think?”
“To be fair, the birth of a child is an important date, sir. At least it was in this house.”
Max leaned toward the map and took a closer look, for form’s sake. He could tell that Grenzmann was not going to let this go. The German was like a terrier with a rat when there was something on his mind. And his piercing blue eyes always seemed to hint that he knew much more than he was letting on; it was, thought Max, very
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