It was all quite fascinating.
'I'm warning you,' said a voice from behind him, 'there's no point trying to seduce her.'
Turning around-and feeling quite stupid; had he really been ogling the woman that openly?-he saw one of the men he'd met the night before in the Rathaus. The basement tavern of the city hall had been taken over by the CoC, for all practical purposes.
Another Pole, as it happened. Tadeusz Szklenski, a Silesian from a town near Krakow.
The only thing Jozef remembered about him from the previous evening was that the man's Amideutsch was pretty decent if heavily accented and he insisted on being called by the up-time nickname of 'Ted.'
The grin he had on his face was just friendly, so Jozef decided to return it with a grin of his own.
'And why would you think I'd have that in mind to begin with?'
'Three reasons. The first is that Gretchen Richter's very good-looking. The second and the third are named Ilse and Ursula.'
Jozef couldn't stop himself from wincing. Ilse and Ursula were waitresses in the Rathaus tavern. He'd slept with both of them in the course of the past week. Once again, and for perhaps the hundredth time, he cautioned himself that his attraction to women was foolish for a spy.
The problem was partly that Jozef himself was very good-looking, a quality that most men might prize but was a nuisance for someone working in espionage. The other part of the problem was that he had a personality that many women seemed to find irresistibly charming-and, alas, the reverse was also true, if the women were bright and had a sense of humor.
'I hadn't realized anyone was monitoring my personal habits,' he said stiffly.
Szklenski shrugged. 'The fellows came to me about it. They wanted to make sure you were okay. We're both Poles, you see.'
He seemed to think all of that was self-explanatory. But Jozef found it all very murky.
Who were 'the fellows?' Why would they come to Szklenski? What did 'okay' mean in this context? And what difference did it make that they were both Poles?
His puzzlement must have been evident. 'CoC guys,' Szklenski explained. 'They're always looking out for spies. They figured I could sniff you out if you were, since we're both Polish.' He shrugged. 'I don't think that last part makes a lot of sense, myself, but that's how they felt about it.'
'They thought I was a spy?' Jozef tried to put as much in the way of outraged innocence into the term as he could-while keeping in mind the danger of over-acting given that he was, in point of fact, a spy.
'Silly notion, isn't it?-and I told them so right off. What kind of idiot spy would screw two girls in one week who both worked in the same tavern?'
An excellent question, Jozef thought grimly. Perhaps he should start flagellating himself to drive out these evil urges. Or wear a hair shirt.
'You'd better stay out of Ursula's sight for a while, by the way. Ilse is easy-going but Ursula's not at all.'
He glanced over to where Richter had stopped to talk to another group of people. Shop-keepers, from the look of them. 'And you can forget about her altogether. Not even the reactionaries try to spread rumors about her. They say she dotes on that up-time husband of hers, even if he is fat and ugly. Well, plain-looking.'
Jozef hadn't even been thinking about Richter in those terms. He'd admit to being stupid when it came to attractive women, but he wasn't insane. And right now, he was much more concerned about people suspecting him of being a spy. Especially CoC-type people, who were notorious for being prone to summary justice.
'Why would anyone think Poland would send a spy here? We're not really very close to where the war is going on.'
Szklenski stared at him, frowning. 'What's Poland got to do with anything? The guys were worried you might be a spy for the Swedes.'
Jozef shook his head. The gesture was not one of negation; just an attempt to clear his head.
'And the logic of thinking a Swedish general would hire a Pole to spy on Saxons is…what, exactly?'
Szklenski's grin was back. 'Don't ask me. I told you I thought it was silly-and I told them so as well. But just to calm them down, I said I'd talk to you. There aren't that many Polish CoCers in Dresden, so I figure we need to look out for each other.'
Jozef cleared his throat. 'And…ah…why, exactly, would you assume I was a member of the CoCs myself?'
Szklenski got a sly look on his face. 'Don't want to talk about it, huh? That's okay-but don't think you're fooling anybody. Why else would a Pole be in Dresden right now, unless he was a lunatic?'
Another excellent question.
That evening, Jozef decided it would be wise to follow Szklenski's advice and spend his time at a different tavern. Where the now-revealed-to-be-not-entirely-good-humored Ursula did not work.
Szklenski himself escorted him there. 'It's where most of us Poles go,' he explained.
So it proved.
'You led me into a trap,' Jozef said. Accusingly, but not angrily. He wasn't hot-tempered to begin with, and even if he had been he would have restrained himself. Being hot-tempered when you're surrounded at a corner table in a dark tavern by eight men at least two of whom were armed with knives would be even more stupid than seducing two waitresses in one week who worked at the same establishment.
Szklenski shrugged, looking a bit embarrassed. Only a bit, though.
'Sorry, but we really do have to make sure,' he said. 'We've got a good reputation with the USE guys here and we can't afford to let it get damaged.'
Jozef looked around. 'I take it all of you are in the CoCs?'
'We're asking the questions, not you,' said one of them. That was Bogumil-no last name provided-whom Jozef had already pegged as the surliest of the lot. He didn't think it was an act, either.
'Give us some names,' said the man to Bogumil's left. That was Waclaw, who had also failed to provide a last name. 'Something.'
Jozef thought about it, for a moment. Acting as if he were an innocent Pole not involved with politics who just happened to wander into Dresden right now was probably pointless. The question then became, what did he claim to be?
In for a penny, in for a pound, as the up-timers said. 'Krzysztof Opalinski.'
'What about him?' That came from a third man at the table, who had provided no name at all. He was quite short, but very thick-shouldered and dangerous-looking.
'Nothing about him,' said Jozef, sounding bored. 'I hope you're not expecting me to provide you with details of what we're doing? How do I know you're not spies?'
'Who would we be spying for?' said Bogumil, jeeringly.
Jozef shrugged. 'I can think of at least half a dozen great magnates who might be employing spies in the Germanies. So can you, so let's stop playing.'
Bogumil started to say something but Waclaw held up his hand. 'He's right. But I want to make sure you really know him.' He stood up and held his hand, palm down, a few inches above his own head. 'He's about this tall, well-built, blonde, blue eyes, and he favors a tight-cut beard?'
Jozef leaned back in his chair and smiled. 'That's a pretty fair description of his younger brother Lukasz. But Krzysztof's about two inches taller, to begin with. He's got broad shoulders and he's certainly in good shape, but nothing like Lukasz, who's a hussar and bloody damn good at it. They both have blonde hair and blue eyes, but Krzysztof's hair is a bit lighter and his eyes shade into green. What else do you want to know?'
He stood up himself-slowly, though, so as not to alarm anyone-lifted his shirt and pointed to a spot on his side just above the hip. 'Krzysztof's got a birth mark here, shaped like a crooked hourglass. His brother-as you'd expect with a hussar-has several scars. You want to know where they are and what they look like?'
Bogumil glared up at him. 'How do you know what his body looks like? You a faggot?'
'We bathe, how else? Try it sometime.'
Bogumil spluttered and started to get up, but Waclaw placed a hand on his shoulder and drove him back down on the bench they shared. 'You started the insults, so don't complain.'
He studied Jozef for a few seconds, and then looked at his companions. 'I think he's probably okay. He obviously knows Krzysztof.'
The short, muscular fellow still looked a bit dubious. 'Yes, but he could have known him from something
