Free Fellowship of Fear by Aaron Elkins Page B

make an exception, seeing as how you’re going to be such a good boy and eat up all the nice glop."
    A few seconds after she left the room, the big policeman walked in with a twinkling smile that was good for Gideon’s soul.
    "What’s up, Doc?"
    "I don’t believe it," Gideon said. "What are you doing in Sicily? Or am I back in Germany?"
    "No such luck; you’re in sunny Italy." As always, John’s babylike laugh made Gideon laugh too. Then he winced; the stitches had come out just that morning.
    "Hey, I’m sorry, Doc. You want the nurse again?"
    "No. It only hurts when I laugh." He held up his hand quickly. "Also when you laugh."
    John smiled, which was better. "Don’t let me stop you from eating. It looks wonderful."
    "I’ll tell you, it’s the closest thing to real food I’ve had since the shore patrol deposited me here Friday. Five days. Have a seat." He dug into the porridge and gingerly put the spoon in his mouth. Sue was right; it was still pretty raw in there.
    John made a face. "What is that stuff?"
    "I don’t know. Gruel, probably."
    "Nah, gruel’s thinner." John watched in good-humored silence as Gideon worked his way through the porridge, which tasted wonderful. With hot food in him and a friendly face nearby, he was starting to feel nearly human again.
    "Boy," John said happily, "you sure look like hell."
    Gideon put down his spoon. He hadn’t seen himself since the bandages had come off. "I sure feel like hell. I may as well see the worst. How about handing me the mirror on the bureau there?"
    John gave it to him. "You’ll be sorry."
    "Holy mackerel," said Gideon, "look at that." It had taken twenty stitches to pull together the jagged tear at the junction of his upper and lower lips, and six to close a cut at the side of his left eye, probably from when he’d banged his head on the bridge support. There were another four stitches over his right eye (Marco’s flashlight?) and several nasty contusions that had left most of his face brown, black, and purple. Add to this a patchy five-day beard, and Gideon was surprised that he was feeling as well as he was, which wasn’t all that good.
    John replaced the mirror. "How about the ankle?" he asked.
    "Looks worse than it is," Gideon said, indicating the protuberance at the end of the bed formed by a metal framework that kept the covers off his foot. "Sprained a couple of ligaments. I’m supposed to be up tomorrow, but I’ll have to use a cane for a while."
    "Well, Doc, you sure get involved in some pretty strange situations for a nice, mild-mannered professor-type."
    "Amazingly enough, the same thought has been occurring to me. The Curse of the Visiting Fellow, no doubt."
    "The curse of the who?"
    "You don’t know? It’s an honorary curse; goes along with my position. The last fellow, two semesters ago, got killed in a car accident, and the one before that disappeared. Or maybe I have them backwards."
    John took his notebook from the flap pocket of his shirt and wrote in it. "Go ahead," he said.
    "That’s all. Dr. Rufus told me about it… the chancellor. He was sort of embarrassed to have me even know about it; he didn’t exactly gush with information."
    John nodded. Gideon saw him print "Rufus" in the notebook. "Okay, Doc. Look, if this keeps up, you’re gonna get killed—or kill someone else, more likely. Let’s try to find out what the hell is going on. Now, I’ve seen the police reports and the transcripts of your statements, and I still have some big questions—"
    "Wait a minute, John. I’ve got some pretty big questions myself. I’d like to ask them first, if that’s okay."
    "Shoot." He flipped the notebook closed and dropped it into his pocket.
    "First of all, what are you doing here, really?"
    John’s injured surprise was clearly genuine. "Hey, look, you’ve been assaulted with intent to kill. That’s a crime, you know, even here, and I’m a cop."
    "I know, I know, but why
you?
This is over a thousand miles from Heidelberg.