Fiction: The Spy Who Gets Great Deals on Discount Airfare (Queen Mob's Teahouse)
These sealskin boots are never going to fit in the overhead cabin. And they smell. Oiled by hand, they have a ruddy musk that emanates from every part, toe to the matted fur that pokes out at the knee. They served me well in the flats, cutting every gust that blasted against them as I charged through snow drifts from the badlands beyond the fjord where Dagmar and his men kept camp.
