Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

secret room, the Contessa and the Prince, the killing of Blenheim, Eloise’s discovery in the blue card, Trapping, Vandaariff, Lydia, Veilandt, the ballroom, and, finally, the vicious argument between the Contessa and her allies not ten minutes before. The entire narrative took perhaps two hurriedly whispered minutes.

When she was finished, Miss Temple took a deep breath, hoping she hadn’t forgotten anything vital, though of course she had—simply too much had happened.

“So…” The Doctor pushed himself up from the floor onto the settee.

“They have taken control of this government with the Duke—who I promise you was killed—and are on their way to taking over that of Macklenburg—”

“If it is not offensive to you, Doctor,” said Miss Temple, “I do not understand the to- do about one amongst so many German kingdoms.”

“Duchy, but yes—it is because our mountains hold more of this indigo clay than a hundred Tarr Manors put together. They have been acquiring the land for years…” His voice caught and again he shook his head. “In any case—if they journey tonight to Macklenburg—”

“We will need to travel—” muttered Chang. His words were followed by another wracking cough he did his best to ignore, digging into each side pocket of his coat. “I have carried these quite a way, for this exact moment…”

Miss Temple squeaked with happy surprise, blinking again at a new tickling of tears in each eye. Her green boots! She sat down on the floor without the slightest hesitation or thought of modesty and snatched them up, working her lost treasures joyfully onto each foot. She looked up at Chang, who was smiling—though still coughing—and set to tightening the laces.

“I cannot tell you what this means,” she said, “you will laugh at me—you’re laughing now—I know they are only shoes, and I have many shoes, and to be honest I should not have given a pin for these four days before, but now I would not lose them for the world.”

“Of course not,” said Svenson quietly.

“O!” Miss Temple said. “But there are things of yours—from your greatcoat, which we lost, but as I said, we took the card, and there was also a silver case, for your cigarettes! Well, now that I say it, I do not have it—Eloise does, but once we find her, you shall have it back.”

“Indeed…I…that is excellent—”

“It seemed as if it might be precious to you.”

The Doctor nodded, but then looked away, frowning, as if he did not want to say more. Chang coughed again, congestion echoing wetly in his chest.

“We must do something for you,” said Svenson, but Chang shook his head.

“It is my lungs—”

“Powdered glass,” said Miss Temple. “The Contessa explained how she’d killed you.”

“I am sorry to disappoint the Lady…” He smiled.

Svenson looked at Chang quite soberly. “The glass alone would be harmful to your lungs—that it bears such toxic properties as well, it is a marvel you have not succumbed to hypnotic visions.”

“I should prefer them to this coughing, I assure you.”

“Is there any way to get it out?” asked Miss Temple.

The Doctor frowned in thought. The Cardinal spat again, and began to speak.

“My story is simple. When we did not know where you went, we split up, the Doctor to Tarr Manor and I to the Ministry, neither of us guessing correctly. I met Bascombe and the Contessa, witnessed the Process in action, fought Xonck, nearly died, then tracked you—too late—to the St. Royale—thus the boots—and made the train for Harschmort. Once here I have seen the most powerful figures overborne, their minds drained into these books, and Robert Vandaariff, mindless as an ape, filling page after page with a narrative of his secrets. I was unable to prevent the transformation of the three women…” Chang paused for a moment—Miss Temple was becoming steadily aware of the degree to which each man had pressed the limit of not only his strength but also his heart, and her own went out to them utterly—and then cleared his throat. “Though I did kill your Major Blach. But the rest was capture and failure—except I also managed to kill the Contessa’s man, Mr. Gray—”

“O! They were arguing about it fiercely!” exclaimed Miss Temple.

“He was on some errand—secret from the others, I am sure. I do not know what it was.” He looked up at Miss Temple. “Did you say our guards were Dragoons?”

“Not directly outside the door, no—but in the corridor, yes—perhaps a dozen men with their officer, Captain Smythe, and their Colonel—”

“Smythe, you say!” Chang’s face visibly brightened.

“I met him,” said Svenson. “He saved my life!”

“He knows me too, somehow,” said Miss Temple. “It was actually rather unsettling…”

“If we can get rid of Aspiche then Smythe will come to our cause, I am sure of it,” said Chang.

Miss Temple glanced back at the door. “Well, if that is all we require, then we will soon be on our way. Doctor?”

“I can speak as we go—save to say that there is an airship on the roof—it is how we came from Tarr Manor. They may use it to reach a ship at the canal, or farther up the coast—”

“Or go all the way to Macklenburg,” said Chang. “These machines I have seen are prodigiously powerful.”

Svenson nodded. “You are right—it is ridiculous to undervalue their capacity in any way—but this too can wait. We must stop the marriage. We must stop the Duke.”

“And we must find Eloise,” exclaimed Miss Temple, “especially as she has the glass key!”

“What glass key?” rasped Chang.

“Did I not mention it? I believe it is the way to safely read the books. We got it from Blenheim’s pocket.”

“How did he have it?” asked Chang.

“Exactly!” Miss Temple beamed. “Now, both of you—back on the floor—or, all right, I’m sure it is fine if you are on a settee—but you must shut your eyes and remain inert.”

“Celeste, what are you doing?” asked Svenson.

“Managing our escape, naturally.”

She knocked on the door and called out as sweetly as she could to the guards on the other side. They did not answer, but Miss Temple kept knocking and although she was forced to switch several times from one hand to the other as her knuckles became tender, at last the lock was turned and the door cracked open a single suspicious inch, through which Miss Temple glimpsed the pale, cautious face of a young soldier from Macklenburg—younger than herself, she saw, which only increased the sweetness of her smile.

“I do beg your pardon, but it’s very important that I see the Colonel. I have information for the Contessa—the Contessa, you understand—that she will be most anxious to have.”

The trooper did not move. Did he even understand her? Miss Temple’s smile hardened as she leaned forward and spoke more loudly, with a sharp, unmistakable intent.

“I must see the Colonel! At once! Or you will be punished!”

The trooper looked to his comrade, out of view, clearly unsure of what he should do. Miss Temple barked past him at the top of her lungs.

“Colonel Aspiche! I have vital news for you! If the Contessa does not get it, she will cut off your ears!”

At her scream the guard slammed the door and fumbled for the lock, but Miss Temple could already hear the angry stride of heavy boots. In a moment the door was flung wide by Aspiche, face crimson with rage, cheroot in one hand and the other on the hilt of his saber, glaring down at her like a red-coated schoolmaster ready to deal out a whipping.

“Thank you so much,” said Miss Temple.

“What information are you screeching about?” he snarled. “Your manners are quite unbecoming—even more so if I find this is a lie.”

“Nonsense,” said Miss Temple, shivering for the Colonel’s benefit and slipping a theatrical quaver into her voice. “And you do not need to scare me so—the state of my allies and the Contessa’s