“If you would simply tell us, Monsieur!” protested Crabbe. “There is no great amount of time—”
“Mrs. Dujong’s memory tells of a
“Arthur intended to give it to Vandaariff,” said Xonck. “The greedy fool would not have been able to resist…”
Crabbe stepped forward, narrowing his eyes.
“Is this your way of informing us that
“But that is the point, Harald,” rumbled the Comte. “I am telling you
“But—but why else—” began Crabbe, but he then fell silent…as every member of the Cabal studied one another.
“You said she had this from Svenson?” the Contessa asked. “Where did
“She does not know.”
“From me, of course,” drawled a sluggish voice from the other side of the room. Karl-Horst was attempting to pour himself more brandy. “He must have found it in my room. I never even noticed Trapping, I must say—more interested in
“A present from whom?” asked Francis Xonck.
“Lord knows—is that important?”
“It is perhaps crucial, Your Highness,” said the Contessa.
The Prince frowned. “Well…in
It seemed to Miss Temple that each member of the Cabal watched the Prince with the barest restraint, every one of them wishing they could slap his face until he spat out what he knew, but none daring to show the slightest impatience or worry in front of the others…and so they waited as he pursed his lips and scratched his ear and sucked on his teeth, all the time enjoying their undivided attention. She was beginning to get worried herself. What if Angelique were to continue her search? Who was to say the glass woman could not somehow smell the presence of their minds? Miss Temple’s leg tingled from being crouched so long, and the dusty air was tickling her nose. She glanced at Chang, his lips pressed shut, and realized he had controlled his cough this entire time. She’d not given it a second thought, but suddenly the possibility—the inevitability!—of him exposing their presence terrified her. They must take some action—but what? What possibly?
“I suppose it must have been Doctor Lorenz, or—what was his name?—Mr. Crooner, from the Institute, the one who died so badly. They were the ones working the machines. Gave it to me as a sort of
The Contessa cut him off. “Excellent, Your Highness, that’s very helpful.”
She crossed to the Comte and relieved him of the items he’d taken from Eloise, speaking with a barely veiled anger.
“This gets us nowhere. We have what we came for—the key. Let us at once return to the books, to find what we can from Lord Robert’s
“You don’t believe it was Chang?” asked Crabbe.
“Do you?” scoffed the Contessa. “I would be happy to hear it—my life would be simpler. But no—we all remember the delicacy and risk involved in our final
The Comte nodded to Lydia. “It is done…save for the settling.”
“The pleasure is in the final outcome, Rosamonde,” the Comte rasped.
“Of course it is,” she replied, her gaze drifting to the spattered bedding. “We have intruded enough. We will see you at the airship.”
She turned to leave but stopped as Xonck stepped forward and nodded at Eloise.
“What will you do with
“Is it up to me?” asked the Comte.
“Not if you’d prefer it otherwise.” Xonck smiled. “I was being polite…”
“I would prefer to get on with my work,” snarled the Comte d’Orkancz.
“I am happy to oblige you,” said Xonck. He pulled Eloise to her feet with his good hand, and dragged her from the room. A moment later the Contessa, Crabbe, and their retinue followed.
Miss Temple looked to her companions and saw that Chang’s hand was clapped across Svenson’s mouth. The Doctor was in torment—yet if they made any noise at all, Angelique would sense their presence and overcome them as easily as she had Eloise. Miss Temple leaned forward again, peeking down into the laboratory. The Comte had watched the others depart, and then returned to his table. He glanced over to Lydia and to Angelique, ignored the Prince, and unscrewed a small valve that stuck out from the metal implement’s side. With more delicacy than she would have credited a man of his size, Miss Temple watched the Comte pour steaming liquid from one of the heated flasks into the valve, never spilling a drop, and then screw the valve closed. He lifted the metal implement and walked back to the bed, setting it down next to Lydia’s leg.
“Are you awake, Lydia?”
Lydia nodded. It was the first time Miss Temple had seen the girl move.
“Are you in pain?”
Lydia grimaced, but shook her head. She turned, distracted by movement. It was the Prince, pouring more brandy.
“Your fiance will not remember any of this, Lydia,” said the Comte. “Neither will you. Lie back…what cannot be reversed must be embraced.”
The Comte picked up the implement and glanced up to their balcony. He raised his voice, speaking generally to the room.
“It would be better if you descended willingly. If the
Miss Temple turned to Chang and Svenson, aghast.
“I
Chang took his hand away from Svenson’s mouth and looked behind for some other way out. Before either could stop him, the Doctor shot to his feet and called out over the balcony to the Comte.
“I am coming…damn you to hell, I am coming down…”
He turned to them, his eyes a fierce glare, his hand held out for their continued silence. He made a loud stomping as he reached the staircase, but as he passed thrust the pistol into Miss Temple’s hands and leaned close to her ear.
“If they never marry,” he whispered, “the spawn is not
Miss Temple bobbled the gun and looked up at him. Svenson was already gone. She turned to Chang, but he was stifling a vicious cough—a thin stream of blood dripping down his chin. She turned back to the balcony rail. The Doctor stepped into view, his hands away from his body and open, to show he was unarmed. He winced with disgust at this new closer view of Lydia Vandaariff, then pointed to the glass woman.
“I suppose your
The Comte laughed—a particularly objectionable sound—and shook his head. “On the contrary, Doctor—and appropriately, as we are both men of science and inquiry. My glimpse through Mrs. Dujong’s mind showed no