Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

was not in room 27. She raced to the door she had seen him leave—number 34—to find it also open. The room was empty. The window was locked. She returned to the hall, more agitated—somehow the soldiers had known of Svenson’s room and of Chang’s. With a sudden bolt of horror she thought of her own, and her aunt.

Miss Temple charged up the stairs, feverishly digging the revolver from her bag. She rounded the landing, cocking the pistol and taking a breath. She strode into the corridor and saw no one. Were they already inside? Or about to arrive any moment? This door was shut. Miss Temple banged on it with the heel of her fist. There was no sound from beyond the door. She knocked again. Still there was no answer, and her mind was assailed by images of her aunt and her maids slaughtered, the room running with blood. Miss Temple dug her key from her bag and, using her left hand, which made it awkward, unlocked the door. She shoved it open and threw herself to the side. Silence. She peeked around the corner. The entryway was empty. She held the revolver with both hands and walked slowly through the doorway. The outer parlor was empty as well, with no signs of disturbance. She turned to the inner parlor door, which was closed. It was never closed. She crept toward it, looked about her and reached her left hand toward the knob. She slowly turned it and, hearing the click of the bolt, thrust it open. She shrieked—a small shriek, she later hoped—for before her, his revolver extended to Miss Temple’s face, stood Doctor Svenson in his stockinged feet. Sitting next to him, trembling and white with terror, was her aunt. Behind them sat the two maids, frozen with fright. A sudden prickling caused Miss Temple to wheel. Behind her, a long double-edged knife in his hand, stood Cardinal Chang, having just stepped out from the maids’ room. He smiled at her grimly.

“Very good, Miss Temple. Would you have shot me before I’d cut your throat? I do not know, which is the profoundest of compliments.”

She swallowed, unable quite yet to lower the pistol.

“The front door, I’d suggest,” called Doctor Svenson from behind her.

Chang nodded. “Indeed.” He turned and walked to the door, glancing quickly into the hall before stepping back and closing it, turning the lock. “And perhaps a chair…” he said to no one in particular, and selected one of the inner parlor chairs to wedge beneath the knob. This done, he turned to them and smiled coolly. “We have made the acquaintance of your aunt.”

“We were extremely worried when you were not here,” said Svenson. He had pocketed his pistol, and was looking uncomfortable to be standing among the openly terrified women.

“I used the other stairs,” said Miss Temple. She saw both men were watching her closely and followed their gaze to her hands. She forced herself to slowly release the hammer of the revolver, and to exhale. “There are soldiers—”

“Yes,” said Chang. “We were able to escape.”

“But how—they were on one staircase and you did not pass me on the other. And how did you know which room was mine?”

“The chit you signed for the tea,” said Svenson. “It noted your room—we did not leave it for them to find, do not worry. As for the escape—”

“Doctor Svenson is a sailor.” Chang smiled. “He can climb.”

“I can climb when I am pushed,” said Svenson, shaking his head.

“But—I looked out the window,” cried Miss Temple, “there was nothing to climb but brick!”

“There was a metal pipe,” said Svenson.

“But that was tiny!”

She saw that the Doctor’s face had paled as they spoke. He swallowed awkwardly and wiped his brow.

“Exactly.” Chang smiled. “He is a clambering marvel.”

Miss Temple caught the gaze of her aunt, still trembling in her chair, and she was flooded with guilt for so endangering the woman. She looked up at the others, her voice sharp with urgency.

“It does not matter. They will know from the desk—from that vile Mr. Spanning, whose pomaded hair I shall set aflame. The Doctor’s room is paid for by me. They will be here any moment.”

“How many men did you see?” asked Chang.

“Four. Three soldiers and another, in a brown cloak.”

“The Comte’s man,” said Svenson.

“We are three,” said Chang. “They’ll want to take us quietly, not force a pitched battle.”

“There may be others in the lobby,” warned Svenson.

“Even if there are, we can beat them.”

“At what cost?” asked the Doctor.

Chang shrugged.

Miss Temple looked around her, at the comfort and security that had been her life at the Hotel Boniface, and knew that it was over. She turned to her maids. “Marthe, you will prepare a traveling bag—light enough for me to carry, with the barest essentials—the flowered carpet bag will do.” The girl did not move. Miss Temple shouted at her. “At once! Do you think this is any time to shirk? Marie, you will prepare traveling bags for my aunt and for the two of you. You will be spending time at the seaside. Go!”

The maids leapt to their work. Her aunt looked up at her.

“Celeste—my dear—the seaside?”

“You must move to safety—and I apologize, I am so very, very sorry to have placed you in such danger.” Miss Temple sniffed and gestured toward her own room. “I will see what ready money I have, of course you will have enough for travel, and a note to draw upon—you must take both maids—”

Agathe’s gaze went, rather wide-eyed, from Miss Temple over to the figures of Chang and Svenson, neither of whom seemed anywhere near respectable enough for her niece to be alone with. “But—you cannot—you are a well-bred young lady—the scandal—you must come with me!”

“It is impossible—”

“You will not have a maid—that is impossible!” The aged lady huffed at the men, chiding them. “And the seaside will be so cold—”

“That is the exact point, my Aunt. You must go to a place no one would expect. You must tell no one—you must tell no one.”

Her aunt was silent as the maids bustled around them, studying her niece with dismay—though whether at the present predicament or at what her niece had become, Miss Temple was not sure. She was particularly aware that Svenson and Chang were watching the entire exchange.

“And what of you?” whispered her aunt.

“I cannot say,” she answered. “I do not know.”

At least twenty minutes had passed, and Miss Temple—idly tracing her fingers back and forth across one of the Doctor’s blue glass cards—saw Chang at the main door, peering out into the hall. He stepped back, caught her eye, and shrugged. Marthe had brought the carpet bag for her to inspect. Miss Temple sent her to help Marie, tucked the blue card into her own clutch bag—without looking at the Doctor, who having given it to her again to examine had not perhaps agreed it was hers to keep—and carried the carpet bag over to an armchair, where she sat. Her attention elsewhere, she glanced through what the maid had chosen and tied the bag shut without finishing. Miss Temple sighed. Her aunt sat at the table, watching her. Chang stood by the door. Svenson leaned against the table near her aunt, his attempts to help pack having been rebuffed by the maids.

“If these men have not come,” said her aunt, “then perhaps they are not coming at all. Perhaps there is no need to go anywhere. If they do not know Celeste—”

“Whether they know your niece is not the issue,” said Svenson gently. “They know who I am, at least, and also Chang. As they know we have been here, they will be watching the hotel. It will be a mere matter of time before they connect your niece to us—”

“They already have,” said Chang, from the doorway.

“Then once they act on it,” continued Svenson, “as your niece has said—you yourself are in danger.”

“But,” her aunt persisted, “if they are not here yet—”

“It is a blessing,” said Miss Temple. “It means we may all get away unseen.”

“That will be difficult,” said Chang.

Miss Temple sighed. It would be very difficult. Each entrance would be watched from the street. The only question, and their only hope, was in what those men were watching for—and surely it was not two maids and an old woman.