Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

“You had best accomplish it, Sir—and neatly!” sniffed Aunt Agathe, as if Chang were a workman whose expression of doubt was a prelude to an increase in his fee.

Miss Temple exhaled and stood.

“We must assume that the clerk who pointed the way to the Doctor’s room has been paid to inform on us further. We must distract him while my aunt and the maids depart. The men in the street will not be looking for them, or at least not without some signal. Once you do leave,” she said to her aunt, “you must go directly in a coach to the railway station, and from there to the shore, the southern shore—to Cape Rouge, there must be many inns—and I will send a letter to you, to the post office, once we are secure.”

“What of yourself?” asked Agathe.

“Oh, we shall shift ourselves easily enough,” she said, forcing a smile. “And this business will soon be over.” She looked over to Svenson and Chang for confirmation, but neither man’s expression would have convinced a credulous child. She called sharply for the maids to finish and gather their coats.

Miss Temple knew that she herself must go to Mr. Spanning, for the others would more profitably assist with the luggage—as well as best remaining concealed. She looked back to see them making their way to the rear stairs, Chang and Svenson each with an end of her aunt’s clothes trunk, the maids on either side of Agathe, one hand on their own small bags, the other steadying the aged lady. Miss Temple herself made for the main staircase carrying a large satchel and the green purse, wearing as carefree an expression as she could produce and nodding cheerfully at the other guests she passed. At the second floor her path opened onto a large gallery above the splendid lobby and then to the great curve of the main stairs. She glanced over the railing and saw no black-coated soldiery, but directly outside the doors were two men in brown cloaks. She continued down the wide steps and saw Mr. Spanning behind his counter, his gaze snapping up to hers as she descended into view. She smiled brilliantly at him. Spanning’s eyes darted about the lobby as she neared, and so before he could make any signal she gaily called to him.

“Mr. Spanning!”

“Miss Temple?” he answered warily, his normally sleek manner caught between distrust and pride in his own cunning.

She crossed to the desk—from the corners of her eyes seeing that no one lurked under the stairs—while watching the front door in the mirror behind Spanning’s desk. The cloaked men had seen her, but were not coming in. Quite apart from her habit, Miss Temple stood on her toes and leaned her elbows playfully on the counter.

“I’m sure you know why I have come.” She smiled.

“Do I?” replied Spanning, forcing an obsequious grin that did not suit him.

“O yes.” She batted her eyes.

“I’m sure I do not…”

“Perhaps you have been so set upon by business that it has slipped your mind…” She looked around the vacant lobby. “Though it does not appear so. Tell me, Mr. Spanning, have you been so set upon with pressing duties?” She was still smiling, but a hint of steel had crept into her otherwise honeyed tone.

“As you know, Miss Temple, my normal duties are very—”

“Yes, yes, but you haven’t had to bother with anyone else?”

Spanning cleared his throat with suspicion. “May I ask—”

“Do you know,” continued Miss Temple, “I have always meant to inquire as to your brand of pomade, for I have always found your hair to be so very…managed. And slick—managed and slick. I have wanted to impart such grooming to any number of other men in the city, but have not known what to recommend—and always forget to ask!”

“It is Bronson’s, Miss.”

“Bronson’s. Excellent.” She leaned in with a suddenly serious expression. “Do you never worry about fire?”

“Fire?”

“Leaning too close to a candle? I should think—you know—whoosh!” She chuckled. “Ah, it is so pleasant to laugh. But I am in earnest, Mr. Spanning. And I do require an answer—no matter how you strive to charm me!”

“I assure you, Miss Temple—”

“Of what, Mr. Spanning? Of what do you—this day—assure me?”

She was no longer smiling, but looking directly into the man’s eyes. He did not reply. She brought the green bag onto the counter top, allowing its weight to land with a thump. Its contents were not usual for a lady’s purse. Spanning saw her deftly angle the bag in his direction and take hold of it through the fabric—her manner still casual but unaccountably menacing.

“How precisely may I help you?” he asked meekly.

“I will be traveling,” she said. “As will my aunt, but to another destination. I wish to retain my rooms. I assume my note of credit will answer any worries?”

“Of course. You will be returning…”

“At some point.”

“I see.”

“Good. Do you know, earlier, that this hotel seemed absolutely full of foreign soldiers?”

“Did it?”

“Apparently they were directed to the second floor.” She looked around them and then dropped her voice to a whisper. Despite himself Spanning leaned closer to hear. “Do you know, Mr. Spanning,…do you know the sound a person makes…when they’re thrashed…to such an extreme…they can no longer even cry out…with pain?”

Mr. Spanning flinched, blinking his eyes. Miss Temple leaned even closer and whispered, “Because I do.”

Spanning swallowed. Miss Temple stood up straight and smiled.

“I believe you have the Doctor’s boots and his coat?”

She climbed back up the main staircase to the second floor and then dashed down the hallway to the rear stairs, her green bag in one hand, the boots in the other, and the Doctor’s coat over her left arm. The satchel, thickly packed with unnecessary clothing, had been left in Spanning’s care with the request for him to hold it until she was ready to leave, which she announced would most likely be after luncheon—thus making a point to inform Spanning (and the soldiers) that she (and by extension, via the boots, Svenson and Chang) could be found in her rooms for the next few hours. Once out of sight from the lobby, Miss Temple picked up her dress as best she could and briskly climbed. With luck the others had used her distraction to get her aunt and the maids out the service entrance. The porters would take the luggage and find a coach, allowing Svenson and Chang to remain hidden indoors. But were the soldiers marching into the lobby even then, men who moved much faster than she? She reached the fourth floor and stopped to listen. She heard no bootsteps and resumed her trotting pace upwards. At the eighth floor she stopped again, flushed with exertion and panting. She had never been to this topmost floor and had no idea where to find what Chang assured her was there. She walked along the corridor, past what looked like doors to normal rooms, until she rounded a corner and faced the end of the hall. She looked back the other way and saw an identical dead end. Hot and out of breath from her climb, Miss Temple worried about what next might follow her up the stairs. She whispered—or rather hissed—to the air around her with frustration. “Psssssst!”

She wheeled abruptly at a wooden squeak. A section of the red-flocked wallpaper swung forward on hinges she had not seen, revealing Doctor Svenson, and behind him, on a narrow staircase steep enough to be more like a ladder, Chang, silhouetted in an open doorway to the roof. Despite the distress of a moment before, she could not suppress her admiration at the cunningly concealed doorway.

“My goodness,” she exclaimed, “whoever made that is as clever as five monkeys put together!”

“Your aunt is safely away,” said Svenson, stepping into the hall to collect his things.

“I am relieved to hear it,” replied Miss Temple. The Doctor struggled into his coat, which—after being brushed and steamed—did restore some of his military crispness. “I could not see this door at all,” she continued, admiring the inset hinges. “I don’t know how anyone should find it—”

“Are they following?” hissed Chang from inside the passage.

“Not that I have seen,” Miss Temple whispered in return. “I could not see them in the lobby—O!” She turned