Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

sharply at Doctor Svenson’s hand clutching her shoulder.

“I beg your pardon!” he said, bracing himself as he tried to put on his right boot. He could not do it with one hand and was reduced to trying with two while awkwardly hopping.

“We should hurry,” called Chang.

“Half a moment,” whispered Svenson—the first boot was nearly on. Miss Temple waited. His task remained difficult. She tried to find encouraging conversation.

“I have never been on a rooftop before, or not one so high. I’m sure we’ll have quite a view—up with the birds!”

Somehow it seemed the wrong thing to say. Svenson looked up at her, his face more pale, and started in on the second boot.

“Are you perfectly well, Doctor? I know you did not find but a few hours’ rest—”

“Go on ahead,” he said, essaying a casual tone that did not persuade. The second boot was on half-way. He stumbled, stepping upon it, the excess flopping around like an odd fish attached to the base of his leg. “I shall follow—I assure you—”

“Doctor!” hissed Chang. “It will be fine. The roof is wide, and the climb will be nothing like the pipe!”

“The pipe?” asked Miss Temple.

“Ah—well—that—” said Doctor Svenson.

“I thought you managed it splendidly.”

From the passage Chang scoffed.

“I have a difficulty with height. An excruciating difficulty—”

“I have the same with root vegetables.” Miss Temple smiled. “We shall help one another—come!” She anxiously looked past his shoulder down the hallway, relieved to see it still empty, and took his arm. He thrust his foot down into the boot—fully in but for a last uncooperative inch. They stepped through the door.

“Pull it tight,” whispered Chang, who had continued on above them. “It is better they not notice we have forced the lock.”

The sky above was grey and so low as to seem palpably near, the sun well behind a thick bank of winter cloud. The air was cool and moist, and if there were only more wind Miss Temple might have told herself she was on the sea. She inhaled with pleasure. She looked down to see with a certain small wonder that under her feet was a crusty layer of tarred paper and copper sheathing—so this was walking on a roof! Behind her Doctor Svenson had knelt, concentrating closely on his left boot, eyes fixed to the ground. Chang secured the door with bits of broken wood, wedging them into the frame to prevent it from opening easily. He stepped away and wiped his hand on his coat. She saw that his other hand held her carpet bag—she had completely forgotten it, and reached to take it from him. He shook his head and nodded toward a nearby building.

“I believe we can go this way—north,” he said.

“If we must,” muttered Svenson. He stood, still keeping his eyes low. Miss Temple saw it was time for her to act.

“Excuse me,” she said, “but before we travel further together, I believe—I am convinced—that we need to speak.”

Chang frowned at her. “They may be coming—”

“Yes, though I do not think they are. I think they are waiting for us in the street, or waiting for Mr. Spanning to make sure the guests in the rooms near to mine will not be disturbed by any screams. I am confident we have at least some few minutes.”

The two men looked at each other. She could sense the doubt in the glance that went between them. She pointedly cleared her throat, bringing their eyes back to her.

“To the great distress of my only available relative, I have been thrust into the company of two men at the very border—if that—of respectability. This morning we were strangers. In this instant all three of us are without sanctuary. What I want—in fact demand—is that we make quite clear what we each hope to achieve in this matter, what masters we serve—in short, what is our agreement.”

She waited for their reaction. The two men were silent.

“I do not find the request excessive,” said Miss Temple.

Svenson nodded at her, looked to Chang and muttered, groping in his pocket. “Excuse me—a cigarette—it will distract from the altitude, this sea of vacant space—” He looked back at Miss Temple. “You are correct. It is most sensible. We do not know each other—chance has thrown us together.”

“Can we not do this later?” asked Chang, his tone clinging to the merest edge of civility.

“When would that be?” answered Miss Temple. “Do we even know where we are going next? Have we decided how best to act? Who to pursue? Of course we haven’t, because we have each made assumptions from our very different experiences.”

Chang exhaled, vexed. After a moment, he nodded sharply, as if to invite her to begin. Miss Temple did so.

“I have been attacked and now uprooted. I have been misled, threatened, and lied to. I wish for justice… which means the thorough settling of each person involved.” She took a breath. “Doctor?”

Svenson took the moment to actually light his cigarette, return the case to his coat pocket, and exhale. He nodded to her.

“I must recover my Prince—no matter this conspiracy, it remains my duty to disentangle him. I have no doubt that this entails a kind of war—but I have little choice. Cardinal?”

Chang paused, as if he found this a pointless, formal exercise, but then spoke quietly and quickly. “If this business is not answered I have no work, no place to live, and no good reputation. For these all being set at hazard, I will have revenge—I must, as I say, to preserve my name. Does that satisfy you?”

“It does.”

“These figures are intertwined, and deadly,” said Chang. “Are we to follow them all—to an end?”

“I would insist upon it, actually,” said Miss Temple.

Doctor Svenson spoke. “I too. No matter what happens with Karl-Horst, the work must be finished. This conspiracy—this cabal—I cannot say what drives its members, but I know together they are like rot around a wound, like a cancer. If not removed in its entirety, what remains will only grow back, more virulent and vicious than ever. Not one of us or any that we care for shall be safe.”

“Then it’s agreed,” said Chang.

He smiled wryly and put his hand out. Doctor Svenson stuck his cigarette into his mouth and, his hand free, took hold of Chang’s. Miss Temple placed her small hand over theirs. She had no idea what this would portend—it was intrigue after all—but she did not think she had ever been happier in her life. As she had agreed to something exceedingly serious, she did her best not to giggle, but she could not prevent herself from beaming.

“Excellent!” announced Miss Temple. “I am happy to have it so directly spoken. And now, the other question—as I have said—is how to proceed. Do we find another place of refuge? Do we go on the attack—and if so, where? The St. Royale? The Ministry? Harschmort?”

“My first thought would be to move from the rooftop,” said Chang.

“Yes, yes, but we can talk while we go—no one will overhear us.”

“Then this way—stay with us, Doctor—to the north. The hotel is connected to the next building—I believe there is no gap at all.”

“Gap?” asked Svenson.

“To jump across,” said Chang.

Svenson did not reply.

“Surely,” said Miss Temple, “we should look down to the street—to see the men arrayed around the Boniface.”

Chang sighed, acquiescing, and looked to Svenson, who waved them toward the edge of the building. “I shall proceed to the next roof—so as not to detain you…” He walked slowly in that direction, looking down at his boots. Miss Temple marched to the edge and carefully looked down. The view was exquisite. Below her the avenue was laid out like a doll’s house full of tiny creatures. She looked over to see Chang had joined her, kneeling in the cover of the copper moldings. “Do you see anyone?” she whispered. He pointed to the end of the street: behind a grocer’s