The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

frustration, his chest heaving with the wasted effort. He looked back to see Svenson catch up, the Doctor’s face a mask of concern.
    “She is gone?” he asked.
    Chang nodded and spat again. He had no idea what had transpired in the girl’s head, nor where the irresponsible impulses had carried her.
    “We should follow—” began Svenson.
    “How?” snapped Chang. “Where is she going? Is she abandoning her efforts? Is she attacking our enemies on her own? Which one? And when, between being taken and being killed, will she tell them all they need know to find us?”
    Chang was furious, but in truth he was just as angry at himself. His display of bad temper with regard to Angelique had touched off the foolishness—and what was the point? Angelique had no feelings for him. If she were alive and he could find her, it would help his standing with Madelaine Kraft. That was the end of it, the only end. He turned to Svenson, speaking quickly.
    “How much money do you have?”
    “I—I don’t know—enough for a day or two—to eat, find a room—”
    “Purchase a train ticket?”
    “Depending on how far the journey—”
    “Here, then.” Chang thrust his hand into his coat pocket and pulled out the leather wallet. It held only two small banknotes, change from his night at the Boniface, but he had a handful of gold coins in his trouser pocket to fall back on. He handed one of the notes to Doctor Svenson with a bitter smile. “I don’t know what will befall us—and the change purse of our partnership has just walked away. How are you for ammunition?”
    As if to reinforce his reply, Svenson hefted the revolver from his pocket. “I was able to reload from Miss Temple’s supply—the weapons share a caliber—”
    “That’s a service .44.”
    “It is.”
    “As was hers?”
    “Yes, though her weapon
was
deceptively small—”
    “Has she ever fired it, do you know?”
    “I do not think so.”
    The two men stood for a moment between thoughts. Chang attempted to shrug off his feelings of remorse and recrimination. How had he not realized the gun was so powerful—he’d helped her clean it, for God’s sake. He wondered what he’d been thinking—but in truth knew exactly what had distracted him: the surprise at seeing her again in such different apparel than on the train, the curves of her throat marked by bruises instead of bloodstains, her small nimble fingers working to disassemble the black oiled metal parts of the revolver. He shook his head. The kick from such a weapon would knock her arm up back over her head—unless she pressed the barrel into her target’s body, she would never hit a thing. She had no idea what she was doing, in any of this.
    “It is senseless to consider what’s done,” the Doctor said. “Do we go after her?”
    “If she is taken, she is dead.”
    “Then we must part to cover more ground. It really is unfortunate—it seems but a moment ago we were each running for our lives in isolation. I will miss someone to help me scale what water pipes I must.” He smiled and extended his hand. Chang took it.
    “You will scale them by yourself—I am sure.”
    Svenson smiled with a pinched expression, as if he appreciated Chang’s encouragement but remained unpersuaded. “Where do we each go?” he asked. “And where shall we meet again?”
    “Where would
she
go?” Chang asked. “Do you think she is running to her aunt? That would be easier for us all…”
    “I do not think so,” said Svenson. “On the contrary, whatever distress she has felt, I believe it has spurred her to direct action.”
    Chang frowned, thinking. What had she said to him in the garden, her face, the smile belied by her grey eyes.
    “Then it has to be this Bascombe idiot.”
    Svenson sighed. “The poor girl.”
    Chang spat again. “Will she shoot him in the head or blubber at his feet—that’s the question.”
    “I disagree,” said Svenson quietly. “She is brave and resourceful. What do we know about anyone—very little. But we know Miss Temple has surprised any number of powerful people into thinking she was a deadly assassin-courtesan. Without her we both could have been taken in the hotel. If we can find her, I will wager you that she will save each of us in our turn before this is finished.”
    Chang did not answer, then smiled.
    “What is your Macklenburg currency—gold shillings?”
    Svenson nodded.
    “Then I will happily wager you ten gold shillings that Miss Temple will not