The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

assisted her climb into it. He nodded crisply to her and stepped away—undoubtedly to rejoin the Prince—to be replaced by the Comte d’Orkancz, who sat across from her, and then the Contessa, who stepped in to sit next to her opposite the Comte, then Francis Xonck, who sat next to the Comte with a smile, and finally, with no expression in particular on his face, Roger Bascombe, hesitating only an instant when he saw that, due to the size of the Comte and the room accorded Xonck’s thickly wrapped arm, the only seat was on the other side of Miss Temple. He climbed into place without comment. Miss Temple was firmly lodged between the Contessa and Roger—their legs pressing closely against hers with a mocking familiarity. The driver shut the door and climbed to his perch. His whip snapped and they clattered on their way to Harschmort.

    The ride began in silence, and after a time Miss Temple, who initially assumed this was because of her presence—an interloper spoiling their usual plots and scheming, began to wonder if this was wholly the case. They were wary enough not to say anything revealing, but she began to sense levels of competition and distrust…particularly with the addition of Francis Xonck to the party.
    “When can we expect the Duke?” he asked.
    “Before midnight, I am sure,” replied the Comte.
    “Have you spoken to him?”
    “Crabbé has spoken to him,” said the Contessa. “There is no reason for anyone else to do so. It would only confuse things.”
    “I know everyone got to the train—the various parties,” added Roger. “The Colonel was collecting the Duke personally, and two of our men—”
    “Ours?” asked the Comte.
    “From the Ministry,” clarified Roger.
    “Ah.”
    “They rode ahead to meet him.”
    “How thoughtful,” said the Contessa.
    “What of your cousin Pamela?” asked Xonck. “And her disenfranchised brat?”
    Roger did not reply. Francis Xonck chuckled wickedly.

    “And the little
Princess
?” asked Xonck.
“La Nouvelle Marie?”
    “She will perform admirably,” said the Contessa.
    “Not that she has any idea of her part,” Xonck scoffed. “What of the Prince?”
    “Equally in hand,” rasped the Comte. “What of his transport?”
    “I am assured it sails to position tonight,” answered Xonck. Miss Temple wondered why he of all people would be the one with information about ships. “The canal has been closed this last week, and has been prepared.”
    “And what of the mountains—the Doctor’s scientific marvel?”
    “Lorenz seems confident there is no problem,” observed the Contessa. “Apparently it packs away most tidily.”
    “What of the…ah…Lord?” asked Roger.
    No one answered at once, exchanging subtle glances.
    “Mr. Crabbé was curious—” began Roger.
    “The
Lord
is agreeable to everything,” said the Contessa.

    “What of the
adherents
?” asked the Contessa. “Blenheim sent word that they have arrived throughout the day discreetly,” answered Roger, “along with a squadron of Dragoons.”
    “We do not need more soldiers—they are a mistake,” said the Comte.
    “I agree,” said Xonck. “Yet Crabbé insists—and where government is concerned, we have agreed to follow him.”
    The Contessa spoke to Roger across Miss Temple. “Has he any new information about…our departed brother-in-law of Dragoons?”
    “He has not—that I know of. Of course we have not recently spoken—”
    “Blach insists that it’s settled,” said Xonck.
    “The Colonel was poisoned,” snapped the Contessa. “It is not the method of the man the Major wishes to blame—aside from the fact that man assured his employer that he did
not
do it, when having done so would have meant cash in hand. Moreover, how would
he
have known when to find his victim in that vulnerable period after undergoing the Process? He would not. That information was known to a select—a
very
select—few.” She nodded to Xonck’s bandaged arm and scoffed. “Is
that
the work of an elegant schemer?”
    Xonck did not respond.
    After a pause, Roger Bascombe cleared his throat and wondered aloud mildly, “Perhaps the Major is overdue for the Process himself.”

    “Do you trust Lorenz to have everything aboard?” asked Xonck, to the Comte. “The deadline was severe—the large quantities—”
    “Of course,” the Comte replied gruffly.
    “As you know,” continued Xonck, “the invitations have been sent.”
    “With the wording we agreed upon?”