The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

said. He offered the handkerchief back, saw Smythe’s reaction, and then wadded it into his own pocket. “For the last time, I beg you, what is happening above?”
    Smythe glanced once up the stairs as if someone might have followed and then spoke quickly. “I’m afraid I barely know—I have just now come in the house. We were outside, for the Colonel’s arrival—”
    “Aspiche?”
    “Yes—it is quite a disaster—they arrived from the country, some sort of accident, the Duke of Stäelmaere—”
    “But people are entering the great chamber to watch the ceremony!” said Chang. “There is no time—”
    “I cannot speak to that—there are parties of people everywhere and the house is very large,” answered the officer. “All of my men are occupied with the Duke’s party—after they landed—”
    “Landed?”
    “I cannot begin to explain. But the whole household has been turned over—”
    “Then maybe there’s still hope!” said Chang.
    “For what?” asked Smythe.
    “All I need is to get upstairs and be pointed in the right direction.”
    He could see that Smythe was torn between helping him and confirming his story. He suspected that the presence of Aspiche had done as much as anything to spur the officer toward mutiny.
    “Our transfer to the Palace…” began Smythe quietly as if this were an answer to Chang’s request, “was accompanied by a significant rise in pay for all officers…life-saving for men who had spent years abroad and were swimming in debt…it should be no surprise when a reward—the money being now spent—turns out instead to be…an entrapment.”
    “Go to Reeves,” Chang said quietly, “and talk to your men who were there. They will follow you. Wait and stay ready…when the time comes, believe me, you will know what to do.”
    Smythe looked at him without any confidence whatsoever. Chang laughed—the dry croak of a crow—and clapped the man on the shoulder.

    “The house is confusing at first,” Smythe whispered to him as they climbed the stairs and crept into the main-floor hallway. “The left wing is dominated by a large ballroom—now quite full of people—and the right by a large hallway of mirrors that leads to private rooms and apartments—again, now quite full of people. Also in the right wing is an inner corridor that takes one to a spiral staircase—I have not climbed it. When I saw it the corridor was lined with Macklenburg guards.”
    “And the center of the house?” asked Chang.
    “The great reception hall, the kitchens, the laundry, staff quarters, the house manager—that’s Blenheim—and his men.”
    “Where is Lord Vandaariff’s study?” asked Chang suddenly, his mind working. “At the rear of the house?”
    “It is”—Smythe nodded—“and on the main floor. I have not been there. The whole left wing has been restricted to special guests and a very few trusted staff. No Dragoons.”
    “Speaking of that,” said Chang, “what are you doing here? When did you come from the Ministry?”
    Smythe smiled bitterly. “The story will amuse you. As my men were relieved from their posts, I received urgent word—from my Colonel I assumed—that we were needed at the St. Royale Hotel. Upon hurrying there—though domestic quarrels are not our usual duty—I was met by an especially presumptuous woman, who
informed
me that I must accompany her at once to this house by train.”
    “Mrs. Marchmoor, of course.”
    Smythe nodded. “Apparently she had been agitated by a certain fellow in red—an absolute villain, I understand.”
    “I believe we took the same train—I was hiding in the coal wagon.”
    “The possibility occurred to me,” said Smythe, “but I could not send a man forward without sending him on the roof—we were forbidden to pass through the iron-bound black railcar.”
    “What was in it?” asked Chang.
    “I cannot say—Mrs. Marchmoor had the key and went in alone. Upon our arrival at Orange Locks we were met by Mr. Blenheim, with carts and a coach. He went into the black car with his men, under Mrs. Marchmoor’s eye, and they brought out—”
    “What was it?” hissed Chang, suddenly impatient to know, yet fearing to hear the words.
    “Again, I cannot say—it was covered with canvas. It could have been another of their boxes, or it could have been a coffin. But as they were loading it I distinctly heard Blenheim order the driver to go slow—so as not to break the
glass
—”

    They were interrupted by