The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

Robert Vandaariff, now a parchment-scratching automaton. The contempt of the Cabal was not limited to those of lower birth or insufficient station.
    He had to admit a certain equity of abuse.
    Yet Chang sneered at the expressions of disdain and fury that pressed at him through the ring of uncertain Dragoons. Each guest had been offered the chance to lick the Cabal’s boots, and now they clamored for the privilege. Who
were
these people to so easily blind so many?
    He thought bitterly that half of the Cabal’s work was done for it already—the fevered ambition that ran through their adherents had always lurked in the shadows of those lives, hungrily awaiting the chance to come forward. That the chance was only as honest as a baited hook never occurred to anyone—they were too busy congratulating themselves on swallowing it.

    He held the gleaming glass book in front of him for all to see. For some reason the act of raising his arm exerted pressure on his seething lungs and Cardinal Chang erupted into a fit of agonized coughing. He spat again and wiped his bloody mouth.
    “You
will
make us clean the floor,” observed the Contessa.
    “I suppose it’s inconvenient of me not to have died at the Ministry,” Chang hoarsely replied.
    “Terribly so, but you’ve established yourself as quite a worthy opponent, Cardinal.” She smiled at Chang. “Would you not agree, Mr. Xonck?” she called, and at least Chang knew she was mocking Xonck’s injury.
    “Indeed! The Cardinal illustrates the difficult task that is before us all—the determined struggle we must prepare ourselves to undergo,” answered Francis Xonck, his voice pitched to reach the far corners of the room. “The vision we embrace will be resisted with all the tenacity of the man you see before you. Do not underestimate him—nor underestimate your own unique qualities of wisdom and courage.”
    Chang scoffed at this blatant flattery of the crowd, and wondered why it was Crabbé in politics making speeches and not the unctuously eloquent Xonck. He recalled the prostrate form of Henry Xonck—it might not be long before Francis Xonck was more powerful than five Harald Crabbés put together. Crabbé must have sensed this, for he stepped forward, also addressing the whole of the audience.
    “Such a man has even this night committed murders—too many to name!—in his quest to destroy our mission. He has killed our soldiers, he has defiled our women—like a savage he has broken into our Ministry and this very house! And why?”
    “Because you’re a lying, syphilitic—”
    “
Because
,” Crabbé shouted down Chang’s hoarse voice easily, “we offer a vision that will break the stranglehold this man—
and his hidden masters
—have over you all, to keep you at bay, offering scraps while they profit from your labor and your worth! We say all this must end—and their bloody man has come to kill us! You see it for yourselves!”
    The crowd erupted into a chorus of angry cries, and once more Chang felt he had no real understanding of human beings at all. To him, Crabbé’s words were every bit as idiotic and servile as Xonck’s, every bit as fawning and conjured, patently so. And yet his listeners bayed like hounds for Chang’s blood. The Dragoons were losing ground as the crowd pressed nearer. He saw Aspiche, shoved from behind, looking nervously up to the dais—and then to Chang, self-righteously glaring as if this was all
his
fault.
    “Dear friends…please! Please—a moment!” Xonck was smiling, raising his good hand, calling over the noise. The cries fell away at once. The control was astonishing. Chang doubted that these people had even undergone the Process—how could there have been time? But he could scarce understand such a uniform response from an untrained (or un-German) collection of individuals.
    “Dear friends,” Xonck said again, “do not worry—this man shall pay…and pay directly.” He looked at Chang with an eager smile. “We must merely determine the means.”
    “Put down the book, Cardinal,” repeated the Contessa.
    “If anyone moves toward me I will smash it across your beautiful face.”
    “Will you indeed?”
    “It would give me
pleasure.
”
    “So petty, Cardinal—it makes me think less of you.”
    “Well then, I do apologize. If it helps at all, I would choose to kill you not because you have surely killed me already with the glass in my lungs, but because you are truly my most deadly foe. The Prince