The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

person. Without any comment he turned to look in the other direction and then casually took a step toward Svenson, ostensibly—for the purpose of anyone watching from the room—to examine the door behind him. Svenson flinched—but still could not pull the trigger. Instead, the Captain leaned near to Svenson, reaching past him to the door and confirming it was locked. Svenson’s revolver was nearly pressed against the Captain’s chest, but the Captain’s saber had been deliberately dropped to his side.
    “Doctor Svenson?” he whispered.
    Svenson nodded, unprepared to form actual words.
    “I have seen Chang. I will take these people to the center of the house—please go in the opposite direction.”
    Svenson nodded again.
    “Captain Smythe?” called Bascombe.
    Smythe stepped back. “Nothing unusual, Sir.”
    “Were you
speaking
to someone?”
    Smythe gestured vaguely toward the door as he walked back, out of Svenson’s sight.
    “There are servants in the next room. They’ve seen no one—perhaps their movement was what the Envoy heard. The door is now locked.”
    “Undoubtedly,” agreed Lorenz, impatiently. “May we?”
    “If you will follow me, gentlemen?” called Smythe. Svenson heard the doors opening, the scuffle and creak of the men lifting the fallen Duke, the
thwop
of water slopping out of the tub, the scuffle of footsteps and finally the closing of the door. He waited. There was no sound. He sighed and stepped around the corner, shoving the revolver back into his coat pocket.

    Herr Flaüss stood just inside the far doorway, grinning smugly. Svenson dragged out the revolver. Flaüss snorted.
    “What will you do, Doctor, shoot me and announce yourself to every soldier in the house?”
    Svenson began to walk deliberately across the wide room toward the Envoy, his aim never wavering from the man’s chest. After all the torments he had passed through, it was bitter to imagine his downfall at the hands of
this
petty and puling creature.
    “I knew what I had heard,” smiled Flaüss, “just as I knew Captain Smythe was not telling the truth. I’ve no idea why—and I am indeed curious what power you might have over an officer of Dragoons, especially in your present wholly decrepit state.”
    “You’re a traitor, Flaüss,” answered Svenson. “You always have been.”
    He was within two yards of the Envoy, the main door perhaps a yard beyond that. Flaüss snorted again.
    “How can I be a traitor when I do my own Prince’s bidding? It is true I did not always understand that—it is true that I have been assisted to my present level of
clarity
—but you are as wrong about me, and the Prince, as you have always been—”
    “He’s an idiot and a traitor himself,” spat Svenson hotly, “betraying his own father, his own nation—”
    “My poor Doctor, you are quite behind the times. Much has changed in Macklenburg.” Flaüss licked his lips and his eyes gleamed. “Your Baron is dead. Yes, Baron von Hoern—his feeble network of operatives was well known—why else should I attend the every move of an obscure naval
physician
? And of course the Duke himself is also very unwell—your brand of patriotism is
passé
—very soon Prince Karl-Horst will
be
the nation, and perfectly placed to welcome the cooperative financial ventures of Lord Vandaariff and his associates.”
    Flaüss wore a plain black half-mask across his eyes. With grim recognition Svenson could see the lurid scarring peeking out from the edges.
    “Where is Major Blach?” he asked.
    “Somewhere about, I am sure—as I am sure he will be most happy at your capture. He and I finally see eye to eye, of course—another blessing! It really is a matter of looking beyond to deeper
truths
. If, as you say, the Prince is not especially gifted in matters of policy, it is all the more important that those who support him are able to make up that lack.”
    It was Svenson’s turn to scoff. He looked behind him. Adding another bizarre touch to his confrontation with the mentally altered Envoy, the concealed harpist continued to play. He turned back to Flaüss.
    “If you knew I was there, why didn’t you say anything to your
masters,
to Lorenz or Bascombe?” He gestured with the revolver. “Why give me the upper hand?”
    “I’ve done nothing of the kind—as I say, you can’t shoot me without dooming yourself. You’re no more a fool than you are a brawler—if you want to stay alive, you’ll give me your weapon and we