The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

water first to drink and then to splash across his face, and to once again smooth back his hair. He shook his hands, the droplets breaking his reflection to rippling pieces, and looked up. Someone was coming. He threw the cigar into the water and pulled out the gun.

    It was Crabbé and Bascombe, with two of their functionaries walking behind, and between them, unmistakably, his posture characteristically sharp as a knife-point, Lord Robert Vandaariff. Svenson scrambled to the other side of the fountain and dropped to the floor, for all his fear and fatigue feeling caught out like a character in a comic operetta.
    “It is astonishing—first the theatre, and now this!” The Minister was speaking, and with anger. “But the men are now in place?”
    “They are,” answered Bascombe, “a squad of Macklenburgers.”
    Crabbé snorted. “That lot has been more trouble than they are worth,” he said. “The Prince is an idiot, the Envoy’s a grub, the Major’s a Teuton boor—and the
Doctor
! Did you hear? He is alive! He is at Harschmort! He must have come with us—but honestly, I cannot imagine how it was accomplished. He can only have been stowed away—hidden by a confederate!”
    “But who could that be?” hissed Bascombe. When Crabbé did not reply, Bascombe ventured a hesitant guess. “Aspiche?”
    Crabbé’s answer was lost, for they had moved through the foyer to the edge of his hearing. Svenson rose to his knees, relieved they had not seen him, and carefully followed. He did not understand it…though Vandaariff walked between the two Ministry conspirators, they paid him no attention at all, speaking across his body…nor did the Lord take part in the plotting. What was more, what had happened to Bascombe’s treasure chest of blue glass books?
    “Yes, yes—and it’s for the better,” Crabbé was saying, “both of them are to take part. Poor Elspeth has lost a quantity of hair, and Margaret—well, she was keen to press ahead. She is
ever
keen, but…apparently she had a
confrontation
with this Cardinal at the Royale—she—well, I cannot say—she seems in a
mood
about it—”
    “And this is along with the…ah…other?” Bascombe politely cut in, bringing the conversation back to its subject.
    “Yes, yes—
she
is the
test case,
of course. In my own opinion, it all goes too fast—too much effort in too many places—”
    “The Contessa
is
concerned about our time-table—”
    “As am
I,
Mr. Bascombe,” Crabbé replied sharply, “but you will notice for yourself—the confusion, the risk—when we have tried to simultaneously manage
initiations
in the theatre, the Comte’s
transformations
in the cathedral, the
collections
in the inner parlors, the
harvest
from Lord Robert”—he gestured casually to the most powerful man in five nations—“and
now
because of that blasted woman, the Duke—”
    “Apparently Doctor Lorenz is confident—”
    “He is
always
confident! And yet, Bascombe, science is pleased if one experiment out of twenty actually succeeds—the mere
confidence
of Doctor Lorenz is not enough when so much hangs at risk—we need certainty!”
    “Of course, Sir.”
    “Just a moment.”
    Crabbé stopped, and turned to the two retainers walking behind—prompting Svenson to abruptly crouch behind a molting philodendron.
    “Dash ahead to the top of the tower—I don’t want any surprises. Make sure it’s clear, then one of you return. We will wait.”
    The men ran off. Svenson peeked through the dusty leaves to see Bascombe in the midst of a deferent protest.
    “Sir, do you really think—”
    “What I think is that I
prefer
not to be overheard by
anyone
.”
    He paused to allow the two men to fully vanish from sight before going on.
    “Before anything,” began the Deputy Minister, glancing once at the figure of Robert Vandaariff, “what book do we have for Lord Vandaariff, here? We need something as a place-holder, yes?”
    “Yes, Sir—though for now it can be the one missing, from Lady Mélantes—”
    “Which
must
be recovered—”
    “Of course, Sir—but for the moment it may also stand in as the keeper of Lord Vandaariff’s secrets—until such time as we have occasion to irreparably
damage
another.”
    “Excellent,” muttered Crabbé. His eyes darted around them and the small man licked his lips, leaning closer to Bascombe. “From the beginning, Roger, I have offered you this opportunity, have I not? Inheritance and title, new prospects for