The Glass Books of the Dream Eaters

even redder, wiping his mouth with the back of a hand. “Mmn?” he asked; then, making the effort to swallow, did so, and cleared his throat. “Madam?”
    “She goes outside.”
    “Yes, Madam.”
    “Discreetly.”
    “As ever.”
    The woman looked down at Miss Temple and smiled. “Be careful. This one has
secrets
.” She walked to the main door without another word and left the room. The man, Farquhar, turned to Miss Temple.
    “I don’t like this room,” he said. “Let’s go somewhere else.”

    The door behind the screen led them into an uncarpeted serving room with several long tables and a tub of ice. One of the tables held a platter with a ravaged ham on it, and the other an array of open bottles of different shapes. The room smelled of alcohol. Farquhar indicated that Miss Temple should sit in the only visible chair, a simple wooden seat with no padding, a high back, and no arms. As she did, he wandered over to the ham and sawed away a chunk of pink meat with a nearby knife, then skewered the chunk on the knife and stuck it into his mouth. He leaned against the table and looked at her, chewing. After a moment he walked to the other table and leaned against it, tipping a brown bottle up to his teeth. He exhaled and wiped his mouth. After this moment of rest, he continued drinking, three deep swallows in succession. He put the bottle on the table and coughed.
    The door on the far side of the room opened and the other escort, with the flask, stepped in. He spoke from the doorway. “See anything?”
    “Of what?” Farquhar grunted in reply.
    “Fellow in red. Nosing about.”
    “Where?”
    “Garden?”
    Farquhar frowned, and took another pull from the brown bottle.
    “They saw him out front,” continued the other man.
    “Who is he?”
    “They didn’t know.”
    “Could be anybody.”
    “Seems like it.”
    Farquhar took another drink and set the bottle down. He nodded at Miss Temple.
    “We’re to take her out.”
    “Out?”
    “Discreetly.”
    “Now?”
    “I expect so. Are they still occupied?”
    “I expect so. How long does it take?”
    “I’ve no idea. I was eating.”
    The man in the door wrinkled his nose, peering at the table. “What is that?”
    “Ham.”
    “The drink—what’s the drink?”
    “It’s…it’s…” Farquhar rummaged for the bottle, sniffed it. “Spiced. Tastes like, what’s it…cloves? Tastes like cloves. And pepper.”
    “Cloves make me vomit,” the man in the doorway muttered. He glanced behind him, then back into the room. “All right, it’s clear.”
    Farquhar snapped his fingers at Miss Temple, which she understood to mean that she should stand and walk to the open door, which she did, Farquhar following after. The other man took her hand and smiled. His teeth were yellow as cheese. “My name is Spragg,” he said. “We’re going to walk quietly.” She nodded her agreement, eyes focused on the white front of his dress shirt, stained with a thin spatter of bright red blood. Could he have been just shaving? She pulled her eyes away and flinched as Farquhar took her other hand in his. The two men glanced at each other over the top of her head and began to walk, holding her firmly between them.
    They made directly for a pair of glass double doors, covered with a pale curtain. Spragg opened the doors and they stepped out into a courtyard, footfalls rustling onto gravel. It had become cold. There were no stars, nor any longer palpable moonlight, but the courtyard was ringed with windows that threw out a general glow, so it was easy enough to see their path, winding among shrubbery and statues and great stone urns. Across, in what must be another wing of the house, Miss Temple fancied she could see the movements of many people—dancing perhaps—and hear the faint strains of an orchestra. This must be the rest of the party, the main party. If only she could break free and run across to it—but she knew that while she might stamp on the foot of one of her escorts, she could not do it to both of them. As if they knew her thoughts, both men tightened their grip on Miss Temple’s hands.
    They guided her toward a small darkened archway, a passage running between wings of the house, for gardeners or others having no acceptable business indoors. It allowed the three of them to skirt the main party completely, as well as the main entrance to the great house, for when they had emerged on the other side, Miss Temple found herself at the large cobblestone